Gospel Story Finder

Jesus Christ told the Prophet Joseph Smith many important things to help us. The Church set up a printing press to print Jesus’s words. That way people would be able to read them.
One day, a group of angry men came. They destroyed the printing press. They threw the pages of the scriptures out into the street.
Two sisters named Mary Elizabeth and Caroline Rollins saw what happened. They ran and gathered the pages in their arms.
The girls hid in a cornfield until the men left. They had saved the scriptures! Those scriptures later became part of the Doctrine and Covenants.

On Sunday, 27 March 1836, hundreds of Latter-day Saints came to Kirtland for the dedication. The doors opened at 8:00 A.M., and 1,000 people entered. Hundreds more who had also worked and sacrificed for the building of the temple were left outside. Seeing their disappointment, Joseph Smith decided to repeat the dedication on Thursday.
The choir opened the meeting; then President Sidney Rigdon spoke for two and a half hours. After a brief intermission, the officers of the Church were sustained. Then the Prophet offered the dedicatory prayer, given to him by revelation. This prayer is now section 109 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 109]. After the prayer, the choir sang “The Spirit of God,” which had been written specifically for the dedication.
The congregation ended the seven-hour service by standing and giving the sacred Hosanna Shout. Sister Eliza R. Snow said that it was given “with such power as seemed almost sufficient to raise the roof from the building.”

One day Andrew Karl Larson and his wife Katherine Miles Larson, who had traveled from St. George to Salt Lake City, came to see me. They told me about the diary of Katherine's grandfather, Charles Lowell Walker. At their request, I read through this diary and recognized a real treasure. Eventually I was able to assist the Larsons in publishing that diary in two volumes.

Charles Walker, usually known as Charley, was not a general authority of the Church. Like most of us, he was an ordinary member. He faithfully attended his meetings. He did his home teaching. He kept notes of his Sunday School classes and the talks that were given in sacrament meeting. I grew to love this jovial, hard-working man.

In 1862, Walker was called to join the group that first settled St. George, Utah. When he went, there was no city there, no airplanes, no trains, no highways. It was hot and dusty. But he accepted the call and remained there for the rest of his life.

Charley Walker was one of those who labored to construct the St. George Temple. In May 1876, Brigham Young arrived. During his few weeks in St. George, President Young attended meetings and addressed the people, urging them to finish the temple and encouraging them. At one of these meetings the choir sang a special temple song composed by Charley Walker. After the meeting, Brigham Young beckoned to Charley and asked if he might have a copy of that song. How would you feel if the prophet made such a request of you? Charley Walker was thrilled and excited. Let us hear his own words from his diary:

"After meeting I went home and got the song and took it to him. He treated me very kindly and asked me to sit beside him and take dinner with him. I spent the time very pleasantly and found him to be very polite, genial, and sociable, and I felt quite at home in chatting over the work on the temple, old times, and other general topics. In bidding him goodbye he took my hand in both of his and said, God bless Br Charley, and God has blessed you hasn't he? It seemed that in an instant all the blessings I had ever recei[v]ed were before me. My emotion was too much to answer him and I chokingly said, I have learned to trust in the Lord."

I learned to trust in the Lord and to recognize with gratitude the many, many blessings in my own life.

A few days ago—6 June to be precise—many free men celebrated the anniversary of D day, 6 June 1944, on the beaches of Normandy. This was the beginning of deliverance for those who didn’t enjoy freedom for many years and who could not be agents unto themselves. You are heirs. Your fathers or grandfathers fought for you. I was on the other side of the ocean in occupied Belgium, and I am an heir also of the sacrifice of their lives. I was waiting for that freedom to come closer and closer every day, until 3 September 1944, in the city of Audenaerde, when we saw our liberators for the first time. My purpose today is to testify to the importance for you, the future generation, to prepare and continue to be agents unto yourselves and to act with the Spirit of the Lord to defend your liberties.

Monday was sharing day at Patty’s school. When it was her turn to stand up and speak, she said, “My family is moving to Florida at the end of this week. It won’t snow there the way it does here. My new school is called Palm Grove. I’m sure going to miss everyone.”
The class grew very quiet. Even Patty’s best friends, Jean and Robert, did not know what to say.
When the weekend came, Patty bid her friends a tearful good-bye. Then she was too busy moving to be very sad. And the new town in Florida was exciting, at least at first. There was no school because of the holidays, and Mom, Dad, and Patty went to the zoo and the park and the ocean. They found a wonderful old museum too. But it was different at Palm Grove School. Patty’s classmates were nice to her, but they had their own projects and their own friends already, and Patty felt left out.
“Don’t worry,” said Mom. “You’ll make new friends soon. If you want something to do right now, though, why don’t you write a letter to Jean and tell her about all the new things here?”
So Patty sat down and wrote a long letter about the zoo and the park and the ocean and the museum. She tried to make her letter sound happy, but when she wrote about her new school, she couldn’t help but tell how lonely she was.
Not many days later a big brown envelope addressed to Patty came in the mail. Inside were photographs! There was a picture of Patty’s old class with everyone waving. There was a picture of Jean standing next to a very big snowman, and there was a blurry picture of Robert going lickety-split on a sled. Twenty-five letters—one from everybody in her old class—were also inside the envelope.
Patty took the pictures to her new school on sharing day. First she showed her new class the picture of her old friends. Then she showed them the one with the big snowdrifts. When she held up the pictures of Jean with the snowman and Robert on his sled, everyone began to ask questions.
“How do you make a snowman?”
“Did you ever build a snowman?”
“Did you have a sled?”
“How fast can you go?”
Patty’s classmates asked more questions during lunchtime and recess. She told them about ice-skating and skiing and even about snowball fights. Soon Patty had many friends at Palm Grove School.
Then one sharing day Tim stood up and said he would be moving to another state. All the children were sad. Then Patty looked at him and smiled. She and the rest of the class would plan a very special surprise. They would send it to Tim in a big brown envelope.

When Peter returned from his mission, he quickly fell into the routine of work and visits to the hospital as he continued with corrective surgery. Soon he was called to serve a stake mission. In this capacity he met the secretary to the stake mission president, Marjorie Clegg of Tooele. They became good friends, and Peter started lining her up with his friends. Finally, after being lined up one too many times, Marjorie asked him to please not arrange any more dates for her. Peter asked her out himself. Based on a foundation of friendship, the relationship grew into love, and they were married.
Except for the very first time Marjorie met me, she never seemed to notice my burns. I’m very much aware of people noticing that I’m different. I’ve never noticed that Marj ever thought me any different on the outside than she found me on the inside. She makes me feel very handsome. I love her not only because she’s my sweetheart, but because she’s my very best friend. She is the girl I prayed for who would take me for what I am on the inside. That’s what I needed because I couldn’t get very far using the outside.

The spirit of “thy will be done” was strongly reflected in the life of Elder Charles C. Rich. Brother Rich was ordained an apostle in 1849 at the age of thirty-nine after serving as a general in the Mormon Battalion. Two years later Elder Rich was called to settle San Bernardino, California. Then, in 1863, President Brigham Young asked Elder Rich to establish a settlement in the Bear Lake Valley in what is now southeastern Idaho.

In June of 1864 the entire Rich family joined a band of nearly a thousand residents at Bear Lake and began constructing log houses with roofs made up of “a layer of willow branches, then a covering of straw topped off with thick sod” (Leonard J. Arrington, Charles C. Rich [Provo: Brigham Young University Press, 1974], p. 259). That first summer Brother Rich proposed that the Saints celebrate the Fourth of July in grand style with a homemade flag, a little brass band, and lots of dancing (see p. 261).

But the joy of the occasion was short-lived. The very next day frost killed the spring wheat and stunted the growing corn. The subsequent winter was bitter cold, and the potatoes and wheat froze because of lack of storage facilities. The John Clifton family grew so short of supplies that their children “were kept in bed to conserve their strength” (p. 263).

As the individual and collective misery of the Saints increased, murmuring began to emerge from their ranks. Some of the brethren asked for a meeting with Brother Rich to discuss the possibility of abandoning the settlement for a more hospitable environment elsewhere. Elder Rich, sensing their concerns even before they were expressed, rose to his feet and addressed those in attendance:

Brethren—in the fall of 1863 President Young called me into his office and said, “Brother Rich, I want you to go up to Bear Lake Valley and see if it can be opened for settlement; and if it can, I want that you should take a company there and settle it.”
That was all I needed. It was a call. I came up here, with a few brethren; we looked over the valley; and, although the altitude was high, the snows heavy, and the frosts severe, there was plenty of water for irrigation purposes and plenty of fish in the lake and streams. So, with a company, I came here and settled with my family.
There have been many hardships. That I admit . . . and these we have shared together. But if you want to go somewhere else, that is your right, and I do not want to deprive you of it. If you are of a mind to leave here, my blessing will go with you. But I must stay here, even if I stay alone. President Young called me here, and here I will remain till he releases me and gives me leave to go. [Arrington, Charles C. Rich, p. 264]

Elder Charles C. Rich, Mormon general, Western frontiersman, apostle of the Lord, and prisoner of Jesus Christ, died nineteen years later in the Bear Lake Valley at Paris, Idaho, on November 17, 1883. He claimed the blessings of the Book of Mormon promised to those who yield “their hearts unto God” (Helaman 3:35).

Second, prior to the creation of the Toronto Ontario Stake in 1960, Elder ElRay L. Christiansen, then an Assistant to the Council of the Twelve, recounted for the benefit of priesthood leaders a lesson from his own life when he was called to preside over the East Cache Stake in Logan, Utah. He mentioned that he and his counselors met to discuss what the stake members most needed and which principles of the gospel the stake presidency should stress. Their opinions varied from sacrament meeting attendance to observance of the Sabbath day, with a lot of territory in between. At length they agreed that the principle most needed was spirituality. They appreciated the truth found in the observation: When one deals in generalities, he will rarely have a success; but when he deals in specifics, he will rarely have a failure.
The four-year plan of President Christiansen and his counselors was refined in a splendid fashion. Year one: We shall increase the spirituality of the membership of the East Cache Stake by every family having family prayer. Year two: We shall increase the spirituality of the membership of the East Cache Stake by every member attending sacrament meeting weekly. Year three: We shall increase the spirituality of the membership of the East Cache Stake by each member paying an honest tithing. Year four: We shall increase the spirituality of the membership of the East Cache Stake by each member honoring the Sabbath day and keeping it holy. Each was the theme for the entire year; emphasis was given constantly.
After the four-year program was concluded, all four of the specific objectives had been attained, but of even greater significance, the spirituality of the membership of the East Cache Stake had shown marked improvement.

In 1913 a Czech sister living in Vienna, Austria, was baptized. Her name was Frantiska Brodilová. During World War I, she, her husband, and their two daughters moved to Prague. After the war, Sister Brodilová was the only Church member living in Czechoslovakia. She faithfully sent her tithing to the Vienna Austria Branch and taught both her daughters the gospel. In 1921, two brethren from the Vienna Austria Branch went to Prague and baptized her teenage daughters.

For years, Sister Brodilová and her daughters prayed that missionaries would be sent to their country. If there were missionaries, there would be more members, and a branch or ward could be organized where she and her daughters could go to worship and partake of the sacrament. Finally in 1928 the Church obtained permission from the police and from the government to preach the gospel. Then, just two and a half months after the mission began, it closed when the mission president became ill.

Frantiska would not give up. She wrote to the Church, asking that missionary work begin again. On July 24, 1929, on a wooded hill near Karlstejn Castle, the land of Czechoslovakia was dedicated for the preaching of the gospel. Missionary work went slowly, but it had begun!

Rafael Mateo and his son, Whalincon (known as “Whally”), paused in the darkness of a stormy afternoon and eyed the rushing waters of the rain-swollen river. Rafael, first counselor in the branch presidency, and Whally, the branch elders quorum president, were returning home after a Sunday full of meetings at their chapel in San José de Ocoa in the Dominican Republic.
They were already drenched from trudging through the downpour and crossing the flooded Río Ocoa that created a dangerous barrier between the chapel and their home. During the dry season, the 6-kilometer (4-mile) hike descending from the chapel on one side of the valley then up to their home on the heights of the other side usually takes an hour. But when the river floods during the rainy season, Rafael and his family have to take a three-hour, 15-kilometer (9-mile) detour to find a place where they can ford the river with some degree of safety.
Rafael had completed the journey countless times before. He had crossed the river every day for 12 years to get to work. Being called two months after his baptism to serve as branch president, a calling he held for six years, only increased the number of trips. After that it was a call as elders quorum president. Then he was called back into the branch presidency.
But familiarity with the river didn’t diminish its danger, and the swift water of the flooded rivers could be as deadly as the wide river they fed. Not long before, an overflowing river had swept a neighbor off his feet, killing him in a mad rush down its narrow course.
Father and son hesitated at the water’s edge; then Rafael stepped in. The river was not wide, but because it channeled so much water, it was cut surprisingly deep. The cold, swift water first pulled at his knees, then his waist, and soon swirled about his chest.
Rafael knew he was in trouble. The streambed was slippery and uneven, and the powerful current threatened to steal his footing. Halfway across, he used all his strength to stay upright, and he found himself powerless to move forward or backward.
Just when he thought he was too weak to fight the flood any longer, he felt a push from behind that thrust him toward the opposite bank. It wasn’t until after he had reached the other side that he realized his savior hadn’t been Whally, who was still on the opposite side.
He attributes his rescue to the power of the same Savior who has helped him survive the threatening pull of other trials, both physical and spiritual.
“I’ve had to throw myself many times into the river up to my chest in the service of the Lord,” says Brother Mateo. “But I feel a great debt to the Lord. He has given me not only the opportunity to serve Him but the endurance.”
Like King David, Brother Mateo knows the Savior “took me, he drew me out of many waters. He delivered me from my strong enemy” (Psalm 18:16–17).
That testimony has carried him through trials more subtle than, but just as real as, crossing the river that stormy afternoon with Whally.

It was one of those special times when a daughter comes to her father with an honest question that deserves a careful answer. The question of this attractive teenage daughter was, “With all the influences for evil around me, how can I be ‘in the world’ yet still maintain standards that are acceptable to you and to my Father in Heaven?”
“There are two important forces in the world,” the father replied. “Centrifugal forces and centripetal forces. The term centrifugal force comes from Latin roots meaning ‘fleeing from the center.’ Centripetal force is ‘a force directed toward the center.’”
“I ask a simple question and you give me a complicated answer!” cried the dismayed girl. “Can’t you just give me a simple answer?”
“Well, my dear, let me try to show you what I mean. Let’s take a little ball of cotton and put it on the turntable of the record player.” He placed the ball on the very edge of the turntable and said, “Now turn it on.”
She did so, and after three or four revolutions the little cotton ball went flying out into the room.
“Turn the record player off,” he directed, “and put the cotton at the center of the turntable. Now turn on the record player again.”
She did as she was told, and round and round the turntable went. But this time the ball of cotton did not move.
“That is what I mean by centrifugal and centripetal forces,” the father continued. “One force causes an object to flee from the center, and the other directs an object toward the center.”

Towering temples rise majestically from the jungle floor, reaching heavenward. Hushed whispers of ancient peoples seem to permeate chambers, corridors, courtyards, and steep stone steps. Wonder and mystery live here.
This is Tikal, once a thriving Mayan city. When Mayan civilization died, Tikal died with it and was buried beneath the encroaching vegetation of Guatemala’s relentless rain forests. Some of Tikal’s pyramids and palaces—along with a few of her other mysteries—have now been uncovered to our view and to our questions.
Ancient peoples worshiped here at Tikal. Today, Latter-day Saint youth who live nearby find that Tikal is an ideal place to role-play Samuel the Lamanite’s prophecy to the Nephites from the top of a city wall. Or King Benjamin’s address from the pinnacle of a tower. Or Abinadi’s testimony before wicked King Noah. It’s an inspiring place to talk about prophets—ancient and modern. About temples—past and present. About truths—buried and living. About prophetic voices speaking from the dust.
In a secluded spot, away from the notice of other visitors, 11 Latter-day Saint young women gather. Seminary and institute students from nearby San Benito, they have spent the morning together, exploring the secrets of Tikal.
It has been a rich, full day. Now, shaded from the burning sun by the protecting shadow of an ancient palace, the young women pause in a stone courtyard to rest and to share their feelings and testimonies. They softly sing “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,” and then someone offers a prayer.
“We are fortunate to live so close to this place,” one of the group says reverently. “It was a special place for our ancestors.” Others agree, expressing respect and gratitude for the legacy and the lessons of Tikal.
Surrounded by these ancient temples and immersed in the aura of the place, these Latter-day Saint young women seem to be naturally drawn to reflect upon another temple in their homeland—one many kilometers away in Guatemala City.
“Our family had an experience not long ago that was the dream of our whole lives,” says 18-year-old Yeszenia Delvalle. “We were sealed in the temple. Now that our family is sealed, we hope to live as a family forever.”
Without exception, every young woman in this group has entered that temple in Guatemala City to be sealed to her parents or to be baptized for the dead. A couple of years ago, the youth in the branch made the 15-hour bus trip to Guatemala City to do baptisms. “By being baptized for the dead, we give others the chance to repent and prepare for the Resurrection,” says Zoila Delvalle, 17. “Then it is up to them to accept it or not. In the temple, you feel the Spirit. You feel calm. You almost don’t want to leave. It makes you feel special. It’s beautiful.”
Says 17-year-old Cleily Valdez, “I’m grateful to my Heavenly Father that I belong to his church and that I have been sealed to my parents in the temple. Having the gospel is the greatest thing on earth that can take us to eternal life.”
Rubi Monzon, who recently returned from her mission, is the seminary teacher. “When I was 14, my mother died,” she says. “It was very hard on my family. Often I would be home alone, feeling lonely. One time, I was crying, and I heard a voice telling me that I wasn’t alone and that the Lord was with me and would help me. It was a soothing voice, and it made me feel good. Since then, I have felt at peace, knowing that the Lord loves me and will always be with me.”
Three years after her mother died, Rubi and her family were sealed in the Guatemala City Temple. “I feel grateful for the opportunity Heavenly Father has given us to become an eternal family. I know that through obedience I will always be with my mother, father, and brothers and sisters. Many times I think about my mother, and I know that in just a short while we can all be together again.”
Except for its unique setting, this meeting at Tikal is like many similar meetings around the world wherever Latter-day Saints gather to express gratitude and bear testimony.
“I know Heavenly Father sent us to earth for a purpose,” says Karla Monzon, 17. “I’m grateful that he sent his Son to atone for our sins. He has given us the gospel and the Church so we can progress and return to his presence.”
“I was happy when my parents, my brother, and I were sealed in the temple,” says Juanita Leon, 12. She explains that her father used to own a restaurant and would drink a lot. “Then one day, a boy came by and talked to my father about the Church. We received all the discussions and were baptized two weeks later. A month after our baptism, my father was called as the president of the San Benito Branch. A year later, we were sealed in the temple. My father doesn’t drink anymore.”
“When I was ill, I prayed and prayed, and the Lord comforted me. I know that he is the true God, and I pray that I will be faithful,” says Juanita, who is also grateful for prayer.
As these Latter-day Saint youth sing, pray, and bear testimony, the Spirit of the Lord fills this quiet corner of Tikal’s ancient domain. It’s a temple-like feeling.
As the group prepares to return home, a quiet, sobering spirit returns. Many haunting questions remain behind at Tikal: Who lived and worshiped here anciently? What did they know about God, the universe, the meaning of life? What happened to the fathers and mothers, the husbands and wives, the sons and daughters? Tikal’s magnificent temples are empty—and there’s a certain sadness here, a feeling that once-great peoples met an unhappy destiny.
But faith and hope, rather than sadness, accompany this group of young women. They know the temple in Guatemala City and the other Latter-day Saint temples throughout the world—are filled with voices of living Saints. Places of light, truth, and answers, these modern-day temples are alive with the Spirit of the Lord. Within their walls, latter-day fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters joyfully worship the living God, learn about the meaning of life, and are sealed together as families for eternity.

PCC - My best friends for life
The Polynesian Cultural Center was originally planned to be built where the married student housing is now, next to the temple. We prepared the site, got the lagoon in and then got word from Salt Lake that it was too close to the temple and should not be built there. Instead it should be built along Kamehameha Highway. Because I was the heavy equipment operator, I took the bulldozer down and cleared the land at the highway. After the land was ready we started building the PCC in 1962. We got all the materials for the huts and started to build the villages. When we were building the Tongan village, we Tongan labor missionaries were somehow not happy with what we saw we were doing, it did not seem right. So we decided, six weeks before the dedication, that we would build a REAL Tongan fale, which is called the Queen’s house today. We brought in two men from Tonga who were experts in Tongan structures and went to work. Our supervisors told us that we would have to do this on our own time because we still had a lot of work to do on other parts of the Center. So we would work until quitting time at 3:30PM and then after that work on the Queen’s house on our own time, later into the evening. We sent someone to Tonga to ask the Queen for materials to decorate the house. The Queen gave us a lot of tapa and mats to use in the interior of the building. We finished it right before the dedication of PCC was to take place and we were happy that we did that for the Tongan village. Anything is possible.

In Blackfoot, Idaho, Laurels in the Fifth Ward started from scratch—literally, for that’s what happens when you work with freshly sheared, washed, and dried lamb’s wool! Then came a whole summer of carding the wool, and with only one carder. But the resulting batting was light and fluffy. These Laurels also decided red, white, and blue were the appropriate colors for this year. Since they had a special recipient for their quilt in mind, they added illustrations depicting Young Women’s six areas of awareness—spiritual, cultural, social, service, recreational, and homemaking activities. The quilt was tied with lazy daisy, blue-yarn stitches, and each girl added her name in a corner. Then the whole activity was sewed up with a trip to Salt Lake and a visit with the quilt’s new owner—President Spencer W. Kimball.

Among the Christmas experiences that are etched most sharply in my memory are the ones spent away from home and loved ones while serving in the mission field or in military service. Each Christmas when I was in the military in World War II, I wondered when the terrible suffering and agony of war would end and we could all go home. And as we sang, “Peace on earth, goodwill to men,” I wondered if the Germans and the Japanese who were Christians were also singing this familiar refrain with the same yearnings in their hearts. Then it all ended 59 years ago after the dropping of two atomic bombs on Japan. Mankind had never before seen such destructive power. There was a concern in our hearts about the beast that had been unleashed.
I would like to recount a story told by Kenneth J. Brown, who was serving as a U.S. Marine in Japan following the dropping of the bomb. His moving story about a Japanese Christian he met at Christmastime in Nagasaki is as follows.
“I watched him turn from the street and climb the path leading to our shelter. He was groping, hesitating. As he came near he folded his umbrella and stood quietly a long moment. His thin coat soon dampened from the cold rain that was falling from the same sky that had brought death to nearly half his townspeople three short months before. I concluded that it must take some special courage to confront one’s conquerors without invitation. It was little wonder that he hesitated.
“His polite bow to me was no bow of submission. Rather his squared shoulders and lifted head let me feel as if I were looking up at him even … though I towered over him a foot or more. I recall being disturbed that I hadn’t yet become used to the near sightless eyes of those who had looked heavenward that morning when the bomb dropped. …
“… I respectfully asked if I could be of service. [In his clear English] he introduced himself as Professor Iida. …
“‘I am Christian,’ he said. ‘I am told this is the head minister’s office. Are you a Christian? It is good to talk with a follower of Christ; there are so few Christian Japanese.’
“I took him to the inner office of the division chaplain and waited while the two men conversed. Professor Iida stated his request briefly. He was a teacher of music in a Christian girls’ college until it was closed by imperial command. … He had been imprisoned because of his professed Christianity. After being released he had returned to Nagasaki and continued his music instruction in his home even though it was forbidden. He had been able to continue a small chorus and would be pleased if … they [could] sing a concert for the American Marines.
“‘We know something of your American Christmases,’ he said. ‘We should like to do something to make your Christmas in Japan more enjoyable.’
“I felt sure the chaplain would give a negative reply. Our unit was one of hardened fighters, four years away from home, who had fought the enemy from Saipan to Iwo Jima. … Yet there was something about the man that bespoke sincere desire to do a good deed so that … permission was granted. The concert would be Christmas Eve.
“The rains had stopped and a calm settled over the atomic bowl reminiscent of the calm that night long ago. The concert was well attended; there was nothing else to do. The theater … had been cleared of its fallen roof and men were sitting on the jagged walls. The usual momentary hush fell over the audience as the performers filed on stage. …
“The first thing we noticed was that they were singing in English and we became aware that they didn’t understand the words but had memorized them for our benefit. Professor Iida had taught his students well; they sang beautifully. We sat enthralled as if a choir from heaven were singing for us. … It was as if Christ were being born anew that night.
“The closing number was a solo, an aria from ‘The Messiah.’ The girl sang with all the conviction of one who knew that Jesus was indeed the Savior of mankind and it brought tears. After that there was a full minute of silence followed by sustained applause as the small group took bow after bow.
“Later that night I helped Professor Iida take down the trimmings. I could not resist asking some questions that propriety forbade but curiosity demanded. I just had to know.
“‘How did your group manage to survive the bomb?’ I asked.
“‘This is only half my group,’ he said softly, but seemed unoffended at my recalling his grief so that I felt I could ask more.
“‘And what of the families of these?’
“‘They nearly all lost one or more members. Some are orphans.’
“‘What about the soloist? She must have the soul of an angel the way she sang.’
“‘Her mother, two of her brothers were taken. Yes, she did sing well; I am so proud of her. She is my daughter.’ …
“The next day was Christmas, the one I remember best. For that day I knew that Christianity had not failed in spite of people’s unwillingness to live His teachings. I had seen hatred give way to service, pain to rejoicing, sorrow to forgiveness. This was possible because a babe had been born in a manger [and] later taught love of God and fellowmen. We had caused them the greatest grief and yet we were their Christian brothers and as such they were willing to forget their grief and unite with us in singing ‘Peace on earth, goodwill to all men.’
“The words of Miss Iida’s song testimony would not be stilled, ‘Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.’ They seemed to echo and re-echo over the half-dead city that day.
“That day also I knew that there was a greater power on earth than the atomic bomb.”

For a number of years, while I had responsibility for the work of the Church in Asia, I interviewed each missionary one-on-one. I asked each what virtue he or she saw in his or her companion and would like to put into his or her own life.
When I raised that question, almost invariably the missionary, an elder for example, would stop with a surprised look on his face. He had never thought of his companion that way before. He had seen his faults and weaknesses but had not seen his virtues. I would tell him to pause and think about it for a minute. Then the answers would begin to come. Such answers as, “He’s a hard worker.” “He gets up in the morning.” “He dresses neatly.” “He doesn’t complain.”
It was a remarkable thing, really. These young men and women, for the most part, had been oblivious to the virtues of their companions, although they were well aware of their companions’ faults, and often felt discouraged because of them. But when they began to turn their attitudes around, remarkable things began to happen.

Like Peter, we also may receive inspiration that seems contrary to our traditions or social norms. I was a teenager in the 1970s and shared certain biases about sister missionaries. I decided early on that I would never go on a mission. It was not until I went to BYU and met other women preparing for missionary service that I realized that my stereotypes were unfounded and that I was limiting my opportunities for growth. As I considered the option of missionary service and prayed for guidance, the Lord confirmed to me that I should go—a decision that continues to bless my life.

My parents divorced when I was young, and when I was five, my father had to return to his home in the United States. Meanwhile, back in England, my mother met the sister missionaries and was baptised into the Church. Unfortunately, she became less active and moved away with my sister and me.
Then, by accident, one Friday evening in the summer of 2004, we saw the missionaries—elders this time—to whom I’m still grateful for following the Spirit’s promptings leading them into a town in the middle of nowhere. They’d been inspired to come to us and were at the end of a very lonely, unsuccessful, disheartening day when we saw them.
Of course, my mother knew very well that young men in suits with badges could only be the Mormon missionaries, so she began talking to them. They gave us weekly lessons in our home, and we began attending church. The following March I was baptised. I have never regretted that choice, and as the only LDS teen in my town, I’m having to set the best example I can to show everyone what Mormons are really like!

While I was stationed at an air base in Wyoming during World War II, it was announced in our branch sacrament meeting that the following week a branch conference would be held and that there was a good possibility that the mission president would bring a visiting authority from Salt Lake City with him. As we came to branch conference the following Sunday morning, we were introduced to that visiting authority, a man whom none of us had ever seen before. It was Elder Spencer W. Kimball, the newest member of the Twelve out on one of his very first assignments. His manner was kindly, his testimony so sure, but he expressed concern that such a high calling should come to one such as he. Then with renewed confidence, he said in effect: “Brothers and Sisters: I don’t know exactly why the Lord has called me, but I do have one talent to offer. My father taught me how to work; and if the Lord can use a worker, I’m available.” Yes, the Lord could use a worker! In fact he needed a hard worker who might possibly be ready to assume prime responsibility at a most significant time.

Although his present-day performance is peppered with good humor, Brigham has moments of solemness. He tells the audience of the time he was stumping for Joseph Smith’s candidacy as president of the United States in 1844 and learned of the martyrdom in Illinois. He was in New York when he received notice of the assassination. “My first thought was whether Joseph had taken the keys to the kingdom with him. Then bringing my hand down on my knee I told them, ‘No, the keys of the kingdom are right here in the Church.’”
He then recounts that he and others of the Twelve who were then back east returned promptly to Nauvoo where they halted Sidney Rigdon’s effort to wrest control of the Church and proclaim himself guardian of the Saints and spokesman for Joseph.