Gospel Story Finder

Kalleen and I were called as mission leaders over the Georgia Atlanta Mission. Miracles flashed through our mission with such regularity that we came to think of it as having a front-row seat to the greatest show on earth in which the powers of heaven were wielded by heavenly agents with black name tags as they gathered Israel home. Kalleen called missionary service a “miracle-a-day program.”

She had the formal assignment of overseeing health care for our missionaries. If one of them got sick, they would call her. It is hard to diagnose problems over the phone, even if you have had medical training. Kalleen’s medical knowledge was basically from on-the-job training as a mom raising a family—but also from the practiced experience of discerning flashes of heavenly light.

Just a few weeks into our mission, she got a call from a missionary who had called a couple of times before with one issue or another. On this particular morning he complained that his stomach had been hurting, so she decided to ask a senior missionary couple that lived near him to go over and take a look, just in case. She later told me, “I opened my mouth to say that and heard myself say instead words that had never passed through my mind: ‘Elder, it is appendicitis. Go to the hospital. Go now.’”

In the emergency room, the doctors found ­nothing wrong and concluded that he must have ­overeaten—which was entirely plausible; he was a missionary. They ordered him home. But our elder told the doctor, “No, Sister Lund told me I have appendicitis.”

The doctor thought that “Sister Lund” must be a nun somewhere in the hospital. He said, “Then let’s run another test.” That test was also negative, and they started to send him home again, but he kept insisting that Sister Lund had diagnosed appendicitis.

Finally the problem revealed itself, prompting an immediate appendectomy, which the surgeon told us barely saved his life. “Five minutes later and we may have lost him.”

You might think Kalleen made a lucky guess, but she will tell you that she was only an innocent bystander as the Lord kept His promise to His missionary: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, . . . and mine angels [shall be] round about you, to bear you up.”

In the middle of the night, my husband and I both awoke and felt an evil presence in our home. Just as surely as I had felt the Holy Ghost in the bishop’s office, I now felt the adversary. As I lay in bed, I realized I had made Satan very unhappy by returning to the Church. I prayed with all my heart, and in time I felt the presence go away.
My husband and I didn’t have a chance to talk about the experience until the next evening, when I picked him up in a town about 48 kilometers from our house. During the ride home, he asked, “What happened last night?”
Because my husband believes that when a person sins it is between that person and God and should not be the concern of other people, I had told him the previous night that I was only going to a Church meeting. Now I told him all about what had happened in the bishop’s office, the feelings of love and comfort, and my return to full fellowship. I bore my testimony of the system Heavenly Father has set up to enable his children to repent and get their lives in order. I told him I felt the adversary was very unhappy with my actions, and that is why we had felt his influence during the night. I told him I wished I had the priesthood in my home, but I knew Heavenly Father would watch over our family. As I finished, I felt strongly that I should close in the name of Jesus Christ, so I did.
My husband didn’t say anything until we were pulling into our driveway. Then he said, “I think you’re right.”

“A Wonderful Program”
At the Gathering Place in the Kumasi Ghana University Stake, Sister Agatha Owusu teaches others to make soap, detergent, washing powder, and other cleansing agents. Blessed with a bishop who recognized her talent, Agatha received mentoring from him that helped her develop a talent she gratefully shares with others.
“I recognized that this is my talent from my Heavenly Father,” she says. “If I don’t share my gift with others, it would be like putting my lit candle under a bushel” (see Matthew 5:16).
Her reward, she says, is the satisfaction she receives from helping others gain a skill, make a living, and become self-reliant.
Speaking for many who teach and share their talents at a Gathering Place, she says, “I invite everyone to the Kumasi Gathering Place—whether a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or not—to come to be part of this wonderful program.”

Temple work is even better when paired with family history. I experienced this myself when I brought a family name, for whom I had already received all the other ordinances, to be sealed to his parents. I had a strong spiritual impression that my ancestor was watching and that he had accepted the work I had done for him. This feeling wouldn’t have been the same if I’d stopped short of the sealing.

We can also content ourselves with inferior standards that initially appear to be acceptable until exposed to the test of time. An example from my own life illustrates what I mean.
Our family home had a lawn at the rear with flower borders and was enclosed with a six - foot high wooden fence which was painted white. Over time the painted surface began to deteriorate, losing its luster and peeling off in some places. A green powdery fungi also appeared in several areas. I decided that the fence needed attention.
Working on three sections initially, I first scraped and sanded the old paint, exposing the bare wood. Then I applied a wood primer, an undercoat of paint, and finally a finishing coat. The result was impressive but the exercise had taken a considerable time to complete, and I still had twelve more sections to work on. I decided the task would take more time than I could dedicate to the project, unless I could find a way to accomplish the work more quickly. So. Rather than scrape all the paint off, as I had on the first three sections, I determined to simply brush away the particles of grime, fungi and flaking paint, then smooth the surface with sandpaper before applying a single coat of paint. Initially, the finished result looked comparable to the first three sections, and I was satisfied with my efforts.
Six weeks later the paint began to flake, and the fungi reappeared on the sections of the fence which had not been given sufficient time and preparation. The first three sections that I had properly prepared, however, retained a pleasing, satiny, finished look.
We may elect to accept the easy option now and then look back in future years regretting that we had not made the extra effort and chosen to take the high road in our endeavors.

Working against the Prophet in all of these attempts was John C. Bennett, Nauvoo’s first mayor, university chancellor, and major general of the Nauvoo Legion. In May 1842, Joseph Smith learned that Bennett had planned to have the Prophet killed during a parade ground maneuver of the Nauvoo Legion. Bodyguards foiled the plot, and ten days later Bennett resigned as mayor. During the following month Bennett confessed to immoral conduct and was excommunicated. He left Nauvoo and began publishing an exposé. He accused Mormon leaders of threatening his life, of swindling local residents in real estate sales, and of immorality and political intrigue. These scandalous accounts brought much unfavorable reaction. Church leaders published an extensive review of the affair and sent special missionaries into neighboring settlements to correct the misinformation.

In an early stake conference assignment, Elder Paramore and I were blessed to visit the home of a dear brother who, in a tragic industrial accident on August 26, 1958, fell from a cooling tower into a hole thirty-five feet below, where he landed on his head and became paralyzed from the shoulders down. In the intervening thirty-one years he has survived as one of the longest-living quadriplegics in medical history. He was unable to attend the conference meetings, but a brief, thoughtfully prepared video of his life and testimony was presented in the Saturday evening session of conference. He lies not in a bed but suspended on a circular metal rack, where he has received devoted nursing care twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, since this accident more than thirty-one years ago.
This brother, whose home we visited following the conference, praised his nurses, his priesthood leaders, his home teachers, and many others who during those long years stood by his side and ministered to his spiritual and temporal needs. A wise stake president had called him to be the regular correspondent to the missionaries and the servicemen from his stake. I have been inspired many times as I have read his letters sent to bolster the faith of choice young missionaries across the world.
May I quote two lines from one of these missionary letters: “Christ is the only way to heaven. All other paths are detours to doom. Commitment to Christ should go hand in hand with commitment to His Church.”

The Savior said, "My peace I give unto you." Oliver Cowdery had been in Joseph Smith Senior's home and prayed to know the truth of the Book of Mormon. There he received a convincing assurance of peace, but he never told Joseph Smith of this experience. Some time passed and human nature took its toll. No doubt he wondered if that experience was some psychological feeling or an impression from heaven. So he went to Joseph Smith and asked him to request a revelation that would be a witness to him that the Book of Mormon was true. Joseph Smith, unaware of Oliver's previous experience, sought a revelation from the Lord. It came in D&C 6:22-23:

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?"

Oliver had received peace. The Lord reaffirmed his prior experience and feelings. There was no way Joseph Smith could have known of Oliver's earlier experience except through revelation. This was the Lord's confirmation that peace comes only from Him.

This was the same canal in which I was later baptized into the Church, and this is the same canal from which I hauled water to the trees and plant life about our home. I was the smallest of the boys, so I was given this work. We called the transportation a “lizard.” Did any of you ever see a “lizard”? We made it with a Y-shaped tree limb. In the center we fastened a barrel and hitched one horse to the “lizard.” I drove it to the canal, where I dipped up barrels full of canal water, then drove the horse one block to the home where I dipped out the water for the plants and flowers.
My father made a great effort to surround the new home with every kind of flower and save them in those late summer days when water was so scarce. It was also my job to drive the horses and cows to the canal for their drinking water.

I wonder if we realize the tremendous responsibility we have to the other forms of life upon earth and to the continued existence of them all, if for no other reason than the Lord made them and they are very good. They are alive; they are part of the “handiwork” of nature. Henry David Thoreau seems to have grasped the meaning of stewardship. In his book Walden he relates:
“Near the end of March, 1845, I borrowed an axe and went to the woods by Walden Pond, nearest to where I intended to build my house, and began to cut down some tall, arrowy white pines, still in their youth, for timber. It is difficult to begin without borrowing, but perhaps it is the most generous course thus to permit your fellowmen to have an interest in your enterprise. The owner of the axe, as he released his hold onto it, said that it was the apple of his eye; but I returned it sharper than I received it.”
The Lord loaned us the earth and all therein. In a very real sense we are merely borrowing it. It is the apple of his eye, for it is through this earth and our mortality here that he can bring to pass our eternal life. Because we are here we have an interest in his enterprise. Are we going to return the earth in as good a shape as we received it? Or are we carelessly destroying it and the things therein, contaminating it for our own short-term material and personal gain?
Perhaps the nature of the stewardship changes from locality to locality. Perhaps our stewardship is simply caring, having a respect for life. A simple form of stewardship is expressed in the life-styles of two men I remember who used to live along the Yukon River. George McGregor, a prospector and trapper, was already an old man when I first met him. He is dead now, but for many years he lived alone in a log cabin he had built at the foot of a falcon crag. Every year the falcons came to nest on the rocks above his cabin. They were not disturbed by him, because he was a quiet man who blended serenely and unobtrusively into his surroundings and was a part of the land just as much as the falcons, the river, and the spruce tree. Once, George saw a female falcon swoop out of the air and strike a marauding raven dead in midair over the river in front of his cabin, and his old eyes used to brighten when he told about it. He had never read Walden, but I am sure he instinctively understood the meaning of stewardship.
In recent years another man built his cabin by a falcon cliff not far downriver from George’s crumbling home. He was a loud man, exploiting nature, cutting down trees with a noisy power saw, and keeping a pack of howling sled dogs chained up at the base of the cliff. He also operated a large, creaking fish-wheel right in front of the rocks where the river runs deep and the salmon swim up. No falcons nested on the cliffs after this man built his cabin, nor have they returned now that he is gone. It will take nature some years yet to repair the scar he left.
Are we making an effort to determine what we can do to honor our stewardship? The challenge seems to be to understand our kinship with the rest of the Lord’s creation, our obligations to “keep and dress” it, and to be especially sensitive to animals such as the still proud, but vanishing peregrine falcon. Let us lengthen our vision and horizons and allow the Lord to say of us one day, “Well done, my good and faithful servants.”

I promised myself after my mission, that I would take advantage of any opportunity that came to give further service internationally. One day three years later, Sister Mary Ellen Edmunds called and asked, "Want to go to Africa?"
"Yes!" I said, without asking where or why.
So, another opportunity arose that blessed my life. I worked for the Thrasher Research Fund on a village health project in Nigeria. It was our blessing to live next door to the branch president and his family. In our work, his wife, Cecilia, became our best helper and friend as she assisted us in our project work.
Here is a picture of her with her youngest son back in 1985 at the time I was working there. What a noble woman she was. She and her family worked hard and yet had time to serve others every single day. She certainly made our work more effective.
I know that Cecilia has continued her life of service, as the small branch we attended has become a stake and she has served as a stake Relief Society president.
Two days ago I received from Sister Edmunds a more current picture of Cecilia and her husband, Samuel, one that made us both cry.
Here are Samuel and Cecilia on the day they received their endowments in the Aba, Nigeria Temple. I have carried love for them in my heart ever since I lived next door to these good, good neighbors. How wonderful that through the temple building of President Hinckley, they, and many others like them, may enter the House of the Lord and be sealed as a family. How blessed I was to live there and know them.

I didn’t notice her at first. She was merely a part of the sea of people milling about the reception hall. Then she stepped forward and, struggling for the right English words, pointed to her heart and said, “When you sing, you have a love.”

I looked into her red, tear-swollen eyes and smiled the warmest “Thank you” I could muster. I couldn’t speak. My heart was in my throat.

Looking around the hall, I could see that the other members of the BYU A Cappella Choir were having similar experiences. We were at Kibbutz Chatzerim in the middle of Israel’s Negev Desert. The love of the gospel of Jesus Christ expressed through song had bridged the gap of culture, language, and religion to touch the hearts of these people. It was our first concert in Israel and the beginning of a tour that, through music, would take the message of the Restoration to thousands of Jewish people.

It was only fitting that we should start in the Negev Desert, for it is in this parched and desolate region that the saga of the house of Israel began. This is the land that the Lord gave Abraham for his inheritance. It is the Wilderness of Zin where Moses and the Children of Israel wandered for 40 years to learn obedience to God. Today it is part of the area where the tribe of Judah is returning to build its homeland. Strangely enough, we were coming home too. Home?

How could anyone think this bleached, death-bone desert was home? The landscape is more reminiscent of a bleak and barren planet in another galaxy. But home it is. We are also of the house of Israel, and the realization of this common heritage made our tour seem like one great big family reunion. There were no strangers, only cousins we hadn’t met yet. It wasn’t long until we were engulfed in an overwhelming sense of love for Israel and her people.

This love penetrated deeper into our hearts as we struggled in the burning sun to scale a steep, desert pathway. Looming above us were the skeletal ruins of the winter palace and fortress of Herod the Great—Masada. This small plateau overlooking the Dead Sea is one of the most sacred and inspiring areas of the Negev. When the Roman armies marched on the Jews, a party of Jewish patriots captured the Roman garrison at Masada and resisted Roman conquest for three years after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. In this place centuries ago, 937 men, women and children chose death rather than captivity. Today it is an inspiration to Jewish nationalism. New recruits in the Israeli Army are brought to the top of Masada to take their oaths of service.

The memory of similar persecutions and dedication to principle in the lives of our pioneer forefathers strengthened the bonds we felt with the Jewish people. Alone, we half bowed, half kneeled, among the crumbling limestone columns of the northern palace and sang the “Hatikvah,” the Israeli national anthem. Like a careless beggar, the wind grabbed at our voices and scattered them over the edge to be lost in the wasteland below.

From our vantage point we envisioned how, for centuries, the Jews wandered, waiting for a time to build their own homeland, and how they still wander unknowingly in search of truth.

Turning northward, the power and magnitude of the mighty Negev Desert is quickly worn down to the calm, lush fields and orchards of the Jordan River Valley. In Israel, where there is water, there is life. No one knows that better than those who live on the kibbutzim (cooperative communities for farming and industry).

Struggling to survive in such a harsh climate, these people have learned to respect the land through hard work and industry. They are very emotional people and their appreciation for life is shown in their great love of music, art, and festivity. The majority of our concerts were on these kibbutzim, and we were received with great warmth and enthusiasm. We sang classical pieces ranging from Bach’s 97-page “Singet Dem Herrn,” to selections from Robert Cundick’s contemporary oratorio, “The Redeemer.” Especially popular were some Negro spirituals and Hebrew folksongs. Some members of the choir had expressed concern that the Jewish people would not like “Christian” songs. However, these fears were swiftly removed as we grew to understand the sincere appreciation the Israelis have for the arts, whether they be of Christian, Jewish, or any other origin.

If any of us thought we were the only “cultured” thing to hit Israel, we had another think coming. In an exchange with the Kibbutz Chamber Orchestra, we heard two pieces by Mozart, played as expertly as any orchestra we have come in contact with. These musicians are unusual in that they play not for money but for the sake of playing.

We also had an exchange with the Kibbutz Choir—40 vibrant singers whose sharp, crisp consonants danced in rhythm with their fervent enthusiasm. Their swaying shoulders and fiery eyes made them just as inspiring to watch as they were to hear. Though mostly farmers and small industry workers, both the members of the choir and the orchestra are exceptional artists.

The exchange was so successful and friendships became so strong that our conductor, Dr. Ralph Woodward, was invited to return next summer to conduct workshops with the music educators and musicians throughout Israel.

As hosts, the Israeli people are marvelous. After every concert we were given a reception so we could meet the people. There were apples, apricots, bananas, cake, milk, peanuts, and pretzels. We sang songs with them and learned many of their dances. It was at this time of friendship and association that the spirit of missionary work would really take hold. One evening I was talking with a man and his wife on a kibbutz when all of a sudden she said, “Now, tell us about the Mormons.”

I was a little taken back.

I’m a returned missionary and I thought, “What ever happened to the old, ‘What do you know about the Mormon Church, and would you like to know more’ bit?” This was like walking into a room full of golden investigators.

At first there were only the man and his wife, but in a few minutes about seven people were listening. I talked about Joseph Smith, the plan of salvation, the Book of Mormon, genealogy, the tribes of Israel and our connection through Joseph. I soon found that explaining the gospel to a Jew is a most challenging and rewarding experience. I had to search the very limits of my testimony to help them understand not only what the gospel is but why I believe it.

I was not alone. Charles Cranney and Marsha Paulson had an experience that was representative of many that occurred on the tour. Following a concert, two Israeli youth walked up to them and said, “You’re so peaceful and happy. You’re Mormons, aren’t you? What is it that makes you this way?” In the discussion that followed they were both given copies of the Book of Mormon. Reflecting on the experience, Marsha told Charles, “You know, that’s exactly what I saw before I joined the Church.” Charles summed up his experiences in Israel by saying, “The people came like children who were hungry.”

Today it requires great courage to be a loyal Latter-day Saint. For many it is not easy, and it will likely not become easier. The tests of our day are severe. This is particularly so for you young men of the Aaronic Priesthood. Being true to the way of life the Lord has given us does not always make us public heroes. Having the courage of our convictions has its own rewards, however. Armin Suckow, Jr., a thirteen-year-old boy from Germany discovered this. He tells of an interesting experience in a letter he wrote to the New Era magazine. Armin says, “We spoke one Christmastime with one of our school teachers about Jesus. He said that after Jesus died, he had gone from the earth and was now dead. As the teacher spoke, I thought about our church and knew that after three days Jesus was resurrected and was seen by many people. Later, then, he ascended into heaven. I had the feeling that I should tell the teacher and the students that the truth was entirely different from what the teacher had just said. The teacher didn’t want to hear my opinion at all, but in spite of that, I … told them that Jesus was resurrected. It didn’t please the teacher at all that I should correct him, but I continued. Then he said that this was simply a matter of opinion. I answered him that anyone can read of this event in the scriptures and that it is so clearly described there that no one can get a different opinion on the story than the one that I had given. After the class the teacher wanted to know to which church I belonged. I told him that I belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. On that day I had a real good feeling inside of me.” (“The Savior Lives!” New Era, Dec. 1977, p. 18.)

We have to admire Armin’s decision to speak out on what he believed. It was not easy for him, but his action was consistent with what he knew to be right.

Jacy stared at the night-light. It was too bright. She couldn’t sleep. She pulled her blanket over her eyes. Now it was too dark! She couldn’t sleep.
Jacy grabbed her teddy bear. It had a little bell inside that made noise. Jacy shook the bear. Ting, ting, ting went the bell. That didn’t help her sleep either.
She was so bored! There was no one to talk to! And it was too quiet and too dark.
Jacy started to cry. She would never fall asleep!
Just then her door opened softly.
“Jacy?”
It was Daddy! He came and sat by her on the bed. “What’s the matter?” Daddy asked.
“It’s too quiet! I can’t sleep. My brain just keeps thinking of things!” Jacy wiped the tears off her cheeks.
Daddy rubbed her back. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I sing my favorite song. And then I count my blessings.”
Daddy started singing. He sang, “Count your blessings, name them one by one. Count your blessings, see what God hath done.”
Jacy hummed along. She liked this song too.
“What are some of your blessings?” Daddy asked.
“Um, my teddy bear,” said Jacy. She waved the bear to make the bell jingle.
“That’s a good blessing,” said Daddy. “What else?”
“Daddy!” said Jacy. “Daddy is a blessing.”
That made Daddy smile.
“And Mommy,” said Jacy. “And baby Darel. He’s kind of a blessing.”
Daddy laughed. “How about your warm bed and your night-light?”
Jacy nodded. She was starting to feel sleepy.
Daddy pulled the blanket up to Jacy’s chin. “You are a blessing too, Jacy. I love you.” He gave her a kiss and closed the door behind him.
Jacy hummed the song again. “Count your blessings, count your blessings …”
And soon she was fast asleep.

Some time ago several outstanding teachers were honored at the general Sunday School conference. It was my privilege to pay a tribute to a Sunday School teacher of my boyhood days—Lucy Gertsch Thomson.
Lucy was lovely and ever so sweet. She was deserving of a worthy companion. Yet such success evaded her. The years flew by, and Lucy reached the worrisome 20s, the desperate 30s, even the frightful 40s—and then she met Dick. It was a case of love at first sight.
Just one problem—Dick was not a member of the Church. Did Lucy succumb to the age-old fallacy of marrying out of desperation, with the fleeting hope that one day he would become a member? Not Lucy. She was wiser than this. She simply told Dick: “Dick, I think you’re wonderful, but we would never be happy dating together.”
“Why not?” he countered.
“Because you’re not a Mormon.”
“How do I become a Mormon? I want to date you.” He studied the gospel.
She answered his questions. He was baptized.
Then he said, “Lucy, now that I’m a member, we can be married at last.”
Lucy replied, “Oh, Dick, I love you so much. Now that you are a member of the Church, you wouldn’t be content with anything but a temple marriage.”
“How long will that take, Lucy?”
“About a year, if we meet the other requirements.” One year later Lucy and Dick entered the House of the Lord. Lucy lived the truth of the verse:
Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone;
Dare to have a purpose firm;
Dare to make it known.
Plan your future with purpose.

When I was 16, most of my friends at school weren’t members, but they knew that I was a member of the Church. They started to smoke and do other things I wouldn’t do. So things began to change between us; our types of conversation were very different, and our thinking and activities weren’t compatible.

One day my father asked me, “Why aren’t you thinking about your friends’ effect on you?” He counseled me to be careful and think about the necessity of changing my friends.

When I started at the university, I became very busy and didn’t spend a lot of time with my friends, but one time when we were together, they decided to do something bad. We were in a car, and they drove really fast. A policeman pulled us over, and I was scared. I remembered the words of my father about taking care of the future. That experience helped me make a decision about the kinds of friends I wanted to have.

I became very involved in Church activities. Attending Mutual was wonderful because I decided to have those kinds of friends. I learned that my father was right—that I should take care of my relationship with good friends. I needed friends who would help me prepare for a mission.

I picked up my husband’s memoirs and read, once again, his account of finding the Church more than half a century ago:
“As a 20-year-old in 1951, I was at the school of sergeants at the Kronborg Castle [in Denmark]. On Christmas night I was on guard duty on the embankment that surrounds the castle. At one point I stopped, looked up to the stars, and felt that there was more between the sky and the earth than I had thus far thought. In other words, I began to believe that there was a God, which I had never really believed before. My parents were absolutely not religious, and they and I came to church only for baptisms, confirmations, weddings, and funerals.
“When months later I became a sergeant, I got my own troop: 44 new recruits—or more exactly, 43 plus 1. This one was very different, and when I asked him what it was that made him different from the others, he said he would tell me in the evening inside my quarters.
“There he told me about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for five evenings in a row. On the sixth day, Sunday, I went to church. And with that my new life began.
“The Church involved me completely. Little by little I became acquainted with the members of the Church. I found out that my recruit was not so much different than the overall membership.
“I became convinced that the Church was true, that it was the Lord’s Church—and I was baptized. A truly magnificent day.”
I am grateful that my husband, Orla, who died in 1998, included these words in his personal history. That long-ago Christmas night, when my husband first sensed that God truly did exist, and his conversations with the new recruit are responsible for our meeting each other, being sealed in the temple, and having five children—who have now brought grandchildren and great-grandchildren into our family. We have had a rich life in the Church and many blessings. I am grateful for that Christmas night and for the new recruit in Denmark those many years ago.

The eight children younger than I were adopted. My older sister and I are the only natural children of our parents. Each time we adopted another one, dad would send us to the bishop to get temple recommends. Just recently, the last child was sealed to our family. Now, after my dad says family prayer or holds family counsel, I think of how long it has taken us to progress this far and how much more we must do to gain the celestial kingdom.

We may experience hunger, for instance, but if so, we can still respond as did the widow who used the last of her meal to feed Elijah (see 1 Kings 17:8–16). Such sharing amid real deprivation and poverty is always touching. Earlier in his life, a wonderful bishop of my youth, M. Thirl Marsh, repeatedly tried to be hired at the mines during the Depression. Being underage but large of stature, he persisted and was hired, but several friends were not. Apparently, on more than one occasion after his hard day’s work, generous young Thirl shared his earnings equally with these friends until they too were hired. No wonder he was such a caring shepherd of the flock later on.

Things had not been easy for Todd. He was the only member of the Church in his family. He had come in contact with the Church over a year ago through Lisa.

Lisa was the warmest, most enthusiastic, most Christ-centered person he had ever met. They were in student government together. He was president of the student senate and she was vice president. He’d spent many hours in her home, working on various student projects, and it was like being in heaven as far as he was concerned. Her mother always baked cookies for them when she knew they’d be meeting. And even if the house wasn’t always perfectly neat, there was a good feeling there.

One day he had asked Lisa why she was so different, and she had told him about her membership in the Church. He was interested in what she had to say, and so she invited him to church. Soon he was taking the missionary lessons at her house.

In a month’s time he was ready to get baptized. He asked his parents for permission. They had no religious preferences themselves, so they gave their permission and he was baptized.

A short time later, his uncle heard about what had happened, and he came all the way from Illinois to try to talk Todd out of being a Mormon.

After his uncle had spent half a day being critical of the Church, his parents were finally persuaded to forbid Todd from attending church.

No matter how much Todd complained, his parents would not budge. He could attend any other church, but not that church.

It’s not fair, Todd thought. I’ve never given my parents any trouble, and all I’m asking is for them to let me worship God in the way I want to.

He considered pretending to go on a walk and then sneaking over to attend sacrament meeting. He phoned the bishop and asked for advice. The bishop told him to honor his parents and to set a good example and to try to win their confidence.

Todd followed the advice. At first it was hard to show love to his parents when they wouldn’t let him do the thing he most wanted to do, but he worked on it. He quit talking back to them and tried to be someone they could depend on.

One day Lisa’s family invited them over for a barbecue. It was good for his parents to see that Church members could be very nice people.

Just before Todd turned 17, his mother asked him what he wanted for his birthday. He said, “For you and Dad to go with me to church.”

She looked at him closely. “Is it really that important to you?”

“Yes.”

“All right, we’ll do that as our birthday present to you.”

Once his parents had gone to church, they softened in their opposition and let him attend. Sometimes they would even go with him, especially if he had a talk to give in sacrament meeting.

Todd stood up. “I’m glad that Jesus has restored the Church back to the earth, and that he’s given us men like our bishop to help us when we have problems …”