Gospel Story Finder

A few weeks ago I was called to the County Hospital in Salt Lake City by a mother. I didn’t know her. She said her boy was dying from polio and asked if I would come down and give that boy a blessing. So I picked up a young bishop whom I generally take with me, for I think his faith is greater than mine, and I always like him along. We went down there and here was this young lad in an iron lung, unconscious, his face rather a blackish color, with a tube in his throat, and they said he had one lower down in his abdomen. He had been flown in from an outlying community. The mother said to me, “This is an unusual boy, not because he’s my child, but he is an unusual boy.” I think he was eight or nine years of age.
After they put the usual coverings on us we went in and we blessed that boy. It was one of those occasions when I knew as I laid my hands upon that lad that he was an unusual boy, and that he had faith. Having faith in his faith, I blessed him to get well and promised him he would. I never heard anymore about him until last Saturday. I was on my way to Murray to conference. I dropped in at the County Hospital, and I asked if I might see the lad. The nurse said, “Certainly. Walk right down the hall.”
As I walked down the hall, out came the boy running to meet me. He ran up and asked, “Are you Brother Cowley?” And I said, “Yes.” He said, “I want to thank you for that prayer.” He added, “I was unconscious then, wasn’t I?” I replied, “You certainly were.” He said, “That’s the reason I don’t recognize you.” Then he asked, “Come on in my room; I want to talk to you.” He was an unusual boy.
Well, we went in the room. He still had a tube in his throat. I said, “How long are you going to have that tube there?” He said, “Oh, two weeks. Two more weeks and then I’m all well. How about another blessing?” So I said, “Certainly.” I blessed him again, and then I was in a hurry. I wanted to get out to my conference. But he stopped me and asked, “Hey, how about my partner in the next bed?” There was a young fellow about sixteen or seventeen. I said, “What do you mean?” He said, “Don’t go out without blessing him. He’s my partner.” I said, “Sure.” Then I asked the boy, “Would you like a blessing?” He said, “Yes, sir. I’m a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood in my ward.” I blessed him, and then my little friend left and brought another fellow in. Here was another partner. And I blessed him.
Now, except ye believe as a child, you can’t receive these blessings. We have to have the faith of a child in order to believe in these things, especially when you reach college age and your minds are so full of skepticism and doubt. I guess there are some things that you should doubt, but you can become as little children in these things. Miracles are commonplace, brothers and sisters.

Roberto and Giovanna Marino
Giovanna Marino struggled with some of the things the missionaries taught; could there be men so good in our times, she wondered, as to be true prophets? But she liked the spirit the missionaries brought to her home. And for her, the first time she read the Book of Mormon, enlightenment came almost as healing had come to the blinded Paul, who taught in her part of Italy nearly two thousand years ago; it was as though scales fell from her spiritual eyes, she recalls.
Her husband, Roberto, accepted everything the missionaries taught; the doctrine of eternal marriage seemed especially important to him. Prayer helped him overcome his difficult smoking and coffee consumption habits, and the Marinos were baptized in January of 1975.
It was a year later, as they prepared to go the Swiss Temple, that Sister Marino remembered the prayer she had offered not long before they met the missionaries. She had prayed specifically to know who God was, why Jesus Christ was his son, why Jesus had to die, and why we exist. And she gave thanks for the direct answer to that prayer.
The Marinos live in Siracusa, Sicily. He is currently a counselor to the president of the Italy Catania Mission, and she handles Church public communications efforts in Italy.

I’m going to ask you to participate in a brief experiment. Start by standing in front of a mirror and reciting out loud to yourself the 13th article of faith\. You may remember it as the longest and last article you memorized as you were preparing to advance from Primary.
Analyze your feelings and mannerisms as you voice the words “We believe in being honest, true, chaste”; “we hope all things”; “we seek after these things”; etc.
Do you feel a little removed or distant from the expression of belief being made? Do the words seem to apply more to we than to me? Do they possibly convey a group but not a strong individual sense of conviction?
Now repeat article 13 again. But this time, personalize it by substituting and emphasizing the pronoun I wherever the pronoun we appears. Say the words slowly and thoughtfully: “I believe in being honest, true, chaste”; “I follow the admonition of Paul”; “I have endured many things”; etc. Do you detect a difference? Does it feel more like a part of you, something you truly accept and are personally committed to?
There is a critical difference between living our lives by rules and standards that seem imposed on us and living by standards that we regard as our own. Adopting as our own the standards of conduct God’s prophets have established is an important part of growing up and becoming converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. For most young people it involves a gradual process of spiritual maturing during which the gospel standards become something we are, not just something we believe or do.
This important transition begins when we decide to make the gospel of Jesus Christ—God’s plan for our lives—our own personal plan for life. If we seek to obey the standards, requirements, and commandments which are included in God’s plan, we will come to know they are true (see John 7:16–17). If we then do our best to make right choices and to repent of mistakes and sins, we eventually experience what the scriptures refer to as a “mighty change” in our hearts (see Alma 5:14–26). At this point, standards are no longer a source of irritation or even something we reluctantly tolerate. Instead, they become our friends, and we appreciate and embrace them. In a sense they are us!
When we reach this milestone in our spiritual progression, some wonderful blessings and consequences will follow. Most importantly, we will experience the joy and peace of conscience that come as a result of worthiness. The earliest memory I have of the relationship between keeping God’s standards and experiencing happiness is associated with my own baptism. I recall the anticipation I felt as I awaited my eighth birthday and how sincerely I tried to exercise faith in Christ and repent of any wrongdoing. When the memorable day came, the ordinances themselves were most impressive. I vividly remember the warm water enveloping me and the equally warm spiritual feeling I later had as I was confirmed and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. The joyous feeling of being clean and close to God meant so much to me that I vowed I would never sin again. Unfortunately, my youthful good intentions failed a few days later when I responded in frustration to my older brother’s teasing by uttering what my parents had warned me was a “naughty” word. Much to my dismay, my ever-vigilant mother overheard me and came dashing out of the house with fire in her eyes! She marched me down a path to our dairy barn where my father kept a basin of water and a bar of soap. Pushing my head toward the basin, she began vigorously scrubbing my mouth out with soap, all the while impressing upon me her desire that I “never use such words again!”
Although it has been more than 50 years since that humiliating moment, I still remember perfectly the deep sadness I felt because I had offended my brother, my mother, and, most serious of all, my Heavenly Father. I learned then a lesson that the First Presidency has taught and which has been reconfirmed many times in my life: We cannot do wrong and feel right (see For the Strength of Youth, 4).
Through the years, I have also come to understand that the joy I experienced at the time of my baptism, and many times since, depends upon loving relationships with God, family, and others. God provides standards to protect those relationships from the damage that naturally accompanies sin. For example, sexual activity outside of marriage is enticing to some because it seems to offer closeness and belonging as well as pleasure. However, in reality it damages our relationship with God, brings pain to family and other loved ones, and cheats those who take part in it.
Another desirable consequence of accepting the gospel plan and its standards as our own is that we become more concerned about where we are going, or with the upward direction of our lives, than about how far we can go in pressing against and testing the outer limits of God’s laws. Young people who are becoming truly converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ are not interested in distinguishing the severity of their sins by using terms like heavy or light, petty or grand. Instead, they know by the Spirit that “the Lord cannot look upon sin with the least degree of allowance” (Alma 45:16), and they strive to avoid sin in all its forms. The idea of deliberately sinning now with the intent of repenting later is quickly rejected by them as being offensive to their Heavenly Father and contrary to His plan for happiness.
As our commitment to the gospel and its standards deepens, our understanding of God’s purposes is enlarged and our feelings about temptation and sin change. In our early years, some temptations may actually appear enticing, and we may struggle with exercising our agency in right ways. Indeed, we may make some mistakes. Thankfully, the gospel provides a way for us to repent and obtain forgiveness. As we progress in choosing and doing the right, we will eventually join King Benjamin’s people in having “no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually” (Mosiah 5:2). Through obedience, growth even beyond this desirable state is possible—to that condition attained by the Saints in Alma’s day who became so devoted to God and His ways that they “could not look upon sin save it were with abhorrence” (Alma 13:12). What a wonderful result of obeying divine standards!
Another wonderful benefit of living according to standards we have internalized is that we gradually eliminate hypocrisy from our thinking and our behavior. The English word hypocrisy comes from a Greek word which means playing a part upon a stage. Until standards become part of our basic character, we sometimes play the role of a religious person without really being one. As we search for our true identity, we may behave like chameleons, frequently changing colors to blend with our surroundings. We act one way at school, another at church.
To most people, however, nothing is more appealing than someone who is “genuine” or “real,” and no one is more genuine or real than a young Latter-day Saint whose behavior consistently matches his or her standards. I know many young Latter-day Saints who live with this high degree of personal integrity. I have met them all over the world, and regardless of language or skin color or dress, they are similar in many ways. They are at peace with God and themselves. They are quietly confident and generally content with their natural abilities and endowments, even though they may not be among the smartest or the most attractive or athletic. They have close and satisfying relationships with God, family, and a variety of friends. Peer pressure really isn’t a factor in their choices between right or wrong. By making God’s standards their own, they have already decided how they will respond when temptation beckons. They also realize that in doing right they are not alone but are part of an ever-growing number of young Latter-day Saints the world over who love God and uphold His standards.
When we feel the closeness to God that comes with keeping His standards, we do not want to do anything to offend Him. Joseph’s experience in resisting Potiphar’s wife is a powerful example of this truth. His moral courage came from his relationship with God, as illustrated by his words: “How then can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?” (Gen. 39:9).
When God feels as close and real to us as He did to Joseph, we will no longer view the gospel simply as a set of rules or standards to be obeyed. We will move to a higher plane and realize that our loyalty is really to a living, loving Father in Heaven who wants us to become like Him and to share eternally with our families in all He has. We must never forget that we are now becoming what we will one day be. His standards will help us become what He is. God bless us to succeed—on His terms!

I spoke earlier of the Kirtland period of Church history. The years of 1836 and 1837 were as difficult as that young Church had ever faced—financially, politically, and internally. In the midst of that stress, Joseph Smith had the remarkable prophetic prompting to send some of his ablest men (ultimately the entire Quorum of the Twelve Apostles) abroad on missions. It was a bold, inspired move, one that would in the end save the Church from the perils of the day, but in the near term it imposed great burdens on the Saints—painful for those who went away and perhaps even more painful for those who stayed at home.
I quote from Elder Robert B. Thompson:
“The day appointed for the departure of the Elders to England having arrived, I [stopped at] the house of Brother [Heber C.] Kimball to ascertain when he would start [on his journey], as I expected to accompany him two or three hundred miles, intending to spend my labors in Canada that season.
“The door being partly open, I entered and felt struck with the sight which presented itself to my view. I would have retired, thinking that I was intruding, but I felt riveted to the spot. The father was pouring out his soul to … [God, pleading] that He who ‘careth for sparrows, and feedeth the young ravens when they cry’ would supply the wants of his wife and little ones in his absence. He then, like the patriarchs, and by virtue of his office, laid his hands upon their heads individually, leaving a father’s blessing upon them, … commending them to the care and protection of God, while he should be engaged preaching the Gospel in a foreign land. While thus engaged [in giving those blessings] his voice was almost lost in the sobs of those around [him], who [were trying in their youthful way to be strong but having a very hard time doing so.] … He proceeded, but his heart was too much affected to do so regularly. … He was obliged to stop at intervals, while … big tears rolled down his cheeks, an index to the feelings which reigned in his bosom. My heart was not stout enough to refrain,” said Brother Thompson. “In spite of myself I wept, and mingled my tears with theirs. At the same time I felt thankful that I had the privilege of contemplating such a scene.”

Christmas in Paris was incredible, and it was even better because I was spending it as a missionary—a representative of the One whose birth we were celebrating. My companion and I prepared a special Christmas message, certain that people would throw open their doors and welcome us in to talk of Christ.
Imagine our disappointment when in reality very few doors opened. And of those few people who opened their doors, not one could spare a minute to hear our message, though a few offered us chocolates. One woman even shouted through her still-closed door: “Jesus Christ? He’s dead!”
Those words hurt. And I longed to bear testimony to her—or anyone who would listen—that He lives still and loves us all. But listeners were hard to find.
Apparently ours wasn’t the only companionship struggling to find opportunities to teach. Our zone leaders called one day with an interesting idea: since we couldn’t compete with the busyness of the season, we might as well join it. So two days before Christmas, about 20 missionaries gathered in downtown Paris to sing carols to the crowds bustling past.
We arranged ourselves on steps not far from one of the busiest metro hubs and shopping districts of the city, Châtelet-Les Halles. Once settled, we launched into song. I’m sure we startled a few people as we started out, but what we lacked in musical abilities we made up for in enthusiasm. Many people looked at us suspiciously, as if they were wondering what we were selling. But the longer we sang, the more the hurried shoppers seemed to accept and appreciate our presence.
I watched as people paused and listened to us, even if it was just for a moment. A few even tried to hand us money and seemed astounded when we shook our heads in refusal. It was fun to see their reactions, but still, I wanted more. I wanted to testify.
Then a woman stopped abruptly like she’d run into a wall. She just stood there listening to us. As her eyes met mine, I put all the testimony I could into the words we sang. It was like a lightbulb flashed behind her eyes—as if she suddenly remembered something she’d forgotten—and the stress of the day drained from her face.
When the song ended, I smiled at her and she smiled back. Then she turned and moved on, her pace slower and her shoulders relaxed. For her, at least, we’d made a difference.
That experience was one of few opportunities I had to testify of Christ that Christmas season. But I’d learned an important truth: a testimony can be borne in more than one way. A song and a smile can be enough to touch a heart.

The January night was cold and dark. Six-year-old Brigitte huddled next to her nine-year-old sister, Wanda, both of them trying to stay close to the wood-burning stove. Black paper covered the windows so that not even a bit of light would show through to show enemy planes where to bomb. Papa held out a paper, straining to read it by the light of one tiny candle.
“I am to report to Augsburg (Germany) for military training by February first,” he said. “I have been drafted.”
To be without Papa? It was unthinkable! Papa with his funny stories. Papa, who had always kept the family safe. Brigitte looked at the shadowy faces of Mama, Papa, and Wanda. They were sad faces, but without tears.
Papa’s voice was calm. “Over three-fourths of Nuremberg has already been bombed. We ourselves had to find a new home when a bomb tore the hole in our kitchen. Elizabeth, I think that after I am gone, you and the children should try to find a place to stay away from here. It will be safer in the country.”
Mama nodded her head. “My sister Margarete is already looking for a place for us.”
Shuddering, Brigitte remembered the bombs hitting the top floor of their apartment building before they could escape to the shelter. She remembered burning mattresses being flung out of windows. And she remembered being pulled along to the bunkers by her father’s strong hand as they ran through the street in terror, the upper part of it engulfed in flames. That time there had been no warning.
As though reading her mind, Papa said, “Gitte, remember the time Mama covered you with blankets in the shelter to try to block out the noise and screaming? You had been crying. I know that you were very much afraid. Then you heard one of our neighbors say, ‘I want to sit by Mrs. Baier—she has such strong faith, nothing ever happens to her.’ You pushed the blanket off and looked at Oma (Grandmother), who was sitting quietly. Do you remember what you did then?”
“Yes, Papa. I crawled into Oma’s lap, and I stopped crying.” Brigitte smiled. “I always want to be just like Oma.”
“We must all have faith like Oma,” Papa agreed. “Ever since I was baptized when I was fifteen years old, I have never doubted the truthfulness of the gospel. This war will be over soon, but I will never have peace in my heart until I can move us to America and we are sealed in the temple. I have to leave you for a little while now, but we will be together again, and then, somehow, we will get to America.”
Mama smiled. “Yes, George, I’m sure that your dream will come true when you come back to us. You could have gone there after your mission in 1931. I’m glad you stayed here to marry me, instead.”
Papa grinned back at her. “I thought we could go in 1936, after Wanda was born—we even gave her an American name—but by then the government wouldn’t let us out of the country.”
“You were the branch president, however—perhaps you were needed here for a while. I was really frightened, though, when the police came to our home to search for Church books.”
“I was, too, Elizabeth, but no harm came to us.” Papa looked at his two little girls. “I want to give you each a father’s blessing before I leave. And don’t ever doubt that Heavenly Father will take care of you. He won’t ever leave you.”
Brigitte felt comforted after she was given the blessing. Somehow it made her feel like Papa was always close by, even after he had to go away.
Aunt Margarete found a place for them to stay in the country with a kind farmer and his family. Brigitte started school in the nearby village. There was no word from Papa since he had written that he was being transferred. Every day Mama faithfully wrote to him.
“Mama! Mama!” Wanda cried one day as she hurried home. “The Americans have come. The war is over! Surely Papa will be home soon.”
Mama looked up from the stove where she was cooking potato pancakes, wiped her brow with her apron, and sighed. “I hope so, Wanda. I wish we would have some word of him.”
Although the long war was over and there were no more alarms, no more hurrying through the streets to get to the underground shelter when the bombs came, there was no word yet from Papa. Was he alive? Mama still wrote to him. But it had been two years. …
When she came home from the post office with a letter one day, Brigitte and Wanda both ran to her crying, “Is it from Papa?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Oma needs us to come back to Nuremberg. Opa (Grandfather) is very sick. She needs help taking care of him. We must leave right away.”
What about school? Brigitte wanted to ask. But she kept silent. Oma needed them. They walked over an hour, and then two American soldiers gave them a ride in a jeep to Nuremberg. All of the American soldiers treated the people with kindness.
“Oma, let me sweep this floor for you,” Brigitte said, hurrying to take the broom from her grandmother. Opa did not have much longer to live, and Oma looked worn out. Brigitte watched for every chance to help her.
Mama had been called to be Relief Society president. “I don’t know what we’d do without this help from the Saints in America,” she said, opening a big box of food to distribute to people in need.
Brigitte loved the powdered milk that came in some of the boxes. How she loved to put a bit of the white powder on the end of her spoon and lick it off. Mmmm!
Spring came. Opa died in March, and Mama, Wanda, and Brigitte planted a garden where he had always planted one. He had always been so proud of his garden. In the years before he got sick, he had risen at five o’clock each morning and hurried to it, a small part of a shared lot about a twenty minute walk from their apartment.
The garden wasn’t doing very well, though, and Mama was discouraged. “Throw these plants away, Brigitte. They’re so scraggly and the soil is very poor. I don’t think they’re worth bothering with.”
Brigitte looked at the plants with their drooping leaves. They looked dead already. She started to pull them up, then stopped. Opa always worked hard in his garden, she thought. I can’t give up on these plants. I know he wouldn’t. She carefully loosened the dirt around each one and gave them a drink of water. “Please help them to grow, Heavenly Father,” she prayed. Every day she came to the garden and watered it or pulled weeds or both.
One day after she had worked in the garden, she returned home to find her mother sitting and rocking back and forth with tears chasing each other down her cheeks, clutching a letter. “Papa’s alive! This letter is from him. He is a prisoner of war in France and has been clearing the forests there. He didn’t get any of my letters, so he wrote to our friend Peter Loscher in America to see if he could find out if we were all right. Peter sent him our address.” She started to read from Papa’s letter:
“I am so happy to finally know how to reach you and to find that you are safe and well. I am too. My biggest problem is lack of food. Sometimes I have been so hungry that I have had to eat insects. But my faith remains strong. Once when I was clearing a forest, I climbed to the top of a high mountain, where I was able to be alone for a few minutes. I asked the Lord for renewed strength to endure it here. I haven’t forgotten our dream—surely we will be together soon!”
(To be continued)

One day while I was reading Saints: The Story of the Church of Jesus Christ in the Latter Days, I came across a remarkable story about a woman of the early Restoration. Eunice Franklin seemed to have my same questions and worries.
Eunice was baptized in New York by a missionary named Elijah Able. She had been truly converted to the gospel at her baptism. But then, after Elijah left for Canada to preach, Eunice began to doubt the gospel and what she had once known to be true. She began to wonder if Joseph Smith really was a prophet and if the Book of Mormon was true scripture. She lost many nights of sleep, thinking she may have been deceived.
The Lord showed Eunice’s struggle to Elijah in a dream, and he immediately returned to New York. When he knocked on her door, Eunice was stunned—she had been planning on telling him she no longer believed when she saw him again. Instead, she let him in. When Elijah invited her to his sermon that evening, she hesitated and didn’t want to go. But she eventually gave in and went to listen to what he had to say.
At his sermon, Elijah quoted 1 Peter 4:12, which says to “think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you.” The fiery trial that had sought to destroy Eunice’s faith could not succeed—as Eunice heard Elijah speak, her doubts melted away. Saints tells it this way: “The certainty she had once felt flooded back.”3
Eunice’s experience struck me, and I’ve reflected on it again and again. Just like Eunice, I learned from Elijah’s simple and powerful words. We should “think it not strange” to have questions about our faith. It’s completely OK. While truth may have once seemed to pour down from heaven, there may be later moments where we feel a spiritual drought. We might wonder if we ever truly felt the rain. With no answers or confirmations yet given, we can continue to pray for the rain of revelation. We can seek a witness to know that what was true yesterday is still true today. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “If it was right when you prayed about it and trusted it and lived for it, it is right now. … Face your doubts. Master your fears.”4
By opening the door to her missionary friend again, even when she wondered why she should, Eunice reopened her heart. The Lord could again reach Eunice and help her feel a confirmation of all that she once knew. In a similar way, each of us can leave the door open to faith even when struggling with doubts. We can keep doing what’s right and seeking revelation—even when we’re unsure why exactly we’re doing it.
I know that as we keep our doors and hearts open to truth, God will help us feel what’s real and what’s not through the Holy Ghost. Our spiritual experiences will be undeniable in the moment. And every moment after that, when we feel doubts creeping back in, we can remind ourselves of how we felt. Just as it did for Eunice, our certainty about gospel truths can come flooding back.

Fielding Winward, a friend, age 78
“We had a hay farm up above the Bensons, and we’d go there to get a load of hay for our livestock every day, up past Bensons. The day after President Benson came home from his mission, my father and I got our team and sleigh to go up and get a load of hay. With snow on the ground and no shoes on the horses, we weren’t making any noise. The sleigh just slipped along so easily. When we got pretty close to Bensons, Father said, ‘Brother Benson just came home last night, and he’ll be tired this morning, so we won’t bother about calling on him now.’ And we’d just got past their lane when President Benson came out of the house just as fast as he could. He climbed up on our sleigh and was just so joyful and happy to see us. And we felt the same way about him. He shook hands with us and gave us a squeeze. We visited a minute, even though it was cold. He was such a joyful, pleasant-looking fellow that it made you feel good just to know him.”

It was almost pajama time when Mom poked her head into the living room. “Quick—get your coats on!” she said, smiling.
Alan and Terry looked at each other. “It’s dark out. Don’t we have to go to bed?”
“Bed? When the moon rises and the night calls? Don’t be silly!” Mom laughed as she bundled them into coats.
Keys jangled in their father’s hand as the family hurried outside. Their breath left hazy trails overhead as they ran to the car through the autumn night, frost tickling their noses. The moon was like a huge golden apple that followed the car as it wove down winding roads to the sleepy town below.
“Where are we going?” Terry asked.
Dad’s cheery whistle from the front seat and Mom’s chuckle was their answer.
They stopped at the town park, streaked by moonlight through half-bare trees. The breeze rustled branches, shifting the silver-edged shadows of ancient maples.
Dad and Mom leaped out of the car, giggling, and scurried among the trees.
The empty park beckoned to Alan and Terry. They stepped out, and the ground rustled with maple leaves—knee-high in places.
Where were their parents?
They heard footsteps; then a shower of leaves broke over both children—skittering down jackets and clinging to hair.
“Gotcha!”
A shout of laughter, and a sudden glimpse of Mom and Dad—running hand in hand. Ducking behind a maple tree.
“Follow me!” Alan cried, scooping up an armload of crisp ammunition. He chased the laughter, Terry at his heels, her arms filled with the fall harvest.
They split up and circled the tree.
“Hah!”
Leaves flew.
Flying footsteps crunched.
High laughter joined low, rising to be captured by half-gloved tree limbs. The night exploded as silver light caught reds, oranges, and yellows flung into the air. Shadows gathered and scattered everywhere. New leaves tacked to the ground to be tennis-shoe tromped, then hand-tossed.
Mom chased Alan chased Terry chased Dad chased Mom.
Caught in crisp clouds of captured leaves.
Then, at last, leaves no longer flew but were heaped high, reaching skyward. Mom, Dad, Alan, Terry fell and rolled into parent-pile, child-pile, family-pile.
Corn-flake crunch.
Crinkle.
Crackle.
Chuckle.
Rustle.
Rest.
The golden moon was sliced in half by a cloud.
Yawn.
The family wound their way to the car, still chirping their delight, and tumbled inside.
Crunch, rustle.
Captured leaf-bits complained from coat collars and pants pockets, from ponytails and tennis shoes.
The car grew quiet as it slithered up the hill through the cozy-darkening night.
Home.

Last summer I lay on a beautiful beach in Maui, Hawaii, listlessly making sand castles as I enjoyed the warm sun on my back. I scooped up a wet handful of sand and let it run through my fingers, piling higher and higher until it resembled a castle from a fairy tale. Every time I’d get it built up pretty high, a wave would come along and wash it away and I’d have to start all over again. I didn’t mind, though, because I really hadn’t put any effort into it, nor did I have any kind of goals in mind for its completion. I was just enjoying the feel of the sun and the water and the wet sand between my fingers.

Down the beach a little way, I saw a family with two small boys building a sand castle. They were really sincere and earnest in their endeavor. They had chosen a spot far enough away from the lapping waves to protect their project from destruction. That meant they had to make several trips back to the water with their buckets to get the wet sand and haul it to where they were working. The whole family worked on it. They scooped and hauled, patted and smoothed, planned and designed until they had constructed something they were all proud of. If a big wave had come up and washed it all away, they would have been very disappointed and unhappy. The thought occurred to me how very much those two sand castles were like our lives.

Don’t live your life absentmindedly. If you want to love a person, a family, a church, the Lord, or even your own life—invest in it. If you allow yourself to live only for the moment, seeking only the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the water, with no thought to the future or to your influence on others, the first wave that comes will wash you away and your eternal life will go with it. Your parents’ investment and the Lord’s investment in you will have been in vain. Now is the time to set your life’s goals. Now is the time to firmly set your standards and then hold to them throughout your life. Now is the time to begin investing in that big deal I told you about. Have you guessed what it is? Of course you have. It is nothing less than eternal life. None of us can make it all by ourselves, but if each one of us invests what we have—those gifts we’ve been given—and make them grow, we can pool our capital and, with the help of the Lord, we can each make it. It’s all up to you.

I’ll never forget the lesson I learned a few years ago. It was a lesson of how to show, not just teach, the gospel message. At the time, I was serving in the Sweden Stockholm Mission in a town not far from Stockholm.
One rainy day, while my companion and I were riding the bus home for lunch, we met a young lady who had been an exchange student in the United States. She told us that her name was Anna and that she was attending the university in town. We asked her about her beliefs and found that she was very active in another church. She said that she would never change but accepted our invitation to hear more about our beliefs.
During the weeks that followed, we taught her several discussions and had some wonderful spiritual experiences. She read from the Book of Mormon and prayed for answers to her questions. She felt that it was right, but because of her previous religious ties, she had a hard time accepting the challenge to be baptized.
That Thanksgiving we had planned a small “feast” for our investigators and some member friends. As the word spread, our small feast became a large gathering. Of course Anna was invited, along with others that my companion and I had grown very close to.
Before the blessing on the food, I took the time to explain the significance of Thanksgiving and why we celebrate it. I also explained to the guests just how much my companion and I loved and appreciated each one of them. I thanked them for the kindness they had always shown us.
The rest of the night went rather well. There were musical numbers by members and nonmembers alike and many other fun activities. I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, however. It had taken much more of our time than I had expected, and I wondered if the time could have been better spent.
Later that next week, I received a notice of transfer, but before I left, Anna wrote a short letter and gave it to me. I have translated a portion of that letter:
“I also want to thank you for letting me come to your Thanksgiving party. It was quite an experience for me in two ways—partly because I got to eat American food and partly because I got to see the warmth that exists between you and your friends. It will be of great importance for me in my decisions concerning your teachings.”

One day, Sister Escobar and Sister Flake followed a prompting of the Spirit and found themselves led to a pink house. José Luis, a blind man, answered the door and invited them into his home to share a scripture message. The sisters learned that his wife, Rosa, was not feeling well and was resting in another room.
When the missionaries taught José Luis about the Book of Mormon, Jesus Christ and His mission on the earth, he was eager to learn. He was so enthusiastic about what they taught that he asked for a copy of the Book of Mormon right away. He said he would have his sister read it to him or find a way to have a recorded version made.
The sisters told him when the church meeting was held on Sunday, and José was excited to come. He said he would be there the next Sunday and would bring his wife.
That Sunday, the missionaries were sitting in class when they felt impressed to leave the room. As they went out, they heard the shouts of José Luis and Rosa outside the building, struggling to find the church entrance. Rushing to help them, they realized that Rosa was also blind, and their hearts were touched by the couple’s vulnerability. It was obvious that the pair was relieved when Sister Escobar and Sister Flake found them. Everyone was grateful for the tender mercy that led the sisters to leave the class when they did. The ward members embraced José Luis and Rosa into their fold and were amazed that they would come on their own to church, despite their disabilities.
Visiting José Luis and Rosa at their home reveals another layer of their resilience. Despite their visual impairment, the couple manages daily tasks independently and even cooked a traditional Dominican meal for the missionaries. They were amazed to learn that Rosa’s illness makes it hard for her to stand for long periods of time, but she still manages to get things done.
As the sister missionaries continued to teach José Luis and Rosa, they saw the extraordinary ability of the couple to absorb and retain information. They understood everything and had it memorized after hearing it just once. They quickly grasped concepts such as the Restoration of the gospel and the Word of Wisdom. Their commitment was evident when the missionaries told them they would have to give up coffee as part of obedience to the Word of Wisdom, and they obeyed without hesitation.
The words of the Book of Mormon brought them obvious joy, and on June 28, 2023, José Luis and Rosa were invited to be baptized and enthusiastically accepted. They had received an answer to prayer that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true church of God on the earth and wanted to be part of it. José Luis and Rosa’s commitment and faith were unwavering, and their faith brought the Spirit to each meeting with the missionaries.
During the month before their baptism, the members came together to help the blind couple get to church every week. Their baptism on July 29, 2023, was attended by many members and acquaintances who showed their love on that special day. Encircled with this love, José Luis and Rosa expressed gratitude to a kind Heavenly Father for the opportunity to be spiritually born again. They were confirmed the next day in church and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. Now they never miss a Sunday meeting.
José Luis and Rosa are examples for everyone. The couple says if it weren’t for their loss of sight, they wouldn’t have learned as much. Their example of joy in adversity has helped other members to better understand what James meant when he said, “My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations [trials];
“Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.
“But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing” (James 1:2–4).
José Luis and Rosa’s faith to follow and make a covenant with God changed their lives. Now they are preparing to enter the temple. They share the gospel and their testimonies with those they meet.
Sister Escobar and Sister Flake say, “We are very grateful to our Heavenly Father for the opportunity to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with these wonderful people. This experience changed our lives. We better understand what Jesus Christ meant when He taught, ‘blessed are all the pure in heart, for they shall see God’” (3 Nephi 12:8).

The next few weeks were busy ones. School started again, and then my eighth birthday came along almost before I realized it. After my baptism and confirmation, a few things began to change. I started getting up a little earlier each morning to read the Book of Mormon before I headed off to school. That was tough because I hate getting up in the morning, but I was determined to make it all the way through that book.
I also started fasting each month on fast Sunday. There aren’t many things I like to do more than eat, so I slipped up sometimes, but even so, I started noticing a difference in how I felt about testimony meeting.
I began paying more attention to what each speaker was saying, and that made the meeting a lot more interesting. I found out that Sister Johnson had joined the Church when she was twenty-six years old. I thought she’d been a member all her life! And I loved it when old Brother Badger bore his testimony. He had exciting stories to tell about his life and about miracles he had witnessed.
I finished the Book of Mormon early the next summer. There were great stories and teachings in it, and I was happy that I’d reached my goal. But Moroni had written in the last chapter that if you read the Book of Mormon and want to know if it’s true, you should ponder it in your heart and pray to Heavenly Father about it. He promised that if you do that with faith in Jesus Christ and with a sincere heart, the Holy Ghost will help you know that it’s true. I decided to try it out for myself.
The rest of that week I prayed every morning and night. Sometimes I even said a quick prayer in my head when I was at school, but I never saw a vision or even heard a voice that told me the Book of Mormon was true. I felt like giving up, but I really wanted to know, so I just kept on praying.
The next fast Sunday, I fasted to know if the Book of Mormon was true. I spent a lot of time on my knees, and I reread some of my favorite parts. It was amazing how seldom I thought about food.
Testimony meeting was going along great that day. I was even happy for Molly Prentiss when she went up and bore her testimony. Then Brother Badger went to the front to speak. His quiet voice trembled as he spoke of his great love for the scriptures and how he knew of the truth of the gospel.
As he spoke, a strange feeling started in a little spot in my chest. It got warmer and bigger until my whole body was filled with glowing, tingly warmth. When he finished, that warmth seemed to pick me up and carry me right to the pulpit. The lump in my throat loosened into a few words that came right from my soul: “I know that the Book of Mormon is true. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

The scriptures are a ready source of family home evening lessons. When Sister Fortunata Mandalari of the Reggio Calabria Branch, Calabria Italy District, took a vacation to visit her daughter’s family, she turned to the scriptures for a family home evening lesson.
“I prepared a piece of paper for each of the seven family members,” she says, “and I wrote on it: ‘For the next family home evening, come prepared with your favorite scripture and a comment. You will have five minutes.’
“On Monday, when we sat down at the table, there was already a peaceful feeling. I knew everything was going to go well. Each family member spoke of a different scripture, and everyone had a chance to speak up and learn from one another. We were so happy with this format that we used it for the remainder of my vacation.
“After I returned home, my daughter told me that her family still enjoys this approach for family home evening. Everyone studies, speaks, and listens. There is no time for boredom.”

Two years later Joseph F. Smith and his widowed mother were to set off across the plains of America with many other Mormon pioneers, and there, during the time on the plains, he learned many lessons in faith from his mother. Two are briefly sketched:
The first involved the loss of their oxen while crossing the plains. President Smith has called this “one of the first practical and positive demonstrations of the efficacy of prayer I have ever witnessed.” The impression it made on his mind was to aid him all through his life.
Upon awakening one morning, the Smiths found their best team of oxen missing. Joseph F. and his uncle, Joseph Fielding, set out and searched an entire morning in vain. Filled with fatigue and discouragement, they returned to camp. There they found Mary Fielding Smith on her knees, pleading for God to help them in this search, since the loss of the oxen would mean further delay in reaching their destination.
Arising from prayer, this youthful pioneer mother told her brother and her son to have breakfast and she would bring back the livestock. She started toward the river, despite her brother’s trying to persuade her that further search was futile. Ignoring first her brother and then a herdsman from a Missouri wagon train who tried to tell her that he had seen the oxen headed in the opposite direction that morning. Mary Smith continued her walk to the river. Then, turning at the bank, she motioned her brother and son to join her. As they did, they found the oxen fastened to a clump of willows, hidden from sight. Someone had apparently left them there, planning to return after the pioneer group had moved on.

Church pioneers in family history had to learn to be very resourceful. In October 1939, L. Garrett Myers and Ernst Koehler were in charge of the first microfilming of records outside of Utah. They worked in a hotel room in the state of Tennessee. A big, troublesome fan in the hotel’s kitchen caused vibrations in their room that made working with the cameras difficult, so Brother Koehler decided they would have to film the records between 10:00 at night and early morning, when the fan wasn’t turned on. They processed the film in the bathtub and dried it on a clothesline.

Opportunities for Christian acts of service do not always come at convenient times. Approximately two or three years ago I was in southern California. I had reorganized a stake. Just as I was getting ready to go out to the airport where I could relax, a woman approached me. She was in her mature years and she said, “Elder Featherstone, are you going back to Salt Lake City today?” I said, “Yes.” She continued, “Are you going on that four o’clock flight?” I responded that I was. Then she said, “Would you mind doing a favor for me?” I quickly thought about the schedule I had just been through, and the flesh was begging for a little break. I assumed she wanted me to hand carry something to her relatives. I never check baggage unless I absolutely have to. I wondered if I would have to check what it was I assumed she wanted me to bring back. I thought about waiting at the baggage claim for the item; then I wondered where it would need to be delivered. Only a moment’s pondering and as always, the spirit thrust aside all empty excuses and responded as a service-oriented leader should.
I said, “I will be glad to help in whatever way possible.” Then the woman said, “My grandson Phillip has been down here with me for a couple of weeks. How would you like to baby-sit him home to Salt Lake City? He is two-and-a-half years old. His mother will be waiting for him at the airport.” We arranged to meet at the Los Angeles Airport, where the grandmother introduced me to Phillip. Just before we boarded the plane she said, “Here is an envelope. Will you wait until you are on the plane to open it?” I found out why she made that request later.
Phillip and I boarded the plane.
I reached into my pocket and opened the letter from the grandmother. It went something like this:
“Dear Elder Featherstone, Thank you for taking Phillip back to Salt Lake City and baby-sitting him for us. We appreciate it. His mother will be there at the airport to meet you; but if she is not there, then here is what you do.”
Then she had written, “The reason I did not dare have you open the letter before you were on board the plane is that I did not have enough courage to ask you to do another favor for us. Phillip’s brother Ricky is in the University of Utah Hospital. He has had constant seizures, many in one day. The doctors do not know what else to do. They have done all they know, and he still has the problem. Do you think you could possibly find time to go by the hospital and give him a blessing?”
When we arrived in Salt Lake City, there was no one to meet us. We walked the length of the airport terminal. Still no one recognized Phillip. We went down the escalator, past the baggage claim, and out to the street. I have done some unusual things in our marriage, but I wondered what my wife would say when I came home from a stake conference visit and brought a two-and-a-half-year-old boy with me.
I looked around and stood with Phillip for a moment, and then his mother arrived driving a car and stopped by us. She had been delayed in heavy traffic coming to the airport. The sweet mother was very kind, and she loaded a happy Phillip and all his luggage into the car.
A short while later I was standing in one of the pediatric wards at the University of Utah Hospital. There were about six children in cribs. An attendant was mopping the floor, and then he left the room. I was all alone in the hospital room with these six beautiful children.
I found out which was Ricky’s bed and went over to him. I said, “My name is Vaughn Featherstone. Do you know who I just left?” He said, “No,” and I said, “I came back from Los Angeles today, and I brought your brother Phillip home. I told him I was coming here to see you.” Ricky was only about four, but tears came to his eyes. He missed his little brother.
Then I said to him, “Ricky, I am a friend of President Spencer W. Kimball, and he loves you. President Kimball is a prophet. Your grandmother asked me if I would give you a blessing. Do you know what it means when someone lays his hands on your head and gives you a blessing?” He said, “Yes.” And then I said, “Ricky, do you believe in Jesus?” He said, “Yes.” “Do you know that Jesus loves you? Do you know that Jesus can heal you?” He answered, “Yes.” Then I asked, “Would you like me to give you a blessing so you can be healed?” “Yes,” he said.
I laid my hands upon his head and gave Ricky a blessing. An interesting thing happened in the little pediatric ward. The other children stopped playing or crying and seemed to listen.
When I finished the blessing I reached in my pocket and pulled out a beautifully polished rock with my name on it that someone had given me. I gave it to Ricky, so that when his mother came she would know that I had been there.
Two years later I was in the Kingsport Tennessee Stake and a sweet young mother came up to me after conference. She told me it was her mother that had asked me to baby-sit Phillip and bless Ricky and then she said, “Have you ever heard of the results of your blessing?” I told her I had not. Then she shared with me the great miracle, “Ricky has not had another seizure since you gave him the blessing.”
It was not convenient to take Phillip home, nor was it convenient for me to go to the University of Utah Medical Center; but it was what Jesus would have done. Our service must always lead us to ask, “What would Jesus do?”

One pleasant Sunday afternoon on my mission in the Korea Seoul West Mission, my companion, Elder Ricks, and I were saying good-bye to members after church and were about to set out proselyting when the ward mission leader introduced us to a small, solemn 12-year-old boy, Kong Sung-Gyun, who had attended church that day and wanted to learn more about the gospel.
Of course we were excited about the prospect of teaching him, though we did not typically teach children so young. We immediately called his home to seek his parents’ permission, and I talked briefly with his mother, Pak Mi-Jung. I was pleasantly surprised when she said she was pleased her son was looking into attending church and that she would be happy to have us come and teach him.
The next evening we arrived at Sung-Gyun’s home, and we were surprised to discover that Mi-Jung also wanted us to teach her daughter, Kong Su-Jin. Since we were strangers in her home, Mi-Jung wanted to sit in on the lessons too. Of course we were happy to teach as many as wanted to listen!
After they had served us some simple refreshments, we sat down together and began to get to know each other. Elder Ricks and I shared a little about our families and why we were serving a mission, and then Mi-Jung told us about the recent trials and hardships her family had been through, including her son’s battle with cancer. He had successfully gone through radiation treatments, and the cancer was in remission, but the doctors warned them that the cancer could still return. Of course this took a big toll on their family. They were a working-class family, and their father worked extremely hard to provide the simple necessities for his family.
My heart was heavy as I learned of the many trials and hardships in their lives. However, while life was not easy for them, their family was extremely close and relied heavily on each other. We left their home that evening having gotten to know this very special family much better and having had the opportunity to share a simple gospel message of love and hope with them.
Elder Ricks and I went back to teach several more times in the following weeks, each time experiencing the same warmness and generosity we had experienced on our first visit. When the topic of baptism came up, the children were both eager to join the Church. Additionally, their mother, Mi-Jung, was supportive of her children’s desires. However, though our teachings resonated with her, she personally did not feel that she could make and keep the kind of commitments that joining the Church required. She also did not feel that it would be appropriate for her to get baptized without her husband, whom we had yet to meet. However, she was more than willing to continue to meet with us and also wanted to join her children each week in attending church.
As we continued to teach in their home, we met Mi-Jung’s husband, Kong Kuk-Won—a humble, gracious, and generous man. He joined us for the final few discussions and instantly believed everything we taught, including principles and teachings others often find difficult, like tithing and the Word of Wisdom. The father’s only obstacle was that he had to work at the airport every Sunday and was unable to attend church with the rest of his family. Despite his busy work schedule, he and his wife arranged to attend their children’s baptisms the following Sunday afternoon, and it was a wonderful occasion!

Sarah Henrie, a Laurel from Glenwood, Alberta, Canada, loves puppies. And she should. Breeding miniature schnauzers has proven to be a good source of income for this young entrepreneur.
“When I was ten years old, my parents got me a dog to raise as a job so that I could do reports on it for my home-study schooling. Then we had a litter of puppies, and I’ve been doing this ever since,” says Sarah.
The puppies have given her valuable experience in learning how to run a business efficiently. She also has realized the value of paying tithing on her income.
“I made a Young Women goal to learn how to clip the dogs myself,” says Sarah. “I took a course at the university, and now I can do it on my own. It saves a lot of money.”
But as Sarah’s business has taken off, she’s learned another, more important lesson about her family. Since her business has grown, Sarah has relied on the help of her younger Primary-age sisters, Kate, Leah, Jennifer, and Amy, to keep things running smoothly. She says that if it weren’t for them, she couldn’t run her business. She also says life wouldn’t be much fun without them.
“I have to be a very good example,” she says. “It’s important for me to choose the right.”

Everybody knows that pine trees come from plain old nuts. And when the Munns family decided to grow pine trees to pay for their missions, some people thought the Munnses were just that—nuts.
To begin with, April and Ranier Munns of Longwood, Florida, have 13 children. That’s pretty unusual by many people’s standards. Then there was the matter of the big pine tree nursery they started in their backyard. That’s not exactly conventional, either. But then, the Munnses have never been that concerned about what’s conventional.
What April and Ranier were concerned about was the fact that theirs was a family with great potential for missionary service. They also knew that they could end up with three or four sons on a mission at one time. So during one family meeting, they discussed the possibility of setting up a tree nursery in the three-and-a-half-acre vacant pasture behind the house. It seemed an ideal solution, since they had three or four years to earn the needed money.
Once they decided on a project, things just started to happen. From a nursery in Sanford that was going out of business they bought, for 50 cents apiece, about 400 slash pines planted in one-gallon buckets. The trees were small, only 12–18 inches tall, but the Munnses knew that with hard work and care, the potential was there.
Then the family purchased about 5,000 bare root seedlings from the Florida Department of Forestry and bought used three-gallon buckets to plant them in. “We had a family night and got the assembly line started,” Leah says.
“One person put dirt in the bucket,” Jacob continues, “one person used the planter Grandad made for us to make a hole in the dirt, and another put the seedling in and passed it to the next person who added more dirt and watered the tree.” Then the responsibilities of weeding, fertilizing, and watering the seedlings were assigned and divided among the family members. “All of us worked,” Daniel recalls.
Ryan remembers, “My friends thought it was a little bit bizarre that we worked so hard to go on a mission instead of applying the money to college or using it for a car. We’d work in the trees in the mornings and get green stains on our hands that we couldn’t get out before class. I remember somebody asking me if I had a disease because of the green stuff on my hands.”
Eventually they had 6,000 slash pines and 700 oak trees. Jacob reports, “Raising the trees was not easy. Dad would wake us up before school to work an hour before we got ready for classes. And in the afternoons and Saturdays, when the rest of my friends were bowling, fishing, camping or going to movies, parties, and football games, we were picking weeds.”
Daniel says, “Our friends called our house ‘The Plantation,’ and those who came to stay overnight or for weekends knew we had to get up early on Saturday mornings. But they didn’t mind. Most of them didn’t have chores at their own homes, so they had fun riding the tractor around the nursery, hauling dirt, and filling buckets. They’d move trees and work along with us.
“Rain or shine, we’d always be down there. We liked working in the rain best because then you didn’t perspire and the weeds were easier to pull. Sometimes when we picked the weeds out of the pots, we’d find surprises. Like huge piles of ants—we’d be working fast and not even looking at our hands and wouldn’t realize until the ants started biting that we were in a fire ant bed. We occasionally found snakes and spiders. Once we caught a six-foot albino rat snake.”
An opportunity arose for them to sell the trees when they were three to four feet high for seven or eight dollars apiece. But the family decided to continue with the nursery as the boys were not yet old enough for missions. It was at this time that all 6,000 trees were transplanted into 15-gallon containers. That meant handling each tree, one by one, getting the dirt for them, and changing the sprinkler system. In the following two years, the trees grew from four feet tall to between eight and twelve feet tall.
Despite the hard work, the family recalls the Mission Pines Nursery as a positive experience, and they laugh as they recall the difficult times.
Collin tells how “one morning Dad said we all had to get up because 75 percent of the trees were on the ground. Some of the rain and winds from Hurricane Andrew had come through during the night. Luckily, slash pines just bend with the wind.”
But there was as much fun as work. Sometimes they’d take a break from the heat by jumping into the pool or by spraying each other with the hose. And there was still time for high school sports, Scouting, and the boys’ favorite activity of all—fishing. In fact, it was during this time that Collin caught a 250-pound blue marlin.
Finally, the spring arrived when the family contacted potential buyers. Many trees went to Atlanta, Georgia, in preparation for the 1996 Summer Olympics and to the Miami area for reconstruction after Hurricane Andrew. Others were sold to Disneyworld or to the state of Florida. Ranier says, “We had prayed about the trees and taken good care of them. The largest landscaping nursery in Florida, which never bought from other nurseries, came down and looked at our trees. It was the first time they bought directly from another nursery and put their labels on them.”
The Lord answered their prayers. The Munnses were able to sell, not only the trees, but the mats, the old three-gallon buckets, the stakes, and the bamboo. The only thing left in the pasture was the large patch of brown grass where the trees used to stand.