Gospel Story Finder

In February 2021, Texas faced record low temperatures. The freeze impacted millions of people, resulting in broken pipes, power outages, and loss of heat. My daughter’s family, like so many others, experienced a complete loss of electrical power. She bundled up her little children in coats and blankets so they could stay warm.
After several days surviving arctic-like conditions, my daughter noticed lights on in a neighboring apartment. She was grateful to learn that power had been restored. But she was shocked to discover that it had actually been restored days before. She had failed to notice that a circuit breaker had been tripped. The power was already there. She simply needed to flip the breaker back on!

For all of us, doing our duty to God as parents and leaders begins with leading by example—consistently and diligently living gospel principles at home. This takes daily determination and diligence.

For youth, there is no substitute for seeing the gospel lived in our daily lives. The stripling warriors did not have to wonder what their parents believed. They said, “We do not doubt our mothers knew it” (see Alma 56:47–48). Do our children know what we know?

I have a grandson who once asked me to go with him to a popular but inappropriate movie. I told him I wasn’t old enough to see that film. He was puzzled until his grandmother explained to him that the rating system by age didn’t apply to Grandpa. He came back to me and said, “I get it now, Grandpa. You’re never going to be old enough to see that movie, are you?” And he was right!

Besides showing youth the way by example, we lead them by understanding their hearts and walking alongside them on the gospel path. To truly understand their hearts, we must do more than just be in the same room or attend the same family and Church activities. We must plan and take advantage of teaching moments that make a deep and lasting impression upon their minds and hearts.

For example, Church leaders regularly plan priesthood activities and Scouting pow wows and encampments—but do those activities always accomplish their most important purpose? I have learned that what makes a priesthood or Scout activity most meaningful to a boy is not just getting a merit badge but having the opportunity to sit and talk with a leader who is interested in him and his life.

Similarly, mothers and fathers, as you drive or walk children to school or their various activities, do you use the time to talk with them about their hopes and dreams and fears and joys? Do you take the time to have them take the earplugs from their MP3 players and all the other devices so that they can hear you and feel of your love? The more I live, the more I recognize that the teaching moments in my youth, especially those provided by my parents, have shaped my life and made me who I am.

It is impossible to overestimate the influence of parents who understand the hearts of their children. Research shows that during the most important transitions of life—including those periods when youth are most likely to drift away from the Church—the greatest influence does not come from an interview with the bishop or some other leader but from the regular, warm, friendly, caring interaction with parents.

With that in mind, when we sit down at the dinner table, is our whole family there? I remember as a young man asking permission to play baseball through dinnertime. “Just put my meal in the oven,” I said to my mother. She responded, “Robert, I really want you to take a break, come home, be with the family for dinner, and then you can go out and play baseball until dark.” She taught all of us that where family meals are concerned, it’s not the food but the family interaction that nourishes the soul. My mother taught that the greatest love we give is within our homes.

A father or a bishop or a senior home teaching companion who shows that he trusts a young priesthood holder can change his life. My father was once asked by a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to write a short paper on science and religion. My father was a famous scientist and a faithful priesthood holder. But I can still remember the moment he handed me the paper he had written and said, “Here, before I send this to the Twelve, I want you to read it. You will know if it is right.” He was 32 years older than me and immeasurably more wise and intelligent.

I still am strengthened by that trust from a great father and priesthood man. I knew that his trust was not in me but that God could and would tell me what was true. You seasoned companions can bless a young priesthood holder in preparation whenever you can show him that kind of trust. It will help him trust the gentle feeling of inspiration for himself when it comes as he someday places his hands to seal the blessing to heal a child the doctors say will die. That trust has helped me more than once.

Reading the conversion accounts can’t help but touch you. How can anyone remain unexcited as he follows Brother John Staley’s account of when he first heard about the Church after being a Catholic priest for twenty-five years: “Never having heard that term before, I had to ask her, ‘What is a Latter-day Saint?’ She replied, ‘I’m one, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. …’
“From that point our discussions in theology veered sharply away from Catholicism as she adroitly led me into a new search by quoting from Lorenzo Snow, a past president of her Church: ‘As man is, God once was; as God is, man may become.’ My spring was unsprung! President Snow had outdistanced Tellhard by a spiritual light-year! His was the most profound set of words I had heard in my life—and all my adult years had been spent studying theology, philosophy, and sociology!
“… What a vision this opened! What excitement shook me! This struck at the heart of my difficulties as a Catholic theologian and sociologist. Snow’s statement went further than anything I had dreamed. I had considered Tellhard as one of the great contemporary thinkers, and here in twelve short words was a vision that eclipsed his farthest reach.”

“Hey, April!” April’s big brother Brad walked into her bedroom with a huge smile on his face. “Ready to get your new racing wheels?” Brad was going to drive April to pick up her wheelchair today.
“Yeah, I guess,” April said. She was glad to be leaving her house at last. She couldn’t believe it had been over two months since her bicycle accident! And the whole time she’d been stuck in a hospital bed in her room.
But she was also nervous about figuring out wheelchairs. She wasn’t allowed to even stand up yet, so she’d need to use one for at least a month. Yuck.
“Maybe we can find one with flames painted on the side,” Brad said. He was still smiling. April tried smiling back, but she still felt sad and a little scared. April prayed silently to feel happier.
The next few hours passed by in a slow, cloudy blur. The people at the medical supply store gave her a boring, plain old black wheelchair. Then they taught her a few things about how to use it. But it was all so complicated. It was so much easier when she could just walk!
Soon they were heading back home. April looked out the car window. It was nice to see big trees and puffy clouds again. But somehow it didn’t make her feel happy like she used to feel before she got hurt.
“Oh, I forgot to mention that I need to buy something at the mall,” Brad said as he turned the car into the mall parking lot. “It shouldn’t take long.”
That seemed strange to April. Why wouldn’t he just go to the mall later on his own?
In the mall parking lot, Brad got the wheelchair out of the car. He pushed April in it for a short way. Then he stopped.
“Ready to give it a go yourself?” Brad asked.
“Um, okay …” April pushed down on the wheels and rolled forward slowly. It was hard!
“This way,” Brad said. “You can do it.” He walked toward the entrance to the mall.
April gripped the wheels uncertainly. She would have to turn the wheelchair. She tried doing what the people at the medical store had taught her, but it took forever.
How was she supposed to get around if she could barely even turn this dumb wheelchair once? Would she ever be her old self again?
Brad held the door open with a mischievous smile. April knew that smile well. What was he planning?
“See that elevator?” Brad said after they got through the doors.
April peered down the long empty hallway in the mall. The elevator was clear at the end.
“Race ya!” Brad said. Then he took off running.
April blinked. Race? How could she race?
But Brad’s laughter sparked something inside her. April started pushing down on her wheels as hard as she could. Soon she was catching up! She couldn’t believe it!
Before she realized it, April started laughing along with Brad. The storefronts passed in a blur as April chased her brother. The whole way they both laughed so hard they could barely breathe.
At the last second, April passed Brad and made it to the elevator first. “I win!” she yelled with a laugh. Brad had probably let her win, but she didn’t mind. She felt great.
“I knew you could do it!” Brad said.
April looked at her big brother’s kind smile. This time she had a smile of her own to match. Brad was right. She could do this. It might not be easy, but she could make this work until she got all the way better.
Thank you, Heavenly Father, she prayed silently. Thank you for giving me such a great family.
“Next time I’ll give you an even bigger head start,” April said. “You’re gonna need it!”

I love sports. In grade school and junior high school, I dreamed of completing a pass with time running out and winning the state football championship. I had similar fantasies regarding a last-second shot in basketball and a home run in the bottom of the ninth.
As a sophomore in high school, because I had a small frame, I decided basketball was my game. I was quick and had a good two-handed set shot (ask your father or grandfather what that was). Tryouts were held in October. I played hard, stole the ball on several occasions, and made a few long outside set shots; however, when the coach posted the names of the team members, mine was not on the list. I was crushed. My dream of having the cheerleaders swarm all over me after my game-winning shot was lost forever.
I regrouped by summer and decided maybe football was my game after all. At tryouts I put on the helmet, shoulder pads, and other gear. On my way out to the practice field, I remember looking in the mirror and thinking to myself, “Hey, you look taller! And when you turn sideways, you don’t disappear!” But then I noticed the big guys looked bigger too.
In the first few drills, I felt fine. My speed allowed me to come in near the first in the sprints, and my confidence soared. Then came scrimmage. I was given the ball and told to run straight up the middle. As I got to the line, I was met by the biggest defensive lineman on the team. He planted his helmet in the pit of my stomach, wrapped his arms around my thighs, picked me up, threw me on the ground, and jumped on top of me. The only reason I didn’t fumble is that the ball was implanted permanently in my rib cage. As my friends carried my limp, breathless body off the field, I heard the coach say to the tackle, “Ooh! Wow! Nice hit, Kimber!”
Once again, my dreams were shattered—not to mention my ribs and ego. In the weeks that followed, I began to look around to see what else life had to offer. It took a while, but I made a marvelous discovery: there is a lot more to life than sports.
I looked at my classmates in a different light. In addition to the respect I already had for good athletes, I began to appreciate the individual talents of each person. I marveled at those gifted with artistic ability. I looked at their paintings and thrilled at their talent. Others had developed their talents in music. I watched in amazement as a pianist played classical music. A dancer fascinated me with her grace and creativity. I read things written by a poetic pen. I laughed and cried as I watched our thespians perform. They actually made me forget who they were and convinced me they had become the characters on the stage. Some of my friends excelled in academics.
In short, a whole new world began to appear. I remember thinking how sad it was that these talents didn’t receive the publicity and glory afforded our athletic heroes. I thought of the hours, days, weeks, months, and years of practice, study, and meditation it took to develop these talents without having the encouragement of a cheering crowd or being elected homecoming queen.
I wish I could propel each of you into the 25th reunion of your high school class; for those of you who are seniors, that will be in the year 2013. You would gain a perspective which would prove invaluable. You would find yourself much more interested in what your classmates were than in what they wore. If you could observe your classmates 25 years from now, and then return with that knowledge to your present situation, there would be quite an adjustment in your thinking.
With this perspective you would realize that the shy boy sitting behind you is to become a medical doctor and, besides, that his acne will clear up. You would realize that the bookworm blonde to the left of you will become a journalist, and with contact lenses she is quite attractive at that.
You would be able to look inside your classmates and see their spiritual qualities, the qualities they will take with them into the next life and throughout eternity. You would be proud of their accomplishments and rejoice in each other’s successes.
One of my favorite examples of this genuine appreciation we can have for others was recorded by Alma. He had been on a mission and was separated from Ammon and his brethren, who were on a mission of their own. When they finally got back together after many years, Alma said, “God hath called me by a holy calling, to preach the word unto this people, and hath given me much success, in the which my joy is full.
“But I do not joy in my own success alone, but my joy is more full because of the success of my brethren. …
“Now, when I think of the success of these my brethren my soul is carried away, even to the separation of it from the body, as it were, so great is my joy” (Alma 29:13–14, 16).
Our Father in Heaven blessed us with variety. He gave us water and dry land, he gave us various forms of plant and animal life, and he gave us individual personalities and talents. Life is more interesting because we have variety. We will have more joy and be more successful as individuals if we are aware of the people around us, our family, and our friends, as individuals and appreciate them for who and what they are. You will have won a great personal battle when the successes of your classmates become a joy in your life rather than a jealousy.
Our quest for exaltation is our own. Entrance into the celestial kingdom isn’t determined by competition or popularity; we don’t have to “beat anyone out” to get there. And when we greet each other in the celestial kingdom, we will know what Alma meant by “my joy is more full because of the success of my brethren.”

One woman came up to me in tears after Relief Society one day and said, “I’m about ready to give up on him. I thought a year would bring some changes, but he’s not more ready to become active than he was last year. I feel like the Lord has failed me. Why should I keep trying if he’ll never change?”
After listening and searching for understanding, I asked, “You say you are still trying. Have you been devoting yourself to your own spiritual nourishment lately, as you were a year ago when you felt such promise for the relationship?”
“No,” she answered, “I haven’t felt like praying, and with moving to another home, I haven’t felt like I’ve had time for studying.”
“Well,” I confided, “I know that when I begin to lose faith in my husband and in our relationship, or when I start to become critical, I find that I have been starving my own spirit. But as I begin to restore a sweet spirit within me, I see my husband with new faith and love.”
A few weeks later, this woman called to tell me that through recommitting herself to a program of spiritual feedings, she once again had hope in her husband and in their marriage. She said, “I was wrong. There has been a change in him. It is so slight that I had overlooked it before.”

The story is told of a group of men who were talking about people who had influenced their lives and for whom they were grateful. One man thought of a high school teacher who had introduced him to Tennyson. He decided to write and thank her. In time, written in a feeble scrawl, came the teacher’s reply:
“My dear Willie:
“I can’t tell you how much your note meant to me. I am in my 80s, living alone in a small room, cooking my own meals, lonely and like the last leaf lingering behind. You will be interested to know that I taught school for 50 years, and yours is the first note of appreciation I have ever received. It came on a blue, cold morning, and it cheered me as nothing has for years.”

When GayLynn Ribeira, an art student at Brigham Young University, heard the amazing stories of the pioneer Saints in Ghana, she knew she wanted to create their portraits for her bachelor of fine arts illustration project. In the fall of 2005, she began to pursue a way to do this. The result was a grant allowing her and three other art students—Jesse Bushnell, Emmalee Glauser Powell, and Angela Nelson—to spend May and June of 2006 in Ghana. BYU faculty member Richard Hull oversaw the project. The five gathered stories and images of not only pioneer Saints but newer members also. The wealth of information found its way onto canvas in the months following the trip and onto the walls of the B. F. Larsen Gallery at BYU in October 2007. Following is some of that artwork.
2. Joseph William Billy Johnson: Holiness to the Lord, by Emmalee Glauser Powell
“Gratitude and love emanated from him,” the artist wrote of Brother Johnson of Cape Coast. “He taught the gospel for 14 years, and over a thousand people were ready for baptism when the missionaries arrived in 1978. He is a man who consecrates his life and soul to God. He inspired me to strive to make the Christlike attributes of love and charity a part of my being.”

I recall one experience that we had with Jean when we went camping. Immediately after I stopped the car, Jean got out and began sweeping the camping area. Our children just couldn’t believe it, but she continued until she had swept over all the area, until all the loose dirt and pine needles were in a neat pile. But she didn’t stop there: she came over and knelt down by the children and spent the next few minutes talking to them about the principle of cleanliness—that when you are camping or living outdoors cleanliness becomes a very important thing, and that by taking a few steps you can make life livable. And the amazing thing was that they listened. We were just grateful that we were in the Rockies of Colorado and not the sands of New Mexico. I always wondered how deep she would have gone to find solid ground.

As the waves of uncertainty pounded on our door during and after the divorce, our commitment to family home evening became more vital than ever. Regardless of whether or not all of us felt like attending, we pushed through and held an “official” family home evening each week. Sometimes emotional tirades preceded the event, but once the opening hymn began, the Spirit was evident and usually all was calm.
Even those who refused to join the group would leave their bedroom doors open, allowing the sweet sounds of hymns, prayers, and scriptures to do their holy work. By the time we began singing the closing hymn, I would glance around from the piano bench and often see all my children sitting together—a loving miracle and a testimony of the spirit that comes only when we follow the counsel of the prophet.

Many years ago in this Tabernacle, I heard Elder Sterling Sill recognize the men who had performed the essential priesthood ordinances listed on his membership record. I suddenly realized that my father’s name did not appear on my record. He had not been active in the Church while I was growing up but had since become a faithful high priest.

Returning home from conference, I brooded about this, feeling deprived. I telephoned my father and said, “Dad, I’d like to ask you a favor. You can do something for me that no other living person can do. I would like a father’s blessing.” He hesitated and said, “Well, we’ll see, the next time you come to Rexburg.”

I persisted. To my knowledge, he had never given a father’s blessing before, and he was nervous. At the age of eighty-four, he placed his quivering hands upon my head. And this son will never forget the supreme joy of hearing a proud father pour out his heart in a blessing—a blessing which will be held sacred and cherished not because of its eloquence but because it came from my father. I hope, brethren, that you will not deny your children this choice experience.

And there are schools there. Schools that feature superlative female basketball players. The winning tradition has become a legacy that many of the little girls in town dream of joining. “I’ve always wanted to be on the team,” says Gaylene “Gidget” Gallagher, an energetic guard. “I’ve been trying to learn how to play since I was little. When the coaches finally started us in a program, I spent all my time in the gym.”

It was the same for Collette. “When I was just little I remember my dad saying, ‘Here—take this basketball and go dribble it around the house—and don’t use both hands!’”

Once Collette got to high school, basketball seemed to dominate just about everything else. “You just go to practice, come home, study, and go to bed,” she says. “You have no social life. Except after the games you might go get pizza or something, but that’s about it. All during the summer, you just practice.”

All that work seems to have paid off for Collette, who fits most people’s description of the all-American girl. In the summer of 1987, she was selected to be on a high school superstar team that traveled to Israel. She has managed to be active in seminary, Mutual, and student council, and she is rated second in her class academically, so you can tell she finds time for some other interests.

During the season, practices last at least three hours a day. And in the summertime, some of the players have been known to practice up to 12 hours a day. Coach Cluff, a loving, fatherly man who knows how to take charge, uses basketball as an opportunity to help his players learn the gospel.

“I’m simple enough to believe that everything is spiritual with Heavenly Father,” he says. “Whether it’s basketball, math, science, or whatever.” He always makes sure that there’s a prayer both before and after a game. “Kids can learn a lot about their Heavenly Father through basketball, if they use prayer, and hopefully those lessons will stick with them for the rest of their lives.”

What are some of the lessons they’ve learned? They’ve learned to stick to their standards, for one. “The community knows we’re not the partying type,” says Collette. In fact, the town residents know just about everything about the players on their championship team, from their grade point averages to the color of dress they wore to the prom. “The community knows that we’re probably the straightest people in the whole town. We can’t give in to temptation, even just a little bit, or everything will go down. Not just our reputation, but our abilities and our potential.”

“And it’s not always easy to set a strong example,” adds Paige. “It’s hard in a small town. You don’t have much to do that’s exciting. Everything gets real old real fast, so a lot of kids just turn to things like alcohol and drugs, and they think that makes them happy. I’ve seen them go through a lot of pain, and I’ve been able to avoid all that by following the Word of Wisdom and keeping my standards where they should be.”

They’ve learned that the missionary work they do through example is invaluable. Over the years, several team members have joined the Church thanks to the examples set by their LDS counterparts. And most of the LDS players today bring friends to Church activities and seminary. You might think there would be a certain breach between the LDS and non-LDS players, but they go out of their way to be unified.

“There’s never a division between the LDS girls and the others,” says Moni Ahlcrimn, a raven-haired forward with a sparkle in her blue eyes. “But they do watch us, and many times they kind of follow along with what we’re doing.”

Gidget thinks that that cohesiveness is the main reason for Kirtland’s success on the courts. “You have to be truly dedicated to teamwork to win,” she says. “We work so much together as a team. One of the reasons the other teams lose is because there’s conflict from within. But we really help each other. I think the main reason we do so well is that we’re like one big family.”

But even on a winning team, there are lessons to be learned about defeat. Angie Harris, the team center, hyperextended her knee during the second quarter of the first game of the record-breaking season, and was sidelined for the rest of the year. At least two surgeries have been necessary to get her back on her feet, and she’ll probably never play school ball again. Many players might be bitter over this, but not Angie. She reads the scriptures faithfully every day, and from them she’s learned that “the Lord isn’t going to give you challenges that you can’t handle. This injury wasn’t that bad. I played on the state championship team last year. This keeps it from going to my head.”

Oh, and of course there are the basic lessons to be learned about taking care of the temple which is your body. These girls are so into fitness that in the few seconds of spare time they have left over, they do things like coach little girls’ softball, work as a lifeguard at the community pool, play church volleyball and softball, compete on the school track team, and run just for the fun of it. That’s the main reason Moni is involved in basketball at all. She’s only been playing about three years, but she says, “The running is what I like best. I play to stay in shape.”

And they’ve learned to play, to eat, to drink and sleep—to live under pressure. Many people think the girls’ basketball program is the best thing that ever happened to Kirtland. “Now that we’ve got a streak going, nobody wants to be on the first team to lose,” says Coach Cluff. “The girls work real hard, under intense pressure from the community and from themselves and their teammates, to continue the winning tradition.”

With that kind of pressure, you can see why most of the girls are a bit relieved come graduation day when they hang up their tennies and go on to college. A few of them continue playing basketball—BYU’s star Karina Zapata is a product of Kirtland, and Collette hopes to play for a four-year university. Most of the players from the Kirtland basketball legacy, however, will give up ball in favor of books.

But they will never regret, and they will never forget, the things they learned from their magical years on the basketball team. Sure, their hook shots may fade, and they might not recall how they ever managed to pull down so many rebounds, but because they took their coach’s advice to “consider all things spiritual,” they’ll never forget the eternal principles they learned on a high school basketball court.

It was a celebration so special that I traveled more than six thousand kilometers to return to my Samoan village of Faletele.
The village was bustling with activity. Crowding in with the few hundred villagers were more than a hundred of my relatives from many parts of Samoa and many honored guests from other villages.
I started walking through the village, heading toward the big, domed roofed fale [house] when I saw my beloved cousin Sama. Suddenly I was filled with pride and sorrow and love as I remembered when we first came to know Sama—Sama the Thumb.
I was just five years old. Sama was ten. His parents had gone to New Zealand for the dedication of the temple, and Sama had come to stay with us.
I was watching the young men and boys play ball. A bus stopped on the road, and one of my aunts got out, followed by a boy who we learned was our cousin Sama. When they went to the Tuita’ua’s fale, I followed them.
Tuita’ua Ioane was the senior member and head of our family. Hundred of relatives—brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, aunts and uncles. Grandchildren and cousins—honored and obeyed him. Tuita’ua is one of the great titles in Samoa, and the Tuita’ua is respected by all Samoans.
In the days that followed, we enjoyed getting to know Sama with his stories and jokes and his sense of humor. We soon accepted him not only as a cousin but also as a good friend. When Sama was with us, whether we were working or playing, we laughed and had fun.
On Sunday morning I couldn’t find Sama. All day I asked the people of the village if they had seen him, but nobody knew where he was.
Finally, in the late afternoon, long after our church services and our afternoon meal were over Sama came walking through the village in his white shirt and white lavalava [native skirt or kilt]. Tuita’ua Ioane called him into the fale. “Where have you been, Sama?” he asked.
“In Fuapa’epa’e.”
“You walked the twelve kilometers to Fuapa’epa’e? And back?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Why?”
“Because that is the closest village where I can attend my church.”
Tuita’ua Ioane took off his wire-rimmed reading glasses and laid them on the Bible, which he’d been reading. “Sama, the village rule is that there will be only one church in Faletele and that all the people in Faletele will attend that church. Do you understand? You are part of my family, Sama, but you are also a guest in this village and you are under my protection. You know our rule.” He leaned forward and looked Sama in the eyes. “You do what you have to do.”
The following week none of the cousins mentioned Sama’s trip to Fuapa’epa’e. They continued to joke and laugh together as they worked and played together.
Trouble started on the second Sunday. I woke up to the sounds of arguing. Two of my cousins, Malini and Tofo, were chasing after Sama, who was dressed in his white shirt and lavalava.
“Sama, you know what the village rule is!” Tofo shouted.
Malini grabbed Sama’s arm. “How can you show such disrespect to Tuita’ua Ioane?”
Sama stood boldly in front of them. “Tuita’ua told me to do what I have to do. And this is what I have to do!”
As he started walking away again, Malini shouted after him, “Sama, don’t embarrass our family like this!”
At the end of the day when Sama came walking back into Faletele, some of the villagers made fun of Sama, calling him bad names. Some of them mocked him calling “Mamona” [Mormon] as he walked by. All the cousins were angry at Sama and wouldn’t talk to him—all of them, that is, except me. I had Sama all to myself the entire week. It was wonderful as we talked and sang and he told me stories.
“Maybe tomorrow you will remove our family shame and come with us to the village church,” Malini told Sama on Saturday night.
But on Sunday morning Sama was gone again. Next to each of our sleeping mats was a gift that Sama had made.
When Sama returned that evening, I ran out to greet him. He was eager to see the others, too, until he saw that his gifts had been broken and thrown away.
“The villagers made our cousins angry,” I explained. “But I kept my gifts. I like them very much. Thank you.”
Sama smiled at me, then went off my himself until it was time for the evening meal.
When he returned the cousins shouted, “You are a disgrace to our family!
“Find someplace else to sleep. You’re no longer welcome in the boys’ fale.”
They pushed Sama down, and raised their fists to hit Sama. “Because of you, our friends are calling us bad names!”
I was afraid that the cousins were going to hurt Sama, so I ran to get Tuita’ua Ioane. But he had heard the fight and had already come to the door of his fale. “You boys, stop it now!” He commanded. “All of you, come in here!”
At the sound of his voice, the boys immediately stopped. They walked meekly into the fale and sat down.
“Look at my hand!” Tuita’ua Ioane held out his hand. “See how these fingers are bunched here together? And how the thumb is out here all by itself?”
We all looked at his hand.
“We have a saying here in Samoa: ‘The thumb stands alone, but it is the strongest of the fingers.’”
Tuita’ua Ioane pointed at each of the cousins. “You boys are the fingers. But Sama is the thumb!”
Even though I was very young, I learned many things that night. Tuita’ua Ioane taught us about being true to yourself and valiant in your beliefs. His words and Sama’s example changed my life.
After thinking back to those days, I continued walking up the steps of the big fale and removed my shoes, as was the custom. Sama saw me immediately. And we hugged each other. Everyone was there for just one reason—to honor the Tuita’ua. Tuita’ua Sama.
But to me he would always be Sama the Thumb.

Foi had helped her friends prepare for the special ceremony honoring the twelve-year-old students at the school. She knew that during the ceremony all of the girls would become members of the church that had established the school.

The girls had washed and ironed their white dresses and had gathered flowers to decorate the chapel. Now in the hot humid kitchen they laughed and talked together as they finished preparing refreshments.

Only Foi was quiet. Several of the girls tried to make her a part of their excitement, but Foi could manage only a small smile. Her thoughts were with her parents, who had promised to send for her. But the lonely years had gone by, and she had not heard from either of them. Unless she took part in the ceremony that night, she could not remain at the school—but something within her made it seem impossible for her to join the church of the school.

Foi had often tried to put together fragments of her memories and assure herself that someday she would be reunited with her family now living in a Samoan village far from the school. But few people ever left that village and strangers seldom visited it.

Once, however, two young men came to her fala. They said they were missionaries, and they taught the people in her village. Even though she had been only a little girl, Foi remembered the good feeling that had come to her as she listened to these young men and heard about their Church. She longed to have that feeling again. But severe storms had come soon after their visit, and the elders had not returned before Foi had been sent to the school.

Maybe it is the memory of those missionaries that makes me feel as I do, Foi thought.

For months she had prayed that she would know what to do before the night came for the membership meeting. Now the night of the meeting was nearly here, and she was still undecided. She had tried to tell her teachers that she was not ready to become a member of their church, but they had only laughed at her. “You are already past twelve,” they said. “You will never see your people again. It is time you became one of us.”

The girls finished their work in the kitchen and left. Only Foi lingered. She bowed her head and murmured a prayer that she might know what to do. When she looked up, two young men were at the door.

“We are looking for Foi Frost,” they said. “We are Mormon missionaries. Her family has joined our church and sent us to take her back to her people.”

Foi cried out with joy. The missionaries had come at last. She would see her family again.

I was a missionary sent to France in 1949. Missionary work then was much different from missionary work now. There was no Missionary Training Center, so when I arrived in Paris, I had had no language training at all. There wasn’t a set of lessons to teach investigators. Different missionaries used different methods to teach the gospel.
I had been in Paris for just a few weeks when my companion received word that his mother was dying of cancer. Since his scheduled release date was only weeks away, the mission president allowed him to return home early to see his mother. If that had happened today, another elder would have been transferred to my area to be my companion. But in those days I was left to work by myself until transfers for the entire mission were made.
Before he left, my companion and I had scheduled a few lessons. I knew that I would have to take care of those appointments. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know the language, and there were no prepared discussions. I was nervous and frightened.
I began to read the Book of Mormon and to pray as hard as I could. I would pray, and then I would read, then I would pray again and read some more. This went on for several days.
Finally it was time to go to my first appointment—the Alvarez family. They were a lovely couple whom we had just begun teaching. When I went, I didn’t know what I was going to say. I had a testimony of the gospel and the restoration, but I did not know the language.
But when I went to see this family, the Lord took over. For two hours I taught them. I’m sure that it wasn’t in beautiful French, but I was able to communicate with them how I felt about the gospel. They understood the message and were touched by the Spirit.
That night when I returned to my apartment, I knew that there really was a Father in Heaven and that He had called me on a mission. I knew that Heavenly Father had watched over and helped me—had loosed my tongue—and that He watches over all His missionaries. It was the first spiritual testimony that I had received in my life of the truthfulness of this work. One of the greatest blessings that ever happened to me was serving a mission.

On a small island out in the harbor, the Statue of Liberty raises a torch for all the world to see. If she turned her head to the left, she would stare straight across the water at the gleaming twin towers of the World Trade Center. On a brisk Monday last January, she could have seen the Manhattan Second Ward Mutual gazing down from the 107th floor at the sprawling maze of streets sardined between skyscrapers that stretches on forever—the city of New York that these teenagers call home.
“There, that’s Lower Manhattan. That’s where I live!” exclaimed Mary Esquilin, pointing to the north. “And see that apartment over there? That’s where Deborah Woodhouse lives.” It was hard for an untrained eye to pick out individual buildings. I could find the bridge-laced East River breaking the pattern of towers that rise like so many mountain ranges. And the famous green rectangle of Central Park, that refuge of trees and grass and lanes and lakes in an otherwise concrete and asphalt cosmos, was clearly visible. But when it came to picking out one tiny building …
“Okay,” said Harry Lee. “You know where Central Park is. The chapel is just two blocks from there.”
I thought back to Saturday morning when I had seen the chapel for the first time. It was just another building in a world of buildings, Number 2 Lincoln Square, across the street from the Julliard School of Music and kitty-corner to Lincoln Center and the Metropolitan Opera, until over the door I noticed the bold yellow letters spelling out “Mormon Visitors’ Center.” I knew I had found the complex that houses the center, the New York New York City Mission offices, and the Manhattan First, Second, and Spanish wards (the chapel, cultural hall, and classrooms are on the third floor).
When I arrived upstairs, the Mutual group was reviewing last year’s activities and planning for the rest of the winter, then spring and summer. They had done plenty of reminiscing.
“We have a lot of activities in Central Park,” 17-year-old Lily Lee explained. “It’s a novelty to have such a large, beautiful park so close at hand. It’s part of our culture. The New York Philharmonic gives free concerts there in the summer, and there are free Shakespeare performances. We saw two plays there last year.”
Lily’s brother Harry, who is 15, mentioned other activities. “There is a zoo and there is public ice-skating in the park. We have picnics, play softball with the bishopric, play volleyball, or sometimes just walk around.”
There are also lots of museums in the area, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which is at the far end of the park. “The church is located pretty much in the center of everything, so it’s not hard to get around,” Lily said. “We try to plan things early in the day so it won’t be necessary to travel at night on the subways, and we always travel in groups.”
Deborah Woodhouse, 15, remembered other successful activities, like Christmas caroling, a night at the Nutcracker ballet, cleaning trash from streets near the chapel, and a trip to the United Nations building. Kirsten Anderson, age 12, said she enjoyed the personal feeling of birthday parties and holiday celebrations. “We had a fun Halloween party, and we had a good volleyball game with the Young Men one time. We made dinner for them afterward. The things we do aren’t usually big things, but when you do them with each other and use the time you’ve got, it’s important,” Kirsten said.
Lily said she particularly enjoys joint activities with the Spanish Ward. The seminary students from both wards often meet on Super Saturdays or at youth conferences. Despite the language barriers, they enjoy themselves.
Sister Linda Rane, the Young Women president, explained that the ward includes the Broadway theater district in its boundaries and that LDS actors sometimes help the Mutual with roadshows and skits. Ballet students, medical students, and musicians often live within the ward boundaries while studying, and “once we had a fashion designer who helped the Mutual girls make their own dresses and put on a show.”
The meeting at the chapel had adjourned with prayer. It was followed by a stroll through Central Park. We watched equestrians trotting along a horse trail, joggers pacing themselves along a road closed to traffic, and spritely drivers whose brightly colored hackneys painted a portrait of another era when hay, not gasoline, furnished horsepower.
As we rested near some park benches, the sun melted through the chilled air. I couldn’t help asking questions:
“I was born and raised in New York,” Deborah, 15, said. “But I have visited several other places as well. The people of the Church are the same everywhere. You may have different races and cultures, but you always get the same warm feeling all around.
“At school, people tend to look up to you. Kids are curious, and teachers get to know you and are interested in what you believe. I have a friend who says I must have a nice family because we’re not always fighting. I guess I talk about my brothers a lot, and she can sense the family love we feel.
“The greatest challenge that I feel is avoiding the lesser sins. It’s harder here because there are so many temptations, but it’s easier to resist the big temptations because they are so obvious.”
Mary said, “There are so many things to do and see. But there are challenges too. Most of us are converts. Sometimes we’re the only members in our families. So we rely on other Church members to talk to when we need someone who understands about the gospel.”
Mary, 18, and her sister Eileen, 12, joined the Church ten months ago. They were first interested by a friend who was a member and eventually came to meetings with her. “All I had heard about Mormons was awful,” Mary said. “But as I started going to Church, I had this wonderful feeling. I couldn’t even recognize myself. This was a new Mary. I’ve been a member for less than a year, but for me it seems like a lifetime,” she said.
Louis Perez, 13, and Frank Cerda, 14, said they feel New York is popular because it’s so busy all the time and because so many organizations are headquartered there. “There are people here from all over the world,” Frank said. “I think it’s terrific.”
Lily said, “A lot of people wonder if you can find the Spirit of the Lord here. You can. The things He manifests to everyone, He manifests here, too. New York has a lot of good people, and the pure in heart will build Zion wherever they are.”
“I talk to my friends at school,” Mary Ann Iavarone, 14, said. “I share my testimony with them. We talk about religions almost every day. Lots of kids tell me that our Church sounds great. I tell them I have fun here, too, but that the most important thing is that it’s true.”
“I think Eileen (Esquilin) showed me a good example of fellowshipping,” Daisy Cerda, 12, said. “I met her the first time I came to Church, and she was my friend. Then I met Kirsten, and so on. Everybody’s my friend now.”
“Having gone through the conversion process myself makes it easier to talk to others about the gospel,” Mary said. “I can tell them my experiences, that I used to feel the way they feel.”
Lily is student-body president at a high school where she is the only LDS student. “It’s a challenge, but it’s not as difficult as everyone says,” she said. “Living in a place like New York, there are so many backgrounds and cultures that when you say you believe in something, people accept it. At my school, for example, there are a lot of Greek Orthodox students, and it’s not unusual for someone to say they’re not going to a party because it’s on Sunday or to say they don’t smoke or drink. They understand. So it’s important to share all the facets of the gospel with them.”
Deborah, also the only LDS student in her school, said missionary work is a great challenge: “I’ve got 3,500 students to convert.” But she said that many students know about BYU because of its athletic programs and many of her Jewish friends want to discuss the Old Testament with her because she has studied it in seminary.
“I find that for a lot of my friends it’s difficult to get in front of a classroom to give an oral report,” Lily said. “I have to do it in front of the whole student body, but it hasn’t been hard. At first I didn’t know why. Then I realized what training I have had. I’ve been giving 2 1/2-minute talks all my life. Forget about the religious part of the Church programs and just look at their positive influence. Then add in the truthfulness of the gospel, too, and you have the best thing on earth.”
Terry Burdick, 14, who attends the Second Ward Mutual because he is the only Mutual-age teen in the First Ward, said that growing up in an all-member family has helped all of them feel close. “I have a growing testimony,” he said. Frances Pizzaro, 17, felt the gospel had strengthened her family as well. They were already holding family prayer when the missionaries tracted them out. “My brother and I joined the Church, and my mother will soon join,” she said. She also said she learned things in seminary that “help me every day. I study the scriptures every morning and my workbook at lunchtime at school. Other people say, ‘Oooh, what’s that?’ And then everybody starts talking about it. It’s great.”
Iris Rivera, who graduated from Mutual last year, said one of her blessings has been the fellowship she has shared with Mary as Mary joined the Church. “I’ve seen her grow a lot. And now we’re going to be visiting teachers together starting next month.”
The noise of Harry rattling the door brought me back to the top of the World Trade Center. He was trying to gain access to the rooftop observation area, but it was locked and a sign said the wind was so strong no one would be allowed outside.
“Sorry,” he said. “That’s the best we can do.”
And I remembered again. I remembered his patience as he explained to me over and over the subway system the morning the group went to the Statue of Liberty, and finally how he said, “Just follow me and don’t get lost.”
I remembered the wind whipping over the bow of the ferry and the steamy cups of hot chocolate the young women shared back on the pier. I remembered stopping to read plaques at the statue and the young members’ feelings of pride in their country and in their hometown that were genuine and unpretentious.
And then I remembered interviewing some of the group in between meetings on Sunday. The young women’s lesson had been on developing a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. The young men had discussed morality. All of them had commented afterward about the influence the lessons exerted throughout the week.
“These activities and lessons keep us together,” Mary said. “We share our testimonies and they grow. We treat each other like brothers and sisters because we are.”
Mary Ann nodded agreement. “From my friends’ testimonies, I can build my testimony. They are a great influence on me.”
“The lessons help me keep my mind off things I shouldn’t think about,” Harry said. “I have a strong testimony of the gospel, and I know it’s good to be together with my friends in church. I need the recharge I get from being with them.”
“As you can see, we have a lot of fun together. We like each other a lot. But the neatest thing is that when I leave, I feel the Spirit coming with me, helping me choose wisely and do what’s right,” Mary Ann said.
“I’m glad to have friends who help me honor my priesthood,” Frank said. “When I carry the sacrament, I feel proud.”
And that made me think of a comment one of the adults made that same Sunday. “I admire these kids tremendously,” he said. “New York is beautiful and fun, but it’s also a difficult place to live righteously. There’s a lot of pressure on these kids from their friends not to follow the teachings of the prophets. I think they’re real heroes to live the gospel as they do.”
The group walked to the south side of the tower for one last look at the Statue of Liberty. One thought lingered in my mind. I was in the company of heroes. Real heroes, with a mission—to live and share the gospel with all of New York City. Somehow, in my heart, I knew they would be equal to the task.

Times were difficult in 1931, and everyone in eleven-year-old Evard’s family had to work hard and help each other so that they could have the things they needed. Even Evard’s mother helped earn money by cleaning people’s homes.
Evard loved his parents and his five brothers and one sister. Even though they didn’t have very much, he was happy. One day, he looked at himself and realized that his overalls were ragged and worn. He knew that he would soon need a new pair. He also knew that his parents had very little money, so he didn’t want to ask them for some new overalls.
His parents had taught him that there was One to whom he could always turn for help, no matter what, so he knelt by his bed and prayed. He told Heavenly Father about his need for a pair of overalls and asked for His help. Evard had great faith and knew that somehow his prayer would be answered.
The next day, his mother went to clean a woman’s house. The woman had been cleaning out her closets and had found three pairs of nice overalls that her children had outgrown. She asked Evard’s mother if someone in her family could use them. Mother gladly took the overalls home.
Evard was excited when she showed him the overalls. He quickly tried them on. Each pair was a perfect fit! He knew that Heavenly Father loved him and had answered his prayer.

In my opinion, some Church planning and leadership meetings are far too long. I was once asked by a Church leader, “Are you as a leader punctual in conducting meetings?”
I said, “Yes, I always start meetings on time.”
He said, “But are you punctual?”
I answered again the same way, “We start on time.”
He asked me the same question again, and as I sat looking perplexed he said, “I know that you begin your meetings on time, but do you end them on time?” He added, “End the meeting at the appointed time and let people go home to their families. Those who neglect the appointed quitting time are as much in error as those who neglect the beginning time.”

As a new General Authority, Elder Marion G. Romney (1897–1988) felt inadequate in fulfilling his important calling, so he sought advice from his friend Elder Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. The counsel offered that day both surprised and motivated Elder Romney. Elder Lee said: “If you are to be successful as a General Authority, you will need to be inspired. You will need to receive revelation. I will give you one piece of advice: Go to bed early and get up early. If you do, your body and mind will become rested and then in the quiet of those early morning hours, you will receive more flashes of inspiration and insight than at any other time of the day.”
Years later, reflecting back on that experience, then-President Romney said: “From that day on, I put that counsel into practice, and I know it works. Whenever I have a serious problem, or some assignment of a creative nature with which I hope to receive the influence of the Spirit, I always receive more assistance in the early morning hours than at any other time of the day.”1
When I first read this account, I too was surprised by the advice Elder Lee gave. I would never have connected an early daily schedule with revelation. However, I now know that there is a direct correlation. I have also learned that actions traditionally associated with receiving revelation like prayer, scripture study, fasting, temple attendance, and service are greatly enhanced when I go to bed early and get up early.