Gospel Story Finder

Marcella frowned as she tried to wiggle her toes in her shoes. The shoes were too small and they hurt, but she knew she shouldn’t complain. At six years old, she knew there was no money for new ones.
The past year had been hard for the Nelson family. In May, Marcella’s tiny baby sister had died of pneumonia. And just six weeks later, her father, Eric, had been killed in an accident at work. How she missed her gentle father.
Now Marcella’s mother was struggling to support her two young daughters with her sewing. Even though she was a skilled seamstress, there wasn’t enough money. The kitchen cupboards in their small home were practically bare. No, bigger shoes just weren’t an option right now.
“Time for breakfast,” Mother called. Marcella struggled not to limp in the tight shoes as she walked to the table.
“Oh, honey.” Her mother knelt at her side. “Those shoes are too small for you, aren’t they?” Marcella could hear the worry in her mother’s voice.
“A little.” Marcella tried to sound unconcerned. “It’s all right.”
“You’re trying to be brave,” Mother said gently. “But I can see they hurt. I will try to get you some new ones soon.”
“I want new shoes too!” piped up little Arvella.
Their mother picked Arvella up in a big hug. “You know your shoes are just fine,” she said. Arvella’s shoes were hand-me-downs from Marcella. They were worn, but at least they fit properly.
Arvella stuck her bottom lip out. “I want new shoes too,” she repeated obstinately. Marcella and her mother smiled at each other. Arvella didn’t understand their difficult position, and somehow her innocence made them feel better. They talked and laughed as they ate breakfast and cleaned up.
Suddenly Mother became serious again. “Girls,” she said slowly, “we need to go to town today. I have $2.50.”
Marcella couldn’t believe it! That was a lot of money in Utah in 1905. “That’s great!” she exclaimed. She imagined the food they could buy to stock their empty shelves. Maybe she could even get new shoes!
Marcella’s smile faded when she saw the tears in her mother’s eyes. “We owe $2.50 for tithing,” she said softly. Then she gathered her girls around her. “I know we are almost out of food. I know that you need new shoes so badly, Marcella. But if we want the Lord to bless us, we must keep His commandments.”
Then she pulled out her worn Bible and turned to Malachi. She read to the girls the Lord’s promise that if they paid tithing, the windows of heaven would open to them.
“What does it mean that the windows of heaven will open?” Arvella asked.
“It means that Heavenly Father will bless us,” Mother said. “It says that we will receive such a great blessing that there won’t be room enough to receive it. I know that we need the Lord’s blessing now more than ever. I believe His promise.”
“I believe it too,” Marcella said.
“Me too,” Arvella chimed in.
“Oh, you are good girls.” Mother pulled them close. “Let’s pray together, and then I am going to take this money straight to the bishop.”
The girls and Mother knelt. Mother asked Heavenly Father for a way to get more food for her little family and shoes for Marcella. After the prayer, they all wiped tears from their eyes. Then, with a smile, Mother said, “Let’s go pay our tithing, girls!”
They walked the short distance to the bishop’s house and gave him the tithing. Although her feet hurt, Marcella enjoyed the walk and the good feeling in her heart. She knew Heavenly Father would bless them.
As they approached their home, they saw Uncle Silas and Aunt Maud pulling up. Both girls ran to Uncle Silas, and he swung them high into the air.
“Hello, Sarah,” Aunt Maud said, giving Mother a quick hug. “We just came to see how you and the girls are doing.”
“Well,” Arvella said seriously, “Marcella’s shoes are too small, but we paid our tithing and it will be fine.”
“Arvella!” Her mother gave her a stern look. “We’re fine, Maud. How is your family?”
They all went into the house and chatted pleasantly. Marcella quickly took off her tight shoes and put them away. She noticed her aunt and uncle looking around the house carefully. Aunt Maud even opened a cupboard as she visited. Too soon, their visitors had to leave.
Later that afternoon, Marcella was surprised to hear a delivery cart outside. It stopped at their home, and a delivery boy came to the door. “A delivery for Sarah Nelson,” he said.
“That’s my mother,” Marcella said.
“But I didn’t order anything,” Mother objected.
Suddenly Uncle Silas appeared in the doorway next to the boy. “It’s for you, Sarah,” he said gently. “You can put everything here on the table,” he directed the delivery boy.
The boy brought in bags of food. The girls danced around the table in delight. They hugged Uncle Silas, who quickly excused himself to go home. There was so much food! Sugar, beans, flour and cornmeal, cured meats and dried fruit—the cupboards would be full! Last of all, the delivery boy brought a small package wrapped in brown paper to the table.
After the delivery boy left, the girls approached the small package. What could be inside? First Marcella and then Arvella shook it. Then Marcella carefully pulled back the paper. Into her lap fell not one, but two pairs of shoes! Marcella picked up the largest pair and put them on. They fit perfectly, and she happily wiggled her toes in complete comfort.
Then she saw Arvella’s face. Her sister had picked up the second pair of shoes and was staring at them in delight. She looked at her mother in wonder. “I thought you said I didn’t need shoes, Mama,” she said questioningly.
“Your old shoes would do,” her mother said through her tears. “But when Heavenly Father opens the windows of heaven, you never know what might pour down.”

Such a lesson was recounted on a radio and television program many remember with fondness. The program was entitled “Death Valley Days.” The narrator, known as the Old Ranger, seemed to come right into our living rooms as he would tell the tales of the West.
On one program, the Old Ranger related how the glass was obtained for the windows of the St. George Tabernacle. The glass had been manufactured in the East. Then it had been placed on a ship in New York, which sailed forth on the long and at times perilous journey around Cape Horn and up to the West Coast of America. The precious glass, stored in cartons, was then transported to San Bernardino, California, to await the overland trek to St. George.
David Cannon and the brethren in St. George had the duty to go to San Bernardino with their teams and wagons to retrieve the glass, that the tabernacle of the Lord could be completed. One problem: They needed the then-astronomical sum of $800 to pay for the glass. They had no money. David Cannon turned to his wife and his son and asked, “Do you think that we can raise the money, that we might obtain the glass for the tabernacle?”
His tiny boy, David, Jr., said, “Daddy, I know we can!” He then produced two cents of his own money and gave it to his father. Wilhelmina Cannon, David’s wife, went through the secret hiding places that all women have in their houses. Her search produced $3.50 in silver. The community was scoured for money, and at length the sum of $200 was accumulated—$600 short of the required amount.
David Cannon sighed the sigh of despair of one who had failed although he had tried his best. The little family was really too weary to sleep and too discouraged to eat, so they prayed. Morning dawned. There gathered the teamsters with their wagons and teams, prepared to undertake the long journey to San Bernardino. But they had no $600.
Then there came a knock at the door, and Peter Nielsen, from the nearby community of Washington, entered the house. He said to David Cannon, “Brother David, I have had a persistent dream that I should bring the money that I had saved to expand my house—bring it to you, that you would have a purpose for it.”
While all of the men gathered around the table, including little David, Jr., Peter Nielsen took out a red bandanna and dropped gold pieces, one by one, upon the table. When David Cannon counted the gold pieces, they totaled $600—the exact amount needed to obtain the glass. Within an hour the men waved good-bye and, with their teams, set forth on their journey to San Bernardino to retrieve the glass for the tabernacle.
When that true story was told on “Death Valley Days,” young David Cannon, Jr., was then eighty-seven years of age. He listened to the story with rapt attention. I feel that in his mind, he once again heard those gold pieces, one by one, dropping upon the table as astonished men saw with their very eyes the answer to their prayers.

Later, while at Santa Maria University in Valparaiso, Jorge met Carmen Gloria Valenzuela. “When I saw her for the first time, I knew I was going to marry her,” he recalls. “It was very strange, because I already had my mission call, and she was not a member.” Within a few weeks she was taking the missionary discussions, and he baptized her before leaving to serve in the Chile Concepción Mission.
Jorge and Carmen corresponded during his mission, began a courtship afterward, and were married on June 26, 1982, in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. They are the parents of five children.

Brother and Sister Chukwurah have learned to follow the promptings of the Spirit, both in regard to Church callings and in caring for their children. There was a time when Uchenna became very sick and Sister Chukwurah stayed home with him while her mission president husband traveled to Sierra Leone. Medication had been prescribed for nine-year-old Uchenna, but he kept getting sicker. He kept vomiting and losing strength until he finally collapsed. Florence checked his pulse and found it very weak. She was convinced he was dying.

Without a priesthood holder available to give her son a blessing, Sister Chukwurah knelt by her son’s bed and held him while she prayed for help. During the prayer she got the distinct impression to stop giving him one of the medications. This was at 5:45 P.M.; she was scheduled to give him the medication at 6:00 P.M. She rose from her knees feeling a great relief. Knowing clearly what needed to be done, she changed his medication. Immediately Uchenna’s pulse became normal, and the nausea lifted.

“I missed my husband, who would have given him a priesthood blessing,” Sister Chukwurah says. “I had no hope anywhere except from the Lord. So I exercised my faith and called upon the Lord. And the Lord saved him.”

Teenagers from the priests quorum of the Kansas City North Ward are brightening the lives of some elderly inner-city residents by helping repair their homes. Since last winter, the group has rebuilt steps and added porch railings to several older residences.
“It was hard, grueling work at times, and my toes nearly froze,” said David Nielsen, one of the young men. “But it makes me feel good to help people who can’t keep up their homes just because they are elderly or too sick.”
The boys came up with the idea when the group’s leader, Matt Kessler, read about the Metropolitan Lutheran Ministry’s need for volunteers to help weatherize inner-city homes for the disadvantaged. The following Sunday in priesthood meeting he suggested the young men volunteer. The priests decided it would be a great service project. They contacted the ministry, which provided them with home referrals for the group to get started. A local lumber company provided the materials for the project.
Most of the boys had little or no experience in carpentry before the project began. Brother Kessler taught them the basic skills they required and supplied the tools the young men used. Most of the work was done by hand. “The project gives the boys an opportunity to serve people and see another part of life which they are not accustomed to,” said Brother Kessler. “We also wanted them to know how to build something when we finished.”

As Dirk and I left the leaf-strewn path and rounded the corner of Dempsten’s General Store, we smelled the strong gasoline fumes that arose in shimmering waves from the opening of Mr. Larson’s bright gas tank and danced off in the autumn sunlight.
“Howdy, kids!” Mr. Dempsten called as he kept pumping the gas. “The electric poles out to your place yet?”
Dirk grinned happily but shook his head, while I shivered and opened the door. We stepped quickly inside.
“Morning, kids,” Mrs. Dempsten called cheerily. She stacked one last can on the shelf, then climbed down the ladder. “What can I do for you today?”
“We need five pounds of sugar and five pounds of cornmeal,” I replied. “Plus, Mother wants ten yards of unbleached muslin and one box of yellow dye.”
Mrs. Dempsten reached for the heavy bolt of material. “Getting ready to make new curtains, I expect,” she said. “And if she’s planning on making a quilt this winter, I have new cotton batting selling for thirty cents a bundle.”
“I’ll tell her,” I replied.
“I have yellow muslin, too,” Mrs. Dempsten continued as she measured the material along a yardstick fastened to the counter. “Only two cents more per yard.”
“I’d better get just what she asked for,” I replied.
Dirk pointed silently at the penny candy behind the glass. I nodded, then waited to see if there would be any change.
“Is that it, Lucy?” Mrs. Dempsten asked, wetting the tip of her pencil between her lips before writing on the paper.
I nodded.
Mrs. Dempsten added the column from top to bottom, then added it again from bottom to top. Finally she shoved the pencil back into her hair and quickly folded the muslin. “That’s two dollars even, Lucy,” she said with a smile.
I pulled the money from my pocket. Dirk gave me a dark look, then slumped with his back against the candy case.
“Have they gotten the electric poles out to your farm yet?” she asked as she tied a piece of twine around the bundle of muslin.
“No, but they’re near the old Beamer place!” Dirk announced excitedly. “I watch them work every day!”
“I suppose everyone in the valley will have electricity before long,” Mrs. Dempsten said.
“Father said we’ll have to pay for water next!” I added with a grin.
Mrs. Dempsten laughed. “Not as long as everyone has good wells! But we can’t hold back progress, can we?” She reached for a small paper sack and plopped a handful of penny candy into it. Then she twisted the top and handed it to Dirk. “Take this along with you, and don’t eat it all at once!”
Later Dirk and I sat in a clump of dried weeds by the fence, watching the men put another electric pole into the ground. “I hope the first good wind doesn’t blow them over,” Dirk said thoughtfully.
I stood and brushed off the seat of my slacks. “It’s getting cold. I’m going home. Are you coming?”
Dirk shook his head. “You go—I like to watch progress!”
The ground was frosty crisp, and the air chill with winter’s promise. Stray pumpkins dotted the field, and as I walked carefully over the corn stubble, I found one that was nearly perfect. I twisted it from its stem, then carried it to the root cellar. As I started toward the house, I heard the shed doors banging in the rising wind.
The orange sky was turning gray, and the air had stinging spears of snow in it. I looked across the field toward the road and shook my head. Dirk will probably sit and watch the men working until it’s dark, no matter how cold it gets, I thought. With a shivering hand, I pulled my collar up around my face and hurried toward the banging doors.
I grabbed the doors and pulled with all my might, but one flapped out of my hand and banged loudly. Finally they both stood edge to edge, and I fixed the latch. As I went around the corner, I glanced in through the shed window. A dark form huddled on the floor in a corner! At first I thought that it was a wild animal; then I looked closer and saw that it was a man.
He looked like he was sleeping—or maybe even dead! A shiver went through me, and my feet seemed glued to the spot, while my arms and legs turned to mush. I was afraid to stay there but even more afraid to move. Finally I turned the knob of the side door as quietly as I could and opened it. Instantly it was torn from my hand by the wind and banged noisily against the side of the shed. My heart leaped into my throat, and I stared fearfully at the man. But he didn’t move.
Terrified, I dashed toward the house, pounded onto the porch, and burst into the kitchen. “Father!” I blurted. “There’s a stranger in our shed!”
Father was on his feet instantly. He grabbed Dirk’s baseball bat from the corner and hurried outside, with me close behind.
“Paul!” Mother called frantically.
Father turned and said gently, “Don’t worry, Lucile. I’ll be very careful.” Then he patted my shoulder and smiled. “Stay well behind me, Lucy.”
The shed was even darker by then, and father blinked in the direction I pointed. “Howdy,” he called out. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”
When the man didn’t move or make a sound, Father frowned and crept closer until he almost stood over him. Gently he shook the man’s arm. The man groaned and rolled himself into a tighter ball. Father knelt and touched the man’s forehead. “He’s burning up with fever!” he declared, releasing his hold on the baseball bat. “Tell your mother that I’m bringing him inside, Lucy.”
I was almost afraid to leave my father alone with the stranger, but he bent and slid one arm under the man’s shoulders and the other under his legs. With a heave, he lifted him from the cold dirt floor. I ran ahead to the house.
Father put the man to bed in our spare room; then Mother wiped his beard-studded face and put cool cloths on his head. “Keep quiet, children,” she said gently. “He’s a very sick young man.”
“I’ll get the doctor,“ Father said with concern.
Later, after Doctor Borrison had come and gone, Dirk and I stood in the hall and looked through the door at the sleeping stranger.
“He looks like a tramp,” Dirk whispered. “Maybe a criminal, even!”
I shrugged. “He’s sick and down and out, that’s all.”
“With all the progress around here, he could get a job somewhere if he wanted to,” Dirk mumbled. “Father will probably have to pay the doctor bill now too. We’ll never save enough to get electricity.”
“Progress doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t help each other,” I reminded Dirk impatiently. “That’s all Mom and Dad are trying to do.”
Dirk frowned as Father came up the stairs. “Come away, children,” he said gently. “Let the poor man rest.”
“How long’s he going to be here?” Dirk grumped.
“As long as it takes him to get well, Dirk,” Father answered. “You wouldn’t want me to be hungry and sick and lying on someone’s cold shed floor somewhere, would you?”
Dirk looked up quickly. “No, Father!” he exclaimed contritely. “It’s just that I’ve been hoping that maybe soon we’d have enough money for electricity.”
Father nodded. “But electricity is a convenience, Dirk, and we can get it or do without it. People, on the other hand, are different, and if we don’t help each other, then progress doesn’t mean much, does it?”

My dear friends, I am thankful for this opportunity to share with you my experience with the scriptures.
While growing up, I was blessed to come from a home where scriptures were an important part of our lives. I had gone to many Church activities and heard friends and family bear testimony of the power of the scriptures. I had a desire to gain a personal testimony of the power and truthfulness of the scriptures.
But that did not happen easily. Because of my learning disability, it was hard to read the words and even more difficult to understand them. I often felt embarrassed and frustrated. I didn’t like to go to Young Women because I felt inadequate. I was afraid I might be called on to read. I felt more comfortable with my family, but I continued to feel frustrated.
I prayed for help and I found this scripture. Please turn with me to Moroni 7:33 [Moro. 7:33], and I will share with you my answer: “And Christ hath said: If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me.”
What a wonderful promise! If I would put my faith in the Lord, he would help me. He would help me to understand the scriptures. This was the key for me. One verse at a time, one day at a time, I began to understand. Even my schoolwork improved. The Book of Mormon got me through high school. I still have my learning disability and face challenges every day, but daily scripture study reminds me to have faith in my Heavenly Father.

Perhaps I can place in clearer perspective all that I have said about the oath and covenant of the priesthood by relating a story based on a true experience.

The son of a very wealthy man was called to serve a full-time mission. He entered the mission field and began his work. At first things went well; however, as he met rejections and as other challenges of finding and teaching surfaced, the young man’s faith wavered.

Mission associates gave encouragement, but it did not seem to help. One day the young man announced to the mission president that he was abandoning his call; he was returning home. The mission president did all within his power to dissuade the missionary. It was to no avail.

When word of the missionary’s decision reached the father, he obtained permission to visit his son in the mission field. In one of many tense conversations, the father said, “My son, I have lived for the day when you would serve a full-time mission. I did so because I love you and I love God. And I know that there is no work more essential than that of teaching truth to the peoples of the world.”

Somewhat sobered by his father’s words, the son meekly replied, “Dad, I didn’t realize that a mission meant so much to you.”

“It means everything to me,” the father declared. Then he added with some emotion, “All my life I have worked and saved with one person in mind: you. And my one goal has been to provide you a decent inheritance.”

“But Dad,” the son interjected, “the work is difficult and I don’t enjoy …”

The father didn’t allow him to finish his sentence. Instead he asked, “How can I trust my businesses to your care if you cannot prove yourself by serving the Lord for two short years?”

There was an awkward pause as the son pondered the father’s question and studied his anxious countenance.

Then with measured words, the father promised, “My son, my only heir, if you will be faithful in this calling and prove yourself worthy in every respect, all that I possess will be yours.”

Noticeably touched by these earnest pleadings, the son rose to his feet, embraced his father, and sobbed, “I will stay.”

The son did stay in the mission field; he did serve faithfully from that day forward. And yes, in due time, he received from his father the promised inheritance, even all that his father had to share.

Several years ago, as this Conference Center was being built and nearing completion, I entered this sacred building on the balcony level in a hard hat and safety glasses, ready to vacuum the carpet that my husband was helping to install. Where the rostrum now stands was a front-end loader moving dirt, and the dust in this building was thick. When it settled, it did so on the new carpet. My part was to vacuum. And so I vacuumed and vacuumed and vacuumed. After three days my little vacuum burned up!

The afternoon before the first general conference in this beautiful building, my husband called me. He was about to install the last piece of carpet—under this historic pulpit.

He asked, “What scripture should I write on the back of this carpet?”

And I said, “Mosiah 18:9: ‘Stand as [a witness] of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.’”

Years ago when I was vacuuming this carpet—trying to act well my small part—I didn’t realize that I would one day stand with my feet on the carpet under this pulpit.

Among the early converts in Kenya were two brothers, Benson and Nickson Kasue. When Benson was about eighteen years old, he was introduced to the gospel by the Dennis Childs family of the United States. Brother Childs was a veterinarian on a research project in Kenya and hired Benson to work for him. A warm friendship ensued, and Benson became interested in the Church. He then introduced his brother to the gospel. When the first missionaries came to Kenya, the brothers studied with them and requested baptism. But “it looked like that was never going to happen,” he says, “because the Church had been denied registration in our country. I waited for about four years. I did everything I could do, but I wasn’t baptized. I thought maybe God was testing me. I prayed and fasted, and prayed and fasted.”

Because the Church was denied official recognition, special permission was required from government authorities before anyone could be baptized. In 1985, approval was given for private baptisms in homes, and the Kasue brothers were finally baptized. In 1986 Benson and Nickson became the first Kenyans to serve full-time missions—Benson in California and Nickson in Washington, D.C.

After their missions, both Benson and Nickson married in the temple and continued sharing the gospel. Among those they introduced to the Church was their older brother, Julius. After four years of investigation, Julius joined the Church and moved back to his village of Chyulu, a rural area about 250 kilometers southeast of Nairobi, Kenya. Julius and his wife, Sabina, became the nucleus of a branch there. The experience of the Chyulu Saints is representative of the faith found among the new congregations being established throughout Africa.

The New Era always seems to arrive at the time I need it most. I’d been through a particularly tough test one day, and when I arrived back at the house, there were three issues waiting to be read. You can’t imagine the happiness I felt. I immediately sat down and read all of them. It was like water to a thirsty soul. Being 8,000 miles from home, I enjoy the New Era more than ever. It is my “mission magazine.”
Elder William R. NelsonColombia Cali Mission

I remember well the day I first visited the temple. I was a young missionary and I went to the London England Temple to receive my endowments just before entering the mission field.
Thinking back, I felt that I was in a holy place and it felt so right to put on white temple clothing in place of my normal clothes. In so doing, I felt the symbolism of leaving the world behind outside and experiencing heaven on earth. This added to the feeling of holiness.

In fast and testimony meeting, Brother Johnson told an experience he had while driving across a lonely stretch of highway. The still, small voice told him to take a different route home, one that would add about 10 kilometers to his trip. Although he had been eager to get home from his business trip, he obeyed the prompting. On his detour, he came across a car accident. A young family had been traveling to visit relatives. When the father, who was driving, fell asleep, the car drifted too close to the side of the road and rolled down a steep hill. Brother Johnson was able to call for help and administer first aid.

That fall, while the printers made steady progress on the Book of Mormon, a former judge named Abner Cole began publishing a newspaper on Grandin’s press. Working at night in the shop, after Grandin’s staff went home, Abner had access to printed pages from the Book of Mormon, which was not yet bound or ready for sale.
Abner soon began poking fun at the “Gold Bible” in his newspaper, and during the winter he printed excerpts from the book alongside sarcastic commentary.11
When Hyrum and Oliver learned what Abner was doing, they confronted him. “What right have you to print the Book of Mormon in this way?” Hyrum demanded. “Do you not know that we have received a copyright?”
“It is none of your business,” Abner said. “I have hired the press and I will print what I please.”
“I forbid you to print any more of that book in your paper,” Hyrum said.
“I don’t care,” Abner said.
Unsure what to do, Hyrum and Oliver sent word to Joseph in Harmony, who returned to Palmyra at once. He found Abner at the printing office, casually reading his own newspaper.
“You seem hard at work,” Joseph said.
“How do you do, Mr. Smith,” Abner replied dryly.
“Mr. Cole,” Joseph said, “the Book of Mormon and the right of publishing it belong to me, and I forbid you meddling with it.”
Abner threw off his coat and pushed up his sleeves. “Do you want to fight, sir?” he barked, pounding his fists together. “If you want to fight, just come on.”
Joseph smiled. “You had better keep your coat on,” he said. “It’s cold, and I am not going to fight you.” He calmly continued, “But you have got to stop printing my book.”
“If you think you are the best man,” Abner said, “just pull off your coat and try it.”
“There is law,” Joseph responded, “and you will find that out if you did not know it before. But I shall not fight you, for that will do no good.”
Abner knew he was on the wrong side of the law. He calmed down and stopped printing excerpts from the Book of Mormon in his newspaper.12

“Hundreds of thousands of dollars had to be raised, and such amounts of money are not easy to come by. One young couple saved $2,000 to come to Salt Lake City to go through the temple, a dream they had shared for many years. But when they were asked to contribute to the temple fund, they gave up that dream for the sake of another—the dream that every Brazilian Saint could go through the temple, instead of just a few.

“When I read about these and other sacrifices that Saints in Brazil had made, I realized my sacrifices hardly classify as sacrifices at all.”

Throughout the year the girls participated in a variety of money-raising projects. To the usual baked-food sales one of the groups added caramel popcorn, another sponsored a spaghetti dinner, and several of the classes sold concessions at stake sports events. The girls had car washes, pop bottle drives, and Christmas tree sales. One ward sponsored a carnival (complete with balloon-shaving and doughnut-eating contests); another cut out, made, and sold doll clothes; and a third took orders for and assembled silk flower corsages for Mother’s Day gifts. Several nonmembers became as enthusiastically involved as their Mia Maid friends.

Along with the money-raising events came “spirit-raising” events. Lessons were devoted to learning about the Saints in Brazil, temple marriage, and the significance, structure, and purpose of our modern-day temples. In addition, some of the girls were able to visit the Alberta Temple and do baptisms for the dead. But the highlight of the year was the special stake meeting held for all the Mia Maids, their parents, and leaders at the completion of the project. A Mia Maid from each ward explained how her class had raised the money and then gave her testimony of this special project. Next was the presentation of a story “The Dark Blue Suit” (see the July 1978 New Era), which gave a little insight into the faith and attitudes of some of the Saints in Brazil.

The conclusion of the evening was a talk by stake president Lamont Matkin concerning what the temple in Cardston should mean to the Mia Maids in the Lethbridge Stake.

Adviser Lesley Heath of the First Ward summed up her feelings about the year by saying, “It was a time of learning—about the Brazilian people, about the value of temples, and about the special beauty of each individual Mia Maid in my class. Only I, as their adviser, will ever know the real sacrifice of the two girls in our class who went the extra mile and donated twice as much of their babysitting money as they had promised. Only I will ever know of another girl who took the time away from a special event with her friends to work all day at the basketball concession stand. I’m grateful for this experience, and for the vision it gave us of what we can do.”

Sharee Jones of Richfield, Utah, was receiving initiatory ordinances in the temple on behalf of her deceased sister. She had a spiritual impression that her sister, who had disabilities and died of heart failure at age 17, was not encumbered in the spirit world and would be resurrected with a perfect body. While participating in this temple ordinance, Sharee realized that because of the Savior’s Resurrection, her sister’s body would no longer have restrictions when she was resurrected.
As we participate in temple ordinances, the Holy Ghost can reveal gospel truths in important and sometimes personal ways. Sharee’s experience illustrates one way the Lord’s power can be manifested in the temple, in part fulfilling His words in the Doctrine and Covenants. After the dedication of the Kirtland Temple in 1836, the Lord appeared to the Prophet Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery and told them, “I have accepted this house, and my name shall be here; and I will manifest myself to my people in mercy in this house” (Doctrine and Covenants 110:7; emphasis added).

Susan: “For a while, any contact my husband, Tim, had with the Church was very stressful for me. I was constantly praying that someone would say the thing that would open his eyes and that no one would do or say anything that would offend him.

“Five years passed before I finally realized that during my own investigation of the Church, no one had smoothed the way for me or prepared every personality for my benefit. There had been unsettling experiences for me now and again; but through it all, I had retained my agency. When I decided to be baptized, I did so because I knew through prayer and study that the Church was true.

“Now I have accepted the fact that my husband is capable of making the same mature investigation of the Church whenever he is ready.”

A third incident happened in the winter of 1946–47. I was forty-nine years old. Sister Young and I were on our way to the funeral of her brother in old Mexico. We pulled out of Cortez, Colorado, heading south for Gallup, New Mexico, at 9:30 at night. It was bitter cold. The temperature that night fell to ten degrees below zero.
A strong crosswind was blowing, creating a ground blizzard of snow that made the road difficult to see and to navigate. We were without a heater in the car and were wrapped deep in quilts. We must have been going about fifty miles an hour.
Suddenly out of the darkness and the storm there loomed two horses, crossing the highway from right to left. They were just starting to cross into the left lane when I saw them. Without my thinking—there was not time for that—my hands turned the steering wheel left. In a second we were on the far left, the left wheels on the shoulder of the road. As we whizzed by, the lead horse jerked his head high and back, and we brushed by his nose. Another split second and we were back into our proper lane. I remember no thought that caused me to turn the wheel just enough to clear the horses yet not enough to roll us over into the borrow pit. I know that it wasn’t I who did the driving.
There have been other times. Yes, to some they all can be explained away. There is nothing openly miraculous about them. Yet in each event I could not have extricated myself without a protecting providence.
During my life I have heard and read of peoples’ hearing a voice and obeying it. I believe these experiences, even though I have never heard the voice speak out loud to me.
One time I was reading in the Book of Mormon and came to the account of the efforts of Laman and Lemuel to slay Nephi. You will remember that he was rebuking them and said:
“Ye have seen an angel, and he spake unto you; yea, ye have heard his voice from time to time; and he hath spoken unto you in a still small voice, but ye were past feeling, that ye could not feel his words; wherefore, he has spoken unto you like unto the voice of thunder, which did cause the earth to shake as if it were to divide asunder.” (1 Ne. 17:45. Italics added.)
I suppose I have read that passage a dozen or more times in my life, all the time thinking it to be but a series of statements to remind those rebellious boys of the testimony they had been given.
On this particular reading my mind became illuminated. A great light seemed to enter. I could understand that Nephi was declaring the way by which the Holy Ghost gives us inspiration. The “still small voice,” “ye were past feeling,” “ye could not feel his words”—that is it! When you are inspired, a certain confirming feeling accompanies the thoughts in your mind. You learn to recognize and understand that the Holy Ghost does bear witness. He does speak in a still small voice—which is not always in words.
When I was in my teens, I used to wonder what it felt like to hear the voice of the Lord. I thought that Moses, Isaiah, John the Baptist, and especially Joseph Smith were highly favored, and I wished that I might hear also. I was not being sacrilegious. It was an honest desire. I knew quite well that unless I had a special calling that required it, the Lord would not favor me with his personal attention. Voices from heaven are few in recorded history.
The answer to this desire was quite as dramatic to me as had been the one I received about Nephi and his brethren. One day about ten years ago (when I was age sixty-four), I was reading section 18 of the Doctrine and Covenants. I read these words:
“These words are not of men nor of man, but of me; wherefore, you shall testify they are of me and not of man;
“For it is my voice which speaketh them unto you; for they are given by my Spirit unto you, and by my power you can read them one to another; and save it were by my power you could not have them;
“Wherefore, you can testify that you have heard my voice, and know my words.” (D&C 18:34–36.)
Here the Lord was telling the twelve apostles, five years before the quorum was organized, that when they read his words, they were hearing his voice. It was as though the heavens were opened and everything was revealed that was given to any of the prophets who ever wrote. Ever since then the Doctrine and Covenants has had a new meaning for me. I am hearing as well as reading, and clearly the voice of the Lord rings in my heart. I have always read and enjoyed the uplifting quality of this great book. But now things are different. Now I read with awe and wonderment.
Why couldn’t I have had this come to me at sixteen? Don’t wait until you are sixty to understand this. A sincere desire and the Holy Ghost can give you the power to hear the voice of the Lord every time you pick up one of his revelations.
I learned another important principle very late too. I’ll repeat it so it might be of some help to you. The lesson began fifty-three years ago, in 1918, when I was a soldier in the First World War. After the Armistice, our regiment organized a football team while we were waiting our turn to come home. Because I played on the team, I was excused from drill, menial tasks, and general discipline. The players could also go to Bordeaux, the nearest city, any time.
On one such visit I had enjoyed a favorite painting hanging in a cathedral. It depicted the Lord raising Lazarus from the dead. It was very large, about eight by fifteen feet, and a masterpiece. I never tired of looking at it. Afterward I went to the YMCA and wrote some letters, and finally I went to the place in the town square where the truck was to pick us up to go back to camp.
While standing in the shadow of a building, I saw a teammate come to the spot. He stood under the dim street light, waiting for the truck. Soon a French girl came up and accosted him. He did not speak French, but the language she was using was universal. After looking in several directions and seeing no one, he walked away with the girl.
Later we were discharged and arrived in Salt Lake City. I saw a woman, obviously this same man’s wife, run up to him and place a baby in his arms. As I stood there watching him look at his offspring for the first time, I wondered what he was thinking. I am still wondering.
That was in January 1919, fifty-two years ago. I was telling this story about five years ago, stressing the obvious moral that “the wages of sin is death”—death of the spirit, at least.
Suddenly, as I spoke, an idea was born: If I had stepped from the shadows and joined him, or called to him, or let him know in any way that I was there, he might not have gone with that girl. By a simple act I might have saved him. Only it didn’t occur to me then. Since that thought came to me, I have not thought so well of myself.
How many times have there been in my life when a word, a gesture, an appearance might have changed someone’s course and put him on the right road? How often could you help?
Everyone in the church of Christ knows of the part that sin plays in our lives and in our prospects for eternal life. Consequently, we are concerned about our own sins. But what about the sins we might have prevented in others if we had spoken up?
Young men and women, you cannot escape some testing of your perception of the Holy Ghost. But remember that if you will live worthily, his power can protect you and lead you into the paths of righteousness.
Whether it be an instantaneous protective act, a feeling of his words, or a reading in which one hears his voice, it comes from God. All of these are gifts of the Spirit to one who has received the Holy Ghost at baptism and is intent on enjoying his influence.
You are also being tested as to how well you will put out the hand of guidance and of warning to acquaintances who surround you. It is not good to let someone go astray without warning. Of course, it is worse still to lead another astray deliberately.
The field is broad and there is much for you to discover. But you will accomplish little unless you learn to feel the voice and to hear the word of the Lord. Read his scriptures—when your hearts and souls are touched, you are experiencing these promises. If you will experience and learn of both of these perceptive gifts early in your growing years and will learn about the practical application of the first and great commandment and the second one which is like unto it (love of God and man), you will have the great hope and reward of eternal life. And life will always be beautiful to you.

Shelley liked seashells. She had a jar filled with them, and she liked to spread them out on her bed.
One morning Mommy said, “Grandpa and Grandma are coming tomorrow to celebrate Father’s Day with us. Would you please put your shells back into the jar and help me clean your room.”
As she was putting her shells away, Shelley had an idea—she would make Daddy and Grandpa each a Father’s Day present with her shells.
Daddy had given her one of his old belts, and Shelley carefully glued tiny shells all around it with some really strong glue. The belt buckle was smooth and flat, and Shelley glued one of her bigger shells right in the middle of it.
Shelley didn’t have one of Grandpa’s old belts, so she made him a tie clasp with a shell on it.
Then she asked Mommy to write “To Daddy with love from Shelley” and “To Grandpa with love from Shelley” on cards for them.
The next day Daddy and Grandpa thanked Shelley for her Father’s Day gifts by giving her big hugs.

“The missionary work of the Church is a panorama of more than a century of service and privations and hardships and sacrifices. The closer one is to the program, the more completely one can understand and appreciate it. When my grandfather Heber C. Kimball left for his mission, he and Brigham Young left their families destitute and ill and they themselves needed help to get into the carriage which took them from their homes. As they started off they raised themselves … and waved back to their weeping wives and children. Thousands of people came into the Church as a result of those missions, and tens of thousands have been benefited indirectly and are now enjoying the blessings of the gospel because of those sacrifices. To one who did not understand, such devotion and sacrifice on the part of those men would have been considered foolhardy and silly. But to the Young and Kimball families it was a mark of great faith. And to the thousands who will, through the eternities, call the names of those missionaries blessed, the privations and sacrifice were not wasted.”—President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, ed. Edward L. Kimball (1982), 253.