Gospel Story Finder

They returned to work, and Oliver began to wonder if he could translate as well.30 He believed that God could work through instruments like seer stones, and he had occasionally used a divining rod to find water and minerals. Yet he was unsure if his rod worked by the power of God. The process of revelation was still a mystery to him.31
Joseph again brought Oliver’s questions to the Lord, and the Lord told Oliver that he had power to acquire knowledge if he asked in faith. The Lord confirmed that Oliver’s rod worked by the power of God, like Aaron’s rod in the Old Testament. He then taught Oliver more about revelation. “I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost,” He declared. “Behold, this is the spirit of revelation.”
He also told Oliver that he could translate the record like Joseph did, as long as he relied on faith. “Remember,” the Lord said, “without faith you can do nothing.”32
After the revelation, Oliver was excited to translate. He followed Joseph’s example, but when the words did not come easily, he grew frustrated and confused.
Joseph saw his friend’s struggle and sympathized. It had taken him time to tune his heart and mind to the work of translation, but Oliver seemed to think he could master it quickly. It was not enough to have a spiritual gift. He had to cultivate and develop it over time for use in God’s work.
Oliver soon gave up on translating and asked Joseph why he had not been successful.
Joseph asked the Lord. “You have supposed that I would give it unto you, when you took no thought save it was to ask me,” the Lord replied. “You must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right.”
The Lord instructed Oliver to be patient. “It is not expedient that you should translate now,” He said. “The work which you are called to do is to write for my servant Joseph.” He promised Oliver other opportunities to translate later, but for now he was the scribe and Joseph was the seer.33

Another elder entered the mission just after I arrived in San Antonio. He came from a large family. The father found that he needed to pick up a part-time job to help support his son. This was not quite enough, and so the sweet mother went to work in the school lunch program so that she could be home when her children were home. Even with this additional money, the elder fell a little further behind each month. A choice friend occasionally gives me several $100 bills to share where they are needed. When I interviewed this elder, I asked him how he was doing financially. His eyes clouded up, and he said was really trying, but his folks weren’t sending him quite enough. He said, “President, I haven’t been wasting. I haven’t eaten anything for three days, trying to cut back.” Then he said, “Even my little sister is helping. She received a one-dollar bill for her birthday, and she put it in an envelope and sent it to me because she thought I needed it more than she did.” Then he wept openly. I reached into my shirt pocket, and extracted two crisp $100 bills, and said, “A choice friend of mine asked me to give these to you.” He put his head down in his hands and was overcome.

I. You suggest that you all play on the swing. Tasha has the first turn. As Julie climbs on for her turn, a car full of teenagers drives by. One of them flips a cigarette on the curb. Tasha runs to pick it up. “It’s still lit!” She turns to you and says, “I dare you to try it!”
If you say, “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and I hope you don’t either, because it’s bad for you,” go to D. If you say, “Well, maybe just one puff—but you’d better not tell anyone!” go to H.

H. You put the cigarette to your mouth. Even though you don’t breathe it in deeply, it tastes terrible. You are still holding it when Tasha’s mom drives by. She stops the car, tells Tasha to get in, and says to you, “Don’t expect Tasha to come over anymore.”
You feel awful. When your eyes meet Julie’s, you see that she is very disappointed in you. You promise that you’ll never do anything like that again. Julie gives you a weak smile and says, “I believe you, but I don’t think Tasha’s mom ever will.”
This is your last chance to get this story on the “right-choice” track. Hurry to D!

Near the Gulf of Mexico, you can find seashells, alligators, seagulls, turtles, miles of beaches, and ten-year-old Travis Trahan. The young athlete wrestled his way to take second place in the Louisiana State Wrestling Tournament. He didn’t start out so successfully, though—the first year he wrestled, he didn’t win a single match! But he always wore a smile.
“Whether he was on the top or the bottom, he’d smile. He’d look over at the audience to see who was smiling back at him,” Sister Trahan says. “It hasn’t been until this year that he has gotten into the competitive nature of wrestling.” In the five years since he started wrestling, he has won 18 medals.

Have you ever found yourself in a conversation where you were suddenly required to remain silent while your point of view was misconstrued and belittled? Such a thing happened to me almost 25 years ago, and the frustration of that unfinished conversation has remained to this day.
As mission president, I had been invited, with others from the Church, to meet with the mayor of one of the cities in our mission. He was cordial as he welcomed us into his office. Our conversation touched upon concerns of the day. Eventually, he asked why the Church was doing missionary work in his city.
This was not unexpected. An impression had come to me some weeks before that he would ask this question and what my response should be. I replied: “The gospel of Jesus Christ provides answers and solutions to all of the world’s problems, including those confronting the good people of your city. This is why we are here.”
I fully expected the mayor would want to know more. Instead, his mood changed. Skepticism then disdain took control of his countenance. He blustered about my naive approach to challenges in the world and brought our visit to an abrupt close. No further explanation was permitted.
This morning, I should like to complete that conversation. I hope the good mayor is listening because what follows is vital to a troubled world.
We are sobered by the terrible calamities of recent years. They occur with increasing frequency and intensity. Natural forces are ferocious in their scope, human assaults are merciless in their carnage, and unchecked appetites are leading to licentiousness, crime, and family decay approaching epic proportions. The tsunami in southern Asia and hurricanes in the United States, with their terrible tolls, are the most recent calamities capturing our attention. Hearts and hands from around the world reach out to those so profoundly affected. For a brief period differences yield to compassion and love.
We are indebted to those who, when buffeted by calamities, remind us of man’s dependence upon God. A widow in a refugee camp, anguishing over the brutal slaying of her sons, weeps the words, “I must not lose my faith.” Survivors, overwhelmed by Katrina’s fury, send out the plea, “Pray for us.”
Causes of such calamities are the subject of seemingly endless debate. Commentators, politicians, scientists, and many others have opinions as to the causes.
The Lord Jesus Christ said, concerning the Restoration of His gospel:
“Wherefore, I the Lord, knowing the calamity which should come upon the inhabitants of the earth, called upon my servant Joseph Smith, Jun., and spake unto him from heaven, and gave him commandments; …
“Search these commandments, for they are true and faithful, and the prophecies and promises which are in them shall all be fulfilled.”
Let us turn our attention to the reasons or purposes for such calamities. Fortunately, debate is not needed here because we have the fulness of Christ’s gospel on which we can rely. Search the words of the prophets in the Book of Mormon and the Bible; read the teachings of Jesus Christ in the 24th chapter of Matthew; study the Lord’s latter-day revelations in the Doctrine and Covenants. Herein we learn the purposes of God in such matters.
Calamities are a form of adversity, and adversity is a necessary part of Heavenly Father’s plan for the happiness of His children.
If our hearts are right before God, adversity will school us, help us overcome our carnal nature, and nurture the divine spark within us. Were it not for adversity, we would not know to “choose the better part.” Adversity helps us see where we need to repent, to bring into subjection baser instincts, to embrace righteousness and enjoy “peace of conscience.”
The more we cleave unto righteousness, the more we enjoy the protecting care of our Savior. He is the Creator and Lord of the universe. He will calm the winds and the waves. His teachings and Atonement will heal the repentant soul. He is the Messiah or Deliverer, and because of Him, each of us can be in charge of his or her personal world, even as tragedies beset us. Listen to these truths:
“The Messiah cometh in the fulness of time, that he may redeem the children of men from the fall. And because that they are redeemed from the fall they have become free forever, knowing good from evil; to act for themselves and not to be acted upon, save it be by the punishment of the law at the great and last day, according to the commandments which God hath given.
“Wherefore, men are free according to the flesh; and all things are given them which are expedient unto man. And they are free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil; for [the devil] seeketh that all men might be miserable like unto himself.”
We will do well to remember that the devil is the destroyer.
It is true that in this life we are only as free as our mortal circumstances allow. We may not be able to stay the course of war in distant lands or with our puny arm hold back the tempests that rage or run freely when our body is imprisoned by failing health. But it is verily true that such things do not ultimately control our personal world. We do!
The Prophet Joseph Smith declared: “Happiness is the object and design of our existence; and will be the end thereof, if we pursue the path that leads to it; and this path is virtue, uprightness, faithfulness, holiness, and keeping all the commandments of God.”
And so, most honorable mayor, the gospel of Jesus Christ does provide answers to all of the world’s problems, precisely because it provides solutions to the ills of every living soul.
Every time calamity strikes, there is a corresponding sacred obligation that falls upon each of us to become better. We should ask ourselves, “What part of my life needs to change so that the weight of chastisement need not be felt?”
In the scriptures the Lord makes clear what He expects of us as such judgments descend. He says: “Gird up your loins and be prepared. Behold, the kingdom is yours, and the enemy shall not overcome.”
The Church and its members are commanded to be self-reliant and independent. Preparation begins with faith, which enables us to weather vicissitudes as they come. We see earth life as a preparatory journey. Faith in the Lord and His gospel conquers fear and begets spirituality.
Spirituality grows as we “pray, and … walk uprightly before the Lord.” It is “the consciousness of victory over self and of communion with the Infinite.”
Faith, spirituality, and obedience produce a prepared and self-reliant people. As we obey the covenant of tithing, we are shielded from want and the power of the destroyer. As we obey the fast and give generously to care for others, our prayers are heard and family fidelity increases. Similar blessings come as we obey the counsel of the prophets and live within our means, avoid unnecessary debt, and set aside sufficient of life’s necessities to sustain ourselves and our families for at least a year. This may not always be easy, but let us do our “very best,” and our stores shall not fail—there shall be “enough and to spare.”
And again the Lord says, “Be ye strong from henceforth; fear not, for the kingdom is yours.”
Strength and resiliency come by righteous living. One is not righteous who is a saint on Sunday and a slacker the remainder of the week. Unchecked appetites are destructive and cause men to “trifle … with sacred things.” President Brigham Young taught, “The sin that will cleave to all the posterity of Adam and Eve is, that they have not done as well as they knew how.”
The gospel of Jesus Christ is the pathway to righteousness. Tragedies never triumph where personal righteousness prevails. Let us, therefore, heed the counsel of the Apostle Paul:
“The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light.
“Let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying.
“But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lusts thereof.”
Our duty as Latter-day Saints is to prepare ourselves, this earth, and its inhabitants for the Second Coming of the Lord Jesus Christ. Being prepared and being strong as the gospel teaches ensure happiness here and hereafter and make this “grand millennial mission” possible.
Our beloved President Hinckley has admonished: “Now, my brethren and sisters, the time has come for us to stand a little taller, to lift our eyes and stretch our minds to a greater comprehension and understanding of the grand millennial mission of this The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This is a season to be strong. It is a time to move forward without hesitation, knowing well the meaning, the breadth, and the importance of our mission. It is a time to do what is right regardless of the consequences that might follow. It is a time to be found keeping the commandments. It is a season to reach out with kindness and love to those in distress and to those who are wandering in darkness and pain. It is a time to be considerate and good, decent and courteous toward one another in all of our relationships. In other words, to become more Christlike.”
This admonition by the Lord’s prophet points our way through these turbulent times. To all who suffer, our hearts reach out to you. May Heavenly Father, in His infinite mercy, make light your burdens and fill your lives with that peace which “passeth all understanding.” You are not alone. Our love and faith and prayers are joined with yours. Press forward in righteousness and all will be well.
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Sister Quashigah remembers hearing for the first time the Primary song, “I Know My Father Lives”. She felt empowered by the words “He sent me here to earth, by faith to live his plan. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me that I can.”1
When she is faced with a difficult task, she has learned that the Savior will give her the power and strength that she needs, and the Spirit will guide her steps. Upon receiving her first Come Follow Me book, Sister Quashigah was devastated that she could not read it, but through the gospel literacy program, she has learned to read and can now explain the doctrines and principles of the gospel to her family and friends.

Brother Snederfler recalls another unforgettable moment: On 20 May 1991, the phone rang. The caller was President Thomas S. Monson, then Second Counselor in the First Presidency. “He said: ‘Jirí, you have been called as the president of the Freiberg temple. You will begin this office on 1 September of this year. What do you say?’ At first I was not able to say anything at all because of my astonishment. President Monson inquired, ‘Are you there, Jirí?’ I told President Monson, ‘I accept humbly this calling.’”

In the temple, the Snederflers opened prison doors to generations of deceased persons who had never had an opportunity to hear the gospel. And they also opened temple doors to patrons who—having had no religious freedom—had languished in spiritual darkness on earth. They welcomed members of the Church from such former Communist nations as Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Croatia, Poland, Hungary, the Czech and Slovak Republics, and the DDR.

“It is so, so good to be in the temple,” Sister Snederfl er says simply. After four years of faithful service there, the Snederflers have returned home to Prague to continue family history research so that more of their own ancestors may enjoy temple blessings.

The first, Brent, grew up attending church and hearing daily sermonettes in his home on gospel subjects. In spite of this, he was deeply unhappy. He felt that he was fenced in by commandments and restrictions, supposedly imposed by God to dictate what he should not do, what he was forbidden to enjoy, and even what he must not think. Only a motivation to succeed, to have status in others’ eyes, kept him going in the Church. But “doing the right thing for the wrong reasons” brought him no happiness. He didn’t feel free.
He therefore began to seek happiness outside the Church. He discovered the “new morality” and became convinced that any suppression of or restriction upon his physical urges was wrong, that every commandment was a curse on life, that subscribing to religious and moral prescriptions was a way of hating one’s own body and the desires that affect it.
Tragically, supposing that all Church members obeyed the commandments for the same reasons he once did—out of selfishness or fear—he called them hypocritical and unloving. He told me that abandoning himself in total response to every physical desire was bringing him the first happiness he had ever known. Yet, even as he told me this, it was clear that his first exciting taste of what appeared to him to be freedom would turn bitter on his tongue. And I have learned since that, though it provided a momentary titillation of his senses, it is bringing him no peace. On the contrary, though he has tried to escape the guilt of disobeying the commandments by pretending that they are foolishness, that guilt is returning now to haunt him as never before.
What happened to Brent? Why did he leave the Church in order to find love, honesty, freedom, and happiness, the very blessings that others find in the Church? I think the answer is this: Even though Brent heard constant sermonizing in church and at home, he apparently never experienced much of the Spirit of God or tasted the joys of the gospel. Though bludgeoned all his life with words, he hadn’t felt the love and warmth that are fruits of the gospel. The words were merely meant to describe it. The words without the experiences were meaningless. Hence, when finally he encountered a way of life that promised to remove the restrictions that had condemned him and that he hoped would sweep away his guilt, his life in the Church seemed like a dingy black-and-white movie—the lamp of the projector being nearly burnt out—when compared with the technicolor of this alluring new way of life. The only version of the gospel he could compare to the luridly colorful worldliness that enticed him was pale and meaningless. Given these alternatives, how else could he have chosen?
Brent had never really tasted of the gospel; he had only heard descriptions of it. A man can learn all there is to know about water, that it is composed of molecules made up of two atoms of hydrogen and one of oxygen bonded together by a certain kind of chemical bond, and so on; but no matter how much he knows about it, unless he drinks of it he will die. So with Brent: he has never tasted the waters of life. And now he is headed on a collision course toward certain disaster, tragically, not knowing that he is.

One Thursday evening at branch meeting at the Provo Missionary Training Center, a large group of Primary children filed into the chapel. The children gathered on the stand, facing the missionaries, and sang about being in the army of Helaman and hoping to be called on missions.
When the children finished singing, they remained standing. The elders and sisters arose, hearing the piano introduction to “Called to Serve,” the hymn which has become a missionary anthem. The missionaries had been so moved by the children’s songs that many were on the brink of tears. Starting their own song was not easy. As they sang I noticed the children. They were not looking at the floor or at each other. They were gazing intently into the faces of the missionaries whose song bore testimony of faith. The children believed the words they heard, and they knew the missionaries believed them too.
Both missionaries and children were witnesses to a demonstration of faith that borders on the miraculous, and both accepted it matter-of-factly as they would a more routine event. Yet, in that group of missionaries were individuals who had saved for years to serve a mission. All of them were willing to go where and when they were asked. Most had received a letter from someone they had never met which informed them they were going to a place they had never been, to meet people they had never seen and learn languages and discussions they did not know. Most were going at their own expense or were helped by other equally faithful people who made contributions.
As a branch president at the MTC, I was able to watch several hundred young men and women begin their missions. The power in their devotion and faith impressed me greatly. I never found an end to what seemed a tremendous willingness to give, learn, teach, and serve. If tired or less productive on one day, they arose the next filled with more resolve. Some had minor complaints. Collectively they had their immaturities and weaknesses. Some worked faster, some slower. Some were more prepared than others. Some worked hard to learn; others gave less effort. A few were unprepared. Overall, however, it was evident that a strong sense of purpose was driving them.
There is one part of missionary life, however, I am certain that all have in common. When faced with the work involved, possible hardship, new and strange places, the missionaries all spent time thinking, talking, and probably praying about their reasons for serving a mission.
I noticed many group discussions on the subject. I learned that companions often discussed with each other their reasons for serving missions. The search for reasons to serve a mission was also a major part of talks given in church meetings. Many speakers related conversion stories about how they had been prepared through spiritual means at a very young age. Some told of vivid dreams that were confirmed when they later heard about the gospel.
One missionary, for example, told of a dream she had at the age of nine or ten about the idea that God was an individual person, not three in one, and of a Heavenly Father whose son was Jesus Christ. Her views, which she held to faithfully, caused her and her family much discomfort during the time she went to private religious schools. Anyone she spoke to about religion was asked to satisfy her question, “Do you believe God is a person who has a son?” She often asked her friends at school, which was why she was troublesome to them and to her teachers. After a while, getting no satisfaction, she tired of asking.
Years later at work. when she was in her early twenties, she started talking with a co-worker about religion. These talks continued until the woman asked her to attend church with her. “I must ask you a question first,” she said. She asked the woman, and for the first time in her life received an answer that satisfied her. The woman answered, “Yes, my church teaches that God is the father of us all and has a son who is Jesus Christ.”
Missionaries were found, the young woman was taught the gospel, and as soon as possible she began serving on her own mission. On her first day of class when her MTC teacher walked in, she recognized her as the missionary who had taught her the gospel months earlier in a place far away from the Missionary Training Center.
There were many ideas presented as reasons for serving missions. Some missionaries wondered if they were going just to please their parents, to satisfy a girlfriend or boyfriend, or because their family and ward expected them to go. Others considered the possibility that they were part of a cultural tradition where the importance of missionary work had been taught through song and lesson from the time they were young. Many had other more individual reasons such as gratitude for miraculously surviving accidents, or seeking forgiveness for something they were ashamed of.
Faced with being away from home and family and the difficult parts of missionary life, they searched for “real” reasons. They did not want to undergo the challenges and hardship confronting them unless they had good, inspiring reasons for doing so. Straining to learn a difficult language, for example, might not seem worth doing if a missionary were only trying to please his or her parents.
I was interested in their conversations. I wanted to learn what they concluded. As I watched them from the day they arrived, I could tell they were progressing and beginning to sense and understand some things they could not verbalize. It appeared in their faces, in the diminishing number of pranks, in the gospel focus of their language, and in what they did in their private moments. Most quickened their scripture study and increased their attention to learning language and discussions. Watching all this, I finally recognized it for what it was—the real reason missionaries serve.
They were like salmon. They had originated in one place but had gone to live in another. After spending time away from their origins there was a pull, unyielding, subtle, but very dramatic in its persistence. It beckoned them to return or find a way to commune with what they had once known. I remembered the scripture:
“For what man knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him? even so the things of God knoweth no man, except he has the Spirit of God.
“Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the spirit which is of God; that we might know the things that are freely given to us of God” (JST, 1 Cor. 2:11–12).
I noticed that most of the missionaries were unaware of what was truly taking place. As they received this Spirit they were separated from the world and educated in the communication of spiritual things. They comprehended it at a level of understanding beyond words. It was clear they could feel it, were fed by it, and wanted more.
I learned then that a mission is a joining between a mortal soul who prepares and embraces the things of God, and God’s Spirit. When this happens, every missionary learns he or she is part of something greater and more important than self. Missionaries have an important part to play for themselves and for others. It is not the same as a ball game or a date. It involves being entrusted with the most essential ideas and ordinances of all. As they feel the Spirit and share his work, they come to know and love his Son—and to understand why they serve.

Gradually and painfully Peter became more stable. His arms and legs were tied up to prevent bleeding, and his eyes were bandaged. The doctor explained to him what had happened in the accident: he had dislocated an arm and a leg; had broken three ribs, seven or eight fingers, and his jaw; had received a serious concussion; had lost 50 percent of his skin; and had received first- and second-degree burns over another 40 percent. But Peter had one big question. Since the gas splashed into his eyes, would he ever see again?
I could hear the doctor leaving. He hadn’t answered my big question. I got my arm swinging. I must have caught his attention because he came by me and asked, “What is it, Peter?” I could only say, “My eyes, my eyes, my eyes.” He just squeezed my arm and didn’t answer. He knew what I meant. There was just the unsaid answer that there was no chance I would see again. He started to weep a little, and I could tell that things were very serious.
Peter spent months in the hospital slowly recovering. In fact, he would spend one year as a full-time patient and many more months in and out of the hospital as he underwent dozens of operations. One of the many operations to be performed was to remove the scar tissue from his eyes. Following the operation, while he was in the recovery room, Peter knew that the moment of truth would come that following morning. Then the bandages would be removed and his eyes tested.
Awake and alone in the middle of the night, Peter thought about what was to come.
I couldn’t handle the thought of that scene when my eyes would be uncovered. On the one hand, if I could see, what a grand moment it would be! But on the other hand, what if I were blind? All hope would be gone.
Awkwardly, because his hands were wrapped in bandages, Peter started to remove the wrappings from his eyes. He managed to maneuver a pan from beside the bed onto his chest. His plan was to reflect the light from his overhead bed lamp into his eyes. He flipped the switch, and the light exploded in his eyes. He could see! As his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, he lifted the shiny, metal pan once more.
There, in all my excitement, was this horrid face. Because my family had been told that I didn’t have a chance to live, they hadn’t told me about some other things. They hadn’t told me that I had lost most of one ear and all my eyelids and all my facial features. My nose was gone; all mymouth was gone. In my excitement to see, I hadn’t thought about what I would see. I couldn’t handle it emotionally. I let out a big yell.
Now faced with new dilemmas, Peter spent all night talking with a sympathetic nurse, asking her about what could be done. What plans had been made? What was going to happen to him once he got out of the hospital? What was it going to be like going to a store? What about going to a dance? What if he wanted to dance with a girl? What if he liked a girl? What if he wanted to give her a kiss? Abruptly, he started to laugh. The nurse, puzzled by this sudden change in emotion, wanted to know what was so funny.
All of a sudden something flashed through my mind. I was reminded of another time when I had looked into a mirror, concerned about the way I looked.
When I was a junior in high school, I had an opportunity to go to the junior-senior prom. This was the first time I had ever worn a tuxedo. It was exciting! I had just turned 16 and had asked a special girl to go with me. It was the first time I was to take a girl out to dinner. I was so concerned I would be late that I started getting my tuxedo on at 2:00 in the afternoon. Just as I was putting on the cummerbund and the bow tie, I noticed something happening on my chin. No, not now! I hurried to the mirror. Right there on the left side was a blemish just starting to appear. I remember how angry I got. Why today? Why not tomorrow? Any day but today! Pictures will be taken. In my attempt to correct the problem, I made it bright red.
When I went to pick up my girl friend, I was so embarrassed at the way I looked that I positioned myself at her front door so that the right side of my face was toward her and the left side faced away. Throughout the dance she kept asking who I was looking at. To top it all off, when we went to the restaurant, I asked to be seated at a large table for 10 so that I could sit on her left side and she wouldn’t be able to see my blemish. I had been so embarrassed by the way I looked then.
Now, here I was in the hospital, remembering how silly and immature I had been about that blemish. Here I was, having fought for my very life, for everything I had. And even though my face didn’t look very good, that didn’t seem so important when I thought of the miracle that had taken place. There really had been no chance that I would see again; yet now I could see! I took a little moment to say a prayer of thanks to my Father in Heaven because he had answered that prayer.

You may ask, “How do we seek personal revelation?” Paul counseled the Saints to rely on the Spirit rather than the wisdom of the world. To obtain that Spirit, we begin with prayer. President Lorenzo Snow had studied the gospel for several years before joining the Church. But he did not receive a witness until two or three weeks after his baptism when he retired in secret prayer. “The Spirit of God descended upon me,” he said. “O, the joy and happiness I felt … [for] I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel.”

Gabe King, 15, of Jeffersonville, Indiana, wasn’t exactly looking for a service project. But when he found out about his neighbor’s misfortune, he couldn’t help but act.
While working in his orchard, the neighbor fell out of a tree. He was hurt badly enough that picking the apples himself was impossible. If the apples weren’t picked, he wouldn’t be able to make a living. Gabe organized a group of about ten young women and men to join him in an apple-picking party. They chose a cool day in October and picked all day long to bring in the man’s crop.
“He was very grateful and really happy,” Gabe explains. “He would have lost a lot of money had we not picked his apples. It was a great feeling to know how much it meant to him.”

It’s a thrill, brethren, to stand here this evening and see this great audience of priesthood filling this sacred Tabernacle. Having had the privilege of serving as the Presiding Bishop of the Church for fourteen years, and thus, the president of the Aaronic Priesthood, I am thrilled to see all of the boys of the Aaronic Priesthood here tonight, and I imagine that will be true in the other buildings where the priesthood are listening in. We are all thrilled as we go through the Church to find the wonderful attitude that the Saints have toward President Kimball and, particularly, toward the emphasis that he is giving to missionary work. You know that he has indicated that every boy should be a missionary.
I think of when I was a young man, before I was even ordained a deacon, I went to one of our ward meetings in the little country town where I was raised, and two missionaries reported their missions down in the Southern States. In those days they traveled without purse or scrip, and they had to sleep out many nights when they couldn’t get entertainment. I don’t know whether they said anything unusual that night or not; but if they didn’t, the Lord did something unusual for me, because when I left that meeting, I felt like I could have walked to any mission field in the world, if I just had a call. And I went home, went into my little bedroom, and got down on my knees, and asked the Lord to help me to live worthy so that when I was old enough I could go on a mission. And when the train finally left the station here in Salt Lake and I was headed for the little land of Holland, the last thing I said to my loved ones was, “This is the happiest day of my life.”
Before I left on that mission, President Anthon H. Lund, who was then a counselor in the First Presidency of the Church, talked to us missionaries, and he said, among other things, “The people will love you. Now,” he said, “don’t get lifted up in the pride of your hearts and think that they love you because you are better than other people. They will love you because of what you bring to them.” I did not understand that then, but before I left the little land of Holland, where I spent nearly three years, I knew what President Lund meant. I went around saying good-bye to the Saints and the converts who I had brought into the Church, and I shed a thousand tears, as compared to what I shed when I told my loved ones good-bye.
For instance, in Amsterdam I went into a home where I had been the first missionary there, and the little mother, looking up into my face with tears rolling down her cheeks, said, “Brother Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago, but it’s much harder to see you go.” I had been the first missionary in that home. Then I thought I could understand what President Lund meant when he said, “They will love you.”
I went to tell a man with a little Dutch beard good-bye. He stood erect in the uniform of his country. He got down on his knees and took my hand in his and hugged it and kissed it and bathed it with his tears. And then I thought I could understand what President Lund meant when he said, “They will love you.”
Now I like a little story that President Grant used to tell about the love that converts have for their missionaries. He told about a couple who came here from one of the Scandinavian countries. They hadn’t been taught much about the gospel. All they knew was that it was true. And so the bishop went to this couple and taught them the law of tithing. They paid their tithing. Then later the bishop went to them and taught them about the fast offering. They paid their fast offering. And then the bishop went to them again to get a donation to help build a ward meetinghouse. They thought that ought to come out of the tithing, but before the bishop got through with them, they paid their donation on the meetinghouse.
Then the bishop went to the father to get his son to go on a mission. Now I can hear President Grant standing here, saying, “That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.” The man said, “He’s our only child. His mother will miss him. We can’t let him go.” Then the bishop countered, “Brother So-and-So, who do you love in this world more than anyone else outside of your own relatives?” And he thought for a few minutes. He said, “I guess I love that young man who came up to the land of the midnight sun and taught me the gospel of Jesus Christ.” Then the bishop countered, “Brother So-and-So, how would you like someone to love your boy just like that?” The man said, “Bishop, you win again; take him. I’ll pay for his mission.”
Now you fathers, how would you like someone to love your boys just like that man loved that boy who came up to the land of the midnight sun and taught him the gospel? I heard a missionary up in Oregon giving the report of his mission. He himself was a convert to the Church, and he came down with his fist on the pulpit, and he said, “I wouldn’t take a check tonight for a million dollars for the experience of my mission.” I sat back of him, and I said to myself, “Would you take a million dollars for your first mission in the little land of Holland?” And I began counting the families that I’d been instrumental in bringing into the Church. What kind of a man would I be if I were to sell them out of the Church for a million dollars? I wouldn’t do that for all the money in the world!
The other night I sat in my little study in my apartment and began reminiscing, and I counted ten families that I’d been instrumental in bringing into the Church, and I’ve lived long enough to see their sons go on missions. I checked with just one of those families here just a few years back when I had to give a talk at a Brigham Young University banquet for the Indians. At that time there were 153 direct descendants of that one family alone. Thirty-five of them had filled full-term missions, and four had done stake missionary work. If you gave them two years apiece, that would be seventy years of missionary service out of that one family, without counting all the converts that their converts had made. And then one family kept two Indian children in their home—one boy they kept for eight years; he was then in the mission field, and they were paying for his mission. When my companion and I brought that family into the Church, we couldn’t look ahead seventy years and see what would become of them.
I checked with another family that I’d been instrumental in bringing into the Church. They couldn’t give me details, but they said that when their grandfather died, there were 150 direct descendants in the Church at that time, and five of them were serving as bishops.
I went over these ten families in my mind the other day, thinking of the words of Jesus when he said: “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” (Matt. 6:19–21.)
What do you suppose I could have done during those few years of my young manhood that would lay away treasures in heaven like the years I spent over there among those Dutch people? Some of them have already passed on, and I love them almost like my own family. I look forward to being able to meet them again when my time comes to join that innumerable group.
Now I have labored so much with the missionaries. I have been on four missions, and presided over two, and I have toured many missions, and love to hear those young men bear their testimonies. For instance, another young man in Oregon in our testimony meeting said that there wasn’t a company in this world that could pay him a large enough salary to get him to leave his missionary work. And he had been in the armed forces and away from home for several years and then out into the mission field. I had a letter here just last week from a missionary from up in Idaho, and I copied a little paragraph from it. I’d like to read it to you. He said this:
“There is no greater work than that of missionary work. My mission has been the most rewarding undertaking in my entire twenty-seven years of life. My life is dedicated to serving the Lord. My heart is overflowing as are the tears of joy that are now coming from my eyes. There is nothing so wonderful—nothing—as tasting the joy and success of missionary labors.”
I had a young missionary come in to visit with me as he returned from the Argentine. I knew his people back in Washington, and he had been kept over to help train some of the other missionaries, until he had been away from home for three years. And I said, “Craig, do you feel like it was a waste of time to be in the mission field, that you ought to have been home getting your education and getting ready to settle down?” He said, “Now listen, bishop, if the Brethren want to make me happy, just let them load me on the plane in the morning and let them send me back to the Argentine.” You can’t put that kind of feeling in the hearts of young people with money. The Lord who creates the feelings of the human breast is the only one who can put that kind of faith into the hearts of his people.
Brethren, after all the missionary service I have had, I wouldn’t want to raise a boy and not have him go on a mission, for his good and because I think we owe it to the world to share with them the truths of the gospel. And one way to make sure that your boys will go on missions is to start a missionary fund for them and let them keep adding to it, and they will be on their missions from the time that they are young boys. For instance, down in California I went to a ward, and the bishop has a program of giving to each boy when he’s ordained a deacon fifteen dollars out of the missionary fund. Then they ask the father to match it, and then every time the boy is interviewed—for instance, when he’s ordained a teacher—they check on his missionary fund. I figured, on a percentage basis, if every ward in the Church had as many missionaries in the field as that ward, we would have 55,500 missionaries. So I provided in my family that every male child who has not been on a mission has a missionary fund so he will know that he is on his mission from the time that he is a boy.
God bless you all, and may we not disappoint our great leader in sending all of our boys on missions, I pray, and I leave you my blessing, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

“Remember, just five minutes,” warned the attendant as he ushered Salt Lake businessman Nephi L. Morris into the plush Chicago office of important financier Thomas N. McCauley. Handing the tycoon the caller’s business card, the attendant posted himself by the door to be sure the five-minute limit would not be exceeded.
“From Salt Lake City I see,” remarked the busy executive. “Sit down Mr. Morris. Because you are a Utahn, I want to tell you about an experience I had years ago out in your part of the world.” Not waiting to find out Brother Morris’s business reason for the visit, Mr. McCauley disregarded his own tight business schedule—and his upset attendant—and for a full hour related to his visitor a singular experience cherished in his memory.
Mr. McCauley explained that while still a young man he had amassed a fortune in the East before the turn of the century. But the strain of business finally broke him physically. His doctor warned that the only hope for recovery was for the young executive to spend six months to a year in the West, living in the open. Reluctantly accepting this advice, Mr. McCauley turned his extensive business affairs over to associates and went west, accompanied by the doctor.
For months the two men camped in a covered wagon while leisurely traveling about the Rocky Mountain regions. Then, when recovery seemed near, McCauley suddenly developed a fever of 102 degrees and severe chills. The doctor, fearing for his patient’s life, hurried the wagon to the nearest settlement: Bunkerville, Nevada, a small Mormon settlement near the southwest corner of Utah. Having a deep dislike for Mormons, the doctor nevertheless swallowed his pride and appealed for help at the home of a local farmer, Edward Bunker, Jr., who turned out to be the town’s bishop and the son of the man for whom Bunkerville was named.
The strangers had not known that this man’s home often served as a hospital or hotel for people passing through those barren regions. While bishop from 1883 to 1908, Brother Bunker served as the local doctor, setting about 40 broken limbs, amputating fingers, lancing sores, and once even successfully sewing on a boy’s foot that had been amputated by a mowing machine. According to local tradition, the Bunker family rarely dined alone because of the good bishop’s hospitality. Travelers could stay at the Bunker home as long as they wanted, said the Bunker rule, but they would be treated like one of the family and could not disrupt the normal family life.
The Easterners were quickly made welcome and were promised every accommodation within the tiny community’s power to give. Their wagon and team were cared for. Food was provided. Bedding and supplies materialized, and the Bunker parlor was converted into a makeshift hospital ward.
Day after day the doctor and the Bunkers carefully nursed the critically ill patient. Weeks passed and McCauley made only slow progress. The doctor spent his time with the sick man or off by himself. While confined helplessly to his bed, however, the young man was in a unique position to witness the everyday activities of this humble Latter-day Saint family.
At times the parlor door was left ajar, and McCauley could look into the next room where, after a day of hard farm toil, the family blessed and then ate their evening meal. Many times at nightfall McCauley observed them kneeling in family prayer, the bishop himself often praying aloud.
At last the patient’s condition improved enough for the doctor to allow him to resume the journey. On the morning of the doctor and McCauley’s departure, the Bunker family arose early as usual. Unknowingly they had awakened their guests, who could not help but overhear the special family prayer offered in their behalf. The family gathered in the dining room where the sturdy bishop, kneeling beside his children and as humble as they were, reverently poured out his soul in supplication. Among other things he fervently thanked God for blessing their guest with a great recovery of health, and he invoked a special blessing for a full and complete healing.
During the prayer McCauley noticed his doctor friend slip quietly from the parlor with tears on his cheeks. McCauley, recognizing the faith being exercised in his behalf, could barely suppress his own tears as a deep feeling of gratitude welled up in his heart. As he confessed while telling the story to Brother Morris years later, “I have never heard such a prayer in all my life.”
Arising from prayer the family went about their daily chores while Bishop Bunker came into the parlor to say goodbye to his guests. Shaking hands with McCauley, he expressed to the Easterner his great pleasure at “having been favored with the privilege of rendering an act of kindness,” then wished him and the doctor a pleasant journey.
“I am greatly indebted to you, Bishop Bunker,” said McCauley, “and I desire to properly compensate you for your merciful kindness and care of me, which is responsible for saving my life. I am a man of ample means and to reward you generously would be a great pleasure to me.”
Knowing the Bunkers’ existence was hard and that they lacked many material things, he was amazed when the bishop kindly refused the offer. “No,” said the Mormon, “I can’t accept anything from you. I have only done what any man should do for his brother.”
“But I must do something to compensate you for what you bestowed upon me. I cannot let you go uncompensated. Please tell me what I can do for you in money or otherwise.”
To this earnest request the hospitable bishop replied: “I am already amply repaid for my helpfulness to you. The only way you can pay me is by doing for some other person who stands in like need of help as I have cheerfully done for you.”
And that closed the transaction as far as Bishop Bunker was concerned.
But McCauley never forgot the debt he felt he owed, and in following years he repaid it—mainly by helping Latter-day Saints. When donations were sought to build a monument in Utah to Brigham Young, McCauley’s name headed the donors’ list with a $1,000 contribution. During Utah Senator Reed Smoot’s membership trial in the United States Senate, the influential financier personally lobbied with Vice-president William Howard Taft in defense of the Mormons. He offered financial opportunities to various Utah and Church leaders. When two prominent Mormons suffered financial reverses during the panic of 1907, McCauley gave them back their notes and canceled their loan obligations to him.
And whenever opportunities presented themselves, even if it meant turning a five-minute appointment into an hour’s discussion, the financier felt an obligation to tell Utahns like Brother Morris about his struggle with death in the Nevada wastelands where a Mormon bishop, whom he had not seen before or since, had exercised faith in God to help a stranger recover. That was something, McCauley explained, which all his own wealth and power could not accomplish.
The story so impressed Brother Morris that he immediately noted it down. Twenty years later, in 1943, he wrote to Bishop Bunker’s descendants and shared the story with them, for whom it now is a source of family pride and inspiration.

To the young missionaries tracting the streets of Buenos Aires, Argentina, in 1995, the promise they had received from a member of the Area Presidency seemed odd: “If you work hard and are completely obedient, investigators will fall out of the trees to be baptized.” We found out about that promise a short time later.
My father was pruning one of the trees along the sidewalk in front of our home. As he was up in the tree pruning, he noticed two young men walking toward him on the street. As they passed under the tree, he called down to them in English.
My father didn’t really speak English, but he knew a few words, and he was curious. Who were these young men, and what were they doing in our neighborhood?
The missionaries stopped, wondering where the voice had come from. My father then climbed out of the tree to talk to them. Impressed by their message and manner, he invited them into his home.
My father’s previous experience with religion had left him troubled, but the message of the restored gospel spoke to his heart. He had lived through some tough times, and he knew he needed to change. He listened closely as the missionaries taught him, my mother, my grandmother, and me.
I was only 11 years old, but the truths they taught also resonated with me—and with my mother and grandmother. As a result, we were all baptized a few months later, in September 1995.
The seeds of faith that the missionaries planted in our hearts were soon nourished by fellowshipping from friends at church, additional gospel teaching, and good experiences with strong Church leaders. Because of the warm welcome we received, the seeds of our faith “fell on good ground, and sprang up, and bare fruit an hundredfold” (Luke 8:8).
The fruits of our faith that we enjoy today—nearly 25 years later—include a firm commitment to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, the blessings of the temple, and a full and happy life with a new generation of family members united for all eternity.
We will always be grateful for two faithful missionaries who put an inspired promise to the test.

Later in my mission, I served with an agency that provided cultural orientation and English classes for Asian refugees who were planning to settle in the United States. This experience expanded my perspective to include many people who were not of my faith.
After one lesson on how to use and clean household appliances, we had some extra time. I began to drill the students, asking questions through their translator. I would ask, “What is your address?” and they would answer. At one point, the young translator became impatient and began speaking harshly to an old Cambodian woman who could not remember the answer. The woman’s lips began to quiver, her eyes twitched a few times, and then she began to cry. Though I did not know what the translator had said, I could feel the woman’s dejection.
At that moment, I thought of what the Savior would have done if he had been there. I picked up her worn hand. As I held it, she began to tell me through the translator about some of her experiences in Cambodia. Then three other women who were sitting nearby began to cry. Together they told about their children and grandchildren who had starved, and about others who had been taken into the jungle to be killed.
Suffering was all these women had ever known. With little opportunity for education, a Cambodian woman’s sole duty is to manage the home and family. These women had seen their most precious gifts—their families—slaughtered and tortured before their very eyes.
I cried with them, and then I tried to tell them through the translator: “I want you to know how much I love you. I know I can never completely understand how much you have suffered. But with all my heart I know that someday you will have peace, and all the things you never have possessed will be given to you.”
After class, I couldn’t wait to get home to ask the Lord: “When will all the peoples of the world be able to be fully of one mind and one heart, with no poor among us?” I picked up my scriptures and found the word poor in the concordance. Two scriptures I had always loved now comforted me: “Therefore, let your hearts be comforted concerning Zion; for all flesh is in mine hands; be still and know that I am God.” (D&C 101:16.) And the more well-known scripture, “And the Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them.” (Moses 7:18.)
The Spirit poured into my soul. My students and I had neither language nor faith in common. But my whole desire was to be one with those women and all the others who are poor in worldly possessions, yet so rich in purity and meekness.
I will never forget that day. It taught me what serving the Master really means—a reciprocal exchange in loving and learning from those we serve.

Lately I have become good friends with my Grandmother Brocklebank. It all started a little over a year ago, when she completed my four-generation program. Then after she was baptized, I would go over to her house and we’d talk about different things. Her favorite thing to talk about is Church history. Sometimes when I listen to her, I’m awfully glad that Brigham Young never lived long enough to meet my grandmother. He would have found his match in Mrs. Brocklebank.
Mom and I were standing inside the front doors of the Alberta Temple, and a man in white clothes was checking our recommends. It was peaceful and quiet in the temple, and the man said that he was happy that we had come. I had just finished telling him that it was our very first time and that we were getting sealed, when Dad came in from parking the car.
“Mother won’t come in,” Dad said.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked as the man gave our recommends back to us.
“I don’t know,” Dad said. He had a pained look on his face, the kind of look that he gets every time Grandma Brocklebank does something that doesn’t make any sense.
“She’s just nervous about coming into the temple,” Mom said. “She needs to be reassured.”
“Maybe you should go out and reassure her, then.”
“If you can’t do it, I doubt if I can,” Mom told him.
“I’ll go talk with her,” I offered.
Mom looked pleased. “That’s a good idea,” she said.
I went out to the car. Mrs. Brocklebank was sitting in the back seat. I climbed in beside her.
With Mrs. Brocklebank you have to watch what you say. I’ve learned that the most successful way to talk to her is to let her do most of the talking. I sat for a while, looking out the car window at the big white temple rising up into the sky. Finally she said, “Forever is a long time to spend with someone, don’t you think?”
“Not if it’s your family,” I answered.
“Your Grandfather Brocklebank might not agree.”
I looked over at Mrs. Brocklebank. I had never heard her talk like this before. Maybe she didn’t really like Grandfather Brocklebank. Maybe she didn’t want to be with him forever. “Did you have a fight with Grandfather Brocklebank before he died?” I asked.
Mrs. Brocklebank was looking at the temple too. I could tell by her eyes that she liked it just as much as I did.
“We had one or two while he was alive,” she said in a sad voice. “I guess that maybe sometimes I’m not a very easy person to get along with.”
I didn’t want to agree with Mrs. Brocklebank, but I didn’t want to disagree with her either, so I didn’t say anything.
“I suppose that they’re all ready to begin in there,” she said after a moment.
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, open the car door, then,” she snapped. “What are you waiting for!”
I got dressed in white clothes, then waited for two hours while the grownups went through the temple. They told me that I wasn’t allowed to do everything with them until I was older. I waited in a room where there were a lot of Church books and some Church videos. After a while I got tired of watching the videos, so I found some paper and made a paper airplane. I didn’t fly it, though. I didn’t think that Heavenly Father would want me to fly a paper airplane inside the temple. Finally a lady came and took me to a room upstairs. Dad and Mom were there, and so was Mrs. Brocklebank. I looked into the mirror on one wall and saw a mirror just like it on the opposite wall. I could see a whole bunch of me going off into the distance. I tried to look past myself to see how far I went, but every time I moved my head, the row of me in the mirrors moved their heads too.
A man dressed in a white suit came in and shook my hand and told me that he was President Spackman, the president of the Alberta Temple. He had a kind face and eyes that sparkled. He stood in front of us and talked about marriage, and I decided right then that when I grow up, I’m going to get married in the temple. Then he told Mom and Dad to kneel at the altar, and he sealed them so that they would never be apart. Then they all turned and looked at me.
“Come here, please, Kenneth,” President Spackman said.
I knelt beside Mom and Dad, and we joined hands on top of the altar. Their hands felt warm and strong. I don’t remember everything that was said, because I was too nervous, but I remember the part about me belonging to Mom and Dad from now on. After it was over, we all stood up; then it was Mrs. Brocklebank’s turn.
Things were a bit confusing because Grandfather Brocklebank was already dead, which meant that my dad had to take his place. Dad was pleased about it, though. I watched as Mrs. Brocklebank knelt at the altar and took his hand. Suddenly I realized that there was something that I wanted to say to my grandmother. I wanted to tell her that I knew now that everything was going to be all right. I knew that Grandfather Brocklebank wanted to be with her. He wanted to be with her because that was the way it was meant to be. Sometimes people in families get mad at each other, but that isn’t important. What’s important is that families are together. I held up my arm and waved to get her attention. She looked up into my eyes and smiled at me. All the Mrs. Brocklebanks in the mirrors smiled too. I realized that I didn’t have to tell her anything at all. She already knew.

What the power of the Spirit can communicate beyond the meaning of words is clearly seen in an experience of Brother Peter Mourik, real estate director for the Church in Europe. He met with city officials, including the mayor, to negotiate the purchase of the former city hall. If it could be purchased, it was to be converted into a meetinghouse for the Church. The mayor of the neighboring German town was also present, inasmuch as a recent change in the boundaries involved both communities in the transaction.
The gentleman who introduced Brother Mourik to the mayors and officials did so in a spirit of levity. He said, “I want to introduce Mr. Mourik here, who represents this denomination … this sect … this group.” He finally got around to saying “This church.”
Then Brother Mourik raised his hand and said, “Mr. Mayor, I object.”
The mayor answered, “The meeting hasn’t even started. What are you objecting to?”
Brother Mourik replied, “Before we start, I’d like everybody to understand who and what it is I represent. I represent The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the only true church upon the face of the earth today!”
This statement incited laughter. Then the mayor said to the gentleman introducing Brother Mourik, “You’d better be careful what you say about this church!”
Brother Mourik thought that this had settled the preliminaries. But the mayor of the smaller town spoke up and said, “I would like to say something about this church. We have leased a schoolhouse to them for over two years. I have found them to be a very beautiful people. I go to the swimming pool on the school grounds quite often. One night I found a special gathering of their church members near the pool. They were holding a baptismal service. I sat quietly at the rear of the group and watched. They sang a hymn. I thought it was beautiful. Then someone prayed, and when he said ‘Amen,’ they all said ‘Amen.’ I was impressed with that. Then a teenage girl got up and spoke about what Christ and the Church meant to her. She was moved to tears. I, too, was deeply moved. I was further moved by the heartwarming sincerity, the oneness and spiritual unity of these people. When I went home, I said to my wife, ‘Let’s get more information about this church. We need to find out more about it.’”
When the mayor concluded, Brother Mourik said: “Mr. Mayor, you would make a good bishop in our church,” and they all laughed again.
But the feeling in the meeting had changed profoundly. The Spirit of the Lord was there and was speaking to the hearts of those present. So Brother Mourik was impressed to say, “Since the mayor has explained to you what our church is about, I’m sure now you understand why we need to purchase the building at the lowest possible price.”
The Church bought this choice piece of property at a very greatly reduced price. This was accomplished because Brother Mourik had the courage to bear his testimony. This testimony was accompanied by the power of the Spirit, which inspired the mayor to speak and which communicated a favorable conviction about the Church to the city officials. What the Spirit communicates to the hearts of men is beyond the power of words to portray!

“My earliest recollection of my mother is of her teaching me to pray. She always made sure I got to church on time, and she started me off in life with good habits. I remember a precious teaching moment between the two of us. A neighbor lady had passed away. She had been a very dear friend of mine, even though I was but a little boy. I could not understand why Heavenly Father had taken my friend away. I was peering out through the curtains as the mortician placed her body in his big car. My mother took me on her knee and talked to me about the Resurrection and life eternal, things I needed to know right then. Even though I was only five years old, the message really got through because it was a teaching moment that satisfied my need.

I was 17 years old and on top of the world. I had a university basketball scholarship, money in the bank from a hard summer’s work, a motorcycle and a pickup truck to drive, and all the aspirations of a typical teenager. Two months later I lay in a hospital bed with my body broken and my dreams shattered.
It was a motorcycle wreck—a head-on collision. No one was at fault. It was a stormy night. The driver of the car never saw my motorcycle coming. For two months I lay in bed. Then for six months I moved about on crutches. Weak and discouraged after months of inactivity and desperately needing money to continue my education, I began searching for summer employment.
I took a job with the railroad. Our crew was to patrol and repair a 15-mile stretch of track in a remote area called Little Warm River. Pine trees covered the mountains. Dozens of small streams meandered through the meadows. Large culverts had been placed under the railroad tracks to allow the streams to run freely, but beaver colonies would dam up each stream at the head of the culvert, creating a large reservoir with enough water pressure to wash out the tracks.
Volunteers were asked to crawl through the culvert and tear away the beaver dam, allowing the water to flow freely again. I always volunteered because no one else would, and, frankly, I rather enjoyed it. It was thrilling as I picked away at the dam, knowing that at any moment the water would break through and sweep me along with it head over heels, finally dumping me unceremoniously into the stream 15 yards away. There were times when I thought I would surely drown as I bumped along, submerged in that mighty flow of water and debris.
The next morning, as we would make our daily inspection, we could see that the beavers had already started to rebuild their dams. Within a short time, they would be totally reconstructed. It didn’t matter how many times we destroyed those dams, the beavers never seemed discouraged but steadily kept at their task. Those animals taught me a great lesson about never being discouraged, especially with things I could not control.
I loved that summer. The work was hard and sometimes I was homesick, but I recovered from the effects of that terrible motorcycle wreck. My body became strong once again. In the evening after work I walked those timbered mountains. I sat near those beaver dams with no other human being within miles to disturb my meditation. I had many solitary moments to think about the importance of being steady and constant.