Gospel Story Finder

In Part 1, Sarah Ann describes how her family traveled to the United States from Norway. She hears Mormon missionaries preach and knows what they say is true. Sarah Ann is baptized and promises the Lord that she will always do whatever He asks her to do.

Chardon Point, Iowa, 1849
Sarah Ann was too weak to open her eyes, but as she listened to the crickets chirping nearby she remembered where she was—in a covered wagon camped near a creek in Iowa. Despite painful muscle cramps, Sarah Ann smiled softly, grateful to still be alive.
The crickets were interrupted by the sound of two people talking quietly outside the wagon. Sarah Ann tried to hear what was being said.
“How is she today, Anna?” asked a man with a Norwegian accent.
“I am afraid she isn’t doing well,” Anna said. “Nothing is working. She has a very bad case of cholera.”
Sarah Ann recognized their voices. The man was Canute Peterson. Sarah Ann had known him since she was a young girl. When Canute’s parents died, Mother had welcomed him into their home as though he had been part of the family. The woman, Anna, was Sarah Ann’s nurse.
“I wish that something could be done,” Canute said.
“I do too. Sarah Ann is such a wonderful young woman.”
Sarah Ann let out a cry. The pain was almost more than she could bear. Sarah Ann thought about the events that had led her to where she was now. When she was baptized, she had promised the Lord to do whatever He asked her to do. A short time after that, the prophet Brigham Young told the Saints to gather in the West. Sarah Ann packed a few belongings and joined a wagon team of other Saints. They had traveled 200 miles (322 km) when Sarah Ann became sick with cholera.
A tear rolled down Sarah Ann’s cheek. “I want to live to see the place that the Lord has prepared for the Saints,” she thought.
Meanwhile, Canute walked along the edge of a nearby creek in the woods. As he walked, he felt a gentle prompting from the Holy Ghost to pray for Sarah Ann. He knelt down and prayed that Sarah Ann’s pain would lessen. As he prayed, Canute felt the Spirit tell him what he should do.
“I know that if I give Sarah Ann a priesthood blessing, she will be healed,” he thought.
As Canute returned to the wagon, he could hear Sarah Ann groaning. Anna and the other nurses filled the wagon, making it difficult for him to get close.
Putting all of his faith in the Lord, Canute went to the side of the wagon, put his hands under the wagon cover, laid them on Sarah Ann’s head, and gave her a blessing.
As soon as Sarah Ann felt the hands on her head, she knew whose hands they were even though she couldn’t see Canute.
When the blessing ended, Sarah Ann’s pain immediately stopped.
“I am healed!” Sarah Ann exclaimed.
“You are not in any pain?” Canute asked.
“None at all. It’s a miracle! Thank you for giving me a blessing, Canute. I know that God has healed me through the priesthood power you hold.”
Within an hour, Sarah Ann was up and trying to help others who were sick.
The wagon company was soon able to continue the journey. Sarah Ann felt closer to Canute than she ever had before. As they traveled, the two of them spent a lot of time together. They soon began to fall in love.

For example, I honor those special souls who face challenges of parenthood with unwavering faith in their Maker. To a family dear to Sister Nelson and me, a son was recently born. This child was afflicted with multiple anomalies affecting virtually every system of his little body. Two operations were required in his first week of life. More will be necessary. When I spoke with the child’s parents, they did not ask, “Why did this happen to us?” Instead, they declared: “We know that this child is meant for us. God has entrusted this special baby to us. We will love him and care for him to the best of our ability.” Thank the Lord for such parents!

When I talked to my wife, Clirime, about the Church, she would not listen at first. Her grandfather belonged to a different religion, and she wondered why The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had even come to Albania. I knew that the only way I could bring her into the gospel was through my example. Through our actions, people can see who we really are.
Clirime noticed changes in me as I gave up alcohol and started coming home early from work. Because of the changes I was making, she started to feel the Spirt of God as I told her about the Church. I cannot describe the happy feeling I had when she told me that one day she would also get baptized. Soon she began taking the missionary lessons, which I helped the missionaries teach. I was especially happy when she set a date for her baptism, six months after I was baptized.

I recently read the account of some deacons who got a little careless in their attitude towards passing the sacrament. They began to think of it as a chore, something that no one else wanted to do. They often came in late, and sometimes they didn’t dress appropriately. One Sunday their priesthood adviser told them: “You don’t have to worry about the sacrament today. It’s been taken care of.”
They were, of course, surprised to hear this, but as usual, they were late for sacrament meeting. They slipped in casually during the opening hymn and sat in the congregation. That’s when they noticed who was sitting on the deacons’ bench—their adviser and the high priests of the ward, who included men who had served as bishops and stake president. They were all dressed in dark suits with white shirts and ties. But more than that, their bearing was one of total reverence as they took the sacrament trays from row to row. Something was deeper and more significant about the sacrament that day. Those deacons who had become so perfunctory in their duties learned by example that passing the sacrament was a sacred trust and one of the greatest of honors. They began to realize that the priesthood is, as the Apostle Peter called it, “a royal priesthood.”

While serving as a mission president, I presided over the membership council of a brother that resulted in the withdrawal of his Church membership. This man repented of his sins and after a year was authorized to be rebaptized.
After his baptism, I received an email from him that read: “Dear President, yesterday the ordinance of baptism was performed, and I can assure you that I feel like new. A miracle was performed within me. The sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ became effective in me. Today, I feel free from the oppression of sin. I know that I would not have achieved this alone. My leaders and my wife helped me keep my sights on the goal. Christ is my Savior. The miracle of forgiveness exists.”

Mary sat on the shiny wooden bench before the great organ in the Tabernacle on Temple Square. The building was lit only by the glow of the streetlights shining through its paneled windows. Do I really dare try to play this wonderful musical instrument? she wondered. She had received permission and encouragement to play the organ from Alexander Schreiner, the Tabernacle organist, but still she hesitated.
It was a Thursday and very late. The Salt Lake Tabernacle Choir had held its usual practice and gone home. Mary thought about how a few weeks before she had finally gained enough courage to ask Brother Schreiner if she could play something on the grand organ. With a kind smile lighting his face, he told her to learn to play “Come, Come Ye Saints” note-perfect on her piano at home and then he would show her his favorite stops for the organ.
Mary patiently practiced and practiced until she could play the hymn with ease. But later when she sat down on the organ bench with Brother Schreiner after choir practice was over, she was so nervous that her clumsy fingers could scarcely play the keys. Brother Schreiner showed her the stops he used in playing the hymn, but she was reluctant to push them.
“That’s all right, Mary,” Brother Schreiner said to her, understandingly. “You stay after everyone else has gone home tonight and practice all by yourself if you’d like. I’ll show you how to close and lock the organ and you can play it to your heart’s content whenever you wish.”
Now the building was empty, the magnificent ivory keys were waiting for her fingers. Mary looked into the darkness of the big building. She had seen it filled with people hundreds of times, but tonight she was all alone. Finally she reached out and pressed the keys, praying they would sing out her memorized hymn.
It seemed to Mary that the music flew like doves out of the golden pipes and rested on the empty benches and chairs. Serenading the quiet night, she was thrilled that her fingers could cause the mighty instrument to produce such glorious sounds. She played another hymn, a piece by Bach, and then another hymn. At last she carefully closed and locked the organ and left the building. This was the first of many after-midnight concerts Mary enjoyed in the empty Tabernacle. As she played she sometimes remembered how in 1916 she had timidly gone to see Evan Stephens, the noted composer and conductor who led the choir, to ask if she might sing with the group. This was the beginning of Mary’s sixty years of service with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Today she is probably the only person living who sang with Evan Stephens.

I’ve been going to church my whole life. I’ve been challenged to read the Book of Mormon and pray to know if it’s true what seems like a thousand times. But I’ve never actually done it before. I had this mind-set where I thought I had to set aside a perfect night, and nothing else could be going on in my life to distract me. I was also scared that I wouldn’t get an answer. But after going to youth conference and hearing all about “Ask of God” so many times, I decided to just try it.
It was a random school night, and I asked God to help me know if the Book of Mormon was true, and then I started reading where I’d left off a few weeks ago. I started to get this feeling of calmness, and a sort of feeling that I already knew it was true. But then I started doubting, wondering whether my brain was making it up because I wanted an answer so badly. I felt really frustrated, but then I looked down at the next verse, which was 2 Nephi 29:10, and it said, “Wherefore, because that ye have a Bible ye need not suppose that it contains all my words; neither need ye suppose that I have not caused more to be written.”
The Spirit hit me so strongly, and it felt like Heavenly Father was speaking directly to me through that verse. I know that the Book of Mormon is true, and that God will answer our prayers. We don’t have to set aside a “perfect night” to ask Him.
Rebekah C., 16, Shanghai, China

“It’s a beautiful sampler. They’re all beautiful.” Megan pointed to Lovina’s. “I think that one’s interesting, but the poem is so sad, and the sampler isn’t finished. Why wasn’t it finished?”
Mrs. Maybaum gently traced the stitching to where it stopped. “This was our daughter’s sampler. She was a good girl—too good to live.”
“I’m sorry.” Megan reached out and squeezed the old lady’s hand.
“It’s all right, dear,” she said. “She died a long time ago. We wish … well … we’re sad that there won’t be any more samplers.”
That evening Megan looked up from her position on the floor to where Grandma was working out on her walking machine. “Grandma, why does Mrs. Maybaum say ‘we’ when she talks to me? She lives alone, doesn’t she?”
Grandma paused in her walking and looked at Megan. “Yes, but I guess that she doesn’t feel alone and still includes her husband in her conversation. Does it bother you?”
“A little,” Megan admitted. “She’s the first really old, old person I’ve known.”
“And what do you think of her?”
“Well, she’s weird, but it’s a nice sort of weird. Do you think she’d mind if I visit her again?”
Grandma smiled. “I’m sure that she’d enjoy another visit.”
Megan sat up and traced the pattern in the rug with her finger. “Have you seen her samplers?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“Then you’ve seen the one that isn’t finished, the one her daughter did.”
“Yes, Lovina died before she could finish it.”
“Did you know her, Grandma?”
“Oh, yes. In fact, we were friends.”
“Why did she die?”
“Lovina died because no one knew how to make her better, Megan. She was always sickly. She couldn’t go out, so I used to visit her once a week. We would make dolls—hollyhock dolls, cornhusk dolls, and paper dolls. Sometimes we had tea parties with honey taffy and lemonade for them. Lovina’s dolls looked alive, and she made the most beautiful clothes for them. She couldn’t wait to make her sampler. On her ninth birthday she got a basket and some little embroidery scissors shaped like a stork.”
“Why did Mrs. Maybaum say that there wouldn’t be any more samplers?”
“Well, she has only a son left. And he has only sons.”
“I wish that I could make her a sampler. But I guess that it wouldn’t be the same.”
“No, it wouldn’t be the same,” Grandma said, “but if you’re serious, I think that it would be very special for her.”
“Could you show me how?”
“Don’t you want her to show you?”
“I wanted to surprise her.”
“Surprises are fun, Megan,” Grandma said, sitting down by Megan and putting her arm around her, “but Mrs. Maybaum’s family weren’t just handing down stitched pictures. The art of making the pictures was the real treasure being passed on. I think that it would mean a lot to Mrs. Maybaum to pass her art on to someone.”
“Is a family treasure the same as a family tradition? That’s what she called it. Do we have any family traditions?”
“Yes, a family tradition really is a treasure—and yes, we have some family treasures.”
“What are they, Grandma?”
Grandma smiled mysteriously. All she said was, “The best treasures have to be discovered, don’t they?”
It was several days before Megan knocked at Mrs. Maybaum’s door again.
“Well, it’s Helen’s granddaughter again. Come in! Come in! We were hoping you’d come see us again.”
When they were settled in the living room, Megan blurted out, “Mrs. Maybaum, would you teach me how to do a sampler? I’m nine now, and I’ll be here five more weeks.”
Mrs. Maybaum leaned back in her chair. “Are you sure? It’s not as easy as it looks. And you’d have to do it right.”
Megan smiled eagerly. “I’m sure. And I promise to do it just like you want.”
When she talked to Grandma later, Megan said, “I’m to design my sampler before I go back. She said that it should be something that’s important to me.”
Megan was very nervous when she showed her design to Mrs. Maybaum the following week. “This is my family,” she explained to the old lady. “Mom’s in her uniform, Dad’s on his oil rig, and my two brothers—they’re visiting my other grandparents right now—are playing ball. In the middle I want it to say, ‘Home is where the heart is,’ because even though we move a lot, we love each other and take care of each other wherever we are. That’s our family tradition. What do you think?”
“We think that it’s exactly right. Now you’re ready to start.”
Mrs. Maybaum showed Megan how to trace her pattern onto the fabric, then put it in the hoop. She showed her how to hold it while she pushed the needle through.
When Megan went home that day, she was carrying a practice scrap of fabric, fabric for her sampler, and a pair of small, stork-shaped scissors in Lovina’s basket. “Mrs. Maybaum insisted that I borrow them, Grandma,” she said.
Megan’s hands were clumsy at first as she tried to make the tiny stitches, and they got tired and crampy. The thread kept knotting up, and many times Megan longed to throw the sampler away. Then she’d look at the stork scissors and the basket and try again.
After a while, the front began to look a little like her drawing. But the back was a mess! There were knots that she couldn’t get out, and big clumps and crisscrosses of thread. Mrs. Maybaum would be very disappointed.
Suddenly Mom was back from her seminar, and it was time for Megan to go home. She hurried over one last time to Mrs. Maybaum’s.
“We were afraid that you wouldn’t have time to come and say good-bye,” the old lady said. “Here’s some honey taffy for you and your mother.” She held out a parcel with a hollyhock doll for a bow. “Now, let us have a last look at your sampler.”
Megan handed her the sampler with the top side up. She thrust Lovina’s basket and scissors along with it, trying to prevent Mrs. Maybaum from turning the sampler over. “Here are Lovina’s things, Mrs. Maybaum. I took good care of them.”
“Megan, we’d like you to have them if you want them. It would please us to know that they were being used and appreciated.”
“I’d love to have them—but I just can’t take them. I don’t deserve them, Mrs. Maybaum. My sampler isn’t right.”
“It looks fine to us. What’s wrong with it?”
When Megan turned the sampler over, the old lady held it up. “It certainly is a mess,” she acknowledged. She got up and took Lovina’s off the wall, pulled the cardboard backing from it, and showed the back of it to Megan.
Megan stared in astonishment. It was every bit as messy as hers!
“Mine’s even worse,” Mrs. Maybaum laughed. “Most of them are. Samplers are for learning—you’ll do better next time.”
Megan got up and gave the old lady a big hug. “Thank you, Mrs. Maybaum. Thank you for everything.”

Giving gifts of love and service to those less fortunate has been a hallmark of the prophets’ Christmas experiences. In 1931, during the Great Depression, President Harold B. Lee was president of a large stake in Salt Lake City, Utah. President Lee determined that he would know the needs of his stake members and do everything he could to alleviate their want. By survey he learned that more than half of his stake, almost 5,000 people, were dependent on others for help, including almost 1,000 children under the age of 10. He mobilized members to collect toys and organized workshops to repair, paint, and clean old toys or make new ones so no child would be without on Christmas. He decided that every family in the stake should have a dinner for Christmas and solicited food donations to make that happen.1 Later as an Apostle, Elder Lee was asked to organize the Church’s welfare program based on similar principles of service, sacrifice, and work.

I understand exactly what it feels like not to feel peace. When I was ten years old my father died. Everyone told me that Heavenly Father would comfort me through the trial, but for the first few months I felt only pain and anger, not comfort.
One night, in the midst of all this hurt, I had a dream about my father which helped me to understand what had happened and to feel at peace with myself. I know that my dad is doing a great work helping people on the other side. I also know that you must look deep within yourself to find true peace in order to live a happy and peaceful life.
Bente Heiselt, 16Powell, Ohio

Some years ago, the Salt Lake City newspapers published an obituary notice of a close friend—a mother and wife taken by death in the prime of her life. I visited the mortuary and joined a host of persons gathered to express condolence to the distraught husband and motherless children. Suddenly the smallest child, Kelly, recognized me and took my hand in hers. “Come with me,” she said, and she led me to the casket in which rested the body of her beloved mother. “I’m not crying, Brother Monson, and neither must you. My mommy told me many times about death and life with Heavenly Father. I belong to my mommy and my daddy. We’ll all be together again.” The words of the Psalmist echoed to my soul: “Out of the mouth of babes … hast thou ordained strength” (Ps. 8:2).
Through tear-moistened eyes, I recognized a beautiful and faith-filled smile. For my young friend, whose tiny hand yet clasped mine, there would never be a hopeless dawn. Sustained by her unfailing testimony, knowing that life continues beyond the grave, she, her father, her brothers, her sisters, and indeed all who share this knowledge of divine truth can declare to the world: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Ps. 30:50).

I sit at the sewing machine and feed thread onto seams of flannel. Child-print patterns in soft colors decorate the tops, and coordinating colors form the backs of the baby receiving blankets I’m sewing.
Our ward Relief Society assembles newborn kits for poverty and disaster areas. I’m an amateur seamstress, but I’m committed to participate. I enjoy choosing fabric for the project and cutting out blanket-sized squares.
I put right sides of the fabric together, sew around the edges, and leave an area open to turn the blanket right side out. Then I stitch along the edges, clip the corners, turn the blanket so that the colorful sides are on the outside, and stitch up the open area.
I sew along the top of the edges to reinforce the seams. I ease the fabric into place and take off at a brisk pace. As I rush to finish so I can resume household duties, a thought strikes me: “What if I were sewing this blanket for baby Jesus?”
With that thought, I slow down and take great care to straighten the seams. But even with care, the stitching doesn’t run straight.
Next I sew a 10-inch (25 cm) square in the center to secure the front to the back. I make a heavy paper template, center it on the blanket, and lightly mark around it. I put the fabric in place, ease down the needle, and carefully sew.
When I’m done, I clip the threads and pull out the finished blanket. It isn’t square—it’s a cross between a trapezoid and a parallelogram.
I set the blanket aside, pull out fresh flannel, and start again—taking greater pains for this gift worthy of Deity. But even with the extra effort, the results are only slightly better. Each blanket I sew is imperfect.
I feel that I can’t take any of the blankets to the collection site, at least not this year. I’ll keep practicing, and perhaps someday I can make a contribution.
Then another thought floats through my mind: “If you wait until your sewing is perfect, the Christ child will be in Egypt.”
I understand. The opportunity for service would be gone. The Savior accepts our offerings when we use our best efforts, imperfect though they may be. I know that a newborn, wrapped in a soft, clean blanket, would not refuse to sleep because the corners aren’t square.
As I contemplate whether my efforts will make a dent in worldwide needs, Christ’s counsel comes to mind: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).
So I continue sewing blankets, working to make them as attractive as I can. I know there is a need now, not some vague time in the future when I can sew them perfectly.

Elder Busche’s search for the source of this power began in the Catholic hospital where he lay recovering for five months. He studied the crucifix on the wall of his hospital room. In pursuit of his commitment to find the author of his experience, he read the Bible from the first page of Genesis to the last page of Revelation, only stopping to eat and sleep. This brought him a powerful awareness of the truthfulness of the Bible and a testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ.
He also watched the nun who was the head nurse in his hospital ward. “She was probably the most righteous person I had ever met,” he recalls. “She would do the dirtiest, most difficult work with singing in her eyes—sixteen hours a day, seven days a week. She was so loving and joyful that it seemed impossible not to be healed in her presence.”
One day he asked her whether the Catholic church was the church of Jesus Christ. “She seemed to fight within herself for a very long time,” he recalls. “Finally, she replied in a peaceful, dignified voice, ‘No. You are looking for the church of the living Christ, not a church of dead traditions.’”
Upon his release from the hospital, Enzio immediately sought out his Lutheran minister, recounted his conversion, and declared his desire to follow Christ. But after a period of attending every possible meeting—and finding some satisfaction in the dignity and ceremony of the services—Enzio was troubled by doctrines and practices he could not understand. Why, for example, did infants need to be baptized? And why had ministers blessed the weapons of the war? The ministers and presbyters of the church could give him no sound doctrine—just conflicting opinions.
One evening Enzio and Jutta knelt in despair to tell the Lord of their situation. By now Enzio could form his own prayers, “I told the Lord we wanted to find his church,” Elder Busche recalls. “I knew that the earlier followers of Christ had been persecuted, so I told the Lord that it didn’t matter if his was an obscure church, even a ridiculed church.” After that prayer, the overwhelming peace Enzio had felt in the hospital returned.
Several weeks later, two Latter-day Saint missionaries stood on the Busches’ doorstep. At first, Enzio Busche was skeptical of their “strange” message, but he was always impressed with their sincerity and righteousness. His two years of investigation were accompanied by dreams and spiritual experiences that had the same sacred quality and authority that he had felt in the hospital. At last, he had to admit that the Spirit truly was in the message of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, although he still feared breaking with his social life and the traditions of his family.
When he was finally ready for baptism, he asked his wife to investigate the gospel. Jutta Busche had long before felt the Spirit in the message of the missionaries, though she had not been involved in the sometimes long discussions. After just three evenings of hearing them teach her the gospel principles—to her husband’s astonishment—she too had a testimony. Both were baptized on 19 January 1958 in a public swimming pool in Dortmund.
Their first tiny branch, which met in an old school building in the dirtiest area of Dortmund, was made up mostly of elderly people whose children had gone to America. “The Lord was no stranger to poverty and humble circumstances,” says Elder Busche, “so I felt in good company there.” His first calling was as branch secretary. Later he served as elders quorum president and a teacher in both the MIA and the Sunday School.
By this time, Enzio Busche was a respected and influential man in his native city and country. In 1955 he had become co-owner with his father of Busche Printing Company, when it was still relatively small. By the time he became chief executive officer in 1963, it was well on its way to becoming one of the largest offset printing and publishing companies in West Germany, with a number of subsidiaries and partnerships.
Brother Busche had felt early in his business life that he could not successfully manage a company in such a competitive market without using the creativity and involvement of every person in the organization. His experience with Church leadership had shown him an alternative to the authoritarian model of traditional management. After many prayers he instituted a form of participatory management, a radical shift from the usual style. He made a rule that everyone involved must agree before any major decision was made. The resulting maturity of his employees helped his company through difficult times and changes to become one of the most dynamic and successful in its field.
Whether as president of an elders quorum or a branch, or in any other of his many callings, Enzio Busche has always felt grateful to be allowed to serve the Lord. “When we are converted, we do the Lord’s work with great joy in our hearts, instead of seeing it as a burden,” he explains. “If we are home teaching with no joy, with no gratitude that He allows us to do something to build His kingdom, we had better repent. Being allowed to serve is a privilege.”
President Stephen C. Richards, whom Brother Busche served as a counselor in the Central German Mission, remembers that his counselor helped secure the plot of ground for the Dortmund chapel at a time when the Church faced community opposition in buying land. Enzio Busche also helped countless Church members secure their own testimonies. The Busche home, frequently the site of cottage meetings, was always open to the missionaries, and the Busches supported several young men on missions. “There is a man whom the Lord loves,” says President Richards fondly. “He will do anything the Lord asks, with never a question.”
Enzio Busche’s original commitment to go to the ends of the earth in pursuit of truth met its test in 1977, while President Spencer W. Kimball was touring Poland and East Germany. Then a regional representative to the Quorum of the Twelve, Brother Busche served as translator for President Kimball at a meeting in Berlin, then met afterwards with Church leaders for refreshments in the Relief Society room. D. Arthur Haycock, the president’s personal secretary, asked Brother Busche to take an empty chair next to President Kimball. Because an educated German would never seek the company of a dignitary unless invited by that dignitary, Brother Busche ignored the suggestion. When Brother Busche declined a second time, Brother Haycock asked him more pointedly if he would please be so kind as to take the vacant seat. After exchanging greetings, President Kimball invited Brother Busche to join him in another room, where he extended the call to serve as a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy.
Elder Busche’s first assignment as a General Authority was to serve as president of the Germany Munich Mission. Then, in 1980, he and his family (except for oldest son Markus, engaged to be married and living in Germany) were called to move to Utah.
Looking back, Elder Busche realizes that he has been asked to do all that he told the Lord he would be willing to do as he lay in that hospital bed. He was asked to leave his family, his language, his inherited culture, and his company—all that he had built, all that was familiar to him. He smiles. “I was even asked to go to the ends of the earth, if you consider northern Alaska to be the ends of the earth.” One of his current assignments is counselor in the North American Northwest Area Presidency, an area that includes the North Pole.
Elder Busche explains how he has overcome his fear of the challenging assignments he has accepted during his years in the Church. “The adversary’s greatest power is to give us fear, to tell us that what the Lord requires will be too uncomfortable, too impossible, to do. But as we obey, the Lord will fill us with love and inexpressible joy. Until we subdue ourselves to the Lord, we can only experience frustration and pain. When we do subdue ourselves to his will, we are filled with peace and dignity in all circumstances, no matter how challenging. This, to me, is the greatest victory we can achieve.”
Those who know him best—his wife and four children—agree that one of Enzio Busche’s most extraordinary achievements is his sensitivity as a husband and father. “What the missionaries brought us,” says Sister Busche, “has totally changed our lives. It has really been a blessing for us, for our marriage and our family.”
Sister Busche says that her husband has an unusual ability to respond to people, especially to his children. “The most important thing is that he has a good feeling for people—that he can love them and understand them and help them.” She tells of a time when one son faced the difficult choice of marriage or a mission. The Busches were in the mission home in Munich at the time, and their son and his girlfriend came to visit them. Elder Busche told his son, “We love you, and you are totally free. If you feel you should marry, we will still love you. But before you decide, go in your room and ask Heavenly Father.” The son came from his room with tears in his eyes and the commitment that he would go on a mission.
Elder Busche explains that he and his wife had seen that the traditional way of raising children in Germany caused a tremendous rift between generations. “We did not want to have children who mocked their parents, who obeyed just because their parents fed them. We did not want to force our children to go to church and have them rebel against us.”
Elder Busche feels it was the Spirit that taught them to regard their children, from their earliest years, as equals. Even when the children were three or four years old, the Busches tried to respect their opinions. “We were surprised and touched by how much we could learn from them,” says Elder Busche. “When children are raised in an unintimidating environment, they are so pure and innocent, so loving and sensitive that it is embarrassing to adults.”
Daughter Maja (Mrs. Paul Wensel) remembers that her father’s approach to discipline was always to reason with her, never to threaten. He would often say, “Jesus would do something different.”
“Once when I broke a window, he came out and calmly said, ‘You’ve done something wrong, and you need to do something so that you can understand that you can’t do this.’ Then he asked what kind of penalty I thought would be fair. As a result, I never felt rebellious.” In fact, the Busches found that the children would usually assign themselves stricter penalties than their parents would have.
The youngest son, Daniel, who returned last year from a mission in Argentina, describes his father as a loving teacher. “One night we had won a baseball game, and I didn’t get home until two in the morning. As I drove up and saw Dad waiting for me outside, I was really scared. I was thinking up all kinds of excuses. But instead of accusing me, he said, ‘I’m glad you’re home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’ I knew I had done wrong, but I also knew that he was concerned about me and wanted to help me.”
The children felt a good atmosphere in the home partly because of their parents’ love for classical music. Sister Busche comes from a family of musicians and loves the music of Bach and Rachmaninoff. Elder and Sister Busche always felt that beautiful music would foster a good spirit in their home. Maja says this helped her keep her mind clean and made the excesses of the world a clear contrast.
Matthias (married to Patricia Clay) recalls his father as a great teacher—always prepared with a lesson for family home evening—but also as a great companion. Elder Busche is an active man whose interests include skiing, running, hiking, and sailing. “Some of the experiences we had sailing together on the Baltic Sea—critical moments when we were in danger—brought us really close. Those are times I’ll never forget,” says Matthias. Some of his favorite times have been the relaxed, playful moments, but also the long, thoughtful talks while driving to and from church meetings.
He is a family man, a businessman, and a church leader. But the true vocation of Elder F. Enzio Busche has been a tireless search for the truth. In the gospel of Jesus Christ he has found the answers to his fundamental questions, but also a challenge to devote his life to the commitments he has made. “Many members of the Church are starving spiritually. We must feed the spiritual part of our being by learning to distinguish and search for the Spirit in all matters of our daily lives. Life is not meant to be easy, but when we are filled with the Spirit that Heavenly Father gives us when we live according to our covenants, we will be full of joy no matter what happens. We will have happy marriages, good relationships between parents and children, and an ability to live with peace and dignity.”
For Elder F. Enzio Busche, the end of the search has become an eternal beginning.

As a first-time mother of a small and precocious boy, I sometimes feel my life consists of little more than diaper changes and feeding schedules.
While adjusting to motherhood, I found myself ignoring my spiritual needs. Instead of reading the scriptures, I would usually sneak in a much-needed nap or one more load of laundry. Prayers were simply hurried pleas to my Father in Heaven for my son to fall asleep and stay asleep, or for help to just make it through the day.
When my son was around four months old, I realized how depleted my spirit had become. My desire to strengthen my testimony was waning. I didn’t feel like sitting through all three hours of church, and other responsibilities at home and at church seemed like things I didn’t have time or energy for. I wanted to feel the light of the gospel again, but I was exhausted and didn’t know where to begin. One night I fervently prayed for help.
The next morning, I dragged myself to church. While listening to the lesson in Relief Society, I saw a poster illustrating the purpose of Relief Society. I had seen the poster every Sunday, but I had never internalized its message before. It states that the purpose of Relief Society is to help sisters “increase faith and personal righteousness, strengthen families and home, and seek out and help those in need.”
I read it again. This time my mind focused on “increase faith and personal righteousness.” It became clear that before I could fulfill my Church callings and serve others effectively, I needed to tend to my own spiritual health. I started by setting time aside each day to read the scriptures. I also worked on being more thoughtful when I prayed.
As I began to nourish my own faith and personal righteousness and seek guidance from Heavenly Father, I felt my love for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ reignite. Serving in callings, visiting my Relief Society sisters, and partaking of the sacrament each week became meaningful in my life again. And the things I once viewed as having no time and energy for have now become a comfort and strength to me and my family.

During my freshman year of high school, I met a girl who shared something with me that has changed my life permanently.
I knew she held her family and church very close to her. She always seemed to be talking about these things and never failed to invite me to a church activity. I always had an excuse for not being able to go, but in truth, I was simply afraid of the rumors I had heard about Mormons. After 18 months of invitations, I decided to go help her father with a Cub Scout activity at her local meetinghouse. The members were a lot of fun, and even though I didn’t recognize it by name, I felt the Spirit very strongly. I went to more activities until eventually I found myself waking up at 4:30 a.m. to see what seminary was all about.
My friend invited me to read the Book of Mormon and meet with the missionaries. I agreed to meet with them in her home where I was able to feel the love and support from her family and also hear their conversion stories. The missionaries and this family encouraged me to read and to pray. Through their examples and support, I was able to gain a testimony of the Book of Mormon and the restored Church of Jesus Christ. I was baptized and later served in a branch presidency while on my mission in Lubbock, Texas. I loved to share this experience with those I taught and will be forever grateful for what a friend was willing to share with me.

There were two young boys returning home late one afternoon. It was getting dark, and they should have been home earlier. Knowing they were in trouble, they decided to save a little time and take the shortest way by going through a pasture. The boys were well aware they should not go into the pasture. The property was posted with “no trespassing” signs because of the presence of a large, mean bull. It was getting dark, and since the bull was in an area of the pasture where he couldn’t see the boys, they decided to attempt the shorter way. After they had crawled under the fence, and were about halfway across the pasture—at the point of no return—the bull spotted them and charged in their direction. The boys began running, but one of the stopped and said, “Wait, let’s kneel down and pray for help.” The other boy said, “If you want to stop and kneel down and pray, you do it, but I’m going to run and pray.”
Whether it is talents you desire to develop or gospel standards you want to live, I believe you have to develop this kind of faith in order to be successful. It’s something more than just saying you have faith. You have to work for it. You have to live for it. You have to do all you can, as the little boy did when the bull was after him. He ran as hard as he could. You have to be worthy of it and then develop that eye of faith. It has to be firmly planted in your mind. You must know what you want to do, and how you will do it.

In my home I learned to work hard. My family used a system we called the “diligence list.” At the beginning of the month, we received a list of various chores, such as doing the dishes, caring for the horses, and so on. We checked off the chores as we completed them, and then at the end of the month, we were given an amount of money for our diligent work based on how many check marks we had on the chart. From this I have learned to work diligently and to be careful with money.

Ricky Maxfield can walk through Reno and see the fruits of his Eagle Scout project—cantaloupe, watermelon, squash, carrots, beans, corn, and peas. Fourteen-year-old Ricky, of the Mount Rose Fourth Ward, Reno Nevada Stake, received a pickup load of garden seeds for his Eagle project from the American Indian Services at Brigham Young University. With the help of nine Scouts in his troop and his brother Dale and sister Carrie, he raised $5,500 from selling the seeds and donated the money to American Indian Services. A tractor was bought with the money and delivered to the Hualapai tribe of northern Arizona.

The other day I spoke at the funeral of a 12-year-old boy. Jared had recently been ordained a deacon. He was a fine boy, and his friends came from everywhere to attend the funeral. More than half of them were nonmembers who went to school with him, played soccer with him, or worked in civic projects with him. Jared also had an older brother and a younger brother.
When death comes to an adolescent, it is usually unexpected. We may not be even remotely warned of it. Jared was suffocated in a freak sand cave-in at the oceanside in Coos Bay, Oregon. His cousins and other peers had frantically tried to dig him out. It was a horribly tragic experience for all of them, including his older brother, who had also been partially buried. You can imagine the shock and trauma their parents experienced.
As Jared’s family and close friends gathered beside the casket at the viewing, one particular young friend was having an extremely difficult time saying good-bye to his buddy. I discovered that Ryan and Jared had been soccer friends for about three years. Ryan was not a member of the Church, but he was from a fine Christian home. At 13, he had never before had to face the reality of death that comes when you lose a close friend or loved one.
Ryan cried audibly. He had lost a very close friend. He was comforted by his own father, who held him close and rubbed his shoulders. Jared’s father also offered some comfort to Ryan, all to no avail. The loss was simply more than he could bear.
This incident made my mind race back nearly 30 years to a similar experience in my own life. Evan had been my closest friend. We had shared almost everything together, including pollywogs, toads, lizards, stick horses, dogs, and food.
He and I were quite different in many ways. He was blond and short, like his father. I was lankier and skinny and dark, like my dad. He liked vanilla, I liked chocolate. He had the most beautiful palomino stinkwood stick horse I had ever seen. Dried and stiff, it was the envy of every kid in town.
Evan’s grandmother was my first-grade teacher, back in the days when the first, second, and third grades were all in one room. She was strict and demanding, but she loved us and helped us do the very best we could.
Once when another boy fell asleep in class, Evan and I tried to get her to let us awaken him by pouring water on his head.
“Oh, we couldn’t do that!” she said. “You wouldn’t want him to do that to you, would you?”
I did not know that she was teaching me the Golden Rule. But Evan did. “She was right, you know,” he said to me that afternoon as we walked home from school. Maybe his clearer understanding of truth was one of many reasons the Lord needed him so early.
Evan and I created a great “hut” down in the rocks and sand of Ash Creek. That was a small tributary to the Virgin River in southern Utah. It was the perfect place for catching little blue-bellied racing lizards. When it came to catching those, Evan and I had no peers. That was one thing we could do better than even my two older brothers.
I did not know until we were about ten years old that Evan had been born with a heart defect. He had asthma and often coughed and wheezed from that, but it did not interfere with our play. One reason I did not know that his health problems were serious was that he never once complained.
All along, his parents had been waiting for him to reach an age when he was strong enough to survive surgery. Finally, the doctors felt that they could wait no longer, so off to Salt Lake went Evan and his parents.
He wrote to me saying that he had taken an advance tour of the hospital to see everything, including the operating and recovery rooms. The doctors wanted him to see them in detail, so that when he awoke, he would not be frightened. To me, it seemed that he took that all in stride.
Several days later Evan underwent eight or ten hours of major surgery. Unbelievably to me, he died on the operating table.
I was crushed. I had prayed faithfully and fervently that he would survive. I thought my prayers had gone unanswered. Brokenhearted, I went back to our river hut one last time after the funeral. I stayed only long enough to push some of the rocks aside and destroy the fort that we had built. I guess I thought if I could destroy what represented Evan, I could destroy the horrible feelings of grief that I was experiencing.
Later I would learn that those feelings were normal. I loved Evan. I would miss him. That is a natural instinct, and there is nothing wrong with it.
We will miss Jared too. That is simply part of life. God would never want us to forget someone who has touched us for good. The scriptures tell us, “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45).
I thought about Evan every day for a month or so. Then I began to get busy with other friends, and soon I was just thinking about him every now and then. After about ten years, I found that I would go months at a time and never think of the closeness that we had shared. I noticed, however, that when I started thinking about him, all of the good feelings that I had felt with him so many times would come rushing back into my mind and heart.
Then a year or two ago, almost 30 years after Evan’s death, I dreamed that I was driving my car on a business trip up old Highway 101 in northern California, near the Oregon border.
I was traveling along admiring the beautiful coastal view. I had the radio on, and I was just driving along in the dream.
Suddenly, I took my car into a rather sharp bend. As I did so, coming toward me on the ocean’s side of the road, on a packed ten-speed bicycle, was Evan. He was a full-grown adult, but I recognized him immediately.
Quickly I found a wide spot in the road where I could turn around, and I went back. He had seen me too and had stopped, hoping that I would turn around.
I jumped out of the car and raced to him, and we hugged and danced like two little boys who had just captured their first pollywogs. Then we stood arm-in-arm, face-to-face, with the mighty Pacific Ocean as a backdrop and visited eagerly for about 15 minutes.
Never mentioning death, or “it’s good to see you after all of these years,” or anything like that, he finally said to me, “Well, I’ve got to be going.”
Knowing and feeling that to be true, I said to him, “Where are you headed?”
“To take care of some business,” he stated simply. I knew better than to ask any more. He was about his Father’s business. My heart told me so. I know that to be true of Jared also.
I still remember how wonderful it felt in that dream to see Evan again, to hug and talk with him after all those years since he died. The Spirit bore witness to me that Evan and I will meet again someday and that meeting will be as sweet and natural as it was in that wonderful dream.
As I stood at the pulpit in the stake center, the Spirit prompted me to tell Ryan that death is not the end of our associations and that our feelings of love and friendship will endure beyond the grave.
I thought Ryan sat up a little straighter on the bench. His eyes became a little drier, and I even thought I saw him nod his head, as if to agree. I thought my spiritual eyes saw Ryan touched by the Spirit.
It is never easy to lose a friend to death. But the understanding which the gospel provides can be a great comfort to us. We know that life continues beyond the grave and that there is important work to be done by those who have gone on. And time will soften the pain of those who are left behind.
About 80 years before the birth of Christ, the Book of Mormon prophet Ammon taught, “Now when our hearts were depressed, and we were about to turn back, behold, the Lord comforted us, and said: Go amongst thy brethren … and bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success” (Alma 26:27).
Remain faithful, young people. Do what is right and be prayerful. You will see your friend again. It will be sooner than you think. Your loss will not be easy, but God will comfort you and the hurt will eventually go away. One day soon, the memories will be happy and joyful as you reflect on the good times spent together sharing your lives. That is the promise of the plan of salvation.

I can still remember when my parents took our family to the newly erected Swiss Temple, the first in Europe, to become a forever family. I was 16 then and the youngest of four children. We knelt together at the altar to be sealed on earth by the power of the priesthood, with a wonderful promise that we could be sealed for eternity. I will never forget this magnificent moment.
As a boy I was quite impressed that we crossed country borders to be sealed as a family. To me it symbolizes the way temple work crosses worldly boundaries to bring eternal blessings to all the inhabitants of the earth. The temples of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are truly built for the benefit of all the world.