Gospel Story Finder

I used to work at a camp where I helped campers rappel (or abseil) down a 100-foot cliff, a difficult and terrifying task for some. Most of them struggle with it for one reason: they lack trust. When rappelling, you need to trust your partners, the gear, the rope, the belay, and the carabineer. But most importantly, you need to trust yourself—or nothing can be accomplished.
Many people who approach the cliff come with wide eyes and shaking hands. But before they can scramble away in fear, I look at them and say, “Everything will be OK. I know you can do this. And I’m holding you up the whole way.” And when they make it to the ground, everyone cheers and hugs them, celebrating that they were able to conquer their fears.

Some years ago a fire erupted in the middle of the night and completely destroyed a family’s home. A neighbor came by to console a seven-year-old, not knowing that he was about to be taught a great principle. “Johnny, it’s sure too bad your home burned down.” Johnny thought a moment and then said, “Oh, that’s where you’re mistaken, Mr. Brown. That was not our home; that was just our house. We still have our home, we just don’t have any place to put it right now.”

My family strives to come to know Christ through service. Every Christmas season, we “send the star around.” Whoever has the star does a secret service for a member of the family and at the same time leaves the little gold wooden star with that person.
I have found that our home is filled with a wonderful spirit when we constantly show our love to each other. The spirit of service is valuable far beyond presents and money.

Nellie’s father died on October 22, 1856, from hunger and exposure to the cold. Five days later her mother died too. Graves could be dug only in the snow because the early winter had frozen the ground. Nellie and Maggie wearily and sadly walked on alone. They watched as more of the company died and the weather’s cold fierceness strengthened.
One day as Nellie and her sister made their way at the head of the group, two men appeared and motioned for them to come closer. At first the girls refused but soon decided that the men meant no harm. The men gave Nellie some money and instructed her to buy something to put on her feet at the trappers’ trading post they were nearing. Nellie gratefully accepted the money and the chance to cover her bare feet, which had long since grown numb with cold.
In Salt Lake City, President Brigham Young had called for volunteers to meet the handcart company on the plains. When the volunteers finally reached the company, near Laramie, Wyoming, they found the pitiful group nearly buried by the snow. Nellie’s feet were badly frozen. The rescue party gathered her and the remaining members of the company into their wagons and returned to Salt Lake, arriving on November 30.
Nearly everyone in the handcart company had endured painfully frozen feet, hands, and ears and had witnessed the deaths of family members and friends. The doctor had to amputate Nellie’s feet. There was no skin to cushion the bone, so she was left with throbbing sores that never healed.
Nellie and her sister eventually moved south from the Salt Lake Valley to Cedar City. Here Nellie married William Unthank and reared their six children. With a leather apron slid under her damaged legs, Nellie crawled about their small home on her knees, keeping it spotless.
Nellie willingly worked at whatever she could to help provide for her family. Along with other jobs, she took in other people’s clothes to wash, and made articles to sell to add to the family income. If anyone offered food or assistance, she insisted on repaying the favor. As a way of showing gratitude, she gathered her children once a year to clean the church meetinghouse. While the boys carried water, the girls washed windows, and Nellie scrubbed the floors.
William carved wooden “cup feet” for Nellie, but they only irritated her never-healing stumps. Later, through donations, wooden legs were given to Nellie, but these she only wore on special occasions, because they added to her constant pain.
Despite poverty and pain, Nellie rarely complained. She had come to know her Heavenly Father in her sufferings. From the shoes provided for her bare feet, the carriage sent when she couldn’t go on, help given to her through a lifetime of affliction, Nellie Pucell Unthank knew she could count on the Lord.

During the second match of his senior season, middle blocker Mark Fletcher of Desert Vista High School in Phoenix, Arizona, leaped high into the air, just as he had in so many volleyball games before. But this time when he landed, something went horribly wrong.
“You could hear the bone snap,” he recalls. “There was no question my leg was broken.” He had suffered a near compound fracture of the tibia and shattered the fibula in his leg. The next two weeks were filled with heartache, both in the hospital and then recovering at home. “I kept thinking about the years of practice and training, the hopes for a winning season,” he says. “It was tough.”
His father read two scriptures to him, Doctrine & Covenants 121:7 and 122:7, and told him that this would give him experience and be for his good. Mark also remembered reading in 2 Nephi 2:11 that there must be opposition in all things. “I figured something good could come out of this, so I might as well figure out what it was.” The answer was to focus on helping others rather than wondering why he had been hurt himself.
Coach Ryan Tolman, who is also a Latter-day Saint, kept Mark practicing with the team daily and assigned him to work with younger players, who could benefit from his experience. Call it service of a different kind. Team members adjusted by playing in different positions; Mark adjusted by offering encouragement. Even though the season didn’t turn out as great as everyone had hoped, Desert Vista still qualified for the playoffs.
As the last home match approached, Coach Tolman asked Mark to serve the first serve. With a pin in his leg but strong enough to participate, Mark practiced over and over. “I didn’t want to just hit it into the net,” he explains. “I was praying the whole time.”
When the game began, he limped to the line and then hit the ball so precisely the other team couldn’t return it. The coach left him in. Mark couldn’t move around the court, so his teammates had to cover balls that came his way. With the score 9-0, Mark finally lost service and left to a standing ovation. He limped to the bench and continued to cheer for his team.
Three weeks later, Desert Vista High School won the state championship, the lowest-seeded team ever to do so. In the official photo, teammates asked Mark to hold the trophy. Then at the annual awards ceremony, the coach announced a new award to be given each year in Mark’s honor: the Teammate Award, presented to the player who exemplifies courage, dedication, and team spirit.
Today, Mark is serving full-time in the Brazil Manaus Mission. “What I learned in volleyball was that the scriptures are true,” he concludes. “Without misery, you don’t know happiness. So if life hands you something bitter, look for a way to make it sweet.”
Mark Fletcher and his brother, Matt, were featured in the article “Brothers” in the May 2007 New Era.

There is another way we can let our lights shine. Elder Henry B. Eyring said he never told one of his friends about the gospel. One day, he heard that his friend had died. Elder Eyring sometimes wonders if he will meet his friend in heaven and his friend will say, “You knew. Why didn’t you tell me?” Now Elder Eyring shares his testimony with people all over the world. (See “A Voice of Warning,” Liahona, January 1999, 37–40.) When we share the gospel with others, we are letting our lights shine.

Brother Thomas Rice recently stood up in a fast and testimony meeting and said, “I am the richest man in the world and it is all because of a young girl in our neighborhood who invited our daughter to go to Primary with her. On many Saturday mornings this girl even came to our home and helped rouse Becky from her bed and then helped her to get ready for Primary.
“A short time after Becky started attending Primary, two missionaries visited our home and presented the discussions to our family. We had been active in another church when we lived in Pennsylvania, but after moving to Ohio we had not found a Church we wanted to attend.
“During our meetings with the missionaries, the gospel plan unraveled before our eyes and soon we had a testimony of its truthfulness.
“Whenever I see that young girl who first invited our Becky to Primary, I want to put my arms around her and tell her how much we love and thank her for making possible our membership in the Church. Our family has realized many rich blessings through temple marriage, missionary service, and calls to serve in positions in the ward and stake.”

President Russell M. Nelson, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke about how the Sabbath day blessed his life as a young professional: “I first found delight in the Sabbath many years ago when, as a busy surgeon, I knew that the Sabbath became a day for personal healing. By the end of each week, my hands were sore from repeatedly scrubbing them with soap, water, and a bristle brush. I also needed a breather from the burden of a demanding profession. Sunday provided much-needed relief.”1

Brother William and Sister Johanna Buckley are converts to the Church and live on the island of Aruba. Years ago, when they were investigating the Church, they became friends with Sister Ana St. Cyr and her four-year-old grandson, Ralph, who attended the Oranjestad, Aruba branch. These two were the only members of the Church in their family and the only Haitian members of the branch. As the Buckleys integrated into the branch they found special joy in watching young Ralph’s testimony and spirituality develop.
In John 4:13–14, Jesus says to the Samarian woman at the well, “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again:
“But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”
It was apparent that Sister St. Cyr and little Ralph had allowed those everlasting waters to spring up within them.
Like the Samarian women who went off to share the good news, Ralph did the same. In 2018, Ralph Desir was called to serve in the Vanuatu Port Vila Mission where he had the opportunity to share the everlasting waters of the Savior, Jesus Christ. He was blessed with many companions from diverse cultures, lived in eight different places, and learned Bislama, the native language of Vanuatu, which helped him to effectively create relationships with the people.
Elder Desir was blessed to see the gospel of Jesus Christ strengthen the people he taught as they overcame the challenges in their lives. Upon completion of his mission, he testifies of the truthfulness of the power of everlasting waters and knows how to allow those waters to continue to bless his own life and the lives of others.
Brother Desir testifies that “serving a mission was the best decision that I have made in my life. I have learned to be like the Savior and teach the gospel by example in all things. I love the gospel with all my heart, and I wouldn’t exchange my mission experiences for anything. One of the reasons I served a mission was because I knew how much it would bless my family and how much joy it would bring to my own life.”
Since returning from his mission, Brother Desir has served as first counselor in the San Nicolas Branch presidency, Aruba, and as a delegation leader for the Aruba, Bonaire, Curacao District that attended the youth conference in the Dominican Republic in 2022. He is now serving as branch secretary. He uses his proficiency in the Dutch, Spanish, English, Papiamento, and French Creole languages to continue to bless lives in Aruba and elsewhere.
Brother and Sister Buckley have followed Brother Desir’s example and are now serving in the ABC district as church communication directors. They continue to enjoy watching him grow and share the gospel.

I am a missionary recovering from an accident and am in the Royal Perth Hospital in Western Australia. I began to feel quite alone and separated from missionary work until one of the nurses who is a Mormon brought some New Eras for me to read. All I can say is thank you for the spiritual nourishment this special magazine provides. It has given me an extra incentive to convert the youth of Australia and bring them to a realization of the eternal truths embodied in this latter-day literature. Days in the hospital aren’t so mundane now!
Elder Anthony WellerAustralia Perth Mission

“May I see you a moment, sir?” The shabby naval officer opened his eyes wide in surprise at the young man who had called to him. One reason for his surprise was that the boy was tall and healthy—a rare sight aboard the prison ship Jersey. The Jersey, anchored off Long Island, was the terror of American seamen during the American Revolution.
Another reason for the officer’s surprise was that the young man was black. The British usually sold black prisoners-of-war as slaves in the West Indies rather than hold them prisoner.
“What can I do for you?” the officer asked curiously. “I’m due to get off this old hulk tomorrow morning. I’ve some arrangements to make.”
“That’s what I wanted to see you about,” James Forten replied. “Do you need help carrying your things to the American ship tomorrow? I’m one of the few able-bodied sailors left on this ship, and I’m willing to work.”
The officer smiled. “Yes, I could use some help. I’ve a heavy sea chest and some other things.” He paused. “But I have nothing to give you in return for your help.”
“Oh, but you do, sir.” The young man glanced cautiously around him. “I want to escape,” he whispered, “hidden in your sea chest.”
The officer stared. No one escaped from the Jersey unless he were wrapped in a shroud and buried at sea. “All right! You may use the sea chest. But you’re on your own. I can’t be caught helping anyone escape. I’d hang for it.”
“Leave it to me, sir,” the boy answered. The light in his eyes shone even brighter than before.
The officer turned to go below. Then he looked back. “Good luck to you,” he whispered.
Just then Commander Sproat appeared. “I’ll have no idle chatter aboard this craft!” he snarled at James. “Get below and check for bodies. Bring up any sick men you find.”
All the men hated David Sproat. Under his tyranny, more than eleven thousand men died during the three years the Jersey was used as a floating prison.
The tall black boy disappeared below deck. Sproat scowled. There was too much zest in the fellow’s stride for his liking.
James had then been placed on the Jersey. It was a fate preferable to slavery, James felt. At least on the Jersey he might have a chance of returning to his home in Philadelphia. Now the opportunity he had been waiting for had arisen.
James searched the hold of the wretched ship for men who had not survived the night. To his relief, there were none. Then, looking for sick men to help to the deck, he found his friend Daniel Brewton, former ship’s boy on the Royal Louis.
In the sunlight on deck, James saw that Daniel’s eyes were glazed. His body was covered with sores, and his sunken face was pale. With a horrible feeling, James realized that Daniel was dying. Unless …
James tried to thrust the thought from him. He’d made his plans. He would not spend another night on the Jersey!
“James,” Daniel whispered. “Would you get me some water?”
James scooped up a dipperful of the thick, almost-green water from its cask. Daniel choked down the liquid and lay down again with a shudder.
The next morning, Daniel Brewton escaped in the officer’s sea chest and returned to his home in Philadelphia to recover. James was finally released from the Jersey almost three months later.

On a vacation, I was traveling by ship down the Volga River in Russia, far from any LDS chapel. That Sunday I had planned to read the Book of Mormon alone in my cabin.
My plans changed when I found out the ship was leased for summer tours to a Latter-day Saint family. With permission from their Church leaders, they had scheduled a worship service for LDS passengers, including several Russian Latter-day Saints traveling on the ship. I was asked to bless the sacrament. I wondered if I would bless the sacrament alone and if I would be the only teenager there. I hoped not.
Later that morning when I entered the music salon where the meeting would be held, my anxious heart quieted as I saw other young men in ties and young women in dresses. I looked around for something resembling a sacrament table. To my right, I noticed that a white tablecloth from the dining hall had been spread over the piano bench. The bread and water trays sat on the white linen. The brother who had asked me to bless the sacrament introduced me to a young man.
“This is Sergei,” he said. “He will bless with you.”
Sergei, from Moscow, had just completed his service in the militia. He had met two missionaries in the subway. That eventually led to his baptism.
“Dobray Dien!” I said, practicing what little Russian I had learned.
“Dobray Dien,” he responded with a chuckle.
“Minyah Savoot, William,” I said, introducing myself.
“Minyah Savoot, Sergei.”
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
“A little.”
He pulled out a sheet of paper—tattered from use—and unfolded it. It contained LDS religious terms with their definitions. He pointed to the word sacrament as if to communicate our role in the worship service. I nodded. He next pointed to the word bread and then to himself.
“Me?” he asked.
Then he pointed to the word water and then pointed to me, I understood. He would bless the bread. I would bless the water.
“Da,” I said in Russian, agreeing with his plan.
The music began, and a young man, Vladimir, led the congregation in “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” The curtains of the room had been drawn aside, and through the windows we saw a panoramic view of Russia’s countryside.
Sergei’s copy of the Book of Mormon was well used. He thumbed through its pages for the sacrament prayer.
We stood and broke the homemade Russian sourdough bread. I could hear the congregation singing “I Stand All Amazed,” half singing in Russian and the other half in English. No one had hymnbooks, so we sang from memory. I was impressed to hear the combination of Russian and English as if our voices were creating a new language.
When the hymn ended, I knelt with Sergei. As we knelt on the floor, I could feel a slight rocking of the ship. The congregation bowed their heads. Sergei began saying the prayer in Russian.
I felt the Spirit of God enter my heart and burn through my chest. Here we were, Sergei and I, on a ship far from our homes and families, two people from different continents and speaking different languages—but feeling the same Spirit. I understood the words he spoke, clearly and peacefully. I felt solemnity fill my mind.
After wiping a few tears from my eyes, I stood with Sergei. We passed the bread trays to three young priesthood holders, who then passed the bread to the congregation.
A few minutes later, I blessed the water in English, saying the prayer with more conviction than ever before. I felt as if I were actually speaking to the Lord. My heart swelled with joy as I said amen and stood to serve the water trays.
That day, Sergei and I had come together to do the Lord’s work. We had blessed the emblems Christ instituted just before his death and sacrifice. Sergei had spoken Russian. I had spoken English. But for all of us who were present, the language spoken was the Spirit.

It was a hot, uncomfortable day, and the heat sapped both my strength and my patience. My job at the checkout counter at a grocery store was about to begin for the evening, and as I sat watching the minute hand of the clock ticking away, the soft, cool air in the store did not make me feel better. Ten more minutes, I thought, and I need to be ready to get to work.
My thoughts were interrupted by the store manager calling over the loud-speaker system, “Kathleen, come to the courtesy booth!”
As I approached the front of the store, a customer asked me where the flour was. I pointed her in the right direction with a smile, but my mind was still grumpy. Lady, let me have five more minutes to myself. Generally, I enjoyed seeing and talking to the customers. They make my job enjoyable—on days I didn’t feel on edge. I could see this was going to be a long evening.
At the courtesy booth, I received the money for my cash register, checked it, and was assigned to the express check stand lane.
Oh, dear! I disliked that check stand. It was meant for customers with eight grocery items or less, but someone was always trying to get by with more than eight items or taking too long to write out a check. What a night this will be!
I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I could hardly smile. I’d worked with the public for years—smile, say hello—even when I didn’t feel like it. One almost has to be an actress in this business.
As the night wore on and the customers came and went, my mood began to get better. I thought I might survive the evening. Just then, I saw old Mr. Smith shuffle through the line. “Hello, Mr. Smith. How are you?” I managed to say pleasantly. I was even able to smile at him and almost be sincere. He proceeded to tell me how he was as he fumbled to get his wallet out of his back pocket and I entered the price of his purchases on the cash register.
Come on, I thought. This is taking too long! I told him I hoped his wife would be well soon. The line behind him got longer. With shaking hands, he got his checkbook out. Oh, great, a check. He asked me to write it out for him. “I’ll be glad to,” I responded in my best voice. As I hurriedly wrote the check, he fumbled through everything in his wallet, looking for identification.
Don’t look exasperated, I told myself. Finally he found his identification, and I copied what I needed onto the check. I thanked him and told him good-bye. He smiled and wished me good day as he walked away.
Now what are all these other people going to say about being delayed by that old man? I wondered. The next man in line said, “Hi.”
“Hello,” I replied, and after making sure Mr. Smith was far enough away, I said that I was sorry everyone had had to wait.
He smiled and said, “I just hope you’re around to help me when I get to be his age.”
His statement changed my whole night. What a lesson he taught me! I had controlled my emotions and smiled because I was paid to, not because I had love or compassion in my heart. But this man had forbearance toward the faults and infirmities of others because he wanted to. His reaction had also made a difference in the attitude of those behind him in line. Their foot stamping and fidgeting had been replaced with smiles and patience.
When you are irritated, tired, and out of patience, it lightens the heart to take a minute to think how you would want to be treated. Then turn it around and treat others that way.

With Kelly’s family members being some of her greatest friends, they also help fill in gaps when other friendships hit bumpy patches. For example, there aren’t a lot of Church members where Kelly lives. Sometimes the difference in values between Kelly and her friends has been a challenge for her.

“When I was younger, I kind of got lost in what my friends wanted me to be,” she says. “But reading the scriptures and praying helped. I also turned to my family.

“One time I asked my friends to change their bad music, but that didn’t really work. They just said, ‘If you don’t like it, go home.’ So I prayed and asked Heavenly Father what I should do. He told me to call my parents and go home.”

This story happened in Ghana.
I am a child of God, and He has sent me here …
You have a loud voice, Eric.
I think it’s a nice voice.
Thanks! I want to learn to sing better.
The next week …
I have a gift for you. It’s a hymnbook so you can learn more Church songs.
Wow! Thank you.
Teach me to walk in the light of His love …
Hope of Israel, rise in might! With the sword of truth and light …
Sister Kaku just called. She asked if you two wanted to sing in the choir for stake conference.
Yes!
We’re so happy you are in our choir!
Thanks!
We love to sing about Jesus.
You did a great job.
Singing makes me happy. I think it makes Jesus happy too!
“For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me” (Doctrine and Covenants 25:12).
Illustrations by Jared Beckstrand

When I was 16, my seemingly healthy, vigorous 41-year-old father dropped dead while water skiing. As you can imagine, this was a shocking event in my life and caused me much anguish. Why did this happen? This event was cause for considerable reflection and much prayer as I struggled to set my own course. A few months later, standing on the newly grown grass over his grave at the Ogden, Utah, cemetery, I decided several important matters:
One, that I would always keep the Word of Wisdom.
Two, that I would serve a mission.
Three, that I would always make him proud that I was his son.
Four, that I would strive to be successful as he was.
Five, that I would always be active in the Church.
Six, that I would marry someone in the temple as fine as my mother.
These were simple yet life-defining decisions. They were as indelible as the words carved on my father’s headstone, for my resolve was, in effect, carved in stone—unalterable and resolute. I had “decided to decide.”

It was Friday morning, June 28, 1844, and already the summer sun was hot in Illinois. Since about eight o’clock that morning Dr. Willard Richards, Samuel H. Smith, and nine others had plodded along the dusty road between Carthage and Nauvoo, Illinois. Moving along the road with the solemn procession were two wagons heaped with bushes to protect their cargo from the blistering heat of the sun.
Laid out on the wagons were the lifeless bodies of Joseph Smith, age thirty-eight, over six feet tall, and Hyrum, his brother, age forty-four, and even larger in stature than Joseph. Wearily, Dr. Richards and Samuel Smith, brother to the two murdered men, pressed toward Nauvoo and talked of the events just the day before during which Joseph and Hyrum were gunned down by an armed mob with painted faces. The two victims, along with Dr. Richards and John Taylor, were lodged in Carthage Jail, supposedly for their protection, when the mob, numbering from 150 to 200 marauders, stormed the jail and shot to death their intended victims.
Word of the deaths had already reached Nauvoo, headquarters city for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As the wagons and their foot-weary guardians entered the city, several thousand citizens greeted the procession with the most solemn lamentations and mourning.
The bloodied bodies were tenderly removed from the wagons at the Nauvoo Mansion and were carefully washed from head to foot. The various wounds were filled with cotton, soaked in camphor, and death masks were impressed on each face. Fine, plain clothing was then placed on each body. When these preparations were completed, the bodies were viewed that night by the bereaved widows and children of the two men, along with many of their closest associates. Then on Saturday, more than ten thousand mourning Saints viewed the remains of their beloved Prophet Joseph and his brother, the Patriarch Hyrum. The bodies were then secretly and lovingly buried. (See History of the Church, 6:614–31.)

About 15 miles north of Elko, Nevada, is a stretch of highway dotted with signs warning motorists not to pick up hitchhikers because of a prison facility nearby. To four college students traveling from Provo, Utah, to San Francisco, these signs were a bit unsettling. My roommates and I were certainly glad to cruise by them on our way to California’s Bay Area for Thanksgiving weekend. We didn’t think twice about the signs until four days later on our way back to Provo. It was then that our car suddenly stopped precisely 10 yards north of one of those ominous blue signs.
Our first instincts were to flag down another car and ask for a ride back to Elko. But images of escaped convicts kept us locked inside the car. It was four in the afternoon, it was snowing, and it would definitely be dark and very cold within the hour. We needed help fast but were too afraid to even get out of the car. We offered a short prayer, and 30 minutes later a man driving a snowplow stopped and radioed the police for us. A young officer piled us into his car, called a tow truck, and dropped us off at a motel in Elko.
We soon got over our fears and realized how blessed we were to get off the highway unharmed and be in a safe, warm motel room. Our only problem now was getting back to Provo. Each of us dialed home collect, expecting that our parents would wire money for bus tickets or a rental car. We were surprised when each set of parents immediately offered to drive to Elko and get us.
Even for the closest set of parents, this meant a three-hour drive to Elko and a four-hour drive back to Provo. It meant disrupting work schedules and finding baby-sitters for the other children. Eventually we decided that it would be best for Jenni’s mom and grandpa to drive down to get us. Relieved, we went to bed and expected to see Jenni’s mom by noon the next day.
Things didn’t go quite as planned. Overnight the snow storm had worsened, and the roads were terrible. Despite leaving Salt Lake City at 10:00 A.M., Jenni’s mom didn’t get to us until four that afternoon. The roads back were equally icy, and a typically four-hour drive took six hours. Still, Jenni’s mom and grandpa never uttered a word of complaint during the entire drive home. They were only happy to help and grateful that we would be home soon.
Unfortunately, our earthly parents are not always at the other end of the line when we call. Many parents cannot or will not answer their children’s cries. As I rode home from Elko in the safe confines of a warm van, I realized just how much my parents love me. Even more, I knew that my Heavenly Father would always help me. He does so without complaint, for He is happy just to know that I am on my way home and will soon be safe in His arms.

I recently attended the funeral for one of my boyhood friends. This brother was genetically challenged from birth. He could understand concepts quite well but could not read or write. His speech was limited to a very few identifiable words, along with a jargon all of his own. Some in our group could recognize a few words he spoke. However, we could usually tell from the tone of his words whether he was expressing his concerns or his great capacity to love. Much of Lynn’s early life was spent in a special school away from home. He spent his summers and many holidays at home with his family. For the past 17 years, Lynn, who outlived all of his family, lived in a care center where his many needs could best be met.
Upon Lynn’s death, one of his special friends arranged a funeral to be held in the meetinghouse we attended as boys. Present at the funeral were his dear friends, the staff from the care center, a few ward members who remembered him from many years ago, and about a dozen boyhood friends and their families. Several brethren who had stayed close to Lynn during his long, often lonesome stay at the care center offered tender remarks.
All of our memories were refreshed during the course of the service. One friend recalled that on one occasion our Sunday School teacher invited us to bear our testimonies in class. As he sequentially called upon us, he passed over Lynn, perhaps feeling he could not respond with understanding. With all the righteous indignation Lynn could muster, he let the teacher know he expected his opportunity to express himself. Though we didn’t understand much of what he said, we felt his love and the depth of a great spirit tragically locked in a body that could not fully function. The spirit in that class was very strong!
As the staff and the special friends from the care center expressed their unconditional love, it was very evident that Lynn, in his humble way, had reached out and touched their lives. During the course of the funeral, it was apparent that at least three of our boyhood friends and their families had reached out to minister to Lynn in ways that included regular visits, long automobile rides, invitations to dinners on special occasions, and birthday parties.
When the stories and recollections were complete, we all realized that our physically challenged, loving angel of a friend had given us and the wonderful compassionate families who reached out so often in love, far more of real value than he had ever received.

It was while I was on my first mission that I discovered the constant need for dependence on the Lord.

I was a young missionary in northern England in 1922. Opposition to the Church became very intense. It became so strong that the mission president asked that we discontinue all street meetings, and in some places tracting was also discontinued. The opposition started largely among the ministers, and it became very, very severe. They didn’t know anything about us to speak of. I remember tracting one day when a lovely lady came to the door. We were having a nice conversation and the name Mormon was mentioned by my companion. Her husband came to the door in a Navy uniform, and he said, “Oh, you can’t tell me anything about those old Mormons. I’ve been in the British Navy for twenty years. We sailed right into Salt Lake port, and they wouldn’t even let us land.” That was so typical of what they knew about us in those days.

My companion and I had been invited to travel over to South Shields, on the northwest coast, and speak in the sacrament meeting.

In the letter of invitation, we were promised there would be a number of nonmembers present. They said, “Many of our friends do not believe the lies that are printed about the Church.”

We fasted and prayed sincerely and went to the sacrament meeting. The hall was filled. My companion had planned to talk on the first principles, and I had studied hard in preparation for a talk on the Apostasy. There was a wonderful spirit in the meeting. My companion spoke first and gave an excellent inspirational message. I followed and talked with a freedom I had never before experienced in my life. When I sat down, I realized that I had not mentioned the Apostasy. I had talked about the Prophet Joseph Smith and had borne my witness of his divine mission and of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. I couldn’t hold back the tears.

After the meeting ended, many people came forward, several of whom were nonmembers, and said to us, “Tonight we received a witness that Mormonism is true. We are now ready to consider baptism.”

This was an answer to our prayers, for we had prayed to say only those things which would touch the hearts of the investigators.