Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago I had an assignment that took me to Germany. I had been sick with the flu before I left, and I wasn’t sure if I ought to go: but I felt that I had better make the trip because of what had been planned and because of the many people who were depending on me. After the flight from New York to Frankfurt, Germany, I was tired and not feeling well. I was alone, and I didn’t speak German, so I checked into the hotel at the airport. Before going to my room, I went to the pharmacy and got a medicinal spray to disinfect my throat. It was in a push-button canister that dispenses the medication through a finger-length piece of plastic tubing that you stick down into your throat.

I went to my room and prepared to rest for a while; but when I began to spray my throat, the plastic tube came loose and drove itself down my throat and into my chest. I couldn’t feel it, but I knew there was a 7 1/2 cm piece of plastic somewhere, and I didn’t know what to do. I coughed. I did all that I could to get rid of it. Then I began to worry—not that I would die, for I knew that I wasn’t near death. But there were people waiting for me in various countries where I was to be traveling for the next three weeks, and I knew that if something didn’t happen right away I would end up in the hospital to have the plastic pipe removed surgically. So I needed immediate help. I knelt at my bed and told the Lord that I had no place to go; I didn’t speak German; I didn’t know a doctor; I didn’t know anyone; and there were people waiting for me. And I asked him to please remove this tubing. I got up from praying, and in two seconds it came out of my throat. You see, there are some answers to prayers that come immediately.

There is a picture of another girl in that yearbook. She was not particularly beautiful. But she had a wholesome look about her, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She knew why she was in school. She was there to learn. She dreamed of the kind of woman she wanted to be and patterned her life accordingly.

She also knew how to have fun, but knew when to stop and put her mind on other things.

There was a boy in school at the time. He had come from a small rural town. He had very little money. He brought lunch in a brown paper bag. He looked a little like the farm from which he had come. There was nothing especially handsome or dashing about him. He was a good student. He had set a goal for himself. It was lofty and, at times, appeared almost impossible of attainment.

These two fell in love. People said, “What does he see in her?” Or, “What does she see in him?” They each saw something wonderful which no one else saw.

Upon graduating from the university, they married. They scrimped and worked. Money was hard to come by. He went on to graduate school. She continued to work for a time, and then their children came. She gave her attention to them.

A few years ago, I was riding a plane home from the East. It was late at night. I walked down the aisle in the semidarkness. I saw a woman asleep with her head on the shoulder of her husband. She awakened as I approached. I immediately recognized the girl I had known in high school so long before. I recognized the boy I had also known. They were now approaching old age. As we talked, she explained that their children were grown, that they were grandparents. She proudly told me that they were returning from the East, where he had gone to deliver a paper. There at a great convention he had been honored by his peers from across the nation.

I learned that they had been active in the Church, serving in whatever capacity they were asked to serve. By every measure, they were successful. They had accomplished the goals which they had set for themselves. They had been honored and respected and had made a tremendous contribution to the society of which they were a part. She had become the woman of whom she had dreamed. She had exceeded that dream.

The life of the other had been difficult. It had meant scrimping and saving. It had meant working and struggling to keep going. It had meant simple food and plain clothing and a very modest apartment in the years of her husband’s initial effort to get started in his profession. But out of that seemingly sterile soil there had grown a plant, yes, two plants, side by side, that blossomed and bloomed in a beautiful and wonderful way.

Those beautiful blossoms spoke of service to fellowmen, of unselfishness one to another, of love and respect and faith in one’s companion, of happiness as they met the needs of others in the various activities which they pursued.

As I pondered the conversation with these two, I determined within myself to do a little better, to be a little more dedicated, to set my sights a little higher, to love my wife a little more dearly, to help her and treasure her and look after her.

I grew up in a faithful Mormon family in the mission field, in the southern Bible belt, where there was a good deal of misinformation about Mormons, requiring strong defense. Family activities revolved around church service and driving west to visit the relatives. Serving in the church was a major commitment. Our branch stretched 60 to 80 miles in diameter, and district meetings were 100 miles away. Picking up people for church took hours. But the Lord brought us there to build His kingdom. That branch area has now become a stake of Zion.
But back to my story. Racial unrest in my high school caused me to leave for college a year early. During my first year of university I met challenges that made me want to know for myself, absolutely, the truth of the things I believed. My religion teachers encouraged the quest by assuring us that the revelations and gifts of the gospel are for all of us, not just special, privileged people. They also quoted Joseph Smith saying, "Make yourselves acquainted with men who, like Daniel, pray three times a day toward the temple."[1]
So, I began fasting frequently, and praying formally an extra time, at midday, while my roommate was in class. One midday several months into the experiment, I was again being very honest with the Lord about my need to know, and there came upon me an exceedingly sweet, powerful, full-of-love influence that seemed to enter into every molecule of my body and record indelibly there that Jesus is the Christ, that Joseph Smith and our current prophet are truly prophets of God, and that the gospel which I had been taught from youth up was true—priesthood authority, the Atonement, the Book of Mormon, the temple, the great plan of happiness—they are all true and right.
That sweet influence of light and love stayed with me for about 24 hours. Under its influence, I was filled with love and saw the world and even my fellow men differently. I was amazed that, although I felt very different, I did not appear different to others. I felt changed. Though there have been other experiences since then, that experience has remained a touchstone in my life. It did not come easily, but I know that I know. No knowledge you gain here will be of more importance than the knowledge of the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and His church. Do whatever it takes to gain this knowledge.

Let me share an example of how this rippling begins and reverberates when one righteous Latter-day Saint woman acts upon her knowledge that Jesus is the Christ and the gospel has been restored.
In 1841, Dan Jones, a Welsh immigrant, was the captain of one of the smallest registered boats carrying people and freight on the upper Mississippi River. It seems more than coincidence to me that his boat was named the Ripple. Among his passengers were members of an obscure “new” church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
During his journeys Dan Jones began to hear criticisms of these “Mormons.” Because he had ferried many of them, he had talked with them and observed their behavior. He found them to be good people—kind, honest, and hardworking. The negative comments and writings about these people did not match up with what he had experienced in his dealings with them.
“Through a careful investigation of the accusations,” he later wrote, “I perceived clearly that it was impossible for them to be true, either because … they overstated the case or … contradicted themselves” (quoted in Ronald D. Dennis, “Dan Jones, Welshman,” Ensign, Apr. 1987, 50).
One significant event in particular propelled Dan Jones from a careful observer to an active investigator of the Church. He wrote this: “Purely by accident, there fell into my hands … a letter which [Emma Smith] had written. … I shall never forget the feelings which that … letter caused me to have. I perceived clearly that not only did [she] believe the New Testament, the same as I—professing the apostolic faith, and rejoicing in the midst of her tribulations at being worthy to suffer all … for a testimony of Jesus and the gospel—but also it contained better counsel, more wisdom, and showed a more … godly spirit than anything I had ever read!” (Ensign, Apr. 1987, 50, 52).
Inspired by Emma’s words and example, Dan Jones sought to learn more about this church. In 1843 he was baptized in the Mississippi River and became one of the most influential missionaries in the history of the Church, bringing hundreds of people to the gospel in his native Wales. In a very literal way, Emma Smith’s influence continues to ripple through generations. Who can say how many hundreds, even thousands of the descendants of those Dan Jones introduced to the gospel may be listening to this meeting at this very hour?

Mike was the youngest and the littlest in his family.
He was too young to go to school with his brother and sister. He was too little to play basketball with them.
Mike couldn’t eat as fast as the rest of his family, so sometimes the dessert would be all gone by the time he was ready for seconds.
He still couldn’t tie his shoelaces so that they stayed tied.
Sometimes he couldn’t reach the toy he wanted in the toy cabinet. And the cookie jar was completely out of his reach.
Mike couldn’t ride a bike yet—he was still riding his tricycle. And he wasn’t allowed to cross the street alone.
He was too small to climb the tree that grew behind the house—he couldn’t reach even the lowest branch.
Mike couldn’t stay up as late as his brother or his sister, either—they were allowed to stay up a whole hour longer!
Sometimes it was very hard to be the youngest and the littlest.
But there were times when being the youngest and the littlest could be nice.
When Grandma came to visit, Mike was the only one little enough to sit on her lap.
Sometimes when his brother and sister were in school, Mike and his mother went shopping together. The lady in the bakery would often give him a big cookie. And after lunch his mother would have time to read a story to him. They would laugh together at the pictures in the storybook. That was fun!
Some days his sister would give Mike a ride in his red wagon. He was the only one little enough to fit into it.
Mike was small enough that he could turn cartwheels right in the family room. His brother and sister were not allowed to do that.
When Mike and Daddy went for walks, Daddy would give him a piggyback ride home. Pretty soon he would be too big for that, Daddy said, but now he was just the right size.
One day something happened that made Mike very happy that he was little.
The whole family had been shopping together. When they got home, no one had a house key.
“How can we get in?” they asked each other.
“I know,” said Mother. “That small window is open. If we boost Mike up to the window, he can climb through it and open the door from the inside.”
Daddy boosted Mike up to the small window. He wriggled through it, then ran to open the front door. His mother, father, brother, and sister came in.
“You’re our hero, Mike,” they all said. “You rescued us!”
Mike grinned. Sometimes being the youngest and the littlest was a very good thing.

There is a choice account of how this practice was carried out in the early days of the Church. History has recorded the testimony of Elder William Farrington Cahoon, as he filled his assignment as a teacher to the home of the Prophet Joseph Smith. The account is as follows:
“Before I close my testimony … , I wish to mention one circumstance which I never shall forget: I was called and ordained to act as a teacher to visit the families of the Saints. I got along very well till I found that I was obliged to call and pay a visit to the Prophet. Being young [only about seventeen years of age], I felt my weakness in visiting the Prophet and his family in the capacity of a teacher. I almost felt like shrinking from duty. Finally I went to his door and knocked, and in a minute the Prophet came to the door. I stood there trembling, and said to him:
“‘Brother Joseph, I have come to visit you in the capacity of a teacher, if it is convenient for you.’
“He said ‘Brother William, come right in, I am glad to see you; sit down in that chair there and I will go and call my family in.’
“They soon came in and took seats. He then said, ‘Brother William, I submit myself and family into your hands,’ and then took his seat. ‘Now Brother William,’ said he ‘ask all the questions you feel like.’
“By this time all my fears and trembling had ceased, and I said, ‘Brother Joseph, are you trying to live your religion?’
“He answered ‘Yes.’
“I then said ‘Do you pray in your family?’
“He said ‘Yes.’
“‘Do you teach your family the principles of the gospel?’
“He replied ‘Yes, I am trying to do it.’
“‘Do you ask a blessing on your food?’
“He answered ‘Yes.’
“‘Are you trying to live in peace and harmony with all your family?’
“He said that he was.
“I then turned to Sister Emma, his wife, and said ‘Sister Emma, are you trying to live your religion? Do you teach your children to obey their parents? Do you try to teach them to pray?’
“To all these questions she answered ‘Yes, I am trying to do so.’
“I then turned to Joseph and said, ‘I am now through with my questions as a teacher; and now if you have any instructions to give, I shall be happy to receive them.’
“He said ‘God bless you, Brother William; and if you are humble and faithful, you shall have power to settle all difficulties that may come before you in the capacity of a teacher.’
“I then left my parting blessing upon him and his family, as a teacher, and took my departure.” (Juvenile Instructor, 27 (15 Aug. 1892): 492–93.)

Great Britain has the world’s most regal (elegant) letter boxes. The tall cylinders stand like palace guards, their scarlet tunics emblazoned with a golden crown and the insignia of the queen. One such letter box stands sentry on Cottam Lane in Preston, in front of Ingol County Primary School. From time to time a pretty eight-year-old girl approaches and reaches high to drop in a letter addressed to Masha Melnikova in Mogilev, Belarus. The sender is Lorna Wilson, a Latter-day Saint, and Masha’s true friend.
Lorna’s father, Christopher, is a software designer who spends much of his spare time working for a charity called Medicine and Chernobyl. This organization provides medical aid for the Belarusian victims of a nuclear disaster in the nearby Ukrainian city of Chernobyl. Each year the charity brings a group of Belarusian children for a month-long visit to England. These children live downwind from Chernobyl, and their resistance to disease has been impaired. A month in a healthy environment helps them rebuild their physical and emotional reserves. Masha was one of these children.
Masha arrived at the Wilson home speaking almost no English. Lorna spoke even less Russian. Still, they managed to communicate with gestures and occasional help from a Russian phrase book. Within a day, somehow, they were best friends. Although Masha had her own room the first night, the two girls’ friendship blossomed so quickly that from the second night on, they chose to share a room. Lorna’s parents had to go in each night and persuade them to turn out the lights. They’d be talking away, drawing, and dressing dolls. Neither learned much of the other’s language, but they understood each other very well. On the morning Masha left to return home, Lorna was so upset that she couldn’t go to school.
That was unusual, because Lorna likes school. A very good student, her favorite subjects are art and math. When her school formed a group called the Troubleshooters from among the most able students, Lorna was the youngest person chosen. The Troubleshooters go to local businesses and help them solve problems. Lorna’s group first went to the Preston office of the Royal Mail. They were given two problems to solve. One was that the staff wasn’t looking at the notice boards. The other was that a stray letter was occasionally left in the bottom of a supposedly empty mail sack. The Troubleshooters went to work and produced many good suggestions, several of which were adopted. In a small way, Lorna was helping to speed her letters from the letter box on Cottam Lane to her friend in Belarus!
“Lorna’s an inspiration to me,” her mother, Helen, says. “I really do try to follow her example. When I go to a parents’ evening at school, her teachers tell me, ‘What can I say? She’s just wonderful!’”
Lorna wants to be either a zookeeper or an artist when she grows up. Whatever she chooses, she will do it well. She likes to do art and sewing, especially cross-stitch, and she always tries to do them perfectly. She has been taking ballet for three years. She also is a Brownie and a skilled Maypole dancer.
The oldest of six children, Lorna sometimes feels frustrated when a little sister wrecks a project or pinches (takes) her crayons. Even so, she loves her little brothers and sisters and takes good care of them. Her mother says, “We’re lucky Lorna is the oldest, because she’s a good example to the others. She isn’t perfect, but she’s very trustworthy, and she helps the others with reading and things like that.” In return, the younger children look up to her. Adam (6) is a football player and a dreamer. He has adopted all the older ladies in the ward. Hannah (5) is a gifted artist with a keen eye for beauty. Abigail (4) has her daddy’s sense of humor and likes to tease people. Sara (2) is sunny and outgoing. Everybody at church wants to take her home with them. Joshua (1) just started walking. He is a charming, happy boy.
The Wilsons are a close-knit family who take drives in the countryside when their busy schedules allow. They also like to play games together. Sometimes for family home evening they play a Book of Mormon game Sister Wilson made. It stretches clear across the floor. For many years they invited an elderly neighbor to each of their family home evenings and adopted him as their granddad. After his death, they began to invite a handicapped man from their ward. “He’s a lovely man with a beautiful spirit,” Sister Wilson says, “but he can’t speak. He has to use a machine to communicate.” The children welcome guests with open arms. At Christmas they invite in anyone they know is going to be alone. The family also goes caroling to some of the elderly people who live nearby.
Seeing firsthand the sorrows of others has helped the Wilson children appreciate their own blessings. When the Belarusian children came, they had very little in the way of clothing, and what they had was threadbare. Their diet in Belarus had been poor too. “We learned not to waste food,” Lorna says, “because some people have hardly anything.”
The family tries to read the Book of Mormon at breakfast each day, although sometimes it’s a struggle. Lorna’s favorite person in the Book of Mormon is Jesus Christ.
Preston and the surrounding areas were the sites of some of the greatest missionary efforts in the history of the Church. In 1837 Elder Heber C. Kimball led a group of missionaries there to begin the work in Great Britain. The Wilsons have stood by the River Ribble, where the first baptisms in Britain took place. They have walked through Market Square, where the missionaries preached. They have visited many places where the Spirit was poured out upon their land. It’s no wonder that they do missionary work whenever they can. They once had the favor returned when a nonmember referred them to the missionaries! One day the sister missionaries knocked on a door around the corner from the Wilsons where some older ladies lived. The missionaries asked them if they were interested in learning about the Church, and they said no.
“Well, do you know anybody who might be?”
“There’s a lovely family around the corner,” one of the ladies answered. “They have lots of children. They’d be good Mormons.”
She was right, of course.

As to what extent that difference is, let me quote to you a letter. It was written a few months ago by a person who had a friend who thought enough of him to do exactly what we have been talking about. That is, the writer is a convert to the Church. He had a friend who brought him the gospel of Jesus Christ.

A few years ago, after this person became a member of the Church and received the priesthood, he took a girl to the temple. He was married for time and eternity. A few months ago a terrible tragedy struck. His wife died suddenly. There was no warning. This is the letter that he wrote while in the depths of his sorrow. He has given me permission to share this with you.

I am so miserable and lonely. I loved her so much, and the separation is so painful. I know the gospel is true. I know she is alive and working on her new assignment, but I do not find as much comfort as I thought I would.

I see good in all this. I see that my character can be strengthened. I see that my testimony has increased. I am grateful that I am a Latter-day Saint. I am appreciative that I have a knowledge of the truth and that I hold the priesthood.

If I did not have my testimony or my temple marriage, life would be so cumbersome. But the gospel is true, God lives, and Jesus the Christ, his Son, lives. Because he lives, she lives; and I will live. Because of my priesthood and the sealing powers of that priesthood, we will be reunited. That I know with a certainty tested in the flames of sorrow. But I miss the girl, my sweetheart. We were one, and half of me is beyond the veil.

A simple act of caring helped Judy* learn from a difficult experience. “It was probably the bleakest time in my life,” she recalls. “My divorce had been long and bitter, and I missed being with my four children. For six months I had been working with Dr. Susan Nelson,* a therapist who helped me recognize that I was partially responsible for what had happened. For the first time, I had to confront my personal weaknesses that, until then, I had denied. It all seemed so overwhelming to me.
“One afternoon in Dr. Nelson’s office, as I was speaking of everything precious I had lost, I looked up to see tears slipping down her cheeks. It surprised me. ‘If a paid therapist can care so much about me,’ I thought, ‘why can’t I care that much about myself?’ Tears began to roll down my face for the first time in years. It was the turning point. In her loving and caring way, Dr. Nelson reminded me that I am a child of God. I could then value myself enough to let go of the past and move on with my life.”

For a long time when I was growing up, I didn’t pray on my own. Then one day I had a problem, and I thought, “I don’t know what to do. I can’t make this choice on my own. But I know Heavenly Father can help me.”
Now praying makes me feel closer to my Heavenly Father. Sometimes I pray just because I want to talk to Him! Even if I don’t have some big question or problem, I want to talk to Heavenly Father. I know He’s not looking down on me and getting mad at me for my mistakes—He’s my Father, and I want to have a relationship with Him like I have with my earthly father.

by Ugo Libardo, Brindisi [Italy] Branchand Stefania Zitelli, Rome West Branch
There we were—150 young Latter-day Saints from the Italy Rome Mission—invading Paestum, a beautiful town along the shores of the famous “Costa Amalfitania,” to hold our fourth annual conference.
A clear sky, bright sunshine, and a calm and limpid sea formed the scene at Paestum, an ancient town to the south of Naples. Young Latter-day Saints had come from 18 branches in the Italy Rome Mission to gather for their conference. Finally, an occasion to meet each other, a time to enjoy the pleasures ot each other’s company, to feel united in the same joy and cheerfulness!
With the help of an efficient planning committee, young Italian Latter-day Saints were able to spend three full days in activities, games, swimming competitions, and social seminars. Special programs, roadshows, talents, folk dances, and sketches all created enthusiasm. Seminary, institute, temple marriage, and personal development were a few of the themes that leaders stressed. Talent evenings and dances concluded each busy day. Many prizes were awarded for winning musical talents such as guitar, flute, and singing, both native and foreign songs.
And what a beautiful opportunity to visit the ancient grounds where our ancestors lived! Paestum hides within itself the secrets of a great and old civilization. Ancient temples, streets, and ruins testify to its splendor and art. What a cultural and unforgettable experience!
From the very day of our arrival there was an atmosphere of friendship and cordiality. We were also blessed, as an answer to our prayers, with a warm sun that enabled us to fully enjoy the time and the activities prepared by the conference planning committee.
It seems like everything contributed to the success of the assembly: the comfortable hotel; nice swimming pool; green, relaxing meadow in the back of the hotel; interesting ruins of the Greek temples nearby, and, most of all, the special spirits of the young people gathered there.
Almost all the branches of the mission were represented, and each of them had something to contribute with a striking abundance and variety of talents. Very few missed the sports contests, and no one skipped the long-awaited Saturday night dance.
Our last day together was Sunday—a day to be near to our Heavenly Father. After two separate sessions, one for young women and one for young men, a final and touching testimony meeting was held.
The conference was a great help for both members and nonmembers. One youth said, “Before coming to Paestum, I had no idea that Mormons were so talented and such a special people.” When parting time came, many of these special Saints were already wondering about next year’s youth conference. And with gentle thoughts in their minds, all the young men and young women went back to their home cities and branches thankful for the memorable experience.

One summer many, many years ago, my mother decided it would be a great project for her children to refinish the dining room chairs. The chairs were painted a dark cherry color, and my mother had discovered that underneath that paint was good, hard maple wood.
I will never forget that experience. We began by applying a nasty solvent called toluene to all the painted surfaces, and then we scraped the paint off.
Once the paint was removed, we had to sand the wood with several grades of sandpaper in order to remove the very last bits of paint and to prepare the wood for a new finish.
When the sanding was finally done, we applied a finish to highlight the grain and enhance the wood's natural color. In the final step we sealed the new hardwood finish with two coats of varnish. Those chairs were transformed!

One day when the king of Thailand wanted to have a banquet for all the princes and lords in his kingdom, he ordered the chief cook to prepare his favorite fish dish.

But the chief cook replied, “Your highness, there are no fish. No fishermen have gone to sea for the past three days because the storm has made the sea too rough for fishing.”

“Do you mean to say there are no fish for my banquet?” the king asked angrily.

“Yes, your highness,” answered the cook.

“Very well then,” proclaimed the king, “I’ll give a handsome reward to anyone brave enough to go fishing and bring me fish for my banquet.”

Although the sea was still too stormy for fishing, one brave fisherman ventured out and soon returned with a good supply of fish for the king’s banquet.

When the fisherman tried to deliver the fish to the king, a guard at the palace gate stopped him and said, “I’ll let you in only if you promise to give me half of the reward the king will give you.”

The fisherman thought the guard’s request was most unreasonable. But seeing no other way to get the fish to the king, he agreed, and the gate was opened.

When the king saw the fish, he was most pleased and at once asked the fisherman to name his reward.

“Give me fifty strokes of the whip,” the fisherman asked.

“What?” exclaimed the king. “You want to be whipped fifty times as your reward?”

“Yes, your majesty. Whip me fifty times, and that shall be my reward.”

“Very well,” replied the king in disappointment. “You will be whipped fifty times. Do you wish for anything else besides that?”

“No. I ask for nothing else,” said the fisherman as he was tied to the wall.

One, two, three, four, five … The whip fell painfully on the fisherman’s back.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen … But the fisherman did not make the slightest protest.

Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five. “Stop! Stop!” cried the fisherman.

“Do you wish to change your mind?” the king asked in surprise.

“No, your majesty, but I want to share my reward with the guard at the palace gates.”

“What do you mean?” The king was very puzzled.

The fisherman then explained, “When I was bringing the fish to you, the guard at the palace gate would not let me in unless I promised to give him half of my reward. Since the reward I have asked for is fifty strokes of the whip, and since I have now received half of them, the guard should receive the other twenty-five strokes.”

Immediately the guard was brought before the king. “Is it true that this fisherman promised to give you half of his reward?” questioned the king.

The guard, not knowing what had happened but thinking that he was to be rewarded, replied that it was true.

This made the king very angry. He ordered the guard to be taken away and whipped twenty-five times—his reward as promised by the fisherman.

Then, turning to the fisherman, the king said, “Since you have given half of your reward away, do you wish for something else?”

“No, your majesty,” replied the fisherman. “I ask for nothing more than to serve you as a loyal subject.”

And the brave fisherman left the palace and continued to serve his king.

In those days I often recalled a childhood memory. When I was a boy, The Ed Sullivan Show was one of the most popular programs on television. As a variety show, it featured performers with widely divergent talents. One performer was a man who appeared regularly. Many poles, perhaps a dozen or more, were set up on stage with stacks of dinner plates beside them. This agile individual would spin a plate on top of one of the poles, then move to the next pole and spin a second plate, and then a third and a fourth. As he proceeded down the line of poles, the rotation of the plates on the first and second poles would begin to slow, and the dishes were in danger of falling off and crashing to the floor. Seeing this, the man would quickly run back to those poles and, with a gentle spin, increase the motion that allowed the plates to keep spinning. The excitement of the act was to witness the ability of the performer to expand the number of rotating plates while not letting any fall. Invariably, a point would be reached at which he was not able to keep up. There was a limit to his ability to increase the number and properly care for the plates already in motion. The sight of dishes sliding from their precarious perches and the cacophony as they hit the hard floor vividly proved the point that even the most skilled performer has his limits.

Henry, 15, was outside his house when Joseph Smith left for Carthage “the last time alive.” Henry saw Joseph shake hands and exchange canes with a stranger. Then Joseph rode away. Henry first heard the tragic news from Carthage Jail “when a runner went past our house shouting that the prophet was killed.”
A day or two later Henry and crowds of others visited the Mansion House, where “I saw their murdered bodies after they were brought from Carthage.” The murders were “a sad blow to my father,” Henry said, “and for a time he was at a loss to know what the results would be, but he finally settled to the conviction that the church would continue its progress and that the Twelve Apostles were the proper leaders.”

This is a good time to tell you the rest of the story about my Economics 110 class. When I returned to school after my mission, which had taught me good study habits, the first class I signed up for was Economics 110 again. This time, I had a different kind of hope. I had hope that I would be more disciplined. I had hope that I could probably do better than a 22% on the first exam just by cracking open the book now and then. I had hope that I could tap into the power of my Savior’s atoning sacrifice to enable me to stretch beyond my own capabilities. That hope motivated me to study hard, and ultimately led to a solid A in the class, giving me hope for the rest of my college career.

Let me share with you the tale of the CEO and the gas station attendant:
“[A chief executive officer or CEO] and his wife were driving along an interstate highway when he noticed that their car was low on gas. [He] got off the highway at the next exit and soon found a rundown gas station with just one gas pump. He asked the lone attendant to fill the tank and check the oil, then went for a little walk around the station to stretch his legs.
“As he was returning to the car, he noticed that the attendant and his wife were engaged in an animated conversation. The conversation stopped as he paid the attendant. But as he was getting back into the car, he saw the attendant wave and heard him say, “It was great talking to you.”
“As they drove out of the station, [He] asked his wife if she knew the man. She readily admitted she did. They had gone to high school together and had dated steadily for about a year.
“Boy, were you lucky that I came along… If you had married him, you’d be the wife of a gas station attendant instead of the wife of a [CEO].”
“My dear,” replied his wife, “if I had married him, he’d be the [CEO] and you’d be the gas station attendant.” [24] ?

Without my dear Petra, I would still be at the gas station.

When I was getting ready to attend high school over 50 years ago, my mom and I went out to our family farm to gather fragrant plants, roots, seeds, flowers and leaves to make Tongan oil. The sun that day was very hot and scavenging for these ingredients was hard. I was not enthusiastic about crawling on my knees through the shrubs and bushes looking for these plants. At one point, I started to murmur with every step, complaining about everything. I wasn’t sure whether it was a worthwhile to spend so much time in this laborious activity; considering other things we could be doing. My rationale was that a bottle of oil could be bought in the marketplace for 10 cents; and it would be a lot less hassle.
Getting fed up with my constant nagging, my mom threw the woven basket on the ground and stood quietly for a few minutes. Then she looked straight at me and slowly said,
“Son, someday, you will understand the things that I worry about. If you go to school without a shirt on your back, people will simply say that you are poor. But if your skin is scaly and dry, your hair is not freshly covered with oil, then people will say that you don’t have a mother. Son it’s OK to be poor, but it’s a shame for my children to be in public with dry skin and wild hair that is not well groomed when their mother is still alive.”
I learned a very important lesson from my mother that day. I learned to be respectful of those older than me. She taught me that others may have more experience and wisdom to share and I would be better off listening and not complaining. My skeptical attitude got me nowhere and only hurt my mothers’ feelings.

I remember a grandmother who had been widowed early in her life and was moving out of her home. Her granddaughter, about to be married herself, was carefully helping her pack the boxes of dishes and the faded towels. “See that sewing machine over there in the corner?” the grandmother asked. “Your grandfather always left his hat there when he came home in the evening. I used to scold him all the time about it. ‘Just put your hat on the hook,’ I’d say. ‘Why does your hat always have to be on the sewing machine messing everything up?’ Then one day he got pneumonia and died, leaving four little children and me to miss him for a lifetime. How many times through the years I’ve thought, What I’d give to see that hat on the sewing machine, placed there by his own hand!”

In 1992, the Yugoslavian war was raging. Our town of Mostar was being bombed daily. All public services were suspended, including the postal service.
On April 1, however, a knock came at my door. When I opened it, a man I had never seen handed me a package from my daughter, who then lived in Malaga, Spain, where she had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Inside was a copy of the Book of Mormon.
I started reading it that very day. A war was going on outside, but as I read, I felt peace and was not afraid. Later, I learned that the peace I felt was the Holy Ghost. I knew I was protected and would not die.
As I read, I learned about Jesus Christ and that He was still alive. I learned about baptism and the Savior’s Church. I felt that everything I read was true. From time to time, my daughter would answer my questions.
When my husband died in 2019, I decided to go to the United States, where my daughter now lived. I wanted to see her and learn more about the restored Church.
I stayed in Salt Lake City, Utah, for four and a half months. I went to church every week with my daughter. I had a feeling I could not describe. I took the missionary discussions. I knew it was all true. I experienced the most beautiful day of my life when I entered the waters of baptism and was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on July 27, 2019.
When I walked into the room to be confirmed after my baptism, everyone was crying. Being baptized and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost is a great gift from our Heavenly Father. After my confirmation, I felt that heaven was open and that we were all there together. In my patriarchal blessing afterward, I received many special, eternal promises.
The Book of Mormon is true. By reading and praying about it, we can gain our own testimony of it. With that testimony, we will know that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that through him, the true Church of Jesus Christ was restored to the earth.