Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago, President Uchtdorf told a story of a large passenger jet with 257 people on board that left my homeland of New Zealand for a sightseeing flight over the Antarctica. Unknown to the pilots, someone had modified the flight coordinates by a mere two degrees. This error placed the aircraft 28 miles to the east of where the pilots assumed they were.

As they approached Antarctica, the pilots descended to a lower altitude to give the passengers a better look at the landscape. Although both were experienced pilots, neither had made this particular flight before, and they had no way of knowing that the incorrect coordinates had placed them directly in the path of Mount Erebus, an active volcano that rises from the frozen landscape to a height of more than 12,000 feet. As the pilots flew onward, the white snow and ice covering the volcano blended with the white clouds above, making it appear as though they were flying over flat ground. By the time the instruments sounded the warning that the ground was rising fast toward them, it was too late. The airplane crashed into the side of the volcano, killing everyone on board. It was a terrible tragedy brought on by a minor error-a matter of only a few degrees.

President Uchtdorf went onto explain how he taught this principle to young pilots by posing this question, “if you were to take off from an airport on the equator, intending to circumnavigate the globe, but your course was off by just one degree. By the time you returned to the same longitude, how far off course would you be? A few miles? A hundred miles? The answer is an error of only one degree would put you almost 500 miles off course.

President Uchtdorf concludes this analogy by stating, “Small errors and minor drifts away from the doctrine of the gospel of Jesus Christ can bring sorrowful consequences into our lives. It is therefore of critical importance that we become self-disciplined enough to make early and decisive corrections to get back on the right track and not wait or hope that errors will somehow correct themselves.”

Now here’s the key point President Uchtdorf makes that I would like you to try and remember, “The longer we delay corrective action, the larger the needed changes become, and the longer it takes to get back on the correct course-even to the point where disaster might be looming,”(Dieter F. Uchtdorf, A Matter Of A Few Degrees, April 2008 General Conference).

Another teacher, a fourteen-year-old Tongan boy, had the same faith the Prophet Joseph Smith did at fourteen. He thought, “If, at my age, Joseph Smith could pray to God and get an answer to his prayers, why can’t I?” He prayed that he might somehow obtain an education to prepare him to help his people. The answer came when he received a full scholarship to the Church College of Hawaii without having applied for it. Since then he has used his education to bless his people.

I began to see changes occurring in my students as they demonstrated a belief in themselves, completing Elder Bednar’s first step, offering yourself. Their regular attendance created a support system among each other which demonstrated their love for each other. I witnessed the third step, loyalty, from sister Isabel Morel who came every week to support her niece and a friend. Although sister Morel had never played piano during our class, I somehow felt that she knew how to play.
The following week, Sister Morel explained that she knew how to play the piano and she felt prompted to offer her assistance and would be interested in assisting with the class if I needed her. She was another answer to my prayers. Her willingness to act, by offering to share her talent, selflessly serve and love her niece and her friend, were all steps taken towards being more fully converted to our Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ.

I learned a lot about my identity as a child of God while I was on my mission. But after I came home, I realized I still had a lot to learn about the importance of remembering that other people are also children of God.
Soon after I returned home, I was thrown into a difficult calling and put in charge of an important event. I was overwhelmed, and I couldn’t get ahold of the people who were supposed to be helping me. I sent an email that was, truthfully, pretty strongly worded.
I was right that the calling was important and that I needed more support, but I quickly realized that maybe this wasn’t the best way to motivate people. I needed humility; I needed to remember that other people probably had their own things they were stressed about.
As Elder Steven E. Snow taught when he was a member of the Seventy, “If we humble ourselves, our prayers are answered; we enjoy peace of mind; we serve more effectively in our callings; and, if we continue to be faithful, we will ultimately return to the presence of our Heavenly Father.”
Truly, I have felt more joy in my calling and in my life as I’ve learned to be more humble.

Many years ago I was taught a lesson by a man I admired very much. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. He was steady and serene, with a deep spiritual strength that many drew upon.
He knew just how to minister to others who were suffering. On a number of occasions I was present when he gave blessings to those who were sick or otherwise afflicted.
His life had been a life of service, both in the Church and in the community.
He had presided over one of the missions of the Church and looked forward to the annual missionary reunion. When he was older he was not able to drive at night, and I offered to take him to the reunions.
This modest gesture was repaid a thousandfold.
On one occasion when we were alone and the spirit was right, he gave me a lesson for my life from an experience in his. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things I would not have supposed.
He grew up in a little community. Somehow in his youth he had a desire to make something of himself and struggled successfully to get an education.
He married a lovely young woman, and presently everything in his life was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was to be born there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick. They were not able to find him. After many hours of labor the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate.
Finally the doctor arrived. He sensed the emergency, acted quickly, and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.
Some days later the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at the other home that night.
My friend’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife, his sweetheart. He had no way to take care of a tiny baby and at once tend to his work.
As the weeks wore on his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife; if he had been careful she would be alive today.” He thought of little else, and in his bitterness he became threatening.
Then one night a knock came at his door. A little youngster said, simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. A grieving, heartbroken young man went to see his spiritual leader. This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.
The counsel from this wise servant was simply: “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”
My friend told me then that this had been his trial, his Gethsemane.
How could he leave it alone? Right was right! A terrible wrong had been committed, and somebody must pay for it.
He struggled in agony to get hold of himself. It did not happen at once. Finally he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.
Obedience is a powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.
He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.
Then he told me, “I was an old man before I finally understood. It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—over-worked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little proper medicine, no hospital, few instruments. He struggled to save lives, and succeeded for the most part.
“He had come in a moment of crisis when two lives hung in the balance and had acted without delay.
“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before finally I understood. I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

In November 1998, a lady named Miss Sugimoto came to our school to teach us about Japan. She told us that they have tea ceremonies in Japan and that we were going to have one, too. I know that I’m not supposed to drink tea, and I started to feel scared inside. I said a prayer to Heavenly Father and asked for help. I then remembered a story that I had read in the Friend magazine about a girl who had to make the same decision I had to make. When the day came for the tea ceremony and they put the cup in front of me, I explained that I didn’t want to taste it.
After I had made my decision not to drink the tea, a friend tried to make me change my mind. She said that if I didn’t drink it, she wouldn’t be my friend anymore. Even though she said that, I didn’t drink it. I know that I made the right decision and that Heavenly Father knows it, too.

It is a humbling experience to receive these young men and women home and to release them from their missions. It’s a bittersweet experience for most as they are both happy to be home with loved ones but have also left their hearts with people and places who have strengthened their love and devotion for the Lord. A few months ago, I released a missionary coming home from his mission. The hour of his arrival was late in the evening, and he had traveled all day. We opened with a prayer and had a brief conversation about his mission and areas where he served. I then asked him to share his feelings about his mission, what it meant to him, how it had changed him, and to bear his testimony. He looked at me and then looked down at the ground. I could see the tears begin to fill his eyes and then roll down his cheeks. He began to cry, softly at first, and then continuing with large uncontrollable sobs. I came around my desk and put my arms around his broad shoulders. When he finally regained his composure, I sat back down, and when our eyes met, I simply said, “Elder, you have had a wonderful mission!” He said, “Yes, President. I have been so blessed. I can’t even begin to describe the love that is in my heart for my Heavenly Father and my Savior and for the blessing that I have had to serve them.” He had experienced a “mighty change of heart” and had been truly converted to the gospel.

I grew up as a little boy wanting to be an athlete. That was all I could think about. I ate, drank, and slept it. I had a wonderful father who was a businessman. He was in the grocery business. By the time I was a teenager, he had developed a little chain of grocery stores, and he was training his boys to have employment, to have a skill to offer to the world. My older brother didn’t want it. He wanted to be a teacher. My younger brother wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to be an athlete. I had a father who was wise enough not to pressure or force each boy into a given slot. He said, “I have developed these stores so that you would always have a skill. If you don’t want it, I will sell all the stores.” And he did, that quick. Each boy went on to pursue his own profession, but we have been trained in something we can fall back on.

What a wonderful parent to think of the unique needs of his sons rather than merely fulfilling his desire! Ponder these things; seek the counsel of your parents, wise bishops, leaders, and friends in whom you have trust.

When Eli Herring was little, he would sometimes try to be sneaky and watch Sunday professional football on television. He didn’t know much about the game, but he knew he liked it. He liked it so much that each week when his class at school would go to the library, he would check out books about football players. He knew they were big and strong, he knew he wanted to be one, and he knew that they played most of their games on Sunday. And he wanted to watch some football.
One Sunday when he had the television on, he suddenly noticed his father looming in the doorway. Eli promptly forgot about the game. His father wasn’t angry, but he sure looked disappointed. Brother Herring simply said, “Turn it off,” and Eli did. He never watched football on Sunday again.
It didn’t take Eli and his brothers and sisters long to find out how their parents felt about the gospel. The family often gathered and read their scriptures and talked about the things of the Lord. Like many Latter-day Saints, the Herrings taught their children about eternal life and eternal families. They taught their children how to fast and pray and how to seek guidance from the Lord.
Other than watching games on Sunday, Eli found no conflict between football and the gospel. He played little league with his friends, and he often thought about playing college and professional football. He was always big for his age, and his father was a big man, so he assumed he would be able to play if he wanted to.
Then one Sunday when he was 16, he and his family were talking about football. Springville (Utah) High School had just won the state championship, and between his sophomore and junior years Eli had really begun to grow, gaining 80 pounds. Playing in college—and maybe after—was beginning to look like a real possibility.
As the family was talking about this exciting possibility, his mother commented, “You know, Eli, if you play professional football, you will have to play on the Sabbath.” Suddenly Eli knew that one day he might have to decide between keeping the Sabbath as his father had taught him and playing football.
Several universities recruited him to play for them when he finished his senior season. At this point, playing football first began to clash with doing what he knew he should. When he told recruiters he intended to go on a mission, two of the schools, Washington and Stanford, lost interest. But that didn’t deter him. More than once as he was growing up, his father had taken out his mission slides, and the family had watched as he told about his mission. Eli had always known that he, too, wanted to go on a mission, and he never questioned that decision.
Eli finally chose to attend BYU, and he played there his freshman year before leaving on a mission to Argentina. He came back two years later, stronger, faster, more coordinated, and even more ready to play football. He played his sophomore and junior seasons. He got married and took classes at the university. But always at the back of his mind, he knew that someday he might have to choose between playing football and keeping the Sabbath day holy.
Then, the summer before his senior season, the time suddenly came for Eli to make a decision. That summer USA Today published an article that ranked the top professional prospects among college football players. To his surprise, Eli found his name on the list. It dawned on him how much money he could be making playing football the next year, and he knew he had to make a decision.
It was not an easy one. Eli knew that something he had often dreamed of since elementary school was within reach. He considered all the things that he could do with the money he would make as a professional football player: he could put his children through school and pay for their missions; he could have a retirement fund; he could go on as many missions with his wife as he wanted; he could teach and coach and not have any financial worries. He would be set.
On the other hand, experiences he had had in his life told him things weren’t that simple. When he had arrived on his mission, one U.S. dollar was worth 15 Argentine australs. By the time he left, a dollar was worth about 10,000 australs. In less than two years, people who had been rich in Argentina were not rich anymore. From this Eli knew that he could not trust in money nor make his decision based solely on that.
On one hand there were good people who were active in the Church and who did a lot of good for the Church who played professional sports on Sunday. On the other hand, Eli had seen some very powerful examples of people who had refused to break the Sabbath.
One was Erroll Bennett, one of the top soccer players in Tahiti, whom Eli read about one day on his mission. When Brother Bennett joined the Church, he decided to withdraw from his team because he chose not to play on the Sabbath. When Eli read the story and saw how dedicated Brother Bennett was to the gospel, he was impressed. He says, “I knew I wanted to be a man like that, with that kind of commitment and dedication to what I knew was right.”
Eli discussed his choices with the people most important to him. His mother always reminded him of the commandment to keep the Sabbath day holy. His father, who had worked hard trying to support his family, told him to consider the decision carefully, reminding Eli how the money would help him support his wife and children. His wife, Jennifer, had received a paper in school full of quotations from leaders of the Church about the Sabbath day. Together they studied those and talked about the decision, but Jennifer and Eli’s parents all said that the decision was his and they would support him however he decided.
Eli talked to many other people. Some told him to play; some said maybe he shouldn’t. But Eli knew that talking to others wouldn’t make the decision for him. “When you’re considering giving up hundreds of thousands or millions of dollars,” he says, “it’s probably not something you’re going to do just because you’ve talked to someone.”
He knew that he would have to make the decision himself after praying to his Heavenly Father. Eli recalls: “It occurred to me to pray and fast about it because of what my parents taught me. … During the rest of the summer and through the next football season, all my scripture study and all my prayers and everything were focused on what the best decision would be. This lasted about six months. I didn’t make the final decision until the season was over at the end of December.”
That was an intense six months. Eli says: “I don’t think in my life other than sometimes on my mission I ever had the scriptures come to life for me as they did during that period of time. … I saw things I had never seen or understood before.”
One day, for example, he was reading in the Book of Mormon about Alma counseling his son Helaman. Alma urges his son: “O remember, remember, my son Helaman, how strict are the commandments of God. And he said: If ye will keep my commandments ye shall prosper in the land—but if ye keep not his commandments ye shall be cut off from his presence. … Therefore I command you, my son Helaman, that ye be diligent … in keeping the commandments of God as they are written” (Alma 37:13, 20).
The phrase “as they are written” particularly struck Eli. He knew the key to being in the Lord’s presence and to prospering was to keep the commandments “as they are written”—with exactness. Eli understood that to have financial security and other blessings for his family, “it was a more sure thing to keep the commandments and trust in the Lord than to have a million dollars.”
As the months progressed toward the end of the season, Eli became more sure of what he had to do. “I read my scriptures, and time after time I would see more and more and more reasons that I felt in my heart that I needed to observe the Sabbath more than I needed to play football,” Eli says.
When he finally made the decision, it was easy. He laughs now about all the attention he received: “I had been on the offensive line my whole career, and it’s not like a lineman gets a lot of recognition. I got so much more recognition for making that decision than I ever got for playing football. People wrote me, telling me what they thought about the decision I had made, good or bad. I never got so much mail in my life.”
Some people asked whether he had considered all the factors, and some asked if he had thought of all the money he could make. Eli laughs, “One of the most interesting things to me was that people would say, Haven’t you thought of this and this, when I had been thinking about it for ten years and had considered those things maybe a million and a half times.” The letters were entertaining, but they didn’t change his mind or cause him to reconsider. He had been very careful in making his decision, and once he made it he was firm.
Now Eli is doing what he has wanted to do for a long time—he is teaching and coaching in a local high school. Teachers aren’t famous for their high salaries, and sometimes the money is a little short. But Eli smiles about it: “The paychecks now, in spite of being low, are more than we were making when we were students. We’re happy to have more than we had before. Occasionally I think we could have a brand-new car or a nice house, but I have never had any serious doubts about the decision.”
He gathers his family around the room as he talks about the decision that has made such a difference in their lives. His daughter Hannah plays on the floor while his wife, Jennifer, holds the baby, Sarah. They don’t have the new house, car, and retirement fund, but they’re happy. Eli has come a long way from the boy who sometimes sneaked in to watch football on Sundays. Now he is a father who, like his own father and like Alma long ago, is determined to teach his children the commandments “as they are written” and to help them be covenant people of the Lord.

After completing what I was prompted to write, I returned to bed. I had been asleep only a short while when Bradley, my three-year-old son, suddenly awakened me. “Indians, Indians. I dreamed about Indians,” he said. I was astonished; I felt that his words were an affirmation of my own dream. I was even more astonished when I later asked him about his dream.
“I dreamed an Indian chief came to our house,” he said.
“How did you know he was a chief?” I asked.
“He said he was a chief,” Bradley replied. “He asked me for some bread. I took him to the kitchen to get some. He said, ‘No, not that kind of bread.’”
“Were there other people with him?” I asked.
“Yes,” came the answer. “They were waiting for him.”
Later, as I sat in sacrament meeting thinking about the dreams, I silently prayed for guidance that I might be able to find the information necessary to do my Choctaw ancestors’ temple work. I felt impressed to acquire a copy of a record I had seen some twenty years earlier at the National Archives in Washington, D.C. It was the Choctaw-Armstrong Roll of 1831, and it contained records of the Choctaw before their trek over the “Trail of Tears” to Oklahoma. This census had on record some 3,000 heads of families and represented about 17,000 people. I had photocopied the pages from it that dealt with my ancestor named Betsy.
I wrote to the National Archives, requesting a microfilm copy of the entire record. I also contacted the Church Family History Library in Salt Lake City, Utah, and asked whether temple work could be done for people listed on the record. I then asked for and obtained permission to help do name extraction work on the Choctaw-Armstrong Roll.
I also went to Philadelphia, Mississippi, as I had been prompted. There, on the Choctaw reservation, I learned the story of the Nanah-weya. Archaeologists think that the Choctaw are probably of Mayan descent—from Central America—because their language, customs, and culture are similar to those of the Mayans. Choctaw legends tell of their migration from their old lands, where they had been persecuted. A prophet had told them of a land waiting for them, where they would be safe. Two brothers, Chataw and Chickasaw, led the people out of the old land.
The people followed the “leaning pole,” a sacred pole placed in front of the leaders’ camp each night. Some legends say that a sacred medicine bag was tied to the pole. Each morning, the people traveled in the direction the pole leaned. They carried their ancestors’ bones with them.
When they reached the area that is now Northern Mississippi, there was a tremendous rainstorm. The people thought that in the morning they would find the sacred pole flat on the ground because of the rain. Instead, the pole stood straight, its shaft buried deep in the mud.
That is where the people stayed. In the new land they held a great council to decide what to do with their ancestors’ bones. The decision they made was to build a large mound and bury them there. This mound, called the Nanah-weya, means “leaning mountain,” or “mother mound.”
I asked a Choctaw from Oklahoma if he knew the meaning of the word Nanah-ku-chi. He told me that it means “to bring out of the mountain.”
“You have said it just the way the Choctaw would say it,” he told me. “Nanah means mountain; Ku-chi means to bring forth.” I concluded that the words I had heard must have meant that the names of the Choctaw dead should be brought out of obscurity so that the Choctaws’ temple work should be completed.
My trip to Mississippi bore great fruit. There, in a courthouse, a woman gave my aunt and me a copy of some family records. Later, when I read through it, I was amazed. Before, I had had only three names on that particular family. Now I had more than sixty pages of information! There, at the beginning of the line, was the name of Ikenaby, an Indian chief who had lived during the early 1800s and who had married a white woman by the name of Kearney.
I continued to help with the work on the Choctaw-Armstrong Roll. Lorraine Nievar of Ardmore, Oklahoma, whose ancestors are Choctaw and French, also helped with name extraction work on the record. When the work was complete, 1,500 names from the record were sent to the temple in Dallas, Texas, so that Sister Nievar and her family could help perform their ancestors’ temple work. Another 1,500 names were sent to the Logan Utah Temple, where many of my friends and neighbors have helped with the work.
I believe that many members of the Choctaw Nation who lived during the early 1800s have accepted the temple work completed in their behalf. As I participated in baptisms for the dead one Saturday morning, I felt their gratitude. During one particular temple session, I was asked to speak to the members of a Logan ward. While we sat together in the temple’s chapel, I told them the story behind the names they carried that night. I remember that temple session as one of the most sacred I ever attended.
I recall feeling a vivid sense of light and joy at one particular point in the session. I thought of my son’s dream. My friends and neighbors were now giving the “bread of life” to those who had asked for it. I again felt that those whose work we were performing, though unseen, were grateful for the opportunity to accept the gospel. Though they had once walked the “Trail of Tears,” now they could walk the straight and narrow path of joy that leads to eternal life.
Many native American records have been compiled by various organizations. It is now possible to do more temple work for native American ancestors than ever before; many of them are eager to receive the saving ordinances of the gospel.
I learned just how eager they were one spring day while driving to Salt Lake City to talk with a woman there. Suddenly, I felt that I could hear the sound of drums beating. I seemed to see an Indian woman, dressed in an oversize plaid shirt, a Navajo skirt, and a silver medallion belt. The seat beside me was empty, but I could sense her presence.
When I arrived in Salt Lake City, I felt prompted to ask the woman with whom I had the appointment whether she had any Indian ancestors. But Carolyn doesn’t look Indian; she’s blonde and blue-eyed, I thought to myself. She’ll think I’m crazy.
When I met Carolyn in her office, the prompting for me to ask was just as strong as it had been in the car. So I asked if she had Indian ancestors.
“Yes,” she said. “My grandmother was Cherokee and was adopted by the Navajo.” She told me about how her “Granny” had worked as a nurse for many years with the Navajo in Arizona, Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Texas. Later, I asked Carolyn about the clothing her grandmother had worn, and she described to me the clothing I had seen the woman wearing.
I told Carolyn about the temple work we had done for the Choctaw. She was thrilled about the possibility of doing the same work for the Cherokee. The Cherokee were the second nation to walk the “Trail of Tears”; there is a record of the tribe in its entirety from 1835—before they had settled in Oklahoma. Carolyn is now doing extraction work on that record, preparing names for the temple.
I know that my Choctaw ancestors desired the blessings of the gospel. My love for my ancestors has grown as I have learned about them. Though they suffered great hardship in mortality, they are now receiving the great blessings of the temple.

I will begin our consideration of these questions with a story from a few years ago that has significantly influenced me. It is a story that identifies the uniqueness of this campus and how we can be even more of a light on a hill. As I tell the story and review the counsel of prophets, I ask each of us to ponder what we can do to meet the challenge given to us by Church Board of Education to improve our learning.

This story has to do with the role of faith, spirit, and consecration in learning. It is a story about Chris Bresee (whom some of you may remember as a student here) and his experience learning Japanese. Chris said,

"After a month in the class, it was plain to me that I was the worst student in the class. Nothing seemed to stick to my mind and when it finally did I was so far behind the rest of the class I almost felt like withdrawing and taking the bad mark on my record."

The difficulty of learning Japanese surprised Chris because he had been so successful in learning Icelandic on his mission. He went on to explain:

"I was sitting in the library one day and I felt like I should pray. I spoke to the Lord and asked Him to help me learn this language. Then a thought came to me to pray that I could use it in His work one day. I prayed and said something to the effect. "Thou helped me learn Icelandic to bless others in Iceland, if thou would help me learn Japanese I will use it for whatever purposes thou would have me in thy service." After I prayed I felt I should begin my studies by studying the Book of Mormon in Japanese and study it in the same format I did in Icelandic. I don't think I have ever noticed a change as quick as what the Lord did for me preparing me for some future service. I remember words, characters, and pronunciation faster than I did relying on my ability...It seems all of my studies could be benefited by this course of intent. To prepare to be of use."

It was late at night, and the house was dark and quiet. I knelt beside a fold-out camp cot, my bed while visiting at my sister’s house. My arms rested on the rough woolen blanket of the bed, and I closed my eyes, pouring all my effort into a fervent and determined prayer.
I was there because I had to learn the truth. I needed an answer to my prayers.
My search for the truth had begun almost a year before. At that time, I was a senior in high school, active in my own church, and happy with my family and my life. I didn’t know the Lord had greater things in store for me.
My sister and her husband had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They were filled with missionary zeal and had come to visit us, hoping to share the joy they had found. My family and I were not receptive. We were very happy just as we were. But we did agree to accompany them to the Los Angeles Temple Visitors’ Center for a tour.
That was the beginning for me. The story of Joseph Smith and the translation of the Book of Mormon sounded terribly far-fetched, and yet, I thought, “If this is true, what an incredibly wonderful thing!”
So I decided to do a little research. Throughout that year, in my English class, we were assigned to write a series of research essays on a topic of our choice. I decided to compare and contrast my religion with the Latter-day Saint faith. My research included attending several ward meetings, interviewing members of the Church, reading the Book of Mormon, and writing many letters filled with gospel questions to my sister.
Although I was active in my church, I never felt the personal connection with God that the LDS people I met seemed to possess with such ease. As I spoke with them, I realized it was their understanding of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ that gave them such profound faith. I felt not envy but a great desire to believe and understand that what they testified to me was true.
After eight months, my sister invited me to visit her during my Easter vacation. I agreed, and we spent a week baking and laughing, cleaning and visiting, and discussing gospel principles. I didn’t realize it then, but the Spirit dwelt in that house. I was amazed at her ease in answering my questions. No matter what I asked, no matter how complex, she gave me a good understanding of that principle. I felt her love for me, and I felt God’s love for me. I did not know whether Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, but I desperately wanted to know.
So there I was, kneeling on the cold, hard floor, my eyes tightly shut, begging the Lord to answer my prayer, to tell me whether Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I felt if I could just know that, then everything else would fall into place. It would follow that he translated the Book of Mormon, that he received the revelations in the Doctrine and Covenants, and that he helped establish the Lord’s Church on the earth.
As I prayed, I felt loving arms surround me. I felt great warmth and joy flood my heart. And I heard a voice in my mind say, “Yes, Joseph Smith is a prophet of God.”
I wept for joy as I knelt there, feeling infinitely important to my Heavenly Father, important enough that He would listen to my stumbling, pleading prayer and answer me with such tenderness and compassion.
Grateful for the answer to my prayer and rejoicing in the truth I had found, I decided to be baptized. The only snag was that I had not had lessons from the missionaries yet. I contacted the missionaries, and they came immediately to teach me. The doctrines of the gospel were “as the dew from heaven distilling” (see Hymns, no. 149). I had not known of the Savior’s great love for me. I felt unworthy and began fervently to repent of the things I had said and done and thought that were out of harmony with the Lord’s teachings.
The change was gradual, but after six weeks of learning and praying and striving, I was baptized. I felt such overpowering joy, such purity as I came out of the water, that I knew my sins were forgiven, and I was worthy to be given the gift of the Holy Ghost.
Although the night I had prayed so fervently was long ago, because I knelt in faith before the Lord and received an answer from Him, I have a great testimony of prayer and of a loving Father in Heaven, a testimony that our Savior lives and loves us and that the Holy Ghost is always there to guide, strengthen, and comfort all who seek Him.

Again, when I was a missionary, in the same village I referred to above, I came to know everyone. I remained there for a year and half with a total of two companions. After the experience with Labwujtok our teaching efforts accelerated. We were teaching a man named Amima Alik whose wife and some of his daughters had already joined the Church. Amima knew the truthfulness of the restored gospel but retained some personal challenges to overcome. But once he did, he became a backbone to the Church in the village. During one discussion we were considering eternal families and sealing ordinances. As we sat on mats in his humble home one evening, with a small wicker kerosene lamp providing light, he looked upon our picture of a beautiful temple, and he ruminated out loud, that such a blessing he could never realize. As a school teacher, he earned a little more money than some in the village, but he still greatly supplemented his subsistence by fishing and farming. His total annual salary was barely enough to buy two plane tickets to Hawai’i, and then how would they live for the rest of the year? All I could do was kindly submit that somehow, someday, he would be sealed to his wife. But honestly, I supposed I was offering an unrealistic hope to smooth over a moment of resignation.

This discussion was over 33 years ago. A few years back Elaine and I received a phone call from the temple to come up to help with some new patrons from the Marshall Islands who had just arrived. I felt pressed for time with my university and church responsibilities, but sensed I needed to somehow make arrangements to go. The temple president asked if I would interpret from English to Marshallese in the initiatory area for the new male Marshallese patrons. When I passed through the curtain to assist with the first brother I immediately stopped still, this man gazed up at me with a huge smile that quickly turned to tears. It was Amima. As he received the first part of this sacred ordinance I tried to interpret for him in his language, but I could barely utter the words through my tears and choking voice. Amima was shaking and wiping his eyes. The ordinance worker was puzzled, but knew something special was going on. In that moment I witnessed the power of unified souls, and we both knew God had given us a gift, that he had brought two points of time together, so we could both see his hand in this great tapestry of weaving together his purposes for the benefit of individual souls. For the remainder of the endowment Elaine and I aided as escorts for this great couple, and then, I served as a witness to their sealing as a couple and family. Time, temple and perspective, it all came together powerfully in the due time of the Lord.

I have learned from personal experience that this is true. A few years ago, when my youngest child was in junior high, I began to get a prompting that I needed to go back to school and finish my education. I had only had one year of college before I was married; all I ever wanted to do was be a mom, and I loved being a mom; it was my favorite job ever, but life doesn't always work out the way you planned. It's full of surprises, so be prepared to adjust! Anyway, at that time I had a very strong impression that I needed to get an education and that I needed it NOW. I thought about all the majors that would get me a job making lots of money, but that just didn't seem to be what I was supposed to do. My great love was literature, so after some consideration, I decided that what I really wanted to do was major in English and teach at Ricks College. I prayed about it and had a confirmation of the spirit that that was what I should do. I finished my associate's degree at Ricks College and then I had to move on to a 4-year university. Just to see what my chances of teaching at Ricks College were, I went to visit with the person who was the English Department chair at that time (I won't mention any names, and I'm sure that person won't remember this). He told me that the department had all the teachers they needed and that he didn't foresee any need for more teachers for a long time. He said, "If I were you, I would change my major." Well, that was a little discouraging, but I knew what I had been told to do, so I went ahead with it in spite of the odds. I knew that if that's what the Lord had told me to do, there must be a reason, although I couldn't necessarily see it at the time. I finished my bachelor's and master's degrees at Idaho State University, and interestingly enough, the year that I finished, there was an opening in the English Department. There has been almost every year since, so here I am. Obviously, the Lord knew something that that English Department chair did not—well, actually none of us did! If I had not followed the promptings of the Lord, I would not have been prepared when the opportunity came. And, more importantly, I would not have been prepared to provide for my family when, the year after I graduated, my husband died suddenly of a heart attack. I could not have foreseen that, but my Heavenly Father knew, and He helped me to be ready. I love the Lord; I trust Him, and I absolutely know that I could not do any of the things I do without His help. I don’t know the whole plan for my life, but I know that He does, and I know that if I try to live worthy and follow the promptings of the spirit, I will be prepared for whatever happens in my life.

As I watched the shiny tray come down my aisle, I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. This would be the first time in my life that I hadn’t been worthy to take the sacrament. The tray was quickly coming closer to me, and I was drowning in all my feelings. What would my parents think when I didn’t take the sacrament? My little brother and sister? I was supposed to be their example.
As the tray came to me, I quickly passed it on, bowing my head. I felt as if everyone in the whole chapel was looking at me.
The week before, I had talked to my bishop. As I entered his office, I started crying in shame even before I sat down. As I told him everything I had done, I thought he would be angry with me or say I had no hope of being forgiven. Instead, I noticed he was crying too. He let me know he was very pleased I had come to him. It felt so good to know he wanted to help with my problems and that I had someone to talk to.
When I finally stood up to leave, my bishop told me he loved me and assured me, “I am going to help you as much as I can to overcome all of your problems.” At that moment I knew everything would eventually be all right.
My first time not taking the sacrament was hard, but I have to relive the experience every Sunday as I pass the tray on. I am grateful to have the blessing of repentance in my life. I know that when I have completed the repentance process, I will be clean again. And because of this experience and the struggles I am going through, I never want to be unworthy again. Not taking the sacrament is hard. But it has helped me more fully appreciate my Savior’s sacrifice for me.

As a volunteer for my local council in the Community Learning and Development department, I help people become self-sufficient by teaching them computer skills and helping them with their CVs.
Through this work, I was asked to spearhead genealogy classes at local libraries. Wonderfully, this opportunity coincided with the opening of a family history centre at the Greenock Branch meetinghouse.
The genealogy classes are well attended, and my first objective was to have everyone register at familysearch.org. I walk through the site processes with participants and help them start their own research for ancestors. I informed attendees that the free website was the largest database for records, and that FamilySearch belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
During breaks between courses the participants would bring in refreshments and I heard them discussing what to give me to drink. I knew they knew I was a member of the Church.
After each course, participants receive a copy of the My Family: Stories That Bring Us Together pamphlet, with the details for the Greenock Branch Family History Centre.
In 2019, we opened the meetinghouse as a community centre to promote family research, self-reliance courses, and Bible studies. I built a Facebook page to build relationships with our neighbours in the community. As of now, we have 400 members and counting.
We networked the page with local organisations, including local governments. Through this, we received visits from the local council leaders, and were approached and asked if we could hold ESOL language classes.
With the permission of the branch president, we invited the leaders of the Community Learning and Development department and gave them a tour of our chapel building. A further tour was set up for Ukranian and Afghan refugees, and thereafter, the ESOL language course began. Local council leaders still stop by occasionally to see how the ESOL classes are progressing.
In early 2023, a branch of the Scottish government gave us a visit to review how the Ukrainians and Afghans were doing, and we gave them a tour. This was a positive step in bringing the Church into a good light with the government. From this, we have built positive relationships with our local councils.
https://www.facebook.com/GREENOCKcommunityresourcecentre

One day the sisters asked Monica’s mother to pray to know if she should be baptized, and she did. She read the scriptures every day, too, and one night she had a dream. In the dream she was looking for white clothes to wear to her baptism. She felt very happy and peaceful. When she woke up, she knew that Heavenly Father had answered her prayer.
The day before Monica’s ninth birthday, Monica and her mother were baptized. Her aunts and uncles and cousins and father and grandmother came—so did many people from the branch. It was a very happy day for everyone, but most of all for Monica and her mother.

One night I went in my parents’ bedroom to ask my dad something, but he was kneeling in prayer, so I left and returned a few minutes later to find him in the same position. I decided to get ready for bed, thinking he would surely be done praying when I was finished with my bedtime routine. I returned to my parents’ bedroom about 10 minutes later to find him still praying! Seeing that example from my father strengthened my testimony. He was truly pouring his heart out in prayer to Heavenly Father.

I have always been interested in animals and birds. When I learned to read, I found books about birds and animals and came to know much about them. By the time I was in my teens, I could identify most of the African animals. I could tell a klipspringer from an impala, or a gemsbok from wildebeest.
I always wanted to go to Africa and see the animals, and finally that opportunity came. Sister Packer and I were assigned to tour in South Africa. We had a very strenuous schedule and had dedicated eight chapels in seven days.
The mission president was vague about the schedule for September 10th. (That happens to be my birthday.) I thought we were planning to return to Johannesburg, South Africa. But he had other plans. “There is a game reserve some distance from here,” he explained, “and I have rented a car, and tomorrow, your birthday, we are going to spend seeing the African animals.”
Now I might explain that the game reserves in Africa are unusual. The people are put in cages, and the animals are left to run free. That is, there are compounds where the park visitors check in at night and are locked behind high fences until after daylight. They are allowed to drive about, but no one is allowed out of his car.
Because of a delay in getting our evening meal, it was long after dark when we left to go to our isolated cabin. We found the turnoff and had gone up the narrow road just a short distance when the engine stalled. We found a flashlight and I stepped out to check under the hood. As the light flashed on the dusty road, the first thing I saw was lion tracks!
Back in the car, we determined to content ourselves with spending the night there! Fortunately, we were rescued by the driver of a gas truck who had left the compound late because of a problem.
In the morning they brought us back to the compound. We had no automobile and no way to get a replacement until late in the afternoon. Our one day in the park was ruined and, for me, the dream of a lifetime was gone.
I talked with a young ranger, and he was surprised that I knew many of the African birds. Then he volunteered to rescue us. “We are building a new lookout over a water hole about 20 miles [32 kilometers] from the compound,” he said. “It is not quite finished, but it is safe. I will take you out there with a lunch. You may see as many animals, or even more, than if you were driving around.”
On the way to the lookout he volunteered to show us some lions. He turned off through the brush and before long located a group of 17 lions all sprawled out asleep and drove right up among them.
We stopped at a water hole to watch the animals come to drink. It was very dry that season and there was not much water, really just muddy spots. When the elephants stepped into the soft mud, the water would seep into the depression and the animals would drink from the elephant tracks.
The antelope, particularly, were very nervous. They would approach the mud hole, only to turn and run away in great fright. I could see there were no lions about and asked the guide why they didn’t drink. His answer, and this is the lesson, was “Crocodiles.”
I knew he must be joking and asked him seriously, “What is the problem?” The answer again: “Crocodiles.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “There are no crocodiles out there. Anyone can see that.”
I thought he was having some fun at the expense of his foreign game expert, and finally I asked him to tell us the truth. Now I remind you that I was not uninformed. I had read many books. Besides, anyone would know that you can’t hide a crocodile in an elephant track.
He could tell I did not believe him and determined, I suppose, to teach me a lesson. We drove to another location where the car was on an embankment above the muddy hole where we could look down. “There,” he said. “See for yourself.”
I couldn’t see anything except the mud, a little water, and the nervous animals in the distance. Then all at once I saw it!—a large crocodile, settled in the mud, waiting for some unsuspecting animal to get thirsty enough to come for a drink.
Suddenly I became a believer! When he could see I was willing to listen, he continued with the lesson. “There are crocodiles all over the park,” he said, “not just in the rivers. We don’t have any water without a crocodile somewhere near it, and you’d better count on it.”
The guide was kinder to me than I deserved. My “know-it-all” challenge to his first statement, “Crocodiles,” might have brought an invitation, “Well, go out and see for yourself!”
I could see for myself that there were no crocodiles. I was so sure of myself I think I might have walked out just to see what was there. Such an arrogant approach could have been fatal! But he was patient enough to teach me.
I hope you’ll be wiser in talking to your guides than I was on that occasion. That smart-aleck idea that I knew everything really wasn’t worthy of me, nor is it worthy of you. I’m not very proud of it, and I think I’d be ashamed to tell you about it except that telling you may help you.

The Summiteers of the Lansing Michigan Stake undertook a rather unusual hike. They chose to join with 50,000 other participants in the five-mile annual walk across the Mackinac Bridge.
Young women and their leaders and advisers camped for several days before the event. They attended church at a small branch where they were asked to help with the sacrament meeting program and Sunday School.
After breaking camp early on Monday morning, the girls were driven to the starting point to cross on foot the largest suspension bridge in the world. They joined the crowd of young and old, including families with babies in strollers and senior citizens in wheelchairs. They completed their five-mile walk in a little over an hour and a half and received their certificates.
The Summiteers enjoyed the adventure and the chance to get together for the event.