Gospel Story Finder

“Several years ago, Sister Pearson and I were called to preside over the Washington Tacoma Mission. The call was a complete surprise. With some trepidation I met with the chairman and the CEO of the company where I was employed and informed them of my mission call. They were visibly upset with my decision to leave the firm. ‘When did you make this decision, and why didn’t you discuss it with us earlier?’ they demanded.
“In a moment of clarity, a profound answer came into my mind. I said, ‘I made this decision as a 19-year-old boy, when I made sacred covenants with God in the temple to follow the Savior. I’ve built my entire life on those covenants, and I fully intend to keep them now.’”
Elder Kevin W. Pearson of the Seventy

On a rainy Saturday morning prior to a Kolwezi district conference in 2013, President Ellie Monga, Counselor in the Lubumbashi Democratic Republic of the Congo Mission and Elder Jeffrey Wright, the mission finance secretary, welcomed two strangers at the mission office. Their clothes were muddy, and they were exhausted. They arrived pushing a single, beat-up bicycle and carrying a parcel that was wrapped in a torn and dirty plastic.
President Monga and Elder Wright inquired about their journey and learned that these two tired pilgrims, Brothers Yumba Muzimba Paul and Muba Wa Umbalo Delphin, had arrived from Kinkondja, a city located 600 kilometers (375 miles) north of Kolwezi. They had departed eight days earlier as part of a larger group that was traveling to attend the district conference. En route, most of the group fell sick and decided to return to their homes—but these two brothers were determined to complete the journey by themselves, taking turns between pedaling the bicycle and riding on the back. They said that they had travelled the last three days continuously through the night without stopping and without food—and after a tire went flat, they pushed the bicycle through the rain along the muddy roads. Their bicycle was broken, and these brothers had no money for tools or parts. They had not eaten for three days. They did not know how they would fund a return to their homes.
Brother Paul and Brother Delphin explained that they represented the roughly 60 Saints living in the Kinkondja area and had come to bring tithing from those Saints and to attend the district conference. This came as a surprise to President Monga and Elder Wright as there was no officially organized Kinkondja branch of the Church. Elder Wright recorded in his journal, “It was my honor to receive [the tithing envelopes]. It was my honor to process them.” Elder Wright continued, “I have never felt like I had handled such sacred money before in my whole lifetime.”
Brother Paul related that he was one of three men from Kinkondja who had begun writing to then-Church President Spencer W. Kimball in 1975, asking for missionaries to be sent to the DRC—known as Zaire at the time—and especially to their own village. Brother Delphin added that his deceased father was one of those same three men. (This was well before the Church had been formally organized in the country and before the first missionaries arrived in 1986.) These brothers said that years before, both had been baptized and ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. But in earlier instructions from Church leaders, they were told that they could not be ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood because at that time they lived too far away from an organized Church unit.
For the next two days, President Monga and Elder Wright taught and trained Brother Paul and Brother Delphin in the duties and obligations of the Melchizedek Priesthood. During his interview with Brother Paul, Elder Wright stressed the obligations associated with priesthood ordination, and reminded Brother Paul that “the priesthood is an irreversible event with heavy consequences based on the oath and covenant of the priesthood.” Speaking through President Monga as translator from Kiluba, his native language, Brother Paul replied, “I have waited for this event for 38 years, anticipating this happening for me. Do you think I will fall away? I will never turn away.”
Both brothers were sustained to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood in the district conference, and afterward ordained by Elder Wright with President Monga translating his words into Kiluba. After their ordinations, they were further authorized by President Monga to baptize their wives and children and to administer the sacrament to the Saints upon their return to Kinkondja. Brother Delphin, the younger of the two brothers, was given an additional instruction to dedicate the grave of his father to “honor him as one of the original converts and pioneers of the great work in the Congo.”
Elder Wright recorded in his journal: “I told the mission president [President Phillip McMullin] that night about the condition of their bike and mentioned that I was going to recondition it, buy them [a second] bike and buy them some tools to fix the bikes.” He and President McMullin also funded a ride home for them along with their bikes in one of the big trucks that travel the route to Kinkondja. Before departing, the brothers were given Church materials to take back to their village—among those materials were a sacrament tray and cups so that these newly-ordained and authorized priesthood holders would be able to conduct the ordinance of the sacrament each week.
That Kolwezi district conference in 2013 was memorable for all involved. The district president asked the Kinkondja brethren, to share their powerful testimonies in priesthood meeting and in the Sunday session of conference. They had arrived very tired and very early on Saturday morning. By the end of the conference, they—and all who heard their stories and their testimonies—left refreshed, fulfilled, and feeling God’s love in their hearts.

When we arrived in Merthyr, the scene had already been set by those who had been directing our lives for the past year. It felt as though we were in a giant genealogical chess game over which we had no control. Terry was beginning to feel the same forces in action as well. Every morning he would present us with a list of places we would visit that day. One day he showed us his list, which had two sides. He said that he created one list the night before and then this morning, for some unknown reason, he changed it and added a new place: Gadfield Elm Chapel in Gloucestershire. He said he didn’t know why he added it but thought it would be interesting for us to see. Of course, we acquiesced.
Miracle number eight: As we got to Gadfield Elm we discovered the reason. The first ownership of the chapel was given to Wilford Woodruff by the United Brethren, but it rested on or near brother Benbow’s farm. Many of the early members were baptized in Benbow’s pond. And Benbow was the maiden name of Terry’s wife. Terry was stunned. He kept saying he had no idea why he had changed the itinerary for the day, but we all knew why.

In my last year of high school, I wanted to make the varsity (or advanced) tennis team. I had to beat the girl ranked immediately above me to make the team. But when I played her, I lost.
Even though I was disappointed, I played on the junior varsity team. In the final junior varsity tournament, I was ranked in first place. But what do you know? I lost the final match. I cried—again.
I was disappointed again later. After I received an award for earning good grades and playing sports, they decided to take the award away—because apparently, it was only for those who played varsity.
At the time, tennis was a big part of my life, and those disappointments felt huge. What I didn’t realize was that the Savior was always with me, helping me. Those huge disappointments didn’t last forever, even if it felt like they would.

Hello! I’m Maggie from Joplin, Missouri. One night my mom saw storm warnings on the news, and we all went to the basement. The loud whistling wind scared me. I was worried about my friends and our animals. After the storm, I was grateful my family was safe and our house didn’t have much damage.
Lots of other homes and businesses were destroyed by the tornado that came through town. I felt sad for people who lost loved ones. My parents and older brother and sister decided to help clean up our town. It made me think of the scripture, “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).
I wanted to help clean too, but my mom said it wasn’t safe for a child. Then I felt the Holy Ghost share a great idea to make people feel happy. I made 20 thank-you notes to give to volunteers. I spent lots of time making each card special so that people could feel the Spirit and know they were very important to our town.
I learned that even if you can’t do certain things to serve, you can always think of other ways to serve. Heavenly Father will bless you for serving Him and your fellow man.

It was Christmas Eve, and our family had gathered as we do every year to celebrate. The clock was about to strike midnight when Dad called us together, saying that he had something to show us.
With all the preparation and excitement that accompany Christmas Eve, my sisters, mother, and I had not noticed what Dad had prepared for the occasion. As soon as we were all comfortably gathered together, he began to show us some slides.
In his slide show, which featured a painting of the Savior, Christmas scenes, and carefully crafted words, Dad expressed his love for us. His presentation also reminded us of the true meaning of Christmas and the happiness and gratitude we should feel for the Savior’s birth. One slide of a colorful Christmas tree also featured the words, “This Christmas the love of Jesus Christ will bring me a new life.”
The most special part of Dad’s presentation followed when he used a slide of a painting of the Savior to give us some news. It wasn’t just any news; it was the best news ever. Above the Savior appeared the words “I have decided to get baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Our father had finally decided to join the Church! Such a decision may be easy for some people, but it wasn’t for our father. He had been studying the gospel and learning about the Church for 25 years. Despite our best efforts and many missionary discussions, he still had not been baptized. We never understood why, but we knew he wasn’t ready.
I admit there were times when I felt that my father would never be baptized. Deep inside, however, I never lost hope, and we all continued to pray for him. On Christmas Eve, the Lord answered our prayers.
When Dad made his announcement, at first all we could do was weep for joy. We felt a mixture of feelings—excitement, surprise, and above all else, an enormous happiness that is difficult to describe.
Dad’s announcement didn’t just change Christmas Eve—it changed life for our entire family. We still have progress to make as individuals and as a family, but I know moving ahead will be better now that we’re together in the Church.
I am so grateful to the Lord for this blessing. In a few months we will be sealed as a family in the temple. Dad’s announcement was definitely the best Christmas present ever.

As the mission term for the Grant family came to a close, President Grant decided to try to get Fia into the United States. He booked passage for her as a nurse for his children and hoped that as he was prepared to support her for the rest of her life, there would be no trouble with the immigration authorities. When their ship landed in New York, the excitement of returning home was nearly forgotten in the concern the Grant family had over whether Fia would be able to remain with them. But things went much easier than they had hoped. The immigration officers asked no questions and made no examinations. Fia was in!
The Grant family arrived in Salt Lake shortly before Christmas 1906. Fia was a most welcome addition. Elder Grant even talked of adopting her legally. Perhaps because of her age this was never done, but she was no longer considered hired help; she was loved and treated as a family member.

It would be an understatement to say that my husband and I were surprised to learn that, at age 40, I was expecting a baby. Complications in the pregnancy soon prompted the doctors to order complete bed rest for me. My husband gave me a priesthood blessing in which I was promised that if I would do as I was instructed by the doctors, all would be well.
But bed rest proved to be a difficult challenge as I tried to meet the needs of our two young children and keep myself occupied.
When the ward members realized I would be “confined for the duration,” dinners began arriving with regularity. My three-year-old son was often picked up to spend the day with friends. And when my six-year-old son got home from school, someone always seemed to drop in to check on him. Sisters came frequently to clean the house and do the laundry, often ending up sitting on my bed to visit.
More than two months before the baby was due, I went into early labor and our tiny, frail son was born. He was so ill that the doctors told us we should set our affairs in order and prepare for a funeral. We went in to see our tiny son, covered with wires and tubes, in a warming crib. With tears flowing freely, my husband and two other brethren anointed and blessed our little baby, John. John responded by beginning to fight for his life.
While my husband and I spent many days and nights at the hospital, our ward members continued their many acts of service and love for our family. More than once during the pregnancy and at least twice after the baby was born, the entire ward fasted and prayed for us.
On one occasion when we were permitted to take John to church even though he was still on oxygen, a mother approached us with her eight-year-old son. She quietly, almost reverently, asked if her son could see the baby. She explained that her son had caught the vision of serving and loving others by fasting and praying. He wanted to see how his faith and prayers had been answered. He looked at the baby and wept. He told his mother he was glad he could fast and pray. “After all,” he said, “look what Heavenly Father did.”
Today John is a vibrant, energetic, loving 17-year-old. He is a living testimony to the members of that generous ward and their commitment to faith and charity. Words cannot express the gratitude we feel toward them and our Heavenly Father.

One memorable ministering experience taught me how the Lord works through His servants to bless His children. One day my companion and I set out to visit a brother in our ward. It was our second ministering visit of the day, and as we embarked on our journey, we encountered difficulties locating his home. Google Maps directed us to the wrong location, leaving us confused and unsure of where to go. Determined not to give up, we decided to call the brother to explain the situation. He kindly clarified that he did not live in the area where the map had directed us and proceeded to describe his actual location.
With his guidance, we got back into the car and continued our journey, hopeful that we would find his home. Thankfully, we arrived at the correct address. The brother warmly welcomed us into his home, and we felt great joy in meeting him and his family. After exchanging pleasantries, we asked if there was anything we could do for them or if there was something they would like to share with us. The brother opened up about a concern that had been troubling him. He explained that just the day before, he had felt very guilty about his situation and knew he needed to speak with someone from church who could help him. Our visit seemed to him like an answer to his prayers.
He went on to share his concern: he was not legally married to his wife. This revelation surprised us because, according to the information on the Church’s member tools, his record indicated that he was married. He clarified that this was a mistake, likely a mix-up from when he was interviewed by the missionaries prior to his baptism. He expressed feelings of guilt and a strong desire to correct the situation.
We offered words of counsel and encouragement, discussing the steps he could take to resolve his situation. We assured him of our support and reminded him of the blessings that come from doing what is right. With our encouragement, he determined to take the necessary steps to address his marital status in a way that aligned with God’s commandments.
Today, this brother and his wife are legally married, and they are preparing to be sealed as an eternal family in the temple.

Of course, sometimes you’ll want your mom and dad to listen, not talk. As you’ve probably noticed, many adults suffer from acute Advice-Giving Syndrome. I know I do. My daughter Christy will often start to tell me about a problem she’s having at school or with friends, and immediately I stop listening and start telling her what she should do. I know that Christy wants to express herself more than she wants my advice, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.
A student of mine has a good approach to use on parents (or any other adult, for that matter) who tend to give advice when they should be listening. “My parents love to give me advice,” he says, “and lots of times, I don’t mind. But sometimes I really want them to listen to what I have to say, so I’ll tell them, ‘Mom and Dad, I want to tell you something, and I want you to listen—without talking—until I’m finished. I really want to tell you this, but if you’re not going to listen, I’m not going to tell you. If you’ll listen to me, then I’ll listen to what you have to say.’ That usually works.”

“Prairie gum!” exclaimed Roxanna. “Would you like to go out and get some prairie gum?”
“Oh, yes,” Rachel said. She had just walked the two miles between her soddy (a home built of sod) and Roxanna’s, but her six-year-old legs were eager to go on if the reward was prairie gum.
Prairie gum was a sticky substance that gathered on the broken tops of the tall rosinweeds that dotted the land. In the spring, the weed had blossomed like a little yellow sunflower, but today the leaves were stiff. It was fall, and everything on the prairie was brown and dry. The little wildflowers that had once added splashes of red, orange, and purple to the sea of grass, were all gone.
The girls walked hand in hand through the dry grass. They felt lucky to live so close to each other, because most prairie families did not have neighbors nearby. The golden land was vast, and homes were spread out. As Rachel and Roxanna walked, they could not even see another soddy.
They trotted from weed to weed, their long braids dancing behind them. Picking off a bit of the colorless gum here and a bit there, they tried to gather enough of it to make a chewy lump. They were so focused on spotting the next rosinweed and scraping its gum that they didn’t realize they had walked another mile. When a faint cry rang out, the two best friends froze.
“Listen! What is that?” Rachel’s brown eyes widened with fear. Both girls strained to make out the sound. Then they saw Roxanna’s father running toward them in the distance. “Why, it’s your father! He wants us to do something. What is it, Roxanna? Can you hear?”
“Run! Run! Run!” Roxanna’s father was yelling frantically. “Run to the breaking!” Roxanna quickly spotted the place where her father had turned over the prairie sod with the breaking-up plow. Land on the prairie could not be cultivated the first year; it had to be broken up, then left to lie and rot. During the fall and winter, the tough grass roots rotted away so that a common plow could get through them. She grabbed Rachel’s hand and began running the quarter of a mile to the breaking. They stumbled through the tall, dry prairie grass.
“Run to the breaking! Run! Run!” Roxanna and Rachel could see the blur of a blue shirt as Roxanna’s father waved his arms desperately like the fans of a windmill. “Run! Run!” His frantic voice was still faint, but the words were distinct.
“Roxanna, what is it? What’s the matter?” Rachel asked between frenzied breaths.
“I don’t know,” Roxanna gasped. Neither girl stopped running. Their parents had taught them to obey immediately, so they stumbled on as fast as their little legs would carry them.
The prairie grass felt like claws that again and again snatched at them and tried to trip them. Roxanna stepped into a gopher hole, and Rachel pulled her up. Rachel’s lungs ached, and she felt she did not have another breath in her, but she kept going.
At last they reached the edge of the breaking. Roxanna’s father came running up from the other side. Seizing both girls in his arms, he dragged them into the middle of the bare black space.
“Lie down!” he gasped and threw his body over theirs on the ground. The black soil was hard and scratched the girls’ faces.
“What is it?” Rachel panted.
A crisp, crackling sound was her answer. She turned her head to see a large fire sweeping across the prairie. The orange flames swiftly swallowed up the dry grass and weeds in its path, including where Rachel and Roxanna had stood just minutes before! The flames shot high into the sky with a sizzling sound like wicked laughter. The air over them grew thick with gray smoke and flying red cinders. Roxanna’s eyes and lungs burned from the acrid smoke. Rachel thought that her skin would melt from the intense heat that enveloped them.
“Hold on, girls,” Roxanna’s father urged.
And then the danger was over. The fire moved swiftly on down the prairie, leaving Rachel, Roxanna, and her father untouched because there was no grass around them to burn. They sat up and stared at the moving fire. Rachel wiped the sweat and dirt from her face with the back of her hand. Roxanna let out a big sigh of relief.
“That was close,” Roxanna’s father gasped, “but we made it!” He looked back to see a stretch of black that extended down the prairie, marking the fire’s path. The ground around the breaking was black and still sizzling. He inhaled deeply. “We made it because of your quick obedience to my shouts.” Then he bowed his head and gave thanks to Heavenly Father that the girls had been obedient and that none of them had been caught in the fire.

Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him, even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I couldn’t remember it. Then I said a quick, little prayer, and suddenly my talk came back to me. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember things is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”

Photographs by Shirley Brito
Felipe F. from Pará, Brazil, is not your average 18-year-old. He has competed in professional mixed martial arts (MMA), judo, and karate competitions. And he’s pretty good at what he does. He won the International Iron Man MMA competition. He’s a 2-time Pará state champion, a Brazilian vice-champion, and an international vice-champion for judo. And he is a 10-time Pará state champion, a 10-time Brazilian champion, a South American champion, a Pan-American champion, and a 3-time world champion for karate. Whoa!
Felipe has been training since he was seven years old. But he believes the biggest reason for his success is God. “I always pray for the Lord’s help,” he says.
During his last Pan-American karate championship, Felipe wasn’t feeling very confident. But then his dad gave him a priesthood blessing. “After that my mind was better, and that helped me win the championship that day. The last two matches I won, I had only one second left. Everyone thought it was impossible. I did an unexpected move that helped me win, and for me, it was all because of my dad’s blessing.”
His dad has given him many blessings over the years. Felipe knows that receiving a blessing won’t always mean he’ll win, but he believes that the Lord can help him stay focused and improve his talents. “This helps me be more confident,” Felipe says. “I know that regardless of the result, the hand of the Lord was there.”
The rest of his family has been a big support as well. At one MMA tournament, Felipe saw his family in the bleachers. “All of them were there cheering my name. I was speechless.” He adds, “I am extremely grateful for my father and mother, who showed me the right path.”
Felipe feels that following that path has helped him in his sport. His friends would often laugh at him when he wouldn’t do the things they were doing. But Felipe doesn’t regret it. “Just like the gospel brings blessings, in sports it also brings achievements! Not going to party with my friends and eating the right things both influence the result.”
Now that he’s 18, Felipe has lots of opportunities. He was recently invited to train in a prestigious MMA academy, and he has offers from managers around the world. But he wants to serve a mission first.
“For me, it’s an easy choice,” he says. “The Lord is in first place. The rest can wait, because He always blesses you for being obedient.”
Felipe’s older brother Júnior, who recently got back from a mission, was part of his motivation. He told Felipe that there is nothing better than serving a mission and that he should go even if people try to convince him not to.
And Felipe has had people telling him to stay. Many people in his extended family aren’t members of the Church. “They don’t understand that serving a mission has more value than becoming rich and famous. I just try to teach the gospel when those moments happen,” Felipe says. And one of those moments led to a powerful missionary experience.
Felipe’s cousin had recently passed away, and Felipe’s uncle was grieving his son’s death. Felipe told his uncle about the plan of salvation. Afterward his uncle hugged him and apologized for telling him not to go on a mission. “He told me that I had the gift of touching people’s hearts and that I needed to serve,” Felipe remembers. “It was a special moment for me when someone who had no idea what a mission was understood its real purpose.”
Felipe did have times when he wasn’t sure about a mission himself. “I read my scriptures every day, and one night I had a lot of doubts about my choice. I started thinking, ‘Should I stay and compete a little longer?’ But then I read in the Book of Mormon about the Nephites starting to become ungrateful and prideful. Jacob taught them that they needed to put the Lord first. [See Jacob 2:12–21.] At that moment I had no doubt about my choice.”
“Today I know what I want, and I know that I will come back from my mission and be blessed in some way. It could be doing MMA or something else, but I know that God gives us what we need.”
Felipe didn’t always feel so excited and confident about a mission—or the Church. “I had a time in my life when I wasn’t as strong in the gospel, and it always felt like something was missing,” he says. “You know that person who just goes to church and doesn’t do anything else? That was me.” After talking to his brother and bishop about serving a mission, he decided to start praying and reading his scriptures every day.
“I think what helped me was daily conversion. I grew up in the Church, and for a time I didn’t search for conversion because I grew up in a home with a belief and thought that was good enough. But now I am looking for a testimony every day.”
Felipe knows that choosing the right doesn’t mean he’ll always win or have things go his way. “I remember going to a competition thinking I was prepared, and I lost in the first round. Another time I was at home injured. I remember waking up early, looking at the ceiling, wondering if it was all worth it. Sometimes I just wanted to turn around and go back to sleep, but I stood up and went to training. To be a champion goes beyond the moment of winning. It is someone who overcomes every day, overcomes failure, overcomes trials.”
The Savior is Felipe’s motivation to overcome in all aspects of life. “If we want to become like He is, we need to do what He does, always trying to stand firm, strengthen ourselves, and think what He would do. That inspires me in my actions every day, to be like Him. When I see something that I can change, I pray and ask forgiveness, trying to be better always. A true champion is the person who falls many times and even in the midst of frustration gets up and keeps going.”
“I am a champion because of the Lord,” Felipe says. “If it wasn’t for Him, I have no idea where I would be. But I’m sure I wouldn’t have all that I have today. Living the gospel has made me a champion in life and in sports.”
Note: Since this article was written, Felipe has begun his service in the Brazil São Paulo South Mission.

When I was 13, I was so cool. My shoes were always untied, and my pants could have fit twice as many legs as I had. The more average I appeared, the more popular I became. It seemed the most impressive thing I could do was nothing. At times I felt like doing something, but I rarely gave in, for I was cool.
In my life, I had a number of activities and abilities that I felt were anti-cool. Some of my “faults” were my ability to play the piano and get good grades. Perhaps my greatest hitch was my involvement in Scouting, seen by some kids at school as less than cool. After all, Scouts advocate doing a good turn daily. If someone asked about Scouting, I would quickly change the subject.
It’s not that I didn’t enjoy camping and other activities. I just didn’t want my peers to know that I enjoyed such things. If that knowledge ever spread, I knew that my cool friends would begin drifting away.
As winter arrived, my troop helped with the Scouting for Food drive. The Scouts advertised the food drive and collected the food by going around neighborhoods, usually dressed in their Scout uniforms. I felt I could not possibly participate. Someone might see me, delivering a fatal blow to my popularity. My parents, however, decided I needed to go.
As I walked out the door that day, I made every effort to keep a negative attitude. I eventually concluded that I would simply stay low in the cab of the truck and pass the time looking over my shoulder to make sure we weren’t spotted by anyone of importance.
The other guys passed the time in between houses throwing snowballs, telling jokes, and goofing around. That’s how it started. A little crack in my armor began. Jokes that started out seeming juvenile and annoying began to give me the chuckles, and I returned snowballs with snowballs instead of cold glares. By the end of our route, I was laughing while riding in the truck and racing to pick up the most food. Fortunately, I completely forgot that such simple pleasures were “beneath me.”
When I got dropped off in front of my house, I said good-bye and jaunted cheerfully into the kitchen, completely forgetting about my earlier lack of enthusiasm. My mom asked me how it had been, and I replied, “I had a great time.”
Just after these words slipped out of my mouth, I realized what I had done. How could I have told my mother this, of all things? I quickly tried to cover my mistake, coming back with, “Well, it was okay,” hoping that perhaps she would somehow not remember my initial response.
Looking back on this experience, I gained a few things from it. My search for peer approval was ridiculous. I decided that acting cool all the time really wasn’t cool. It didn’t benefit anyone, and it wasn’t any fun. When I acted disinterested, life was unexciting. Enjoyment, as it turned out, was independent of popularity. Who would have thought that? I gave this theory a test during the next week of school by making an effort to enjoy life rather than ignore it. This test was a great success. I had fun.
My Scouting experience taught me that I controlled whether or not I enjoyed myself in any situation—or in life. Attitude really is everything.

From Ed Kamauoha and Faleoo Itopi and other leaders like them, the young people of Sauniatu learned that despite being poor and often scorned by other men, they are important to the Lord, and he will help them be “Number 1.” Wherever they have gone as they have left Sauniatu, they have established the reputation of working hard and being the best.
Most of the young men who worked on Sauniatu went on missions. Elder Pouono Lameko is now serving a mission in Western Samoa. He spent three years at Sauniatu. He worked on the farm and the waterfall besides going to school. When he talks about his experiences at Sauniatu, his eyes shine and his face looks happy.
“I expanded at Sauniatu,” he said. “Brother Kamauoha encouraged me in school so that I improved and graduated from high school. He was my teacher—now he is my friend.”

While living in Salt Lake City, on assignment from the Church, Kay and Terence M. Vinson (now an emeritus General Authority Seventy) learned to play pickleball with neighbors and friends. They enjoyed the fellowship with others and the neighborliness that pickleball offered. So when their assignment ended and Elder Vinson was released, they took their interest, pickleball paddles, and wiffle balls back home to Australia.
“It’s such a healthy and engaging social and physical activity,” Sister Vinson says. “But we don’t have many pickleball courts in Sydney, so we’ve adapted the rules and equipment to fit what’s available.”

In his responsibilities as chair of the publicity committee, James was tireless in confronting errors and falsehoods, often by directly speaking to editors.15 Of one occasion, James related the stubbornness of some of the agitators and his desires for them to be honest in their publications:
“We made a personal visit to this editor and spent considerable time in an effort … to clear away the prejudice he had toward our people; and to show him the untruthfulness of the statements made in his article, [which] we took with us [as] unimpeachable evidence for this purpose. He emphatically told us there was nothing we could do or say or adduce that would change his attitude; that his mind was made up and that he was against our religion on general principles. He defended what he insisted was his right to attack us in any way he wanted to, in order to protect his patrons and friends.”16

Not long ago, as I sat waiting for the opening exercises of priesthood meeting, my home teaching companion mentioned that my scriptures were in the ward lost and found.
When I looked to my side, however, I saw that I still had my new set of scriptures, which my wife had given me. As for my old set, they were sitting in a basket next to a chair in our front room. I was puzzled.
“What’s your middle initial?” my companion asked.
“R,” I said.
“That’s what the name said,” he replied. “I’ll go get them for you.”
He returned a moment later and handed me a Bible with my name in faded gold letters on the front. I recognized it immediately. I struggled to unzip the old black cover. The book fell open to the first page, which bore a note in my father’s handwriting. I was holding the Bible that my parents had given me for my 12th birthday.
I was now living in Arizona, and the last time I had seen this Bible, I was living in Utah, preparing for a mission. I took my seminary set of scriptures with me to the mission field and left this Bible home. I found the odds staggering that my old Bible could have somehow made its way, over the course of 30 years, from my parents’ home in Utah to my ward building in Arizona.
My father, a student of the scriptures, instilled in me at an early age a desire to read and study the word of God. A portion of the note he wrote in my Bible gave me counsel as a preface to my receiving the Aaronic Priesthood:
“David, on this, your 12th birthday, you will receive the priesthood of Aaron as a deacon and become a servant of the Lord, even as your namesake, David the king. As he behaved himself wisely, the Lord blessed him.
“So shall it be with you. If you will behave yourself wisely and follow the Lord, He will bless you and call you to serve Him.
“Be strong and faithful, Son. Study this book diligently, and it will give you strength.”
My father’s words are as meaningful to me now as they were 30 years ago, perhaps even more so. How grateful I am to have again received the gift of my first Bible with the timeless counsel of my father.

The place was solemn and forgotten as only an old graveyard can be. It was a grotesque, weedy pause between railroad tracks and decaying buildings, a shabby plot where crumbling cherubs tilted above sagging gray monuments. Grass grew high there, and the chiseled epitaphs had disappeared under a slow tide of moss. It was a good place to ignore.
That’s why it didn’t make much sense one morning when a squad of bright-faced young men and women showed up at the rusting gates with hoes and shovels and clippers and mowers, and went to work. Heads appeared in the windows of the surrounding buildings, and the questions flew. Who are they? What are they doing here? What’s in it for them? And the answers didn’t make much sense either. The young people sweating among the tombstones weren’t even from the neighborhood; no one had asked them to come, and they weren’t getting anything out of it. For all anyone knew, they might have been so many ghosts come back to spruce up their own exclusive little subdivision.
And when they left, with the weeds out, the grass mowed, and the monuments standing straight, everyone knew that the neighborhood had become a nicer place to live, but no one knew who the mysterious band of “ghosts” were, and it’s not likely they ever will.
And that suits the young men and women of the Richardson Ward in Dallas, Texas, just fine. They’ve discovered that being doers of the word instead of just hearers isn’t merely a scripture—it’s a beautiful, happy principle of life. It means doing the yard work of widows in the area, helping to maintain the chapel, working on community projects, and even cleaning up an abandoned graveyard—just because they need doing.
Whether cleaning up a graveyard, staging a dance festival, or spreading the truth, they have discovered where happiness is at. It’s at home—wherever you are—if you’re living the gospel.

As a young missionary, Elder Orson F. Whitney (1855–1931), who later served in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, had a dream so powerful that it changed his life forever. He later wrote:
“One night I dreamed … that I was in the Garden of Gethsemane, a witness of the Savior’s agony. … I stood behind a tree in the foreground. … Jesus, with Peter, James, and John, came through a little wicket gate at my right. Leaving the three Apostles there, after telling them to kneel and pray, He passed over to the other side, where He also knelt and prayed … : ‘Oh my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless not as I will but as Thou wilt.’
“As He prayed the tears streamed down His face, which was [turned] toward me. I was so moved at the sight that I wept also, out of pure sympathy with His great sorrow. My whole heart went out to Him. I loved Him with all my soul and longed to be with Him as I longed for nothing else.
“Presently He arose and walked to where those Apostles were kneeling—fast asleep! He shook them gently, awoke them, and in a tone of tender reproach, untinctured by the least show of anger or scolding, asked them if they could not watch with Him one hour. …
“Returning to His place, He prayed again and then went back and found them again sleeping. Again He awoke them, admonished them, and returned and prayed as before. Three times this happened, until I was perfectly familiar with His appearance—face, form, and movements. He was of noble stature and of majestic mien … the very God that He was and is, yet as meek and lowly as a little child.
“All at once the circumstance seemed to change. … Instead of before, it was after the Crucifixion, and the Savior, with those three Apostles, now stood together in a group at my left. They were about to depart and ascend into heaven. I could endure it no longer. I ran from behind the tree, fell at His feet, clasped Him around the knees, and begged Him to take me with Him.
“I shall never forget the kind and gentle manner in which He stooped and raised me up and embraced me. It was so vivid, so real that I felt the very warmth of His bosom against which I rested. Then He said: ‘No, my son; these have finished their work, and they may go with me; but you must stay and finish yours.’ Still I clung to Him. Gazing up into His face—for He was taller than I—I besought Him most earnestly: ‘Well, promise me that I will come to You at the last.’ He smiled sweetly and tenderly and replied: ‘That will depend entirely upon yourself.’ I awoke with a sob in my throat, and it was morning.”