Gospel Story Finder

While visiting a sacrament meeting on Okinawa, I was so impressed with the manner in which the Aaronic Priesthood prepared and passed the sacrament that, when my turn came to speak, I invited two of the deacons to join me at the pulpit. Of one I asked, “What are your goals in life?” His prompt reply: “To become like my Savior!” Of the other I asked, “What does it mean to you to know that you hold the Aaronic priesthood?” He drew himself to his full height and looked out over that pulpit, and proudly said, “It is the greatest honor in my life!”

Several months ago my husband performed the baptism of a dear friend. As I sat in the service, my mind and heart raced over her years of preparation for that single event—the principles carefully taught, constantly observed, and quietly accepted, the acknowledgment of God’s hand in life events, the sweet confirmation of the Spirit as difficult, but right, choices were made. My mind recalled the past and rejoiced in the present, and I couldn’t help but anticipate the future. I hoped with all my heart that this good woman would remain actively connected to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the rest of her life—that she would continue to learn and live the gospel and experience the fulness of its blessings.
I telephoned our newly baptized friend last week to ask how things were going for her. Her response was enthusiastic: “My husband and I have been called to teach the 15- and 16-year-olds, and I’m learning so much!” I felt reassured and excited. What better place than a classroom—for her and for each of us!

First, living the gospel of Jesus Christ. Jens of Denmark prays daily to live the gospel and notice promptings from the Holy Ghost. He has learned to act quickly when he feels directed by the Spirit.

Jens shared the following:
“We live in an idyllic, small, half-timbered house with a thatched roof, in the center of a cozy little village, close to the village pond.
“On this night with the most beautiful Danish summer weather imaginable, doors and windows were open, and everything breathed peace and quiet. Due to our gloriously bright and long summer nights, I had not been in a hurry to replace a burned-out light bulb in our utility room.
“Suddenly, I got a strong feeling that I had to replace it immediately! At the same time, I heard my wife, Mariann, call for me and the children to wash our hands because dinner was ready!
“I had been married long enough to know that this was not the time to start doing anything else than washing my hands, but I heard myself calling out to Mariann that I would just pop over to the store to buy a new light bulb. I felt a strong urge to leave immediately.
“The grocery store was only on the other side of the pond. We usually walked, but today I grabbed my bike. While riding past the pond, out of the corner of my eye I noticed a small boy, about two years old, walking alone near the edge of the pond, very close to the water—suddenly he fell in! One minute he was there—and the next he was gone!
“No one had seen this happen but me. I threw my bike on the ground, ran, and jumped into the waist-high pond. The surface of the water immediately closed with duckweed, making it impossible to see through the water. Then I sensed a movement to one side. I put my arm in the water, got hold of a T-shirt, and pulled the little boy up. He started gasping, coughing, and crying. Soon afterward the boy was reunited with his parents.”

As Brother Jens prays each morning for help to recognize promptings from the Holy Ghost, even something as unusual as to immediately change a light bulb, he also prays that he can be used as a tool to bless God’s children. Jens lives the gospel by seeking divine direction each day, striving to be worthy, then doing his best to follow that direction when it comes.

When Elder Henry D. Taylor was a little boy living in Provo, Utah, he often walked across the lane from his home to his grandmother’s house. Whenever he visited her, she would offer him crackers, raisins, or other delicacies. “One day, however,” Elder Taylor recounts, “without waiting to be offered a treat, I reached into the box where the crackers were stored and, much to my amazement and anguish, put my hand into a mousetrap that had been set. This remains as one of my earliest recollections.”

In the general conference of October 1856, word came to Salt Lake of the plight of the Willey and Martin handcart companies. They had started out late, and had been struck by an early winter storm in the plains of Wyoming. President Brigham Young adjourned the conference and called able-bodied men to quickly gather supplies and organize a rescue party. They left early the next morning to ride to the stranded Saints. Among the many valiant men who rode out of Salt Lake City that day were young men by the names of C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant, David P. Kimball, and Steven W. Taylor. They could not have known on that day what would be required of them or what contribution they would make to the building of the kingdom.
Arriving at the banks of the ice-filled Sweetwater River with many others who sought to rescue the stranded travelers, they found the handcart companies bogged down in snow 18 inches deep. Men, women, and children among the group were too weak to cross the river. Their energy was spent, their strength was gone, and no doubt they felt the effects of frostbite, hypothermia, and chronic fatigue.
It was then that these strong young men made a sacrifice for others that few are ever called upon to make. They waded into the stream time and time again, carrying almost every member of the company across the icy stream. Back and forth they crossed until every member was safe on the other side and on their way to shelter and finally into the Salt Lake Valley. These young men, by then cold, wet, and suffering themselves, joined the ranks of the heroes that day. They were not perfect—they were probably “regular” young men with faults and shortcomings, with their own problems, fears, and weaknesses. But they answered the call of the prophet—they were where the Lord could find them when they were needed to bless the lives of others.

Recently a man told how he became lost in the middle of a ward with 500 members: “My wife and I had our first contact with the Church when two sweet, spiritual missionaries called. They came, they taught, they converted. We literally lived off their spirit. Like many converts know, the first thing after you are baptized, those two wonderful elders are transferred.

“It was extremely difficult for us to keep that same spirit. We felt we could not go it alone. We withdrew from Church activity. My wife told the visiting teachers not to come back, and the home teachers were asked to leave us alone.

“I suppose in the elders quorum one morning they discussed some ‘lost’ brethren who needed to be ‘found.’ Yes, I was lost. One day there came a knock at our front door. As I opened it, I saw a young, smiling, freckled-faced man who said he was the elders quorum president and asked if he could talk to me for a few minutes.

“In the coming weeks he came many times to bring us vegetables from his garden, eggs from his chickens, a birthday card for our daughter. Sometimes he came just to talk. He got me involved in the sports program. He even apologized for anyone who may have hurt our feelings. What did he do that got us back? He loved us. He was sincere. He cared. He gave me his personal testimony. He helped me to search my soul. He helped me to pray to my Father in heaven.

“For the love this man gave my family, we will be eternally grateful. The Lord has poured out his blessings on us. We have been to the temple of the Lord and sealed for eternity. We have returned to the temple many times and gained further light and knowledge promised to us.

“I am now working with this elders quorum president as his counselor. My wife is teaching Primary and is a visiting teacher. I was lost, but because someone cared, someone took time, someone took the risk of showing his love and concern, I was found and was able to lead my family back to the Lord.” He went on to say, “I plead with all members of the Church to look around and help guide lost children back to their Heavenly Father.”

This past month, one of the missionaries who served with Sister Ballard and me in Canada shared the details of how small things can compound into near destruction unless the course is corrected. He wrote:
“When I returned from my mission, I married and went to work in the construction industry. Over the next few years we had three children, and during this time I remained active in the Church. The demands of my business became much greater, and I became more determined to do whatever it would take to succeed financially. The effects of this were felt immediately at home; but with the support of an understanding wife, we felt we could endure until things ‘picked up.’”
He went on to say that because of financial strains, his wife began working. He began working long hours and neglected his family and Church duties. His demanding work schedule left him emotionally drained and physically exhausted. He became critical of others, including his family members and Church leaders.
His letter continues:
“As my debt continued to mount, the destruction of my peace and happiness increased. The love and tenderness we once knew as husband and wife had diminished to only memories. We found character flaws in each other and began to focus on them, wounding each other over the smallest incident. I began to blame everyone but myself, taking no responsibility for failures. A great feeling of hopelessness began to fill my heart, and I felt a cloud of darkness envelop me in my desperation.
“We knew our marriage could not endure under such conditions and began to talk in terms of divorce. I decided to get some financial counseling; and after reviewing my finances, it became the joke that I was worth more dead than alive, which seemed funny and rather innocent at the time. After continuing for a few more weeks, the threat of divorce as well as the very real threat of complete financial collapse seemed only a matter of time. The innocent joke of being worth more dead than alive developed into the appearance of a very real solution. I found myself alone at home, facing the crossroads of my decision. The thought came to me to reach out to the Lord one last time. Kneeling, I wept uncontrollably as I cried to the Lord for his mercy and help in my desperate hour.
“A few minutes later, word came that my mission president was in town and wanted to see me in an hour. As I sat with you, I wanted to hide my problems as I had done from everyone else. But your questions came, asking:
“‘How are you?’
“‘Fine.’
“‘How is your wife?’
“‘Doing good.’
“‘How are the children?’
“‘Great.’
“Then came the pause, and you looked into my eyes and asked, ‘How is your business?’ I began to weep as I told you my story.
“During the course of our meeting, you asked me to make you a promise: that I would read the Book of Mormon. After committing to you that I would, you blessed me, telling me to rivet myself to the gospel and to keep the commandments. I left you knowing the Lord had heard my plea for help.”
I am grateful that the Lord answered the prayers of this young man by prompting me to do the seemingly small thing of asking to see him. I did not know of any of his problems at the time but was able to help him to once again take hold of the iron rod of the gospel to guide his life. We must never ignore or pass by the prompting of the Spirit to render service to one another.

Years ago, President Joseph Fielding Smith, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, attended a stake conference where a relatively new stake president had been called. A man repeatedly came up to President Smith and asked him for counsel concerning a personal matter. Finally, President Smith said he would see the man, provided the new stake president could be there. As the man unfolded his situation, the stake president was prompted with what the person needed to do. Yet President Smith listened to the brother and surprised everyone by saying, “I have no counsel for you.” The man was surprised, and he left. After he had gone, President Smith turned to the stake president and said, “I knew how to counsel that man, but I was also prompted to know that he would go against the counsel. So rather than condemn him for going against the counsel of the priesthood, I told him nothing.”

In 1982, I was finishing my associate’s degree in topography at a technical school.
At the end of the year, a classmate invited me to have a conversation. I remember that we left the other members of the class and went to an area beside a sports court. When we got there, he spoke to me about his religious convictions, and not only did he show me a book, but he gave me the book. Honestly, I do not remember all the words that he said, but I remember that moment very well and the way I felt when he said, “I want to bear my testimony to you that this book is true and that the gospel of Jesus Christ has been restored.”
After our conversation, I went home, turned a few pages in the book, and placed it on a shelf. Because we were at the end of the year and it was the last year of my topography degree, I did not really pay much attention to the book or to my classmate who had shared it with me. The name of the book you can already guess. Yes, it was the Book of Mormon.
Five months later, the missionaries came into my house; they were leaving just as I was coming home from work. I invited them back in. We sat down in the little patio in front of my house, and they taught me.
In my search for the truth, I asked them which church was true and how I could find it. The missionaries taught me that I could obtain that answer for myself. With great expectation and desire, I accepted their challenge to read several chapters from the Book of Mormon. I prayed with a sincere heart and with real intent (see Moroni 10:4–5). The answer to my question was clear, and several days later—more precisely on May 1, 1983—I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Today, when I think about the sequence of events that occurred, I see clearly how important the courage of my classmate was when he bore his testimony about the restored truth and presented me with tangible proof of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, even the Book of Mormon. That simple act, but of profound significance to me, created a connection between me and the missionaries when I met them.
The truth had been presented to me, and after my baptism, I became a disciple of Jesus Christ.

May 26, 1853 I went to Fourchu, a place 6 or 7 miles from Gabarouse. On my way along the beach I saw a large duck on the waves, picking among the kelp. This was a desolate place, no houses for 6 or 7 miles. The Spirit said to me, “You are going among strangers. No Saints there. Take the bird with you.” So I sat down right where the wave broke and the bird floated straight towards me, picking among the kelp and sea weed. When it got close to the shore it put its head under its wing, so I jumped and caught it. It was lively enough then and tried to get away. So when I got to Fourchu (6) I went to a house, asked if that was Mr. Cann’s. They said yes. I told them I had come over from Gabarouse to preach the Gospel to them. I had forgotten the duck. I then happened to notice them looking at it. Says I, “Here is a bird. I saw it out on the water and I thought I would bring it along, that it might be good to eat.” Says he, “Is it hurt?” “No, Sir.” I handed it to him. Heexamined it very close and said it was all right. It was cooked. We ate it. It was fat and good. A few came in. We had a meeting. The sectarian minister had poisoned the minds of the people, but Mr. Cann and family treated me very kindly … and spoke favorably to others of me.

Daniel Tyler, an associate of the Prophet, recalled an important occasion: “At the time William Smith and others rebelled against the Prophet [at Kirtland], … I attended a meeting … where ‘Joseph’ presided. Entering the schoolhouse a little before [the] meeting opened, and gazing upon the man of God, I perceived sadness in his countenance and tears trickling down his cheeks. … A few moments later a hymn was sung and he opened the meeting by prayer. Instead of facing the audience, however, he turned his back and bowed upon his knees, facing the wall. This, I suppose, was done to hide his sorrow and tears.

“I had heard men and women pray—especially the former—from the most ignorant, both as to letters and intellect, to the most learned and eloquent, but never until then had I heard a man address his Maker as though He was present listening as a kind father would listen to the sorrows of a dutiful child. Joseph was at that time unlearned, but that prayer, which was to a considerable extent in behalf of those who accused him of having gone astray and fallen into sin, [was] that the Lord would forgive them and open their eyes that they might see aright—that prayer, I say, to my humble mind, partook of the learning and eloquence of heaven. There was no ostentation, no raising of the voice as by enthusiasm, but a plain conversational tone, as a man would address a present friend. It appeared to me as though, in case the vail were taken away, I could see the Lord standing facing His humblest of all servants I had ever seen. … It was the crowning … of all the prayers I ever heard.”

The legendary Shreeve-to-Shreeve Connection started when they were in elementary school, as soon as they were old enough to play organized football. “In one game they used a flea-flicker play where they passed the football back and forth to make the touchdown,” says their father and bishop, Sid Shreeve. “After the game, the coach from the other team got on the bus and said, ‘I want to see those Shreeve guys of that Shreeve Connection!’”

When I was nine years old, I was the only Mormon student in a very large private Catholic school in Ibadan, Nigeria. It was announced one day that the archbishop of the Ibadan Diocese would be coming to our school, and everyone was very excited. He is a very important person, and he makes such a visit only every four years. Great preparations were made—the school was repainted and decorated with flowers and balloons, the lawn was cut, and we were all reminded that we should look our very best on this special day. On the day of the visit, I woke up two hours earlier than usual just so I could get ready. I was very excited to wear my new school uniform, and I was eager to show it to my brothers and sisters before I left for school.
At eight o’clock, all the teachers and students were waiting when the honored guest arrived. After he greeted us and made a few remarks, he asked, “Who was Saint Martha?” The hall was quiet. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, he asked the question two more times. It was easy to see that the archbishop was disappointed because no one answered his question.
I felt very nervous. I was confused when he asked about Saint Martha, but I felt sure I knew the right answer. I had learned about Martha in Primary, but I was afraid to raise my hand—partly because I belonged to a different church and partly because I was so shy. I had not even talked much to my classmates, and answering this question would mean standing in front of a crowd of more than 1,000 people!
But I remembered how I always stood up in church to bear my testimony, and the Spirit gave me the courage I needed. The next thing I knew, my hand was in the air and I was being called on to answer. I then found myself standing beside the archbishop in front of the largest crowd of people I had ever seen. All eyes seemed to be glued to me. Everyone was waiting for my answer. My legs were shaking as I stated that Martha was the sister of Mary and Lazarus. There was another silence after I answered. Then the archbishop’s expression changed, and he asked me to explain further. I remembered the story from Primary, and I told about Jesus Christ’s visit to Mary and Martha and about how he raised Lazarus from the dead (see Luke 10:38–42 and John 11:20–45).
The archbishop seemed very impressed with my answer and asked for a round of applause for me. He then shook my hand, hugged me, and asked which Catholic church I attended. I explained that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that I learned these things in my church Primary class. He smiled and said, “Gbenga, you have made me very happy today. I am very proud of you, your church, and whoever taught you. Without you, nobody would have answered that question, and I would have been greatly disappointed.” He then rewarded me with a scholarship for my last year at the school. This made me feel very thankful for the Church, my Primary teacher, my family, and the Spirit of God, which directed me.
Since that day, I have been referred to as “scholarship boy.” Every time I hear that phrase, it brings back good memories and reminds me that I should always listen to the promptings of the Spirit.

In Harrisville, Utah, it was another kind of need that had to be met, and youth rose to meet the need. It’s a story that brought tears to Bishop Nicholas Van Alfen’s eyes as he shared the details.
A temple was being built—the Ogden Temple—and temples cost money, and money is hard come by in small towns like Harrisville, Utah. Some $3,461 was his ward’s assessment. The bishop knew that his congregation had already been pushed far past the comfortable position in contributions.
He fasted and prayed about it, as bishops do, and one day he was forcibly impressed with the idea that the answer lay with the young people of the ward. Why not issue them the challenge—and the blessings—of helping to build the temple they’d grow up to use? And that’s what he did. And that’s what they did.
“I had all the youth stay after Sunday School for a special meeting with me one Sunday. Naturally, their curiosity was up! I talked about their fine parents who were rearing them in the gospel. Yet I felt sure these youth had never really found true involvement—not the kind they’d know someday.
“We decided it was about time they learned that the gospel was more than volleyball and basketball and roadshows and Explorer trips. We agreed that involvement in the gospel meant working and striving for an important goal—something grand enough to require a personal sacrifice. The new temple was it.”
In an interview later with some of the participants, we asked how they felt about what they did. Did it really weld them to the Church? Did they feel spiritually strengthened? Had their relationship with the Savior changed through such a project? Did the youth of the ward feel closer to each other? closer to ward leaders? And what about personal sacrifice—did they participate out of love for the bishop, or because he was a good salesman, or because they were committed to church service? What? How?
Ava Painter was named as executive secretary of the committee, in charge of finding projects to raise funds over the summer. She spent countless hours channeling people into jobs, besides earning her own share of the contribution. “I started thinking about that temple and how we were the ones who’d be using it, not the older people who’d be gone someday. I dreamed of the day I’d go inside to be married and would look around and say, ‘It’s mine. I helped.’”
This same thought motivated many others. Making the dream come true had practical overtones, according to Kim Taylor. “A lot of us already had jobs, and we just decided we’d pledge as much as we could from our salaries. But we had to find jobs to raise money to meet the pledges of unworking kids. Before long everybody wanted to get in the act!”
Marilyn Crowther described the fantastic response of the people in the community. “This project got everybody interested in everyone else. It wasn’t just the temple. It was helping achieve a dream. If there weren’t jobs around someone’s place, people made them so the kids could get the money.”
The girls scraped and painted barns, tended children, bottled fruit, and did ironing. The boys did everything from washing cars to laying sewer pipe. And the money was raised. But not just money. So were spirits. Testimonies grew. Young people became active in the Church again. And one boy mentioned a powerful spiritual awakening.
Richard Knight, who is seventeen years old, talked of not being very active in the Church before this undertaking. “Church wasn’t a big thing in my life and I wasn’t praying anymore. Then when the bishop talked about this, I got excited about doing something big by ourselves. It was slow at first. We only earned about $500 the first month. And then I started to pray that this would come off and that people would help us find work. It has changed my life completely. It’s so great to have had to lean on the Lord and watch your prayers get answered. It’s so great.”
“I’d never sacrificed for anything in my life,” said David Saunders. “This project reminded me of what I’d learned in seminary about the Saints in Kirtland sacrificing for the temple in the early Church days. I was really thrilled to have a try—to see if I could sacrifice. And boy, we had to—movies, treats, clothes, records, family vacations, and especially our time. But we helped each other stick to it—and it worked!”
“I’ve always thought that now that I’ve helped pay for that temple, I’ll be sure to get married in it,” said Luann Winchester. This was a comment many of the youths made. The goal of temple marriage has new meaning for them now.
Kendell Kennington, a deacon, had a different point of view about all this. “When you’re my age, you always wish you were older because you can’t do anything—you can’t go to the teen dances or go on the Explorer trips or anything. Well, this time I was in on something with the older kids. And I learned a lot from working hard with the boys older than I am. I really liked it.”

Dr. William Ghormley served as president of the stake in Corpus Christi, Texas. He bought his gasoline at a particular station. Each time he filled his tank he would leave a piece of Church literature with the station owner. It might have been a tract or a Church magazine or the Church News, but he never went there without leaving something. The man who ran the station was converted by the power of the Spirit as he read that literature. When last I checked, he was serving as a bishop.

Then there was that night in early autumn. I was lying in my bed thinking when I heard a dull thud from the direction of the bathroom. As I slid off the top bunk bed and headed toward the bathroom, I heard a quiet moan. Straining my eyes to see in the late night hours, I turned on the bathroom light. My grandma was lying on the floor.
“Grandma!” I said startled. “What happened?”
“Shh,” she answered quietly. “Turn off the light. I don’t want to wake up the whole household! I’m all right. Just give me a hand.”
As I put my arm around her thin weak body, I could feel her trembling. I guided her back into the bedroom and tried to help her back onto the bed.
As I pulled the quilts up around her face, she said, “I’m sorry I woke you up. Now you go on back to bed.”
“You didn’t wake me up, grandma,” I answered. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
The dim moonlight shining in through a crack in the bedroom curtains illuminated my grandma’s face. Her fine gray hair was straight and limp from her having to stay in bed. I suddenly noticed how thin she’d become. I remembered hugging her in her big black fur coat when I was small. She was much heavier then, almost plump.
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about this,” grandma said.
“Next time you might really hurt yourself. Mom would be so mad if I didn’t tell her.”
“Never mind your mom. I’m her mom, so that makes me the boss. As long as I’m alive, I’m going to go to the bathroom by myself. She’ll torment me about using the bedpan if you tell her.”
“All right, grandma,” I answered.
“What are you doing awake at this time of night anyway?” grandma interrupted, trying to change the subject.
“Oh, just thinking, I guess,” I answered.
“What do you have to think about that can’t wait till morning?”
I sat down on the bed next to her.
“It’s nothing important really. Just that old dance I went to tonight. I didn’t really want to go anyway.”
“Your older sisters sure had you dolled up,” grandma said as she took my hand.
“Oh, they thought I looked good, but I just looked like them. I felt awful. Nylons make my legs itch. The music was too loud, and it was too hot, and I can’t stand my hair fixed up with sticky hair spray. The whole time I was wishing I was someplace else.”
“Where else would you want to be?”
“Oh, it’s a place not far from here,” I answered. “But don’t tell my older sisters. They already think I’m a lost cause because I won’t sit out in the sun cooking in baby oil for hours to get a suntan and listen to the radio and try their makeup and perfume. They’re always trying to fix my hair for me too. But I like it this way. I’m sorry,” I said starting to stand up. “I better let you go to sleep.”
Grandma smiled. “I don’t sleep much at night anymore anyway.”
“Well, up in the field at the end of our street, there’s an old irrigation ditch with a big old knotty tree hugging the banks. I go up there and climb just as high as the tree will let me before it dips its top. I sit there for hours sometimes and when the wind starts up, the branches will sway and bow almost like a cradle rocking me to sleep. I love it there, grandma. I feel like I’m part of it; the trees and sweet-smelling weed grass and soaring birds, even the insects chirping in the grass seem my friends.”
I stopped. Grandma’s warm palm felt good around my hand.
“I’ve never told anybody about it before,” I said, looking into her eyes. “Sometimes I think something’s wrong with me. I’m supposed to like parties and dances and boys now. My sisters think I’m hopeless. I don’t know if I’m scared or what. I feel funny inside sometimes. I’m just not ready yet, I guess. I don’t know if I ever will be or want to be.”
“You know, I’m a tree climber from way back,” grandma said.
“Really, grandma?”
“You’re not the only one who feels scared sometimes,” grandma answered. “I’m not sure I ever told anybody this either, but, I’m not sure if it’s the worry of keeping on living or dying that scares me the most,” she answered. “I want you to do something for me. I want you to tell your mom and all your aunts and uncles to quit praying for me to die. They don’t think I know that they’re praying that way, but I do. Tell them I’m not ready to die yet.”
“Why are they praying for you to die, grandma?”
“They don’t want me to suffer anymore.”
“Are you suffering, grandma?”
“I’ve suffered worse pain than a sick body,” grandma said. “I just don’t want to die before I’m good and ready. I like living too much. Seems like life’s always pushing at a person before he’s ready to jump. So don’t you give up your tree climbing till you’re good and ready. I’m not about to die yet, so don’t you worry.”
Next thing I knew, it was morning. Grandma was sleeping next to me, breathing heavily. I tiptoed out of the room and hurried to get ready for school.

A few years ago, a retired couple (the Krugers) moved West to spend their last years. They went by bus and stopped in Provo, Utah, for a while. They had no particular destination in mind, and they took a cab and rode around the Provo area. They liked what they saw and felt, and the very next day bought a home there. They came from a large city in the Midwest and, though they had lived in the same home for forty-two years, they knew nearly no one. When they moved into our ward area, it wasn’t hours until food, help, and friendship were offered. They could not believe what was happening. They now belonged to other warm, compassionate beings—beings who truly loved them and brought security, warmth, and the true love of Christ into their lives. They were never the same again. They belonged to a larger family and were truly happier than they had ever been in their lives.

Matt James, 26, of Utah, USA, feels it’s part of his mission in life to help those who weren’t born into the privileges he enjoys. It’s partly a result of being raised by philanthropic parents, and partly because of a sense of responsibility best expressed by the words of “Because I Have Been Given Much” (Hymns, no. 219). After Matt served a full-time mission in Ireland and Scotland, his heart was drawn toward the African refugees he’d taught and baptized there, so when the chance to go to Uganda came up, he went.
Even though he had already traveled to Ethiopia, Peru, and India, “Uganda changed my life,” says Matt. “I know that God led me to that specific part of the world for a very wise purpose.” Part of that purpose was to befriend and eventually baptize a woman named Carolyn. And part was to have his heart touched by the orphans he worked with. When it was time to leave, Matt didn’t want to lose touch with these people he had grown to care for. So he spoke with his parents, who offered to help him with the funds to construct an orphanage with Carolyn in a small town called Mbale.
Carolyn, who herself grew up as an orphan, continues to oversee the orphanage’s operations. Matt returns to Uganda every summer and has partnered with others to build a larger orphanage, providing shelter and education for over 200 children. And he now runs a jewelry-making business that helps sustain the orphanage.
As Matt says, we all have certain things in life that God has blessed us to care about. “I firmly believe that if everybody were to be true to themselves and put the work forth, follow the path that’s laid out in front of them and take the opportunities that are given to them, that everyone would find their cause. And if everyone were to find their cause and be diligent, the world would be a much, much better place.”
Finding your “cause” doesn’t have to be complicated. “Pray to God and strive to find your passions,” Matt suggests. “Pray to find out what those things are that you care about, that you can have your sphere of influence touch, and do it.”

After I had been made a senior companion, I met Carlos Garcia in Montevideo. Carlos was about fourteen years old. We became acquainted as he attended our presentations of the missionary discussions in the home of his neighbors, the Carabajals. Carlos wanted us to teach his family and helped us arrange to meet his parents and his younger brothers and sisters. We taught the Garcias and watched them become members of the Church. One day as we visited in the Garcia home we noticed large red letters about six inches high that had been cut out and pasted on the living room wall. They spelled “Y Yo Tercero,” meaning “And I Third.”
We asked Carlos what the saying meant. He said: “Well, I figure it this way. God is first. My family and others come second. And I am third.” I have never forgotten this great teaching.

After a small accident, I have to use a cane, and I walk slowly. Stairs are very hard for me. At church I always felt scared of falling down the steps—until that Sunday when I heard a soft voice and felt a little hand holding mine: “Come on. I’ll go with you.”
I looked down and saw nine-year-old Gabriel’s confident smile.
“Very well!” I said. “From now on, you are my helper. Let’s go!”
No one sent Gabriel. He just saw a grandma needing help and presented himself.
Now each Sunday, Gabriel and I go down the stairs without fear.
I later told Gabriel’s parents: “It is not physical strength that makes me unafraid. It is the bucketful of love that he gives me each Sunday. Gabriel is a giant of kindness!”