Gospel Story Finder

Peace McBride, a seamstress’s helper in Philadelphia, is delivering a dress for her mistress, Mrs. Root, when a crowd in front of a large church piques her curiosity. Pushed inside the church by the surging crowd, Peace stays to hear the Prophet Joseph Smith deliver an electrifying sermon. The Holy Ghost reveals to her the truthfulness of the Prophet’s words, and afterward she asks about being baptized. Remembering her errand, she hurriedly delivers the dress, then returns to her mistress to confess her tardiness. Instead of anger, Peace’s mistress rewards her with kindness and has Peace sew while she reads to her from this “new” Book of Mormon.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Root said the next morning. “I just don’t think that you should be baptized without your parents’ permission.”
“It will be months before my regular summer visit,” Peace pleaded. “The elders will be gone by then. I might not have another chance to be baptized!”
“I just can’t let you do it. You’re still a child, my dear.”
“I’m twelve years old, old enough to be an apprentice.”
Mrs. Root sat with her head bowed, thinking. “You know, Peace, I promised your parents to take care of you as if you were my own child. If you were my child, I wouldn’t let you join a church that I know so little about.”
“But I know that it’s true,” Peace said earnestly.
Again Mrs. Root looked thoughtful. “How long will the elders be here?”
“I don’t know. I think a week or two.”
“How is the best way to learn about Joseph Smith and to know if he’s telling the truth?” Mrs. Root inquired.
“We could read more of the Book of Mormon together,” Peace suggested eagerly. “If it is true, then wouldn’t the prophet who translated it also be true?”
Mrs. Root smiled.
“Yes, I believe that you’re right. Therefore, I promise to let you be baptized if after we’ve read the Book of Mormon, I’m convinced that it’s true. Does that sound all right?”
“Oh, yes! But can we finish it before the elders leave?”
“We’ll take turns reading while the other works. That means that we’ll have to work twice as fast,” she warned.
“I will.”
From then on, whenever they could, they read aloud to each other from the Book of Mormon. It was slow going for Peace at first, but as they read, her ability increased. They laughed together as they struggled to sound out the new and strange names. They were touched by the hardships that Nephi endured because of his brothers. Their hearts ached at the wickedness of Alma the Younger and his friends, and they rejoiced when an angel helped the young men turn their lives around.
They eagerly read of the Savior’s visit to this new continent. They grieved as they read of Moroni’s sad plight. To be the last one of your people left on the earth! To be hunted by your enemies, never knowing when you would die! That took courage and conviction in what you believed. They wept together as they read Moroni’s last words.
“Mistress Root,” Peace said as they closed the book, “have you prayed about what we’ve read?” Hope filled her heart as she waited for the answer.
“Yes, my dear, but I haven’t had an answer yet.”
“We’ve finished the book now. Will you pray about it again? Surely after what we’ve read, you can see that it must be true. It sounds so much like the Bible. I felt even closer to the Savior as we read about His visit to the Nephites. I wish that I could have been there!”
“Yes. … I, too, begin to feel the truth of it. There is much wisdom in this book. I’ll pray again tonight, I promise.”
In her own prayers that night, Peace pleaded with Heavenly Father to grant Mistress Root’s request to know the truth. As she lay in bed before sleep came, she thought about how happy she was now that she knew her Heavenly Father and His plan for her.
Already up when the excited girl came downstairs the next morning, Mistress Root placed a plate of food in front of Peace, then sat down beside her. “Well,” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “Aren’t you going to ask if I prayed about the book?”
Seeing the glow on her mistress’s face, Peace knew the answer.
“I know that it’s true, dear Peace, and I want to be baptized too.”
On Christmas Eve, Peace followed Sister Root to a spot by the river where a small group of Saints had again gathered for baptism. It was bitterly cold, and fear clutched at the young girl as she thought of the dark, swirling river. Shivering, she remembered that she’d never learned to swim. Standing up straight, she shook off her fear, moved forward toward the river, and stood on the riverbank as Sister Root waded into the water.
When she emerged a few moments later, trembling, but radiant, Peace held out a warm cloak for her.
“Your turn now, Peace,” she said. “And may the Lord bless you for helping me to find such happiness.”
Wading through the slush at the edge of the river, Peace shook as the icy water closed around her. But when she clasped Elder Winchester’s hand, the shivering ceased. He pronounced the baptismal prayer and lowered her into the water. As she came up out of it, a feeling of light filled her from head to toe. She felt so warm that she didn’t even notice the cold as she walked barefoot back through the snow to where Sister Root waited for her with a thick, dry cloak.
In the warmth of the room above the shop, the elders confirmed Sister Root a member of the Church. Then they placed their hands upon Peace’s head, and, through the power of the priesthood, confirmed her a member of the Church and conferred upon her the gift of the Holy Ghost. As they placed their hands on her head, she experienced again that feeling of peace and light. She knew that what she had done was right.
Later, as Sister Root and Peace sat by the warm fireside, Peace felt a desire grow inside her. It was something that she had been thinking about all week. She had the truth, and so did Sister Root. Because they were blessed with that knowledge, they must now share it. “Sister Root,” she began timidly. “I have need to ask something of you.”
“What is it?”
“I’d like to have a few days to visit my family in Chester Springs.”
Sister Root was pensive. Travel was hard in the winter and very expensive, and Peace’s family lived in a distant county. The older woman studied the solemn face before her. “I think that I could spare you for a time. Is something wrong?”
“Oh no,” Peace reassured her. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s wonderful! That’s just it, you see. I need to share my knowledge of the Savior and His gospel with my family. I want them all to hear what I’ve learned.”
Sister Root looked fondly at the girl before her. “It’s not easy to travel now, but I see that you must go. Since you’re set on this, I think I’ll give you your present now, instead of waiting for morning.” Walking over to the cupboard, she took a handkerchief-wrapped bundle out of hiding and placed it in Peace’s hands.
Peace unwrapped the bundle and found several small coins. It would be enough to pay for her trip! Hugging Sister Root, she began to cry. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Tomorrow I’ll start asking around,” Sister Root offered, as she wiped her own eyes. “Maybe someone is going that way. I’d feel better knowing that there was someone to watch over you.”
“Thank you,” Peace said, “from the bottom of my heart.”
A few days later, with a warm coat, a packet of food, and her precious coins, Peace rode a stagecoach to Chester Springs. She found her family and shared with them the story of how she had come to know that the Church was true.
Peace’s parents listened carefully. Her mother cried and her father asked many questions. Peace answered them as best she could and testified of the Book of Mormon and of Joseph Smith. Before long, her parents, too, were convinced.
They agreed to be baptized.
Peace rejoiced when she saw her family enter the waters of baptism, and she felt grateful that Heavenly Father had allowed her to help bring them the gospel. She knew then that the truth she had found was meant to be shared.

At age 11, I attempted to obtain my first job delivering newspapers. I had just turned 11 and was an entire year away from the minimum age of 12 required for being a newspaper boy. It was difficult at first trying to convince the man that someone so young could really be an effective worker, but with the help of my dad, I talked him into letting me try.
The Lord really blessed me as a young man because I was able to effectively do that important job. It was an important job to me for I learned as a young man how to collect and be accountable for money, how to deal with different kinds of people, and how to sell newspaper subscriptions. A tenth of my income was always paid willingly to the Lord as tithing.
At 16, after delivering newspapers for five years, I was somewhat surprised when the manager of circulation asked me to be the assistant manager and supervise all the newspaper boys in the city. It was quite an honor because of my youth, and I remember how grateful I felt to the Lord. I saw it as a direct blessing from the Lord allowing me to grow and obtain additional development.
I worked as the assistant manager for about two years, and I will never forget the great challenge that then came to me. I had been paying my tithing regularly during that time and certainly believed in the principle, but I did not have as sure a witness of that principle as I was about to attain.
One Saturday afternoon after finishing work, the manager told me that starting a week from the following day, on Sunday, it would be necessary for me to work every Sunday morning. The manager was an inactive member of the Church at the time, and he knew that I was not going to react favorably to the suggestion. But he was quick to tell me that even though I would miss priesthood meeting and Sunday School, I could find some other way to attend meetings, and thus it would not be that serious. He then attempted to entice me by telling me that my pay would be increased by 30 percent, thinking that might change my feelings about the principle of working on Sunday.
I remember how strongly those words fell upon my heart, but I also remember my response: “I am quite certain that I cannot work on Sunday.”
“Well,” he said, “you will have to work on Sunday or I will find another assistant manager.”
I left the office rather sad that day. I remember asking the Lord why I should lose my job as a result of the Church. I had been working hard to save enough money to support myself on a mission, and now I was going to lose my job unless I were willing to work on Sunday.
I talked to my father to ask his counsel, and all he would tell me was, “I am sure you will do what is right, whatever that may be.” I was left to make my own decision. The feeling came over me that there was no way to resolve this matter except by finding out what the Lord would have me do.
The following Saturday I went in and announced to the manager that I would not work on Sunday. He informed me that since that was my choice, I would have one week and no longer as the assistant manager, and then I would be replaced by a young man who was “really willing to work.”
I left work that day feeling very unhappy realizing that in five or six days I would be without a job. In one more year I was to go on my mission, and I did not yet have sufficient funds to support myself. I prayed much that week.
The following days at work seemed very long, and there were few words spoken between my boss and me. I waited for the next Saturday, which was to be my last day.
Friday finally arrived. As I was finishing work that evening, the manager approached me and said, some what emotionally, “Gene, you are right in what you are doing, and I am wrong in asking you to work on Sunday. I have found a young man of another religion who is willing to work on Sunday, but I still want you to be my assistant manager. And that 30 percent pay increase will be given to you anyway, even though you will not be working the Sabbath day. You are a fine young man.”
I will never forget the feeling of gratitude that came over me at that moment. I will also never forget my feelings that month as I paid more than an honest tithe and faithfully fulfilled my responsibilities on Sunday.
The Lord will pour out the blessings of heaven upon a man, even a young man, and teach him in his heart both the value of paying tithing on that which he earns and the value of keeping the Sabbath day holy. At any price, the commandments of the Lord are worth keeping.

The author being baptized by Thomas Salisbury in Sông Bé Lake, Vietnam.
Photograph courtesy of the author
I enlisted in the United States Army for a three-year term and arrived in South Vietnam on my 20th birthday. After eight months, I was assigned to a unit northwest of Saigon. While there, I quickly observed that one of my tentmates, Thomas Salisbury, was different from everyone else.
The difference was so striking that I eventually asked him, “Tom, why are you so different from everyone else?”
“Because I’m a Latter-day Saint,” he replied.
“What is a Latter-day Saint?” I asked.
He arranged for me to meet with him and Harold Lewis, a returned missionary who was serving as an assistant to the unit chaplain. During our first meeting in a tent that served as a small chapel, I agreed that if I really believed what they were telling me, I would be baptized. I also received a copy of the Book of Mormon, which I kept in the lower pocket of my cargo pants and read whenever I had downtime.
Several discussions followed, and I found that each lesson answered questions I had had in my search for truth. But when Tom and Harold asked me if I wanted to be baptized, I said no. I didn’t know how I could keep all the commandments they had taught me.
After attending a district conference in Saigon, I went to Australia for a week of rest and relaxation. While there, I started to realize how important the teachings of the gospel had become to me. Upon my return to Vietnam, I immediately announced to Tom that I wished to be baptized.
Soon after, Tom baptized me in Sông Bé Lake, Harold confirmed me a member of the Church, and Timothy Hill, our Church group leader, ordained me a deacon.
When I returned home to the United States six weeks later, I introduced the gospel to my girlfriend, who became my wife. She also embraced the gospel’s hopeful message.
I will be forever grateful that Tom asked me if I wanted to know more. His example and invitation answered my longing to find the truth and enjoy the blessings of the gospel.

Our personal testimony usually begins with someone else’s testimony. My sister shared her testimony with me after her baptism. I felt a desire to hear more about what my sister had testified. Then missionaries came and testified about Jesus Christ, His gospel, and the restored Church. It was so powerful that it completely changed my life. In an instant, an atheist had become a believer who wished to follow the teachings and example of Christ. In the same way, our testimony can change someone else’s life. Because of our testimony, someone can come to know Christ whom they did not know before.

I grew up in an environment where many men smoked, drank, and lived unchaste lives. I saw this kind of example in my own family and in most of the men in the vicinity, so I came to believe it was normal. At the early age of 20, I got married. Four years later, after we had three children, we divorced. But I later met a wonderful woman, who not only accepted me with three children but gave us five more. We have been married for more than 30 years.
One day about 22 years ago I began to fear greatly for the future of my eight children. I didn’t want them to go through the same dangerous situations I had, and I was afraid they would be lost in the wickedness of the world. I didn’t know what to do to help them, but I became very receptive to the things of God. Whenever someone knocked on the door with a religious message, I opened my door and my heart. I listened attentively, accepted their pamphlets, and went with them to their houses of worship. Still, I wasn’t at peace; I couldn’t find what I was looking for.
A few years passed, and a pair of young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to our home. With my wife and our five children (the other three lived with their mother), I began to hear the discussions, attend church, and get acquainted with the members and their beliefs. After several months we made the wise decision to join the Church, and 17 years have now gone by.
I understood that I had to make changes in my life if I wanted to teach my children the right way. For example, I could not teach them to keep the Word of Wisdom and live a chaste life if I was not living these commandments. By striving to live the teachings of the gospel, I was able to change my life and teach my children. I was also able to baptize my three children from my first marriage and get them back from the world. All eight children belong to the Church now. Four have served missions. One was too old to go on a mission, but he served as a stake mission president. Six are married, all in the temple.
At the beginning of 1999, we had a regional conference in southern Florida. After fulfilling an assignment to deliver earphones for the conference translation, I went into a hall where thousands of Church members were seated. I remained standing at the back of the hall, and I was able to observe one of my sons with his baby. I looked in another direction and saw another son with his wife and children.
A wonderful feeling of joy came over me at that moment, and I could not keep tears from my eyes. I remembered those terrible days when I was so worried about my children’s future. Now I was weeping for joy because I no longer had those worries.
The gospel and true Church of Jesus Christ made it possible for us to find the right way to help our children and to have joy and happiness. Christ is the light guiding our lives. His teachings persuade us to do good.

Recently, a young man in a wheelchair was referred to my office for counsel. He had been informed that he had a terminal illness. He desired a blessing and wanted to see a General Authority before he died. Elder Rector and I were talking with him when in came President Kimball. He had learned of the young man’s condition and came to spend a few moments with him. The President makes time for people.

My family joined the Church in 1977, when I was 11 years old. At that time a violent civil war was beginning in our native land of El Salvador. The political situation was serious, and there were constant armed confrontations between the army and the rebels, forcing the government to order a curfew of 6:00 p.m. for all citizens. There was no freedom of assembly or freedom of speech, and we felt threatened by both the army and the rebels.
These events caused many people to look for ways to emigrate to wherever they could. My family was no exception. My father accepted an offer of employment in Venezuela, hoping he could get us out of danger. For a time my mother was left as the head of our household.
The war made it a difficult time for the Church. The same flight that took my father to Venezuela took the last 15 missionaries out of El Salvador. This meant the end of any chance to receive the messengers of the gospel of Jesus Christ for a long time.
At the end of 1979 we and other members of the Church, especially the youth, began doing missionary work of our own. We organized small choirs and sang in the streets to give people hope. By doing this we found many people wanting to learn about the gospel.
Meanwhile we learned to live in danger. Whenever the confrontations or shelling occurred, we threw ourselves on the floor and hoped it would all be over soon. Mama would cover us with our mattresses for protection. What brought peace to us in these difficult moments were the hymns. Lying on the floor, we would hold our hymnbooks, and Mama would encourage us to sing “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30), “How Firm a Foundation” (no. 85), “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer” (no. 26), “High on the Mountain Top” (no. 5), “O My Father” (no. 292), “I Stand All Amazed” (no. 193), and many other hymns that comforted us in our adversity. We often cried from the stress, but singing the hymns gave us the courage to face such a terrible situation.
Some time later Papa succeeded in bringing us to Venezuela, where we began a new life. We thanked our Heavenly Father for keeping us together and alive. Through this experience, I learned that the hymns invite a spirit of peace during difficult times.
Ana Gloria Hernández de Abzuela, Venezuela

A few weeks ago someone gave me a gift. As I unwrapped the handsome package and discovered its contents, I was overcome with emotion. It was a precious item. I had seen it before in the office of the one who was now giving it to me. I had openly admired it for its unique capabilities and usefulness. It was finely crafted and very expensive. I was deeply touched as I received this generous gift—not because of its monetary value, but because I recognized the great love that the giving of this gift demonstrated to me. Here was an object I knew my benefactor could not afford to purchase for himself or for me. I knew that someone who loved him had bestowed that gift upon him. He was built up and made happy because of that gesture of love toward him. Now in his desire to bring me happiness, to express his love to me, he was sharing one of the finest material possessions he had.
How grateful I am for this example of Christlike love and for the many other gifts of love which I experience daily in my home and in my associations throughout this great church. These experiences lift me up and give me the desire to extend my love to others.

It was 40 years ago this conference time when President David O. McKay called me to serve as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. At the first meeting of the Presidency and Twelve which I attended where the sacrament was served, President McKay announced, “Before we partake of the sacrament, I would like to ask our newest member of this body, Brother Monson, if he would instruct the First Presidency and Twelve on the atoning sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” It was then that I gained a true understanding of the old adage: “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.” It was also the time to remember the counsel found in 1 Peter: “Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.”

The memory of that particular experience with the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve has not dimmed in the intervening 40 years.

The metal cover on the door’s mail slot clattered as the mail was pushed through and landed on the floor of our apartment. One of the high points of our day had arrived, and my companion and I collided as we made haste to see what the mailman had brought. Not even Santa could compete with the excitement he inspired.
Four white envelopes lay scattered on the floor and my companion, having mastered the morning dash and beaten me to the door, scooped them up. “Let’s see,” she said slowly, holding them just out of my reach. “One for me. One for me. One for me, and, oh, one for you.”
One for me. Why did I insist on racing to the door for this kind of treatment? The handwriting on the envelope was familiar, and I knew it was from home. I tore it open as I walked to my bed and pulled out a card with a picture on the front of two tired sister missionaries soaking their feet. I opened it up and settled back on my bed to read. “Hang in there,” it said. “We love you! Mom and Dad.”
“Well, so much for news from home,” I thought and glanced over at my companion who was still on her first letter (a three-pager) and smiling slightly as she read. The other two letters waited patiently on her lap.
“I guess I’ll go finish making breakfast,” I said and walked toward the small kitchen. My companion nodded her head in acknowledgment that I had spoken and continued reading without a pause.
I had been in Finland four months. I pulled out a pan to mix our purro (porridge) in and sighed heavily. Because the mission was short on missionaries who had been in the field for very long, the president had had no choice but to make senior companions of fairly new missionaries. And I was one of them.
I remembered back a few weeks ago to the excitement I had felt at the prospect of leaving my first city to go on to a new area as a senior companion. I remembered even more clearly the sick feeling I had experienced as my new companion and I knocked on our first door, and I realized that neither of us understood the language very well; and I was in charge.
That’s what my parents’ card was in response to. I’d written home expressing, mildly, of course, the way I was feeling, and the card was their message of encouragement. No thought-provoking words of wisdom, no sage advice to ponder, not even a quotation from Richard L. Evans. How was I supposed to reach lofty new heights on the words “hang in there”?
I wondered if any other missionaries had parents who were so economical with words. I turned on the stove and began slowly stirring the purro.
The purro began to boil thickly, and its slow bubbling called my attention back to what I was doing. I turned off the stove and called to my companion.
Those four short months in Finland quickly turned into 16, and I found myself on my way home. As I look back now, I remember only vaguely the fear and inadequacy I felt in that new city as a new senior companion (although my journal could tell tales!). What I do remember is the fact that my companion and I hung in there.
We probably weren’t the most successful companionship to ever pack scriptures, pamphlets, filmstrips and a projector onto our bikes to hit the tracting trail, but we did hit it.
And in that city during some of the hardest times of my mission, I learned what it meant to pray, to really pray, and consequently to receive answers to prayers. I learned that we weren’t out there alone and that we could do what we had been called to do.
I hadn’t needed to receive a long discourse from my parents on the at merits of overcoming discouragement and pushing ahead. The card they sent was enough because it served as a reminder to me that sometimes half the battle is just enduring to the end.

When I first attended church, I often went alone, as I was the only member in my family. At times, I struggled to feel a sense of belonging, which would increase temptations for connection in the wrong places. I realized one way I could combat this was by engaging more deeply with my congregation. As the Lord teaches us in Doctrine and Covenants 58:27, we should be “anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of [our] own free will.”
I started by volunteering to help clean the chapel. I began attending all the ward activities and offering to help wherever I could. Gradually, I built deeper connections with the members of my ward. One family began inviting me to their home evenings, Sunday dinners, and even just to hang out and play games. My family and I have become great friends with them, and it’s been a beautiful experience for all of us.
By immersing myself in my ward, I’ve found opportunities to connect with others who share the same values and standards, including the law of chastity. My ward family has been a great source of support in helping me to stay faithful and strong.

At Church activities I would ask myself, “Why don’t I have friends?” I felt sad and alone and went to God in prayer. I asked my Heavenly Father to send me good friends. It hasn’t been easy, but over time I’ve made many great friends. I’m not afraid to talk anymore and to get involved with groups of girls. I realize that Heavenly Father answered my prayers and that I was never alone.
Daiana I., 16, Corrientes, Argentina

Once you turn 16, group dating is a great way to build friendships. You’ll want to keep in mind a few things. Follow the example below to see what outcomes your decisions may have.
Start
You worked up the nerve to ask someone out. Great job. Your date asks, “Who else is coming?” You answer:
John and Suzy. (Go to #2.)
No one. (Go to #3.)
Good answer. Group dating is important in your teenage years. What do you have planned for the date?
Go to a movie. (Go to #4.)
Go on a hike. (Go to #5.)
It’s time to rethink this one (see For the Strength of Youth [2011], 4). Your date says she won’t go without a group. What do you do?
Make it a group date instead. (Go to #2.)
Stay home.
A nice idea, but maybe not the best option. You enjoyed the show, but you sat next to each other for two hours without saying a word. What do you do next?
Go home; you’re tired. (Go to #6.)
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Sounds fun! And it will give you lots of opportunities to get to know one another. Did you tell your date what the plan is?
Of course! (Go to #8.)
Whoops! (Go to #9.)
You take your date home, and she thanks you for the nice time. It’s too bad you didn’t really get to know her better instead of just watching a movie.
The group gets ice cream at someone’s home. The dessert is good, and you enjoy talking with everyone. It’s almost curfew. What do you do?
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Stay a little longer—you’re having fun. (Go to #11.)
You enjoyed the hike and really got to know everyone in the group. What now?
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Your date wasn’t prepared for hiking, so you wait inside the door for a few minutes while she changes. You’re a little late in meeting up with the group, so the hike ends up shorter than you’d planned, but it’s still fun. What now?
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Your date says she had a great time, thanks you for the evening, and says, “We should do that again sometime!” You smile all the way home.
When you return home after curfew, you and your date both get grounded. Even though you had fun, your date’s dad won’t let you go out again.

“Are you a Christian?” It was a headline for an advertisement soliciting community service volunteers, and it attracted Roger Freeman’s attention. Brother Freeman is a faithful member of the Church—a Sunday School teacher, home teacher, and father of nine. Surely no one could accuse him of not serving his fellow man in a Christian way. Still, the question concerned him.
Brother Freeman contacted the community service agency that had placed the advertisement and asked how he could help. The agency gave him the names of several elderly people who needed someone to do various tasks around their homes.
Since that day several years ago, Brother Freeman has mowed lawns, repaired furniture, cleaned yards, and done odd jobs in many of the older sections of his city—often taking along a few of his children to help. Every few months, he calls the agency for more names. Sometimes he has cried, seeing people who are so poor and so lonely. Occasionally, he can befriend a person he serves and maintain some personal contact. He wishes he could do more.
Where does he find the time to reach beyond his circle of family and Church associations? “It doesn’t take much time,” says Brother Freeman. And what motivates him? He explains, “It’s mostly a matter of reaching beyond my own needs. Sometimes I think of the Savior walking down the dusty roads he traveled. He was aware of people’s needs.”
Serving those around us is not merely something added to the gospel. In fact, the Lord equates serving each other with serving Him. (See Mosiah 2:17.) Brother Lowell Bennion, who runs the community service agency in Salt Lake City that Brother Freeman called, feels that Saints should go to church not to be satisfied, but to “be motivated to go out and serve our neighbors in need.”

Five years later—I was 27 by then—I came back to my father’s home for a time. My father was ward mission leader, and the sister missionaries were teaching someone else in my home. I overheard them teaching about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith, and I decided to pray about it. It made sense in my mind that if Joseph Smith was a prophet, then the Book of Mormon is true and the Church is true.
That night I began to read the history of Joseph Smith and of his vision in the Sacred Grove. Then I stopped, and I prayed to the Lord. I spent the whole night in this manner, reading and praying about each paragraph. It took me 14 hours. Something happened to me when I began to ponder. It seemed that I was in the grove with Joseph. It was a vivid and real experience. It seemed I could see what happened. When I finished the prayer the next morning, I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet.
I went immediately to find the missionaries. At noon, when the sister missionaries came home for lunch, I was sitting in front of their door waiting for them. I asked them to teach me the discussions. After they taught me the seven discussions in a short period of time, I was baptized and confirmed into the Church.

Seth bounced up and down in the back seat and sang a crazy song. “Please settle down, Seth,” Dad said. “I need to focus on driving.”
“I can’t settle down,” Seth said. “It’s just so awesome!”
Dad smiled. “I’m glad you’re excited to meet your new baby brother.”
When they got to the hospital, Seth raced to Mom’s room. He knew where it was because Mom had been there for five days already. She had to stay at the hospital because Baby Caleb was sick, and Mom was a little bit sick too. Seth had asked to see Caleb at least a bajillion times, but Mom always said, “Not yet.” She said that the doctors would decide when Caleb was strong enough for a visitor.
Today the doctor had called. Today was the day!
When Seth walked into Mom’s hospital room, she was already holding Caleb. Seth ran over to see his new baby brother. Caleb was tiny. He looked way smaller than Seth’s baby cousins. And there was something different about his nose and ears. He looked like a little elf!
“Hi, honey,” Mom said. “Come wash your hands, and then you can hold the baby.”
Seth washed his hands with special soap. He climbed onto the hospital bed next to Mom. She leaned over to hand him the baby. Dad helped Seth put his hands in just the right place.
Seth looked down at Caleb. “Hi, Caleb,” he said. “I’m your brother, Seth. You’re going to sleep in my room, and I can show you all my toys, and we can play at the park.”
Baby Caleb looked right at Seth. Seth thought he was the best baby ever.
When Seth’s arms got tired, Dad took a turn holding Caleb. Mom held one of Seth’s hands and looked into his eyes.
“Seth,” she said. “Do you remember in Primary when you learned about the plan of salvation?”
Seth nodded. That had been a good day. Sister Lopez had a moon and a star and a big planet earth on sticks. Seth got to hold the sun.
“Do you remember how we lived in heaven before we came to earth and how we are going back to heaven when we die?”
Seth nodded again.
“Baby Caleb is still very sick. And the doctor says that he won’t live very long. He is going to die soon and go back to heaven.”
Seth looked at Mom. He looked at Baby Caleb in Dad’s arms. Then he frowned. His throat felt tight. “But I love him. I want him to stay here and share my room and play with me. Doesn’t he want to stay too?”
Mom put her arms around Seth. “Of course he wants to be with us. We’re his family. But he will see us again.”
“He will?”
Mom nodded. “Dad and I were married in the temple. We were promised that our family could be together forever. You and Caleb will always be our children.”
“That means that Baby Caleb will always be your brother,” Dad explained. “And you’ll see him again in heaven.”
Seth was sad. He felt kind of mad too. But he thought about meeting Baby Caleb in heaven and smiled just a little. He reached out and rubbed Baby Caleb’s soft hair. “We’ll be brothers in heaven? That’s awesome.”
Mom kissed Seth’s cheek. “It is awesome.”

Following a recent stake conference, Sister Lindsay and I were blessed to visit another household of faith located in rural Idaho. The young father in this home was suffering from a critical illness. A picture forever etched in my memory is of a mother and five beautiful children, together with this dear brother’s priesthood quorum leaders, kneeling around his bedside pleading with Heavenly Father for the life of this good man. He was then administered to within this circle of faith. It was our blessing recently again to meet this young couple and to hear their beautiful witnessing, their humble outpouring of spirit, of the Lord’s blessing in the restoration of the husband’s health.

Over the 2020 Christmas period I was given an opportunity to participate, as a service missionary, in Cardiff Stake’s ‘Help for Refugees’ projects.
Necessities were packed and prepared for approximately 150 refugees at the local centre. When delivering the packages, it was very heartwarming to see the reactions of those involved, as to what was being delivered to the centre and the sheer amount. There was even a box of cuddly bears for children.
I am grateful to have had the opportunity to work alongside so many caring and compassionate people. It was a joy, that couldn’t be found anywhere else, such as when young men are so happy to see nappies for their children, and to hear their expressions of thanks.

The van and the truck pulling the canoe trailer turned into the parking lot at the edge of the national forest. The big Duluth packs, specially made for canoeing and portaging, were unloaded. Next were the canoes. The thought of carrying everything the girls needed to set up camp, their food and clothes, and their canoes and paddles was a bit daunting. There was a lot to learn in a short time.
First order of the day was learning to carry the canoes over their heads. Even at 70 pounds apiece, the canoes were heavy and awkward, but the girls were grateful for modern technology that made possible sturdy but lightweight aluminum canoes. Brenda Crepeau and the Young Women president, Dawna Rice, were the first to try carrying a canoe. Together they picked the canoe up and balanced it on their hips for a moment. Then on the count of three they lifted it above their heads. Suddenly, it became apparent that this simply was not going to work. Brenda was facing one way and Dawna the other. Each thought she was in front and tried to walk forward only to be jerked to a halt. When they realized their problem, both started laughing so hard they had to drop the canoe.
With everyone and everything straightened out and heading in the right direction, the girls shouldered their packs with some groaning. Bug hats with mosquito net veils were put on for protection from the voracious insects, giving everyone a slightly alien look. The woods literally hummed with the sound of mosquitoes trying to find their way to human flesh.
When they reached the starting point on the Moose River, Sister Lamb, the activity specialist, showed the girls how to load the canoes and took her place in the first one. As the canoe began floating away, she called to Kim Barclay still standing on shore, “Kim, throw me a paddle.” At the same instant that Kim tossed her one, Sister Lamb added, “Make sure it’s one that floats.” It was too late to check. As the paddle slapped the water, it floated.
The six canoes started drifting down the river towards Nina-Moose Lake, and it was time to check the maps. Each boat had one in a waterproof bag. Quickly the girls learned that portages are measured in rods and that there are 320 rods to the mile. They scanned the map, mentally figuring the length of the portages that lay ahead—“25 rods, how far would that be? Oh no, here’s one that’s 120 rods.” At the end of the first day, after having made seven portages, ranging from 24 to 96 rods, the numbers on the map started to take on new meaning as the distances were measured in shaky legs and sore shoulders.
Soon the girls started taking on the same attitude that the original French voyageurs had about making portages. They were willing to carry incredible amounts, often carrying nearly their own weight in packs and equipment, rather than make two trips across the portage with lighter loads. Sitting on a rock waiting for the others to make it across one of the longer portages, Sarah Crompton said, “I thought I couldn’t make it until I got to the end. Then it didn’t seem so bad.”
In the evening, camp was set up in designated campsites, and the girls showed off their outdoor cooking skills. Instant pudding was prepared with red-tinged but safe-to-drink lake water. It was hard to mix smooth with just a spoon, but hunger makes for nonfussy eaters. Lumps were okay with everyone.
The girls could make a pan of boiling water into mashed potatoes and creamed chicken or spaghetti enough to serve ten. But there are limits to what a campfire can do. As Brenda Crepeau was reading the recipe from the back of the box of skillet lasagna, she asked, tongue in cheek, “How do I turn the oven to 400 degrees? I don’t see any knobs on this fire!”
Evening camp was a time to swim in the pure water of the lakes and just relax tired arms from paddling and tired legs from hiking. The sunsets made the water shimmer as it turned the surrounding forested hills into silhouetted sentinels. The loons, with their haunting cries, floated low in the water, their white speckled backs catching the last rays of light. As soon as the last blush of sunset faded from the sky, an annoying buzz rose like a cloud from the damp grass. The mosquitoes were better than any clock to indicate that it was bedtime. It was time to suspend all the food packs high between two trees out of the reach of marauding bears.
One morning, as soon as all six canoes were loaded and launched, the group met in the middle of the lake. The girls held on to the gunnels of neighboring canoes as maps were unfolded and the course for the day discussed. According to the map there seemed to be two choices. Either they could paddle across the lake, unload, and hike across a 120-rod portage, or they could stay in their canoes and attempt to paddle up a small stream to the neighboring lake.
To the girls there seemed to be no question—anything to get out of unloading the canoes and portaging. Stake President Hennebry, who along with his counselors were accompanying the girls as priesthood advisers, pointed out some potential problems. Nobody in the group had been this way before. No one was absolutely sure that the stream on the map would be wide enough to handle a canoe. The portage was steep and difficult, but it was a sure thing. It was the group’s decision. They would take a vote.
The thought of missing a long, hard portage was enticing. The majority was willing to take a chance on what seemed to be the easier route, the stream.
When the first canoe reached the mouth of the stream, it was blocked by a beaver dam. “No problem,” said Andrea Miles, Karen Johnson, and Ganine Conner, “we’ll pull our canoe over the dam and scout on ahead and see what the stream looks like.”
It was deceiving. Because of the beaver dam, the stream widened into a pond and looked at first like it was going to be the easy route everyone hoped it would be. All six canoes were lured in, and they followed the twisting, curving stream. Another beaver dam was crossed, then another. The stream was getting so narrow that the canoeists could hardly fit a paddle between the edge of the canoe and the bank.
The stream became shallow, and the girls had to get out and walk. At first, everyone tried to keep her shoes dry, but as one by one they slipped off of dry footing and into the sticky mud, they gave up and tried to wade. The mud was waist deep, and they had to tow the canoes behind them. The sucking, gooey mud pulled at each leg with every step. They abandoned any hope of staying clean and dry. But where was the next lake? Wouldn’t it be around the next curve, or the next? Finally their leaders said that it was hopeless. The stream was becoming nothing more than a swamp, and still the lake was nowhere in sight.
Tired, muddy, and discouraged, the girls turned their canoes around and started back the way they came. Only it was harder getting out than it had been getting in. They had broken the beaver dams during their entrance, and the water had drained out of the ponds leaving them high, but certainly not dry.
After slogging through a mile or so of mud, the last canoe was again back at the starting point. After rinsing off and climbing back in their canoes, the group gathered for a moment of thought. They had wasted the whole morning in a useless attempt to find an easy way. Now they would have to turn around and take the long portage, the trail so clearly marked that would take them to the next lake. The comparisons to life were only too obvious. As the girls tried to clean up a bit, rest, and eat lunch, they were subdued as they thought about their experience. Slowly, they began to draw analogies to their own lives.
Sister Rice, the Young Women president said, “Much of the time we think we can gamble and take the easy way, but it often gives us nothing but grief. We became mired down so we could hardly move, but we repented of our decision and turned around. It was hard just getting back to where we had started from. If we had been wise, we would have taken the ‘straight and narrow’ way, the portage, and been ahead.”
Later at the last night fireside, President Hennebry again reminded the girls of their experience. “You’ve experienced something you can relate to life. But on this trip you can remember the experience without remembering the pain. Satan has a map which marks what seems to be the easy way that will still get you where you want to go. It’s an attractive lie. Just like our experience in the swamp. At first the barriers were easy to cross, but it made it so much harder to come out. In life if you find that you have chosen the wrong stream, no matter how hard it is, repent and come back.”
The lesson on making decisions was a valuable one. The girls learned from it and remembered. Throughout the rest of the trip, if anyone jokingly asked, “Hey, there’s a stream on this map. Do you think we ought to try it?” they would be shouted down with a loud, “No, thanks.”
The trip of nearly 50 miles and 8 lakes was tough, but there were few complaints. Karen Chase noticed this especially, “It’s amazing to see people’s talents. It’s been great to be together, and I didn’t hear a single complaint.”
The trip was a confidence builder for Michelle and Brenda Schroeder. “I didn’t realize what we were getting into, but it’s beautiful,” said Michelle. Then with an arm around her sister, Brenda, she said, “And I’ve been glad to be with my sister before she goes away to college.”
Brenda had her own thoughts on the trip. “I thought I would die. I didn’t think I could carry any of that stuff, but I did. Then I knew I could do it again.”
On the last day as the group was heading back to the parking lot to meet the van and truck that were to pick them up, Sonda Donley, loaded with two heavy packs, one in front and the other on her back, was smiling but walking slowly uphill on the final portage. She said, “I feel fine. I just wish I could pick up my feet.”
After returning the canoes to the outfitter, washing their faces in the luxury of hot running water out of a tap, and combing their hair in front of a real mirror, the Summiteers spread out a map and mentally retraced their route.
When their fingers stopped at Gebeonequet Lake and the stream that went nowhere, they made a resolve. On future canoe trips and in their own lives, they would follow the correct paths. And because of their associations with fine leaders and advisers and by relying on their Heavenly Father, they knew that their feet would be guided as was promised in the scriptures.
“I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things I will do unto them, and not forsake them” (Isa. 42:16).

Hector González of the Villa Nueva Guatemala Stake says the gospel has given him strength to face the cancer that cost him a leg and nearly took his life. At one point, he wondered why this should happen to him. His wife brought his patriarchal blessing to him in the hospital, and he found hope in its promise of a long life of service. When it became obvious that he would lose his right leg, he received a spiritual witness that all would be well. After the surgery, he recalls, “It was incredible the support I found in reading the Book of Mormon. It gave me the strength to go on.” Now back at work, he says, “I know the Lord has been watching over me. I know He has cared for me through all of this.”