Gospel Story Finder

I will never forget a lesson that my dear wife, Sister Mutombo, taught me on the first day of our marriage. I remember that Sunday as if it was yesterday. We had no food in our home and no money to buy food. As a newly married husband, I truly wanted to provide for my new wife, but I had no means to do so. I felt very alone.
I looked at my wife lying on the mattress that we had put on the floor because we had no money for a bed. She was exhausted and hungry. I decided to visit a good friend of mine to find a solution to my trial. I left my wife alone in our small two-square-meter room and went to see my friend. He told me that he had no money to help me but gave me one dollar to use for transportation to get home. I saw this as an answer to many sincere prayers to my Heavenly Father, asking for His help and support. I decided to walk home and use the dollar to buy food for my wife because that is the only money I had.
On the way back home, I used the dollar to buy a small piece of meat and some bread and put it in a black plastic bag. I was so excited that I now had food to give to my wife and walked home quickly. It was after 9 p.m. when I got home, and my dear Nathalie was tired, exhausted, hungry, and probably wondering about her future. Can you imagine going without food on your first day of married life? When I arrived home, I proudly presented food to my wife, saying, “darling, I got some food for you, please wake up.”
She woke up and took the plastic bag and saw the piece of meat and bread. She asked, “where did you find the money to buy this food?”
I told her. She looked at me and asked an unexpected question. “Have you paid tithing on the one dollar you received?”
I replied, “Nathalie, this is just one dollar, do you think we need to pay tithing on it?”
She took the piece of meat and bread that I brought home to her, put it back in the bag and said that she would not eat the bread of a man who does not remember his covenant with God. I weep when I remember this experience. I repented immediately and promised my wife that never ever again would I make such a poor choice. She taught me what it means to be a true disciple of Jesus Christ who keeps his covenants with God. I have since found great joy in paying an honest and full tithing. As President Russell M. Nelson said, the Church was not any different because I paid a full tithe, however becoming a full-tithe payer changed me as my faith in my Savior Jesus Christ increased.

It was about 25 years ago that I received the assignment to be chairman of the Missionary Executive Council. Christmas was approaching. It had been the practice to have a devotional at the Provo Missionary Training Center on Christmas morning with all the missionaries who were away from home; perhaps for most of them it was their first Christmas not being with family and friends.
We decided to take our turn and be the speakers at the devotional. Because it was Christmastime and Christmastime is a time of remembering families, we decided to take our children and grandchildren to the MTC with us. In those days, they didn’t have the fine facilities they have today for the devotional settings. They set up chairs in the cafeteria with a small, raised platform for those that were speaking. We were very close to the missionaries, and there were certainly not the numbers that we have today.
The theme we tried to carry into the setting with the missionaries was family traditions you can carry with you in the field. We tried to emphasize those basic values they would be able to teach their investigators from their own personal experience of living in a Latter-day Saint home—the values of family prayer, family scripture study, family home evenings, counsel with fathers and mothers, and so on.
The messages seemed to be appropriate and well-received by the missionaries as family members participated. The musical numbers were furnished by the grandchildren. We had two at that time who were without their two front teeth. They sang “All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.” That was all we needed to gain the warm, loving appreciation of the missionaries that particular morning.
We decided to stay and have Christmas dinner with all of the missionaries. We wanted to scatter ourselves around them, so each of us, including the grandchildren, sat at a different table with these great young men and women and the couples. Conversations, of course, centered around being away from home and remembering Christmas traditions. We learned of the lessons their parents had taught to prepare them for being full-time missionaries and declaring the message of the restored gospel to the peoples of the world. It was a wonderful experience, one we’ll never forget.

It was a rainy day, and everyone was gathered at Grandma’s house. Dad and Uncle Carl were putting new paneling in Grandma’s game room while Mom, Aunt Shirley, and Grandma were busy in the kitchen.
When Aunt Shirley went to set the dining room table, she said, “Stevie, dinner won’t be ready for a while. Why don’t you play somewhere else?”
Carly went to the table and knelt to look under the jiggling, low-hanging tablecloth at her cousin. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Stevie shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Come up to the attic with me.”
Stevie grinned. As they passed the den, Carly paused. “Becka, do you want to go up to the attic with us?” she asked.
Her cousin looked up from a book that she was reading and wrinkled her nose. “Yuck!” she replied. “Too many spiders!”
“I’m not afraid of spiders,” Stevie announced as he and Carly climbed the stairs to the second floor.
“Neither am I,” Carly said. They walked side by side along the carpeted hallway. “Have you ever been in Grandma’s attic?” she asked as they neared the closed attic door.
“Maybe a long time ago,” Stevie replied. “Becka says it’s spooky.”
Carly shrugged. “It’s not spooky, just dusty.” She opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and raced up them eagerly. When she reached the top, she looked around and motioned to Stevie. “Come on,” she called happily. “You can see everything from up here.”
She went to the dormer and looked out. Below, the yard and rolling hills were washed with a fine gray mist from the rain. When Stevie reached her, she moved to make room for him to rest his elbows on the windowsill.
“See? I’m not afraid of spiders,” he said proudly.
Carly nodded. “I didn’t think you were.”
“If the weather was nicer, there’d be something to do,” he sighed.
“There’s always stuff to do,” Carly said. She walked beneath the slanted ceiling toward Grandpa’s old rolltop desk and slid back the cover.
“That’s a funny-looking book,” Stevie said, pointing at a thick volume inside the desk.
“That’s the kind of book that Grandpa read.”
“How could he read when he was blind?” Stevie asked curiously.
Carly chuckled. “He read the words with his fingers. Here, give me your hand.” She opened the book and moved his fingers slowly across the page. “Feel the dots?” she asked. “It’s called Braille writing.”
Stevie frowned. “I wouldn’t want to read a book that way.”
“You would if you couldn’t see.” Carly put the book back inside the desk. “Grandpa made this desk, too,” she announced with a smile.
Stevie looked at her with wide eyes. “Oh, wow! Even though he couldn’t see?” He ran his hand over the finely finished wood. “It’s as smooth as glass!”
Carly nodded. “He said that he knew what the desk looked like, even though he couldn’t see it with his eyes. He saw lots of things people who are sighted never even notice.”
“How’d he do that?”
Carly smiled. “Shut your eyes and tell me what you know without looking.”
Stevie closed his eyelids tightly. “It’s dark,” he said with a giggle.
“That isn’t what I meant,” she said. “I’ll do it.” She closed her eyes and stood quietly. “You have to listen and feel and stuff,” she explained. “I hear the rain falling and trickling through the downspout. It almost sounds like quiet music. I smell a roast cooking and musty books … and dust. The air up here feels warm against my skin, and I can tell that the floor is bare. You moved behind me,” she added as Stevie tiptoed around her. “Now you’re picking something up.”
Stevie took her hand. “Here,” he said as he put something in it. “Tell me what this is.”
Carly closed her fingers loosely around the material. “It’s an old hunting coat,” she said as she followed the lines with her fingers. “It’s trimmed with leather and it’s dusty. There’s a jagged tear here. Maybe it was caught on a thorn. Now someone’s coming up the stairs.”
Stevie moved closer to her and grabbed her hand.
“I feel the floorboards moving slightly, and a draft just blew across my ankles.” Carly opened her eyes and turned toward the stairs.
“It’s only Becka,” Stevie said with relief.
“I knew that you’d be pretending that you were blind again!” Becka said with a scowl.
“Carly was showing me how Grandpa saw things!” Stevie explained excitedly.
“Grandpa didn’t see things!” Becka insisted. “He remembered them from the time that he could see; that’s all!”
Carly frowned. “He saw things, Becka!”
Becka tossed her head and turned back toward the stairs. “It’s too musty up here for me!” she replied with a shiver of disgust. “You’d better come with me, Stevie—before she has you acting weird too!”
“Did Mom want me to come down?” he asked.
His sister didn’t answer.
“I’ll stay up here with Carly, then,” he said.
Becka stomped down the stairs and slammed the door behind her. Carly sighed and laid the hunting coat on top of a dust-covered trunk.
“Tell me more about Grandpa,” Stevie pleaded.
“Too bad you didn’t live around here when he was alive, Stevie. He was really nice, like Grandma. He could tell by the way the birds sang if it was going to rain or if it was going to be a nice day. And by the smell in the air, he could tell when spring was coming or if there would be a frost. He said that he could tell what kind of mood I was in just by the way I hugged him or the way I walked.”
“How could he, Carly?”
“Grandpa said that some people look and don’t see; they touch but don’t feel; they listen but don’t hear. He said that God gives us more abilities than we ever think about until we lose one of them—like he lost his eyesight. Then we start to use the others just as he started to see by using his senses of touch, taste, smell, and hearing. Grandpa said that most of all we could learn to see with our hearts.”
Stevie nodded thoughtfully. “Could I learn to see with my heart, too?” he asked.
“Sure,” Carly replied. “All you have to do is start using it that way. The more you learn to see with your heart, the better you’ll become at it.”
“Becka doesn’t have a heart!”
Carly chuckled. “Sure she does, and some day she’ll learn to see with it more too.”
“Thanks for asking me to come up here with you,” Stevie told her. “It was boring under the table.”
Carly grinned. “I’m glad that you did.” Grandma’s tinkling bell sounded from far away in the dining room. “We’d better go down now,” Carly said.
At the top of the stairs, Stevie turned. “I don’t care what Becka says—I know that Grandpa really could see.”

After the fall harvest, Josiah Stowell and Joseph Knight traveled to the Manchester area on business. Both men knew that the fourth anniversary of Joseph’s visit to the hill was at hand, and they were eager to know whether Moroni would finally trust him with the plates.
Local treasure seekers also knew it was time for Joseph to get the record. Lately one of them, a man named Samuel Lawrence, had been roaming the hill, searching for the plates. Worried that Samuel would cause trouble, Joseph sent his father to Samuel’s house on the evening of September 21 to keep an eye on him and confront him if it looked like he was going to the hill.20
Joseph then readied himself to retrieve the plates. His yearly visit to the hill was to take place the next day, but to keep ahead of the treasure seekers, he planned to arrive at the hill shortly after midnight—just as the morning of September 22 was beginning—when no one expected him to be out.
But he still needed to find a way to protect the plates once he got them. After most of the family had gone to bed, he quietly asked his mother if she had a lockbox. Lucy did not have one and got worried.
“Never mind,” Joseph said. “I can do very well just now without it.”21
Emma soon appeared, dressed for riding, and she and Joseph climbed into Joseph Knight’s carriage and set out into the night.22 When they arrived at the hill, Emma waited with the carriage while Joseph climbed the slope to the place where the plates were hidden.
On the night of September 22, 1827, Joseph and Emma drove a carriage to this hill, where the Book of Mormon plates were buried. After obtaining the plates, Joseph hid them in a hollow log for a time to protect them from treasure seekers.
Moroni appeared, and Joseph lifted the gold plates and seer stones from the stone box. Before Joseph set off down the hill, Moroni reminded him to show the plates to no one except those the Lord appointed, promising him that the plates would be protected if he did all within his power to preserve them.
“You will have to be watchful and faithful to your trust,” Moroni told him, “or you will be overpowered by wicked men, for they will lay every plan and scheme that is possible to get them away from you. And if you do not take heed continually, they will succeed.”23
Joseph carried the plates down the hill, but before he reached the carriage, he secured them in a hollow log where they would be safe until he obtained a lockbox. He then found Emma, and they returned home as the sun began to rise.24
At the Smith home, Lucy waited anxiously for Joseph and Emma while she served breakfast to Joseph Sr., Joseph Knight, and Josiah Stowell. Her heart beat rapidly while she worked, fearful that her son would return without the plates.25
A short time later, Joseph and Emma came into the house. Lucy looked to see if Joseph had the plates but left the room trembling when she saw his empty hands.
Joseph followed her. “Mother,” he said, “do not be uneasy.” He handed her an object wrapped in a handkerchief. Through the fabric, Lucy felt what seemed to be a large pair of spectacles. They were the Urim and Thummim, the seer stones the Lord had prepared for translating the plates.26
Lucy was elated. Joseph looked as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But when he joined the others in the house, he made a sad face and ate his breakfast in silence. After he finished, he leaned his head forlornly on his hand. “I am disappointed,” he said to Joseph Knight.
“Well,” the older man said, “I am sorry.”
“I am greatly disappointed,” Joseph repeated, his expression changing to a smile. “It is ten times better than I expected!” He went on to describe the size and weight of the plates and talked excitedly about the Urim and Thummim.
“I can see anything,” he said. “They are marvelous.”27

I love the Instant Messages. They’re incredibly relevant to my life. When I read the Instant Message “Dating Dilemma” in the October New Era, I felt I knew exactly what the author was talking about. I have been casually dating a really great guy from school for over a year, and lately I have felt that our relationship was getting a little too serious. I prayed about it and felt that we should just be friends. I finally told him this morning and was a little down the whole day because of it. Then I came home and saw this Instant Message reminding me that I am happiest when I follow the Lord’s will. Thank you, Tiffany Day, for writing about your experience.Leila Watts, Andover Ward, Anoka Minnesota Stake

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland told of a young man who was the brunt of his peers’ teasing during his school years. Some years later he moved away, joined the military, received an education, and became active in the Church. This period of his life was marked with wonderfully successful experiences.
After several years he returned to his hometown. However, the people refused to acknowledge his growth and improvement. To them, he was still just old “so-and-so,” and they treated him that way. Eventually, this good man faded away to a shadow of his former successful self without being able to use his marvelously developed talents to bless those who derided and rejected him once again. What a loss, both for him and the community!

I remember the time as a student, when I worked for three days and nights with no sleep on a computer programming assignment for my Computer Graphics class. I was exhausted and yet I completed and turned in the project on time. I contrast that with the time when I worked in a hospital when our system was down and it took me three days and nights with no sleep to get the system back up and running. Both were challenging and required about the same amount of time and effort from me. However, of the latter, there was much more at stake with many individuals involved and especially the quality and lives of patient care. I was the one programmer that knew how to troubleshoot and find the problem to get the system back up, and all eyes and hopes were on me.

In the country of Angola, opposition threatened to thwart the desire of faithful and obedient Saints to see the gospel take root in their land. The Lord had sent His servants to open the door to missionary work, but on the eve of their scheduled travel, visas still had not been granted. When Church representatives visited immigration officials about the delay, they were turned away.
With approval from the First Presidency to dedicate Angola for missionary work, Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and others awaited word in Johannesburg, South Africa. At the same time, faithful member Paulina Lassalete da Cunha Gonçalves tried to open what seemed to be a closing door. She hoped to obtain letters of invitation that would grant permission for the Church party to enter Angola. Once there, they could then obtain necessary visas.
Within minutes of government offices closing in Angola, Elder Christofferson assembled with those waiting in the Africa Southeast Area offices. Then, kneeling in prayer, he asked Heavenly Father to intervene. In that same hour, immediately following his prayer of faith, the letters of invitation were signed. A loving Father in Heaven had prepared the way for the day of dedication. At the request of Elder Christofferson, a humble prayer of thanks was offered for the granted miracle.4

David ran down the sandy path holding the small sand grouse carefully in his hands. “Bird,” he whispered, “it’s all right. I’ll take care of you.”
The boy had found the sand grouse on the desert. Its wing was broken and the feathers fanned out when he let go of it, so he held it close to his chest with both hands.
David lived alone in a cave under the edge of a rock. Before he was old enough to remember him, his father had left. David often thought about his father, imagining him as a tall, strong man who would protect his son from the wolves, bring him food and firewood, and hold him close in the night when it was dark and when frightening sounds came from outside the cave.
David tried not to think about his mother. She hadn’t been gone as long, and her memory was still too close to his heart to remember without pain.
It was getting dark, and the tall palms stood out black against the red desert sky. David, alone with the sand grouse, could feel its tiny heart beating rapidly against his hands. He scraped up some cold ashes and bits of straw into a pillow on which to lay the hurt bird so that the softness came up and around and held its wing.
“Lie still now, bird,” he said. “I’ll fix your wing for you.”
David found a stick and some leather strips he’d been saving in a pouch. Every time he found a piece of wool or a strip of leather blowing on the desert, he’d carefully save it and tuck it into his pouch. Sometimes these bits and pieces were useful in unexpected ways.
As he wrapped a tiny piece of leather around the stick and the bird’s wing, he thought, Maybe this sand grouse can be mine, and I can be his. We can belong to each other.
After David finished wrapping the bird’s wing, he dropped some water into its open mouth. Its helpless eyes gazed at the boy as he worked.
Gently David put the bird down onto the soft straw pillow. He tied one end of a leather thong around the bird’s leg and the other end to his own wrist. Now, he thought, if it flutters about in the night or tries to fly, I can keep it from hurting itself.
David lay down on the dirt floor of the cave, curled up on his side so that he could see the bird. The sand grouse stared at him. David smiled and said, “Good night. I love you.”
During the night David awoke to a chattering noise. At first he couldn’t tell what it was. Then the string on his wrist tugged and pulled. The bird was silhouetted against the mouth of the cave, and there looked to be hundreds of birds outside. They were perching on the cactus, flying and darting about, and walking in the sand. David had never seen so many birds at once! The thong on his wrist tightened as his bird limped along, trying to reach the others.
The great flock of birds chattered and teased. They seemed to say, “Come along. Hurry and come with us.”
Walking over to the mouth of the cave, David called, “Sand grouse, you can’t go. You can’t fly yet.” Then the boy shivered at the cold and dampness in the cave. Every bird on the desert must be here! he thought. What does it mean?
David held the sand grouse close as he stepped out into the starlit night. At first all he could see were the birds circling and swooping. Then he saw a great light in the sky that was attracting the birds, and David knew where they were going. Suddenly he wanted to go with them.
David followed the birds over rocks and hills, down gullies and crevices, and on over the wind-whipped sand. Then their chattering stopped and all David could hear was the sound of his own feet and the beating, whirring wings.
David began to have a warm feeling inside that seemed to come from the lighted sky. He was hurrying to keep the birds in sight when, suddenly, he bumped into something and stopped.
“Say, there,” came a man’s deep voice. “What’s this?”
“Oh, sir, I’m sorry,” David said, looking up at the tall, smiling man before him. He wore a shepherd’s robe and held a wooden staff. A curly, dark beard went up close to the man’s kind eyes, and he was carrying a lamb.
“That’s all right, boy,” the shepherd said. “What’s that you have there? A sand grouse, is it?”
“Yes, sir, I found it on the ground with its wing broken. After I bound the wing with a thong, the bird’s friends came and wanted it to go with them. But I don’t know why we’re following them.”
“Come, walk with me,” the shepherd invited the boy. “I’ll tell you about this night.”
So David and the shepherd walked together on the desert under the bright light of that holy night, led by the birds. The shepherd told David he’d been watching the sheep when an angel came.
“An angel?” David asked in wonderment.
“Yes, an angel, who told us that a king had been born in the city of David.”
“A king?” David questioned, even more astonished.
“A king of all the world,” the shepherd replied. “I’m taking this lamb as a present for that kingly Baby.”
“A baby king,” David said, still hardly believing. “I’d like to give him something, too, but I have nothing to give.”
“That’s what I thought, but I did have this lamb,” said the shepherd.
“And I have only —” David stopped. Then he continued in a quieter voice. “I have only this sand grouse. It belongs to me and I belong to him.”
David thought about the sand grouse as he and the shepherd walked together until they came to a stable in the little town.
“The King wouldn’t be born here in a stable,” David said, “with hay all around Him and animals close by.”
“Yes,” the shepherd said, “the angel told us we would find Him in a manger.”
The great flock of birds that had been flying ahead of David and the shepherd settled in the trees near the stable.
They found the Babe lying in a bed of hay. As the shepherd stepped forward and put the lamb down beside Him, the mother smiled. Holding his friend, the sand grouse, David felt himself pulled forward by her smile.
The bird’s eyes had become black and shiny. David untied the thong from its wing. The sand grouse hopped a little, ruffled up its feathers, and moved both wings without any trouble. David untied the thong from his wrist and laid it aside.
The bird fluttered closer to the Baby and stood there. Its eyes shone, and it turned its head from side to side, looking first at the boy and then at the sleeping child.
“Good-bye, sand grouse,” David said. “Good-bye, my friend.”
He turned to where the shepherd was waiting for him at the edge of the heavenly light. As they went out into the dark streets of the city together, the shepherd put his hand gently on David’s shoulder. “It’s wonderful to think we have seen the King of the world,” he said.
“Yes,” David answered, although he felt happy and sad at the same time. When he thought of the Baby, a happiness ran through him, but when he thought of being all alone again, there was a hollow, hurting ache in his chest.
The shepherd said, “Your sand grouse seemed to feel as though it belonged there. Its wing was fine, and it looked happy.”
“I think it was proud to be standing next to the baby King,” David said, “and I’m glad. But it was the only thing I had of my own, and now I’m alone again.”
“Then come with me,” the shepherd suggested. “I’m alone, too, except for my sheep.”
David could hardly believe his ears. “You mean, I could go with you? Live with you?”
“And belong to me. Yes, and I would belong to you, David,” the shepherd said. “Do you need to go back to the cave for anything?”
“All I had was the sand grouse and I gave that to the King,” David answered. He was quiet for a moment. Then looking up into the kind eyes of the shepherd, he said, “And it was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

I met one such young man not long ago while I was attending a stake conference in another country. We were about to conclude a Saturday afternoon meeting with the stake presidency when a knock came at the office door. The president opened it, and I saw a hand give an envelope to him. It had my name on it. The letter inside introduced me to a young man who needed an interview in order to be accepted as a missionary.

As soon as our meeting with the stake presidency was concluded, I excused them and invited the young man in. His initial appearance shocked me. I couldn’t believe he was being recommended to go out and serve as a missionary. His clothes were somewhat wrinkled; he needed a shave; he reeked with tobacco smoke; he even had some sort of paperback book rolled up in his hands. What could he offer in the service of the Master, I thought.

And then it happened—he walked over and shook hands with me. As I looked into his eyes, I was electrified. He was different. He was special, in spite of his outward appearance. As we sat down he told me his story. He first excused himself for appearing to be untidy and in a hurry. He said he had just gotten off the bus after a 13-hour ride from his home and, if I didn’t mind, he hoped he would be able to be back on the bus in another hour for another 13-hour ride to his home.

I then began to put two and two together. I knew now why his clothes were wrinkled and why he needed a shave. I knew the tobacco smoke was not of his choosing, but from the close confinement in the bus. I made another observation. That paperback book in his hand was the Book of Mormon—well read, well used, a priceless possession. He went on to say that three years ago he had joined the Church because of his association with our young people. He said they were different. His parents had given him permission if he wanted to, but warned that if he did, he would no longer have a bed in their home. He could no longer live with them as their son.

When he was baptized, his father kept his word and opened the back door, telling him never to return. The young man didn’t. He moved in with friends. He told me that for the past three years he had been working and going to school. He said he had saved over $2,000 to keep himself on a mission. Please, could he go, he said; he wanted to more than anything in the world. The impression of the Spirit said yes, and he’s now part of the army of 18,000 stalwarts who are out covering the earth as servants of the Master.

In the words of a well-known song, I wish you could “come fly with me” to eastern Germany, where I visited many times. Not long ago, as I traveled along the autobahns, I reflected on a time almost 35 years before when I saw on the same autobahns just trucks carrying armed soldiers and policemen. Barking dogs everywhere strained on their leashes, and informers walked the streets. Back then, the flame of freedom had flickered and burned low. A wall of shame sprang up, and a curtain of iron came down. Hope was all but snuffed out. Life, precious life, continued on in faith, nothing wavering. Patient waiting was required. An abiding trust in God marked the life of each Latter-day Saint.
When I made my initial visit beyond the wall, it was a time of fear on the part of our members as they struggled in the performance of their duties. I found the dullness of despair on the faces of many passersby but a bright and beautiful expression of love emanating from our members. In Görlitz the building in which we met was shell-pocked from the war, but the interior reflected the tender care of our leaders in bringing brightness and cleanliness to an otherwise shabby and grimy structure. The Church had survived both a world war and the cold war which followed. The singing of the Saints brightened every soul. They sang the old Sunday School favorite:
If the way be full of trial; Weary not!
If it’s one of sore denial, Weary not!
If it now be one of weeping,
There will come a joyous greeting,
When the harvest we are reaping—Weary not!
Do not weary by the way,
Whatever be thy lot;
There awaits a brighter day
To all, to all who weary not!
I was touched by their sincerity. I was humbled by their poverty. They had so little. My heart filled with sorrow because they had no patriarch. They had no wards or stakes—just branches. They could not receive temple blessings—neither endowment nor sealing. No official visitor had come from Church headquarters in a long time. The members were forbidden to leave the country. Yet they trusted in the Lord with all their hearts, and they leaned not to their own understanding. In all their ways they acknowledged Him, and He directed their paths. I stood at the pulpit, and with tear-filled eyes and a voice choked with emotion, I made a promise to the people: “If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours.”
That night as I realized what I had promised, I dropped to my knees and prayed: “Heavenly Father, I’m on Thy errand; this is Thy Church. I have spoken words that came not from me, but from Thee and Thy Son. Wilt Thou, therefore, fulfill the promise in the lives of this noble people.” There coursed through my mind the words from the psalm, “Be still, and know that I am God.” The heavenly virtue of patience was required.
Little by little the promise was fulfilled. First, patriarchs were ordained, then lesson manuals produced. Wards were formed and stakes created. Chapels and stake centers were begun, completed, and dedicated. Then, miracle of miracles, a holy temple of God was permitted, designed, constructed, and dedicated. Finally, after an absence of 50 years, approval was granted for full-time missionaries to enter the nation and for local youth to serve elsewhere in the world. Then, like the wall of Jericho, the Berlin Wall crumbled, and freedom, with its attendant responsibilities, returned.
All of the parts of the precious promise of almost 35 years earlier were fulfilled, save one. Tiny Görlitz, where the promise had been given, still had no chapel of its own. Now, even that dream became a reality. The building was approved and completed. Dedication day dawned. Sister Monson and I, along with Elder and Sister Dieter Uchtdorf, held a meeting of dedication in Görlitz. The same songs were sung as were rendered all those years earlier. The members knew the significance of the occasion, marking the total fulfillment of the promise. They wept as they sang. The song of the righteous was indeed a prayer unto the Lord and had been answered with a blessing upon their heads.
At the conclusion of the meeting we were reluctant to leave. As we did so, seen were the waving hands of all, heard were the words, “Auf Wiedersehen, auf Wiedersehen; God be with you till we meet again.”

As the Church continues to expand, especially in foreign lands, the percentage of members who are literal descendants of the pioneers decreases, but I believe that those who bind themselves to this great work that the pioneers began are somehow spiritually adopted and become descendants of those noble forbears. This very real bond was touchingly displayed for me once when I listened to one of my students with tears running down his cheeks express love and gratitude for his heroic pioneer ancestors who crossed the plains. This would not have been so unusual except that his name was Doug Sakaguchi and he was a Japanese convert. In a very real way, I believe Brother Sakaguchi is just as much a descendent of the pioneers as I am.

When Sister Staheli and I left Utah, en route to the University of Illinois with everything we owned contained in our little car, we were excited about embarking upon a new adventure. We had tried to be diligent in keeping the covenants we had made in the temple as a part of our marriage of about one year.

As we became fully engaged in our new life as a happily married but financially struggling couple, we lost focus on one important—in fact, essential—commandment of the gospel. As we approached the end of the year and tithing settlement, we had not only slipped on paying our tithing but were literally without food money for the last week of the year.

As we sheepishly and humbly approached our branch president at tithing settlement, he taught us an important lesson in financial management. More important, he gave us a phenomenal promise.

He promised that if we would make up the tithing owed to the Lord and then faithfully pay it each month before we addressed our other needs and wants, the Lord would bless us as promised. In fact, he promised us that as future faithful tithe payers we would have an increase in income each year thereafter. That came true—and stayed so, until my call as a Seventy. The Lord truly did open the windows of heaven and pour out blessings to us.

My wife and I had been raised by faithful tithe-paying parents. We had been full-tithe payers throughout our youthful years. Yet this came as a poignant lesson of how becoming casual on important principles can cause one to lose focus on what is really essential to the Lord.

Another candidate for authorship of the Book of Mormon was Sidney Rigdon. He was a Protestant minister and theologian. The supreme irony of this argument, however, is that he was converted by the very book he was supposed to have written. Parley P. Pratt, a former member of Rigdon’s congregation, introduced him to the Book of Mormon in October 1830—about six months after the Book of Mormon had already been published. Do we have any witnesses that this is how Sidney Rigdon was converted? We do. In fact, the historical evidence is compelling.

First, Sidney Rigdon’s daughter, Nancy Rigdon Ellis, was eight years old when Parley P. Pratt and Oliver Cowdery presented her father with a copy of the Book of Mormon in their home. She said that she recalled the event because of the conflict that arose:

I saw them hand [my father] the book, and I am as positive as can be that he never saw it before. He read it and examined it for about an hour and then threw it down and said he did not believe a word in it.10

Later, however, he did accept the Book of Mormon, joined the Church, and became one of its leaders.

“It is a dream come true,” says 18-year-old Gunday Solomon Israel, who goes by his last name. “The design of the chapel itself makes me feel the Spirit. I am grateful to my Father in Heaven for answering my prayers.”
With the completion of the chapel, Church members and investigators in Hyderabad will have a beautiful building in which to meet and feel the language of the Spirit touching their hearts, just as it did Israel’s three years ago.
“When I first came to church, I was surprised to see the love among the Saints. They were so happy. I could see the glow of the gospel in their faces,” recalls Israel.
Like Israel, 17-year-old Madhu Bunga remembers the first time he attended a Church meeting and felt the Spirit.
“I was glad to see so many strangers come and sit beside me and talk to me about my life,” says Madhu, who attended his first Church meeting in December 2000. “I was amazed how people taught and approached things by the Spirit of God. I loved it, and I ran to my house, thinking all the world was in my hands.”
Madhu and other young members of the Church keep the Spirit in their lives by attending church and seminary and participating in service projects in the community.
“I am the only member of the Church in my family,” says Madhu. “To stay strong, I attend seminary regularly. We have done many service projects, like going to a charity to teach children English, fun stories, and games. I went with the young men and women to a government hospital to paint the walls, and we helped Church members when they moved.”
Joseph Cornelius, president of the Hyderabad First Branch, also recognizes the importance of service and attending Church meetings to feel the Spirit.
“Members have service projects like collecting clothes for the orphanage once a year,” says President Cornelius. “We attend all the Church meetings an dactivities. WE have family prayer and family home evening.”
Recently members from the Hyderabad First and Second Branches collected old clothing and bought rice and cereal to give to a boys’ shelter. The people who run the shelter go to a train station in the area, find boys who are living there, and bring them back so they have a place to sleep. Schooling and counseling are also provided at the shelter.
When Church members arrived at the shelter, they were warmly greeted. After much visiting and an exchange of games and laughter, members sanded down the walls of the shelter, which were in dire need of repair. Paint was donated and applied, giving the shelter a clean, cheery appearance.
Whether it is at the service projects or in friendly gospel discussions, the Spirit continues to whisper the gospel to many in Hyderabad. Though soft, the language of the Spirit is clear, uniting Saints across one of the most populous countries in the world.

President Hunter has always had a special love for the Holy Land. The First Presidency assigned President Hunter to spearhead two special projects in Israel. One was to work with Elder LeGrand Richards in raising money to build the Orson Hyde Memorial Garden, which was dedicated in 1979. The other was to negotiate for a site for a center to house the Brigham Young University semester-abroad program, which had started ten years earlier. Sites in Jerusalem were at a premium, and when at last a choice one was found and a lease obtained, the representative of the land authority received the lease payment and said, “This is a lot of money.” Joseph Kokia, the Church’s distinguished Israeli attorney, responded, “Yes, it is a lot of money, but my family has lived in Jerusalem for fifteen generations, and the property that you have is beyond price.” Upon that special site the magnificent Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies was built, despite much opposition. President Hunter’s close personal relationship with Mayor Teddy Kollek and other leaders helped make possible the building of the center. President Hunter dedicated the Jerusalem Center on 16 May 1989.

On my sixth birthday my parents gave me a Book of Mormon with their testimonies written inside the front cover. They challenged me to read it before my eighth birthday and baptism. As part of my bedtime routine, I read the Book of Mormon every night. Sometimes I read it while driving around or at the beach. The more I read, the better I became at reading. When I was seven and a half years old, I finished the Book of Mormon. It strengthened my testimony, and I know that the Book of Mormon is true. I feel prepared for my baptism and am excited for it. I have started to read the Book of Mormon again.
Lana B., age 7, Hawaii, USA

My commitment to evening prayers has always been there but I struggled to gain the habit of consistently saying my morning prayers. During my mission and college days, I always said morning prayers, but during my thirties with so many pressures and responsibilities, I often forgot to say morning prayers. We always had morning and evening family prayers but so often I would get up quickly, get ready for work, have family scripture reading and family prayer and forget my morning prayers. But a mighty change came in 1981 through an experience in a Stake Presidency meeting as our President told us of an interview he had had with a good brother and how he had asked him if he was faithful in saying his evening and morning prayers. As he related that story it came with great force into my heart. I needed to repent. So in mighty prayer I made a covenant with God that I would from that time forward say my morning prayers. I have kept that covenant. I cannot tell you all the blessings that have come from consistent morning prayers.

“As a young boy, I was attracted most to baseball and softball. When I was in the fourth grade, I asked my physical education teacher in Ogden to put together a softball league with the other city schools, and she did. I was really excited to be able to play in a league. I was my team’s pitcher, and when it finally came time for the league to start, we had to play on Tuesday afternoons after school. But Primary was held on Tuesday afternoon! I played the first game, but my mother and dad found out that I had not gone to Primary, and that was the last game I played in that league. As I grew older, I was grateful to my parents for insisting that I go to Primary, because I learned that the gospel of Jesus Christ comes first. It doesn’t matter whether it’s baseball or anything else—Heavenly Father comes first! That lesson helped me to not have to spend much time making decisions whenever there was a choice between doing things the world’s way and living a principle of the gospel.”

After receiving an invitation to “come and see,” I attended The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the first time at the age of 26. I had recently separated from my first husband. I had a three-year-old boy. And I felt powerless with fear. When I entered the building, I was filled with warmth as I perceived the faith and joy of the people surrounding me. It was truly “a refuge from the storm.” Three weeks later, I made the baptismal covenant with Heavenly Father and started my journey as a disciple of Christ, although my life has not been perfect along that journey.