Gospel Story Finder

Elder Alma Sonne lifted his nose and inhaled the smell of the Liverpool dock—a mixture of wet rope, steam from ships, and bustling crowds. He’d spent hours here as the mission secretary, arranging travel from England to America for both Saints and missionaries. Now it was his turn to travel home to his family and his sweetheart.
“The Mauretania,” he announced to the four missionaries who would be traveling with him, gesturing to the ship before them. “She’s over 750 feet long and weighs 30,000 tons—”
“I’m sure she’s a nice ship, but she’s no Titanic.” Elder Chambers sighed.
“The Titanic! The Ship of Dreams! The Wonder Ship! The Millionaire’s Special!” Elder Sayer said, quoting the nicknames for the new luxury liner that had set sail just three days before. The Titanic was 11 stories high and almost three football fields long!
Alma had originally booked tickets for all of the missionaries to sail home on the Titanic. But those plans had changed when Alma had received a telegram from Elder Fred Dahle, one of the missionaries who was supposed to travel with them. The telegram said that he had been delayed and wouldn’t arrive on time to sail on the Titanic. So Alma had canceled everyone’s tickets.
“I know you’re disappointed, but we couldn’t just leave Fred,” Alma told the other elders again. They weren’t too happy to miss the Titanic’s first voyage across the Atlantic.
“Where is Fred, anyway?” Elder Sayer asked.
“Here!” Fred called, coming toward them. He wore a big smile, and Alma grinned back. His friend had changed a lot over the past couple of years. Two years ago Fred hadn’t gone to church much. When he and Alma received mission calls to Great Britain at the same time, Alma had convinced Fred to accept the call to serve. Fred had turned out to be an excellent missionary, and Alma looked forward to spending time with him on the journey home.
The six missionaries all boarded the Mauretania and waved goodbye to the Liverpool Saints as the ship pulled away from the dock.
The journey was uneventful until four days later, when a member of the crew pulled Alma aside.
“Did you hear about the Titanic?”
“No, what about it?” Alma asked.
“She sunk two days ago, on April 15,” the man said quietly. “Hit an iceberg on a cold, moonless night.”
Alma felt like all of the air was sucked out of his lungs.
“And the passengers?”
“Only 705 survivors, according to the latest reports. The ship didn’t have enough lifeboats. More than 1,500 of the passengers and crew were lost.”
More than 1,500 people lost. Alma felt like his head was spinning as he walked to the cabin to share the news with the other elders. They sat in stunned silence.
“That could have been us,” one of the elders finally said.
The other missionaries nodded.
“I’m going to the deck to get some fresh air,” Alma said. Fred came with him. The two friends stared silently into the dark, icy waters of the Atlantic.
What Happened to Alma?
Alma Sonne returned home safely and married his sweetheart, Geneva Ballantyne. He later served as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He never forgot about the lessons he learned from the Titanic.
“You saved my life,” Alma said, thinking of Fred’s telegram. If it hadn’t been for Fred, they all would’ve been on that ship.
“No,” Fred said. “By getting me on this mission, you saved my life.”
Alma put his arm around Fred. Heavenly Father had preserved their lives in more ways than one.

One day my dad and I were trying to lead one of our cows into a trailer so we could take her to a sale. She did not want to cooperate, though, and she ended up jumping the fence. We began to lose all hope of getting her in the trailer as we watched her trot into the center of our neighbor’s cattle herd.
As I walked toward the herd, I said a silent prayer that we would be able to lead her back into our pasture without startling the other cattle. Almost immediately after I said this prayer, our cow separated from the herd and jumped the fence back into our field.
Later that day as we ate dinner, my dad shared this experience with the rest of our family. He explained that he had been praying that everything would go well so our family could make some money from the cow. I smiled and told him that I had done the same thing.
I will never forget his next words. He looked me in the eyes and asked, “Did you thank your Heavenly Father?” I thought about it and realized that I had not. That night I said a prayer of thanks. I thanked Him for answering my prayers, for my family, and for my dad, who is such a great example to me.

A lot of children at school use language that makes me uncomfortable. My mom and I said a prayer to ask for courage and to know the best thing to do. The next day when they started to use that language, I politely said, “Please stop using those words. It makes me feel uncomfortable.” They said, “OK, sorry.” That made me feel happy inside, and I was glad I learned that Heavenly Father will help me when I ask for help.

Truman was among the first group of Saints to enter the Salt Lake Valley in 1847. Two years earlier he had been told in a patriarchal blessing that “thy calling is more particularly to labor in assisting the Saints to build cities and temples than traveling abroad to preach the gospel.” His abilities as an architect were recognized by President Brigham Young, and soon Truman was busy designing homes, schools, churches, a sugar factory, forts, stores, a penitentiary, a theater, a governor’s mansion, and most importantly, temples.

Many beautiful buildings still stand today as proof of Truman Angell’s architectural talent. The Salt Lake and St. George temples, Brigham Young’s Beehive House, the Lion House, and the Eagle Gate are just a few examples of his work.

Truman considered his work a calling rather than a job. Most workers donated a tenth of their time to Church projects, but full-time workers like Truman were paid in tithing scrip, which could be exchanged for groceries, clothing, and other necessities.

Truman studied architectural design and innovations in building. The constant pressure of being the Church’s architect was strain on his health, so Brigham Young called him to serve a mission in Europe. There he was not only to preach to the people, but also to visit the great buildings and study the architectural styles. He had been on his mission for thirteen months when he was called to return to help with the Salt Lake Temple.

Work on the temple did not progress very rapidly at first. There were several delays, such as the time United States President James Buchanan sent federal troops to Utah with a new governor to replace Brigham Young. The Saints, remembering the mob violence of the East, were not going to allow their new homes and lands to be plundered again. They stripped their homes of valuables and filled them with straw to be set afire if and when hostile troops came. Even the foundation of the temple was covered with dirt, making it appear to be only a plowed field. Fortunately, a peaceful settlement was reached before the troops arrived in Salt Lake.

As the building of the temple progressed, Truman sought the advice and counsel of President Young almost every step of the way. There were many details that had to be taken care of, and the work required Truman’s constant supervision. All his efforts were devoted to serving the Lord, despite constant poor health and personal heartaches.

Truman Angell did not live to see the completion of the beautiful Salt Lake Temple. It was dedicated in April 1893, and this year marks the 100th anniversary of that great event. This majestic structure stands as a monument to Brother Angell’s and other Saints’ dedication in building the Lord’s kingdom here on earth.

From this pulpit years ago, President Marion G. Romney recounted reading the Book of Mormon aloud, alternating paragraphs with his young son, he on the bottom level of a double-decker bed and his son on the upper. He thought his son was catching a cold but then learned that the tears came from his son feeling testimony that the book was true. And because they read together, both were blessed. (See Conference Report, Apr. 1949, 41.)

Not long ago a young American woman living in Taiwan felt that her taxi driver was taking her the long way around in order to increase the fare. She was in the process of venting her feelings in unmistakable terms when the young Chinese driver, obviously hurt by the accusation, stopped the cab, turned off the ignition, then turned around and said simply, “I would not do that. I am a Mormon.” Calmed down and totally disarmed by the sincerity of his statement, she then asked what a Mormon was. She obviously found out, as she joined the Church just three weeks later. It all happens so simply when the honest in heart are involved.

Rosalie Lund began playing the violin when she was five. “I always liked playing. I always wanted to be a great violinist,” she says.
So why would she take 18 months off to serve a mission?
It’s a question Sister Lund became familiar with before she left in December 1996 to serve in the Canada Vancouver Mission. She was performing with an orchestra in Salt Lake City, and many nonmember musicians wondered what she was doing.
“Several of them thought I was crazy to go on a mission, especially in the prime time of my life,” Sister Lund recalls. “They were saying, ‘You’re going to do what?’”
“Knock on a lot of doors and tell people about the beliefs of my religion,” was her typical response. When the musicians talked about all the great things she could do musically if she stayed, she was quick to point out all the great things she planned to do as a missionary.
Sure it was the “prime time” of her life. And that’s why she decided to serve a mission.
“I had to do what I felt was right. I have had a very strong feeling that I needed to go on a mission. So here I am,” she says. “I’m learning and teaching about Jesus Christ. He is the source of everything good. If there is any truth or beauty in music, it comes from Jesus Christ. So in a way I guess I am still continuing my music study.”
Sister Lund remembers her last performance before she entered the Missionary Training Center. Everyone was talking about practice schedules and coming events, events she wasn’t going to be a part of. “I wasn’t very sad, actually. I knew I’d be missing out. But in a way I felt like they were missing out,” she says.
There were also the inevitable questions about the potential loss of skill while she is gone, especially since mission rules prevented her from taking her violin.
“I’m sure I’ll get rusty. I’ve had many friends—also violinists—who went on missions, and when they came back they were rusty. I guess if the Lord wants me to play the violin, I’ll be able to get back into it.”

Darkness covered the city of Nauvoo, but there was a restlessness in the air. Here and there, windows were bright with lamp light. Chickens were stirring. Somewhere a dog howled.
Eleven-year-old Mary Ann raised up on her elbow in bed when she heard a horse gallop up to the door of their house.
“Sister Pratt!” called a voice. “Joseph and Hyrum are dead! Murdered by a mob at the Carthage jail!”
Mary Ann gasped. Barely breathing, she strained to listen as her mother went to the door and talked to the messenger in low, anxious tones. Suddenly she felt alone and frightened.
As her feet touched the wooden floor, she heard the door close and lock behind the messenger. All at once she was in her mother’s arms and both of them began to cry.
Mary Ann wished “Father” were there to tell them everything would be all right. Her real father had died suddenly when she was just a baby, but when Mother married Parley P. Pratt, Mary Ann had learned to love him and call him “Father.” Now he was away on a mission.
As the tears wet her nightgown, she remembered once when she saw the Prophet cry. It had happened the year before, when Mary Ann’s family was returning from England. Many converts came with them on the boat, and they were anxious to see Joseph Smith.
“I’ll know him immediately,” one man said. Others agreed that they, too, would be able to pick him out, even in a multitude.
Mary Ann told the converts how noble and grand the Prophet looked on his horse at the head of the Nauvoo Legion. She told them how she had watched him preach to the people in the Kirtland Temple, and to the Indians in the grove at Nauvoo.
Mary Ann still remembered how the steamboat pushed through large, floating blocks of ice on the Mississippi River as it approached the city of Nauvoo. At the landing there was a large group of people waiting to welcome the company of travelers. Right away, Mary Ann noticed the Prophet. He came on the boat, into their cabin, and embraced Parley Pratt. Then he welcomed each family member in turn.
The Prophet was a very big man. Six foot, her father had said. Mary Ann’s head came just above his belt buckle, but he leaned over so he could look into her eyes and shake her hand. Then he sat down and took her little brother on his knees.
“Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned, bringing your sheaves with you.” He hugged little Parley and Nathan, and the tears filled his clear blue eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Mary Ann had discovered that grown folk sometimes cry when they’re filled with joy, so she knew it was just his happiness spilling over.
Mary Ann recalled how Father had teased the Prophet when he saw the tears.
“Brother Smith, if you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we’ll have to go back again.”
After that, everyone laughed, the Prophet most of all. Then he said, “Brother Parley, bring your folks up to my house.” Mary Ann remembered how as they walked up the hill with the Prophet, she had tried to match her step with his.
Mary Ann’s thoughts were interrupted when little Susan began to whimper. Her mother lifted the baby out of the cradle and rocked her. Even through her tears, Mama’s voice was sweet and clear, as if she were still singing with the choir.
Listening to her mother sing, Mary Ann recalled a meeting she had attended in the grove by the temple. The Prophet, noticing that the choir seats were empty, asked all those with hymnbooks, who could sing, to step forward. He beckoned for Mary Ann to come and sit in front of the stand. His eyes were twinkling when he said, “You can sing, can’t you?”
Just thinking about it brought fresh tears to her eyes. The children in Nauvoo would surely miss the Prophet!
“Do you think he knew it was coming, Mama?”
“Everyone was concerned for his safety. His life was constantly threatened.”
“I think he knew,” Mary Ann insisted. “Do you remember three weeks ago in the grove on Mulholland Street when the Prophet asked all the children to meet the next Sabbath for a Sunday School? Then he said, ‘I don’t know if I can be here. I will if I can, but Brother Stephen Goddard will be here to take charge.’ Don’t you think he knew, Mama?”
Mary Ann’s mother held her close, next to little Susan, who was sleeping peacefully on her mother’s lap. They both knew it was a question to which there was no answer. Together they watched the sun brighten the sky and smelled the perfume of roses and sweetbriar, brought in on the early morning breeze.
After a time, her mother said, “There’s one thing I do know. We’ve been blessed to have known that great good man. You weren’t much older than Susan when he first shook your hand. And once, on an excursion boat, when you were resting in your father’s arms, as Susan is doing in mine, the Prophet took your feet and placed them on his knees so you would rest more comfortably.”
“I remember that, Mama.”
“Someday you can tell Susan all about it.”
“Oh, yes, I will!”
Mary Ann slid to the floor and knelt at her mother’s knees so she could look into the sleepy-eyed face of her little sister.
“I’ll tell her how I knew Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God the first time I saw him—and how I still know it! And some day, in heaven, Susan and I will be able to see the Prophet together.”

Blessings come from holding true to our principles. When I was the president of the Cottonwood stake, one of our stake patriarchs was Dr. Creed Haymond. He would occasionally bear strong testimony of the Word of Wisdom. As a young man he was the captain of the University of Pennsylvania track team. In 1919 Brother Haymond and his team were invited to participate in the annual Inter-Collegiate Association track meet. The night before the track meet his coach, Lawson Robertson, who coached several Olympic teams, instructed his team members to drink some sherry wine. In those days, coaches wrongly felt that wine was a tonic for muscles hardened through rigorous training. All the other team members took the sherry, but Brother Haymond refused because his parents had taught him the Word of Wisdom. Brother Haymond became very anxious because he did not like to be disobedient to his coach. He was to compete against the fastest men in the world. What if he made a poor showing the next day? How could he face his coach?

The next day at the track meet the rest of the team members were very ill and performed poorly or were even too sick to run. Brother Haymond, however, felt well and won the 100- and 220-yard dashes. His coach told him, “You just ran the two hundred and twenty yards in the fastest time it has ever been run by any human being.” That night and for the rest of his life, Creed Haymond was grateful for his simple faith in keeping the Word of Wisdom.

“Seminary makes me a morning person.” At least that’s what Patrick Hildoer of the Acworth Ward in Atlanta, Georgia, says. And for him, it’s just one of the real pluses about regularly attending early-morning seminary. “There is something about seminary that energizes me.”
He’s not the only one in his class who feels that way. Kittye Bowen says, “If you start the day off uplifted, it’s going to be hard to bring you back down the rest of the day at school.”
Amy Caldwell of the Mars Hill Ward really noticed a difference when she had to give up seminary for several weeks. “I had a basketball practice every morning. I missed four days of seminary each week. It was horrible. When I went to seminary, I could feel the Spirit so much more throughout the day.”
“I had a friend tell me once,” said Kerilyn Graham of the Acworth Ward, “ ‘Oh, that’s why you get such good grades. You start your day with the Lord.’ That’s true. We start our day with the right attitude and the right perspective.”
Getting a good start to the day is just one reason to go to seminary. Most of the students in the Cartersville Georgia Stake seminary classes talk about what a boost it gives to their testimonies.
Brian Collier of Mars Hill Ward said, “When I have missionary experiences at school, I can always remember what I learned in seminary and the good lessons I’ve been taught. It makes talking to people about the Church a little easier.”
Brian goes on, “My favorite lesson was when we got a chance to bear our testimonies of the Prophet Joseph Smith. The whole year, my testimony has become stronger. I just felt a peace that I had knowledge of the truthfulness of the gospel. I don’t remember everything that I said, but I do know that I know.”
For Tyler Weeks, also of the Mars Hill Ward, learning of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon made for a memorable seminary year. “I’d read the Book of Mormon before, but reading it again, knowing how it is from God, gave me a new perspective.”
Each year seminary provides the chance to study a new set of scriptures. And each year it gives students a chance to build on their previous knowledge. Memorizing scripture mastery verses each year gives them a pool of great scriptures to remember and apply to situations that come up in their lives. The goal to attend all four years is a worthy one.
When Rachel Chase started seminary, she had her older sister, Jessica, to take her and get her up on time. Rachel tried persuading her sister to be a little late and get five minutes’ more sleep. “But she told me,” said Rachel, “that it’s so important to be there on time, to be there for the whole thing. When she graduated, I had my third year by myself until my little brother was old enough to go. I found out you need every year to build up your testimony.”
Shelby Hailstone has a little sister who will be starting seminary soon. “She says she’s glad she doesn’t have to go to seminary because it’s so early. I call her every morning after class and talk to her about the lesson. She thinks it’s the neatest thing. Although she’s not looking forward to waking up, but she loves the lessons. That’s what she can’t wait for—the Spirit of the Lord she knows she is going to feel every day.”
One day on the school bus, Rachel Chase and Lauren Smith, both in the Acworth Ward seminary, were talking about what a good seminary lesson they had that day. Curtis Clinch repeated something his pastor had told him about the Latter-day Saints being one of the fastest growing religions.
Rachel agreed and said, “It kind of makes you think, doesn’t it, Curtis?”
He answered, “Yeah, it kind of does.”
Rachel asked, “Do you want to come to seminary with us?” Instead of Curtis answering, Heidi Hetzer, another friend who had been listening to their conversation, surprised them by saying, “Oh, I do.” Rachel arranged to pick up both Curtis and Heidi, and they have been going ever since—especially after their baptisms a couple of months later.
Heidi said, “I’ve known Rachel and her brother, Stephen, since they moved to Georgia. I’ve seen how close their family is. And I’ve known other members. They all seem happier than the rest of us. I’ve been interested in the Church for a while, but I didn’t have the opportunity to learn more. So when Rachel was talking to Curtis and invited him to seminary, I just said I wanted to come. After that first day in seminary, I went to school with a newfound happiness. Since then, it’s been lasting.”
In fact, on her baptism day, Rachel’s dad noticed her happy attitude. And her friends asked if she was wearing different makeup or something because she had a glow about her.
Heidi said, “Rachel invited me over to talk to the missionaries, and I went to a fireside that same night. I dove right into the Church.”
Curtis had a similar experience, although he thought Rachel was kidding when she invited him to seminary. “She asked me again and came and picked me up. I really liked it. The lessons are powerful and very detailed. Everyone is really welcoming. I didn’t mind waking up early.”
Curtis’s mother didn’t think he would keep it up. When he continued to get up by himself, she came and checked out seminary. “She said it was good and supported me.”
Other class members have invited friends. Mostly they want to see what their friends do every morning so early instead of getting an extra hour of sleep. The seminary students report that their friends really enjoy visiting class.
Most seminary students have a favorite lesson that somehow connected with them and affected the decisions they are making in their lives.
Kelly Cadogan remembers how impressed she was by the great sacrifices made by the pioneers. Stephen Chase remembers the folk dancers from BYU–Idaho coming to their class and reading scriptures about happiness. Tyler Graham remembers the lesson on the Word of Wisdom. Chris Erni can remember the lesson on Joseph Smith and the Spirit that testified of the Prophet. Riley McRae remembers the lesson about showing compassion for others and going out of your way to be kind.
Frank Wheat’s favorite lesson was more personal. He said, “Our teacher asked about our full names and what each of our names came from and what they stood for. I was named after both my grandfathers. Even though one died before I was born and the other died shortly after my birth, it made me think about how I live my life. Maybe they are looking down on me and asking, ‘What are you doing with my name?’ I’m trying to live a good life because of that.”
So why become a morning person? For teens in Georgia, seminary is worth getting up for each morning, and the payoff for their time and energy is a big one—a testimony of their own. As Kitty Bowen said, “After four years of waking up every morning and studying the scriptures and growing to know that the gospel is true for yourself, it’s like that one final leap of developing your own testimony before you have to go off to college. It’s like a prep class for the real world.”

I spent my next summer at home and learned, from a friend, that O Kin Yan Cante was working on a beautiful bedspread, a very complicated piece of work that she had started after returning from Salt Lake. My friend assumed that it was a gift for me, but I had never seen it and O Kin Yan Cante had never mentioned it.
One night I couldn’t sleep and arose to find her laboring in the dim light over a magnificent crocheted bedspread—red and pink roses set in white squares and surrounded with small green leaves.
“Oh, mother!” I exclaimed. “Is it for me?”
“No.”
I knew I shouldn’t pry anymore.
As I was getting ready to go back to school, O Kin Yan Cante lovingly and gently tucked the spread into a box. “Will you please give this to the people in Salt Lake who let me stay at their home?” she asked. “It is my gift of pewhal (thanks).”
I burst into tears. “They were cruel to you. They were snobs. They deserve nothing,” I sobbed.
Quietly, my gentle mother said, “I am a member of the Church. It teaches us a better way. We are to forgive; and how often do we really have a chance to return good for unkindness? I have done that which my Savior and those in the kingdom would have me do. Do not harbor ill-will; pray for them and help them.”
I turned away, the tears running, silently now, down my face. My mother had not only forgiven them but forgiven me for being ashamed of her. But how could I forgive myself?
But that too was the gift of my mother’s gentle heart. She had given me both a Lamanite and a white name. And my Lamanite name, “Twanica,” means “willing to try.”

Illustration by Roger Motzkus
I smiled and waved goodbye as the group of youth left the Independence Visitors’ Center in Missouri, USA. Henry, the young man who had given me a referral card, smiled back as he went through the revolving doors with his friends. The referral card said: “Jessica, my older sister, hasn’t been coming to church.” I imagined that Jessica was my age since Henry reminded me of one of my teenage brothers.
Whoa. I felt connected to them and wanted to help. Referrals are always important to missionaries, but this felt especially important to me.
The next couple of days, I prayed for Jessica and Henry while my companion and I went out, taught investigators, and gave lessons at the visitors’ center. When Henry got home from youth conference, I was finally able to call him. Henry was sad that Jessica had not been going to church and had made wrong decisions. Henry had given me the referral card because he wanted his sister to feel the Spirit like he had at the visitors’ center.
Henry handed the phone to his mom. Her voice sparkled as she talked about Jessica’s hobbies, her new job, her close relationship with Henry, and her respect for others. But her mom’s voice dropped as she told me that Jessica’s questions and frustrations about the Church led her to quit listening to gospel discussions.
Once I hung up the phone, I felt overwhelmed by emotion. I was deeply touched by how much Henry and his mom loved Jessica. I felt sympathy for Jessica as I imagined her struggling with difficult questions. As I thought of the good things Jessica’s family had told me about her, I felt love for her.
If her family and I felt this much love for Jessica, then how does Jesus Christ feel about her? I teared up as I contemplated Jesus Christ’s everlasting love for each of us. He loves each of us more than we can comprehend. He loves us with a full understanding of our weaknesses, our strengths, our struggles, and our desires. More than anything else, He wants us to follow Him so we will be happy.
I dialed the number. The phone rang, and I was nervous. I had contacted referrals before, but I wanted this one to go especially well.
“Hello?”
My heart jumped into my throat. “Hi Jessica. This is Sister Moulton from the Independence Visitors’ Center.”
Jessica was polite but quick to end the conversation. “I’m sorry. The Church just isn’t my thing. I love my family, but I am not ready to do anything with the Church.”
And then she hung up.
I set the phone down and sat unmoving. I was stunned. I had imagined asking her questions about herself and sharing my testimony. I wanted her to feel the Spirit and accept an invitation to do something, anything, to feel the love Christ has for her. Now I didn’t know what to do.
I had felt so strongly about calling her. Why hadn’t the phone call gone differently? Had I failed? Why hadn’t anything changed?
I called Henry and his mom and told them what happened. I felt bad that I didn’t have much to report, but they were grateful I had tried. Henry was even hopeful that Jessica would eventually come back.
Over the next few days, I thought about the phone call and my questions. Then it came to me. I hadn’t failed. I had tried. And something had changed! I understood better the love that Jesus Christ has for each of us. He loves us so much that He performed the Atonement for everyone, whether we accept it or not. And that love is always there.
I thought about the love I felt instead of my disappointment, and then I didn’t feel discouraged. I felt a new desire that others learn the gospel so that they could feel the love that Christ has for them. I can’t make others accept Christ’s love or the gospel, but I can give them an opportunity. I can reach out even though the results may not be like I expect.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

From time to time I meet members of the Church who do not feel able to take responsibility as an officer or a teacher in the Church. I tell them of my experience in England. Literally within days of baptism, I was called to head the youth program in the Nottingham Branch. This was completely new to me, and I felt inadeqate, but I knew the Lord had need of me. There were less than 7,000 members in the whole of the British Isles where there are now 40 stakes. We all had to be “anxiously engaged” in the work of saving souls, building the kingdom, and establishing Zion. So it is with all of us. It is futile to fear responsibility when we have been called to serve “by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority” (A of F 1:5).

My mother is from Burma, but because of political unrest, she fled to India with her parents and three sisters. They left everything behind. Unfortunately, after they arrived in India, Mom’s parents passed away. Being the oldest, Mom had to take care of her three siblings.
The children ended up in an orphanage. When my mom turned 18, she decided to go to New Delhi in search of better opportunities for herself and her sisters. There, she was introduced to Ashima Chaudhuri, the principal of a college that helps young women. Ashima took my mom under her wing and became my mom’s mentor. After my mom graduated from college, she became Ashima’s assistant. They became very close.
Ashima had 10 siblings, the youngest of whom, Reza, no one talked about. He was considered a black sheep. Reza had joined the restored Church after meeting the full-time missionaries while attending college in England. At the time, he was a Muslim scholar, so when he left Islam to join the Church, it was a big deal.
While Reza was living in Toronto, Canada, he dreamed that he needed to return to India and contact his sister Ashima. Before his trip, he also dreamed about a woman he had never met. Because he kept seeing her face in his dreams, he felt an added urgency to return to India.
Reza was worried, however, because his family had shunned him. But when he reached out to Ashima in New Delhi, she said, “I miss you. You should come.”
My mom wasn’t in New Delhi at the time, so Ashima called one of my aunts, Assiya. “Can you come over?” she asked. “It will be better if other people are here so that we don’t fight.”
So, my Aunt Assiya went. When she arrived, Reza immediately recognized her as the woman in his dreams. They quickly fell in love and got married. When they moved to Toronto, my Aunt Assiya started asking Reza about the Church, why he had left India, and why he was willing to be shunned by his family.
Reza answered her questions and shared his testimony of the restored gospel. My aunt soon joined the Church.

The noise was so loud it woke Christina Foster up—a roaring like a midnight train rumbling through the town. She cowered in her sleeping bag, afraid that the window near her would shatter from the violent vibration.
Christina, 16, of the Monck’s Corner Ward, Charleston South Carolina Stake, was living through the nightmare of Hurricane Hugo. Her family was camping out in the stake center, along with other ward members warned by civil authorities to evacuate their homes.
After a few minutes, Christina got up and joined her parents and sisters as they tried to see what was happening outside. It was the darkest, blackest night she could remember.
“All we could hear were things moving around, and the snap, snap, snap of trees falling,” said Christina. “I was more scared than I should have been. But everyone at the church was calm, so I felt safe.”

A double eagle would be a golfer’s fantasy, but it was the Koford family’s dream come true, as brothers, Adam and Timothy, received Scouting’s Eagle Award on the same night.
Adam, 17, for his Eagle project supervised the construction of 30 picnic tables to be used in the local park system. Timothy, 16, who plays the tuba in his high school’s marching band, supervised Scouts as they dug trenches and laid sprinkler pipe for a cemetery.
Both are members of the Victoria Ward, Riverside California Stake.

In 1897, Elders David O. McKay and Peter G. Johnson were laboring in the town of Stirling, Scotland. They were discouraged because the people were not listening to their message. As they walked along, Elder McKay noticed an inscription above the door of a new building. “Whate’er thou art, act well thy part.” This so impressed these two young men, they decided right then to do their best.
Many years later the building was demolished, but because it had meant so much to President David O. McKay, the stone with the inscription was placed on the grounds of the mission home in Edinburgh. It is affectionately referred to as the “David O. McKay Stone.”

As a boy of fifteen I was called to preside over a quorum of teachers. Our adviser was interested in us, and we knew it. One day he said to me, “Tom, you enjoy raising pigeons, don’t you?”
I responded with a warm “Yes.”
Then he proposed, “How would you like me to give you a pair of purebred Birmingham Roller pigeons?”
This time I answered, “Yes, sir!” You see, the pigeons I had were just the common variety trapped on the roof of the Grant Elementary School.
He invited me to come to his home the next evening. The next day was one of the longest in my young life. I was awaiting my adviser’s return from work an hour before he arrived. He took me to his loft, which was in a small barn at the rear of his yard. As I looked at the most beautiful pigeons I had yet seen, he said, “Select any male, and I will give you a female which is different from any other pigeon in the world.” I made my selection. He then placed in my hand a tiny hen. I asked what made her so different. He responded, “Look carefully, and you’ll notice that she has but one eye.” Sure enough, one eye was missing, a cat having done the damage. “Take them home to your loft,” he counseled. “Keep them in for about ten days and then turn them out to see if they will remain at your place.”
I followed his instructions. Upon releasing them, the male pigeon strutted about the roof of the loft, then returned inside to eat. But the one-eyed female was gone in an instant. I called Harold, my adviser, and asked: “Did that one-eyed pigeon return to your loft?”
“Come on over,” said he, “and we’ll have a look.”
As we walked from his kitchen door to the loft, my adviser commented, “Tom, you are the president of the teachers quorum.” This I already knew. Then he added, “What are you going to do to activate Bob?”
I answered, “I’ll have him at quorum meeting this week.”
Then he reached up to a special nest and handed to me the one-eyed pigeon. “Keep her in a few days and try again.” This I did, and once more she disappeared. Again the experience, “Come on over and we’ll see if she returned here.” Came the comment as we walked to the loft, “Congratulations on getting Bob to priesthood meeting. Now what are you and Bob going to do to activate Bill?”
“We’ll have him there this week,” I volunteered.
This experience was repeated over and over again. I was a grown man before I fully realized that, indeed, Harold, my adviser, had given me a special pigeon; the only bird in his loft he knew would return every time she was released. It was his inspired way of having an ideal personal priesthood interview with the teachers quorum president every two weeks. I owe a lot to that one-eyed pigeon. I owe more to that quorum adviser. He had the patience to help me prepare for opportunities which lay ahead.

A couple of years ago, it was announced that a seventeen kilometer “marathon” would be held between the nearby cities of Jaltocan and Huejutla, Mexico. A month before the race, my seventy-two-year-old husband, Leon*, surprised me by saying, “I’m going to test myself by running a few kilometers, and if I do all right I’m going to enter the race.”
So early one morning he challenged himself to run a set distance. He returned successful. The route he had taken was downhill, and it was easy. However, I reminded him that the marathon route was mostly uphill. But, encouraged by the family, my husband decided he would run. Our sons even bought him a pair of good running shoes, and one of them also entered the marathon.
The day of the race arrived, November 26. With the exception of my husband and our thirty-eight-year-old son, all the marathon participants were in their early twenties. From the start, my husband set a steady running pace for himself. My daughter-in-law and I followed in a car to give water to our husbands every two or three kilometers. When my husband had completed ten kilometers, I told him, “Old man, stop and rest for a while like the others are doing.” He answered, “No, I’m not going to stop because if I do I’ll not make it to the finish line.” And he continued at his same steady pace.
There were many spectators along the route, and they were surprised when they saw a seventy-two-year-old man running by. When my husband had completed fifteen kilometers, I offered a silent prayer, asking the Lord to give Leon strength to finish the race. One of my grandsons cheered him on saying, “You’re doing great grandpa. You have only two kilometers to go.” His children and grandchildren and all the people were cheering for him.
Of the thirty-two runners who started the marathon, only six had the stamina to complete it, including Leon and our son. The young man who took first place made it in one hour and fifteen minutes. My husband was the last one to cross the finish line, and our son was the next-to-last.
When Leon arrived at the end of the route, children applauded and cheered: “Grandpa, grandpa, rah! rah! rah!” The mayor of the city embraced him, fireworks and rockets were set off, and a band played. It was announced that a great sportsman, seventy-two years old, had completed the marathon in two hours and fifteen minutes. Our children and I cried for joy. Leon kept only half of the prize money he received and donated the other half to public charities. His generosity, and his determination to participate to the end in the marathon, was a great example to his children.

The neighborhood in which I grew up was a microcosm of the world, with many varieties of people. They were a close-knit group, and I think we knew them all. I think also we loved them all—that is, except for one man. I must make a confession: I detested that man. I have since repented of that emotion, but as I look back, I can sense again the intensity of my feeling. Why this strong antipathy? Because he whipped his children with strap or stick or whatever came to hand as his vicious anger flared on the slightest provocation.
Perhaps it was because of the home in which I lived, where there was a father who, by some quiet magic, was able to discipline his children without the use of any instrument of punishment, though on occasion they may have deserved it.
I have since discovered that the man I disliked was one of that very substantial body of parents who seem incapable of anything but harshness toward those for whose coming into the world they are responsible. I have also come to realize that this man, who walks in the memories of my childhood, is but an example of uncounted thousands across the world who are known as child abusers. Every social worker, every duty officer in the emergency room of a large hospital, every police officer and judge in a large city can tell you of them. The whole tragic picture is one of beating, kicking, slamming, and even of sexual assault on small children. And akin to these violent child abusers are those vicious men and women who exploit children for pornographic purposes.
I have no disposition to dwell on this ugly picture. I wish to say only that no one who is a professed follower of Christ and no one who is a professed member of this Church can engage in such practices without offending God and repudiating the teachings of His Son. It was Jesus Himself who, while holding before us the example of the purity and innocence of children, declared, “Whoso shall offend one of these little ones … , it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea” (Matthew 18:6). Could there be a stronger denunciation of those who abuse children than these words spoken by the Savior of mankind?
Do you want a spirit of love to grow in the world? Then begin within the walls of your own home. Behold your little ones, and see within them the wonders of God, from whose presence they have recently come.
President Brigham Young (1801–77) once said: “A child loves the smiles of its mother, but hates her frowns. I tell the mothers not to allow the children to indulge in evils, but at the same time to treat them with mildness.”
He further stated, “Bring up your children in the love and fear of the Lord; study their dispositions and their temperaments, and deal with them accordingly, never allowing yourself to correct them in the heat of passion; teach them to love you rather than to fear you.”
Of course, there is need for discipline with families. But discipline with severity, discipline with cruelty, inevitably leads not to correction but rather to resentment and bitterness. It cures nothing and only aggravates the problem. It is self-defeating. The Lord, in setting forth the spirit of governance in His Church, has also set forth the spirit of governance in the home in these great words of revelation:
“No power or influence can or ought to be maintained … , only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned; …
“Reproving betimes with sharpness, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved, lest he esteem thee to be his enemy;
“That he may know that thy faithfulness is stronger than the cords of death” (D&C 121:41, 43–44).
Behold your little ones, and teach them. I need not remind you that your example will do more than anything else in impressing upon their minds a pattern of life. It is always interesting to meet the children of old friends and to find in another generation the ways of their fathers and mothers.
The story is told that in ancient Rome a group of women were, with vanity, showing their jewels one to another. Among them was Cornelia, the mother of two boys. One of the women said to her, “And where are your jewels?” To which Cornelia responded, pointing to her sons, “These are my jewels.” Under her tutelage and walking after the virtues of her life, they grew to become Gaius and Tiberius Gracchus—the Gracchi, as they were called—two of the most persuasive and effective reformers in Roman history. For as long as they are remembered and spoken of, the mother who reared them after the manner of her own life will be remembered and spoken of with praise also.
May I return again to the words of Brigham Young: “Let it be your constant care that the children that God has so kindly given you are taught in their early youth the importance of the oracles of God, and the beauty of the principles of our holy religion, that when they grow to the years of man and womanhood they may always cherish a tender regard for them and never forsake the truth.”
I recognize that there are parents who, notwithstanding an outpouring of love and a diligent and faithful effort to teach them, see their children grow in a contrary manner and weep while their wayward sons and daughters willfully pursue courses of tragic consequence. For such I have great sympathy, and to them I am wont to quote the words of Ezekiel: “The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son” (Ezekiel 18:20).
But such is the exception rather than the rule. Nor does the exception justify others of us from making every effort in showing forth love, example, and correct precept in the rearing of those for whom God has given us sacred responsibility.
Nor let us ever forget the need to respect these, our little ones. Under the revealed word of the Lord, we know they are children of God as we are children of God, deserving of that respect which comes of knowledge of that eternal principle. In fact, the Lord made it clear that unless we develop in our own lives that purity, that lack of guile, that innocence of evil, we cannot enter into His presence. Declared He, “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3).
Channing Pollock once wrote these interesting and provocative words: “Contemplating the adolescence through which we scorned the wrong, some of us must wish … that we could be born old, and grow younger and cleaner and ever simpler and more innocent, until at last, with the white souls of little children, we lay us down to eternal sleep.”
Behold your little ones. Pray with them. Pray for them and bless them. The world into which they are moving is a complex and difficult world. They will run into heavy seas of adversity. They will need all the strength and all the faith you can give them while they are yet near you. And they will also need a greater strength which comes of a higher power. They must do more than go along with what they find. They must lift the world, and the only levers they will have are the example of their own lives and the powers of persuasion that will come of their testimonies and their knowledge of the things of God. They will need the help of the Lord. While they are young, pray with them that they may come to know that source of strength which shall then always be available in every hour of need.
I love to hear children pray. I appreciate hearing parents pray for their children. I stand reverently before a father who, in the authority of the holy priesthood, lays his hands upon the head of a son or daughter at a time of serious decision and in the name of the Lord and under the direction of the Holy Spirit gives a father’s blessing.
How much more beautiful would be the world and the society in which we live if every father looked upon his children as the most precious of his assets, if he led them by the power of his example in kindness and love, and if in times of stress he blessed them by the authority of the holy priesthood; and if every mother regarded her children as the jewels of her life, as gifts from the God of heaven, who is their Eternal Father, and brought them up with true affection in the wisdom and admonition of the Lord.
Said Isaiah of old, “All thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children” (Isaiah 54:13). To which I add, “Great also shall be the peace and the gladness of their fathers and mothers.”