Gospel Story Finder

One of the members of our family has a remarkable dog named Ben. A few years ago, on a beautiful fall day, some of us were walking in the fields. Ben was going back and forth in front of us, sniffing the ground, tail wagging, and obviously enjoying himself. After a while we sat down on a ditch bank to rest and could feel the warmth of the autumn sun caressing us. Ben came limping up to his master and, with a pained look in his eye, held up his front paw. Ben’s master gently took his paw into his hands and examined it carefully. Between two of his toes was a thorn. The thorn was carefully removed, and Ben stayed long enough to wag his tail a little more vigorously and receive a few pats on his head. He then ran off, no longer limping nor bothered by the pain. I was amazed that Ben instinctively seemed to know that the thorn needed to come out to relieve the pain and to know where to go to have it removed. Like Ben, we also seem to instinctively look for relief from the thorns of sin that inflict us. In contrast, however, we do not always seek our Master for relief; and many do not yet know who their Master is.

Sometimes it takes years to find the truth, and for me and my family it took generations. Three generations, to be exact. But we had found The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints again. My great-great-grandfather, Chief Washakie, of the Shoshone Indian tribe, had been baptized many years before, along with the rest of the tribe, but the generations that followed them had fallen away. Now we had returned to the gospel, and I was the first missionary to be sent from the Wind River Branch out into the mission field.
The day I received my call was exactly two weeks after I had sent in my papers. Before opening the envelope I knelt down to ask my Heavenly Father if this was where he wanted me to go. I begged with all my heart that he would answer me, and the answer came with the same peaceful feeling I had received when I asked about the gospel before my baptism. “Yes, this is the mission I have chosen for you,” came the answer, and I quickly opened the envelope. I was called to the California Ventura Mission.
Once on my mission, as I prepared for a transfer, I thought back to all the spiritual experiences I had had. I remembered a humble woman who asked my companion and me, with tears in her eyes, why we hadn’t come sooner. I remembered a little ten-year-old we baptized who worked long hours in his neighbor’s garden so he could first earn money to buy a Bible and then go on a mission. I also remembered one sacrament meeting when a woman I had baptized came up to me and said, “It’s all because of you,” when she received a call to serve in the Primary. She practically radiated gratitude as she thanked me for coming to her door the afternoon we met.
All these experiences were a fulfillment of a blessing I had received before leaving on my mission that said I would bring many people into the Church who would become great leaders. But now I was facing a transfer that I was not excited about, completely unaware of what was in store for me in my new area. The transfer was to Agoura Hills, California. I believed my mission president was an inspired man, but why Agoura Hills? The area was very affluent but very low in baptisms. You could count on one hand the baptisms in that area for the past several years. I had been one of the top baptizers in the mission for several months, but now all that would probably change. Then I remembered the words from a song that was sung at my farewell: “I will go where you want me to go, dear Lord.” So I went.
It is every convert’s dream to find the missionaries who baptized him and let them know about the change they brought to his life with the gospel. I also had that dream, especially because so many members of my family had been baptized after the elders left our area. I was now serving a successful mission. I had a sister attending Ricks College, another sister on a scholarship at BYU, and a brother and a sister both preparing to go on missions. I had lost track of the elders who had converted me. I wanted to find them and let them know how many lives they had touched.
My second Sunday in Agoura Hills, just before sacrament meeting started, a man in the ward came up to me and asked me about myself. I told him I was from Wyoming, and he said they had sent a son on a mission to Wyoming. A sensation of electricity ran through my body, but I knew it was not likely that this was one of the elders that I knew. So I asked, “What mission? The Colorado, Utah, or Montana mission?”
He said his son had served in the Billings Montana Mission, and when I asked him if he had ever been in Lander, Wyoming, where I was converted, the man answered yes again. I asked him a few dates and names and soon discovered that the man I was talking with was the father of one of the elders who had converted me. I said, “Your son is one of the elders responsible for bringing me and my family into the Church.” The man immediately introduced his wife, and tears filled her eyes as she realized that she was seeing a direct result of the sacrifices she and her family had made to send their son on a mission. Brother Miller introduced me to other members of the ward, and every time he told them who I was he choked up. I sat in sacrament meeting with tears streaming down my face as I thought of the mysterious ways the Lord had worked in my life. Who could have predicted that Elder Miller would come to my home and I would go to his almost nine years later?
I was able to see Elder Miller again, and he looked the same except for the three little daughters clinging to his leg. I finally had the chance to tell him thank you. He too was overcome with emotion as he told me what a feeling of satisfaction he had, seeing someone he had taught having as much success in the gospel as my family and I were.
I am truly grateful for that family who gave so much to bring me and my family the gospel. Because of their sacrifices, we as Lamanites are fulfilling Nephi’s prophecy in 2 Nephi 30:6, where it says, “and many generations shall not pass away among them, save they shall be a pure and a delightsome people.” [2 Ne. 30:6]

It’s just a small music box. When you lift the golden needlepoint lid it plays “I Wonder When He Comes Again.” I used to keep it on top of my dresser to house leftover pocket change, broken key chains, and orphan paper clips. I had no idea the tiny box had magical powers—no idea in the world—until Miranda came visiting.
“Uncle Brad, I’m coming to play,” the three-year-old voice called from upstairs. Miranda is the daughter of my oldest brother, who always comes home from California at Christmastime. “Please play.” She had made her way downstairs and now stood framed in my bedroom doorway. “Please.” Her voice was as soft and blonde as her shoulder-length hair.
I knew I needed to take advantage of the short time I had with Miranda, but I also needed to prepare my Sunday School lesson. Brother M. had just called, asking me to combine his class with mine. The following day, I would be responsible for two classes.
“Just give me a little time,” I tried to bargain with my niece. This would be one of the last lessons of the year. I was long since out of manual and creativity. “Go back upstairs and tell Grandma you will help her.”
“But I want to play with you.”
“We will play—in a while.” I began shooing her out my bedroom door. “Your Mom wants you upstairs, I’m sure.”
“But she just told me to come downstairs.” Miranda wouldn’t budge.
“Oh, well.” I couldn’t win. I motioned my nightgowned visitor and her baby doll into the room. “But you have to be quiet. Uncle Brad will be working.”
Miranda proceeded to “quietly” sing three choruses of “That Night in the Stable,” recite the Christmas story complete with a forceful “No room in the inn!” and count all of Dad’s outside Christmas lights. I decided that trying to prepare my lesson would be hopeless unless I could conjure up a plan to distract her.
“Miranda!” I turned toward her dramatically. She was changing her doll’s diaper right on my pillow. “Somewhere in this room is a magic box.” I lifted my eyebrows mysteriously and continued, “Find it, quietly.”
On any ordinary day Miranda probably would not have been interested, but having just gone with me to Cinderella (she called it Sidwayla) that very afternoon, the intriguing challenge was irresistible. The spell was cast.
Miranda began searching the bedroom. Smugly, I patted myself on the back and turned to my lesson pages which were still as unused and dry as the baby doll’s diaper.
“I found it!” Miranda squealed. I spun around in my chair. Her eyes sparkled and glittered like jeweled pixie dust. She tiptoed toward me excitedly. Her arms were extended, and in her cupped hands was my old music box.
“That’s not magic,” I laughed. “That’s just dusty.” I had shelved the gaudy thing years ago.
“It is magic,” Miranda assured. “I know.” She stroked the gold trim and flowered embroidery—major requirements for a magic charm. “Open it, Brad.” She laid her enchanted find on the carpet before me.
Knowing that I shouldn’t until my work was finished, I decided to be firm. “Now, Miranda, we had a bargain.”
“Open it,” she pleaded.
I glanced guiltily at the zero lesson plan on my desk. “Oh, I give up,” I sighed, kneeling on the floor beside Miranda. “Let’s open it together.”
I’ve always been a saver. The junk Miranda and I found in the magic box seemed as endless as the trash on a movie theater floor. There was a miniature pop bottle, an ugly onyx rain god, some flat pennies that had been smashed on a railroad track, a few rubber bands, and some old stamps.
“Are they magic?” Miranda whispered in awe.
“Of course,” I responded seriously, picking up the tiny pop bottle. “Drink this magic potion and you’ll become the fairest maiden in the land.”
She puckered her lips in willing anticipation and then gulped every imaginary drop. At once, Miranda began strutting around the room, finger-stroking her hair, and smiling like Miss Silver Slipper, queen of the ball, herself.
“Look at this one,” I called her back. “Hold this onyx idol and it will make you brave.”
Still as ravishingly beautiful as ever, Miranda clutched the trinket and marched courageously through my bedroom door into the black basement beyond. The farther out she stepped, the farther out she stretched the stone figure in front of her.
“Oh!” Miranda gasped, “I’m glad I have this magic thing or I’d be ‘tehwubly’ scared.”
For at least a half-hour I invented bibbidi-bobbidi-boo powers and enjoyed Miranda as she dramatized each fantasy. What about my lesson? As it turned out, Miranda was planning it for me.
The next day, when the kids came down the corridor of the church, they found my classroom door closed—not because I wasn’t ready for them, but because I was. A large sign taped across the entrance read, “NOTICE: This is a magic cave. Please enter quietly.” I invited them inside.
“This,” I held up the old music box, “this is magic.” As mysteriously as I could, I told Miranda’s story. By the end of the tale the class had unanimously decided my niece must be crazy.
“Why?” I zeroed in on one girl.
“Well,” she summed up the situation, “All that stuff in the box was just fake. She’s nuts.”
“Then aren’t we all?” I asked, pulling out some surprise visual aids. I held up a pair of jeans—the most popular brand; some shirts with all the stylish patches in all the stylish places; a popular magazine, complete with pictures of the latest haircuts, jewelry, and makeup.
“Do these have magical powers to make us beautiful? I thumbed the magazine open before them. “The only power they have is what we give them. Are we crazy?”
I stopped flipping pages at an appealing cigarette ad. “A magic potion to make us brave, right? All you have to do is hold this little roll of tobacco and just like that, you’re cool! You’re tough! You’re in! Right?” The bell hadn’t even rung yet, but my lesson was over. Three-year-old Miranda and I had made our point.
Our real beauty and worth are not dependent on a can of beer, a swear word, the latest fad, a social club, R-rated films, or drugs, any more than Miranda’s were dependent on an old pop bottle inside a showy music box. Courage doesn’t come from a carved idol I swapped 25 cents for in the fifth grade. Our transforming magic potion is in knowing we are God’s children. We did not come to earth to find self-worth. We brought it with us. When we know that, we have all the “magic” any of us needs to feel beautiful, courageous, and acceptable.
I don’t keep the old music box inside my closet anymore. Since Miranda’s visit, it’s right on top of the dresser where it should be. Right out where it can always be reminding me of magic.

Bryon Sorenson, now serving in the Oregon Mission, draws on his Playmill experience by asking people if he can come in and play their piano. Once inside, he plays LDS hymns and introduces the Church. Bryon baptized a talented young man named Randy Davenport who acted at the Playmill last summer. “I decided,” Randy says, “that if the Playmill could do for me what it did for Bryon, I wanted some of it.”

England was a busy place in the early 1800s, but John Taylor liked the exciting atmosphere of this country where his family had their farm. John worked many hours on the farm, and he also learned the skill of wood turning.
When he was twenty-four years old, John had the opportunity to migrate to Canada to join his family, who had moved there two years before.
Before John’s ship left the English Channel, however, there was a horrible storm. Many people on the ship got sick as the storm tossed the ship from side to side.
Ships all around John’s were being destroyed by the storm, and the officers and crew of his ship prepared for the worst.
But John wasn’t worried. He even walked calmly around the deck at midnight during the raging storm! He knew that he had a work to do in Canada, and he trusted Heavenly Father to protect him so that he could do that work.
After John reached Toronto, Canada, he located the Methodist Church, where he became a member and a preacher. In May of 1836, Parley P. Pratt taught him about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and John was baptized into the Church.
John Taylor continued to trust in the Lord, and he became the third President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

When I was young, I had an experience that helped me relate to the blind man described in John 9.
I was 11 years old when the “works of God were made manifest” in me. In the fifth grade, I developed warts on my hands. Both hands were covered with the ugly virus sufficiently enough to earn me the nickname “warthog” among my classmates. Needless to say, it affected my self-esteem and social life.
When my family moved from Utah to Idaho the following summer, I dreaded the thought of going to a new school. In my old class, I took plenty of teasing, but I also had two good friends who stood by me. This new place offered no such assurance.
I began to search for ways to rid myself of my burden. With my mother’s help, we tried over-the-counter remedies and even some home remedies, but the warts remained. Money was limited, so seeing the doctor for such a nonemergency was out of the question. I began feeling like there would be no end to this malady.
Towards the end of summer, it occurred to me to ask Heavenly Father for help. My family had been active in the Church for about two years, and I had been taught about the power of fasting accompanied by prayer, but I had never before taken the opportunity to do this.
Over two weeks I fasted every few days. I remember how hard it was to pass up my mom’s homemade cherry pie, but I believed the outcome of my fast would be equal to my faith and sacrifice. I prayed earnestly in our backyard, where I could speak aloud and not be interrupted. At the end of the two-week period, my warts were gone. Every one of them had shrunk away.
When school started a couple of weeks later, I felt a new confidence. This confidence came, in part, from having healed hands that I did not have to hide, but more so from an internal seed that had sprouted to life.
I had gained personal knowledge of a great truth—that I was a daughter of Heavenly Father, the true and living God. I knew that He loved me and that He heard and answered my prayers. Just as the man in the scriptures, the works of God had been made manifest in me, on a physical and a spiritual level.

Sister Hinckley and I were recently involved in a regional conference in Rexburg, Idaho. We had not been to Yellowstone National Park for many years. We decided to drive to the conference and on Monday return home by way of Yellowstone.

In 1988, terrible forest fires raged there. Each day the news media brought us graphic reports of the intensity of the fires as they raced over thousands of acres, destroying millions of trees. The flames finally burned out, and people literally mourned over the desolate picture of countless lodgepole pines, their tops burned and the straight, scorched trunks standing like solemn grave markers in a crowded cemetery.

But when we visited there about a month ago, we saw something of captivating interest. The dead pines still stood, but between the burned trees new seedlings have sprung from the ground, millions of them.

Evidently when fire hit the treetops, the pinecones exploded, scattering seed to the ground. There is a new generation of trees now, young and beautiful and filled with promise. The old trees eventually will fall, and the new ones will grow tall to create a forest of great beauty and usefulness.

As we drove through the park, I thought of the wonders of nature, of the rhythm of our lives. We grow old, and I am among those who have done so. Our vitality and our powers slacken. But a new generation is at our feet. These are children. These too are sons and daughters of God whose time has come to take their place on earth. They are like the new growth in the park—young, tender, sensitive, beautiful, and full of promise.

Illustrated by Mike Eagle
Even though Elder David O. McKay’s daughter Lou Jean was very ill, he had to travel out of state for a stake conference.
Elder McKay: I’ll be back as soon as I can.
Not long after he left, Elder McKay received a telegram saying that he needed to come home right away. When he stepped off the train at home, his father was there to greet him.
Elder McKay: Is Lou Jean still alive?
Father: Yes, but she’s worse than when you left.
A doctor and a nurse stayed at Elder McKay’s house all night. Other family members came to help for several days, but Lou Jean grew only worse.
On Sunday, Elder McKay sent his sons Lawrence and Llewelyn to church while he and his wife, Emma Ray, stayed home to care for Lou Jean.
Elder McKay: Son, will you ask the Sunday School president to have the Sunday School classes pray for Lou Jean today?
Son: Yes, Father.
Elder McKay’s son obeyed. He noticed that at 11:00 the requested prayer was given.
When Elder McKay’s sons returned home, they received good news.
Elder McKay: Well, boys, Lou Jean is going to be all right! At 11:00 this morning she finally relaxed and fell into a calm sleep.
Son: Father, that’s when the Sunday School prayed for her!
Elder McKay: Heavenly Father has rewarded the faithful prayers of many people who love us. We must show Him our gratitude.

Rachel is already in the Beehive class in Young Women. But her birthday is in January, so she is still in Primary for class time.
She used to feel sad that she didn’t get to go to Sunday School with the girls who were a few months older. One reason she feels better about it now is that her Primary class is studying the Doctrine and Covenants. “It’s really interesting, and that helps keep me from thinking about not being in Sunday School,” Rachel says.
Rachel is also happy that she can still be in Primary class with her friend Marissa. “If I had moved on completely, she would have been left in a class with no other girls,” Rachel says.

That’s how things are now. But for a long time, the family didn’t go to church very often. The children attended only when they visited Brother Stailey’s mother in another town. They enjoyed those visits and started reading the Book of Mormon on their own. They read almost the whole book over a two-year period and started asking their dad to take them back to church. When the family went through some difficult times, Brother Stailey realized that they needed the gospel in their lives. They started attending meetings again, and they’re glad they did.
“I enjoy going to church,” Allysa explains. “Everyone is nice to us. Even on our first day back, they helped us find our way around and were friendly.”
“The members of the Church really care about you,” Teylor adds.
The Staileys were already good people before they went back to church. But now they are much happier good people. “A lot of wonderful things have happened to us,” Brother Stailey reports. “We pay our tithing faithfully, and blessings have come from that. A couple of months ago, I was ordained an elder and I got to ordain Jeddy a priest that same day.”
There were many things that helped the family become active, but Brother Stailey has no doubt about the most important one. “You can’t believe the strength that comes from these kids. They are the reason for my change of heart. They and my mother are the reason this family turned around.”

The Wilkinsons attend Church in Wolfeboro, about 10 miles (16 km) away. Though there are a few other Latter-day Saint families in Alton, they don’t have children Rachel’s age, so her many friends are of other faiths. Friends often ask her to go out on the lake or join them for a barbecue on Sunday, but she always says no and explains why. None of them has taken offense. “It was hard saying no at first, because sometimes you really want to go,” Rachel admits. “But it’s getting easier every time.”

When Fan Hsieh read about the restoration of the priesthood, he had to know more. “For the first time since I was released from the priesthood in my own church, I thought I might be able to hold the priesthood again,” he says.
After serving eighteen years as a Catholic priest, Hsieh had given up his ministry because he felt “a spiritual void.” Now, as he studied the restored gospel, he was about to discover the true priesthood of God.
Fan Hsieh was born 23 August 1922 in Tayeh, China, an isolated farming community. He did not begin formal education until he was ten years old. After four years in a private school, he enrolled in a Catholic school, began to learn about Jesus Christ, and was baptized a Catholic. “I saw the example of many good Catholic missionaries,” he says, “and I thought maybe China needed more of them to teach the people about Jesus Christ. I decided to become a priest.”
Hsieh’s road to that goal was long and arduous. He attended a Catholic seminary in Wuhan for four years. Then he studied at a Catholic university in the capital city of Beijing [Peking]. A year later, the communists took over the city, and Hsieh escaped to Shanghai, where he attended the Aurora Jesuit University. When the communist forces invaded Shanghai, he moved to the Catholic seminary in Hong Kong. Then, because of the political situation, the seminary was transferred to Macao. While there, Hsieh was ordained a priest in the Catholic church.
Following his ordination, he was assigned to Rome, Italy, where he studied Italian, Latin, and law for four years. Next he moved to Paris, France, where he studied French, Greek, Hebrew, English, Spanish, and German so that he could better understand the original texts and the various translations of the Bible. He wanted to learn all he could about the Savior.
Finally, in 1967, Hsieh’s original desire to teach his people about Jesus Christ became a reality. Cardinal Yu Ping, president of Fu Jen Catholic University in Taipei, invited him to become a member of the faculty as a professor of philosophy and French. In this assignment, Hsieh began to share his growing testimony of Jesus Christ.
“I spent eighteen years teaching and fulfilling my responsibilities as a priest,” says Hsieh. “I was very busy, but I wasn’t happy. I had had the opportunity to study in Europe; I had been a teacher, a student, a professor, a chaplain, a seminary director—my life was colorful—but there was a spiritual void.”
And there were rules and customs within the Catholic church with which Hsieh was uncomfortable, such as the ban on certain books—and he liked to read and study all he could. Another problem that bothered him as an ordained priest was the Lord’s statement: “It is not good that the man should be alone” (Gen. 2:18).
“This particular scripture became a vivid reality for me once when I was seriously sick and there was no one close to take care of me. I felt very alone. I realized the need for a companion to share my life. I decided then that being alone forever wasn’t right.”
This combination of feelings built up over time. Finally, in 1973, he asked to be released from his priestly vows. He resigned from Fu Jen University and was immediately hired by National Cheng Chi University in Taipei. There, one year later, Hsieh met, courted, and married one of his university assistants. He was about fifty years old at this time.
“But giving up the priesthood was difficult for me,” he says. “I had been a priest for so long. Now I had given up everything that I had lived for up to that point in time. I missed sharing my knowledge and understanding of the gospel, something I had been able to do as a priest. I thought about becoming a minister in another church that allowed priests to marry. But because of my belief in the Catholic church, I couldn’t make that change.”
Three years after his marriage, Hsieh was alone in his home when two young men knocked on his door. “They asked to talk to me, and I said I had no time and no interest in whatever they wanted to talk about.
“But as I thought about them, I became more curious. I wanted to know who they were and what they were doing in Taiwan, so I looked out from the balcony of my apartment and saw them going from door to door. I waited for a long time for them to come out of one of the apartments, and then I called to them to come back to mine.
“The first question I asked them was, ‘Are you missionaries?’ When they answered yes, I questioned them about their religion. Many of my questions were left unanswered, and I didn’t feel satisfied with our first conversation.
“That evening, as I discussed their visit with my wife, she reminded me of the Lord’s admonition to ‘beware of false prophets.’” (See Matt. 7:15.)
When the missionaries made a return visit, Hsieh was not going to let them in, but he didn’t want to be impolite. For the entire evening, Hsieh explained to the missionaries what true religion should be. He did not tell them that he had been a Catholic priest, but they felt encouraged by his knowledge of Christianity.
One of the missionaries, Donald B. Cenatiempo, wrote of the experience, “I felt as if we were the students and he was the teacher. We could tell he was a very intelligent and religious man.” The missionaries asked if they could return, and Hsieh said yes. The visits became a weekly ritual.
“I didn’t want to send them away,” Hsieh remembers. “I thought that if their church were true, it would have a prophet and continuing revelation. I asked them why their church didn’t have crosses or crucifixes, and they said, ‘Because Christ is risen; Christ lives. If one of your friends or parents dies,’ they said, ‘do you take out a photograph of them dead and show it to everyone?’ I was spiritually touched by the wisdom of their response.”
Hsieh started to read the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants, which he especially liked because it is a record of the Lord speaking to man in these latter days. He asked for other books to read, and the missionaries gave him a copy of A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, by Elder LeGrand Richards.
“We told Brother Hsieh that it was possible for him to receive the priesthood and perform certain duties within that priesthood,” Elder Cenatiempo wrote. “Brother Hsieh understood as well as anybody could in his stage of spiritual progression what it would mean to hold the priesthood—the true priesthood of God.”
Hsieh explained to his wife what he had read, and she found it very interesting. Together, they began to study and pray for understanding. Eventually, Hsieh’s wife announced to the missionaries, “We have prayed and we feel it best to be baptized together.” They were baptized in December 1977.
In the years since that special event in their lives, they have developed strong testimonies that they enjoy sharing with others.
“We have always said that we would be willing to do whatever the Lord wants us to do,” says Brother Hsieh. “And we’ve always tried to use every opportunity and every talent he has given us to help build up the kingdom of God on the earth and to share the gospel message.”
Some unique opportunities have opened up to Brother Hsieh to do this. He has lectured seven times at the International Conference for Christian Professors. “They are interested in the Church because it is quite new and unique in modern Christianity,” he says. “The Lord has given me many opportunities to bear my testimony to these scholars.”
Currently, Brother Hsieh, a member of the Mu Cha Ward, serves as a high councilor in the Taipei Taiwan West Stake and has assisted in work on a second Chinese translation of the Book of Mormon.
“The gospel is the love of God,” he says. “It is important that all men and women hear this message. What we do, we do for the glory of God and the salvation of souls. Friendship is the method by which we share the gospel. The final goal for all is salvation and exaltation.”

May Li walked home from school with her friend. The Taipei, Taiwan (China), sidewalk was crowded with people. Trucks, cars, and scooters roared past them. May Li was happy when she saw her building. She was tired and hungry. “Good-bye, Ling Ling,” she said. “I have to help my mother prepare dinner and then get my schoolwork done.”
“Ummm …” Ling Ling looked down as she started to speak. “Do you think I could come and help? You know I can chop fast, and I like to help.”
May Li was puzzled. Why did her friend always want to help fix dinner? This was the second time this week that Ling Ling had asked to help. And she had helped at least twice the week before. Each time Ling Ling helped, May Li’s mother invited her to stay for dinner.
May Li ran up the steps to her home, motioning for Ling Ling to follow her. “Come on,” she replied. “We’ll ask my mother if you can stay.”
Ling Ling jumped two steps at a time. She almost beat May Li to the top step. “Hsieh-hsieh (Thank you). I hope your mother says I may stay.”
May Li’s mind was filled with worries as they burst through the doorway to her home. She liked to have Ling Ling stay for dinner, but she worried that her parents might not like having her come so often. Most of all, she worried about Ling Ling. Maybe her friend didn’t get enough to eat at her own home.
“I’m home!” May Li called. “Ling Ling is with me. She wants to help prepare dinner.”
May Li’s mother greeted the girls with a happy smile. “It is nice to have a friend who likes to share your work. And you are welcome to stay for dinner, Ling Ling.”
Ling Ling jumped and clapped her hands. “Hsieh-hsieh! I would love to stay for dinner.”
“You should call your mother,” May Li said, “to make certain it’s all right with her.”
Ling Ling’s happy smile went away. “Yes, I need to call. Last time I stayed here for dinner, Mother was not very happy. She says that I stay too often.”
While Ling Ling went into the next room to call, May Li talked quietly to her mother. “I hope it is all right to bring Ling Ling home for dinner again. She likes to come here so much. I will eat less if we do not have enough.”
“I am not concerned about the food,” Mother said. “We are happy to share what we have. But I am beginning to wonder if Ling Ling is not getting enough food at home.”
“I know. I have wondered that also.”
May Li looked at the delicious vegetables soaking in the sink, and at the fish and pork ready to be fried. “Maybe Ling Ling only gets rice to eat—maybe she doesn’t even get enough rice!”
May Li wondered what to do, but before she could say any more, she heard Ling Ling hang up the telephone. May Li began to chop the vegetables. Chop, chop, chop. Quickly the mushrooms became many small pieces.
“Guess what?” Ling Ling exclaimed. “I can stay! What would you like me to chop?”
May Li and Ling Ling chopped cabbage, green peppers, and green onions. They laughed and giggled as they set rice bowls and kuaidze (chopsticks) on the table.
Dinner was almost ready by the time May Li’s father came home. He greeted everyone when he came in the door. May Li felt better. She knew that father would know what to do if Ling Ling’s family did not have enough food.
When dinner was ready, May Li’s father invited everyone to kneel for the prayer. He knelt beside his chair. “May Li, would you say the family prayer tonight? And be sure to remember all of our friends and their families.”
Of course! That was the answer! May Li knew that Heavenly Father loved Ling Ling’s family as much as He loved hers. She knew that He would answer her prayer and bless them. As she prayed, she thanked Heavenly Father for having Ling Ling in their home, and she asked a special blessing for Ling Ling’s family—that they would always have enough food to eat. When the prayer was over, everyone sat up to the table and started to eat.
“Hsieh-hsieh for that nice prayer,” said Ling Ling, “and for including my family.”
May Li looked at her rice bowl. “You’re welcome,” she said. “I hope your family always has enough food to eat.”
“Oh, we do,” Ling Ling said. “And my mother is a wonderful cook.”
“But, I thought …” May Li had a difficult time coming up with the right words. “I thought you didn’t have enough food to eat and that is why you like to come and eat at my house so often.”
Ling Ling looked down and stirred the rice in her bowl. “No, it isn’t the food at your house,” she said. “It is the prayer. I feel good inside when I kneel with your family to pray. I wish my family did that.” She paused, then added, “My mother said to invite you over to our house for dinner. If you come, I will ask my parents if we can have family prayer because you are there and it is your family tradition. Will you help me say the prayer if my parents agree?”
May Li and her parents looked at each other with surprise. May Li smiled. “I would love to go to your house for dinner,” she said. “I will help you chop vegetables. And I will be happy to help you say the family prayer. Hsieh-hsieh for asking me.”

John Hunter knew that his father, President Howard W. Hunter of the Pasadena (California) Stake, was no sports fan. Still, his father seemed unusually preoccupied that autumn evening in 1959 as he quietly stared at the players, almost unseeing, throughout the Brigham Young University–University of Utah football game. Howard Hunter could not tell his son that he was reflecting on an interview he had had with President David O. McKay a few hours earlier.
President Hunter, visiting in Salt Lake City for general conference, had not been surprised by the message he had received asking him to come to President McKay’s office between sessions that day. He had been working on a project for the First Presidency and assumed that the President wanted a report.
But President McKay’s greeting was astounding: “Oh, I’m glad you’re here, because tomorrow you’re going to be sustained as a member of the Council of the Twelve.”
“I was shocked at the call,” President Hunter remembers, even though he had broad experience in Church leadership positions. He had been a stake president for nearly ten years and had previously served as a bishop for almost seven years. He was also chairman of the regional council of stake presidents in Southern California.
Howard Hunter listened as President McKay told him how much he would enjoy his new calling and how it would change his life. Then President McKay asked him not to share the news with anyone but his wife until his name could be presented for a sustaining vote in conference the next day.
Clara May Hunter [Clairel was seventy-two kilometers away in Provo at that moment, visiting John and his wife, Louine, who had recently given birth to the Hunters’ first grandchild. Elder Hunter telephoned to tell “Claire” the news, but after he got the words out, there was silence on the line as both were overcome by emotion.
“I went to the afternoon session and sat down, and the weight of the responsibility started to rest down on me. I got so nervous I couldn’t sit there, so I got up and started to walk. I don’t know where I went,” President Hunter remembers, but the time was spent thinking about how the new calling would affect him.
It would mean giving up his law practice and the life he and Claire had built in Southern California during nearly thirty years of marriage. But, along with thinking of the sacrifices they would have to make, President and Sister Hunter also thought of the covenants they had made in the temple to serve the Lord at all costs. “We expected to honor the commitment we had given,” he says.

During an interfaith event in October, I was asked by Mrs Lynda Ford-Horne, Chair of the Poole and Bournemouth Holocaust Memorial Committee, if I would be willing to accept the invitation to be one of the volunteers to light one of the seven candles for the Holocaust Memorial Service that was being held on Sunday 26th January at The Poole Lighthouse Theatre.
The six candles represent the six million Jews that were murdered during the holocaust, with the seventh candle representing the other million victims from groups that were also murdered.
I am the granddaughter of a Ukrainian Jew and when Lynda asked me, I felt that I was being given this honour to represent my Jewish ancestors and my heart was very full.
On the day of the Memorial Service, tears fell as I stepped forward to light the candle and my heart and soul felt very close to my Jewish family that have passed through the veil. I gave thanks that I was able to do this task in their name.
A few days after I had accepted the invitation, Lynda phoned me and asked if I could also put forward the name of a young person from our Church that was involved in doing service projects, someone that willingly helped others and would accept the responsibility to do one of the young person’s readings.
I contacted President Plumbley from the stake presidency and Nicky Linford from the stake Young Women presidency for a recommendation and they both agreed that Ruby Matthews-Quigley from Poole Ward would be a great representative from the Church. This was approved by Ruby’s bishop, Bishop Merry.
After talking with Ruby’s mother, I spoke to Ruby and she was delighted to be asked to take part.
Following the event, Ruby said: “When I was asked to do a reading for the Holocaust Memorial Day I was honoured as I knew that the person had to be someone who was doing good work within the community and that they would be a representative of the Church.
When I was doing the reading, I felt humbled by these words I read out: We value the sacrifices of those who have risked their lives to protect or rescue victims, as a touchstone of the human capacity for good in the face of evil.”
After the event Bishop Merry said: “I am grateful, as Ruby‘s Bishop, for the way she actively participates within the community and ward. Ruby’s good nature and selflessness are a good example of what ministering should look like – where we think of another’s needs without looking for recognition or personal gain. I look forward to seeing what the next few years will look like for Ruby as she contemplates where her discipleship takes her.”

Sister Louella Norberg was visited by Kathy Peterson, Joele Chafant, Deanna Peterson, and Kiku Okauchi. Kathy said of the visit, “Joele, Deanna, Kiku, and I met outside her apartment and were standing there wondering how we should approach her when she stuck her head out and called, ‘Yoo-hoo, girls! Here I am!’ and invited us in to see her. It was fascinating. She told us things that happened over the years, and I really enjoyed it. I know she liked it a lot too because she kissed us all before we left.”

Thirty-four gifted and inspired speakers have preceded me, and now on this autumn day I feel like the last leaf on the tree as I say a few words before President Lee gives his final counsel and blessing. It is not a new experience for me to speak immediately preceding President Lee. I have had that privilege a score of times recently. Each time I have felt like the freshman team before the varsity comes out for the big game.
But I regard this as a great opportunity to add my testimony. I humbly seek the direction of the Holy Spirit as I speak upon a sacred theme.
We have sung in this conference a marvelous hymn, a hymn we have sung in conferences for more than a century: “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” It is distinctive with us. As a people we sing some hymns that have come from other churches, and others sing some of ours. But only we can properly sing, “We thank thee, O God, for a prophet to guide us in these latter days.”
It was written more than a century ago by a man of humble circumstances who lived in Sheffield, England. He worked in the steel mills and was discharged because he joined the Mormon Church. But there burned in his heart a great and fervent testimony; and out of an overflowing spirit of gratitude, he penned these marvelous lines. They have become a grateful expression of appreciation for millions over the earth. I myself have heard them sung in 21 different languages as a reverent prayer of thanksgiving for divine revelation.
How thankful we ought to be, my brethren and sisters, how thankful we are, for a prophet to counsel us in words of divine wisdom as we walk our paths in these complex and difficult times. The solid assurance we carry in our hearts, the conviction that God will make his will known to his children through his recognized servant is the real basis of our faith and activity. We either have a prophet or we have nothing; and having a prophet, we have everything.
Twelve years ago, in company with the mission president from Hong Kong, it was my opportunity to initiate the work in the Philippines. On April 28, 1961, we held a meeting that will never be forgotten by those of us who were present. We had no hall then in which to meet. We made a request of the United States Embassy for permission to meet on the beautiful porch of the marble memorial in the American military cemetery at Fort McKinley on the outskirts of Manila. We convened at 6:30 in the morning. In that hallowed and sacred place, where are remembered the tragedies of war, we commenced the work of teaching the gospel of peace.
We called upon the only native Filipino member we had been able to locate. He recounted a story which I have never forgotten.
When he was a boy he found in a garbage can an old tattered copy of the Reader’s Digest. It contained a condensation of a book giving the story of the Mormon people. It spoke of Joseph Smith and described him as a prophet. The word prophet did something to that boy. Could there actually be a prophet upon the earth? he wondered. The magazine was lost, but concern over the presence of a living prophet never left him during the long, dark years of war and oppression when the Philippines were occupied. Finally the forces of liberation came, and with them the reopening of Clark Air Base. David Lagman found employment there. His supervisor, he learned, was a Mormon, an Air Force officer. He wanted to ask him if he believed in a prophet, but was afraid to do so. Finally, after much inner turmoil, he mustered the courage to inquire.
“Are you a Mormon, sir?” the young man asked. “Yes, I am,” was the forthright reply. “Do you believe in a prophet, do you have a prophet in your church?” came the anxious question.
“We do have a prophet, a living prophet, who presides in this church and who teaches the will of the Lord.”
David asked the officer to tell him more, and out of that teaching came his baptism. He was the first native elder ordained in the Philippines and today serves as president of the Northern Luzon District of the Church, now knowing for himself that there is indeed a living prophet on the earth.
Could any people have a greater blessing than to have standing at their head one who receives and teaches the will of God concerning them? We need not look far in the world to know that “the wisdom of the wise has perished and that the understanding of the prudent has come to naught.” That wisdom for which the world should seek is the wisdom which comes from God. The only understanding that will save the world is divine understanding.
“Surely the Lord God will do nothing, but he revealeth his secret unto his servants the prophets.” (Amos 3:7.)
It was so in the days of Amos and in all the years when holy men of God spake as they were moved upon by the Holy Ghost. (See 2 Pet. 1:21.) Those ancient prophets warned not only of things to come, but more importantly, they became the revealers of truth to people. It was they who pointed the way men should live if they were to be happy and find peace in their lives.
I think today of a young man I know who, as a Christian, trying one church after another, could find none that taught of a prophet. Only among the Jewish people did he find reverent mention of the prophets, and so he accepted and embraced the Jewish religion.
In the summer of 1964, he went to New York City and visited the World’s Fair. He entered the Mormon Pavilion and saw pictures of the prophets of the Old Testament. His heart warmed within him as he heard the missionaries speak with appreciation of these great men of ages past through whom Jehovah revealed his will. Then, as he progressed through the pavilion, he heard of modern prophets—of Joseph Smith who was called a prophet, a seer, and a revelator. Something stirred within him. His spirit responded to the testimony of the missionaries. He was baptized. He served a mission in South America where he had many converts. He returned home and has since become the means of bringing his family and others into the Church. It is heartwarming to hear him testify that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God and that all who have succeeded him have been legal successors in this high and sacred calling.
Could anyone, willing to read without bias the story of Joseph Smith, doubt that he was a great foreteller of events to come? Nearly thirty years before a shot was fired, he foretold the tragic American Civil War and stated that following that, war would be poured out upon all nations. You and I of this generation are witnesses to the fulfillment of those remarkable words.
He foretold that this people, then living in Illinois, would be driven out, would suffer much affliction, and would become a great and mighty people in the midst of the Rocky Mountains. Our presence today in this great Tabernacle on Temple Square in Salt Lake City is evidence of the fulfillment of those marvelous words of prophecy.
It has been so with his successors. On a cold winter day in 1849, when our forebears in this valley were hungry and living on sego roots and thistle tops, while gold was being found in California, Brigham Young stood in the old bowery on this square and spoke prophetic words to those who felt they might leave the hardships of life here to go to greener pastures in California. Among other things, he said:
“We have been kicked out of the frying pan into the fire, out of the fire into the middle of the floor, and here we are and here we will stay. …
“We shall build a city and a temple to the Most High God in this place. We will extend our settlements to the east and the west, to the north and south, and we will build towns and cities by the hundreds, and thousands of saints will gather in from the nations of the earth.
“This will become the great highway of the nations. Kings and emperors and the noble and the wise of the earth will visit us here. …”
How could anyone stand in the Visitors Center to the north of us and witness the hundreds of thousands, yes, the millions, who come each year to visit us, and have any doubt that Brigham Young spoke other than as a prophet? Over the years there has been a veritable parade of notables who have found their way to the office of the First Presidency, there to meet particularly the man whom we sustain as the president of the Church and as the prophet of our day. They include leaders in the governments of the earth, in business and commerce, in education, in the professions. These are among “the noble and the wise of the earth” of whom Brigham Young spoke when we were an outcast people, isolated in a mountain wilderness.
Two weeks ago we were riding a plane from San Francisco to Sydney, Australia. We noted a young man in a nearby seat reading the book Joseph Smith, an American Prophet. When opportunity presented itself, I spoke to him. I told him that I had read the book, that I had known the author, and asked him what his interest was. He said, among other things, that he had an interest in prophets and that this matter of a possible modern prophet had intrigued him. He had picked up the book at the library. We had a lengthy conversation in which I bore my witness that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet. Not only did he speak of things to come, but more importantly, he was a revealer of eternal truth and a testifier of the divine mission of the Lord Jesus Christ. I am hopeful that that young man, as he continues his studies, will have come into his heart a similar testimony. I feel confident that he will.
I am profoundly grateful, my brethren and sisters, not only for Joseph Smith as the prophet who served as an instrument in the hands of the Almighty in restoring this work, but also for all of those who have followed him. A study of their lives will reveal the manner in which the Lord has chosen them, has refined them, and has molded them to his eternal purposes. Joseph Smith declared on one occasion: “I am like a huge, rough stone rolling down from a high mountain; … with all hell knocking off a corner here and a corner there, and thus I will become a smooth and polished shaft in the quiver of the Almighty.”
He was hated and persecuted. He was driven and imprisoned. He was abused and beaten. And as you read his history, you see the evolution of which he spoke. There developed a power in his life. There came a refinement. There grew a love for others which even overcame his own love for life. The corners of that rough stone were knocked off, and he became a polished shaft in the hand of the Almighty.
It has been so with those who have succeeded him. Through long years of dedicated service, they have been refined and winnowed and chastened and molded for the purposes of the Almighty. Could anyone doubt this after reading the lives of such men as Brigham Young, Wilford Woodruff, and Joseph F. Smith? The Lord subdued their hearts and refined their natures to prepare them for the great and sacred responsibility later thrust upon them. It has been so with him who stands as President of the Church today, our beloved leader, President Harold B. Lee. I hope he will pardon me. I do not wish to embarrass him. But can one who knows something of his life deny the same influences at work? He came out of circumstances that would today be classed as poverty. From firsthand experience he knows the meaning of hard manual labor. He served as a missionary and was rejected by most of those upon whom he called. He sacrificed for an education. He has known serious illness when life seemed to hang by a thread. He has walked through deep and dark valleys of sorrow. Looking back upon the history of his life, it all appears to be part of a pattern, a refining process that he might better understand the trials, the afflictions, the sorrows of others. And yet, with all of this, there is a great buoyancy of spirit that rises above the tragic and the sorrowful and lifts to higher ground all of those he touches and influences.
As one who recently walked with him as a junior companion in the missions of Europe and England, I have seen young people eagerly press about him with tears in their eyes and smiles, sweet and beautiful, upon their faces. I have seen missionaries sit enraptured as he taught from the scriptures, speaking, like the Master, “as one having authority.” I have seen little children sit almost motionless as he spoke their language and led them to understand sacred truths of the sacrament. I have seen elderly men and women weep as he blessed them.
I have seen few things more touching than a strong young man embracing the President and then later with tear-moistened eyes saying, “Never have I been so near to heaven.”

Did you ever wish for something so long and so hard that it was on your mind every single day? I did. I wished for a horse. From the time I could recognize four hooves and a mane, I wanted my own horse.
We lived in Maine, USA, out in the country, but my family couldn’t afford a horse. That didn’t stop me from wishing and praying and nagging my parents for one, though.
One sunny August morning, just before my 13th birthday, I looked out our big front window. Down the hill, at my friend Sandy’s house, a horse trailer was pulling in! Sandy’s dad stepped behind the truck and led a beautiful mare down the ramp and up to the pasture behind their house.
Sandy’s parents had bought her a horse! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! At that moment I thought, Sandy probably just wants to be popular. She’s not really interested in loving a horse and caring for it like I am. It’s so unfair!
I sat down and started crying. I knew I was the one who was being unfair. I knew I was feeling angry and jealous. But right then I didn’t care.
Mom tried to comfort me. She told me that Sandy would probably let me ride sometime. But I didn’t want to be comforted. I wanted to get to know that horse and ride her, and I was going to do it my own way.
A few days later I snuck over to visit Sandy’s horse, Lady Samantha. You couldn’t see that part of the pasture from Sandy’s house, so I was sure no one would find out. I made friends with Lady, and I started going there whenever I could to ride her all around the field. Because she was just grazing when I visited, she didn’t have a saddle or bridle on, so I rode her bareback and with no bridle.
Then one day my secret was found out. Sandy came looking for Lady, and from far away she spotted someone sitting on her. She yelled, “Hey! Get away from that horse! Hey you! Get out of there!”
I got down off of Lady and ran away as quickly as I could! I hoped Sandy hadn’t seen who it was. But she must have known. Everyone knew how much I loved horses.
Back at home, I felt terrible. Maybe Sandy’s parents would call my parents. I was afraid of what would happen next. But as I waited, I also thought about what could have happened because of what I had done. I could have been hurt. Or I could have accidentally hurt Lady.
Then I thought even more about what I had done. I had trespassed on my neighbor’s property. I had ridden her horse without permission. I had been dishonest!
I began to realize what I had to do. I prayed for forgiveness and for courage. Then I picked up the phone and called Sandy. She answered. I took a deep breath and said, “Sandy, I’m sorry! It was me riding Lady Samantha.”
Sandy was really angry. I told her again how sorry I was, and I told her about how jealous I had felt. I promised never to do it again. As she listened, she got less angry and began to forgive me.
After a while Sandy said, “I know what! You can come over on the days I have my riding lessons, and I’ll give you a lesson afterward. And you can help me take care of Lady, too, if you want.”
I was thrilled. I tried to get rid of all of my jealous feelings, and I said yes.
During the next few years, Lady carried Sandy and me on many adventures, and I learned many lessons. But I think the biggest lesson I learned was never to let my wants and wishes gallop away with me!

I was asked a lot of questions by friends and family when I decided to receive my temple endowment:
Are things getting serious in your relationship?
Is this a wedding announcement?
Are you even allowed to receive your endowment if you’re not getting married or serving a mission?
Although I did have a boyfriend at the time and I’d seriously considered a mission, my decision to go to the temple had nothing to do with those things and everything to do with the fact that I felt inspired to more fully accept the Lord’s invitation to “take hold of my covenant” (Isaiah 56:4). It was a sacred, personal decision, and one that I truly felt was right.
Soon after receiving my endowment, the COVID-19 pandemic hit, and temples shut down. I was so grateful for the covenants I’d made and the greater understanding I’d gained in the temple, and I knew that my desire to go was inspired. Although your prompting might not have anything to do with a worldwide disaster, the Lord knows when you will need the sustaining power of covenants. He knows when He will need you in His “holy mountain,” so that He can “make [you] joyful in [His] house of prayer” (Isaiah 56:7).

My granddaughter Lily just turned four, but I still call her by her toddler nickname: “Baby Lils.” When I do, she reminds me, “I’m not a baby, Grandpa.”
She may be right, but I hope not. I’ve decided that if I keep calling her Baby Lils, maybe she won’t grow up so fast. So I will keep calling her Baby Lils, at least until she reaches the age to start driving.
As I look into Lily’s face, I wonder what deserts she will cross, what burdens she will bear, and what thorns in the flesh she will suffer (see 2 Corinthians 12:7). I pray that the Lord will protect her, for a few years at least, from those mortal lessons that are vital to our spiritual and emotional growth. I pray that He will strengthen her when those trials come, as they come to us all.
For this moment, however, I dismiss such thoughts. I try not to think too much about the future. I don’t want to miss the beauty of the present.
“Come get me, Grandpa,” Lily says as she runs away.
I chase her from one room into the next. Her sweet laughter is music, and her bright face is sunshine. For a moment, 25 years disappear. I am now in the past, with Lily’s mother, my daughter. She is four again. And like Lily, she giggles as I chase her through the house.