Gospel Story Finder

Brother Michael Kagle took a convoy of trucks loaded with equipment from his own company to Mississippi. Many employees, who are not of our faith, volunteered to go with him every weekend to give assistance in the storm-stricken areas. Walkie-talkies were used for communication along the way. Mike’s high priests group leader, while driving along with them in his pickup truck, said he had white knuckles from driving so fast. Trying to slow the convoy down, he got on the walkie-talkie and said, “Gentlemen, do you realize we are going 80 miles per hour?” One of the truck drivers came on and said, “Well, you have to understand that’s all these big trucks will do. We can’t go any faster.”

Hundreds of letters of gratitude have been received. One woman, a nurse from Mississippi, wrote: “I was speechless. Had God answered my prayers so quickly? Tears immediately began to roll down my cheeks as men in hard hats and boots, with chain saws of all shapes and sizes, appeared out of the debris. It was absolutely, unequivocally, one of the most supreme sacrifices that has ever happened to me personally.”

Whilst my wife and I were serving as leaders of the Fiji Suva Mission, we would monitor the storm weather sites from November through April to be aware of any cyclones that may affect our missionaries serving throughout the islands.
In early-April 2018, tropical Cyclone Keni developed into a category 2 cyclone which, on its projected course, would track several hundred kilometers south of the island of Kadavu. As we drew closer to the 11th of April 2018, instead of staying on its predicted course, Cyclone Keni veered northward and increased in intensity to category 3 with winds gusting up to 215 kms per hour, which tore through the island of Kadavu.
Elder Tupe and Elder Christensen served on that island, and I was extremely concerned about their welfare and that of the community of Saints there. With the power knocked out, communication was impossible for many hours. Finally, the elders were able to get a call out. The first thing I heard was, “President we’re okay.” Oh, what relief and joy filled my heart along with humble prayers of gratitude.
They shared that their accommodation was destroyed, and they had to shelter in one of only a few concrete block homes on the island, this one owned by Brother Lal (a counselor in the branch presidency). They had lost most of their belongings but had scoured the forest and reclaimed some clothing.
With their welfare in mind, I started the arrangements to evacuate these elders off the island. When I called the next morning to give them more details, Elder Tupe and Elder Christensen asked without any thought for their own needs, “President, can we stay? The members and families on the island need our help to rebuild their homes.”
As they expressed this desire, my heart swelled with admiration for these humble servants of the Lord who put their own needs aside to offer much-needed help to others.
Over the next two weeks they laboured tirelessly to clean debris from damaged dwellings and assisted with the repairs to several homes. These young missionaries exemplified the scripture: “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).
After these two weeks, Elder Tupe and Elder Christensen returned to Suva to be assigned to a different area, until the mission quarters on Kadavu could be rebuilt. As they entered the mission home, they looked different. Yes, their clothes were a little untidy, because no washing machine or iron was available, they had all disappeared in the cyclone, but their countenances shone brightly as they recalled numerous experiences of assisting members and nonmembers alike.
Their service brought a great feeling of unity to the people in Kadavu and prepared many hearts to receive the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Indeed, these young missionaries exemplified this verse of scripture: “And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).
I will be forever grateful for the example of Elder Tupe and Elder Christensen. They exemplified so beautifully what it means to truly keep the second great commandment, to “Love thy neighbor as thyself,” (Matthew 22:39).

In 1999, ten years ago, I was living in Los Angeles. All of my education is in composition and I was working as a composer [and] as a music teacher, when I heard about what was happening in Kosovo. Now a story that I heard on the radio talked about how the Serbs were trying to ethnically cleanse Kosovo of all the Albanians. Now what they would do is go into a village, force the women and the men to separate, and then the women were told to leave and to walk to another country. The men and boys, meanwhile, were rounded up. Some of them escaped, many of them were killed, and many of them were taken to prison. The women had no place to go. They were told to leave their own country and to go to a refugee camp in a neighboring country. The conditions in the camps were horrible, but the worst thing was that they did not know what happened to their husbands and sons, their fathers, their brothers, and there was no communication to find out what was happening.

This radio program was interviewing these women, and they were talking about this, and how scared they were, and how they were just praying that the men in their lives were alive. Well, I had heard about this and was actually planning a backpacking in Austria that summer. So I thought, I am already going to Europe, I might as well go to Kosovo instead and help out. I had no idea where Kosovo was; all I knew was that it was in Europe, and Austria was in Europe, so how far apart could they be? That's how a lot of plans have happened in my life that have turned out very well.

I decided to go, and I found this volunteer organization, and the way that it worked was that you paid your way to get to the country and then you gave them some money when you arrived to cover your accommodations. You lived with them, and then you participated with their programs. And they were working with the children that were living in the refugee camps, so I thought that this would be a really great thing to do.

I was talking someone about this, and they offered to give me some money to help pay for this. I said, "Oh no, this is not what this is about. I am just doing this instead of going on vacation. It won't cost anything more than it would cost me to spend a month in Austria." This woman said, "No, you do not understand. My husband and I have been talking about this all week, and we want to go too, but we can't go. So we'd like to give you some money so it's like we are going with you." I said, "Well, let me think about that, because that is totally different from what I was planning."

I went home that night and was talking to my next door neighbor, who was a friend of mine from the singles ward in Los Angeles. I said, "I don't know what to do ”I don't want to take money from anyone." She said, "Liz, don't be stupid. Don't just go to go, do what you do best. Take a music program over there to the kids." So my singles group in L.A. started holding fundraising events; my ward got really involved, I started contacting instrument manufacturers, and I ended up going with about $5,000 worth of musical instruments. The instruments that I chose to go with are the harmonica and the penny whistle [holds them up]. The reason I chose these instruments was because they're simple. Anyone can learn to play these instruments, but you can also play complex music. Also, they're small, and I knew these children were living in camps, and they would at some point have to walk home. I wanted them to have something that was small enough to put in their pocket, and no one would be able to take it away from them.

I arrived in Kosovo in August 1999, and the war had been over for a few weeks, and so everyone had returned back to Kosovo. But when they got there, they found that everything had been destroyed ”absolutely everything: the streets, the schools, the homes, everything. And if you were lucky enough that your home was not destroyed, you had to be careful because things might be booby-trapped inside of your home, so most of the people living in Kosovo had to live in camps even after they went home. And the camps inside of Kosovo, instead of being tents, were just buildings. Any building that was standing could be a camp, so people moved into factories, churches, schools, and hotels.

The camp that I went to first was a brick factory. There were about 350 people living in this brick factory; three of them were men ”the rest were women and children. These women were all waiting and hoping and praying that the men in their family were still alive. I went to the camp the very first day, and I saw hundreds of children outside, just playing, and fighting, and making weapons out of things that you just wouldn't even think you could make weapons out of. I brought a volleyball and I started playing volleyball with the kids, but they kept fighting. I said, "You guys have to stop fighting, or I'm going to take my volleyball and go home." Of course, I said this in English, and, they didn't speak English, so I don't know if they really understood what I said. Then, we played a little bit more and they would fight again, and I would say, "You've got to stop fighting, or I'm going to go home." We did this about nine times, and after about an hour-and-a-half I said, "Ok, that's enough for today. I'm going to take my ball and go home, and hopefully tomorrow we'll do better." I started leaving, and as I was leaving, a woman ran out of one of the rooms in the camp and grabbed my hand. And she started leading me around and taking me around on a tour of the camp ”I think”because I didn't understand what she was saying to me. She showed me a big garbage pile, and she showed me their outdoor toilets, their one spigot of water for 350 people, and then she took me back to her room. And inside this room all the women of the camp had gathered, watching this strange American lady that was out there playing with their kids, and they wanted to meet me. And there was a seventeen-year-old girl there who spoke some English and she translated for me and told me about their lives. And as I got to know these women, I noticed there were a lot of these seventeen-year-old women there with them, and there were a lot of groups doing programs for the young children and for the boys, but there was nobody doing anything for these young girls”they were sort of invisible.

The first class that I started doing was for teenage girls. It was an amazing experience. It was so much fun. I would go to the camp every day, play sports with the kids, and then go and teach these teenage girls. Then the younger girls would start going with me, and asking me if I could do a class for them. I started giving a class for the younger girls. This class was going really well for the younger girls also, but now every time I went to the class, the boys would come up to me and say, "Lizza! Lizza! Musika! Musika!" And I said, "No way! I'm not going to do anything where I expect you to sit down and actually listen to me talk. We can't even play for ten minutes without you fighting." And they would say, "No! We'll be good! We'll be good!"

Then, one day, when I went to the camp, they did this [mimicking plucking tears from their eyes and dropping them into their hands] and this meant that they were collecting tears to give to me. When they did that, I said "Ok, I will teach you a music class if you would promise that you won't fight, that you won't talk when I'm talking, and you will practice." And these boys ended up being the best class that I have ever taught in my entire live”they were amazing. If one of these boys started to talk, the other boys would jump on them before he could even get a sentence out of his mouth. And if I was anywhere in town and I heard a harmonica, I'd turn around and it was always one of those boys. They kept those harmonicas everywhere they went.

This camp, this place that had been so full of sadness, became this place that was full of so much life. It wasn't necessarily beautiful, but it was full of life. It took about forty minutes to walk to the camp. On the last ten minutes of that walk, all you could hear were these instruments”it was amazing.

The kids that weren't living in these camps”the kids that were living in their homes or in a tent in their backyard while they were trying to rebuild their home”they didn't really have any place to go. So they all gathered at this one school that hadn't been destroyed in our city. And these kids were just sitting around, smoking, fighting”there were thousands of them. And "Save the Children" had started a volleyball program downstairs, so I went to the children and asked, "Would you like to have a music class?"

The first day, I had about nine kids in the class; that was a Monday. By Friday, I had over ninety children in that class. I ended up staying for six weeks, and by the end of the six weeks I was teaching six days a week, five classes a day in the school, six days a week, four classes a day in the camp, and everyday more children came into these programs. I gave away all of the instruments that I had bought and they still kept coming. Parents would come to me and say, "Please, let my child into the class," and so we just kept letting more and more children into these classes”it was amazing.

Then, I had to leave. I had to go home. I had seen these kids fight, I had seen children attack adults, I'd seen children play executioner, but I had never seen them cry until I told them it was time for me to leave. And when I said I had to leave they said, "No, Liz, you can't go. There is no one else here that is doing anything like this. We have people and organizations that are rebuilding our homes, that are giving us food, and we're so grateful for that, but this is the only thing that is feeding us inside. You can't take that away from us." I said, "Ok, I don't know how I am going to do this, but I promise you I will come back."

I left Kosovo, went back to Los Angeles, and was giving a fireside. At the end of the fireside, I said, "I have got to get back to Kosovo, but I don't know how I'm going to do it." A woman approached me afterwards and said, "If you would like to start a non-profit foundation, I'll be your accountant." And someone else said, "I'll be the lawyer." So they went off and did the paperwork and formed the Shropshire Music Foundation, and we've been around ever since.

One of the most unusual and exciting experiences of our tour was our visit with the president of Achzivland. Achzivland was a Phoenecian seaport 3,000 years ago, and many expeditions throughout the Mediterranean Sea area were made from here. Eli Avivi, the president, came to Achzivland 27 years ago when it was but a mound of ruins. He built a museum of all the many artifacts he discovered, and in 1972, he pulled away from Israel and formed his own country.

Achzivland isn’t much bigger than a football field, and President Avivi’s citizens include only himself, his wife, and a few others, but he stamped our passports and made it clear that he was autonomous and that as president he could do anything he chose to. He told us he could even marry us all together if we wanted. He was a fascinating character, and we sang a song for him. He liked it so much, he went and got his wife. We sang for her, after which President Avivi said, “You know, when before I said I would marry you all together, I see now I don’t have to. When you sing, you are one.” That was one of the greatest compliments the choir has ever received.

For Tanner, Easter would not be the same this year. His grandpa had died, and Tanner was sad he would never share this special time with him again.
But during Primary, Tanner was reminded that the reason we celebrate Easter is because Jesus lives! When He was resurrected, His spirit was forever reunited with His body, never to experience death again. Tanner learned that because Jesus was resurrected, everyone would be resurrected someday, including his grandpa!
An Easter song filled Tanner with happiness as he sang: “Jesus has risen, Jesus, our friend. Joy fills our hearts; He lives again.”* Tanner wanted to share this good news with everyone. He decided that before Easter, he would place on his neighbors’ doorsteps small bundles of spring flowers with scriptures about Jesus’s Resurrection. He imagined the smiles on their faces when they found his gift on Easter morning.

I thought I was doing fine. I had served a mission, graduated from college, secured a full-time job, and finally moved into an apartment by myself. I attended church every Sunday and sometimes went to activities. I had plenty of friends, single and married, and I suddenly had more time for reading, my favorite thing to do as a child. Yet even with all of these activities, I still felt lost.
In Alma chapter 37, we read of Alma’s advice to his son Helaman. In verses 41–42, Alma talks about Lehi’s family and the Liahona. He explains that the Liahona would not work when “they were slothful, and forgot to exercise their faith and diligence” and that “they did not progress in their journey; therefore, they tarried in the wilderness, or did not travel a direct course.” Reading these verses helped me realize that I was not progressing. I was not exercising my faith or being diligent in anything in my life. I had stopped working toward a goal. I was simply waiting for something to happen.
There wasn’t one specific moment when I made a list and wrote down everything I needed to change. Rather, those changes came little by little. First, I started to get up early and go for a run or do some other form of exercise. Next, I began to look into school programs that might help me progress in my job or allow me to get a different one. I found a program and then spent time preparing to take the necessary tests to apply. Scripture study and prayer became more important to me, and I tried to spend time every day feasting on the words of Christ and seeking to feel the Spirit. I made a special effort to be more involved in my ward—even if it meant sacrificing some personal time.
Since I started making these small changes, I have felt happier. I feel that I’m progressing and Heavenly Father is giving me new challenges. I can face those challenges with hope rather than fear or discouragement. I’ve learned that when we cease to work or exercise our faith and move in a direction, Heavenly Father cannot help us progress and we will not reach our destination. I am so grateful for the small changes in my life that have helped me to see a way ahead.

I will never forget the day I met the missionaries. As they talked to me about the gospel and the plan of salvation, I felt that their message was something that had been missing in my life. We started to meet, and I knew the messages they shared were true. All was not easy for me, however. At that time my father was an alcoholic, and I was scared that I would be in a lot of trouble if he found out I believed the Church is true.
After meeting with the missionaries for a few weeks, I knew I needed to be baptized. The missionaries helped me explain to my father that I was planning on being baptized. My father disagreed with my desire to join the Church, and while he did not forbid me from being baptized, he stated that he did not understand the decision I was making. I decided to have faith and hope for a miracle that my dad’s perspective would change.
On the day of my baptism, I kept wishing that my father would be there, even though I knew he disapproved of my decision. Imagine my surprise when the first person I saw after coming out of the waters of baptism was my dad! My dad told me that a feeling had told him he should come and that he was now experiencing a new feeling that he could not explain. He wanted to know more.
I began to pray to the Lord that my father would open up his heart to the teachings of the gospel. My dad’s lifestyle began to change, and as it did he came to know for himself the Church is true. A month after my own baptism, my father also joined the Church. We have both served faithfully in the Church ever since. I’m thankful the gospel changed my life and my family, and I know that families can be forever.

It’s Saturday morning, Shannon McNally is wide awake, and she’s still snoring. Listening to her and egging her on is Shannon’s younger sister, Landis. It looks strange, really. But it’s not. It’s what Landis likes. So Shannon indulges her mentally retarded sister.

“She likes for me to snore for her,” Shannon says with a shrug. Shannon doesn’t know why Landis likes that, or why she likes her big sis to play “The Wedding March” on the piano. “That’s just one of Landis’s things too.”

Shannon, 15, and Landis, 12, share a bedroom in their Union Bridge, Maryland, home. And despite Landis’s disability, the two sisters are just that. “We’re like regular sisters who have special things between them,” Shannon continues. That would explain the snoring and “The Wedding March.”

It would also explain why Shannon is such a big help to her mother when it comes to dealing with Landis. “Right now, Landis throws a lot of tantrums, she pulls hair, she spits, and she scratches. She’s also speech-disabled,” says the girls’ mom, Anjela McNally. “Shannon probably understands [Landis] a tad better than I do. I’ll say, ‘Shannon, what’s Landis trying to say?’ Shannon knows her sister very well and can usually tell me.”

That doesn’t mean it’s always easy for Shannon, a Mia Maid in the Westminster Ward of the Frederick Maryland Stake. When Landis gets upset, she’ll begin, as Shannon describes it, “trashing the house.” Once Shannon was heating up some leftover pizza, when Landis decided she wanted pudding instead. When Shannon told her she’d have to eat the pizza, Landis began throwing her food around the kitchen and knocking things off the counter.

“I get frustrated a lot over the things she does. I don’t mean to get mad but sometimes I do. Then I feel bad because I know she doesn’t quite understand why I’m yelling at her,” says Shannon. It’s at moments like these that Shannon will give Landis a hug, or sit with her in a chair, look at a magazine, and just rock back and forth. “It helps my anger to go away.”

“What is so incredible about Shannon is she’s able to not let what Landis does get her down too much. She has a great sense of humor about it,” says Sister McNally, a single parent who also has two sons, K. C. and Lucas, still at home. “Shannon is always willing to help, and she’s very kind to Landis. And Landis turns to Shannon for help as much as me or maybe even sometimes a little bit more than me.

“Shannon is a good role model for Landis,” Sister McNally continues. “But I think she’s more of a hero for Landis. Shannon has always been really pleasant and easygoing. I call her ‘my cheerful giver.’”

Even with all the help she provides her mother, Shannon still finds time for seminary, and school activities, which include her participation in color guard, a precision performing group that twirls flags. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, days Sister McNally is at school, Shannon is there to help Landis get off the bus. She also helps Landis get dressed, and will occasionally help with her bath.

There are moments when Shannon stops and considers her sister’s plight. She’ll think about times when Landis cries and doesn’t stop, and how hard it is to see her sister sad and not be able to find out what’s wrong. There are other times when Shannon will think about the gospel, and specifically about the Resurrection. “Landis has been this way for as long as I can remember. It’s hard for me to imagine her being perfect, her being able to speak,” Shannon explains. “I can’t really imagine her that way, but I know she will be someday.”

Sister McNally says, “I try to teach Shannon that she won’t always be recognized here for the help she’s given Landis, or for the way she’s been kind to Landis and helped make Landis’s life easier. But I also teach her that someday Landis will be able to come up to her and talk, and that this is not a permanent condition. As a family, we have had to do a lot of soul searching and a lot of studying of the purpose of life.”

For now, Shannon will continue caring for Landis. Like the nights when Shannon wakes up and makes sure her sister has blankets on her, or when she takes Landis outside to ride her bike. Those are the times when Landis will smile and so will Shannon. And one thing will be readily apparent. They’re sisters, and they love each other very much.

When I was in the sixth grade, my class went to the Marin Headlands (California) State Park for a weeklong field trip. After a long drive on the bus, we unpacked our belongings and settled in to our bunk beds. We started talking excitedly about what activities lay ahead of us over the next week. Slowly, the conversation changed, and somehow the subject of religion was brought up. One person after another briefly stated what faith they belonged to. I didn’t want anyone to know that I didn’t go to church and was different from them. However, they noticed that I wasn’t participating in the discussion.
“What are you?” my friend asked curiously.
“I don’t go to church, so I guess I’m nothing.”
“You can’t be nothing. You have to be something!”
I decided to ask my mom what she was, because I thought that whatever she was, I must be the same. “Mom, everyone in my group at camp goes to church except me. They told me what religions they were and when they asked me what I was, I told them that I was nothing. I’m nothing, right?”
“Yes, I guess that’s right,” my mom said assuredly.
“But they said I have to be something,” I complained.
My mom repeated herself, “If you don’t belong to a particular church or religious group, then you are no religion at all.”
Two years went by, and I didn’t think too much about religion or the religious discussion we had had until my best friend invited me to attend a camp with her during the summer. After getting my parents’ approval, I excitedly told my friend that I could go. There were a lot of fun activities but also classes about principles and stories in the Bible that were brand new to me. I enjoyed learning about them, and I learned how to look up scriptures in my new Bible given to me by my friend. By the end of the week, I was “saved.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, but there were other people that were “saved” too.
I asked my parents if it was all right if I went to church with my best friend’s family every Sunday. They agreed. Unfortunately, something came up the next Sunday, and I wasn’t able to go. One week after another went by, and for one reason or another I did not go to church. The good feelings from camp slowly faded away. My freshman year of high school began, but my best friend and I drifted apart. Now I knew there was no chance of going to church with her family.
“Mom, can we go to church?” I asked several times, but I never really got the answer I was looking for. One day was different. Instead of the usual reply, she answered, “Well, I do know of a church we can go to. I know that they teach good things, because I used to go when I was little. I can take you to that church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” That was the first time I learned she ever went to church, even though I knew my grandparents went to church.
I was more than satisfied with this answer. I was finally on my way to becoming something.
My mom, sister, brother, and I were finally going to church! My grandmother helped by locating which church building to attend in the area where we lived. Looking back, I do remember feeling welcomed.
Over the next few Sundays, I was welcomed like a friend that hadn’t been seen for some time. When people noticed that I was new, they smiled and extended their hand to greet me and introduced themselves. I went to Young Women with the girls. I was 15 and belonged to the Mia Maid class. I quickly made friends despite my shyness. Everyone made me feel comfortable. My sister was in the Beehive class. Being four years old, my brother went to Primary. He didn’t like going by himself, so he always made my mom go with him. I think she enjoyed it. She sang children’s songs and relearned stories from when she was younger.
The missionaries came to our house and taught us the lessons. I was delighted when they came over. Even though they were around 20 years old, they knew a lot about the scriptures and the gospel of Jesus Christ. They had a special presence and a warm glow about them. I soon found out that other members of the Church had that glow as well, including my Young Women teacher, who always let me know how happy she was to have me in her class.
I became good friends with a girl named Julia. We decided to be “buddies” at girls camp. Even though I don’t like camping or hiking very much, I really enjoyed the entire experience. There was a different feeling at this camp. Our counselors made a special effort to see that we were having a good time and that everyone was included in all the activities we participated in. During the week, we had devotionals, a nature walk to learn about different plants, a first-aid class, and campfire skits. There was also a service project that everyone in the camp happily participated in. In fact, the service project table was always crowded with volunteers. All through the week there was a sense of organization, cooperation, and friendship.
On Saturday morning, the last day, everyone got together around the campfire, and whoever wanted to stood up and told the others of their testimony of the Church and expressed their gratitude for their family, friends, and what a great and memorable experience they had at camp. Most of them cried while they talked, and I cried along with them. I was surprised to see my sister go up on stage. She said how happy she was to come to this Church and how thankful she was for her family, especially me. That was one of the first times she had ever expressed her love for me as her sister. Once she sat down, I got up and sat next to her. I told her how grateful I was for what she said, and we cried together. We really made a special connection.
We continued going to church and taking the missionary lessons. As the weeks went by, I learned much more about the Church. I wanted to do the right things. I began reading the Bible and the Book of Mormon, praying, eating good food, dressing modestly, and trying to live a Christian life. After trying all these things, I felt good about myself.
My mother, who had not wanted to go to church, continued to participate in the missionary lessons and continued to take us to church every Sunday. We made the decision to be baptized, and my mother, sister, and I became members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on June 3, 2000. This was a decision that has changed all of our lives. My brother was too young to be baptized, and my stepfather did not share in our beliefs, but he always supported all of us in our Church-related activities and meetings.
We now have numerous friends that we would not otherwise have if we had not gone to church. We participate in many community service projects and have become happier people. I went on to receive my Young Women in Excellence award and attend community college. After high school, I became active in the single adults ward, where I met a wonderful returned missionary. We were married and have now had our first child.
Through all these experiences in the Church, our family has grown closer, and we are striving to become an eternal family. Seven years after our baptism, both my stepfather and my little brother made the decision to join the Church and were baptized together on January 20, 2007.

Even though it was a hot July day, Mary Elizabeth Rollins and her sister Caroline lay shivering on top of several large pieces of paper. The thick rows of 150- to 180-centimeters-high corn hid the two girls from the angry men who were hunting for them. The girls held their breath, praying for the men to stop their search and leave the cornfield.
It was 1833, and there was a lot of unrest in Independence, Missouri. More and more converts had settled in the area, and nonmember neighbors wanted the Saints to leave Jackson County, Missouri. Instead, the little community was growing. There was even a printing press in Brother William Phelps’s house, and the whole town knew that he was printing revelations received by the Prophet Joseph Smith and preparing them for publication.
It was some of those same revelations that the girls were lying on. A mob of angry men had become outraged at an editorial written by Brother Phelps that was printed in the Church newspaper. Fifteen-year-old Mary Elizabeth and thirteen-year-old Caroline had watched as the men broke into the Phelps’s home and threw the printing press and the printed revelations from the second-story window to the ground below. When Mary Elizabeth saw the papers hit the street, she knew what had to be done. She knew that those revelations and commandments came from the Lord and that it was important that the Saints have copies of them.
Even though they were frightened, both girls ran and gathered up as many of the large papers as they could carry. When members of the mob spotted them from the window and yelled at them to stop, the girls ran to the nearby cornfield, lay down on the sheets of paper, and prayed for protection.
It seemed like hours before the men grew tired of looking for the girls, but finally they left. Mary Elizabeth and Caroline waited longer before gathering up the sacred papers and creeping out of their hiding place.
The revelations were returned to Brother Phelps. Shortly afterward, those salvaged pages were combined with other pages that had been saved, and a tiny book called the Book of Commandments was printed. Two years later those same commandments and revelations were combined with additional revelations from the Lord and printed in a new book. Whenever they read the Doctrine and Covenants, Mary Elizabeth and Caroline remembered the part that they played in the coming forth of this sacred book of scripture.

Let me share with you the experience of Barry Bonnell and Dale Murphy, well-known professional baseball players formerly with the Atlanta Braves baseball club. Each is a convert to the Church. …
“An experience occurred during the 1978 season that Barry described as ‘life changing.’ He was struggling terribly, batting about .200. Because of his poor performance, he was down on himself and felt miserable. He really didn’t want to go when Dale Murphy asked him to come along to the hospital, but he went anyway. There he met Ricky Little, a stalwart Braves’ supporter, but a youngster afflicted with leukemia. It was readily apparent that Ricky was near death. Barry felt a deep desire to think of something comforting to say but nothing seemed adequate. Finally, he asked if there was anything they could do. The youngster hesitated, and then asked if they would each hit a home run for him during the next game. Barry said [later], “That request wasn’t such a hard thing for Dale, who in fact hit two homers that night, but I was struggling at the plate and hadn’t hit a homer all year. Then I felt a warm feeling come over me and I told Ricky to count on it.” That night, Barry hit his only home run of the season. A child’s prayer had been answered, a child’s wish had been fulfilled. … May our Heavenly Father ever bless these sweet souls, these special friends of the Master.

Janarthn liked going to church each week. He didn’t want to miss a single Sunday! He was the only child in his family, so his friends in Primary were like his siblings. He liked learning about Jesus with them and singing with them. His mom went to church with him, but his dad never did. Dad wasn’t a member of the Church.
One night at dinner, Janarthn asked, “Dad, why don’t you come to church with us?”
Dad looked up from his plate. “I’m pretty busy on Sundays.”
“But, Dad, it’s important to keep the Sabbath day holy,” Janarthn said. “It says so in the scriptures.”
Mom looked surprised. “You really listened during your lessons at church. But it’s OK that your dad doesn’t come with us. He helps us in many other ways.”
While Janarthn got ready for bed, he thought about what it would be like if Dad came to church. He sometimes felt a little sad when he saw his friends sitting with their parents. He wished Dad could be there with him and Mom.
Before bed, Janarthn knelt to pray. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he said, “please let my dad have time on Sundays so he can come with Mom and me. I’d really like to sit with him at church.”
One Sunday a few weeks later, Mom called Janarthn to her room.
“I’m sorry, but we can’t go to church today,” she said. “I’m not feeling well.”
Janarthn frowned. “But I will miss my friends and the lesson today. I really want to go to church.”
“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “It’s just one Sunday. And if you want, we can call your Primary teacher so you know what the lesson is about.”
Janarthn kissed Mom’s forehead. “It’s OK. Just rest, Mom. I know Heavenly Father will know why I can’t come to church today.”
Janarthn went to his room and grabbed a copy the Friend magazine. Even if he couldn’t go to church, he could still read the stories to keep the Sabbath holy.
“Janarthn!” Dad called.
Janarthn came out of his room. “What is it, Dad?”
Dad was smiling. “Get dressed. I know how much you like church, and I don’t want you to miss it. I’ll go with you.”
Janarthn’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe it! He had a big smile while he hurried to get ready.
At church Janarthn introduced Dad to his friends. Dad sat beside him during sacrament meeting. Janarthn felt so happy to be with his dad at church!
After the meeting, Dad said, “I need to go somewhere. I will pick you up after your Primary class, OK?”
“OK,” Janarthn said. He wished Dad would stay, but he was glad he had come. It really was a great Sunday surprise!
Illustrations by Nadiyah Suyatna

Elder James B. Kunzler
I must say it was really nice not to worry about all that holiday rush everyone else worried about. Spending all our time during the season teaching of the Savior’s life and plan for all his children here on this earth sure put things into perspective. It is a blessing to spend time in the mission field during Christmas even though you are away from home.
Members were a great source of strength to me during the holiday season. They all tried to do what they could to make the time away from home easy on us as missionaries.
I think the highlight of our missionwide conference was when all the missionaries received letters from home. Sister Anderson, the mission president’s wife, had them sent months in advance to read before the closing testimony meeting. The whole building was filled with tear-streaked faces, and I must admit I shed a few myself.

In a small village on a small plot of land in a small house lived a big man with a big wife and a big family. They also had a large she-goat, a cow, a big fat mare, a huge rooster, and several fat laying hens.
Each morning when the big man, Efriam, awoke, he looked around the crowded room filled with eight beds. He counted two heads on each of the seven beds. Yes, all of his children were accounted for as was his wife, Hannah, who slept soundly next to him. Bless her soul.
Then Efriam would quietly climb out of bed, pull on his work clothes, and tiptoe out of the small house onto his small plot of land to do his chores.
One morning while standing just outside the closed door and looking upward, he drew in a deep breath. “I’m grateful, Lord,” he said, scarcely above a whisper. “Who could want for anything more?” And he looked around him at the tasks awaiting his hands.
“It is not for naught either,” Efriam continued speaking as he walked toward the barn. “For it is but for your asking, your command, and I shall follow. Thy will, not mine,” he said loudly.
Efriam worked the land and groomed old Bess while speaking gently to her. “How old you grow, Bess. Soon you will need to be pastured and not work at all. Yet, can I get another to replace you?”
Bess responded by nuzzling her nose into his hands. After that, Efriam milked his cow, milked the goat, fed the chickens, gathered the eggs, and returned to his small house where he found the children awake and scampering about. Food was on the table and Hannah waited with a smile to serve him. Laughter filled the small house, and Efriam thought that it sounded as though the rooms were flooded with the music of the great masters of the world.
Thus life went on for Efriam and his big family. But one evening before retiring for the night, Hannah sat solemnly without a word spoken between them.
Efriam broke the silence. “Speak, my silent wife. What burdens you?”
“It is of my parents I am thinking,” she said, gazing into his eyes. “They are ill and unable to care for themselves. What will become of them?” Then she asked, her eyes brimming with tears, “Can you see it in your heart to allow them to live here?”
“But we have scarcely room for ourselves,” Efriam gently replied.
She touched his hand. “If the heart is big enough, Efriam, there is room for others in the house.”
“What of beds? We have no room for another bed.”
Hannah arose. “Look!” she said. “Two little children in this bed can sleep with the two children in that bed. And my parents can sleep in the empty bed. Where the heart wants to, Efriam, one can manage to manage.”
Efriam nodded in agreement, and soon after that her parents came to live in the small house with the big family. Just when Efriam grew accustomed to his enlarged family, once again he came upon Hannah, who was more solemn than the time he found her weeping over her parents.
“What is it now?” he asked, feeling a fear clutching at his heart.
“It is my sister Rachel and her children that I grieve for. Ever since she became widowed, matters have grown from bad to worse. She is unable to care for her land, she is penniless and unable to pay her debts, and she is even now being turned out of her home. What will become of her and her three children?”
“We have no room for more!” Efriam said almost sternly.
“But we can make room,” Hannah entreated. “The two children in that bed can sleep with the two in this bed. And Rachel and the two small children can sleep in the empty bed.”
“What of her son, Herschel? Where will he sleep?” Efriam questioned. “And him almost as big as old Bess and eating much more—what of him?”
“There is room to push this bed that way and that bed this way. Herschel will have room to bring in his own bed and place it there.”
Efriam scratched his head.
Hannah touched his hand. “If the heart is big enough, Efriam, there is room for others in the house. Where the heart wants to, one can manage to manage.”
Efriam nodded his head in approval, and shortly after that Rachel and her children came to live in the small house with the big family.
Soon though, life became miserable for Efriam. He noticed that Herschel slept almost through the day. When he was awake, he did no chores. He did nothing but make sounds that were neither melodious nor sensible, only a constant rise and fall of his voice, “Ta, da da da, da da da, dum dum.”
The worst part for Efriam was the dum dum. It dummed dummed in his head until he could no longer bear it. To speak of it to Hannah was of no use. She was always busy talking, crying, and laughing with Rachel. It seemed to Efriam that at times Hannah was unaware of his existence.
Efriam thought about what he should do. Who do I know who is wise enough to give me some sound advice, he wondered. “Of course,” he murmured, “the rabbi! I’ll go to him.”
So early one morning, instead of putting on his work clothes, Efriam dressed in his one and only suit and best boots that he wore for special occasions. He hitched old fat Bess to the wagon, climbed in, and, without telling Hannah where he was going, rode off to see the rabbi.
The holy man ushered Efriam into his study, allowed him to tell his story uninterrupted, made no comments except to purse his lips when Efriam mentioned Herschel’s habits and his ta, da da da, da da da, dum dum.
“Worse than that,” Efriam added, “Herschel makes no move to help me with the chores—milking the goat and the cow, grooming old Bess, feeding the chickens, gathering the eggs, hoeing the gardens.”
The rabbi leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. Finally he counseled the distraught man: “Efriam, go home and bring your goat into your house.”
“The goat into my house?”
“That is what I said. You will see the wisdom of it in time.”
So it was that Efriam went home and brought the goat into the house. Soon he noticed that though the goat made goat noises, no one else seemed to notice. And still above the din, Herschel continued his ta, da da da, da da da, dum dum.
Everything was worse than before. When Efriam could stand it no longer, he returned to the rabbi. As before, the rabbi ushered him into his study, allowed him to speak without interruption, then said, “Go home, Efriam, and bring into your house your cow.”
“My cow?”
“That is what I said. You will see the wisdom of it in time.”
Efriam went home, brought the cow into the house, and as before, no one took any notice of her. But life was intolerable. The moo-mooing, the bla-blaing, and Herschel’s dum dumming were too much for Efriam’s sanity to contend with. He returned to the rabbi only to be told this time to bring in the rooster and hens. Now it was pandemonium.
When Efriam returned to the rabbi, he declared, “I can no longer live in my house.”
The rabbi said, “Go home, Efriam, and remove the goat.”
Efriam removed the goat, but the din hardly improved.
When Efriam visited the rabbi the next time he was told to remove the cow.
Efriam did as the rabbi suggested, but the cock-a-doodle-dooing of the rooster, the cackling of the hens, and the laying of eggs all over the house were too much for him.
On his last desperate trip to the rabbi’s house, Efriam was told to remove the rooster and the hens.
When all the birds were out of the house, Efriam had a new feeling of spaciousness about him. He looked around contentedly at his increased family. He listened to their sounds, and even Herschel’s monotonous ditty seemed pleasant enough.
Efriam thought how grateful he was that the good Lord had given him enough to share with others. He looked upon Hannah’s happy face and pondered her charitable advice. Then he remembered, If the heart is big, there is room for others. And if there is room there, there is room in the house. Where the heart wants to, one can manage to manage.

Time has also taught me something about the ebb and flow of our own powers and of how we may not notice that change. At Christmastime one of our married sons stayed with his wife and baby in our basement guest room. He found there a daily journal I had kept as a young father, not much older than many of you. I had forgotten it was there and what it contained. At dinner my son began to recount what he had read there of my experiences with him and his brothers and of my straining to live a little better, to have the Atonement work more fully in my life, and to become what I needed to be. He had read of my working intensely and praying earnestly into the early hours of the morning. As he spoke, I thought of some of you.

You may come upon your missionary journals put away in a closet in your home. You may read and feel a shock as you remember how hard you worked, how constantly you thought of the Savior and His sacrifice for you and for those you tried to meet and teach, and how fervently and often you prayed. The shock will come from realizing how much the cares of life have taken you from where you once were, so close to always remembering and always praying.

And in honor of Martin Luther King Jr., who was recently listed in Ted Stewart’s The Mark of a Giant2 as one of seven people who changed the world, I start with an example from his life that so clearly highlights these principles. Look for courage, action, and grace as I read his words:
Almost immediately after the [bus boycott] started we had begun to receive threatening telephone calls and letters. They increased as time went on. . . .
One night . . . I couldn’t sleep. It seemed that all of my fears had come down on me at once. . . .
. . . I had heard these things before, but for some reason that night it got to me. . . . I went to the kitchen and . . . I sat there and thought about a beautiful little daughter who had just been born. . . . I started thinking about a dedicated and loyal wife, who was over there asleep. And she could be taken from me, or I could be taken from her. And I got to the point that I couldn’t take it any longer. . . . With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud . . . : “Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right. I think I’m right. I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak now, I’m faltering. I’m losing my courage. Now, I am afraid. . . . I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.”
It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying: “Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo, I will be with you. Even until the end of the world.”
I tell you . . . I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me alone. At that moment I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced Him before. Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainty disappeared. I was ready to face anything.3

On 2 November 1995, after a year of faithful preparation, Antonio and Roseli Berrocal of the Franca stake in São Paulo, Brazil, traveled with their five children to be sealed in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. On the way a tragic and fatal accident took the life of Sister Berrocal and all the children. On the 22nd of that same month, Brother Antonio entered the temple alone to be sealed to his beloved family. For me, my interview with him was a great and unforgettable lesson in humility. In moving words he expressed his gratitude to Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, for the comfort he had felt in his moments of sadness and pain. He was grateful for the sacred ordinances that would be performed. Brother Antonio is a man who is meek and lowly in heart.

“Wake up, girls. The neighbor just came with a message that we need to go to the ranch right away.”
Mom’s voice was quiet but filled with urgency. We were in the process of moving to a ranch several miles away, and Dad was living there by himself until we could join him.
“Why do we have to go to the ranch?” I thought. But the reason for going didn’t really matter as I pulled my nine-year-old body into the pickup truck and went back to sleep.
As Mom pulled the truck up to the house I woke up and saw Dad coming out. He went to Mom and in a low voice told her something that made her gasp, then cry. What was it? There was a stillness in the air that seemed to shout at me, a deathly stillness. My heart began to beat a little faster though I couldn’t understand why.
We walked into the house to find Grandpa seated on the couch. Why was he here, and where was Grandma? Suddenly I knew, without being told, why the stillness was so empty and why my grandfather was sitting there without my grandmother. I found myself hoping against hope that I was wrong.
The next few minutes were spent in listening to my father call the mortuary (a foreign word to me) and trying to get rid of the big lump in my throat. I wasn’t going to cry; I was simply scared. Soon Dad took us upstairs to put us to bed. I silently waited for what was coming, still hoping I was wrong.
“Girls, something happened to your grandma today. She was in a car accident, and she was killed. We won’t see her anymore.”
Simple, quiet, direct, and powerful. Oh, how powerful! I started crying but not just for the loss of my grandmother. Something more consuming had entered my mind. The lump returned to my throat and my heart began to beat even faster.
Was she really dead? Of course she was. But was she really? What was death? Could she feel anything now? Could she see me thinking about her? Was she just floating in space? I couldn’t imagine her life just ending and nothing more. Something inside me told me it wasn’t right for death to be so permanent. I imagined myself dying, and panic seized me. It didn’t seem possible that when I died I wouldn’t feel, hear, think, smell, see, or anything. The thought was unbearable to me, and I slammed a door against my fear, locking it away.
Six years later as I lay in bed, my thoughts wandered aimlessly back to that quiet June night. I could almost hear my father’s voice telling us Grandma was dead. Grandma! Like lightning the door of the mind opened, and my fear was released. “No!” I screamed silently, turning over in bed and closing my eyes. Tears welled up in my eyes as I tried to imagine what death was like. There were no pictures to imagine, only darkness and emptiness. And again something inside me told me that darkness wasn’t right.
I arose, went to my window, and gazed into the night, concentrating on the shadowy forms of trees and distant sounds of crickets and cattle. Soon the fear was behind its door again. But for how long?
Summer passed, school started, and before I knew how it happened, my best friend had introduced me to the missionaries, I had no prior religious affiliation, and I was not really aware of who they were, but they were friendly and I couldn’t help but like them.
One day, late in the fall one of the elders approached me. “We have a movie we’d like you and your family to see,” he said. “Could we set up a time when we could come to your home and show it?”
“Well,” I hesitated, “I don’t know if my dad would like that or not.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” continued the missionary. “We’ll only come if he wants us to. We’d like to show it next Monday night if we can.”
“Okay,” I said, inwardly eager for my parents to meet these two young men. I was sure they would like them if they met them. But would they want to meet them? I approached my father cautiously that night, expecting a negative reply to my request, but to my surprise and delight, he consented to have the missionaries come the following Monday evening. The next day I contacted them and told them the good news. I then began to look forward to their visit wondering what kind of movie they were going to show, having no idea of the effect it would have on my life.
Monday evening came, and at the appointed time there was a knock on our door, I let our guests in and introduced them to my parents. The two young men talked easily with them while setting up their equipment. I was disappointed as I watched them prepare a filmstrip projector instead of a movie projector. “This looks like something we’d see in history class,” I thought.
“Where did I come from? Why am I here? Where am I going?” The words rang through my mind. As I watched the movie and my fears were let loose again, there were answers to greet the fears. I imagined death, and this time there were pictures in my mind—pictures of people, waiting together. There was no more darkness, and the something that had been telling me all along that darkness wasn’t right was now telling me that the pictures in my mind were right. I felt a burden lifting.
“What did you think?” asked one of the elders at the conclusion of the filmstrip.
“Very nice,” my parents commented politely. I had no comment. I was still thinking of all I had just heard. I felt a peacefulness I had never felt before, and I wanted to know more.
The missionaries returned to our home with the discussions, and within a few weeks I was baptized. A whole new life began for me. No longer was I living from one day to the next, wondering when my fear of death would overtake me. No more did I feel terror at the thought of death.
Now I knew that end was only another beginning.

Stones of Light for the Future
Last, a brief look at stones of light for the future. There will be both success and challenges. Strive to plan for and learn from both. Please remember to treat everyone like they are dealing with something—because they are. Be kind to others and to yourself. Some problems may be obvious, and others not so. For example, most of you may not realize I am wearing a full cranial prothesis, or wig. My personal visual aid attests stress can trigger conditions which may seem as foreign as the autoimmune disease of alopecia areata was to me.

Let me share one last experience from a late night as I, with my bald head, pondered what scriptures to study next. “Read Matthew chapter 10,” came the prompting. Obediently and curiously, I opened my Bible and started reading. Searching for meaning, my mind pondered each verse. Perhaps you ponder this way. Getting to verse 27 I read:

What I tell you in darkness, that speak ye in light: and what ye hear in the ear, that preach ye upon the housetops. [14]

There was something here for me to learn, something I was to share.

And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul. [15]

I knew alopecia had killed my hair follicles, but I did not want to allow it to kill my soul—my testimony.

Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. [16]

This verse had always helped me think of how much God knows and cares for all of His creations, but it was the next verse that became most personal and meaningful:

But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows. [17]

Of all the verses of scriptures I could be led to, I was prompted to read one assuring me God was aware of my hair, or lack thereof. With tears of reassurance, I sensed of His love, concern, and understanding. My alopecia demise became a faith-building parable unfolding in my own life. If I had to lose my hair to gain a firm testimony of our individual worth, it is a small price. If God can testify that He is aware of even the hairs of my head, can He not also reveal His hand to you? Look for the goodness of God’s love even in and perhaps especially in future times of trial. As you seek solutions or comfort, make scripture study part of your “sixteen stones.” Through personal revelation, you will be guided to verses filled with meaning.

Later, we walked back into Pam’s sister’s classroom. The teacher asked Pam to help her with something, so I sat down and quietly observed. There were about ten students, ages and handicaps varying widely from child to child.

Several of the children had the physical characteristics of Down’s Syndrome. One of these students watched me for a few minutes, then smiled. I smiled back. A little boy with curly red hair and rosy cheeks, he looked about eight years old. He was plump and he rubbed his palms together as he walked toward me. Sitting down in the chair next to me, he wiggled back and forth for a while before he put his hand up to my ear and whispered something.

He told me a corny joke, and I couldn’t keep myself from laughing. Slapping his knees and tilting his head back, the little boy laughed with me. He told me his name before he ran off to play again.

A few moments later the classroom teacher walked over to me and quietly said, “You mustn’t laugh at the students.”

“But why?” I asked. “He told me a joke, and I thought it was funny. He enjoyed it.”

The teacher seemed taken back by my response. “Well we mustn’t encourage them when they’re acting silly,” she added as she started walking away. “I’ve been working with mentally retarded children all my life. I know how to handle them.”

I noticed the little joke teller, Kenny, out of the corner of my eye. He was rubbing his palms together and rocking back and forth at his desk. Then he turned to the student next to him and whispered in his ear. Both of them burst out laughing, slapped their knees, and flung their heads back.

“Shh!” the teacher said.

Suddenly I noticed the principal. He was standing in the doorway and had heard and seen everything that had just taken place.

“Don’t judge her too harshly,” the principal said sitting down next to me. “She was taught that way, and she has done a lot of good over the years.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well that teacher was taught to help these children become as ‘normal’ as she could. But the longer I work with these kids, the more convinced I am that we should become more like them, not make them more like us.”

I looked at the principal as he was speaking. He was middle-aged and balding.

“You’re different,” he continued, looking at me. “Most of the people who come through the school are afraid. As soon as one of the students touches them, they go wash their hands. But you’re different.”

I didn’t know what he was getting at.

“Will you be coming with Pam from now on? We could use some more help.”

I stammered around awhile, “Actually I hadn’t planned on it. I work and go to school both, so I don’t have much free time.”

“I understand,” he said, disappointed. “But if you ever have a free afternoon, please feel welcome.”

I assured him that I would.

The next time Pam was ready to leave for her sister’s school, I was busy studying for a midterm. Then I thought about Kenny and his chapped red cheeks and corny jokes and I had to jump up, slip on a sweater, and go too.