Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago late on an April afternoon, three other men and I got out of a small dugout boat at Agua Azul, Chiapas, Mexico, on the Usumacinta River. We entered a small one-motor plane to fly hundreds of miles westward to Tuxtla, Chiapas, on the Grijalva River.
In order to reach Tuxtla, which we had left that morning, President Ernest A. Strong from Springville, Utah, Gareth W. Lowe, manager of the New World Archaeological Foundation, William A. (Bill) Devenish, and I had to fly over one of the most dense jungles in the world and over ranges of mountains.
Heavy black clouds had settled over the jungles. We anticipated that we might run into trouble. For safety’s sake our pilot, Bill, flew the plane very high to get above the clouds. We could not see the ground at any time through the dense clouds. The radio frequency at the Tuxtla airport did not match that on our plane, and so our pilot had to estimate our course back to Tuxtla.
We had traveled a few hours when darkness came on with the immediacy it does in the tropics. Suddenly, the Holy Spirit told me that we had crossed the Grijalva River and were headed westward away from Tuxtla toward a range of mountains and that if we did not change our course quickly we would all get killed.
I immediately told Bill that we were going the wrong direction, that we had crossed the Grijalva River some distance up the river south of Tuxtla. Bill tried to determine the proper course, but because of the turbulent weather conditions, he was unable to do so.
A very depressing, dark feeling came over me. It was a feeling of gloom and despair. I said to President Strong, “We are going to be killed if we keep going in this direction. We’re headed for destruction. If Bill doesn’t change the direction of the plane soon, we will crash.”
President Strong said that he had an oppressive feeling also. We were sitting in the back seat, and Bill heard our conversation. He asked, “President Hunter, which direction do you think we ought to go?”
I quickly replied, “Turn immediately to the right and go north.”
Bill turned the plane to the right. A sweet, peaceful feeling came into my heart, and the Holy Spirit let me know that all would be well. I said, “Everything will be all right with us now. We shall arrive safely at Tuxtla without any mishap.” We had not traveled very long before we saw lights shining from Tuxtla. We circled over the small, dirt airstrip with the lanterns showing us where to land. It was by now very dark.
Our plane landed safely. We observed that there were three or four hundred people at the airstrip. President Strong’s son, Bert, also a stake president, was there and was very delighted to see us back safe. We asked Bert why so many people had collected at the airstrip that evening. He informed us that three Mexicans had gone in a two-motor plane across the jungles and mountains to the Usumacinta River that morning about the time we had flown there. They had not returned and the people of Tuxtla were out waiting for them. Some months later Gareth Lowe wrote informing us that the Mexican plane and its occupants had hit a mountain, and all were killed.
Thus, our lives were spared by heeding the directions given to us by the Holy Spirit. When we arrived at our hotel, we kneeled down and thanked God for his guidance and for saving our lives.
We had completed the assignment given us by President David O. McKay to check on a site claimed to be that of the ancient city of Zarahemla.
We had located the suggested site by following the description given in a document that President McKay sent with us. All four of us agreed that this particular site was altogether too small to support a city as large as Zarahemla. Furthermore, Zarahemla had fields where crops were grown, as well as pasture lands on either side of the city for the Nephite’s flocks. According to the description given in the Book of Mormon, Zarahemla seemed to have been the largest Nephite city in ancient America.
After our return to the hotel, I became quite ill during the night. The next morning my traveling companions came to my bedroom to see why I had not come to breakfast. I told them I was too ill to get out of bed. They said that they would eat breakfast and then go down to the airstrip and look at the plane to see that everything was all right.
They soon returned and informed me that clouds had settled down on the airstrip and on Tuxtla so heavily that we would not be able to get out. We were fogged in, and they had been informed that the airstrip would probably be fogged in for a considerable time because the rainy season was beginning. They asked me what should be done.
After thinking for a few moments I was impressed by the Holy Spirit to say, “Give me a blessing and we will fly out today.” At first they replied, “President Hunter, you are too ill to fly.” But I insisted on being blessed. President Strong anointed and his son Bert sealed the anointing and gave me a blessing. I immediately got up out of bed, went in and ate breakfast, and felt completely healed.
We took our luggage and went down to the airstrip. Shortly after, the clouds lifted sufficiently for us to fly out. We heard later from the archaeological workman that several days passed before the fog and clouds lifted again. Therefore, that particular day was our time to fly out of Tuxtla.
On the way home President Strong said, “President Hunter, write an article for the Church magazines on this marvelous experience we have had. You were directed by the Holy Spirit as strongly as Wilford Woodruff was when he was told to get out of bed and move the wagon in the night. He followed the promptings of the Holy Spirit and moved the wagon just before a strong turbulence came along and pulled up the tree exactly where his wagon had been standing. He and his companion would have been killed if he hadn’t followed the promptings of the Holy Spirit. We have had a similar experience. By following the promptings of the Holy Spirit, our lives were saved.”

Shortly after our training in the Missionary Training Centre as a senior missionary couple, we reported to the mission office to meet with our mission leader, President Mutariswa, for assignments which included supporting the implementation of Gathering Place and Children and Youth Development (CYD) initiatives mission wide.
To carry out these assignments effectively, we needed to travel extensively to minister personally to the congregations and offer trainings for which it was our privilege.
On one of such scheduled visits to Makurdi District, CYD training was to take place Sunday afternoon. Immediately after the church service, it was so amazing to observe a little primary child named Stephanie, daughter of the branch president where training was to take place, start cleaning the chapel with all the tools she needed. She disposed refuse properly and returned all tools appropriately to designated room.
We were touched that a primary child of three years old could lead the way in keeping the chapel clean. After obtaining consent from her father, we reviewed our training slides to incorporate pictures of Stephanie’s worthy example as a demonstration of how a child could grow in wisdom and stature.
Further interaction with the family showed that parents in the Makurdi District use the CYD children’s guidebooks to train their children and Stephanie’s example becomes a sure proof of the efficacy of the Children Youth Development initiative.
We can’t describe in words the happiness we feel knowing that this initiative is a simple but powerful divinely appointed tool in hands of parents and leaders in helping the rising generation remain on the covenant path as they develop along the four (spiritual, physical, intellectual and social) aspects of life. How grateful we are to serve as a full-time missionary couple at this time when the prophet of God has asked we get enlisted in supporting the rising generation.
And Stephanie grows in wisdom and stature!

“Here we are,” Dad said softly as he turned off the car.
“Do I have to go in?” Lucy asked.
“No,” Mom said. “Not if you don’t want to. But this might be the last time you get to see Great-grandma Irma. She is very sick.”
Lucy thought about what Mother had said for a few minutes. She couldn’t imagine not seeing her great-grandmother, whom she called Grandma Irma, again. She had always liked to come here and visit. When Lucy was smaller, Grandma Irma read her the story of Pocahontas saving John Smith’s life. Lucy remembered how it felt to sit on Grandma Irma’s lap, all warm, soft, and safe.
Lucy swallowed hard. “I’ll come in,” she said.
“Good for you!” Mom told her.
Granny, Grandma Irma’s daughter and Lucy’s grandma, met them at the front door. She looked like she had been crying, and in her hand was a brush.
“Come in,” she said. “Mama isn’t doing very well today. She hasn’t had her hair combed for a while, and she says I can’t do it because I pull too hard and it makes her head hurt.”
The house smelled like the nursing home Lucy’s Primary class had visited at Christmastime.
Grandma Irma was sitting in the easy chair by the bookcase, just as she always did, but she looked different. She was smaller, thinner, and very pale. Lucy wasn’t sure what to do. Usually she skipped up to Grandma Irma’s chair for a hug and a kiss. But this time she went and sat down on the flowered couch.
“Hello, Grandma,” Lucy’s mom said, taking Grandma Irma’s hand.
Grandma looked up at her, frowned, and asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m Jane,” Lucy’s mom said.
“I knew that,” Grandma Irma said. Then she pulled her hand away and looked down at her lap.
Granny and Lucy’s mom started talking quietly in the corner of the room. Lucy’s dad sat down beside Lucy on the couch. They didn’t talk. Lucy kept glancing up at Grandma Irma. Her throat felt thick, like she was going to cry, and she wished there was something she could do to help.
Grandma’s hair was free of the long braids she usually wore wrapped around her head like a crown. Her white hair floated around her wrinkled face. Lucy thought she looked lost.
When Lucy had visited her in the past, she had watched Grandma Irma comb her hair. Lucy loved to watch her unbraid it and comb it until it hung down to her waist. Next, Grandma parted it down the middle and sectioned each half into three parts. As she braided, she flipped a piece of her hair over her shoulder with each twist. Then she wrapped her braids around her head, one in front and one behind, and fixed them there with funny, U-shaped silver hairpins. Over the braids went a hairnet as fine as cobwebs.
While she watched, Lucy liked to tell her about school and what she was doing with her friends. Grandma always told her that someday she was going to cut all her hair off so that there would be less of it to take care of, but Lucy knew that she’d never do it. On clear days, the sunshine came in through the window and touched the black-and-white picture of Grandpa Eddy that sat on the dresser. He had died a long time ago.
Slowly Lucy got up from the couch. The house was so quiet that she felt like she had to tiptoe and whisper. She crept up to Grandma Irma’s chair and put her hand on Grandma’s soft arm.
“Can I comb your hair for you?” she asked.
Grandma Irma turned her head and looked into Lucy’s face. She didn’t say anything.
“Grandma,” Lucy’s mom said, “This is Lucy. Do you remember?”
“Lucy?” Grandma Irma looked surprised. Lucy remembered that a long time ago Grandma Irma had had a baby girl named Lucy, who had died. “My Lucy?”
“No,” Lucy’s mom said softly, “she’s my Lucy.”
“Can I comb your hair, Grandma?” Lucy asked again.
“Yes,” Grandma Irma said. Granny handed the brush to Lucy. She took it and lifted a long bunch of Grandma’s hair and carefully started brushing. Her hair smelled like apricots and hair conditioner. It was hard to brush, with lots of knots, so she had to do it slowly.
After a few minutes, Grandma lifted her bony hand and put it on Lucy’s to stop her from brushing. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she said, sounding just like she used to. “If you hold my hair above where you are brushing, it won’t pull so much.”
“OK, I’ll try it.”
Grandma sighed. “That’s better.”
Lucy brushed and brushed. Grandma’s hair got softer and softer. Lucy thought about the day she had come to Grandma Irma’s house to visit and they had decided to drive over to the post office and get the mail. When they arrived home, Grandma discovered that she had locked the keys in the house. So they pushed out the screen in the bedroom window, and Grandma hoisted Lucy up. Lucy had climbed in the window, trotted through the house, and unlocked the door. When they found the keys on the kitchen table, they laughed until their tummies ached.
When Grandma’s hair was all combed out, Lucy parted it in the middle and then divided each section into three. She was glad that she had practiced braiding on her friends at school. But Grandma Irma’s hair was lots longer, so it was harder to braid. While she worked, she hummed a song that Grandma Irma used to hum while she watered all her plants.
“‘She Wore a Yellow Ribbon,’” Grandma Irma said.
“What?” Lucy asked.
“That’s the song you are humming,” Granny told Lucy. “Mama used to sing it really loud when she went out to milk the cow when she was a young lady. Then my daddy, who lived next door, would hear her and come and milk the cow for her.”
“‘She Wore a Yellow Ribbon,’” Grandma Irma said again, and smiled.
Lucy finished one long white braid and secured it with an elastic. Then she moved to the other side of Grandma’s chair and started on the other side.
“It’s time we left,” Dad said. “Are you almost finished there, honey?”
She nodded, concentrating on getting the braid smooth and even. When she was done, she put the brush on the armrest of the chair.
“I love you, Grandma,” she whispered.
“I know,” Grandma said, turning her head slowly to look at her.
Lucy watched while her mom and dad hugged Grandma good-bye. Mom was crying.
Lucy moved around to the front of Grandma’s chair and leaned over to hug her. Grandma lifted both her trembling hands and cupped Lucy’s face. Lucy tipped her chin down and Grandma kissed her on the forehead. Only Grandma Irma gave forehead kisses.
“Bye, Grandma,” Lucy said.
By the door, Granny put her hand on Lucy’s shoulder and said, “Thanks so much. You really helped out, more than you know.”
Lucy looked back at Grandma Irma. She was still slumped in her chair. She still looked tired and thin, but now her hair was hanging smoothly in two braids on either side of her face. As she watched, Grandma slid her fingers down one braid. For some reason, Lucy suddenly felt better. She smiled, hugged Granny, and skipped out into the sunshine.

A couple of weeks ago, my friend’s 12-year-old sister passed away. Mili had suffered brain damage at birth. She never spoke or walked or did things for herself.
I helped care for Mili for a long time. When I was notified of her death, I couldn’t be comforted. Then I remembered learning that when we are resurrected and return to the presence of the Lord, we enjoy perfect health and have a perfect understanding. This knowledge comforted me greatly.
I wanted to console her family, but I didn’t know how to share the peace I felt with them—especially since they are not members of the Church. Then it came to me to look in the Liahona. I randomly chose an issue, and the First Presidency Message was “The Faith of a Child,” by President Thomas S. Monson (see Liahona, August 1998, 2–6). He told of the death of a 10-year-old girl. He spoke of Jesus Christ’s beautiful message: “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God” (Mark 10:14). It was exactly what I needed. I found a way to express consolation to her family.
I’m extremely grateful and happy to be a Latter-day Saint and to be able to read the Liahona (Spanish).

When I was young, my mother taught me how to pray, and I would attend church with her every Sunday. My sister and brother were members of the choir at the local parish church in Hertfordshire, England, and it seemed natural to follow their example and attend.
Because I was only eight years old, I wasn’t required to attend communion service early on Sunday mornings. I would sleep in but eventually would get up and cycle to the main morning service.
In the middle of the winter of 1952, with a foot of fresh snow on the ground outside and frost on the inside of my bedroom windows, I snuggled down in bed, determined not to go to church that Sunday.
My mother called for me to get up, but I pretended to be asleep. Then I could hear her footsteps as she started to climb the stairs. I called out, “It’s all right. I’m getting up.”
But then I said under my breath, “What’s the point? There is no such person named Jesus Christ anyway.” Immediately a voice came into my head and said to me, “There is, and you will serve me one day.” The voice seemed so natural, as if a friend were talking to me. The years went by, however, and I forgot about the experience.
I grew up, joined the Royal Navy, and after nine years began working for a fire-protection company. One evening after work, I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, two sister missionaries introduced themselves. I was tired, dirty, and hungry, so I suggested that they come back later in the evening or some other time.
To my surprise they returned an hour later. I invited them in. As soon as they started talking, I knew there was something special about their message. My home felt different, and I knew it emanated from these two sisters.
They gave me the first discussion that night and the second discussion the following night. Two elders then came every night until I had received all the discussions. I began reading the Book of Mormon and praying. Getting down on my knees to pray for the first time in 20 years was the most spiritual experience I had had in my life.
I made the commitment to be baptized a week after finishing the discussions. After my baptism, Elder Ross and Elder Fullerger laid their hands on my head to give me the gift of the Holy Ghost. As soon as their hands touched my head, my experience with the Spirit 20 years before came back to me. Something precious that had been preserved within me—but had been suppressed by all the mistakes I had made in life—was spiritually reunited with my memory. I was overwhelmed to think that I meant so much to the Savior that He had not forgotten me.
I’m grateful to the missionaries who taught me the gospel and to the members of my first ward who nourished me. Most of all, I’m grateful to my Savior, whose existence I had once doubted but whom I now gratefully serve.

President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) dedicated the Manila Philippines Temple in September 1984. The beautiful six-spire building has an exterior of brilliant white ceramic tiles and is surrounded by majestic palm trees and colorful vegetation.
The temple’s open house was held shortly after two hurricanes ravaged the Philippines. Despite the storms, the events went on as planned. On September 3, 1984, a tour for dignitaries was held. On the following day, when the temple opened for public tours, “a beautiful heavenly spectacle was unfurled over the temple,” said Jovencio Ilagan, executive secretary of the temple committee during its construction. “The sun, in all its brilliance, was seen through a corona of varying colors. … At one point, the center spire with the statue of the Angel Moroni was seen at the center of the corona. Almost a hundred people at the temple grounds attest to it. Many were in tears.”1

A true story from Brazil.
Melissa sat in Primary, excited to learn a new song. Her teacher, Sister Costa, said it was called “Gethsemane.”
“This song talks about how much Jesus Christ loves us and what He did for us. Listen closely and try to sing along.”
Sister Costa played a video that showed the words to the song with pictures on the screen.
Melissa sang even though she didn’t know all the words yet. She felt very calm inside as she listened to the words, “Gethsemane! Jesus loves me.”
When the song was over, Sister Costa held up a picture of Jesus Christ coming out of the tomb. “Jesus died, but then He lived again! Because of Him, we will all live again too,” she said.
Melissa got a peaceful feeling, like she was getting a big hug. “So … if someone dies, it’s not forever?” Melissa asked.
“That’s right, Melissa,” Sister Costa said. “Because Jesus Christ was resurrected, one day we will all be resurrected too.”
That Sunday, Melissa went home with a happy heart. She thought about the Savior’s love for her.
Some time later, Melissa’s house became quiet and sad. Her father had been sick for a while and passed away. Her mother cried more often. People gave longer hugs. Melissa could feel something very important had changed.
On the day of the funeral, it was very cold, and the sun barely showed in the sky. There were flowers around the casket. People stood quietly, and some were crying.
Melissa tightly held her mother’s hand. As she went up to the casket and looked at her father, she remembered the picture of Jesus Christ leaving the tomb. She also remembered Sister Costa saying that because of the Savior, we will all live again one day.
“Mom, Jesus is alive. He died, but He was resurrected. One day, Daddy will be resurrected too, right?” Melissa asked.
“Yes, dear,” Mom said. “Because of Jesus, we will all see Daddy again someday.”
Melissa missed her father. She wanted to hug him, hear his voice, and play with him again. Because of Jesus Christ, someday she would. But she would have to wait. Melissa placed her hand on the casket and whispered, “See you later, Daddy.”
Even though it was a very sad day, Melissa felt the same peace she had felt in Primary. She knew it was the Holy Ghost.
In the days that followed, whenever she missed her father, Melissa softly sang the words to “Gethsemane” to herself. And every time she sang, she felt comforted.
When Easter Sunday arrived, it felt different for Melissa.
Instead of thinking about chocolate eggs or bunnies, she thought more about Jesus Christ and her father. She knew she would still miss him. But she also knew that death was not the end.
She knew Jesus had risen and that one day her father would live again too.
And until that day came, she could sing, remember, and feel peace.

My boss, classmates, neighbors, and relatives thought it was absurd for me to abandon work, studies, and family to teach of Jesus Christ. They became even more concerned when they learned I would not be paid for doing this.

I asked the Lord for help. I began to ask people: “What is the purpose of life? Why are we here? Where are we going?” I bore my testimony of the plan of salvation. I explained that many children of God are waiting for answers to these questions.

Elder Carlos Eduardo Faria Boato,Brazil Maceió Mission

Bennett and Kevin aren’t sure exactly when they started rock climbing. They liked to crawl around on boulders whenever they went hiking, and gradually they became more serious about it. Finally they bought a length of manila rope and started trying some cliffs on for size. They used pocketknives and other odds and ends for pitons, until one day the members of a local climbing club saw them high above the ground and nearly had a collective heart attack. After that the daring young men received some expert instruction, purchased some nylon rope, and went on to become two of the most skillful climbers in the area.

The first real test of my young testimony came when I had to decide between going on a mission and playing basketball,” says Dean Reid Burgess. Brother Burgess had spent his freshman year playing basketball for the College of Southern Utah on scholarship.
It was 1965, the height of the war in Vietnam, and not every young man had the chance to serve a mission because of the United States military draft. But Brother Burgess had the chance and the choice. “It took a lot of prayer and a lot of fasting,” he says. “But I knew serving a mission was a real privilege, so I left school to serve.” While serving in the Brazilian Mission, Brother Burgess solidified his testimony of the restored gospel.

Young Women in the Shelley First Ward, Shelley Idaho Stake, wanted to learn a useful skill. They also wanted to let their bishop know how much they loved him. So they decided to learn how to crochet to make him an afghan. After weeks of hard work, fun, and some frustration, the girls presented their beautiful gift.
“The blanket will remind the bishop of how much we love him every time he uses it,” said one girl.

Ten-year-old Alexandra and her family are grateful that the missionaries were able to come to their country. Several years ago, the missionaries knocked on their door, and her grandmother invited them in. Because of that contact, Alexandra, her parents (Rosa and Arnaldo), and her brother (Victor), as well as her grandmother joined the Church. When Alexandra attended a Latter-day Saint meeting for the first time, she felt more comfortable there than she had at any other church. Later, when she was baptized, she knew that it was the right thing to do. Alexandra knew that she could gain exaltation and return someday to Heavenly Father and Jesus.

Jasmin, a member in the southern United States, admits that “I had a hard time getting along with a sister in my ward who seemed to meddle in my life too much, and I let that drive me away.” But when concern for her little boy began to outweigh the uncertainty of what it would be like to return, Jasmin knew it was time to “not let others’ opinions of me turn me away from Christ—whether or not I felt that someone in the ward looked down on me.”
She mustered up enough courage to venture out in a heavy storm one Sunday to where her small family soon felt embraced by friends who could help them grow in the Church of Jesus Christ. “I regret leaving,” she says. “But I’m grateful that I didn’t give up and that I pushed forward, because the gospel isn’t about others—or even me—it’s about my Savior.”

A friend of ours in South Africa shared how she came to this realization. When Diane was a new convert, she attended a branch outside of Johannesburg. One Sunday, as she sat in the congregation, the layout of the chapel made it so that the deacon did not see her as the sacrament was passed. Diane was disappointed but said nothing. Another member noted the omission and mentioned it to the branch president after the meeting. As Sunday School began, Diane was invited to an empty classroom.

A priesthood holder came in. He knelt down, blessed some bread, and handed her a piece. She ate it. He knelt down again and blessed some water and handed her a small cup. She drank it. Thereafter, Diane had two thoughts in rapid succession: First, “Oh, he [the priesthood holder] did this just for me.” And then, “Oh, He [the Savior] did this just for me.” Diane felt Heavenly Father’s love.

Her realization that the Savior’s sacrifice was just for her helped her feel close to Him and fueled an overwhelming desire to keep that feeling in her heart, not just on Sunday but every day. She realized that although she sat in a congregation to partake of the sacrament, the covenants she made anew each Sunday were individually hers. The sacrament helped—and continues to help—Diane feel the power of godly love, recognize the Lord’s hand in her life, and draw closer to the Savior.

Around the turn of the previous century, two missionaries were laboring in the mountains of the southern United States. One day, from a hilltop, they saw people gathering in a clearing far below. The missionaries did not often have many people to whom they might preach, so they made their way down to the clearing.
A little boy had drowned, and there was to be a funeral. His parents had sent for the minister to “say words” over their son. The missionaries stood back as the itinerant minister faced the grieving father and mother and began his sermon. If the parents expected to receive comfort from this man of the cloth, they would be disappointed.
He scolded them severely for not having had the little boy baptized. They had put it off because of one thing or another, and now it was too late. He told them very bluntly that their little boy had gone to hell. It was their fault. They were to blame for his endless torment.
After the sermon was over and the grave was covered, the elders approached the grieving parents. “We are servants of the Lord,” they told the mother, “and we have come with a message for you.” As the sobbing parents listened, the two elders read from the revelations and bore their testimony of the restoration of the keys for the redemption of both the living and the dead.
I have some sympathy for that preacher. He was doing the best he could with such light and knowledge as he had. But there is more that he should have been able to offer. There is the fulness of the gospel.
The elders came as comforters, as teachers, as servants of the Lord, as authorized ministers of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

In my years of service as a Relief Society visiting teacher, I have had many spiritual experiences. One of them, several years ago, continues to be gratifying.
My companion and I were assigned to visit the widow Anderson (the name is fictitious) and her two children who were grown but who were both at home because of mental retardation. After several months of pleasant visits with the widow, we had met her son but not her daughter, Laura, who we learned was very shy. We were told that whenever Laura would see or hear anyone coming, she would go to her room.
One Saturday afternoon, after attending a Relief Society seminar, I decided I would stop by the Anderson home for our monthly visit, since earlier calls had not found anyone home. I had been touched deeply by one comment in the seminar. One of the speakers had said, “When you do your visiting teaching, do you make a real effort to serve your sisters or are you just eager to check their name off your list each month after you have been in their home?” That struck me forcefully because after several months of visiting the Anderson family, we had made no real effort to get to know Laura. I had a prayer in my heart that I might find Laura at home that afternoon and have a chance to talk with her.
When I rang the doorbell, Sister Anderson answered and invited me into the living room. Then she quickly excused herself to check something on the stove. There was Laura! She was sitting in a rocking chair with her leg on a footstool.
At first she seemed startled by my presence, but after I stooped down and inquired about her foot, she was calmed.
I felt the Holy Spirit touch me in a quiet, humbling way, and as thoughts came to my mind, I would speak them to Laura. “I wish you would come to Relief Society,” I said. “It would be special for all of us to feel your beautiful spirit.”
“I would love to come,” she replied, “but I have a large growth on my foot. I have hardly been able to wear shoes for months, and I have real pain when I try to walk.”
I looked at her foot again. Yes, there was a large growth. I could see it now, and I could see the difficulty of her going to church or anywhere else without a great deal of help.
Then the Spirit prompted, “Her foot problem is your problem now. What are you going to do about it?”
“Should I take her to the doctor?” I thought, and the Spirit urged, “Yes; now.”
“This moment?” I thought.
“Yes,” was the prompting.
“Laura,” I said, “can I help you with your foot? My husband’s uncle is a doctor. He’s off today, and he lives just across the street from our house. Will you go with me to his home so we can ask him if he can help you?”
Laura looked at me for a few moments with trust shining from her yes. “Yes,” she said. “It will take me a few moments to get ready. Will you help me?”
I helped her get up and walked with her into her room. I was touched by the simple beauty I saw there. How many hours and how many years had Laura sat on that bed, alone with her thoughts and feelings? As I stood in the doorway watching her gather some things together, I felt the power of the Holy Ghost more powerfully than before. I felt as if the Master were standing by me.
Tears came to my eyes. The Lord was actually aware of this act on behalf of Laura! In a flash, the Savior’s life and teachings took on a great simplicity. “Feed my sheep,” he had said. “Love one another.” (John 13:34.)
I checked with Laura’s mother, who was pleased that I would take such an interest in Laura. She had thought the growth an inalterable result of the polio Laura had when she was thirteen.
We went to the doctor. Yes, Laura’s foot ailment was a consequence of her polio, but it could be resolved. He put me in touch with a foot doctor, a member of the Church, who agreed to see Laura in a few days.
After the specialist examined Laura’s foot, he came out to the waiting room. “Are you Laura’s sister?” he asked.
“Well, she calls me Sister Hinze. I’m her sister in the gospel,” I said.
He smiled, understanding. “She told me to come and talk to her sister who was waiting here for her.
“She needs immediate surgery,” he continued. “with that done, Laura should walk almost perfectly for the first time in twenty-five years.
“And Sister Hinze—if there’s any problem with finances, I’ll gladly do the surgery free.” He smiled again, and I knew the Spirit had affected him as well.
Laura had the surgery. Everything went well. My visiting teaching companion and I went to see her the next day in the hospital. Laura looked radiant. She was up and walking around and thrilled at the new prospect of mobility.
Her foot healed rapidly. It wasn’t very long until all the bandages were off and she was free to go anywhere she wanted. By this time we were making almost weekly trips to Laura’s home to check on her progress. One morning as I was talking with her, the Spirit prompted, “Now that her foot is better and she is able to walk properly, you need to help her find something meaningful to do with her time.”
I wasn’t surprised by that prompting, but I was a little overwhelmed, realizing as I never had before how the Lord desires us to strengthen one another and care for one another.
I talked about Laura with her mother. She seemed grateful for my concern and asked for my help. After praying, I discussed the promptings I received with my visiting teaching companion and with my husband. Then we did our homework on this assignment.
There was a special school for the handicapped in a nearby community, and my psychologist husband suggested we ask a friend of his there for help. This friend made an appointment for Laura and me at the school.
When I picked up Laura that afternoon, her mother had bought her a new outfit. The clothes were simple and humble, but Laura looked beautiful. She was also nervous. This was a special day for her, a day of new adventure. She wasn’t sure she could cope with school, yet she wanted with all her heart to succeed.
The school administrators treated Laura royally. She was thrilled as they escorted us around the school and told us about their two-part program: classes part of the day and a work opportunity the other part. Laura would actually earn money! Something beyond her furthest dreams just a few months earlier.
As we sat at the desk to fill out the papers, the director said, “Mrs. Hinze, we are thrilled that Laura can join us here at our school. May I put your name and address on the form to keep you informed of her progress? However, I don’t know what to call you on the form—friend? supporter? advocate? Yes, I think I’ll call you advocate. Laura’s advocate. Is that all right with you?”
Tears of gratitude filled my eyes. “Advocate would be just fine.”

For 35 years many people discussed the gospel with me. My wife never missed an opportunity to talk about it, and she would cleverly leave the Book of Mormon and Ensign magazine in plain sight. Of course, I never picked them up. She invited the missionaries over on many occasions; two or three sets of them even taught me the missionary lessons.
So what was keeping me from entering the waters of baptism?
I always had an excuse. I worked long hours. I didn’t see that I’d ever have time for the gospel. I was much too busy making money. So I told Eva, “Sometime when things slow down and I have more time, I’ll read the Book of Mormon.”
But I never did. Besides, I had never been much of a reader, and when I tried to read the Bible, it didn’t make any sense to me. So that was the end of that.
There was another thing that was keeping me from joining the Church, something more serious: the sinful life I was leading. King Benjamin teaches us that “the natural man is an enemy to God … unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit” (Mosiah 3:19). I did not yield—I was sitting on the fence. The Savior said, “He that is not with me is against me” (Matthew 12:30). I realize now that because of the way I was living my life, I was against Him. I needed to change.
I was living around the gospel but never actually living it, but as time went on, I started to feel the Spirit. I stopped partying and drinking. When I made that change, the Spirit started to manifest itself more frequently. I still wasn’t where I needed to be—my language wasn’t very good and I had some other bad habits to work on—but I was changing.
Then one day I received a package. It was from one of my daughters, Linda. It contained a Book of Mormon and a Bible with lots of marked scriptures. She also wrote me a letter in which she told me how much she loved me and wanted me to know what she knew.
She wrote, “The only way to know if the gospel of Jesus Christ is true is to ask with a sincere heart and with real intent.”
Linda then shared a series of scriptures that led me on a journey of prayer and scripture study.
“The only way I get to know my Savior and Heavenly Father,” she wrote, “is by praying and reading about Them in scriptures.”
She then described how important humility is and how, without God in her life, she couldn’t have peace. Finally, she wrote, “Don’t procrastinate anymore. You have been given so much. Now it’s time to give back to Heavenly Father. This is the only way to true happiness.”
I no longer had any excuses. Work slowed down, and I had some extra time. So I started reading and studying the scriptures she had outlined for me, which gave me the desire to read the entire Book of Mormon. But there were still so many things I did not understand.
By this time I was attending sacrament meeting because my wife said it would be nice if I came and sat beside her. She also suggested I read the Doctrine and Covenants. I did, and I understood it better. Then, with my wife’s help, I read the Book of Mormon and experienced the scriptures coming to life. Through lots of prayer, the Spirit was ignited in me.
What made the difference in me? The Holy Spirit and a knowledge of the scriptures. Both gave me the courage to change my life and to ask God for forgiveness of my sins, which were what had really kept me from joining the Church all those years.
Confessing my sins was very difficult. It brought me such pain that I lay in bed for three days in sorrow. But through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I was forgiven. Then Heavenly Father gave me the strength to get up and get on with my new life.
My son Kevin baptized me on July 9, 2005. One of the missionaries who had taught my wife decades earlier attended. Two years later I took my family to the San Diego California Temple to be sealed for time and eternity.
The last seven years have been the happiest years of my life. I can finally take my place as the patriarch and spiritual leader of our family and share in the gospel with my wife, our children, and our nine grandchildren. This family unity has spiritually strengthened everyone. A son-in-law has joined the Church, and four of our grandchildren have served or are serving missions. My new life in the Church is a miracle. I had no idea what great happiness and growth it would bring me.
I am so thankful for this second chance. I am grateful to be making up for those lost years by doing God’s work.

I grew up in Mongolia and believed in Buddhism. But one day a friend came to my home. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She talked to me about Jesus Christ and invited me to attend her church. I didn’t listen to her. She came again, but still I didn’t listen.
A few weeks after her visit I had a dream. In the dream a voice told me to go to church. I asked, “What? What church? I don’t understand.” The voice gave me directions on how to get to church. I was told, “Tomorrow morning go to this church. When you enter, two missionaries will be there to meet you.”
When I woke up the next morning, I was confused. “Who had come to me in a dream? Who had talked to me?” I wondered. But I decided to go to church.
I followed the directions and found the church. At the door were two missionaries to meet me. They shook my hand and invited me to attend the meeting. The members were nice, and everyone smiled. I felt very happy.
After sacrament meeting the missionaries invited me to hear the discussions. I said yes.
When Elder Johnson and Elder Sampson taught me the first discussion, I was confused, but they explained everything again. They had powerful testimonies. I asked many questions, and the elders always answered me. They read the scriptures with me and invited me to pray about what they had shared with me. Then they left my home.
I felt happy. I decided to ask God if what I was learning was true. I knelt down and prayed, “If God lives and loves me, if Jesus Christ lives, and if this Church is true, let me feel the Spirit.” After I prayed, my heart felt so good and so comfortable. I felt like I was flying. I felt the answer come to my heart: “God lives. He loves you! Jesus Christ lives. Do not be confused. This is the only true Church.” I knew this was the Holy Ghost testifying of the truth. I had received my answer from God.
Two days later the missionaries returned to my home. I told them about my feelings and that I wanted to be baptized. I was so happy I jumped up and down. During the next three weeks, the elders taught me the rest of the discussions, and I was baptized.
I know that God lives and that He loves us. Jesus Christ is our Redeemer and Savior. I know that Joseph Smith saw God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. I love the Book of Mormon and know it is the word of God. I am now serving as a full-time missionary in Raleigh, North Carolina, in the United States. I love my mission. This is the Lord’s work. I am so grateful I was guided to the true Church of Jesus Christ.

They started to raise their family from a very humble single attic-room apartment in the heart of Amsterdam. After several years of washing their clothes by hand, they had finally saved up enough money to purchase a washing machine. Just before they would make the purchase, the bishop visited them, asking for a contribution to build the meetinghouse in Amsterdam. They decided to give all they had saved for the washing machine and continued to do the laundry by hand. As a family we went through some hardships, just like any other family. These have only made us stronger and have deepened our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, just like when Alma was sharing his story with his son Helaman, where he told him that he had been “supported under trials and troubles of every kind” because he had put his trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. How did two people who experienced so many trials in their younger years become the very best parents I could ever wish for? The answer is simple: they fully embraced the gospel and live by their covenants to this very day! After more than 65 years of marriage, my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, passed away in February. My father, at the age of 92 and still living at home, visited her as often as he could until she passed away. Some time ago he mentioned to my younger siblings that the dreadful experiences in the camp in Indonesia during World War II had prepared him to patiently care for his wife for so many years as she fell ill and deteriorated from this horrible disease and also for the fateful day he had to entrust her primary care to others and could not be by her side anymore. Their motto has been and still is to “Just carry on,” having a perfect hope in Christ to be raised up at the last day and to dwell with Him in glory forever.

Just before this meeting started, Brother Stapley, with a twinkle in his eye, asked me to answer for a story he heard I had told to the All-Americans at BYU last night; and in keeping with my inward response to Brother Petersen’s great sermon on honesty today, I must tell the truth.
The story, Brother Stapley, was mythical. It was reportedly the statement of a man who golfed with you and Brother Tanner and who, when he came back, said, “Have you ever played golf and been the only one rained on?” I can testify to you that Brother Stapley gets rained on, and was snowed on two days ago, as I observed. As we went from the place where he had snow deposited on him from a tree limb, just as we came out from a meeting into that beautiful storm, I drove up streets that were littered with limbs of magnificent trees. I was fearful of what I would find when I got home, and my apprehensions were justified. Some of our lovely trees were broken. In our backyard a fence we had built to protect the neighbors while our children grew up was flattened. And I would like to tell you something serious and truthful. I haven’t worried a minute about that. I have been thinking about tonight and what we are here discussing.
We are talking about casualties, some that have happened and some that are happening, and some that we want not to happen in the future. God has from the beginning been very interested in his children, those safely in the fold, some who have strayed, and those not yet in.
We are talking primarily tonight about those who are in, or some who may not quite be in as much as they should be and as we would like them to be. I read again with joy what Alma the prophet wrote about some people who were far from the fold, who had once been in. He took three of the sons of Mosiah, two of his own sons, and two other converts and went to teach the Zoramites, who are described as having fallen into great error, for “they would not observe to keep the commandments of God, and his statutes. … Neither would they observe the performances of the church, to continue in prayer and supplication to God daily, that they might not enter into temptation. Yea, in fine, they did pervert the ways of the Lord in very many instances; therefore, for this cause, Alma and his brethren went into the land to preach the word unto them.” (Alma 31:9–11.)
As that happened, Alma offered to the Lord the kind of prayer that is in our hearts as we listen to these great servants of youth speak tonight. “O Lord, wilt thou grant unto us that we may have success in bringing them again unto thee in Christ. Behold, O Lord, their souls are precious, and many of them are our brethren [I suppose we might parenthetically assume he was thinking that many of them are the wives and children of our brethren now and in the future]; therefore, give unto us, O Lord, power and wisdom that we may bring these, our brethren, again unto thee.” (Alma 31:34–35.)
I recently had called to my attention by Brother Joe Christensen an excerpt from Church history that I would like to share with you in part. In the Documentary History of the Church (vol. 5, pp. 320–21) is “A Short Sketch of the Rise of the ‘Young Gentlemen and Ladies Relief Society’ from the Times and Seasons.” You will observe, as the annotator says, that this has more to do with youth than with the Relief Society, but that was the heading.
“In the latter part of January, 1843, a number of young people assembled at the house of Elder Heber C. Kimball [you realize that the Prophet Joseph Smith is writing this] who warned them against the various temptations to which youth is exposed, and gave an appointment expressly for the young at the house of Elder Billings; and another meeting was held in the ensuing week, at Brother Farr’s school-room, which was filled to overflowing. Elder Kimball delivered addresses, exhorting the young people to study the scriptures, and enable themselves to ‘give a reason for the hope within them,’ and to be ready to go on to the stage of action, when their present instructors and leaders had gone behind the scenes; also to keep good company and to keep pure and unspotted from the world.”
The Prophet then notes that the next meeting was held at his house, and though the weather was inclement, there were many there, to overflowing.
“Elder Kimball,” he writes, “as usual, delivered an address, warning his hearers against giving heed to their youthful passions, and exhorting them to be obedient and to pay strict attention to the advice of their parents. …”
The Prophet then says something that has touched me and I think will touch you who work with youth: “I experienced more embarrassment in standing before them than I should before kings and nobles of the earth; for I knew the crimes of which the latter were guilty, and I knew precisely how to address them; but my young friends were guilty of none of them, and therefore I hardly knew what to say. I advised them to organize themselves into a society for the relief of the poor, and recommended to them a poor lame English brother … who wanted a house built, that he might have a home amongst the Saints; that he had gathered a few materials for the purpose, but was unable to use them, and he has petitioned for aid. I advised them to choose a committee to collect funds for this purpose, and perform this charitable act as soon as the weather permitted. I gave them such advice as I deemed was calculated to guide their conduct through life and prepare them for a glorious eternity.”
You see, our efforts to reach youth today are not original. They are about the same, motivated with about the same sense of their need, and certainly by the same spirit that directed those of old. This statement of the Prophet moved me because I have had that same feeling when I have stood before them. As a teacher for years, I have pondered their future as I taught them, and I have lived long enough to see the fulfillment of my fondest hopes, or the beginning of the fulfillment of them, for many of them, and, I am sorry to say, the realization of some of my apprehensions. They are, in fact, a great and remarkable generation, yet like many of you I am well aware of the major problems confronting all of our young people, and that many of them desperately need help.
It would be an interesting experience for some of you to walk through a few days of our relationships with youth as we visit with them in person, by telephone, in interviews, by mail. It is just a few days ago that I deplaned at a major airport, met some of you leaders there, and a beautiful young college-age lady who was waiting for me. She had left her home against the wishes of her parents and others and had hitchhiked to a rock festival. On her way home from that adventure, hitchhiking now with a male companion, she was picked up by officers of the law, arrested for possession of drugs, tried, and sentenced to five years in prison. Through the intervention of our local brethren, who were reached by a distraught mother through the bishop, she was given parole freedom, but the record has been made and her life is hanging in the balance. She has some decisions to make.
On my desk is a current letter, one of many, from an anguished girl crying for help. Three times the words are repeated, “Please help me.” Within hours there has been a call, another call, from a disturbed young man seeking guidance for his friend who questions a Church position which he feels he cannot accept, which he thinks makes his position in the Church tenuous or untenable.
In my hand I hold a letter received two days ago from a faithful, brokenhearted father whose son, about the same age as the others, took his own life, notwithstanding the efforts of loving parents and a fine, wholesome family. I wish there were time to read a description of how hard these marvelous parents have tried. This is a missionary family, a committed family, a stay-together family; yet this boy, convinced of his own worthlessness, that he was a failure and that the mistakes he had made were disqualifying, took his own life. His father sent a copy of the note he left, and asked me to make such use of his letter and this letter as judgment and my feelings suggested.
What can we do? How can we help this great young generation meet the challenges of their time? I am certain that we must thoughtfully examine not only their needs and their problems, and what we have to give them, but how we undertake to give it, and what we appear to them to be as they observe it. I have been rethinking my own experience and will give you just an example or two quickly. May I do it in the spirit of a statement that to me for a long time has been very choice: “Neither laugh nor weep, nor loathe, but understand.”
What are some of their problems? These basic observations have come from experience with youth and from their own lips and lives. I can sum them up in four or five needs.
First, they need faith. They need to believe. They need to know the doctrines, the commandments, the principles of the gospel. They need to grow in understanding and conviction. They need to worship and to pray, but they live in a time when all of this is so seriously questioned, when doubt is encouraged.
Two, they need to be accepted as they are, and to be included. They need a family, the most important social unit in this world; and even if they have a good family, they need the supportive influence outside their home of others, of neighbors, of friends, of bishops, of brothers, of human beings.
Three, they need to be actively involved, to participate, to give service, to give of themselves.
Four, they have to learn somehow that they are more important than their mistakes; that they are worthwhile, valuable, useful; that they are loved unconditionally.
I knelt with my own family, at the conclusion of a great family home evening, the night before our lovely daughter was to be married in the temple. I think she wouldn’t mind my telling you that after we had laughed and wept and remembered, she was asked to pray. I don’t recall much of her prayer, the tears and the joy and the sweetness, but I remember one thought: she thanked God for the unconditional love she had received. This life doesn’t give one very many chances to feel exultant and a little successful, but I felt wonderful that night, and thank God that she really believes and understands what she said. We cannot, my dear brethren, condition our love by a beard or beads or habits or strange viewpoints. There have to be standards and they must be enforced, but our love must be unconditional.
I read you just a sentence from the letter left by the boy who ended his own life: “I have no hope, only dreams that have died. I was never able to obtain satisfactory interpersonal relationships. I feared the future and a lot of other things. I felt inferior. I have almost no will to achieve, perseverance, or sense of worth, so goodbye. I should have listened to you but I didn’t. I started using acid last summer. It’s purgatory.” What a tragic story!
We need to understand their needs. They need to learn the gospel. They need to be accepted, to be involved, to be loved; and they need, my brethren—my fifth and final point—the example of good men, good parents, good people, who really care.
I went to the funeral of my cousin a few weeks ago, and I pass on to you something that touched me deeply there. Maybe it is the message I can share with those of us who can do something, if we will, for our great young generation. A man who served as his counselor, now himself the bishop, said of my cousin: “Every boy in his lifetime has the right to know a man like Ivan Frame.”
God bless us to love them, to accept them, to give to them what they need in order that they may be what they want to be and give what they want to give, I pray, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.