Gospel Story Finder

When we face serious challenges, sometimes we find it difficult to trust in the Lord. But trusting in Him brings us the hope we need in order to face our challenges.
That’s what happened with members of the Gatrell family, who live in Sister Jean A. Stevens’s ward. Sister Stevens, first counselor in the Primary general presidency, said the family held tight to the gospel and to their temple covenants after Brother Gatrell was diagnosed with cancer. Doing so gave them hope in God’s promises that they would be together again after this life.
Through the difficult days before her husband passed away, Sister Gatrell said, “I knew the Lord was watching over us. If you trust in the Lord, truly you can overcome any of life’s challenges.”5

One day our Primary visited the São Paulo Brazil Temple. The gardens were more beautiful than any I had ever seen. We learned that through the covenants we make in the temple, we can live with our families for eternity. The president of the temple spoke to us in the waiting room, where we saw beautiful paintings. I had a very warm and happy feeling, and my mother told me it was the Holy Ghost testifying to me that what I was learning was true. I gained a testimony that the temple is the house of the Lord.
Renato B., age 8, Brazil
Renato and his family at his baptism

When our son Nathan turned two and a half, we began using occasional time-outs as a consequence for breaking family rules. I became concerned, however, by the negative feelings my son displayed when a time-out concluded. He often seemed sad and discouraged. As I prayed for a way to make the experience more positive, I felt impressed to say the phrase “Let’s try again.”
After the next time-out, I took my son’s hand and said with enthusiasm, “Let’s try again!” Suddenly the focus shifted away from his negative behavior and centered instead on the opportunity he had to start over. I was amazed at the difference this approach made. Instead of coming out of time-out feeling punished, he was eager to make better choices.
I soon started using the phrase in a multitude of situations. I found myself inviting Nathan in lots of ways: “Let’s try again! This time we can do better. This time we can be gentle” or “This time we can be kind.”
The saying became such a motivator for my son that during a time-out he often called to me, “Mommy, I am ready to try again!”
As I pondered the dramatic effect this simple phrase had on my son, I considered the power contained in the words “Let’s try again!” I realized that God, the Father of us all, does not want us to dwell hopelessly on the mistakes we have made. Instead, He invites us to sincerely repent and focus on a brighter future where we can improve each day. To make repentance possible, God was even willing to offer the life of His Beloved Son. His promise is: “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool” (Isaiah 1:18).
Watching my son’s renewed determination to do better, I felt a surge of gratitude for a loving Father in Heaven, who is merciful to His children when they repent. I also felt a deep appreciation for the Savior, whose infinite Atonement makes it possible for each of us to say, “Let’s try again!”

The room was cluttered. There were papers on the floor and the chairs were tipped over. When Kevin entered, he switched on the light and noticed some chalk marks on the chalkboard, but he didn’t read them.
“I wonder what there is I can do that will be of any help?” he thought. He sat down in the corner of the meetinghouse classroom and stared at the chalkboard again. “Your Quorum—Your Responsibility.” Wow! Was that ever pertinent to his new calling. Kevin chuckled to himself. “Somebody must have known I would come in here after I talked to the bishop.” Being called as the teachers quorum president in the Third Ward was no pat, easy assignment, especially since the bishop said to him as he left the office, “You were called by the Lord, Kevin. Now go and strengthen your quorum so that there is no weak link.”
Kevin stood up and crossed to the windows where he got a clear view of the church parking lot. “There’s Steve’s house on the other side of the parking lot … he’s inactive. That reminds me of Jim and Mark who come to priesthood meeting only when their dad is home from work. And Lee who lives right across the street from me thinks activity night means basketball and won’t come if we suggest anything else.
“They’re a great quorum, though. There’s Bill. If he’s ever given anything to do, he’ll do it twice and ask for more. And George—he’s the best example of organization I’ve ever met. My head feels just like that parking lot on conference Sunday—packed with jam-ups. How can I do anything about anything? How can I strengthen that quorum?”
These feelings of a newly called teachers quorum president tumbled out of his mind as he thought of his new calling. His feelings are probably duplicated over and over throughout the Church even if the situation is different in every case.
Perhaps some of the following suggestions given by the Aaronic Priesthood general committee, using quotations from General Authorities, can guide and encourage quorum presidencies and members as they ponder their responsibilities in that very fundamental unit of the Church—the quorum.
“The vitalizing of Aaronic Priesthood quorums and the awakening of the Melchizedek Priesthood quorums will affirmatively affect all other programs in the Church.” (President Spencer W. Kimball, June Conference, 1974.)
“You are a member of the appropriate quorum, and by your actions you either sustain or degrade it.
“The quorum will be as strong as the individual member. We all have the obligation and responsibility to honor our priesthood, to be worthy citizens of the priesthood quorum.” (Elder Boyd K. Packer, Seminar for Regional Representatives of the Twelve, Oct. 4, 1973.)

Throughout his life, President Spencer W. Kimball faced many health challenges.
Doctor: You may have cancer in your throat. I recommend we operate.
Elder Kimball: My sister died of cancer. I’d better have the operation.
The surgeries that worried him the most were on his throat.
Elder Kimball: How can I continue to serve as an Apostle of the Lord if I lose my voice?
After Elder Kimball had surgery on his vocal chords, he traveled with fellow Apostle Elder Harold B. Lee.
Elder Lee: I’d like to invite Elder Kimball to bear his testimony.
Elder Kimball: I’m too embarrassed to keep speaking. I rasp and make terrible noises. Maybe in our next meeting I shouldn’t speak.
Elder Lee: Spencer, your testimony needs to be heard. You better get your voice back.
Elder Kimball did all he could to regain his voice. He followed his doctor’s orders, received priesthood blessings, and took voice lessons.
Elder Kimball: Camilla, I realize I cannot quit for anything, though the temptation is terrific when I stumble and stammer and halt.
The true test came when Elder Kimball returned to his home—the Gila Valley in Arizona.
Elder Kimball: Forgive my voice. While in the East, I fell among cutthroats.
Woman: His voice is different, but he still has the same sense of humor!
President Spencer W. Kimball never stopped preaching. In fact, his soft, deep, mellow voice became something people loved about him.

I remember vividly, as a child, watching Aunt Fia make her bed with a lovely new bedspread she’d been given as a gift. She often said how beautiful it was and how it brightened her and Uncle Andrew’s home. How could she know? By then she was totally blind. How could she make her bed so perfectly and keep her house so tidy? I loved to watch her brush and braid her nearly knee-length hair and wind it neatly into a knot on top of her head. What amazed me most of all, however, was her ability to communicate with Andrew, her sweetheart husband, whose hearing was almost gone. He would come in for lunch from his outdoor chores, affectionately greet her, and through gentle touch they would communicate what they needed to know.
It was not until after they had both died that I learned of their love story—how Andrew, my grandmother’s brother, had worked and saved money three different times to bring Fia—Sophia Wahlgren—to America before the gracious lady with the sweet, musical voice could become his wife.
Sophia, was born in 1879 in Malmo, Skona, Sweden, the daughter of Henric Wahlgren and Ulrica Vadst. She had one brother, who died in infancy, and a sister named Mia. Her father, an interior decorator, provided a fine home. The family employed both a maid and a man-servant, and the children were given music lessons and many cultural advantages.
Fia was seven years old when she caught a cold that settled in her eyes. Her mother took her to a doctor, still serving his internship, who was a very close friend of the family. By some tragic mistake, he put carbolic acid in her eyes instead of boric acid, robbing her completely of sight in one eye and severely damaging the other.
The following year, Sophia’s mother died, and, at the age of eight, Sophia went to live with an aunt and an uncle. Her father went to Germany to further his studies and later died there. But he provided an inheritance for Sophia to obtain when she came of age, so that in her blindness she would not be in need.
As a young girl, she went one night with a friend to attend a Latter-day Saint gathering. Fia was extremely impressed and later said that the message of the missionaries sounded strangely familiar, as though she was not hearing it for the first time. She had a strong desire to meet with them again. But feelings against Latter-day Saint missionaries and converts were very great in Sweden at that time, and when her uncle learned where she had been, he was extremely upset. He told her she must never go again. She stayed away for one week but could not forget the messages she had heard. In spite of her uncle’s warnings, she went again to the meetings.
Fia had a lovely singing voice and one night was asked to sing and play her guitar at a Latter-day Saint social. Andrew Christofferson, a missionary from Lehi, Utah, attended and heard her sing. He was deeply touched. When Fia learned he would soon be released from his mission and planned to go to Germany before his return home, she asked if he would visit Mia, her sister, who was in Germany at that time. He was happy to honor her request.
Missionary discussions continued for Fia, and when she turned eighteen, she asked for baptism. It was November, and the ice had to be broken on the Baltic Sea in order for the missionaries to baptize her. The ordinance was performed at night because of continuing opposition to the Church in that area. When her uncle learned of her commitment, he told her that, if she did not give up her religion, she must leave and would be disinherited. Fia’s testimony was strong, and she refused to give up that which she knew to be true. Although handicapped by her poor vision, she left her uncle’s home and went out on her own, getting a job in a match factory packing matches.
Andrew Christofferson, who had returned to Lehi, corresponded with Fia, asking her to come to Utah. She wanted to emigrate, but she didn’t earn enough money to afford the voyage, so Andrew saved until he could send the money for her passage. She traveled to England where she boarded a boat for the United States. As she landed in Boston, an immigration officer noted her poor eyesight and refused her entry; her poor vision would cause her to be a burden on his country. Sadly she returned to England.
When Andrew learned what had happened, he determined to try again. Once again, he worked and saved and sent her the boat fare. He told her to try entry at New York City this time. Again Fia was refused entry because of her poor vision.
As Fia returned once again to England, she was befriended by a group of missionaries on their way to Europe. The missionaries took Fia to the mission home with them in Liverpool, England, where Elder Heber J. Grant of the Council of the Twelve presided with his wife and young daughters. Sister Grant found Fia sobbing in the hall as she waited with the elders, who were to be interviewed by their mission president. Through an interpreter, Sister Grant learned of Fia’s unsuccessful attempts to go to Zion. Also discovering that the young girl had no place to go and no money, Sister Grant felt compassion for Fia and asked if she would like to remain at the mission home to work as a maid. Fia gratefully accepted, though she had never had any experience as a domestic servant.
As they became better acquainted, Sister Grant realized that Fia had received a good education and possessed impressive musical talents. In spite of the fact that she had never done housework before, Fia knew how things should be done. She took pride in her work. Her disposition was so delightful that the whole family soon grew to love her. They marveled at her abilities, her patience, and her sweet spirit. They said she never spoke a cross word but always sang and gave praise to her Heavenly Father for the blessings she had received. Along with housekeeping duties, her first responsibility was the care of the two youngest Grant girls, Emily and Frances. Elder and Sister Grant traveled frequently on the continent, supervising the many areas of the European Mission, and they felt fortunate to know their daughters were under Fia’s care.
Fia believed in cold-water “Swedish” baths. Without a water heater in the bathroom, those who wanted a warm bath had to heat the water downstairs and carry it upstairs to the bathtub a bucket at a time, so Swedish baths were much more convenient. Each morning Fia filled the tub with cold water, tying a bag of rock salt to the faucet and letting the water run over it to simulate sea water. The squirming, protesting little girls were then given their morning “dip in the ocean.” After a quick bath, Fia rubbed them vigorously with a large fluffy towel. They said later that they hated their baths, but they loved Fia so dearly they were willing to endure them to please her.
Meanwhile, in Utah, Andrew Christofferson was unable to forget the lovely girl he’d fallen in love with. He remained single and continued to save money in hopes Fia would one day be able to make a successful journey to Utah.
As the mission term for the Grant family came to a close, President Grant decided to try to get Fia into the United States. He booked passage for her as a nurse for his children and hoped that as he was prepared to support her for the rest of her life, there would be no trouble with the immigration authorities. When their ship landed in New York, the excitement of returning home was nearly forgotten in the concern the Grant family had over whether Fia would be able to remain with them. But things went much easier than they had hoped. The immigration officers asked no questions and made no examinations. Fia was in!
The Grant family arrived in Salt Lake shortly before Christmas 1906. Fia was a most welcome addition. Elder Grant even talked of adopting her legally. Perhaps because of her age this was never done, but she was no longer considered hired help; she was loved and treated as a family member.
When Andrew Christofferson learned that Fia was living in Salt Lake City with the Grants, he wasted no time in calling to court her. Several months later, he asked Elder Grant for permission to marry Fia. Sophia and Andrew were married in the Salt Lake Temple on 14 June 1907 with Elder Grant performing the ceremony.
Andrew took his bride to Lehi to live in a very modest cottage. Circumstances were quite different from those to which she had been accustomed. The adjustments she had to make must have been difficult indeed. But Fia had never regretted giving up a life of ease for the sake of the gospel, nor did she regret giving up life in the comparative luxury of the Grant home for life on a small farm. She was cheerful and pleasant and made the best of her surroundings. She learned many new skills as a farmer’s wife and helped care for her mother-in-law as well.
In time their home was blessed with two sons and two daughters: Grant, Reed, Mia, and Ellen. The first boy was named after Heber J. Grant.
Because the light was very painful to her eyes, Fia seldom went out in public, but people were attracted to her home. She was known far and wide for her warm hospitality. All who came into her home felt her love. They were entertained and fed and, if downcast, were cheered and encouraged.
Aunt Fia’s one sadness was the loss of contact with her family in Sweden. To her knowledge, she was the only family member to have accepted the gospel. She always felt a keen responsibility toward her relatives and ancestors. She did what she could to secure their genealogy and have the temple work done for them.
Her dear Andrew died 17 June 1954. Aunt Fia lived alone in her home until she suffered a stroke a few months before her death. She was taken into the home of her devoted daughter, Mia, and cared for until she died suddenly of a heart attack on 8 May 1961, shortly before her eighty-second birthday.
Aunt Fia left memories that will be cherished by countless friends and relatives, and a legacy that will continue to bless many lives until we again enjoy the privilege of her friendship in the eternities.

“During the St. Petersburg concert,” said James B. Kennard, “I kept making eye contact with a man in the audience. I found him afterwards and invited him to the fireside the next evening. He and his two sons came to the fireside and then invited us to their apartment, where we held a gospel discussion. They happily agreed to read the Book of Mormon and visit with the missionaries. At the evening’s end, our wives embraced and hugged each other.”

Out on the field, Richard makes the game look simple. He feints, counterfeints, and passes. He sees an opening and sprints for it, waving his hand to let fellow players know he’s in the clear. On defense he shouts instructions and directs traffic as though he’s been playing all his life—which is just about the truth. His expertise, along with his scholarship in school, have qualified him for two trips abroad with soccer teams—one to Glenrothes, Scotland, another to Den Haag, Holland. While there, Richard lived with families and attended school, as well as playing exhibition soccer.
Of course, there have been embarrassing times, too. Like slipping and falling in the mud, or getting clobbered with a lopsided score, or losing every game during the season when Dad was the head coach. But some of that has to be expected.
How Richard plays in a particular match is determined by two things: which position he’s playing (he plays three), and which team he’s playing for at the time (he plays on four). On the ward team the ages vary significantly. So do the skill levels. But there, playing is mostly for fun. On the all-star team or in league competition, games are closely contested, and each move makes a difference.
Richard and John will talk for hours about their favorite sport. John plays forward, an offensive position that puts him on the front line of attack. Richard usually plays halfback, the midfield position, which challenges him by requiring both offensive and defensive skills. However, Richard has also played forward, as well as fullback (the last defender between the ball and the goalie).
They disagree about which is the ideal position to play. John says forwards have the most enjoyable job on the field because they go where they want. “It’s kind of like playing hide-and-seek with the defense,” he says. But he also notes that forwards often take the blame for missed goals. Richard counters that halfbacks have the fun of playing at both ends of the field, which, though it demands endurance, allows them power to control the tempo of the game.
John says fullbacks get the most rest, that their main task is to steal the ball and relay it to the opposite end of the field. Richard notes, however, that the defense is often outnumbered, and the fullback’s role is vital in preventing goals. Both agree, however, that the goalie may have the roughest assignment. He’s expected to analyze each shot-on-goal correctly and position himself properly to block or deflect it, often diving face down on the turf in the effort.
The two young men also discuss dreams, like playing on a professional or Olympic team, or even more immediate wishes, like attending a soccer clinic at BYU.
At a home evening recently, Richard brought out a scrapbook he keeps; it’s full of his souvenirs. He passed it around the family circle, describing photos he took himself and clippings from newspapers. The rest of the family joined in with other stories, laughter, and warmth. It was clear that they were all involved in learning lessons through their Church activity and through sports. They were learning about brotherhood by working together; they were learning to plan their time to be able to do things they enjoy and still meet school, Church, and household responsibilities; they were learning about family love, caring, and sharing; and they were learning about fixing goals for themselves. It was clear that they’re involved with soccer—and with each other—for more than just the kicks.

During the weeks before Christmas, my companion and I had been teaching a man of the Jewish faith. Allen already knew a little about the Church. He told us that he wasn’t looking to get baptized; he just wanted to see what “the Mormons are all about.”
In four discussions we had taught him about the Savior, the Restoration, the Book of Mormon, the plan of salvation, plus other material to help him come to a knowledge of Christ. He had finished reading the Book of Mormon and a little more than half of the Doctrine and Covenants. We had fasted with him on Christmas Eve, hoping he would come to a knowledge of Christ and be baptized.
Christmas afternoon came with an unexpected knock on the apartment door. It was Allen. He was beaming with excitement. He had come to tell us that he could testify of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and Jesus Christ as the Savior of the world. Every expression on his face showed the joy and happiness he was experiencing. He was no longer a man looking for a knowledge of Christ, but one desiring to become a member of the Church.
It was through the Book of Mormon and the Holy Ghost that Allen was able to come to a knowledge of Christ. I was transferred out of the area before Allen was baptized, but being able to see his conversion and be a part of it truly was the best Christmas present ever.
Elder Christopher Albright is serving full time in the North Carolina Charlotte Mission.

“Carmen! Justin!” my friend Sanford whispered hoarsely as he climbed over our back fence.
“I saw him again—down at the park!” He caught his breath. “Maybe he’s still there.”
I could feel my heart thumping. “Let’s go watch him,” I said, picking up a branch.
Sanford pulled his flipper from his back pocket. “I’ve got this.”
“Weapons?” Carmen questioned. “Why do we need weapons? We’re just going to watch him, not fight him.”
“What if he comes after us?” Sanford asked, standing up and siding with me.
“Then we’ll run,” Carmen answered.
We sneaked out of the yard, down the street, and over to the park. Then, crawling behind some bushes and up a little hill, we stopped near the top and peeked over it at the park. There was hardly anybody there because it was still pretty early in the morning, but in the far corner, just leaving the park, was the mysterious stranger carrying a burlap bag over his shoulder.
“That’s him!” Sanford gasped.
“I wonder what he has in that bag,” I muttered. “It looks pretty big.”
“Do you think that he could fit one of us inside that bag?” Carmen whispered.
All three of us shuddered at the idea.
“He always seems to be looking for something,” Sanford observed.
“Maybe he’s looking for treasure,” I suggested.
“Maybe he’s a robber who hid his money someplace and can’t remember where,” Carmen put in.
“Let’s follow him,” I said in a shaky whisper. “Maybe we’ll find out that the police are after him. If we turn him in to the police, we might get a reward.”
“You’re right, Justin,” Sanford whispered, “we’d better follow him.”
The three of us hurried across the park and down the street. We didn’t want to get too close, so we stayed way back and hid behind trees, bushes, or parked cars.
He snooped everywhere. And he’d stop and pick things up and drop them into his bag.
“I wonder what he’s doing,” Carmen said after we had been following him for a few minutes.
“He sure likes to peek into garbage cans,” Sanford pointed out.
“Maybe he’s looking for messages,” I said.
“Messages?” Carmen asked.
“Yeah,” I went on. “Maybe he works for a gang of robbers, and they leave him messages so that he’ll know what to steal.”
We were still following the mysterious stranger when he went behind Bishop Paulsen’s grocery store and slipped inside.
“He’s going to rob the bishop!” Sanford gasped.
“We have to warn him!” Carmen cried.
But we just stood there. A few minutes later the mysterious stranger stepped out of Bishop Paulsen’s store, carrying an empty bag!
“What should we do?” Sanford gulped as the stranger walked away. “Should we go for the police?”
While I was still thinking about it, Carmen started toward the store. Sanford and I looked at each other, shrugged, and followed her.
We tiptoed up to the back door and pushed it open. Bishop Paulsen was in his storeroom, washing his hands in a little sink.
“Are you all right?” we all blurted out.
Bishop Paulsen whipped around when we shouted. “Why, hello, kids.” He grinned. “You startled me.” He grabbed a paper towel and dried his hands. “What can I do for you?”
For a moment all three of us just stood and stared. Then Sanford rasped, “Didn’t you get robbed?”
“What?”
“Did the mysterious stranger do anything to you?” Carmen asked.
“What mysterious stranger?”
“Didn’t you see him?” I asked. “He was in here just a minute ago. Maybe he took something that you don’t even know about. You’d better check your candy and soda pop.”
“Sit down,” the bishop said, pointing to some empty crates stacked in a corner. We all sat down. “Now what’s this about a mysterious stranger?” he asked.
“We’ve been following a mysterious stranger,” I explained. “We’ve seen him other times too. He always carries a big burlap bag, and he’s always snooping around places. So we figured that maybe he was a robber or something. And just a few minutes ago he came into your store and … and …”
“Oh, you mean Brother Lund.” The bishop laughed.
“Brother … Lund?” the three of us gasped.
“Once or twice a week he brings me a bag or two of aluminum cans. I sell them to a recycling outfit.”
“He’s just gathering cans?” Carmen asked.
The bishop nodded and smiled. “He’s a good man. In fact, he was my Scoutmaster when I was a boy.”
“So why does he gather cans?” Carmen asked.
“Well, he’s been retired for quite a few years and lives on a small pension, so sometimes he fixes people’s washers and dryers and things—and gathers cans to sell. That way he earns a few extra dollars.”
Disappointed, the three of us dragged out into the parking lot. As we sat on the curb in front of the store, Sanford muttered, “I liked it lots better when Brother Lund was a mysterious stranger. It’s no fun now.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Now we can’t wonder why he’s sneaking around and who he’s going to rob.”
“I wonder what it’s like to have to pick up cans,” Carmen mused.
“Huh?” Sanford grunted.
“We’ve picked up cans before,” she said, “but just to get money for candy. How would it feel if we had to do it because we didn’t have enough money to live on?”
“Do you think he’s really poor?” I wanted to know.
“I wonder if he needs help,” Carmen said.
“If he does,” Sandford declared, “somebody else will have to help him. We’re just kids.”
“We can help him,” Carmen said, “even if we are kids.”
“How?” Sanford and I asked together.
“Brother Lund is pretty old. We could gather cans and sneak up to his place and leave them on his lawn and not tell who did it.”
“Hey—then we can be the mysterious strangers!” I grinned.
Sanford jumped up excitedly. “I know where there are lots of cans. Let’s go get our wagons and some trash bags from home.”
We were off and running. We went down to the ballpark, over to the picnic grounds, and just about everywhere else in town where people threw their cans. By afternoon Sanford had two trash bags full of cans in his wagon, and Carmen and I had two in ours.
“We must have about a million cans here,” Sanford boasted as we pulled our wagons down the street toward Brother Lund’s house.
“There aren’t a million cans here,” Carmen muttered. “A million cans would fill ten wagons.”
“Then we have half a million cans,” Sanford came back.
Carmen shrugged. “Well, maybe a half million. Are we going to leave a note?” she asked. “I brought paper and a pencil.”
“What would we write?” I asked.
“Let’s write, ‘To Brother Lund from the mysterious strangers.’”
Sanford and I grinned and nodded our heads. We sneaked the four bags onto Brother Lund’s lawn, with the note sticking up from the top of one of them, then scampered off.
Two days later we looked for cans again. This time we only found enough to fill two and a half bags. Then on Saturday, after a game at the ballpark, we searched under the bleachers and found lots of cans. That day we filled five bags!
Just as we lifted the bags over Brother Lund’s front fence, someone called out, “So you’re the mysterious strangers.”
We all jumped and were about to dash down the street, when Brother Lund stood up not ten feet from us. He’d been down pulling weeds in his flower bed, and we hadn’t seen him. “I’ve been wondering who you were,” he said, smiling.
We just stood by the wagons and stared as Brother Lund came closer. “I’m surely glad that you came,” he said. “I have two big cantaloupes in my garden that I haven’t picked yet because I don’t have anybody to eat them with. Do you like cantaloupes, mysterious strangers?”
Sanford was inside that gate with Brother Lund before Carmen and I could even blink.
Brother Lund was right. Those cantaloupes were huge. But we managed to eat both of them, and while we ate, Brother Lund told us stories. When we told him how we’d thought that he was a mysterious stranger, he had a good laugh.
“I used to think that it was exciting that you were the mysterious stranger,” Sanford told him, “but I like you better this way.”
“Can we still be your mysterious strangers, even though you know who we are?” I asked, hoping that we could visit Brother Lund again. “We can still gather cans for you.”
Brother Lund thought for a minute, then said, “If I let you gather cans for me, will you do a favor for me?” We all nodded our heads. “I have a big garden and a few fruit trees and grapevines. I grow some good things, but I hate to eat them alone. Would you be willing to come down and eat them with me?” Our eyes got big, and we all licked our lips. “My watermelons will be ripe in a week or so. And the apples are turning red. And the—”
“We’ll be here,” we all shouted. “We’ll be your mysterious strangers all the time.”
And we were.

In one of my school classes, we were reading a book that critiqued the Church. I knew I needed to speak up about the truths of the restored gospel. So I raised my hand. The teacher called on me, but I didn’t know what to say. For some reason, I started to sing the songs of the Articles of Faith. To my surprise, a profound reverence came over the room. Afterward there was less confusion, and my teacher and classmates treated class discussion and me with more respect.
Monique, Massachusetts, USA

I didn’t have much chance to play while I was in the MTC until the night before I left. Those from my branch who were leaving had a meeting together with the branch president for some final words of advice. There were many tears and tender feelings. And I was asked to play the closing hymn, “God Be with You Till We Meet Again” (Hymns, no. 152). This stirred up more emotions and made the Spirit even stronger.
After the closing prayer, which built upon the Spirit we already felt, I played some quiet postlude music as people talked and began to filter out. I played “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2) very softly on the upper keys. It’s hard to explain, but sometimes just believing in the words of the song you’re playing, and having the Spirit with you, causes you to play so that the people listening feel what you’re feeling. You can actually express your emotions through the way you play the song. It doesn’t always happen (at least not to me), but it happened this time. I really felt what I was playing, and I really wanted to convey a message by the way I played it.
As I played, I noticed that someone was behind me watching and listening. I finished the hymn and quickly glanced to see who it was. It was Elder Smith, someone I didn’t know very well. He was standing there, crying.
He had already felt the Spirit during the meeting, like the rest of us, and now the music was helping to intensify it. So I kept playing.
That’s when it struck me. For perhaps the first time, I was playing the piano, not for my own enjoyment and not to receive praise, but to help someone feel the Spirit. I actually, truly wanted to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands and serve him. In this case, the best way I could serve him was to help convey the Spirit to one of his children through music.

Another learning experience happened after I graduated from high school in Lima. I went to Ricks College on a basketball scholarship. I had the opportunity to go to other schools, but I went to Ricks because my parents moved nearby. Basketball and baseball were all that I was concerned with at that age. I loved playing. The fall that I arrived, to help me with my finances, my coach got me a job outside of Rexburg, working at a beet dump. The first day of work, I rode there on a motorcycle with another team member. On October 15, 1951, we finished work at 10:30 P.M. and were coming back into town, going about fifty miles (80 k) an hour. It was storming, and we ran head-on into a car. I was thrown about seventy feet through the air and landed on my back on the pavement. As I flew over the top of the car, my right foot went through the windshield. I broke a number of bones and came within a fraction of having cut off my right foot.
At the hospital, the doctors decided that they would have to amputate my foot. My mother stepped forward and said, “Not until he’s received a blessing.” So my bishop and my stepfather gave me a blessing. My bishop told me that I would keep my foot and that I would be able to run and enjoy many of the things I’d always loved. The doctors then decided to try to save the foot. After they operated, I was in bed for three months, then spent six months on crutches, waiting for my foot to heal. It did. I never was able to compete in sports as I had before, but I could still play.

As a young boy in Australia, I played a lot of sports. I ran track, and I also played rugby and cricket. I really liked team sports. In those sports, it wasn’t just me playing but a group of people working together. One of the harder sports I tried was rowing.
My friend and I took out a boat called a “tub pair” on the river. I rowed on one side, and he rowed on the other. As we rowed, we tried to prove we were stronger than each other. The boat turned in one direction and then another. We zigzagged up the river. It was slow going. We didn’t work together very well.
After that, we got a coach to help us. He told us what to do and how to help each other. We practiced the things he taught us. Eventually we became very good and won many races.

Another hurdle the Committee Coordinators faced was regarding the chairs for the dedication.
“Where are we going to rent nice chairs?” Elder Gregorio Karganilla said. “But then in February, the Tabernacle Choir came to the country.”
The choir’s visit to the Philippines two months before the dedication was a miracle. The chairs they used were brought in for the dedication.
Truly, the Lord works in mysterious ways.

I was born in the town of Sharon, Windsor County, Vermont, on the 23rd of December, A.D. 1805. When ten years old, my parents moved to Palmyra, New York, where we resided about four years, and from thence, we moved to the town of Manchester. My father was a farmer and taught me the art of taking care of animals. When about fourteen years of age, I began to reflect upon the importance of being prepared for a future state, and upon inquiring about the plan of salvation, I found that there was a great clash in religious sentiment; if I went to one society, they referred me to one plan, and another to another; each one pointing to his own particular creed as the supreme good from which all others are derived of perfection. Considering that all could not be right, and that God could not be the author of so much confusion, I determined to investigate the subject more fully, believing that if God had a Church, it would not be split up into factions, and that if He taught one society to worship one way, and administer in one set of ordinances. He would not teach another, principles which were diametrically opposed.
Believing the word of God, I had confidence in the declaration of James—“If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” (James 1:5.) I retired to a secret place in a grove, and began to call upon the Lord, while fervently engaged in supplication, my mind was taken away from the objects with which I was surrounded, and I was enwrapped in a heavenly vision, and saw two glorious personages, who exactly resembled each other in features and likeness, surrounded with a brilliant light which eclipsed the sun at noon day. They told me that all religious denominations were believing in incorrect doctrines, and that none of them was acknowledged of God as His Church and kingdom: and I was expressly commanded “to go not after them,” at the same time receiving a promise that the fullness of the Gospel should at some future time be made known unto me.

It was a hot day in early summer when the big black Labrador retriever appeared. They saw him trotting along the riverbank. Brad stopped eating his lunch. He glanced quickly at Kevin and Tom and Jill sitting in the shade of the maple tree near him. They were all staring at the dog too. Even baby Kristy was watching him.
“Come on, boy,” Brad coaxed softly. This time he was sure Heavenly Father had answered their prayers. The dog started down the path toward them. He came slowly, a few steps at a time, then hesitated before venturing closer. Brad glanced toward the house. He could hear the clink of jars from the kitchen. Mother was still busy making jam. The dog had gained another ten feet when Brad looked back at him. He wagged his long tail uncertainly.
“Here, boy,” Jill whispered. She raised her arm with a sandwich in her hand.
“Don’t throw it!” Brad warned quietly. “You’ll scare him.” Jill dropped her arm.
The dog trembled as he came closer, his eyes bright and eager and friendly. Brad got to his feet and held out his half-eaten sandwich. The dog sat down and swept the path with his wagging tail. Brad moved closer to the dog and dropped the sandwich in front of him. The dog wolfed it down and looked for more. Quickly three more half-eaten sandwiches landed in front of him. He gulped them down and licked his chops.
Little Kristy toddled over and stuck her sandwich under his nose. Brad held his breath. The dog was hungry—he could bite Kristy’s hand as well as the sandwich! But before Brad could move, the dog reached out and daintily took a corner of the bread between his teeth. He waited until Kristy let go, then swallowed the sandwich whole.
Kristy clapped her hands and laughed. Then she threw her arms around the dog’s neck. They all surrounded the dog and petted his dull, rough coat. Brad squatted beside Kristy and stroked the dog’s head and ears. The dog stood quietly for a few moments, then trotted off into the tall grass and brought back a stick. He dropped it at Brad’s feet and wagged his tail expectantly.
“He wants to play!” Brad said as he tossed the stick down the path. The dog raced after it and brought it back.
“It’s my turn!” Jill shouted. She snatched up the stick and threw it without taking aim. The stick landed in the river.
“Now we have to find another one,” Kevin said disgustedly.
But the dog was already leaping from the bank into the swiftly flowing water. His jaws closed over the stick, and he swam back against the current. He climbed up the bank and shook himself off. Then he trotted over to Jill and dropped the stick at her feet.
“Did you see that?” Jill cried.
The screen door slammed, and the children looked up to see their mother coming toward them. She stopped a safe distance away with her hands on her hips. “So that’s what all the noise is about. Where did that dog come from?” she asked.
Brad shrugged. “We don’t know. He just came to us.”
“He was hungry,” Tom added.
“And I suppose you fed him your sandwiches,” Mother said with a sigh. They all hung their heads and nodded. “Well now that he’s full, chase him away.”
“Can’t we keep him?” Kevin pleaded. “He isn’t wearing a license, and we’ve been praying to Heavenly Father for a dog for a long time.”
“He’s gentle too,” Jill added. “Please, Mom.”
“We’ll keep him outside,” Brad offered eagerly, “so he won’t track up the house.”
Mother shook her head. “I’ve been praying to Heavenly Father, too—but for help, not a dog.” She clapped her hands and shouted, “Shoo!” The dog streaked away along the riverbank and disappeared around the bend. Mother’s face softened. “You know we can’t afford to feed an animal with the new baby coming and your father out of work. Now hurry and pick that flat of strawberries for Mrs. Linden. She’ll be here soon. Jill, you help the boys while I take Kristy in for her nap and get started on the sewing for Mrs. Fredricks.” She picked up the baby and went back into the house.
The four youngsters picked up their berry carriers and started for the strawberry patch.
“I hope Dad gets that job today,” Tom said. “Then we can have a dog.”
Jill sighed. “No, we can’t. Mom is afraid of dogs,” she confided. “Grandma once told me that Mom was bitten by a dog when she was a little girl. She’s been afraid of dogs ever since.”
“Now we’ll never get a dog,” Kevin wailed.
“I guess we’d better get the strawberries picked,” Brad said.
Their carriers were half full when they heard Mother shout. They left the berries in the field and ran for the house.
“What’s the matter?” Brad called when they saw Mother hurrying down the path to the river.
“It’s Kristy,” Mother sobbed. “I was on the phone when I looked out the window and saw her heading straight toward the river. By the time I got outside, she had disappeared.”
They all ran to the riverbank.
“I don’t see her anywhere,” Brad said. He searched the swiftly moving water, hoping to catch sight of Kristy’s blue overalls.
“Maybe she’s already been carried around the bend,” Tom suggested.
“I’ll go look,” Brad said. He turned to run, then stopped and listened. “Did you hear something?” he asked.
From the bushes on the riverbank came a muffled, angry sob. The big black dog backed slowly out of the bushes, tugging a dry, struggling Kristy by the back of her overalls. When she was free of the branches, he let go of the little girl and nudged her toward her mother.
“No! Water!” Kristy cried and started off again before Mother could catch her. But the dog blocked her path.
Mother laughed and picked her up. “Heavenly Father works in mysterious ways,” she said. “I prayed for help, and you all prayed for a dog. We all got what we wanted when He sent us this ‘angel.’” She reached out and patted the dog.
“Angel?” they all asked, staring at her in disbelief.
Mother smiled. “Yes, because he must be a guardian angel,” she explained. “I’m not afraid of him, and Kristy certainly needs one. She might have drowned in the river!”
Kevin and Brad and Tom and Jill watched Mother walk back to the house with the dog padding along beside her. Then they turned back to look at each other.
“We’ve got a dog!” Brad whooped.
They skipped and laughed all the way back to the strawberry patch.

Amanda had many friends who watched videos after school. Some of the videos had scenes that Amanda wasn’t sure Heavenly Father or her parents would like, and she wondered if she should watch them.
____ Being with her friends was fun. The videos weren’t that bad, and she would be a part of the group. If she didn’t watch the videos, she might not have anything at all to do after school.
____ Amanda chose to watch the videos with her friends.
____ She prayed to know if her decision was right.
____ Amanda felt uneasy about her decision to watch the videos.

Today, as we travel throughout the world, we see that many seeds have fallen into good ground. We meet wonderful, stalwart members of the Church who are faithful and dedicated. Some of us who have sown seeds as missionaries may have felt that those seeds fell on hard ground. It is not always possible to know the consequences of one single contact. For years William R. Wagstaff, who served in the North Central States Mission from 1928 to 1930, felt disappointed he had not baptized more people. In the summer of 1929 he and his companion visited a farm family about 180 miles west of Winnipeg.
“Brother Wagstaff remembered giving a copy of the Book of Mormon to the mother and discussing the gospel with her during numerous visits through that and the following summer.
“He recalled that during each visit ‘she’d take off her apron and we’d sit down and discuss the gospel. She’d read and have lots of questions.’
“But at the close of his mission, she still had not been baptized, and he lost touch with her.”
Brother Wagstaff went home, married, and raised a family. Then in October 1969 he and his wife attended his missionary reunion. “A lady approached him and asked, ‘Aren’t you Elder Wagstaff?’
“… She introduced herself as the woman he had taught on the farm outside Winnipeg. In her hand was a worn copy of the Book of Mormon—the one he had given her 40 years earlier.
“‘She showed me the book,’ he related. ‘I turned over the front and there was my name and address.’
“She then told Brother Wagstaff about 60 members of her family were members of the Church, including a branch president.”

The next morning dawned sunny and clear, promising a wonderful day. Instead, everything seemed to go wrong. To start things off, everyone (including me!) slept in. Unfortunately, when young people sleep in, it usually seems more important to spend five precious minutes on their hair instead of their knees. It must have happened to all of us that day. At breakfast, instead of laughing bravely at the cafeteria food and talking eagerly of the day’s activities, everyone complained, refused to eat, and asked the counselors if they had to go hiking. Not being in the best mood myself, I snapped back answers and rushed the kids around.
My spirits didn’t rise very much when I learned that I had to drive up the mountains instead of hiking. Someone had to bring the food and the kids who didn’t want to hike. Things didn’t look much better when I saw what I was supposed to drive. It was a huge van that growled viciously at me when I turned it on. It took every ounce of my strength to turn the steering wheel, and the stick shift threatened to break my arm every time I touched it. To top it all off, I got lost trying to follow the other cars in our group up the canyon.
In spite of all of this, we finally made it to the top, found the hikers, and started the barbecue. I cheered up a little bit and decided that we could finish the day on a good note.
Just when the meat was smelling good and the kids were starting to smile, it was discovered that someone had forgotten the spatulas and knives. All eyes, of course, turned immediately to the table I was trying to hide under. Thinking quickly, I saved my skin by showing everyone how we could flip hamburgers with branches and drop the watermelons onto sharp rocks instead of using knives. Everyone got to eat, but they were still pretty mad, tired, and ready to get out of the canyon.
No one wanted to leave more than I did, and after cramming everyone into the cars, I hurried the other counselors so we could get back as soon as possible. My vehicle was the last of the four cars in our group to come down the narrow, winding dirt road. Besides being in a hurry, all the drivers were tired and preoccupied with the kids. That must have been why no one noticed the big truck in time to slow down. The first two cars were able to swerve around it, and, amazingly, I was able to skid to a stop when I saw it. Then we watched helplessly as the car in front of us was knocked off the road. I sat in a daze as the car, filled with people I was responsible for, rolled over and smashed into a big tree, inches away from a steep drop-off.
I held my breath until, one by one, the kids started crawling out of the driver’s window. Then I jumped out of my car and ran to see if anyone had been seriously injured, praying that I wouldn’t need to use my newly learned first-aid skills. We got everyone out quickly, and I ran around making sure everyone was all right.
Miraculously, no one had even been bruised in that smashed car. Some of the kids were pretty scared and the car would need to be towed, but everyone was safe. As we helped the kids into other cars, another counselor showed me how close they had come to going right over the edge. Another girl saw it, too, and started to go into shock. She had been sitting right by the window during the accident and had been sure the car would go right over the edge. She was put into my car, and I was instructed to take her to the hospital, driving carefully this time.
I climbed into my car and tried to stop shaking long enough to pick up the keys. I couldn’t. All the girls were crying, and the boys who had been in the other car were giving everyone a play-by-play account of the accident, complete with sound effects. I had to calm these kids down, but I was too scared to even pick up the keys. I put my head down on the big steering wheel and tried to regain some composure before everyone else went into shock, too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what had almost happened because of my impatience and anger. I started crying. I couldn’t get out of this canyon by myself! We were going to crash again if I drove! What would I say to the parents of these wonderful kids if anything happened? I couldn’t do it by …
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around to look into the very dirty, but calm, face of a young boy sitting behind me.
“Viv,” he said bluntly, as only a 12-year-old can, “you’re a nervous wreck. You need to get control of yourself or we’re not going to make it down. We’d better have a prayer.”
I couldn’t do a thing but stare at him, so he gave a prayer, the shortest, simplest one I’ve ever heard. “Heavenly Father, we’re thankful that everyone’s okay. Help us to get home without any harm or accidents. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
I lifted up my head and looked at this skinny 12-year-old boy. Then I started to cry again, but they weren’t tears of fear or frustration this time. Harmer accidents. He had asked the Lord to protect us from Harmer accidents. And, without a doubt, he believed that the Lord would do it! Suddenly, I found myself believing it, too. We would be protected from harm or accidents as surely as if we had prayed specifically about Harmer accidents. Not since I was eight years old and thought people prayed specifically for my safety had I felt with such assurance that a supplication for my safety would be heard and valued in heaven.
Driving safely down Provo Canyon that night, I learned a long-overdue lesson. It’s not the words we use in prayers that make them meaningful. It’s not the length that makes the Lord listen, nor the style that brings comfort. It’s the faith and sincerity with which we offer our prayers that make them work. I thought of all the times that I had prayed for protection from harm or accidents without really meaning or believing it. It only took the simple faith and prayer of a young boy to restore my faith in that phrase. I could offer prayers with the faith I had at age three if I just made sure my words were accompanied by faith and sincerity.