Gospel Story Finder

It was Houston’s transfer to the Benin City stake that introduced him to Raymond. Raymond arrived in Benin a few days later directly from his missionary training in Lagos. Houston joined Raymond and his companion to proselyte on Raymond’s first day. When Raymond expressed his fear about teaching a discussion on his first day, he remembers Houston’s encouragement: “Elder, go ahead and do it. I had the same experience. If I did it, you can do it, too.”

Raymond recalls, “I was filled with strength and confidence. And when I finished the discussion, Houston tapped me on the knee and said, ‘Elder, you came out okay.’ This experience kindled a feeling of respect for him. And as our paths have crossed many times since our missions, that feeling has only increased.”

Yes, it’s true—a blind postman! His name was Owen Jones, and he delivered the mail for almost twenty-five years.
Owen was born in 1819 in a little village in Wales. When he was just a small boy, he fell into the fireplace, severely burning his face and losing the sight in one eye. When he was about thirty, he lost the sight in his other eye.
At first, he was discouraged and depressed, but before long, his natural, happy disposition returned. He continued to play the violin, and he worked at developing his talents for mimicking voices and telling stories. He learned to accept his blindness without bitterness, and, like many blind people, he developed his other senses.
When the missionaries came to Wales, he and his family were baptized and decided to go to America. He and his brother and sister arrived in New Orleans in 1849 on the ship Hartley. From there they made their way to Utah. Owen settled in Brigham City, a small community about sixty miles north of Salt Lake City, where there were other Welsh pioneers.
The neighbors found him cheerful, sociable, and friendly. He often did small repairs for them, and he made chair seats of rush (a course grass), cane, and rawhide.
He never had any trouble getting around the little town. He had an excellent sense of direction, counted the steps between fences and trees, and listened to the sounds around him.
When the job of postman became available, someone suggested that “Blind Man Jones,” as he was affectionately called, could do it. He was happy for the opportunity to be useful and to earn a steady paycheck.
He did well at his new job. Each day an associate sorted the mail for him and put it in the proper order in his canvas bag. Then away he went. Carrying a long buggy whip in front of him much like blind people nowadays use a white cane, he made his way around the town, delivering the mail. If he was not sure he had the right letters in his hand, he asked homeowners to check and resort them for him.
Owen took his meals with many of the townspeople; they all enjoyed his company and loved to hear stories about his early life in Wales. He spoke English almost as well as his native Welsh, and he was often called on to translate for immigrants who had not yet learned English.
Many children remembered having him in their homes for meals and parties. Owen loved to be a part of these happy times. Sometimes the carpet was rolled up, and the children danced to his violin music. He particularly enjoyed hearing the children’s laughter as they hopped and skipped to the music.
After one evening of dancing and merriment, the host asked his son to walk Owen home. After a block or so, he said to the boy, “You’d better go back; it must be very dark.”
“But what about you?”
“Oh, I can find my way without any trouble. Remember, the world looks the same to me whether it is night or day!”
The children always watched for him, and they took his hand and walked along with him, especially when he came to a small footbridge over a little creek. He probably would have had no trouble getting across, for the bridge had a railing, but he let the children feel that he really needed their help, and they loved it.
Owen never complained, and he never seemed to feel sorry for himself. He often said, “I would much rather lose my eyesight than my hearing. I can laugh and joke with friends, play the violin, and enjoy the music. I can hear the birds and the rushing streams and the other sounds of the world around me. Those are the things that give me joy!”
Owen Jones died of pneumonia in 1894 and was buried in the Brigham City Cemetery. He never married, but he enjoyed the love and affection of all the townspeople just the same as if he had been part of their families. He was an inspiration to all who knew him because he was willing to make the most of his abilities.
“It is not so bad to lose your sight,” he once said. “After all, what counts is what is in your mind!”
We could all learn a thing or two about living from Owen.

“I remember being called into the bishop’s office for an interview,” said Elder Steve Lloyd of the Casper (Wyoming) Fifth Ward and the Switzerland Geneva Mission, “and realizing that I’d been thinking about the same things the bishop had. He said the Lord had called me to be the first assistant in the priests quorum, and I realized the Spirit had been preparing me to accept the call. It would be tough to be a missionary and not have had experiences like that with the Holy Ghost. You might not recognize what it was when it tried to prompt you.”

My heart raced with anticipation as the truck slowly wound its way up the twisting mountain road.
“How long is it now?” I asked my dad. My eyes strained to spy our destination.
“Soon, I think,” Dad said as he put his hand on my shoulder. “Just sit back and enjoy the scenery.”
This was my first fishing trip to a real lake. Turning eight was great! I was finally old enough to do exciting things. The Cub Scouts had been invited to go on a fishing trip with the Boy Scouts, as long as our fathers came too.
We had gathered all our fishing gear—rods, tackle boxes, bait, nets, towels, and hats—before we left home.
“We’re getting close now,” Dad said as he followed the road along a fast-moving stream down toward the lake. “We just need to find a place to park.”
We soon noticed some boys on the other side of the river climbing on the rocks.
“Dad, they’re jumping in the water! Can I go swimming too?”
“Sure,” Dad said. He parked the car under some big trees and started unloading our supplies.
I dashed toward the riverbank. When I got there I could see that the boys were jumping off a large boulder that hung out over the river. The flow carried them swiftly downstream. Each boy would ride the current for a while and then swim to the shore to do it again. It was like a natural waterslide. I had to try it! I jumped in.
The force of the water nearly took my breath away. It was fun to be swept along so fast. Suddenly, I felt the water pull me back toward the boulder. The whirlpool was so powerful that I was pulled under and pushed against the underside of the boulder. I struggled to find an air pocket above the water against the rock, but there wasn’t one. I was running out of breath.
Then I heard a quiet voice: “Turn upside down and push!”
That seemed wrong. Wasn’t air to be found above the water? But I was desperate. I immediately pulled my body into a tight ball, turned upside down, and pushed off the bottom of the rock with my legs.
The next thing I knew, I popped out of the water downstream. I was relieved, but everything looked so blurry. I had forgotten to take off my glasses, and now they were lost. I felt that I should run beside the river. Quickly, I swam to shore and ran downstream. I found a calm place to wade and saw my glasses floating toward me.
Turning eight really was great. Because I was baptized, I was able to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. I knew as long as I was worthy, the Holy Ghost could help keep me safe.

Several years ago, as I began to prepare my Sunday School lesson for that week, I was surprised to find that it included ten sections from the Doctrine and Covenants. “We can’t cover that much in the short lesson time,” I thought. “We’ll have to skip over some of the sections.”
Early in the week I decided that section 111 was one that could be skipped. The words follies, treasure, gold and silver, ancient inhabitants didn’t communicate clearly to me. Frankly, I didn’t understand what it was all about, and it didn’t seem particularly significant.
Later in the week, I reread the section and wondered what was meant by the word follies. Maybe they had to do with what had taken the First Presidency to Salem, Massachusetts.
The “insignificant” scripture was becoming more and more intriguing to me. The manual indicated that Elder Snow had converted a number of people. But who were they? What contributions had they made?
Suddenly, I remembered something I’d seen in my family’s genealogical records. My great-great-grandfather, Nathaniel Ashby, was born in Salem in 1805. Perhaps he had been there when Elder Snow had preached the gospel. I searched for my history of the Ashby family, contained in a little brown book that I finally found at my brother’s home.
I put the little brown book down and returned to the scripture I had earlier thought insignificant. “I have much treasure in this city for you,” the Lord had said, “… many people … whom I will gather out in due time for the benefit of Zion” (D&C 111:2).
The Prophet and other Brethren had gone to Salem in search of gold and silver. But the treasure they found was converts. And through that “treasure,” my own life and the lives of my brothers, sisters, cousins, and countless other descendants of Nathaniel Ashby have been profoundly blessed.

I’m serving as a missionary, and I love teaching people about Jesus Christ and helping them learn how to follow Him more closely. But sometimes it’s the teacher who learns the most.
One evening, while at a member’s home for dinner, I was asked to pray. As I was doing so, I realized it was starting to sound a lot like the last prayer I’d said at a member’s home. A thought came into my mind, “Whom are you praying to? Them or God?” It shocked me enough that I paused for a moment. I realized that I was praying “to be heard of men” (Alma 38:13) and not out of a sincere desire to communicate with my Father in Heaven. I was doing it out of duty instead of out of love for God.
As I finished my prayer, I silently thanked God for revealing my faults to me. I promised Him that I would pray to be heard of Him and not just to say nice words. As I’ve since kept that promise, I’ve drawn so much closer to Him and have been better able to recognize His loving hand in my life.

While recently reading the Book of Mormon, I came upon the following admonition: “Why do ye … suffer the hungry, and the needy, and the naked, and the sick and the afflicted to pass by you, and notice them not?” (Mormon 8:39).
Instead of feeling the peace and comfort I usually find in the scriptures, I was overcome by a lingering feeling of sadness. I had long recognized that I am not a particularly observant person. I had allowed myself to get so involved in my life, my callings, and my family that I just didn’t notice the challenges other people were having.
I knew I wasn’t doing all I could “to bear one another’s burdens, that they [might] be light; … to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:8–9). I wanted to change; I wanted to be better. I simply didn’t know how. I prayed that the Lord would help me.
My answer came in an unexpected and unwanted way when I contracted a chronic illness. It slowly took away all my cumbersome busyness. As the disease progressed, I had to give up my outside activities, my callings, and my Church attendance. I’m housebound, I’m lonely, and I feel unnoticed.
I pray that someday the Lord will heal me. When He does, I promise myself that I will never be so blind again. When I arrive at church, I will look to see who is sitting alone and who is not attending that day. I will take time each week to overcome my shyness and visit somebody who is sick or afflicted or just in need of a friend. I will love my brothers and sisters every day—not just on Sunday or during Church activities.
I will remember and, I hope, be worthy to hear the Lord’s approbation: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

When my family moved to Japan, it was scary moving to a new place and making new friends. On my first day of kindergarten we were doing an art project. We had to trace our hands on paper. I noticed that a boy at my table was having a hard time tracing his hand. I wanted to help him, but I was nervous. Then I remembered that in family scripture study we had been talking about how Jesus loved and served others. I helped the boy trace his hand. It made him happy, and I felt happy too. Heavenly Father blessed me to not be nervous and helped me make a new friend too!

Many suffering Saints have shared with me how they felt God’s love during their trials. I vividly recall my own experience at one point in my cancer battle when the doctors had not yet diagnosed the cause of some severe pain. I sat with my wife, intending to offer a routine blessing on our lunch. Instead, all I could do was simply weep, “Heavenly Father, please help me. I am so sick.” For the next 20 to 30 seconds, I was encircled in His love. I was given no reason for my illness, no indication of the ultimate outcome, and no relief from the pain. I just felt of His pure love, and that was and is enough.

Someone gave me a copy of my high school yearbook the other day. I spent an hour thumbing through it, looking at the pictures of my friends of 73 years ago, my high school class of 1928. Most of those in that yearbook have now lived their lives and gone beyond. Some seem to have lived almost without purpose, while others lived with great achievements.
I looked at the faces of the boys who were my friends and associates. Once they were youthful and bright and energetic. Now those who are left are wrinkled and slow in their walk. Their lives still have meaning, but they are not as vital as they once were. I looked in that old yearbook at the faces of the girls I knew. Many of them have passed on, and the remainder live in the shadows of life. But they are still beautiful and fascinating.
My thoughts go back to those young men and women of my youth, back to where you are today. By and large, we were a happy lot. We enjoyed life. I think we were ambitious. The dark and terrible Depression which swept over the earth would not come for another year. Nineteen-twenty-eight was a season of high hopes and splendid dreams.
In our quieter moments we were all dreamers. The boys dreamed of mountains yet to climb and careers yet to be lived. The girls dreamed of becoming the kind of woman that most of them saw in their mothers.
When I spoke to the youth of the Church, I suggested six B’s that you ought to pursue. Be Grateful. Be Smart. Be Clean. Be True. Be Humble. Be Prayerful.
I have not the slightest doubt that these patterns of behavior will yield success and happiness and peace. I believe you will be successful in your endeavors. As you grow old, I am satisfied that you will look back with appreciation for the manner in which you chose to live.
In the yearbook of which I have spoken is the picture of a young woman. She was bright and effervescent and beautiful. She was a charmer. Life for her could be summed up in one short word—fun. She dated the boys and danced away the days and nights, studying a little but not too much, just enough to get grades that would take her through graduation. She married a boy of her own kind. Alcohol took possession of her life. She was a slave to it. Her body succumbed to its treacherous grip. Sadly, her life faded without achievement.
There is a picture of another girl in that yearbook. She was not particularly beautiful. But she had a wholesome look about her, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She knew why she was in school. She was there to learn. She dreamed of the kind of woman she wanted to be and patterned her life accordingly. She also knew how to have fun but knew when to stop and put her mind on other things.
There was a boy in school at the time. He had come from a small rural town. He had very little money. There was nothing especially handsome or dashing about him. He was a good student. He had set a goal for himself. It was lofty and, at times, appeared almost impossible of attainment.
These two fell in love. People said, “What does he see in her?” Or, “What does she see in him?” They each saw something wonderful which no one else saw.
Upon graduating from the university, they married. Money was hard to come by. He went on to graduate school. She continued to work for a time, and then their children came. She gave her attention to them.
A few years ago, I was riding a plane home from the East. It was late at night. I walked down the aisle in the semidarkness. I saw a woman asleep with her head on the shoulder of her husband. She awakened as I approached. I immediately recognized the girl I had known in high school so long before. I recognized the boy I had also known. They were now approaching old age. As we talked, she explained that their children were grown, that they were grandparents. She proudly told me that they were returning from the East, where he had gone to deliver a paper. There at a great convention he had been honored by his peers from across the nation.
I learned that they had been active in the Church, serving in whatever capacity they were asked to serve. By every measure, they were successful. They had accomplished the goals which they had set for themselves. They had been honored and respected and had made a tremendous contribution to the society of which they were a part. She had become the woman of whom she had dreamed.
As I returned to my seat on the plane, I thought of those two girls of whom I have spoken. The life of the one had been lived aimlessly, without stability, without contribution to society, without ambition. It had ended in misery and pain and early death.
The life of the other had been difficult. It had meant working and struggling. It had meant simple food and plain clothing and a very modest apartment in the years of her husband’s initial effort to get started in his profession. But out of that seemingly sterile soil there had grown two plants, side by side, that blossomed and bloomed in a beautiful and wonderful way. Those beautiful blossoms spoke of service to fellowmen, of unselfishness one to another, of love and respect and faith in one’s companion, of happiness as they met the needs of others in the various activities which they pursued.

I am Brooke Ellis. When I was six, my dad went over to meet the neighbors, who were just moving in. They had a minivan, and it was filled with kids. He noticed that there was a girl who was just about my age. Her name was Clarissa Shinn. He brought me over to meet her. At first we were kind of shy with each other. But one day while my mom was still at Girls Camp with the Young Women, Clarissa and I were running over to my house and I glanced down and saw something gold and green on her finger. I stopped and so did she, and I noticed it was a CTR ring. I said, “Clarissa, are you LDS?” She said, “Yeah.” I told her that I was, too. I later found out when my mom got home that she had been fasting and praying for a girl my age who was also a Latter-day Saint to move into one of the three houses that were empty in our block. Clarissa and I are still great friends, and I know that Heavenly Father loves me and answers prayers.
Clarissa Shinn and Brooke Ellis, ages 9 and 10West Lafayette, Indiana

I remember when I had my baptismal interview with him. I was sort of nervous. I didn’t know what he was going to ask me. We said a prayer together and talked for a while about the gospel and other things. The next thing I knew, he was shaking my hand and telling me that I could be baptized. I had forgotten all about being afraid! I know that when it’s time for me to have another interview, I won’t be nervous at all.

Six young adults from different faiths formed a panel on 10 September 2020 for a Zoom activity organised by the Altrincham Interfaith Group.
‘Young Voices’ was an opportunity to hear the views of younger members of a diverse society. James Viner, from the Manchester England Stake, recently returned from serving as a volunteer missionary to South Africa, had the opportunity to represent The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Other faiths represented were Islam, Baha’i, Hinduism, Judaism, and Roman Catholicism.
“How important are your holy books to you considering that they were written so long ago?” was the question posed to James, and the Hindu and Jewish representatives. Their common answer was that they deemed their scriptures to be relevant to today.
All the panellists agreed that youth had a responsibility to present their faith in a vibrant way. All wanted to help others.
Other questions addressed science, religion and discrimination. James said that in his school years, that others found him weird because he went to church.
The panellists were thanked for their sensitive and stimulating contributions. They gave hope for a future world, one with young people like them.

A few weeks after my husband died unexpectedly, I came home from work tired and depressed. My sons met me at the door with two pieces of interesting information: we still had no water (it had stopped running in the middle of the night), and in about two hours there was a Cub Scout fathers and sons’ cake contest and sale, and they needed a cake.
When I walked into the kitchen, I could see that dirty dishes had multiplied alarmingly. There was hardly any space for mixing a cake, and we still needed to solve our water problem!
I located a simple cake recipe and recruited a son, against his will, to give his younger brothers directions. Then I changed clothes, rummaged around in the barn for a pipe wrench, and crawled down into the well. I had watched my husband fix the pump several times and had no doubt that in a few minutes I could have it running.
The connections looked OK. I rattled the switch box to get the bugs out of it and tapped it with the wrench. Nothing. I kicked the pipe. Nothing. I mashed my finger while trying to unscrew the plug to prime it. It wouldn’t budge. Nothing worked.
I must have spent an hour down the well trying everything I could think of. I despaired. What on earth am I doing down in this hole hammering on a stupid pump when I should be in a nice, clean kitchen being a mother? Why do my children have to go through life and Cub Scout cake sales without a father? Is this fair?
Unable to fix the water problem, I gave up and went to the meeting—late. I sat on a chair in the back of the hall, and the boys took their sad little cake to the table at the front. There were cakes that looked like Cub Scout caps, cakes with trees and birds, cakes with patriotic flags. Then there was our cake. My sons had decorated it to look like Cyclops, with one giant eyeball made of purple and blue frosting in the middle. They had added lots of wiggly red lines to make the eyeball look bloodshot.
I sat there in the dark feeling sorry for myself. When I could no longer keep back the tears of frustration and self-pity, I slipped out and went into the rest room.
A Relief Society sister in the group saw me go. She followed me, and before long I had poured out the entire story. She put her arm around me, gave me a hug, and then suggested the names of a couple of reliable plumbers. Plumbers? What a novel idea! It was revolutionary to me. When the water doesn’t work on a farm, you tell your husband, and he tinkers around with the pump for a little while, and everything is OK. It had never crossed my mind to call a plumber! I realized that maybe it would be all right to make decisions that were different from how my husband would have done things. Maybe things would look up after all.
At the end of the evening, the cake sale began. My boys stood on the stage, grinning and holding the grotesque eyeball cake. A sweet little grandmother ended up paying a respectable price for it. As she went up on stage to get the cake, she said she couldn’t tell exactly what it was supposed to be, but she really liked the colors. My boys, thank goodness, just smiled and kept their mouths shut.
Those two wonderful women knew about charity. In a simple way, they each saw a need and then spontaneously went out of their way to fill it. They would probably say it was just a small thing; I doubt they even remember the incident. But it was not a small thing to me.

The Best Christmas Present of All Mr. Merriweather took Buster in when he had been abandoned. They loved each other. When Mr. Merriweather had to go to the hospital, his grandchildren took the little dog to their house. But he didn’t understand and ran away home. The children found him and took him to their home again. Can you guess what his Christmas present—the best of all—was?Linda Jennings4–7 years

Years ago when our youngest son, Clark, was attending a religion class at Brigham Young University, the instructor, during a lecture, asked him, “Clark, what is an example of life with your father that you best remember?”
The instructor later wrote to me and told me of the reply which Clark had given to the class. Said Clark: “When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, my father and I went pheasant hunting near Malad, Idaho. The day was Monday—the last day of the pheasant hunting season. We walked through numerous fields in search of pheasants but saw only a few, and those we missed. Dad then said to me, ‘Clark,’ he looked at his watch, ‘let’s unload our guns, and we’ll place them in this ditch. Then we’ll kneel down to pray.’ I thought Dad would pray for more pheasants, but I was wrong. He explained to me that Elder Richard L. Evans of the Quorum of the Twelve was gravely ill and that at 12:00 noon on that particular Monday the members of the Quorum of the Twelve—wherever they may be—were to kneel and, in a way, together unite in a fervent prayer of faith for Elder Evans. Removing our caps, we knelt, we prayed.”
I well remember the occasion, but I never dreamed a son was watching, was learning, was building his own testimony.

I was sitting in a church meeting one day and caught myself staring at the variety of shoes people were wearing in the chapel. I saw leather dress shoes, black boots, bright sandals, colorful heels, and sparkly flats.
And my favorite pair of shoes? Someone’s pink buckled shoes, complete with embroidered strawberries.
It was then that I remembered the story of Christ washing His disciples’ feet.
In the times of the New Testament, I imagine most people’s feet were dirty, seeing that many wore sandals on the dirt roads and didn’t have access to regular bathing. So washing someone’s filthy feet back then probably wasn’t the most enjoyable act of service.
Thinking about this, I opened my scriptures to John 13 and read the interactions between the Savior and His Apostles as He washed their feet. I found an appreciation for Peter’s response to the Savior when it was his turn to be served. Peter replied, “Thou shalt never wash my feet” (John 13:8).
Perhaps Peter’s reluctance had to do with his love and respect for the Savior. I can imagine that, as a devoted disciple, Peter felt it was wrong to receive such treatment from someone so divine.
I realized then that some of us seem to share Peter’s reluctance to receive the Savior’s help.
The colorful selection of shoes I saw in my ward that Sunday symbolized, for me, what we each bring to our Master.
Everyone is different.
We all come from different walks of life, bringing different struggles, different perspectives, different experiences, and different questions.
However, despite all our differences, we all come to church every Sunday to partake of the sacrament, to renew our covenants, and to allow the Savior to serve us as we repent and, by doing so, accept the gift of our Savior’s atoning sacrifice.
President Russell M. Nelson reminds us that “Jesus Christ … stands with open arms, hoping and willing to heal, forgive, cleanse, strengthen, purify, and sanctify us.”1
So why are we sometimes reluctant to invite His grace and mercy into our lives? And what can we learn from His act of service?
Maybe our reluctance to accept the Savior’s help comes from feelings like shame, unworthiness, or even just our own stubborn pride. President Nelson has taught that “too many people consider repentance as punishment—something to be avoided except in the most serious circumstances. But this feeling of being penalized is engendered by Satan. He tries to block us from looking to Jesus Christ.”2 When we sin, it can be easy to feel like we aren’t good enough or we have too many flaws to be cleansed by Jesus Christ. But this is where we can take a closer look at this specific act of service for His Apostles.
I believe that Christ washing His Apostles’ feet symbolized His great love for us and His willingness to clean the spiritual dirt from our lives. He was willing to humbly serve His Apostles by cleaning one of the dirtiest parts of their bodies. Just hours later, through His atoning sacrifice, He descended below all things so He could wash us clean from the dirtiest parts of our own lives and succor us (see Alma 7:11–12).
This act, along with all His teachings, helps us understand that as we come to Him with repentance in our hearts, accepting His offer of service, we can find healing and redemption through His divine power.
As Sister Amy A. Wright, First Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, recently taught, “Because of Christ, our decision to ‘go forth and change’ can also allow us to ‘go forth and heal,’ for He is the source of healing all that is broken in our lives.”3
After washing His beloved disciples’ feet, the Savior gave them an invitation: “Ye also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:14). In other words, He told them to love and minister to others as He did.
Jesus Christ is our Master Healer and our Savior. As we follow Him, we can also offer love and service to our fellow brothers and sisters in need of healing.
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) taught: “We are surrounded by those in need of our attention, our encouragement, our support, our comfort, our kindness—be they family members, friends, acquaintances, or strangers. We are the Lord’s hands here upon the earth, with the mandate to serve and to lift His children. He is dependent upon each of us.”4
It is my testimony that as we seek the Savior—especially as we renew our covenants on Sunday—we will see that He desires to wash us of our sins, our mistakes, and even our heartaches and sorrows. And we can extend His love to those around us.
We only need to accept His help by exercising “faith unto repentance” (Alma 34:17) and seeking his grace (see Ether 12:27).
We all face circumstances and challenges as different as the variety of shoes on our feet, but we are all in need of the same love and grace our Savior offers.
I am grateful that I can follow in His footsteps and serve those around me who are in need of healing. As I allow myself to be healed and cleansed by Him, He gives me strength to do unto others what He has done unto me.

I can vividly recall a sunny Sunday afternoon in July 1959 when Pamela (whom I later married) and I were walking and talking together. I was contemplating becoming a member of the Church. Pamela said, “I can’t remember the missionaries teaching you about tithing.”
“What is tithing?” I asked.
Pamela responded that members give 10 percent of their income in obedience to God’s law and as an expression of their gratitude for all that our Heavenly Father has given them.
There have been a few moments in my life when I felt faint as a result of shock, and this was one of them. “Ten percent!” I echoed. “That’s impossible. There’s no way I could afford to pay tithing.”
Pamela calmly replied, “My father does. He has a wife and four children, and his income is less than yours.” She followed up by mentioning another family I had come to know in the branch, informing me that they lived on less money than I did and that there were six children in the family. This proved to be a useful challenge to me. If they could manage, I thought, then so could I.
Eleven years later, faced with a real test of my commitment to that law, I realized that through the payment of tithing great faith had developed. It was no longer simply a matter of money to me. In response to that test, I followed my faith, and was blessed for it (see Mal. 3:10).

“Elder Perry, if you could say something to the children of the world, what would you tell them?” I asked.
“I would like to tell them to learn as much as they could about the life of the Savior and to live as close to Him as they possibly can. Living the Lord’s way is the only way to find joy and happiness. If they turn from His course, there’s always a penalty involved, and they’ll find that sorrow and heartache will result from their decision.
“Children ought to start early in their lives to develop a method for retaining that which they study—a kind of filing system. Mine is simple enough for an eight-year-old to use. When I read scriptures and find one especially important, I underline it and try to pick out the main thought. If the scripture is on faith, I write faith in the margin. Then I turn to the Topical Guide, find that scripture, and underline it in red for future reference.
“I think we spend too much time just reading the scriptures without remembering them. It is said that we retain about 10 percent of whatever we read, but we can retain 50–60 percent if we do something specific about it. If a child began at eight years of age, think of the vast amount of information he or she would have from that early study of the scriptures!”
The conversation then turned to recollections of Elder Perry’s parents and his own childhood: “I grew up very close to the Church,” he said. “My father was made bishop of our ward when I was only six months old. By the time I was six years of age, our ward was building a chapel. Father would take us all over to work on it. I remember that my first job was pulling nails out of boards and straightening them so they could be used again.
“My father came from a large family. They were homesteading in Idaho and had little money. When he reached high school age, he asked my grandfather to allow him to go to high school. His father gave him five dollars and a one-way ticket to Salt Lake, where he had to make it on his own. He found a job caring for President Joseph F. Smith’s cows and lived in the Beehive House like a member of the family for three and a half years. Father attended LDS High School and then went on to the University of Utah, where he was valedictorian of his graduating class. He accepted a position as principal of a school in Rexburg, Idaho. There he met my mother who was a teacher in the same school. They were married and Dad left teaching and went to law school and became an attorney.
“Dad was a very intense man, but he knew how to relax. Saturday afternoon was spent with the family—fishing, hiking, or playing ball up Logan Canyon. He and I enjoyed pitching horseshoes together even when I was very young
“My mother was a tremendous woman. She had more energy than anyone I’ve ever been around. She was the first one up in the morning and the last one to bed at night—just perpetual motion all day long. Her family came first and she was a tremendous support to my father, who was a bishop for eighteen years and then in the stake presidency for another twenty years.
“I had some great teachers when I was a boy. I remember a Sister Johnson, who was president of the Primary for years and years. How tender she was!
“But the teacher I remember best was Sister Call. She was just a jewel. I remember how impressed I was that she was willing to go on hikes with the Trail Builders. She’d plan scavenger hunts, but they were not just the regular kind. Each one would have a connection with some part of the lesson. As we would find each thing, it would teach us another part of the lesson. Then there was always a nice reward—some special treat at the end. I can’t believe the creative ways she used to keep our attention as young boys.
“Sister Call is a person who keeps on giving. Recently I received a phone call from her son. He wanted to bring a gift Sister Call had just completed for me. He brought to my office a beautiful quilt she had made. Thousands of careful stitches prepared in a beautiful pattern. She is ninety-one years young. I could not hold back a tear as I thought of the kindness of this great teacher.”
We concluded the interview with some conversation about Elder Perry’s own family: “I have two grandchildren who live here and two who live in the East. We try to have family home evening together once a month with those who live here. One of our greatest family activities has been a garden that we planted in a vacant lot. We call it the Perry Family Welfare Farm. Both grandchildren have assignments. We plant, water, irrigate, harvest, and have a great time together! I hope I’m teaching them something about the Lord’s cycle of replenishment—that if we’re diligent, He will reward us abundantly. Each little seed brings forth a hundredfold.”
“Do you have a last word about children?”
“Children are receptive and attentive and able to follow the leader. They have freshness and are eager to learn. Children are wonderful!”

I thank my wife, Harriet, for her witness and testimony of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. May I share with you the conversion story of my wife’s family many years ago?

One Sunday when I was a teenager attending the Frankfurt Branch in Germany, the missionaries brought a young mother and her two beautiful daughters to our Church meetings. I still remember the impressions I had when I saw those two young girls walking into our chapel—especially about the older daughter. She was about 13 years old, and with her large brown eyes and beautiful black hair, she immediately caught my attention. I thought, “These missionaries are doing a really great job!” Little did I know that this young lady would much later bless my life forever.

But I’m getting ahead of the story. Let me go back and start with how this young family met the missionaries.

In the fall of 1954 two missionaries were inside of an apartment house ringing the doorbells in the city of Frankfurt. Gradually they began working their way up the floors without any success. Finally they rang the bell of the last door on the fourth floor. It was opened by young Harriet, who immediately asked her mother to invite them in. Sister Reich initially hesitated, but after some additional pleading by Harriet, Elder Gary Jenkins from California and his companion were invited in.

These two missionaries were truly guided by the Spirit, not only where to go but also what to say. After briefly explaining who they were and what the message was they wanted to share, the missionaries left a Book of Mormon with the mother, asked her to read the marked scriptures, and departed with a prayer and a blessing.

Two days later they returned. This time the missionaries received a friendly welcome and were invited in quickly. When they asked Sister Reich if she had read the marked scriptures in the Book of Mormon, Sister Reich answered without hesitation, “I read the whole book, and I feel that it is true.”

Sister Carmen Reich was only 36 at the time, a widow with two daughters. Only eight months before, she had lost her husband, a renowned musician, to cancer. After his unexpected death, the family struggled with a number of unanswered questions—Is there a purpose in life? Is there anything after death; and if so, what? Why are we born? Did we live before this life?

Let me make it clear that Sister Reich was a religious person. She loved to read, and the Bible was one of her favorite books. She believed firmly that Jesus is the Christ, and as a family they tried to follow His teachings. They were good, honest people, and even the loss of their husband and father could not take away their feeling of family.

However, when Sister Carmen Reich read the Book of Mormon, book-end to book-end, in two days, she felt something she had never before experienced. By her own account, it was “the spirit of revelation.”

She said she could “feel pure intelligence” flowing into her, giving her “sudden strokes of ideas” about the “things of the Spirit of God.” These ideas related to her special circumstances. As the missionaries taught her the plan of salvation and the other doctrines of the Restoration, she continued to “grow into the principle of [personal] revelation” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph Smith [2007], 132). All the good things she had learned in her Lutheran faith received a new and deeper meaning, and all of a sudden life itself had a totally different and divine eternal perspective.

It was not that she felt any enmity for what she had believed for so many years. But when she heard the message of the Restoration, a door was opened into a world flooded with light and filled with love and hope. Looking back, she described her experience this way: It was as if something of great importance had been lifeless and inert but was now resurrected to life, beauty, and activity.

Let me finish the story of Sister Reich, my dear mother-in-law. She represents in many ways the multitude of converts who are coming into the Church every day from other religions, both Christian and non-Christian, and even from no religion at all. What characterizes them all is that they are willing and pure enough to believe when God speaks.

Sister Reich was baptized on November 7, 1954. In December, only a few weeks after her baptism, the missionary who baptized her asked that she write her testimony down. Elder Jenkins wanted to use her testimony to help others feel the true spirit of conversion. Fortunately, he kept her handwritten original for more than 40 years and then returned it to my mother-in-law as a very special and loving gift. Carmen Reich, my dear mother-in-law, passed away in 2000 at age 83.

Let me read to you parts of her written testimony. It shows what she, with her background, with her needs and desires at the time she met the missionaries, saw as the key points of the Restoration. This is the English translation of her handwritten testimony:

“Special characteristics of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that are not present in other religious communities include, above all:

“Modern revelation given through the Prophet Joseph Smith.

“Sacred priesthood authority as in the time of Christ, with a living prophet today.

“Next, the Book of Mormon in its clear and pure language, with all its instructions and promises for the Church of Jesus Christ—truly a second witness with the Bible that Jesus Christ lives.

“Faith in a personal God—that is, God the Father; and God the Son Jesus Christ; and the Holy Ghost, who facilitates prayer and guides us personally.

“Belief in a premortal life, the pre-existence. Knowledge of the purpose of our earthly life, and of our life after death, is extremely valuable for us to have and is especially interesting and informative. The plan of salvation is so clearly laid out in the restored gospel that our lives receive new meaning and direction.

“The Word of Wisdom. The Church has given us the Word of Wisdom as a guide to help us realize our desire to keep our body and spirit healthy and improve them. This is our goal because we know that we will take our body up again after death in the same form.

“Temple work, with its many sacred ordinances enabling families to be together forever. This doctrine, totally new to me, was given through revelation to the Prophet Joseph Smith.”