Gospel Story Finder

Charles Francis Adams, grandson of the second president of the United States, was a successful lawyer, a member of the U.S. House of Representatives, and the U.S. ambassador to Britain. Amidst his responsibilities, he had little time to spare. He did, however, keep a diary. One day he wrote, “Went fishing with my son today—a day wasted!”

On that same date, Charles’s son, Brooks Adams, had printed in his own diary, “Went fishing with my father today—the most wonderful day of my life” (quoted in Scott Walker, Daily Guideposts: 1994 [Carmel, N.Y.: Guideposts, 1993], p. 67).

I am reminded of a little village called Panacaxtlán, situated where the coastal plains meet the mountains of central Mexico, just a few kilometers off the Vía Corta (the short route) between Mexico City and Tampico, Tamaulipas. The village is situated in a lush, green, humid area known as the Huasteca, and the inhabitants are sons and daughters of Lehi. In 1979, while I was serving as president in the Mexico Mexico City North Mission, missionaries began proselyting in the Huasteca. Fifty-two people joined the Church in Panacaxtlán, along with about 400 others in nearby communities that formed the new Tempoal Mexico District.
A short time later, a meeting was called in Panacaxtlán at which Church members were given the following options: denounce the Church, leave the village, or be killed (not an idle threat).
The members, particularly the women, said they knew the Church to be true and would not denounce it. They also indicated they had worked just as hard as the rest of the community to secure their homesteads, and they would not leave. Boldly stepping forward, they told their taunters if they were going to kill them, to get on with it. The moment grew tense as machetes were raised, then finally lowered while the Latter-day Saints stood up for that which the Spirit had testified to them to be true.
These Saints eventually learned, as most of us do, that it is harder to live the gospel day by day than to die for it in an instant, but their early commitment came because the Spirit had touched their hearts and changed their lives. Their conversion had taken place as the Book of Mormon helped build their faith in Jesus Christ, the Son of God. They learned that Christ had visited their ancestors in the Americas after His Resurrection, and they were grateful for the blessings available to all our Father’s children because Heavenly Father had sent His Son. Like the Saints of New Testament times, those members in Panacaxtlán had developed faith sufficient to withstand the persecutions of people whose minds were closed.

Mark stood up at the podium in the Primary room and opened his scriptures. Rain was pounding the roof, and he knew he’d have to talk loudly to be heard over its noise. He cleared his throat and read:
“‘And the Spirit giveth light to every man that cometh into the world; and the Spirit enlighteneth every man through the world, that hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit.
“‘And every one that hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit cometh unto God, even the Father.’”*
When he finished the scripture, Mark looked up at his mom, who was sitting in the back of the room. She winked at him. They both had a special feeling ever since yesterday’s experience.
Yesterday had been one of those hot and humid summer afternoons so common in Iowa. A storm was brewing when Mark and his mother drove to the local department store.
“Looks like we should have brought our umbrellas,” Mom observed when they got out of the car. “I hope we don’t get wet later.”
Mark looked at the gathering dark clouds and thought he heard thunder in the distance. They hurried into the store.
“This won’t take long,” Mom said as she headed past displays to the middle of the large building. As she stood waiting to pick up some photographs, Mark noticed the store manager moving quickly from department to department giving a brief message to each salesclerk.
The manager spoke softly, but Mark could hear him clearly when he got to the jewelry department nearby. “Find your flashlight and make sure it has fully-charged batteries.” The jewelry clerk nodded, and the manager moved on to the next department, delivering the same message: “Find your flashlight and make sure it has fully-charged batteries.” The clerk in this department shook his head after the manager left and muttered to himself, “I don’t have time for that nonsense.”
Mark looked at his mom, who had also overheard the message. “It’s OK,” she assured him. “Just stick close to me.”
Mark moved closer and took her hand. Just then there was a loud crack of thunder directly overhead and all the lights went out, plunging the store into darkness. Mark heard a brief startled shriek from a few shoppers, followed by some children crying for their parents. Mark was glad he had stayed close by his mother.
Mom squeezed his hand and whispered, “Stand still and wait.”
When Mark’s eyes got used to the dark, he could see daylight coming in from the windows of the storefront, but the light seemed faint and far away. Sounds of panic died away quickly as, throughout the store, small lights came on and started to move.
One light moved toward Mark, and a voice spoke from above it in the dark. “Follow me, please.” It was a store clerk, holding a flashlight. Together Mark and his mother joined a group of shoppers who were already behind the clerk, and they slowly made their way down the dark aisles. The group grew larger the farther they went, being joined by other shoppers and clerks, including the clerk who thought that taking time to find his flashlight was “nonsense.”
Mark felt relieved when they got to the front of the store and could see sunlight coming in the front windows and doors. They no longer needed the clerks with the flashlights, so the clerks left them and turned back into the darkness to find other shoppers and lead them to the light.
As Mark walked to the car with his mom, he jumped over puddles of water that reflected the clearing sky overhead. The storm had come and gone quickly, and now the day was full of sunshine. Evidence of the storm was still all around them, however, and on the way home, Mark saw fallen tree limbs and broken traffic lights.
When they pulled into their driveway, Mom asked him, “Did you know you have a light inside you a lot like those flashlights in the store?”
“I do?”
“Yes. It is the light of Christ. We are born with the ability to tell right from wrong because we have the light of Christ. Sometimes we call it our conscience. Then later, when we are baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, we have an even brighter light.”
Mark thought about this for a moment. “Do I have to keep my batteries fully charged?”
Mom chuckled. “Yes, indeed. And the scriptures tell you how.”
When they got in the house, Mom showed Mark the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants 84:46.
“‘Hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit.’ What does that mean?” Mark asked.
“For now, listen to your conscience, and after you are baptized, listen to the still, small voice of the Spirit,” Mom explained. “Do what it tells you to do, and your light will always be fully charged.”
“And ready for any storm!”
“Exactly.”
The rain had stopped pounding the roof of the church, and the sun was starting to filter through the curtains into the Primary room. Mark swallowed hard.
“I know that this scripture is true,” Mark said with a catch in his voice. “And I’m grateful that God has given each of us a light inside us that can lead us safely out of the darkness of any storm.”

Astrid and Jennifer, sisters, found the Church before the missionaries could find them. Jennifer was interested when she heard about the Church in a religion class at school and did some research. In the local library she found German translations of the Book of Mormon and William E. Berrett’s The Restored Church. She and Astrid read them together. Skeptically, they looked in the Bremen phone book to see if they could find a reference to this “American” church. They were pleasantly surprised to find a meetinghouse in their very own hometown. They wrote to the meetinghouse, asking how to go about joining this restored Church of Jesus Christ. Of course, we were glad to help.

Katie Patterson, 12, and Ingrid Millard, 13, were buddies to Kathy. She, too, is wheelchair bound with cerebral palsy and severe retardation. A lack of vital brain chemicals causes her to bite herself. For this reason, her arms were strapped to boards.
“I was scared at first,” said Katie Patterson. “But after I pushed her around for a while I wasn’t scared anymore. She’s nice.”
Ingrid Millard agreed. “We take her to see everything.”
What does Kathy think? Well, she had a big smile, which is her way of telling the world she’s happy.

A few days later, we fasted along with our extended family members. For the first time in a while, I felt like fasting in faith made sense. I had faith in the Savior and knew that whatever His will, we could get through it with His help.
We went forward with the treatment, and, amazingly, we soon found out we were pregnant. We were so excited. I felt with my whole heart that God truly is a God of miracles!
A few days later, we learned we were going to lose the baby. All our joy was suddenly replaced with sadness. But because of the experiences I’d had learning about miracles, I felt a sense of peace. I knew that through the Savior’s Atonement we would get through this—I had felt that strongly just a few days before. And the fact that we could get pregnant gave us guidance in the coming months.

Jacqueline’s family talked and laughed as they walked through the snow-dusted woods. But behind them, Jacqueline quietly trudged with the speed of a melting snowman.
She had waited all year for her family’s Christmas-tree hunt. She had dreamed about crunching through the frosty forest, sipping hot cocoa, and decorating the perfect tree until every branch sparkled with lights.
But now the frost she had waited for was freezing her toes, and the hot cocoa in her thermos didn’t taste as sweet as usual. She kept thinking about Travis.
Travis was Jacqueline’s best friend. He used to have a house near hers, but this winter his family had to move into a small trailer. The move had been really hard for Travis. There wasn’t even enough room for a Christmas tree in their new place. And Travis loved Christmas trees!
Suddenly Jacqueline stopped. Popping up from the snow in front of her was a tiny pine sapling. Maybe it would fit in Travis’s new home! Jacqueline’s eyes lit up as she reached for it—
“Whoa!” Dad said, putting a mittened hand on her shoulder. “We can’t cut down the little trees. They need to grow for next year.”
As Dad continued through the forest, Jacqueline looked back at the sapling and smiled. She had an idea.
Hours later Jacqueline was walking through the snow again—but this time in her own backyard. From where she stood, she could just glimpse her family’s Christmas tree twinkling through the windows of their house. Their tree hunt was over, but hers wasn’t quite finished.
She walked next to the towering trees that marked the edge of her yard until she saw a pine branch growing low enough to reach. It was just the right size for Travis’s trailer. Dad had told her that taking one small branch wouldn’t hurt the tree too much.
With a grunt Jacqueline broke off the branch. But it didn’t look at all like the Christmas tree twinkling inside. Making Travis’s tree was going to be harder than she thought!
The next day Jacqueline sat in the car and watched the forest rush by in a blur of brown and green.
“Aren’t you excited to give Travis his tree?” Mom asked.
Jacqueline shrugged. She had spent all day trying to make the little tree look just right, but it didn’t end up nearly as nice as she wanted.
They parked in front of Travis’s trailer, and Jacqueline opened the trunk. When she saw the tree, her heart sank. It was lopsided, with needles drooping from its branches. Even the ribbons Jacqueline had tied around it were crumpled. Hot tears stung at the corner of Jacqueline’s eyes. It looked nothing like a real Christmas tree. It would probably just make Travis’s Christmas worse!
The door to the trailer swung open, and Travis bounded down the steps. With a deep breath, Jacqueline held out the tree. “Merry Christmas!” she said shakily.
When Travis saw the tree, a grin spread across his face. “Wow! It’s perfect!” he cried out. “Thank you!”
Jacqueline felt a warm feeling grow inside her, melting away the sad and worried feelings she’d had before. She realized that her gift wasn’t really the tree or the ribbons—so it didn’t matter if those were perfect or not. What she had really given Travis was love. Like Jesus would have done.
And she couldn’t wait to give it again.

I had just turned 14 and my bishop had invited me to enroll in seminary. By a stroke of severe timing, my bishop’s invitation came right when I was embarking on a system of scholarly torture known as the General Certificate of Secondary Education. In England (I live in Manchester), we refer to it as the GCSEs. So here was the bishop inviting me to seminary while the never-ending storm of exams, homework, mock exams, projects, tests, and experiments that are the GCSEs were just beginning.
Consequently, apathetic would be the best word to describe my approach to seminary. There was the initial excitement of studying in the same class as my big brother, but that quickly wore off. It wasn’t until I decided to find out about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon that I began to appreciate what seminary could do for me.
When I began the course, we had been taught that Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4] was our key scripture for the year. I had marked that scripture in red and green, and I had felt prompted to pray to Heavenly Father and ask for a special witness concerning the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.
As I knelt by my bed to talk with my Father in Heaven, I realized I had not prepared myself very well. I remembered the passage in the Doctrine and Covenants when the Lord told Oliver Cowdery that he “took no thought save it was to ask me” (D&C 9:7). I knew I was doing the same thing, and when I prayed to Heavenly Father I felt nothing different except a feeling that I was right to ask. But I didn’t feel like I’d received an answer to my prayer. I knew I had to do all that the Lord asked of me before I was to find out whether the Book of Mormon was a book of scripture or just a very clever novel.
Then one night I was alone in the house when my answer came. My homework was already completed, and usually such times are a welcome opportunity to veg out in front of the TV or get stuck in another science-fiction book. But that night I felt like doing neither.
On impulse, I went upstairs to my room and brought down my new brown triple combination. I sat in the living room and searched for the final chapters of Nephi’s life in 2 Nephi.
Somehow I felt that these were important chapters, so I said a short and simple prayer before I began to study, asking that the Spirit be with me. I had often asked for the same thing when I would pray before seminary lessons, yet this time my request seemed to mean more. I felt I needed to feel these words as I read them, so I began to read the scriptures out loud to myself.
As I read one chapter, then another, I began to feel as if I could actually hear Nephi himself saying those things to his people. As I read of his love for his people, I could feel the words of a prophet crying out, each sentence filled with the anguished cries of a loving man who had served God all his life. I read through chapter 32 [2 Ne. 32], spellbound by the words of a man who was suddenly becoming so real to me. The things he said were so beautiful and right. When I turned the page and began to read chapter 33 [2 Ne. 33], my empathy for this man overflowed. I could not contain my tears as I read how this prophet cried day and night for his people, and so I cried with him—desperately aware that those words were the last written in the Book of Mormon by such a great man.
I finished the final testimony of Nephi with a clogged throat and bleary eyes. Yet inside I felt on fire, alive with a knowledge that had settled in my heart. Nephi was a prophet of God, a real man, with a real life.
Many weeks after I had first prayed to know if those words were God’s words, I had fulfilled my end of Moroni’s promise and received a testimony that I hope will stay with me forever.

By the time my husband and I graduated, we had been married for a year. Elder Russell M. Nelson (at the time, he was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles) came to speak at our graduation. A luncheon followed, and only 16 students were invited to attend. Oddly enough, both my husband I were selected to be there. When the discussion was opened for questions and answers. I raised my hand, looked Elder Nelson in the eye, and expressed my concerns about being both an artist and a mother. I had worked so hard to build my talents in school, and I wanted to continue to work hard and improve, but I also knew that motherhood took precedence. Was there a way to do both? Elder Nelson’s eyes sparkled as he replied, “Absolutely!” He encouraged me to improve upon my talents and to pray to Heavenly Father for help in knowing how I could do both and that with Him, I would be able to do things I once thought impossible. I took that advice to heart.

While touring the New England Mission in May 1960 accompanied by his wife Camilla, Elder Spencer W. Kimball taught much to many. One day is particularly memorable.
Elder Kimball had requested and been permitted to take time to do some genealogical research on the actual location of the birthplace of his grandfather, Heber C. Kimball. While it had generally been concluded that Heber C. Kimball was born in Sheldon, Vermont, Elder Kimball wanted conclusive proof. He also wanted to check for other genealogical information.
Searching stores on the main street of St. Albans for helpful maps and checking records in the city halls of St. Albans and Sheldon, he received mainly general information that confirmed what he already knew. And so, early the next morning, he visited the cemetery. The dew was heavy, but presented no obstacle to his moving about among the headstones looking for Kimball names. When finding any, he would sparkle with joy and record the information in his notebook.
Imagine his influence on me as I watched him and Sister Kimball poring over record books and relating any information they found to that which they already had. I sensed a feeling of fulfillment in the Kimballs in their being able to spend this time in the area from which Elder Kimball’s illustrious grandfather had come.
In order not to lose the chance to teach and train, Elder and Sister Kimball ended this most unusual day in meeting with the Saints in Barre, not far from Sharon. Sister Kimball instructed ninety sisters and Elder Kimball provided over forty brethren with priesthood leadership training. Concluding the visit with a district meeting of the Saints from all parts of Vermont, Elder Kimball issued the Saints the challenge to double their membership by the end of the year.
Teaching. Always teaching!

A story is told of a certain rabbi:
This rabbi . . . went on a journey with the prophet Elijah. They walked all day, and at nightfall they came to the humble cottage of a poor man, whose only treasure was a cow. The poor man ran out of his cottage, and his wife ran too, to welcome the strangers for the night and to offer them all the simple hospitality which they were able to give in straitened circumstances. Elijah and the Rabbi were entertained with plenty of the cow’s milk, sustained by home-made bread and butter, and they were put to sleep in the best bed while their kindly hosts lay down before the kitchen fire. But in the morning the poor man’s cow was dead. . . .

They walked all the next day, and came that evening to the house of a very wealthy merchant, whose hospitality they craved. The merchant was cold and proud and rich, and all that he would do for the prophet and his companion was to lodge them in a cowshed and feed them on bread and water. In the morning, however, Elijah thanked him very much for what he had done, and sent for a mason to repair one of his walls, which happened to be falling down, as a return for his kindness.

The Rabbi . . . , unable to keep silence any longer, begged the holy man to explain the meaning of his dealings with human beings.

“In regard to the poor man who received us so hospitably,” replied the prophet, “it was decreed that his wife was to die that night, but in reward for his goodness God took the cow instead of the wife. I repaired the wall of the rich miser because a chest of gold was concealed near the place, and if the miser had repaired the wall himself he would have discovered the treasure. Say not therefore to the Lord: What doest thou? But say in thy heart: Must not the Lord of all the earth do right?”

“But, Mom,” Kendyl cried, “I have to go to Achievement Day. Sister Reed wants all of the girls there. She takes pictures of us at our activities to put in our scrapbooks, and I don’t want to be left out.”
“I know it’s important to go to Achievement Day, honey, but we have such a long drive ahead of us to Grandma’s! I don’t want to get a late start.”
“Can I at least go for an hour? Marie and I already planned to ride our bikes together.”
Kendyl’s mom looked down at the pleading expression on her daughter’s face and sighed. Even if it meant a delay, she was pleased that Kendyl didn’t want to miss the Achievement Day activities. “OK, honey, you can go for the whole time, but why don’t you and Marie walk so that we can pick you up from Sister Reed’s house on our way out of town.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Kendyl called over her shoulder as she ran to finish packing.
“Dad, is this the longest road in the world?” Kendyl’s six-year-old brother, Weston, asked.
“No, Son. It just seems that way because it’s flat and straight.”
This was a trip the family made at least once a year, and Kendyl had remembered how long and boring it was. Her backpack was full of things to keep her occupied—books, colored pencils, a drawing pad, and some braided cord for a key chain she was making as a gift for Grandma.
Weston was busy playing with action figures, making all sorts of growling and fighting noises. A few of the figures were missing arms or legs, but he didn’t care. He didn’t go anywhere without his Galactic Gorillas.
The family had long ago finished the sandwiches Mom had packed, and Kendyl’s stomach was starting to growl. The chips were gone, too, thanks to Weston the “chip monster.” “How much longer, Dad?” She didn’t want to sound like her little brother, but this trip seemed longer than any of the others. Wasn’t there supposed to be a town soon?
“Oh, we still have a few more hours. Try to get some sleep. That will make the trip go faster.”
She didn’t like sleeping in the car. Her neck always hurt on one side when she woke up. It was getting too dark to do anything else, though, so she rested her head against the back of her seat and shut her eyes.
A sudden drop in the car speed threw Kendyl forward against her seat belt, jolting her wide awake. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“It’s OK, honey,” Dad said. “The engine cut out a moment, that’s all.”
“Are we there yet?” Weston sat up, stretching.
“Not yet, Sport. I think the car’s getting as tired of this trip as we are, that’s all.”
Kendyl and Weston sat back. The only light outside came from the stars spread across the velvet black sky, and the two bright funnels from the headlights. Suddenly Kendyl felt very small and a little scared, so she shut her eyes to say a little prayer. Just as she started her prayer, the engine cut out again. Dad steered the car over to the side of the road as it slowed to a halt.
“What’s going on?” Mom asked.
“I’ll get out and take a look. Thank goodness the lights still work.” Dad got out of the car and checked under the hood. “I don’t know what it could be,” he said, climbing back inside. “Everything seems to check out. Maybe we just need to let the engine rest for a minute.”
Kendyl’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of nowhere.
“I’m hungry,” Weston said with a whine in his voice. “I want to go to Grandma’s.” The whine changed quickly into sobs. Hearing her brother cry made Kendyl’s own eyes water.
“Sweetie,” Mom said, “everything’s going to be fine.”
“But I’m hungry and cold.”
Kendyl’s stomach wasn’t only hungry—it was tied in knots.
Half an hour went by. Dad tried to start the car again. No luck. The more he tried, the more tired the battery started to sound.
“Mommy,” Weston said, “I’m really hungry, and it’s really cold.”
Then Kendyl remembered. “Mom, guess what?”
“What, honey?”
“I put our old camping blanket in the trunk.”
“You did?” Dad asked, his voice sounding happier.
“Sister Reed told us to at our last Achievement Day. And today she helped us make emergency kits. Mine is in the trunk.”
“Is there food in it?” Weston asked.
“A little bit. Peanut-butter sandwich crackers and fruit snacks.”
“Yes! Hurray for Achievement Day!” Weston shouted.
“Hurray for Sister Reed,” Dad added.
“Hurray for Kendyl,” Mom said.
Within minutes, they had the blanket, some jackets, extra clothes to keep them warm, and the canvas tote bag containing Kendyl’s emergency kit.
“Look—a candle and matches,” Dad said. He struck a match and touched it to the wick. The tiny flame bathed the inside of the car with its glow. Kendyl felt a lot better now that there was light.
“Bandages and a bottle of water,” Mom said, going through the rest of the bag. “And toilet paper, and wet wipes—and here’s the food.” She handed a fruit snack to everyone, and they shared a four-pack of crackers with peanut butter.
“This is the best food I’ve ever eaten in my whole life,” Weston said. “Mom, will you buy this kind of crackers when we get home?”
“Of course, Son,” Mom said. “Kendyl, it’s a real blessing to have this emergency kit. And to think that I almost didn’t let you go to your activity!”
“Sister Reed told us that if we were prepared, we didn’t have any reason to be afraid.”
“She’s absolutely right,” Dad said.
“You know what my teacher told us?” Weston said.
“What, Wes?” Mom asked.
“She said that when we need help we should pray.”
“Your teacher is also right,” Dad said. “Why don’t we have a prayer right now?”
They folded their arms, bowed their heads, and Dad said the prayer.
They had not sat there long after the prayer, when Weston called out, “Look—headlights!”
Sure enough, a tiny, bright circle was coming toward them. It quickly grew into two powerful tunnels of welcome light.
The whole family cheered as Dad flicked the headlights on and off to signal to the driver.
Not only did the car stop, but to everyone’s delight, the driver was a highway patrolman. He called a tow truck, and soon they were snug and safe in a hotel room.
Before going to bed that night, the family knelt in prayer. Weston reminded Dad to thank Heavenly Father for peanut-butter sandwich crackers. Dad also thanked Heavenly Father for watching out for them that night, for the power of prayer, and especially for Sister Reed, Kendyl, emergency kits, and Achievement Day.

The third miracle involved a series of events that allowed Ray to travel 1,532.8 kilometers to attend the temple for the first time.
Cancer required the removal of Ray’s stomach, but while recovering from massive surgery, the Gambles taught him temple preparation lessons, which he continued after leaving the hospital.
Branch President Schwalger granted permission for the missionaries to resume Ray’s lessons over the phone and at his home. The Gambles used skeins of yarn and other props to review principles like the plan of salvation.
Ray eventually received his temple recommend, and with aid from the General Temple Patron Assistance Fund he prepared to receive his endowment.
Two weeks before his scheduled temple date, the Gambles received a call from Ray. Sister Gamble recalls, “He was in the hospital and told us he just wanted to die. We found him in the emergency department having a vial of potassium administered intravenously, which is apparently quite painful. Elder Gamble gave him a blessing, which helped him tolerate the procedure.”
Once Ray was cleared for travel, the long-awaited moment finally arrived. Ray and the missionary couple set out on 30 January 2024, and the group walked into the temple the following day.
At 81 years old now, Ray was able to participate in proxy baptisms and confirmations for his male ancestors. Then he used his Melchizedek Priesthood authority, for the first time, to perform proxy confirmations on Sister Gamble for his female ancestors. “I was moved to tears when Ray placed his hands on my head,” says Sister Gamble.

Family history research in the nineteenth century was very difficult. Records of baptisms, marriages and burials were kept in local churches and required permission from their vicars to be viewed. Census records were not available.
Missionaries then coming to Britain were often returning British converts, or their children. Their calling was not just to teach the living, but also to find details of their own ancestors.
One such Elder was James Leaing McMurrin, who arrived on UK shores in the spring of 1884 and was assigned to Glasgow. He was delighted by this, as Scotland was the home of his ancestors. He eagerly endeavoured to find them, but sadly had no success.
Six months into his mission he was reassigned to Ireland. On learning of this, his aunt gave him the address of one Hugh McMurrin, who lived in Ireland. The Elder determined to visit him if possible. However, the address was not within his assigned area.
Sometime later, he and his companion went out to visit a family of Church members but got lost. It was getting late, and upon enquiring at a house the direction to the town they were seeking, the occupants offered the elders a meal and a bed for the night. After learning Elder McMurrin’s name, the couple told him of a neighbour they had by the name of Hugh McMurrin.
Astonished, but delighted, Elder McMurrin visited him and found he was the Hugh McMurrin his aunt had told him about. He had moved from the address his aunt had given him. From this gentleman he received the addresses of other McMurrins, whom he visited and who gave him nearly one hundred and fifty names of his ancestors.
Back in Salt Lake City, Janet McMurrin was tending to her dying father. In a conversation about the spirit world, she asked him when he went beyond the veil to tell Grandfather McMurrin that the family were unable to find any of his genealogy to do work for in the temple. He agreed to deliver the message, and shortly thereafter died.
A little time later, about the time that Elder McMurrin was being transferred to Ireland, Janet had a dream in which her father appeared to her. He informed her that he had delivered her message and had now come to tell her that “42 Islington” would do all the rest. With this she awoke and wondered what he could have meant by 42 Islingto”. Members in England at the time would have been able to tell her, but she had to wait for Elder McMurrin’s letter telling her of his changed assignment, one given him by the British Mission President, whose office was at 42 Islington, Liverpool.
When we do all we can, the Lord will do the rest.
Sometime later, in May 1899, Elder McMurrin was serving as part of the presidency of the European Mission. He attended the Scottish Conference, where he met a young David O. McKay (1873–1970).
President McKay later recounts, “I had learned by intimate association with him that James McMurrin was pure gold; his faith in the Gospel implicit; that no truer man, no more loyal man to what he thought was right, ever lived; so when he turned to me and gave what I thought then was more of a caution than a promise, his words made an indelible impression upon me. Paraphrasing the words of the Saviour to Peter, he said, ‘Let me say to you Brother David, Satan hath desired you that he may sift you as wheat, but God is mindful of you.’ Then he added, ‘If you will keep the faith you will yet sit in the leading councils of the Church.’ …
“I know that this incident means but little to others, but to me it connotes so much that is intimately precious and so profoundly important as a milestone in my life that I cherish it as a sacred possession.”1

The LDS Scouts came from all over the world, including Germany, Wales, Guam, England, and South Africa, but most were from the United States and Canada. One thing they all shared was a zest for getting to know Scouts from other parts of the world. One LDS Scout executive was worried because he had heard a complaint that the U.S. Scouts weren’t integrating well enough with other contingents. Determined to do his part, he hailed a passing English Scout. He was surprised to find that the lad did not have an English accent.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Campbell.”
“Where are you from?”
“Salt Lake City.”
The “English” Scout had traded uniforms with a friend in the British contingent. This was not unusual. By the end of the jamboree, many of the LDS Scouts looked rather like a walking world atlas, with headgear from one nation, shirt from another, trousers from another, and a neckerchief from still another.

Age 18
First counselor in Young Men presidency, seminary teacher
We all face unanticipated problems in life. After my family returned from being sealed in the Hong Kong China Temple and just before one of my sisters was to leave on a full-time mission, my older brother and sister lost their jobs and my father’s salary was cut in half. It was a difficult time for the 11 of us in our small home, but we held to the promises made in the temple.
In that time the Holy Ghost reminded me of a scripture: “But before ye seek for riches, seek ye for the kingdom of God” (Jacob 2:18). It brought me hope. I trusted that God would bless me and my family.
My brother and sister have now found jobs that allow our family to eat, and I’ve had several promising interviews. It’s a miracle that has increased our faith in Christ. I know the Lord loves us and knows us. He knows our needs. If we’ll keep His commandments, we’ll prosper in the land (see Mosiah 2:22).

On October 6, in the year 1536, a pitiful figure was led from a dungeon in Vilvorde Castle near Brussels, Belgium. For nearly a year and a half, the man had suffered isolation in a dark, damp cell. Now outside the castle wall, the prisoner was fastened to a post. He had time to utter aloud his final prayer, “Lord! open the king of England’s eyes,” and then he was strangled. Immediately, his body was burned at the stake. Who was this man, and what was the offense for which both political and ecclesiastical authorities had condemned him? His name was William Tyndale, and his crime was to have translated and published the Bible in English.
Tyndale, born in England about the time Columbus sailed to the new world, was educated at Oxford and Cambridge and then became a member of the Catholic clergy. He was fluent in eight languages, including Greek, Hebrew, and Latin. Tyndale was a devoted student of the Bible, and the pervasive ignorance of the scriptures that he observed in both priests and lay people troubled him deeply. In a heated exchange with a cleric who argued against putting scripture in the hands of the common man, Tyndale vowed, “If God spare my life, ere many years I will cause a boy that driveth the plough, shall know more of the Scripture than thou dost!”
He sought the approval of church authorities to prepare a translation of the Bible in English so that all could read and apply the word of God. It was denied—the prevailing view being that direct access to the scriptures by any but the clergy threatened the authority of the church and was tantamount to casting “pearls before swine” (Matthew 7:6).
Tyndale nevertheless undertook the challenging work of translation. In 1524 he traveled to Germany, under an assumed name, where he lived much of the time in hiding, under constant threat of arrest. With the help of committed friends, Tyndale was able to publish English translations of the New Testament and later the Old Testament. The Bibles were smuggled into England, where they were in great demand and much prized by those who could get them. They were shared widely but in secret. The authorities burned all the copies they could find. Nevertheless, within three years of Tyndale’s death, God did indeed open King Henry VIII’s eyes, and with publication of what was called the “Great Bible,” the scriptures in English began to be publicly available. Tyndale’s work became the foundation for almost all future English translations of the Bible, most notably the King James Version.1

I visited a ward in the Altiplano of Bolivia. It is a very poor area. The people speak Spanish and Quechua, but most of them do not know how to read either language because they have never had the opportunity to learn. After the meeting, I talked with an eleven-year-old boy. On the wall of the building were pictures of the members of the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. This young boy pointed to each of the Brethren and named every one of them. Then he said to me, “Will you please tell President Benson that I am reading the Book of Mormon.” He was learning to read by reading the Book of Mormon. I said to him, “Let me see if you really know how to read by reading 1 Nephi 3:7 [1 Ne. 3:7].” He turned to it quickly and said, “I can read it, but I don’t need to because I know that scripture by heart.” He then recited it perfectly.

Here is one instance from an official account. During fighting in Somalia in October of 1993, two United States Army Rangers in a helicopter during the firefight learned that two other helicopters near them had fallen to the earth. The two rangers, in their relative safety aloft, learned by radio that no ground forces were available to rescue one of the downed aircrews. Growing numbers of the enemy were closing in on the crash site.

The two men watching from above volunteered to go down to the ground (the words they used on the radio were to “be inserted”) to protect their critically wounded comrades. Their request was denied because the situation was so dangerous. They asked a second time. Permission was again denied. Only after their third request were they put down on the ground.

Armed only with their personal weapons, they fought their way to the crashed helicopter and the injured fliers. They moved through intense small arms fire as enemies converged on the crash site. They pulled the wounded from the wreckage. They put themselves in a perimeter around the wounded, placing themselves in the most dangerous positions. They protected their comrades until their ammunition was depleted and they were fatally wounded. Their bravery and their sacrifice saved the life of a pilot who would have been lost.

They were each awarded posthumously the Medal of Honor, their nation’s highest recognition for bravery in the face of an armed enemy. The citation reads that what they did was “above and beyond the call of duty.”

But I wonder if they saw it that way as they moved to the downed airmen. Out of loyalty they felt a duty to stand by their fellow soldiers, whatever the cost. The courage to act and their selfless service came from feeling that they were responsible for the lives, the happiness, and the safety of comrades.

I have been flying many kinds of aircraft for the last 30 years, both in the United States and in Latin American countries. Not too long ago when I had returned to the States after an absence of some years, a very dear friend offered me the use of his new, twin-engine Cessna. It just happened to be one of my favorite aircraft. It not only had the special, powerful engines with turbo-superchargers that could take it up to very high altitudes, but it had all the radios, all the electronic navigational aids, the transponder, the distance-measuring equipment, full instruments for all-weather flight, oxygen, and so on, just like the commercial airliners. I couldn’t think of a more enjoyable plane to fly, but with so much equipment (this was a very expensive, sophisticated bird), I reluctantly passed up the chance, saying, “Someday we’ll go to Mexico together.”
A few months passed, and every time I saw my friend he offered his plane again, but I never felt I should accept, even though the offer was very sincere. Then one day my friend brought to my office a set of keys and a pilot’s manual as evidence that he really would be pleased if I would use his beautiful aircraft sometime. The keys in my hand generated an overwhelming desire to go down to Mexico to my favorite spot for deep-sea fishing. Unfortunately Jack couldn’t go the days I had free but assured me that I should go alone. We discussed my qualifications of being covered under his insurance policy, and it turned out that I needed a check ride with a qualified inspector as it had been some time since I had flown that particular type of plane.
The arrangements were made, and I met the inspector at the side of the airplane at the appointed hour with my licenses from the USA, Argentina, Paraguay, and Ecuador, and logbooks showing flights in Cessna 310s across jungles, mountains, deserts, international boundaries, etc. He smiled calmly but was unimpressed and said, “I’ve heard about you, and I have no doubt about how much flying you have done, but I have to assume that those flights were when nothing went wrong. Now let’s fire up this bird and see how well you fly it when everything goes wrong!”
For the next hour he made everything go wrong! He simulated every emergency he could think of. He turned things off that should have been on. He turned things on that should have been off. He tried to create disorientation or panic. He really wanted to know how well I could fly when everything did go wrong! In the end he climbed out, signed my logbook, and announced, “You’re okay. I’d let my wife and kids fly with you.” I took that as being a great compliment.