Gospel Story Finder

“We think about the brothers and sisters who haven’t been to church. … Then we ask the person if we can have a branch family evening at their house.” — Ernesto Gabriel Manhique, Homoine Branch president
Illustrations by Dilleen Marsh
Less than a year after joining the Church, Ernesto Gabriel Manhique was called as the president of the newly created Homoine Branch in Inhambane, Mozambique. At the time, the branch was two years old and had about 20 members attending.
President Manhique wanted love to be the foundation of the branch. “Because of my experiences,” he said, “I decided to be a leader who cultivates friendship with the members and demonstrates my love for them.”
President Manhique said their branch council meetings focused on reaching those who had stopped attending church because they struggled to feel loved and valued. These discussions led to an activity they called “Friday night branch family evenings.”
“We plan it like this: We think about the brothers and sisters who haven’t been to church the previous Sunday or who haven’t been for a few Sundays,” said President Manhique. “Then we ask the person if we can have a branch family evening at their house that week.”
The branch gathers at the member’s home and invites the entire neighborhood. President Manhique explained that this helps the person or family to feel loved, valued, and wanted.
“Often, the member [who hosted] returns accompanied by neighbors, who enjoy the branch family evening and decide to attend church,” said President Manhique. The Homoine Branch now has over 250 members. Most attend church regularly.

Members of the Young Women and Primary General Presidencies of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints met and visited with members in six countries of the Caribbean in May during an official ten-day visit. They were welcomed by Elder Jose L. Alonso of the Seventy, second counselor in the Caribbean Area Presidency, and Elder Hubermann Bien-Aimé, Area Seventy.
Sister Cristina B. Franco, Second Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, and Sister Becky Craven, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, arrived in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti, on Friday, May 18, 2018. Other countries visited on their tour were Guadeloupe, Barbados, Saint Vincent, Trinidad and Tobago, and Puerto Rico.
“I know that sometimes it is hard to defend our beliefs, to stand up for what we believe when everyone else is not doing the same in the world. But we must stand up for what we believe, even if we stand alone,” encouraged and invited Sister Franco to a group of young men and women during a devotional in Haiti.
Haiti is home to more than 23,000 members of the Church. It will be the second country in the area to have a temple, which is now under construction. Both sisters had an opportunity to visit the temple site.
“You are going to have a new temple, and I know that probably most of the youth have not had the opportunity to attend a temple yet. But that blessing is coming quickly, and you will have the opportunity to minister in the temple for your ancestors,” said Sister Craven to the youth in Port-Au-Prince.
After three days of meetings, trainings, and visits in Haiti, they traveled to Guadeloupe and Barbados where they held leadership trainings, a young single adult family home evening, and a visit to an early morning seminary class, comprised of 10 students in Abymes, Guadeloupe.
During one of the gatherings with the members, Sister Craven stated: “The distractions lead us away from our responsibility to minister to each other. So, we always have to be careful about the things that we get involved in. The things that we do can distract us and often the things that we forget to do can be a distraction from our spirituality.”
They arrived in Saint Vincent the morning of May 23rd for a leadership training meeting with Primary, Young Women, Relief Society and priesthood leaders of this small island, home to 683 members of the Church.
The next stop was in Trinidad and Tobago, where both sisters comforted families in their homes and also trained the leaders of that country.
Devrani Barrios, a Church member from Trinidad and Tobago, remarked: “It was good, I enjoyed it. Their sense of humor and their interactions with the kids was amazing. The prayer they left with my family is unforgettable.”
Taramatie Kotiah, another sister from Trinidad manifested: “I truly enjoyed the home visits. The sisters were very friendly with us all, as if we knew each other. They have such a welcoming spirit. They taught me what ministering truly is.”
The last destination of this international tour was Puerto Rico, where there are also more than 23,000 members. The interactions with the two general auxiliary leaders was a comforting time for members on the island.
“I liked very much that they set the example for us. They taught us how we have to start ministering now, because to minister is teaching the Savior’s way,” said Elizabeth Vasquez from Puerto Rico.
“To see that these leaders took their time to come here and give us these messages, brings me a lot of joy because it shows how much they love each of us, even though they don’t necessarily know our names,” said Erika Ruiz, a young woman from Puerto Rico.
This trip occurred after the last general conference, where President Russell M. Nelson announced a new emphasis on ministering, a personalized approach to caring for the temporal and spiritual needs of members. It focuses on flexibility in addressing the needs and circumstances of individuals throughout the world.
“Ministering is about love and being a friend and inviting others to participate and is about helping each other. But it also helps us as well become more like our Savior when we love as He does. And so it’s impacted the tour greatly because that’s what we’re talking about,” stated Sister Craven, concluding the visit in the Caribbean.

Betsy King Duzette waded into the frigid water of the Mississippi River. The 58-year-old widow and convert from Connecticut was then baptized for her uncles, mother-in-law, and her husband’s stepfather.
The Prophet Joseph Smith had recently taught the Saints, in August 1840, about the doctrine of baptism for the dead. In their excitement, they performed baptisms in the river, since the Nauvoo Temple was not completed. Women were baptized for men and men for women. Soon, however, the Lord revealed to Joseph Smith that baptisms for deceased ancestors must be done in dedicated temples (see Doctrine and Covenants 124:28–35). And in 1845, Brigham Young announced that women should be baptized for women and men for men.
Betsy’s husband, Philemon Duzette, had died six years earlier. She braved the chilly waters to be baptized for his deceased relatives as well as her own. That included baptism for Philemon’s stepfather, Jesse Peas, who died 50 years earlier when Betsy was a young girl. She may never have met him but likely knew of him and knew his name and his relationship to Philemon and his mother, Martha Wing. Betsy had known Martha when she was alive.
Betsy was baptized as proxy for Jesse almost immediately following the revelations on baptism for the dead. And she and her husband named one of their children after Jesse. Philemon’s biological father, also named Philemon, died when he was an infant, and Jesse Peas became his stepfather when Philemon was three and helped Martha raise him.
Just as Betsy King Duzette believed and trusted when she waded into the Mississippi River on behalf of her stepfather-in-law, we, all of us, can be connected, sealed, bound, and welded together eternally.

President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) once described the experience of a young divorced “mother of seven children then ranging in ages from 7 to 16. She said that one evening she went across the street to deliver something to a neighbor.” These are her words as he recalled them:
“As I turned around to walk back home, I could see my house lighted up. I could hear echoes of my children as I had walked out of the door a few minutes earlier. They were saying: ‘Mom, what are we going to have for dinner?’ ‘Can you take me to the library?’ ‘I have to get some poster paper tonight.’ Tired and weary, I looked at that house and saw the light on in each of the rooms. I thought of all of those children who were home waiting for me to come and meet their needs. My burdens felt heavier than I could bear.
“I remember looking through tears toward the sky, and I said, ‘Dear Father, I just can’t do it tonight. I’m too tired. I can’t face it. I can’t go home and take care of all those children alone. Could I just come to You and stay with You for just one night? …’
“I didn’t really hear the words of reply, but I heard them in my mind. The answer was: ‘No, little one, you can’t come to me now. … But I can come to you.’”
“I can come to you.” He came to her, and He will come to you and me, just as the Savior came to the woman at the well where she labored and toiled through her days (see John 4:3–42). He encouraged her, taught her, declared His messiahship to her, and loved her when perhaps she didn’t love herself. To the woman at the well, to the young mother of seven, to you and me, Jesus Christ stands ready to provide relief. I testify that we can receive relief through our covenant bond with a loving God.

In a prominent place in my office, where I can always see it, is a small, very old lantern which once lighted the binnacle on the H.M.S. Clarion, an old sailing ship registered out of Bournemouth, England. Not many people these days know what a binnacle is. Yet it is the forerunner for very important equipment on any ship.
A binnacle is a stand for a ship’s compass, usually placed before the steering wheel. The binnacle holds the compass by which the mariner steers his ship. And because ships travel at night, there must be a light over the compass.
The lamp that lighted the binnacle of the H.M.S. Clarion is important to me because it was given to me by a friend who retrieved it from the old ship, now far from home and long out of service, and because that friend had inscribed on the front of it, to me, these words: “Your light in my life made the difference.”
This tribute may be undeserved in my case, but I think everyone recognizes what a great privilege it would be to truly be a light in the life of another. Like the lantern over the binnacle, such a light may help point the way.

“He’s paying us twenty cents a row.”
“How many of you went?” Papa wanted to know.
“Me, Dora, Georgie, Frank, and Helen,” Ed replied.
“Helen, too?”
“She helped some.”
“But my arms got tired and Ed let me come home,” Helen explained.
Papa reached down to give her a hug. “Good girl,” he said. “I’m proud of all of you. Go ahead and help Mr. Clarke. I can finish our crop. We’ll all have to work fast to get done before the storm gets here.”
“What storm?” Ed asked.
“The one that’s coming before too long.”
“How can you tell?” I wanted to know.
“I can just feel it,” Papa answered.
The golden harvest weather held all week, and we worked from dawn until dark every day. By Friday night the flat corn heads were all pulled and stacked in the fields. Mama had been cooking all day for a picnic, and we could hardly wait for morning to come.
Before daylight, Papa climbed the ladder to our barn loft. “You’d all better get up,” he said. “I need lots of help today.”
“But you promised we could have a picnic, Papa.”
“Can’t help it,” Papa said. “We’ve got to get the corn in. A humdinger of a storm is on the way. Dora, I want you to come with me to warn the neighbors. Ed, you go hitch up the wagon and take Frank and George over to Clarke’s. Use his wagon, too, and after his crop is in come back and start on ours.”
There was a tone in Papa’s voice I’d never heard before. It sent shivers down my back. I dressed as fast as I could and hurried the boys along. We gulped down the breakfast Mama had waiting and flew out the door just as the sun peeked over the sand hills.
“There’re no clouds, Papa,” Ed said.
“They’re coming,” Papa declared. “Now get going!”
The boys ran toward the barn. I jumped on the horse that was waiting for me, and Papa and I rode off to warn the neighbors that a big storm was on the way.
“You’re crazy,” Mr. Cooper told Papa. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“Not yet,” Papa said, “but there will be.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Mr. Cooper said and closed the door. We jumped on our horses and rode to Mr. Younger’s store. He could help us spread the word.
“Doesn’t look to me like any storm is coming,” he drawled as he gazed up at the cloudless sky.
“You’re right,” Papa agreed. “But mark my word, it’ll be here before nightfall, and it’s a big one.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
And this was the answer everywhere we went. Papa finally decided that it wasn’t any use to warn the people, so we went on home to help the boys. “The price of corn will be sky-high this year,” he said, “and we can’t afford to leave it in the field.”
We worked like demons and were piling on the last wagonload when the wind came up and nearly tipped it over.
“Head for home!” Papa shouted.
We all jumped on the wagon and by the time we pulled into the barn, hail was peppering the ground and beating everything flat. It was the worst storm I can remember. Some of the hailstones were the size of eggs. What the hail didn’t flatten the wind did. The broomcorn crop was a total loss that year except for the few fields that were brought in as a result of our warning.
Papa was right about the price. We made a big profit that year, and the other farmers were sorry they hadn’t listened to him. (To be continued.)

Fast-forward to more recent times, about two years ago. David Palmer, having spent several years teaching at the Safford High seminary, had recently become principal of the Thatcher High seminary. Brother Palmer had been playing rec league basketball, where he became acquainted with Brandon. Brandon learned that Brother Palmer’s son, Matthew, age 8 at the time, was about to have surgery to remove a lump in his jaw. Doctors feared it might be cancer.
“Brandon asked if he could visit my son after the surgery,” Brother Palmer explains. “When he visited, he gave him a note and said if Matt would let him know when he came to a game, he’d make a three-point basket and then point to him in the stands.” Sure enough, when the next Thatcher versus Safford basketball game rolled around, there was Matt in the stands with his father. On the first play, Brandon was open for three, sank the shot, and then turned and pointed to his young friend.
Brandon scored 30 points that night, with several baskets from beyond the arc. Each time he scored a three, he pointed at Matthew. That cemented Brandon as a hero to Matt.
That night in family prayer, Matt started asking Heavenly Father to guide Brandon to join the Church. The Palmer family had already been praying to find someone who would want to learn the gospel, and Matt was sure Brandon was an answer to that prayer.

It bothered me so much that someone could be so cruel and not even apologize.
For a long time I struggled with forgiveness. Through my own negative experiences, I had often been given counsel that made me feel as though I was being villainized if I didn’t forgive. I often heard phrases like, “If you don’t forgive, then you’re a hypocrite.”
And as someone who has been hurt by others many times, it really hurt me spiritually to hear messages like that—that I would be just as terrible of a person if I was genuinely struggling to forgive. Sometimes I even felt that people excused or dismissed my perpetrators because they may have been facing challenges that caused them to act cruelly.
This mindset made me feel confused and alone. Was it OK for people to be unkind?
When I asked my dad why he didn’t seem so angry about the whole situation, he told me, “He already stole so much from me, so why would I let him steal my happiness too?”
After this conversation, it was as if a light had come on. I saw forgiveness differently.

President Joseph F. Smith was six years old when his father, Hyrum, was killed in Carthage Jail. Joseph crossed the plains with his widowed mother. At age 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He felt lost and alone and said, "I was very much oppressed. … I was almost naked and entirely friendless, except the friendship of a poor, benighted … people. I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look [anyone] in the face."

While pondering his plight, the young elder had a dream, "a literal thing; … a reality." He dreamed he was on a journey rushing as fast as he possibly could.

He carried a small bundle. Finally he came to a wonderful mansion, his destination. As he approached, he saw a notice, "Bath." He turned aside quickly, went in, and washed himself clean. He opened his little bundle and found clean, white clothing—"a thing," he said, "I had not seen for a long time." He put them on and rushed to the door of the mansion.

"I knocked," he said, "and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said [were]: 'Joseph, you are late.' … I took confidence and said:

"'Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!'" (Joseph F. Smith, Gospel Doctrine, 5th ed. [1939], 541–42). And so it can be with you.

After my 16th birthday, I decided it was time to get a job. The search began and ended with a neighborhood pharmacy and candy store where my brother and I had spent most of our allowances as children. The store owner was a grandfatherly man with a quiet disposition. To my surprise, he gave me an interview and offered me the job a few days later. I decided then I would try to learn as much as possible from the experience. Little did I know the lessons I would learn would be about more than medicines and business.
After working at the pharmacy for about nine months, I realized I had learned much from the great example of the store owner. Many people came to the pharmacy lacking money to pay for the medicine they needed, and he would quietly assure them a payment or two could wait. He knew most of the customers by name and would constantly listen to stories about their latest trip to the hospital or look at pictures of their grandchildren. If an employee needed time off for vacations, illness, or, in my case, a school dance, he did all he could to let us off work, even if he had to work extra hours himself.
One night, very close to Christmas, I had been counting money from the day’s sales when a rush of customers came in. I put the counted money in one of the store sacks under the counter, planning on retrieving it when things slowed down. For the next half hour, I rushed around dealing with frazzled holiday shoppers and constantly ringing the cash register.
Finally, my boss closed the door behind the last customer and turned off the main lights. With a sigh of relief, I took off my apron and reached to get the money. It was gone. I muttered a quick, very shaky prayer and looked again. Still no money. My mind began to race. Had I left it at the back register? Frantically, but trying to look calm and unconcerned, I checked all over the store. It was no use. The money for nearly the entire day—checks, charges, and cash—was gone.
With great fear, I went to my boss and told him the situation. Without a word, he began to search. Tears came to my eyes with a feeling of hopelessness. Nearly a thousand dollars was missing. After a terrible hour of searching, my boss told me to go home.
That night, I sleeplessly tossed and turned as my mind attempted to solve the mystery of the missing money. As the money stayed lost, I knew I would not only lose my job but would have to find a way to pay back the lost money. I knelt down and prayed that the money would be found and that my boss would have an understanding heart.
At 7:00 A.M. the next morning a phone call came. “The money has been found,” my boss said.
With a sigh of relief, I asked, “Where was it?” not sure I wanted an answer.
“It looks like you put it in a sack and then gave the sack to one of our customers, a man who didn’t open it until this morning.” Never in my life have I felt quite so stupid. Our conversation continued, and I very awkwardly attempted to apologize for such a mindless mistake. As I was about to ask when I could pick up my last paycheck, my boss said, “I’ll see you on Saturday.”
I arrived five minutes early to work that Saturday, a little nervous and ready for humiliation. However, my boss, whom I expected to meet me at the door with a “you’re fired!” statement, wasn’t even there. None of the other workers said a thing about the money incident. Apparently, they didn’t know about it.
An hour before closing, he finally came in. The moment I had been dreading had finally arrived, and I clenched my teeth for the blow. Before giving him a chance to speak, I blurted out, “Sir, you can fire me if you want to. I definitely deserve it.” He just stared at me for a moment, then said, “Why would I do that? Maybe be just a little more careful with the money, hey?”
Tears came to my eyes in gratitude to the honest customer who returned that large sum of money and also to my kind boss who followed the example given in the Book of Mormon: "I did frankly forgive them all that they had done" (1 Ne. 7:21). I attempted to thank my boss, but he walked away and never mentioned my mistake again.
When I left the pharmacy for another job, I realized I had learned many valuable lessons about business and medicines. But the most important, lasting lesson learned in the two years I worked there was from the examples of those two Christlike men the night I gave the money away.

Being prayerful for me means not only praying morning and night, but also keeping a prayer in my heart throughout the day. Although I have not been perfect in doing so, I have been pretty consistent. With a prayer in my heart my day runs smoother and I am more receptive to the whisperings of the Spirit. Often in my prayers I ask the Lord to help me find those who are in need of comfort or who need a friend.
One day I was driving home from school and passed a boy who was walking home. The sun was out but there was snow on the ground. I had an impression to turn around and give the boy a ride home. Immediately I turned around and picked him up. He had on wet jeans and a T-shirt because someone had pushed him in the snow. He was grateful when I picked him up. He talked about how he had a hard time making friends and how some kids had played a little game that ended with him being thrown in the snow. I was grateful the Lord heard my prayers and allowed me to help that wonderful boy.
Barbara Moore, 17Littleton, Colorado

illustration by Thomas Girard
Junior high was not an easy experience, and I wasn’t expecting my first day of high school to be any better. All through junior high I was painfully shy. Terribly, awfully shy. I didn’t feel comfortable talking to new people, because I didn’t feel confident in who I was. In between classes I mostly kept to myself, walking quickly to and from my locker with my head down, trying to look busy. Most of my weekends were spent by myself, either reading books, doing homework, or re-watching beloved TV shows.
I wanted my experience that year to be different, but I wasn’t sure how it was going to be. As I went to my first class, I looked around at the other students and felt a surge of terror. “I don’t want to talk to any of these people,” I thought. I didn’t want to go through painful introductions and awkward silences. So instead I spent the hour staring firmly at my desk, not looking at or talking to anybody.
By the time homeroom came along, I was convinced that my freshman year was going to be just as lonely as junior high. Fighting back tears, I silently slid into my seat, once again determined not to look away from my desk.
“Hello,” said a voice beside me. “My name is Taylor. What’s yours?” I looked up and saw a nervous-but-sincere-looking girl sitting across from me.
“Oh,” I said, “hello. My name is Rachel.”
After that Taylor mentioned that she had just moved into the area a couple weeks ago. She knew even fewer people than I did, and she was hoping to make new friends. Then we talked about the normal things—school, classes, and our hopes for high school. Our conversation was a little awkward, but overall, talking to Taylor was really nice. The next day in homeroom when I ran into her again, she invited me to sit by her and we talked more. The more I saw her and the more she casually said hello to me, the more comfortable I felt responding back. In the following weeks, Taylor became the one person I felt OK stopping to talk with between classes.
A few months later, I was feeling particularly down. I didn’t feel confident in myself and found it hard to believe that anyone would want to be friends with me. This feeling lasted day after day, until one evening, after a week or so of this, my phone started to ring. I answered it.
“Hey,” said the other person on the line. “This is Taylor. How’s it going, Rachel? I just wanted to call and say hi.”
Taylor and I talked for a while, and this time our conversation was a lot smoother. I really enjoyed talking with her—she showed genuine interest in getting to know me, and that helped me feel like I was worth being friends with. Later when our conversation ended, I began to realize something important. I felt as if Heavenly Father was trying to help me realize that I could be happy about who I am and what He has given me. Taylor’s phone call and her continual invitations over time helped me realize that who I am is great and that I can make feel comfortable being my reserved self.
After that phone call, Taylor and I started spending a lot of time together as friends. She accepted me as I was, and we had many great adventures in high school.
I knew Taylor was a true friend because she was friendly in a way that was not superficial. She was genuinely interested in getting to know me and was consistent in her interest. When it comes to making friends with others, behaving as Christ would—with charity, understanding, and sincerity—makes all the difference. Taylor did that for me through her warm attitude and honest interest in me as a person.
I’m still a shy person, but now I know that even shy people like me can have great friends.

Along with the blessings, however, I have known some difficult challenges and heartaches. I am grateful for the lessons learned in these adversities. As a young man, I lived through the Great Depression, when banks failed and so many lost their jobs and homes and went hungry. I was fortunate to have a job at a canning factory that paid 25 cents an hour. That may have been all I was worth! But it helped me get my education. I served three long years in the military in World War II. One time when we were in peril of our ship capsizing in a horrendous storm in the Pacific, I put myself in the Lord’s hands and fervently promised Him that if I survived I would try to serve Him all of the days of my life.
At times I have stumbled and been less than I should have been. All of us experience those wrenching, defining, difficult decisions that move us to a higher level of spirituality. They are the Gethsemanes of our lives that bring with them great pain and anguish. Sometimes they are too sacred to be shared publicly. They are the watershed experiences that help purge us of our unrighteous desires for the things of the world. As the scales of worldliness are taken from our eyes, we see more clearly who we are and what our responsibilities are concerning our divine destiny.
I humbly acknowledge that these many experiences have nurtured a sure knowledge that Jesus is our Savior and Redeemer. I have heard His voice and felt His influence and presence. They have been as a warm, spiritual cloak. The wonder of it is that all who conscientiously strive to keep the commandments and sustain their leaders can receive this same knowledge in some measure. The privilege of serving in the cause of the Master can bring great satisfaction and inner peace.
The united testimonies and faith of the early Church members brought them from Palmyra to Kirtland, and from Nauvoo to the Salt Lake Valley. Eventually that faith will establish this work all over the world. That strength of testimony and faith moves the work of God forward in such a marvelous way. The power of the Lord is in this work, as evidenced in the wonderful happenings of our time.
President Gordon B. Hinckley presides over what is possibly the greatest number of faithful people who have ever lived upon the face of the earth. I testify that he is a truly great prophet. He needs faithful followers. The great strength of this Church comes from our collective and individual testimonies, born of our own trials and faithfulness. The faithfulness of the Saints has permitted this great Conference Center to be built and dedicated in the name of the Lord on this historic day. It is unique in all the world. So wondrous and great are the works of the Lord in our time. As a people, we are not as yet what we ought to be—far from it. However, I hope we will strive harder to become a more righteous people, worthy to continue to receive the blessings of heaven.
The acceleration of temple building in our time has been marvelous. Through the prophetic vision of President Hinckley, we now have many temples that dot many lands on the earth. This remarkable achievement has been made possible because of faithful tithe payers. This in turn has caused the Lord to redeem His promise spoken through Malachi: “And prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” All of these exquisite holy edifices are a testimony of our belief that the Savior broke the bonds of death and opened up the way for us to enter into covenants which will be binding in another world.
Like Alma, I can testify, “All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator.”
In a revelation to the Prophet Joseph Smith that I know to be true, the Savior testified of Himself in these words:
“I am the true light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world;
“… I am in the Father, and the Father in me, and the Father and I are one.”
The Lord has promised that “every soul who forsaketh his sins and cometh unto me, and calleth on my name, and obeyeth my voice, and keepeth my commandments, shall see my face and know that I am.”
When I was called to the holy apostleship many years ago, my sure witness prompted me to testify on that occasion in these words: “I understand that a chief requirement for the holy apostleship is to be a personal witness of Jesus as the Christ and the Divine Redeemer. Perhaps on that basis alone, I can qualify. This truth has been made known to me by the unspeakable peace and power of the Spirit of God.”
Since accepting that call many years ago, my certain witness has been greatly magnified. This is because of my undeniable testimony that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God.
My greatest desire is to be true and faithful to the end of my days on this earth. That we may all do so, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Recently, as our small group of missionaries was traveling from the Ghana Accra Missionary Training Centre to our mission assignment in Lubumbashi, we met two women at the Kenya airport departure lounge. As newly trained missionaries having a great desire to teach, we approached and made acquaintance with them. After introducing ourselves, I had the opportunity to present the message of the gospel of Jesus Christ, which is what we strive to share with everyone.
It was difficult for those women to give us much time to listen, or to accept an appointment, or even to take the pamphlets we offered them. But an idea came to my mind that we should not insist but rather that we should just bear simple testimony of the gospel.
Right before boarding the plane bound for Lubumbashi, one of those women approached and told me that she had been thinking about what I had said and was now aware that this message was important for her and her whole family. Her interest came about simply because of the testimony I had borne and the confidence that I had to say that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the only true Church here on the earth.
She also said to me that she had been asking herself two questions: “Why was this young missionary able to bear such a sure testimony?” “How can I also gain a testimony of these things myself?”
Apparently, my testimony had preoccupied her, and I immediately realized that just bearing our testimony influences many people to ponder and be converted.
This airport experience taught me that our testimony does not depend on eloquence—or the power of our voice—but it does depend on the conviction of our heart. That is why when we become converted, our testimony has power and affects those who listen to it.

During my youth, my father had a stable job and made a good living. However, he was addicted to alcohol, and this affected his family life. One day, a building was completed in my neighborhood near our house, and many speculated on its use: a school, a hospital, a church?
It was a building of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My father was invited there and he went despite the mockery and ridicule of his family members. Eventually my father was baptized.
From that moment on, we noticed a change in his character: To our astonishment, he stopped consuming alcohol and tobacco. He often read a book that later turned out to be the Book of Mormon. After my father was baptized, he invited us to join him in his new Church. The other members of my family were reluctant to join. I had always been close to my father and decided to go to church with him.
After my baptism, my two brothers and sisters joined the Church. My mother was later baptized as well.

Zeb didn’t need anyone to remind him that it was Saturday as he came into Mumma’s warm kitchen with an armload of firewood for the stove. The beanpot, burbling gently in the oven, gave off a tantalizing aroma of molasses, pork, and beans. The boy sniffed in anticipation as he dumped the sticks into the woodbox. Twelve-year-old Zeb enjoyed the traditional Maine Saturday night baked-bean dinner.
Hattie, his older sister, pulled a kettle of water to the front of the stove. “The water’s boiling now, Mumma,” she announced.
“OK, Hat, I’m ready,” Mumma declared, coming in from the pantry with two covered cans full of brown-bread batter. She eased the cans into the kettle for their steam bath, then looked out the window toward the cove where the seawater washed onto a rocky beach. “Zeb, did you hear Daddy’s boat when you were outside?” she asked.
“Well, no … I didn’t,” the boy replied sheepishly. “I was playing my trumpet in back of the barn. With Daddy and Bubba gone lobstering, I figured it was a good chance for me to get in a few licks of practice. The band’s going to have a concert at school Tuesday. You know, Mumma, Daddy and Bubba don’t seem to appreciate my music.”
Zeb and his mother shared a wry smile. But Hattie, arms akimbo, said indignantly, “Why, Zebadiah Beale! I never once heard Daddy say a hateful word to you about that trumpet, although everybody knows that you can make more racket with that horn than a cat with its tail caught in the door.”
Zeb shook his head. “I see you have no ear for music either.” He darted in back of Hattie and gave her apron strings a tug. While Hattie fussed and retied her apron, Zeb escaped to the pantry and fished a doughnut out of the brown crock. Munching contentedly, he eased back into the kitchen as Hattie was saying, “It looks like we’re going to have company. Here comes Effie Nash.”
Zeb watched with interest as a figure in a plaid coat came up the steps. She must be about Mumma’s age, he thought, but she doesn’t act like any adult that I know. People said Effie was “lacking,” but Zeb thought her way of thinking made about as much sense as anyone else’s. He remembered seeing Effie in town one day with her shoes on the wrong feet. When someone had pointed the fact out to her, she’d said, “Why, I find they wear longer if I change them around once in a while.” Maybe shoes do last longer by switching them around, Zeb mused.
Hattie opened the door, and Effie came in. She was wearing her shoes on the proper feet today. Getting right down to business, she announced, “Ma said to tell you to save three lobsters when Matt gets back. She wants them for dinner tomorrow. Ahh-choo!”
“Good gracious, Effie,” Mumma said, handing her a handkerchief, “how did you catch such a cold?”
“I’m sure I don’t know—SNIFF—unless it was because I had a hole in my mitten when I was hanging out the wash yesterday morning.”
Hattie had a sudden attack of coughing, and Zeb gave her a warning poke. Mumma said hurriedly, “We’ll be sure to save the lobsters for you, Effie. Won’t you sit down and stay awhile?”
“No, thanks. I have to get back home. Ma’s waiting for me to help her with supper.”
The door banged shut behind Effie, and she trudged down the path toward the road.
Mumma looked out the window and drew in her breath sharply. “Oh, my! Look at that fog coming in off the ocean.”
Fog! Zeb felt a hard knot of fear form in the pit of his stomach—Daddy and Bubba were still out there somewhere! When great fog banks rolled in from the sea without any warning, small fishing boats sometimes got lost because the fishermen couldn’t see the shore or any familiar landmark.
Mumma, Hattie, and Zeb grabbed their coats and ran outside and down to the edge of the cove, anxiously listening for the sound of a motorboat. As the fog thickened, blotting out even the outlines of the spruce trees behind them, all ordinary sounds were muffled into an eerie silence.
Mumma cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “MATT? BUBBA? … MATT!” But the fog seemed to wrap her cries in dirty cotton wool and drop them into the cold gray water near her feet. Putting her arms around her children Mumma sighed, then took a deep breath and turned to Hattie and Zeb and said, “Our voices aren’t going to carry far enough to be heard, so let’s build a bonfire on the beach. Maybe Daddy and Bubba will see the glow from it. You two go up to the shed and start lugging firewood. I’ll get some brush together. Don’t forget to bring matches back with you.”
“I’ll get the matches from the kitchen, Zeb, and be right back,” Hattie panted as they scrambled up the path toward the woodshed.
Zeb nodded and began pulling sticks off the woodpile. Hattie was back in a minute, shoving a box of wooden matches into her coat pocket. They worked quickly, and soon both had as much wood as they could carry. “C’mon, Hat! That’s enough for the first trip,” Zeb cautioned as Hattie seemed intent on loading herself like a pack mule.
They stumbled back down the path to the edge of the beach, hardly able to see where they were going. When they reached the rocky shore, they peered uneasily through the thick mist, trying to find Mumma.
“Is that you, kids?” Mumma’s voice sounded as hollow as a ghost’s, until she finally emerged in front of them. “I’ve piled a lot of brush near the edge of the water. Follow me, and we’ll get some wood on it.”
Walking single file, they approached the heap of brush, where Zeb and Hattie dropped their loads. Zeb arranged a few sticks loosely on top of the tinder, then lit a match to it. The fog and the sea air had dampened the once-dry brush, but it finally crackled and flared and caught fire.
“Mumma, you keep it going. Hat and I’ll go back for more wood.”
Zeb and Hattie were clambering up the path when they heard footsteps. Zeb, leading the way, almost bumped into a tall heavyset figure wearing oilskins and gum boots.
“Hold on there, Zeb. I don’t aim to be trampled to death,” Mr. Nash’s voice boomed out somewhere over the top of Zeb’s head.
“Daddy and Bubba haven’t come back yet, Mr. Nash,” Hattie blurted out. “We’ve built a bonfire down on the shore, and we’re going to get more wood.”
“Let me give you a hand,” Mr. Nash said, turning back up the path with them. “Effie said your Pa wasn’t back when she was over at your house. When the fog came in, I thought I’d check on you. It’s going to take a lot of wood to keep that fire going. Hattie, why don’t you scoot over to Peavys’ and tell them what’s happened. Those two Peavy boys can help carry wood too.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Hattie said gratefully. She turned down the road toward the Peavy house, while Zeb and Mr. Nash plunged on up to the shed. Zeb felt better in the comforting presence of this big man, who seemed to know just what to do. The tight knot in his stomach loosened up a little as he listened to Mr. Nash’s matter-of-fact voice.
When they brought their wood back to the shore, Mumma was standing by the fire. “Well, Bertha,” Mr. Nash greeted her, “any sign of them yet?”
Mumma shook her head. “Not a sound.” She shivered and hugged her coat closer around her.
“It’ll take time for them to get to the cove here after they spot the fire,” Mr. Nash said. He threw more wood onto the fire. As it blazed higher, Zeb saw several figures coming toward them out of the fog with Hattie in the lead. They all carried armloads of wood. Zeb blew a sigh of relief.
But afternoon wore into evening, and in spite of the enormous bonfire, no one could hear the sound of a motorboat. It’s no use! thought Zeb in despair. They can’t see the fire through the fog. What else can we do? …
And then Zeb knew!
He charged through a knot of people coming down the path and bolted up to the house. “Hurry! Hurry!” he muttered to himself as he clattered upstairs to his room. Grabbing what he had come for, he sped back to the shore. On the rocky edge of the cove, Zeb raised his trumpet to his lips.
Out across the water, cutting cleanly through the vapor banks, the clear notes of a Sousa march pealed forth. Hardly stopping for breath, Zeb played through all the music he’d practiced for the band concert. With a stamina he never knew he had, he played on, switching to the old songs he’d known all his life. He was in the middle of “God of Our Fathers, Whose Almighty Hand,” when Mumma’s hand tightened on his shoulder.
“Listen! Do you hear it?”
Zeb lowered his trumpet, and from out of the mist came a faint throb of a boat engine. Then silence. Everyone strained to listen. There it was again, a faraway motor!
“Keep playing, boy, keep playing! You’ll guide them in!” roared Mr. Nash, pulling off his moisture-laden hat and slapping it against his leg.
Zeb lifted the trumpet to his swollen lips and began the old familiar hymn again, playing it as a joyful processional. The put-put of the motorboat grew louder. Suddenly a boat loomed out of the fog, lighted by the bonfire on shore.
Mumma was the first one out onto the dock, her racing feet barely touching the wooden planks. Hattie and Zeb were close behind her.
Matt and Bubba were quickly up on the dock, hugging Mumma and Hattie. Then Zeb, still holding his trumpet, was grabbed in a bear hug by his father, while Bubba pounded him on the back.
Daddy’s eyes were bright as he said only half-teasingly, “I’m sure glad to find you at the end of that trumpet, Son, instead of the Angel Gabriel!”

A few days before he died, he was in the temple on the fourth floor with his associates of the First Presidency and the members of the Twelve. He was so week and frail that there was every good reason that he never should have been there. Before our meeting started, as he sat, members of the Twelve walked by to shake his hand and greet him. There was almost no response at all because of the physical drain that had come to him over the last number of months. There was almost no capacity to communicate or respond in the present situation. His hearing was very limited, his eyesight failing, his frail body filled with aches. As I shook his hand privately and felt little or no response, I gave it an extra squeeze. I said, “President Kimball, I’m Marvin Ashton.” How can I ever forget his last words to me when he looked up just a little and said very softly, “Marvin Ashton, I love you.”

When I was about to go on a mission, I worried about the same things that today worry the young men and young women who will also serve missions. I worried about work, my girlfriend, school, and family. When I was old enough to go on a mission, my father was almost sixty-six years old, and I thought, My father is old, and if I leave for two years, he may die and I will not see him anymore. Who will take care of my mother? She will be all alone when he is no longer at her side.

May I tell you that I served two years in the mission, I served in the Church schools in Chile for five years, I served as a mission president for three years, as a Regional Representative for six years, and my father is still here at the head of the family. He was born a month after President Benson, so last month he turned ninety-three years old.

I testify that when we serve the Lord with all of our heart, might, mind, and strength, he blesses us.

While listening to a presentation on family history, stake president David Pickup in Chorley, England, felt an impression that indexing could help the members of his stake increase their desire to worship in the temple. But he wondered, how would something that looked like common data entry lead people to the temple?
He decided to try indexing and found that it brought an added measure of the Spirit of Elijah into his life. For him, indexing has become a “refining” work. “You cannot index without thinking about not only the names being indexed but also your own family names,” he says.
President Pickup challenged the members of his stake to use indexing as a way to participate in family history work. Within a short time, he and other stake leaders noticed a significant increase in temple recommend worthiness and sacrament meeting attendance. They noticed that the members who participated in indexing were developing a desire to take their own family names to the temple.
Indexing helped the members of the Chorley stake by bringing an added measure of the Spirit into their lives and by giving them the tools they needed to take their family names to the temple. “You don’t need to be temple worthy to index,” President Pickup says, “but when you index, it will refine you, and you will want to be temple worthy, and you will want to go to the temple, and you will want to do work for your ancestors. … I know this because it happened to me.”

Many years ago, on a Halloween night, it was my privilege to be of assistance to one who had temporarily lost his way and needed a helping hand to return. I was driving home from the office rather late. I had been stalling on Halloween, letting my wife handle the trick-or-treat visitors. As I passed St. Mark’s Hospital in Salt Lake City, I remembered that a dear friend, Max, lay ill in that very hospital. As he and I had become acquainted years before, we discovered that we had grown up in the same ward, although at different times. By the time I was born, Max and his parents had moved from the ward.
That Halloween night, I drove into the parking lot and entered the hospital. As I stopped at the desk to inquire as to his room number, I was informed that when Max had registered at the hospital, he had listed as his religious preference not LDS but rather another church.
I entered Max’s room and greeted him. I told him how proud I was to be his friend and how much I cared about him. I talked about his career in banking and as an orchestra leader on the side. I discovered that he had been offended by a comment or two from others and so had decided to attend another church. I said to him, “Max, you hold the Melchizedek Priesthood. I would like to give you a blessing tonight.” He agreed, and the blessing was provided. He then informed me that his wife, Bernice, was also very ill and was, in fact, in an adjoining room. At my invitation, Max joined me in giving a blessing to her. He asked me to help him. I coached him. He anointed his wife. There were tears and embraces all around as I sealed the anointing with Max, his hands on his wife’s head with mine, making that Halloween evening one ever to be remembered.
As I left the hospital that night, I stopped at the desk and told the receptionist that with the permission of Max and his wife the record should be changed to reflect their membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I waited and I watched until it was changed.
My friends Max and Bernice are now both on the other side of the veil, but they spent the last period of their lives active and happy and receiving the blessings which come with testimonies of the gospel and attendance at church.