Gospel Story Finder

When my teenage daughter ran away from home, we were unable to persuade her to return, but we asked her to at least attend her meetings. She didn’t. The New Era was the only contact she had with the Church for over four years because of her hostility toward all Church members. But the New Era came to her every month, she read it regularly, and recently she came home, graduated from high school, and is now preparing to go to college on a national scholarship. She isn’t active in the Church yet, but she is home and safe and still reading your magazine.
Name Withheld

Once I had a huge doubt about whether to go on a date with a nonmember. One Sunday in sacrament meeting, a sister gave a talk that seemed to be directed personally to me. At that moment, I received an assurance that the Lord had answered my prayer. Before, I had been confused about what to do, but then I was comforted by the Holy Ghost, who filled my heart with joy and courage. God answers us through feelings, thoughts, the scriptures, and even speakers at church!
Karen V., 19, Minas Gerais, Brazil

It seemed an easy-enough project at first, and after mapping out a few ideas, they hurried to find Mr. Baker, who was still watching the Second World War movies. Finally persuading him out into the hall, they asked him for help. "We think it’d be nice if the band gave a Christmas Eve concert for the people stuck here by the storm."
He seemed to be in some sort of a trance. "What was that again?"
"We’d give a concert—just do the pieces we did last night. It’d be a real treat for the kids."
"Are you kidding? Dragging all the instruments and music from the bus? No, absolutely not. Now excuse me, I’ve got to get back."
He staggered back into the room where he entered the battle of Midway.
Their next stop was the sheriff.
"We’d like to organize a little Christmas party for the people stranded here."
The sheriff wiped his brow. "Look, don’t I have enough to worry about without that? How am I going to feed these people? Don’t bother me about Christmas parties. Now why don’t you go watch TV. I’m sure there’s plenty of good specials on."
Back at the vent at the end of the hall, they sat and glumly watched the storm.
"Well, we tried," Steve said.
"That’s all anyone can do."
"Sure."
"Do you want to watch TV now?"
"We didn’t pray about it, Steve."
"It’s too late now; we’ve already bombed out."
"You don’t want to pray about it?"
"No, Cathy, I don’t."
"Why not?"
"Because if we pray about it, and it still doesn’t work out, then it will cause your faith to waver. I never pray about things in front of somebody else unless there’s a pretty good chance for it to happen anyway."
She sat in silence and pouted.
"You can pray about it if you want," he finally suggested.
"I’d feel better with the priesthood saying the prayer."
He sighed, realizing he was going to have to open himself up a little more to her. "Cathy, let me tell you something. The priesthood’s no magic carpet. A lot of things I pray for never work out. Girls always think that guys who honor the priesthood are their tickets to happiness, but we’re stumbling around as much as anybody."
But she wouldn’t let it be. "I think Father in Heaven will honor somebody who holds the priesthood and tries to do the right thing."
They sat for several minutes in silence.
"Okay, I’ll pray with you, but don’t blame me if it doesn’t work out."
It was a simple prayer, offered by Steve. He tried to be as general as possible, not wanting to pin the Lord down to anything specific, but just before closing, she nudged him and whispered, "Ask him about the Christmas party, and the band playing, and the gifts."
And so he did, point blank, with no cop-out clauses that would let them or Father in Heaven off the hook.
A few minutes later they stood at the entrance of the gym and looked at the restless crowd.
"What’ll we do, Steve?" she asked him. He noticed the way she was looking at him. She thinks I know what I’m doing, he thought.
"We’ll just walk around and see if anything happens."
They walked slowly around the gym.
As they approached the trucker’s area, the one who had given Steve a bad time looked up, saw Cathy with him, and made some off-color joke about her.
"Why don’t you be quiet?" Steve snapped.
The guy stood up and started walking toward them. Massive shoulder muscles, a tattoo on both arms. I knew we never should’ve prayed about this, he thought.
Just before the guy was about to punch Steve, a booming voice behind him rang out, "Lay off the kid, Bert, or I’ll get mean!"
Steve looked around to see the biggest man he’d ever seen before in his life standing up. Middle-aged, bald, a little paunchy in the middle, but he must have weighed two hundred fifty pounds, and he spoke with authority.
Bert swore and said he was going to the bar.
The man who helped them said his name was Al and that he had a daughter about Cathy’s age who played in a band in Ohio.
"Al," Cathy said with a big smile, "we’ve got a little problem I think you could help us with."
Steve couldn’t believe the change in the sheriff when Al asked for permission to hold a Christmas party. And Mr. Baker, after he came out of the movie room and looked around to see Al’s figure entirely filling up the doorway, agreed it would be nice to have the band play a concert.
Then Al made a general announcement to everyone in the gym. "I want everybody here to get in the Christmas spirit. There’s no reason for us to sit around feeling sorry for ourselves. We’re going to have a party, and this is what we need. We need gifts for the children, we need some food for a supper, we need Christmas cookies for the children, we need a Santa Claus and somebody to lead us in Christmas carols, and we need enough blankets for everybody. Now get going!"
Within the hour, the preparations were done, including a Christmas tree provided by one over-eager trucker who merely chopped down the tree in front of the school. Some of the truckers went out to their rigs and brought in case lots of canned foods. The salesman from Mity Fine went to his station wagon and brought in his sample assortment of potato chips. Many of the parents went to their cars and brought in Christmas presents originally intended for family and friends at the end of their trip, and they put them under the tree. And the wives went into the school kitchen and began opening cans of ham and vegetables for the meal.
They ate their meal, and then the pep band played. Then Santa Claus arrived, wearing a red jump suit covered with grease from engines and a cotton beard. He passed out the presents from the tree, and they shared the cookies. There was more than enough for everyone.
A traveler who led a Protestant church choir in Abilene, Kansas, then led them in Christmas carols. By that time it was 10:00, and a minister from Polson, Montana, led them in scripture reading and a prayer.
There were blankets left over, even after everyone had taken what they needed.
In the morning they had more ham, and a driver from a bakery provided them with enough bread to make toast. The kids played with their toys, which as the morning passed, gradually self-destructed.
By noon the storm was over and the snow plows had cleared the roads. The truckers were the first to go. The band was delayed because of having to repack all the instruments into the bus.
Steve and Cathy were the last ones to leave.
"It was a miracle, wasn’t it?" she asked.
"Yes, a miracle. For a few hours, we all loved one another."
"Steve, it must be just a small part of the way Jesus feels about all of us all the time."
"How can he do it?"
"I don’t know, but he does."
"Cathy, for a while there, I even liked you."
"Did you?"
"Yes, for a while I did. Could I sit with you on the way back?"
"I’d like that, Steve."
"But look, I’m still going to try and beat you out of first-chair clarinet."
"And I’m still going to show you that I’m twice the musician you are."
"So that hasn’t changed," he said.
"No, I guess not."
They left together, the last ones to leave the now-deserted, paper-strewn gym. The Christmas tree, decorated with Mity Fine aluminum foil, leaned at a precarious angle, and then toppled to the floor with a crash.

Once I find the names of family members who need their temple work done, I reserve the ordinances, print the sheet with their information, and then use it to print their ordinance cards off at the temple. In order to do the baptisms for the family members I have found, I usually go to the temple every week. I also attend our youth temple nights, where everyone there helps complete the baptisms and confirmations. Then, I give the names to extended family members, who have helped me complete a lot of temple ordinances for my ancestors. I also make sure that I get all of the cards back for my own records.
I have found so many names of ancestors without ordinances that my effort to do their temple work has become a ward effort. The adults in my ward come and get stacks of cards from me and take them to ward temple night after the baptisms and confirmations are complete. The bishop has told me that the numbers at our ward temple nights have increased in anticipation of helping me with this work. It has been amazing to see the excitement that this work has brought to others in the ward. Family history has affected so many more people than just me. I never would have imagined this would happen when I sat down at the computer that first day.

“When I started the challenge to focus on the joy in my life for a month, I honestly wasn’t expecting much to change. However, when I actually studied the talk by President Nelson and tried doing as he instructed, I noticed something: focusing on the joy and good things in my life (even ‘worldly’ things) really helped put it in perspective.

“One Saturday I was stuck inside working on a big chemistry lab report that was due on Monday. I was annoyed that I had to do homework at all on the weekends, and I felt like I was wasting my Saturday. Then my mom came into my room and told me that we would be going to visit my older brother and sister at their college. I could have stayed upset at the chemistry report and let it overshadow the good thing that had just come into my life. But instead, because I had decided to focus on joy, the frustration I felt from my chemistry report seemed instantly insignificant next to the happiness I felt thinking about hugging my older siblings again.

“When I focused on joy, I started to notice the things that I have and should be grateful for. When I don’t focus on the bad, and I see all the good in my life, the bad things pale in comparison.”

Luke G., 17, Arizona, USA

Walking through town one June afternoon on my way to a business meeting, I was prompted to stop and look inside a tavern’s open door. All I could see was a long bar and a row of stools. I turned and left. I had no interest in being in such a place; in fact, I did not want to be in such a place. But as I continued walking up the street, I had the strongest feeling that I should return and investigate further.
Curious, I turned around, walked back to the tavern, and looked through the doorway. “This is rather a foolish thing to do,” I thought, especially when I saw only the bartender behind the bar. So I continued in my walk. But as I waited at the corner for the traffic light to change, I felt an even stronger prompting to go back to the tavern. I went back.
The tavern appeared empty. Even the bartender wasn’t in the room. I walked toward the rear of the room. Then I noticed the figure of a man in the corner, seated on a stool and hunched over the glass in front of him. Something seemed familiar about the ragged, unshaven face.
I moved closer, and the memory of someone from my past came to me. The man was about the right size, small and rather frail. Could it be Deuce? (His real name was Dwayne.) I hadn’t seen Deuce for almost eighteen years. But how could he be in this condition? “Deuce, Deuce is that you?” I asked. The man look around vaguely but didn’t respond. “Deuce, what are you doing here? I can’t believe it’s you!”
But it was him. We had been close friends in our teenage years.
Deuce and his twin brother, Ace, had had a good relationship with their parents but had received little guidance from them. Their father had been a hard-working barber who had cared for his lovable but alcoholic wife.
Deuce had had polio as a child, which left him with a bad limp and impaired use of one arm. A couple of serious accidents as a teenager left him having to use a cane. But these handicaps only seemed to concentrate his ability to paint. He was a talented oil painter and took his work very seriously. His paintings were vivid and life-like; I still remember his painting of a tiger that seemed to leap from the canvas.
I lost contact with Deuce when I went into the navy for several years. I had heard that Ace had also joined the navy and was subsequently reported missing.
“Huh! Who’s that?” Deuce responded sluggishly.
“It’s Richard, your old friend!”
His eyes lit with vague recognition. He looked as if he might cry. He was obviously in bad shape physically, and it appeared that he hadn’t been eating regularly. I finally convinced him that I was real and coaxed him off the bar stool. He could barely walk, even with the walker he now used. I took him to a nearby restaurant, where I got him to eat a little food. As he began to talk more sensibly, I discovered that he had no money and was sharing a room in a cheap hotel.
“Look, Deuce, I’m really late for an important appointment, but I want to spend some time with you,” I said, before taking him to his hotel with instructions to bathe and shave. Later, I picked up a change of clothes for him at a men’s store and returned to help him dress. We drove home, and I introduced him to my wife, Verna.
I related the story of our reunion during dinner, and then told Verna of my earlier friendship and boyhood experiences with Deuce and his family.
By then, he was quite clear in his thinking and was able to tell the harrowing story of how he had been driven to his present condition.
He described the shock of losing his twin brother. Several years later, his mother had died of alcoholism, and then his father had been killed in an automobile accident. Working as a commercial artist, he had tried to forget his problems by drinking. He eventually lost his job and lived on a small disability pension. This downward trend in his life had continued for many years. He had given up all hope and had been in total despair when I found him.
After I took him back to his hotel, Verna and I talked long into the night about his situation and possible solutions. He was obviously incapable of helping himself. “We can’t leave him where he is!” Verna said.
“But what can we do?” I asked.
“If nothing else, we’ll just have to bring him here,” she replied.
The next day at work, I couldn’t get Deuce off of my mind. In the afternoon I went searching for him. He was confused by my invitation, but agreed to come and live with my family. We gathered up his few possessions and went home.
It was a big decision for my family—not because we didn’t have room, but because having a strange man around the house was awkward at first, even if he was harmless. He was, in fact, quite pathetic. He had to use his walker to get around, and because his bedroom was in the basement, getting up and down the stairs several times a day was a tremendous challenge.
My family soon accepted Deuce. Good food, rest, companionship, and love helped him recover. The children loved him because he was so gentle and understanding. But the effects of the years of alcoholism were hard to overcome. His physical impairments and extreme loss of normal movement made recovery difficult and total recovery impossible. For the first month, he was content to just recuperate. At times, he tried to help the children with chores or Verna with household tasks, but he was too shaky and unstable.
Deuce often wanted alcohol, but Verna and I firmly refused him any, and there was no way he could get it himself. Frequently, he would break out in a cold sweat and shake. But with no additional alcohol to reinforce what was already in his system, he eventually gained control of himself.
With his recovery came restlessness, and Deuce decided that he should try to again develop his former talent. I built him a special heavy-duty easel that would not only hold the canvas but also help steady him, since he was still very shaky.
It had been years since he had painted, and he was disappointed and frustrated with his first attempts. But eventually he was able to paint a sea scene for Verna to show his gratitude. Many paintings followed, and I helped him sell a few of them. His former talent, however, never fully returned.
He soon became very much a part of our family. And although he had never been religious, he started coming to church with us. Verna and I had joined the Church after we were married, and Deuce was impressed with the obvious changes he had seen in me. He met with the missionaries and was baptized. The doctrines of the Church excited him, especially the idea of being resurrected to a whole and fit body, and the promise of being with his family again.
Although he found his new faith stimulating and enjoyed his new experiences, he felt concerned about being a burden on our family. He knew, however, that his limited capabilities restricted him from ever being independent again.
About this time, a second miraculous reunion occurred. On one of my monthly business trips to Portland, Oregon, approximately four hundred kilometers from our home in Seattle, Washington, I checked into a hotel I had never used before. To my amazement, the luggage attendant that assisted me with my bags was Deuce’s long-lost twin brother, whom we had believed to be dead.
Ace was overjoyed to see an old friend and to learn the whereabouts of his twin brother. A reunion was quickly arranged, and Ace, divorced and living alone, welcomed the opportunity to provide a home for Deuce.
My family kept close contact with “Uncle Deuce” until his death, prematurely brought on by his frailties and years of drinking. But he had found the gospel and had made many wholesome and eternal friendships.

The twenty-five children who are learning to read and write on Lubian Sequi’s patio are poor—too poor to afford shoes or uniforms or supplies for public school. Some have no beds at home, but sleep in cardboard boxes on the ground.
Sister Sequi is a small, lovely woman with a smile that warms and comforts. On the chalkboard she has written the words Dios Me Ama (“God Loves Me”). Besides teaching her students reading, writing, mathematics, social studies, science, and etiquette, Sister Sequi begins each day’s classes with a prayer and a lesson from the Bible. She also encourages the children to pray with their families. Sister Sequi provides pencils, notebooks, and chalk for the children who cannot afford them. She uses a lot of visual aids to help the children learn.
Sister Sequi has found most of her students on the streets of Santo Domingo. “Whenever I see a dirty, barefoot, or neglected child, I say to him, ‘Come here. Don’t be afraid. Where do you live?’” Then she goes home with the child to ask permission for the child to attend school in her home.
Once a month, she invites the parents to an evening meeting where they can see how their children are progressing. She also gives a talk to help the parents spiritually and morally. “Our intention is to teach the parents so that they can teach their children better,” she says. Although it is not Sister Sequi’s primary goal to convert, at least one student’s family has been baptized since coming to her school.

A few years ago, a mother wanted to reduce the time television was taking from her neighborhood’s school-age children. She started a campaign to encourage more time away from television, calling it “Turn Off Your TV, Turn On Your Mind.” She challenged the students at her children’s school to stop watching television—except for two to three hours a week of news or educational programs—for one month. Support came readily from the school’s principal and faculty. Teachers contributed ideas for how the students could use their time, and the children undertook special projects like participating in reading marathons, building models, and performing experiments.
The “Turn Off Your TV” campaign proved to be a memorable experience, especially for the children and their parents. Local news media covered the event and praised the efforts of those involved.

Two doubts may creep into your mind. You may wonder if you know the doctrine well enough to teach it. And if you have already tried to teach it, you may wonder why you can’t see much of the good effects.

In my own family there is a story of a young woman who had the courage to start to teach doctrine when she was only a new convert with little education. And the fact that the effects of her teaching haven’t ended gives me patience to wait for the fruits of my own efforts.

Mary Bommeli was my great-grandmother. I never met her. Her granddaughter heard her tell her story and wrote it down.

Mary was born in 1830. The missionaries taught her family in Switzerland when she was 24. She was still living at home, weaving and selling cloth to help support her family on their small farm. When the family heard the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, they knew it was true. They were baptized. Mary’s brothers were called on missions, going without purse or scrip. The rest of the family sold their possessions to go to America to gather with the Saints.

There was not enough money for all to go. Mary volunteered to stay behind because she felt she could earn enough from her weaving to support herself and save for her passage. She found her way to Berlin and to the home of a woman who hired her to weave cloth for the family’s clothing. She lived in a servant’s room and set up her loom in the living area of the home.

It was against the law then to teach the doctrine of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Berlin. But Mary could not keep the good news to herself. The woman of the house and her friends would gather around the loom to hear the Swiss girl teach. She talked about the appearance of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to Joseph Smith, of the visitation of angels, and of the Book of Mormon. When she came to the accounts of Alma, she taught the doctrine of the Resurrection.

That caused some problems with her weaving. In those days, many children died very young. The women around the loom had lost children in death, some of them several children. When Mary taught the truth that little children were heirs of the celestial kingdom and that those women might again be with them and with the Savior and our Heavenly Father, tears rolled down the faces of the women. Mary cried too. All those tears falling got the cloth wet that Mary had woven.

Mary’s teaching created a more serious problem. Even though Mary begged the women not to talk about what she told them, they did. They shared the joyous doctrine with their friends. So one night there was a knock at the door. It was the police. They took Mary off to jail. On the way, she asked the policeman for the name of the judge she was to appear before the next morning. She asked if he had a family. She asked if he was a good father and a good husband. The policeman smiled as he described the judge as a man of the world.

At the jail, Mary asked for a pencil and some paper. She wrote a letter to the judge. She wrote about the Resurrection of Jesus Christ as described in the Book of Mormon, about the spirit world, and about how long the judge would have to think and to consider his life before facing the final judgment. She wrote that she knew he had much to repent of which would break his family’s heart and bring him great sorrow. She wrote through the night. In the morning she asked the policeman to take her letter to the judge. He did.

Later, the policeman was summoned by the judge to his office. The letter Mary had written was irrefutable evidence that she was teaching the gospel and so breaking the law. Nevertheless, it wasn’t long until the policeman came back to Mary’s cell. He told her that all charges were dismissed and that she was free to go, on the conditions she had stated in her letter. Her teaching the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ had opened eyes and hearts enough to get her cast into jail. And her declaring the doctrine of repentance to the judge got her cast out of jail (see Theresa Snow Hill, Life and Times of Henry Eyring and Mary Bommeli [1997], 15–22).

The teaching of Mary Bommeli touched more than those women around the loom and the judge. My father, her grandson, talked to me during the nights as he approached death. He spoke of joyous reunions that were coming soon in the spirit world. I could almost see the bright sunlight and the smiles in that place of paradise as he talked about it with such assurance.

At one point, I asked him if he had some repenting to do. He smiled. He chuckled softly as he said, “No, Hal, I’ve been repenting as I went along.” The doctrine of paradise that Mary Bommeli taught those women was real to her grandson. And even the doctrine Mary taught the judge had shaped my father’s life for good. That will not be the end of Mary Bommeli’s teaching. The record of her words will send true doctrine to generations of her family yet unborn. Because she believed that even a new convert knew enough doctrine to teach it, the minds and hearts of her descendants will be opened, and they will be strengthened in the battle.

Fifty-one years ago, on a Sunday evening at then, Church College of Hawaii, I was a homesick freshman. Our orientation and placement tests were over and I made new friends, but on this evening I missed my family from Papaikou on the Big Island.

I was not alone because one of my new friends from Maui was also homesick.

The temple came to our minds. We were outer island girls who had never walked to the temple, so we decided to walk to the temple following its lights through the ironwood trees.

When we got to the closed gates we stood in awe at the majestic beauty of the temple.

Looking at the colored lights of the fountain we thought, “If only we could sit next to the fountain!” That’s what we did.

We climbed over the gate and ran to sit by the fountain. We could hardly sit by the fountain when feelings of remorse hit! This was wrong. We looked at each other and quickly climbed back over the gate. In Olympic speed we ran back to our dorm while praying for forgiveness.

Our CCH Branch 4 office was on the corner lounge of our women’s dorm. A tender mercy was seeing our Branch President John Delamare walking out of his office. We ran up to him and confessed all that we had done.

He listened intently and we felt his compassion as our branch president and keyholder. He said, “You don’t have to climb the temple gates. The gates are open to visitors daily. Go to the temple grounds next Sunday in the right way. Walk on the grounds and take the time to ponder when and how you will go into the temple the right way. Someday you will go into the temple the right way for the right reason with the right person.”

It was several years later that we each went to the temple to get our endowments to serve our missions. After our missions we did go into the temple to marry our eternal companions and years later witnessed our own children, missionaries, converts, and friends enter the right way for the right reason.

Young men and women, you can be a great influence for good in your homes as you help to achieve worthy family objectives. I shall never forget the family home evening, years ago, in which the name of each member of our family was placed in a hat. The name you picked from the hat would be your “secret friend” for the week. You can imagine the love that filled my heart when I came home that Tuesday after work to sweep out the garage, as I had earlier promised, and found it cleanly swept. There was a note attached to the garage door which read, “Hope you had a good day—your secret friend.” And on Friday night, as I turned down my bed, I uncovered an Almond Joy, my favorite candy bar, wrapped carefully in scotch tape and plain white paper, with a note: “Dad, I love you a lot! Thanks, your secret friend.” Then to top it off, after returning home from a late meeting Sunday evening, I found the dining room table beautifully set, and written on the napkin by my place were the words “SUPER DAD” in big bold letters and in parentheses, “your secret friend.” Hold your family home evenings, for this is where the gospel is taught, a testimony gained, and the family fortified.

In early November 2020, it came to light that a project in the Burnley area of the Chorley England Stake needed some help putting together hygiene packs for vulnerable women. Stake and ward leaders banded together to find a solution and quickly got approval to make a large donation from LDS Charities.
The project organisers were very grateful for the donation to help purchase items to go into the bags but had a cost issue when buying the bags themselves. Carol Cryer, Relief Society president in the Burnley Ward, put her sewing skills to good use and created a video tutorial on making a drawstring hygiene pack. Along with her daughter, Emily, they got materials out to the sisters in the stake to share the load. The sisters worked tirelessly sewing 5,000 bags in just a few weeks, hoping the packs would be ready for Christmas.
In all, 5,000 bags were sewn and filled with hygiene products to be given to women in need. It was a wonderful experience for each sister who served and truly brought the light of Christ into their lives during a difficult time.

Katrina was excited. Every student in her school class had been assigned to give an oral report on one of the fifty United States, and hers was to be on Utah—the very state she wanted! She had moved from Utah only a few months before, and no one in her new school class knew much about the state where, until now, she had lived all of her life. Many of the children knew that pioneers had settled the west, but no one seemed to know what made the Mormon pioneers special, for Katrina was the only one in her class who was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
She worked hard preparing her report. Her teacher, Mrs. McBride, whom Katrina liked very much, had given her permission to use a slide projector, and Katrina and her mother spent hours going through the family slides, choosing the best ones to show the class.
Katrina read books and checked maps to make sure that her information was accurate and interesting. She carefully wrote out what she wanted to say and practiced it over and over again in front of her mom and dad, in front of her brother and sisters, in front of the mirror—even in front of her pet birds. When the day came to give the report, she was more than ready.
The class liked the report. They were fascinated by the picture of the giant red sandstone arches standing starkly against the blue sky. They oohed and aahed over the pictures of a mountain lake by a meadow of wildflowers and of the beautiful Salt Lake City Temple lit up at night. They laughed when Katrina told them that the explorer who discovered the Great Salt Lake thought that he had reached the ocean because the water tasted so salty. They were surprised to learn that the inventor of television was from Utah. And they were fascinated when Katrina showed them a jar containing two giant crickets floating in alcohol and told them the story of how the seagulls had saved the pioneers’ crops from the horrible cricket invasion. Everyone clapped as Katrina sat down.
“An excellent job, Katrina,” Mrs. McBride told her after class as the children left for the day. “You really worked hard.” Katrina felt her face flush with pleasure. “I’m sure we all learned a great deal,” Mrs. McBride went on, sincerely. Then she grinned and winked. “Why, I never imagined there were so many wonderful things in a state where a lot of the people believe in a man who said an angel gave him a book made out of gold!”
Katrina’s heart nearly stopped. She looked carefully at her teacher. Mrs. McBride loved to joke and make the class laugh. Katrina was sure that that’s what she was doing now—just joking. She would never hurt someone’s feelings on purpose.
But Katrina felt like a rock had just dropped on her stomach. How could someone speak like that of Joseph Smith and the angel Moroni and the Book of Mormon, things she loved and felt were sacred? She wasn’t exactly angry. She knew that Mrs. McBride didn’t understand about the Church. She guessed that the thought of an angel giving a gold book to a man could sound pretty silly if you didn’t know the whole story and if you didn’t have the Holy Ghost whispering to you that it was true. But Katrina knew that it was true, and it wasn’t a joking matter.
But what should she do? Thoughts flashed through her mind as quick as lightning. She knew that often when people are teasing and you’re feeling embarrassed, it’s best to just laugh along with them. But she couldn’t laugh at this. Still, if she spoke up, how could she tell Mrs. McBride what was really true? She didn’t know how to teach the gospel. What if her teacher thought she was silly or even stupid? Katrina had been doing well in her class. She didn’t want to risk losing Mrs. McBride’s good opinion of her. Maybe I should just stay quiet and let it pass, she thought. Maybe I can just pretend it never happened.
Katrina knew that she couldn’t do that. In the middle of all the mixed-up thoughts tumbling about in her mind, one thought suddenly appeared, bright, clear, and steady. She remembered a talk given by one of the Young Women in her branch about the meaning of the Young Women’s motto, and she could almost hear the girl saying the words: “We will ‘stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.’”* Katrina wasn’t in the Young Women’s program yet, but she knew that the motto applied to her, too. And “all times” and “all places” included that very moment in her classroom.
Only a few seconds had passed since Mrs. McBride had tried to be funny, but it seemed to Katrina that she had been trying to figure out what to do for hours. “Mrs. McBride,” she began, taking a deep breath, “I didn’t say very much in my report about the Mormon church—except that it was the Mormon pioneers who settled Utah—because I didn’t think that a school report was the best place to talk about it. And I guess that if you’ve only heard a little bit about the Church, some things might seem strange enough to laugh about.”
Katrina paused and swallowed hard. “But I need you to know that I’m a member of the Mormon church. The real name is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. ‘Mormon’ is just kind of a nickname because we believe in the Book of Mormon—that’s a book of scripture translated by Joseph Smith from that gold book you mentioned. It’s a true book. I know it. It tells about Jesus Christ like the Bible does. And it isn’t strange for Joseph Smith to have seen an angel, because he was a prophet like Moses and Abraham. The Church teaches the gospel of Jesus Christ just like He did Himself when He was on the earth. I’m glad to be a member, because I love Him.”
Katrina looked up hopefully at her teacher. She didn’t know what Mrs. McBride would think of what she had said, but a warm peaceful feeling flowed through her, and she knew that she had done the right thing.
The teasing twinkle in Mrs. McBride’s eyes had disappeared, but she didn’t look angry at all. She stooped so that she could look right into Katrina’s eyes, and she spoke softly. “Katrina, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I was trying to be funny, but I shouldn’t have spoken lightly about a serious subject that I didn’t know much about. I can tell that your church means an awfully lot to you. It must be pretty special to give you the courage to do what you just did. I think I’d like to ask you some questions about it sometime.”
“I’d like that, too, Mrs. McBride,” Katrina said with a smile.

Dominic, the ward deacons quorum president, said that his priesthood responsibilities have taught him the importance of the fast offering. “We collect the offerings every first Saturday of the month. I am glad to do something to help the poor, to know that I can do something. It’s a lot of responsibility because there are only two active deacons in the quorum. But it fills me with joy.”

Later, standing beside a statue of the carabao (water buffalo) that is the national animal of the Philippines, Dominic outlined plans to reactivate four more deacons he’s responsible for. “We need the others. We visit them and try to include them in activities like swimming and basketball. You have to be friends with the inactives to reactivate them! I like to tell jokes to my deacons quorum, and we’re always talking together about happy days. I’m learning a lot about being a leader.”

“I will never forget you, bishop. You saved my life.”
The man who makes that statement today didn’t feel that way in the beginning. As a teen he was scared. He knew he needed to repent. I was his bishop at the time, and he knew we needed to talk. But he was full of doubts.
“What is the bishop going to think of me?”
“Will he keep this confidential?”
“How will I ever look at him again?”
Such worries can feel overwhelming, making it seem nearly impossible to muster the courage necessary to travel the road to repentance.
But some confessions require that you talk to your bishop or branch president. And that’s where this young man found himself. He needed help beyond his own capacity, and he needed to know the journey was possible.
Let me close by telling you a little more about my visit with that young man. “Bishop,” he said, “you’re going to hate me for what I have to tell you. You’ll never be able to look at me again, and if you share what I say with anybody, I’ll kill myself.”
I said, “I promise I will never betray your confidences. I will take them with me to the grave.”
He told me about some minor situations and watched my reaction. When I said, “I know what you’re going through. I can help you,” he proceeded slowly until he got to what he really wanted to discuss. I reminded him repeatedly that I admired him for confessing and wanting to change. Even though he seemed ready to run at any moment, together we got through what he needed to share.
Was it a big deal? It was to him. But as we talked, he came to better understand the mercy the Lord offers to those who sincerely repent. After that first visit, we worked together, and over time his repentance became complete. Today he still calls me to say hello, and our conversations are happy.
I was privileged to help him learn that we all depend on the Atonement. And I join my voice with his in praise of Jesus Christ, the one who really saved his life.

Another part of Elder Taylor’s prophecy likewise was quickly fulfilled. The Olympus had just entered the terrible Irish Sea when harsh headwinds whipped huge waves against the wooden vessel day and night. For three weeks many of the passengers were tossed-about and seasick, “suffering intensely from the distressing affliction.” Finally, when a calm day brought relief, the passengers felt the worst part of their voyage was behind them. But Captain Wilson’s trained eyes, making a careful survey of the horizon, spotted a rapidly approaching cloud. At first it was no bigger than a man’s hat, but it swelled and spread at an alarming rate.

Quickly the captain gathered both shifts of the crew on deck and ordered all sails immediately shortened. He allowed Brother Nowers and a 20-year-old carpenter from Dover, England, Edmund Fuller, to stay on deck and help the crew. (Later in the voyage Mr. Fuller fell in love with a Mormon girl, Adelaide Jelley, and he joined the Church and married her in St. Louis, Missouri.)

The sails were just hauled in and secured, and passengers gathered below deck, when the new storm struck the ship full force. The Olympus trembled and reeled “like a drunkard.” The violent wind snapped the foremast off and carried it overboard. Several men nearly went overboard with the broken mast, which hanging, by the ship’s side, had to be cut loose from its stays with axes. Torrents of wind and water cracked the mainmast at the deck.

Thrown on her side the Olympus became unmanageable. Into a fearfully dark night the ship struggled, battered by hurricane winds. Seams of the vessel cracked, letting water seep into the bottom of the ship.

Two hours after the storm began, about 8:00 P.M., four feet of water had poured into the hold and the ship’s pumps were started. Above, knee-deep waters rushed over the decks, causing Brother Nowers and Mr. Fuller to lash themselves to the pumps they were operating to keep from being washed overboard. Hour after hour the storm raged. And the Olympus took on more and more water.

By midnight the captain, crew, and men on deck were despondent because the storm showed no signs of abating. Brother Nowers heard the captain order Second Mate Hamilton to go below deck and tell the Mormon’s president, Elder Howell, that “if the God of the Mormons can do anything to save the ship and the people, they had better be calling on him to do so.” The captain confessed that despite the crew’s best efforts the Olympus was sinking at the rate of 30 centimeters per hour and that by daylight it would be on the bottom of the sea unless the storm ceased

The second mate asked Brother Nowers to accompany him below to deliver the message to the Mormons. As soon as the crashing waves allowed the two messengers unbarred the companionway and went below. They found Elder Howell in his bed and told him the captain’s appeal.

The Mormon leader answered calmly. “You may tell Captain Wilson that we are not going to the bottom of the ocean for we embarked from Liverpool on a voyage for New Orleans, Louisiana, and we will arrive safely in that port. Our God will protect us.” Mr. Hamilton returned to the deck and gave Captain Wilson the Mormons’ answer.

Brother Nowers, dripping wet, could not help noticing the absolute chaos below deck. Everywhere unsecured trunks and packages rolled and skidded from one side to the other as the ship swayed and rolled. Some passengers were crying. Others prayed. Others simply waited.

President Howell quickly arose, dressed, and called about a dozen brethren, including new convert Wilson Nowers, to his side. The leader instructed that each man in the circle take a turn to pray vocally that the Lord would spare the vessel. Elder Howell prayed last.

“While he was still engaged in prayer,” Brother Nowers said, “I noticed a significant change in the motion of the ship.” Instead of rolling and tossing, the Olympus “seemed to tremble as one suffering from the effects of a severe cold.” He could not believe the ship was sinking. But he also could not believe that the storm had so suddenly ceased.

After the final hearty “amen” President Howell sent the prayer circle members back to bed. Brother Nowers, however, returned to his pumping duties on deck. There, astonished, he found that “the storm had miraculously ceased; the wind had gone down, and the waves were stilled close around the ship, while in the distance the billows were still raging.” The Olympus trembled at so sudden a change.

Pumping continued until daylight. When the Sabbath day finally dawned, clear and bright, Captain Wilson admitted that he had done all he could do before calling on the Mormons and that only God’s hand had saved the sinking ship.

Soon after, the bishop called me into his office and asked me to prepare to go on a mission. Since I was so shy, the idea overwhelmed me. I stalled.
Another school year ended, and I returned again to Rio Blanco. But I was the only member there, and I felt lonely. If the Church is really true, I reasoned, maybe I should tell others about it. I began to visit my friends and relatives in their homes each day after work to teach them the gospel. Several of them wanted to join the Church. I called mission president John F. O’Donnal and told him that there were eight persons in Rio Blanco ready for baptism. He was delighted to come and make the arrangements.
Like my bishop, President O’Donnal asked me to serve a mission. As a delaying tactic, I explained that there were no priesthood leaders in Rio Blanco. I told him I would go on a mission after he sent someone. He transferred two missionaries there the very next week. So I reluctantly filled out my mission papers.
As I expected, my mission was very demanding. But I have never regretted the decision to serve. Although my father has died, my mother is now a member of the Church, as are all but two of their fourteen living children. Four of their sons have gone on missions, and two more are preparing. Most of us have church callings.

Finally, I would like to tell you how my wife and I ended up here in beautiful Laie. A little over a year ago, I had decided to start to look for another job in the Salt Lake area near where we lived. I had worked for the same company for over 12 years and felt like it was time for a change. We were very comfortable in our home, our ward and had no intentions to move. The job market was good in Salt Lake and I started looking for another opportunity.

One night as I was watching the Utah Jazz game on TV an email came to me. I opened it up and it had a job listing for an HR Director at BYU Hawaii. I laughed and said to myself wouldn’t that be a great job. Especially with a foot of snow in our yard. But we wanted to stay in Salt Lake so I quickly deleted the email and finished watching the game. A few weeks went by and I did not give it another thought until I received a second email with the same BYU Hawaii job listing. This time I opened up the job posting and looked at it more closely. However, I still thought it was a huge long shot but I went ahead and applied on-line which only took me a few minutes. After I had finished applying, I did not give it another thought until, to my surprise, I got an email a few days later from the recruiter (Sister Lake) asking me for more information.

At this point in the process, I decided to tell my wife. She had always wanted to live by a beach. I told her about it, she just laughed and said, we can’t move to Hawaii! I laughed too and once again did not give it much thought since the recruiter told me there were over 50 candidates. Another few weeks went by and Sister Lake contacted me and told me that I had made the top 10 and they wanted to do a Skype interview with me. It was the first time that I thought that maybe I had a shot at the job. So I carefully and prayerfully prepared for the Skype interview. I had made a list of 10-15 common interview questions and prepared my answers. To my surprise the interview panel asked almost every single question I had prepared for (in order). When the interview ended I told my wife about the experience. For the first time she had a worried look on her face and she knew that this was a real possibility. We got an invitation to fly over to Oahu to interview for the job. The interview process went well and I was offered the job. We had decided to stay a couple of extra days on Oahu to enjoy the beach and check out potential housing options. However, I could tell that Leigh Anne was very worried about being so far away from our family and leaving our comfortable life in Utah. I had some of the same concerns. In fact, I could tell that she was leaning towards staying in Utah. I suggested we go to the temple and see how we feel. On Saturday morning we went to an endowment session.

To be honest, I felt pretty good about moving to Hawaii but I knew the easy decision would be to stay in Salt Lake. I knew in my heart that if this is where the Lord wanted us we should go but I knew Leigh Anne was not comfortable with the move. So during the entire temple session, my prayer was simple. I told the Lord that I was willing to move but only if my wife felt like this was the right decision for our family. After we finished the temple session, I met her right outside the front door. Leigh Anne had a solemn look on her face and was very quiet. I could not tell from her expression what she was thinking. We walked around behind the temple and sat down on a bench.

She immediately broke down and started to cry. She said she had a clear vision of our life in Hawaii and went into great detail about what it would be like. She was given direct revelation from our Father in Heaven. She said we have no choice but to move. The Lord wants us here. The rest is history. During the next few months the Lord literally opened up the windows of heaven and poured out many tender mercies to make our move to Hawaii a good one. So many things fell into place. We were worried about what to do about our home in Utah. Our good friends ended up renting it. There was uncertainty as to where we would live. We ended up in a beautiful home.

Former Student Life Vice President and Interim President of BYU-Idaho Robert Wilkes had a gift for teaching using stories. One principle he taught employees and their spouses at another Student Life retreat came from a story about his dad who had old, weathered, worn-out, ugly fence posts. He determined it was time to replace them and went and tore them out.

Most people would have burned the fence posts or thrown them away. His dad, however, was a fine carpenter and saw the potential that still laid within the old fence posts. He took them to a mill where there were cut into pieces which he then carefully crafted into beautiful cedar wood chests which he then gifted to his granddaughters.

From this story we learn that there were different choices that could be made with the old fence posts, each having different outcomes. Like Brother Wilkes’s father, how can we see the potential for good in others and make the investment of our time and nurturing to bring about a similar transformation like the old worn-out fence posts into beautiful cedar chests? Such transformations can even take place with ourselves.

Kristi was 23 years old. She had a job she liked in her field of computer science. She was active in her young adult group and meeting new friends when she was in a head-on collision with a truck on icy roads. The brain surgery Kristi underwent after that accident saved her life but paralyzed her left side.
Kristi struggled, first spending time in a wheelchair, then walking with braces, and finally walking on her own again. But she didn’t walk the same as before. She couldn’t use her left hand, and her vision was impaired. Her poor eyesight and loss of use in her hand made it impossible for Kristi to go back to her former job.
Gradually it became clear to her. There were two paths she could take. She could continue not accepting herself and being miserable. Or she could accept herself and find happiness. The acceptance came as she realized that her spirit was whole. It was complete, the same spirit she had before her accident.
As Kristi grew in accepting herself, she began to reach out to others. Her struggles seemed to lessen as she began serving. She made a decision to return to school and prepare to go into social work so she could help others as she had been helped. Kristi looked inside herself, found and accepted a friend who was definitely worth having—herself.