Gospel Story Finder

When an earthquake struck Haiti in January 2010, Jean-Elie René raced home to make sure his family was safe. Upon arrival, he spotted one of his three sons crying in the street, and he could hear the screams of another son from beneath the rubble where the family’s home once stood.
The 32-year-old father followed the cries and dug through the rubble until he found his five-year-old son and the body of his pregnant wife, still sheltering their nine-month-old baby from the collapsed roof of their home.
Brother René serves as ward clerk in the Leogane Ward, Port-au-Prince Haiti Stake. Although he lost his wife, his unborn child, and his home, he doesn’t complain or get angry about his situation. Most days following the earthquake, Brother René could be found at the meetinghouse, with the baby on his lap and his two other boys at his side, helping the bishop coordinate relief to ward members and others who made the meetinghouse their temporary home.
The story of Brother René is touching, but it is not unique. Members of the Church throughout Haiti suffered greatly from the magnitude 7.0 earthquake’s destruction, but the calamity served to reveal the strength of Haiti’s growing membership. Like Brother René, many members—both longtime and first-generation members alike—rose to the challenges and found peace and comfort in faithfulness and obedience.
Throughout their trials, members of the Church in Haiti have stood strong in the gospel as they continue to care for and strengthen each other and those in their communities.
“It is true that all we possessed, even our material possessions and our families, disappeared. But our faith in Jesus Christ was not destroyed,” said Yves Pierre-Louis, bishop of the Leogane Ward. “It was a good opportunity for us to evaluate ourselves as disciples of Christ.”
Local priesthood leaders in particular were a great example of faith and testimony as they rose to the challenge, learning to fulfill their callings in difficult times and help others in need, said Elder Francisco J. Viñas of the Seventy, Caribbean Area President.
“They used their priesthood keys to bless the lives of members and nonmembers,” he said. “They worked in council and received guidance from the Spirit to deal with the difficult challenges day by day.”
The aftermath of the earthquake’s destruction created a challenge, particularly for bishops in Haiti, said Prosner Colin, president of the Port-au-Prince Haiti Stake. Bishops and other Church leaders were left responsible for the care and aid of hundreds of ward members, as well as their own families.
“[The bishops] continue to help,” President Colin said. “They understand that they lost many things, but they have the gospel. They encourage [members] to continue to live worthily.”
Bishop Pierre-Louis became a community leader after the earthquake. Through the weeks and months following the devastation in Haiti, he devoted his life to the service of members and nonmembers in Leogane—tending to the needs of hundreds.
“He is the most amazing, humble servant you will ever meet,” said Chad Peterson, a doctor from Arizona who spent time with Bishop Pierre-Louis as a volunteer following the earthquake.
Many stories have been shared of members throughout Haiti whose resilience and faith in the Lord carried them through their trials.
“Though the faithful Haitian Saints have suffered greatly, they are filled with hope for the future,” said Elder Wilford W. Anderson of the Seventy in his April 2010 general conference address. “Like the early pioneers in 1846, their hearts are broken, but their spirits are strong. They too are teaching us that hope and happiness and joy are not products of circumstance but of faith in the Lord.
A demonstration of such obedience and faith was found when, immediately following the earthquake, Church meetings proceeded without interruption.
Regardless of the destruction of their country, members in Haiti arrived at church clothed in their Sunday best, wearing smiles on their faces. The gospel was the lifeline many relied on to pull them from their sorrow and despair.
“Despite losing their homes, jobs, and family members, the people are so loving, trusting, and good-natured. They have amazing faith,” Brother Peterson said.
Today, the Church continues to flourish in Haiti. Attendance in sacrament meeting has increased, President Colin said, and the people in Haiti continue to work to rebuild their communities.
“The members are doing well to serve others,” he said. “They visit them; they are looking for job opportunities for themselves and for the others.”
Berthony Theodor, a native Haitian and the director of welfare in Haiti, says he and other current and future leaders of the Church in Haiti gained valuable experience as a result of the disaster.
“We have the opportunity to serve others, showing them once again how much we love them,” he said. “We have come to learn once again that we are not alone in the world, that we are members of the people of the Lord.”
Brother Theodor said the earthquake—or any other disaster—couldn’t take away the peace or joy of members in Haiti.
“It’s my testimony that the Lord never forgets His children,” he said. “He knows where I am, my situation. He won’t ever leave me alone.”

Several years ago I installed a stake president in England. In another calling, he is here in the audience today. He had an unusual sense of direction. He was like a mariner with a sextant who took his bearings from the stars. I met with him each time he came to conference and was impressed that he kept himself and his stake on course.

Fortunately for me, when it was time for his release, I was assigned to reorganize the stake. It was then that I discovered what that sextant was and how he adjusted it to check his position and get a bearing for himself and for his members.

He accepted his release, and said, “I was happy to accept the call to serve as stake president, and I am equally happy to accept my release. I did not serve just because I was under call. I served because I am under covenant. And I can keep my covenants quite as well as a home teacher as I can serving as stake president.”

There can be certain perils whenever anyone provides a service. The occupational hazard for Jennifer Wang and Chen En Ger was changing diapers. “That wasn’t very much fun,” Jennifer said. Other than diaper duty, though, there were no other complaints from Jennifer, 17, and Chen, 18, who organized a small nursery inside their wardhouse where children could be dropped off while their parents went to the temple. “I felt really happy that I could learn more about service and also about little children,” said Chen (below). For Jennifer and Chen, both members of the Tao Yuan Second Branch of the Tao Yuan District in Taipei, Taiwan, the baby-sitting was a new experience—one they’re glad they had and that they hope becomes a tradition.
Church members in Taiwan have had a temple in their country since 1984. However, with work and family commitments in this island country, it’s not always easy for the members to attend. That’s where Jennifer and Chen came in. After getting other Church members to volunteer to baby-sit, the project was a go.
“As youth, we decided we would do baptisms for the dead in the morning, and then go next door to the ward and baby-sit members’ children while their parents went to the temple,” explained Jennifer, a Laurel and seminary class president.
Since children all the way to ten-year-olds were dropped off at the nursery, Jennifer and Chen decided to divide the children into groups by age. Instead of just letting them play with toys and goof off for the four-hour period, they decided to make their nursery a little more educational. Besides showing Church videos and having playtime, Jennifer, Chen, and the rest of the baby-sitters also told Book of Mormon stories and talked about the importance of the temple. Afterward, they had the older children draw pictures of the temple. In the process, they also gained an appreciation for the temple themselves.
“We wanted it to be a learning experience. We could have watched them for four hours and let them do what they wanted, but we wanted to do something more,” said Chen, who has been a member for about two-and-a-half years. “I knew a lot of the kids by face already, but when we baby-sat them it was the first time I had the chance to interact with them.
“I was impressed with the children,” he continued. “So many of the older children were such good examples toward the younger ones. They would take care of them and help us as we watched them. Two brothers really stood out to me. One was three and the other was two. They really had unique personalities, and it helped me realize that all these kids are special children from Heavenly Father.”
The chance to serve is what Jennifer remembered most about her experience. She realized that in a lot of cases, without their baby-sitting service, only one parent could go to the temple while the other would stay home with the children. “I saw a lot of parents who were very happy they didn’t have to be concerned about their children. They could go to the temple without worrying, and I think that was important to them,” she said. “Maybe when I get married and I want to go to the temple with my husband, young men and young women from my ward can baby-sit my kids.”
Could happen. Both Jennifer and Chen have proved it can work.

But first, with regard to the basic principle, let me tell you of an experience in which I personally learned from a mistake.
The general lesson I learned from this mistake concerns the importance of preparation. More particularly, I learned that when you argue a case in the United States Supreme Court you can never prepare too much.
One of the customs in the Supreme Court is that lawyers arguing cases for the government always appear in formal attire called a morning suit, consisting of striped pants, a vest, and swallowtail coat. I bought such a suit from a fellow who left the solicitor general’s office at about the time I joined it. He was nearly my size but a little bigger around the middle. Following my first argument Janet told me she thought my argument was all right, but that my hair kept falling down in my eyes and my pants were baggy. She told me to bring the pants home so she could fix them.
My next argument a month later involved an important constitutional issue, citizen and taxpayer standing to bring constitutional challenges in federal courts. The morning of the argument, as I was changing into my government lawyer uniform, I tried to anticipate the questions that I might be asked. I remembered that Justice Harlan in a dissenting opinion in a case called Flast v. Cohen had suggested what he characterized as a possible Hohfeldian analysis that might be applicable to this citizen standing issue. I didn’t remember precisely what he had said, and my first inclination was to reread that opinion before I went to the Court. But then I said to myself, “No, it’s just an abstract theory in a dissenting opinion, no subsequent opinion has even acknowledged it, and the briefs don’t discuss it. No one is going to ask me about it, and, besides, I need the extra time to apply some safety pins to my pants and comb my hair just right and then spray it.” I had forgotten to take the pants home to Janet for alterations.
It was not until after my argument time had expired, and I was in the process of sitting down, that Justice Stevens said, “By the way, Mr. Solicitor General, what is your view of Justice Harlan’s theory in Flast v. Cohen that there may be a Hohfeldian analysis applicable to the citizen standing issue?”
Well, if you read the transcript of my answer to that question, it will remind you of a high foul ball hit back behind home plate and out of play. The batter was not put out, but no runners advanced. Then, when I returned to my office, the first thing I did, of course, was to read Justice Harlan’s opinion, something I should have done two hours earlier. You can imagine my dismay when I discovered that Justice Stevens’ question was a home run ball, which I should have hit out of the park. But all was not lost. Three separate people came up to me after that argument and told me how nice my hair looked and how well my pants fit.

Daniel Larsen, 18, of the Cascade Park Ward, Vancouver Washington Stake, returned to visit Gresham, Oregon, the area he’d served in. Nina Low, a woman he’d met while he was a minimissionary, was getting baptized and wanted him to be there. “It’s the fifth baptism I’ve been involved in because of my minimission,” he said.

“The work to be done in any given area of the mission field is almost beyond comprehension,” he continued. “But when members get involved, give referrals, and open up their homes for teaching appointments, it helps the full-time missionaries a great deal. Not only that, it also establishes friendships between members and investigators, friendships that will continue after the missionaries are gone.
Dan said his short-term mission set to rest many of his misconceptions about full-time missionary service.

“At first I was quite shy,” he continued. “But you meet so many people. And with each one it gets easier to talk and develop conversations. I thought I’d never be able to teach people about the gospel. But I found out missionaries can teach people if they make themselves ready to teach.”

What really sticks in Dan’s memory is how devoted the missionaries were. “You see a lot more this way than you do on ‘splits.’ There, you’re just with the elders for a few hours. Here, you’re doing what they do, 24 hours a day, without worrying about going home in a little while.”

Dan wasn’t the only one to be involved in baptisms during a minimission. Brian Wallen, 16, a priest in the Castle Rock Ward, Longview Washington Stake, served in Beaverton, Oregon, for three weeks, witnessing two baptisms and performing one.

“The missionaries had been teaching Mike, 15, and Joe, 16, for a while before I got there. They’re football players, and they were always talking about weight lifting. I’ve lifted weights, too, and since we’re in the same age group, we had a lot in common. When we talked about the gospel, they seemed to accept my ideas and my testimony. They were baptized the second week I was there.
“And then I got to baptize Amy Beth Valence. She’s nine years old. It made me feel great to use my priesthood. I didn’t expect to baptize anyone during a three-week mission!”

Michael Oja, 18, of the Astoria (Oregon) Ward, Longview Washington Stake, met Mission President John A. Larsen following a fireside.

“Son,” President Larsen said, “I think you’d make a great minimissionary.”

By mid-July, Mike was in Oregon City, working with the missionaries assigned to the Cambodian branch. “With the help of a translator, the missionaries taught them lessons on the plan of salvation. I met a lot of wonderful converts and helped share the gospel with their families and friends.

“It’s not like an eight-hour job, where you go home when your time’s up. Sometimes it’s a real long day. But after a while, you start to see that you’re helping people. Their lives start to change, and you get to see it happen.”

Mike learned something about his wardrobe, too. “I hadn’t thought much about it before, but if I’m going on a mission, I ought to be buying clothing now that I can use then. I’m saving up for suits and white shirts.”

The day before he was to return home, Mike was interviewed again by President Larsen.

“One of the neat things about going on a minimission is that you get to know the mission president. You can tell he’s with you all the way,” Mike said.

President Larsen, who is himself a man of considerable stature, says the idea behind minimissions is simple.

“Our goal is to give every young member a chance to become acquainted with what it really means to be a missionary,” he said. “We have seen that young men who associate directly with missionary work before they turn 19 have an excellent chance of serving a full-time mission when they do turn 19. We are also trying to involve all of the youth, not just the young men, in sharing the gospel wherever and whenever they can.”

The youth of the Rockwood Ward of the Gresham Oregon Stake demonstrated that sort of involvement by organizing a different type of missionary activity within the boundaries of their own ward—a missionary weekend.

“They weren’t called to a teaching mission,” said stake mission leader Greg Meacham. “That’s the full-time missionaries’ job. But they were asked to help the missionaries by finding people who seemed genuinely interested in the gospel.”

A group of about 20 young men and women arrived at the stake center at 6:30 P.M. on a Friday night. They were assigned to a “partner” rather than a companion, to a “mission home” (a member’s house where they would spend the night), and to one of the “zones” the ward had been divided into, where they would concentrate their efforts the next day.

All participants were given a list of “mission rules,” which included instructions like “Never leave your partner. Do not accept car rides without prior approval. Avoid shopping malls and stores. Avoid all contention and compromising situations,” and many other regulations.

A training session Friday night included a description of missionary life and suggestions about how to be courteous when calling at someone’s home. It was followed by a “partner study session” prior to lights out at 10:30.

Saturday morning began with “partner scripture study” and prayers, followed by breakfast. Then, with permission from President Larsen, full-time missionaries from nearby areas joined the youth to go door to door, talking about the Church with neighbors who might not have otherwise heard about it. The missionaries usually took two or more teenagers with them, especially when the teenagers were young or inexperienced. Only full-time missionaries were allowed to do any teaching, and they decided whether or not to accept an invitation to enter someone’s home.

“We had one of the older sister missionaries with us, and she was able to answer a lot of questions for people,” said Cathy Spencer, 14. “Even though she’s a grandmother, she was as excited as we were.”

“We handed out copies of A Marvelous Work and a Wonder,” said Susan Spencer, 17.

“We wanted to get everyone in the community talking about it,” her friend Amy Lyles, 18, added. “In one day, my partner and I found ten families who accepted a book and said they would read it. I was surprised at how many people listened to what we had to say.”

Aaron Miller, 13, the deacons quorum president, and Jay Fabian, 13, his first counselor, also participated in the weekend activity.

Aaron found out quickly that the missionaries were in earnest. “They wouldn’t let you goof around at all. They made you go to every door, even if it looked like no one was home.”

Jay said, “At first it was hard. But then once you got started, it got better. I felt real good when somebody took a book and said they’d read it.” With the help of one full-time missionary, the two young men distributed 11 books.

Doug Miller, the ward mission leader, felt the youth missionary weekend was a bona fide success. “The local missionaries increased their investigator pool threefold. One sister has since been baptized, and an inactive brother reactivated as a result of what the young people did that day.”

“The missionary weekend idea started with the Second Ward. Then this ward did it, and now we’re thinking of implementing it on a stake basis,” Brother Meacham said.

Of course, in addition to minimissions and missionary weekends, the youth of the Oregon Portland Mission contribute to sharing the gospel in more traditional ways.

Kim Clark, 19, and her sister Christy Ann, 17, of the North Bend Ward, Coos Bay Oregon Stake, have helped bring 18 of their friends into the Church in the past two years.

“Dennis and Lorry were friends of ours,” Christy said. “Kim knew Lorry from work and I knew Dennis from school. I was talking about our youth temple trip to Seattle, and Dennis said, ‘What’s that?’

“I told him about temple work, baptisms for the dead, and being sealed to your family. He said, ‘I want to be baptized so I can go to the temple.’”

Christy called the missionaries that night.

Meanwhile, at work, Kim was talking with Lorry.

“I said, ‘Do you go to Church?’ and that started us talking,” Kim explained. “Since I’m the stake Young Adult rep, it was easy to invite her to a Young Adult conference, then to church. I introduced her to the missionaries, and soon both Dennis and Lorry were having the missionary discussions.” Within two weeks, both were baptized.

Another time, Kim and Christy’s 13-year-old cousin and her parents dropped in unannounced from Los Angeles.

“They invited us out to dinner and we talked about the Church,” Christy said. “Our cousin seemed really interested, and her parents said it was okay for her to listen to the missionaries.”

Kim told about a home evening during which the missionaries taught about Christ, baptism, and temple work. “She was excited about her family being sealed together,” Kim said.

Now the cousin is being baptized. “And she’s working on her parents too,” Christy said.

“It doesn’t just have to be adults who are responsible for getting their families sealed,” Kim said. “Share the gospel with children and teenagers, and their parents may get interested too.”

Back in Gresham, where her family lives now, Sean O’Connor’s 19-year-old sister, Erin, remembered the example young Latter-day Saints set for her when, at 15, she had just moved to The Dalles, Oregon, from Oklahoma.

“They were all so friendly,” she said. “I kept wondering how these people could care so much about somebody they didn’t even know. But what impressed me the most was how close they were to their families.

“I guess there’s a lot you can say about studying hard and having the Spirit, and working, and everything else. All those things are vital. But for me, the number one ingredient in missionary work is example. It’s the way you live. There’s just no substitute for that.”

Youth missionary service is provided in a number of different ways in the Oregon Portland Mission. But one thing is sure—every young member has the opportunity to do something. And whether the service provided is through everyday example, through missionary weekends, or through a minimission, the joy of sharing the gospel is always at a maximum.

“A Book of Mormon with your picture and testimony inside keeps sharing even after you leave.”
—Cathy Spencer, 14Gresham, Oregon

“They seemed to accept my testimony. They were baptized the second week I was there.”
—Brian Wallen, 16Castle Rock, Washington

“The number one ingredient in missionary work is example. There’s just no substitute for that.”
—Erin O’Connor, 19Gresham, Oregon

“Share the gospel with teenagers, and parents see the example and get interested too.”
—Kim, 19, and Christy Clark, 17Coos Bay, Oregon

At breakfast when Mom reminded everyone about their family temple trip on Saturday, Carly frowned. She had completely forgotten about that. Usually she loved going to the temple, but Saturday was the day of Jennifer’s party!
Jennifer was Carly’s best friend, and on Saturday she was having a Halloween party. Carly could hardly wait. But now she didn’t know what she should do.
“Mom, Jennifer’s party is Saturday too,” she said. “Would it be OK if I stay home and go to the party?”
Mom smiled. “You are 12 years old now,” she said. “I think you can make up your own mind.”
Carly sighed.
All week Carly worried about Saturday. The temple was far away, so her family didn’t get to go very often. But Halloween parties didn’t happen that often either.
I can just go to the party, Carly decided.
But that didn’t feel right.
“Why do the party and our temple trip have to be on the same day?” she asked at dinner.
“You’ve got a tough choice to make,” Dad said. “What do you think you should do?”
Carly didn’t see anything wrong with going to the party. All her friends from school would be there, and it would probably be a lot of fun. But it wasn’t a question between right and wrong, and that made it harder. Going to the party was good, but Carly knew that serving others in the temple was better.
“I guess I’ll go on the temple trip,” Carly said. Immediately her heart felt lighter.
The next day at school, Jennifer ran up to Carly. “I can’t wait for the party,” she said. “What are you going to wear?”
Carly took a deep breath. “I’m really sorry, Jennifer,” she said. “But I can’t come to your party. My family is going to the temple that day.”
Jennifer crinkled her nose. “What’s a temple?”
“It’s a special place where we go to worship God,” Carly said. “It’s important to me, but I’m sorry I’ll miss your party.”
“It’s OK,” Jennifer said. But she looked sad.
“How about if you come over after school on Monday and tell me all about the party?” Carly said.
Jennifer smiled. “OK!”
Early Saturday morning Carly took her pillow and backpack out to the car. Mom put her arm around Carly’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re going with us.”
“So am I,” Carly said, and she meant it.
At the temple Carly listened carefully to the words of the baptismal prayer. When she thought about how each name was for a real person, she was sure there was no place she would rather be than here, being baptized for them.
On the way home, Dad said, “Because of our family, 15 people had baptisms done for them today. I know these ancestors are grateful for the opportunity to accept the gospel.”
Carly settled down for the long drive home. She couldn’t stop smiling.

Over the years I have watched one dear sister give service far beyond any calling to teach or lead in the Church. She sees a need and serves—not “Call me if you need help,” but “Here I am; what can I do?” She does so many small things, like holding someone’s child in a meeting or taking a child to school who has missed the bus. She always looks for new faces at church and steps forward to make them welcome.

Her husband knows that when they attend a ward social, he can generally count on her saying, “Why don’t you go along home. I see they are a little short on help to clear up and do the dishes.”

He came home one evening to find her putting the furniture back in place. That morning she had the feeling that she should see how an elderly sister with a heart condition was managing a wedding breakfast for a grandchild who had come from out of state to be married in the temple.

She found the woman sitting alone at the church, in despair, surrounded by the things she had brought in preparation. Somehow there had been a double booking of the hall. In a few hours the guests would arrive. Whatever could she do?

This attentive sister took the older sister home with her and put her down to rest. Then she went to work moving the furniture around. When the guests arrived, a beautiful wedding breakfast was ready to be served.

She learned that spirit of service from her mother. The spirit of service is best taught at home. We must teach our children by example and tell them that an unselfish spirit is essential to happiness.

“Come on!” Vicky’s brother called. “Let’s go play with the Rowes!”
The Rowes were their new neighbors. They had moved to Bosnia and Herzegovina from the United States. They had kids the same age as Vicky and her siblings. But they didn’t speak Bosnian. Vicky was the only one in her family who spoke English. She translated so they could play together.
Vicky sat with Mrs. Rowe on the porch while the other kids played.
“Your family seems different,” Vicky said. “In a good way.”
Mrs. Rowe smiled. “Would you like to come to church with us? That might help you see why we’re different. Our church doesn’t have a building here in Bosnia, so we have church with our family at home.”
Vicky was curious when she arrived at the Rowes’ house on Sunday. First they sang a song. One of the children said a prayer. Then Mr. Rowe prayed and passed bread and water to each person. They said it was called the sacrament. After that their daughter Jessie gave a talk.
“Heavenly Father loves us. He speaks to us through the Holy Ghost,” Jessie said. “Sometimes the Holy Ghost gives us a peaceful feeling. Or sometimes He gives us a thought.”
The next day, Vicky walked to the store to buy bread. On her way home, she was about to pass by some trash cans when a voice in her mind stopped her. Stay away, it said.
Vicky stood still. Suddenly, a car came spinning around the corner. CRASH! It slammed into the garbage cans.
Vicky took a deep breath. She was so glad she listened to the voice!
Later, Vicky told Mrs. Rowe the story. “Was that the Holy Ghost?”
“Sounds like it. Sometimes the Holy Ghost warns us of danger.”
“God protected me,” Vicky said. “I’ll always listen to the Holy Ghost.”
Vicky kept going to the Rowes’ house for church every Sunday. Then Vicky shared the Book of Mormon with her mom. Soon her whole family was learning about the gospel from the Rowes. Vicky translated for everyone.
One day Mr. Rowe asked Vicky’s family a question. Vicky repeated it in Bosnian. “Will you follow the example of Jesus Christ by being baptized?”
Vicky waited. She wanted to be baptized. But she was nervous about what her family would say.
Finally, Vicky’s dad spoke. “Da.”
“Da,” her family said.
Vicky was so happy she felt like her heart was going to burst. “Yes,” she said to Mr. Rowe. “Yes, we will.”
A week later, Vicky and her family drove for five hours to the nearest Church building. Vicky felt happy as she stepped into the water to be baptized. She felt even happier when she was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Now she would have the Holy Ghost with her always.

Elder Gary G. Johnson recalled an experience that happened in the college town of Mankato, a community nestled in farmland on the banks of the Minnesota River.

“We baptized a woman, Gayle Von Ohlen, and her 12-year-old son, John Chambard. As a baptism present, we gave him a subscription to the New Era, and he really liked it. He was impressed with the way it was written, and I think he was amazed that there was so much about spiritual matters in a teenage magazine. His mother was impressed too. The New Era helps kids feel like they’re a part of something.”

Fishing and hunting are big in Alabama. That’s how it happened that a group of young people from Dothan, Alabama, recently descended on Lake Eufala, which calls itself “the bass capitol of the world.” They hadn’t been there long when a boatload of youths from the local Eufala branch came lazying by, propelled by one paddle and one landing net. A little earlier a couple of young people had been out in the same boat with their dad, checking troutlines baited with chunks of soap.
The Dothan group wasn’t destined to take home many fish that day, but they got some good Alabama sunshine and proved once again that participating in Church activities is a lot of fun wherever you live.

I think today of a young man I know who, as a Christian, trying one church after another, could find none that taught of a prophet. Only among the Jewish people did he find reverent mention of the prophets, and so he accepted and embraced the Jewish religion.
In the summer of 1964, he went to New York City and visited the World’s Fair. He entered the Mormon Pavilion and saw pictures of the prophets of the Old Testament. His heart warmed within him as he heard the missionaries speak with appreciation of these great men of ages past through whom Jehovah revealed his will. Then, as he progressed through the pavilion, he heard of modern prophets—of Joseph Smith who was called a prophet, a seer, and a revelator. Something stirred within him. His spirit responded to the testimony of the missionaries. He was baptized. He served a mission in South America where he had many converts. He returned home and has since become the means of bringing his family and others into the Church. It is heartwarming to hear him testify that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God and that all who have succeeded him have been legal successors in this high and sacred calling.

Ho Jik wanted to learn about many things, so in 1950 he went to Cornell University in New York State to study nutrition. There he met Oliver Wayman, a fellow student and a Church member. Ho Jik was impressed by Brother Wayman’s clean lifestyle—he didn’t smoke, drink, or do other bad things.
When Oliver gave him a copy of The Articles of Faith by James E. Talmage, Ho Jik read it within a week and eagerly asked for more information. Soon he had finished the Book of Mormon, too, and believed it to be the word of God. He started attending Church meetings with Oliver; he also continued to attend Presbyterian services.
On the day Oliver left the university, he stopped his Korean friend in a hallway. “I then bore my testimony of the gospel and told him that it was my opinion that the Lord had moved upon him to come to America … that he might receive the gospel and take it back to his people.” He also told Ho Jik that “if he refused to do the work the Lord had for him to do, another would be raised up in his place.”
Those words had a powerful effect upon Kim Ho Jik. He read the Book of Mormon again, and the Spirit again told him it was true. In July of 1951 he was baptized in the quiet waters of the Susquehanna River, near the place where Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery had been baptized. As he came up out of the water, a voice said to him, “Feed My sheep. Feed My sheep.”

Emily had just returned from a choir tour with BYU–Idaho’s Vocal Union and was planning on spending some time at home in Colorado. “During the trip I just didn’t feel myself,” Emily says. “I was so thirsty. I was drinking at least 20 glasses of water every day, and I was wondering what was wrong. After I was hospitalized, they gave me insulin, and I thought, ‘I’m myself again!’”
Emily’s optimism, along with her family and new husband, has helped to keep her going. “I really try to focus on what I can eat rather than what I can’t, and then I’m fine,” she says.
“After I got home from the hospital I was so grateful not to be thirsty anymore,” Emily says. “Then I thought about Christ and how He is the Living Water. I realized that there are so many people who are so thirsty that they drink and drink, but it goes right through them. And I was so grateful to know that I have the living waters.”

“Look at that boy,” Ike sneered from across the campfire. “See how scared he looks when we talk about killing old Three Foot. You’d think we were up here hunting cougars instead of a mangy, thieving coyote. Mr. Penry should have kept that Indian back at the ranch to wash dishes or something!”
“I wish he had,” Gray Hawk murmured. He flushed at the men’s laughter and ridicule and slipped away to his bedroll. Can’t they tell the difference between fear and distaste? he thought resentfully. I don’t want to kill anything except for food.
Gray Hawk believed that the land belonged to the coyote, too, and that its existence is important in the overall plan of life. It has sensitive ears, sharp eyesight, a keen nose, and is extremely intelligent—except when it came to a rancher’s property rights. If it is hungry and could not find a young rabbit for its young, it will steal a chicken—a small price to pay for the rodent control provided by coyotes, the boy felt. But old Three Foot had raided the Penry ranch chicken yard and so he was to be hunted down and killed.
Gray Hawk had worked at the Penry ranch since March. He was an expert rider and liked the job until the balding, red-bearded Ike had been hired. The big man disliked Indians. He said so loudly and often. The youth had accepted good-natured gibes from the other men, but Ike was cruel. His remarks were stinging insults, meant to nibble away chunks of Gray Hawk’s pride. The youth’s small salary helped his family and he knew they needed it. Gray Hawk sighed and snuggled deeper into his blankets.
Early the next morning a rider came out to take the cowhands back to work in the north pasture. To Gray Hawk’s dismay, only he and Ike were left to continue the hunt for the wily Three Foot!
Ike was furious. “Not much chance of catching him unless I do it by myself,” he grumbled to the men as they left. “That Indian wouldn’t see Three Foot if he were running alongside his horse! Look how he’s hung back and let us do all the tracking.”
Late that afternoon Ike spotted the distinctive trail by a waterhole where tracks led off toward some high bluffs to the east. The big man loosed a yell of triumph and streaked off. Gray Hawk followed more cautiously. Loose rocks provided dangerous footing for a fast-moving horse.
Gray Hawk shouted a warning when he saw a large prairie dog village ahead. He knew the area would be riddled with holes and burrows. But Ike didn’t seem to hear his cry. He raced straight ahead, his eyes on the bluffs, searching for the elusive gray coyote the Indian youth had already spotted twice. Then Ike saw the loping figure, pulled out his rifle, and fired without really taking aim. There was a shrill yap of pain, and the coyote dropped out of sight behind a rock. Gray Hawk felt sick.
“I got him! Got him with one lucky shot!” Ike yelled triumphantly, just before his horse stumbled and went down. The big man somersaulted through the air and hit the ground with a bone-jarring crash. Gray Hawk leaped from his saddle and raced to his fallen companion who was lying motionless. Ike’s horse struggled to its feet and shied away as the youth approached.
Ike’s usually ruddy face was as white as the underside of a toad. His right leg was twisted and bent at an awkward angle. Gray Hawk was glad that Ike was unconscious as he worked to straighten the man’s broken leg.
The Indian boy’s search for sticks for a splint led him to where he had seen the coyote go down. He noticed a few splotches of blood, but the animal was gone. A glance at the tracks showed that the coyote Ike had wounded was not Three Foot. The youth was glad it had escaped.
Darkness had come by the time Ike regained consciousness. Gray Hawk was preparing supper, his face impassive in the red glow of the fire. He glanced up as Ike groaned and struggled to sit up. His fingers touched the thick bandage covering his throbbing head. Bewildered, he saw that the youth had splinted his leg and bound it with strips of blanket. It wasn’t easy for Ike to express his gratitude, nevertheless he mumbled his thanks. Gray Hawk understood and returned a pleasant nod.
A full moon rose and it seemed ironic that three coyotes would position themselves on high points around the camp for a “sing.” It was not the yapping of dogs. First one and then another would break out into a series of barked phrases. Gray Hawk wondered if Ike noticed the constantly changing intonations and inflections. Each animal took a turn, as though they were discussing the intruders, asking for and advancing opinions.
“Listen to those varmints,” Ike said suddenly, laying his empty plate aside. “It sounds like they’re carrying on a conversation.”
“Maybe they are,” Gray Hawk said, grinning, “and it’s not likely that what they’re saying is very complimentary to us.”
“Do you reckon they’re mourning the death of the one I killed today?” Ike whispered thoughtfully.
“No. You only winged it, and not very seriously from the little blood I saw,” Gray Hawk replied. “It wasn’t Three Foot. This one was smaller and left a set of four good tracks.”
“Then I busted my leg and went through all this for nothing!” Ike growled. But he didn’t seem as angry as Gray Hawk had expected.
At dawn Gray Hawk made Ike as comfortable as possible and placed food and water within reach before leaving for the ranch. A wagon would have to be driven out to take the injured man back to the bunkhouse. It would be the next morning, at the earliest, before help arrived. Ike looked apprehensive as the Indian youth prepared to leave.
“Be careful,” Ike said gruffly. “If anything happens to you, it might take a spell before Mr. Penry gets worried and sends someone out to find us.” Gray Hawk nodded and mounted his horse.
As the sun rose, Ike grew bored and restless. He thought about cougars and rattlesnakes and stiffened with fear when some loose stones rattled down the slope. Then he burst out laughing as two surprised coyote pups tumbled down in a tangled wad. The man remained quiet and watched the plump pups struggle to their feet and make several unsuccessful attempts to climb back up the bluff. He caught a glimpse of their worried mother on a high ledge, and noticed a wound on her right shoulder.
Finally, one of the pups seemed to realize that continued assaults on the bluff were useless. While his sister whined shrill cries of distress and clawed at the rocks, he sat down and stared at Ike. His instinct told him the crippled man was an enemy, but a harmless one.
Time passed slowly. Ike leaned against a boulder, grateful for the shade as the temperature rose. He laughed at the way the pups romped and wrestled with each other like regular dogs, growling with mock ferociousness. The fluffy balls of fur didn’t look like coyotes. Ike favored the young male. He had even whistled and tried to lure it closer, but it was too wary. Gray Hawk would not have believed how much pleasure the company of the small frolicking coyotes gave Ike.
The big man sighed and reached for one of the water canteens. He drank deeply and wiped trickles of water off his beard. One pup watched with bright eyes, then whined enviously. The romping and playing had left him very thirsty.
Ike looked at the canteen, then at the coyote. He had another full one, but help could be several days away if Gray Hawk found the ranch deserted and had to ride to the north pasture. Besides, it was ridiculous to even think of sharing precious water with coyotes!
“You’re not getting any!” Ike growled, trying to stare the pup down. Nevertheless the young coyote detected a friendly note in his voice. He stiffened his front legs and dashed closer in a mock attack, then back, and sat down panting. How long can they live in this heat without water? Ike wondered. He had sighted the worried, pacing mother several times, but, so far, she had never left the ledge. His gun was beside him, but Ike no longer felt like killing coyotes—not even old Three Foot, who had probably sired the pups.
The pups grew listless in the heat. They curled together at the base of the bluff where a small outcropping cast a shadow. Ike became more and more worried as they slept. Suppose they were dying! He poured water onto his plate and pushed it toward them as far as he could reach, then he whistled shrilly, waking the coyotes. The female arose first and stretched her quivering muzzle toward the water. She took a few cautious steps before a warning growl from her brother stopped her.
“Stop being so all-fired suspicious!” Ike scolded. He took a stick and pushed the water closer to them. His rugged face split into a wide grin when the female crept to the plate and began to lap the water. The male abandoned his caution and joined her when he saw that Ike was still leaning against the boulder.
Ike awoke during the night and remained motionless as he watched a gray shadow slip in close to the pups. The mother sniffed her young then stared toward the man. The happy pups licked her face and pawed at the probing muzzle, but she was in no mood to play. The reunited family soon faded into the darkness.
Moments later, another coyote “sing” began. Ike wondered if he only imagined a more joyful note in the yapping cries. He snorted. Then he remembered the enjoyment he’d had watching the pups during the day. “Still … those pups were cute. I don’t intend to track down another coyote as long as I live, not after getting acquainted with those little rascals.”

One of the most touching stories Nana Esi Ninsin VIII shared was about a young girl named Mary Mensah in the village, who was inspired by the queen’s example and started her own informal church group, called the Children’s Church. With no resources or formal training, the girl gathered friends and neighbors to pray, sing, and study scripture. After the children’s church service, Mary, their leader, uses their offering of one cedi each to prepare food for them, saying, “They don’t have access to their offering in the mother church.”

When Nana Esi Ninsin VIII learned of her efforts, she welcomed the girl into her fold, integrating her group into the larger church community, the Ekunfi Ekrawfo Group of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “She had a good spirit,” Nana said. “And now she’s part of our training and outreach.”

This act of inclusion not only validated the girl’s leadership but also reinforced Nana Ninsin’s belief that spiritual growth and community development are inextricably linked.

When Jean’s senior year began, she started her first journey through the refiner’s fire. Our mother and stepfather were divorced, and Mother drifted further and further from the Church. She no longer cared whether or not Jean even went to sacrament meetings much less all her other activities. Jean trudged on with the help of her friends and the support and sympathy of her bishop’s family. Her testimony grew stronger still, and she continued in all of her activities.
At graduation time, Jean learned that her trials had only begun. Mother remarried and moved far away. Jean had no choice. She had to go live with our father in rural Georgia. He lived in a tiny, isolated town where he was the minister of the only church.
Our father had always been bitter toward the Mormons, and that bitterness had turned to hatred when all three of his daughters had been baptized. Jean was his baby, his special pet, and it cut him to the quick to see her not only in a religion different from his but as a Mormon and a devout Mormon at that. He looked upon her move to his house as an answer to prayers. Now things would be different. Now he would be able to show her the error of her ways.
Although I live more than 200 miles away, I came as often as possible during the summer and took Jean to my home in Columbia. However, the summer soon ended, and Jean had to start commuting to college. Jean had a car to make the drive back and forth to school but not for her personal use on weekends. The nearest branch was 30 miles away, and even if she could get there, Dad wouldn’t let her go. There wasn’t an institute at her small college, and it just seemed that there was no way for her to have any contact with Church members.
Days turned into weeks, and then months had gone by since she had attended a meeting. She read her scriptures, wrote daily in her journal, and spent hours on her knees. As she grew closer to her Heavenly Father through earnest prayer, Jean’s testimony of the gospel grew. She began to realize how often she had taken the opportunity to attend meetings and functions of the Church for granted, how she had even wished meetings would hurry and be over. During this time, Dad made every effort to break her testimony. He quoted scripture after scripture, but Jean’s seminary scriptures stood her in good stead. She was able to parry with scriptures of her own. Sometimes he threw things at her that she couldn’t or, to stop an argument, wouldn’t defend. While her testimony wasn’t harmed, it did make Jean weary as she faced each day on the defensive, knowing that everything she loved and considered holy would be denounced in her father’s booming voice at mealtimes, in discussions with her stepmother, or in his verbal prayers.
Some nights only hours on bended knees kept her from total despair. She fought back the desire to rage against her Heavenly Father for deserting her. Soon even the scriptures she loved were difficult to read because they produced such a terrible longing for her old friends, teachers, and bishop. Often she lay in bed at night with tears streaming down her face trying to remember that she wasn’t the only Latter-day Saint in the world. She tried to be strong, but she was young and alone and there had been no contact with members for so long.
One night in January, Jean reached rock bottom. Her father and stepmother had baited her and prayed aloud for her soul until she was ready to scream. No one understood the trials she was going through. Her sisters sympathized, but we were too far away to be any help. Finally Jean knelt by her bed and poured her heart out as she had so many times in the past. She told her Heavenly Father that she knew he loved her and that he had promised no burden heavier than she could bear. She begged for some sort of help because the burden had grown so heavy that she could not bear it any longer.
When Jean left Natchez, her records had been sent to the nearest branch. Once the records were received, she was assigned home teachers. However, as no one had ever met Jean and she lived so far away and had never attended a meeting, the home teachers didn’t visit her. In their minds, she was probably someone who had joined the Church at age eight but had never been active. Someone in the branch had heard that a Mr. Swilley in Egypt, Georgia, was the Baptist preacher there, and this Jean was probably his wife. No way were they going to drive all that way to get a door slammed in their faces!
In a small branch, the work load is heavy for each member. The home teacher lived 15 miles on the other side of the town where the branch was located, a total of 45 miles one way on country roads from Jean. Months went by, and each month his home teaching report was complete except for Sister Swilley. Being a good and conscientious man, this bothered him. He decided to go at least once just to see what sort of circumstances she was in.
The night came when he couldn’t rest until he had made the effort to see this sister. He called his companion, a young boy of 16, and they began the long drive. As they drove farther into the countryside, they began to be uneasy and wished they could turn around and go home. Yet something urged them on. Little did they know that at that moment, Jean Swilley was on her knees begging her Father in Heaven to throw her a lifeline. As her prayer ended and she dried her tears, Dad knocked on her bedroom door. “Jeanie, there are two men outside, and they are asking for you. They are Mormons, and I won’t ask them in, but you can go talk to them on the porch.”
Jean flew through the house and onto the porch. She stood on the steps, and tears fell again as the older of the two men stretched out his hand and said, “We are your home teachers …” He didn’t have to say anything else because Jean fell into his arms and cried out all the pain and loneliness that was there. Finally someone had come. God had indeed heard her prayers.
As Jean told her story to these wonderful men, I know that their hearts were touched. They expressed sorrow for not having come sooner and promised to make the branch president aware of her situation. They prayed with Jean and told her to call them when it got too hard and left with the most beautiful words Jean had ever heard, “You aren’t alone anymore.”
Jean is still not allowed to go to church, but her spirit is so much stronger now that she knows her Father in Heaven is aware of her needs and answers her prayers. Dad said the home teachers could keep coming as long as they had a talk with him first. When Jean explained the situation to the home teachers, they told her that they would talk with him and do it gladly.
Jean’s home teachers had every excuse in the world not to visit her. It was inconvenient—one and a half hours just in driving time. She had expressed no interest in seeing them. They did not think she would welcome them, and they were busy with other church responsibilities. Still, they obeyed the promptings of the Holy Spirit.
Those home teachers will never know just how happy they made my sister nor will they know how thankful they made me for a Heavenly Father that heard my sister’s prayers. How can they know what will come of their talk with my dad? Or that Mother, who had drifted so far away that she denied the Church on every opportunity, would cry when told that her baby girl wasn’t quite so wretched anymore and why. How could they have known that Mother would say through her tears, “I knew He would take care of her and hear her prayers.” I know that more good will come because those two men listened and obeyed. I hope that I will learn to listen and obey. I hope we all will.

Working Together on Duty to God
Twelve-year-old John C. and his father often work on projects together. For example, they sewed patches on blankets they will use when they go camping. The patches are from various camps and activities they have attended in British Columbia, Canada, where they live.
“Dad’s a great help,” John says. “I can’t imagine doing Church projects without him.”
When John turned 12, they reviewed the Duty to God booklet together. Soon they came to the “Understand Doctrine” items in the Deacon section. “Dad explained to me about priesthood keys and authority,” John says. And that helped John fulfill one of the requirements.
“When you’re doing Duty to God,” John says, “get your father involved. My dad has already helped me a lot.”

I always pray for guidance from Heavenly Father when I design a building or for anything in my life. I love Heavenly Father and the Savior, and I know They know me personally. I grew up in Star Valley, Wyoming, USA, and as an architect I helped design the new Star Valley temple! My son, Micah, even helped me turn a shovel of dirt at the groundbreaking. It is a blessing to help create a building that can bless so many lives.

Lance Reynolds can understand that feeling. Football had become an important part of his life at an early age, beginning with children’s football teams. He played for the team at Granite High School in Salt Lake City and was chosen to be on the team of top players of the region when he was 16 years old. He was selected to the top team in the state and again to the top team of the region.
The year Lance entered Brigham Young University was the first year that first year students were allowed to play on the first (top) team representing a university, and he played with the varsity football team enough to win a school letter. His second year he was on the starting team, and his third year promised to be a great one—he would have been the only player in his position on the team returning. But it was time for Lance to go on his mission, and although he had always planned to go, the final decision was a difficult one to make.
“At the time,” he remembers, “leaving on a mission seemed like the end of all hopes for a football career.” It seemed like a choice between football and a mission. He chose the mission.
Five years and a professional contract later, Lance no longer feels that you have to make a choice. “Why not do both?” he asks. “Young students and athletes don’t have to ‘give up’ things to go on a mission—only postpone them for two years.”
And he should know. Having kept himself in good physical condition during his mission by exercising during personal time (before 6:30 A.M.) and watching his weight, Lance was able on his return to slip back into his uniform and the game with ease. Within two weeks he felt at home on the field. The following season he was on the starting team at BYU. His fourth year he was honored by the Western Athletic Conference, received All-American honorable mention, and was chosen by the Pittsburgh Steelers, a top professional football team. He is now playing with the Philadelphia Eagles football team.
Lance feels he gained in intensity, concentration, and self-control. And all three felt an increased confidence upon returning to their sport.
Although some missionaries do return and do not continue in sports, it is usually due to a change in interests rather than inability. Ed, Mark, and Lance are convinced that any athlete who serves a mission will be able to regain his previous ability upon diligently applying himself.
And even if that were not the case, Lance wouldn’t have missed his mission for anything. “I would trade all of my athletic experiences for the opportunity of going on a mission,” he insists.

There were five of us on the trail crew that day. We were all new to the job, so when we gathered around to hear the assignment for the day, we were delighted to learn that we would start on a new trail—Clegg Canyon they called it.
“You mean Fly Canyon?” replied Verle, our fearless leader.
“Why Fly Canyon?” I asked.
With a sly smile, Verle looked down at me and said, “You’ll see.”
While we unloaded the Jeep, Verle filled us in on what work needed to be done. At last we were ready to start the trail. As we walked, Verle kept reminding us that this trail was considered one of the most miserable assignments because of the flies, but we couldn’t see any flies, so taking him seriously was a little hard. Verle had a way of pulling your leg at times, and I was usually a gullible victim. But today, he assured us, once the sun was out, the flies would be too.
As we hiked up farther into the canyon, we soon came to realize how right Verle was. At first the flies came in pairs, buzzing around my ears and making quick landings on my nose. Then they became bolder, so we were sure they had called out their battalions. I had considered myself a patient person until then. Every 30 minutes we had to stop and recoat ourselves with insect repellent. We especially had to drench our hair to keep the pests from getting entangled. When we began to realize that our efforts to avoid the flies were in vain, we began to lose our tempers.
It finally came to the point where we knew we were doomed. The newspaper headlines flashed through my mind, “Forest Service Employees Carried Away by Flies.” Something had to be done quickly. We tried to work faster, believing motion would shoo the flies away, but our sweat made a more delectable landing. As all good news travels fast, more flies came. In desperation we turned to our leader, who, surprisingly, was taking this all very coolly. He explained that we had to learn how to relax and laugh at annoying situations.
“What is so humorous about 50 million flies attacking us?” I asked.
“Look at it this way. They could carry us through the canyon and save us the trouble of hiking up the trail,” Verle replied.
While we sat eating our lunches (it was more like sharing them with the United Fly Nation), we began to relax and develop a humor of our own. At first the laughter was scarce, but one joke led to another, and we were soon lying back in laughter, oblivious to the millions of black specs around us.
That morning we had loaded the tools that were expected to be useful in completing our assignment. But as we headed down the trail that afternoon, we carried with us a new tool—humor.
On the way down to the Jeep, we were rewarded with a sudden cloudburst that finally rid us of our pests. Free at last, we skipped down the trail like children, grinning from ear to ear. We had survived! But, more important, we had laughed.