Gospel Story Finder

It’s been five years now since I drank any coffee but sometimes the smell of it reminds me of those years when I drank so much of it that now even I find the amount unbelievable. My day would begin with a cup of coffee as I told myself I needed that energy boost to meet the demands of being a mother and homemaker. After that first cup I needed little or no excuse for more whether it was the visit of my mother or a friend, or a belief that I needed a cup of coffee to keep up my energy or to help me relax. It was cup after cup after cup. And as I had convinced myself that the day had to begin with coffee so I convinced myself that it had to end with coffee. I just “knew” that I wouldn’t be able to sleep without my bedtime cup of coffee, even though logic told me that coffee was a stimulant—after all wasn’t that why I used it throughout the day? It never occurred to me that so much coffee was harmful to my health.
I didn’t face that fact until the day two missionaries knocked at my door and introduced me to the gospel. I willingly accepted their message and their challenge to be baptized. But, they explained, for me to accept baptism I also had to accept the Word of Wisdom, and that meant no more coffee.
Somehow I wasn’t completely surprised by their injunction so I was prepared to meet their challenge. The people who were surprised were my husband and my daughters. They knew that coffee was an integral part of my life and they were convinced that I would never give it up.
But something inside me had changed. In accepting the gospel message I accepted all its precepts. As I did so I felt a tranquility enter into my life and I knew that the Lord would help me live his commandments.
Of course, it was not easy to stop drinking coffee; my body had become so used to relying on it that for a week after I quit drinking it I walked around in a daze, my legs trembled and my arms felt weak. But with the help of the Lord my desire for coffee had gone. There was no way I was going to go near that coffee pot. It was a marvelous sensation and more than once I found myself on my knees thanking the Lord for his help and strength. The missionaries regularly visited me to see how I was doing and to give me encouragement and my watchful family was constantly surprised to hear me say how good I felt.
Today I can look back on five years of happiness. Not only do I have the energy to fulfill my role as wife and mother, but I’ve also been able to serve in a number of Church callings. On the rare occasions when I may feel physically tired, my spirit is always ready for more and that helps rejuvenate me. Is it any wonder that I have a testimony of the Word of Wisdom, and of the gospel that brought it into my life.

Johanna was only eight when war came to her village in Holland and everything changed. When Johanna was ten, conditions were so bad that her only chance for life was to escape with an older sister and hide in a farmhouse many miles away from their home.
The two girls live with the Oosterveld family, who keep them hidden in an upstairs room—hidden from prying neighbors and from German soldiers who set up an office in the room just below them. Johanna and Sini spend days quietly in bed, bored and lonely and longing for exercise and fresh air. They spend years hidden away from the world.
This unforgettable book touches the heart and holds the reader breathless with excitement, wondering what will happen next. It was named a Newbery honor book for 1973.

Let me tell you about a young Laurel president who explained it this way: “‘You see,’ she said, ‘I was called to be a class president of 17 girls, and the bishop said I was responsible for them. I was scared to death. I didn’t even know for sure where they were. Then he told me to decide on my counselors and reminded me of the need to pray and ask the Lord. I wondered how it worked—how would I know who the Lord wanted?’ …
“‘I wrote 17 names on a piece of paper. Then I prayed about those names. … I kept thinking and praying and [crossing off names] until the third day. With only two names remaining, I had a strong feeling that I knew who Heavenly Father wanted. That’s how it works’” (Ardeth G. Kapp, “Yes, You Are Old Enough, Girls,” New Era, May 1974, p. 14).

On the morning of Thursday, July 20, 1837, the merchant ship Garrick slipped quietly into the River Mersey and anchored opposite the bustling English seaport of Liverpool. To the uninformed bystander, the vessel, newly arrived from New York, was no different from any other. It was the dawn of the Victorian age, and Liverpool was already establishing an ascendancy as the greatest English port, which it retained for half a century.
But among the weary passengers were seven men whose presence made the Garrick far from insignificant—men whose simple but provocative message was soon to send thousands of English men, women, and children to the United States. The seven Americans were Mormons—the first missionaries to preach the restored gospel in this dispensation outside North America. Their unheralded arrival and the dramatic events of the next few months came to form a fascinating chapter in the history of northwest England and left an indelible stamp on The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Today their names stand boldly among the spiritual giants of the Church: Heber C. Kimball, grandfather of President Spencer W. Kimball; Joseph Fielding; Orson Hyde; Willard Richards; John Snyder; John Goodson; and Isaac Russell.
To British Saints and thousands of Americans whose ancestry springs from this part of England, Liverpool and Preston are as much a part of the rich Latter-day Saint heritage as Nauvoo and Kirtland. And it was the word heritage in a letter from the First Presidency to all units of the Church that triggered a chain of events leading to one of the most unusual and spectacular joint activities ever organized by the Liverpool and Preston districts.
That letter urged Church members to organize significant activities to commemorate their history as part of an international heritage year. Rod Fullwood, seminary supervisor in the Liverpool District, and his counterpart in the Preston District, Arthur Hardy, had already talked over the possibility of a joint seminary graduation. From that it was a short step for them to come up with the concept of a major commemorative program telling the story of the first missionaries to arrive in England and the events leading to the first baptisms in the River Ribble in July 1837.
Once the plan had been approved by the Preston and Liverpool district presidencies, the next few weeks were marked by frantic activity as seminary groups in each branch worked on their own projects. Branches in the Liverpool District were assigned to re-create the atmosphere and scenes of 1837 by staging an “English Fayre,” complete with stalls from the period. They also wrote a dramatic production telling the story of early Mormon emigrants. Period dress for the nearly 200 young people and adults who attended was mandatory, but forseeing the likelihood of a few arriving in 20th century dress, the organizers assigned the Southport Branch to construct a set of stocks to “discipline” offenders.
The play, “The Emigrant Ship,” was based on the Charles Dickens’ novel, The Uncommercial Traveller, not one of the great author’s best-known works but certainly the most significant from the point of view of Church history. The fact that Dickens commented on the Church is little known, and even among Latter-day Saints it is not widely appreciated. But his reference to 800 Mormon emigrants as “the pick and flower of England” was one of the first recorded compliments paid to the English Saints by anyone of standing.
The script, by David Irwin, closely followed Dickens’ original prose, but other characters were interjected into the story during the production. Well-performed, it gave members a valued insight into the atmosphere of those early days.
Dickens: (To audience) Now, I have seen emigrant ships before this day, and these people are so strikingly different from all other people in like circumstances whom I have ever seen, I ask the captain … what would a stranger suppose these emigrants to be?
Captain: What indeed!
Dickens: When did they arrive here?
Captain: Most of them came aboard yesterday evening.
Dickens: And from where did these people come?
Captain: They came from various parts of England in small parties and had never seen one another before.
Dickens: They had never seen one another before? How have they settled down on board?
Captain: They had not been a couple of hours on board when they established their own police, made their own regulations, and set their own watches at all the hatchways. Before 9:00 the ship was as orderly and quiet as a man-of-war. A stranger would be puzzled to guess the right name for these people.
Dickens: Indeed he would.
Captain: If you hadn’t known who they were, could you ever have supposed?
Dickens: How could I? I should have said they were the pick and flower of England.
Captain: So should I.
Dickens: How many are there?
Captain: Eight hundred.
Dickens: Eight hundred of the pick and flower of England! What has motivated these emigrants of all ages?
Later Dickens says, “Afterwards I learned that a dispatch was sent home by the captain before he struck out into the wide Atlantic, highly extolling the behavior of these emigrants, and the perfect order and propriety of all their social arrangements.
“What is in store for the poor people on the shores of the Great Salt Lake, what happy delusions they are laboring under now, on what miserable blindness their eyes may be opened then, I do not pretend to say. But I went on board their ship to bear testimony against them if they deserved it, as I fully believed they would; to my great astonishment they did not deserve it; and my predispositions and tendencies must not affect me as an honest witness.
“I went over the ship’s side feeling it impossible to deny that, so far, some remarkable influence had produced a remarkable result, which better known influences have often missed.”
The afternoon following the “Fayre” and the dramatic production the Liverpool Saints joined those at Preston for the second half of the program—a sermon on the banks of the Ribble and a commemoration of the baptisms that took place there in July 1837.
The weekend’s events provided a natural attraction for newspapers, radio, and television, and they were widely publicized. The events were relayed in a four-minute spot on BBC television, which also included an interview with Brother Fullwood. In addition to newspaper reports of the weekend, at least one Lancashire paper began plans for a full-scale feature on early Church history.
Appropriately winding up the commemoration, a 24-member Brigham Young University ballroom dance team, which had been performing in international competition in nearby Blackpool, gave a brief display for members immediately before the seminary graduation. As if to underline the point, it was then announced that Preston seminary students had beaten all other districts in Britain in enrollment and work completion for the year.
Said Brother Fullwood: “I think the weekend’s events and all the work that went in beforehand have given the members here a greater appreciation for those early missionaries as well as for our own heritage. The fact that an ambitious program like this was so successful will encourage us to shoot for high goals in the future.”

Why is Floriano Oliveira, a member of the high council in a stake in Brazil, so successful as a missionary? Because he obeyed the Lord’s counsel to open his mouth and share the gospel. One day as he was driving through the congested traffic of São Paulo he took his eyes off the road for but a second and crashed into the car in front of him. He jumped out of the vehicle, hurried up to the car he had hit, opened the door and said, “I am so sorry I hit you. It was all my fault. I accept the full blame and will pay the total costs. I had no intention to do this, so please forgive me. Yet if I hadn’t hit you, you wouldn’t have received this message I have for you, the message that you have waited for all your life.” He then explained the restoration of the gospel to this man, who was a medical doctor, and the man joined the Church two weeks later. Why has Brother Oliveira had so much success in baptizing more than two hundred people? Obedience—obedience to the request of the Lord.

“Often I had the privilege of driving Grandfather to one of his conference assignments. During this time he would talk about his life. He especially remembered Christmastime when he was a boy. His parents were poor and often there was nothing for Christmas.
“Once his gift at Christmas was having his ice skates sharpened. Two of his friends received nothing so Grandpa let them borrow his newly sharpened skates.”

They were known everywhere they went. They were members of the best football team around, which made them members of the most popular groups on campus—in town—in the state. At every turn there was an encouraging word, a friendly smile, a jovial pat on the back. Their names were in the papers; their faces were on T.V. Their lives were a dream. Yet they willingly traded those dreams in for a hard dose of reality.
More than just voluntarily, they eagerly exchanged all that fame and glory for obscurity, taking little heed of the effect it would have on their futures. They traded the warm handshakes for indifferent shrugs, the encouraging words for curious glances. Only a handful, if that many people, knew them, and they were hundreds of miles away from those who cared for and loved them.
Yet Bart Oates, starting center for the New York Giants, and Trevor Matich, 1985’s first-round draft pick of the New England Patriots, claim they would do it again in a second. They feel their choice to interrupt their promising college football careers to serve missions was one of the most important decisions they ever made. And they acknowledge the fact that they wouldn’t be where they are today if they hadn’t served.
“When I made the decision to go on a mission, a lot of people thought I was crazy,” relates Trevor. “I’d played two seasons of football at BYU. I’d made varsity as a freshman—the only freshman on the varsity offense that year. I’d received two championship rings. I’d been to two Holiday Bowls. And I was going to leave it all to go on a mission?
“But they didn’t understand my motivation. Going through my mind was the fact that football is good and football is important, but someday football is going to end. Where would I be on that day if I based my entire life on football? I thought of what doesn’t end, and that’s my relationship with God, with my family, and with our church.
“So I left football, knowing that I might not ever play again. But even if I didn’t there would be no regrets, because the most important thing would be taken care of.”
Deep sentiments from a deep man. Trevor belies the stereotypical offensive lineman image. At age 24 he is eloquent without being arrogant, which is an accomplishment, since he had barely finished helping BYU win the national football championship when New England snatched him up to play center.
Although the Patriots offered Trevor a salary that competes with the best of them, you won’t see him flaunting it. He’s still most comfortable in a plain shirt and his old Levi’s with the strings from his Super Bowl field pass attached. Trevor had to watch his team play in the Super Bowl from the sidelines because, in the first game of the season, a gang of Green Bay Packers fell on his ankle. That, much to his frustration, left him on injured reserve for the rest of the season. But Trevor has high hopes for this, his second season.
When he’s not working with the team, Trevor often finds time to travel home to Sacramento, California, where he likes nothing better than watching his younger brother play basketball. In Boston, where the Patriots are based, he spends a lot of time counseling youth at the Gabler House, a home for children who are wards of the state.
Bart Oates doesn’t exactly fit the bruising stereotype either, although he says he’s “too fat and too slow to be anything other than an offensive lineman.” In fact, “jolly” might be the first word you think of when you see him, with his perpetual smile, rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes. It’s a good thing too, because at 6 foot, 3 inches and 265 pounds, the man could be rather intimidating without a smile.
At age 27, he has already had four years of experience with professional football. He was drafted out of BYU to play with the Philadelphia Stars of the newly formed United States Football League, where he stayed for three years. Just last year his contract with the USFL expired, and he decided to make the switch to the National Football League. His play at center helped the Giants to a division title, and they have higher hopes this year.
When he’s not playing football, he’s studying law at Seton Hall University in New Jersey, playing racquetball, spending time with his wife and two small sons, or serving as assistant nursery leader in the Emerson Ward, Caldwell New Jersey Stake.
Bart feels the same way Trevor does about his choice to serve. “The decision to go on a mission was easy. It was just the right thing to do. And you know, when I went, I made up my mind I was not going to return to football. That was the only way I could serve well. Instead of suffering the mental anguish of going through two years of thinking ‘I’ve got to stay in shape so I can play when I get back,’ I put it all out of my mind, and in so doing I was able to concentrate on my mission.”
So out they went. Bart served in the Nevada, Las Vegas Mission from 1977–79, and Trevor served in the Mexico Torreon Mission from 1981–82. They were to learn many things in the mission field that they readily admit they would have missed had they stayed on the football field.
“It gave me a new perspective on life,” Bart says. “Before that, football was my life—it was my god, really, in that, first and foremost, everything I did was toward making me a better football player, and everything else came second. But my mission helped me to realize that the spiritual aspects of living are more important than anything we can do as far as personal glory goes.”
Trevor adds a few more lessons learned in the mission field. “When I first got to Mexico, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. There were people living in one-room houses about the size of my bedroom, with eight kids and maybe one bed, a chair, and a table. The door would be a curtain hanging down. You see other people put up four stakes, wrap butcher paper around them, and that’s their house.
“But the thing that struck me was that amidst all that lack of physical comfort, the people were happy. I mean, they were really happy. As time went on, I came to know that they placed very little value on material things, and a lot of value on people—the family—relationships. Mexico is very family oriented, and I think that’s one of the reasons why the Church is growing so fast down there. People love each other, and that’s their life. That became my life too.”
The mission experience, however, was not all smiles and tears of joy. At times, both Bart and Trevor met with hostility, pain, and frustration. No grueling spring training, no brutal two-a-day practices, no bone-jarring games can match the hardships Trevor felt. “I had some very trying times,” he relates. “But the motivating factor to keep on going was that I knew that at the point where I said ‘Stop! I can’t take any more!’ my progression would stop. So I just kept right on going.”
And Bart knows that no stunning football victory, no league or world championship, could ever match the elation he felt in the mission field when, for example, one of his closest investigators finally saw the gospel light. “His wife and kids were already members,” Bart relates, “and he just didn’t want to make a commitment. We got to be really close, great friends. Then one night I asked him if he would be willing to pray to our Heavenly Father to find out if the Church was true. He agreed, somewhat reluctantly, and the whole family knelt down to pray with him. The Spirit came over us and everyone in the room felt it. I said, ‘Fred, do you know what you’re feeling?’ He couldn’t deny it. I said, ‘You know you want to be baptized,’ and he said, ‘Yes.’”
Neither Bart nor Trevor would pass up those types of experiences—not even if they had known what they would go through when they returned to football.
“My mission did not help my football,” Bart says. “Some guys go out and expect that since they’re making a sacrifice for the Lord, the Lord is going to bless them by improving their football skills. That’s not the case.” Toward the end of his mission Bart did rise at 4:30 A.M. for conditioning workouts. (“All my companions wanted to be transferred. I know that,” he laughs.) But he wasn’t a superman when he returned. He had to scramble to regain his skills and reflexes.
“I wasn’t better than I was before my mission,” he confides. “I wasn’t even as good. But it didn’t take me long to get back into shape.” Bart also notes that by the time he returned to BYU, the starting center ahead of him had graduated, and the position was open to Bart for the next three years, whereas he would have been second string two of those three years had he chosen to stay and play.
Trevor’s absence from football didn’t help his skills, and didn’t help his size either. “I left at about 235 pounds, and I came back at about 207,” he said. “Most guys have their mothers greeting them at the airport saying, ‘Great to have you back, son,’ but all my mother said was ‘Oh Trevor, you look so thin.’ To be honest with you, the coaches were worried. But when I got home, I lifted a lot of weights and ate everything that was slower than me—lots of pizza and chocolate chip cookies. It helps to have a mom who has a master’s degree in nutrition.”
Trevor’s mother not only played a major role in filling him out when he returned, but she also helped to form his character before he left. Trevor’s parents divorced when he was young, leaving his mother alone with four children. Besides Trevor, Carol Matich has managed to raise Maren, 25, who sings with the San Diego Opera, Krestin, 21, a runner-up in the Miss Sacramento Pageant, and Dever, 19, an All-Northern California basketball star.
Bart’s family had a great influence on him as well. His father, Bob, who was a tremendous athlete himself, started Bart playing football when he was only eight years old. Bart’s two brothers and three sisters were all very active, especially Brad, who preceded Bart into the ranks of professional football. When Bart was drafted by the USFL, they drafted Brad as well, and the two brothers played together for three seasons.
Bart is now influencing his own family. There’s four-year-old Derek, six-month-old Zack, and, of course the former Michelle Ivins, a convert Bart met at BYU and married in the Salt Lake Temple when he’d been home from his mission just under two years.
Michelle readily recognizes what an important influence Bart’s mission had on his life. In the somewhat glamorous world of professional sports, it’s easy to become conceited and self-absorbed, but she says Bart is the opposite. “His mission taught him selflessness,” she says. “I’ve noticed in our marriage and in his dealing with others that he is very conscious of the other person’s needs. Instead of trying to make himself look good, he tries to make the other person feel good. That’s an attribute that going on a mission helps to develop. You’re not out there to build yourself up, but to build others up and bring light into their lives.”
It’s been several years now since Bart and Trevor were released, but their missions are never far behind them. Both serve as stake missionaries and have the opportunity to draw on their mission experiences daily. Neither lives in an area with a large LDS population, and people are always curious about their beliefs.
The Boston media, in particular, was curious about Trevor’s religion. When he signed his contract with the Patriots, the local headlines read, “Ex-missionary to get new mission on Pats—BYU Mormon center must protect passer” and “Matich’s new mission: Patriots.” The papers carried detailed accounts of Trevor’s missionary experiences in Mexico and couldn’t resist mentioning that they inspired him to be a “dedicated disciple of the work ethic.”
The Oates find people in New Jersey curious about Latter-day Saints too. They belong to a group of Christian athletes and their wives who meet regularly for Bible study and fellowship. “I was a little reluctant to go at first,” confides Michelle, “because our beliefs are so different from most other denominations. But I decided to take the time and go because they talk about leading a Christlike life, and I wanted to be associated with people who are interested in that.” More than once the Oates have had the opportunity to explain LDS beliefs to the group.
So life in the world of professional athletics goes on for these two ex-missionaries, but they’ll tell you it has a deeper dimension, a brighter sheen because they served. Giving up a few years in college seems like a small sacrifice when they consider all they got in return. Neither feels he would be in the position he is today if he hadn’t answered the missionary call.
Trevor speaks for both of them when he says, “The things that I learned and the changes that came about in me, as well as the changes I was able to be a part of in the lives of others, were something I’d trade all the football and all the pro contracts in the world for. My mission was a great influencing factor in my life.”

Dora Valencia, who had lain four years in the Ajax Ontario Hospital, mustered her courage and fulfilled the desire to attend. From her hospital bed, which was wheeled into the celestial room, she not only basked in the spirit found there, but she also helped to provide that spirit. As I walked past her, upon leaving the room, and gazed at her expression of profound gratitude to the Lord, I bent low and took her hand in mine. Heaven was very near.

When I was 13, my mother became very sick. She was diagnosed with a serious cancer in its last stage and was given six months to live. My father didn’t want us children to know, so I didn’t find out how sick she was until she had only a month left to live.
I wasn’t old enough to understand what was happening, and I hesitated to visit her in the hospital. My bishop encouraged me to bring her the sacrament, but I didn’t want to. I thought that she would come home soon. But my bishop persisted because he knew she didn’t have much time left.
When I finally went, my bishop blessed the sacrament, and I passed it to my mother. She was so sick that she didn’t talk much. But she told me, “Do not let go of the iron rod” (see 1 Nephi 8:19–20, 24, 30).
My mother soon passed away, but I remembered her parting words to me. Following her advice has blessed my life.

For weeks, Nauvoo had been buzzing with activity. Wagons clattered along frozen streets. People rushed to and fro carrying packages and carting barrels of food. Joseph Taylor knew he would not see this scene much longer. Soon, the Saints would be leaving their homes on the bank of the Mississippi River to travel west.
“Joseph, I need you to load the wagon,” his mother called from the kitchen.
Joseph had been avoiding this for days. He didn’t mind helping, but he knew that once the wagon was loaded, they’d have to leave.
A scratchy burlap sack tickled his face as he lifted it into the wagon’s shallow bed. His family had hardly even started packing, yet the wagon was almost full.
“Where are we putting everything else?” Joseph asked his mother as he picked up another sack in the kitchen.
“We’re only taking the necessities, Joseph,” his mother said. “I thought you understood that. There just isn’t enough room for everything.”
Joseph’s eyes started to fill with tears. It was bad enough leaving his comfortable home, but now they had to leave all of their favorite things too.
Joseph ran upstairs and into the toy room. It was his favorite part of the house. He had spent hours here imagining grand adventures while riding his wooden rocking horse that his father had carved for him. Joseph ran his hand over the horse and felt its golden mane of real horsehair. He realized that he would have to say good-bye to it forever.
On a frosty morning, Joseph’s family tied the canvas covering over their wagon and shut the door of their home for the last time. After inching their way through the snow, they boarded a ferry and pushed off to cross the icy river. Joseph watched as Nauvoo—and his beloved toy horse—slipped farther into the distance.
That night when the Saints set up camp, Joseph wrapped up in a quilt and warmed his hands over a fire. But nothing could help the cold ache in his heart.
Joseph’s father placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please tell me what’s wrong,” he said.
Joseph felt foolish. Everyone had left important things behind. “I miss my horse,” he said, starting to cry. “I love him so much, and I’ll never see him again.”
Joseph’s father pulled him close. “I understand,” he said. “You shouldn’t feel ashamed for missing something you love.”
When Joseph awoke the next morning, his father, who was an Apostle, had left to help some other families in need. Joseph gathered wood and fed the animals. He filled pots with ice from the creek so his mother could cook supper.
As the sun dipped below the horizon that evening, Joseph saw his father coming into camp. He looked exhausted. Ever since he had been injured at Carthage, he had needed to use a cane to help him walk. Today he was limping more than usual. His face was red from the cold, and there was snow on his jacket.
“But it hasn’t snowed all day,” Joseph thought. “Where has Father been?”
Then he saw it. Tied to his father’s horse was Joseph’s rocking horse. His father had ridden all the way back to Nauvoo, across the icy Mississippi River, and risked being caught by the angry mobs just to retrieve Joseph’s beloved horse.
“I think he’ll like going on this adventure to the West, don’t you?” his father asked as Joseph raced into his outstretched arms.

I’m grateful for the gift given to me of ears to hear. One of my great-grandfathers, John Bennion, walked or rode his horse from over Jordan to this place to hear his name called out to go on a mission to Dixie. His journal doesn’t say much, except just that the next day he prepared to go, and he went. His assignment was to be a sheepherder. In his journal there is a record of an evening in which he met with Erastus Snow. He said another man was in the room; his name was Henry Eyring. And somewhere in St. George that night was Bishop Miles Romney. They talked about sheep. And you might have thought they were talking about something temporal. But not to those men, because they knew they were God’s sheep, and they knew they were for God’s people. And they knew how to listen, and they knew how to do what they heard.
John Bennion went on another mission to Wales and back again to this valley. Henry Eyring went on to Colonia Juarez, as Miles Romney did. And they left for me a tradition which I deeply appreciate. They were the yeomen of the Church, the soldiers of the Church, and my great-grandfathers. You can’t find in their journals records of the positions they held, just of the instructions they heard, and knew were from God, and followed. I’m grateful to my parents who handed me that heritage undiminished. I’m grateful to my wife, who more than once has heard when I did not and gently said, “Would you pray about it?” If my sons and daughters will listen to her, and hear through her what God has in mind for them, we will pass the heritage on again.

Danny clutched his new sailboat tightly as he walked with his mother toward the pond in the park. Today he was going to sail his boat for the first time. Carefully he set it on the water. Then, holding onto a long string attached to the boat, he watched as a breeze caught the sail and moved the boat across the water.
On the other side of the pond, another boy was also watching the sailboat. Danny felt proud when he saw his sailboat skimming easily across the pond, and he wondered if the other boy wished that he had a sailboat too.
Before Danny realized it, the string attached to the boat slipped from his hand. He looked at his boat getting farther and farther from him. “Mom! Mom! My boat’s getting away!” he shouted.
“Don’t worry,” Mother said. “The wind will probably blow it back to where you can reach it.”
Danny waited, but the breeze stopped, and the sailboat just sat in the middle of the pond.
Suddenly the boy on the other side of the pond picked up some rocks and began throwing them into the water near the boat.
Danny ran to the water’s edge and yelled. “Stop it! Stop it! You’re going to sink my boat!”
The boy ignored Danny and kept throwing rocks.
Danny’s eyes filled with tears as he watched his new boat moving wildly up and down in the splashing water. “Oh, Mother, I hate that boy. I hate him!” he cried.
Suddenly Danny realized that his boat was getting closer to the opposite shore. Finally the boy reached out with a stick and pulled the boat to him.
“Now he’s going to steal my boat!” Danny wailed.
The boy picked up the boat and ran around the pond. To Danny’s surprise, the boy handed him the sailboat.
“Hi. My name’s Bobby. I thought I could get your boat back for you by throwing rocks into the water and making the water ripple to move your boat.”
Danny felt his face get hot. He was sorry he had shouted at the boy, and he felt ashamed for saying he hated Bobby.
Danny smiled at the other boy and said, “Thanks, Bobby. Would you like a turn at sailing my boat? I just got it yesterday.”

Illustration by Chris Lyons
I was hesitant about joining the Church when my husband introduced it to me. He gave me a Book of Mormon, and after many lessons and nearly two years working with the missionaries, I was baptized in 2007. I struggled for a while after I became a member of the Church. I did not understand the importance of modern-day prophets. In my mind, a prophet had to be someone like Moses with his staff.
“Does the prophet speak to God?” I asked my husband.
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, the prophet speaks to God.”
“Then I am going to ask the Lord to tell the prophet to send me a letter saying this is Jesus Christ’s Church.”
“Oh no!” my husband said. “It doesn’t happen like that!”
I was determined.
“If the prophet speaks to the Lord, then the Lord will speak with the prophet, and he will send me a letter.”
At church one Sunday, a missionary handed me a DVD and asked me to watch it with my family. It contained the testimonies of the prophet and apostles. The first person to speak was President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008). I was impressed. He seemed sincere, and I felt he was telling the truth.
“See, this is your testimony of the prophet,” my husband said.
“No, I still want a letter from him,” I replied.
One night, the missionaries arrived at our home and handed me a magazine.
“We don’t know why, but we felt we should bring this to you,” they said. It was a copy of the October 2006 Liahona, still wrapped in plastic.
I opened it and found an article from President Hinckley addressed to new members of the Church. He said, “I leave this testimony, my blessing, and my love with each of you and my invitation to continue to be part of this great latter-day miracle that is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”1
I felt he was speaking directly to me. I was not even a member of the Church when this was published, but it had been saved for me. I know that the Lord hears our prayers and that He speaks to a living prophet today.

For many years, Faustina Antwi was living with the effects of a stroke, for which there was no cure. Her husband had taken her to many hospitals, but nothing was done to get her back on her feet. Many friends and acquaintances would often prescribe or suggest medicine to help her. Her husband and family felt as if they should buy everything that was suggested, whether they had the money for it or not. If they didn’t have the money, they would work to get it.
One day, she realized there is a peaceful and healing place called the temple. She wanted to go there. She discussed it with her husband, and even though her husband doesn’t go to Church, he believes in God. He told her to give it a try if that is where her faith was. She prepared herself and left for the temple.
It takes three and half to five and a half hours to travel from Twifo Praso to Accra. She arrived at the temple too late to go inside that day, so she slept nearby. Early the next morning, she entered the temple. She put her faith to work and prayed to her Heavenly Father to heal her from her stroke. She spent three days at the temple and on the last day of her visit, she could feel there was a change in her body.
She is now able to move the arm that had been affected by the stroke. Her mouth has improved, and she is able to speak to her friends at the temple and at home.
She knows Heavenly Father has healed her. She wishes the temple were closer so that she could go there every week. She wants to share her testimony of the temple so that it can strengthen others. She loves the Church and the Book of Mormon and knows they are true. She is thankful for a living prophet.
This testimony was shared by Faustina Antwi of the Twifo Praso District in the Cape Coast Coordinating Council during fast and testimony meeting and later told to Prince Baah for the Liahona Local Pages.

Konnichiwa! My name is Honoka, and I live in Chiba Prefecture, Japan. I like to play, jump rope, and draw. My dream is to be an illustrator someday. I was at school when a big earthquake happened.
When the earthquake hit, my first thoughts were, “This is scary!” and “I wonder if my family is OK.” I prayed in my heart that they would be safe and that people’s lives would be spared. Later I found out that none of my friends had been hurt. At that time, I felt that God had protected us. I know that God and Jesus live.

I should like to spend the few minutes I stand before you today to salute a group of people who have developed what I believe to be a Christlike characteristic, and that is the ability to “hang on.” At this very moment, there is a man, a good member of the Church, who hovers between life and death in a nearby hospital. In the last few weeks he has withstood crisis after crisis; and yet to the amazement of all, he still hangs on. I know not whether the Lord will ordain that he should ultimately live or die at this time, but I do know there is something noble about his tenacious fight for life and the desire to hang on. In the lives of each of us come these trials—trials of all kinds which shake us to the very core and cause us to explore to the very depths our ability to hang on.
I think of the person who, in the quiet of night, could not be persuaded to compromise virtue and decides instead to hang on, though the temptation is great.
I think of those who have withstood the test of many years, some of whom are confined and bedridden and who, in spite of the infirmities that age brings, will not give up. I see etched in the faces of these wonderful older people something of our pioneer heritage—lives so filled with determination and faith, lives so filled with the overcoming of adversity and trial that by their nature they simply can’t let go.
It reminds me of two trees that were close to my home when I was growing up. The one was a Russian olive and grew right in our yard. It was watered every time the lawn was watered, and in that kind of protected environment it grew to be a beautiful tree. Yet one night a tremendous wind came up. Trees all over town were blown down, and with them went our Russian olive. We had watered it so well that the roots did not have to reach down into the soil; and because they were so close to the surface, the tree toppled over.
The second tree withstood the gale. It was a tremendous cottonwood, which still stands in the lane just half a block from where I was born. This tree was in the fullness of its growth when I was a child. It has always stood by itself, completely exposed to the elements, with nothing but a ditch running by, which most of the time is dry. It is gnarled and tough, and its roots have had to sink deep in order to drink of the water of life; but because its roots were forced downward, it lives. I was out home the other day and noticed that most of the trees around this cottonwood are gone. But in all of its power and majesty, it still hangs on.
I see in many people this same kind of beauty. Adversity and trial have driven the roots of faith and testimony deep in order to tap the reservoir of spiritual strength that comes from such experiences. By nature they know how to stand and fight and hang on.
One person who has sunken deep the roots of faith and testimony because of the trials and affliction of years is the man whom we will sustain tomorrow as prophet, seer, and revelator. His branches can offer shade because his roots are deep.
My own mother and mother-in-law are characteristic of these kinds of people. One suffered a broken hip and the other underwent a severe sickness. But they have both fought back and, like so many others, are enjoying active, useful lives. When we as a family are with them, we draw strength from them and their ability to hang on in severe crises.
A few years ago, while on a mission tour in Europe, I was asked to interview a young man who was recently out and wanted to go home. He had not been away from home before in his life and he was homesick and in despair in a strange country. He had actually run away once, but had come back.
I had quite a conversation with this young man, and from my own missionary experience I knew something of the despair that can come into the life of a missionary when he first goes into the field and begins to make that initial adjustment. If he can just hang on through those early trials, then gradually he will get into the spirit of his mission and find the peace and joy that every missionary has a right to experience.
At first he was adamant in his desire to return home, but gradually the spirit of the conversation began to change. We talked about his call from a prophet. We talked about the love of his parents and their desire for him to stay and succeed. We talked about those he had been called among to teach, and finally I asked, “Elder, do your father and mother want you home?”
His answer was, “No.”
“Well, do your brothers and sisters want you home?”
And he said, “No.”
Then I said, “Does your girl friend really want you home?”
And he said, “I guess not.”
I then said, “Elder, does anyone want you home right now?”
He said, “I guess not,” and then he said with a new determination, “Brother Dunn, I think maybe I better try to stay.” He had made a vitally important decision in his life—he had decided to hang on.
The months passed and one day my secretary asked if I could take a minute to see a recently returned missionary. As I walked out of my office, there was this same missionary. I didn’t recognize him at first, he seemed taller because he was standing straight. Unlike the first time, he looked me right in the eye, and his whole countenance was smiling. I can’t remember what we talked about, but I shall never forget his image. He was going home now, a servant of the Lord, having completed an honorable mission. His roots were reaching downward; and although there will be the usual trials ahead, he knows something of what it means to hang on for a while longer when everything looks its darkest.
I don’t know all the reasons the Lord tries us in this life, but there are two or three that come to mind. First, I think he wants to know whom he can trust. The Lord found he could trust Abraham because he was willing to offer his own son as a sacrifice if that was what the Lord wanted. Many thought that Zion’s Camp was a tragic waste of time, until it was later demonstrated that the Lord used this ordeal to find whom he could trust. He wanted to know who had roots of faith and testimony that reached deep into the ground and who had such shallow roots that the first wind of adversity would blow them over.
Secondly, the Lord tells us in the Doctrine and Covenants section 122 that adversity came to Joseph Smith to give him experience. There is something about the eternal purpose of life that requires us to meet and experience trial and sorrow as we seek to overcome, for the Lord has told us also, “… for if they never should have bitter they could not know the sweet. …” (D&C 29:39.)
Thirdly, I believe that only through such experiences can a person develop true charity. And I mean by charity the pure love of Christ.
Let me read the following from Moroni in the Book of Mormon: “… if a man be meek and lowly in heart, and confesses by the power of the Holy Ghost that Jesus is the Christ, he must needs have charity; for if he have not charity he is nothing; wherefore he must needs have charity.
“And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
“Wherefore, my beloved brethren, if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth. Wherefore, cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail—
“But charity is the pure love of Christ. …” (Moro. 7:44–47. Italics added.)
May I say then to those who are now or will be facing deep trials: May the Lord bless you that you may continue to hang on. There is purpose in it all, and he has promised us that the severity of it all will not be greater than we can endure, for as the words of the song tell us:
“When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply.
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.”
(“How Firm a Foundation,” LDS Hymns, no. 66.)
And finally this promise from the Master: “And again, be patient in tribulation until I come; and, behold, I come quickly, and my reward is with me, and they who have sought me early shall find rest to their souls. …” (D&C 54:10.) In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Or choir member Kathleen Mickelsen’s experience—an experience repeated in one form or another night after night for many choir members, but this one occurred in St. Petersburg (then known as Leningrad): “Halfway through the concert, my eyes were drawn to a woman in the audience—and I noticed her eyes were drawn to me. She just melted at our singing of ‘Love So Amazing, So Divine,’ a song about Christ on the cross. We kept looking at each other through the rest of the concert—and I sang the songs as my testimony to her with all my heart.” After the final encore, while the choir members waved to the audience as they filed offstage, the woman and Kathleen forged their way through the crowd to meet, embrace, and emotionally communicate—through words, if possible, though language barriers generally made that difficult. If not, they would speak through tears, long, warm handclasps, and soulful expressions of “thank you” indigenous to each language and nation.

“Alex, it’s time to go to speech therapy,” Miss Jenkins said.
Alex ducked his head. Speech therapy was a special class he went to. He had trouble saying some words and sounds. So he had to practice them in speech class a few times a week. Every time he left his regular class, he felt so embarrassed!
He looked up at his teacher. “Could I skip it?” he whispered. “Just for today?”
Today, Mr. Timmons was coming to Alex’s class to talk about dinosaurs. Mr. Timmons worked at a museum with lots of cool dinosaur bones. He was even going to bring a bone that was thousands of years old! Alex didn’t want to miss out.
Miss Jenkins smiled. “You still need to go to your speech class. But you might get back in time for the last part of Mr. Timmons’s talk.”
Alex tried to smile back, but he couldn’t. He slowly walked to the speech therapy classroom. In class they practiced saying the same sound over and over. Learning about dinosaurs would have been more fun.
“I hate saying these stupid sounds,” he told his speech therapy teacher. “I feel like such a baby.”
“You’re not a baby at all,” she said. “We all need a little extra help sometimes. Did you know that I went to speech therapy when I was your age?”
That made Alex feel a little better. He worked hard for the rest of the class to practice his sounds.
When Alex got back to Miss Jenkins’s classroom, he saw his friend Courtney leaving.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
Courtney looked down. “I’m having trouble with reading. I have to go to a special reading class.” Courtney looked embarrassed.
“Hey, it’s all right,” Alex said. “I just got back from my speech class. I spent the whole time making the same sound over and over.” He scrunched up his nose.
“You did?”
He nodded. “I’ve been going to speech therapy for the last two years.”
“How come I didn’t know?” she asked.
Alex shrugged. “I never told anyone. I was afraid they would make fun of me.”
“I would never make fun of you,” Courtney said. “I’m glad you made it back in time to see the dinosaur bone. It’s really cool!” She waved. “I’ve got to go. See you later.”
Soon Alex found out that he and Courtney weren’t the only ones who went to other classes. Tommy went to a class to help him learn better social skills. And Bekah worked with a special teacher to help her arm get stronger after she hurt it.
Now Alex didn’t feel so bad about his speech class. He wanted to help the other kids feel better too. He practiced reading with Courtney and talked to Tommy at lunch. Everyone needed a little extra help sometimes, and that was OK!
This story took place in the USA.

“Why are you wearing your Sunday clothes, Ashley?” her mother asked as she stepped into her seven-year-old daughter’s room. “We’re just going to the cemetery to put flowers on Grandpa’s grave, honey.”
As she slipped into her shiny black shoes, Ashley looked up at her mother. “Grandpa Eli is not a ‘just,’ Mama. He’s Grandpa Eli. That makes him someone in particular. Besides, he’s a child of God—that has to take the just right out of it, doesn’t it?”
Mama smiled warmly at her daughter’s understanding. “That it does. You know,” she added, “for such a young lady, you sure have a handle on things.”
Ashley grunted as she tried to collect their big old cat in her arms and lift him off her bed. “I wish Mister Worthington had a handle. He’d be a lot easier to carry!”
While at the cemetery, Ashley noticed an elderly woman not far away, sitting on the grass in front of a tombstone. She was pulling out the crabgrass that was climbing up its base. As she studied the white-haired lady in the leafy swirl of soft sunlight, Ashley thought that she’d never seen so much loneliness bunched up on a single face. She seems more weighed down by it than by all her years stacked up together.
Ashley looked at the flower that Mama had given her to place in the vase at the foot of Grandpa Eli’s grave. The vase is already filled with fresh flowers, she decided. Grandpa wouldn’t mind if … She looked again at the old woman, then at her parents. “Mama? Daddy? May I go talk to that lady for a minute?”
“Why, honey?” her mother asked curiously. “Do you know her?”
“No.”
“Sometimes people like to be alone, pumpkin,” her father warned. “It wouldn’t be right to impose on her privacy.”
“Sometimes some people are too alone, Daddy,” Ashley coaxed. “And I think she’s one of them.”
Ashley’s parents looked at the woman. “She does look pretty sad and lonely all right,” Daddy agreed. He glanced at Mama, who nodded. “I guess it will be all right for a minute, pumpkin. Then we want you to come right back, is that understood?”
Ashley smiled. “Yep.”
The elderly woman felt a shadow pass over her. She looked up into the face of a small girl.
“Hello. My name is Ashley Donohue.”
A frail smile fell across the old woman’s face.
Ashley held out her flower. “Here.”
“That’s quite all right, young lady,” the elderly woman quavered. She pointed to a jar of fresh flowers next to the headstone. “As you can see, I have quite enough.”
“Oh, it isn’t for … for …” Ashley’s voice trailed off.
“Mr. Blakely, honey. He was my husband.”
“Oh. Uh, well,” Ashley stammered out. “The flower isn’t for him—it’s for you.”
“For me? But I’m no one to you, dear. I’m just an old—”
“You’re someone to God,” Ashley broke in. “So that means you’re not a just. It means you’re someone in particular. And you have a name, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, of course. My name is Nora. Nora Blakely.”
Ashley held out the flower closer to the elderly woman. “Everyone with a name is someone in particular, don’t you think so, Mrs. Blakely?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Mrs. Blakely acknowledged with a smile.
Ashley smiled back as a wrinkled, quivering hand reached out and accepted the flower.
“How do you know I’m someone to God, young lady?”
“Do you have any children, Mrs. Blakely?”
“Yes. Well, at least I did. Two sons.” Mrs. Blakely’s voice faltered. “They both died in a war. They’re buried west of here, in a military cemetery.”
“I bet you loved them bunches and bunches, didn’t you?”
“Oh yes,” the old voice was stronger now. “Very, very much. They were, and still are, most important to me. As is my husband here. Eugene and I were married for sixty-three years, you know,” she added, her eyes glowing like two little stones in sunlit water.
“Well, just like you love your children, Heavenly Father loves you, Mrs. Blakely. Because you are one of His children. So am I, and so is everybody else. Except Mr. Worthington. He’s our cat. But he’s still important, because he’s someone in particular, too.”
“I’m sure he is,” Mrs. Blakely chuckled.
Over by Grandpa Eli’s grave, Ashley’s father shook his head. “Well, I’ll be—would you look at that!”
Mama looked over her shoulder. The old woman was laughing and hugging Ashley, who was laughing and hugging her back. A moment later, the girl skipped over to her parents, then turned and waved to the elderly woman—who was heartily returning the wave with a smile as big as the red and gold autumn around them.
“What did you talk to her about?” Daddy asked as they started back toward the car.
“Oh,” Ashley teased, “stuff. “Important stuff,” she added as she skipped on ahead.
“If it was anything like what she told me this morning in her room,” Mama said, catching up to her husband, “it’s just that.”
“Just what?”
Mama squeezed his hand. “Important stuff.”

Corey remembers being 11 or so when his cousin died of cancer. He was at his funeral and struggling with questions. Why did this have to happen? He was a good kid who was strong in the gospel. Why did he have to die? His family knew they would be together again, but the loss made them so sad.
“I didn’t understand why he was taken from us. Then I heard a small voice that said, ‘I need him here.’ It was still a hard thing, but I felt better. After that experience I know that the Lord answers my prayers. That was the beginning of my testimony.”