Gospel Story Finder

Surfing. Sunbathing. Luaus. Hula dancing.
All these things might be what pop into someone’s mind when they think of Hawaii. But, consider this instead: ho‘ike (ho-ee-kay), a word that means “to show or exhibit.” To learn more about their heritage, the youth of the Honolulu Hawaii West Stake put on a ho’ike to tell the stories of how the Church came to the Polynesian islands.
The ho‘ike depicted a journey through Polynesia that honored their ancestors through song and dance and taught of the work of the gospel of Jesus Christ among the people of Polynesia. Through this performance the youth not only connected with their past, but they also grew closer to each other and the Lord.
“Through this experience, our young people have learned to respect and celebrate other heritages, strengthen relationships with one another, and develop talents many did not know they possessed,” said Harry Murray, the emcee for the event. “This labor of love was both challenging and fun, both educational and spiritual for all involved. The greatest lesson has been the realization that the gospel of Jesus Christ brings us all together despite our varied backgrounds and fosters attributes within us that are universal.”
For some youth this meant learning about their own ancestors, but for many it meant learning about another culture and its history.
“It was really fun to get together with other youth from other wards and learn about a whole new culture. It was great to help some of my friends honor their ancestors,” said Devon Tenney, 15, of the Aiea Ward. “We were also able to look to the past for strength. It was really inspirational.”
Devon was part of the group that represented Aotearoa, or New Zealand. Other islands represented that night were Tahiti, Tonga, Samoa, Hawaii, and Fiji.
“We learned the cultures’ songs and also their stories,” said Robert Landgraf, from the Nuuanu Ward. “It’s important that our ancestors were strong in the gospel, so we can follow their example.”
The ho‘ike helped youth learn about other cultures and customs and also strengthened their testimonies.
“The best part of the ho‘ike was that we learned that no matter where the gospel is, whether it is in Aotearoa, Samoa, or Tahiti, the gospel is the same and the Spirit is just as strong,” said Talia Fermantez of the Pearlridge Ward.
While the performance night was fun, the hours of rehearsal were what really brought these youth together.
“My favorite part was the practices because it really helped the youth get closer. We practiced with other wards, and we are closer now,” said Kalima Watson from the Kalihi Ward. “This experience shows the unification of our youth. We can all come together and do something amazing despite our diversities.”
Elder Yoshihiko Kikuchi of the Seventy was in attendance that night and shared his thoughts on the event. “We see today these faithful, young, wholesome, beautiful people demonstrating the Spirit of our Heavenly Father. It is pleasing unto Him today and is a glorious inspiration to us.”

In Lewis Carroll’s classic Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Alice finds herself coming to a crossroads with two paths before her, each stretching onward but in opposite directions. She is confronted by the Cheshire Cat, of whom she asks, “Which path shall I take?”
The cat answers: “That depends where you want to go. If you do not know where you want to go, it doesn’t really matter which path you take!”

It occurred when this most treasured, little son was nearly three years old. One day, suddenly and without warning, he stopped breathing and fell to the floor, apparently lifeless. My husband was not home, and I called my ten-year-old daughter, Nancy, to get help as I carried him to the bedroom. As I worked to revive him, I literally, cried out unto the Lord. I begged him to spare our only son. I promised that I would dedicate myself to training him up to be an instrument in the hands of God if he would be spared. The police arrived with their emergency equipment. I continued in fervent, vocal prayer to the Lord, petitioning him to restore our little boy. The doctor arrived. Just as a stimulant was to be injected directly into his heart as a final emergency measure, he cried. My prayers had been answered, but I was to receive further testimony of this in a most unexpected way.
The next morning, our son climbed on his daddy’s knee. “I was sitting on the lap of Jesus,” he said. Then he went on, “He looked into my eyes. I was so happy. I wanted to stay there with him, but he told me I had to go back home to you.” Even now, twenty-four years later, our son remembers vividly the reciprocal love he experienced during his brief “step out of time.” He is vigorous and well, living with his lovely wife and a little son of his own as he continues to serve the Lord.

At the beginning of the school year, I met a wonderful student. She has a big heart and is always willing to share anything of hers with other students. At first, most of them didn’t know how nice she was. Because she has some mental disabilities, sometimes she would do things that made them uncomfortable.
One day the music teacher asked my friend to perform some of the actions for the song we were practicing. When she started to dance, some of the other students began to laugh. I know that most people don’t like being laughed at, so I didn’t laugh at her. I thought about what Jesus would want me to do, and I kept quiet and enjoyed her cute dance.
In the mornings, while we are waiting to go into the school, my friend comes to see me first thing and gives me a big hug. We sit together at lunch as often as we can, and she always has a bright smile that makes me happy to be her friend. Sometimes I see her playing alone at recess, and I make an extra effort to play with her. It makes me sad when I can’t find a friend to play with, and I want my friend to be happy.
In my Primary class and in family home evening, I have learned that Jesus wants each of us to love one another, as He loves us. John 13:34 is my favorite scripture, and I have read it twice in Primary this year. It helps me to remember to be like Jesus. Trying to be like Him gives me a special feeling in my heart that makes me feel good.

Once during his second winter, two days out of Placerville, Thompson discovered at nightfall a fur trader, James Sisson, partially delirious and near death in a mountain cabin. Sisson’s legs were frozen to the knees and gangrene was setting in. After chopping wood and building a fire in the fireplace, Snowshoe skied to Genoa for help.

Unfortunately, the only doctor in town was out on another emergency call. So Snowshoe, with the help of volunteers and a sled, managed to bring Sisson to Genoa in spite of deep mountain snow.

Then they found that the doctor was out of the chloroform necessary to perform the leg amputations! And where was the only chloroform? Across the mountains in Sacramento. This was now the fifth day since Snowshoe had left Placerville, California. And in all this time he had caught only quick snatches of sleep. Nevertheless, he started out immediately for Sacramento, amazingly making the run in a night and a day and then back to Genoa again in another night and day in time to save Sisson’s life.

My ears burned bright red with embarrassment as my teenage son, Derek, and I finished singing “Be Still, My Soul”1 in sacrament meeting. I had not properly warmed up my voice before the meeting began, and as a result, when I tried to reach a high note, my voice cracked badly.
I slid back onto my bench, feeling uncomfortable despite supportive looks from my smiling wife, assuring me that I had not ruined the spirit of the meeting.
After the closing prayer I headed for my car to retrieve a lesson manual. A sister in our ward stood near the door, sobbing. A friend supported her with an arm around her shoulder. As I passed by, the weeping sister called my name and expressed her appreciation to me for choosing the hymn we sang and for performing it in a way that touched her deeply.
She explained that she had given birth to a stillborn baby several days earlier and had battled anger and despair ever since. As Derek and I sang the hymn, she had felt the Spirit wrap her aching soul in a peaceful, comforting warmth. It had filled her with the hope she needed to bear her cross of grief.
I awkwardly mumbled thanks and headed out the door, feeling blessed and humbled by her words. As I reached the car, I remembered a devotional address by Kim B. Clark, president of Brigham Young University–Idaho. He had said, “When we act in faith in [Jesus] to do His work, He goes with us” to serve others and “blesses us to say just what they need to hear.” He also taught that “what we actually say and actually do may feel a little awkward or not very polished. … But the Savior takes our words and our actions and He carries them through His spirit unto the hearts of the people. He takes our sincere but imperfect effort and turns it into something that is just right, indeed, into something that is perfect.”2
Tears of gratitude filled my eyes as I returned to the meetinghouse. The Lord had blessed an unpolished musical number and carried its message perfectly into the grieving heart of a young sister to comfort her sorrowing soul. In addition, the Lord used this touching experience to carry into my heart a much deeper understanding of a profound gospel principle.

God expresses His love for us by helping us to progress and reach our potential. Perhaps a simple story will illustrate this point. A young boy could not get a computer to work properly. Soon he became discouraged. His temper grew short, and he threatened to destroy the computer. His wise father decided to help and took his son to a local computer store to get an instruction manual. After all, who would know more about a computer than the person or company that created it? By working within the guidelines given in the instruction book, the boy soon enjoyed the full potential of his computer.

The faith of children has always helped me to realize how close our Heavenly Father really is to us. Children’s prayers have also taught me that our Heavenly Father doesn’t expect each prayer to be long or for us to use big words. My granddaughter Lisa doesn’t pray very long, and she doesn’t use big words. But I know that her prayers are heard and answered because she loves her Heavenly Father and He loves her.
When I was six years old, my mother took me to the groundbreaking service for our new chapel in Santa Monica, California. As we arrived, Mother noticed that I had brought the small sand shovel that I usually took on our family outings to the beach. I had hoped that I could help by digging some ground at the chapel site. They let me use my shovel that first day, and my faith was increased because I helped to build a church for our Heavenly Father. My, how good I felt! The seeds of service and faith were planted in my heart. It is my wish to keep that same feeling of faith and desire to serve that I had as a six-year-old child.
Years later when my childhood dreams of a mission were realized, I was called far away to New Zealand. There I first met the Maori people who have brought so much into my life by their simplicity, sincerity, and great faith.
One of my first assignments was to a Maori village called Judea, where the missionaries were helping in the construction of a small chapel. At that time I was trying to learn the Maori language. Each day I prayed to our Heavenly Father for help. And then one day I was surprised to be surrounded by Primary children. My prayer for help with the new language had been heard, and our Heavenly Father had inspired the branch president to send these children to help me. They followed me everywhere I went for weeks, talking to me in Maori. Their first lesson I shall remember forever:
Hei tito tito te ngeru me te whiro
Te kau peke runga te marama
Ka kata te kuri ki tana mahi pai
Ka oma te rihi me to punu.
The words sounded beautiful, but they were meaningless to a new missionary. I thought I was learning an old Maori war chant. What a surprise to me when I found out the children were teaching me “Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon. …”
How grateful I shall always be to those children of New Zealand for the wonderful blessing they brought to their new missionary.
In another part of New Zealand the missionaries always stopped for the night at a certain Maori home where they could be sure of a place to sleep, and they knew the Spirit of the Lord was always there. There were eleven children in this family, and each took his turn to say family prayer. They always sincerely prayed that they might one day be able to go to the temple to be sealed together by the power of the priesthood for time and all eternity. This family was so poor that it seemed impossible for them to save enough to buy tickets for Mother, Dad, and eleven children to travel all the way to the Hawaii Temple five thousand miles away. But their faith was great and the prayers of the entire family persisted. How could such a blessing ever come to pass?
Every New Zealand missionary was humbled beyond words when the announcement was made just a few years later by President David O. McKay that a new temple would be built in New Zealand—within fifty miles of the little Maori family who possibly could never have saved enough money to travel to Hawaii. God moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. People with sufficient faith will never be denied the blessings of heaven.
Our family will not forget our little friend Becky, who invited us to hold our family home evening in her home. Even though her daddy was not a member of the Church, she wanted him to participate in a family home evening. Most of all, she wanted him to become a member of the Church.
Becky’s daddy said he would be glad to have us go to their home for family home evening. We had a beautiful time together. The spiritual lesson was followed by refreshments, some games, and family prayer. As we were saying goodnight, Becky looked up at me and asked, “Bishop Simpson, will you do me a favor?”
“Of course,” I answered, “anything you say.”
“Will you please baptize my daddy for me?”
That request, filled with the hope and faith of a child, sank deeply into the heart of her daddy, and it was just a few weeks later that his baptism was performed.
No wonder Jesus said, “Except ye … become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 18:3).

Martín felt sad when his parents told him the family was moving to a different city in Colombia. He didn’t want to leave his friends, his home, and the place where he grew up. Instead of cool mountain air, Martín would now live close to the ocean with hot, humid air all year round. He would trade hot soups for cold drinks, and coats for shorts. Add to that a new school, a new ward, and a new Primary class! It all seemed pretty scary.
One day Mom and Dad asked Martín how he felt about the move.
“I don’t like it,” Martín said. “I don’t want everything to change.”
“I know moving can be hard,” Dad said. “Lots of things will change, but not everything. You’ll still have us!”
“That’s true,” Martín said.
“And we will bring our things with us,” Mom said.
Martín thought about that for a minute. He would still have his clothes, his shoes, and his favorite toys. Martín was glad he could take his toys. He packed them away extra carefully when they moved.
After a while, Martín started to get used to his new home and new city. The move wasn’t as hard or scary as he thought it would be.
One Sunday, when his family went to church, Martín noticed a lot of people he had never seen before. Primary was full of new kids. He wondered where they came from. He heard people he knew talk about donating food, clothes, and shoes. After church, Martín asked Mom about all the new people.
“They had to leave their country,” Mom said. “Many of them left everything behind except what they could carry.”
“So that’s why everyone wants to help them?” Martín asked.
“That’s right. Jesus taught us that we should help people who are in need. We can follow His example and share what we have.”
Martín thought about that. He wanted to follow Jesus!
Then Mom said, “Many of the Primary kids had to leave their toys behind. Do you think you have some toys you could give?”
Martín would be happy to share his shoes or his clothes. But his toys?
“No! Those are my toys!” Martín said. He turned and ran to his room.
Martín looked around his room with tears in his eyes. He didn’t want to give away any of his toys. He’d brought them all the way from his old house!
He went to his toy box and looked inside. He saw his toy truck, his yo-yo, his trompo (spinning top), and his best bag of marbles.
Then Martín thought, What if I had to leave all of these behind? And my home and country too?
The more he thought about that, the more Martín knew what he wanted to do.
A few minutes later, he came up to Mom with his arms full of toys—not just any old toys—but the ones he always played with.
Mom looked surprised. “You don’t have to give away your favorite toys.”
Martín set the toys on the floor. “The other kids had favorite toys they had to leave behind,” he said. “I want them to have mine so they can be a little happier.”
Mom gave Martín a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
Martín had a warm feeling inside. He knew giving to others is what Jesus would do, and that made him happy.

Orphaned at the age of eleven, Daniel Webster Jones traveled from his home in Missouri to the western United States in 1847 with a company of volunteer soldiers who went to fight in the U.S.-Mexican War. “Gambling, swearing, fighting, and other rough conduct” were part of his every day activity he later wrote in his autobiography, Forty Years among the Indians, (Salt Lake City, Utah: Juvenile Instructor Office.) So Daniel Webster Jones in his early years seemed an unlikely person to join the Church, spend forty years proselyting among the American Indians, and with little formal training in Spanish help make the first Spanish translation from the Book of Mormon. As it happened, he was a good person to do all of these things.
He does not talk about his early life, but somewhere he had gained a strong belief in God. During the three years he spent in Mexico with the volunteer army, he “took part in many ways in the wild, reckless life that was common in the army;” but still would not partake of “strong drink and other worse vices that I could see were destroying the lives of my friends.”
Because of his life-style, he says, “I felt condemned, and often asked God in all seriousness to help me to see what was right, and how to serve Him; telling Him I wanted to know positively, and not be deceived.” In his rough way, he felt that people living in his time were entitled to a prophet too; that it was not right “to leave them without anything but the Bible.”
He left Mexico in 1850 with a large trading company traveling to Salt Lake City. On the way, he was badly wounded by a gun accident, but managed to survive until his companions got him to the Latter-day Saint settlements near Provo, south of Salt Lake City.
In that day, the Saints were often ridiculed by travelers, but when he overheard some of his friends reading the Doctrine and Covenants and making fun of it, he thought of his prayer asking for modern revelation. He left his companions, moved in with a Latter-day Saint family, and began investigating the gospel as he recovered from his injury. “Everyone was kind and treated me with great confidence,” he remembered. “I listened to the elders preaching and soon concluded they were honest and knew it, or were deliberate liars and deceivers. I was determined, if possible, not to be fooled, therefore I commenced to watch very closely.” He was particularly impressed by the lack of bitterness that Latter-day Saints felt toward the Indians, in spite of recent battles.
When he learned about the Book of Mormon, “it seemed natural to me to believe it. I cannot remember ever questioning in my mind the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, or that Joseph Smith was a prophet. The question was: Are the Mormons sincere, and can I be one?” When he decided that he could be, he spoke to Isaac Morley, who had been one of the first converts to the Church in Ohio.
It was 27 January 1851, wintertime, and Brother Morley “was just going out to get a load of wood with his ax under his arm.” Remarking quietly, “I have been expecting this,” Brother Morley used the ax to chop through thick ice formed over the nearby lake—and Dan became a member of the Church.
The next twenty-three years were busy ones. He farmed, traded with the Ute Indians, was ordained a seventy, married Harriet Emily Colton, acted as Brigham Young’s interpreter when he dealt with some Mexicans in Sanpete County, helped rescue the handcart pioneers stranded by winter storms, and continued his friendly contacts with the Indians, both as a member of the Church and as a government official.
Then in 1874, he was summoned to Brigham Young’s office and was called on a mission to Mexico. “I had expected this call to come some time. I had both desired and dreaded the mission,” he says frankly, knowing how hard a mission would be in Mexico. He and Harry Brizzee were both called and told to prepare themselves. Since “Brother Young said he would like to have some extracts from the Book of Mormon translated,” they “began to study and prepare to translate.”
Although both spoke Spanish, Daniel “often thought how good it would be to have a Spanish-speaking native to help us.” A few months later, Brother Brizzee met a stranger, Spanish-speaking Mileton G. Trejo, who had heard about the Church in the Philippine Islands and had come to Utah to investigate it. He soon was baptized and began translating selections from the Book of Mormon into Spanish with Daniel’s help and support.
In 1875, Daniel reported to President Young that they were ready to start on their mission. Authorized by President Young, Daniel soon raised $500 to pay for the printing of the first set of Spanish selections.
In a later conversation with President Young, Daniel was asked how he proposed to prove to the satisfaction of the authorities of the Church—none of whom spoke Spanish—that the translation was correct. Daniel suggested this test: they would select a book, Brother Trejo would translate a passage into Spanish, Daniel would take the Spanish translation and, without looking at the original book, translate the text back into English. President Young accepted the suggestion, and when the Brethren received a copy of Daniel’s translation from the Spanish, President George A. Smith, then a member of the First Presidency, “laughingly remarked, ‘I like Brother Jones’ style better [than the original]. … The language is more easily understood.’”
But that was not the only exceptional experience Daniel had in connection with the translation. He says:
“When the printing started, Brother Brigham told me that he would hold me responsible for its correctness. This worried me so much that I asked the Lord to in some way show me any mistakes [as we proofread the printed sheets].
“Brother Trejo’s manuscript was written in modern language style. When I called his attention to errors he invariably agreed with me. He often remarked that I was a close critic and understood Spanish better than he did. I did not like to tell him how I discerned the mistakes.
“I felt a sensation in the center of my forehead as though there was a fine thread being pulled smoothly out. When there was a mistake, the smoothness would be interrupted as though a small knot was being passed out through the forehead. Whether I saw the mistake or not I was so sure it was there that I would show it to my companion and ask him to correct it. When this was done we continued on until the same thing happened again.”

This is not your basic story of a super-achieving LDS family where everyone gets straight A pluses, wins international symphony competitions, trains for the Olympics, and trudges ten miles through the snow to get to seminary every morning. No. This is the story of a family that simply steps up to the plate and swings, regardless of the challenges they face.
Challenges don’t intimidate the Drummonds. They never have. When Heather decided she wanted to go out for baseball, she didn’t think twice about the fact that there are no girls’ teams in her area. Today the petite 15-year-old with long dark hair and bangs is the only girl playing on boys’ teams in her league, and she’s doing pretty well.
Then there’s tall, thin, 17-year-old Christopher. He didn’t let the fact that millions of boys all over the country dream of being a batboy for a professional baseball team stop him. He went right up to the personnel office of the California Angels, applied, and landed the position. It wasn’t half as difficult as he thought it would be.
Heather and Christopher take their cue from their father, Tom Drummond, who, when he got custody of his two children over 12 years ago, decided he would be the best parent he could be, with or without the support of a wife. And later, when he was introduced to the Church, he decided to take on the challenges and blessings of membership and hopefully share them with his children.
Heather was the first one to follow his lead. “I took the discussions and started going to church with my dad,” she said. “I knew some of the girls at church who played on my soccer team, and they were really nice. Everybody seemed really nice there, and joining the Church just seemed like the right thing to do.”
Christopher took a little longer. “A couple of sets of missionaries taught me, and I just didn’t know about it. But then one came along who helped me see everything was right in the Church. He talked baseball, and he showed me things in the scriptures too, and I knew. Then my dad baptized me.”
By now, it would be impossible not to note that sports, baseball in particular, play a big part in the Drummonds’ lives. Heather and Christopher have both been playing since they were about three years old, and since they live in southern California, they’re able to play in leagues all year round. Tom, a self-employed architect, makes it to almost every single game.
Baseball has formed a strong bond in their lives, even though Christopher takes some flak because his sister is the only girl playing on a boys’ team in their league—“You better watch out, Christopher. Your little sister’s gonna take your place!” And Heather says she doesn’t see a lot of her brother because he’s usually either working at Anaheim stadium or playing ball. Baseball is still a common interest that ties the family together, when they could be going in some very different directions.
When the gospel came into their lives about four years ago, it brought an even stronger bond. There’s a lot more to share now than box scores and batting averages. They share prayer, church meetings, scriptures, and a concept of the eternal unit their family is. “We have family home evening,” says Christopher. “I really like that. We talk or read or play games. Sometimes we go out to dinner or a movie or over to another family’s house. That’s a really good thing.”
The Drummonds are not the most outspoken kids in the world. They’re doers rather than talkers. But they will open up if you ask. Heather, for example, will tell you that she doesn’t feel short-changed by not growing up with a mother. “I’ve lived with guys all my life, so I do the things they do,” she says. “But I also do girl things. My best friends are girls. I don’t think growing up only with guys has hurt me.” Heather has her own ways of asserting her femininity. In the dugout, for example, even though she tucks her long brown hair up under her cap and wears a bulky uniform like the rest of the players, you can’t miss her because she’s the one wearing pink lipstick. And sometimes, when the other players lose their tempers and start swearing, they’re quickly reminded that a girl is present when Heather tells them, “Hey—watch your language!” And, she says, “They usually apologize.”
“Some of the guys I play with are kind of mean,” says Heather. “They say the only reason I’m on the team is because the coach doesn’t know how to cut a girl. I have to play extra hard to overcome that. I’ve been tempted to quit, but when I am, I just tell myself I have to stick in there, because everyone would think I can’t handle it. I can handle it,” she says with conviction, and you don’t doubt her.
When prodded, Christopher will tell you some of his deeper feelings, too. Things like his biggest fear about serving a mission is not that it will break up his baseball career, but that he will never know enough about the gospel to teach it to other people. “Missionaries know so much,” he says. He seems relieved to learn that the Spirit blesses missionaries with special knowledge as they strive to learn and grow.
Surprisingly enough, he’ll also tell you that working with some of the greatest baseball players in the world, and even, on occasion, getting to travel with the team, is not as big a deal as some people would think. “Oh, the players are really nice and everything—especially Wally Joyner—he’s Mormon too. But it’s just a basic, normal job. I’m paid by the hour, minimum wage. The food is good though. We get to eat with the players, and the Angels have one of the best chefs in professional baseball.” Still, Christopher says he likes the ballpark hotdogs about the best.
As involved as the Drummonds are in sports, you might think their grades would suffer a bit. But not so. “They’re both on the honor roll,” says their dad. “They have to maintain B averages. That’s my rule. And no underwater basketweaving or sandwich making courses, either.” He then goes on to recite their schedules—solid, difficult classes every one, with the exception of baseball, which the Drummonds take very seriously. Of course, since Tom made the rules, he’s always there to help his kids accomplish them. It’s not uncommon to find the family studying together in the evenings.
The Drummonds just seem to look right through challenges. They’re not afraid to take on demanding classes, to be the only girl on local baseball teams, to work with professional baseball players, or to join a church that outlines a brand-new lifestyle. Quietly, solidly, without a lot of fanfare or hype, they step up to the plate and take their swings at the good pitches that come their way.

by David Forbes
Taking advantage of one of the hottest summers on record, about 30 young men of the Dundee Scotland Stake set up camp in an isolated region of Angus County.
Camp leader Paul Roy organized a variety of activities for each day, but the highlight of the week-long camp was a 10-hour pony trek in one of the country’s most beautiful areas. They rode into the blazing sun and crossed three heather-covered glens before taking a refreshing dip in a cool mountain stream during their lunch break.
By the end of the day, regardless of any sore muscles, the boys jumped at the chance to play a game of American-style football.
“The amount of energy these boys have is amazing. I thought after a long day on the ponies they would be exhausted. But not these boys,” said Brother Roy, a member of the stake Young Men presidency.

The gospel message seemed familiar to her, and she continued to receive the missionaries when she moved from Helsinki to Kuopio. But when the missionaries told her that they intended to baptize her, she asked them to stop coming. “I was afraid of people’s opinions,” she explains. “In my professional friendships, belonging to a religious group was not considered acceptable. I didn’t want to be different.”
But the matter kept bothering her until she finally went to a Church meeting. Soon the missionaries were coming again. “When I stopped drinking coffee, I received a testimony. I knew that the Church was true, and I had to join it.”

When I was a mission president in Australia, I once said to those of my missionaries in Tasmania: “Tomorrow we shall climb Mt. Wellington and hold our missionary meeting on the top. We shall there seek to commune with the Lord and partake of his Spirit.”
We made the climb, and while on top of the peak we visited a television broadcasting station. A bright young man explained to us in words I had never heard, and using principles I could not and do not understand, how the sounds and scenes of television were broadcast into the valley below.
That night, back in the city of Hobart, my two young sons and I sat before a television set that was tuned to the proper wave band, and we saw and heard and experienced what had been described to us in words.
Now I think this illustrates perfectly what is involved in the receipt of revelation and the seeing of visions. We can read about visions and revelations in the records of the past, we can study the inspired writings of people who had the fullness of the gospel in their day, but we cannot comprehend what is involved until we see and hear and experience for ourselves.
This Tabernacle is now full of words and music. Handel’s Messiah is being sung, and the world’s statesmen are propagandizing their people. But we do not hear any of it.
This Tabernacle is full of scenes from Vietnam and Washington. There is even a picture of men walking on the surface of the moon. But we are not seeing these things. The minute, however, in which we tune a radio to the proper wave band and tune a television receiving set on the proper channel, we begin to hear and see and experience what otherwise remains completely unknown to us.

With young people keeping this hectic pace, their parents frequently find themselves trying to catch their sons or daughters for a few minutes of visiting. The dinner table is often the only time when most of the family is together during the day, and a common scene at the table is to watch mother or dad attempt to pump out a little information from their frantically scheduled offspring. Mother: How did things go at school today, Jan?
Jan: Okay.
Dad: Anything interesting happen?
Jan: Nope.
Mother: How did your math class go? I know you’ve been worried about it.
Jan: It’s going all right.
Dad: How is your play practice coming?
Jan: Good.
Dad: Any problems coming up that we can help with?
Jan: Not really, but can I have the car tonight? I need to get together with some of the other kids.
Dad: I guess so.
In fairness to Jan, it is not just from her that her parents try to pump information. If you were to listen to the conversation between her mother and dad when he comes home from work, you would probably hear a conversation like this:
Mother: How did things go at work today, dear?
Dad: Okay.
Mother: Anything interesting happen?
Dad: Nope.
Mother: How did that new project go that you’ve been worried about?
Dad: It’s going all right.
Family members often don’t spend enough time talking, sharing, discussing. They don’t often find a time when everyone is together, and the climate for discussion is not created since everyone is rushing through dinner to get to the next activity.
The lack of scheduling in family time is just as much a problem for the children as the parents. Younger children often are the ones who suffer. They would like to get together with the whole family more often to play games and do other things together. Many teenagers don’t really know anything about younger brothers or sisters. The little one goes on in a world of his own, and the teenager only occasionally dips into that world. It is often a surprise to the teenager to find that a younger brother or sister has grown up or has developed habits or attitudes he doesn’t understand. Older brothers and sisters are important role models and sources of influence on younger children.
Scott was caught up in the excitement of his mission call. In two months he would be leaving for Australia. Following the first flush of excitement came a flood of nostalgia for his home and family, which was surprising since he had not yet left home. He began to look around and see things he had been aware of yet not really seen. There was his sister, four years younger, who was beginning to blossom into a young lady. He saw her trying to cope with the sudden attention boys were paying her, wanting to be popular but not knowing how. Scott wanted to tell her things he thought might help, but he didn’t know how. He suddenly realized that he had never once had a serious, sensitive, personal conversation with his own sister. All of their interaction was in bits and pieces of teasing, complaining, or routine daily matters. Here he was about to try to teach the gospel to people thousands of miles away but had disregarded the opportunity to render a similar service at home.

I became good friends with a girl named Julia. We decided to be “buddies” at girls camp. Even though I don’t like camping or hiking very much, I really enjoyed the entire experience. There was a different feeling at this camp. Our counselors made a special effort to see that we were having a good time and that everyone was included in all the activities we participated in. During the week, we had devotionals, a nature walk to learn about different plants, a first-aid class, and campfire skits. There was also a service project that everyone in the camp happily participated in. In fact, the service project table was always crowded with volunteers. All through the week there was a sense of organization, cooperation, and friendship.
On Saturday morning, the last day, everyone got together around the campfire, and whoever wanted to stood up and told the others of their testimony of the Church and expressed their gratitude for their family, friends, and what a great and memorable experience they had at camp. Most of them cried while they talked, and I cried along with them. I was surprised to see my sister go up on stage. She said how happy she was to come to this Church and how thankful she was for her family, especially me. That was one of the first times she had ever expressed her love for me as her sister. Once she sat down, I got up and sat next to her. I told her how grateful I was for what she said, and we cried together. We really made a special connection.

The Utah Bonneville Stake’s pioneer experience wasn’t just a trek through some of the same territory pioneers settled in after they arrived in Utah; it was also a trek through time. Many of the youth read their pioneer ancestors’ journals before going on the trek, to give them a very personal idea of what the exodus west meant to the pioneers.

“One of my ancestors came from Nauvoo to Utah,” says Candice McConkie, 17. “She had to travel alone because her husband had died. I really admire her courage and sacrifice. And because of her, I felt I could face any of the hard experiences of our trek and even some of the real hardships I might have to face later in my life.”

The stake’s Youth Pioneer Trek Council wanted their trek to be unforgettable for everyone, even those without pioneer ancestors, so they made a few rules about modern conveniences being left behind. Who would have thought that bar soap would fall into that category?

“After a while, it didn’t seem to matter if you were dirty or clean, because everyone else was the same way. You began to notice people for what they were inside instead of outside,” says Patrick Moench, 17.

And the food wasn’t much like what the youth were used to either. But that didn’t seem to matter much to anyone, especially 17-year-old Ryan Parker.

“I don’t care how the food tastes ,” he says. “I just hope there’s lots of it.”

Sweat trickled down Nathan’s back. He fingered the candy bar in his pocket—it would melt if he didn’t eat it soon. But his craving for the chocolate and nuts had disappeared as soon as he walked out of the store with it—a candy bar he hadn’t paid for—in his pocket.
Now it was growing warm and very sticky. Nathan pulled it out and looked at it. Chocolate oozed from under the wrapping onto his fingers. Spotting a trash can, he dropped it inside. I’ll feel better now, he thought. The candy bar is gone.
But the guilt wasn’t! As he trudged home, Nathan wondered why he had stolen the candy bar.
Later that afternoon Mother asked, “Nathan, will you go to the store for me, please? I need a gallon of milk.”
“From Brother Milligan’s store?”
“Of course.”
“Uh … I’m sort of busy right now. Couldn’t it wait until later?”
“No, I need the milk for dinner tonight.” Taking her wallet from her purse, his mother gave Nathan some money. “Get a gallon of milk, a dozen eggs, and a loaf of bread.” She smiled. “There should be enough left over for you to have a candy bar.”
Nathan winced at the mention of a candy bar and stared at the money in his hand.
In Milligan’s Market, he muttered a greeting to Brother Milligan. When Nathan paid for his groceries, the storekeeper put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “Nathan, you look like you just lost your best friend.”
Nathan turned and tried to smile but couldn’t. How could I have stolen from Brother Milligan? How could I have stolen from anyone? he asked himself. Aloud, he said only, “Uh … I have to get home,” not meeting the storekeeper’s eyes.
Brother Milligan looked disappointed. “Come by when you can stay a while” was all that he said.
Nathan barely tasted his dinner that evening, even though his mother had fixed his favorite meal, spaghetti and meatballs.
When Nathan knelt beside his bed to pray that night, the words caught in his throat and formed a huge lump. All he could think about was Brother Milligan, who had been his CTR B teacher two years ago. Nathan remembered one lesson in particular, about the Saints building the Salt Lake Temple. His thoughts turned to the temple. He planned to go on a mission when he turned nineteen years old and, later, to be married in the temple. How can I do any of those things when I’ve stolen something? He imagined the hurt looks on his parents’ faces if they ever learned what he had done.
The next morning Nathan skipped breakfast. He had asked for Heavenly Father’s help and had decided to fast at least one meal until he could do what needed to be done. Milligan’s Market opened at eight o’clock, and he intended to be the first one there.
Inside the store, Nathan glanced around, glad that there were no other customers yet. He found his old Primary teacher in the back. Nervously, the boy cleared his throat. “Uh, Brother Milligan, I have something to tell you.”
“Could you help me lift this box of apples?” Brother Milligan asked. “When a body gets older, he can’t do all the things he once did.”
Nathan helped the storekeeper lift the crate of apples and set it on a shelf. “I stole a candy bar from you yesterday,” he blurted out.
“I know.”
“You know? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I figured that you’d get around to telling me when you were ready.” He stooped to lift another box. Automatically Nathan bent down to help.
“As I was saying, a body needs some help when he gets older.” Brother Milligan sat on a crate and pushed his glasses on top of his forehead.
“Maybe I could help you,” Nathan offered. “After school and on Saturday. To make up for taking the candy bar.”
“Well, now, that’s a good idea. A very good idea.” He patted Nathan’s shoulder. “Did the candy bar taste good?” Nathan shook his head. “I threw it away.”
“I sort of figured you might.” The storekeeper looked at his watch and said, “You’d best be going. You don’t want to be late for school.”
“I’ll be here at 3:30.”
“I know you will, son.”
That evening Nathan told his parents what he’d done. They didn’t yell at him. In fact, they said that they were proud that he’d done the right thing in the end.
As he knelt beside his bed that night, Nathan didn’t have any trouble telling Heavenly Father what was in his heart.

Here in Salt Lake City in 1985, Bishop Steven Christensen, through no fault of his own, was cruelly and senselessly killed by a bomb intended to take his life. He was the son of Mac and Joan Christensen, the husband of Terri, and the father of four children. With his parents’ consent, I share what they learned from this experience. After this terrible deed, the news media followed members of the Christensen family around relentlessly. On one occasion this media intrusion offended one of the family members to the point that Steven’s father, Mac, had to restrain him. Mac then thought, “This thing will destroy my family if we don’t forgive. Venom and hatred will never end if we do not get it out of our system.” Healing and peace came as the family cleansed their hearts from anger and were able to forgive the man who took their son’s life.

My dear brothers and sisters, as October general conference approached last year, I prepared my conference talk to highlight the 100th anniversary of the vision of the spirit world given to President Joseph F. Smith on October 3, 1918.
A few days after I had submitted my talk for translation, my beloved eternal companion, Barbara, completed her mortal probation and passed into the spirit world.
As the days have turned into weeks, then months, and now a year since Barbara’s passing, I find myself more fully appreciating this scripture: “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die.” Barbara and I were blessed to “live together in love” for 67 years. But I have learned in a very real way what it means to “weep for the loss” of those we love. Oh, how I love and miss her!