Gospel Story Finder

But many of the biggest miracles in this powerful program are the most personal. During her sophomore year, Mary Mulvey found herself being pulled further and further away from church and family. “My life was going in a very bad direction,” she recalls. Then she was called into the Laurel presidency in her ward. Her adviser asked her to help get other girls involved with Personal Progress, so Mary started working on it herself. “I started with some of the easier experiences,” Mary explains. “For two weeks, I tried being nicer to my older sister, and that really changed our relationship.” Next she set goals to clean up her language and improve the way she dressed. “Everything I did helped change my overall attitude. I was changing all the little things that had pulled me away in the first place.”

Soon Mary felt worthy to receive her patriarchal blessing, another huge help in her life—especially when she lost her old group of friends and had to start over socially at school. “Personal Progress was life changing,” Mary reflects. “It redefined who I am and helped me see where I need to go in my life.” As her last value project, Mary set a goal to go to the temple regularly to do baptisms for the dead. Today people in her ward often tell Mary that she now has a visibly brighter countenance. It all started when she started her Personal Progress.

A raindrop splattered suddenly on the page, smearing the street name and apartment house number. The remaining hurriedly written lines in the tracting book translated as “check the Yugoslavian lady in the first apartment on the right.” Well, I thought, a quick introduction at the door will do, minus the Book of Mormon explanation. She probably won’t be interested anyway. This day has really been cold and drab, like the rain seeping through my trench coat.
My new companion’s reluctance made it my turn once again to give the missionary introduction. I was too tired and cold and impatient to offer him any words of encouragement. As we approached the apartment-house entrance, I shifted the knapsack from one shoulder to the other. The two German copies of the Book of Mormon in the bottom of the knapsack, which my companion had placed there that morning against my recommendation, were weighing on my back.
My personal reluctance to speak about the Book of Mormon in our initial meetings with people and to carry German copies of the book was based on a rationalization: we didn’t have a translation of the Book of Mormon which the majority of Yugoslavian workers temporarily living in Germany could read. The native tongue for most of these Yugoslavian workers was Serbocroatian. How could they gain for themselves a testimony of something they couldn’t understand? How could they “receive these things,” as is admonished by Moroni, if the pages appeared to them as undecipherable? True, some could read German, but the majority were not comfortable with that language.
Even so, my companion and I walked up the steps to the apartment house. As we turned to knock on the door, we noticed a lady making her way up a winding cement staircase from the basement, her arms around a large tub of freshly hand-laundered clothes. The calluses on her gnarled hands contrasted sharply with the fair complexion of her face and her jet-black hair which was pulled back neatly under a brightly colored scarf.
I stepped away slowly from the apartment door and spoke to her. After acknowledging that we were missionaries, I remarked halfheartedly that we could come back later since the hour was so late. Yet, she invited us in to her apartment.
We went in, and I quickly gave a shortened version of the first discussion, talking about Joseph Smith, the First Vision, and the Book of Mormon. I followed with a testimony of the truthfulness of what I had just said and then asked if she would like to know more, expecting of course that she would say no and ask us to leave. Instead, she asked whether we had a copy of the Book of Mormon she could look at. My companion quickly took out one of the German copies from the knapsack which had been poking me in the back all day. He wryly smiled, as if to say, “I told you so!”
I extended the book toward her and asked if she read German. She said no. I began to pull the book away, explaining that we unfortunately didn’t have a copy she could read and understand. She persisted in having me give her the copy, however, and so I did. Her rough fingers gently flipped through the introductory pages containing the pictures of Joseph Smith, Moroni, and the civilizations of ancient America. She asked various questions about the pictures and then concluded by requesting that we leave the book with her for a few days. She said that she had a friend who spoke German and that she would like to show it to this friend.
My mind immediately recalled a similar incident in which the “friend” turned out to be a leader in a local sect which was very unsympathetic to our cause. I finally agreed, however, to let her keep the book. We didn’t set a specific time to come back. I said simply that we would come back in a few days.
We departed, and my companion remarked that the encounter had been very successful. He said he felt confident that we really had a golden contact. I mumbled a skeptical “sure,” still very doubtful.
A few days later it was my companion’s turn to plan the day’s activities. He suggested that we go back to the Yugoslavian lady with whom we had placed the German copy of the Book of Mormon. I agreed, but was still convinced that we would be unsuccessful. We found her home, and I proceeded to ask her how her experience had been in showing the Book of Mormon to her friend. She said that her friend had been unavailable over the past few days, but that she herself had looked through the book and studied the pictures and had even prayed about the truthfulness of the book as I had told her Moroni had admonished readers to do. She then said that she felt the book was the true word of God.
I was dumbfounded by her statement. After so many rejections I was a little uncertain about her sincerity. I inquired again about her ability to read German. She repeated that she couldn’t read German but that she had pondered upon our previous discussion and had prayed. My initial reaction was one of mistrust. How, I thought, could she have a testimony of a book she can’t even read!
In the meantime, my companion had recognized that she really did know the Book of Mormon to be true and became excited by the prospect. He encouraged me to teach her more. I began back at the beginning with the discussion of Joseph Smith and the First Vision, still somewhat suspicious of the situation. We finished that meeting and went back for others. After a few weeks of learning, the lady was baptized. In time she did receive a copy of the Book of Mormon which she could read and understand for herself.
After she had first affirmed that she knew the Book of Mormon to be true, I noticed a marked difference in her interest and ability to learn gospel principles, compared with other investigators we had taught before. She seemed almost like a little child, wide-eyed and anxious to savor everything we had to say. She was not like other investigators, intent on critiquing our every word in order to prove or disprove the truthfulness of our message. Her knowledge of the Book of Mormon and the gospel grew by leaps and bounds, unlike anyone I had worked with before. She seemed to be exactly the person Moroni had in mind when he spoke of those who “receive these things” (Moro. 10:4) and have the truth manifested unto them, and yet she had not “read these things.” (Moro. 10:3; italics added.)

The Prophet Joseph Smith was a tall, strong man. He grew up on a farm and spent many hours clearing the land and planting crops with his father and brothers.
The Prophet loved spending time with young people. One of his favorite activities was wrestling. In those days, wrestling consisted mostly of trying to throw your opponent off balance.
One day Joseph noticed a crowd of enthusiastic young men and boys. When he got closer, he saw that they were wrestling. He decided to join them.
There was one especially large fellow who seemed to be the champion. He was proud of the fact that no one had thrown him, and he was eager to wrestle the Prophet.
The match had scarcely begun when the champion found himself being carried by his collar and the seat of his pants to a nearby ditch, where Joseph dropped him.
As the crowd yelled and cheered, Joseph helped the young man to his feet, patted him on his back, and said, “You must not mind this. When I am with the boys, I make all the fun I can for them.”
Although he was the first President of the Church and a very busy man, Joseph Smith knew that taking time to be friendly with others was important.

2. If I had to choose one principle that is most basic and vitally essential to effective communication, it would have to be sincerity. Do you really mean what you are saying? Are you really convinced of that particular principle? Audiences are highly perceptive to speakers, and if you are trying to convince them of a subject that you have not personally had a positive experience with, chances are you’ll not succeed.
I remember two examples of this. Shortly after joining the Church in New Jersey, my family and I moved to Vermont. Some of the members there were not highly educated as far as schooling was concerned, nor did they pretend to be anything but simple, strong, faithful workers in the kingdom. I remember one such individual who was called upon to speak at district conference. A native of Vermont, he was in his early sixties and obviously not skilled in the art of public speaking—but I’ll never forget his words.
He began by saying he had been having difficulty living an important commandment of the Lord, (Matt. 5:43) Evidently, his boss had been treating him quite harshly and seemed to delight in giving him all the undesirable work in the factory and refusing to consider him for a promotion.
In desperation he went to the Lord in prayer and sought his help in this unbearable situation. He related that as he continued in prayer his bitterness toward his boss began to subside and he actually began to like him!
Finally, after several weeks of continued prayer, this brother, standing erect and firmly grasping the pulpit, said through tear-laden eyes, “You know, brothers and sisters, I really began to love that man.” And from that time on their relationship improved and his life in and out of the factory changed for the better. A powerful message, simple, sincere, and straight from the heart.

“Tomorrow is very special,” Diego’s teacher said. “We’re going to have Show and Tell!”
Diego smiled. He loved Show and Tell! He couldn’t wait to show his friends something special.
After school, Diego told Mama the great news.
“What should I take?” he asked.
“Something special to you,” Mama said.
“I can bring Lobo!”
“I don’t think we can take a dog to school,” Mama said. “But there are other special treasures you can share.”
Soon Diego’s treasure hunt began! He found a stuffed monkey. Should he take him? But Diego kept looking.
He looked behind the kitchen chairs. He looked on the bookshelf. He wouldn’t stop until he found something just right.
Then he looked by his bed. He found the perfect thing!
Diego ran to show Mama. He held his treasure tight.
“Mama!” he said. “Look! I found the best thing.”
He held up a small picture for Mama to see. It was a picture of Jesus as a little boy. Diego felt good when he looked at the picture. He wanted his friends at school to feel good too.
“That is a special thing for Show and Tell,” Mama said. “What will you tell your class about Jesus?”
“That everyone can be happy,” he said. “Because Jesus loves everyone!”

Interviewing the grandparents about their lives, writing the scripts, finding costumes, and then having rehearsals to make sure everything was just right took a lot of time. But the youth said the time spent was worth it when they saw everything and everyone come together on the night of the activity.
“Sometimes I didn’t really feel like it was worth all the time it took to put this activity together. But then when I saw the final night and the looks on the faces of the elderly as they watched incidents from their lives acted out before them and as they realized that the youth in the ward care about who they are, it all seemed worth it,” Cassie says. “It also made me want to live my life in a way so that if someone were to write a play about me when I am old I wouldn’t be embarrassed by it.”

Before Richard had left for his mission, a university professor had tried to dissuade him from going; he would be ruining a promising career, the man said. A few weeks after returning from Uruguay, Richard was invited to be interviewed by Captain (later Admiral) Hyman G. Rickover for a job on a top-secret military project involving nuclear energy.
The interview didn’t seem to go very well for Richard. In response to one question, he mentioned his mission. “What mission?” Captain Rickover demanded. “And what do I care about your mission?”
Richard reacted to that, because his mission had been such a precious time in his life. “Everything I really appreciate began to mature in the mission field,” he says. “So I decided to respond vigorously to every question.”
Then the captain asked, “What was the last book you read?”
“The Book of Mormon,” he responded.
At the conclusion of the interview, and feeling that he had no chance for the job, Richard got up to leave. “Just a minute,” said the captain. “I’ve been testing you to see if you could stand up for what you believe. This is not going to be an easy project. We need people who can work with confidence.” Richard got the job working on the design of the nuclear reactor for the Nautilus, the first nuclear-powered submarine.
Later, while checking personnel records, he discovered the name of the professor who had urged him not to go on a mission; the man was now working under Richard’s direction, about three administrative levels down.

1. Let’s go back 60 years. The minutes of the Wandamere Ward of the Grant Stake for June 4, 1944, indicate the sacrament was administered by my friends Ward Jackson, Arthur Hicks, and me to a congregation of 141. Then it was off to war. In May of 1945, I was blessing the sacrament again—but in a foxhole on Okinawa for a congregation of only one, myself!
The training of my youth took over without fanfare—something only partially appreciated by me then—including abstaining from coffee in those same circumstances when water was scarce and highly chlorinated.
I do not know what lies ahead of you young men, but my advice would be to fasten your seat belts and hold on firmly to your principles!

I remember shortly after Alessandra and I got married, we had both just finished our university studies and moved back to Brazil to start our professional lives. It was difficult to find a job and we were both working in jobs that were below what we believed to be our potential. We could not even afford to pay rent, so we lived with my in-laws for a period of time, but we always paid an honest tithe.
We could see through some very small miracles throughout our lives how the Lord was opening the windows of heaven and rebuking the devourer in our lives. Over the years we were able to progress in our careers and afford rent, and later we were able to afford a mortgage. I remember one instance where the company that I was working for was laying off people and I was not laid off. I remember friends that were not members of the Church saying that I was lucky, but I knew that it was the Lord rebuking the devourer as mentioned in Malachi.
In other circumstances where I received a promotion at my work, I know that it was not only because of my qualifications, because I would look around and see that many of my colleagues had the same qualifications that I had. I know that it was the Lord opening the windows of heaven and blessing our lives.

Frequently the need of the widow is not one of food or shelter but of feeling a part of ongoing events. Elder H. Bryan Richards of the Seventy once brought to my office a sweet widow whose husband had passed away during a full-time mission they were serving. Elder Richards explained that her financial resources were adequate and that she desired to contribute to the Church’s General Missionary Fund the proceeds of two insurance policies on the life of her departed husband. I could not restrain my tears when she meekly advised me, “This is what I wish to do. It is what my missionary-minded husband would like.”
The gift was received and entered as a most substantial donation to missionary service. I saw the receipt made in her name, but I believe in my heart it was also recorded in heaven. I invited her and Elder Richards to follow me to the unoccupied First Presidency council room in the Church Administration Building. The room is beautiful and peaceful. I asked this sweet widow to sit in the chair usually occupied by our Church President. I felt he would not mind, for I knew his heart.
As she sat ever so humbly in the large leather chair, she gripped each armrest with a hand and declared, “This is one of the happiest days of my life.” It was also such for Elder Richards and for me.

In the George household, there are cherished memories about their ancestors that help strengthen the faith of family members. Elder George relates one beautiful story his grandfather told them:
“One man told my Grandpa about being in a stake conference when he was twelve years old, and he became nervous when Elder Kimball [then an Apostle] asked all of the twelveyear-old boys to come to the front. Elder Kimball lined them all up and gave each one of them a crisp, new one-dollar bill. He told them that that was the start of their missionary fund. The man never forgot that experience and he said that it helped give focus to his life.”

“Saturday,” said David.
“And nothing to do,” sighed his friend Andy.
They sat on the steps and watched Mr. Hickle the postman.
“We could go roller-skating,” said Andy.
“My brother is using my skates,” said David.
“Why don’t we ride our bikes?” Andy suggested.
“Your bike has a flat tire, remember?” David answered.
They sat on the steps and counted the blue cars that passed by.
“We could play catch,” said Andy.
“Some dog ran away with my catcher’s mitt,” grumbled David.
They sat on the steps and counted the red cars that passed by.
Then Freddie walked up the street. “Hi, David! Hi, Andy!” called Freddie.
“What’s that bulge in your shirt?” asked David.
“Nothing,” said Freddie.
“Where are you going, Freddie?” asked Andy.
“Nowhere,” answered Freddie. Then he hurried away.
“What do you think Freddie is hiding?” asked David.
“And where do you think he is going?” asked Andy.
“Let’s follow Freddie. He must be going to do something special,” suggested David.
They followed Freddie.
When Freddie came to a fence, he stopped. It was too high for him to climb. He found a hole and crawled through it.
David and Andy were too big to get through the hole. But they were big enough to climb the fence.
Freddie came to a nice green lawn. He hopped on one foot ten times.
David and Andy hopped on one foot ten times.
Freddie ran to the playground. He slid on the slide. He swung on the swings. Then he went whistling away.
David and Andy slid on the slide. They swung on the swings. They were having a lot of fun.
“David, where did Freddie go?” asked Andy.
“I thought you were watching him,” said David.
“He went that way, I think,” Andy said.
“I think he went that way,” David said, pointing the opposite way.
Suddenly they heard whistling. They followed the music. Sure enough—it was Freddie whistling.
Freddie came to an alley. He stopped. David and Andy hid behind two oak trees. Freddie looked all around, but he didn’t see David and Andy. He went down the alley. David and Andy followed him.
“Where do you think he’s going?” asked Andy.
“He must have a secret. What do you think it is?” asked David.
Andy thought and thought.
“Maybe he’s found some buried treasure, and he doesn’t want anybody to know where it’s hidden.”
“In an alley?” asked David.
“Why not?” answered Andy.
Soon Freddie stopped in front of an old, worn-out box. Slowly he lifted the lid of the box.
David and Andy crept closer and closer.
“What do you think is in the box?” whispered Andy.
“Let’s find out,” David whispered back.
They quietly crept up behind Freddie. Freddie was leaning over the box and looking inside.
“Hi, Freddie!” said both David and Andy.
Freddie slammed the lid down on the box.
“What’s in the box, Freddie?” asked Andy.
“We can keep a secret. Honest,” said David.
“If you promise not to tell, I’ll show you.”
After David and Andy promised, Freddie opened the box. David and Andy looked in and saw five kittens.
“I found them in the alley and put them in this old box. Their mother’s dead,” explained Freddie. He reached inside his shirt and brought out a container of milk.
“So that’s what you had under your shirt,” said David. “Can we help you feed the kittens?”
“Sure, then we can take turns coming to feed them,” replied Freddie.
“Now we’ll have something to do every day,” Andy said happily.

Take one ordinary English seaside town; connect to electric power, and on come the lights, transforming Blackpool into a place of beauty and wonder.
Take one ordinary Englishman; connect to heavenly power, and on comes a light, positive and clear, transforming Blackpool’s investigators with its beauty and wonder.
Many in Blackpool have seen that light in 19-year-old Jolyon Soames Folkett (known at home as Jo), of the Glenfield Ward, Leicester Stake, England. Elder Folkett is a young man who has overcome many obstacles to be where he is—serving as the only paraplegic missionary in a wheelchair in the British Isles.
“I used to think, ‘I’m pretty cool, coming on a mission like this,’” said Elder Folkett. “‘I had a good excuse not to come, but here I am.’”
Then, during one early-morning Book of Mormon study session, Elder Folkett read Mosiah 2:21–24. “It was the bit about serving,” he says, smiling. “Where it says even if we serve the Lord with all our souls, we’ll still be in his debt, and he requires us to do all he commands, and not be proud, whatever our circumstance.
“That really humbled me. I thought, ‘I’m not so cool, am I? It’s no big deal. I’m only doing what’s required.’”
And ‘doing what’s required’ has been his guideline for the last five years. Prior to that, Jo’s legs were the same as most people’s—active.
Then came the blood clot in his spine. Only one in a million people ever suffer from this problem. Usually they are middle-aged and end up mentally retarded due to brain damage or even die.
Jo survived, perfectly normal except for his legs.
Despite frequent hospitalization, he has become more and more cheerful, relying on priesthood blessings and developing a testimony that takes him places where legs are not important.
Looking back, Jo has a clear picture of that turning point in his life. “I was prepared, through promptings of the Spirit, for the information that my legs would always be paralysed,” he says. “So when the doctor appeared solemnly saying, ‘I have something to tell you,’ I thought it must be, ‘Sorry, no hope, you’re going to die.’ When he said, ‘You’ll never walk again,’ it was a relief. I could handle that.”
That was the easy part. Adapting and learning to do everything differently was not. So Jo developed ways of dealing with setbacks. His favourite saying when things get tough is, “You can either laugh or cry, but if you laugh, people like you better.”
Jo did progress, becoming more and more independent and mobile.
His testimony also became independent. Although brought up in the Church, Jo had, earlier in life, gone through a less-active stage. He drifted in with the wrong crowd, did some things he regretted. Gradually, through the influence of missionaries, and to keep his mum happy, he returned.
“It was while I was in the hospital that I decided to find out for sure whether the Church is true,” he says. “I had plenty of opportunity to fast and pray in there as my visits lengthened into months.” (His spine began curving, needing replacement with bones from his ribs.)
By the end of the first fast, the Aylesbury Ward bishop turned up unexpectedly, offering to take Jo for a ride. “We entered a beautiful woodland area,” Jo recalls. “As we drove slowly through I was reminded of the First Vision. I had the strongest impression of God’s hand in all that beauty. The feeling also came clearly—this is the Savior’s church, and I should go on a mission.”
Jo’s testimony never wavered after that.
Later, during a class discussion on missions back in his home ward, his yearning for service came sharply into focus. The teacher, not wanting him to feel left out or embarrassed by the emphasis on serving missions, made the comment, ‘Of course, Jo is excused. He won’t be able to go in a wheelchair.’
“That really fired me up,” exclaims Elder Folkett. “My immediate reaction was, ‘Oh yes I will!’” Soon after, Jo received his patriarchal blessing, which confirmed his decision, stating he would serve and proselyte.
Before leaving for the England Manchester Mission, it became evident just how much Jolyon’s new attitude toward life had affected him. Not only did he take part in, and win, several national paraplegic sporting events, but his social life also improved.
“We had a stake fireside on dating standards,” Jo says. “And the final challenge was a competition to get youth mixing. We had to see who could have the most dates (same partner allowed no more than five times) in six months. The prize would be a trip to London for a meal and a show.”
Despite the fact that Jo was in the hospital for one of those months, and his mission departure was a month before the competition finished, he still came out winner. His total—38 dates in four months. Now he has a two-year wait for the prize.
And Jo has more good news waiting for his return home. When he applied for a training job at his local council offices they agreed to take him—and that was after he told them he wouldn’t be available to start for another two years. They accepted his explanation, promising to keep the vacancy especially for him.
Blessings like these keep outweighing hardships in Jo’s life. He’s even found advantages to serving in a wheelchair. “I must be the only missionary to get through two years in one pair of shoes,” he jokes. “These cost me 13 pounds (about $25 U.S.) at Leicester market and they’re good as new!”
There are a few disadvantages, however. Like the number of new tyres needed for his special wheelchair. Jo saved up for a lightweight, thin-tyred sports model before he left on his mission. The smaller chair makes tracting easier and has allowed him to develop the art of wheelies, crowd navigation, and step bouncing to breathtaking degrees.
He has another saying. “You can do anything you want, if it’s possible. If it’s impossible it just takes longer.”
Elder Folkett’s companion, Elder Dean Beale from Weston-super-Mare, England, says he appreciates such attitudes from his companion. “After working with Elder Folkett,” he says, “I’ve also come to realize that many of the people who blame God for the afflictions of others are not the sufferers themselves. The suffers are often the ones with faith and humility.”
As Elder Folkett says, “Life’s not supposed to be easy. It’s a tough testing ground. But if we behave ourselves and follow God’s plan, then we’ll get the blessings in the end.”
Often the blessings come long before the end when you’re in the service of the Lord. Jo has seen that many times on his mission. Take the day he met Kevin Smith, for instance.
Kevin had become interested in the Church through the fine example of a young Latter-day Saint girl in his office and had requested a copy of the Book of Mormon from the Blackpool Ward. Jo and his companion volunteered to deliver the scriptures.
“At that point I wasn’t sufficiently interested in the Church to have missionaries in my home,” says Kevin, who has been confined to a wheelchair for the past 16 years. “I had a stereotyped image of Mormon elders—tall, fresh young American lads straight out of college, clothed in sharp suits, with toothpaste-advert smiles. I probably wouldn’t have opened the door if they’d looked like that. But here were two down-to-earth people, one just as surprised as myself at the sight of a wheelchair.”
“Kevin is such a cool guy,” exclaims Elder Folkett, who was surprised to find his investigator in a wheelchair. “Even before we got to his house the first time I felt good about things that would happen.”
Elder Folkett and Kevin hit it off from the moment they met, and Jo baptized Kevin not long after that first discussion.
The power of example is switching on eternal possibilities for Jo. Inactive members have returned to church because of his example; he has shared the gospel with anyone willing to listen; and his mission president delights in his, “good, cheerful spirit.”
Just as Blackpool’s illuminations bring life to the shadows, so too does Elder Folkett’s bright faith enrich the lives of those he meets.
There’s a sparkle to his testimony that knows no handicap, travelling beyond boundaries, turning barriers into blessings.

I am always humbled and grateful when my Heavenly Father communicates with me through His inspiration. I have learned to recognize it, to trust it, and to follow it. Time and time again I have been the recipient of such inspiration. One rather dramatic experience took place in August of 1987 during the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple. President Ezra Taft Benson had been with us for the first day or two of the dedication but had returned home, and so it became my opportunity to conduct the remaining sessions.
On Saturday we had a session for our Dutch members who were in the Frankfurt Temple district. I was well acquainted with one of our outstanding leaders from the Netherlands, Brother Peter Mourik. Just prior to the session, I had the distinct impression that Brother Mourik should be called upon to speak to his fellow Dutch members during the session and that, in fact, he should be the first speaker. Not having seen him in the temple that morning, I passed a note to Elder Carlos E. Asay, our Area President, asking whether Peter Mourik was in attendance at the session. Just prior to standing up to begin the session, I received a note back from Elder Asay indicating that Brother Mourik was actually not in attendance, that he was involved elsewhere, and that he was planning to attend the dedicatory session in the temple the following day with the servicemen stakes.
As I stood at the pulpit to welcome the people and to outline the program, I received unmistakable inspiration once again that I was to announce Peter Mourik as the first speaker. This was counter to all my instincts, for I had just heard from Elder Asay that Brother Mourik was definitely not in the temple. Trusting in the inspiration, however, I announced the choir presentation and the prayer and then indicated that our first speaker would be Brother Peter Mourik.
As I returned to my seat, I glanced toward Elder Asay; I saw on his face a look of alarm. He later told me that when I had announced Brother Mourik as the first speaker, he couldn’t believe his ears. He said he knew that I had received his note and that I indeed had read it, and he couldn’t fathom why I would then announce Brother Mourik as a speaker, knowing he wasn’t anywhere in the temple.
During the time all of this was taking place, Peter Mourik was in a meeting at the area offices in Porthstrasse. As his meeting was going forward, he suddenly turned to Elder Thomas A. Hawkes Jr., who was then the regional representative, and asked, “How fast can you get me to the temple?”
Elder Hawkes, who was known to drive rather rapidly in his small sports car, answered, “I can have you there in 10 minutes! But why do you need to go to the temple?”
Brother Mourik admitted he did not know why he needed to go to the temple but that he knew he had to get there. The two of them set out for the temple immediately.
During the magnificent choir number, I glanced around, thinking that at any moment I would see Peter Mourik. I did not. Remarkably, however, I felt no alarm. I had a sweet, undeniable assurance that all would be well.
Brother Mourik entered the front door of the temple just as the opening prayer was concluding, still not knowing why he was there. As he hurried down the hall, he saw my image on the monitor and heard me announce, “We will now hear from Brother Peter Mourik.”
To the astonishment of Elder Asay, Peter Mourik immediately walked into the room and took his place at the podium.
Following the session, Brother Mourik and I discussed that which had taken place prior to his opportunity to speak. I have pondered the inspiration which came that day not only to me but also to Peter Mourik. That remarkable experience has provided an undeniable witness to me of the importance of being worthy to receive such inspiration and then trusting it—and following it—when it comes. I know without question that the Lord intended for those who were present at that session of the Frankfurt Temple dedication to hear the powerful, touching testimony of His servant Brother Peter Mourik.

Jeff wanted to be a missionary just like his older brother who was on a mission in Colombia. But how can I be a missionary when I’m afraid to talk to people? Jeff wondered.
Just last week the Primary president asked all the children to be missionaries and bring somebody new to Primary.
“We have a wonderful Primary,” she told the children, “but think how much better it would be if we had more children to share our Primary with.” Then she asked the boys and girls to raise their hands if they thought they could bring a friend the next week. Jeff raised his hand. Now he wondered why he had done it. How was he ever going to get the courage to talk to anyone at school about the Church?
Jeff and Jimmy were the only two LDS boys in the fifth grade. They were also the only Blazer boys in the Primary. They had a good teacher and Jeff knew that one of the reasons why he had raised his hand to be a missionary was to please her. He knew that if other boys came, they would like Sister Fillmore and the good lessons she gave.
Jeff remembered two full-time missionaries in their sacrament meeting one time telling them about the good feeling they had when they shared the gospel with others. Jeff wanted that good feeling too. But how was he ever going to have it when he was so timid?
Jeff walked into the kitchen and slumped down in a chair by the table where his mother was decorating some dish towels with her textile paints. Jeff asked, “Won’t that paint wash out of the cloth, Mom?”
“No, Jeff, the paints are made to stay right in the fabric.”
“Hey, that’s neat. Can you paint anything on the towels you want to?” asked Jeff.
“Sure, son. You sound excited about something,” replied Mother.
Jeff was excited. He had an idea. “Mom, can I paint something on my yellow T-shirt?” he asked.
Mother laughed. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but go ahead.”
Jeff was back in a few minutes, grinning and waving his shirt. He laid it on the table and smoothed out all the wrinkles. Then, with Mother’s black painting pen, he drew on the front of the shirt a great big face with two round eyes and a large smile. Underneath the face he wrote, HAPPINESS IS GOING TO PRIMARY.
When the paint was dry, Jeff turned the shirt over and on the back he printed in large letters, WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT PRIMARY - WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE? He could hardly wait to wear his shirt to school.
The next day when he walked into the coat hall there were several boys there already. As Jeff took off his jacket and hung it on the hook, one of the boys was quick to notice the bright yellow T-shirt with the big face painted on the front and the letters on the back. “What does your shirt say, Jeff? Let me read it.” said Andy.
Jeff stood still, his heart pounding. All of a sudden he thought, What if they make fun of me?
Andy read the words on the shirt out loud. “Primary?” he questioned. “What’s Primary?”
Here was Jeff’s big chance. He prayed inside that he would say the right thing. “Well, in Primary we learn to—” Jeff’s voice tightened up on him and the words got stuck in his mouth.
All of a sudden, Greg, one of the other boys, interrupted. “Hey, Jeff, isn’t Primary where you learn about Scouting and other neat things you were telling me about the other day?”
“Scouting?” questioned Andy. “My dad was an Eagle Scout and he wants me to be one too. Can I go to Primary with you Jeff? Can just anyone go?”
Before Jeff could answer, Greg said, “Me too! I never have anything to do after school. My parents both work and nobody’s ever home.”
Jeff could hardly believe what he was hearing. His voice came back and he felt relaxed and happy. “Sure,” said Jeff, “anybody can come—the more the better. It’s on Tuesday and we learn lots of neat things besides Scouting. You’ll really like our teacher. She’s just great.”
The bell rang and the boys filed into the classroom. Jeff’s seat was by his Primary friend Jimmy. As Jeff sat down, Jimmy looked at Jeff’s shirt and said, “Do you think that’s going to work?”
Jeff’s smile got bigger and bigger as he whispered, “It already has!”
At recess Jeff told Jimmy about Andy and Greg. He could hardly believe what had happened. Jimmy became excited about painting a missionary T-shirt too.
“Wow!” he exclaimed. “If we can get the whole Primary wearing these shirts to school, a lot of kids will soon be interested. Our Primary will grow bigger and bigger.”
Even shy boys can be missionaries. It just takes some doing, Jeff concluded.
Already Jeff was beginning to have that good feeling that the missionaries had talked about. Wouldn’t they be surprised when they heard about the first T-shirt missionary!

I teach at the same school my daughters attend. Every day we have to hurry off together at 6:00 a.m. When we arrive, I go to my classroom and they go to their classrooms.
After school, we hurry home, eat, and rush off to other activities, such as Young Women and music lessons. My husband is the elders quorum president, so he’s also very busy.
I began to feel that our family was too busy. We didn’t have time for personal, intimate discussions about the gospel, except on Sundays.
I want my daughters to develop strong testimonies of the Savior Jesus Christ and His gospel—starting now, while they’re young. As their parents, my husband and I know that that responsibility belongs to us (see Doctrine and Covenants 68:25). I decided to pray about it.
“Besides holding family home evening and taking our daughters to church,” I asked Heavenly Father, “what more can we do?”
The answer I received was to read the scriptures in the morning and use music. So, on the way to school each morning in our van, I began playing hymns and other appropriate music. Then, for a few minutes after we arrived at school, we started reading the scriptures together, discussing the gospel, and praying before heading to class. Even my five-year-old wanted to participate.
It’s a beautiful thing to see my children read and testify of Jesus Christ and to see my older daughters, 9 and 12, willingly help the youngest one, 5, to read the scriptures.

When the rescued sufferers got close to the Salt Lake Valley, Brigham Young convened a meeting on this block. He directed the Saints in the valley to receive the sufferers into their homes, make them comfortable, and administer food and clothing to them. Said President Young: “Some you will find with their feet frozen to their ankles; some are frozen to their knees and some have their hands frosted. … We want you to receive them as your own children, and to have the same feeling for them” (Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 139).

When the rescuers brought the Willie handcart pioneers into this valley, it is recorded by Captain Willie: “On our arrival there the Bishops of the different Wards took every person, who was not provided with a home, to comfortable quarters. Some had their hands and feet badly frozen; but everything which could be done to alleviate their sufferings, was done. … Hundreds of the Citizens flocked round the wagons on our way through the City, cordially welcoming their Brethren and Sisters to their mountain home” (James G. Willie, in Journal History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 9 Nov. 1856, p. 15).

On a hot, humid afternoon in May 1895, two missionaries made their way up the rocky, but thickly wooded hills near Smithville, Tennessee. They had been rejected by the townspeople and so had gone to seek converts among the mountain folk, who survived on hilly, low-productive farms. Traveling on foot, without purse or scrip, the elders relied upon the Spirit of the Lord and the hospitality of the people to meet their needs.
Toward evening the missionaries arrived at the humble cabin home of my grandfather, Harvey Anderson Pinegar, and his young family. Grandfather had gone to a meeting to hear them preach and had offered them food and a place for the night, which they eagerly and gratefully accepted. Harvey and his family shared their food, beds, and lodgings with the elders. The three children slept in the loft, Grandfather and Grandmother placed straw pallets on the floor in the corner for themselves, and the elders slept in the only bed. In this humble mountain home the missionaries taught Grandfather and his family the true gospel of Jesus Christ.
Grandfather wrote in his journal,
“I investigated their doctern and I became convinced that they belonged to the only true church upon the Earth. So on the 14th day of May, 1895. … my wife and myself was baptized by Elder Owen M. Sanderson in Sink Creek a few rods above Jones’ Mill in the 7th District of DeKalb County, Tennessee, which caused great dissatisfaction with my folks, however I went on doing the will of my Heavenly Father. I knew the Doctern was of God and not of man.”
About one hundred people witnessed the baptism of Harvey and Josie Pinegar.
There was much opposition among the people in the area toward the “Mormon religion.” Harvey’s happiness at becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was not shared by his brother, sisters, parents, and neighbors. Harvey soon discovered that he would be required to face opposition in the community and in his family. He was serving as a constable at the time. Upon learning of his having joined the Church his bondsmen gave up his bonds—one of these men was his own cousin.
Several times Harvey Pinegar’s cabin became a place of refuge for the missionaries. The elders would help Grandfather board up the windows and doors as a protection against mobs who threatened to tar and feather the elders.
Four years after Grandfather joined the Church, my father, then a young lad eight years old, accompanied his family and the members of two other families to a baptismal service. Grandfather was to baptize his young daughter and the daughters of a neighboring family on that cold December 3, 1899. As they traveled toward the stream at Reynold’s Mill, they were approached by three men on horseback. When the men asked where they were going, Grandfather explained their intentions. The leader threatened to bring a mob upon them if they carried out the baptismal service. Grandfather informed him that he and the 20 people with him would complete their errand regardless of what the man and his associates did. Grandfather and his party continued their journey to Reynold’s Mill.
Arriving at the mill they located a secluded spot for the baptism. The hill above the river was covered with trees, scrub oak, and ivy. My father, young John, was perched on a fallen tree that stretched out across a sandbar into the slow-moving stream. Here he could observe every detail of this sacred ordinance. Grandfather waded out into the stream to find the right depth and then returned to the riverbank for prayer. In the quiet of the prayer John heard the sound of a cracking limb. Opening his eyes and glancing quickly up the hill through the trees he saw the men who had stopped them earlier. They had arrived with a mob to carry out their threat. One of them was by a pile of rocks and was ready to pelt the baptismal participants. Suddenly all eyes were opened as a big redbone hound owned by the leader of the mob bounded down to within a few feet of my father. Young John looked fearfully at the hound as it growled menacingly. These men and their associates were determined to stop the baptisms from being performed. My Grandfather Pinegar courageously proceeded with the services.
Convinced now that these Mormon families were unafraid of his threat, the mob leader commanded his dog to attack Grandfather Pinegar. At this moment an amazing thing happened. The dog let out a low growl and his hair bristled like that on an angry hog’s back. Suddenly it bared its teeth and turned on its master, leaping at his throat and knocking him to the ground. The rest of the mob fled in fear when they saw the dog turn on its owner. As soon as the astonished leader could free himself from his dog, he left in hurried pursuit of his associates, with the dog yelping close at his heels.
A miracle had occurred! The Pinegar family and their neighbors thanked the Lord for their deliverance, and the baptismal service continued without further interruption.
That evening the families returned to Grandfather’s home. After darkness had fallen upon the mountain cabin, the troublemakers returned and again threatened to mob my grandfather and his Mormon friends. As they taunted him from the gate, Grandfather commanded them in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ to leave. The mob departed and did not return.
This experience told repeatedly to us by my father and grandfather has served as a source of strength to the members of the Pinegar family for generations. It has taught me appreciation for my grandfather’s loyalty to the Lord and has given me an assurance that right will prevail against all odds or opposition.
The courage of my grandfather and those who were with him to stand firm for that which is right brought assistance from the Lord. A quiet, peaceful strength came into their hearts, giving them the ability to face the opposition with courage and confidence. There have been occasions in my own life when the memory of this event in my grandfather’s life has given me the strength to resist persuasions to do wrong.
I am thankful for the loyalty and faith of my grandfather. His fearlessness established a heritage of faith in and love for the Lord. The sacrifices made by him and others of my forebears have made possible the many blessings of freedom and religious liberty that I enjoy today. I want to show my loyalty to my grandfather by also being loyal to the Lord.
We may prove our loyalty to the Lord by being obedient to parents, being respectful of our brothers and sisters, following Church leaders, and fulfilling our church callings and priesthood responsibilities. Loyalty includes being obedient to the laws of the land and the commandments of God. Loyalty to employer and employee, demonstrated by an honest day’s work and an honest day’s pay, is part of our loyalty to the Lord, for what we do unto each other we do unto Him. It means standing up for that which is right when our associates would persuade us to do wrong. It may mean standing alone in the defense of truth and right.
You may look into the lives of your family members and find similar examples of loyalty to our Heavenly Father that may be a source of strength and courage to you.
May each of us be grateful for the rich heritage we have received from our loyal ancestors, and may we strive with true faith to be true to these noble souls by being loyal to the Lord.

In the Philippines, I saw poverty everywhere. I counseled with many Church members about the importance of paying tithes and offerings, even when it was not easy.

I recall one man who had just joined the Church. I was his stake president at the time. “President, how can I pay tithing?” he asked. “My income is already not sufficient to buy enough food.”

This good brother was a motorized tricycle driver. He worked hard for everything he earned. “It takes faith,” I answered him. “But I promise you that as you live the law of tithing, the Lord will bless you.”

He did so. Several months later, I met up with this brother again. He told me that the Lord had indeed blessed him with all he needed.

“I’m sorry, Amy. You’re right. It’s just that material things have never mattered much to me. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about a couple named Young who used to sit in front of me every Sunday during sacrament meeting right after I joined the Church. They always sat so close together even though they had a bunch of kids crawling all over them.
“When they bore their testimonies I could really feel they understood what the Church meant to the other one. So I started praying for a girl I could take to the temple who really understood what the Church meant to me.”
Steve squeezed Amy’s hand. “I found her. I found her the night you bore your testimony at that fireside.”
Amy squeezed back. “I’ll always remember that night. I’d been a member two weeks. It took a lot of courage to stand when I hardly knew anything. I didn’t have Primary when I was young or Sunday School. But I did know one thing for sure the night I stood up. I knew the Church was true.”