Gospel Story Finder

Three weeks ago, I stepped into Yesterday. In that moment, I rediscovered Today. And it is about Today that I wish to speak.
A Church assignment had carried me across the vast reaches of the Pacific to the land of Vietnam. For me, this was more than a flight over an ocean. It was a step back in time. More than 40 years ago, I had served on the battlefields of that land as an infantry officer. Etched in my mind over those intervening decades were memories of that place, its people, and my comrades in arms with whom I had served. Jacob once wrote, “Our lives passed away like … unto us a dream” (Jacob 7:26). So it had been for me. And now I was returning from my hall of memories to that place of memory after a near half-century. My Church business concluded, I determined to once again visit those fields of desperate struggle. Accompanied by my dear wife, I made the pilgrimage.
I am not quite sure what I expected to find after so many years. What I did find was most unexpected. Instead of a war-ravaged people, I found a youthful, vibrant population. Instead of a countryside pockmarked by shell fire, I found peaceful, verdant fields. Even the jungle growth was new. I guess that I had half expected to find Yesterday, but what I found was Today and the promise of a bright Tomorrow. I was reminded that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).

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.

Then it was time for another zone conference. It was a rainy April day as they got on the interstate to travel to the conference.

Scott was driving. As he rounded a curve, he saw a car pulled over to the side of the road. A young mother wrestled with a tire jack while two small children peered out the back of the station wagon at their dripping mother.

Scott slowed down.

“We’ll be late if we stop,” his companion warned.

“I know.”

“If we help, we’ll get wet.”

“I know,” he said, pulling off the road.

“Then why are you stopping?”

“She needs some help.”

“Maybe it’s a trap. How do you know there’s not a couple of guys hiding, ready to take our money?”

“We don’t have any money,” Scott smiled.

Scott stepped outside into the pouring rain. “Can I help?”

“I can’t figure out how to work the jack.”

“Why don’t you get out of the rain? No use both of us getting wet.”

He worked quickly changing the tire. As he worked, he realized that he was singing. He looked up once and saw the faces of the two children pressed against the back window of the station wagon. He winked at them and made a silly face. They both giggled.

When he was finished, he opened the back door of the station wagon and put the flat tire and jack in the back.

The woman got out to thank him. “Can I pay you something?”

“No, but there is something you can do,” he said, running back to his car. He picked up a copy of the Book of Mormon and ran it back to her.

“Read this,” he said, thrusting it into her hand.

Then he turned and ran back to the car.

He had never felt so happy in his life.

“You look like a drowned rat,” his companion complained as they continued down the road.

“At least my hair isn’t wet,” he answered, smiling.

“I suppose you know that we’re going to be late for the meeting.”

“I’m sorry for making you late. It couldn’t be helped.”

“Yes it could. You could’ve passed her by. Someone else would have come along.”

“Will that lady ever have a better reason for reading the Book of Mormon?” Scott asked with a wide grin.

“She doesn’t even live in our area. Even if she’s baptized, someone else will get the credit.”

Scott found himself humming.

“Why are you so happy?”

“Because I’ve just done something that the Savior would have done.”

Illustrated by Mike Eagle
When Heber J. Grant was nearly 24, he was called as a stake president. He had never spoken to a large group before, so when he gave his first talk, it was only seven minutes long.
The next two Sundays, Heber traveled to different wards. Again he ran out of ideas after speaking for six or seven minutes. So the Sunday after that, he brought two speakers with him.
Heber: Bishop Sharp, it looks like no one is coming to the meeting. Where is everyone? It’s almost time to start.
Bishop Sharp: I’ve encouraged the members to be in their seats on time, President Grant. We’re the last ones to arrive—you’ll see.
Inside the log meetinghouse, every seat was full! Heber thought he would speak for a few minutes, as usual. Instead, he spoke easily for nearly an hour. He felt the Spirit guiding him.
That night Heber prayed with gratitude.
Heber: I thank Thee, Heavenly Father, for blessing me with the Spirit as I spoke today.
The following Sunday he expected to speak just as well, and he did little to prepare. How embarrassed he was when no words came to his mouth! He spoke for only five minutes.
He tearfully left the meeting and went into a field to pray. After that he always remembered to rely on the Spirit whenever he taught.
Heber: Forgive me for not praying or preparing. I know that I can preach only if I first seek Thy Spirit.

Elder Michael Mátyás of Redmond, Washington, who was serving in Veszprém, remembers the first copy he gave out. It was to Sister Petö Éva, a member of about six months. Sister Petö had to leave the meeting before the announcement was made. “I stopped her and said, ‘I know you have to go, but before you go, there’s something I want to give you.’ And I gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon. She started crying then. Since that was the first one I had given out, it was fairly emotional for me, too,” he says.

Remarkable events are relived as I flip the remote control of observation and memory. One of the most touching involves a young lady convert to the Church who found in the home of a Latter-day Saint fellow student a spirit and a caring relationship she had never before known.

She said that since her baptism, things had not really changed in her own home; there were still abuse and argument and alcohol and foul language. “But,” she said, “there is one room at my house where I can shut the door and read the scriptures and listen to good music and pray and feel the Spirit of the Lord. In my little room I can have that blessing. One day, if the Lord will help me, I will marry a man and live in a home where we can have the Spirit of the Lord always.”

I felt spiritually numb. I wondered if the Lord still cared about me or if he really loved me. Heavenly Father seemed far away.
I was letting myself feel smothered by my children’s endless requests, by Church responsibilities, and by the absence of my hard-working husband, who was often gone when I seemed to need him most. With all of the demands on my time, I felt unfulfilled and overwhelmed.
But when my visiting teachers arrived for their monthly visit, I put on my usual happy face. I hid the torment I felt inside. We exchanged news of the happenings in our lives. I can’t remember the message they shared that month. I felt invisible as their words glided past me.
As we stood at the door saying our goodbyes, I thought, What a waste of time. They don’t realize how I truly feel inside. And even if they did, would they care?
My body wanted to retreat into sleep, but I mechanically worked through my chores, expecting no other interruptions to break up my daily routine. I was surprised a few hours later when the doorbell rang.
It was Julie, the younger of my two visiting teachers. She stepped inside, took both of my hands in hers, and asked me about a place to pray.
Not quite clear on what she was asking me, I replied, “Julie, why are you here again?”
She said lovingly, “When I returned home today, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Earlier, during our visit, I saw the anguish in your eyes. After I returned home, whatever I tried to do was interrupted by thoughts of you. Finally I stopped my work and knelt in prayer. I asked, ‘Lord, help me help Ruth.’ It occurred to me that the answer I sought had to do with what I was doing right then: kneeling in prayer before my Heavenly Father.”
I stood in silence through Julie’s explanation. With tears filling her eyes, she affirmed, “Ruth, I felt compelled by the Spirit to come back here today. I know you are having trouble praying, and I know you don’t feel loved by your Heavenly Father.” Her words seized my attention. I could not deny the truthfulness of her discovery.
“Is there a place where we could pray?” she repeated.
“Yes, I guess so,” I stammered.
As we moved to another room, she said, “Ruth, I would like to offer a prayer, and then I want you to pray.” I interrupted: “Oh, no—not me!” I told her that I didn’t think Heavenly Father would listen to me, that I didn’t feel I could ask him anything anymore. But Julie sank to her knees. We knelt side by side.
She said, “Just ask him this one simple question: ‘Am I loved?’” Then Julie began to pray. Her special prayer in my behalf softened my heart. The sweet spirit filling my heart subdued my anger and frustrations.
I realized that Heavenly Father was near, and he was waiting.
At the conclusion of Julie’s prayer, she said, “Now it’s your turn, Ruth.”
Silence blanketed the room, and the next few moments seemed like hours before the words would come. “Heavenly Father,” I finally began, “dost thou love me?” Tears flowed as I asked the question. A few moments later, my answer came, forming itself in the silence of my aching heart—“You need not ask what you already know.” It was distinct and clear.
Those words, “you already know,” came to me with warmth and love. They filled empty places within me, and I began to draw upon all the truths I had been taught throughout my life. In that moment I remembered anew the many ways Heavenly Father loves me. His love had been there all along.
Since that moment when I felt God’s love again, my gratitude has increased for his Son, Jesus the Christ, and for others who have extended his love. I am especially grateful for Julie and have tried since then to be one who, like her, can extend our Savior’s love to others in their moments of need.

“Wake up, partner,” Daddy whispered. “It’s time to get ready.” I looked out my window and saw stars twinkling in the dark sky. Inside, our house was as quiet as could be. Mom, Grandma, Robby, Paul, and Jonathan were all fast asleep.
“But, Daddy, it’s still nighttime,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“Not really,” he said, laying my clothes on the bed. “It’s just very early in the morning, and according to the fishing forecast, that’s when the fish are supposed to bite best today. So hurry and get dressed while I make our lunch.”
When I got to the kitchen, Daddy was putting our lunch into the cooler. “All ready, Lucille?” he asked, closing the cooler and grabbing his camera.
“All ready,” I said. “I’m going to catch the biggest fish in the ocean.”
Daddy laughed. “That’s what all the fishermen say.”
By the time we stopped for breakfast, I was starved. I had eggs, sausages, milk, and a yummy doughnut that dripped grape jelly all over my new white jacket.
“But, Daddy,” I said as he rubbed and rubbed the purple spots with a wet napkin, “aren’t you glad I ate all my breakfast?”
“Very glad,” he said. “You have to be strong to catch fish. Early, too, so let’s go.”
It was almost light when we got to the marina and carried our fishing rods, the cooler, and Daddy’s camera down the long wooden dock.
Our boat’s name is Fish Tales, and it’s printed on the side in bright blue letters. Fish Tales is seven years old, the same as me, and Daddy has taken our whole family for rides in it lots of times. But today he was just taking me.
Daddy unsnapped the canvas cover on Fish Tales and folded it neatly. Then he lifted me into the boat, tucked the fishing rods and camera inside a compartment, and put the cooler beside them. Finally he slipped the key into the ignition.
“Here we go,” he said as he turned the key. But nothing happened. Daddy tried and tried, but Fish Tales just wouldn’t start. Daddy lifted the engine cover and sighed a big sigh. I sat in the driver’s seat and pretended to steer. While Daddy worked on the engine, I pushed some buttons. Maybe I can get the boat to work, I thought.
“Don’t play with the controls, Lucille,” Daddy said. But there was a black box with knobs that I hadn’t tried, so I turned one of the knobs and heard crackling noises. I turned it some more and heard voices talking about the weather out on the ocean. I remembered what the black box was for and pushed the button next to the knob.
“Hello,” I said into the box. “This is Lucille, and my father’s real mad ’cause our boat’s broke.”
“LUCILLE! Please don’t help!”
I turned off the radio and didn’t push any more buttons or turn any more knobs.
“I’m hungry,” I said after a while, “and thirsty too.”
“Help yourself,” Daddy said. “But choose something nutritious. It’s still pretty early.”
I picked chocolate cookies and cream soda, and I really didn’t mean to spill the whole can of soda all over the boat.
“Lucille,” Daddy said when we finished wiping up the mess, “I’ll get out a blanket, and you can catch up on your sleep while I fix the boat.”
I didn’t want to sleep, but the blanket felt soft and Fish Tales rocked so gently. I dreamed I caught the biggest fish in the ocean.
A loud noise woke me. Fish Tales was fixed and ready to go.
“It’s almost nine o’clock,” Daddy said. “Let’s hurry before all the fish are gone.”
He unhooked the ropes that held us to the dock, and we went slowly past the other boats at the marina. Then we went fast. Then faster. I sat very still and watched the foamy path that Fish Tales left in the water. It was a wonderful, bouncy ride as we cut through the waves, looking for just the right place to fish.
Finally we slowed down and stopped where other boats had stopped too. But the waves didn’t stop, and it was hard to stand while the boat swayed from side to side.
“You’ll get used to it,” Daddy said. But I wasn’t at all sure of that. I looked up and tried to find the sun, but all I saw were big, dark clouds.
Daddy put a piece of slippery, white fish on the end of my line and dropped it over the side of the boat. Down, down it went until it hit the ocean’s bottom. Daddy handed me the rod and told me, “Hold on tight.”
“You’ll know when a fish is nibbling, Lucille,” he said. “You’ll feel a little tug on your line. Tell me when you do, and we’ll catch the first one together.” Then he put bait on his own line and fished from the other side of the boat.
I waited and waited and waited and waited.
Then I waited some more.
Not even a little fish tugged on my line. But raindrops sure dribbled on my head.
“Come on, Lucille,” Daddy said. “Let’s eat lunch. We’ll try again when the rain stops.”
I wasn’t too hungry, but it was dry inside Fish Tales’s cabin, so I sat and tore the crust off my bologna sandwich and tossed it through a porthole into the water. Then I pressed my sandwich flat and tried to eat it. But the boat rocked and rolled, and so did my stomach. Even the green grapes and cream soda didn’t taste too good.
“Daddy,” I said, “my stomach feels funny.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “The water is getting a bit choppy. Forget about lunch, partner. We’ll eat later.”
“Are you sure there’re fish in this ocean?” I asked.
“I’m sure,” he said. “Look. It’s only drizzling. Let’s fish again. If we don’t catch anything in ten minutes, we’ll go. Sometimes, Lucille, they just don’t bite.”
My stomach felt awful as I stood in the rain and lowered my line again. I yanked on it, but just a little, to get the fishes’ attention. Suddenly it felt heavy, so I pulled harder—and harder. Something really gigantic was on the end of my line. I just knew it was the biggest fish in the ocean.
“I got one!” I yelled, and Daddy dropped his rod and hurried over to help me. Together we reeled and pulled and reeled and pulled. I was glad I’d eaten such a good breakfast, because it took all our strength to land that rusty old kitchen chair.
“Can we keep it?” I asked.
“Well … Sure, why not?” Daddy muttered. “It’s the only thing we’ve caught all day.” He unhooked the old chair, and my line fell back into the water. “Let’s go home,” he said. “We’re both soaked. I guess today is just not our day. We’ll come back another time.”
I began to reel my line in, but I didn’t think I would ever want to go fishing again. And my stomach felt worse than ever.
Suddenly my line went taut, and my rod bent into an arch.
“I think I caught another chair,” I said.
When Daddy saw my rod bend almost in half, he scrambled over to help. “Something is definitely on there,” he said, “and it’s not a chair.”
“Oh, boy!” I said. “I’ve finally got a fish. Maybe the biggest—”
“I don’t know,” Daddy interrupted. “It’s not tugging on your line like a fish would. But I’ll tell you this, Lucille: It’s big!”
Slowly we reeled and pulled. I was so excited I could hardly wait.
The people on the boats around us stopped to watch Daddy and me reel in our catch.
I forgot the pouring rain.
I forgot the rocking and rolling of Fish Tales.
I almost forgot my terrible stomach.
I could think of only one thing: I had probably caught the biggest fish in the ocean.
Then I saw it. It wasn’t a chair. Or a fish. It looked like a dinosaur!
“Huh!” Daddy said. “Quick, Lucille. Get my camera.” He pulled the creature close to the surface. It was green and scaly, and it had dark eyes and a huge, round body.
“Hold the rod tightly, Lucille,” Daddy said, letting go. “It’s only snagged under its shell, and I want to take a picture before it breaks free.”
I held the rod steady. “It’s a dinosaur!” I called to the other boaters.
“It’s not a dinosaur,” Daddy said, and he laughed as he snapped an instant picture. “It’s a big sea turtle, and it came up to see who was on the other end of the line.”
The turtle must have seen my bologna sandwich crust floating on the water, because with one, quick move it was free, and, snatching that soggy crust, it dove back to the bottom of the ocean.
“You’re quite a fisherman, Lucille,” Daddy said, hugging me. “You’ve caught the biggest turtle that I’ve ever seen, and we have the picture to prove it. Let’s go home and tell everyone. They’ll be so surprised.”
Well, today I caught the biggest chair and the biggest turtle, and next time I’m going to catch the biggest fish in the ocean. But then, that’s what all the fisherman say.

Shelly loved to skip. She skipped to the park. She skipped to school and home from school. She skipped next door to visit Sister Jones. She skipped so much that her friends and family called her “Skipper.”
One day, though, she trudged home from school. She didn’t feel like skipping. Her legs felt heavy as she climbed the porch steps and opened the front door. She found Mother sitting at the kitchen table, paying bills.
“Hi, Skipper! How was school today?” Mother asked, pausing to lick an envelope.
Shelly didn’t say anything. She felt tears pressing her eyes. Oh, no, she thought, I’m going to cry again.
Mother licked some stamps and pressed them on the envelopes. Then she turned to Shelly. “Skipper, what’s wrong?”
As Mother hugged her, Shelly felt tears roll down her cheeks. “Oh, Mom! Some of the kids at school say I’m stupid! Am I?”
Mother hugged Shelly tighter. “No, Skipper! You’re not stupid.”
Shelly leaned back and looked at Mother. Mother had a way of looking into Shelly’s eyes that made her feel understood. She knew that Mother loved her. “Then why is everything so hard for me? I’m always the last one finished with math or spelling, and I still get more wrong than everybody else.” Mother handed her a tissue. Shelly sniffed. “I really try, Mom! I really try! And you help me study every night. So why is it so hard for me?”
Mother pulled Shelly close again and answered her with a question. “Skipper, what is the greatest talent anyone can have?”
Shelly thought. She remembered how well her teenage brothers played their violins. They played with the high school orchestra. “Is it to play the violin?”
“No,” said Mother. “Playing the violin is not the greatest talent. Think again.”
Shelly thought about how well Dad did woodworking. Shelly liked to watch him as he built beautiful furniture. “Is it to build things with wood?” she asked.
Mother shook her head. “No, woodworking is not the greatest talent. Think again.”
Then Shelly remembered how she loved to have Mother sing Primary songs to her at bedtime.
Sometimes, if Shelly wasn’t too tired after studying, they sang together. Mother led the singing in Primary. Shelly liked learning the new songs with her mother. “Is singing the greatest talent anyone can have?” Shelly asked.
“No, Shelly. Talent in music is a wonderful talent, but it isn’t the greatest talent.”
Shelly thought about her friend Aubree. Aubree usually finished her math and spelling before anyone else in the class. Aubree didn’t have to study after school, so she took dancing lessons several afternoons a week. She could do ballet and tap dance. On Saturdays, Shelly liked to visit Aubree. Aubree would let Shelly wear one of her beautiful costumes and would teach her some dancing steps.
“Is the greatest talent dancing?” Shelly asked.
“No, Shelly, it isn’t dancing. Think very hard.”
Shelly thought. Then she remembered how hard it was for her to read. Sometimes the letters seemed to flip over or even disappear. “Oh, Mom,” she gasped, “it isn’t reading, is it?”
Mother gave her a squeeze. “No, Skipper, it isn’t reading. Dancing, singing, woodworking, reading, and playing instruments are all great talents, but they aren’t anything compared to the best talent. And, Skipper, you have the best talent.”
Shelly was surprised. “No, Mom. I don’t do anything really well.”
“Oh yes you do, Skipper. You try to make people happy. You stop to visit Sister Jones on your way home from school. She’s lonely living alone, and you cheer her up. She’s often told me how much she looks forward to your visits.”
Shelly smiled. She liked Sister Jones. Sometimes she played her harp for Shelly. Sister Jones even said that she’d teach Shelly to play one when Shelly’s arms grew a little longer.
Mother gave Shelly another squeeze. “And, Skipper, when our doorbell rings, you’re the first one there. You greet everyone with a smile. Even when my friends come, you want them to leave with a cookie, and you always tell them to come again. That makes them very happy.”
Mother is right, Shelly thought. I do like to make people happy.
“Skipper,” Mother said, “your talent is the best talent of all. Can you guess what it is now?”
Shelly still shook her head.
“Skipper, your talent is love. You know how to love others, and that is the best talent. That’s what Jesus taught. All those other talents—singing, dancing, woodworking, playing instruments, even reading—don’t mean very much if you don’t know how to love.”
Shelly thought some more and nodded her head. She gave her mother a kiss and a big hug. Then she skipped down the hallway to change into her play clothes.
The next day just before the bell rang at the end of school, a boy in Shelly’s class started teasing her again. “Shelly, you’re so dumb!” he said. “You read slower than my pet turtle walks.”
Shelly smiled at him. “I might not be as smart as you,” she answered, “but I can love you anyway. Jesus said that loving is the best thing of all, and that means I’m not so dumb.”
Then Shelly put her math and spelling books in her book bag and skipped all the way home.

I am the only boy in my family, and I have four sisters. I’m really close with them.
I’ll never forget one night when one of my older sisters helped me gain a testimony. My dad was giving the home evening lesson about testimonies. The whole time I was frustrated with myself because I didn’t feel like I had one.
Later that night, I was reading the scriptures in my room, and my sister came in and asked what was wrong. I was afraid she would make fun of me when I told her, but she didn’t.
We decided to read the First Vision story. I had read it many times before, but not like this. As I read, I had a feeling that’s not easy to describe. It was peaceful, calm, and quiet.
We stopped and said a prayer, and I continued to feel the Spirit. Now I can say I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ restored the Church through him.
I love my sisters because they are good examples and they look after me.
Josh J., Alabama, USA

Every bishop needs a sacred grove to which he can retire to meditate and to pray for guidance. Mine was our old ward chapel. I could not begin to count the occasions when on a dark night at a late hour I would make my way to the stand of this building where I was blessed, confirmed, ordained, taught, and eventually called to preside. The chapel was dimly lighted by the street light in front; not a sound would be heard, no intruder to disturb. With my hand on the pulpit I would kneel and share with Him above my thoughts, my concerns, my problems.
On one occasion, a year of drought, the commodities at the storehouse had not been their usual quality, nor had they been found in abundance. Many products were missing, especially fresh fruit. My prayer that night is sacred to me. I pleaded that these widows were the finest women I knew in mortality, that their needs were simple and conservative, that they had no resources on which they might rely. The next morning I received a call from a ward member, a proprietor of a produce business. “Bishop,” he said, “I would like to send a semitrailer filled with oranges, grapefruit, and bananas to the bishops’ storehouse to be given to those in need. Could you make arrangements?” Could I make arrangements! The storehouse was alerted. Then each bishop was telephoned and the entire shipment distributed. Bishop Jesse M. Drury, that beloved welfare pioneer and storekeeper, said he had never witnessed a day like it before. He described the occasion with one word—“Wonderful!”

In the Dominican Republic capital of Santo Domingo is a small school for poor children, held in the patio of a dedicated LDS sister by the name of Lubian Sequi.
When the youth of the West Bountiful Ninth Ward, West Bountiful Stake, heard about the school, they decided they wanted to help. After all, Sister Sequi was funding the school out of her own pocket, and she didn’t have much to spare.
The youth chipped in with their own money to buy school supplies like crayons, pencils, and paper, and they decorated school boxes for each of the students. Then they collected clothes from ward members to include, since Sister Sequi noted that sometimes the children were absent because they literally did not have shirts on their backs.
Once all the things were put together, a local shipping company helped them get the supplies overseas and through customs.
“It was one of the best service projects we’ve ever done,” said Scott Thomas, a priest. “More people came out to this project than any other. They came because they thought it was such a good cause. It makes you feel great to know that you’re helping those little kids.”

I live in Lagos, Nigeria. When I was 13 years old, a missionary couple, Elder and Sister Grimshaw, started visiting us. They taught us the gospel, and at first I was unreceptive.
As time went on, I started listening attentively to them and asked questions which they answered satisfactorily. Yet I still did not believe them and planned to refuse baptism. On the day of our last discussion, they asked us to pray sincerely about what they had taught us. This touched me so much that I decided to be baptized with my family.
After baptism, I started studying the Book of Mormon, with frequent fasting and prayer. I did not feel bold talking to people, but as I studied, I began to feel a strong desire to lead a righteous life.
After completing the Book of Mormon, my testimony became very strong and a sudden desire to share the gospel came upon me. I started feeling the spirit of peace within me. I started telling my friends about the Church with boldness unlike before. My testimony grew so much I began to share it at fast and testimony Sunday.
My family was overwhelmed at my spiritual growth, and joy filled their hearts. All this happened two years after I joined the Church. The fear and shyness I used to have suddenly fled away. I was convinced that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true church on earth this day.

May I illustrate this truth with a personal experience. Many years ago, while serving as a bishop, I felt impressed to call upon Augusta Schneider, a widow from the Alsace-Lorraine area of Europe who spoke very little English, although she was fluent in French and German. For years after that first impression, I would visit with her at Christmastime. On one occasion, Augusta said, “Bishop, I have something of great value to me which I would like to present to you.” She then went to a special place in her modest apartment and retrieved the gift. It was a beautiful piece of felt, perhaps six by eight inches (15 by 20 cm) in size, to which she had pinned the medals her husband had been presented for his service as a member of the French forces in World War I. She said, “I would like you to have this personal treasure which is so close to my heart.” I protested politely and suggested there must be some member of her extended family to whom the gift should be given. “No,” she replied firmly, “the gift is yours, for you have the soul of a Frenchman.”

Shortly after presenting this special gift to me, Augusta departed mortality and went home to that God who gave her life. Occasionally I would wonder concerning her declaration that I had “the soul of a Frenchman.” I didn’t have the slightest idea what that meant. I still don’t.

Many years later, I had the privilege to accompany President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) to the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, which temple would serve German-, French-, and Dutch-speaking members. In packing for the trip, I felt impressed to take along the gift of medals, without any thought concerning what I would do with them. I’d had them a number of years.

For a French-speaking dedication session, the temple was filled. The singing and messages presented were beautiful. Gratitude for God’s blessings penetrated each heart. I saw from my conducting notes that the session included members from the Alsace-Lorraine area.

During my remarks, I observed that the organist had the name of Schneider. I therefore related the account of my association with Augusta Schneider, then stepped to the organ and presented the organist with the medals, along with the charge that since his name was Schneider, he had a responsibility to pursue the Schneider name in his genealogical activities. The Spirit of the Lord confirmed in our hearts that this was a special session. Brother Schneider had a difficult time preparing to play the closing number of the dedicatory service, so moved was he by the Spirit which we felt there in the temple.

I knew that the treasured gift—even the widow’s mite, for it was all Augusta Schneider had—was placed in the hand of one who would ensure that many with the souls of Frenchmen would now receive the blessings the holy temples provide, both for the living and for those who have passed beyond mortality.

The young people in the Hermosa Beach Ward, Torrance California North Stake, have been singing and dancing their way into other people’s hearts for five years now. What had its roots as a Beehive class service project has blossomed into an entertainment group that performs monthly for convalescent homes, senior citizens’ groups, veterans’ hospitals, and other civic groups and organizations.
Former Beehive adviser Elsie Leach has been honored at the Good Samaritan Awards ceremony in Los Angeles for her efforts in organizing and directing the group, which has as its primary goal taking entertainment to senior citizens and shut-ins at least once a month. Many nonmembers as well as ward youth participate in tap and ballet routines, comedy acts, and other types of musical and dance numbers.
“It’s a fine missionary tool,” said Sister Leach. “Because we work so hard together, we really get to know and respect each other.”
They have shared many memorable experiences, including one special evening at the veterans’ hospital in Long Beach. Sister Barbara Dodge concluded the program with a medley of songs from each of the armed forces. As she played “From the Halls of Montezuma,” the veterans from the marines stood at attention. As she in turn played songs from each of the other branches of the service, those veterans also stood at attention. “It was a beautiful moment, unexpected and therefore all the more memorable,” said Sister Leach.
There have also been some humorous moments, such as when the group performed on a linoleum floor that was made of a material that deadened the sound. “There we were,” remembered Sister Leach, “tapping away, and not a sound coming out!”
Those who have participated through the years have forged deep friendships and have known the joy of developing and sharing their talents. And perhaps most important of all, they have come to know the meaning of President David O. McKay’s counsel, “If you would be happy, render a kind service, make somebody else happy” (Conference Report, Oct. 1936, p. 105).

Two experiences from my life—when I wasn’t sure what to do—illustrate the importance of obeying the commandments and following the living prophets. In college I ran out of money, so I found a part-time job. When I received my first check, I did not know whether it would be enough to get me through to the next paycheck. But I remembered the Lord’s promise regarding tithing: “Prove me now herewith … if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing” (Malachi 3:10).
I decided to prove the Lord. I paid my tithing first, and He blessed me to survive. In the process I learned to trust in His promises.

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.”

A decade later I was serving as a United States Marine security guard for the American Embassy in the Republic of Djibouti, a small country in northeast Africa. I decided to search for the truth, so I read the Bible cover to cover. As I grew closer to God, I realized the Bible was the true word of God. I did not have to rely on the testimony of my father. But I felt I still did not have the whole truth, and I longed to know why I felt compelled never to drink, smoke, or swear and to remain morally clean. Why did I always strive to obey the commandments?
After 15 months I was reassigned to the American Embassy in Pretoria, South Africa. I was selected as the first Black Marine security guard ever to serve in South Africa. In each place I was assigned, I was handpicked because of my standards. Interestingly, U.S. president Bill Clinton phoned to ask me to accept the South Africa assignment. Those were some of the reasons I received many recognitions and awards.
In South Africa I met the Cleverlys, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The mother of the family invited me to their home at various times. She always told me about young adult activities, but I could never attend due to my job schedule. Then she invited me to attend church, and I accepted. But before Sunday came, I had three nights of duty. I went downstairs to the embassy library where there was a computer with a huge search capacity. I just typed in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All kinds of information came up, and I read for eight hours the first night, eight hours the second night, and eight hours the third night. What I looked at most of all was what Latter-day Saints believed and how they applied it in their lives. Did they live according to what they had established as laws or standards of the Church?
The week preceding my visit to church, I had a dream. I was sitting at a table, and there were two young men with white short-sleeved shirts and black name tags. They were sitting at the sides of a table, and I was seated at the head. When I woke up, I didn’t think much about the dream.
The first time I walked into a Latter-day Saint meeting, I knew there was something different about this church. It happened to be the first Sunday of the month, which meant the members had an opportunity to stand and bear testimony. Now this is the true order of church, I thought.
I was introduced to two missionaries. One of the young men was one of those in my dream, the exact person. Sister Cleverly invited the missionaries and me to her home for dinner. She placed us at the table exactly as my dream had predicted. The missionaries began teaching me.
Later, when I learned the principle of baptism for the dead, I thought it amazing that one could go to a sacred place and do these things for people who had passed away. I thought about my two grandfathers and my grandmother who had passed away. That’s when I started to feel the Holy Ghost. The teachings sounded right to me.
We got to the next principle, which was about families, and I realized I had always known that was true. When I heard about eternal families, I told the missionaries, “I knew this existed.”
Then the missionaries taught me about the Word of Wisdom, and it was then I made a discovery. It felt as if my soul unfolded, and I shed a sort of shell and a new person came out. I felt like I was floating off the ground. I had always lived the Word of Wisdom, and I had wanted to know why I was the way I was. No one had ever had the answer for me. But the Lord did, and I learned that answer through the missionaries and the discussions. I knew everything they had taught me previously was true and everything they would teach me would be true. I had never felt the Spirit so strongly reading the scriptures as when I read Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21. I knew it was true. I always knew my body was important, and I knew it was never to be defiled.
From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t very happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of kilometers from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. A very clear voice said, “You are to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on 12 October 1995.
It was a year to the day of my baptism, 12 October 1996, that I entered the Washington D.C. Temple to be endowed in preparation for serving full time in the Spain Madrid Mission.
During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive of my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission, my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my mission.
After I returned from my mission, I stayed with my family for three weeks before leaving to enter Brigham Young University. Before school started my father visited me, meeting my friends and seeing Salt Lake City. When I took him to the airport, he embraced me and said, “Out of all 46 years of my life, never ever have I felt more love or the Spirit of God in my home than when you were home the last few weeks. I know we owe it to the service you gave in Spain for two years.”

Some friends of mine were starting clubs at school. One girl in my class came up to my desk during class and whispered, “Lacey, if you want to be in my club, come and meet me at recess.” When the bell rang for recess, I ran out to find her. I was excited to be in her club.
After waiting for some more girls to get there, she said, “OK, now, to be in my club, you have to write on your hands and arms with these markers.” Then she passed out markers to everyone. I got a feeling inside that this was wrong. In Primary I had learned that our bodies are temples of our spirits and that we should respect them. Drawing on them didn’t seem very respectful. I looked at my friend and said, “I’m sorry, but if I have to draw on myself, I don’t want to be in your club.”
I’m glad that the Holy Ghost helped me to make the right choice for me.

Several years earlier, at the death of our infant son, I had blamed myself for the loss. An understanding doctor wisely counseled that this was common, but nonetheless wrong. A grieving person naturally searches for something he might have done to prevent tragedy. “Don’t give in to the temptation to blame yourself,” he advised.
Following the Church court, I found myself falling into this trap again. Gradually I realized I could neither control nor take responsibility for my husband’s actions. I began to concentrate on the things I could control and change in myself.
At the same time I tried to accept not only my situation, but my husband as well. I learned that comparing our spiritual progress to that of other couples was useless. When I read about exemplary fathers and husbands, I still struggled with discouragement. Yet I was able to tell myself, “Their situations are different. The Lord will help me with mine.” As I expressed gratitude for blessings I did have, a loving acceptance grew within me. Along with it, the attitude in our entire family improved. To my amazement, I discovered times when I was happier and more at peace than I’d been in years.
Sometimes I hesitated asking for certain blessings, fearing that my husband’s situation might prevent our receiving them. The Lord quickly dismissed my apprehension, however, and over the years presented us with material and spiritual blessings.
My self-esteem had been shattered by our experience with the disfellowshipment. I was busy many hours each week, serving as president of one of the ward auxiliaries. How could the Lord, or for that matter, the bishop, possibly expect me to continue in this calling? Emotionally and physically, I was drained. But nothing was mentioned concerning my release, and I stayed in that position. I later understood this to be the Lord’s way of demonstrating a need for my abilities. At the same time, our children continued to do well in and out of school. Here the Lord was assuring me that we weren’t failing as parents. These experiences lifted me and convinced me of my worth.
As the weeks, months, and years went by, the pain sometimes grew less and sometimes grew stronger. I got used to most people avoiding the issue in conversation. Few got past the fear of not knowing what to say, and so said nothing. I’ll always appreciate the friend who sincerely asked, “How are things going?” and listened patiently as I told her.
The Lord continued to comfort and teach me. Often I complained about my husband’s unwillingness to change. Without exception, Heavenly Father refused to accept my criticism. Through inspiration he referred me, in a loving way, to scriptures on tolerance. He also reminded me of my special role as a wife. I was convinced that parts of Doctrine and Covenants 25, where the Lord calls Emma Smith to aid and comfort her husband, applied as much to me as to Emma. Over and over I read this section, each time believing more in my husband’s worth.
I prayed regularly for an increase in love toward my husband. The Lord answered in unusual, but practical ways. I sought opportunities to give of myself, knowing those we serve become those we love. I didn’t have to look far, as my husband was hurt in three minor accidents within a year. During his short convalescent periods at home I provided emotional care and concern. I was rewarded many times over with greater love and appreciation for him.
I realized, too, that my service didn’t need to be a huge undertaking. Since my husband was away from home much of the time, I tried to make him the center of my attention when he was at home. Saying something positive or complimentary to him each day grew from a challenge into a habit. I also refrained from criticizing my husband, either to him or anyone else. These small efforts worked wonders. Like a dying plant rediscovering light and nourishment, our love regained vitality.
I drew great comfort and hope from the twenty-seventh chapter of Mosiah. Here an angel appears to Alma the Younger because of the faith and prayers of his father. (See Mosiah 27:8–17.) Through this scripture the Lord assured me that he answers prayers said in behalf of others. I have made it a point to never cease praying for my husband. More difficult, but just as important, is maintaining faith that one day his heart will change.
Charity, I’ve also discovered, is a gift from God. Shortly after the Church court, I was suddenly consumed with a deep affection and acceptance for my husband. I longed to help and support him in every possible way. This sweet sensation stayed long enough for me to realize that I wanted it always. I pray regularly, as Moroni suggested, “with all the energy of heart [to] be filled with this love.” (Moro. 7:48.)
My husband has now been reinstated into the Church. Though many changes for good have come, his gospel commitment and spiritual desire for activity have yet to return. I’ve accepted the fact, however, that only he can control those things. Instead of focusing on our failures, I can now express gratitude for the things we’re doing right. I’ve discovered, to my surprise, that it’s possible to be happy in any situation. I’ve also learned that through the most painful experience of my life has come my greatest growth.