Gospel Story Finder

Miles of gray desert ended abruptly in a miragelike valley of green. A cluster of neat houses sparsely shaded by poplar and cedar trees flanked both sides of the road. Near the center of town stood a bank, a mini-supermarket, a hardware and general mercantile store, and a combination garage and service station.
A few strings of tinsel and pasteboard Santa Claus placards swung wearily in the hot breeze above the street. In the doubtful shade of a large cedar stood a small frame building with a weathered sign that read: U.S. POST OFFICE, DESERT CITY, ARIZONA, POPULATION 467. The cedar was decorated with colored bulbs and strands of red and green paper. Inside the post office a wreath of holly hung over a grilled window which boasted a faded sign: GENERAL DELIVERY … STAMPS.
Behind the window, Luke Jones sorted the mail without conscious thought or effort. After 30 years in Desert City there was little he didn’t know about every resident—with one exception, the stranger who had arrived in town two days before. Luke shrugged, murmuring under his breath, “Curiosity killed the cat.” His lips twitched into a wry grin. “Must be a mighty long trail of dead cats behind me.”
Luke heard a scuffle of feet and turned toward the door. Mrs. Abbie Smithers walked in, and just behind her stood the stranger. Luke’s eyes watched the stranger, but his words were to Mrs. Smithers. “Got a postcard for you, Abbie. From your sister in Colorado. She ain’t going to get here for Christmas after all.”
“For pity’s sake!” Mrs. Smithers said. “I’ve cleaned house until the whole place shines like a new pin.”
“Don’t fret,” Luke said calmly. “It’s only a delay. Her little girl came down with the chicken pox. Here—you better read it yourself.”
As Mrs. Smithers left the window, the stranger asked, “Anything for Bill Anders?”
Luke’s sharp eyes studied him. He knew without looking that there was nothing, yet he turned and slowly sorted through some letters, his gaze darting sideways at the young man. “Ain’t you the fellar whose car broke down here day before yesterday?”
“That’s right.”
“Too bad,” Luke said. He looked directly at the serious-faced young man. “I hear it’s costing you $70 to get it fixed.” His glance was shrewd. “Garageman was in a while ago. Said it’s been ready for you since yesterday.”
“That’s right. Have I got a letter?”
“Where you expecting this letter from?”
Anders’s face flushed. “Look, I just want to know—”
“If I know where it’s from,” Luke interrupted, “maybe I can tell you when it’ll be here.”
Anders looked down at the floor. “It’s coming from Los Angeles. I wrote airmail two days ago when my car broke down.”
“Ain’t here yet,” Luke drawled.
Anders’s face shadowed. He turned to leave.
“Should be in tomorrow,” Luke said. “Mail gets in at 11:00.”
Anders limped toward the door, and Luke noticed that he wore a heavy brace with a built-up shoe on one foot.
“Hey, Anders!”
The young man stopped and turned around.
“You clear broke?” An angry flush reddened Anders’s face. “None of your business!”
Slyly Luke said, “You got money coming in that letter, ain’t you?”
“What’s it to you?” He stopped, took a deep breath, and said more quietly, “Yes, 100 dollars. Anything else you’d like to know?”
Without expression, Luke said, “From your folks, hey?”
Anders hobbled back to the window; his face was white. “Look, my folks are dead. A friend of mine in L.A. is sending me the money. At least, I asked him to send it, and I’m sure he will.”
“Maybe,” Luke said dryly, “maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes you find out you ain’t got a friend when you ask for money.”
Anders stared at him, then said, “Jim isn’t that way.”
Luke could sense an uncertainty behind the words. “Where you going from here if this Jim sends the money?”
Bill Anders’s mood changed suddenly. He looked at Luke and grinned. “Darned if you aren’t the most nosy, old … curious man I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ve been told that.”
Anders laughed. “All right, you might as well know. I’ve got a job waiting for me in Albuquerque that I’ve been trying to get since high school. A good job. A big chance for me.” His voice lowered. “I’ve got to get there in time to begin work the day after Christmas. I’ve got to!” He turned abruptly and limped out to the street.
Luke rubbed his chin and stared after him.
At 11:30 the next morning Luke finished sorting the mail to the barely audible Christmas carols coming from the battered radio on the shelf. He examined again the letter addressed to Bill Anders. The postmark was smudged beyond recognition; the name and the address were typed. Luke held the envelope up to the light. He could see the outline of currency inside. He fingered the envelope. It crinkled like crisp, new greenbacks crinkle. Yes, it contained the 100 dollars Bill Anders was waiting for.
Luke’s lips thinned a little. A hundred dollars could mean a lot to a person, even to a man in his position. It could mean that new fishing outfit he wanted for his next vacation. He smiled at the thought. A Christmas gift to himself …
He fondled the letter. What he would have given years ago for this money! It might have changed his whole life—marriage, children, grandchildren—but he had been unable to borrow the money. Friends—even relatives—had turned him down. He slammed the letter into the mail slot. Why should he worry about a crippled young man, a stranger he would never see again?
Luke heard dragging footsteps on the wood floor and turned around to see a subdued Bill Anders, a face lined with worry, yet eyes which still held a lurking hope.
Luke hesitated, and then he reached into the slot and pulled out the mail under the letter A. Deliberately he sorted through the letters; indecision still weighed upon him. He didn’t have to give this letter to the boy. But if he didn’t, could he ever live with himself? Could he look into a mirror without seeing the disappointment on the young man’s face?
He held the letter away from the others.
“Is that for me?” Anders’s voice was strained.
Luke held the letter up to the light. “Postmark’s smudged. Can’t tell where it’s from.”
“Is it for me?”
“Ain’t got a return address on it,” Luke drawled.
“It’s from Jim! It must be!”
Luke watched the boy’s face. It was transformed. His eyes were shining now, the lines of strain and worry vanished. Luke waited a moment longer, and then he tossed the letter through the iron grill.
Anders ripped open the envelope. Five crisp, 20-dollar bills fell out. There was no message. Carefully he picked up the money, handling each greenback almost with reverence. He glanced up at Luke. “Jim isn’t one to write,” he explained, “but when a guy needs help, he comes through.”
“Guess you got a real friend, hey?” Luke said softly.
As he reached the door, his shoulders straight, Anders looked back and smiled. “Merry Christmas!”
Luke watched him limp down the street toward the garage. He sighed heavily and turned again to the mail rack. From the A slot he withdrew a postcard. It was postmarked Los Angeles and addressed to Bill Anders. The few scribbled words on the back were still fresh in Luke’s memory. “Dear Bill: Sorry I can’t help. Things are tight for me too. Jim.”
Slowly Luke placed the card on the counter and stamped it “UNCLAIMED.”
His voice was fretful as he muttered, “Curiosity cost more than a cat this time.” But he was smiling as he turned back to his work.
From the battered radio came the soft strains of “Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men.”

Angelo kicked Lonnie in the chest and earned the point he needed to win.
“Match!” Mr. Haight, the coach, pointed to Angelo. Lonnie and Angelo sat down on the gym floor to watch two other green belts spar.
“Lucky kick.” Lonnie smiled at Angelo.
“I had to even things up.” Angelo grinned. “You beat me in the races at school today.” Lonnie was Angelo’s best friend, and they did everything together.
On the other side of the gym, the red belts were working on the demonstration they would give for the black belt ceremony.
“Soon we’ll be blue belts,” Lonnie said, but he was watching the red belts across the room.
“Yeah. We have the hours, the moves, and the test down for the blue belt,” Angelo said, “but I can’t wait till we’re red belts.”
“Oh, that’ll be easy,” Lonnie laughed. “We only have to earn the blue belt and purple belt first!”
Mr. Haight raised his hands in the air. “OK, enough sparring for tonight.” He waved everyone toward him and held up a piece of paper. “The tournament is two weeks away. This paper gives all the information you will need to have a successful tournament. Make sure your parents read it and sign it. Bring it back here next week.”
Angelo grabbed the paper and headed for the door. The tournament was the last thing he had to complete before becoming a blue belt! As he rode his bike home, he only wished his grandma could see him compete. Abuela Ana was serving a mission in faraway Romania.
Mom was stirring a big pot of chicken mole when Angelo sailed in and handed her the paper. “This is important. It’s about the tournament.”
“How was karate?” Mom smiled and took the paper.
“It was great! I lost one sparring match and won two.”
“Wow!”
“Yep. Now all Lonnie and I have to do is the tournament and we’ll get our blue belts.” Angelo opened the refrigerator.
“Did you know the tournament is on a Sunday, Angelo?” Mom said.
Angelo closed the fridge. “Sunday?” He frowned. His baptism wasn’t too long ago, and he had determined to keep the Sabbath holy.
“I know how much this means to you, Angelo, but Sunday … ?” Mom trailed off.
“I know, I know.” Angelo stomped off to his bedroom. Why did the tournament have to be on a Sunday? None of the other tournaments were. And if he didn’t go, Lonnie would be a blue belt and he would still be green.
Dad peeked into the bedroom. “Hey, Angelo. I heard about the tournament. Have you called Mr. Haight?”
Angelo brightened. “No. I’ll call right away.” He ran for the phone. Surely Mr. Haight would see his problem—maybe he’d even give him the belt without the tournament.
A few minutes later, Angelo shuffled back to his room.
“What did he say?” Dad asked.
“He said to get the belt, I have to meet all the requirements. I even told him Sunday was a holy day, but he just said the gym was booked on Saturday.”
Dad ruffled Angelo’s hair. “There will be other tournaments.”
Angelo looked up at Dad. “I know. But it might be months away. Lonnie will be a blue belt way before me. I might as well quit!”
“It’s your decision, Angelo.” Dad left, and Angelo lay down on his bed. He knew Mom and Dad didn’t want him to go to the Sunday tournament, but maybe he would go just this one time.
Angelo looked at the Dallas Texas Temple picture on his wall. Abuela Ana had given it to him on his birthday last September. Tucked into the corner of the picture was a photograph of his tiny abuela with a huge Romanian castle in the background. Angelo wouldn’t see her again until his next birthday.
He reached for the photograph and read the words she had written on the back.
“The work is hard here. We give lots of discussions, but no baptisms yet. Last week we went to the orphanages and arranged for children to have needed medical care. They were so grateful. I knew that whatever sacrifice I had made to come here was nothing. I’m following the Savior, so everything will be all right! Te amo, Angelo. I love you.”
Angelo turned the picture over and looked into his abuela’s smiling face. He knew he would not be going to the Sunday tournament. He smiled. “I am following my Savior too, Abuela Ana.”

For the past couple of years, the lives of Latter-day Saint youth in Malaysia have been filled with a different kind of firsts—gospel firsts. The Ipoh Malaysia District was organized in 2003. And since then youth here have planned and participated in their first-ever youth conference and attended their district’s first seminary graduation. There are only three branches in the Ipoh Malaysia District, but the youth are determined to share their testimonies with others so they can help the Church grow. They hope they will one day belong to the first ward in western Malaysia.
“You don’t always get to be first in everything,” says Malvinder Singh, 16, who joined the Church in 1998. “But we are pioneers here.”
At a youth conference last year, the air was filled with cries of excitement as the teens experienced yet another first—baseball. Only two or three of the youth who attended the conference had ever played the game before, so they were given the assignment to explain the rules to the others.
“It was a brand-new experience to learn how to play baseball, since soccer and badminton are the sports we play here,” says Malvinder.
In addition to baseball, youth conference was filled with other fun games and activities. Although the youth enjoyed the activities, they say what they will remember most about the experience was the opportunity to meet people with similar beliefs and to draw courage from knowing they are not alone.
Ariana Dabier, a Mia Maid, says, “It was great to see so many Malaysian youth who are just like me—faced with similar trials and temptations—and yet they stand firm in their faith. I now know that no matter where I go on this earth, the gospel will be the same.”
Another gospel first the youth recently experienced was the opportunity to attend their district’s first seminary graduation ceremony. Three Malaysian youth—Kelvin Anand Kumar, Aun Luck Tan Ernest, and Hamish Steven Parsons—earned seminary diplomas.
Kelvin, who was baptized in 1999, attended seminary during the first four years he was a member of the Church. He says the knowledge he gained there increased his testimony. “I am glad I graduated from seminary,” he says. “Seminary helped me to make correct decisions and plan my education. Because of the things I learned in seminary, I know someday I will marry in the temple.”
The youth say the examples of Kelvin and other graduates encourage them to attend seminary faithfully. Attending seminary is difficult for Malaysian teens because studies and homework take up most of their free time. They go to school six days a week, and most students also study with a private teacher after school ends for the day.
Jaslinder Kaur, a Mia Maid in the Ipoh Second Branch, says most of her friends don’t understand her decision to attend seminary. “When I told my friend I was going to church early in the morning to learn more about our Heavenly Father and His Son, she told me I was crazy and my grades would drop,” she says. “But seminary helps me do well in school because I have sacrificed my time for our Father in Heaven. When I go to school, my mind is fully awake, and I can concentrate better on my studies.”
Malvinder Singh also says attending seminary has helped him succeed in school. Malaysian students must complete rigid testing twice during their school careers. Test results determine which colleges students can attend and which professions they can pursue. Although this year was an important exam year for Malvinder, he still chose to go to seminary. He says he knows Heavenly Father blessed him for this decision by helping him do well on his tests. “Faith is the most important thing I have learned in attending seminary,” he says.
Missionaries have been a permanent presence in western Malaysia only since 1980, so there aren’t many members there yet. In fact, only 1 in 12,015 people in Malaysia—or .01 percent of the population—belongs to the Church. Like the early pioneers, the young men and young women in Malaysia know that many of their peers have not had an opportunity to hear the gospel. These youth know they can help the Church grow when they share their testimonies with their friends.
The youth also know that before they will be prepared to share the gospel with others, they must work hard to develop testimonies of their own. Aun Luck Tan Ernest’s parents taught him the gospel when he was young, but he always knew he needed to find out for himself if the gospel was true.
“I wanted to learn more about Jesus Christ when I was baptized,” Ernest, 17, says. “I knew He was the Son of God when I first bore my testimony in sacrament meeting. It was the happiest moment in my life, and I am still trying my best to strengthen my faith and grow in my testimony of Christ.”
Ernest and the other youth in the Ipoh district know that their testimonies will grow as they are shared. There are approximately 10 young men and 10 young women in the Ipoh Second Branch, and when possible they share their testimonies in testimony meeting. Young Women president Liew Siew Ling Chris says, “Hearing their testimonies is the greatest blessing I have.”
Youth in western Malaysia have been blessed with many gospel firsts. Through experiences like youth conference and seminary, they have learned they are not alone in their beliefs. And now they are determined to develop lasting testimonies of their own and help spread the good tidings of the gospel throughout Malaysia.

Jessica paused by the weed-tangled, paintless picket fence to gaze with uneasy wonder at the old, hauntingly still, two-story house. It stood in the scorched summer field just off Banberry Road.
She knew nothing about the old woman who lived behind those chipped gray walls except what had been told her by the townspeople of the whistle-stop town of Dogwood. In fact, she had only seen Emma Murphy once since she moved here with her parents the summer before, yet she still remembered the woman’s pale, weathered face eroded with furrows that seemed almost as deep as the ones in Papa’s field. She had wondered then how a woman so old could ever have been a little girl. And Jessica remembered every word the woman said: “Get away from here, you nosy little scamp!” She also remembered how anger elbowed its way past her own uncertainty when she yelled back, “You don’t scare me, you mean ole … snippety snap!”
Jessica turned and stomped off that day, small puffs of dust exploding about her feet. She was doubly certain that the tales spun about Mrs. Murphy were true—tales about her never coming out of that house unless it was to chase some poor child away with a big stick and stories about her howling and bellowing at everyone.
And if the accounts about the old woman weren’t enough to make Jessica a firm believer, the sight of the house was! Its walls, wrapped in heavy vines, rose eerily skyward. The old swing on the buckled wooden porch was blanketed with dust, leaves, and a gauze of ancient webs; and it creaked in the slightest breeze like something alive.
Today Jessica was on her way to the creek, another half mile down Banberry Road. It was mid-July, and the sun that rolled and burned its way across the hot creek bed had sucked up all but a few isolated pockets of water. She felt sorry for the small fish trapped in the puddles and had taken upon herself the task of catching and transporting them by bucket to bigger ponds upstream.
She studied the old house a final moment from behind the tall yellow weeds that hedged the fence. Never once had she seen the musty curtains drawn open. It must be awfully dark and gloomy in there, she imagined, dark as Papa’s eyes were the day I poked fun at old Mike Kelsay’s long braided beard.
“A body’s different only to the extent that he’s himself and not anybody else,” Papa had sermoned. “If it’s in Mike Kelsay to braid his beard, then it’d be unnatural, maybe even wrong, for him not to. A body can’t be dishonest in his feelings and ever hope to come to terms with himself.”
Papa had a way of saying things that one just couldn’t argue with. Somehow he always sounded so right that all a good Christian heart dared do was store it away with other pearls of wisdom.
But does that make Emma Murphy’s wild stick waving and unfriendliness fine and proper? Jessica wondered. Her face twisted in confusion, and she was just about to turn her back on it all and start down the dirt road when she saw the old woman a second time. The ancient claylike face suddenly peered between the tattered curtains and stared out from behind dirty windows into the yard, glancing in both directions up and down the road. Then it disappeared, reappearing a moment later in a patchwork of light that filled the open front door. Mrs. Murphy stepped out onto the porch, and Jessica cowered behind the weeds.
She didn’t want to be caught staring—not again. Just to be caught by Emma Murphy was a fate that could put white hair on a twelve-year-old girl. Uncertainty pulled at the coattails of calm and dared her to feel at ease. She would have to wait out Mrs. Murphy, who was starting down the crooked path toward her. Jessica gasped and glanced quickly over her shoulder. Banberry Road was empty—not a wagon, buggy, nor single soul in sight. She was alone.
Jessica’s eyes shifted back toward the old woman, who hobbled closer still. The girl scrunched into a ball like a little dead spider and shut her eyes tighter than two pages in a closed book, expecting the worst.
After a moment of tense, sun-blistered silence, Jessica heard the old woman’s grating voice and dared to open one eye a slit, just enough to see Emma Murphy bent over a little grave marker in a tangle of briers just a few feet inside the fence. “Picked you some bluebells by the side of the house this morning, John.” The quiet reverence of the voice stunned Jessica so that her eyes popped open round and wide.
Mrs. Murphy placed the small wad of flowers atop the crude tombstone. “Not too regular I get out here, John,” she went on, “what with the way folks stare at me, like I was something out of a bad dream. Haven’t come by a kind word from anybody as long as I can pain to remember. Just the sound of rocks thrown against the house and people whispering things could turn a God-fearing woman into the hardest human being that ever took a breath. Folks call a body mean long enough, he’ll start believing it.”
Emma’s chin quivered and emotion stumbled her words. “Been downright choreful to act Christian of late, John.”
Jessica watched Emma brush away a tear, cock her head, and gaze darkly off down the empty road, her explosion of white hair rivering in the hot wind.
Up close, Jessica observed something that distance had hidden before. It was more than the corroding of time that had set the shadows so deeply upon Emma’s face. And it was something more than the scowl she wore like a tiresome chore. It was a look of loneliness every bit as sad as was Jessica’s when she had first moved to town and had not known a soul. But children and grownups alike had talked to her and made her feel at home. Soon the loneliness had pleasantly vanished like a late winter day filled with sunshine.
Mrs. Murphy’s eyes glanced back to the grave, and her knotty hands pulled feebly at the weeds around it.
Jessica rose slowly, rigid as an old field oak. She wasn’t sure where her courage came from. Maybe it was something Papa had said, or maybe guilt had pushed it out. Whatever the cause, it was a hair ahead of fear. Suddenly she realized there was something she had to do.
Mrs. Murphy’s eyes took hold of the girl in the rustling weeds. They widened with surprise and then narrowed with the old hardness. “What do you want here?” she snapped.
“I—I want to help you,” Jessica declared meekly.
The old woman stared, disbelieving her ears.
Jessica managed a smile. “Maybe I could help you pull some of those weeds, Mrs. Murphy.”
“You want to help me?” the voice scratched out with puzzlement and suspicion.
Jessica nodded. Emma Murphy straightened, her eyes still narrowed with distrust, but she was too dumbfounded to speak. And since she didn’t lift her voice or raise a stick to Jessica, the freckle-faced girl pushed through the rickety gate and started pulling weeds.
Emma continued to stare, completely taken aback by the girl’s friendliness and grit. Finally she said, “Nobody wants to help me.”
“I’m not ‘nobody,’” Jessica declared, “I’m Jessica Goodhue. I live a few miles down the road.” She twisted off a prickly brier twig, then squinted at Emma Murphy’s withered shape, shadowed against the sun. “Can we be friends, Mrs. Murphy?”
The old woman’s silent stare was unbroken.
Just as Jessica thought that perhaps she had made a horrible mistake by coming through the gate, Emma hunkered down beside her and eyed her so deeply that Jessica felt her very soul had been seen for the first time since Heavenly Father had told her good-bye and she was ushered down to earth!
A smile slowly faltered across Emma Murphy’s face like a young baby trying to walk. She extended her hand to Jessica, and a moment later a smooth, youthful hand was enfolded in one old and worn. Winter was suddenly gone from the old woman’s eyes, and warm tears meandered down a furrow in her cheek and disappeared into the folds of her neck.
For a long while the two just sat there, lost in the magic of the other; then they turned to pulling weeds together.
Two days later when Jessica walked by the old house with some friends on their way to save the last of the fish in the creek puddles, they noticed the curtains pulled back in Emma’s room. For the first time in their recollection, Emma Murphy had let in the light!

I have learned so much from so many of the faithful saints throughout our Area who have endeavoured to become self-reliant. I would like to share with you the story of Thatayaone Pule, who resides in Kanye, Botswana. I have known him ever since he was in Primary and have watched him grow up in the Church.

His parents were not members of the Church, so he went through the youth program being ministered to by others who treated him like their own son. At the age of 19 he served a mission. After his mission he returned home and got married immediately. Since he and his wife, Lesego, were so young and at that stage had not completed their tertiary education, the two of them did odd jobs together like clearing people’s yards and washing their laundry, in order to earn an income. They went on to buy and sell fruits and vegetables. With their savings, they opened a little internet café. He later got a job as a security camera installer. Because of his reliability, he was promoted to become a supervisor and four years later he was promoted to become site manager. This did not stop him from continuing his self-reliance endeavours. He then got into breeding dogs and this led him to his true passion—that of farming! He sold his dogs, and with the income he bought goats and later cattle.

Eventually, Thatayaone bought himself a huge piece of farmland where he is currently ploughing maize, watermelons, beans and sorghum. As their circumstances improved, Sister Pule went on to study for a diploma in business management.

This good family has learned to apply the things learned at church in their daily lives. Thatayaone has been serving as bishop for the past few years and has become a great blessing to his family, the members of the Church and many others in the community who have turned to him for guidance when it comes to self-reliance matters. In one of my conversations with Bishop Pule I asked him how all this started, and his answer was: “it all started after I attended a provident living workshop on mission.”

She spent the next six years in Bath, living with the family of a missionary, Thomas Yates, and spending her small earnings on a fruitless search for her children. “After years of fasting and prayers, and many tears, the Lord opened the way for me to come to Zion,” with the Yates family and their son Thomas, just back from his 6 1/2 year mission.

We do not know what it cost her to leave England. She only says, “I prayed earnestly to God to help me in the long tedious journey that was before me, that I might not murmur on the way, or complain if a lion should be in my path, and he answered my prayers, for I saw nothing to murmur at. My heart was filled with gratitude all the way.”

Her son tells us what she, in the patience of her faith, omitted. She nearly died of seasickness, which lasted the entire voyage. She and Thomas were married on the morning of July 22, 1863, in Florence, Nebraska, and began the trek westward that afternoon. When Elizabeth discovered that there was not room for both her and her trunk in the wagon, she thought of her carefully packed china, the loveliest things she owned, and walked every step of the way, “my heart filled with gratitude.”

“Many shed tears of joy,” she says, “on first beholding the City of the Saints.” She does not say if she was among them, but she must have been.

I visited Palmyra, New York, with my stake for youth conference in the summer of 2004. While we were there, we visited Church history sites around Palmyra, including the Sacred Grove, as well as the Palmyra temple. We ended with a testimony meeting in the Church building at the Peter Whitmer Farm. What a testimony-building experience!
I loved standing where Joseph Smith stood. It struck me during testimony meeting that most of the sites were such small buildings that I must have stood in places that Joseph Smith stood, even if it was only for five seconds. But I also know that I don’t have to stand where he stood to gain a testimony of him. My testimony of him has been strengthened while I have been alone in my own bedroom as well. But I am grateful that I was able to visit where it all began.
By the end of the youth conference, after visiting all the sites, I learned that I want to know Jesus Christ and that the only way to know Him is to constantly learn of Him and to be like Him. I am so grateful for my chance to learn these powerful lessons while visiting the spot where the Restoration began.

Robyn Rodgers entered a competition through school –‘The Queen’s College Translation Exchange’. This involved translating a piece of text from French into English. She and her school (Northfield Academy) were delighted to be awarded the ‘Anthea Bell Prize for Young Translators’. Robyn won the prize for Scotland. This was also a boost for the school as it has been at the bottom of the league tables for academic performance.
Robyn has always enjoyed learning languages and feels she has an affinity for translation. During the competition, whilst she was struggling, she remembered the youth theme last year – ‘I can do all things through Christ’. This gave her the inspiration to complete it.

In 1995, this time as a mission president, I saw Mama Taamino again. She had moved back to the atoll of Makemo, not far from her birthplace. Now in her 80s, she could no longer walk, but the wrinkles of her face expressed peace, patience, and a deep understanding of life and the gospel. She still had a beautiful smile, and her eyes showed pure charity.
Early the next morning I found her seated in one of the meetinghouse flower beds, weeding and cleaning. One of her sons had carried her there. After she finished one area, she would use her hands and arms to move herself to the next area. This was her way of continuing to serve the Lord.
In the late afternoon when I was conducting temple recommend interviews, Mama Taamino was brought to where I was seated in the shade of a tree near the chapel. She wanted the opportunity to answer each question required for a temple recommend.
“President, I cannot go to the temple anymore,” she said. “I am getting old and sick, but I always want to have a current temple recommend with me.”
I could tell how much she wanted to return to the temple, and I knew that her longing was acceptable to God. Not long afterward, she left her earthly tabernacle to join those she had faithfully served in the house of the Lord. She took with her nothing but her faith, testimony, kindness, charity, and willingness to serve.

I ran downstairs in my nightgown and robe. “Hey, everybody, I’m eight years old!” I whooped.
“Sure enough. Happy birthday, little chickie,” Mom said, giving me a whirl and a kiss.
“It seemed like I’d never turn eight!” I declared.
The main thing about being seven was getting ready to be eight. Someone was always saying that he could tell by my new front teeth coming in that I was seven, and wasn’t that exciting, because on my next birthday I’d be old enough to be baptized.
And now it was my next birthday! I asked, “Can I ask Cindy to come see me being baptized? Can I, Mom?” Cindy isn’t a Mormon, but she likes to come to Primary with me.
“Of course you may. Invite her parents too,” Mom answered.
I ate breakfast in a hurry, then ran to Cindy’s house. She saw me coming and held the screen door open.
“Guess what!” I panted. “I’m getting baptized tonight, and I want you and your mom and dad to come.”
Not only did Cindy and her folks come to my baptism, but they came to church the next day to see me confirmed!

“Mother was an accomplished musician. She was a noted singer when my father met her while on assignment as a reporter for the Deseret News. He was covering a Tabernacle Choir concert in which my mother was a guest soloist. He was immediately impressed with her, and theirs was a storybook romance. While my parents may have had differences of opinion, as children we were never aware of any. They always supported each other, and we learned early that we couldn’t play one against the other.”

It was mentioned that we should listen to our wives. They have qualities that we don’t have. In many cases womanly intuition should be listened to. When we were preparing to come down, my wife said, “Now, were we supposed to get anything in to the paper?”

I said, “No, they said they have all the information they need.”

She said, “I’ll bet they get it wrong.”

Sure enough, when we opened up the Church News, they had shorted us two children. For your information, we have a little Jennie Marie and a Viki Ann who came after Thomas, who was mentioned in the paper. I told Jean that I would set the record straight.

But I can’t say in words my appreciation for my wife and my children. Maybe just this: that I love her—I always have, and I always will and our children also.

There are many opportunities all around us to be missionaries—we just need to recognize them. I was recently on an airplane flying home from England. I started talking to the man sitting next to me. We talked for a while about business and other things, but finally I said that I wanted to tell him about a very special book, the Book of Mormon. We spent the next four hours talking about it, and when we were through, he said, “This has truly changed my life.” All it took was the courage to open my mouth. The Lord will often tell us what to say.

Lisa was sad. The next day was Father’s Day, and her father was far away in another country. And it was already Father’s Day there.
“Why does Dad have to be in the Army?” she asked Mom. “I want him to be home, especially tomorrow. More than anything, I want Dad home on Father’s Day so I can give him a big hug.”
“The Army is Dad’s job right now,” Mom said. “But when he calls today, you can talk to him and tell him how much you miss him. We sent Dad a present three weeks ago. He knows that you love him.”
Then Mom sighed. “I had better take out the trash before fixing lunch. Taking the storm windows down yesterday took so much time that I didn’t take it out before I went to bed.”
Lisa watched Mom pick up the heavy trash container. Dad usually takes out the trash, she thought. He takes the storm windows down, mows the grass, and fixes our car. Mom must wish Dad were home too. There are lots of extra things she has to do that he does when he’s home.
Lisa thought about Dad. “I bet Dad worries about Mom doing everything he would do if he was home,” she said out loud. Then she smiled. Now she knew something special she could do for him today, even though he was far away.
She ran to the cabinet, found the silverware for lunch, placed it on the table, and went to get the plates.
“I can’t use the stove yet, or I would have cooked, too,” she told Mom later, while they were eating.
After lunch, Lisa helped Mom do the dishes. She found the newspaper and brought it for her to read. Then she went upstairs and picked up the toys on her bedroom floor. When the telephone rang, she was carrying her dirty laundry to the hamper in the bathroom.
“Happy Father’s Day!” Lisa cried when she heard her dad’s voice on the telephone. “I miss you, and I wish you were home.” Then she told him about the extra things she’d done to help Mom. “Mom does a lot of your chores every day, so I thought you might like it if I did something special for her as another Father’s Day present.”
“Helping your mother is the best Father’s Day gift you’ve ever given me!” Dad told her. “I have a Father’s Day surprise for you too. Next month, I’ll be coming back to the States. I’ll still be in the Army, but you and Mom can come and live at the Army base with me. Won’t that be fun? We’ll all be together again.”
“I’m saving up a big hug to give Dad the minute he gets home,” Lisa told Mom when she hung up the phone. “And I’ll keep helping you until he gets home, because that will be our real Father’s Day this year.”

One morning a good many years ago, a member of the Council of the Twelve came to my office and told me of a beautiful, touching experience that had happened to him that day. He had gone to the old Deseret Gym to enjoy the steam bath for a while. As he sat there in the heavy steam, he heard the door open and looked upward toward the door to see who was entering. He could not see anyone, but he had a feeling someone else was there in the room with him. After a few minutes he saw a young Primary-age boy about eight or nine years old who had seated himself two or three feet away. The boy gradually slid closer to the Apostle, and they finally said “hello” to each other. Then the boy moved even closer until he could look up into the face of the Church leader. The little boy said, “Mister, I think I know who you are.” The Apostle said, “Who am I?” The boy said, “I think you are one of the Apostles of the Church. I think you are the one who travels all over the ocean on big boats and little boats and all kinds of airplanes—and you are the one who never gets sick or hurt in any wrecks.” The Apostle acknowledged that he was the one who was having those great experiences. The boy then said to him, “Do you know why it is you don’t ever get killed or get hurt?” The Apostle said, “No, why is that?” The little Primary boy said, “That’s because I pray for you.”
What a touching, lovely expression of faith in a simple, wonderful way! This experience happened forty years ago, but I think of it frequently. There is far more power in simple prayer than many of us think possible.

The thing I noticed immediately as we entered the ice cave was how cold it was. And the farther we went in the cave, the darker and spookier it got. Surprisingly, despite the darkness and gloom of the cave, the time I spent there during a girls’ camp hike gave me a chance to think about the direction my life was taking. And I decided there were some things I wanted to change.
We soon reached an area where we had to climb over boulders to reach our destination. I thought about how those boulders are like my own personal obstacles. I found myself asking if I climbed confidently and carefully over each one, or if I struggled to get to the other side.
Lagging behind, I looked up and saw the lights of the girls in front of me, moving forward almost as if the rocks weren’t there. It seemed their faith was so strong that I felt a new burst of strength that carried me on.
When we reached the end of the cave, one of the leaders had us turn our flashlights off. When all was dark, it struck me that this cave might be like the place where Satan lives—cold and dark. I decided right then and there that I would set new goals to return to my Father in Heaven and live with my family for all eternity.
The lights came back on and we all headed out. Toward the beginning of the cave there was a hand-painted sign that read, “Remember This Place.” I thought to myself, I will remember this place and how it helped me want to do what’s right.

On Saturday, Ari’s family went to help at the food bank.
“What’s a food bank?” Ari asked on the way there.
“It’s a big building with shelves full of food,” Mom said. “People who don’t have enough money for groceries can go there to get food.”
“Lots of people in our ward are helping,” said Ari’s big brother, Ben.
“But how can I help?” Ari asked.
“There will be a lot you can help with,” Mom said.
When they got to the food bank, a woman named Kathy showed them around.
“Today we need to paint walls,” Kathy said. “But we need to wash them first.”
Ari’s family got two buckets of warm, soapy water. Ari liked the bubbles. Mom and Dad washed up high. Ben washed in the middle. Ari washed down low.
Soon the hallway looked bright and shiny.
“What else can we do?” Ari asked.
“I need a bag holder,” Kathy said. “Follow me.”
Ari held bags while Ben filled them with uncooked macaroni. They stacked the bags in a big box. Ari counted the bags. He and Ben filled 27 macaroni bags!
When all the work was done, Kathy called everyone over to a big scale. “Just for fun, we want to see how much you all weigh,” she said.
Everyone crowded onto the scale. They weighed more than 2,000 pounds!
“We weigh more than a walrus!” Ben said. Ari laughed.
“Thank you for helping,” Kathy said as Ari left. “I can tell you care a lot about others.”
Ari smiled big. There really was work he could do! He felt awesome.

Hal nevertheless completed his degree in physics in 1955 before entering the U.S. Air Force. The Korean War had recently ended, and the number of young men called as full-time missionaries from each ward had been restricted. For a period of time the Mission Home in Salt Lake City was closed, and no missionaries went into the field. In a blessing, however, his bishop promised him that his military service would be his mission. Two weeks after arriving at the Sandia Base near Albuquerque, New Mexico, Hal was called as a district missionary in the Western States Mission—a calling he fulfilled in evenings and on weekends during the two years he was in the military.

In fact, God will do more than what is best for us. He will do what is best for us and for all of our Heavenly Father’s children. The conviction that the Lord knows more than we do and that he will answer our prayers in the way that is best for us and for all of his other children is a vital ingredient of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. This important reality is beautifully described in an experience recorded in Elder John H. Groberg’s recent book, In the Eye of the Storm. He describes a lesson he learned as a young missionary traveling on a sailboat in the Tongan islands.
“We would always pray for protection, success, and good seas and wind to take us to our destination. Once I asked the Lord to bless us with a good tail wind so we could get to Foa quickly. As we got under way, one of the older men said, ‘Elder Groberg, you need to modify your prayers a little.’
“‘How’s that?’ I replied.
“‘You asked the Lord for a tail wind to take us rapidly to Foa. If you pray for a tail wind to Foa, what about the people who are trying to come from Foa to Pangai? They are good people, and you are praying against them. Just pray for a good wind, not a tail wind.’
“That taught me something important. Sometimes we pray for things that will benefit us but may hurt others. We may pray for a particular type of weather, or to preserve someone’s life, when that answer to our prayer may hurt someone else. That’s why we must always pray in faith, because we can’t have true, God-given faith in something that is not according to His will. If it’s according to His will, all parties will benefit. I learned to pray for a good wind and the ability to get there safely, not necessarily a tail wind” (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1993, p. 175).

When our daughter Aris submitted her recommendation form to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, my wife and I prayed fervently that she would be called to serve in a safe place. Every parent desires the safety of his or her children, even as we strive to trust in the Lord’s will. We never imagined the series of tender mercies that would soon be manifested.
Over the years, our family has been blessed through temple covenants, and our children have been raised in the light of the gospel. As my oldest daughter prepared to serve a mission, my wife and I were nervous and excited, wondering where she might serve.
The long-awaited day came for my daughter to open her mission call.
“Dear Sister Ledesma,” she read, “you are called to serve as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Your assignment is to work in the Hawaii Laie Mission. It is anticipated that you will serve for 18 months. …”
At first, we wondered: Hawaii? We had never heard of someone from the Dominican Republic going to serve on a mission in Hawaii. But then a wave of excitement and relief came over us. Our prayers had been answered. Hawaii seemed like a safe and quiet place for our daughter to serve, especially given the turmoil in various parts of the world. We were immensely grateful. However, as we took in the news, we began to realize this calling involved more than just physical safety: It was a deep, personal testimony of the Lord’s hand in our lives.
Whether by coincidence or divine design, the missionary who shared the gospel with me many years ago is from Hawaii and resides in the Laie Mission. The missionary who taught my wife the gospel was also from Hawaii and still lives there. Either way, it was a blessing for us.
I contacted Brother Underwood, the missionary who taught me, and told him about what had happened. Days later, we talked on the phone. He said, “I have been thinking about this more over the last two weeks and thinking what a blessing it will be to meet her and have her bring the gospel to my home island as I brought it to your island. What a blessing. She’ll be like a little girl of mine as long as she’s here.”
Last September, my daughter was serving in the Laie Third Ward, where Brother Underwood was baptized and grew up. He was very happy to visit his old ward and see my daughter, Sister Ledesma. When he saw her, Brother Underwood was filled with joy, realizing that the opportunity to share the gospel with me over 25 years ago had paid off—generations had been changed.
What were the possibilities? It became clear that this was no ordinary mission call. The Lord had prepared our daughter to serve in a place that had special meaning for our family—where missionaries who had changed her parents’ lives lived. It was a tender mercy, a beautiful manifestation that the Lord was aware of our family and His involvement in our lives.