Gospel Story Finder

White Eagle stopped suddenly. He forgot the deer he had been trailing as he stared at a Conestoga wagon drawn up in the clearing. Instinct urged him to flee, but he was overwhelmed with curiosity. White Eagle had never seen the strange covered wagons except from a distance, and sometimes they were blurred by clouds of dust.
The Indian youth cautiously circled the clumsy boat-like vehicle. His dark eyes were glittering with excitement, but he was poised for instant flight. He had seen people traveling in wagon trains, one wagon behind the other, creeping like a string of ants across the plains. He wondered why just one wagon had stopped here. Was it abandoned? There were no horses nearby.
As he approached the rear of the wagon, he was startled by a sudden sound of crying. “If I had the sense of a groundhog, I would run away like the wind,” he murmured. His father, Chief Running Horse, had warned him about rashness many times. I’ll just peek inside quickly and then go, the bronzed youth decided, trying not to visualize his father’s stern and disapproving face.
Looking inside, White Eagle saw that it was a newborn baby who was making the strange crying sound. He stared from the baby to the young mother lying still. White Eagle wondered if she were dead, but her eyes opened in terror when White Eagle touched her feverish cheek with his cool hand. He quickly backed away and spread his hands apart, signaling that he meant no harm to her and the infant.
“Water … water. Please!” she whispered. White Eagle could not understand her, but her hot cheeks and cracked lips showed her need. He knew that the river was nearby, but White Eagle had nothing in which to carry water. He tried to convey this message by motioning with his hands.
The young mother weakly pointed to a round-top trunk near the front of the wagon. Then she made motions of drinking. Water in a box? She must be delirious from the fever.
Lifting the trunk’s lid, White Eagle found a shallow tray filled with small bundles. He handed one of the bundles to the sick woman and watched as she unrolled the cloth, revealing the most beautiful drinking vessel he had ever seen. Pretending to sip from it, she motioned outside and tapped the side of the wagon. Of course! She meant the barrels lashed to the wagon. White Eagle dashed out to a barrel and brought water in the cup. He lifted her head to help her drink.
Wonder filled his face as he looked at the delicate china cup. It was snow white, light as a bubble, and decorated with bright pink flowers. Gleaming gold scallops were all around the top. How he wished that he might have such a treasure! But he knew that it belonged to the woman; so he carefully placed it nearby where it would not be broken.
The woman grew more tired and visibly weaker as she tried to tell him by sign language what had happened. White Eagle understood that they had missed joining a wagon train because the young mother had become ill. After one horse ran away, her husband took the other horse and rode for help.
White Eagle’s scalp prickled with dread as the woman kept pushing the baby toward him. She wanted him to take her baby to his people! How could White Eagle make her understand that she was asking him to do something impossible? He was alone in the forest without food or weapons as a test of approaching manhood. If for any reason he went back before his allotted time, both he and his father, the chief, would be disgraced and White Eagle would fail his survival trial and prove himself unfit to be a brave!
Several times White Eagle prepared to leave, but he could not. Both mother and child would surely die without his help. Why had he, White Eagle, been saddled with such a problem? Had he already failed the test by having contact with the ill woman? Would he be forced to leave his tribe in disgrace?
Remembering the difficult days and nights he had already endured, White Eagle sighed with despair, but he could not just go away and leave the mother and baby to die. He knew that his mother would know how to make the young woman well again. His aunt had a young baby and she could easily care for this child too. If only this were the last day of his test and he could seek help from his family. But White Eagle had three more days of survival before he could return to his people!
Suddenly the boy thought of a solution—a way he might get help without going to the village. Taking one of the horse blankets from the wagon, White Eagle climbed to the top of the bluffs beside the river and built a fire of green brush. A thick column of smoke soon rose high, and he began to signal. White Eagle sighed with relief as he finally sighted puffs of smoke rising in reply from across the plains.
The boy stayed beside the wagon, giving sips of water to the sick woman. When he heard horses approaching, White Eagle fled into the forest and watched from a distance as his uncle, Red Feather, and several other braves dismounted. Red Feather noticed White Eagle’s moccasin tracks. The braves will not harm the woman and child; they are now in good hands, the boy decided as he turned and left.
When White Eagle returned to his snares, he found the first two untouched, but his stomach rumbled with anticipation as he saw a rabbit caught in the third. He had not eaten since the evening before. Although he had prepared warm gruel from food in the wagon for the sick woman, White Eagle did not eat. According to the test, he was to provide and prepare his own food. The woman was very ill and had slept most of the time. No one would have known if he had cheated, but it was a matter of honor that he did not.
Rising at dawn three days later, White Eagle prepared to return to his people. He sorted and rolled his possessions in a deer hide, which when cured would make new moccasins and a shirt. He had come into the forest without food or weapons; he was returning with the deer hide, many small animal pelts, a bow, arrows, sharp bone knives and scrapers he had made, and a handsome claw necklace. He knew he had earned the bright feathers his father would thrust into his beaded headband—unless helping the white woman and child had violated the conditions of his test! That worry nagged at him.
A muted drumbeat signaled his approach as White Eagle entered the village. The women came out of their tepees and smiling braves watched as the youth approached the chief’s lodge. Small boys and dogs excitedly trailed along behind him.
As his father stepped out of his lodge, there was pride, not disapproval, reflected in the chief’s eyes. The tribe gathered around, and each one watched with respect as the youth opened his bundle and displayed the pelts and the weapons.
White Eagle stood straight and tall when his father began to speak. “An Indian brave may collect many feathers, but according to our laws he cannot wear them until he wins that right. White Eagle not only passed his test, but he showed compassion and saved two lives. We know this because we saw the grateful white man drive the wagon away only yesterday with his wife beside him and their child cradled in her arms. White Eagle has earned the right to wear the feather prized above all others—that of the golden eagle, which represents this bird’s great strength and courage.”
White Eagle caught his breath as the chief removed a magnificent fourteen-inch feather from his ceremonial headdress and tucked it into his son’s headband. From the feather’s white color and dark brown tip, the new brave knew that it was one of the thirteen tail feathers of the adult eagle. These prized feathers were considered to possess great medicine. White Eagle had not expected such an honor!
There were gasps of astonishment as White Eagle’s mother emerged from the tepee with a jewel-like drinking vessel balanced on a matching saucer, the gold trim glistening in the sunlight. She told White Eagle the cup was a gift to him from the young mother.
“Such a vessel belongs only to a chief,” White Eagle said, handing the delicate set to his father. “Someday when I have proved worthy, I will reclaim it.”

Old Mom flapped her huge ears and swayed her long wrinkled trunk. The journey from Germany aboard the big ship had been long and tiring.
“Come on, old girl,” the men coaxed. Reaching their bull hooks gently behind her ears, they tugged her along the gangplank and pulled and prodded until she boarded the circus train to her new American home.
“I can’t believe that my friend Karl would send me such an imbecile!” the American circus owner wailed a few days later. “He told me that he was sending his prize queen! But she doesn’t know any tricks, and she doesn’t obey a single command.” Angrily he placed a call to Germany.
“It is not possible,” said the shocked Karl. “Old Mom is the smartest elephant in the world. Only because we are friends have I sent her to you.”
“Perhaps she is deaf,” suggested her new owner.
“Nein, nein (No, no)!” insisted Karl. “Every morning I would say to her, ‘Wie geht’s Mama (How are you, Mama)?’ or ‘Vas ist los (What’s up)?’ and she would greet me like a child.”
As soon as he hung up, the circus owner hurried over to Old Mom. “Wie geht’s, Mama. Vas ist los?“ he asked.
The huge beast immediately fell to her knees, trumpeting happily. She rose to her feet and shimmied her huge backside in a frenzied dance. Then she curled her trunk around the owner in an elephantine hug. In a strange land, among strange people, finally something was familiar!
“I should have known,” the owner said, chuckling. “A German elephant doesn’t understand English. We’ll find someone to translate for her for a while. Then we will teach her English.”
It wasn’t long before the owner had to agree that Old Mom was one smart elephant! Still, a herd could have only one queen. What would happen when Old Mom met the young leader of their herd?
For three days Old Mom was “just another member of the herd.” Then things changed: All one night the circus train had traveled in a driving rain. When they reached their destination, the circus lot was far from the railway tracks. In between were several bridges that didn’t look quite safe.
“Belle!” the circus owner called to his young queen. “Come and test the bridge.”
The man waited and called again, but the young leader didn’t move. Then Old Mom stepped forward. Cautiously she laid one foot on the bridge and waited for a snap. Hearing none, she placed another foot on the span. Stepping daintily, she made her way across the bridge and trumpeted for the others to follow. Old Mom was now in command!
As a leader Old Mom was strict, but fair. She tenderly guarded the young punks (baby elephants) who came to the training lot for the first time. But she had no patience with lazy young bulls (male elephants). It was a favorite trick of some of them to put their heads within an eighth of an inch (3 mm) of the circus wagons and pretend to push. They could fool the roustabouts, but they couldn’t fool Old Mom. She would thump them with her trunk or seize them by an ear and squeeze it hard. If the bull were much bigger than Old Mom, she would whirl and butt the offender mightily in the midriff. One day a particularly ornery bull appeared in the lot acting meeker than all the rest. His rebelliousness was gone—and so were three inches of his tail!
Old Mom had one superior: Fred, the superintendent of the herd. Only he could punish her offenses.
One day a drifter wandered into the circus lot. For days he teased Old Mom. Bellowing with rage and thrashing her trunk, she tried to warn him. But he wouldn’t quit. One day his abuse was too much. Old Mom snatched him in her trunk and threw him against a wall. Then she seized a nearby bull hook (commonly used to punish disobedient elephants), handed it to Fred, and began to “talk” into his ear, pleading like a naughty child. She wrapped her trunk softly around his body, and Fred slowly dropped the bull hook. Perhaps Old Mom believed that she had talked him out of a spanking, but the truth was that Fred had seen the bully teasing his elephant all week. He ordered the man from the circus grounds and warned him to never return. Fred was Old Mom’s protector as well as her punisher.
Old Mom was smart about everything except what she ate. How she loved junk food! And after consuming great quantities of peanuts, popcorn, marshmallows, cotton candy, lollipops, watermelon, and chewing gum, she would lie on the ground, her huge belly swollen, whimpering and squealing and rolling her eyes. It took gallons of paregoric laced with Jamaican ginger to ease her agony.
If Mom’s sweet tooth was a problem, her real teeth gave her fits! She had one stubborn tooth that was constantly ragged and broken. Fred had tried hardening it, sawing it off, and filing it down. Nothing worked. It kept breaking and cutting her cheek. Finally, Old Mom took matters into her own hands. She found an old rag and packed the offending tooth. Then, apparently knowing that there was danger in swallowing the rag, she unpacked the tooth at mealtimes and laid the rag at her feet. After eating, she carefully repacked it. From then on, Fred always saw to it that Old Mom had a fresh supply of clean rags.
One hot summer day the circus pulled into a lot where there was no dust for the elephants to throw onto their backs to rid themselves of the flies that tormented them. Old Mom spied a gunnysack. Picking it up, she waved it around, and the flies flew away. Squealing with delight, Old Mom shimmied and swatted. Suddenly a young bull snatched the gunnysack from her. When Old Mom smacked him on the nose and he dropped it, a punk grabbed the treasure. Soon the sack was flying back and forth like a football. Fred heard the commotion and came running. He yelled for a boy to get each elephant a gunnysack. Within minutes the entire herd was squealing and swatting contentedly. Not one would give up his prize. Imagine the surprise of the circus crowd that night when Old Mom led the elephants into the ring, waving their limp brown flyswatters!

What better place to first observe and then serve than in the home? An example from the life of Elder Richard G. Scott illustrates:
“One night our little son Richard, who had a heart problem, awoke crying. … Normally my wife always got up to take care of a crying baby, but this time I said, ‘I’ll take care of him.’
“Because of his problem, when he began to cry, his little heart would pound very rapidly. He would throw up and soil the bed clothing. That night I held him very close to try to calm his racing heart and stop his crying as I changed his clothes and put on new bedsheets. I held him until he went to sleep. I didn’t know then that just a few months later he would pass away. I will always remember holding him in my arms in the middle of that night.”13
Jesus said, “Whosoever will be great among you, let him be your minister.”14

Cameron and Mom did everything together. They read stories. They played with blocks. They had fun.
Then Nathan came. Nathan was Cameron’s new baby brother. Nathan changed everything.
“Mom,” Cameron said, “can we go to the park?”
“Not now,” Mom said. She was trying to feed Nathan. Milk dribbled down Nathan’s chin.
“Maybe later,” Mom said. “Right now, Nathan needs his nap.”
Mom used to spend all day with me, Cameron thought. Now she was always busy with Nathan. Nathan. Nathan. Nathan.
A few days later, Mom needed to do laundry. She asked Cameron to watch Nathan. Cameron didn’t want to. He sat down slowly next to his brother.
Soon Nathan started crying. He wouldn’t stop. Cameron wanted to call Mom. Then he had an idea. He made silly faces. Nathan laughed!
Mom came back in the room. “Good,” she said. “Nathan’s feeling better.”
“I helped him stop crying!” Cameron said.
“Thank you,” Mom said.
“I like it when Nathan laughs!” Cameron said.
Mom smiled. “And I like it when both of my boys are happy! I love you and Nathan.”
Now Cameron smiled. Mom loved him too. Cameron didn’t feel sad anymore.
The next day Cameron helped Mom get Nathan dressed. He held Nathan. He sang to him. He patted his back. And when Nathan got tired, Cameron helped put him down for a nap.
Cameron liked helping. It felt good.
“Want to read a book while Nathan is sleeping?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” Cameron said. “And can we read one when he wakes up?”
Having a little brother was turning out to be fun after all!

Tom was worried. He wished now that he had remembered what day it was when he first woke up. He could have pretended to be sick so he wouldn’t have to go to school, even though it would have meant staying in bed all day. But now he sat there at the table, staring at the darkening heap of brown sugar he had piled on his oatmeal. Suddenly his mother’s voice broke the silence. “You had better hurry, Tom, or you’ll miss the bus.” He sat up straight in his chair and began to gulp down the cereal that was now cold.
Upstairs he busied himself with dressing. Then he stepped out into the cold January morning. The weather did nothing to improve his spirits. The overcast sky was a dull gray, and a cold wind was blowing snow out of the northwest. It seemed that the only time it snowed big flakes was when it warmed up.
The bus was late that morning, and for a few happy moments Tom thought that school had been called off. Yet the roads were all plowed, and at last in the distance he recognized the yellow school bus. It was only half full when he got on, and most of the kids were in the front of the bus where it was warmer. He walked to the very back, then laid his books on the seat beside him to discourage anyone from sitting there. He didn’t feel much like talking.
When Jim Winters got on the bus, he spotted Tom right away, picked up Tom’s books, and sat down beside him. “Hi!” Tom nodded, wishing Jim would go away. “Do you think you can whip him?” Jim asked.
“Sure,” said Tom, although he didn’t like the idea of fighting. He wished that the gang had picked someone else as their leader, although he enjoyed the feeling of authority at times. Jim seemed to sense that Tom didn’t want to talk and kept quiet for the remainder of the ride. The bell rang as soon as the bus arrived, and the sound was like a last-minute reprieve. Tom even managed to smile at Miss Culler, their teacher, as he slid into his desk.
Tom went over again in his mind the plan the gang had decided upon to initiate the new boy Marty Simms. Jim Winters and Danny Ryan would tell the new boy at recess that it was his turn to haul wood for the school stove. Tom would be waiting when Marty went out back of the school to get the wood. Tom would tell Marty that if he wanted to get along in the school, he’d have to fight then and there.
The morning recess came all too soon. Pulling on his sweater, Tom slipped out the side door and around to the back of the building. The woodpile was still there, hidden from the school by the huge elm trees surrounding it. This was a pleasant spot in warm weather where the gang usually ate lunch. But today it was a desolate place, with the stiff tarpaulins, like ghostly shrouds, thrown over the piles of wood to keep them dry. Tom sat down on a chunk of wood that had worked loose from the pile and waited.
Marty came around the edge of the woodpile and stopped. Tom knew by the frightened look on the new boy’s face that he sensed he had been tricked. He mumbled something about fetching firewood, and Tom stepped in front of him. Tom could not help feeling sorry for this new boy. He hated himself for being there, but now the rest of the gang had arrived at the woodpile. He looked at Marty, whose face still had the look of a cornered animal, but his eyes shone with a certain pride and defiance that Tom found disconcerting. “You’re going to have to fight me if you want to stay in this school,” Tom declared. Marty said nothing, but moved back several steps and raised his hands.
The boys circled each other there in the shadow of the woodpile, oblivious to the shouting around them. The smaller boy’s arms struck out, but Tom managed to dodge each blow, so that the jabs hit only empty space. Tom waited for an opening and when it came, he smacked the new boy hard. Marty staggered a moment, then grabbed Tom, and they both fell to the ground. They rolled in the snow pounding each other. Tom’s weight soon began to tell. Finally the smaller boy blurted out, “I give! I give!” and Tom stood up, then watched the retreating figure. He did not hear the cheers of the other boys or feel them pounding him on the back. He didn’t feel the least bit like a hero; instead he felt ashamed of himself. Tom vowed that if he had anything to say about it, Marty would be the last new boy coming to the school that had to undergo such rough treatment.
The bell rang to signal the end of recess, and the gang began to drift toward the schoolhouse. Tom could tell that Miss Culler had already heard of the fight, for she gave him a strange look as he sat down at his desk. Finally she walked down the aisle, looked at Marty and asked, “What happened to you at recess?”
Marty looked away from her and mumbled, “I fell on the woodpile, Miss Culler.” She stood for a moment in front of him, then wheeled around and walked briskly to her desk. Tom knew that she was angry and her anger only made him feel worse.
The next several days seemed like an eternity. Marty kept to himself, and Tom did not have a chance to speak to him. On the third day the sun came out, and by noon the snow was soft and packy. It was ideal for making snowballs and the gang soon had a fort built of snow. Tom and Jim were chosen to choose up sides for a snowball fight. It was Tom’s turn first, and as he looked out at the eager faces, he caught a glimpse of Marty standing alone near the corner of the schoolhouse. His voice rang loud and clear across the schoolyard, “I’ll take Marty Simms!”
Marty stood still for a moment as though he couldn’t believe his ears, then proudly he walked forward to take his place with the gang behind the fort.

Sarah said that her Church background has helped her grow in many ways. “When I was little, I was bashful and afraid to do anything. But as I grew up, I was given speaking assignments and committee responsibilities, and it forced me to learn to be more outgoing. Now I’ve got a little more pluck. I’m not afraid to speak in public.” Saturday morning before meeting the rest of the group at the temple, she had given a speech to the entire student body of her high school.

Sister Kapp also feels that by spending a lot of time with her father, she “learned a lot about patience and about living in anticipation. When you live on a farm, you have to wait for the season, and you have to wait for the crops, and you have to wait for the ripening of things. When my family made ice cream, we’d get the ice from the river in the winter, or from an icehouse in the summer. Then we’d cut and chip the ice. Mom would mix the ingredients for the ice cream, and then we would crank the handle on the freezer, each taking a turn. After all that effort, the ice cream tasted especially good because we had anticipated it all the time that we were making it.

I’ve known great love in my marriage, with my children, as the president of the Relief Society, and as I grew up in a loving family who looked forward to the occasional visits of one of my mother’s older cousins whom we called Aunt Lillian. She had been a teacher in the public school system for more than 30 years. We were entranced as we listened to her tell of the problems she had as a teacher with disruptive students and of those in the school system who made a great impact for good upon the life she lived alone.

One day she invited me to her apartment to help her entertain the young daughter of a school teacher friend. Everything was meticulously prepared for us—the food she served and all of her surroundings. Her thoughtful ways evidenced a life-style of noble living. I was deeply impressed with the love she showed both of us that day, and it continued year after year for me.

When she was 70 years old, she bought her first car, a beautiful brand-new blue Plymouth, and she took driving lessons. When she got her license she decided to drive to California to visit her sister and invited me to go along to keep her company. I was then about 12 years old. I was so excited. I’d only been to Wyoming and felt that if I went to California, I’d become a world traveler. However, because she was such an inexperienced driver, I saw very little other than the road and other cars and was frightened most of the time. But we arrived safely and enjoyed our time with the family members I hadn’t known before.

She always gave so much of herself to make me happy. This continued on through my growing years and even when I married. Doug and I decided to name our second daughter after her. Her love was showered upon me and all of my children. At Christmastime, she would bring them lovely gifts. She knew the value of good books and beautiful flowers and people. She often tended my children and gave them a love for these things. All through those years I was the recipient of her love. And the day came when I was able to have her with us and do for her and ease some of her lonely hours. I received so much more love and enrichment to my life because of her.

That, you see, is what love is. It is the investiture, the immersing of ourselves in the lives of others and watching that change us and our surroundings.

Because of her I know that love is the life-giving force that renews the spirit of men and women and brings a new life to the world, a life that brings a longing for immortality.

Fifteen years ago, there was a quorum of priests in the Salt Lake Valley which consisted of eight members who all attended the same high school. In spite of a certain sense of unity among them, each was different—from very different family circumstances, with his own set of problems, worries, challenges, and dreams. And while they were friends and seemed to enjoy the society of their quorum, there was something lacking that would unify and bond them together.
Living within the ward boundaries at the time was a young man who was not a member of the Church. He was their age, attended their school, and was a star athlete. He was popular and well respected and enjoyed the praise and admiration that came with that kind of popularity. And although he knew and was on friendly terms with each of the priests in the quorum, he had a different set of friends, traveled in another social circle, and hung out with a different crowd.
For some weeks, this young man had been discussed in the quorum meetings in terms of his success in sports and his relative popularity at school. He was a topic of discussion at some point in almost every quorum meeting. On one such Sunday, the bishop, meeting with the quorum in his role as quorum president, suggested that they consider teaching and baptizing this popular young friend of theirs. The quorum members at first laughed at the suggestion, expressing their beliefs that this young man would never join the Church. The bishop’s encouragement was persistent over several weeks, and, finally, the group agreed that they would invite this young man to one or two of their activities. To their surprise, he agreed.
Gradually, one by one, each member of the quorum had an influence on him. He began to attend activities regularly and even came to Sunday meetings. Finally, the quorum leaders approached him about meeting with the missionaries and hearing the discussions. He agreed and received permission from his family.
At first, they took turns visiting him with the missionaries. One or two of them would accompany the elders to his home, the meetinghouse, or some other teaching location. They began to sit together at the games where their friend played, and a spirit of purpose, unity, and strength began to grow among them. They began to change in ways that everyone in the ward noticed. Their parents commented. The bishopric saw it. Other ward members mentioned it, and they themselves felt the changes that were taking place in their lives.
Finally the day of baptism came. They were all there—sitting on the front row and watching intently as one of the full-time missionaries escorted their friend into the baptismal waters. Somehow, it wouldn’t have been fair for any one of them to perform the baptism. They had all become so close and so much a team, that they agreed the elders should perform the ordinance.
Time has passed. Years have flown by. Those young men have served missions, married in the temple, become husbands and fathers, and moved away from the old ward. But every one of them remembers those days of unity, of brotherhood, of friendship, and of the joy of sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ with their friend. No matter what happens to that little group, their lives were changed forever that year. They tasted of true quorum unity and strength.

I had set a goal to read all of the magazine, even if I didn’t think I needed a particular article, and that’s why I read “Managing Postpartum Depression: A Gospel Perspective,” in the August 2009 issue.
But when my daughter was born in October of that year, I immediately recognized the symptoms I was experiencing and quickly got the help I needed, as the article suggested. I recovered in just a few months.
The Liahona is more than just a magazine; it is a recipe, a map, a guide, and a compass.
Bertha Viola Rétiz Espino, Mexico

During the cold and gray days of the Great Depression I remember a wonderful servant of the Savior by the name of C. Perry Erickson. Brother Erickson, a contractor, had a difficult time finding work. He could have shut himself up. He could have become bitter and angry. He could have given up. Instead, when I was 12 he was my Scoutmaster. He spent countless hours helping me and others my age to learn, to grow, and to approach every difficulty with confidence and optimism. Without exception, every one of C. Perry Erickson’s Scouts received an Eagle award. I knew then.

Yes, the testimonies of priesthood leaders and faithful ward members helped me to know.
I remember the words of my mother and father. I remember their expressions of faith and love for their Heavenly Father. I knew then.
I knew the reality of the Savior’s compassion when, at the request of my father, the bishop of the ward, I delivered food and clothing to the widows and poor of the ward.
I knew, when as a young father, my wife and I gathered our children around us and expressed our gratitude to our Heavenly Father for our many blessings.
I knew last April, when I heard from this pulpit the words of our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, who called Jesus his friend, exemplar, leader, Savior, and King.
President Hinckley said: “Through giving His life in pain and unspeakable suffering, He has reached down to lift me and each of us and all the sons and daughters of God from the abyss of eternal darkness following death. He has provided something better—a sphere of light and understanding, growth and beauty.”

Now, I would like to bear my testimony—I know that Joseph Smith saw what he said he saw, that the heavens opened and God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, appeared to an unlearned youth reared in the backwoods of New York.
As a special witness of the name of Jesus Christ in all the world, I promise you that if you seek the Lord, you will find Him. Ask, and you shall receive.
I pray that you may do so and testify to the ends of the earth that the gospel of our Lord and Savior is restored to man! In the name of my friend, my exemplar, my Savior and King, Jesus Christ, amen.

Now, you may be thinking: It’s not that easy for me. I have so many people to watch over. And I have so little time. But where the Lord calls He prepares a way, His way. There are shepherds who believe that. I’ll tell you about one.
Two years ago, a man was called as the president of his elders quorum. He had been a member of the Church for less than 10 years. He had just become worthy to be sealed to his wife and family in the temple. His wife was an invalid. He had three daughters. The oldest was 13, and she cooked the meals and, with the others, cared for the house. His scant earnings from manual labor supported not only those five people but a grandfather who lived with them in their small house.
When he was called to be president of his elders quorum, it had 13 members. That tiny quorum was responsible for another 101 men who either had no priesthood at all or who were deacons, teachers, or priests. He was responsible to watch over the souls of 114 families, with little hope that he could devote more than his Sundays and perhaps one night a week to his service, with all he did to serve his own family.
The difficulty of what he faced drove him to his knees in prayer. Then he stood up and went to work. In his efforts to meet and know his sheep, his prayers were answered in a way he had not expected. He came to see beyond individuals. He came to know that the Lord’s purpose was for him to build families. And even with his limited experience, he knew that the way to build families would be to help them qualify to make and keep temple covenants.
He began to do what a good shepherd always does, but he did it differently when he saw the temple as their destination. First, he prayed to know who were to be his counselors to go with him. And then he prayed to know which families needed him and had been prepared.
He called on as many as he could. Some were cold and did not accept his friendship. But with those who did, he followed a pattern. As soon as he saw interest and trust, he invited them to meet the bishop. He had asked the bishop beforehand: “Please tell them what it takes to be worthy to go to the temple to claim its blessings for them and their families. And then please testify to them, as I have, that it will be worth it.”
A few then accepted the quorum president’s invitation to a temple preparation class taught by stake leaders. Not all completed the course and not all qualified for the temple. But each family and each father was prayed for. Most were invited at least once to a feast of the good word of God. With every invitation came the president’s testimony of the blessings of being a family sealed forever and the sadness of being separated. Every invitation was issued with the love of the Savior.
During the president’s service, he has seen 12 of the men he taught ordained elders. He has seen four of his elders ordained high priests. Those numbers don’t come close to measuring the miracle. The families of those men will be blessed over generations. Fathers and mothers are now sealed to each other and to their children. They are praying over their children, receiving the help of heaven, and teaching the gospel with the love and inspiration the Lord gives to faithful parents.
That president and his counselors have become true shepherds. They have watched over the flock with the Master and have come to love Him.

He served a full-time mission in the Texas South Mission. His testimony was further strengthened during his mission when he met a minister of another religion who told the young missionary that the only people who were to go to heaven were the members of his small church in Texas.
“I couldn’t imagine our Heavenly Father being that unkind to the rest of us. That night as I prayed to my Heavenly Father, He bore witness to my spirit that His plan and His love were for everyone. I knew then our message to the world was true.”

After World War II on a cold night in a train station in southern Japan, I heard a tap on the train window. There stood a boy wearing the same ragged shirt, a rag tied about a swollen jaw, his head covered with scabies. He held a rusty tin can and a spoon, the symbol of an orphan beggar. As I struggled to open the door to give him money, the train pulled out. I will never forget that hungry little boy standing in the cold, holding up his empty tin can.
Now in my 78th year, I understand what President Kimball was seeing; I know what he meant. That boy in Cuzco and the one in Japan and the other children about the world profoundly influence what I think and how I feel and what I pray for most earnestly. I constantly think of little children and their parents who struggle to raise them in ever more perilous times.

Through it all, my parents were great. They have always taught me how to make decisions. I remember when I was 14 and I was invited to play on an all-star team made up mostly of 16-year-olds. That was very exciting, but then I found out the team played every day—including Sunday. As soon as my coach said that, it just mortified me inside because I knew there was this great opportunity but there was also the issue of playing on Sunday.

I really didn’t know what to do, only that I had to make a decision before I talked to the coach. So I got down on my knees to pray, and I had this feeling that I should not play on Sunday. When I told the coach about not wanting to play on Sunday, he was totally fine with that idea. He told me he respected my decision, and that I could still play for the team.

I do not like to see people getting teased or laughed at. I feel bad for them when that happens, because I know I wouldn’t like it if that happened to me.
One day I was walking home from school with a friend. As we got to our street, a boy named Mark* was just getting off the school bus. Mark lives nearby, but he goes to a different school. He is overweight. My friend started to call him rude names, like “Chunky” and “Chubby.” Mark pretended not to hear and just walked more quickly toward his house. After he was out of sight, I told my friend that calling him names was not nice. After I got home, I was still upset about it. Even though I had not called him names, I had stood by and let someone else do it.
Early the next morning I went over to Mark’s house and apologized to him for my friend’s calling him names and my not stopping it. After I had apologized to him, I felt much better inside. I hope it made him feel better too.

Two missionaries tracting in Helsinki, Finland, in the spring of 1960 met an angry woman when they knocked at one door. She told them that if they were there to talk about a church, she didn’t want anything to do with it. One of the missionaries put his foot in the door in order to finish explaining that they represented The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. To the missionaries’ surprise, as soon as the woman heard the name of the Church, she opened the door and invited them in. So began a conversion that has touched the lives of many people in many countries.
The woman was Anna-Liisa Rinne. By profession she was a pediatrician. She was also divorced, the single mother of four children. “When the missionaries mentioned the name of the Church,” she now recalls, “I suddenly remembered reading a newspaper article in 1946, when Elder Ezra Taft Benson was visiting Finland to dedicate this country for missionary work. I remembered the Church’s long and peculiar name in Finnish. I had thought then that if there were a true church in the world, it must be that one.”
The missionaries taught her about the Book of Mormon. Anna-Liisa Rinne believed. In fact, she says, “I believed in such a childlike way that the next day I asked my colleagues at work whether they had heard that the origin of the American Indians had been discovered.” When she told them about the Book of Mormon, they all laughed at her. “For the first time I noticed that something exceptional was happening to me,” she recalls.
The gospel message seemed familiar to her, and she continued to receive the missionaries when she moved from Helsinki to Kuopio. But when the missionaries told her that they intended to baptize her, she asked them to stop coming. “I was afraid of people’s opinions,” she explains. “In my professional friendships, belonging to a religious group was not considered acceptable. I didn’t want to be different.”
But the matter kept bothering her until she finally went to a Church meeting. Soon the missionaries were coming again. “When I stopped drinking coffee, I received a testimony. I knew that the Church was true, and I had to join it.”
Three of her four children joined the Church with her, and all of them are still active Latter-day Saints. “When I was first being taught, the children would laugh behind the door. After I received my own testimony of the gospel, I got them to promise that they would listen to one discussion. I told the missionaries that they had better be good, because the children had promised to listen just this once. The elders prepared a very fine flannel-board presentation, after which the children promised that they would also join the Church. It is true, though, that the youngest son, Eikki, later said the reason he joined the Church was that his mother told him to,” Sister Rinne says, laughing.
Sister Rinne’s daughter, Kaarina Merenluoto, remembers that joining the Church changed their family life greatly. “Mother seemed much closer to us; we talked together more. She even looked quite a bit younger. Guests began to visit us, whereas before we had lived a fairly isolated life. Often the whole branch would meet at our place, as we had a large apartment, and we made many friends. Arguments between us brothers and sisters decreased. It is difficult to explain just what happened, but the whole atmosphere in the home changed.”
In the Kuopio Branch, Anna-Liisa Rinne soon became a central figure. She was Relief Society president while the branch was building a chapel, and she also served as interpreter and messenger for the construction supervisor. “At that time, I was the only one in the branch with a driver’s license,” she explains. “Therefore I had to take care of business with the hardware supplier. At the same time, I had to oversee the delivery of lunches to the construction workers.” For a while, the hospital’s pediatrician was “on call” at the church construction site.
Sister Anna-Kaarina Roto, a former member of the Kuopio Branch, now a doctor herself, remembers those times. “As the chapel was being built, she did all kinds of work and climbed the highest scaffolds. Later, after the chapel was completed, members took turns cleaning it. Seeing how conscientiously Sister Rinne swept the floors when it was her turn, no one dared to complain about his own turn.”
As a Young Women leader for years, Anna-Liisa Rinne had an enduring influence on the lives of many girls. One of those young women, Raili Jouttenus, now the wife of the bishop of the Tampere Ward, remembers, “Sister Rinne was a legendary teacher. I remember many of her talks and teachings vividly, even now after twenty years. She really cared about us young people. The doors to her house were always open, and she had time to listen to our questions, which were sometimes rather silly. In dealing with youth, she followed Joseph Smith’s concept: teach them correct principles, and they govern themselves. She never forced us into doing anything, but rather she was warm and encouraging. She showed that she believed in the youth, but she never compromised her correct principles. If something was wrong, she said so clearly.”
Sister Rinne also remembers her work with the Young Women fondly. “Many of the youth were the only members of the Church in their families and schools, and they had a very strong faith and testimony. We started to organize youth temple excursions in Kuopio, and the spiritual experiences we had on those trips were the best rewards of those years.”
Missionary work has been an important part of Sister Rinne’s life in many ways, although she did not at first expect that it would be. “When I returned home from the baptismal service, I thought, ‘Well, I have done the right thing in joining this church, but I will never tell anyone.’ But when we arrived home, Heikki changed his clothes and ran to tell all the neighbors that we were Mormons now,” Sister Rinne remembers, smiling.
Sister Rinne received her first missionary assignments after she moved to Jyväskylä, where she served twice as a district missionary. “In those days there were so many baptisms in Jyväskylä you could hear the roar of the water,” she recalls. “The Lord just sent us the people who were ready to hear the gospel.”
One of Anna-Liisa Rinne’s companions as a district missionary was Sister Kerttu Harinen, who has many good memories of that time. “Sister Rinne was my first companion in missionary work. I myself was still a little timid. I grew at her side and received courage enough to serve as a district missionary for many years afterwards. Our first investigator was baptized before we had been companions one month. We had asked that we could practice our missionary discussions with a family whose father did not belong to the Church. So it happened that as the result of our ‘practice’ the father of the family was baptized.”
In 1974, Anna-Liisa Rinne retired from her work as a doctor. In January 1975, she left for an eighteen-month health mission to Samoa. “Up to that point in life I had imagined that I was something of an important person. But a missionary is on one of the lowest steps in society, something like a private in the army,” she explains. Finding her own sense of worth was an important lesson of that experience.
Even before leaving Samoa, Sister Rinne received a new mission call to Tonga. An important experience there was getting to know her mission president, Tonga Toutai Paletu‘a, now president of the temple. “He was a man who performed one or two miracles every day. His absolute faith and positive attitude were a great example to everyone,” Anna-Liisa Rinne recalls.
During her time as a missionary in the Pacific area, Sister Rinne experienced many miraculous testimonies of the nearness of Heavenly Father. When she arrived in Tonga, hardly knowing the language at all, she was sent to speak in a certain village. In her pocket she had a ten-minute talk written on paper. But when she arrived, she learned that she was to be the only speaker for an hour-long meeting. “I was horrified in the face of this assignment. As I was sitting there afraid, I heard clearly the words: ‘But I am here.’ All fear vanished, and I spoke for the whole hour.”
In 1978, Anna-Liisa Rinne returned home to Finland, only to receive another mission call. In 1979 she left for Scotland as a proselyting missionary. “I had only young companions, and I was their trainer. We had a rule that the senior companion had to prepare breakfast until the junior companion learned the discussions. I always made Finnish oatmeal for breakfast, so these American girls learned the discussions very fast,” says Sister Rinne, laughing. For health reasons, she had to interrupt the mission after eleven months, but this did not mean a slowdown in her activity—just the opposite.
After twice serving as a volunteer temple worker in the Swiss Temple, she received a 1982 call to a temple mission. “It was valuable to me to work with older people who have had a long experience in life and to try every day to be pure in heart.” Then she was called as a counselor to the temple matron. “After completing my mission I still went back to work in the temple, and I would probably have stayed who knows how long, except that it was difficult to take care of my health there,” Sister Rinne says.
After returning from Switzerland to Finland, Anna-Liisa Rinne became involved with an assignment she had received even before she was called to temple work, writing a history of the Church in Finland. But before the work was finished a call came again—this time to the Stockholm Temple.
If Anna-Liisa Rinne’s work career has been exceptionally varied and broad, her hobbies have not quite been ordinary either. This grandmother of sixteen likes surfing, and last summer she taught almost all her grandchildren to surf. She also owns a small sailboat, and has passed a coast-guard class which finally resulted in an international sailing permit. A diving class and pistol shooting are still in her plans.
Looking back over her life to this point, Sister Rinne says, “I have continually sought my own identity in all phases of my life: who and what am I?” It is the gospel that has provided the answers to Sister Rinne’s quest. “In some ways, I have been a very lonely person, but this has forced me to seek Christ for protection. I have had to depend on him many times, and I have always received help from him,” she says.
In return, Anna-Liisa Rinne has been ready to serve wherever the Lord has needed her. And in so doing, she has verified Christ’s words: “He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

In February, three stakes in the Suva, Fiji, area held a drive to collect food, household items, and school supplies for flood victims in northern and western Fiji.
Fiji was hit by continuous heavy rainfall earlier in the year, causing widespread flooding and localized landslides in the western and northern areas. Flooding led to several deaths and forced thousands to evacuate their homes.
As the floods raged through the western and northern regions of Fiji, local Church leaders immediately opened up meetinghouses as evacuation centers for people whose homes were in the path of the flood.
Elder Taniela Wakolo, Area Seventy and the Church’s Fiji Service Center manager, initiated the drive on February 6, shortly after local Church leaders were alerted about the flood. Members collected and sorted food, clothing, bedding, kitchenware, and school supplies; the items were then allocated to people in need.

The next morning Samuel gave a copy of the Book of Mormon to a poor widow who fed him breakfast. Then he walked 8 miles (13 km) and shared the Book of Mormon with John Greene, a Methodist minister, who took it only to see if others he knew might be interested in buying a copy. Mr. Greene’s wife, Rhoda, was Brigham Young’s sister, but Brigham had not yet been introduced to the Church.

When Samuel returned to the Greenes’ home in two weeks, he learned that Mr. Greene hadn’t found anyone who was interested in the Book of Mormon. So Samuel agreed to return in a few months. When he did, Mr. Greene wasn’t home, but Mrs. Greene told Samuel that she had read the book “and was much pleased with it.” The Spirit prompted Samuel to leave the book with her. She was so grateful “she burst into tears.” Samuel then “explained to her the most profitable manner of reading the book … which was, to ask God, when she read it, for a testimony of the truth of what she had read, and she would receive the Spirit of God, which would enable her to discern the things of God.”4

Later Mrs. Greene urged her husband to read the Book of Mormon too. He did, and they were soon baptized.

I was ordained a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood in a tiny branch of the Church. There was only one family in the branch. We had no chapel. We met in our house. I was the only deacon and my brother the only teacher.
So I know what it is like to exercise the priesthood alone, without serving with others in a quorum. I was content in that small branch without a quorum. I had no way to know what I was missing. And then my family moved across a continent to where there were many priesthood holders and strong quorums.