Gospel Story Finder

That fall, while the printers made steady progress on the Book of Mormon, a former judge named Abner Cole began publishing a newspaper on Grandin’s press. Working at night in the shop, after Grandin’s staff went home, Abner had access to printed pages from the Book of Mormon, which was not yet bound or ready for sale.
Abner soon began poking fun at the “Gold Bible” in his newspaper, and during the winter he printed excerpts from the book alongside sarcastic commentary.11
When Hyrum and Oliver learned what Abner was doing, they confronted him. “What right have you to print the Book of Mormon in this way?” Hyrum demanded. “Do you not know that we have received a copyright?”
“It is none of your business,” Abner said. “I have hired the press and I will print what I please.”
“I forbid you to print any more of that book in your paper,” Hyrum said.
“I don’t care,” Abner said.
Unsure what to do, Hyrum and Oliver sent word to Joseph in Harmony, who returned to Palmyra at once. He found Abner at the printing office, casually reading his own newspaper.
“You seem hard at work,” Joseph said.
“How do you do, Mr. Smith,” Abner replied dryly.
“Mr. Cole,” Joseph said, “the Book of Mormon and the right of publishing it belong to me, and I forbid you meddling with it.”
Abner threw off his coat and pushed up his sleeves. “Do you want to fight, sir?” he barked, pounding his fists together. “If you want to fight, just come on.”
Joseph smiled. “You had better keep your coat on,” he said. “It’s cold, and I am not going to fight you.” He calmly continued, “But you have got to stop printing my book.”
“If you think you are the best man,” Abner said, “just pull off your coat and try it.”
“There is law,” Joseph responded, “and you will find that out if you did not know it before. But I shall not fight you, for that will do no good.”
Abner knew he was on the wrong side of the law. He calmed down and stopped printing excerpts from the Book of Mormon in his newspaper.12

by Ed Eaton
The huge Seattle Coliseum, built for the 1962 World’s Fair, proved too small for the 12-stake youth dance festival held there last spring. Nearly 2,400 young men and women from 96 wards filled the first several rows of the 14,000-seat coliseum as they awaited their turns to perform a variety of modern, folk, and conventional dances. The rest of the arena was packed with parents and friends who had first call on the free tickets.
When coordinator Susan Kinghorn of the Redmond Washington Stake and several ward specialists began planning the event, they anticipated about 800 youth, the number who had participated the last time such a large festival had been planned. But by opening night the number had swollen to 2,400 excited participants.
Elder James M. Paramore of the First Quorum of the Seventy addressed the youth during the first—and final—combined rehearsal. He spoke with them about personal commitment and pointed to the dedication President Kimball demonstrates in all he does.
“He decided early that his first commitment would be to the Lord,” said Elder Paramore. “There are no shortcuts.”
He also stressed President Kimball’s commitment to people, referring to the prophet’s frequent visits to the widows and the ill and the many letters he writes personally thanking people, “lifting them.”
“Commitment,” said Elder Paramore, “is doing what everyone else could do but doesn’t.”
Following the three-hour performance that night, Elder Paramore left his seat in the audience to join, arm-in-arm, with the youth as they sang, “I Am a Child of God.” It was an electric moment in the lives of the 14,000 members of the Church and their friends in the Seattle Coliseum.
Participating in the program were dancers from the Bellevue, Bremerton, Everett, Lynnwood, Federal Way, Puyallup, Mount Vernon, Redmond, Renton, Seattle, Seattle North, and Tacoma stakes in Washington.

After I got a concussion playing [American] football, I started having headaches daily. I had a hard time not focusing on the pain I was feeling. One day I felt an impression from the Holy Ghost that happiness doesn’t come from our circumstances but from our focus. I realized that my focus was always on my pain instead of the daily blessings I receive from God.
I started to wonder, what else was stopping me from growing spiritually? With a humble heart I asked Heavenly Father this question. I knew I could not come up with the right answer on my own, but our Heavenly Father has all of the answers.
The answer I received seemed very simple, but it was customized to what I needed: “Get out of bed and exercise again.” I started exercising despite the constant pain I felt. I found myself moving closer to God.
God has given me so much love. By exercising both physically and spiritually, I grow closer to Him. Being close to Heavenly Father is my biggest comfort and form of peace. When you take the sacrament, I invite you to focus on the spiritual growth you can make in the coming week. The Holy Ghost will give you the personal guidance you need.

A story that fascinated my young imagination in my teenage years is that of a rich man who owned a large orchard. He just had one problem. His children grew up at a time that his orchard had already made him rich. He had many servants and so the children did not need to do any hard work. He noticed that the children were not interested in the orchard. They considered working in the orchard to be the work of the servants. It was too hard and too boring for them. For the purposes of this article, I will refer to the story as the parable of the buried inheritance.
The rich man was concerned about the difficulties his children would likely face after his death if they continued in that attitude. So, one day, he gathered them and told them that he had written a will in which he would give each one of them a share of the treasure he had accumulated for their inheritance. He had sealed the will and they could only open it after his passing. So, there was great anticipation among the children after he passed away. Each one looked forward to taking their share of the inheritance and continuing to live lives full of ease and comfort with plenty to enjoy.
The day of discovering what was in the will finally came. In the will, he told them that he had secretly buried their inheritance in different places in the orchard. Each child’s share had their name on it. But it was up to them to find out the secret hiding place where he had buried it. The only way to do it was to dig up the orchard. There was only one caution. They must take care not to damage the fruit trees!
So, the digging began. They dug up the whole orchard but did not unearth any treasure. Knowing their father to be a just man who always kept his word, they dug up the orchard a second time. This time, they ensured thorough turning of the soil in all the orchard, but still did not unearth any treasure. Now, by the time they finished digging up the soil again in the large field for the second time, they noticed that the branches of the trees of the orchard were all drooping and heavy with much good, ripe fruit. So, they suspended their digging and each of them plucked of the fruit of the orchard according to their ability and sold it. That is when the riddle of their father’s will dawned upon them. The hidden treasure was in the digging up and caring for the orchard to produce good fruit. The trees would continue to bear plenty of good fruit so long as they were taken good care of. In his death, their father had taught them the important principle that money does grow on trees if they did the hard work of taking care of them. From then on, they determined to work hard and preserved to themselves the inheritance their father had left for them.

Family home evening used to be the hardest day of the week for my family. We would argue who would do what and how long the stories would be. It wasn’t organized. So we made a chart showing who makes the snacks, picks the song, says the opening prayer, gives the lesson, and says the closing prayer. This helped everyone feel like a part of our family home evening. Now my family looks forward to that day of the week.
Kari T., 15, Florida, USA

We went to church in Port Harcourt from Omoku, our hometown. It was about two-hour drive. We did this every Sunday until sometime in 2001 when the Port Harcourt West Stake Presidency authorized me and family to stay back and worship in Omoku under the supervision of the Rumueme Ward. We reactivated some members of the Church who resided in our town and surrounding towns, two of whom were old schoolmates at the university. We started worshipping in my one-room apartment and later moved into a three-rooms flat in the city center where, on the 9th of January 2005, the Church was officially organized with me as the first branch president and my wife as first counsellor in the Relief Society. We had 36 members of our branch.

I received a letter from Elder Mortenson who served in Buenos Aires, Argentina:
“Six months before I left my mission you spoke at our mission conference in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I felt the Spirit resting upon me so strongly that afterwards I was urged by the Spirit to seek a promise from you. I struggled forward and said to you, Can you look me in the eye and promise me that I can baptize those 10 people?’ I don’t even know if those were my exact words, but those words express the desire I had then. You see, I had not baptized a single soul, and my mission was soon to be over. You looked me in the eye and promised with a voice of certainty that should I be faithful to the utmost and work with all my heart, might, mind, and strength, ‘you will baptize 10 people.’ In my heart I knew you could not be lying, and I knew that I had received the promise that I sought.

“I worked with all my heart and with all my might and mind and strength, and my mission ended two years of faithful endeavor. The Lord did bless me, and the promise was fulfilled. For nearly two years I had baptized no one. The last Saturday of my mission, my companion and I entered the waters and opened the doors of God’s kingdom for 15 beautiful and repentant children of our Father in heaven.”
The promise by me was an easy thing and could have been made by any priesthood leader. Elder Mortenson caught the vision of total selfless service and self-denial, and he achieved his goal.

“I had some difficulty in school because of sickness. As an incentive for me to try really hard in school, my dad, who was the bishop, told me that on my twelfth birthday he would take me to Salt Lake City to attend a conference. Going to Salt Lake City seemed like going to the end of the world! I remember going to that conference and sitting up in the balcony on the north side and seeing the General Authorities and realizing that they were real people. When I look back on that and then think of going to conference now and sitting in one of those red seats, I know that there was no way then that I could have thought of myself in my present position. I think if we could have some idea of what the Lord has in mind for us, we would probably have a lot more confidence in ourselves as we grow up. No matter how humble your circumstances, how far away you live, or what the size of your town is, believe that the Lord has something special in mind for you.”

When you think of Argentina, you might picture cattle ranches and cowboys. But Hugo Lopez lives in the city. He lives in Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina—one of the largest cities in South America. Hugo is a member of the Palermo Ward, Buenos Aires Argentina Belgrano Stake, which covers a large section of downtown Buenos Aires. This means that his home, his school, and his ward meetinghouse are all located among the skyscrapers and busy traffic of this city of nearly 14,000,000 people.
Hugo, age 10, was born in Buenos Aires, but he also lived in Santiago, Chile, for two years. He is the youngest child in the family and has an older brother and sister. His sister is married and has two children. Hugo is very proud to be an uncle so young!
Hugo is in the fifth grade. He walks to his school, which is not too far from his apartment. From the street, the school looks like many of the other big buildings in the city, but hidden behind the tall double doors are classrooms that fill two stories and surround an outdoor courtyard and recreation area in the center of the building. When school is dismissed each day, hundreds of students with uniform white jackets swarm through the halls and out into the street. It is sometimes difficult to tell the teachers from the students, as they also wear the same white-jacket uniforms.
Because he wants to be a good student, Hugo works very hard at his schoolwork, and his studies keep him busy every day. He tries very hard to do the things he knows are right and to be a good example. He is the only member of the Church in his school, and he has learned it can be difficult to be the only one in a group who wants to choose the right. When his friends use bad language, for example, Hugo tries to show them a better way to talk. “It makes me feel sad when they won’t listen,” he says, “but I still try to choose the right way.”
Each week, Hugo looks forward to Wednesday and Friday afternoons. “After school on these days, I go to the Conservatorio de Música, a special music school,” Hugo says. “I am learning to play the flute, and I sing in the choir!” His eyes sparkle with excitement when he talks about music and what he is learning at the music school. He will study the flute for two years, and if he studies seven more years, he can become a teacher. Or he may specialize in a mechanics course in high school so he can earn money to fulfill his dream of going on a mission.
Actually, Hugo is working very hard right now to prepare for a mission. Bishop Sergio Lohrmann, of the Palermo Ward, says: “Hugo has a great knowledge of the gospel. He bears his testimony every month—and when he does, it strengthens the testimonies of the members of our ward as he tells of his love for Jesus Christ and for the gospel.”
When Hugo bears his testimony, he always thanks his mother and the teachers who have taught him to come to church, where he can learn. And he tells of a special prayer in his heart that his father will someday listen to the missionaries and come to church, where he can feel the love of all the ward members. Hugo feels very sad that his father and his brother are not interested in learning about the Church right now. He says: “My brother thinks that coming to church is a waste of time. But it’s not a waste of time—it is gaining eternal life!”
Hugo tries to set a good example at home, as well as at school. “I have a good relationship with my Dad. I know he has very sensitive feelings, and I try not to do anything to make him feel left out,” he says. “We sometimes go on walks together and just talk—these are our special times together.”
And, as a good missionary should, Hugo studies his scriptures. When asked about his favorite scripture, Hugo quickly turns to Joseph Smith—History 1:52–53 [JS—H 1:52–53] and begins reading aloud about the Prophet Joseph’s first experience seeing the gold plates. “I love the Joseph Smith story,” he says when he completes those verses. But one look at the pages of his scriptures shows that this is only one of his favorites. His scriptures look like a missionary’s—many important verses are marked clearly in bright colors, and he knows them well.
Each day brings opportunities for Hugo to be a missionary. Whether he is studying his scriptures, setting a good example for his friends at school, or going on long walks with his father, he tries to always do and say the things he has been taught.
So each Sunday, Hugo and his mother will walk again through the busy streets of Buenos Aires to attend their Church meetings and to learn more about the gospel. And—if it happens to be a fast Sunday—Hugo will bear his testimony!

Joël Topka, a 19-year-old member of the Akéikoi 1st Ward in the Abobo Cote d’Ivoire East Stake, has been admitted to the Nandjui Abrogoua University of Abobo, Abidjan to study natural sciences. Being accepted at the university and studying to become a teacher has always been Brother Joël’s dream. But the path to achieving this goal has been full of obstacles. “There have been many paths to travel and many rivers to cross,” he said.
Joël lost his mother at the age of 8 when he lived in Yopougon Sicobois, a sub-district of Abidjan with homes built with precarious materials. His mother had been a street sweeper and she raised him alone. They had been very poor, but happy. Upon the death of his mother, Joël’s father decided to withdraw any financial support for his son and Joël was taken in by his maternal grandfather, who was also destitute. He soon found himself alone without support, tossed from home to home. He eventually ended up living with a hospitable relative in Abobo, Cote d’Ivoire, but this relative also had very limited means.
Determined to continue his studies, he decided to work as a child wheelbarrow from the 5th grade until the 12th grade to ensure that he would have the funds necessary to further his education at the local private college in Abobo. Wheelbarrow children, wheelbarrow tanties or baggage tanties, are young children or teenagers who transport vendors goods within the traditional markets of Abidjan for small sums of money.
Joël worked during his off-hours from classes, public holidays, and vacations to earn as much money as possible. He worked very hard and was able to save enough money to cover his school expenses, and after having received his high school diploma, he was able to pay his initial entrance fees to the university.
The hard work was not the only sacrifice that he had to make. To save the necessary funds he often went without meals. “During recess at school, my friends went out to buy food, I didn’t. I told them that I had already eaten in the morning before coming to school. In reality, I couldn’t afford these meals,” he says with a little smile today.
There are still challenges ahead. Although his entry fees and initial tuition have been paid, he still must maintain his employment to assure that he can continue to meet his educational costs. He also has a desire to serve a mission.
“Paying my tithes and honoring the Sabbath has given me great strength. I do not lose hope and dream of being a teacher one day after my mission,” he said.
Joël’s resilience and determination has provided him with ability to overcome significant challenges at a very young age. His story teaches us some important things: that sacrifice and hope can overcome obstacles that stand before us in our lives.

“I’m bored,” Mike said.
Mike’s mother looked up from the cake she was making. “I’m going to work in the garden while the cake bakes,” she said. “I could use a strong boy like you to help me.”
“That’s no fun,” Mike told her as he licked the spoon. “I want to do something fun.”
Mike followed his mother to the garden. He looked cross, even with cake batter on his chin. He ate some fresh peas, watered the corn, and watched a ladybug crawl along a bean leaf.
“How would you like to deliver some carrots to Aunt Annie?” asked his mother.
Mike started to grin. “I have an idea,” he said, running toward the house.
Mike cut out the bottom of an old shoe box. He found a red crayon and wrote three words on the piece of box. Then he got his skates and ran back to the garden. “Pin this on my back, please,” he said to his mother.
“Mike’s Delivery Service,” she read as she pinned it to his shirt.
Mike put on his skates and picked up the bag of carrots. “Vroom! Vroom!” he said as he started down the sidewalk.
Old Mr. Davis, who lived in the next block, was walking by. He had a bag of groceries in his arms, and his dog, Chip, on a leash. “Beep! Beep!” Mike shouted, skating carefully out around the old man. “Make way for Mike’s Delivery Service!”
“Yap! Yap!” barked Chip, jerking his leash.
Mike turned in at the house on the corner. He rang the doorbell and called, “Delivery for you, Aunt Annie!”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Mike,” said the smiling lady who opened the door. “Do you take return loads?”
Aunt Annie put a carton of eggs in Mike’s hands. She said, “This is a special delivery, sir. Please be very careful.”
Chip barked and pulled at his leash when Mike passed him and Mr. Davis again.
Mike’s mother met him at the door and took the eggs. “Thank you, sir. You have a very good delivery service.”
Mike sat on the step and ate a piece of warm cake. While he ate, he had another idea. “I have one more job to do, Mom,” he called. And Mike’s Delivery Service took off again.
Mr. Davis was sitting on a low wall, resting. Chip could hear Mike’s skates, and he pulled on the leash.
“Mr. Davis,” said Mike, “I’ll carry that bag for you.”
“Well, Mr. Delivery Service,” said the old man, “it has a jar of jam in it.” Then he winked and said, “If the glass broke, it could give your ‘delivery truck’ a flat tire. But you would help me a lot if you could take my dog!”
Mike took Chip’s leash in his hand. Chip barked and ran down the walk, pulling Mike behind him. “Slow down, Chip, before we get a ticket for speeding!” yelled Mike.
Chip and Mike were waiting when Mr. Davis got home. “Thanks, Mike,” said the tired man. “You made a fast delivery—but did you deliver the dog, or did the dog deliver you?”
“Chip delivered me,” Mike said. “And he liked it. Look at him.”
Chip was wagging his tail hard.
“You like to help, don’t you, boy?” asked Mike as he patted the head of the happy dog.
Mike felt happy, too, and not a bit bored.

In 1948, the children of Berlin, Germany, knew all about bombs falling from the sky. But miniature parachutes carrying candy bars? That was something new. And it was all thanks to a member of the Church who wanted to send a message of love and hope to those children.
During World War II, bombs had destroyed many homes and buildings in Berlin. After the war, the whole city looked flattened and almost deserted. Now only 2.8 million people lived in a city where 4.6 million once lived.
But now there was another terrible enemy in Berlin—hunger! The people needed about 5,000 tons of food a day, but the city had only about 100 tons. How would the people keep from starving? Several countries sent cargo planes with supplies. They brought flour, milk, dried eggs, potatoes, and other food for people to eat and coal and gasoline to keep them warm.
One of the pilots who flew a big C-54 cargo plane was an LDS young man who grew up on a farm in Utah. His name was Gail Halvorsen. He flew daily missions to Berlin.
One day on his day off, Brother Halvorsen took his movie camera to the runway where the supply planes landed every three minutes. He noticed a group of children at the end of the runway watching the planes land. He talked to them. They were so brave! And they were very grateful for the food the planes brought.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his last two pieces of chewing gum. When he gave them to the children, they broke them into tiny pieces to share. Some only got to smell the wrappers, but none of them asked for more.
Then Brother Halvorsen had a great idea. He knew Heavenly Father loved those children. He wanted them to know that they were important and that someone cared about them. He wanted them to be happy and to have hope. “Watch for me tomorrow,” he said.
“But how will we know which plane is yours?” the children wondered.
“I’ll wiggle the wings of my plane as a signal,” Brother Halvorsen promised.
That evening Brother Halvorsen bought some chocolate bars. He made parachutes out of his handkerchiefs and attached them to the chocolate.
The next day as he neared the runway with his load of food, Brother Halvorsen moved the wings of his plane up and down. Then he dropped his candy parachutes to the children watching below.
Soon Brother Halvorsen received many letters addressed to Onkel Wackelflügel (“Uncle Wiggly Wings”). Other pilots started helping too. Children and adults back home donated handkerchiefs and candy.
In all, about 20 tons of candy floated down on little parachutes to the children of Berlin. And each one carried an important message. Every child is important, and each one is loved.

When he finally returned home, Elder Poulter felt discouraged and embarrassed about the meagre results of his three years in the mission field. In time, his perspective changed and some 40 years later, he was inspired to share this experience in a Sunday School class.
“I bore my testimony that our part in the Lord’s plan is not always apparent. I never learned what had become of the Hu family, [but] I don’t have to; doing the Lord’s work is its own reward.”
Three days later, Elder Poulter received a letter that had been forwarded to him via a missionary in Taipei. It was from a Mr. Hu Wei Yi. In the letter, Brother Hu, now in his 80s, recounted his family’s baptism and reported that he had been a patriarch, a temple sealer and was even set apart by President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) to be a translator.
The list of titles Mr. Hu translated included all the books Elder Poulter had given him, plus many more, “and then I read, The Book of Mormon. I couldn’t believe my eyes,” Elder Poulter writes. Yes, the Book of Mormon, the revealed word of God was translated into the second most spoken language in the world, by a humble man who had been prepared by the Lord to meet a pair of faithful missionaries.

William was the firstborn, and from the beginning there was a strong bond of love between him and his mother. Then when he was a young man she died suddenly and he was brokenhearted. No longer was he the carefree young man we knew. He became quiet and withdrawn. Then one day he came to me and said, “Father, I have decided to leave home and go to America. I want to go to Zion where the Saints are. I have applied for a visa, and when it comes I shall be leaving.” About a year later the visa was granted, and William made preparations to leave.
Then came the day of his leaving. How can I describe that day? I stood on the doorstep of my cottage on the hillside and watched him go down the hill with his trunk on his shoulder. I knew I would never see him again, and part of me went with him. Would I miss him? Would I miss the sun if it failed to rise over the mountains out my window? He was my firstborn son, whose life was a lesson in faith and humility. He was the peacemaker in the family. The days passed, and the ache in my heart was eased. His letters came with regularity, and they told of his joy of being with the Saints.
One day a year or so later my second son, John, spoke to me at supper, “Father, I have decided to join my brother in America. I have applied for a visa.”
I looked at this boy, hardly into manhood. How different he was from his brother. Handsome he was with dark hair that curled a little. He had a smile that was captivating, and he was very popular with the girls. Somehow he reminded me of when I was a young man. I too had dark hair that curled a little, and I was popular with the girls. But Bess came along and stole my heart.
I went to the railroad station and wished him good-bye. My tears fell on his shoulder as the train pulled into the station. As it left I felt as if part of my life went on that train.
The walk back home was the loneliest walk of my life. I had to try hard to keep bitterness out of my heart. That which I loved most, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, had taken away my two sons.
Ivor, my third son, was still living in the village. He was destined not to be with me long. He had been born two months early and was so tiny that his mother carried him on a pillow. He grew to manhood but suffered from a heart disease. He was the poet in the family, and even though his health was poor he was always happy. I can hear him yet as he sang to the trees in the woods that bordered our home. I remember that just a few days before his heart failed him that we walked together up into the meadow and we looked across the valley. He took my hand in his and spoke softly. “Listen, Dad,” and across the valley came the plaintive call of a cuckoo bird. “Isn’t it lovely? The cuckoo tells of the coming spring, and soon the meadow will be white with daisies, and the birds will sing joyful tunes. Oh, Dad, its a grand world that God has given us.”
He died in his sleep and was buried beside his mother in the little cemetery on the hill.
The funeral was quite an event in our village. It was the first Latter-day Saint funeral ever conducted there. Many people came out of curiosity, but most came because Ivor was loved and respected. Mr. Jones, the undertaker, in his black suit and top hat drove the wagon with the casket with a pair of black horses.
It was only a short distance to the cemetery, and the mourners walked behind the wagon. Soon the villagers started to sing. At first their voices were quiet like the summer breeze on the mountains. Then as the words came, “Feed me till I want no more,” their voices raised in a great crescendo like waves breaking on a rocky shore. Oh, my people from whom I came, your songs of mourning are still in my heart, and I know that my son and my Bess heard.
When I returned home after the funeral, I took my son’s letters out of a drawer and read them again. My oldest son wrote, “I am now the high priest group leader, and also a supervisor at the temple. I am so grateful that you taught me the gospel.”
The letter from the second son read, “I am excited today, for I have been ordained the bishop of my ward. How can I thank you enough for teaching me the gospel?”
The fire is burning low, and my hand is so tired I can’t write more at this time.
The next words were in my father’s handwriting:
Your grandfather passed away a few days later, and he was buried beside his wife and third son.
As I finished reading I looked up to see my dad standing there. His eyes were moist and so were mine, but a twelve-year-old cannot stay sad very long.
“Dad,” I asked, “were you the second son?”
“Yes, my boy, I was the second son.”
“Your hair is not dark anymore, but there is still a little curl to it.”

Some years ago in the Philippines we arrived early for a conference. Sitting on the curb were a father and mother and four small children dressed in their Sunday best. They had come several hours on a bus and were having the first meal of the day. Each of them was eating a cob of cold, boiled corn. The cost of the bus to Manila probably came out of their food budget.
As I watched that family, my heart overflowed with emotion. There is the Church. There is the power. There is the future. As with families in many lands, they pay their tithing, sustain their leaders, and do their best to serve.
For more than 40 years, my wife and I have traveled over the earth. We know members of the Church in perhaps a hundred countries. We have felt the power in their simple faith. Their individual testimonies and their sacrifice have had a profound effect on us.

One Sunday, seated in front of the television with my cigarettes and usual bottle of wine, I heard the doorbell. Opening the door, I saw two young men in blue suits, with name tags identifying them as missionaries. The room I invited them into was full of smoke and the smell of alcohol, but they were undeterred and began to question me about my beliefs. Did I believe in God?
That made me stop and think. Though I had been baptized as a little boy, I had never been a churchgoer—I thought religion was not worth it. Rather, I believed in my conscience and the need to be honest with my fellowmen. Yet I surprised myself and answered yes to their question. As they continued and began to teach me about Joseph Smith and the Restoration, it seemed as though I had already heard their words. An indescribable feeling began to come over me, and I loved these young men. When they offered a prayer, I began to cry, and my heart began to swell until it would burst.
We made an appointment for the following Tuesday, and during the interval, my life passed before me as in a film. Until the age of twenty, I had abstained from alcohol. But then a business failure and financial difficulties sent me into a deep personal crisis, compounded by my wife’s illness and two-year convalescence in a distant hospital. I sought comfort in alcohol, and before long I began to drink quantities of strong spirits from morning until night. Add to that the 70 to 100 cigarettes I smoked daily and you can understand that my physical condition deteriorated gradually to the point where I was embarrassed about it.
At one point I entered a hospital to be detoxified, but the doctors were unable to help me and I became even more depressed. I had a good job and a wonderful family, but I needed to get out from under these vices. In desperation I abandoned myself even more completely to alcohol, at one point even attempting suicide. I tried to enter a private clinic for help, but could not afford the treatments. It was at this point that Elders Sorensen and Waterman entered my life.
When they returned for our second meeting, the two missionaries spoke to me of many new things that I did not know but felt were true. When they told me about the Word of Wisdom, I felt my heart sink, and I said “Tell me how I, of all persons, can give up alcohol, since I have tried every way I know how, and have had no success.” They asked me if I believed in God and in the things they had taught me and if I felt that I had faith in the Lord. I replied that I did.
“Good,” they said. “If you will listen to us, we’ll help you and the Lord will give you the power to overcome your problem.” “I’ll be infinitely grateful,” I answered. Their exhortations filled me with joy, with hope, and with faith, and I really desired in my heart to follow their guidance. When I prayed I felt more and more self-confidence, and from that morning, with my newborn courage, I imposed the rule that I would never drink cognac again. And I was able to maintain that rule though I suffered greatly. With the help of the elders, and with humility, I was able to gradually reduce the doses of other alcoholic beverages and of cigarettes. It was not easy, but I felt the Lord near to me, helping me. I felt that I had to do my part and that I would not be alone in this trial.
After a month and a half I was able to overcome my vices. Finally free, I felt ready to be baptized, with my wife, on December 28, 1977. I came up out of the baptismal waters renovated in body and spirit, sure that the Lord forgets our sins if we are truly repentant. I can’t explain what a joy it was to abandon the old me and see myself reborn full of trust in myself and love for my fellowman. I had an immense desire to recover all the lost time showing gratitude to the Lord with a commitment to do everything that he commanded me.
Following my baptism, my health improved day by day. At first I continued to arise in the morning full of aches and pains. Getting up was a painful trial. But after prayer, I was able to go about my work serenely until the evening, when the problems returned. But then, one great day, I arose and realized that I was finally free of the pains. From that time forward I have had no problems.
After a year of Church membership, we were able to go to the temple, where my wife and our three daughters were sealed to me. Now we are truly a united family. I have been blessed with a number of challenging callings in the Church and can bear witness that, with humility and faith in the Lord, there is nothing impossible for man. I know, too, that observance of the Word of Wisdom brings health and strength—and the desire to use that strength in the service of the Lord.

There are many people in the world who travel great distances at great personal sacrifice to go to the temple. I know our Heavenly Father is aware of their righteous desires and blesses them abundantly for their efforts. Recently a group came to the Tokyo Temple from Okinawa—nine hundred miles by plane—among them a young couple who had come to be married. It had required all the money they could possibly save to pay for their transportation, and there was nothing left for a wedding celebration or honeymoon. When those who accompanied the couple realized their plight, they dug deep into their own pockets and contributed what little they had so the couple could have money for a delightful one-day honeymoon in Tokyo. Not only did the young couple enjoy the blessings of the temple, but they also enjoyed and appreciated the generosity and kindness of their brothers and sisters. Surely Paul’s teachings to the Ephesian Saints apply, when he said, “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.” (Eph. 2:19.)

My high school football team was playing for the North Carolina state championship. Our coach, Bill Grice, was not only a great coach and motivator, but he had never, in our presence, taken the Lord’s name in vain; had never cussed; and had never used any expletives or profanity. He had never lost his cool.
We were in the locker room getting ready for the big game. It was raining so hard we had to yell at each other to be heard. Coach Grice asked our equipment manager to hand out the mud cleats. We heard the equipment manager say, “I forgot the mud cleats, coach.” But Coach Grice didn’t hear him. We nudged one another and realized that for the first time in our presence, Coach Grice would in fact lose his cool and swear.
We steadied ourselves as Coach Grice asked, “Where are the mud cleats?”
“I forgot them, coach,” repeated the equipment manager.
It became absolutely silent in the room except for the rain pounding on the roof.
Then Coach Grice said, “Well, shucks, we’ll have to play without them!”
Oh, coach, how proud we were! We tied the football game and lost the state championship on the flip of a coin. But we won the most important honor. Our coach didn’t let us down.

Recently a young father bore his testimony regarding his contribution to the temple fund. His challenge by his bishop was to accept a suggested assessment for the contribution to the temple fund. This amount totaled nearly all he had saved through the years to build his own home. After discussing this with his wife and his children, they decided to give to the Lord all they had in their savings account for the building of the temple in Tokyo, and they gave up their dream of a new home.
One day, not too long after making this contribution to the bishop, the man’s superiors called him into the office and unexpectedly gave him a promotion in the company, with a large increase in his salary, and also with the promotion came an allowance for a new home.

As Brother Nakamura gained experience in the Church, the idea of being sealed in the temple and of serving the Lord in that sacred building grew in his heart. Then, in 1973 (about seven years before the Tokyo Temple was dedicated), the Nakamura family had the opportunity to travel to California to be sealed in the Los Angeles Temple.

While traveling to the temple, they almost missed some airline flights and even wondered whether their airplane would arrive safely. But their prayers for a safe journey were answered. Brother Nakamura says he realizes now how important that trip was. “My main goal after that was to spend time in the temple, especially serving with my wife.”