Gospel Story Finder

I talked with a Relief Society member about a visit she had made. It was to a woman who would soon lose her husband suddenly and tragically. In recent years the woman had only intermittent contact with Relief Society.

The visitor prepared by stopping at a shop to buy flowers. It was a season when the tulips were stacked for sale in many colors. She chose one color, her favorite, but then felt impressed to try another. She didn’t know why she selected yellow, but she did.

When she presented the yellow tulips at the door, the woman smiled and said, “Come. See my backyard garden.” It was filled with yellow tulips in full bloom. The woman said, “I was just wondering if I should cut some for the house. But now I can leave them and enjoy them a little longer in my garden because you brought me these.” They chatted pleasantly as if they were old friends. From that impression to bring some flowers and to choose yellow tulips, that visiting teacher had evidence that she was on the Lord’s errand. When she told me, I could hear the joy in her voice.

When she spoke with me, she didn’t know what the widow felt after the visit. But if the widow felt that God loved her and that He had sent an angel to her, the visiting teacher had helped her move down the road to success in the Lord’s eyes. That visitor may verify success from her faithful effort only in the world to come.

Many of the LDS kids in Alice attend St. Philip’s, a private school run by another church. St. Philip’s has a strict dress code. There are even rules about jewelry—only one pair of earrings, no bracelets, no rings.
That was a problem for the Mormon kids—no rings. Like many Latter-day Saints worldwide, they like to wear CTR rings. But they were told to remove them, even though exceptions had been made before for jewelry with “religious significance.”
“I had explained why it was important to me,” says Lavinia Archibald, 16. “But one of my teachers kept saying to take the ring off or she’d confiscate it.”
The LDS students and their parents talked to the principal, who knew the LDS youth were some of his best students. He talked to the faculty, explained that CTR stands for “choose the right,” and gave his approval for Latter-day Saints to wear the rings.

We had committed ourselves to the rapids. The current was so powerful that there was no other choice but to take whatever the river had to give. Then suddenly the churning, splashing boiling subsided. Everything seemed to stand still for an instant. The wind calmed, the river smoothed itself, the pace of our heartbeats relented a bit, and our breathing returned, almost, to normal. What we saw in the next instant frightened us much more than the rapids had—a smooth line of water reaching from one bank to the other, a line that could mean only one thing: waterfall!
There had been no indication of a waterfall on our maps, but it was a little late to worry about that. In this largely unexplored area of Canada’s Northwest Territories, there were often surprises. About all we had time to do was pray and go over.
Luckily, the drop wasn’t too severe. But the huge waves and their back twist at the bottom were more than our canoe could handle, and we were spewed into a 38-degree bath of ice water. We both knew that we had less than ten minutes to make it to shore or we would freeze. It was a tremendous test of strength, endurance, and determination, but somehow we dragged ourselves and our boat onto the rocks before we collapsed.

A few years ago, when I was in the navy during World War II, I received orders to report to the fleet headquarters at Pearl Harbor. My family took me to Treasure Island in the San Francisco Bay, where I boarded the plane there, an old sea plane called a Pan-American clipper. On board that plane were some high-ranking medical officers going out to prepare and build up the hospital support because the battle of Tarawa would be taking place within a few weeks. Because of my rank, I was assigned to sleep in a sleeping bag out in the tail of that plane, where I could see the starboard engines as we were flying over San Francisco, which was under military blackout. It was black as we were flying out into the Pacific, and I thought the starboard engine on that old Pan-American plane was on fire. I couldn’t sleep as I watched it throughout the entire flight.

During that sleepless night I wondered about my own life and whether I had been living up to the opportunities that would be mine and the responsibility that would be mine as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood—the responsibility to be an example and to live the way I should so that I would be able to fulfill the calls that might come to me. In that sleepless night I took an inventory of myself, of my attitudes, wondering if I was doing all that I might. Even though I had always accepted my Church assignments, I wondered if I was fulfilling them with all of my heart, might, mind, and soul and living up to the responsibility, the blessing, that I received as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood and what would be expected of any of us who received this blessing.

Looking back on that sleepless night, I thank the Lord for His blessings today and for all that I have had the opportunity to be involved in. I try always to live the gospel to the fullest, to do everything I am called on to do with all of my heart, might, mind, and strength, to fulfill any call that might come to me so I may be qualified to do whatever I might be asked to do someday.

“I think that today our challenges are more spiritual than physical,” says Candace Wagner, a Laurel from Dublan, Mexico. “We have to face difficult temptations and problems our ancestors never dreamed of.”

Candace’s ancestors were among the first to join the Church. Her forebearers crossed the plains to Utah and then immigrated to Mexico. Many of them faced persecution for their beliefs. She also knows something about what it feels like to be on the defensive about the Church. She was the one being confronted by a nonmember friend at her school in McAllen, Texas, where her family lived until recently.

“A friend of mine had read some things about Joseph Smith that weren’t very favorable,” says Candace. “She came to me and asked me about them. My mom and I looked up the scriptures they had quoted in the article to see what they really said.”

After much study and prayer, Candace had her answer. She knew for herself that the Church was true. She was ready to speak calmly to her friend about the gospel.

“Opposition can make you stronger,” she says. “But so can this environment.”

Nicole Wood, a Laurel from St. George, Utah, didn’t think she would have time to read the Book of Mormon. She didn’t really think it was all that important to do it, either. “But I started reading a little bit every night anyway,” she says. “I can’t even describe how much it has changed my life. I was less stressed out in my classes. I felt happier, and, mostly, I felt closer to my Father in Heaven.”
Along with this change in her life, Nicole says she grew to love the Book of Mormon. She found it easy and exciting to apply its stories to what she was experiencing. And she felt close to the prophets who wrote so that we could learn from their experiences.

A new boy in my class didn’t have any friends. Kids made fun of him and called him mean names because he looked different. I felt bad for him. I talked to my mom about how sad it made me feel that he had a hard life and got teased for no reason. One day I asked my mom to put two brownies in my lunch. At lunchtime I asked Sammy if he would like one of the brownies. He had a big smile. The other kids looked at me as if they were wondering why I gave him a brownie. I said, “Sammy is my friend.” Sammy started asking me for help because he knew he could trust me. After I showed Sammy kindness, other kids did, too. It made me feel happy inside to know that I made a difference in Sammy’s life. We’ve become good friends. I think Jesus wants me to treat Sammy the way I do. He loves all children.

In the final story, Verinda, a vibrant young Apache girl, was accepted into the Indian Student Placement Service. She later gave this testimony:
“When I first participated in this program eight years ago, I got off the bus with only the clothes on my back and a few small possessions in a shoebox. I came from a humble home. My people are humble. But you have opened your hearts unto me. For that I am thankful. Now I can go home with a brand new suitcase of clothes. But that is not my wealth. I am wealthy because that which is inside of me is as precious as all of the wealth in this world. I have a testimony of the gospel. I know that Jesus is the Christ and that God lives and answers prayers. I now have a goal—something I can strive for.”

Without the ability to continue his education at that time, Enoch pursued other interests. From the time he had mastered the piano, he had wanted to teach it, so he began doing so. In addition, he resumed his service to the Lord by working for FamilySearch out of the offices of the Africa West Area in Accra, Ghana. While working there, he met a senior sister missionary who was teaching a ukulele class. He had become acquainted and enamoured with the ukulele on his mission where his general love of music had drawn him towards it, so he joined with the class. Through his association with members of the class, they became aware of his desire to continue his education, so they helped him find new sponsors for attending university. Again, his love of music and his service to, and trust in, the Lord had brought him to the next step in his personal progress. With his sponsorship now secure, Enoch applied to, and was accepted at, BYU-Idaho where he is now studying data science.

As I grew older, I doubted that I would be able to serve a mission because of my family responsibilities. Still, I had a great desire to serve and often thought of the blessings I would lose if I did not go on a mission. Then one night I dreamed that the Savior was sitting next to me. I had such a special feeling of peace and safety that I could no longer doubt what I needed to do.
My employer gave me a leave of absence from my job, and I accepted a mission call. When I had been on my mission a year, my brother wrote that my employer had changed his mind and refused to hold my job until I returned. He said if I did not return home, I would lose my job. “Do not worry about material things,” I wrote back. “If I lose that job, the Lord will help me find something better.” I finished my mission.
I am grateful that, during my mission, none of my brothers or sisters suffered any serious illnesses. I returned to find them all well. We are still together, helping each other. We have been sealed to our parents, and I have been married in the temple to a very special woman. We have been blessed with two children of our own, so now there are nine of us.

“A puppy?” I asked, excited. “Sister North wants to give us a puppy?”
“That’s what she said,” Mom assured me. “But we have to check with Dad when he gets home from work before we say we’ll take him.”
How can Dad say anything but yes? I wondered. We were finally living in a house. All the other times we’d asked him for a puppy, he had said, “Not while we’re in an apartment. A dog needs a yard to run in.” Now we had a yard, and we had the chance for a puppy. He just had to say yes.
When Dad came home that night, my three brothers and I jumped all over him, shouting, “Can we have it? Can we have the puppy from Sister North?”
“Whoa,” Dad said. “A puppy is a lot of responsibility. Who’s going to feed and water it?”
“We will,” we promised.
“I guess it’s about time we had a puppy.”
“Hurray!” we yelled.
That night Mom took a box to Sister North’s house. When she brought it home, squeaking noises were coming from it. Mom reached in and gently took out a brown and black puppy and placed him in my arms. He licked my hand and wagged his tail.
We tried calling him all kinds of names to see which one fit the best. “Why do we call him a dog?” I asked Mom.
“Because that’s what Heavenly Father told us to call him,” Malcolm answered.
“Not quite,” Mom said. “The Bible tells us that Heavenly Father had Adam name the animals. Let’s read it.”
I got the Bible off the shelf in the living room. Mom turned to Genesis 2:19 [Gen. 2:19] and read, “‘And out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air; and brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them: and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof.’”
“Wow!” I said. “How did Adam think of all those names?”
“Yeah,” Gabriel said, “we’re having a hard time thinking of a name for just one animal.”
“Maybe the name book will help,” Mom suggested. She got the book she uses when we name new babies. After reading for a few minutes, she pointed to one and said, “Here’s one that fits him—Caleb.”
“What does it mean?” we asked.
“It means ‘as fearless as a dog,’” Mom said.
And that’s how Caleb got his name. About six weeks later, Caleb acted real tired all day. He hung his head. He didn’t wag his tail. While we were eating dinner, he got off his blanket in the kitchen and walked on shaking legs over to the table. Then he started to throw up. Dad put him back on his blanket, cleaned the floor, then called the vet. After he talked on the phone for a while, he wrapped Caleb up in a large towel and took him to the dog hospital.
Dad came home alone. “Caleb’s very sick,” he told us. “I had to leave him there so the vet can find out what’s wrong with him.”
“Is someone petting him there?” I asked.
“No,” Dad said, “they have him in a cage.”
I hated to think about our Christmas puppy in a cage with no one to hold him and talk softly to him when he cried. “Mom,” I asked, “does Heavenly Father love puppies?”
“I’m sure that he does, honey,” she said. “He must love everything that He created.”
“Then it’s OK if I pray for Caleb, isn’t it?”
“Remember when we talked about Adam naming the animals?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“Well even before Heavenly Father created Adam, He planned that it would be man’s job to care for the animals. Let’s read it from the Bible.” I got it from the shelf, and she read Genesis 1:26 [Gen. 1:26]: “‘And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.’”
“What’s dominion?”
“That’s a way of saying Heavenly Father gave Adam the job of seeing that all the animals were protected and taken care of. Heavenly Father wants us to have dominion over our animals too. I think it would make Him very happy to know that you love Caleb enough to pray for him.”
That night I asked Heavenly Father to help Caleb get well so that he could come home to the people who love him.
The next morning the vet said that we could visit Caleb in the afternoon. When we got there, a lady in a white coat took us into a little room, then brought Caleb in. He wagged his tail but didn’t even try to get up. They had shaved a patch of hair off one of his front legs. Dad said that that was so that they could put a special kind of needle called an IV into his veins and put fluid into them because he wouldn’t eat or drink anything. We held him and talked to him for about ten minutes. Then the lady came back and said that it was time for Caleb to go get his medicine. As soon as she picked him up, he started to whine. I could tell that he wanted to stay with us and not go back to that cage.
The next night Dad brought Caleb home. We were to shoot water into his mouth with a syringe and feed him little bits of food so that he wouldn’t need an IV anymore. But we could do even more—we could love him and pray for him.
That night Dad slept on the kitchen floor in a sleeping bag with Caleb next to him. The next morning we folded a blanket and placed it in the sunshine in the living room. Caleb spent hours sleeping in the sun. Every time the sun moved, we moved the blanket. When he woke up and cried, someone picked him up and loved him. Every morning and every night we prayed for him.
One morning when we woke up, Caleb was gone from his blanket. We found him in the kitchen, wandering around under the table. He was getting well enough to go exploring. Before long he was his old self again.
Now Caleb is a full-grown dog. He loves to play soccer. He can flip the ball up in the air with his nose. He jumps as high as my bike to get it when Dad kicks it to him. I think that we’re doing a pretty good job of having dominion over Caleb. And I think that Adam would have liked our dog.

Priscila’s family joined the Church in 1991 but became less active shortly after their baptisms. In early 1998 Priscila’s friend began investigating the Church and asked Priscila to come with her to seminary.
“I had gone to another church, but I could never understand what they were teaching. In seminary everything made sense, and I could understand the gospel. Eventually, the Spirit testified to me that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. When I learned he was a prophet it was so good and so sweet that I cried,” Priscila says.
Priscila’s mother, Francilene, enjoyed welcoming the ward’s young women into their home. She encouraged Priscila’s attendance at Church activities, and she soon began attending regularly herself. Francilene is now serving as her ward’s Relief Society president.

When I think about connecting with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, an experience I had a while ago comes to mind.
I was looking out my window at a rainstorm, waiting for the sound of it to bring me feelings of peace. Usually when I concentrate on listening to the drops of water hitting the ground, everything else I’m feeling gets washed away for a few precious moments.
Feelings of peace did come, but not nearly as much as I needed. Most of my thoughts were still stuck on the chaos of life. I didn’t understand why this wasn’t helping me feel better.
After a few minutes, a thought hit me. You’re not letting the rain in. With that, I tugged my window open and let the sound wash over me. There was the peace I was seeking. All the rest of my swirling thoughts faded away as I listened to the gentle rain.
I stood there a while before a question came to my mind: Am I letting God and the Savior into my life?
This caught me off guard. It wasn’t something I had thought about before. But the more I pondered that thought, the more it made sense. Letting the rain in brought me peace, and letting my Heavenly Father and my Savior into my life could bring me even more.
Letting the Savior and Heavenly Father in was only the first step. I still had to open my heart to Them. When I first listened to the rain through the window, it was muffled and didn’t provide me the ultimate peace I wanted. And if I hadn’t opened the window to let the sound in, I wouldn’t have felt what I did.
The same goes for all the “windows” of my life. If I have them all shut and locked, how can I truly accept Deity and establish a relationship with Them? How can I feel the Spirit and the peace of Their love wash over me?
Saying that I need to open all my windows is easier than actually doing so. I’ve realized that when I feel disconnected from the Spirit, I have to figure out what is keeping me cut off. Most of the time it’s small things like always being attached to my phone. Or not reading my scriptures as much as I should. Or deciding to follow my own will rather than seeking to know Theirs. Or even getting caught up in all my trials and distancing myself from Them because I think Heavenly Father is not answering my prayers.
Once I determine what’s keeping me from feeling the Spirit, I can choose to stop doing those things, one at a time. I can inch my windows open little by little, inviting Heavenly Father and the Savior in until I can feel Their love surround me.
Loneliness can seem dark and never-ending at times, especially during Christmastime. In those moments when we want to give up, we have to remind ourselves: We are not alone. We just have to be willing to let Them in.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught: “Because Jesus walked such a long, lonely path utterly alone, we do not have to do so. His solitary journey brought great company for our little version of that path.”1
Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are always there for us. They are reaching out, patiently waiting for us to open our hearts and lives to Them—whether at Christmas or any other time.

Sissy was crying again. She didn’t want to cry, but the warm, wet tears kept sliding down her cheeks. Ever since Pa had died last winter, she found herself crying almost every time she was alone.
Today she had run home from the little pioneer church and climbed into the hayloft. It was the Sunday before Easter, and her Primary lesson had been about the Resurrection. Sister Nelson had reminded the class that when people we love die, we can be comforted knowing that they will live again and that we can be with them at some future time. Sissy knew that Sister Nelson was speaking especially to her and was trying to be kind, but her teacher just didn’t understand! What good is it to think about resurrection when I need Pa right now? she thought.
Sissy had been very close to her father. Pa had always said that she was special. He called her his “own little angel right from heaven.” The tears rolled down her cheeks, and she cried, “Oh, Pa, why did you have to die? How can I ever be happy again?”
Her thoughts were interrupted by her brother Joe’s husky voice calling her from the barn door. “Sissy! Sissy, are you in here?”
“I’m coming, Joe,” Sissy said slowly as she dried her tears and began to climb down.
Joe stood at the bottom of the ladder; he lifted her off the rungs, swung her around, and gently set her down. “What’s the matter, Sis?” he asked as he bent his tall frame over and looked into her reddened eyes. “Has it been raining in the hayloft again?”
Sissy gave him a little smile and held his hand as they left the barn. She loved Joe. He was kind and gentle, like Pa, and Sissy knew he understood her sorrow and loneliness. She wondered if he still missed Pa too. She hadn’t thought about that before. Joe always seemed so strong and sure of everything.
“Joe,” Sissy said, stopping suddenly, “what do you do when you feel sad and lonely without Pa around?”
Joe walked slowly over to a tree and sat down. Sissy sat down beside him. He was quiet for a moment and seemed to be studying the daffodils that Pa and Sissy had planted last spring. Then he looked up into Sissy’s eyes and spoke softly. “Missing Pa is natural and will probably last all our lives, Sissy. But when I’m sad, I try to get busy doing something that I know would make Pa happy. You see, I know that someday I’m going to see Pa again, and I want to be the kind of man he always wanted me to grow up to be. Somehow that seems to take my mind off my sad thoughts and put it on the happy thoughts of how proud I can make Pa when I see him again.”
Sissy thought about Joe’s words as he got up and headed toward the woodpile. She knew that Pa would be sad to think that the only thing she did when she thought of him was cry. Maybe if she tried Joe’s plan, it would work for her too. She wrinkled her forehead as she tried to think of something to do that would make Pa happy and proud of her.
In a minute Sissy was on her feet, running to catch up with her brother. “Joe,” she asked, filling her arms with kindling, “do you think we could take some daffodils over to Sister Harding this afternoon? I noticed she wasn’t at church today, so maybe she would like a little visit. We could take over some of those good molasses cookies too!”
Joe gave her a quick smile and a gentle squeeze and nodded his head. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time,” he said.
Later, as Sissy gathered the flowers, she found herself thinking about Pa and smiling for the first time in a long while. She could almost see Pa smiling too!

“The time is 6:30 A.M. The time is 6:30 A.M. The time is 6:30 A.M.”
Keith Kellman’s head emerged from under his pillow and trained a baleful eye on his talking alarm clock, which seemed to be taking special delight in waking him this Sunday morning. As his hand hit the “stop” button, he considered putting his head back under his pillow.
After all, the house heat was still off and it was cold out there. It wasn’t as if his parents would care if he got up or not; he was the sole churchgoer of the family. And he was tired. Early-morning seminary every weekday, and now priesthood meeting at 8:00 A.M. But then Keith sadly realized that all this thinking and debating had gotten his brain waves going, and he probably wouldn’t fall back to sleep anyway.
It wasn’t until he was showered, dressed, and halfway out the door that he remembered that today was the Sunday he had promised to give the bishop his answer.
He began to dig his car out of the snow, shivering and muttering to himself. Even before the Great Wednesday Humiliation, he had his doubts about going on a mission. But what had happened on Wednesday had really clinched it. But how do I tell the bishop? he wondered as his foot came down on the accelerator. The noise from his broken muffler shattered the morning silence.
“Cut your headlights. That must be him. Yep, ’80 rust bucket with an exhaust system loud enough to wake the neighborhood. Okay, he’s far enough ahead of us now. Pull out and follow him,” she said.
Keith was grateful his car made it to the church without the muffler falling off. He was also grateful he found a place to meditate before the meeting. He even began thinking the bishop might forget to call him into his office today.
Yeah, sure.
“Okay, so we followed him to this church and watched him go in. Now what? We know he hauls himself out of bed at an insane hour every morning to go to this church. You’ve seen what you wanted. Let’s go.”
“No. I want to wait a while and see if anybody else shows up. Then I’m going in to see what’s inside.”
“You’re going in? He’ll recognize you and know something’s up.”
“Don’t worry, baby brother. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing my black wig today. I always wear my blonde wig to school. Anyway, I don’t exactly have the kind of face that will turn any heads. He’ll never know.”
“This is so stupid. If you’re that interested in this guy and his church, why don’t you just ask him what you want to know?”
“Listen. Anyone can mouth scriptures and high-sounding ideas. But does he really believe what he said last Wednesday. I want to know what this guy and everybody else inside are like when they don’t have an audience.”
“Following church, Keith went for his bishop’s interview. As he sat across from the bishop, Keith shifted nervously in his chair and then cleared his throat. “It isn’t that I don’t want to go on a mission.”
“Great, Keith. I’m glad you want to go.”
“Please, Bishop. I hate it when you do that. Look, it’s just that I really don’t think I’d make a good missionary. Face it. I weigh 120 pounds and I wear these stupid glasses. Nobody takes me seriously. I get so nervous when I have to speak in front of more than two people that I ooze sweat until my face turns red. Nobody’s going to listen to me; they’ll just laugh and slam the door in my face.”
“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little, Keith?
“Every time I try to be a good example, I become a laughingstock. Like last Wednesday at school. I was just going to lunch when this guy, Greg Filtch, stops me and pulls me into the lunchroom office. He said that he heard I was a Mormon and that he was interested in hearing a little about the Church.” Keith took a deep breath and went on. “ I knew Greg liked practical jokes, but this time I thought he might be sincere. So I told him about the Book of Mormon and how the Church had changed my life.
“Sounds promising. What happened?” the bishop asked.
“It was a setup. He had the PA system microphone under his jacket. He was broadcasting my testimony to the entire school. When I came out of the office, everyone in the lunchroom was in hysterics. Now I’m known as Mr. Televangelist. Everyone’s always going, ‘Hey, Preacher’ and ‘Hallelujah! Got any more good sermons today?’ My one try at missionary work and I disgrace the Church.”
“You can’t disgrace the Church by doing the right thing. I hear you substituted for the Gospel Essentials teacher this morning.”
Keith shrugged. “Another disaster. I was supposed to be giving a lesson on the importance of baptism, but halfway through the class this black-haired, skinny girl comes in and sits on the back row. All of a sudden the lesson plan goes completely out of my head and I start talking about the plan of salvation. About a half hour of this andshe excuses herself and cuts out of class.”
The bishop raised his eyebrows. “Sometimes that happens to me too. I feel impressed to teach certain principles at certain times.”
But Keith didn’t hear the bishop. “I drove away the only investigator that’s come to that class in a month.”
“Well, how’d it go? You look like you’re hyperventilating and your eyes are red. Should I call the doctor?”
“No, just give me a few minutes. I’ve decided I’m going to need your help tomorrow, though.”
“Hey, it’s the lunch-time preacher man! Here’s a little something for the collection plate.” Keith ducked as pennies from the Monday morning school crowd showered him. As he continued walking, Keith suddenly found himself staring up at all 225 pounds of Mike “The Wall” Wade, starting left tackle on the football team.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Righteousness, the man who knows the truth about everything,” Mike said. “I hear you think you’re Mr. Informed, Kellman. Mr. I Know The Truth.”
“I never, uh, said … ” Keith began to sputter.
“Here’s the deal, Mr. Religious. Why don’t you just admit to me and all these good folks that you may have been wrong about all this church stuff?”
Keith’s eyes focused directly into Mike’s. For some reason, Mike’s expression reflected more curiosity than fierceness—more like he wanted to know something. Keith relaxed a little and said, “What are you going to do, Wall, bash everybody who doesn’t agree with you? What I said last week stands. I told the truth. You might as well learn to live with it.” Mike looked at him, seemed to think about what Keith had said, then walked off.
“That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done for you, Sharon. I hope you’re satisfied.”
“I’m satisfied, Mike.”
“I have to admit, though. That Kellman kid was beginning to get to me too. No more games, okay?”
“Okay. It’s time to hang up the ol’ cloak and dagger. Hand me the phone book, will you?”
“I got here as soon as I could, Bishop,” said Keith, meeting the bishop in front of his office. The bishop opened the door but didn’t say anything. When Keith stepped inside, he saw Mike Wade and a thin, familiar-looking girl standing in the far corner of the room. They both looked uncomfortable.
“Keith,” the bishop said, “I think these people have something to tell you.”
Mike pointed to the girl. “My sister Sharon. I know we don’t look like we’re from the same family. I got all the healthy genes, I guess. She’s … ” Mike’s voice trailed off.
The pale girl started to speak. Before she could, it hit Keith.
“Hey, you’re the girl that came to my Sunday School class. And haven’t I seen you around school? Only with different hair?”
“Keith,” Sharon began in a soft, clear voice. “I’m afraid we’ve been doing some awful things to you. It was all my idea, so don’t blame Mike. We’ve been spying on you, following you, and causing you all sorts of grief.”
“I, I don’t understand.”
“I had to find out if you really believed what you said.”
“What I said about what?”
“Let’s just say we caught your broadcast from the lunchroom.”
“Ohhh no. Not that again,” Keith sighed.
She smiled. “It wasn’t only that. It’s a long story.”
Mike cut in. “We live near your church, and every day we’d wake up when your car would come chugging down the road.”
“I go to church on Sundays and early-morning seminary the rest of the week,” Keith explained. “I guess I better get my muffler fixed.”
Sharon picked up the story. “At first, the noise just made us mad. But then I got to thinking. Why would someone get up at 5:30 every morning? After hearing what you said last week, I—we—followed you to your church. I realized you go all alone; like no one’s forcing you to do this religious thing. I was curious to know more in view of my current situation.”
“Current situation,” Keith repeated mechanically.
“Under this wig, I don’t have any hair. Chemotherapy. And it’s not doing much good anymore.”
Keith stared blankly, then allowed what she had just told him to sink in.
“I’m not looking for miracle cures or healings. I’m beyond that, I think. What I am looking for is—how do I put this?—not why I’m going to die, but why I lived in the first place. Does my life count for anything? Is there some sort of plan to all this?”
“Anyway,” Mike continued, “Sharon’s got this funny feeling that maybe you know something most everybody else doesn’t. So she crashed your church class, eavesdropped, tested you, and even made me threaten you. I’m sorry about that.”
Keith looked from one to the other and found himself speechless.
“I don’t blame you if you’re angry, but I was getting kind of desperate to know if there was anybody out there who really believed in anything. I remember what you were saying in that church class, and it made me feel really good inside. I think you can tell me what I want to know. You can tell me why?”
Keith met her gaze. “Yeah, I think I can.”
The bishop, who had been standing behind them, finally spoke. “She’s asked to take the discussions from the missionaries, Keith. Maybe you’d like to sit in on them with her.”
Keith smiled and hooked a thumb at Mike. “What about His Wallness?”
Mike grinned. “Well, I could go. I guess I owe you that much.”
Keith added, “Maybe I could learn a few things too. Maybe even pick up a few pointers that will come in handy for the next two years.”

Recently I decided to take my fast Sundays to a new level and really focus on fasting with a purpose. The question was what to fast for. I’m doing pretty well. As a junior in high school, I serve in student government, get good grades, and have a passion for volleyball and the gospel. But as I read my patriarchal blessing, I felt different about myself. I felt like the Lord had so much more planned for me, so I fasted on how I could be a light for the world.
Fasting was a great experience, but I didn’t have any huge personal revelations. On Monday I was back to my normal routine. Then the following Wednesday, ESPN asked if I would be their elite athlete blogger on their high school volleyball website! They wanted me to write about whatever I wanted to for that audience.
Because of this experience, I’ve been able to mix my passion for volleyball with my standards and gospel insights in my blogs. I feel like I’m able to share who I really am in a personal way on a national platform.
When I fasted, I’d hoped that I could be the person my patriarchal blessing said I was, but I didn’t see how it was possible. The Lord gave me a voice and He wants me to use it.
I have a huge testimony of fasting with a purpose, and I know that if we have faith, the Lord will fulfill His promises in His own way.

Years ago I was a supervising physician in a Lumbumbashi hospital. One day during consultation, I met a young couple. The husband escorted his pregnant wife in to see me. After consulting with her and reviewing laboratory tests, I diagnosed her with severe anemia. The normal course of treatment would be to perform a blood transfusion, but she refused as her faith—Jehovah’s Witness—forbade such a procedure. Instead, I recommended a treatment with medicine. They confessed that they had no money to pay for the consultation or treatment.

Knowing their financial situation, I went to the pharmacy and purchased all the needed medications. Then, I went to the cashier and paid for the laboratory tests and other related costs. When I came back to the office and told her what I had done, there were tears in her eyes. I told her I knew intimately that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ would sustain her and give her this child—and that I would pray that it be so. One year later, in downtown Lubumbashi, I saw a couple carrying a child coming toward me. They stopped, and the woman said, “Doctor, here is the child you helped us have, and we will never forget what you did. Thank you so much”. With tears in my eyes, I took the child into my arms and silently thanked the Lord.

Their story parallels that of their ancestors in the Book of Mormon to some degree. Their parents, Mike and Vake, left their homeland of Tonga and crossed the sea to live in Salt Lake City, Utah, some twenty years ago. In those days there were no temples in the South Pacific, and they came to Salt Lake City to be sealed together. They didn’t have the funds to make it back to Tonga, however, so they stayed in the United States and began adding to their family.

Like the family of Lehi, the Wolfgramms had to work hard to carve a place for themselves in their new country. In addition to other jobs, the parents were involved in Polynesian performing groups in the Salt Lake area. As soon as the children were old enough to walk and talk, they were taught to play, sing, and dance in the Polynesian tradition. They eagerly took to the stage, and soon the family had a Polynesian group of their own.

They never did take professional music or dance lessons. What their parents couldn’t teach them, they picked up by themselves. Today they admit to getting some professional advice on warming up their voices before concerts. But for the most part they are self taught musicians, which seems quite amazing when you watch them manipulate synthesizers, guitars, and a number of percussion and brass instruments.

The Wolfgramms took their Polynesian show on the road and traveled all over the United States and Canada. When they got a full-time offer from a Hawaiian hotel chain in Minneapolis, Minnesota, they packed their bags and moved. Minneapolis was about as far removed from Tonga as it could possibly be, but the Wolfgramms liked it there and contributed to the local ward as well as to the local entertainment industry.

They were devastated when the hotel chain they were working with went out of business. For several months the family of fifteen lived in the hotel owners’ basement. They decided that it would be more profitable to switch from Polynesian to popular music, and they began traveling in an old, uninsulated van, to whatever playing engagements they could arrange. “The van didn’t have any seats,” Leroy recalls, “and we sat in chairs against the sides. Sometimes we traveled in temperatures forty degrees below freezing, and there would be ice on the roof—on the inside.”

Finally, however, their efforts and dedication paid off. Don Powell, an entertainment industry expert who had managed some leading performing groups in the 1960s and 70s, heard them play. He had retired from entertainment because the industry had become “so bizarre,” but when he heard the Wolfgramms, he became interested again.

“The reason I reentered this business was literally because of this family,” says Don, who had had very little contact with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints before he met the Wolfgramms. “The whole family is so loving and bright, and talented, I couldn’t help getting involved. And we’ll never have problems with drugs or alcohol or anything like that, as you do with so many entertainers. It’s absolute heaven to manage them.”

With the resultant success, every minute of every day is packed full of performances, personal appearances, interviews, recording and photography sessions, but a Monday doesn’t go by without a family home evening. If they happen to be on the road on any given Monday, the stage crew is invited, and a lot of missionary work is done at these times.

Sometimes, when the Jets are traveling, it’s a bit difficult to find chapels for Sunday services, so the family has received special permission to hold their own sacrament services. With each boy bearing the priesthood, all the ordinances can be taken care of.

And they still wear homemade clothes. Their costumes, which are bright, exciting, and rival anything else you’ll see on stage without compromising Latter-day Saint standards, are designed and sewn by their mother, who learned tailoring when she worked at the Beehive Clothing Mills in Salt Lake City.

Their days are hectic, but like other children, they take time out to study, see their tutors, and complete their home-study courses. Most important of all, however, is the time they always find for scripture study.

And they don’t just read the scriptures. They memorize and absorb them. The Wolfgramms take the lessons they learn from the Book of Mormon seriously, as they do their church attendance. “A lot of people think we’re so serious when we go to church,” says Haini, 16, who is probably the quietest of all the Wolfgramms but is energetic in spite of it, especially on the football field and basketball court. “But church is not a social thing on Sunday for us. It’s worship.” Although Eugene is considered to be the joker of the family, he adds “When we go to church, it’s for real. It’s no joke.”

The music the Jets play is positive, and lively, but there’s a serious side to that, too. “Our church classes teach us about the power of music, and how it can destroy the mind,” explains Leroy, “but we know from the hymns that music can also build and uplift, so there are two sides to the power of music. We try to lift people with our music in a contemporary way. Satan has always got his crew pulling one way, and the Lord has always got his crew pulling the other. We’re on the Lord’s side, pulling as hard as we can.”

It’s a close-knit family, and at least one of the parents tries to be on the road with the group all the time. The six younger members of the family, including a set of twins, take turns traveling with the group and are excited about the day they’ll be able to perform too.

“I like to be with them as much as I can,” says Sister Wolfgramm, who looks almost as young as her children. “But even when I can’t be there, they look after each other. We stick together as a family. The brothers look out for their sisters, and we know that if we all work together, it will be all right.”

But doesn’t she worry about outside influences affecting her children? “No,” she says. “They read the scriptures. There’s nothing else that will help them as much to resist dangerous temptation. It’s what their father and I have taught them all their lives.”

The scriptures have played an important role in the lives of the Wolfgramms, and the Wolfgramms try to repay their ancestors by telling others about them. “This talent we’ve been given is a vehicle to spread the gospel,” says Leroy, and his brothers and sisters nod their heads enthusiastically. “We carry a lot of copies of the Book of Mormon around so we can give them away.”

May I share with you something of a personal and sacred testimony?
Nearly forty years ago I was on a mission in England. I had been called to labor in the European Mission office in London under President Joseph F. Merrill of the Council of the Twelve, then president of the European Mission. One day three or four of the London papers carried reviews of a reprint of an old book, snide and ugly in tone, indicating that the book was a history of the Mormons. President Merrill said to me, “I want you to go down to the publisher and protest this.” I looked at him and was about to say, “Surely not me.” But I meekly said, “Yes, sir.”
I do not hesitate to say that I was frightened. I went to my room and felt something as I think Moses must have felt when the Lord asked him to go and see Pharaoh. I offered a prayer. My stomach was churning as I walked over to the Goodge Street station to get the underground train to Fleet Street. I found the office of the president and presented my card to the receptionist. She took it and went into the inner office and soon returned to say that Mr. Skeffington was too busy to see me. I replied that I had come five thousand miles and that I would wait. During the next hour she made two or three trips to his office, then finally invited me in. I shall never forget the picture when I entered. He was smoking a long cigar with a look that seemed to say, “Don’t bother me.”
I held in my hand the reviews. I do not know what I said after that. Another power seemed to be speaking through me. At first he was defensive and even belligerent. Then he began to soften. He concluded by promising to do something. Within an hour word went out to every book dealer in England to return the books to the publisher. At great expense he printed and tipped in the front of each volume a statement to the effect that the book was not to be considered as history, but only as fiction, and that no offense was intended against the respected Mormon people. Years later he granted another favor of substantial worth to the Church, and each year until the time of his death I received a Christmas card from him.
I came to know that when we try in faith to walk in obedience to the requests of the priesthood, the Lord opens the way, even when there appears to be no way.

A friend of mine was very sick at one time. She was home alone when someone knocked at her door. She didn’t feel like getting up, but the knocking continued. Then she realized that it might be her visiting teachers. She knew they had set a goal for 100 percent; it was near the end of the month, and they hadn’t come yet.

When she saw that it was indeed her visiting teachers, she began to feel hopeful. She had a lot of undone work around her apartment. Perhaps, she thought, they might see how sick she was and offer to help. When they saw her and asked if she was all right, her hopes increased. “I’ve been so sick,” she said. “Well,” they replied, “we’ll just give you a quick lesson so you can get back to bed.”

They gave her the lesson, left, and got “credit” for their visit. My friend went back to bed and wept. She thought of times when she, too, had missed opportunities to serve because she was not as sensitive as she could have been.