Gospel Story Finder

Eliza was scared and bit her lip to keep from crying as she watched her mother gather some clothes into a bundle.
“Pa won’t like it,” she said, “leaving me alone in the cabin.”
“It can’t be helped. Besides, twelve is plenty old enough to stay by yourself.” Ma was worried, so her voice was sharp. “Pa and Josh will be back from the trading post by nightfall. Tell them Cousin Tom came for me. Minnie needs help, what with John breaking his leg and the sick twins and all.”
“But, Ma,” Eliza said softly, no louder than a whisper, her voice betraying her concern—“Indians.” Just the word sent tingles up and down her spine.
“Eliza, there’s nothing for you to worry about. We haven’t seen an Indian in three months. Pa says there’s been a truce.”
Anxiously Eliza looked around the room, hoping to find some reason for Ma to stay home. Her eyes glanced at the table in the middle of their one room.
“The pie!” she exclaimed. “What about the pie to surprise Pa and Josh?”
“We’ll have to make it another day.”
Eliza was distressed that her mother could brush aside something as important as the pie. It was supposed to be a very special pie, the first to be baked in the new oven Pa had built in the wall next to the fireplace. Ma had just finished putting the flour, spices, and apples on the table when Cousin Tom arrived to fetch her.
Eliza followed them outside and watched her mother hand her bundle to Cousin Tom.
“Keep busy, Eliza,” Ma instructed. “Mend Joshua’s shirt. Put the flour and the pie tin away.” She gave Eliza’s pigtail an affectionate tug as she hugged her. Then she and Cousin Tom were gone, and Eliza was alone in the forest clearing.
Eliza turned and went back into the cabin. Everything was neat and clean. That morning her mother had said, “No pie until chores are done.” So Eliza had swept and made Ma and Pa’s bed and then her own and Joshua’s up in the loft. She had dusted the four ladder-back chairs, the welsh dresser, the night table, and even the books on the shelf beside the fireplace. Ma claimed that, next to Pa and Josh and her, the books were her most priceless possessions.
What will I do if the Indians decide to break the peace and raid today? Eliza wondered. Her heart started pounding. Where are Pa andJosh? They should be back by now.
Leaving the pie makings on the table helped her pretend that her mother was only out picking more apples. They had brought two fruit trees all the way from Grandpa’s farm in Massachusetts.
Now the silence in the cabin seemed to echo in Eliza’s ears. She got out the mending but just couldn’t make her fingers behave. She wondered if Ma ever felt this way when Pa wasn’t around.
Whenever Eliza thought about the pie, her lower lip began to quiver. Frustrated, she thought, Why did Uncle John have to break his leg? She had wanted so much to hear her father’s exclamation when he saw the pie. She wished she knew how to mix the dough.
“Why don’t I try?” Eliza said out loud to the empty cabin. She stood at the table and tried to remember what her mother had told her about pie making. She was glad she had asked so many questions.
Keeping busy, wondering if her pie would taste good, and remembering her grandma rolling dough for pies back in New England, made Eliza forget her fears. Pa will have his pie, she decided. And before long it was in the oven. While it baked, Eliza mended Joshua’s shirt. She even hummed to herself.
How foolish I was, she thought, to be afraid to stay by myself! Soon the pie—brown and with its juices bubbling through the cuts in the crust—was cooling on the window ledge. Every few minutes Eliza put the mending down and went to the window to inhale its fragrance. Somehow the scent of spices and baked apples and piecrust pushed some of the loneliness out of the cabin.
Just before Eliza turned to sit down in a chair facing the window, she sensed something. She had not really heard a noise, yet, like a trapped animal, she sensed danger. Slowly, hesitantly, she turned. There, with the window frame making his head look like a painting, was a face she would never forget. The brown skin had vividly colored bands radiating from the sides of the Indian’s nose, and the corners of his mouth turned down. Brown, almost black, eyes watched Eliza with a stony expression.
The girl stared, motionless. A second Indian appeared in the doorway, and a third, carrying a tomahawk, peered through the window on the other side of the door.
The Indian at the window raised his hands to take the pie.
“No!” Eliza cried. Without thinking, she ran to the window and grabbed the pie. “No!” she repeated.
The Indian grunted. Eliza whirled to face the Indian who had left the doorway and entered the room. He had stopped momentarily to watch her but was now approaching the shelf beside the fireplace. Ma’s books! Eliza knew she must not let him harm Ma’s precious possessions.
Anger flooded through her. He had no right to enter the cabin and carry off her parents’ belongings. She must stop him. But how?
Quickly she ran to the welsh dresser. Holding the pie in one trembling hand, with the other she gathered four pewter plates and spoons and a knife. The Indian watched, apparently intrigued at her action. Walking past him slowly, she nodded her head toward the door and, with pounding heart, headed in that direction. The curious Indian followed.
Once outside, Eliza sat down on the ground in front of the cabin. The Indians squatted around her, their dark eyes alert. Carefully she cut the pie, first in half and then one of the halves into three big pieces and one little one. She put each piece onto a plate and then handed a serving to each Indian. Then she gave them all spoons. Deliberately, slowly, she took a bite from the small piece. Silently she prayed it would be good.
The Indians watched intently. Each one picked up a spoon and, turning it around in his hand, examined it carefully before he, too, started eating. Soon their pieces were gone. The younger one handed his plate back to her, rubbed his stomach with one hand, and pointed to the remaining pie. Eliza wanted to cry. She had hoped she could save some for her father, but she was afraid to not give second helpings to the Indians. Quickly those pieces disappeared into their mouths. Each in turn picked up his plate and licked it clean. Smiling at each other and then at Eliza, they stood and then silently faded into the forest.
Eliza was alone once more, but she didn’t move. While the deep purple shadows of the trees crept unnoticed across the clearing, her thoughts centered on the Indians.
She had been terrified until she grabbed the pie from the window ledge. Is this true of most fears, she wondered, that worrying makes them seem more dangerous and that action sends them flying? She looked at the forest. Instead of concentrating on the hidden dangers, she would remember the deer seeking shade from the hot sun, the food provided for the squirrels, and the beauty of the trees against the sky.
She stood up, tall and straight. What am I doing, sitting here daydreaming, she thought, when there’s still time to make another pie. She picked up the dirty dishes and, with a light step, headed for the cabin.

The first Sunday I attended church with the missionaries, I recognized people I had grown up with and knew from the community. I saw one of my best friends from school, the elementary and high school secretaries, a girl I had not been exceptionally nice to in the past, and even a young man I once had a crush on.
Each of these individuals had a lasting impact on me. My best friend was a young woman of great integrity, and because of her I chose to continue investigating the Church. The secretaries who remembered me from school helped me know that I am important. I learned about godly love and charity from the young woman who embraced me despite my less-than-kind behavior toward her in the past. My early teenage crush set such a good example, I recognized his light and wanted to be around him.
These experiences helped me learn that, even before my first exposure to the missionaries, Heavenly Father had prepared me to receive the gospel through the people He placed around me. From them I learned that the small things we do can have great effect. Most important, I have learned that missionary work starts with me.

We never fail to meet on Tuesday nights. By now, over 60 people have attended, almost half of them friends of other faiths. After we had been meeting for two years, Eddie asked how we had grown from our meetings. Each of us acknowledged the remarkable strength we derive from each other. We have become friends who support and love one another. The Spirit is always present as well. We’ll keep going, inviting new friends every week to delight in and ponder on the things of our souls (see 2 Nephi 4:15).

In 2011, I made one of the most important decisions in my life. It has brought me the greatest treasures I have ever had. I decided to serve a mission, but it was not an easy decision.
The Lord gave me the opportunity to enjoy soccer during my childhood and my youth. I represented Paraguay in international tournaments, traveling with my country’s national youth soccer team, Libertad, to countries in Europe, Asia, and South America.
Fortunately, my parents always coupled my sporting activities with a proper education and a spiritual upbringing. My mother’s faith and testimony definitely were the seeds from which my own faith and testimony grew. Because of her faithfulness, I participated in seminary despite my busy sports schedule.
Although I had heard about full-time missions ever since I was a child, I could not make up my mind about serving a mission. That changed when my father accepted a call to serve in the bishopric of our ward. This was a difficult decision for my father, since he was deeply involved in my sporting career. He was always at my soccer practice and matches, and we spent a lot of time together. For this reason, accepting a call to serve in the bishopric would mean giving up time supporting my career.
During the sacrament meeting when my father was sustained, a powerful thought came into my mind, telling me that the sacrifices of others would be in vain if I was not willing to sacrifice important things for the right reasons. During the testimonies, someone spoke about the idea that if we are obedient, our families can be eternal. That thought touched my heart, and I decided that I would do whatever was in my power to be with my family forever. During the classes that Sunday, the importance of obeying the commandments was brought up numerous times. So strongly did I feel the Spirit prompting me to serve the Lord that during family home evening, I informed my family of my decision to serve a mission.
My decision meant that I would have to interrupt my college education as well as resolve the five-year contract that I had with my soccer club. From the start, the Lord opened doors and touched hearts so the contract could be resolved.
After I submitted my missionary papers, I listened to the April 2011 general conference, in which Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared the missionary experience of Sidney Going, who had been a professional rugby player and a member of New Zealand’s national team. The fact that Brother Going served a mission and later returned and continued his professional career taught me a lesson. Throughout my mission and until this very day, listening to that talk time and time again has blessed me and brought peace to my heart. The countless testimonies that family, ward, and stake members shared with me at different times not only strengthened my decision to serve but also sustained me during the difficult moments on my mission.
An additional source of satisfaction in my life was that my decision to enter the mission field helped my three closest friends also decide to serve a mission. They later served as zone leaders, as an assistant to the mission president, and even as a branch president. We now have our eyes set on the course that will allow us to return to Heavenly Father’s presence.
I am not the same person I was three years ago. My greatest desire is to do the Lord’s will. The Lord blessed me “an hundredfold” (Matthew 19:29). I have a living and real testimony of the divinity of Heavenly Father, His Beloved Son and His Atonement, the purifying power of the Holy Spirit of God, and the marvelous work and wonder of these latter days, when the gospel has been restored to the earth through the Prophet Joseph Smith (see Isaiah 29:14).
My heart overflows with love and gratitude for this sacred time and for knowing and loving so many brothers and sisters in the Uruguay Montevideo Mission. Few blessings are as great as serving among them. Nothing else has given me such great joy and peace or brought me so many miracles as has my missionary service.

She had just finished caring for her precious flowers one morning in ’59 when she received a phone call telling of an accident at her husband’s work. Two weeks later, father and son lay side by side for what she believed would be forever.

It had been hard after that accident that took her husband, but with help from the older children who were married and gone, she had managed to keep the house and property from becoming real estate owned by the Peoples City Bank.

Last week I received a faith-filled letter from Laurence M. Hilton. May I share with you the account of surviving personal tragedy with faith, nothing wavering.
In 1892, Thomas and Sarah Hilton, Laurence’s grandparents, went to Samoa, where Thomas was set apart as mission president after their arrival. They brought with them a baby daughter; two sons were born to them while they served there. Tragically, all three died in Samoa, and in 1895 the Hiltons returned from their mission childless.
David O. McKay was a friend of the family and was deeply touched by their loss. In 1921, as part of a world tour of visits to the members of the Church in many nations, Elder McKay stopped in Samoa, accompanied by Elder Hugh J. Cannon. Before leaving on his tour, he had promised the now-widowed Sister Hilton that he would personally visit the graves of her three children. I share with you the letter David O. McKay wrote to her from Samoa:
“Dear Sister Hilton:
“Just as the descending rays of the late afternoon sun touched the tops of the tall coconut trees, Wednesday, May 18th, 1921, a party of five stood with bowed heads in front of the little Fagali’i Cemetery. … We were there, as you will remember, in response to a promise I made you before I left home.
“The graves and headstones are in a good state of preservation. … I reproduce here a copy I made as I stood … outside the stone wall surrounding the spot.
Janette Hilton
Bn: Sept. 10, 1891
Died: June 4, 1892
“Rest, darling Jennie”
George Emmett Hilton
Bn: Oct. 12, 1894
Died: Oct. 19, 1894
“Peaceful be thy slumber”
Thomas Harold Hilton
Bn: Sept. 21, 1892
Died: March 17, 1894
“Rest on the hillside, rest”
“As I looked at those three little graves, I tried to imagine the scenes through which you passed during your young motherhood here in old Samoa. As I did so, the little headstones became monuments not only to the little babes sleeping beneath them, but also to a mother’s faith and devotion to the eternal principles of truth and life. Your three little ones, Sister Hilton, in silence most eloquent and effective, have continued to carry on your noble missionary work begun nearly 30 years ago, and they will continue as long as there are gentle hands to care for their last earthly resting place.
By loving hands their dying eyes were closed;
By loving hands their little limbs composed;
By foreign hands their humble graves adorned;
By strangers honored, and by strangers mourned.
“Tofa Soifua,
“David O. McKay”
This touching account conveys to the grieving heart “the peace … which passeth all understanding.” Our Heavenly Father lives. Jesus Christ the Lord is our Savior and Redeemer. He guided the Prophet Joseph. He guides His prophet today, even President Gordon B. Hinckley. Of a truth I bear this personal witness.

Several years ago, I made a covenant with the Lord. I promised to give him anything he should require of me, and prayed this gesture might warrant forgiveness of my transgressions. Yesterday I gave the only thing I had left. It was something I cherished. I held on to it until the very last moment. I never thought of it as a selfish possession. That of which I speak flew out the window of my home when I turned on the television to watch the news and saw my picture on the television screen. I speak of my prized remaining possession—anonymity.
How I love not to be noticed! I don’t want to sit with the General Authorities in the “fishbowl” at the BYU football games in my dark blue suit! I want to sit in the stands with my father, wearing an obnoxious T-shirt which reads: “BYU #1. Enough said!” I have license and credentials to be obnoxious! I was born and raised in Provo, Utah. I attended school at Provo High School. I received my bachelor’s and master’s degrees from BYU. I’m a member of the Church, and I even work for the Church. My credentials are impeccable. I want to go berserk in the upper tier of the San Diego Stadium as I have the last four years at the Holiday Bowl—with the exception of Ohio State [which soundly beat BYU’s team in the bowl game], when I went into deep depression. I still have one faint hope—perhaps the Brethren will let me sit with Elder Perry at the ball games. Nevertheless, I give up my prized anonymity, just as I will give up my life if it is required of me.

I cannot promise what success will come, since every person is free to choose how he or she responds to a servant of God. But the deacon you speak to for the Lord will remember you came to him. I know of one boy, now a man still far away from Church activity, whom a deacon was sent to find, and he told his grandfather of that visit 20 years earlier. And it seemed to have no effect, and yet he even named the deacon who came. The grandfather asked me to find and thank the deacon who was called to invite, to exhort, and to teach. It had been only one day in the life of a boy, but a grandfather and the Lord remember the words the boy was inspired to speak and the boy’s name.

Photograph by Christina Smith
When my husband and I lost our first baby, doctors told me I would never have children. I was devastated. I grieved and looked for answers. My husband also grieved. We prayed and knew how important it was to be an eternal family. Eventually, we were sealed in the Los Angeles California Temple.
I was still trying to understand why this loss had happened when I remembered my patriarchal blessing. I started to read my blessing and found a part I had completely forgotten about. It said I would be blessed with sons and daughters. I thought that there had to be something wrong with what the doctors had told me. I went to the doctor and was told again that I was not going to be able to have a baby.
About five years after we lost our first baby, we decided to try in vitro fertilization. At the first appointment, a pregnancy test showed positive. I couldn’t believe it. They ran more tests and confirmed that I was already pregnant. Nine months later, we welcomed our daughter into our family. Now, I am a mom to four incredible kids.
Another challenge came several years ago when my husband and I divorced. This came as a shock to me. I didn’t know how to react. I thought I had a perfect little family. I was also going to dental school at the time. I left school to focus on my children. I feel that this was the best choice. I don’t regret it at all. But I had a lot of anger. How does someone just leave a marriage and four amazing children?
I was also terrified about what was going to happen to me and my kids. I cried and felt a sense of panic, wondering if they were still sealed to me. I talked to my bishop, and he said that Heavenly Father has promised that we are sealed for all eternity, but our agency will determine if we will be together forever. It gave me such relief to know that my kids were still sealed to me.
But I still felt anger and felt that I was not worthy to go to the temple. How can you go to the temple with so much anger? I also didn’t want to go to the temple because I am divorced. I felt like I didn’t deserve it because I was supposed to be in a marriage still.
I talked with my bishop again, and he told me that Satan doesn’t want me to go back to the temple. He wants to make me miserable and to feel that I’m not worthy. It was amazing when I entered the temple again. Going to the temple makes me feel better and stronger. Knowing that Heavenly Father is helping me be a mom, that I’m not alone, and that He is never going to abandon me or my family gives me so much strength. Now I make sure that my temple recommend is always current.
“I know I just need to keep moving forward and get closer to Heavenly Father each day. This is the way I’m going to be with my children forever.”
Even though their dad is not in the picture, I always tell my kids that I am here for them. We’re going to church, we’re doing our scripture study, and we’re praying. We have an understanding of how important family is and that we need to forgive each other, support each other, and cheer each other on.
People have asked me what I would do if I had an extra hour each day. Would I sleep? Would I eat? What would I do? I would have 15 minutes of quality time with each of my children.
I love my children so much that in spite of the great heartache from the relationship with their father, it was worth it to have them. That’s how much they mean to me. I have hilarious, amazing, and kind-hearted children. Even with their struggles, they always think of ways to help others.
Making sure our faith is strong keeps us going as a family. If we do our part, the Lord comes through on His blessings and promises. That’s something that I live by, and I am very blessed.

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

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

“Since March,” he responded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s great to combine learning a skill with fulfilling a Personal Progress project and serving a member of the ward,” said one of the young women of the Exeter Ward, Plymouth England Stake. The young women made a quilt for Sister Etta Cunningham, an aging ward member who was then suffering from cancer. The girls enjoyed the project as they learned a lot about piecing quilts. They also learned about having compassion for their elders.
Before Sister Cunningham passed away, she sent the girls a thank-you note, which they now keep in their Young Women book of remembrance.

Sissy was crying again. She didn’t want to cry, but the warm, wet tears kept sliding down her cheeks. Ever since Pa had died last winter, she found herself crying almost every time she was alone.
Today she had run home from the little pioneer church and climbed into the hayloft. It was the Sunday before Easter, and her Primary lesson had been about the Resurrection. Sister Nelson had reminded the class that when people we love die, we can be comforted knowing that they will live again and that we can be with them at some future time. Sissy knew that Sister Nelson was speaking especially to her and was trying to be kind, but her teacher just didn’t understand! What good is it to think about resurrection when I need Pa right now? she thought.
Sissy had been very close to her father. Pa had always said that she was special. He called her his “own little angel right from heaven.” The tears rolled down her cheeks, and she cried, “Oh, Pa, why did you have to die? How can I ever be happy again?”
Her thoughts were interrupted by her brother Joe’s husky voice calling her from the barn door. “Sissy! Sissy, are you in here?”
“I’m coming, Joe,” Sissy said slowly as she dried her tears and began to climb down.
Joe stood at the bottom of the ladder; he lifted her off the rungs, swung her around, and gently set her down. “What’s the matter, Sis?” he asked as he bent his tall frame over and looked into her reddened eyes. “Has it been raining in the hayloft again?”
Sissy gave him a little smile and held his hand as they left the barn. She loved Joe. He was kind and gentle, like Pa, and Sissy knew he understood her sorrow and loneliness. She wondered if he still missed Pa too. She hadn’t thought about that before. Joe always seemed so strong and sure of everything.
“Joe,” Sissy said, stopping suddenly, “what do you do when you feel sad and lonely without Pa around?”
Joe walked slowly over to the cottonwood tree and sat down. Sissy sat down beside him. He was quiet for a moment and seemed to be studying the daffodils that Pa and Sissy had planted last spring. Then he looked up into Sissy’s eyes and spoke softly. “Missing Pa is natural and will probably last all our lives, Sissy. But when I’m sad, I try to get busy doing something that I know would make Pa happy. You see, I know that someday I’m going to see Pa again, and I want to be the kind of man he always wanted me to grow up to be. Somehow that seems to take my mind off my sad thoughts and put it on the happy thoughts of how proud I can make Pa when I see him again.”
Sissy thought about Joe’s words as he got up and headed toward the woodpile. She knew that Pa would be sad to think that the only thing she did when she thought of him was cry. Maybe if she tried Joe’s plan, it would work for her too. She wrinkled her forehead as she tried to think of something to do that would make Pa happy and proud of her.
In a minute Sissy was on her feet, running to catch up with Joe. “Joe,” she asked, filling her arms with kindling, “do you think we could take some daffodils over to Sister Harding this afternoon? I noticed she wasn’t at church today, so maybe she would like a little visit. We could take over some of those good molasses cookies too!”
Joe gave her a quick smile and a gentle squeeze and nodded his head. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time,” he said.
Later, as Sissy gathered the flowers, she found herself thinking about Pa and smiling for the first time in a long while. She could almost see Pa smiling too!

Eli, get your shoes on! We’re going to the store.
OK!
I need you to be a big helper at the store today.
Heavenly Father, please bless Mom. She’s having a really hard time.
Would you like to go ahead of me?
Oh, thank you! That’s so kind.
No problem. I remember what it’s like to have kids at the store.
Why did that lady let us go ahead?
She saw that we were having a hard time and wanted to help.
My prayer was answered. Awesome!
But she’s not the only one who helped me. You helped most of all!

One ordinary Sunday I was sitting with my family in sacrament meeting. We heard the announcements and listened to the prayer; then as we were singing the opening hymn, something very out of the ordinary happened. Elder L. Tom Perry of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and his wife walked into our chapel! Sister Perry sat in the congregation as her husband walked up and sat on the stand. It was a complete shock to everyone. Elder Perry explained to us that he had planned to attend a different ward but had become lost and decided to attend our ward instead.
Although we were surprised that an Apostle of the Lord had come to our sacrament meeting, we were prepared. The priesthood holders blessed and passed the sacrament reverently. The girls in the congregation were dressed modestly. Our meeting was being run with order. Our building was clean and was a place where the Spirit could be present, and the speakers were ready with well-prepared, inspiring talks.
On a more personal level, I felt that my family and I were prepared. We had been taught by my parents to be reverent, to listen, and to sing the hymns. We didn’t need to change our routine because Elder Perry was there.

by Daniella Pilgrim and Marleen Van Laere
The youth of the Antwerp Branch in Belgium wanted a goal to work toward. They came up with the idea and presented it to their leaders. They wanted to earn their way to the Swiss Temple and do baptisms for the dead.

With a little help from the leaders of the branch, they faithfully put in hours organizing barbecues, dances, movies, and family home evenings. They were indeed blessed financially, but as the Lord stated that all things are spiritual, additional blessings came to the youth. Without knowing the full effect, they played an important role in missionary work by fellowshipping investigators, and through these same activities created more unity and love among the members of the branch.

The departure date was set, letters written, and reservations made. After the bus trip, the first thing the group of 25 youth and 11 leaders wanted to see was the temple itself. Many had tears in their eyes, for it was the first time they had seen the temple.

The group spent two days doing baptisms. The night before their return trip, they held a testimony meeting, which was one of the highlights of the trip. Testimonies were borne by group members of the truthfulness of the gospel and the joy they felt in doing temple work. The meeting was closed with the group singing, “The Spirit of God like a Fire Is Burning.”

The group returned home safely with wonderful memories of the temple.

The fact that President Kasue and other Chyulu Church leaders have hungered to learn more has contributed to the strength of the Church here. When President Brown invited all priesthood leaders to attend leadership meetings in Nairobi, he did not expect those from Chyulu to attend because of the distance and cost of travel. However, 11 brethren from Chyulu arrived early on the morning of the meeting. They had walked 20 kilometers to catch a train at midnight and traveled all night. They attended the leadership meeting that day, with some of them requiring translators. That night they stayed with Church members, and the following day they traveled back to Chyulu, expressing deep gratitude for the privilege of being at the meetings.

Suluya Racule, three weeks older than Vani, faces her own challenges. Suluya didn’t grow up in the Church, although it seemed like she did. She began attending Primary when she was nine because her aunt, a Church member, was a Primary teacher. And Suluya kept going to church even when her aunt and uncle moved to Tonga. But she was not able to be baptized until December 1995, when she was 15.
Even now, Suluya is still the only member of the Church in her immediate family.
“My parents were against my getting baptized. They thought I was too young to know the truth, and they thought I should go to other churches and see what they were like before I decided,” she remembers. “But I had this strong feeling inside that this was the true Church. I couldn’t think of any other church to go to.”

Now to those who may be incapacitated in any one of a variety of ways, be it physical, mental, or financial—to those who cannot do what you would sincerely like to do for another—let me tell of a personal family experience.
Some months ago my wife drove down to Provo for her customary weekly visit with her mother, who had been ill for some time. On this particular day her mother had been having an unusually difficult time, and didn’t have the strength to hold up her head, or even open her eyes. Though she was physically restricted, she was very alert mentally, and as my wife was caring for her many needs of the day she visited with her about family and friends. My wife held her mother’s head up with one hand while she fed her with the other, and during the meal their conversation turned to one of our daughters and her husband who have five children under the age of seven. My wife commented to her mother that three of our daughter’s children had chicken pox at the same time. The fact that this little mother was unusually busy was obvious. My mother-in-law stopped eating, thought for a moment, and then in a weak, almost inaudible voice said, “I feel so sorry for Robin. I wish I could go to her home and help her.” A few moments later, as my wife pondered this wish, she observed, “You know, Mother, I think in your case wanting to is enough. Surely you will receive a blessing for service and selflessness as though you went to her home and helped.”
When I was told of the experience, I recalled the words of King Benjamin when, in his final address to his people, he said, “And again, I say unto the poor, ye who have not and yet have sufficient, that ye remain from day to day; I mean all you who deny the beggar, because ye have not; I would that ye say in your hearts that: I give not because I have not, but if I had I would give.” (Mosiah 4:24.)

Elder Llewellyn Harris had just arrived at a Zuni Indian village in New Mexico. It was 1878, and he was on his way to Mexico to preach the gospel. A few of the Zunis had already been baptized members of the Church, but many others wanted to be baptized as well.
A member of the tribe, Captain Lochee, invited Elder Harris to stay with his family. Three of Captain Lochee’s children were very sick with smallpox.
During the night, Elder Harris heard one of the children crying and gasping for breath. Captain Lochee told Elder Harris that his 12-year-old daughter was dying. Elder Harris’s journal tells what happened next: “The Spirit of the Lord moved upon me very strongly to administer to her, which I did. She revived and slept well the remainder of the night.”
Then Elder Harris blessed the two other sick children, and they also recovered.
The next morning, news of the healings spread throughout the village. Elder Harris was asked to visit 25 families who had members sick with smallpox. For four days, he visited 10 to 20 families a day and administered to their sick. Nearly everyone he blessed recovered.
But the disease spread so rapidly that Elder Harris wasn’t able to visit all the sick families. Early one morning, a Zuni woman took him to a house that had a large room. There he found sick people gathered from all over the village.
Elder Harris prayed that the Lord would strengthen him. He knew he would need help to administer to this many people. “I commenced, and as fast as I administered to them they were removed, but other sick ones were continually being brought in,” he wrote.
By the time Elder Harris blessed the last person, the sun had set. The man who acted as his interpreter had also stayed there all day. He asked Elder Harris if he knew how many people he had blessed. Elder Harris said he hadn’t kept count. The interpreter told Elder Harris he had counted 406 people.
Elder Harris wrote the following morning that his arms were so sore he could hardly move them. He took no credit for himself, but gave credit to the Lord for the miraculous healings.

When I was growing up, whenever we got any money, my mother would take the very best bills—the ones that were the least wrinkled or dirty—and give them to the minister of the church we went to. She did this her whole life. She said, “This belongs to God.” Those words have stayed with me ever since. When I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as an adult, it was not hard for me to pay tithing because my mother had taught me to obey that law.