Gospel Story Finder

Sometimes the tables are reversed. A dear and cherished young friend, Wendy Bennion of Salt Lake City, was such an example. Just the day before yesterday, she quietly departed mortality and returned “to that God who gave [her] life” (Alma 40:11). She had struggled for over five long years in her battle with cancer. Ever cheerful, always reaching out to help others, never losing faith, she had a contagious smile that attracted others to her as a magnet attracts metal shavings. While Wendy was ill and in pain, a friend of hers, feeling downcast with her own situation, visited her. Nancy, Wendy’s mother, knowing Wendy was in extreme pain, felt that perhaps the friend had stayed too long. She asked Wendy, after the friend had left, why she had allowed her to stay so long when she herself was in so much pain. Wendy’s response: “What I was doing for my friend was a lot more important than the pain I was having. If I can help her, then the pain is worth it.” Wendy’s attitude was reminiscent of Him who bore the sorrows of the world, who patiently suffered excruciating pain and disappointment, but who, with silent step of His sandaled feet, passed by a man who was blind from birth, restoring his sight. He approached the grieving widow of Nain and raised her son from the dead. He trudged up Calvary’s steep slope, carrying His own cruel cross, undistracted by the constant jeers and taunting that accompanied His every step. For He had an appointment with divine destiny. In a very real way He visits us, each one, with His teachings. He brings cheer and inspires goodness. He gave His precious life that the grave would be deprived of its victory, that death would lose its sting, that life eternal would be our gift.

I grew up in a small town surrounded by the beautiful, snow-peaked mountains of central Colorado. Looking back, I remember afternoons spent playing soccer on the high school soccer field, hours of practice in the wrestling room, and workouts with the ski team. Numerous camping and fishing trips were also a part of those days, as were hikes up seemingly endless trails while clear mountain streams trickled alongside.
Those days hold many great memories, and yet perhaps the greatest of them all comes from an experience I had when I was 14. I was the only Mormon boy my age at our high school. Two other young men and my 16-year-old sister made up the rest of the active Mormon student body.
Because of our town’s location, a great flow of tourists came from all over the world to enjoy the seven major ski areas that were all within 30 minutes of us. Drinking, smoking, immorality, and the use of drugs were common among the majority of people.
Many people in our community had made a great deal of money from the heavy tourism and found it easy to support these habits. Soon, our small high school was rated second in the entire state for drug-related problems, second only to a school that had more than three times the number of students.
Growing up in such an environment wasn’t easy. The majority of my friends were involved in such activities, and I soon found myself falling to peer pressure. My attitudes started to change, my grades dropped, and my general outlook on life headed steadily downhill.
My parents became concerned with my actions, and the questions began. “What has gotten into you? Why are you like this? Why are your grades dropping?” I became defensive, and my parents worried even more about the changes taking place in me.
One morning, as I lay in bed before school, my mother came into my room to wake me up. She nudged me gently until I was aware of her presence and then waited until I was awake enough to listen to her.
She began to speak and I soon realized that this wasn’t your average early morning wake-up session. “Last night your father and I spoke with one of his good friends and we were informed of the things you have been involved in during the last few weeks,” she said. “Son, I want you to know that we love you and we will do everything possible to help you overcome this difficult time in your life, but we know you won’t quit until you make the decision to do so.” Then she kissed me and left the room.
I was stunned by what had just happened, and tears filled my eyes as I realized how much my mother loved me. But then my thoughts turned to my father and I wondered how he would react.
My father had been my idol as long as I could remember, and we had a very close relationship. He was a big man, very athletic, and always involved and interested in what I was doing. I had always been proud to say, “Yeah, that’s my dad.”
I got up and got ready for school as usual that day, but as I left only my mother said good-bye. My father didn’t say anything, and I realized he hadn’t spoken to me at all that morning.
After soccer practice that day I came back home and everything seemed to be normal, except that my father still didn’t speak to me. Finally, I approached him and asked how his day had gone, but he didn’t reply.
For the next two days there was an uncomfortable silence between us. I felt awful and wished that we could talk as we had before.
Then, on the evening of the third day, I was told that my father wanted to talk to me. I walked nervously into the room where he was waiting, and many things passed through my mind as I wondered what he would say. I sat down across the table from him, and he was silent for a moment.
Then he explained to me, in a way that I have never forgotten, why our relationship had been so strained and why he had seemed so distant. “Son,” he said, “as you know, I haven’t spoken with you in the last three days, and I want you to know why. I want you to know that I wasn’t angry with you, and I wasn’t trying to punish you. When we are participating in things that are contrary to our knowledge of the commandments, the spirit of God cannot be with us.” He said that just as we hadn’t been able to communicate for the past few days, so it is with the Holy Ghost when we knowingly and willfully reject its promptings.
Although my father’s method of teaching this lesson might not work for everyone, it hit home with me. My father went on to explain the importance of having the companionship of the Holy Ghost, and since then I have enjoyed that companionship many times.
As a missionary, I now enjoy that closeness each day as I serve my Heavenly Father and try to live the commandments he has given us.

In November 1997 I was called to serve in the Chile Concepción Mission and would soon be able to realize my desire to attend the temple and receive more light and knowledge. But then doubts began to trouble me. As weak and imperfect as I was, was I really worthy to enter? Would the Lord really welcome me with open arms after all the times I had offended Him?
I shared my doubts with my stake president, and he helped me understand that if my life was in order and I was really trying to do all the things I had been taught, I was worthy to enter the house of the Lord. Feeling better, I left for the missionary training center in Santiago, Chile. A few hours before it was time to go to the temple, however, my doubts returned.
The beauty and peace inside the temple were so great that the longer I was there, the more I wondered if I deserved to be there. Afterward in the celestial room, everyone but me seemed happy and radiant. As I touched the door handle to leave, however, a strange sensation came over me, and I felt that I should stay. I also felt as if someone were behind me, putting a hand on my left shoulder to turn me around. Slowly I turned.
On the wall I saw a large painting of Jesus Christ at His Second Coming with His arms opened wide. I could not move. Then I clearly heard the following words inside my mind: “You are welcome in my house.”
A warm feeling coursed through my whole body, and tears began to spill from my eyes. The only thing I could think of was “Thank You.”
For some minutes I cried without stopping. My heart was overflowing with gratitude to my Savior. I still felt weak and imperfect, but I knew that He loved me and would strengthen me.
Many years have passed since that experience, but every time I go to the temple, the joy of that day returns, as do these comforting words: “You are welcome in my house.”

As I was growing up, it was a regular event for my family to drive between Northern California and Utah, USA. It wasn’t the journey through the desert we enjoyed; it was the arrival at the destination and the joy of visits with family members there.
The summer before I left for my full-time mission, I traveled once again to visit relatives in Utah. But this time my younger brother David and I traveled alone. We were 16 and 18 at the time. We had made the 10-hour journey often enough with our family that we had high confidence in our ability to travel well.
We visited our Uncle Kay, Aunt Dianne, and cousin Michelle. Then, while David extended his visit, I had to return to California on my own for a dental appointment.
Nightfall was approaching when I left Spanish Fork, Utah, to begin an overnight drive. Everything went well in the beginning. I soon left the highway that goes south and north and took the one that goes east and west. I turned on my headlights and hurried across western Utah. As the miles passed and the desert night became darker and darker, I noticed that I was having more and more difficulty seeing the road. Finally, I realized my headlights were becoming increasingly dim. They finally went out, the engine stalled, and the car rolled to a halt on the side of the interstate.
The battery was dead. The car could not go any farther. Although I had been careful to make sure I had plenty of fuel and had even noted where I would stop for gas, I was not prepared for the complete loss of electrical power.
I was raised by a father who prided himself in personally maintaining our family automobiles. He taught us about auto mechanics, so I knew that a good battery would not die while the car was running unless there was a problem with the alternator. An alternator is an electrical generator that converts mechanical energy into electrical energy. It uses the kinetic energy of the running engine to produce magnetic energy that is transformed into electric current that continually recharges the battery. This allows the headlights, radio, air conditioning, and other electrical devices to operate without interruption. It also keeps the engine running.
Now something was wrong with my car’s alternator. It needed to be repaired or replaced before my journey could continue.
In an age before cell phones, my only choice was to begin walking. Eventually, a man picked me up and drove me to the next town. At a pay phone I called for a tow truck. I sat in the cab with the driver during the one-hour trip back to the car. Then I sat with him again as we drove back to the small town with my car in tow. Finally, four hours after first leaving my car, I was back inside it, sleeping in front of a service station until it opened.
When the manager arrived, he laughed at the idea that his small town would have the part I needed. He could place an order, but it wouldn’t arrive for two or three days. Then he took pity on me. He told me he could put my battery on a charger for about three hours. That might give me enough power to drive the car to the next town. Perhaps they would have the part I needed.
With the battery charged, I set off without turning on anything that would waste precious electricity. I made it to the next town, but they didn’t have the part I needed either. This cycle continued—a three-hour charge for a two-hour drive from one town to the next. After finding kind people in towns all along the way, I finally pulled in my parents’ driveway, exhausted after a 30-hour journey but safely home.

After track practice, my brother, my friend, her brother, and I were waiting to get picked up. While we were waiting, we talked with our coach about our religion. He belongs to another faith, but he knew that we were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Even though he had many questions, all four of us were Church members, so I wasn’t nervous or afraid he would ask a question that I wouldn’t know the answer to. I knew that if I didn’t know the answer, then there was a pretty good chance my brother or friends would know it.
A couple of hours later, when we were picked up, I thought about what I’d do the next time someone asked a question I didn’t know the answer to. I decided that I didn’t want that to happen and that praying, studying the scriptures, attending church, and partaking of the sacrament would help, because next time my friends or brother might not be there to back me up.

After retiring from the air force, I moved back to my hometown to continue practicing law. The intervening 20 years had reordered the wards along entirely different boundaries, but I felt that I should visit Sister Hazel Peterson, who had lived alone since her husband died of cancer.
Six months later, however, I still hadn’t visited her. One winter morning I was driving to my law practice when the image of Sister Peterson unexpectedly came into my mind. Passing by the freeway exit closest to her home, I discounted the feeling and continued driving. But by the time I reached the next exit, I found myself leaving the freeway and backtracking to Sister Peterson’s home. Just as the Spirit had gently compelled me to return to activity almost 25 years earlier, it now gently whispered that I should visit my old home teaching sister.
I knocked on Sister Peterson’s door and waited. After several minutes, I wondered sheepishly if she was out. Another knock, another few minutes. Finally the window above the door rattled and slid along its track. Sister Peterson peered down at me. The years had whitened her hair to the purest wool, and she looked tiny and thin. Her face was contorted in pain. Despite her labored breathing, she began weeping as she recognized me. “Oh, Kevin,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m in such terrible pain from my arthritis, and I need a priesthood blessing. Thank you for waiting—please come in.” Before turning away from the window, she added, “I thought you were Burniss.”
I was startled to hear the name Burniss. “Do you mean Brother Skinner?” I asked her. “Does he still live around here?”
“No,” she said. “He lives another 40 miles [65 km] north. But he still works near here, and I have his work number. I called about 20 minutes ago and asked him to come give me a blessing. He should be here any minute.”
A car pulled into the driveway, and Brother Skinner stepped out—much grayer but with the same pleasant spring in his step and kind smile on his face. We shook hands, and 20 years of distance melted away. We entered Sister Peterson’s familiar home, the site of my spiritual apprenticeship to Brother Skinner so many years before. I anointed Sister Peterson’s head with consecrated oil, and Brother Skinner pronounced the blessing. We were together again, companions in an impromptu call to service from the Lord Himself.

Latter-day Saints in Memphis, Tennessee, are working with the NAACP to help mothers and babies and reduce infant mortality rates.

In Tennessee, USA, some Latter-day Saints have joined with brothers and sisters of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) to help mothers and their babies thrive in an area that has one of the United States’ highest infant mortality rates. This effort is helping carry out the vision President Russell M. Nelson outlined in 2021 of the two organizations coming together in community service.8

In November 2022, four members of the Dudley family from the Memphis Tennessee Stake gathered with several dozen people at the NAACP Memphis Branch to pass out fliers about a program of classes designed to help new and expectant mothers better care for their children.

“We had the opportunity to knock on the door of a woman that is pregnant right now,” said Marc Allan Dudley, who distributed fliers with his wife, Sonya, and two of their daughters. “Her eyes kind of lit up, and she was thankful for the program. … People are happy that somebody notices that there’s an issue and that there’s somebody doing something about it.”

“This partnership is God ordained and God inspired,” added NAACP Memphis Branch president Van Turner. “I’m just so happy that it’s happening at such a critical time in our city. We’re dealing with public safety, we’re dealing with homelessness, we’re dealing with poverty. [It’s critical to address] the origin of humanity, when these young people are in the womb, and try to make sure they get the proper care while in the womb [and then] come out and survive and be healthy. Once that happens, they have a great start in life.”9

I grew up in a city near Seattle, Washington, and was not a member of the Church. When I was 11, I joined a local ballroom dance team that several of my friends were on. The team had started as a youth activity for Latter-day Saints, but it was so popular the instructors kept it going. I didn’t know much about the Church, but the instructors and other youth were so welcoming that I didn’t care.
My friends invited me to Mutual activities and weekend Church dances. I began to notice something interesting about them: they were always smiling. They were positive, encouraging, and enthusiastic about any opportunity that arose. They had joy that I had never felt.
I wanted to know what made them so happy. During six years of careful observation I learned some interesting things. My friends jumped at the opportunity to help and serve those around them. They never judged their peers for the way they looked, talked, or acted—they accepted everyone. My friends believed in speaking cleanly, acting appropriately, and dressing modestly. They valued their parents and siblings as the most important people in their lives. And most important, my friends had firm testimonies of Jesus Christ that strengthened them in difficult times.
After high school graduation, I said good-bye to these friends and started college in New York City. It took only two weeks for me to desperately miss what I now know was the Spirit I felt at Church activities and dance classes with my friends. I looked up the closest ward on LDS.org and then walked to the meetinghouse the following Sunday. I met the missionaries and began learning from them.
When the missionaries taught me about Joseph Smith, I knew instantly through the Spirit that his experience was true. Then, when they explained Jesus Christ’s sacrifice and how He atoned for us, my heart was filled with gratitude for my Savior and His love for me. Six weeks later, I was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.
I owe my introduction to the Church to my friends who were so kind and welcoming. They didn’t allow their standards to slip when pressure was strong or their decisions were unpopular. Their testimonies were firm and unwavering. They held true to their faith and showed me what it meant to truly live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I know the importance of always living my standards. Both members and nonmembers need strong examples of friends who refuse to lower their standards. Even when I think no one is paying attention, I will try to never waver. You never know who is looking at your example.

That same day, the Martin company was still 325 miles (523 km) back on the trail, continuing to suffer from cold and inadequate food. A few days earlier, they had crossed the Sweetwater River to reach what is now called Martin’s Cove, where they hoped to find protection from the elements. One of the pioneers said, “It was the worst river crossing of the expedition.” Some of the rescuers—like my great-grandfather David Patten Kimball, who was just 17 years old, along with his young friends “George W. Grant, Allen Huntington, Stephen Taylor, and Ira Nebeker—spent hours in the frigid water,” heroically helping the company make the Sweetwater crossing.

Mark and his mom tromped through the snow to the car. Dad had scraped the frost from the windows and warmed up the car, but he wasn’t coming to church. He was reading on the sofa instead.
“I hate going without Dad,” Mark grumbled as he settled into the front seat beside Mom.
“I’m sad that Dad’s not going with us too,” Mom said as she backed out of the driveway. “But I still love going to church.”
“Well, I do too,” Mark said. “But you know what I mean, right? I wish our family could be more like Doug’s family.”
Doug was Mark’s best friend at church. Doug’s dad went to church every Sunday. He always had a smile and a high-five for Mark.
Mom rounded the corner onto the main road. “I do know what you mean,” she said. “Doug has a wonderful family. And I always thought our family would be more like that. It’s hard that it isn’t. I hope Dad can work out his questions and problems and start coming to church with us again. But that’s for him to figure out. You and I can’t do it for him, and worrying won’t help.”
“What will help?”
Mom paused for a minute before she answered. “Keep loving him. Pray for him. Work on our own testimonies. Try to be happy. Remember what a good dad he is, even if he’s not the same as other people’s dads.”
Mark thought how good it felt to get into their nice, warm car with the windows cleared. “I think I understand,” he said.
Mark thought about Mom’s words all week long.
He thought about them on Tuesday night when Dad sat down to help him with homework.
“You’re working really hard,” Dad said. “You know what? I think you’re going to be really successful all through school. I hope you always remember how important it is to get a good education.”
He thought about her words on Wednesday afternoon when Dad surprised him by picking him up at school. They ate lunch together and watched ice skaters in the park.
“I don’t have to teach a class until later today, and I just wanted to hang out with you,” Dad said.
Mark thought about Mom’s words on Thursday evening when he came home from Webelos and found Dad listening to music while grading papers.
“Isn’t this song amazing?” Dad asked. “It was written by one of my favorite composers.” Mark had to agree that the music was beautiful.
And Mark thought about her words on Saturday morning when Dad took him snowshoeing. They saw intricate ice crystals clinging to tree branches, a rabbit whose fur had turned white for snow camouflage, and crows feasting on winter berries.
“Remember how blessed we are to live in this world, Mark,” Dad whispered as they watched wispy clouds drift overhead.
On Sunday, when it was time for church, Mark saw Dad lying on the couch. He had been praying that Dad would come to church this week, but he stopped and gave Dad a hug before he went out to the car. “I love you, Dad,” he said. “You teach me so many good things. I’m glad you’re my dad.”

This is not an aristocracy of the haughty, the snobbish, and the arrogant, but of the humble and strong. They live lives of productivity and usefulness. Approximately 18,000 of them presently perform a matchless service as missionaries at considerable monetary sacrifice to themselves and/or their loved ones. In the last fortnight I have been privileged to meet with some 200 of them laboring in a foreign country. One of them, a tall, smiling young American with his plastic raincoat folded in his coat pocket, approached.

“Elder,” I queried, “how long have you been on your mission?”

“Since March,” he responded.

For no apparent reason I asked, “How long since you heard from your mother?”

He smiled broadly. “I got my second letter from her last week,” he said.

“How long since you’ve heard from your father?” I inquired.

He said, “I have not heard from him. I don’t know where he is. My parents are not members of this Church, and I come from a broken home. I had a paper route in my home town in the Midwest, and a family on my paper route, whom I hardly knew, felt sorry for me and invited me to live with them. The missionaries found this family, and they joined the Church and I joined with them. I began to save my money so that if called on a mission, I might be able to go. I worked hard and was able to save much faster than I thought I could. Two years after my conversion, I am serving as a missionary.”

These choice young people are not an aristocracy of the rich, but of those who are rich in the Spirit of God. It is not an aristocracy of the politically or socially powerful, but of those who have great moral influence. It is and would be of those who are the elect of God. It is an aristocracy of the young Saints of God, even as those who are on the stand this afternoon and who will be on the stand singing for us this evening.

Jesus spoke of them when he said: “He shall send his angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together his elect from the four winds.” (Matt. 24:31.)

Listen to the counsel of Paul to the Colossians: “Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsuffering.” (Col. 3:12.)

How can the young elect of God, as well as those who are older, begin this herculean task?

First, by their example of obedience to the commandments of God, thus enjoying the personal guidance of his Holy Spirit.
Second, by sharing their special knowledge as missionaries.
Third, by responding to the high level of expectancy of their parents and Church leaders.
Fourth, through the giving of themselves. A very special young friend of mine served as a missionary of this Church in Japan. His dedication to missionary work and the Japanese people was so complete and full that, rather than spend all of the money his parents sent to him, he unselfishly made a regular contribution of part of his money to help another local Japanese missionary. His parents sent him extra money so that he could buy some camera equipment available in Japan to record in pictures a few of the great experiences he was having. Rather than buy the camera equipment, which would have served him well for a lifetime, he chose rather to send the money back to his parents. In time, as with most missionaries, the clothes of my young friend became threadbare and thin. In order for him to be able to come home, it was necessary for him to buy a second-hand suit from one of the other elders. His regular denial of himself, in order to share his substance with the local Japanese missionary, was a very closely guarded secret. He is a good example of the young elect of God of this Church, as are hundreds of thousands of others.

I desire to leave my witness of the divinity of this great and ever-advancing cause made possible by the obedience, sacrifice, and faithfulness of the elect of God.
I know that God lives. I know that this is his work. I know that he inspires his great prophet President Spencer W. Kimball. I know his path is the only way to peace and happiness here and hereafter, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

The father of my friend Vaiba Rome, Papua New Guinea’s first stake president, was also taught that he could turn to his Father in Heaven in times of need. He and his fellow villagers could survive only through the crops they grew. One day he lit a fire to clear his portion of the village farmland for planting. However, the fire had been preceded by a long hot period, and the vegetation was very dry. So his fire became of the President Thomas S. Monson variety, as our prophet himself described at the last general conference (see “Obedience Brings Blessings,” Ensign or Liahona, May 2013, 89–90). It began to spread to the grassland and bushes, and in the words of his son, “a big monster of fire” resulted. He feared for his fellow villagers and the possible loss of their crops. If they were destroyed, he would be subject to village justice. Being unable to extinguish the fire, he then remembered the Lord.
I now quote from his son, my friend: “He knelt on the hill in the bushes and started to pray to Heavenly Father to stop the fire. Suddenly there appeared a big black cloud above where he was praying, and it rained so hard—but only where the fire was burning. When he looked around, there was clear sky everywhere except where the flames burned. He couldn’t believe the Lord would answer a simple man like him, and he again knelt down and cried like a child. He said it was the sweetest feeling” (see Alma 36:3).

I was called to Central America. After several months in the mission field, I realized what a blessing had come to me in that call. While I was helping to find people who loved the Lord, I was also walking in places where much of the Book of Mormon may have happened. This was a second witness to the testimony of my grandfather, who had learned to love the Book of Mormon the first time he got his hands on one in the 1920s. His father was a salesman and trader who traveled widely in Mexico. My great-grandfather had told his children stories of ruined cities and highways in the jungle, and my grandfather had always wanted to know who the people were who built them.

Since my mission, I have had the opportunity to visit many of those ruined cities in Mexico and Central America. I have read what experts say about those places and about the history and greatness of their people. I am very grateful for the added knowledge I have received.

But I have never been more sure of the Book of Mormon than I was that day when I asked the Lord if it was true and He answered me just as Moroni promised. I only wish I had asked sooner. My Heavenly Father wanted me to know the truth for myself all along, and I might have been able to share it with my friend.

I graduated from flight training and received my silver wings two days before my 20th birthday. Later I was stationed at Langley Field, Virginia, as copilot on a selected B-24 bomber crew trained to use a new secret weapon—radar.
My brother, Colonel Leon C. Packer, was stationed at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. A much decorated B-24 pilot, he became a brigadier general in the Air Force.
While I was at Langley Field, the war in Europe ended, and so we were ordered to the Pacific. I spent a few days with Leon in Washington before shipping out for combat.
He told me of things he had learned under fire. He flew from North Africa on raids over southern Europe; very few of those planes returned.
On April 16, 1943, he was captain of a B-24 bomber returning to England after a raid in Europe. His plane, the Yard Bird, was heavily damaged by flak and dropped out of formation.
Then they were alone and came under heavy attack from fighters.
His one-page account of that experience says: “Number three engine was smoking and the prop ran away. Number four fuel line was shot out. Right aileron cables and stabilizer cables were shot out. Rudders partially locked. Radio shot out. Extremely large holes in the right wing. Flaps shot out. Entire rear part of the fuselage filled with holes. Hydraulic system shot out. Tail turret out.”
A history of the Eighth Air Force, published just two years ago, gives a detailed account of that flight written by one of the crew.
With one engine on fire, the other three lost power. They were going down. The alarm bell ordered that they bail out. The bombardier, the only one able to get out, parachuted into the English Channel.
The pilots left their seats and made their way toward the bomb bay to bail out. Suddenly Leon heard an engine cough and sputter. He quickly climbed back to his seat and coaxed enough power from the engines to reach the coast of England. Then the engines failed, and they crashed.
The landing gear was shorn off on the brow of a hill; the plane plowed through trees and crumbled. Dirt filled the fuselage.
Amazingly, though some were terribly wounded, all aboard survived. The bombardier was lost, but he probably saved the lives of the other nine. When smoke poured from the engines and a parachute appeared, the fighters stopped their attack.
That was not the only time Leon had crash-landed.
As we visited, he told me how he was able to hold himself together under fire. He said, “I have a favorite hymn”—and he named it—“and when things got rough I would sing it silently to myself, and there would come a faith and an assurance that kept me on course.”
He sent me off to combat with that lesson.
In the spring of 1945 I was able to test that lesson Leon had taught me those months before.
The war in the Pacific ended before we reached the Philippines, and we were ordered to Japan.
One day we flew out of Atsugi airfield near Yokohama in a B-17 bomber bound for Guam to pick up a beacon light.
After nine hours in the air, we let down through the clouds to find ourselves hopelessly lost. Our radio was out. We were, as it turned out, in a typhoon.
Flying just above the ocean, we began a search pattern. In that desperate situation, I remembered the words of my brother. I learned that you can pray and even sing without making a sound.
After some time we pulled up over a line of rocks jutting out of the water. Could they be part of the chain of the Mariana Islands? We followed them. Soon Tinian Island loomed ahead, and we landed with literally seconds of fuel in the tank. As we headed down the runway, the engines one by one stopped.
I learned that both prayer and music can be very silent and very personal.

John Taylor was in Carthage Jail with the Prophet Joseph and Hyrum Smith when the two brothers were murdered. Unable to ward off the angry mob with a hickory walking stick that belonged to Stephen Markham, he turned and ran to the window. Before he could leap, however, a shot struck him in the thigh. Then another came through the window and would have entered his chest, killing him, but instead was stopped by a silver watch in his vest pocket. Three more bullets struck him, spattering his blood upon the walls and floor. Dr. Willard Richards dragged Elder Taylor into an inner cell and covered him with an old mattress to protect him. Many weeks later when he had recovered, he joined the Saints traveling west.

Winter is a cold time of year in the Russia Moscow Mission. To a missionary this sometimes seems true of not only the weather but also the people. They become introverted. Everybody seems to be rushing home after work. People are ill, the roads are terribly slick, and the cold ruthlessly bites every exposed piece of skin. Smiles are rare.
My companion and I found ourselves in these conditions during the winter of 2005. We wanted to cheer people up by sharing our message of faith, hope, and love, but nobody wanted to listen. And to be honest, my mood wasn’t all that great. I couldn’t help but feel discouraged. Day after day we walked the cold streets in search of people to teach, freezing our feet to the bone. In spite of the discouraging circumstances, we didn’t want to give up. Christmas was getting close, and we wanted to help people feel the Christmas spirit. But how?
One evening as we were on the train returning home, a small group of musicians walked into the railcar. They played wonderfully, but to my surprise, their performance didn’t have an effect on anybody. Maybe a person or two gave them some pocket change, but the rest just stared out the frosty windows. I felt bad for the performers and gave them a few coins.
Soon we arrived at the station near our apartment and ran home. As soon as I closed the apartment door, the phone rang. I picked it up and recognized the voice of our district leader. That day we were supposed to have thought of ideas for celebrating the Christmas season as missionaries. I had totally forgotten, but I didn’t want him to know that. Straining for an idea, I remembered the group of musicians and suggested that our district could sing Christmas hymns on the trains. I could accompany them on the violin. To my surprise and perhaps dismay, our district leader loved the idea. We decided on a day. “What was I thinking!” I said to myself, remembering that three of the missionaries in our district were tone-deaf.
The day came and the missionaries met on the platform. The sun had set long ago, and it was terribly cold. My feet were already numb. We rehearsed for about five minutes until the train crept slowly up to the platform. We gladly entered its open doors, getting out of the cold wind and snow. I took my violin out of its case and silently prayed that God would touch the hearts of the listeners.
As we boarded the train, most of the people didn’t pay any attention to us. My fingers hadn’t warmed up yet, so when I started to play, the tone of the violin sounded very simple but very piercing. Suddenly the mood in the railcar changed. It was almost as if something could be felt in the air. The passengers seemed to hold their breath. The other missionaries joined with me, singing the words to “Silent Night”:
Silent night! Holy night!
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace;
Sleep in heavenly peace.1
While I played and the other missionaries sang, nobody in the railcar spoke a single word. When we finished the hymn, I looked around at people’s faces. Everybody was looking attentively at us. Tears were flowing down the cheeks of several women. It was silent for a minute as nobody wanted to interrupt the moment. Finally a man standing in the back of the railcar exclaimed, “They are Saints, genuine Saints!” Everyone began to applaud.
As we walked down the aisle, many people wanted to give us money. When we didn’t accept it, they became all the more surprised. I heard somebody saying under his breath, “This just doesn’t happen.” One man even tried to give us a thousand rubles and was shocked when we refused the money. Instead, we offered him a pass-along card, which he gladly took. Soon other passengers began asking for pass-along cards. They also asked about the Church and us. It seemed like wherever we looked, our eyes were met with smiling faces and warm greetings. At the end of the railcar, we wished the passengers a merry Christmas and waved good-bye to our new friends.
On the other side of the door, we looked at each other in disbelief. “What just happened?” we asked. Then, with twice as much energy, we entered the next door. At first the passengers didn’t pay any attention to us, but after we performed the hymn, they had the same miraculous reaction. For the rest of the evening, we made our way through the railcars, experiencing the same thing in each one. Never before had I seen such acceptance and love.
Returning home that night, I realized that I had experienced a miracle wrought by music, a message about the Savior, and the spirit of Christmas. Even in the coldest times of our lives, we can be comforted by the Lord’s presence. How blessed I was to have seen how drastically people can change under the influence of the Spirit. I will always remember that evening and treasure it in my heart. May the Spirit forever work such miracles!

Elder Smith then married Jessie Evans, a well-known vocalist and member of the Tabernacle Choir, on 12 April 1938. A born entertainer with a vivacious and cheerful nature, she was at Elder Smith’s side for thirty-three years, buoying him up and caring for him with a love and devotion that was truly beautiful. She lived to see him become President of the Church and traveled extensively with him on his many Church assignments—sharing not only his rigorous schedule, but also the loving reception of the Saints of many lands. When she succumbed to a heart ailment on 3 August 1971, millions shared President Smith’s loneliness and sorrow.

At that difficult time, President Harold B. Lee, who served President Smith as a Counselor in the First Presidency, expressed compassion to the prophet over his loss. President Smith assured his friend that the Lord would give him strength to continue in his duties: “I’ve been through this before, you know,” he said.

While serving in the Samoa Mission, Elders Brigham Smoot and Alva Butler were assigned to take the restored gospel to the islands of Tonga. Upon their arrival in 1891, they held an audience with King George Tupou I, who granted them permission to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. With encouraging prospects, more missionaries were called to the islands and were anxiously engaged in spreading the gospel. Unfortunately, the growth of the Church was not as fruitful in Tonga as in the other Polynesian islands of Tahiti, Hawaii, New Zealand, and Samoa. In 1897 the missionaries were ordered to return to Samoa, and the few converts in Tonga were left without Church leadership for a time.
In 1891, Elders Brigham Smoot and Alva Butler met with King George Tupou I and received permission to preach the gospel among his people.
Meeting the king of Tonga by Clark Kelley Price © IRI
“Know ye not that I, the Lord your God, … remember those who are upon the isles of the sea?” (2 Nephi 29:7).
The Lord did not forget the Saints in the island kingdom of Tonga. In 1907, Elders Heber J. McKay and W. O. Facer arrived in Neiafu, Vava‘u, where they started a branch and a small school. Soon missionary work began to prosper, and several branches and Church schools were established throughout the islands over the next few years.
As in other parts of the world, the Church in Tonga had its share of opposition, but this time the gospel was here to stay. As missionary work flourished, Church leaders were called from among the local Tongan members so that when foreigners were evacuated, as during World War II, the Church could continue to thrive.
As the gospel spread throughout the islands, various Church schools were established. In 1947 the Church leased a large piece of land and began building a new school, Liahona College, now known as Liahona High School.
Dedicated in 1953 by Elder LeGrand Richards (1886–1983) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, it was to become a “guiding light” to all who would enter, and it was to prepare young people to become leaders and to influence others for good. Present also at the dedication was Queen Salote Tupou III, who endorsed the school as an instrument for building a “Christian civilization” that unites people of all walks of life. Since the school’s establishment, thousands of Liahona High School graduates have served as missionaries, Church leaders, and prominent community leaders.
Today there are two Church-sponsored high schools in Tonga: Liahona High School, on the main island of Tongatapu, and Saineha High School, on the island of Vava‘u. There are also five Church-sponsored middle schools: three in Tongatapu, one in ‘Eua, and one in Ha‘apai.
When President David O. McKay (1873–1970) and his wife, Emma Ray, visited Tonga in 1955, the Saints treated them like royalty. This was the first visit of a Church President to the islands. During their short visits to Tongatapu and Vava‘u, they held meetings with the members and felt of their love and devotion as Tongans performed music and dances and gave speeches and feasts. During President McKay’s visit to the Saints in Vava‘u, he was inspired to reveal that he had seen a vision of “a temple on one of these islands, where the members of the Church may go and receive the blessings of the temple of God.” One member recorded the Tongans’ response: “The entire congregation burst into tears.”1
Nearly 30 years later, in August 1983, the Nuku‘alofa Tonga Temple was dedicated by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), then a counselor in the First Presidency. I remember as a teenage girl how Latter-day Saints from the outer islands and Tongans from overseas came for the auspicious occasion. I was privileged to attend one of the dedicatory sessions and be part of the choir. I remember the warm feeling I felt when I heard President Hinckley speak, and I knew then that he was called of God. When we sang “Hosanna Anthem,” I understood too how much the Lord loves His children.
The Savior has always remembered the people on the isles of the sea, and on that day President McKay’s prophecy was fulfilled.
Because of the increasing Church growth in Tonga, the temple was closed for about two years for renovation. Among other work, rooms were enlarged, a sealing room was added, and Polynesian motifs were added to walls and ceilings.
At the beginning of 2007, my husband and I were called to produce a cultural celebration for the rededication of the temple. The event was to be held on November 3, a day before the rededication sessions.
Our aim was to involve as many youth as possible from the stakes in Tongatapu and to come up with a presentation that would spiritually prepare the Saints for the temple dedication the next day. The event would be broadcast and televised live to the outer islands as well as to Tongan stakes around the globe, so this was a mighty task.
The production was titled “The Treasure That Lasts.” It consisted of cultural dances from Tonga, Hawaii, Tahiti, New Zealand, Fiji, and Samoa. The story line was that of a couple who, having lost their young child, searched the many Polynesian islands for a treasure that would appease their loss. Although they found gifts at each island, none could soothe their pain. When they returned to Tonga, they were introduced to the gospel by missionaries and learned of “the treasure that lasts”—eternal families and the blessing of someday being reunited with their child who had passed away.
During the week of the rededication, it rained heavily. At our final rehearsal, on November 2, the skies were overcast. I asked the youth to return to their homes and pray for good weather so they would be able to perform for Tonga and for those who would be watching via satellite, especially the prophet. That night it rained hard, and the next morning the weather was still foreboding.
On Saturday evening, 3,000 young people gathered at Teufaiva Stadium to hear from Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who had been sent to rededicate the temple due to President Hinckley’s frail health. I will never forget the performance. Everything fell into place. The weather was perfect, the sound system that had malfunctioned earlier was excellent, and those young men and young women danced their hearts out.
We had witnessed a miracle. Heavenly Father heard the prayers of His children and kept the rain away. At the same time, we were able to set the tone for the temple dedication the next day, reminding members that eternal families are the treasure that lasts and that temples are built to bring such blessings to pass.
Today the Church continues to grow in Tonga, and leadership positions are held by native members. Chapels dot the islands, and the increase of missionaries is hastening the work. The Church schools are firmly established and continue to prepare valiant missionaries, future leaders, and worthy mothers and fathers.
The Saints are no longer required to make that long journey by boat to the main island for general conference. Instead, technology has enabled members to remain within their stakes to watch general conference and the area conferences broadcast from New Zealand.
Amid the turmoil of changes arriving on Tonga’s shores, the Saints continue their legacy of faith. They are a people who were committed to God 175 years ago. They are a people who today continue to dedicate their lives and all that they have to the Lord.

I was sitting in the bishop’s office participating in one of those special occasions when we receive strength and blessings through the priesthood. I was being set apart as Laurel adviser in my ward. Many of the things that were said at that time I have since forgotten, but one thing made a particularly deep impression on me. The bishop’s counselor who was setting me apart admonished me to work toward receiving the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost. When he spoke those words, there was a burning within me, and the wisdom of his counsel was impressed upon me.
I had often heard Church leaders speak about the necessity of having the guidance of the Holy Ghost, and I had tried at different times to make the influence of the spirit an integral part of my life. But discouragement would come easily, and I always felt that I had never quite succeeded. Frustrated, I would reason away my failure with the notion that the companionship of the Holy Ghost must be for the General Authorities and their families. I felt that as long as I lived a “good” life, someday in the distant future I might qualify for that blessing.
How easy it is to deceive ourselves with excuses when a task is not simple. But no excuses came to me on that day in the bishop’s office. As I was counseled by a servant of the Lord to obtain the guidance of the Holy Ghost, I knew that the Lord was reminding me of something he had admonished me to do years before when I was baptized. All of us, when we are confirmed after baptism, have hands placed on our heads and are told by a representative of the Lord, “Receive the Holy Ghost.” All the rationalizing in the world cannot erase this invitation and commandment.
We have been told in this dispensation, as well as in times past, the importance of receiving the Holy Ghost. President Wilford Woodruff expressed it clearly at a stake conference in 1896:
“Now, I have always said, and I want to say it to you, that the Holy Ghost is what every Saint of God needs. … Every man and woman in this Church should labor to get that Spirit. … This is the Spirit that we must have to carry out the purposes of God on the earth. We need that more than any other gift. … We should pray to the Lord until we get the Comforter. This is what is promised to us when we are baptized. It is the spirit of light, of truth, and of revelation, and can be with all of us at the same time.” (Deseret Weekly, 7 Nov. 1896, pp. 641–43.)
The gift of the Holy Ghost is not restricted to either men or women; nor is it restricted to the General Authorities. It is available to all of us as long as we obey the commandments of God. With this gift we can experience for ourselves direction, inspiration, comfort, wisdom, strength, and testimony every day. In other words, we can receive revelation. We are told by the Prophet Joseph Smith that “no man can receive the Holy Ghost without receiving revelations. The Holy Ghost is a revelator.” (History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 6:58.)
What are some of the ways in which the revelations of the Holy Ghost can help us?
Parley P. Pratt, a member of the original Quorum of the Twelve in this dispensation, has written: “An intelligent being, in the image of God, possesses every organ, attribute, sense, sympathy, affection that is possessed by God Himself.
“But these … attributes are in embryo; and are to be gradually developed. …
“The gift of the Holy Ghost adapts itself to all these organs or attributes. It quickens all the intellectual faculties, expands and purifies all the natural passions and affections; and adapts them, by the gift of wisdom, to their lawful use. … It inspires virtue, kindness, goodness, tenderness, gentleness and charity. It develops beauty of person, form and features. It tends to health, vigor, animation and social feeling. It invigorates all the faculties of the physical and intellectual man. It strengthens, and gives tone to the nerves. In short, it is, as it were, marrow to the bone, joy to the heart, light to the eyes, music to the ears, and life to the whole being.” (Key to the Science of Theology, 10th ed., Deseret Book Co., 1965, pp. 100–101.)
All of us face the daily struggle of trying to improve ourselves and become more godlike. We have the desire to become perfect, and yet it sometimes appears to be such an ominous and impossible thing. The Holy Ghost is indispensable to us in this struggle. And so it is that in the struggle to perfect our lives, we seek for the gifts that will strengthen us and guide us in our quest for perfection.
One way, for example, that the Holy Ghost has been of help to me in my individual progression is by making me aware of my imperfections. When I pray for the guidance of the Spirit before reading scriptures, passages that relate to particular areas in which I need improvement seem to stand out. As I read them I am filled with the desire to do better. The Holy Ghost, besides bringing this information to our knowledge, can also grant us other spiritual gifts to help us in accomplishing our goals.
When parents are trying to rear a family, each day brings a hundred decisions, large and small. Some of these decisions play a more important role in shaping the lives of our children and naturally concern us more. While the Lord has instructed us to use own wisdom and to search for the answers to our problems, he has not left us alone. He has provided a means whereby we may know if the decisions we come to are the proper ones. Through the guidance of the Holy Ghost, parents can be directed into the most effective means of working with their children and may receive promptings in their behalf.
We can be guided, not only in times of crisis, but also on a day-to-day basis. We may receive on-the-spot guidance in little matters such as how to help a three-year-old cope with the frustrations of learning to tie his shoes, or perhaps in resolving conflicts between brothers and sisters. The ideas we receive may often seem so natural that we may not think of them as inspiration, but if we respond, we will see a change take place in our homes. “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.” (Gal. 5:22–23.) What better traits could we bring into our homes and families? Just think what a positive effect they could have!
We know that we are all entitled to revelation in and about our specific Church callings, whether we are Primary president or home teacher or General Authority. And not only are we entitled to this revelation, but we also have a responsibility to actively seek it and be led by it in our callings.
Many times while serving in different callings, I have had ideas come to me that I recognized as inspiration. Some come after much thought and prayer, and some seemingly “out of the blue.” There are other times, however, when the answers are not clear; but as we strive to do our best, our ability to recognize these promptings increases. Think of the things we could accomplish in our Church callings by refining our ability to receive this guidance, receiving the knowledge of what the Lord wants us to do and having the courage to do it.
It becomes apparent, after searching the scriptures, that in order to have the companionship of the Holy Ghost our lives must be in conformance with gospel standards, for “the Spirit of the Lord doth not dwell in unholy temples.” (Hel. 4:24.) President Harold B. Lee has said, “The key to success in this regard is humility of spirit whereby one seeks to live in accordance with the eternal perspective of an everlasting life and the earnest effort to know the will of the Lord.” (General Conference, October 1946, italics added.)
An “earnest effort to know the will of the Lord” reminds us of Nephi’s exhortation to diligently seek the Holy Ghost. (See 1 Ne. 10:17.) We have to desire the Holy Ghost and make that desire manifest through earnest prayer and supplication. “And it shall come to pass, that if you shall ask the Father in my name, in faith believing, you shall receive the Holy Ghost.” (D&C 14:8; italics added.)
Once we have done these things—having lived according to gospel standards, prayed diligently, exercised faith, and received guidance from the Holy Ghost the scriptures point out that our job is not yet done. We must then listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost, the “still small voice” that may come naturally as a thought or impression. The Prophet Joseph Smith said, “A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas, so that by noticing it, you may find it fulfilled the same day or soon … ; and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 151.)
I had an experience that illustrates this concept. While I was serving as Relief Society president in our ward, my husband was asked to serve as elders quorum group leader while the quorum president was gone for the summer. When we received word that the quorum president would not be returning, we discussed the possibility of my husband filling this position. We disregarded it, however, feeling that both of us filling such demanding and time-consuming jobs would be too hard on our three preschoolers.
But still I felt the inclination to pray about it. One night as I was praying the thought came clearly into my mind that if the Lord called my husband to this position, we were to recognize it as an indication to us that He felt it was possible for us to handle the assignment. If we would be wise in our planning, our children would not suffer. When my husband was called by the stake president and sustained to this position the next week, I saw the fulfillment of the promptings I had received. Prior to being called, my husband had also received witness from the Holy Ghost that this was the position he was to fill at this time.
We must be teachable and open to the whisperings of the Spirit something that improves with practice. We must become accustomed to listening to the Spirit in little daily matters as well as larger ones. Such instruction about little things may come to us line upon line, precept upon precept, for the Holy Ghost reveals to us only that amount which we are able to accept.
My husband had to drive out of state on business one night. It was not a long drive, and he anticipated arriving about 7:00 P.M. He left, saying he would call when he got there. By eight o’clock I was starting to worry, and by ten I was getting increasingly upset. I would try, off and on, to get some sleep; but by 2:00 A.M. I knew that I needed the comfort of the Holy Ghost. I knelt, unable to sleep, almost sick with fear, and prayed for the Holy Ghost to comfort me and give me a sense of peace if everything was all right. Twice during the night I had this sense of calm for a few minutes, but I rationalized it away, being unaccustomed to listening to that kind of spiritual prompting. I ignored the feelings I had because I felt that logically, if everything were all right, he would find some way to get in touch with me.
The next morning I was able to locate him and found out that he was fine; my usually considerate husband had simply forgotten to call. How much less painful that night would have been if I had accepted the whisperings of the Spirit and not rejected them.
Once we have learned to listen and to recognize the promptings of the Holy Ghost, there is one more thing we must do: We must act upon those promptings. Once we know the Lord’s will, it is important that we do not procrastinate our obedience out of neglect or fear. Sometimes it will take courage to follow through on these whisperings, and sometimes it will just take diligence in not putting them off. If we are prompted by the Lord to get Sister Jones involved in some activity or to go visit Brother Smith to see if something is troubling him, we must follow that prompting. The time may never be as ideal again for us to be of service to them.
If we will put our lives in order, pray in faith, study out our needs in our minds, listen to the promptings of the Spirit and act upon them, we can be assured of the daily guidance we have been promised, as fast as we are able to accept it and profit by it.
The Doctrine and Covenants speaks of a state of character and spiritual progress where one may have the Holy Ghost as a “constant companion.” (D&C 121:46.)
As we look at our own relationships with the Holy Ghost, what do we find? A stranger, a visitor or our constant companion?

You must be their counselor, their comforter, their anchor and strength in times of sorrow and distress. You must be strong with that strength which comes from the Lord. You must be wise with that wisdom which comes from the Lord. Your door must be open to hear their cries and your back strong to carry their burdens, your heart sensitive to judge their needs, your godly love broad enough and strong enough to encompass even the wrongdoer and the critic. You must be a man of patience, willing to listen though it takes hours to do so. You are the only one to whom some can turn. You must be there when every other source has failed. Permit me to read you a few lines from a letter sent to a bishop.
“Dear Bishop:
“It has been almost two years since I desperately called you asking for help. At that time I was ready to kill myself. I had no one else to turn to—no money, no job, no friends. My house had been taken, and I had no place to live. The Church was my last hope.
“As you know, I had left the Church at the age of seventeen and had broken just about every rule and commandment that there was in my search for happiness and fulfillment. Instead of happiness, my life was filled with misery, anguish, and despair. There was no hope or future for me. I even pleaded with God to let me die, to take me out of my misery. Not even he wanted me. I felt that he had rejected me, too.
“That’s when I turned to you and the Church. …
“You listened with understanding, you counseled, you guided, you helped.
“I began to grow and develop in understanding and knowledge of the gospel. I found that I had to make certain basic changes in my life that were terribly difficult, but that within me I had the worth and strength to do so.
“I learned that as I lived the gospel and repented, I had no more fear. I was filled with an inner peace. The clouds of anguish and despair were gone. Because of the Atonement, my weaknesses and sins were forgiven through Jesus Christ and His love for me.
“He has blessed and strengthened me. He has opened pathways for me, given me direction, and kept me from harm. I have found that as I overcame each obstacle, my business began to grow, enabling my family to benefit and making me feel as though I had accomplished something.
“Bishop, you have given me understanding and support through these past two years. I never would have reached this point if not for your love and patience. Thank you for being what you are as the servant of the Lord to help me, his wandering child.”