Gospel Story Finder

The flood was bad. It washed away houses. Now some people didn’t have homes.
Cameron wanted to help. But how?
On Sunday, the Primary president said, “We’re collecting shoes for families who were in the flood.”
That night, Cameron talked to Mom and Dad. “Can we look for shoes for home evening?”
“Great idea!” Mom said.
“We’ll call it the Great Family Shoe Hunt,” Dad said.
At home evening, Dad said a prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father, we have been given so much. Help us to share.”
Then the hunt began. Cameron ran to his room. His brother and sister ran to look for shoes too. Cameron looked in his closet. He found a pair of church shoes. Then he found a pair of tennis shoes. The shoes didn’t fit anymore. But they were still good shoes.
Everyone came back to the living room. They had found five pairs of shoes to share!
“Now let’s fix them up,” Mom said.
They rubbed away spots. They polished. They put in new laces.
The shoes looked almost new!
On Sunday, Cameron’s family took the shoes to Primary.
“Thank you!” the Primary president said. “When we help others, we are following Jesus.”
She gave each child a small paper footprint. The footprint said “Following Jesus.”
Cameron smiled. He liked following Jesus.

About a year ago, Whitney Walton, 16, her four sisters, six aunts, and all her girl cousins were gathered together to learn a family secret.
The secret had been a treasure in the family for more than 50 years. It was something that everyone enjoyed, and they all wanted this secret to be passed down in the family. They didn’t want it lost. A single person had the key to unlocking this secret—Whitney’s grandmother Ilean Corbridge.
On this one day, because of Whitney’s Personal Progress project, Grandma Ilean had agreed to reveal her secret to all her daughters and granddaughters. Grandsons could have come, but they preferred to wait with their dads for the results. The group was gathered to learn how to make Grandma’s rolls—those light, buttery, baked-to-perfection rolls that for years and years had become an essential part of every family dinner and were everyone’s favorite for slathering with homemade jam.
How did they convince Grandma to reveal her secret? The new Personal Progress program in Young Women encourages families to become involved in the projects and goals set by the girls. The Walton family of Vernal, Utah, took this suggestion to heart. Whitney and her mother, Kathy, thought it would be great to learn the homemaking skills perfected by Whitney’s grandmother. They asked her, and she agreed to share what she knows.
“My cousins and aunts and I love getting together and just having fun,” said Whitney. “We thought we would get everyone together to learn how to make rolls. My grandmother is really good at making pies, too. And she quilts a lot.” Grandma helped them do all of these things.
In preparation for the day they were to get together with their grandmother, Whitney made invitations and got the ingredients together for the rolls and pies as well as the materials for the quilt. She then typed a cookbook—a copy for each person—with recipes from her grandmother and from her aunts. For the event, she picked the home of one of her aunts that was the most centrally located. But some still had to drive several hours to meet on that day. They were happy to make the trip.
It was a fun day. Everyone got to see up close just how Grandma could sense when the roll dough had the right amount of flour so it wasn’t too stiff. They learned to cool the milk so it wouldn’t kill the yeast. And the girls learned how to roll out the dough to just the right thickness and how to cut and fold over the circles of dough for uniform, beautiful rolls. Plus they got to try making her pie crust. “My favorite pie is banana cream,” said Whitney, “but we each had a turn in helping make everything.”

William knew there would be weight restrictions on baggage, so he packed the cloth traveling bag accordingly. There was only room for necessary items. He lifted it, walked a little with it clutched in his right hand, then set it down, and after a moment’s pause, slowly removed the concertina, carefully placing it back on the shelf near his mother’s small pump organ. He would miss playing it, but he would send for it once he got settled. He would miss a lot of things, especially family singing time in the evenings before the babies were put to bed. The singing served as an elixir, soothing, refreshing, and calming everyone’s spirits, preparing them for a night’s rest from the duties of the day.
He checked the remainder of the bag’s contents to see if anything else could be removed. No, he would need the two changes of clothing, one light weight and the other heavy. The hand-me-down boots his father had given him must stay. “They’ll be good for walking, William. Good support for the ankles.” William knew his father felt badly because he could not afford to buy his son a new pair of boots. No matter. He would have to stuff the toes a little with cotton, but they would serve their purpose—again. He knew they had once belonged to an anonymous foot soldier, deceased no doubt, of the British Royal Army in which his grandfather had been a cavalryman.
The pen and paper were indispensable. They would be used for recording the events of the journey and for an occasional letter home.
Surely the bottle of homemade, all-purpose healing salve would be useful for sunburned skin or blisters on the feet. Then there was the small amount of money his mother had tenderly wrapped in a handkerchief, money in addition to his passage that the family would “glady do without in order to help our son get to America, to Zion,” she had said. He wanted to give the money back to her, but he knew she had saved it for this very purpose and would not have it any other way.
In the bottom of the bag there was a musical instrument resembling the fife or flute. It looked very much like the kind the soldiers in George Washington’s army had played while marching to and from battle. It is not known when or how he obtained the tin whistle, a very inexpensive, shrill sounding instrument, but it is known that William could play it very well. It, too, was a necessary item.
The early morning mist was heavy, as were the thoughts on his mind, that 23rd day of May in 1866 when William Moroni Blair, 15-year-old son of Isaac and Ruth Suddery Blair, boarded the sailing ship bound for America.
He watched from his position near the ship’s railing as the families and friends of some of the other 349 passengers gathered at dockside to bid their farewells. He looked from face to face of his loved ones, giving his eyes plenty of time to capture the departure scene for permanent recording in his mind. He saw his mother blow him a kiss and then bury her face in the coat sleeve of his father who was holding fast to the wiggling five-year-old twins, Ruth and Isaac. Baby Albert, wrapped snugly in a woolen shawl crocheted by his mother, was too tiny to notice anything. But William noticed how tightly he was being pressed to his mother’s bosom. Three-year-old Rosa, wide-eyed and especially quiet this morning, was perched high up in Samuel’s arms. She didn’t really understand all that was going on. Samuel would soon be 14 and was the second oldest in the family. He must now assume the role of the oldest. William suspected thoughts of envy and relief were passing through Samuel’s mind simultaneously, for had he been the firstborn, he would now be the one waiting to sail.
William reflected on last evening’s events when Rosalie, 12, and Henry, 10, had quietly slipped through the curtained doorway of the room he shared with Samuel. Assuming correctly that he would not yet be asleep, they sat upon his bed. It was Henry who asked, “Are you afraid, Will?”
“Not really.”
Then Rosalie: “When will we see you again? Whenever I ask mother or father, they just say, ‘Someday soon.’ Will we all really get to Zion and be together again?”
William recalled his answer: “Yes, we will, someday soon.”
The following morning before light touched the sky, the Blair family knelt in their familiar places within the walls of their humble home while Father Blair led them in prayer. Special assistance was asked for on William’s behalf.
The boarding plank was up. The ship creaked and groaned as it was loosed from its hold on the pier. Last-minute instructions were issued by the captain and then relayed by the first mate to the other crew members. As wood and canvas slowly moved away from the docks at Liverpool, William mustered up his best grin and waved vigorously to his people who were doing the same amid shouts of, “Take care!” “Don’t delay in writing!” “Pray always!” and “Godspeed!” Then as the Alesto slipped into the deeper waters of the bay, someone on board began to sing “Isle of Beauty, Fare Thee Well.” Others lent their voices to the singing until the soloist was accompanied by a full choir. Music changed to silence when the “Isle of Beauty” vanished in the fog. That was to be the very last view of Old England for many of those sailing away from her shores that day. It was William’s last.

Once there was a man and his wife who were very happy living in their big house. But one evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting, she looked up and said, “We have a lovely house with many nice things, but don’t you think something is missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and said, “Yes, something is missing. Our house is too quiet. Maybe we need a dog.”
So the man and his wife went to the pet shop and bought a cute little soft and cuddly puppy.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting and the puppy lay sleeping on the floor, the woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house and many nice things. We have a cute little puppy, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and answered, “Yes, something is still missing. Our house is much too quiet. Maybe we need a kitten.”
So they bought a playful little kitten. The kitten liked its new home, and the man and his wife and their little puppy liked the kitten.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting and the puppy and kitten chased each other, the woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house and many nice things. We have a cute little puppy and a playful kitten, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and said, “Yes, something is missing. Our house is still too quiet. Maybe we need a bird.”
So they bought a pretty canary that sang beautifully. The canary liked its new home, and the man and his wife and their little puppy and playful kitten liked the canary.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting and the little puppy and playful kitten chased each other and the canary sang, the woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house with many nice things. We have a cute little puppy and a playful kitten and a pretty canary that sings, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and said, “Yes, something is still missing. Our nice house is too quiet. Maybe we should get a parrot.”
So they bought a parrot that talked and squawked. The parrot liked its new home, and the man and his wife and their puppy and kitten and canary liked the parrot.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting, the little puppy and playful kitten chased each other and the pretty canary sang beautifully and the parrot talked and squawked. The woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house with many nice things. We have a cute little puppy and a playful kitten and a pretty canary that sings beautifully and a parrot that talks and squawks, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his paper thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said, “something is still missing. Our house is still too quiet. Maybe we need to adopt a baby to come and live with us.”
“Oh, yes,” said his wife.
“Arf,” barked the little puppy.
“Meow,” agreed the playful kitten.
“Tweet, tweet,” sang the pretty canary.
“Squawk, indeed,” replied the noisy parrot.
And so one day the happy man and his happy wife welcomed a tiny baby girl into their house.
Then the little puppy was happy.
The playful kitten was happy.
The pretty canary was happy.
The noisy parrot was happy.
And the beautiful little baby girl was happy too, for now the big house was a home full of love.

You may have read the story in the Ensign about the Hibbert family. (See Ensign, June 1980, pp. 41–42.) The husband and father of a large family was diagnosed as having terminal cancer. After the shock and fear were faced, the husband and wife counseled together and decided that the best thing they could do for their joy and peace of mind was to prepare themselves and their family for what was to come.
They chose to create family memories through shared experiences, to complete family histories, to have a year’s supply of food and other necessities to meet the financial emergencies that would come. A will was prepared and all insurance and legal papers were put in order. The children were taught to care for one another and to take responsibility in the home.
Just weeks before the death of Brother Hibbert, their home was destroyed in a fire. With it went much of the food storage, but there was still the togetherness of a family that had learned to work together, to plan and prepare, and to face a difficulty head on. With the death of Brother Hibbert, there was sorrow—but not grief. The family had developed the skills it takes to remain close and loving. They were prepared.

Throughout the world in Africa, Asia, the Pacific, North and South America, and Europe, charitable women, united with their families, also make a difference in their communities. On the tiny island of Trinidad, Sister Ramoutar, a busy branch Relief Society president, and her family are helping neighborhood children. The Ramoutars live in a village that is a “drug-infested” place where many parents and adults are addicted to alcohol or are trafficking in drugs. The children are at great risk and are often without supervision. Many do not attend school.
Every Thursday night, as many as 30 children, ages 3 to 19 years, sit in the covered area outside of the Ramoutar home, eagerly participating in a group known as “Our One Big Happy Family.” Prayers, hymns, fun songs, and the sharing of good deeds done by the children each week are part of the activities. Sometimes doctors, policemen, teachers, or our own missionaries share useful lessons such as President Gordon B. Hinckley’s six B’s. The Ramoutar family rescues children through their small and simple acts of charity. As they have shared the gospel in their “One Big Happy Family,” others have joined the Church.

One day after school, one of our daughters came into a teenage son’s room. It looked as if a big wind had blown through. He was sitting in the midst of it all. She felt the anger rising within, but remembered her resolution to look for the good. Searching desperately, her eye finally looked upward. “Your ceiling’s really clean, Adam!” she was able to say quite honestly. He laughed; he got the message, and he cleaned up the room.

When we were first married, my wife and I decided that we would accept the children that would be born to us with the responsibility attending their birth and growth. In due time they have formed families of their own.
Twice in our marriage, at the time of the births of two of our little boys, we have had a doctor say, “I do not think you are going to keep this one.”
Both times this brought the response from us that we would give our lives if our tiny son could keep his. In the course of that offer, it dawned on us that this same devotion is akin to what Heavenly Father feels about each of us. What a supernal thought.

In 1946 Henry was enjoying his success and work at Princeton. He had won numerous honorary doctorates and most major awards in chemistry. Given his diligent scientific work with world-renowned scientists, he had an excellent opportunity to be considered for a Nobel Prize.
At about this time Henry received a call from A. Ray Olpin, president of the University of Utah, inviting him to be the dean of the graduate school there and continue his research in chemistry. His wife, Mildred, left the decision up to Henry, but she reminded him of a promise he had made to her years earlier. Henry had promised to move his family closer to Church headquarters when the boys got older. When Henry turned down the offer, Mildred, who had grown up in Utah, asked him to pray about his decision and gave him a letter to read when he arrived at his laboratory.
Upon reading the letter, in which Mildred expressed her disappointment, and after praying and pondering, Henry called President Olpin, saying he would accept the position after all to build up the university’s science department. His apparent sacrifice in leaving Princeton turned out to be a blessing for him and his family. One such blessing was Hal’s willingness to follow his father’s example when he faced a similar crossroads years later.

I live in Vanuatu, a group of islands in the South Pacific Ocean. I was so excited to turn eight so that I could be baptized and confirmed.
But I was worried about getting baptized in the ocean in front of my house because the waves can get pretty big there. Those waves are fun to play in, but I wasn’t sure about being baptized in them. My mom and I went in the ocean by our house to see what it would be like, and I knew it would be OK.
We chose the day when I was to be baptized, and I was so excited. But then a cyclone came close to our island. We had to call the branch president and cancel my baptism.
Even though there was a little flooding from the cyclone, we were able to go to church that Sunday. The branch president announced that I would be baptized on Saturday.
On Saturday morning, the waves were really big, so I was kind of scared. We had a meeting at my house, and then we all walked down to the beach. I had asked my cousin Josh to baptize me.
Josh lifted me over the waves as we walked in, but as I was getting baptized, the waves were calm. I think that while Josh said the baptism prayer, Jesus calmed the water for me.
As we walked out of the ocean, the waters got rough again, but I didn’t mind because I was already soaked completely. I’m so glad that I turned eight and that I could follow Jesus’s example by being baptized. I know that Heavenly Father hears my prayers.

My family and I recently had a simple but impressive experience with one of God’s creations. I gave my wife, Barbara, a dozen rosebuds for a valentine. They were a delicate shade of peach and had a rich scent. Barbara put them into a vase and placed them on the table in our family room. As the days passed, the family watched the blossoms unfold from buds to full flowers.
As I watched this miracle, I became curious about roses. I was amazed to learn from a botanist friend that there are thousands of varieties of roses. Inside each rose is a storehouse of genetic coding that develops a seed or a slip into roots, stems, thorns, leaves, colors, and blooms.
This experience led me to consider the myriad forms of plant and animal life that thrive in astounding balance upon the earth. My esteem for our little roses took on an element of wonder and reverence. I pondered the power of the Creative Genius who lovingly provided such marvels for His children. I thought about how important it is for every human soul to see and appreciate the glory and grandeur of God in everything about us.

Our son, Spencer, has tried to learn to fast since his baptism nearly two years ago. We have not made him feel he must fast at this young age. He may not fast as long as we do on some Sundays. In fast and testimony meeting some time ago, he whispered to me, “I think I’ll go up and bear my testimony.” I smiled and nodded my approval. His sincere testimony touched me. He was feeling something. So did I.

Years ago, Elder James O. Mason of the Seventy shared this story with me: “The birth of our sixth child was an unforgettable experience. As I gazed on this beautiful, new daughter in the nursery just moments after her birth, I distinctly heard a voice declare, ‘There will yet be another, and it will be a boy.’ Unwisely, I rushed back to the bedside of my absolutely exhausted wife and told her the good news. It was very bad timing on my part.” Year after year the Masons anticipated the arrival of their seventh child. Three, four, five, six, seven years passed. Finally, after eight years, their seventh child was born—a little boy.

This definition of pride—as much as I hate to admit it—made me realize that I am prideful, in the sense that I’m often in opposition to my husband. Even small decisions can turn into heated discussions that end with both of our feelings hurt.
For example, I’ve caught myself thinking, “I’m tired, so he can just cook dinner tonight,” without considering that my husband might be just as tired—or more tired—than I am. This thinking usually leads to a “who’s more tired” contest, which just leaves both of us annoyed—and still hungry.
I absolutely love my husband, but by virtue of being human, neither of us are perfect. We both do our best, but there are moments when we still let pride come between us.

Years ago when I first received an appointment that resulted in my picture being in the newspapers, one of my high school teachers, evidently quite astonished, was heard to say, “That just proves that you can’t tell by looking at a frog how high he is going to jump!”
The image of that frog, sitting in the mud instead of jumping, illustrates how inadequate I have felt when facing the responsibilities that have come to me.
These feelings fix it so that thereafter one can never feel superior to anyone, not anyone.
For a long time, something else puzzled me. Forty-six years ago I was a 37-year-old seminary supervisor. My Church calling was as an assistant teacher in a class in the Lindon Ward.
To my great surprise, I was called to meet with President David O. McKay. He took both of my hands in his and called me to be one of the General Authorities, an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
A few days later, I came to Salt Lake City to meet with the First Presidency to be set apart as one of the General Authorities of the Church. This was the first time I had met with the First Presidency—President David O. McKay and his counselors, President Hugh B. Brown and President Henry D. Moyle.
President McKay explained that one of the responsibilities of an Assistant to the Twelve was to stand with the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as a special witness and to bear testimony that Jesus is the Christ. What he said next overwhelmed me: “Before we proceed to set you apart, I ask you to bear your testimony to us. We want to know if you have that witness.”
I did the best I could. I bore my testimony the same as I might have in a fast and testimony meeting in my ward. To my surprise, the Brethren of the Presidency seemed pleased and proceeded to confer the office upon me.
That puzzled me greatly, for I had supposed that someone called to such an office would have an unusual, different, and greatly enlarged testimony and spiritual power.
It puzzled me for a long time until finally I could see that I already had what was required: an abiding testimony in my heart of the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith, that we have a Heavenly Father, and that Jesus Christ is our Redeemer. I may not have known all about it, but I did have a testimony, and I was willing to learn.
I was perhaps no different from those spoken of in the Book of Mormon: “And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost, even as the Lamanites, because of their faith in me at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not” (3 Nephi 9:20; emphasis added).
Over the years, I have come to see how powerfully important that simple testimony is. I have come to understand that our Heavenly Father is the Father of our spirits (see Numbers 16:22; Hebrews 12:9; D&C 93:29). He is a father with all the tender love of a father. Jesus said, “For the Father himself loveth you, because ye have loved me, and have believed that I came out from God” (John 16:27).
Some years ago, I was with President Marion G. Romney, meeting with mission presidents and their wives in Geneva, Switzerland. He told them that 50 years before, as a missionary boy in Australia, late one afternoon he had gone to a library to study. When he walked out, it was night. He looked up into the starry sky, and it happened. The Spirit touched him, and a certain witness was born in his soul.
He told those mission presidents that he did not know any more surely then as a member of the First Presidency that God the Father lives; that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, the Only Begotten of the Father; and that the fulness of the gospel had been restored than he did as a missionary boy 50 years before in Australia. He said that his testimony had changed in that it was much easier to get an answer from the Lord. The Lord’s presence was nearer, and he knew the Lord much better than he had 50 years before.
There is the natural tendency to look at those who are sustained to presiding positions, to consider them to be higher and of more value in the Church or to their families than an ordinary member. Somehow we feel they are worth more to the Lord than are we. It just does not work that way!
It would be very disappointing to my wife and to me if we supposed any one of our children would think that we think we are of more worth to the family or to the Church than they are, or to think that one calling in the Church was esteemed over another or that any calling would be thought to be less important.
Recently, one of our sons was sustained as ward mission leader. His wife told us how thrilled he was with the call. It fits the very heavy demands of his work. He has the missionary spirit and will find good use for his Spanish, which he has kept polished from his missionary days. We also were very, very pleased at his call.
What my son and his wife are doing with their little children transcends anything they could do in the Church or out. No service could be more important to the Lord than the devotion they give to one another and to their little children. And so it is with all our other children. The ultimate end of all activity in the Church centers in the home and the family.
As General Authorities of the Church, we are just the same as you are, and you are just the same as we are. You have the same access to the powers of revelation for your families and for your work and for your callings as we do.
It is also true that there is an order to things in the Church. When you are called to an office, you then receive revelation that belongs to that office that would not be given to others.
No member of the Church is esteemed by the Lord as more or less than any other. It just does not work that way! Remember, He is a father—our Father. The Lord is “no respecter of persons.”
We are not worth more to the onrolling of the Lord’s work than were Brother and Sister Toutai Paletu‘a in Nuku‘alofa, Tonga; or Brother and Sister Carlos Cifuentes in Santiago, Chile; or Brother and Sister Peter Dalebout in the Netherlands; or Brother and Sister Tatsui Sato of Japan; or hundreds of others I have met while traveling about the world. It just does not work that way.
And so the Church moves on. It is carried upon the shoulders of worthy members living ordinary lives among ordinary families, guided by the Holy Ghost and the Light of Christ, which is in them.
I bear witness that the gospel is true and that the worth of souls is great in the sight of God—every soul—and that we are blessed to be members of the Church. I have the witness that would qualify me for the calling I have. I’ve had it since I met the First Presidency those many years ago. I bear it to you in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“After traveling along several hundred kilometers the monotony was broken by our cattle stampeding. It seemed the longer we went and the harder the cattle worked, the easier they got frightened. The one that terrified me the most was at night. We had had one or two stampedes before so the cattle were prepared for one at any moment. I think it was because of the Indians, or it might have been the large herds of buffalo that we saw daily, that our company was counseled to corral their animals every night. At night the cattle were turned out to feed, they were watched and herded, then brought into the corral. It was made with wagons formed in a large circle with the wheels touching each other with one opening to drive them in, then logs were put across the opening, so they were perfectly secure.
“We were in buffalo country. We had heard what a terrible thing their stampedes were, and that not long before a large herd had started on their mad run and that when those in front came to a high bluff of the Platte River, they dashed in and made a bridge for the last ones who trampled to death and drowned their companions.
“One night about two o’clock the whole camp was peacefully sleeping when all at once there came an awful sound of tramping and bellowing, the ground shook, our wagon trembled and rocked. It flashed through my mind in a moment that a herd of buffalo was stampeding and that we would all be trampled to death. So I covered my head and prepared to die. Mother soon called out to Phebe and myself since there was no sound from our little bedroom (the front end of the wagon). I gave a smothered answer from under the bed clothes that I was alive.
“All at once there was a change. It was our own cattle that had broken out of the corral. Something had frightened them and then they started on their wild, mad run. They had run around and around inside and then broken through the logs blocking the opening. Nothing could hold them back. They scattered over the country for many kilometers. It took our men days and days to gather them back again, and they looked terrible, those that were left, for some died from exhaustion and others were killed. One pair of the captain’s cows ran up a very steep hill, fell backwards and broke their necks—one pair less to pull his wagon and one pair less to milk (oh the delicious milk—what a luxury on the plains).
“In that stampede there were two or three men hurt, one quite badly. He was a gold digger going to California who had overtaken us and was traveling with our company a while. The California emigrants traveled much faster than the Mormon emigrants. In trying to stop the cattle he was knocked down and trampled on. His groans were hideous. I did not see him again until one day the next winter, when he visited us. During all the time he was there he was down on his knees. He could stand up but could not sit down. I never heard from him again after he left for the gold mines. Old cattlemen say that tame, domestic horned cattle are the most crazy and wildest of all animals in a stampede. It is remarkable, but they seem to start all at once, just as if lightning had struck every one at the same instant.”

Years ago I recall President John Kelly, who was then presiding over the Fort Worth Texas Stake, called Brother Felix Velasquez to be the president of the Spanish branch. This good man worked, as I recall, as a car inspector on the railroad. When President Kelly called him to this service, he responded, “President, I cannot be the president of the Spanish branch. I cannot read.” President Kelly then promised him that if he would accept the calling and labor diligently to magnify it, he would be sustained and blessed. With the help of the Lord, this humble man, through his diligent efforts, became able to read. He served well as branch president and for many years subsequent and now is serving in the high council of that stake. The Lord blesses his servants in many ways.

When I was called to be a Primary teacher, I felt unhappy and a hard, swollen lump formed in my throat. A convert of only a few short months, I had looked forward to holding a Church position. But teaching in the Primary? There were countless other Church positions far more attractive to a first year college student. What could have inspired that calling? I accepted with pretended enthusiasm.
As I was awaiting my turn to be set apart, I silently asked my Father in Heaven to somehow help me understand. The words of the blessing gave me the answer—and the Spirit bore witness to them: “You have been called to teach in the Primary so that you may learn the plain and simple truths that you were unable to learn as a child, because you were not a member of the Lord’s Church …”
As the pride and doubt in my heart dissolved, a feeling of love encircled me—love for my Heavenly Father and for the children he had entrusted to my care. I would never again doubt his infinite wisdom and love for me.

I consider the Liahona (Spanish) to truly be a spiritual guide for me and my family, just as the original Liahona was to Lehi and his family in olden days.
Some years ago, as the full-time missionaries were teaching me, they encouraged me to ask the Lord if the Church was true and if I should be baptized. Although I had doubts, I did pray. Immediately, I felt prompted to pick up the Liahona I had just received. It contained the report of the October 1985 general conference. I randomly opened to a page where, remarkably, the title read “The Only True Church.” This address by Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles helped me make the best decision of my life.
I have been a member of the Church for some years now, and I am looking forward to serving a full-time mission.
I know the Liahona was instrumental in helping me understand that the Church is true. It remains a guide for me, and I hope it will be a guide to the truth for many others.
Katiuska CarreñoLas Acacias Branch, Portoviejo Ecuador Stake

Kay Lynn Wakefield learned an important lesson from a woman who worked at the Garden Tomb. “As we were hurrying along,” says Sister Wakefield, “the sounds of a clear soprano voice filled the air. I felt so drawn to the ethereal sound that I left the crowd and went to find out where it was coming from. And then I saw her! A little English lady sweeping one of the paths in the garden.
“As I visited with her, she expressed to me the joy she feels each day as she sweeps the paths at the Garden Tomb, often singing all the way. I told her that the Tabernacle Choir was going to sing in the Garden Tomb that day. Her eyes filled with tears, and she said, ‘Yes, I know, and I feel so privileged to be here today to hear them.’ Then I embraced her and left to again join the crowd. Once again I had been reminded not to be so intent on reaching the final destination that I forget to enjoy the journey.”