Gospel Story Finder

My parents both served missions in Mexico. I’ve wanted to go on a mission since I was about 15 years old, so I’ve been preparing to serve. My younger brother turns 18 when I turn 19, so we will turn in our mission papers at the same time. I’m saving money for my mission by working with my mom. I have a small jar that I put my money in, and I’m trying to fill it. I want to bring more people to Christ and His Church to bring good into their lives and mine.

The girls staying at one house had a three-day running water fight with the boys staying at a house a few blocks away. As they were packing to leave, the girls made a sign and presented it to the opposition. It said, “To be continued at next year’s youth conference.”
But more than a water fight would be continued. They had all learned about bridging gaps, and that knowledge helps in that carnival we call life.

When I was a boy, my family had a small farm with cows and fields. Growing up on a farm was hard work.
One hot summer day, my brother and I were working in the field. The wind was blowing hard, and there was a lot of dust in the air. I had bad allergies, and the dust from the hay sometimes made me sick. My eyes were watering. It was hard to breathe. My nose even started to bleed because I’d rubbed it so much.
When my mother came out to the field and saw me, she told me to come inside the house. She had me lie on the couch with a wet cloth on my face. A few minutes later, she came back with two farmers. They were wearing overalls covered in hay dust.
The farmers were members of our ward. They placed their hands on my head and started to give me a blessing. My dad wasn’t a member of the Church then, so he didn’t hold the priesthood. But I’ll never forget the feeling I had as those other good men blessed me. It was warm, peaceful, and calming. And I didn’t feel so sick anymore.
Later in life, I realized that feeling was the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost is sometimes called the Comforter. I like that name because it was the Holy Ghost that brought me comfort. It made me feel better on the outside and on the inside.

Some months ago our granddaughter joined a youth group to tour several Church history sites. The final itinerary noted that she would be passing through the very area where her missionary brother, our grandson, was serving. Our granddaughter had no intention of seeing her brother on his mission. However, as the bus entered the town where her brother was serving, two missionaries could be seen walking down the street. One of the missionaries was her brother.

Anticipation filled the bus as the youth asked the bus driver to pull over so she could greet her brother. In less than one minute, after tears and sweet words, her brother was back on his way to fulfill his missionary duties. We later learned that her brother had been on that street for less than five minutes, walking from an appointment to his car.

Heavenly Father can put us in situations with specific intent in mind. He has done so in my life, and He is doing so in yours, as He did in the lives of our dear grandchildren.

Her marriage to John Mavimbela was happy and provided both with opportunities for personal growth. “We felt that if we could work together, there would be progress,” she says. “So I gave up my teaching and went to help my husband run a little butcher and grocery shop. My husband was a very special man, one out of one hundred. He gave me a salary, and the money was my own. When I was with my friends, he would go to the kitchen and wash up the dishes. When there was a baby, he would help me wash the diapers.” The two were very much in love.

John had two children from a previous marriage, so Julia built a loving relationship with her husband’s former wife and raised the two children as her own. Her first child died at birth. She later had six children.

In 1955, when Julia was two months pregnant with her last child, her husband was tragically killed in a head-on automobile collision. He was on a business trip, with a large amount of cash, when a drunken white driver crashed into his car. After the police investigated the accident, she asked for her husband’s belongings. They gave her only a small portion of the money she knew he had been carrying and ruled that her husband was at fault for the accident, even though the other driver was on the wrong side of the road. Julia became very bitter.

Some time later, Julia found enlightenment in the scriptures. “I was touched by what the Lord said: ‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ I began to feel that I should never throw a stone at other people and that I should have forgiveness. But I was not yet in a church that could really help me forgive.”

As early as 1945 Julia had become involved in community service. Long before she heard of the Church’s homemaking meetings, she started a women’s club called Homemakers that encouraged women to teach each other different homemaking skills. She later started another club to encourage thrift. After John’s death, she began focusing even more of her energy into helping others.

Some of her greatest contributions to her community began in 1976, when riots erupted in Soweto. It was a dangerous time to be out and about in the community, but Julia was concerned about the hatred expressed by the youth. “I knew what it was like to feel isolated because of your own confusion. So I started a project in Soweto to bring young people into doing things, trying to find a message in what they did.”

Her project was to involve the youth in organic gardening—a passion she had developed a decade earlier while using natural foods to help her daughter heal from a congenital heart defect. As most families did not have enough ground for even a tiny garden, she arranged to clean up a rodent-infested plot of land. “As others watched us struggle with the overgrowth of stubborn weeds,” Julia recalls, “they too became involved, and we moved from corner to corner of Soweto replacing the useless and the ugly with the beneficial and beautiful.”

Part of the beauty Julia planted was in the hearts of the young. “When I was planting with them, I would say, ‘Now look, boys and girls, as we see this soil down here, it is solid and hard; but if we push down a spade or a fork, we will crack it and come out with lumps. And then if we break those lumps and throw in a seed, the seed will grow.
“This message is my message to young people. They should have it in their hearts. Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed, show love, and see what fruits it can give. Love will not come without forgiving others. Where there has been a blood stain, a beautiful flower must grow.” Her efforts helped repair not only the physical damage but also the moral damage caused by the riots.

In the same year as these terrible riots, Julia began working with women’s groups. Feeling an urgent need for all races to unite in solving the present and future problems, she helped found Women for Peace, an organization devoted to protecting her people and helping her nation avoid civil war. She currently serves on the organization’s national executive committee. She has also repeatedly been elected the president of the National Council of African Women.

Julia has often served as a liaison between her community and the South African government in safeguarding her neighbors’ rights. Recently, she became concerned about pensioners who failed to receive their pension checks, sometimes for many months. Taking the subject on the air during a radio talk show she was invited to, Julia rallied community support and brought the issue to the attention of the new government.

Another work that she loves is literacy. For more than a decade, Julia, who is fluent in seven languages, has worked to establish more than 780 branches of an organization committed to eliminating illiteracy among the women of South Africa.

Julia is an eloquent exponent of the causes she champions. But with all of her achievements and associations, none has meant as much to her as meeting two missionaries in October 1981.

One day Julia was asked to help lead a project to repair a library destroyed in one of the Soweto riots. Her first reaction was to refuse. What? she asked herself. Do they think I’m Cinderella? If we rebuild that building, they’ll just burn it down again. But as she thought about the request, her heart softened. She went down to the site to see what she could do to help. There, she was shocked to see two young white men working in the dust and heat. Seeing white men in Soweto was rare, but seeing them do manual labor for blacks was sheer fantasy. Curious, Julia approached them. They identified themselves as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and invited her to hear their message.

Accepting their invitation was not easy. Her home was in disarray—but more important, it would be very dangerous to have white people in her home. It could mean trouble for them as well as for the family hosting them. “But something bent in me,” Julia says, “and I couldn’t turn them away. I asked them to give me three days to clean up my cobwebs.”

At their first meeting, she was polite but not impressed. On their second visit, however, they saw a picture of Julia’s wedding and asked about her husband. When she told them he was dead, they explained that baptism could be performed for him. At that moment, “Something opened in my mind,” Julia recalls. “‘Take baptism for him?’ I asked. ‘In what way?’” They explained how.

“I said to them, ‘Look here, elders. You have shocked me. I am a black, and we are not allowed to speak about the dead in other churches. Now you come and tell me about my dead. You’ve got a different message. Come again.’ Their words had touched a very delicate place in my heart.
“So they returned, and I listened to them. I said to myself that there could be no better, truer church, for I had always had much love for my parents. I could never understand why I was taught to forget about them and not mention them. I guess there was a fear that people would go back to ancestor worship.
“I was also deeply impressed by the First Vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith—how he talked directly with God. Reading the Book of Mormon changed my whole life. That was what really brought me to my knees. I started to realize that we are but one family.”

Julia was baptized on 28 November 1981, less than two months after meeting the missionaries. Of her baptism, she says: “When the door opened and I walked into the waters of baptism, I could really feel the cleansing power. I felt real joy.”

Ever since her conversion, she has been an active member missionary, encouraging neighbors to attend church with her and handing out copies of the Book of Mormon to government leaders. Two of Julia’s daughters and several of her grandchildren have joined the Church.

One of Julia’s favorite missionary tools is gardening. She uses her love of the earth to expose her neighbors to the Lord’s love. Recently, she helped a grandmother with no pension who was trying to rear her grandchildren. One of the boys had finished school and, failing to find employment, was bored and getting into mischief. Julia donated some vegetable seeds to the family and taught them how to plant, weed, and tend a garden. As the garden grew stronger, so did the family relationships. And now one of the girls is attending sacrament meeting, where she is discovering the abundant fruits of the gospel.

Julia has been both branch and stake Relief Society president, has taught the Gospel Doctrine class, and now serves as the Church public affairs director in Soweto. She is also active in the youth programs in her branch. But the most satisfying moments of her life come every Saturday morning as she serves in the house of the Lord.

In September 1985, Julia received her endowment in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple. “When I first came into the temple,” she remembers, “I felt that I belonged. Before I joined the Church, when I would read the word Israel, I would throw the book aside and say, ‘It is for the whites. It is not for us. We are not chosen.’ Today, I know I belong to a royal family if I live righteously. I am an Israelite. When I was doing my ordinances in the temple, I captured the feeling that we are all on earth as one.

“Being sealed to my husband and my parents was one of the most touching experiences of my life. I feel that my parents are grateful that I have done their temple work for them. The Holy Spirit witnessed this to me.”

Julia continues to serve in the temple as often as she can. Within those walls she finds in joyful abundance the peace and love, the beauty and oneness of spirit she has cultivated in one corner or another of the Lord’s vineyard all of her life.*

Anita said she felt fine, but I moved away from her bedside, knelt, and prayed.
Illustration by Katie Payne
I was single and self-employed when I was new in the Church, so I had days when I had extra time. On one of those days I called the Relief Society president and asked if anyone needed help that afternoon. She mentioned an elderly sister named Anita (name has been changed) who had recently come home from the hospital and was lonely. I had met Anita before and was happy to visit her.
I called and then went to her apartment. She asked me to make lunch for her, and afterward we had a great visit. She had a good sense of humor and loved to laugh and tell stories about her life.
After lunch she said she was tired and asked me to help her from her wheelchair to bed. Soon I had her tucked in. Suddenly, the still, small voice I had heard so much about spoke to me: “Get her to the hospital now!”
Anita hated hospitals and had just returned home. I asked her if she felt OK. She said she was fine but felt tired.
I moved away from her bedside and knelt. As soon as I started to pray, the voice repeated, “Get her to the hospital, and get her there now!”
I hesitated, asking myself, “What am I going to tell the doctor at the hospital?”
I called a friend, who also prayed and then told me to follow my prompting.
Anita was angry that I would even mention taking her to the hospital, but I called an ambulance anyway. When it arrived, two paramedics entered and took her vital signs. Without asking questions, they put her on a gurney and sped off in the ambulance.
I followed in my van. After arriving at the hospital, I sat and waited. Soon a doctor came out. He asked me, “She didn’t tell you that she had fallen before you came to her apartment, did she?”
“No,” I responded.
He told me that Anita had injured her spleen and was bleeding internally. Without immediate medical attention, he said, she might have died.
I felt a mixture of remorse and exultation—remorse that I had hesitated and exultation that ultimately I had listened to the Holy Ghost. Most of all, I felt grateful to know that the Lord had trusted me to help this injured sister and had inspired my Relief Society president to send me to her.
My own health has deteriorated since this experience, but the Lord still prompts me. I pray always for the strength to follow those promptings.

My mother and my friend’s mother take turns driving us to school. One morning, my friend’s mother began asking questions about my religion and about our beliefs about the afterlife. I was surprised that she asked me, and I was a little scared because I hadn’t learned a lot about it.
As I began to talk, I remembered a seminary poster that was on the wall in my Primary room at church. It was about the veil between premortal life, mortality, and the spirit world. I told everything I could remember about the plan of salvation. My friend’s mother was impressed at the things I knew about my religion. I am grateful that the Lord gives me missionary moments.

Suppose the bishop called you into his office after sacrament meeting and said, “I have a very important calling for you in the ward. I would like you to be songbook coordinator for the ward choir.” What would you do? You might think to yourself, “But Bishop, that’s such a little job. Couldn’t you give me something important to do, something difficult that I could really get involved in, like Young Men’s president or Relief Society president—a position where I can really be of service?” But, having been taught never to refuse a calling, you smile and say, “Yes, I would love to be songbook coordinator.”
On your first day as songbook coordinator for the ward choir, you arrive half an hour early and carefully place the songbooks; after the practice you hurry to collect and return them to the proper closet. No one, you observe, puts an arm around you and tells you what a fine job you did. The next week you arrived a bit later and rush through your responsibilities. Again, no one notices your efforts.
The third week comes, and you don’t even go. After all, it’s such a little job.
It may be true that songbook coordinator is not necessarily the most difficult job in the Church. The most difficult job in the Church is the one that begins with the words “I am only.” I am only a home teacher; I am only a visiting teacher; I am only an usher; I am only a deacon. The most important job in the Church, on the other hand, is the one in which service is willingly, and faithfully rendered.
I’ve determined that there are three types of people holding positions in the Church. One is the worker who says, “Yes, I’ll do the job,” but then doesn’t fulfill his responsibility. Another is the person who does the job, but does no more than the minimum expected (and he really doesn’t enjoy it). The third type of individual is one who not only does the job, but finds joy in doing more than just what is expected.
You might ask, “But how can a ward choir songbook coordinator do more than is expected?” Let’s think about that. He might notice that several books have broken bindings, and he takes the time to repair them. Perhaps some of the books have missing pages; so he photocopies those pages from other books and inserts them into the books where they are needed. He might even build a container to carry the books so that he will not drop them as he is distributing or collecting them. There are many ways to enhance one’s service.
Let me tell you about some church workers I have known who went the extra mile. President A. Harold Goodman, of the Provo Temple presidency, once lived in Tucson, Arizona. While there, he was called to be home teacher to a man that no one had been able to visit. After attempting several times without success to find him at home, he went to the neighbors and found out that the man was working two jobs and left home every morning at 5:30 A.M. So the next morning at 5 A.M. Brother Goodman was sitting on the front porch; when the lights went on in that house, he jumped to his feet and knocked on the door. The man answered the door, and Brother Goodman said, “Good morning, I’m your home teacher.” The man was surprised to see someone so interested in him, and a warm relationship developed.
I have an aunt living in Ogden, Utah, who says that as a young girl she had a memorable Sunday School teacher. When he was called, he said, “A Sunday School teacher is the most important calling in the Church,” and he was the best Sunday School teacher she ever had. His name was David O. McKay.
I believe that the most important job in the Church is the one we hold right now. Maybe you don’t even hold a specific position. I remember being in a ward where there were just not enough ward positions for everyone to have one, so the bishop called certain people into his office and asked them to be celestial members—to set a good example for others; to fellowship those in need; and to be one-hundred-percent participators. That was an important calling—as is any calling we now or in the future will hold in the kingdom of God. For it is through righteously serving others that we bless our own lives, enrich the lives of our neighbors, and further the work of the Lord.

Mother’s Day—Dad accepted my invitation and brought Mom out to the branch’s Mother’s Day program today. Bill came too. After sacrament meeting, I went with the elders to my parents’ home for a missionary lesson. After the first discussion Elder Johnson tried to make an appointment to come again and teach my family.
“How about right now?” Mom asked.
So the second lesson was given. Dad had to leave then to do the farm chores. Mom quickly prepared some sandwiches and salads for the elders and our family. About an hour later Dad came back in and ate, and the third lesson was given. Three in one night!
July 27—Tonight I baptized my family. It is three months to the day since I joined the Church. Our family is finally united. As I brought Mom up out of the water, she embraced me and shed tears of joy. We are recipients of life’s greatest blessings.

My family was about to leave the party, but I still wanted to go Rollerblading. My father embraced me and asked if I wanted to stay so he could take me Rollerblading.
“No!” I said angrily.
“You can trust me,” he said.
Others wanted to leave, so we got in the car. Ten minutes later we were in a car accident. Miraculously, I survived, but my father was killed. That “no!” was the last thing I said to him, and he was the last person I would embrace for many years.
For the next 11 years, my life was on a downward spiral. I lost confidence in myself and began to distrust everyone. My life was so unhappy that one day when I was 18, I found myself struggling beneath torrential hopelessness, imploring God to show me the way to a happy life.
A week later two missionaries approached me. They showed me a book and told me I should pray for a witness of its truthfulness. What they asked seemed small, but the wounds left by the death of my father were deep, and I considered my meeting the missionaries a mere coincidence and not an answer from a God who loved me.
Still, I did read the Book of Mormon and prayed to receive an answer—though not with real intent. After all, that would mean I would have to trust God, to embrace Him and His answer. It was easier to accept the readily available criticisms of the Church. And I had also discovered that so many of the great historical figures I had been introduced to in school were flawed. What if Joseph Smith was just like them?
In the end, however, I was baptized and confirmed. I knew I needed some direction in my life, and I liked the Church and the members. But I now realize that I joined without a true testimony, one that burns in the heart. The belief I did have resulted from my realization that the arguments made by detractors of the Church were superficial. But still distrusting, I reached the point where maintaining that belief felt overwhelming. My introduction to the Church had begun because of my lack of trust and my unhappiness, and I was being reduced to the same state again.
So I made a crucial decision: I will pray, but this time I’ll do it just as Moroni exhorted, with “faith in Christ,” “real intent,” and a “sincere heart” (Moroni 10:4). On the day I had chosen, I fasted and prayed for direction. I spent the day pondering everything that had happened.
That night I knelt at my bed. Bowing my head, I asked Heavenly Father about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. My mind began to remember all my doubts. I closed my eyes, clutched my hands tighter, and asked again—with sincerity, with intent, with faith in our Savior.
The world seemed to stop. I felt warm and enveloped in light. For 11 long years I had yearned for this, and finally I was embraced again by a father—a Heavenly Father. Finally I had found someone to trust. “Yes,” I said, with tears on my face, “I trust Thee.”

In Japan I witnessed a 21-year-old man accept the gospel. After baptism, he was the only member of the Church in his family. He completed the family history work for his deceased grandfather so he could perform ordinance work vicariously for him, literally doing something for his grandfather that his grandfather could no longer do for himself. As this young man came up out of the baptismal font, he had tears in his eyes. He said, “Now I know and feel, I have a witness, that I am not the only member of this Church in my family.” These ordinances strengthened his relationship with his family and brought a new closeness into his life.

His promise reminded me of another experience. I met 12-year-old Charlotte Hlimi near Carcassonne, France, in 1990 while serving as a mission president. The Hlimis were a faithful family living in an apartment with eight children. They had a picture of the Savior and of the prophet on the wall. In the interview for her patriarchal blessing, I asked Charlotte if she paid an honest tithe. She responded, “Yes, President Andersen. My mother has taught me that there are temporal blessings and spiritual blessings that come from paying our tithing. My mother taught me that if we always pay our tithing, we will want for nothing. And President Andersen, we want for nothing.”
In giving me permission to share her story, Charlotte, now 45 and sealed in the temple, commented: “My testimony of tithing was very real at the time, and it is even stronger now. I am deeply grateful for this commandment. As I live it I continue to be abundantly blessed.”

But then, while he was in the process of baptizing new converts in Lowell, Massachusetts, and organizing a branch there, he received a momentous letter from his mission president:

Mar. 18, 1854 In Lowell. Receivedletter from President O. Pratt. Said as I was single I could marry a wife with his approbation.

Elder Millett responded enthusiastically to this new opportunity. He completed his work in Lowell and then went to Manchester, New Hampshire, where he had some time before met a young woman who had been the only person in her family to join the Church (in fact, the others were strongly opposed to it). Acting decisively but with very evident propriety and consideration, he invited her to the home of some members to talk with him; he apparently found in her a person of similar decisiveness, because she returned and packed her trunk and traveled with him to Lowell to stay at the home of the branch president. This is how Elder Millett describes the following Sunday:

Mar. 26, 1854 Sunday. Meeting forenoon at Sister Brook’s. President Davis appointed a meeting at his house in the evening. I ordained Brother Thomas Bricker to the office of Priest. Then President Eliakim S. Davis read a chapter in the Doctrine and Covenants on Marriage. Sarah Elizabeth Glines and myself stood up and were married. Elder Davis sang and dismissed the meeting and the cake was passed around. The evening was agreeably passed by the Saints.

Joe was seven and I was five when she was born. She was premature—that means she was born too early. She was so little that she had to stay in the hospital for a long time. We prayed and prayed for her to get big enough to come home, and finally she did. Dad says that sometimes almost losing something makes it seem even more special to you. I guess he’s right about that, because we sure love Mikey a lot.

When I was about seven or eight years old, my mother directed the ward road show. Early one Saturday morning, my sisters and I were at the meetinghouse with her for a rehearsal. Most of the youth were dressed in what was considered fashionable back then: torn jeans, cutoff shorts, and ragged tie-dyed T-shirts. My mother realized she needed some tape from the library and left for a minute. When she returned, she was glowing.
“Guess who I just saw in the hall?” she said excitedly. “President Kimball!” A hush fell over the room.
“He and his wife are here to speak at a mission conference. He said he would gladly meet with any of you!”
I was so excited! I was going to meet the prophet! I looked around, expecting to see a room full of eager young men and women. But, instead, most of the youth hung their heads.
“What’s the matter?” my mom asked.
One young woman in short cutoffs spoke up, “I don’t think the prophet would approve of these shorts I’m wearing. I’m embarrassed to meet him.”
“I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately to shake the hand of a prophet,” said a young man dressed in ragged jeans and a tattered tank top.
I couldn’t believe they would pass up this opportunity! I couldn’t wait to meet President Kimball, and I rushed into the hall, along with my sisters and my mother.
I still remember how his soft, weathered hand felt as it embraced my small handshake, and the kindly twinkle in his eye as he bent low to meet me. I felt warm inside knowing that this man was a prophet on the earth. My tender young testimony was strengthened as I found him to be as good and warm as I imagined he would be.
Until I was a teenager myself, I didn’t understand why those young women and men would not go to meet President Kimball. As I got older and made my own choices about clothing, I thought a lot about the youth in my mom’s road show. They were good kids. They were active in the Church. The impression they gave with the clothing they wore simply didn’t reflect who they were inside, and they knew it. Because of that one choice, they missed out on a great opportunity.

In the fall of 1978, Jeff, as we’ll call him, was very discouraged with life. He was born in the Church but had been mostly inactive. He had married a member of the Church but after a few years, because of marital difficulties, they had separated. In addition to that challenge, Jeff was suffering from severe health problems. He had diabetes, which caused partial blindness.
He worked as a night watchman in a chemical plant. His work associates were not members of the Church. Over the months they enticed him saying, “Come on, Jeff, let’s go have a beer,” “One cigarette won’t hurt,” or “I’ve got some pretty friends we could have some fun with tonight.” Opportunities to break the commandments were presented, but he did not partake of any of those things.
On a Friday evening, discouraged and lonely, Jeff was invited to visit with a friend for a wild time in a city known for its gambling casinos and immoderate lifestyle. With a feeling of desperation he decided that he would go. He thought to himself, “What does it matter? No one cares about me anymore. I’m miserable. I’ll go.” Sitting on the bus he conceived evil thoughts of the things that he would do. He would demonstrate his independence to his ex-wife, the Church, and everybody else. As this evil spirit about him persisted, he became more and more determined what his course of action would be.
Then a United States serviceman boarded the bus and walked down the aisle. He could have selected any number of seats, but he sat down by Jeff. The serviceman was a very cheerful young man, and as he talked to Jeff he let slip words like “family unit” and “the Church.” Jeff began to be suspicious wondering if this young man might be a member of the Church. The serviceman then asked, “What would you think if I told you I didn’t smoke or drink coffee or alcohol either? And if I told you that at 26 years of age I’m morally clean?” Jeff pretended to be shocked and said, “Is that right?” The serviceman asked, “Do you think there is something wrong with that?” Jeff said, “No, every man has the right to choose what he wants to do.” Then the young man began to bear his testimony about the truthfulness of the gospel and in the process told him that he had had the privilege of baptizing 15 people in the last six years. As the bus pulled into the depot where he was to get off, the serviceman again bore his testimony, got off the bus, and disappeared into the crowd.
Jeff was struck with amazement. He thought to himself, “Here I am indulging myself in self-pity and this young man with as many problems as I have is out facing the world positively. Here I sit criticizing myself and everything around me.” Right then Jeff knew what he must do. He kept saying over and over to himself, “I’ve got to take control of my life. I must get out of this situation and be more positive.” He arrived in the city and did meet his friend, but this time Jeff was in charge. He returned home with his faith strengthened and thankful that the Lord had provided someone to help him just when he needed that help.
Will that young serviceman ever know that he was talking to another member of the Church? Will he ever know that he was in tune with the Lord and, as an instrument in His hands, saved Jeff from most undesirable consequences?

I have known the reality of answers to prayers. When our son was about thirteen, he was diagnosed with rheumatic fever. He had to stay in bed for six months. Because he couldn’t go to school, tutors came to our home. When he wasn’t getting any better, we had a family fast and prayer and then took him to a specialist. The doctor pronounced him well. Although because of the disease, he had been confined to bed for six months, our son stood up then and walked to the car and has never had another problem with his legs.

For a parent-child service project (see guidebook, p. 9), Michael’s family decided to make apple pies that each family member could take to someone. Michael asked if he could take his pie to a family who had been unfriendly. Although his mother was concerned, Michael persisted. Michael’s family delivered the pie. They discovered that the family was having hard times and that the unfriendliness was not directed at them. The two families became great friends because Michael wanted to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Jane Manning watched the boat float from the harbor out to Lake Erie. She felt like her dreams were floating away with it.
Just one year ago, she had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and decided to move to be with the other Saints in Nauvoo. Her mother and seven other family members had traveled with her down the Erie Canal to Buffalo, New York. But in Buffalo, they weren’t allowed on the boat because of the color of their skin.
“What do we do now?” her brother, Isaac, asked quietly.
The question echoed in the frosty air. Nauvoo was still 800 miles (1,287 km) away. They could give up and head home, or try to travel later. …
But Jane couldn’t wait! She knew the Book of Mormon was true. God once again spoke through prophets. She needed to get to Nauvoo with her family.
Jane squared her shoulders and looked westward. “We walk.”
And walk they did. Until their shoes wore out. Until their feet cracked and bled and they had to pray to be healed. Sometimes they slept outside, and the frost was so heavy it felt like falling snow. Some people threatened to put them in jail, thinking that they were escaped slaves. They didn’t know that the Mannings were a free black family. And still they walked, singing hymns to pass the time.
They were nearing Nauvoo when they reached a river.
“No bridge,” Isaac said.
Jane nodded. “We’ll just have to walk through it, then.” As she stepped into the river, the water came up to her ankles. Slowly, she inched forward. The water swirled up to her knees and then past her waist. By the time she reached the middle of the stream, the water came up to her neck! Luckily, it didn’t get deeper, and all the Mannings crossed safely.
At last they came to Nauvoo. Jane could see the beautiful limestone walls of the Nauvoo Temple on a hill overlooking the valley. Even though it wasn’t finished yet, it took her breath away. Someone directed them to the house where the Prophet Joseph lived.
A tall, dark-haired woman stood in the doorway. “Come in, come in!” she called. “I’m Emma Smith.”
The next few minutes were a blur. Jane met the Prophet, and he set up chairs around the room for all the Mannings. Jane sank into the chair gratefully and listened as Joseph introduced them to everyone there, including his friend Dr. Bernhisel. Then Joseph turned to Jane. “You have been the head of this little band, haven’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir!” answered Jane.
Joseph smiled. “God bless you! Now I would like to hear about your travels.”
Jane told about their injured feet and sleeping in the snow and crossing the river. Everyone listened quietly. “But it wasn’t terrible,” she finished. “We went on our way rejoicing, singing hymns and thanking God for His infinite goodness and mercy to us in blessing us, protecting us, and healing our feet.”
Jane Manning lived with Emma and Joseph Smith for several months. She married Isaac James, and they were among the early settlers of Utah Valley. She remained a faithful member of the Church even though she faced many challenges. When she died in 1908, President Joseph F. Smith (1838–1918) spoke at her funeral.
There was silence for a moment. “What do you think of that, Doctor?” Joseph finally said, slapping the man’s knee. “Isn’t that faith?”
“If it had been me, I fear I should have backed out and returned to my home!” Dr. Bernhisel admitted.
Joseph nodded and turned back to Jane and her family: “God bless you. You are among friends.”

In 1840, when Charles was twenty-one years old, he heard two Mormon missionaries preaching the gospel. He knew that what they were teaching was true, and he asked to be baptized. Charles was the only member of his family to join the Church. Not long after his baptism, Charles also became a missionary and was the companion of the missionary who baptized him! Charles served his mission in England and North Wales until 1843.