Gospel Story Finder

The family looked confused. My missionary companion and I had been teaching them the first discussion, and they didn’t seem to understand about the Holy Ghost. We talked about the Spirit and about how they could know the Book of Mormon was true.

As I related this experience to this family we were teaching, the Spirit touched me and I knew the truth of what I was saying. Almost trembling, I testified, “The Lord knows me personally! He was watching over me that day, and He continues to watch over me today. He is aware of my individual needs. He knows you personally too, and He will answer your prayers as you pray with faith.”

I went home that evening, grateful for the knowledge I had gained. By relating my experience, I was blessed to understand the Lord’s love for me. Truly a testimony is found in the bearing of it.

Early last year, Elder Allistair B. Odgers asked stake presidents to set a goal for the number of full-time teaching missionaries we would have serving in December 2022.
After much prayer and fasting, I set a goal that would stretch us as a stake; a goal that would require great faith and bring spiritual experiences and miracles to members’ lives. I knew the number of currently serving missionaries, and the prospective missionaries we were working with, would guarantee 10-12 missionaries serving in December. I felt inspired to offer 25 as our stake goal.
Immediately I began meeting with our bishops, branch presidents, high council and stake council members. We invited all to unite and find those additional 10-15 missionaries we were not currently working with. Shortly afterwards, during April general conference, President Russell M. Nelson again invited all young men, and young women who desired, to serve a full-time mission. President Nelson encouraged all to seek and expect miracles as we increase our spiritual momentum.1
Elder Odgers asked the stake presidents in our coordinating council, to invite bishops and branch presidents to invite two young men to serve a mission every week. Believing in miracles, I encouraged our leaders again to renew efforts to find missionaries, emphasizing we would have spiritual experiences and miracles as we sought inspiration and guidance about whom to invite.
At our next stake high council meeting, a brother told us he had two sons eligible to serve missions. One had a desire to serve the Lord, the other did not. This son, Sione, had been living in the States, had a girlfriend, and said he had not received an answer to his prayers as to whether he should serve a mission.
In the same spirit as Alma, and with tears in his eyes, this father asked if we would pray for Sione to receive an answer from the Lord.
Like everyone, I continued to pray, and to fast for this young man.
I awoke early one Saturday morning and lay pondering when I had a most amazing and humbling experience. A vision of Sione came to my mind. I was instructed to visit with him the next day, after my daily duties were completed. The vision unfolded and I was given specific questions to ask Sione. And I heard what his answers would be, and how I was to respond to him. The message was clear and specific.
That evening, I opened my fast and prayed everything in the vision would remain clear so I could complete the assignment I had been given.
I attended a ward conference the following day, conducted some interviews then headed to my car. As I drove from the chapel, the Spirit reminded me of my assignment. In a strange but spiritual way, I saw again the vision I had received the day before.
Arriving at the family’s home, I knocked on the door and was told their dad was overseas, but that Mum was home. When Mum came to the door, I asked if I could meet with her and Sione. He was busy cooking dinner. Mum invited me in and the three of us sat in the lounge and talked.
I asked Sione to offer a prayer and immediately the vision unfolded as clearly as it had the previous day.
I asked Sione what he thought about serving a mission? Word for word, he answered as I saw in the vision. He explained he wasn’t sure if he should serve a mission; that he had pondered and prayed but didn’t think he’d received an answer. I enquired if he had a patriarchal blessing. He said, “yes”. I asked, “What does your patriarchal blessing say?” He replied, “I will serve a mission”.
Exactly as I had been instructed, I inquired, “How does the Lord answer prayers?” Sione struggled, but then shared his thoughts. Strengthened by the Spirit and in an emotional and humble attitude, I said, “I have been instructed by the Lord, Jesus Christ, through revelation, to come and visit with you today. I testify to you that prayers are answered by feelings, impressions, reading the scriptures and many other ways. Today I am here on behalf of the Saviour, Jesus Christ, in answer to your prayer and to remove all confusion and doubt. Sione, the Saviour invites you to serve a mission. He has a work for you to do and it is a work that only Elder Hala can do as there is someone special waiting for you to invite into the waters of baptism”. This is where the vision ended.
I asked how he felt. He bowed his head and cried, “My prayer has been answered and I want to serve a mission”.
Brother Hala will soon complete his medical and dental checks then submit his mission application. Modern miracles really do happen when we put our trust in the Lord Jesus Christ.

by Carl G. Bechtold
For a while, Scout Troop 258 from Cody, Wyoming, had a seven-foot Eagle Scout. And he didn’t even play basketball! He was, in fact, a bronze statue.
Sculptor Peter Fillerup, who is an assistant Scoutmaster for the troop, was commissioned by the Boy Scouts of America to make a statue for the Philmont (New Mexico) High Adventure Camp. He naturally went to the Scouts in his troop to find models to pose for the statue.
The Scouts also benefited from the occasion by earning their sculpting merit badges, which required them to make clay sculptures of their own.
Kevin Card, 13, served as the main model for the statue, and Shawn Dansie, 14, accompanied Brother Fillerup to the foundry in Lehi, Utah, to see the statue cast.
On June 28, the statue was delivered. So much for the idea of running away with the stake basketball championship with their own seven footer.

I was born the youngest of six children in a small town called Bindura, Zimbabwe, Africa. My parents divorced a few years after my birth, and my good, loving mother had to raise us—four girls and two boys—by herself.
Life was tough for us. I had to walk four or five kilometers (3 miles) to school, and I would go without shoes or anything to eat. Each year I could never complete the term because we could not pay the school fees. There was no place in the world to get money to pay the fees on time. Whenever we did get money, I tried to trace how we got it, but it was untraceable. It’s miraculous to consider how well we were raised. It’s all because of the love and will of our Father in Heaven.

I love sports!
At my high school, I play soccer, volleyball, tennis, rugby, hockey, and handball. And I swim. I also go everywhere on my bicycle.
To keep up, I have to take care of my body. I get up at 6:30 a.m. and go to bed at 10:00 p.m. To keep my body healthy, especially as an athlete, I need 8 to 10 hours of sleep.
The gospel helps me stay healthy too. The Word of Wisdom warns us against smoking and drinking things like alcohol and coffee. Besides protecting our bodies from harm, the Word of Wisdom is like a contract with the Lord that helps us return to Him.
I’m one of the biggest boys in my grade, so everyone always asks me for advice. I try to show others what to do by being a good example. My friends don’t smoke, but some of them drink. I tell them I don’t drink when they invite me to join them, but we still remain friends.
The gospel doesn’t just bless me, it also blesses my family. My brother and sister watch and copy everything I do, so I try to be the best example I can be.
Juan Cruz G., 14, Córdoba, Argentina

Cannon stared glumly out his bedroom window.
Rain! He could hardly believe it. Today was Saturday, the day his baseball team, the Angels, was supposed to compete in the final championship game. They had worked very hard to qualify for the championship. In addition to practicing with his team, Cannon had practiced pitching with his dad for an hour each evening after school and for two hours on Saturday. He had pitched several no-hit innings this season, becoming the team’s star pitcher.
Cannon looked at his shelf. Every player in the league received a small silver trophy at the end of the season for being part of a team, and three already lined his shelf. “I should be placing my new gold championship trophy on that shelf today,” Cannon thought, frowning.
He was disappointed that the game he had been looking forward to all season had to be put off, but it got worse. Cannon’s coach had called and said that the final game was rescheduled for the following Sunday.
“I’m sorry, Coach,” Cannon said in almost a whisper. “I can’t play in a game on Sunday.”
“You have to,” his coach replied. “Sunday is the only day we could get the field and the umpires. I’m sure you can get out of whatever you have scheduled next Sunday. You have eight days! Besides,” he continued, “you have worked so hard for that gold trophy, and you deserve it. You are our best pitcher, and if we want a shot at beating the Astros we need you on the mound. Your teammates have also worked hard to get to this point. I know you won’t want to let them down.”
“I am sorry, Coach,” Cannon repeated. “Sunday is a special day to me. I don’t play baseball on Sundays.”
“I know you’re a Mormon and that you don’t usually play on Sundays,” the coach said, “but a championship isn’t just any game. Tony goes to your church too. His family has made an exception for him to play. I’m sure that if you talk it over with your parents, they’ll understand how hard you have worked this season and how much our team needs you.”
The conversation played over and over in Cannon’s mind. Why did it have to rain today of all days? It was so unfair!
Cannon heard a light tap on his door, and Dad and Mom came in. “We are so proud of you for remembering the importance of the Sabbath,” Dad said, patting Cannon’s arm. “Your coach just called me. He explained that your game is set for Sunday, and that you told him you would not be playing in it. He also told me that Tony will play. This is a very hard situation, isn’t it?”
Tears filled Cannon’s eyes, but he tried to hold them in.
“We know how hard you have practiced this season,” Mom added. “Your coach may be right when he says your team won’t win this game without you. Do you want to pray about whether you should play on Sunday just this once?”
“I don’t need to pray about this, Mom,” Cannon said. “I already know that Heavenly Father wants me to keep the Sabbath day holy.”
Mom and Dad gave Cannon a hug, but he didn’t feel much better.
The week leading to the final game passed very slowly. Cannon’s teammates, including Tony, tried to convince him to change his mind. They didn’t seem to understand that winning the championship was something he wanted as much as they did. He could only hope that his team would win without him.
On Sunday when Cannon got home from church, there was a message on the answering machine from his coach. The Angels had lost the game by four runs. There would be no gold trophies for their team. “If Tony hadn’t been here,” his coach said, “we would have lost by at least six runs. I guess it comes down to who is willing to make a commitment and who isn’t.”
Cannon thought about his coach’s message. The coach was right—winning did come down to who was willing to make a commitment. For the first time in days, Cannon felt happy.
He smiled as words from his favorite Primary song came to his mind: “I’ll stand for truth. I’ll stand for right. The Lord can depend on me.”* As much as Cannon would have liked adding a gold trophy to his shelf, he knew he had won something much more important. He had made a commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy, and he had stayed true to that commitment.

When I was a young man, I had decided not to go on a mission. After a year in college and a year in the army, I had a good job at a local hospital as an X-ray technician. Life seemed to be going well, and a mission didn’t seem necessary.
One day, Dr. James Pingree, a surgeon at the hospital, invited me to lunch. In the course of our conversation, he discovered that I was not planning on serving a mission, and he asked why. I told him I was a little older and it was probably too late. He told me that wasn’t a very good reason, saying that he had gone on his mission after he had finished medical school. Then he bore testimony of the importance of his mission.
His testimony had a significant impact on me. It caused me to pray as I’d never prayed before—with real intent. I could think of a lot of reasons not to go on a mission: I was shy. I had a job I liked. I had a scholarship possibility that wouldn’t be available after a mission. Most important, I had a girlfriend who waited for me while I was in the army, and I knew she wouldn’t wait another two years! I prayed to get confirmation that my reasons were valid and that I was right.
To my frustration, I couldn’t get the easy yes-or-no answer I was hoping for. Then the thought came to me: “What does the Lord want you to do?” I had to acknowledge that He wanted me to serve a mission, and this became a decisive moment in my life. Was I going to do what I wanted to do, or was I going to do the will of the Lord? That is a question we would all do well to ask ourselves often.
Gratefully, I chose to serve a mission and was assigned to labor in the Mexico North Mission.

I also remember a joint effort of my family with another friendly family. We provided care, comfort and food, for a relatively long period, to a single brother who had no family, and of whom it was being said was afflicted with a contagious disease. We found reasons to render a service to him instead of finding excuses to not come close to him. This act of love and service changed the life of this faithful member of the Church who now has raised a family.

That desire to perform fit perfectly into gymnastics, another of Diane’s lifelong loves. It was tough to convince her parents that gymnastics was a good thing for her, and even then she had to do something more.
“Our family had seven kids and couldn’t afford to pay for Diane to have lessons. She went down to the gym herself and told the coach that she’d do anything for them. So after workouts she’d clean the gym—vacuuming mats, cleaning bathrooms, whatever, to pay for her lessons,” says Marie.
Diane’s love of the spotlight was quickly matched by her gymnastic ability, and the two made a championship combination. She started training when she was 14 1/2, a late start by competitive standards, but within a year she was competing against the best in the country. She was the Junior Olympic National Champion in high school, and in college she led the University of Utah’s women’s gymnastics team to their first national collegiate title.
After her eligibility for college competition was up, she decided to go on a national professional tour. It was a tour that involved Kurt Thomas and other well-known gymnasts, and Diane would get paid $5,000 just to go. She says she knew her gymnastics career was mostly over, but she just wanted to hold on to the thrill of the spotlight and the fun of the sport for as long as she could.
During training for the tour Diane was practicing a vault she’d done thousands of times. She ran toward the vault just like she had done every other time. She jumped on the springboard like all the other times and flew into the air—just like all the other times. This time was different though. This time she rotated just a little too much. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost half a year and in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.
That was on December 15, 1981. Diane spent that Christmas and the next five months in the hospital, trying to comprehend a life without gymnastics. After so many years of loving the sport, it was difficult for Diane to adjust.
“I hated being in the hospital, and I felt like I was in prison,” says Diane. For one month of the five she was in the hospital, she was in traction and couldn’t move at all except when the nurses came in and turned her a few inches every two hours. Diane had no idea she’d be in the hospital for so long. “In fact, when I was first injured I thought for sure that in a month I’d be back on the tour and back in shape. I thought, ‘If I have enough faith and believe in God and in myself, I’ll be okay.’ And I just knew it.”
Recovery wasn’t quite so easy though, and things seemed to get worse. “I was a horrible patient,” says Diane. “In the hospital I was really miserable because I was so stir-crazy. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.
“Near the end of my traction one day I was in the depths of despair. I just felt like I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Diane says. She asked for a blessing. She knew the power to heal her was present, “but I only wanted that to happen if it was Heavenly Father’s will. I had this blessing and I felt the greatest sense of peace. It was like I knew that no matter what happened it would be okay. If I didn’t walk away from the hospital there would be a reason for it. I knew that I had always tried my best to live the gospel and do what I was supposed to do, so if anybody was worthy to have that blessing, I was. But from that point on I was a different person. I was totally comforted.”
Ironically, one of the biggest aids to her recovery was gymnastics. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten up again if I hadn’t had that training in gymnastics,” she says. “I had a lot of chronic injuries when I was a gymnast that I just had to deal with. It was always down, up, down, up in gymnastics and this was just one more down I had to get up from. Gymnastics to a big degree made me so I could be a champion again.”
Being a champion is what Diane is all about. Marie says, “Her attitude’s always been, ‘If you want it, go for it.’ She decided when she was young that she would never give up.” And since Diane wanted to teach before her accident, she couldn’t just give that up, no matter what the odds.
Diane made the decision to return to school to finish her degree on the day she finally realized she would never walk again. She was lying on her bed amid scrapbooks filled with souvenirs and photos of her performances. Tears dripped down her face and splashed on the scrapbook pages. “I just realized right then that things weren’t going to get any better. As I lay there crying I thought, ‘I can either give up or get on with my life’ and that’s when I decided to go back to school and get my degree.”
Now she teaches a class full of third graders who are just the right height to look her in the eye. “The kids will do anything for her,” says Marie. “They just love her.”
Her students aren’t her only fans. Diane also gives fireside talks to teenagers who listen, captivated, as she tells her story. And her message is one of hope and perseverance, without bitterness for what has happened.
Her personality hasn’t changed at all, although she doesn’t wear her hair in a ponytail anymore. Just listen to her speak and you’ll see the exuberant, happy girl who used to charm arenas full of people. Now her charm is just aimed at another audience. Her voice seems to smile at every person in the room and her ready laugh frequently interrupts her stories.
“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences kind of breaks the wheelchair barrier. The kids can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though I look a lot different than they do,” Diane says.
Her main message is one for potential champions: don’t give up, no matter what happens. “When I was a young gymnast I met a girl, an athlete named Nancy Thies. Nancy was a member of the U.S. Olympic team and one of the finest gymnasts in the country. I have never forgotten some very important things that Nancy taught me. I remember the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t be afraid to lose. She said, ‘If you fall down and you stay down, you’re a quitter and a loser and you will never win. But if you get back up and you try one more time, it will be your turn to be the champion, so just don’t give up.’” Diane says she made a promise to herself that she would remember that advice and never give up, no matter how many times she fell.
Once she faced the hardest fall of her life, not giving up was difficult, especially because of her wheelchair. The whole time she was in gymnastics, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars or just doing handstands for fun, she was only afraid of being blind or paralyzed. “I was so paranoid of wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. In stores, if somebody in a wheelchair was down an aisle, I’d never go down that aisle, no way. I was paranoid that I’d end up in one if I got too close. It was almost like having thought about it so much kind of prepared me,” she says.
It was probably Diane’s indomitable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that comes through in both her funny stories and her powerfully quiet testimony about the importance of an eternal perspective and God’s love for each of his children. It’s a spirit that Diane has always had. “I’ve never met anyone, except my father, who has a stronger testimony than she does,” says Marie. “There’s no doubt in her mind that what she’s doing is right and that the Church is true. She has always been a great example.”
The lights dim when she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the ham and gymnast, flashes on the screen in time to some upbeat music. When it’s over, young people swarm around her, enveloping her tiny frame and wheelchair with their excitement.
Diane says, “It makes me feel really good when people tell me they’re going to try harder after they’ve heard my talk. One girl came to me once and told me she’d heard me speak four different times. The first time, she decided not to commit suicide. The second time, she decided that she didn’t have to flunk out of school. The third time, she made a goal to make the honor roll, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.” Another champion in the making, thanks to Diane.
Diane just shrugs and laughs a little when someone tells her she’s wonderful. She even looks a little embarrassed, which is rare for this experienced performer. “People always think, ‘You’re so amazing, you’re so incredible,’ but I’m not. People will say, ‘If that happened to me I could never cope with it,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you cope or you die.’ You have to take whatever life gives you and deal with it, even if you might not want to. You know, if somebody dies in your family, you have to live with it. If you break your neck you have to live with it, but you just learn and that’s what’s so great about time and the healing process. You don’t have to be miraculous.”
You just have to be as willing as Diane was to get up again, so that someday it will be your turn to be the champion. For Diane, the victory is especially sweet, because she has won back what she thought she’d lost.
She is a champion again.

I was very grateful to see the photograph on the cover of the September 1998 issue. With the Liahona (Spanish) in my hand, I went to where my husband was and showed it to him. “What do you see?” I asked.
He looked at it and replied, “A dad fixing a sink.” “Look closer,” I said. And then he realized it was the home teachers making a visit and they had arrived at just the right moment to help a sister in need.
I wanted to let you know that this issue helped my husband a lot. He’s the elders quorum president in our ward. He took a sheet of paper and started writing down what he needed to do to set up new assignments for his home teaching companionships. I also saw him meet with his counselors to plan visits. But most important of all, he made time to fulfill his own calling as a home teacher.

I have been remarkably blessed by the moral influence of women, in particular my mother and my wife. Among other women that I look to in gratitude is Anna Daines. Anna and her husband, Henry, and their four children were among the pioneers of the Church in New Jersey, in the United States. Beginning in the 1930s, when Henry was a doctoral student at Rutgers University, he and Anna worked tirelessly with school and civic organizations in Metuchen, where they lived, to overcome deeply rooted prejudice against Mormons and to make the community a better place for all parents to raise their children.

Anna, for example, volunteered at the Metuchen YMCA and made herself indispensable. Within a year she was appointed president of the Mothers’ Auxiliary and then “was asked to run for one of the three women’s positions on the YMCA board of directors. She won without opposition, and so joined the very council that only a few years before had refused to let the Saints meet in their building!”

“When I was six years old, I had an experience that is very important to me. I’m afraid that I didn’t come out of it as a hero—exactly the opposite. Most of the time we’re not heroes. We are learning, progressing, correcting our mistakes. This incident really taught me about the consequences of dishonesty. In Germany at that time, if teachers wanted to send information to parents, they sent home a letter. Such a letter was always sent in a blue envelope, and so it was nicknamed the ‘blue letter.’ A blue letter always contained bad news! I must have done something wrong at school, because I got a blue letter. I put it in my school bag, and when I got home, my mother asked, ‘What’s wrong with you?’

“I lied. ‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.’

“She said, ‘Well, I see by the tip of your nose that something’s wrong.’

“That made me angry and very defensive, so after lunch I went into the living room and opened up my school bag and put everything on the desk. I must have been careless, because the blue letter fell out. My mother immediately saw it and asked, ‘What’s that?’ I tried to grab the envelope and hide it, but Mother had already picked it up and was opening it.

“I will never forget the feelings of pain that came over me while she was reading that letter. To make a mistake is one thing, but it isn’t a really serious mistake if you admit it, ask for forgiveness, and make a commitment not to do it again. But to try to hide a mistake, hoping that nobody will find out, that’s a serious mistake.

“And so the lie caused me much more sorrow than the original mistake. I can’t even remember what was in that blue letter, but I still recall, in vivid detail, the awfulness of lying to my mother.”

I was perplexed. Who was this active French family, and why was the mother crediting me with being involved in her conversion? They were not among the individuals or families I remembered teaching or seeing baptized in France. With dim hopes, I consulted the little diary in which I had written a few sentences at the end of each day. Among my entries during the summer of 1964, I finally found mention of the Desmurs.
“July 8. Made return visits and gave good first lesson to Mme. Desmurs in Grand Chene.
“July 9. Gave first four points to M. Desmurs—a challenging man.
That entry stirred my memory. I could remember no faces but vaguely remembered the house. My new companion did not speak any French, and it had been challenging to teach alone. I had covered only four out of twelve points of the lesson, and the husband had challenged every statement I made. I recalled walking home, trying to explain to a discouraged companion that not everyone who asks us back to teach them is ready to accept our message.
“July 21. Did six hours of tracting. Met with the Desmurs family. She is sweet and believing. He is very stubborn.
“July 26. Missionary program at American Branch. Visited inactive family … and the Desmurs.
“July 29. Second lesson with Desmurs. We’re ready to give up.”
Frequently missionaries meet a family where one member is receptive, yet the resistance of others is such that there is no choice but to move on to those who are ready to accept the baptism challenge. So it was with the Desmurs.

Arriving home after a hard day’s work, I discovered that my wife had gone to visit some of our children who lived in a city some seventy-five kilometers away; she left me a note saying she would be back later in the evening.
I prepared something to eat and was just sitting down when, through the window, I saw my home teachers, Sven Jensen and L. D. Meyers, coming to the door. I greeted them without any real enthusiasm, explaining that I was sitting down to eat. Could they come back in a few minutes? They cheerfully replied, “We tried to call for an appointment, George, but there was no answer. So we took a chance on finding you home. We’ll visit another family and then come back.”
Half an hour later, they returned. After a few pleasant words of greeting, Sven smiled, and said, “George, we would like to read through an article written by President Benson.” It sounded interesting, but I was tired and my interest quickly faded when he added: “We will go over each of his twelve points on how to overcome depression.” (See “Do Not Despair,” Tambuli, March 1987.) I realized I was going to be there for quite a while.
“Number one,” Sven said, then he paused and looked up from the text into my eyes. At that instant we exchanged a wonderful, yet silent, communication. I thought of the many times I had met this faithful man at church. Sven would look for me, shake my hand, and say, “George, do you still know the gospel’s true?” Knowing the question was coming, I’d stand as straight and tall as I could and reply with all the dignity I could, “Yes, Sven, I know with all my heart that the gospel is true.”
He would smile as he seemed to look into my soul and say, “That’s good, George.”
As Sven began covering point number one in the article on how to overcome depression, he explained, “First, George, if you’re depressed you have to repent.”
Then he asked, “Why is it we have to repent?” I said, “Well, I remember the Book of Mormon says that ‘despair cometh because of iniquity.’” (Moro. 10:22.)
As Sven read each point in the article, he looked up from the magazine and right at me, saying, “This sounds just like you, George.” He continually made me feel good about myself with sincere compliments. As he got to point ten, I found myself no longer wanting him to finish. There was a comforting spirit in the room.
After Sven made the twelfth point, he closed the magazine and smiled at me. “What do you think of that, George?” I could scarcely speak. What I thought—what it seemed like—was that President Ezra Taft Benson had just come to my home and visited me. But because he couldn’t come himself, he had sent a special messenger to represent him. I knew I had heard the words of the prophet spoken by the mouth of my home teacher, and I knew the message had touched my heart.
Later, as we walked toward the front door, Sven sensed that something had happened during the visit, and his eyes were moist as we shook hands. Then my home teachers were gone, but their message was still with me. I had been a little depressed when they came, but not now. Now I had been spiritually refreshed and was ready to return to my duty.
Later that night, I decided there was a thirteenth way to overcome depression—and that way was to have home teachers come to love, teach, and bless you.

Yu stepped out of cram school onto the busy sidewalk. His head was full of math facts from his after-school class. People hurried by with umbrellas. Fat raindrops were falling fast, and the street was soaked.

Yu’s friend, Lin, stepped out beside him. “You should call your dad to pick you up,” Lin said. “Mr. Zhang says it’s flooding in some parts of the city.”

“I can get home on my own.”

“But look at all the water!” Lin said, pointing to the water flowing swiftly in the gutter.

For a moment, Yu had a funny feeling. Was Lin right? Maybe he should call Dad to drive him home before the streets flooded. But he and Dad had an argument last night, and Yu was still angry. He didn’t want to ask Dad for help.

Yu unchained his bike and said goodbye to Lin. If I pedal hard, he thought, I can make it home before the streets flood.

He pedaled hard, but soon his hands were cold, his clothes were soaked, and he was exhausted. Once again, the thought came to call Dad. Was the feeling from the Holy Ghost? The missionaries who baptized him had said that the Holy Ghost could be his guide. Yu glanced at the sky. It was so grey that he couldn’t see the tops of the buildings. But he was still mad at Dad.

Yu ignored the feeling and kept pedaling. The water got so high that shop owners closed their stores. People moved belongings to higher floors. Yu saw a mother push her two children through the flood in a little plastic boat.

With the water now past his ankles, Yu could no longer pedal his bike. He got off and pushed. It was probably too late to call Dad now, and the rain was still coming down. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed above him. Yu felt afraid. And he was so tired! He looked ahead. Home was still far away. He shouldn’t have ignored the Holy Ghost just because of a silly argument.

Yu stopped to say a short prayer. He couldn’t hear his voice above the rain and thunder, but he knew that Heavenly Father could hear him.

“Heavenly Father,” Yu prayed. “Please help me get home safely.” When he finished, he felt enough strength to keep going.

At last, Yu could see his house on the hill. Cold, tired, and somehow missing a shoe, Yu trudged up the hill. He saw Dad waiting for him outside. Dad rushed down the hill to meet him, splashing water as he ran.

When Dad reached him, he put his arms around Yu. “I was so worried!” Dad said. “You should have called me!”

“I thought we were mad at each other,” Yu said.

“I am never too mad to help you,” Dad said. Then he took Yu’s bike and pushed it the rest of the way up the hill.

Even with thunder echoing between the tall buildings and heavy rain pelting down, a warm feeling filled Yu’s heart. He felt peace and safety as he followed Dad home.

I wish I could go back to my youth and there have another chance to reach out to those who, at the time, didn’t attract my compassionate attention. We are so vulnerable in our youth. We want to feel included, to have the feeling we matter to others. For example, in 1979 we held in St. George, Utah, our 20-year class reunion for Dixie High School. An effort was made to find current addresses and get everyone to the reunion. In the midst of all that fun, I remember the terribly painful letter written by one very bright—but in her childhood, somewhat overweight and less than popular—young woman, who wrote: “Congratulations to all of us for having survived long enough to have a 20-year class reunion. I hope everyone has a wonderful time. But don’t reserve a place for me. I have, in fact, spent most of those 20 years trying to forget the painful moments of our school days together. Now that I am nearly over those feelings of loneliness and shattered self-esteem, I cannot bring myself to see all of the class and run the risk of remembering all of that again. Have a good time and forgive me. It is my problem not yours. Maybe I can come at the 30-year mark.”

But she was terribly wrong about one thing—it was our problem, and we knew it. I have wept for her and other friends like her in our youth. We simply were not the Savior’s agents or disciples that he intended a group of young people to be. I cannot help but wonder what I might have done to watch out a little more for the ones not included, to make sure the gesture of a friendly word or a listening ear or a little casual talk and shared time might have reached far enough to include those hanging on the outer edge of the social circle, and in some cases barely hanging on at all.

Just a few days before the first conference session, a group of more than fifty people arrived at the Tahiti Papeete Mission office. Mission president Raymond Baudin was acquainted with the Saints from the various island groups of French Polynesia, but he did not know any of these people. He assumed that they were a group of nonmembers interested in attending the conference.
But they introduced themselves as Latter-day Saints from the little island of Taenga, located in the Tuamotu Archipelago. The mission president couldn’t believe it! Church leaders in Papeete had not thought that there were any Church members on Taenga. The people explained to President Baudin that nearly the entire population of Taenga was Latter-day Saint, and that every single Taengan had made the three-day voyage to Tahiti by schooner to see the prophet of the Lord!

I was privileged to have a small role in a marvelous example of this kind of love. When I was serving as President of the Pacific Islands Area, I received a call from President R. Wayne Shute. As a young man, he served a mission in Samoa. Later, he returned to Samoa as a mission president.8 When he telephoned me, he was the Apia Samoa Temple president. One of his young missionaries, when he was mission president, was Elder O. Vincent Haleck, who is now the Area President in the Pacific. President Shute had great love and respect for Vince and the entire Haleck family. Most of the family were members of the Church, but Vince’s father, Otto Haleck, the patriarch of the family (of German and Samoan descent), was not a member. President Shute knew I was attending a stake conference and other meetings in American Samoa, and he asked me if I would consider staying in Otto Haleck’s residence with the view of sharing the gospel with him.
My wife, Mary, and I stayed with Otto and his wife, Dorothy, in their beautiful home. At breakfast I shared a gospel message and invited Otto to meet with the missionaries. He was kind, but firm, in refusing my invitation. He said he was pleased that many members of his family were Latter-day Saints. But he forcefully indicated that some of his Samoan mother’s ancestors had been early Christian ministers in Samoa, and he felt a great allegiance to their traditional Christian faith.9 Nevertheless, we left as good friends.
Later, when President Gordon B. Hinckley was preparing to dedicate the Suva Fiji Temple, he had his personal secretary, Brother Don H. Staheli,10 call me in New Zealand to make arrangements. President Hinckley wanted to fly from Fiji to American Samoa to meet the Saints. A certain hotel used in a previous visit was suggested. I asked if I could make different arrangements. Brother Staheli said, “You are the Area President; that would be fine.”
I immediately called President Shute and told him that perhaps we had a second chance at spiritually blessing our friend Otto Haleck. This time the missionary would be President Gordon B. Hinckley. I asked if he thought it would be appropriate for the Halecks to host all of us in President Hinckley’s travel group.11 President and Sister Hinckley, their daughter Jane, and Elder and Sister Jeffrey R. Holland were also part of the travel group. President Shute, working with the family, made all the arrangements.12
When we arrived from Fiji after the temple dedication, we were warmly greeted.13 We spoke that evening to thousands of Samoan members and then proceeded to the Haleck family compound. When we gathered for breakfast the next morning, President Hinckley and Otto Haleck had already become good friends. It was interesting to me that they were having much the same conversation I had had with Otto more than a year earlier. When Otto expressed his admiration for our Church but reaffirmed his commitment to his existing church, President Hinckley put his hand on Otto’s shoulder and said, “Otto, that’s not good enough; you ought to be a member of the Church. This is the Lord’s Church.” You figuratively could see the resistive armor fall away from Otto with an openness to what President Hinckley said.
This was the beginning of additional missionary teaching and a spiritual humility that allowed Otto Haleck to be baptized and confirmed a little over a year later. One year after that, the Haleck family was sealed as an eternal family in the temple.14
What touched my heart throughout this incredible experience was the overwhelming ministering love exhibited by President Wayne Shute for his former missionary, Elder Vince Haleck, and his desire to see the entire Haleck family united as an eternal family.15

Allow me to illustrate this: Patricia, my beloved wife, loves to drink coconut water and then to eat the coconut. During our first visit to Puebla, Mexico, we went to a place where we bought a coconut. After drinking the water, my wife asked them to cut the coconut and bring her the flesh to eat. When it came, it was reddish. They had sprinkled it with chili! Sweet coconut with chili! That seemed so strange to us. But later we learned that the strange ones were my wife and I, who did not eat coconut with chili. In Mexico, however, it is not rare; it is very normal.
Now it is not odd for either my wife, Patricia, or for me to eat coconut with chili and avocado with sugar—in fact, we like it. However, exaltation is something much more transcendent than a sense of taste; it is a topic related to eternity.

After his mission, Ezra Taft returned to Whitney, purchased a farm with his brother Orval, and served on the Franklin Stake MIA board. By the time Flora returned from her mission to Hawaii, Ezra Taft had graduated from Brigham Young University and had received a scholarship to study agriculture at Iowa State College. On 10 September 1926, Flora Amussen and Ezra Taft Benson were married in the Salt Lake Temple and set off for Ames, Iowa, in a used Model-T pickup truck. There they lived on a meager income, enhancing their meals with vegetables gleaned from the college experimental garden.
Ezra Taft returned to Whitney with a master’s degree and an eagerness to help other farmers improve their crops. He was so helpful, in fact, that his neighbors drafted him as county agricultural extension agent.