Gospel Story Finder

“Good ol’ Sam!” Willie said, petting the dog before he went into the house. He found his mother and gave her the thread.
“Thank you, Willie. I’m glad you could help me. Did you find any more treasures on the way to the store?”
“Nope—but I got rid of a few!” He told his mother what he’d done with the wire, the blue shoelace with only one plastic tip missing, the brown lunch sack, the lopsided tennis ball, and the stick.
“That really is a ‘good for something’ bag!” Willie’s mother exclaimed.
“I’m going to look for more ‘good for something’ things to put in my ‘good for something’ bag,” Willie told her.
“Well”—she handed Willie an empty thread spool, then winked at him—“will you drop this into the garbage on your way out?”
“I have a better idea, Mom,” Willie said happily as he put the spool into his green velvet bag with the gold drawstring. “You just never know when it might be good for something!”

I was interested to read recently of a young British girl who learned in school about the characteristics of water along a shoreline that signal the approach of a tsunami. Two weeks later, on vacation with her family in Thailand, she observed those phenomena and insistently warned her parents and the people around her. They escaped to higher ground just in time when the December 26, 2004, tsunami hit south Asia. More than a hundred people owe their lives to that girl’s knowledge of certain truths of the natural world.

While I was serving as an Area Seventy, one of the stakes in my coordinating council participated in a large temple excursion. The temple the members attended is small, and unfortunately there were several members who, despite making the long 12-hour journey, were not able to enter the temple because it had exceeded the daily capacity.

A few days after this trip, I visited this stake and asked the president if I could talk with some of the members who were unable to attend the temple that day. One of the brothers I visited told me: “Elder, do not worry. I was at the house of the Lord. I sat on a bench in the garden and pondered in my mind the ordinances. Then I was given the opportunity to enter, but instead I allowed another brother, who had come to the temple for the first time to be sealed to his wife, to take my place. They then had the opportunity to attend two sessions that day. The Lord knows me, and He has blessed me, and we are fine.”

Elliott was excited to be in second grade. He had a new box of crayons and a new friend named George. Last year Elliott had felt lonely at recess. But then George moved in. Now the two boys played together every day. They liked pretending to be secret agents. But today they were playing soccer.
“Hey, kick the ball to me!” George yelled. Elliott kicked the soccer ball as hard as he could. Then George kicked the ball right into the net. “Score!” Elliott shouted.
Everything was great. But then Oni showed up.
Oni and his family had to move from another country to escape danger. He was pretty quiet and didn’t have many friends. Now he sat down at the edge of the grass and just watched.
The other boys didn’t like Oni following them around. “Oni is the enemy,” one of the boys shouted. “Let’s go play on the slide.”
Elliott got a sick feeling in his stomach. He knew it wasn’t right to run away from Oni. But if he stood up for Oni, maybe the other boys wouldn’t want to play with him either. Maybe George wouldn’t.
Elliott thought about what he should do. He remembered how lonely he’d felt last year and how hard he’d prayed for friends. Maybe Oni was feeling that way now. Elliott thought about how Jesus helped people others didn’t like. Elliott wanted to choose the right.
After school, Elliott told Mom all about his problem. “That does sound tough,” Mom said. “Have you prayed to ask Heavenly Father for help?”
“How could He help?” Elliott asked.
“Well, maybe He’ll help us come up with a good solution,” Mom said. “It’s always good to have Heavenly Father on your team.”
Elliott and Mom bowed their heads as Elliott said a prayer. Then he and Mom talked about some ideas for solving the problem.
The next morning Mom took Elliott to school early. They wanted to tell their ideas to Elliott’s teacher. Mrs. Williams really liked their ideas, especially one.
Later on, just before recess, Mrs. Williams asked Elliott and a few of the other boys to come up to her desk. “Boys,” she said, “I have a special assignment, and I know I can trust you with it.” The boys looked up at their teacher.
“I know a boy in the other class who could really use a friend. His name is Oni.” Some of the boys looked down at the floor.
“Now, I don’t want just any friend for Oni,” Mrs. Williams continued. “He needs some really good friends, which is why I thought of you boys. Can you boys find Oni at recess and help him feel included, and then come back and tell me how it went?” The boys stood up a little straighter. Elliott and George smiled at each other. They were on the case!
When Mom picked Elliott up from school, she asked him how the day went. “It was great, Mom!” Elliott said. “Oni was so surprised that we all wanted to play with him. He had a big smile on his face all recess!”
“You know, Elliott,” Mom said, “maybe Oni has been praying for a friend, just like you did last year. Maybe you are the answer to his prayers.”
Elliott felt good to know that Heavenly Father had helped Oni. And now Elliott had another new friend too. Mission accomplished!
Go to Family Night Fun for an activity to go with this story.

Not long ago, a dear friend had an impression to visit a woman in her ward. She brushed off the prompting because she hardly knew her—it just didn’t make sense. But since the thought kept coming to her, she decided to act on the prompting. Because she was already feeling uncomfortable about the impending visit, she determined that taking something to the sister would help ease her anxiety. Certainly she couldn’t go empty-handed! So she bought a container of ice cream, and off she went to begin what she worried might be an awkward visit.
She knocked on the woman’s door, and shortly the sister answered. My friend handed her the ice cream in a brown paper bag, and the conversation began. It didn’t take long for my friend to realize why the visit was needed. As they sat together on the front porch, the woman unveiled a host of challenges she was facing. After an hour of talking in the warm summer weather, my friend noticed the ice cream melting through the brown paper bag.
She exclaimed, “I am so sorry that your ice cream melted!”
The woman sweetly responded, “It’s OK! I’m lactose intolerant!”

Listen to the example of a young woman who wrote: “Right now in my family we are going through a tough time. I have been given the opportunity to fill my mother’s role. Sometimes I have to not participate in activities after school so I can care for my brother. Sometimes I have to not go out with my friends so that I can cook dinner or go grocery shopping.” Then she adds, “Because of this responsibility, I have learned a great deal about being a mother, growing up and taking responsibility, not only for myself but for others.”

Wendy Feliz, 14, and her twin brother, Wellington, do not have the luxury of being able to talk with their mother. Wendy and Wellington are both deaf.
Wendy and Wellington both know that their mother loves them. She takes excellent care of them and kisses them every day. But they can’t really talk to her in any significant way because their mother only speaks Spanish. Both Wendy and Wellington know American sign language and can read and write only in English.
A few months ago, Vanessa Bruno came into their lives. Vanessa had returned from her mission and had just been called as the Young Women president in the Manhattan Deaf Branch. Vanessa is originally from Colombia and, of course, speaks Spanish. Having lived in the United States for half a dozen years, she also speaks English. And she has learned sign language, so she can talk with Wendy and Wellington. As a new YW president, Vanessa was visiting every girl in the deaf branch. When she came to Wendy’s house, it soon became clear to everyone that Vanessa was something of a miracle. For the first time, Wellington and Wendy could talk with their mother. Wellington wanted to know why they were born deaf.
Vanessa said, “He began to ask questions about the family. Why are they deaf? Why was he losing his vision? Their mother began to explain that her father’s family have people that are deaf and blind. She said she was so grateful I was there because I can let them know how much she loves them and how grateful she is that the missionaries came to their house.”
Through Vanessa, their mother was able to tell them stories about their great-grandfather from Puerto Rico, the one who had 43 children. Wendy explains, “My mother spoke it in Spanish to Vanessa. Vanessa interpreted and told me the story. She changed it from Spanish to English and helped me write it down and everything. That’s the first time I had heard that story. Wow, I couldn’t believe it. I was quite shocked. I really liked it a lot to have Vanessa talk to my mother and interpret for me.”
Wendy and Wellington were baptized more than two years ago after being taught the gospel by missionaries. Wendy says, “I felt wonderful. I felt proud to be a daughter of Heavenly Father. I didn’t know that I was a daughter of God until then. I felt chills. All the sins in my life were just washed away.”
Through the gospel, Wendy is learning more about her family here on earth and about being part of a great eternal family in the gospel.

My dear wife, Christy, is a daily example to me of Christlike love, of placing people above tasks. Through years of selfless service, the Spirit has refined her ability to look into the hearts of others. I remember going with my wife and my mother to a large warehouse shoe store. After a few minutes in the women's section I became bored and wandered off to the men's area. When I returned, a tearful middle-aged woman was giving Christy a hug near the check-out counter. I was fairly sure my wife did not know this person and asked my mother what was happening. Mom told me that my wife noticed this stranger sitting in an aisle with new shoes on her feet but a distant look on her face, so Christy asked if she could help. The woman replied that she was too distraught to make even a simple shoe purchase decision; her mother died the previous day, that very day was her own birthday, and the following day was to be her mother's funeral. Christy assisted this sorrowing woman in trying on several pairs of shoes, advised her which looked the best, and guided her to the cash register.

I was reminded of the Bible teaching, "Lord,… When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?… And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me" (Matthew 25:37-40).

“My mother is a pioneer,” says Brynnly Anderson, a Laurel from Salt Lake City, Utah. “When I was a baby, my dad worked for the Church and we were asked to move to South America. There my mother had to learn Spanish, a new culture, and a new lifestyle. I have never heard her complain about having to move. She is very giving and unselfish, especially when it comes to her children. She is a great pioneer example to me.”

Elizabeth: I had an experience last summer that I think of when considering this question. I was in North Carolina shopping in a department store when a very pretty young lady came in dressed in a halter top and skimpy shorts. I didn’t think too much about it until I saw a young man looking at her in a very interested manner. It made me realize that although we may rationalize immodest dress by telling ourselves that we have clean minds and after all it is summer and we want to be fashionable, this won’t keep others from getting the wrong impression.

A young man came to see me recently who had been called by the Lord to fill a mission. He was a fine young man—handsome, strong, sharp—but he said he didn’t want to go on his mission because there were other things that he would rather do. As we visited he told me that one thing he would rather do was drive a dune buggy. We talked about the relative merits of trading eternal life for a dune buggy; and he decided, perhaps, that was not exactly a fair exchange. I suggested to him that if he still wanted to drive a dune buggy after he had filled his mission, the Lord would probably let him do so, since the Lord always grants unto men “according to their desire.” (Alma 29:4.)

Some years ago I was working with the missionaries in Korea. We walked into a furniture store in downtown Seoul and were soon introduced to the proprietor. He was very kind to the elders. I listened to them encouraging him to accept a copy of the Book of Mormon. I do not speak Korean, but I understood enough to know the proprietor was friendly and open to the missionaries. In a few moments he invited us upstairs to his apartment. He walked over to what we thought was a window, where he drew back the curtain to reveal a bookshelf. It held at least 12 copies of the Book of Mormon in the Korean language. Obviously, someone had been there before us. My thought at that time was, “We need to place a copy of the Book of Mormon in this man’s heart, not on his bookshelf.”

I joined the Church at age 16 and at 17, against all odds, left England for America to escape a life of poverty. I was completely alone and frightened, but I was determined. I had one plan: to become rich and famous. A few years before, I had seen a documentary about orphanages in Romania that deeply impacted my young, fierce heart. I was no stranger to childhood trauma, so I set a goal to get enough money to fund an orphanage and truly make a difference in the world.
I couldn’t have known then how different my life would turn out. I got married at age 25, and my husband soon joined the Church. By then I had managed to become quite successful, but I was still looking for true “success” (or at least what I thought was success at the time: fame and fortune). I longed to make a big difference. Strangely enough, I didn’t want to get pregnant, but I had a strong feeling that we shouldn’t do anything to prevent pregnancy. It turned out that my feeling was right because after about a year, nothing had happened.
Growing up, I always loved children, even though my plans didn’t include having more than one or two of my own in the far distant future. I didn’t think I’d be too disappointed if I couldn’t have children at all, but when suddenly faced with that very real possibility, I was devastated.
Over the next two years, I became angry, resentful, and desperate. Ironically, “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” came out around the time I got married, and that message increasingly affected me in a negative way because I felt like I couldn’t fulfill my duty to have children. When my husband and I visited doctors, they couldn’t find any reason for the infertility. It seemed so unfair. I wondered why God had done this to me. Little did I know, my heart was changing. I had always been hyper-focused on success, but now, for the first time in my life, my heart wanted a baby more than anything else.
As time marched on, I felt more and more forgotten, desperate, alone … abandoned by God. I pasted on a cheerful smile, but no one understood what my husband and I were really going through. One day, I spoke to my husband’s grandmother, who was very wise and spiritual. As I shared my feelings with her, she said, “You know, there are many other ways to be a mother.” I felt her words penetrate my heart to its core. I was humbled. I knew this was an answer from Heavenly Father. I had only been fixated on having a baby through my own body. A glimmer of hope emerged as we considered other options. We became foster parents.
Soon our first foster baby, Benjamin, came to us. My bond with him was overwhelming, but I felt faint promptings that he wouldn’t be with us forever. I was heartbroken at the thought of him leaving us. And I was desperate for a baby I could keep. The Church’s Family Services was helping couples with adoptions at the time, so I went to my bishop to get information. The next week I got a call from a social worker who was looking to place a baby in a foster/adoption home. This was music to my ears. Despite the possibility of the baby having developmental issues, we felt the Lord’s hand directing us and we had faith to go forward. I’m not going to lie—I was scared. But it felt right, and baby Daniel was delivered to our home that very night.
Within days he became gravely ill, was hospitalized, and given a 50 percent chance to live. I sat by his crib for 11 days alternately praying and crying over him. I never once left the hospital. When Daniel’s birth parents came to see him (the adoption wasn’t final yet), there I was, looking like a complete disaster! But they seemed disconnected and showed no emotion whatsoever when they saw him.
This was a huge “aha” moment for me. I realized then that I really was Daniel’s mother! It didn’t matter that I hadn’t given birth to him—he was meant to be mine. I learned a lot about motherhood in those 11 days. I would have done anything for him.
Daniel’s life was spared. Benjamin returned to his biological family. But the Lord stayed by our side. Since then, we have adopted six more children and have miraculously had two of our own. I could shout from the rooftops about the miracles I’ve witnessed in my life. I have such a testimony of Heavenly Father’s promise to us that we can have the blessings we desire, even in ways we might not have originally expected or when we expect them (see 2 Nephi 10:17; Alma 37:17).
Having nine kids is hard at times. It’s nonstop laundry, it’s different personalities, and each child comes with different issues. But I know they were all heaven-sent. Honestly, it feels like my dream of making a difference and owning my own orphanage has come true after all!
My trial of infertility led me to my greatest blessings. I feel like I had to be truly humbled so I could submit to God’s will instead of my own. I experienced that “mighty change of heart” (see Alma 5:13). And through this kind of submission, He has guided me. He has blessed me with dreams, visions, and miracles that have led me to each child. He always had a plan for me! Even when I felt forgotten, He was there.
Infertility can be very dark and lonely. I think back on those days when it was hard to go to church without children—when the family proclamation held a bitter sting. I couldn’t see then what I see now. The loving words in the proclamation always applied to me. Regardless of our circumstances, we do each have a place in Heavenly Father’s eternal plan.

My road to BYU–Hawaii began with my conversion to the gospel. After reading the Book of Mormon and attending church regularly with my mom, I experienced a profound conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ at the age of 16. Although my mom was quite active in the church, my parents were divorced when I was young, and I mostly stayed at my dad’s house.

I grew up in a Hawaiian community outside of Hilo on the Big Island, called Keaukaha. I was raised by the ocean there. In my youth, the water and waves served as a kind of pu‘uhonua or sanctuary for me, a buffer from life’s stresses on land.

So, I surfed a lot. And I got pretty good at it. By the time I was 15, I was ranked as a top amateur in Hawaii and the United States. But right about that same time, I found myself turning to my mom with some serious life and death kinds of questions. She, in turn, gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon, and I started attending church. Through my experiences reading the Book of Mormon and praying, my belief and confidence in God and myself began to rise.

I'll never forget the first time I read the Book of Mormon. It was a cool, sunny, and very green Saturday in Keaukaha. I was in my room, it was quiet, and I had just finished the first 30 pages of the book of Mormon. Although I had already been accustomed to prayer, I remember feeling closer to Heavenly Father after praying that day.

After completing the book of Mormon and investigating the church rather thoroughly, I was baptized in the ocean by my Bishop, Alley Auna. It was a cold early misty morning. The service was held at James Kealoha or 4-miles Beach Park near my home. Sanford Okura confirmed me a member of the church just afterward. In that blessing, he said that I would do great things for the Lord. As the blessing progressed, I noticed that it had a familiar ring to it. You see, a couple of years earlier, my grandfather, Mal Helekunihi Duke, gave me a similar blessing: saying that I would go on a mission, and eventually be an influential leader. At that time, however, all that was going through my mind was, "Yeah right grandpa, I am not going to join your church." Years later, as I sat, wet, in a white jumper getting confirmed a member of the church, my grandfather's voice returned to me, and I realized that I had received this blessing before. But this time, I believed it.

After my baptism, my focus in life shifted from a religious-like devotion to competitive surfing to a deep desire to understand God and his will for me. This quest led me to a pursuit of knowledge: first through spiritual education in the form of personal study and seminary classes, to a desire to pursue higher education.

After 12 hours of work, the Primary program was done. The girls continued to hold practices with the children’s choir to finish the project’s needed hours—and for fun! But they didn’t stop there.
“Ashley, my younger sister, was always trying to talk me into coaching her basketball team,” says Stephanie. “I’ve been playing on a basketball team since fourth grade, and I love the game so I figured, why not?” Once again Tiana responded to Stephanie’s call for help. At first, it looked like another good opportunity for a Personal Progress project. In the end it became a labor of love in which they ended up working beyond their required hours.
“Not only did we get to be involved in something we both love,” says Tiana, “but it was even more fun when we found out that all but three of the girls on the team are members of our ward and the other girls are all their friends.”
Needless to say, coaching the young team has not been without challenges. For starters, Tiana and Stephanie had to make time in their busy schedules for three full months of weekly practices and Saturday games, not to mention time spent making phone calls to keep parents updated.
Tiana laughs when asked about the other challenges they faced, noting that “the players are the best of friends, and sometimes they love talking even more than they love basketball!”
Stephanie says the hardest part of coaching was teaching basketball skills that are second nature to her and Tiana but are new to the team and especially the younger girls who have never played before.
Tiana added that coaching this team has made her think about what it means to be a good example. “We had to be careful to treat each player fairly and impartially even though we both have younger sisters on the team,” she says.
Tiana and Stephanie taught the girls to work together as a unit, just as they had to learn to work together as coaches. On this team, no girl is a stranger, and no girl is left out.
When asked about her coaches, 11-year-old Leah Williams says, “I totally look up to them. Not only are they really good basketball players and my coaches, but they are also my best friends. I know that when they tell me what to do I can trust them.” She added that someday she would like to coach a team herself.
Eleven-year-old Abby Hulme, who had never played on a basketball team before, said she was more comfortable with Stephanie and Tiana than she would have been with a coach she didn’t know.
Linda Williams, the Saratoga Ward Young Women president (and Leah’s mom), commented that she was impressed that Stephanie and Tiana are so willing to share their talents and what they love with others.

Yet I early learned that sharing is as much responsibility as it is opportunity. I was about six years old when I carelessly dropped my older brother’s steam engine and broke its cast iron base. Looking at the little brass boiler—bright from repeated polishing but now listing hopelessly—I suddenly remembered that this was his favorite toy. Later, as Bill pulled the ruins of his engine out from under the pile of toys I had “given” him as a desperate recompense, he didn’t cry—at almost ten he felt he was too old to cry—but my mother’s quiet “He’s your brother, Billy” not only knotted my guilty heart, it filled me with mighty resolve that I wouldn’t exploit him again. I never have.

When President Spencer W. Kimball was serving as president of the Church, it was my privilege to be called to serve as his bishop. This close relationship gave me the opportunity to closely observe the importance of scriptures in his life. Often I would walk or drive by the Kimball home late at night where I noticed that the only light on in the Kimball home was the light in President Kimball's study. I knew that he was occupied in either studying the scriptures or writing in his personal journal.

President Kimball recommended the practice of "Daily reading of the scriptures. . . as a powerful tool against ignorance and the temptations of Satan." In an Ensign article, President Kimball wrote: "I am convinced that each of us, at least some time in our lives, must discover the scriptures for ourselves and not just discover them once, but rediscover them again and again."

"All through the scriptures" President Kimball said, "every weakness and strength of man has been portrayed, and rewards and punishments have been recorded. One would surely be blind who could not learn to live life properly by such reading."

President Kimball found that the scriptures were a bridge connecting him to his Heavenly Father. "I find," he said "that when I get casual in my relationships with divinity and when it seems that no divine ear is listening and no divine voice is speaking, that I am far, far away. If I immerse myself in the scriptures the distance narrows and the spirituality returns."

I feel to express thanks to my Heavenly Father for His countless blessings to me. I can say, as did Nephi of old, that I was born of goodly parents, whose own parents and grandparents were gathered out of the lands of Sweden and Scotland and England by dedicated missionaries. As those missionaries bore humble testimonies, they touched the hearts and the spirits of my forebears. After joining the Church, these noble men, women, and children made their way to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. Many were the trials and heartaches they encountered along the way.
In the spring of 1848, my great-great-grandparents, Charles Stewart Miller and Mary McGowan Miller, who had joined the Church in their native Scotland, left their home in Rutherglen, Scotland, and journeyed to St. Louis, Missouri, with a group of Saints, arriving there in 1849. One of their 11 children, Margaret, would become my great-grandmother.
While the family was in St. Louis working to earn enough money to complete their journey to the Salt Lake Valley, a plague of cholera swept through the area, leaving death and heartache in its wake. The Miller family was hard hit. In the space of two weeks, four of the family members succumbed. The first, on June 22, 1849, was 18-year-old William. Five days later Mary McGowan Miller, my great-great-grandmother and the mother of the family, died. Two days afterward, 15-year-old Archibald passed away, and five days after his death, my great-great-grandfather, Charles Stewart Miller, father of the family, succumbed. The children who survived were left orphans, including my great-grandmother Margaret, who was 13 years old at the time.
Because of so many deaths in the area, there were no caskets available, at any price, in which to bury the deceased family members. The older surviving boys dismantled the family’s oxen pens in order to make caskets for the family members who had passed away.
Little is recorded of the heartache and struggles of the nine remaining Miller children as they continued to work and save for that journey their parents and brothers would never make. We know that they left St. Louis in the spring of 1850 with four oxen and one wagon, arriving finally in the Salt Lake Valley that same year.
Others of my ancestors faced similar hardships. Through it all, however, their testimonies remained steadfast and firm. From all of them I received a legacy of total dedication to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Because of these faithful souls, I stand before you today.

During another transitional time as a newlywed couple, we moved into a ward that had an early church schedule, with Priesthood and Relief Society first and Sacrament meeting last. We were busy with work and school during the week, and we relished our sleep on the weekend. As it happened, we slept in one Sunday through the first two meetings, but made it on time for Sacrament meeting. Another week went by and we did the same, and another, until a month of Sunday’s had passed and we had only attended Sacrament meetings. Concerned ward members started reaching out to us, which quite literally awakened us to our poor pattern of worship. We realized that we needed to make a decision. Were we going to be full participants in the gospel or not? We were both returned missionaries and had recently been married in the temple. However these past experiences did not set the alarm clock for us each week. We had to make an obvious and simple choice to be active participants by better preparing for the Sabbath. We made a commitment to one another that we would. Our fatigue could have kept us from opportunities to grow which we enjoyed in that ward. If left unaddressed, that speck of dust could have developed into blindness and altered our journey from the gospel path.

During my first assignment in Boise, I was called to serve as the priests quorum adviser. There were 23 priests in the old Boise Ninth Ward. Two were serving in the military. Nineteen of the 21 received individual awards. The bishop of the ward was Floyd Fletcher. What a bishop. What a boy’s man. What a Scouter. Every year the ward provided welfare to the storehouse through the beans we raised, picked, and canned. When the beans would be ready for harvest, the whole ward had to be mobilized. The men and boys of the priesthood would pick the beans, the sisters would cut and clean them, and then we would take them to the cannery to can.

We would pick the beans early in the morning before going to work. The bean patch buzzed with brethren and sisters working up and down the rows. Working alongside my priests was a joy I shall never forget. I got close to them. Even though it was an early hour in the morning and fairly cool, we would soon work up a sweat. We would talk about swimming in the cold mountain rivers where we had our annual Aaronic Priesthood outings. We shared personal stories, laughed and joked, and had a great time. It was fun. No one resented being asked to work. In fact, I think people would have felt left out if they hadn’t been involved.

I remember one morning, about 7:30, when we were finishing up so we could get back home to get ready to go to work. One of the priests challenged all the others and myself to take a swim in the canal. In only a moment, a priests quorum adviser and all the priests were swimming in the canal. At that early hour it took our breath away. I can still feel the love, camaraderie, and fellowship with a quorum of priests who had gotten up about 4:30 or 5:00 A.M., worked for a couple of hours on the Lord’s farm, and then went swimming in the canal together.