Gospel Story Finder

A newly married graduate student at England’s University of Oxford, Gerrit W. Gong learned through personal experience that when we love the Lord and trust Him, He will help us, guide us, and strengthen us.

Gerrit was a Rhodes Scholar working to complete two graduate degrees, one of them a doctorate. At the same time, he was serving in the Oxford Ward bishopric. He and his wife, Susan, remembered advice that Elder David B. Haight (1906–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave when he performed their marriage in the Salt Lake Temple. “He told us always to have a calling,” Elder Gong says. “We knew if we trusted God and did our best, He would help us.”

Gerrit and Susan did receive “divine help and tender mercies,” he says. While continuing in the bishopric, Gerrit finished all the academic requirements for a doctoral degree, except his dissertation. He asked the bishop of the Oxford Ward, Alan Webster, for a priesthood blessing. In the blessing, Gerrit received this promise: “Continue doing all you can, and the Lord will bless you.”

Two ward members who were experienced legal secretaries volunteered to help type his manuscript, and Gerrit was able to finish his dissertation in a few months. In fact, he completed both a master’s and a doctoral degree in just over three years. Upon graduation he also accepted a faculty research position at the university. His experience at Oxford strengthened his trust in the Lord, trust that endures to this day and will continue to bless Gerrit W. Gong as he now serves in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

My grandma had taught me to pray at night before going to bed. But to whom was I praying? What was he like? Where did he come from? These were questions that couldn’t be answered. I felt as if I were in a dark and dreary world with no hope of light.
Determined to understand more about this mystery, I started attending the church to which we then belonged, because Grandma said God could be found there. But it didn’t do much good. It confused me more. They taught me about Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost, who, I was told, belonged to and were one with God.
I visited many other churches. When we studied the Bible and the life of Christ, I felt a very different feeling.
I discovered that this feeling had something to do with Christ, the Bible, the Holy Ghost, and God, but I was still confused. I started to pray and have trust in the Lord. Still, there was something missing. Although I could have the good feeling while reading the Bible, I couldn’t have that feeling with me all the time.
One teacher told me a way to retain this feeling was by being baptized, so I was baptized. But nothing changed. All churches seemed the same, so I decided to stay home and study on my own. I found myself praying more intensely for the Lord to help me find the true path that led to him. He heard my prayers.
I met a young man, and we became friends. For the next ten months we shared our ideas and thoughts about many things, but never religion. One day I found that my friend traveled with a Bible, so I asked him if he went to church and what the name of his church was. It was some long name—The Church of Jesus Christ of something something Saints. I wasn’t the least bit interested—it sounded like just another church to me.
My friend later told me he was going to serve the Lord for two years in another country. I figured he was going to be a pastor. When he left, I began to wonder what his church was like, and I began to search for their meeting place.
I found it a few months later, but I also found something more. As I walked through the doors of the meetinghouse, I felt a feeling impossible to describe; it was joy, peace, comfort, certainty, and happiness all in one. It was like coming home. My questions had now been answered.
The members of the church welcomed me with open arms. At first, I was reluctant to accept these welcomes because it was a little too much. I wasn’t used to so many people. They welcomed me whether they knew me or not. At the end of the meeting, a calm feeling came over me, and I heard these words in my mind: “Debbie, this is the place, and these are the people you have been searching for.”
Looking back, I see that my life in the ghetto was difficult and that a person could make it harder by making wrong choices. There was little opportunity for progression. But I wanted something worth living for. When the opportunity came to leave the ghetto with part of my family, I decided this was my chance.
Many of the girls I grew up with never left the ghetto. I could not have made it without following the desires of my heart and trusting in my Father above to lead me. I was blessed with the chance to leave the ghetto, be baptized a member of this church, gain an education, and fulfill a mission. I know Heavenly Father loves us all and is mindful of our circumstances, no matter where we are. He desires above all things that we find true happiness.

It was almost Christmas, and the year had been hard for my family. My dad’s job was not going well. At night I could hear my parents talk about Christmas and how they didn’t know what to do. They knew that they could tell us that we would have to go without giving presents to each other, but they didn’t know what they could do about Santa, because most of the kids were still young. I was 13 years old and the oldest of six. At nights I would lie in my bed and try to think of a way that I could help my family to have a good Christmas.
One night I had the idea that I could earn some money, buy gifts for my brothers and sisters, lay them out on Christmas Eve, and say that they were from Santa. The next day, I walked around my neighborhood asking people if there was any work that needed to be done so I could earn some money. For a couple weeks before Christmas, I worked to earn the money I needed.
Two days before Christmas Eve, a friend who was old enough to drive took me to the store so I could finish some Christmas shopping.
As I was walking down the aisles in the store, I was getting excited looking for things that I knew my brothers and sisters would like. Every present was chosen with much love, and I couldn’t wait for them to open these gifts. Spending all the money I earned, I took the gifts home and hid them in my room until Christmas Eve.
When Christmas Eve came, all of my brothers and sisters were excited. After having our Christmas dinner, we got ready for bed and laid our stockings out for Santa to fill. Going downstairs to my room, I set my alarm so I could wake up in the night to lay out the gifts I had bought. I knew that my mom and dad would be setting things up and going to bed late, so I tried to get as much sleep as I could so I wouldn’t be tired for Christmas day.
That night, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t go to sleep. I hoped my parents would go to bed soon. After waiting a few hours, I got all the gifts that I bought and snuck upstairs. A warm feeling came over me as I set out the gifts. I couldn’t wait for morning to come. I didn’t sleep the rest of the night because I was so filled with excitement and love.
When morning came, we all ran upstairs to wake up Mom and Dad and to see what Santa had brought. Watching my brothers’ and sisters’ faces as they opened the gifts that I bought them was the best part of my day. When mom and dad realized there were other gifts, they started to cry.
I will never forget that Christmas and the feeling I felt. It was worth working hard to prepare for that day.

“The Lord has called you to serve as president of our Primary,” the branch president told me. It had been only a year since I had left the Laurel class and only two years since I had been baptized into the Church. I was incredulous.
“I don’t have the patience required to teach children,” I told him.
“Do you believe your calling came from God?” he asked. “When He calls us, He qualifies us.”1
His words filled me with confidence, and immediately I knew that the Lord must need me in Primary. I had no idea how to fulfill my new calling, but I knew He would guide me.
I desired to do the best job I could, but a few months later my mother was diagnosed with cancer. In addition, I was studying systems engineering. I found it difficult to meet all of my responsibilities at home, at the university, and in Primary. My spirits began to flag, and one Sunday at church everything came to a head, and the tears began to flow.
A fellow ward member noticed and gave me some wonderful advice: “Judith, the best way to get through trials is to lose yourself in the gospel and in service to others,” he said. “By doing so, you will see how the Lord will ease your burdens.”
As I followed his encouraging advice, my attitude changed, my faith was strengthened, and I was filled with a determination to serve the Lord. My trials continued, but I dedicated myself to my calling and looked forward to seeing the children each Sunday. They taught me something every week as they showed me their testimonies through their actions. As the months passed, I saw how the Lord was molding my character and how I was developing gifts and talents I didn’t know I had.
The following year I left Barranquilla, Colombia, to go to Bogotá for a month with my mother because she needed chemotherapy. During that time I prayed constantly and felt close to the Lord. I decided to change my university major, and through inspiration, I learned that the Lord wanted me to devote my life to teaching children. When I returned to school, I began working on a degree in special education.
I knew that Heavenly Father had given me my calling in Primary to prepare me. As I served, I discovered my true vocation, and as I lived the gospel and lost myself in service, I felt that I was in the Lord’s arms.
The testimony I gained while serving in the Primary presidency and later in a stake Primary presidency has sustained me as a member of the Church. I have learned how to teach with love, to see with the eyes of a child, and to seek the Lord for guidance and inspiration.
Each day when I teach at a bilingual school in my city, I think about the efforts, challenges, and blessings of those years. The children who were in Primary back then are now teenagers, but their eyes still shine with love for the Savior and His gospel.
I know that when the Lord calls us, He teaches and trains us and places leaders in our path to help us live this beautiful gospel of Jesus Christ.

With so many boys in the family, the competition was sometimes less than brotherly. Chris and Matt, being close in age, suffered from it for a while. Anything Chris did, Matt tried to do better. It caused contention. Chris says, “Mom knew best. She had a talk with me. She said that God gave us all talents, and we can’t be better than someone else at everything. Then I realized that Matt has something in him that makes him better at some things. He has his talents, and I have mine. We need to share them and gain from each other and really enjoy watching each other do whatever. It might be soccer, band, sports, being outdoors, or giving service.”
When Chris watched Matt compete at state in the pole vault, the sport he had taught his younger brother, the disappointment at not being there himself lessened. He felt calm. “I was glad one of us made it and that it could be my brother.”

I started going to my new ward a little at a time. I just knew if someone asked me how I was doing, I would fall to pieces. I desperately wanted to go to church, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone, much less make eye contact. I wished with all my heart that I could be invisible. More than anything, I just wanted to rip this all-consuming pain out of my chest!
I have no idea what the sisters in Relief Society thought of me, and at the time I didn’t much care. I was too busy just trying to breathe! I’m sure I gave off the impression that I wanted to be left alone, for none of them bothered me. They did, however, occasionally give me a warm smile that I found a little comforting—just the exact small dose to keep me from running out the nearest exit, which was a constant thought.
Time is a healer. It doesn’t erase events, but it allows gaping wounds to slowly close.
That fateful Thanksgiving Day was in 2011, and it took me a few years to realize just how much I was helped by my brothers and sisters in the Church. I felt like I was carried off the battlefield after having been critically wounded. I was nursed back to health and cared for until I could stand on my own.
Countless blessings have come my way, in a variety of ways. My testimony has grown to near full maturity. I know now what it feels like to be held in the loving arms of our Savior.
So to answer my friend’s question, “How did the Church help you through this ordeal?” I say, “They didn’t help me. They saved me.”

Many of the pioneer faces in my mind are the faces of friends in Nigeria, West Africa. When I first arrived there in January 1984, I met Cecilia and learned of her creative pioneering in what seemed to me the overwhelming task of day-to-day living. I said, “You are my teacher.”

She responded, “I will be your teacher.”

I told her that I didn’t know if I could learn very fast, because she had so much to teach me. She smiled gently and said, “I will teach slowly.”

And she did. I lived as Cecilia’s neighbor for several months, and I will be grateful all my life for the things she helped me learn. I am a better pioneer because of this great soul and others in our neighborhood who allowed me to follow in their footsteps for a little while.

It still amuses me that my companion, Ann, and I were sent to teach Cecilia and others about self-reliance. While I hope we were able to share some information about health and sanitation that made a difference for them, I know that I personally learned the greatest lessons. Most of those lessons I learned from them had to do with self-reliance. I’m convinced that Cecilia and her sisters can handle any emergency. Forging onward, ever onward, they are indeed blessed, honored pioneers.

I have one such story in my legacy. Grandmother Eyring learned from a doctor in his office that she would die of stomach cancer. My father, her oldest son, had driven her there and was waiting for her. He told me that on the way home she said, “Now, Henry, let’s be cheerful. Let’s sing hymns.” They sang “O My Father” (Hymns, no. 292) and “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” where the last verse begins, “And should we die before our journey’s through” (Hymns, no. 30).

I wasn’t there, but I imagine they sang loudly—they didn’t have very melodic voices—with faith and no tears. She spent part of her last months in the home of her oldest child, her daughter. Aunt Camilla told me that Grandma complained only once, and then it was not really a complaint but just to say that it hurt.

Now, there are many people who have been cheerful and brave in the face of death. But it means far more to her family when the person has taught and testified of the power of the Savior to succor, of the sureness of the Resurrection, and of the hope of eternal life. The Spirit confirmed to me that Grandma’s peace and her courage were signs that her testimony was true, and because of that, all was well, all was well.

May I illustrate this truth with a personal experience. Many years ago, while serving as a bishop, I felt impressed to call upon Augusta Schneider, a widow from the Alsace-Lorraine area of Europe who spoke very little English, although she was fluent in French and German. For years after that first impression I would visit with her at Christmastime. On one occasion Augusta said, “Bishop, I have something of great value to me which I would like to present to you.” She then went to a special place in her modest apartment and retrieved the gift. It was a beautiful piece of felt, perhaps six by eight inches in size, to which she had pinned the medals her husband had been presented for his service as a member of the French forces in World War I. She said, “I would like you to have this personal treasure which is so close to my heart.” I protested politely and suggested there must be some member of her extended family to whom the gift should be given. “No,” she replied firmly, “the gift is yours, for you have the soul of a Frenchman.”

Shortly after presenting this special gift to me, Augusta departed mortality and went home to that God who gave her life. Occasionally I would wonder concerning her declaration that I had “the soul of a Frenchman.” I didn’t have the slightest idea what that meant. I still don’t.

Many years later I had the privilege to accompany President Ezra Taft Benson to the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, which temple would serve German-, French-, and Dutch-speaking members. In packing for the trip, I felt impressed to take along the gift of medals, without any thought concerning what I would do with them. I’d had them a number of years.

In a French-speaking dedication session, the temple was filled. The singing and messages presented were beautiful. Gratitude for God’s blessings penetrated each heart. I saw from my conducting notes that the session included members from the Alsace-Lorraine area.

During my remarks I observed that the organist had the name of Schneider. I therefore related the account of my association with Augusta Schneider, then stepped to the organ and presented the organist with the medals, along with the charge that since his name was Schneider, he had a responsibility to pursue the Schneider name in his genealogical activities. The Spirit of the Lord confirmed in our hearts that this was a special session. Brother Schneider had a difficult time preparing to play the closing number of the dedicatory service, so moved was he by the Spirit which we felt there in the temple.

I knew that the treasured gift—even the widow’s mite, for it was all Augusta Schneider had—was placed in the hand of one who would ensure that many with the souls of Frenchmen would now receive the blessings the holy temples provide, both to the living and for those who have passed beyond mortality.

While watching a Mormon Message for Youth, I witnessed another bedroom that had become a holy place. The video shows Ingrid Delgado, a young woman from El Salvador, sharing her feelings about the temple. She says, “It is good to know we have a place where we can get away from the things of the world and receive sacred ordinances and help those who couldn’t receive them in this life.” As she speaks, the video shows Ingrid reading her scriptures, surrounded by Mormonads, quotations, a Personal Progress book, pictures of her family and the temple, and yes, her favorite stuffed animals.5 Perhaps without even realizing it, she has created her holy place away from the things of the world. I wonder how many times Ingrid has read her scriptures, felt the Spirit, and received answers to her prayers in her holy place.

William Albiston, son of Joseph and Mary Ann, was born in 1857. Will, as he was known, his wife, Elizabeth, and daughter, Eda, were baptised in Oldham in 1897. The Albistons were members of the Oldham Branch that was meeting, during this time, in a rented hall at the House & Mill Company offices, 127 Union Street.3
According to Will’s descendants, he was converted to the gospel by an Elder Abraham Wilde, who mentioned the Albiston family a few times in his missionary journal:
“20 January 1897. […] We spent the [evening] at Mr Albiston’s who was to [be] baptised the next evening.
“21st January 1897. The weather is still cold therefore we did not get out; in the evening Bro Broadbent baptised twelve persons, [...] Mr Albiston and wife and daughter [...]. They were baptised in the font of the Baptist Chapel in Oldham.” 4
Like so many other members of the Oldham Branch, Will and his family left England for Utah, but Will wanted to be in the British Empire, so the family moved to Alberta, Canada, settling on a homestead in Cardston County. Will farmed there until his death.

I remember one day when I was not willing to wake up early in the morning for our family prayer, I murmured to my sisters, “There is truly nothing else that we can do in this home, only pray, pray, pray.” My dad heard my comments. I remember his reaction as he lovingly but firmly taught me, “As long as you will be in this house, you will pray, pray, pray.”
My father’s words sounded in my ears daily. What do you think Sister Mutombo and I do with our children today? We pray, pray, and pray. This is our legacy.

One year, nearly 25 years after Baur Dee’s death, I realized that I would be away on Memorial Day and decided to visit Baur Dee’s grave a few days early. On the Thursday evening before Memorial Day, I had gathered some flowers, tied them with a ribbon, attached the card, and was putting on my jacket when the doorbell rang. I opened the door and was greeted by Colleen Fuller, one of my visiting teachers. As I invited her in, she noticed my jacket and the flowers and apologized for interrupting my plans.
“No problem,” I said. “I’m just on my way to the cemetery to put flowers on the grave of the woman who was my Beehive teacher and softball coach.”
An expression difficult to describe came over Colleen’s face. She asked, “Could your teacher’s name have been Baur Dee?”
Bewildered, I answered, “Yes. How did you know?”
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “Baur Dee was my mother’s sister. Every Memorial Day since she died, my family has found flowers and a card saying, “To Baur Dee from your girls,” on her grave. They’ve always wanted to know who these “girls” were so they could thank them for remembering Baur Dee. You obviously are one of them.”

There are pioneers in the Church today just as strong and courageous. Recently, I interviewed a married couple three days after their release as full-time missionaries in a large metropolis. “We are converts,” they said. “We joined the Church ten years ago. Even though we just completed a mission, we want to go again! But this time, we would like to volunteer for a more difficult assignment. We want to teach and serve children of God who live in remote areas of the world!”
As I countered with the grim realities of their request, they continued their expression of commitment. “Our three children and their spouses will assist with our expenses. Two of those couples have joined the Church already, and the third is equally supportive. Please send us among humble people who love the Lord and desire to know that His Church has again been restored to the earth.” Needless to say, their petition was gratefully heard, and now they have received their second call to missionary service.

Since both Jacob and Jeff are living at home, they have been able to serve as home teachers with their father. They have also helped in the ward nursery and in the ward library. And they are also able to bless the sacrament regularly. “Jacob and Jeff take about three minutes longer to say the prayers,” Bishop Nye observes, “but they are so sincere that the spirituality is augmented immeasurably.” With tears in his eyes, their father talks about the example older brother Jeremy set by walking Jacob and Jeff through their sacrament assignments as deacons until they understood how to pass, as teachers until they understood how to prepare, and as priests until they were comfortable saying the prayers and distributing the trays.
Just as Jacob and Jeff have looked to older brothers as an example, they are now passing on that same legacy of priesthood service to their younger brother, Jesse, 19, now serving in the New York Utica Mission, and their youngest brother Jason, 17, who is also preparing for a full-time mission.
“Without Jacob and Jeff, I wouldn’t be who I am,” Jesse says. “They prove that there’s something good out there for every person to do.”

Earlier I mentioned Sister Andersen and her Beehive Girl’s Handbook. She is the wife of Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Presidency of the Seventy [now a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles], a mother, and a grandmother. I love the thought that even though she has moved so many times, she has always known where to find her Beehive Girl’s Handbook and achievement bandlo. Sister Andersen has stood by her husband and taught the gospel all over the world. She has also exemplified womanhood and goodness as a faithful member of the Church.

As an 11-year-old girl, Sister Andersen couldn’t wait to enter the Young Women program. When her birthday finally arrived, she was given the Beehive Girl’s Handbook. Sister Andersen explains:
“In the beginning of the book it said, ‘As a Beehive girl, and for the rest of your life, set your goals high’ (Beehive Girl’s Handbook, 12). I could tell this was going to be a great adventure for me. I took my book home and immediately read it from cover to cover to see what goals I should complete during the next two years.
“I discovered that there were 80 possible goals to choose from. In my excitement, I determined that if I worked hard, I could complete all of the goals in my book—well, all except one: to go to the temple … and be baptized for the dead (Beehive Girl’s Handbook, 140). I [could not] be baptized for the dead because there [was] no temple in Florida.”
Sister Andersen decided to tell her father about her situation. Her letter continues:
“My father hesitated only a moment. We had no family in the West and no other reason to travel to Utah. He thoughtfully said to me, ‘Kathy, if you [will] complete all of the other goals in your Beehive book, we will take you the 2,500 miles [4,000 km] to the temple in Salt Lake City so that you can do baptisms for the dead and complete your final goal.’
“I worked on the goals in my Beehive book for two years and completed 79 goals. My father worked during those two years to save enough money to make the journey to the temple. My father kept his promise to me.
“Air travel at that time was too expensive for our family, and so we traveled 5,000 miles [8,000 km] by car to Salt Lake City and back so that I could complete my last Beehive goal. What joy I felt as I entered the Salt Lake Temple and in proxy was baptized by my father. It was an experience I will never forget.
“I will forever be appreciative for my mother and father’s willingness to make the temple an important part of my life. … They wisely understood that as I worked on my Young Women goals, my faith would be strengthened. My parents’ faith and sacrifice in making the long journey to Salt Lake City significantly impacted me and the generations that have followed” (“I Can Complete All of the Goals—Except One,” unpublished manuscript).

It was the time of the Korean conflict. A recently returned missionary, I was serving with the Army Signal Corps in Georgia at Camp Gordon. Suffering through basic training with me were fifty other Latter-day Saints, including nine returned missionaries. We promptly requested permission to use the company dayroom for sacrament meeting services; and the captain, once he got over his initial astonishment, not only gave us permission but had the room cleaned and arranged and let us use cups and bread from the army cafeteria for the sacrament.
Between the sand fleas, lack of sleep, assisting with kitchen work, guard duty, and stream of orders, the hour of serenity and spirituality each Sunday was a real pleasure. One Sunday, though, that calm was disturbed a little by the presence of a gruff, non-member sergeant. He had marched a group of LDS recruits over from his barracks and sat down in a chair to wait till the end of the meeting. I can’t say that he paid much attention to the speakers, but he sat stoically through the meeting until he could gather his trainees again. The recruits came by themselves after that.
Soon most of us had forgotten the incident, as within a few weeks we were facing our “graduation” test—three days of field duty and war games. On the second day, the “enemy” attacked our company and captured some of the men. The sergeant who had attended our meeting was reported missing but not captured.
That night, as we were sitting around a small campfire eating our rations, a faint noise alerted us. We dropped the food, grabbed our rifles, and prepared to defend ourselves.
Suddenly a voice beyond the perimeter called, “Do any of you guys know who Joseph Smith was?” We all exchanged looks: the Latter-day Saints didn’t know whether it was a trick or not. The nonmembers didn’t even know what it was. Finally one courageous man yelled back, “we sure do. He was a prophet of God!”
The voice beyond the perimeter yelled exuberantly, “I’m home!” and the sergeant walked out of the darkness to rejoin his outfit.

The Aaronic Priesthood quorums in a ward in Worcestershire, England, began the year like many others—setting goals. They came together to plan ways to do more to honour their priesthood and fulfil their personal duty to their Heavenly Father. Everyone generated ideas, and soon the blackboard was full of worthy endeavours.

The ideas were then grouped into three main goals:
Attend the temple at least twice to perform baptisms for the dead.
Work diligently on their current portion of Duty to God.
Increase the membership of each quorum by one, either through baptism or activation.

The young men recognised that the first two goals were things that were mostly down to them to achieve but that the third would require the Lord’s hand. They left that day excited and confident that these goals, though not easy, were definitely achievable through diligence and committed action.

As December approached, however, it looked like the third goal would not be achieved, although the young men had done their part. They had worked diligently on their Duty to God, attended the temple, and strengthened their quorum unity. They had also taken part in many different missionary challenges, like going out with the missionaries, inviting friends to youth activities and church, and placing copies of the Book of Mormon.

Little did they know that the Lord had been preparing people’s hearts to hear the gospel.

In November the Young Men president introduced the missionaries to his neighbours, Portuguese women whom he had spoken with about the Church as they had been introduced to it previously in Portugal. These women quickly saw what good the gospel could do for their sons, Patrick Pereira and Miguel Lima, and asked the missionaries to teach them.

Patrick and Miguel progressed very quickly and loved coming out to the youth activities as they felt great excitement and friendship whilst they were there. “It was quite exciting,” Miguel remembers. “I got to meet new people and find good friends.”

A baptism date of December 19 was set by the missionaries, who were not conscious of the young men’s goals. But the Lord was, and this was recognised by all the young men.

The Lord had been preparing the hearts of Patrick and Miguel, who were of deacon and teacher age, respectively. Together with Craig, their baptisms meant that each quorum had increased by one, which exactly matched the goal the quorums had prayerfully set. On their baptismal day, most of the ward members were there to see these two young men make a sacred covenant with their Heavenly Father.

“It felt right,” Patrick remembers. After being baptised, he says that he felt “like a blank slate, a new beginning.”

Matt Stobbs says, “It was amazing when I found out they were to both be baptised just before the end of the year. It made me feel that Heavenly Father really knows us and is watching over His children individually and is aware of our struggles and our goals.”

Paul Stobbs, bishop of the ward, says, “I can only describe the events that led to the young men’s goals being met as miraculous. I know that Heavenly Father recognised their faith and dedication to the gospel and subsequently blessed their efforts. Being witnesses to these events has inspired all members of the ward to show more faith.”

Lynda tried to incorporate the values of the people she admired into her new life in creative ways. Preserving food became for her a symbol of self-sufficiency, so when she couldn’t get fresh fruits and vegetables in the city, she made a list of all the things she remembered her mother and grandmothers putting into bottles and made quilt blocks representing many of those things. As she stitched, Lynda created a tribute to her pioneer ancestors and a family history for her children to enjoy. She also taught her family independence, hard work, self-reliance, the law of the harvest, and self-confidence in a new environment.

Focusing on what’s most important has helped Bishop Waddell to live up to two family mottos, “Return with honor” and “Trust in the Lord.” That trust enabled him to put volleyball on hold to serve a mission. After he returned from his mission, it enabled him to continue a long-distance romance with a young woman at another university. Later, after they were married, trusting the Lord enabled them to listen to the Spirit when making decisions about moving.
“You do things the Lord’s way,” he says, “and things will work out fine.”