Gospel Story Finder

“Almost finished,” Manuel whispered. He glanced down at the box under his arm. Nearly all the candy was sold. Now his box held an envelope filled with money.
As the sun beat down on Manuel’s head, he thought of home and his mother and grandmother waiting there. He smiled to think of how happy they were lately. Manuel felt the same happiness, and he knew why—they were all going to be baptized next Sunday.
“Get out of the way!” someone suddenly yelled from behind Manuel. Four boys on bikes raced by as Manuel jumped into the gutter.
Manuel had seen those boys earlier, riding on the opposite sidewalk. A thought had crossed his mind: stay away from those boys. But as they pedaled away, Manuel had relaxed and forgotten about them. Now the feeling returned even stronger. Still, he wanted to finish selling the candy, so he kept going.
Manuel had just sold the last of the candy when the boys returned. One of them grabbed his shoulder as he rode by. The box slipped from under Manuel’s arm, and another boy whizzed past and grabbed it. “No!” Manuel cried. He watched sadly as they carried off his box of hard-earned money.
That evening, Manuel heard a knock at his bedroom door. “Manuel! Please come out!” His mother sounded worried.
“I told you, Mamá, I don’t feel well.”
“But the missionaries are here to see us.”
Manuel got to his feet, took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders.
“Hola, Manuel,” Sister Santos said as Manuel joined his family in the living room.
Usually Manuel listened carefully to the missionaries. But tonight he was thinking about the boys and the box of money. He wished he had run away the first time he had seen them. But how was he supposed to know what to do? Would he ever feel safe walking down the street again? He frowned and started listening to the lesson.
“The Holy Ghost is a messenger from Heavenly Father,” Sister Santos said. “He can guide and inspire our thoughts. He can help us make good choices and warn us of danger.”
Manuel looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Well, have you ever had a strong thought come into your head?” Sister Santos asked. “Maybe it was a prompting to do something. Maybe it just seemed like a great idea.”
Manuel’s eyes widened as he remembered the strong feelings he’d had earlier about getting away from the boys on bikes. “I think it happened today,” he said slowly.
The missionaries looked at him with interest. So did Manuel’s mother and grandmother. He told them about the boys and the stolen box.
“Oh, Manuel, I’m so sorry,” his mother whispered. “That’s why you’ve been so upset this evening. Later I want you to tell me more about those boys. Maybe we can get your money back.”
“I’m sorry too,” Sister Santos said. “But I think you are right. That was probably the Holy Ghost you felt inside.” She paused. “You will receive the gift of the Holy Ghost after your baptism when you are confirmed. That means you will be able to have and feel those messages a lot more often. As you stay worthy, the Holy Ghost can be your constant companion. How do you feel about that?”
A relieved smile crossed Manuel’s face. “Much better!” he said. “I was starting to think I would always be afraid to walk outside. But if the Holy Ghost will warn me again, like He did today, I’ll be fine.” He grinned at his mother. “Because the next time the Holy Ghost speaks to me, I’m going to listen!”

Margaret Lenan Ellis was volunteering as a public affairs specialist when she was tasked with searching out and joining her local community interfaith organisation. With no such organisation in Ballarat, Victoria, she founded the Ballarat Interfaith Network. Its purpose is to demonstrate our connection as part of the human family, expanding understanding and building bridges between faiths, philosophies, and spiritual perspectives. Over the past 20 years, the network’s events have built friendships, respect, peace, love, and service to God and others.

This old house didn’t look so old anymore once the youth of the Milwaukee Wisconsin Stake finished with it. As a matter of fact, the youth renovated three unkempt and vandalized homes in Milwaukee’s inner city as part of what some say was the best youth conference ever.

“I found out that the Golden Rule really was enforced there,” said Synthia Ridenour, 16. “You slap somebody with paint, and you get it back.” But she and about 150 of her friends learned much more than that. When Synthia accidentally came across the family members who lived in the house saying prayers of thanks, she knew why she was there.

“I know from this project that service brings great happiness,” said Eric Wagner, 16, in the testimony meeting that was held at the end of the weekend-long conference. There had been dances, workshops, and a barbecue, but everyone agreed that the best part was re-doing the houses, and helping the families who lived inside.

As a child, I woke up early during the week, and Sunday was the only day my mother would let me sleep in—that is, until the Christian congregation next door woke me up with their loud singing, preaching, and even crying at times. It’s silly, but because of my annoyance at being woken up every week, I thought Christians were a bit obnoxious.
I later learned that many members of Christian congregations donated their time and even money to their church. I just couldn’t understand why.
Because of these two observations about the Christian churches in my town in India—combined with the fact that my family and I were not Christian—I had little interest in learning more about Christianity.
During my final year of university, my friend invited me to attend his church with him. I was hesitant but eventually agreed.
As I sat in the meeting, singing hymns and listening to messages about Jesus Christ, I felt something different—I felt peace. I attended for a few more weeks and felt the same way each time. But of course, I was just visiting; I wasn’t interested in actually joining.
Some time after I stopped attending church with my friend, I began feeling like I was lacking something in my life. I missed the peace that I’d felt at church with my friend. I had a strong feeling that I should learn more about Jesus Christ, so I decided to meet with the missionaries from my friend’s church. I didn’t even consider what my family might think.
When I met with the missionaries, my life began to change. I learned about the Restoration and the Book of Mormon, and the missionaries helped answer my many questions.
One day I encountered a scripture that said, “Whatsoever thing ye shall ask in faith, … ye shall receive it” (Enos 1:15), and I knew that I wasn’t alone. I felt like God understood my situation and wanted to comfort me. As I came to recognize God’s love for me, I wanted to become a better person. I wanted to become like the Savior and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
But as my testimony grew, I also encountered obstacles. When my mother found out I was considering baptism, she told me that I would need to leave the house and cut off contact with her. And when I shared truths about the Savior on social media, many friends and members of my extended family blocked my messages and stopped talking to me.
I felt like I was being asked to choose between my family and the gospel—a decision that felt impossible. I was sacrificing so much of what I loved to join the Church. But I knew that if anyone understood sacrifice, it was Jesus Christ (see Alma 34:8–16).
And so I kept trying to draw closer to the Savior. I would even leave home in the middle of the night to pray and read the Book of Mormon so I could avoid my family’s disapproval. Through prayer and faith, I eventually decided that no matter what happened, I would choose the gospel. The joy and purpose I found in the gospel was worth everything to me.
Joining the Church has been a huge sacrifice for me. Serving in my callings, paying tithing, and trying to maintain relationships have been challenging at times. But like those Christian congregations in my town who freely gave to their faith, I know that my sacrifices are about so much more than what I give up.
Bishop L. Todd Budge, Second Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, explained: “When our sacrifices on behalf of others are viewed from the perspective of ‘giving up,’ we may see them as a burden and become discouraged when our sacrifices are not recognized or rewarded. However, when viewed from the perspective of ‘giving to’ the Lord, our sacrifices on behalf of others become gifts, and the joy of generously giving becomes its own reward.”1
Heavenly Father recognizes and blesses us for the sacrifices we make for Him. I have seen this in my life as I’ve gained the love and support of my ward members, felt peace and comfort from the Spirit, and experienced miracles in my life. One miracle is how my parents’ hearts have softened toward me and we have been able to maintain a good relationship.
I now know who Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are and how much They love each of us. I can feel myself becoming more like the Savior, who is our ultimate example, as I make sacrifices to keep my covenants. As we strive to serve Them in whatever capacity we can, I know we will be guided and experience the many beautiful blessings They have in store for us.

My mom and I seemed to drift apart after I joined the Church. She didn’t accept my new beliefs and resented me for leaving the church she had raised me in. I had prayed about what to do to help us become close again.
One Sunday, someone spoke about the need to let the people we love know how much they mean to us. The speaker suggested that we not only express it verbally, but also seal it with a hug and a kiss. I couldn’t remember my family ever hugging, kissing, or expressing our love for one another. Everyone just sort of assumed they were loved and hoped they were right.
That day, I decided I would give it a try. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was a bit scary. But I did it. I told my mom how much I loved her, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and hugged her. It was as though the balm of Gilead had somehow healed the cankering that was coming between us.
That act, inspired by prayer, seems to have had an effect on the entire family. Now when any relatives leave our home, they do so with a hug and a kiss. It gets quite interesting when a lot of family members are present, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

It was while I was on my first mission that I discovered the constant need for dependence on the Lord.

I was a young missionary in northern England in 1922. Opposition to the Church became very intense. It became so strong that the mission president asked that we discontinue all street meetings, and in some places tracting was also discontinued. The opposition started largely among the ministers, and it became very, very severe. They didn’t know anything about us to speak of. I remember tracting one day when a lovely lady came to the door. We were having a nice conversation and the name Mormon was mentioned by my companion. Her husband came to the door in a Navy uniform, and he said, “Oh, you can’t tell me anything about those old Mormons. I’ve been in the British Navy for twenty years. We sailed right into Salt Lake port, and they wouldn’t even let us land.” That was so typical of what they knew about us in those days.

My companion and I had been invited to travel over to South Shields, on the northwest coast, and speak in the sacrament meeting.

In the letter of invitation, we were promised there would be a number of nonmembers present. They said, “Many of our friends do not believe the lies that are printed about the Church.”

We fasted and prayed sincerely and went to the sacrament meeting. The hall was filled. My companion had planned to talk on the first principles, and I had studied hard in preparation for a talk on the Apostasy. There was a wonderful spirit in the meeting. My companion spoke first and gave an excellent inspirational message. I followed and talked with a freedom I had never before experienced in my life. When I sat down, I realized that I had not mentioned the Apostasy. I had talked about the Prophet Joseph Smith and had borne my witness of his divine mission and of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. I couldn’t hold back the tears.

After the meeting ended, many people came forward, several of whom were nonmembers, and said to us, “Tonight we received a witness that Mormonism is true. We are now ready to consider baptism.”

This was an answer to our prayers, for we had prayed to say only those things which would touch the hearts of the investigators.

Three weeks ago I stepped into Yesterday. In that moment I rediscovered Today. And it is about Today that I wish to speak.
A Church assignment had carried me across the vast reaches of the Pacific to the land of Vietnam. For me, this was more than a flight over an ocean. It was a step back in time. More than 40 years ago, I had served on the battlefields of that land as an infantry officer. Etched in my mind over those intervening decades were memories of that place, its people, and my comrades in arms with whom I had served. Jacob once wrote, “Our lives passed away like … unto us a dream” (Jacob 7:26). So it had been for me. And now I was returning from my hall of memories to that place of memory after a near half century. My Church business concluded, I determined to once again visit those fields of desperate struggle. Accompanied by my dear wife, I made the pilgrimage.
I am not quite sure what I expected to find after so many years. What I did find was most unexpected. Instead of a war-ravaged people, I found a youthful, vibrant population. Instead of a countryside pockmarked by shell fire, I found peaceful, verdant fields. Even the jungle growth was new. I guess that I had half expected to find Yesterday, but what I found was Today and the promise of a bright Tomorrow. I was reminded that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).
My pilgrimage back in time completed, I looked around upon those peaceful fields of Today and saw in their fertility the promise of Tomorrow. I thought of my friend Sergeant Arthur Cyrus Morris. I thought of that fateful Palm Sunday of Yesterday. And I was profoundly grateful for the Redeemer of Easter morning, who grants us life, whose descent below all things makes possible our rising above all things—Tomorrow, if we but seize Today. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

You’re Rosalie Pakiding, you’re 18 years old, and you’ve just graduated from high school. You’ve been accepted at the University of San Carlos in your native Cebu, Philippines, and you’ve decided you want to major in political science. You’ve got the world in front of you, and you can’t wait to tackle college. You’ve got big plans.
Then the next thing you know, you’re withdrawing from classes and telling your family and friends you’ve decided not to go to school for six months. Attending school right now just doesn’t feel right. You say it’s a feeling you have, but you really know it’s the Holy Ghost speaking to you. It doesn’t make sense to many people. But it does to you, and that’s all that matters.
So you’re left waiting for the second semester to start, which is still six months away. Half a year with free time on your hands. What do you do? You could apply for a job, so you check around to see what’s available. You’re offered a position working in a factory assembling parts to telephones. But working all day means you’d miss your institute classes, and since you enjoyed seminary so much when you were in high school, you turn the job down because, as you say, “Institute is more important.”
Then some things happen that help you understand why you had the feelings you did about going to school. It begins to make more sense.
You meet with Mrs. Itomay from your neighborhood. Her six-year-old daughter, Queenie Ann, is in kinder-one in school, but she has some troubles. She was born with a defect in her tongue that limits her ability to speak. Mrs. Itomay works all day, and she is worried. She knows Queenie Ann needs a tutor who can give her individual attention in the areas that are hard for her. But Mrs. Itomay doesn’t know who could provide that help. To compound matters, she doesn’t have much money to pay a tutor.
So you look at Mrs. Itomay and say, “I think I have an idea.”
You volunteer to be Queenie Ann’s tutor, and Mrs. Itomay is so relieved. What little money she does have she offers to you, but you turn it down. Although you could use the money you realize those seminary lessons about service really did sink in.
Suddenly you’ve got things to do, and life is going to be a bit different. It seems a little odd that instead of sitting in college classes as you planned, it’s you and this six-year-old working on the alphabet.
But you settle into a routine. You do your household chores in the morning and then pick up Queenie Ann. You have word exercises for her to do, you help her write her letters, and you take her to school. She’s a bit of a slow learner. But when she writes out a letter or says a word, you feel so good inside. You also discover she likes to sing. She’s shy around strangers, but you’ve quickly become her best friend. She sings to you a lot. Things are going so well that Queenie asks you if you’ll teach her more. You can tell she’s really learning. And she seems very happy. Whether you’re learning words or stopping for a soda pop break at a store outside the school, it doesn’t matter. She just likes being with you. And you know what? You like it too.
“I’ve learned to love her,” you say, not the least bit surprised by your response.
Taking a semester off, you also figured to have some free time when you weren’t with Queenie Ann. But then your ward, Mandaue II, is asked to produce a road show about the Book of Mormon for a stake activity. It’s a big project, and your bishop is looking for a person to serve as the scriptwriter. Everybody is so busy with school except you, so you volunteer for the assignment. Again, it just feels right.
There have been times when you wondered if you made the right decision, delaying school and everything. You’ve watched while friends progressed in school without you. You’ve asked your Heavenly Father for a confirmation that what you were doing was what he wanted and what was best for you. Eventually those feelings of doubt leave and you say, “I understand now.” And you really do.
Your testimony continues to grow, and you are so excited when you learn new gospel concepts. You’re a bit short on money, but that doesn’t seem to matter. “The knowledge I have learned from institute class cannot be exchanged for the money I could have earned if I had worked,” you explain when someone asks why you’re doing this. Then you continue. “I’m very happy about it.”
It’s then that you look down at Queenie Ann, who’s holding your hand. She looks up at you while squinting in the hot Philippines sun. She smiles, and as you smile back you realize that while dropping out of school for one semester would not be the right decision for most people, it was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

Could any day have been more beautiful?” Emma asked her sister, Martha, as she wiggled her toes in the warm, white sand. The girls were supposed to follow their family’s five cows as they roamed the green hills during the day, making sure they didn’t wander off and get lost or hurt. But this afternoon the cows were grazing in their favorite pasture and showing no signs of moving. Emma and Martha became bored and gave in to the temptation of the nearby beach.
Now the sun was close to setting, and its bright rays made the blue ripples of water on the lake sparkle like jewels. The girls’ family had been among the first to settle on the shores of Bear Lake in northern Utah, and Emma thought that there probably wasn’t any prettier place in the world. Dark green hills surrounding the lake were overgrown with wild raspberry bushes. Emma sighed with happiness.
But six-year-old Martha was thinking of something other than the beauty of the scenery. “I’m starving!” she burst out. “Let’s go home for dinner.”
“All right,” Emma agreed. “I’m hungry, too. Besides, it’s going to get dark soon, and we’d better get the cows home.”
They ran up the hill toward the pasture where they had left the cows. There they were, still happily munching on the grass, just as the girls had left them. Emma shook her head and smiled. She couldn’t imagine any animal more dull than a cow. Martha broke a switch off a nearby tree and headed toward the cows. Emma was getting herself a branch, when she heard Martha shriek.
“Emma! Emma! One’s gone! There are only four! One’s gone!”
Sure enough, only four cows were visible: Belle, Katie, Brown Eyes, and Matilda. Where was Old Spot? The cow was about to calf—that must be why she had left the rest of the herd.
“Martha, Old Spot wandered off somewhere to have her calf!” Emma reasoned. “We have to find her—soon! If something goes wrong, both she and the calf might die. You look in that bunch of trees over there, and I’ll go up that hill.”
The girls ran in separate directions, each shouting Old Spot’s name as they looked in every cluster of bushes and behind every rock and tree. After a few minutes, they met back in the pasture. Evening was not far off.
Emma made a quick decision. “Martha, you take the other cows home. When you get there, ask the boys to come back and help me. I’m going to stay and look for Old Spot.”
Martha’s eyes widened. “All by yourself? But it’ll be dark soon!”
“I know, I know! But it’s my fault Old Spot’s lost. I just have to keep looking!” She shooed her little sister toward the remaining cows. “Now, get going!”
Emma had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she watched her little sister leave. She would never admit it to Martha, but she was afraid, very afraid. Not just for the cow, but because she had always been afraid of the dark. In fact, her earliest memory was of being told to go out to the ditch after dark and fill a pail of water. After only a few nervous steps into the night, the wind rustled some leaves at her feet and an animal cried from the woods, and she had run screaming back to the safety of the house. Fear of the dark had haunted her ever since.
She began looking for Old Spot again, telling herself that finding the cow was too important—this was no time to let her fear get the better of her. But as the light faded from the sky and even the shadows faded into the night, her heart beat faster and she began to feel a little sick. The slightest noise made her jump, and chills ran up and down her spine.
It seemed like she had been searching for hours. Where were the boys? She sat on a boulder and hugged her knees close to her chest, fighting back tears. Her small body began to tremble. Then Emma remembered. Her parents had taught her what to do if she was in trouble. Immediately she got down on her knees.
“Father in Heaven,” she prayed, “I’m sorry we left the cows all alone. I know it is my fault Old Spot’s lost, but I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. If it be Thy will, please help me to find Old Spot. Bless her that she will be all right. And please help me to be brave. Help us both get home safely. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Emma rose from her knees, feeling a little better. She took a big gulp, climbed down off the boulder and began looking for Old Spot once more. To her surprise, she felt a song hovering in the back of her mind, a hymn that she had learned recently in church. She hummed the melody while the words ran through her mind:
The Lord is my light; then why should I fear?
By day and by night his presence is near.*
Before she knew it, she was singing the words out loud. The longer she sang, the better she felt. Soon she no longer felt afraid at all. She knew that with the Lord’s help, she would find the cow and that they both would return home safely.
A few minutes later, Emma saw a long, deep ravine. She was frightened but knew that that was where she must look. She followed the winding gorge for what seemed like a very long time. Just as she was about to turn back, she heard a gentle lowing ahead of her. As she got closer, she could see Old Spot—and the cow was not alone! A newborn calf was wobbling about on shaky legs.
It was slow work driving the mother and baby out of the ravine. Old Spot was tired, and the calf was still very weak. Every once in a while, a coyote’s howl filled the air, seeming very close. Emma was tired and hungry, her bare feet cold and sore. The three of them still had a long walk ahead to reach home. Please, Heavenly Father, she prayed in her heart, just a little bit longer. Help me have the strength to get us home!
Finally the trio came out of the trees and onto the open hillside. Not far below them Emma saw a light. Her brothers had come to their rescue! She flew down the hill and threw herself into her big brother’s arms. “George, I found her! I found Old Spot and her baby!”
George looked down in surprise. “You did? All by yourself?”
“I was so scared, George. But I wasn’t alone. Heavenly Father helped me.”
George grinned. “Well, I’d rather be looking for twenty cows at midnight than face the scolding Ma’s going to give you for losing Old Spot in the first place!”
Emma smiled but didn’t answer. All she could think about was that Heavenly Father had answered her prayer. She and Old Spot and the calf were safe and headed home. And Emma knew that she never had to be alone.

At the funeral services for a remarkable daughter of God, someone shared that this sister, as stake Relief Society president, worked with others in her stake to contribute quilts to give warmth to suffering people in Kosovo during the 1990s. And like the good Samaritan, she went out of her way to do more as she and her daughter drove a truck filled with those quilts from London to Kosovo. On her journey home she received an unmistakable spiritual impression that sank deep into her heart. The impression was this: “What you have done is a very good thing. Now go home, walk across the street, and serve your neighbor!”19

The years passed, and Cristina became a strong, smart, playful, and beautiful girl. When she was 12, she needed surgery to place an artificial valve in her heart. We worried whether she would survive the surgery, but with great strength and courage, she said goodbye to us and entered the operating room.
Cristina survived the operation and returned home to us. She always appeared happy and was grateful to Heavenly Father to be alive and to have the opportunity to learn and grow. Friends never imagined she had a heart defect, because she was very active.

I am one of 13 children in a Latter-day Saint family that has experienced similar problems. We joined the Church 14 years ago, and over the years some of my brothers and sisters have become less active. Many have shown little or no respect for our parents.
My family underwent a great transformation when my youngest sister died following an accident. We realized then that for us to be together again as an eternal family, we needed to change our lives. Five of my less-active brothers and sisters began to attend church again, our attitude toward each other and toward our parents improved considerably, and quarreling diminished. We attended a temple preparation class taught by my brother-in-law, and five months after my sister’s accident, we were sealed together as a family for time and eternity.
Éder José Lagemann,Parque Ouro Fino Ward, Sorocaba Brazil Trujillo Stake

Throughout the scriptures, and indeed in the writings of thoughtful Christians through the centuries, we find examples of how Christ’s message of light and salvation can spiritually and physically sustain us. As a young priest traveling in Italy in 1833, Englishman John Henry Newman encountered emotional and physical darkness when illness detained him there for several weeks. He became deeply discouraged, and a nurse who saw his tears asked what troubled him. All he could reply was that he was sure God had work for him to do in England. Aching to return home, he finally found passage on a small boat.
Not long after the ship set sail, thick fog descended and obscured the hazardous cliffs surrounding them. Trapped for a week in the damp, gray darkness, the ship unable to travel forward or back, Newman pled for his Savior’s help as he penned the words we now know as the hymn “Lead, Kindly Light.”
Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom; …
The night is dark, and I am far from home; …
Keep thou my feet; …
one step enough for me.
(Hymns, no. 97)
This hymn echoes a truth our hearts confirm: though trials may extinguish other sources of light, Christ will illuminate our path, “keep our feet,” and show us the way home. For as the Savior has promised, “he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness” (John 8:12).

The longer I stared at the phone, the more nervous I became. I kept going over and over in my mind what I would say. Then I worried that the girl I wanted to call might say no. Finally, I managed to punch in the phone number, hoping no one would answer. They didn’t. What a relief—except I had to start the whole process over again later!
On my second attempt, her mother answered and agreed to get her daughter. Now the sweat was really starting to build. I thought about hanging up, but then I was greeted by a friendly hello. I managed to stumble my way through asking her out. Instead of giving an immediate answer, she said she needed to check with her mom. To me that was code for, “Let me talk to my mom to see if she can help me get out of this one.” Instead she returned to the phone with a cheerful, “That would be great.” I tried not to act too surprised and ended the call. I sat in my chair emotionally drained yet feeling great. I did it; my first date was on its way!

In 1988, Gerard was called to preside over a new mission in the Mascarene Islands, with headquarters on Reunion. When he and Annie and four of their seven children arrived, they found home and office to be a missionary apartment with only an old typewriter and little else. They moved temporarily into the apartment and went to work.
Annie quickly accepted her own role as a missionary. “One day,” says Gerard, “she saw a lady in the supermarket whom she had met at a parents’ meeting. The lady had been impressed by Annie, but had never dared ask about her name tag. At the store, the woman took the opportunity to ask. She was baptized one month later, and the following year she received her temple endowment.”

It is this last point I would like to enlarge upon. I had the honor recently of being assigned to visit the Samoa Apia Mission and attend some stake conferences in that country. I found the missionaries all well and the work progressing. One afternoon following our meeting, the mission president, Patrick Peters—who is a native Samoan—said, “Elder Dunn, there is something I’d like to show you.” We drove a few miles from the mission home and climbed the brow of a small hill to a place that was isolated by palm trees and other tropical vegetation. I suddenly realized that we were in a very old graveyard.
At the center of this graveyard was a plot that was surrounded by a cement wall low enough to step over. President and Sister Peters told me this was where some of the first missionaries in Samoa were buried. There were eight graves.
The thing that struck my interest was that out of the eight graves, four represented children under the age of two and one was a 21-year-old wife and mother. What role could these have possibly played in missionary work in Samoa?
During the next two days, when time would permit, I searched the history of the mission for an answer. While I was unable to gather information on all of the eight, I did discover the following.
In the early days of the Church it was common for young married couples to be called on missions, and some of these young couples were called to Samoa. The first person to be buried in that plot was Sister Katie Eliza Hale Merrill. She and her husband had only been on a mission for three months when she took sick and gave birth to a premature child. The child died the next day. The history says the following:
“An hour after the death of the child, the mother called Sister Lee (wife of the mission president) to her bedside and, after thanking her for waiting on her during the sickness, said that she was ‘going to die,’ that she ‘could not stay because they had come for her.’ She then talked with her husband, kissed him good-bye, and all was over. The mother and baby boy were buried in one coffin.” After his mission, Brother Merrill took the remains of his wife and infant son back to Utah for burial.
Elder Thomas H. Hilton and Sister Sarah M. Hilton were serving on a mission in Samoa where they lost three of their children between 1891 and 1894. Little Jeanette lived less than a year, George Emmett for only seven days, and Thomas Harold for a year and a half.
Of the death of Thomas Harold the record says: “On Sunday the 11th, he was not feeling very well. … For two days following he appeared to be improving, but on the morning of the 14th, his mother again became concerned about his welfare. From then until his death, on March 17, 1894, everything that loving hands could do was done for his recovery, but he grew rapidly worse. …
“Oh how loath we all were to believe that it was so! How sad to see our dear sister again bereft, and her so far from dear parents and friends who she has left for the gospel’s sake.
“Thomas Harold Hilton was about one and a half years old, a beautiful little boy and very dearly beloved by all the missionaries, as well as the natives who knew him. Much sympathy is felt for the bereaved parents and the blessings of the Lord are invoked upon them.”
At 29, Ransom Stevens was president of the Samoa Mission when stricken with typhoid fever, which was complicated by a heart problem. He died on April 23, 1894.
His widow, Sister Annie D. Stevens, started for home by steamer on May 23. She reached Ogden on Sunday, June 10, where she was met by President Joseph F. Smith and Elder Franklin D. Richards. On June 11, she had an interview with the First Presidency in Salt Lake City and then went on to her home in Fairview, Sanpete County, arriving at 6:00 P.M.
The history states, “The greetings by her friends were necessarily brief for Sister Stevens was ill and had to retire to bed early, and at 11 P.M., five hours after her arrival home, she gave birth to a nice boy.” She had gone through the whole ordeal in the advanced stages of pregnancy.
Another entry was Friday, March 2, 1900: “Little Loi Roberts was given up to die by Dr. Stuttaford at the sanatorium [in Apia]. The patient little sufferer was administered to daily, and each time he would get relief. …
His parents [Elder and Sister E. T. Roberts] were untiring in their efforts to allay pain and sufferings.”
Saturday, March 3: “Little Loi died at the sanatorium in Apia in the morning, making another sad day in the history of the mission.” Small wonder that the tombstone contained the words, “Rest sweet Loi, rest.” He was one and a half years old.
And that brings us to Elder William A. Moody and his bride, Adelia Moody. They were called on a mission from Thatcher, Graham County, Arizona, arriving in Samoa in November 1894. They must have had the same hopes and aspirations of any young couple just starting out. She gave birth to an eight-pound daughter on May 3, 1895. Three weeks later she passed away. The daughter, little Hazel Moody, was taken care of by local Saints while her father continued his mission. Finally, one year later we read the following about a steamer leaving for the United States, whose passengers included four returning elders and “also Elder Moody’s daughter, Hazel, one-year-old, who will be delivered to loving relatives in Zion.”
A price has been paid for the establishment of the gospel of Jesus Christ in the land of Samoa. It is interesting to note that much of that price was paid by little children. I suspect that there are many obscure cemeteries in many of the nations of the world similar to that little plot in Samoa. They are a mute witness to the trials and suffering that went into the beginnings of missionary work in this dispensation.
Because of advancements in the standard of living and medical technology, these kinds of trials are almost a thing of the past. In Samoa, for instance, I found the missionaries well. There are even health missionaries, including a young couple and their two children who are helping to improve the health standards of the members and looking after the health of the missionaries where needed.
The sacrifice today is mostly a sacrifice of time and money. A sacrifice of 24 months is asked of worthy young men to help move the cause of the Lord forward. Others gave their lives to get the work started, but the Lord only requires that we sacrifice some time and our means to keep his work moving throughout the world.
The story is told that toward the end of World War II an allied general came to the front lines one night to inspect his troops. As he walked along he would point out into no-man’s-land and say “Can you see them? Can you see them?”
Finally, someone said, “General, we can see nothing. What do you mean?” He said, “Can’t you see them? They’re your buddies; they are the ones who gave their lives today, yesterday, and the day before. They’re out there alright, watching you, wondering what you are going to do; wondering if they have died in vain.”
As members of this church we can ask ourselves the same question, “Can you see them?” They are the ones who paid, and some with their lives, that the gospel of the kingdom might be established in these, the last, days. They are the Hiltons, and the Robertses, and the Stevens, and the Moodys, and many others—people like you and me, who answered a call from God. I am sure they are allowed to look in on us from time to time to see how the work is going, to see what we are doing with their spiritual heritage, to see if they have died in vain.
I wonder, young man, how successful you would be in convincing a young father who had buried three of his babies in an obscure graveyard halfway around the world because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, that a mission is too much of a sacrifice because you want to buy that car or that stereo, or you don’t want to interrupt your schooling, or for some other reason.
As members of the Church, I wonder how convincing we would be in telling someone that we are just too busy and maybe just a little embarrassed to share the gospel with our neighbor, especially if that someone were a young father who had buried his bride while on his mission and sent his little girl home to be taken care of by relatives while he finished his service to the Lord.
Is it not time that we listen to a prophet’s voice? Is it not time that we lengthen our stride? Is it not time that we teach the gospel of the kingdom to the world, to our neighbor?

A young friend of mine, whom I will call Alan, recently ran his first marathon—a distance of 26.2 miles. He had set his goal several months in advance, learned what preparation was required, and disciplined himself to follow a rigorous training schedule. He sought the advice of experienced runners and read articles on running a marathon. He practiced running the marathon route and planned a strategy for traversing the hilly course.
Finally, the day of the marathon arrived; it would be the culmination of months of training, discipline, and sacrifice. He got off to a good start in a large crowd of runners. He felt strong and confident, following his predetermined strategy. About eight miles into the race, on a downhill part of the course, he caught up with an experienced runner, Brent by name, who had given him sound advice during his training. Alan decided to match his stride to Brent’s disciplined and experienced pace.
As they passed the eighteen-mile mark, Alan struggled to stay with Brent so someone he knew would be by his side if he began “hitting the wall.” Hitting the wall means feeling a sudden urge to quit, encountering an almost tangible barrier that requires a tremendous effort to overcome. It often comes at about the twenty-mile mark.
For the next two miles, Alan kept pace with Brent. Then it hit him. He felt a sudden loss of energy, an almost overwhelming desire to stop or walk. “Stay with me,” Brent said. “We all feel it at some point. You can get through it. I’ll help pull you through.”
Somehow, Alan continued. He and Brent began to pass spectators. He knew his wife, children, and other family members would be watching about one mile ahead. Drawing on the strength provided by thoughts of his family, he was able to hang on until the desire to quit left him.
As they finally neared the finish, Alan found the last mile to be the hardest of all. Alan and Brent crossed the finish line just five seconds apart. Alan was more exhausted than he ever had been but was elated because he had beaten his goal by more than fifteen minutes and had finished among the top twenty-five runners.

I have always been drawn to associate with older people (now I am one). I remember in the Quorum of the Twelve, LeGrand Richards didn’t walk as fast as the other Brethren, and I would always wait and open the door for him and walk back to the building with him. One day one of the Brethren said, “Oh, you’re so kind to take care of Brother Richards.” And I thought, “You don’t know my selfish motive”—as we would walk back, I would just listen to him. I knew that he could remember Wilford Woodruff, and he would speak. One-on-one teaching is very powerful. Generally one-on-one teaching is what happens when you are corrected.

Two young women in this seminary class, both 16, are named Brigitta. “From my classmate Seres Brigitta I heard about the Church for the first time,” says Bozó Brigitta. “I began attending sacrament meeting and made a lot of friends here. So when youth conference came, I naturally thought I needed to go. At the conference, I felt for the first time that I needed to belong to this church. I was baptized a week later.”

Two months after Brigitta’s own baptism, her mother and her 15-year-old brother, László, were baptized. (Her father had died six years earlier.) “Now the three of us—our whole family—are members of the Church. It’s wonderful!”

“At first I thought just my friend would be baptized,” says her classmate Seres Brigitta. “I was amazed that her family also joined the Church.”

Last year a dear family friend passed away. Lucile was 89 years old and had been a widow for more than 20 years. She was not a rich woman, she was not famous, and most of the world knew nothing of her passing. But her family knew. Her neighbors knew. The members of her ward knew. For all who had experienced her love, her death had left the world a diminished place. During her years as a widow, Lucile had endured difficult challenges, including the death of a beloved grandson and infirmities brought on by age. But Lucile continued to nourish everyone she knew with her spirit; with her baked goods, her quilts and afghans; with her humor and goodwill. And she loved to work in the temple. One spring day in 1981, she wrote in her journal: “This morning at 3:30 A.M., as I was walking up the path to the temple, I watched the flag gently blowing in the breeze and looked at the beautiful sky and thought how happy I was to be there. I felt sad for all the people who [were] sleeping and missing the awakening of a beautiful day.”
Most of us don’t think the world is “awakening” at 3:30 in the morning, and we’re perfectly happy to roll over in bed about then and allow Lucile to feel sorry for us. But what an attitude! Only a flow of goodness from within could explain it. Did she possess this purity of spirit at 15, at 25, or even 55? I don’t know. In most cases, it probably takes a lifetime of listening to the Holy Ghost before we know God’s voice so well and before we trust in the living waters enough to taste them throughout the entire day—especially a day that begins at 3:30 A.M. But I believe the living waters sustained Lucile during those long years when she might have given way to self-pity, and her life, her spirit, became nourishment to everyone she knew.