Gospel Story Finder

Let me illustrate with a situation that I’ve recently become aware of here at BYU–Hawaii.

A group of sisters in an off-campus apartment became close friends as they went to church together, often prayed together, and supported each other through the ups and downs of being young adults away from home. A few months ago, some of these sisters became concerned about one of their roommates, whom I’ll refer to as Kathy. Kathy and her boyfriend were seeing each other more and more, and she began to come home later and later. Her dear friends expressed their fear to her that maybe things were getting out of hand. But Kathy became defensive and assured them that all was well and that she could take care of herself.

Still her sisters feared for her. Then, they noted that the boy was staying in their apartment past curfew, and he had become casual about going in and out of her room. They lovingly reminded Kathy of the danger, but it seemed their dear sister was becoming blind to the fact that standards were being overlooked. Her friends feared for Kathy’s eternal welfare.

Soon Kathy's roommates decided that help was needed. Even though they knew their friendship might be at risk, they were not willing to watch Kathy slip any closer to losing everything. They went to their bishop and to the Office of Honor, believing that an immediate rescue was needed.

Kathy was deeply offended and, at first, was unwilling to cooperate with those at the university or with her bishop who wanted to help her. She was put on probation by her counselor at the Office of Honor and told that she would not be able to continue at BYU–Hawaii if she did not comply with the residential living standards in the Honor Code. The desire of her counselor was to gain her attention and demonstrate to her how dangerous her behavior was becoming. Her bishop also helped her see that she was playing with fire. Thankfully, Kathy humbled herself and put strict rules in place in her life. Before long, she was grateful to her roommates, to her Bishop, and even to the Office of Honor for loving her and helping her open her eyes to imminent danger.

Three days after my father graduated from high school in 1944, he reported for the Navy. He became a chief petty officer and received his assignment to AO-96, the U.S.S. Tamalpais. The ship sailed across the Pacific, delivering water to famous places like Eniwetok, Leyte, and Ulithi. The Tamalpais received a call into Tokyo Bay in the summer of 1945, so Dad witnessed the end of the war—an iconic moment of the 20th century.[1]
In my office, I display a silk Japanese flag Dad brought from Japan. It’s a joy because I later served my mission there among a wonderful people my dad had never said anything bad about. But I prize this brown and black volume the most of Dad’s things—his military copy of the Book of Mormon. I raise it sometimes when I attend devotional.
Dad eventually started a small business and reared five children. To relieve stress, we’d go to the mountains, including Yellowstone. There, Dad sometimes opened the scriptures. Under the gentle lights, we’d read the Book of Mormon. I don’t remember much of what we read, but I remember what I felt: a quiet assurance of the truth of this book. So, when Dad died the day after Christmas when I was 10, those memories’ importance grew. I thank God that Dad found a way to somehow teach me to love the Book of Mormon.

Every day we make choices. Some aren’t a big deal—what color backpack we carry, for example. Other choices are a big deal—for instance, how we treat other people or whether we obey a commandment. Read the story below and pretend that you are the main character. What choices would you make?
Your mom says that you may invite two friends over after school tomorrow. First you call Julie, who lives a few miles away. She is in your Primary class as well as in your class at school. Her parents say yes! She will walk home with you; her parents will pick her up before supper.
Next you call Tasha, a nonmember who lives just a few houses away. She can come too. Before she hangs up the phone, though, she asks if anyone else is coming. When you tell her that Julie is also coming, Tasha says, “Yuk! Then I don’t want to come, after all.”
If you say, “Julie is my friend too. Why don’t you come and get to know her better?” go to A. If you say, “OK, I’ll tell Julie that something came up with my mom and that I can’t have anybody over,” go to F.
A. Tasha says, “Well, I guess I’ll still come, but don’t expect me to make friends with Julie.” After school, Tasha and Julie walk home with you. When Julie stoops to tie her shoelace, Tasha makes an ugly face at her behind her back.
If you say, “Julie, Tasha’s making faces at you. She didn’t want you to come,” go to J. If you say nothing but give Tasha a look of disappointment, go to E.
E. When you get to your house, punch and cookies are on the table. They turn out to be the favorite treats of both Tasha and Julie. As the afternoon goes on, you see that Tasha is actually being friendly with Julie. Tasha says, “Hey, Julie, I didn’t know you were such fun! You never say anything in school.”
If you suddenly feel jealous and try to discourage their growing friendship, go to B. If you try to help them become better friends, go to I.
I. You suggest that you all play on the tire swing. Tasha has the first turn swinging. As Julie climbs on the tire for her turn, a car full of teenagers zips by. One of them flips a cigarette on the curb. Tasha runs to pick it up. “It’s still lit!” She turns to you and says, “I dare you to try it!”
If you say, “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and I hope you don’t either, ‘cause it’s bad for you,” go to D. If you say, “Well, maybe just one puff—but you’d better not tell anyone!” go to H.
D. Tasha hides the cigarette as her mother drives past, then starts to put it in her mouth. You yell, “Stop! It really is bad for you.” She says, “Once won’t hurt. I want to know what it tastes like.” She takes a puff and starts to cough. When she throws the cigarette down, you stomp on it and say, “I wish you hadn’t done that. Heavenly Father doesn’t want us to hurt our bodies.” Tasha asks, “Is Heavenly Father the same person as God? How do you know that He doesn’t want us to smoke?”
If you say, “I just do, that’s all. Come on—it’s Julie’s turn on the swing,” go to C. If you say, “Because he told us so in a scripture we call the Word of Wisdom,” go to G.
G. “What’s the Word of Wisdom?” Tasha asks. “It’s kind of like a health code,” you say. “It teaches us to not smoke, drink coffee, tea, beer, or wine—stuff like that. And to not do drugs.”
Julie pipes up, “It teaches us to eat fruits and vegetables and grains—you know, healthy things.”
“So do you two go to the same church?” Tasha asks. When you both nod, she looks down. “I don’t go to church, except when I visit my grandma. What do you do at your church?”
“Well,” you answer, “we have Primary every Sunday. It’s kind of like Sunday School in other churches. We have a lesson and learn about Jesus Christ. We sing songs, too, and have a lot of fun. Oh, and we have special activity days every so often.”
“Yeah,” Julie chimes in, “it’s all really neat! Would you like to come with us this Sunday?”
“Do I have to wear a dress?”
“We always do,” you tell her. “I’m always glad I do—it just feels right, somehow.”
Tasha shrugs. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to dress up. Sure—I’ll ask Mom if I can go.” (The End)

Some years ago, when our oldest grandson, Jose, was four, he was playing with my wife. While they were laughing and having a good time together, our grandson asked her, “Grandma, do you love me?”
She answered him, “Yes, Jose, I do love you.”
Then he asked her another question: “How do you know that you love me?”
She explained to him her feelings and also told him all she had done and was willing to do for him.
Later my wife asked Jose the same questions, including this penetrating inquiry: “How do you know that you love me?”
With an innocent but sincere response, he said, “I love you because I feel it inside my heart.” Jose’s loving behavior to his grandmother that day and always demonstrates that love is a combination of actions as well as deep feelings.

Steve was working on a term paper when a credit card company called his Brigham Young University dorm. The company was offering cards to students and wondered if he would like to apply. Happy to take a break from studying, Steve agreed to answer a few questions. He told the representative he was on scholarship and had no income. Since he planned to serve a mission at the end of the year, it would be a long time before he graduated and began a career. I’ll never get approved, Steve thought as the conversation ended. To his amazement, he received a $2,000-limit credit card a week later in the mail.
Credit card debt can get out of control, causing heartache and deep financial troubles if unchecked. President Gordon B. Hinckley has said, “Debt can be a terrible thing. It is so easy to incur and so difficult to repay. Borrowed money is had only at a price, and that price can be burdensome” (Ensign, Mar. 1990, 4). Steve learned this lesson the hard way. For the first few months he had his credit card, it stayed in his wallet. But in the last three weeks of his freshman year, Steve went on a spending spree. “After a year of living on a few hundred dollars a month, I decided to go have some fun,” says Steve.
With his credit card he paid for weekend trips and new clothes. By the time he went home, he had racked up charges nearing his credit limit. As a result, he spent the summer before his mission working frantically to pay off the debt. “It wasn’t a positive learning experience,” says Steve. “At the time, I didn’t realize that a credit card doesn’t expand your income now; it shrinks your future income because of debt.”

At the rooster’s first call, Juan Carlos opened his eyes and peeked through the cracks in the wooden wall just above his head. The darkness was fading. Today was his first day to help Sister Fuentes make tortillas. Time to get ready, he thought. He slipped from his hammock to the dirt floor below and went outside to wash himself in the cool water from the pump.
Stake conference would be in two months, and last week President Garcia, his branch president, had announced that a General Authority would be coming. That was fantastic, except for one thing—the city boys would all be wearing either fine Panama shirts or white shirts and ties. Even Juan’s father had a Sunday shirt. One of the North American missionaries who’d completed his mission and gone home had given it to him.
Juan Carlos had only one shirt. His mother had stitched it from a flour sack. He wore it every day of the week, even to church on Sundays. It embarrassed Juan to wear a flour-sack shirt to church, even though they met in a one-room home, and he’d told his father so. His father had just said, “Remember, son, the Lord looks on the inside of a person, not the outside.” But last conference, Juan had felt so uncomfortable about his shirt that afterward he hadn’t waited in line to shake anyone’s hand and he couldn’t even remember what the speakers had said. This conference would be different, however—thanks to the tortillas.
Juan loved Sister Fuentes, the Primary teacher—their little branch had only four families and six children. She was also the village tortilla maker. It was hard work to soak and grind the corn, haul buckets of water, and search for firewood in the forest up the hill. Tortillas had to be made early, for before breakfast nearly every family in the village would send a child to her with a small coin to buy some of the steaming, thick, pale, perfectly even circles of dough that she had patted out. Before they left to work in the fields, the men wanted hot tortillas. And later, for lunch, they would eat them cold, folded over some beans.
Saturday Sister Fuentes had come to his home. “Juan Carlos,” she said, “I am looking for someone to help me. So many want tortillas in the mornings! I have tried, but I just can’t make enough for everyone by myself. I was wondering if you would help me. It is very hard work, but I will pay you two lempiras every week.”
Two lempiras! That was a lot of money—why, he could earn enough before conference came to buy a white shirt, if he saved carefully!
Sister Fuentes was already working when Juan Carlos arrived on Monday. The morning passed quickly. He built the fire, hauled water, and ground corn between two stones. He was amazed to see how fast her hands could fly as she worked with the masa (tortilla dough). After the tortillas were sold, there were pots to scrub and wood to gather for the next day.
Day after day he spent his mornings working. Sometimes it was hard to leave his hammock while others in his family still slept, but he just imagined wearing a new white shirt to conference and shaking a General Authority’s hand, and it became easy. Every Saturday he tied two more little silver coins into his handkerchief and hid them under a rock in the corner of his home.
Nearly every week President Garcia traveled by bus to the big city on business. On his last trip to town before conference, after his usual errands, he had a special purchase to make, for in his pocket was Juan’s money, still tied in the handkerchief.
The shirt was beautiful! It was sparkling white, with four pleats down the front and shiny buttons. Juan had never seen such a beautiful shirt. Carefully he folded it and put it back in its crinkly sack. In just a few more days, he, Juan Carlos, would wear it to conference. He certainly wouldn’t be embarrassed then.
The next morning, Juan, anxious to tell Sister Fuentes about the shirt, ran all the way to her home. He was surprised to find her still lying on her cot. That wasn’t like her at all. Then his eyes shifted to her ankle, and a cold chill ran down his spine. It was swollen to twice its usual size, and the purple and black colors told him the injury was serious.
“The clinic nurse thinks that it is broken,” Sister Fuentes said. “She has no way to treat broken bones, so I must go to the city to the hospital if I want it fixed. Otherwise, I must stay in bed for a very long time.”
Traveling to the city and then to the hospital by taxi would be very expensive. Juan knew that few people from the country could afford it. Several villagers limped from poorly healed bones, and Juan remembered how his grandmother’s hand had hurt her for many years after she broke it. As he began making the morning tortillas alone, he promised in his heart to help Sister Fuentes get to the hospital—no matter what! A plan had already formed in his mind when he hurried home that day. …
A soft breeze blew the scent of flowers through the louvered windows and over to the church bench where Juan Carlos sat. How very warm he felt inside. His sister, Lizeta, was on his lap as usual. Sister Fuentes was on one side, her ankle and foot covered with thick white plaster. His father and mother sat on his other side. He listened carefully to the speakers and was sure that this was the best stake conference ever. The closing prayer was said, and a few minutes later—it was a million times better than he had imagined—he was shaking hands with the General Authority.
“Juan Carlos,” the General Authority said, “I would like you to know that the Lord loves you and is proud of you.”
Juan Carlos’s heart was flooded with joy. His father was right—the Lord did look on the inside, not the outside. No one had even noticed his flour-sack shirt. Not even Juan Carlos.

Josh Morrell was in third grade in an American school in Stuttgart, West Germany, when a casting director came looking for children to be in his next movie, Joey. Even though it was to be filmed in Germany, the movie is about an American family, so the director wanted American children to be extras (people who have minor roles), because “nobody looks more like an American than an American.” The director planned to hire a child actor from Hollywood to be the star.
After seeing Josh and making several videotapes of him, the director decided that he didn’t need a Hollywood actor after all. Even though Josh had never done any acting, he was a natural in front of the camera and had just the look that the director wanted. He asked the Morrell family if Josh could be the star.
“We were excited for Josh,” says his mother, Suzan. “We knew that it would be a great experience for him as well as a lot of hard work. We told the director that Josh couldn’t work on Sundays. He needed that time to attend our American Servicemen’s Ward and to be with our family.”
The director said, “Since we knew in advance that Josh went to church on Sundays, we planned around it. It was easy to work with Josh. His religion is very family-oriented. The whole family was dedicated to helping Josh do well in the film.”
For over four months Josh worked on location. His mother tutored him so that he could keep up with his schoolwork. Between filming and schoolwork, he put in about fourteen hours a day. On Monday nights the family held family home evening during breaks in filming.
When people ask Josh how he could memorize a whole movie, he tells them, “I never had to learn it all at once. I just memorized what I had to do that day. We did a lot of rehearsals until we did it the way the director wanted.”
How did Josh speak German so well for the film? “That isn’t Josh’s voice you hear in the movie,” explains his father, Reid, a United States Army officer assigned to Stuttgart for four years. “The movie was filmed in English and later dubbed in German.”
Sometimes the middle or end of a movie is filmed before the beginning. It is expensive to build movie scenery and to move equipment. Once a movie scene, or set, is in place, all parts of the movie using that set are filmed. Two-sided shells of an American suburban home and an old abandoned house were built for outside filming. The houses’ interiors were built inside sound stages, or buildings that keep out unwanted noises.
In the movie, Josh has magical powers and can cause toys and other objects to move. “They used a thin fishing line to pull the toys,” Josh says, “and special camera techniques.”
Fishing line was also used to make Josh “float in the air.” Once the line broke and Josh fell, knocking over a makeshift wall behind him. With the wall partially down, Josh lay on it and was pulled up, creating the same floating-in-air effect.
Joey was released in November 1985, and it was second in box office attendance in West Germany. Josh has received many letters and presents from admirers. One sixty-four-year-old fan wrote, “When you played Joey, you gave us old folks such joy.”
Josh’s parents and his five brothers and sisters—Baird, Tia, Natasha, Selize, and Luke—all worked as extras in Joey. A big surprise for the Morrells came on opening night when they read on the screen that the film was dedicated to them. The director said, “I’m really glad that I met the Morrell family. I like this kind of people. I know now that I need to make some changes in my life.”

Jens and Ane Cathrine Andersen had a deep and abiding testimony of the truthfulness of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Despite angry mobs and community and parish persecution, they joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1861.
By spring of the next year, they heeded the call of Zion, beckoning 5,000 miles (8,000 km) away in the Salt Lake Valley. Gathering to Zion meant leaving behind their good life in Denmark—including friends, extended family, and a beautiful farm that for generations had been passed from father to eldest son. Located in the village of Veddum, near Aalborg, on the fertile Jutland Peninsula in northern Denmark, the farm was large and productive. It employed dozens and brought respect and means to the Andersen family.
Sharing those means with their fellow converts, Jens and Ane Cathrine paid the emigration costs of approximately 60 other Saints making their way to Zion. On April 6, 1862, the Andersens, with their 18-year-old son, Andrew, joined 400 other Danish Saints on the small steamer Albion and sailed for Hamburg, Germany. Arriving at Hamburg two days later, they joined more gathering Saints aboard a larger vessel to begin their transatlantic voyage.
The joy of gathering to Zion, however, soon turned to sorrow. Several children who had embarked on the Albion were carrying the measles virus. As the disease swept through the ranks of the immigrants, 40 children and several adults died and were buried at sea. Among them was 49-year-old Jens Andersen, my great-great-grandfather.
Jens’s dream of reaching and building Zion with his family and fellow Danish Saints ended only 10 days out of Hamburg. One historian wrote, “A deliverer who like Moses never set his own feet on the promised land was Jens Andersen of [Veddum], Aalborg, who had assisted no fewer than sixty of his fellows to emigrate; he met death on the North Sea in 1862 soon after leaving [Germany].”1
Was the Andersen family’s sacrifice—leaving their comfortable farm and losing their loving husband and father—worth it? I’m confident the world would say no. But the world lacks faith, foresight, and the “eternal perspective”2 offered by the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
Andrew with members of his family
What became of Ane Cathrine and her son, Andrew? Did they despair and return to Denmark following their sad six-week journey to New York City? No. Relying on their testimony of the Savior and the plan of salvation, and trusting in God, they courageously pressed forward by train, steamboat, and wagon train. They reached the Salt Lake Valley on September 3, 1862, and joined in building Zion.
They settled in Ephraim, Utah, where Andrew married and started a family. Later, Andrew moved his family, including his mother, to Lehi, Utah, where he became a successful farmer, banker, and mayor. He served a three-year mission to his home country, more than two decades in bishoprics, and more than three decades on the high council or in the high priests quorum. Three of his sons served missions in Denmark and Norway.

When my family moved a few months after I turned 18, I found myself in a new ward and facing a challenge. Within two weeks of my moving in, almost all of the priests were made elders. I was also called to be the first assistant in the priests quorum.

In giving me this calling, the bishop explained that there were a lot of priests on the roll, but almost no one showed up. We had a lot of work to do to encourage people to attend.

“Just invite people to come,” he said.

Only one other priest came to church, a guy named Ryan, who showed up a couple times each month. I decided to go knock on doors of our less-active quorum members and invite them to our activities. I was nervous, afraid that they’d get upset at me for inviting them to church. I figured they weren’t coming because they didn’t like church. But I also figured it was good practice for my upcoming mission to try to invite, so I gritted my teeth and started calling the other priests or stopping by their houses. I invited them to firesides, to activities, to church.

What surprised me was that some actually responded and came. We eventually had a group of four priests who started coming on a regular basis. It wasn’t that they didn’t like church—they had just been waiting for an invitation to come. They were just as nervous about a new situation—attending church—as I had been.

Some activities were more successful than others. Everyone showed up for volleyball, but I struggled to get people to attend other activities.

Youth conference that year was especially rewarding as I watched some of these young men stand up and bear their testimonies. I felt like I had made a difference in their lives.

One of the differences I saw was that Ryan was attending church every week and we had become good friends.

“OK! We’re going to play a game called ‘Quiz Show’! Question #1: Do you want to empty the dishwasher?”
“Um … no.”
“Bzzzt! Wrong answer! So sorry. Question #2: Would you like to empty the dishwasher and mow the lawn?”
“What?! No!”
“Bzzzt! Wrong again! Question #3: Would you like to empty the dishwasher, mow the lawn, and wash the car?”
“OK! I get it! Yes!”
“Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!”
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Ryan Stoker

After ten wonderful days in Honolulu, we set sail on the last leg of our long voyage. It was spent preparing for war. A former soldier trained the men for battle.
While we sailed, fifty to sixty men drilled for combat. They marched around the deck and practiced loading and aiming their guns. My friends and I had make-believe battles with my lead soldiers. The women kept busy stitching bolts of blue denim into uniforms for the troops.
On Friday, July 31, 1846, one month after leaving the Sandwich Islands—and nearly six months after leaving New York—we finally approached the California coast. Men, women, and children crowded the deck, eager to see where we would land at last. I tried to get a glimpse of land myself, but dense fog hung like a heavy, dark curtain in front of all of us.
The rocky shores of the Golden Gate strait were almost invisible when Captain Richardson carefully guided the Brooklyn through the narrow passage that opens into San Francisco Bay.
As eager as we were to land, we were even more anxious as to what awaited us. Would we find enemy ships in the harbor? Or Mexican soldiers on the shore? Did hidden spies watch as the Brooklyn moved slowly ahead?
Now and then the fog lifted over the bay and we could see the shore. There were no trees at all; the ground was the color of dry grass. Pelicans glided just above the surface of the water. They looked too heavy to fly any higher. Other birds, some dark, some white, soared and swooped over the waves. Occasionally we spotted bumps that looked like islands.
A shadowy shape gradually appeared in the distance. Was it a ship? Friend or foe? A wisp of something fluttered. Was it just a ribbon of fog streaking in the breeze, or was it a Mexican flag? I held my breath as we drew closer and saw a ship anchored in the harbor. The banner flapping in the wind was covered with stars and stripes! The American flag! Yerba Buena had already been captured for the United States. I couldn’t wait to go ashore, to have room to run and romp, to have a private place to think—and to eat a family meal cooked by Mama.
I studied the landing place. After the breathtaking beauty of the Juan Fernández and the Sandwich islands, Yerba Buena was downright ugly! There was nothing green at all. Skeletons of slaughtered cattle covered the sandy beach.
Droghers (clumsy barges) waited in the bay to carry their cargo of tallow and hides to the east coast. A few tired donkeys, loaded with bundles of wood, trudged along with their heads down. Some lazy loungers sprawled on the shore.
I also saw a few scrubby, gray oaks. Beyond them, a series of sand hills rose one behind the other. Several old shanties all leaned in the same direction.
While I stood on the deck, cannons from the battery boomed a salute, and the greeting was returned by the Brooklyn. A rowboat with uniformed officers from the Portsmouth, a United States military ship, approached us, and the men came aboard. One of them announced, “Ladies and gentleman, I have the honor to inform you that you are in the United States of America.”
The passengers aboard the Brooklyn gave three hearty cheers. Our long voyage was over at last.

I would like to explain to you exactly what took place following the unexpected death of President Harold B. Lee on December 26, 1973. I was in Phoenix, Arizona, to spend Christmas with my daughter and her family when a call came to me from Arthur Haycock, secretary to President Lee. He said that President Lee was seriously ill, and he thought that I should plan to return home as soon as possible. A half-hour later he called and said: “The Lord has spoken. President Lee has been called home.”

President Romney, who in my absence was directing the affairs of the Church, was at the hospital with President Spencer W. Kimball of the Council of the Twelve. Immediately upon President Lee’s death President Romney turned to President Kimball and said, “You are in charge.” Not one minute passed between the time President Lee died and the Twelve took over to preside over the Church.

Following President Lee’s funeral, President Kimball called a meeting of the Apostles for Sunday, December 30, at 3 p.m. in the Salt Lake Temple council room. President Romney and I had taken our respective places of seniority in the Council, so there were fourteen of us present. Following a song, a prayer by President Romney, President Kimball, in deep humility, expressed his feelings to us. He said that he had spent Friday in the temple talking to the Lord, and had shed many tears as he prayed for guidance in assuming his new responsibilities and in choosing his counselors.

Dressed in our temple robes, we held a prayer circle; President Kimball asked me to conduct it and Elder Thomas S. Monson to offer the prayer. Following this, President Kimball explained the purpose of the meeting and called on each member of the Quorum in order of seniority, starting with Elder Ezra Taft Benson, to express his feelings as to whether the First Presidency should be organized that day or whether we should carry on as the Council of the Twelve. Each said, “We should organize now,” and many complimentary things were spoken about President Kimball and his work with the Twelve.

Then Elder Ezra Taft Benson nominated Spencer W. Kimball to be the President of the Church. This was seconded by Elder Mark E. Petersen and unanimously approved. President Kimball then nominated his counselors: N. Eldon Tanner as first counselor, and Marion G. Romney as second, each of whom expressed willingness to accept the position and devote his whole time and energy in serving in that capacity. They were unanimously approved. Then Elder Mark E. Petersen, second in seniority in the Twelve, nominated Ezra Taft Benson as President of the Quorum of the Twelve. This was unanimously approved.

At this point all the members present laid their hands upon the head of Spencer W. Kimball, and President Ezra Taft Benson was voice in blessing, ordaining, and setting apart Spencer W. Kimball as the twelfth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then, with President Kimball as voice, N. Eldon Tanner was set apart as first counselor and Marion G. Romney as second counselor in the First Presidency of the Church. Following the same procedure, he pronounced the blessing and setting apart of Ezra Taft Benson as President of the Quorum of the Twelve.

One day I was playing on the playground, and there was a girl who had a different- looking face. My mom told me that she couldn’t help that she was born that way. A boy was being mean to the girl, and I didn’t want her to have her feelings hurt, so I played with her. She was fun to play with and was really nice. I am glad that I got to play with her. I chose to do the right thing by not making fun of someone who looked different.
Caroline S., age 7, North Carolina, USA

Five years after that war ended, the Korean War broke out. Our family had to leave our home in Seoul and move to the countryside. Things were hard for my parents—can you imagine trying to raise a family during a war? People were not properly fed because of the war conditions, and my mother became very sick from an unknown disease. Sometimes when the pain came, she would just be helpless. In my mind I can still hear her screaming because of the pain, and I still feel how awful it was not knowing how to help her.
One day an herb doctor told me that if I got a certain kind of herb for my mom, it would cure her. Another man told me where I could find this plant. So, because of the love I had for my mom, and my sympathy for her pain, I set out early one morning, without telling anybody, in search of this plant. My bicycle was very small and beat-up, with tires that didn’t fit; the road I had to travel was about twenty kilometers (over twelve miles) long. It included two steep hills, a creek, and a mountain. I had only the name of the plant and the general area in my mind.
To me the trip lasted almost forever—up and down, up and down on a dirt road. I found the general area, and when I explained to a man what I was looking for, he told me I needed to go to the home of one of the leaders in the community, who grew the plant in his garden for decoration.
It took me many more hours to get there, but finally I found the place and the plant, and I explained to the owner the purpose of my trip. He said, “Yes, it is true, that plant cures that kind of pain.” Even though I didn’t have any money, he gave the plant to me. I was so happy that I cried! I thanked him and very carefully tied the plant onto my little bicycle. I bowed many times to him for his kindness.
I started back home, down the mountain and across the little creek. About halfway up the first hill, my bike got two flat tires. I wasn’t a Christian then, and I didn’t know about the gospel, but I knew that there was a God who was the creator of all things. I said my own kind of prayer, as I had hundreds of times that day, and I know Heavenly Father heard me. He loves all His children, no matter what religion they are or what they believe. He answers our prayers if we are sincere and honest and say them with a righteous desire.
Heavenly Father answered my prayer that day, and I was able to make it home. When I arrived, exhausted and hungry, it was night; the trip had taken me the whole day. My parents had been terribly worried, even angry, especially because there was a war going on and it was dangerous. I quickly explained what I had done, and I showed them the plant. Then my dad cried, my mom cried, and I cried again. My mom was cured. She lived until 1991, the year I was called as a General Authority.
I don’t believe that it was only the plant that cured my mother. I believe it was mostly a blessing from Heavenly Father. That experience helped teach me the principle of prayer. It is my testimony that if we love God and do according to His teachings, nothing will be impossible if it is according to His will.

Frost was still in the air the morning the young men and women went door-to-door in their ward areas reminding people to donate items in good or reparable condition. Couches, lamps, dolls, toasters, an adding machine, desks, chairs, and other household wares soon bulged the sides of two large trucks, with more contributions still coming. One neighborhood florist donated a whole van full of Christmas decorations. One young man, enthused by the spirit of giving, pedaled up on his used bicycle and donated it to the drive. Half a dozen truckloads of usable items were amassed during the day.

Throughout his life, the Prophet Joseph Smith provided countless examples of courage. One of the most dramatic occurred as he and other brethren were chained together—imagine, chained together—and held in an unfinished cabin next to the courthouse in Richmond, Missouri. Parley P. Pratt, who was among those held captive, wrote of one particular night: “We had lain as if in sleep till the hour of midnight had passed, and our ears and hearts had been pained, while we had listened for hours to the obscene jests, the horrid oaths, the dreadful blasphemies and filthy language of our guards.”

Continued Elder Pratt:

“I had listened till I became so disgusted, shocked, horrified, and so filled with the spirit of indignant justice that I could scarcely refrain from rising upon my feet and rebuking the guards; but [I] had said nothing to Joseph, or any one else, although I lay next to him and knew he was awake. On a sudden he arose to his feet, and spoke in a voice of thunder, or as the roaring lion, uttering, as near as I can recollect, the following words:

“‘SILENCE. … In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still; I will not live another minute and hear such language. Cease such talk, or you or I die THIS INSTANT!’”

Joseph “stood erect in terrible majesty,” as described by Elder Pratt. He was chained, without a weapon, and yet he was calm and dignified. He looked down upon the quailing guards, who were shrinking into a corner or crouching at his feet. These seemingly incorrigible men begged his pardon and remained quiet.

In 1950 the call of duty came to me as a bishop. The responsibilities were many and varied. The Doctrine and Covenants provided a sure guide. The words of the Apostle Paul to Timothy pertaining to the office of a bishop were sobering. The General Handbook was helpful. The principal areas of administration were spelled out by leaders, both stake and general: The bishop (1) is the father of the ward; (2) is the president of the Aaronic Priesthood; (3) provides for the poor, the needy; (4) is responsible for keeping proper records; and (5) is the common judge in Israel.

Then came an unusual assignment from Church headquarters. Bishops were to provide each serviceman a subscription to the Church News and the Improvement Era and were to write a personal letter to every serviceman each month. The Korean War was raging. Our ward had twenty-three members in uniform. The priesthood quorums, with effort, supplied the funds for the subscriptions to the publications. Since I had served in the Navy in World War II, I knew the importance of a letter from home. I began the task, even the duty, to write twenty-three personal letters each month. After all these years, I still have copies of many of my letters and the responses received. Tears come easily when these letters are reread. It is a joy to learn again of a soldier’s pledge to live the gospel, a sailor’s decision to keep faith with his family.

One evening I handed to a lady in the ward the stack of twenty-three letters for the current month. Her assignment was to handle the mailing and to maintain the constantly changing address file. She glanced at one envelope and, with a smile, asked, “Bishop, don’t you ever get discouraged? Here is another letter to Brother Bryson. This is the seventeenth letter you have sent to him without a reply.”

I responded, “Well, maybe this will be the month.” And it was. His reply is a keepsake, a literal treasure. It was postmarked “APO San Francisco.” He was serving far away on a distant shore, isolated, homesick, alone. He wrote: “Dear Bishop, I ain’t much at writin’ letters. [I could have told him that seventeen months earlier.] Thank you for the Church News and magazines, but most of all thank you for the personal letters. I have turned over a new leaf. I have been ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. My heart is full. I am a happy man.”

My brethren, Brother Bryson was no happier than was his bishop. I had learned the practical application of the adage, “Do your duty; that is best. Leave unto the Lord the rest.”

Years later, while attending the Salt Lake Cottonwood Stake when Elder James E. Faust served as president, I related that account in an effort to encourage attention to our servicemen. After the meeting, a fine-looking young man came forward. He took my hand in his and asked, “Bishop Monson, do you remember me?”

I replied, “Brother Bryson! How are you? What are you doing in the Church?”

With warmth and obvious pride, he responded, “I’m fine. I serve in the presidency of my elders quorum. Thank you again for your concern for me and the personal letters which you sent and which I treasure.”

I have the privilege of serving with a great Church leader from Indonesia, Subandriyo. He joined the Church as a young man. He is from a poor home without many of the material things of this life. When Subandriyo fell in love with Steffi, he went to ask her mother if they could marry. He had no money, nothing for a traditional wedding party. But this is the promise he made to Steffi's mother. "I have no money for a wedding, but I promise you that I will make your daughter the happiest woman on earth and I will always take care of her." He has kept that promise.

So many live with accusing guilt when relief is ever at hand. So many are like the immigrant woman who skimped and saved and deprived herself until, by selling all of her possessions, she bought a steerage-class ticket to America.
She rationed out the meager provisions she was able to bring with her. Even so, they were gone early in the voyage. When others went for their meals, she stayed below deck—determined to suffer through it. Finally, on the last day, she must, she thought, afford one meal to give her strength for the journey yet ahead. When she asked what the meal would cost, she was told that all of the meals had been included in the price of her ticket.
That great morning of forgiveness may not come at once. Do not give up if at first you fail. Often the most difficult part of repentance is to forgive yourself. Discouragement is part of that test. Do not give up. That brilliant morning will come.
Then “the peace of God, which passeth … understanding” comes into your life once again. Then you, like Him, will remember your sins no more. How will you know? You will know!

A few years ago, I accepted the assignment of driving Church leaders to a conference that was to be held about 330 km away from the city of Lubumbashi. I used to drive regularly on this road, which was very difficult due to its poor condition, potholes, and ravines. No one could drive on it without having a bad experience. So, we decided to take a back road that we thought would be a bit more practical than the poorly-maintained main road. We were certain to get there without any problem, as usual—but unfortunately, this time, that was not the case. We were involved in a serious accident—one that prevented us from reaching our destination. There we were—right in the bush with no means of communication and with a vehicle that could no longer be driven because it was completely damaged. Thankfully, there was no loss of human life and no one was injured except for some scratches on the driver.
Knowing the importance of the task at hand for the leaders whom I was driving that weekend, meaning the Area Seventy, the mission president at the time and his counselor, I was completely devastated! I blamed myself and took upon me all the responsibility for this accident even though I did not know the cause of this unfortunate incident and was not even responsible.
After observing that we were all unhurt and seeing that I was blaming myself, the Area Seventy approached me and said, “We do not know why this accident happened, but God only knows. We will be able to understand this unfortunate incident in the days to come—do not blame yourself but let us thank God that we were not seriously injured.” My heart was calmed a bit and I found relief because of the words he had uttered during this difficult time of our journey. I have always been grateful for the way he looked at the incident and how that had comforted me. I am very grateful for Elder Joseph W. Sitati and for his example to me at that time.