Gospel Story Finder

I love to dance, and since I live in a small town, my mom drives me to Weatherford, Texas, every Thursday to take jazz and tap lessons, and on Friday for ballet.
I have moved up to Level 2, which means I have a different teacher on Thursday. We’ve been working on a dance for a competition. We compete for a trophy.
We had learned half the dance, when the teacher put it to music. The music wasn’t the best choice, and one girl dropped out because her mom didn’t like it. Then we learned some more steps. One day at an extra practice, the teacher asked me, “Have you seen the costume yet?” When I saw the picture of it, I knew that I wasn’t going to wear it.
When my mom (who hadn’t seen the costume) and I were home, we talked about it. We decided that it was too immodest. She called the studio the next day to tell them that I would not be participating in the dance. I hope that my decision helped the other dancers choose the right.
Christy Abraham, age 9Azle, Texas

College started for Amy at the end of August. Dorm life was really exciting. It didn’t take Amy and her roommate Letitia long to discover that they could make new friends very easily by sitting downstairs in the lobby. Someone was bound to come up and introduce himself.
One evening during the first week, Amy was studying her Spanish when a tall blond boy in a sports coat seated himself on the couch across from her. “What are you reading?” he inquired.
Amy looked up and smiled. “Spanish,” she answered.
“Ahhh. Fun. I study French myself. You must be a freshman.”
“Because I’m studying Spanish?”
“No, because we’ve never met. My name is Rod. And you are?”
“Amy.”
“Hi, Amy. Do you know about the big rally with Dr. Reality tomorrow night? I’m on the publicity committee.”
“No. Who’s Dr. Reality?”
“The main thing Dr. Reality does is give some very, very good study tips. Just wonderful.” Rod shook his head and smiled.
Amy shrugged. “Sounds good. Where is it?”
Rod gave her directions and added, somewhat condescendingly, “I must warn you, his lead-in is about how God doesn’t exist and how prayers before tests don’t help, but his study tips will.”
Amy suddenly felt like she’d been sucked into something. “How much of that does he say?” she asked guardedly.
“Quite a bit. It’s sponsored by the Free-Thinking Student Association. But you don’t have to be an atheist or anything. The study tips are good for everyone. So, what religion are you? I could see you getting nervous when I talked about God not existing, so I assume you must believe in one.”
“Oh, I’m not a very religious person,” Amy faltered. “I was baptized a Mormon when I was little, and I’ve gone there a few times, but I’m not really into that sort of thing.”
Rod leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Oh, good! A Mormon!”
“What? I didn’t say I was a good Mormon.”
Rod chuckled. “Mormons are so funny. They have so much faith.”
Amy was confused. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Look out there. Do you see God? Do you really have any concrete evidence that he exists?”
Amy suddenly found her tongue. “Why do you care whether or not I believe in a God I can’t see?”
“Oh, I don’t care,” Rod assured her. “Believe what you want.”
I’ve got to get out of here, Amy thought. “I just remembered some stuff I need to do upstairs.” She got up and left quickly.
As she went up the stairs she felt the warm calmness of love from her Heavenly Father enfolding her. It was a feeling she knew she could not be imagining.
When she rounded the corner into her hall she came face to face with a girl with glasses and long, dark hair. Amy smiled on reflex.
“Hi, you’re not Amy, are you? I’m looking for Amy Richards,” the girl said.
“That’s me.”
The girl twisted her hands back and forth nervously. “Well, my name’s Sophie Petrowsky and I just thought I’d come by and say hi because I hear we go to the same church.”
Not another one! Amy stiffened. “The only church I’ve gone to at all is the Mormon church and I don’t go there very much. I just got invited to become an atheist.” She laughed ruefully, not wanting to hurt Sophie’s feelings. “It’s been a long day.”
Sophie relaxed a little. “Yes, it has,” she agreed. “Well, the Mormon church is where I go, and I thought—How did you get invited to become an atheist?”
Amy explained to her about Rod and what he’d said. Sophie nodded. “That sounds like Rod. I lived here last year and got to talk to him. He’s really smart, and he can be nice, but he’s a little overbearing. There are a lot of kids around here who just want to argue and cause trouble. And of course you’ll get all kinds of invitations to join different student organizations.”
“Why does everyone care so much about gaining converts around here?” Amy asked bluntly.
Sophie thought for a minute. “Well, we do like new faces in our groups. We like to make new friends. But in the Church there’s more to it than that.” Sophie twisted her hands again. “We have a message that we want to share with you and with everyone, and it’s because we love you,” she said softly. “This guy named Paul called the Latter-day Saint Institute about you a couple days ago.”
Amy closed her eyes, then shook her head and smiled. “Paul, you idiot,” she whispered. “What did he say?”
“Oh, he said you were really neat and that you’d been studying the Church a little. Mostly he wanted to make sure that you’d have a friend here, and that you’d know we were here for you. I can tell you about the institute program and when church is and everything if you’d like. We have a really good singles’ group.”
“I don’t have a way to get there.”
“Oh, that’s okay. The institute’s just right down the street, and I can get you a ride to church. I don’t have a car either, but Sister Newell said she’d take us this week.”
“Us?”
“I asked her first to make sure she’d have room. We’d like you to come, but if you don’t want to …”
Amy thought for a minute. “I want to,” she said decisively. “At least once for Paul.”
Five years later, two young men in suits stood at Mark and Letitia Stoon’s front door. They wanted to come in and share a message about Christ, they said. “No, I don’t think so,” Mark began, but Letitia, who had come to see who was at the door, stopped him. “Wait, are you the people with the Book of Mormon?”
The young man smiled. “Yes, we are,” one of them answered.
“I have a friend, Amy Richards. She was my roommate at college for a couple of years. She gave me one of those before she left to be a missionary in Mexico.”
“Really? That’s great. Did you read it?”
“I read some of it. I thought it was interesting. Amy always seemed to care about it. And she still writes to me. She’s a good friend.”
“Do you mind if we come in and talk about it with you a little bit?”
“Not at all,” Letitia smiled. “Come on in.”

The usual feeling of ecstasy passed through me as the dangling chair steadily climbed upward over the dazzling whiteness of snow and the green velvet border of trees. The sun’s rays filtered through the pines, leaving a patchwork of shadows upon the snow.
Always at this moment of awed captivity I would remember the great Being who had created this wonderland. This time I suddenly realized that in all my haste I had forgotten my usual morning prayer. Seeing the unloading dock not far ahead, I shrugged, thinking that just this once it wouldn’t matter but just in case it did, I’d say an extra-long prayer that night. Having consoled my conscience, I put my thoughts to the task at hand, which was skiing!
The day passed as quickly as a dream. Much more rapidly than I’d expected, the lifts were shut down. My heart was heavy, for I didn’t want the day to end.
By the time we reached the car, the sun had sunk behind the distant peaks, leaving pinks and oranges sketched upon the sky. Sighing, I hopped into the car and realized how taxing the day had been. My breath slowed and my eyelids became heavy. Leaning on my parka, I dozed off.
Slowly and irritatingly I was awakened by my friend’s voice repeating over and over, “Go ahead. I can see. You’re still okay.” I tried to burrow deeper into the folds of my coat. Her voice continued to grate on my nerves until finally, out of curiosity, I sat up and gazed out the window.
There, totally encircling us, was a blinding sheet of snow. The falling fury of white upon the windshield made vision nearly impossible. Putting my hand to my mouth, I tried to recapture the gasp that had inevitably escaped. I wished I could once again bury my head in my coat and pretend I had never awakened to the blinding storm that raged around us. Being unable to do anything but clutch the seat in front of me, however, I stared forward, squinting equally as hard as the rest to catch even a glimpse of the dotted line or perhaps a shining road deflector.
The full effect of our dangerous situation hit me as the driver suddenly shouted, “I can’t see. I can’t see a thing!” She slowed to a complete stop.
Not wanting her just to stop in the line of traffic, we suggested that she pull off to the side. Near tears, she shook her head and explained that she was afraid that if we went too far to the side, we could roll to our death off the high, twisting mountain road. It was impossible to see where the side of the road was. I envisioned the road as it had been earlier in the day. I recalled the hundreds of feet of sheer dropoff, and, as if we had all had the same thought, we lowered our heads in prayer. The words were short and shaky, pleading and humbled words.
We raised our heads, startled by the loud blast of an 18-wheeler’s horn behind us. The light the 18-wheeler contributed made it possible for us to inch closer to the edge of the road as the trucker slowly crept past our vehicle. We held our breath, half expecting him to crunch into our side and topple us into the canyon below. But he passed us safely, together with a few other vehicles close behind him. Figuring this was our chance, we joined in the procession. The ten-mile-an-hour pace was tedious, yet we would have welcomed a much slower pace. It was still virtually impossible to see anything but blinking hazard lights and blinding snow. Nevertheless, we kept to the pace the trucker set. He seemed to know what he was doing, and slowly we relaxed as our trust in him grew. It seemed natural to think of him as our leader and protector, and security and peace grew in our hearts as we followed him. Once again we began to talk and sing.
Suddenly we awakened to the fact that in all our confidence and new assurance, we had somehow let the small convoy out of our sight. We didn’t know how far ahead of us they were because vision was impossible beyond a few yards. A sick feeling rose in the pit of our stomachs as we realized we could never navigate on our own the narrow way we followed.
Once again we stopped to offer another humble and sincere prayer. A kind and merciful Father heard us, for in a few minutes the storm broke just enough for us to see an occasional reflector and finally the welcome string of lights ahead. We all broke into relieved and excited laughter.
Up ahead we could dimly see the 18-wheeler faithfully leading the way. We rejoiced. This time we followed much more attentively. We kept to the trucker’s pace and submitted to his expert guidance. After nearly six hours of this tedious activity, we simultaneously shouted our relief at seeing our small country town. We flashed our car lights and honked our horn to show our appreciation to the trucker who had led us down the mountain in safety.
Arriving home, we offered a prayer of thanks. Although our prayer was still very humble, the pleading was gone. In its place was a deep reverence and gratitude to our Father in Heaven. I was ashamed that I had considered my day’s activities more important than a few moments for prayer.

One who escaped a brush with gang life is Ath Ket, 16, a Cambodian by birth. Ath recalls what his life was like before he encountered the Church: “It was pretty bad. I used to hang around gang members a lot.” And if he hadn’t met the elders that day four years ago as he walked along the Boston Common? “I’d probably be hanging around, fighting, stealing cars, drinking.”
But Ath did meet the Elders and did agree to hear the lessons. He had already been baptized into another church, but the missionaries’ message rang true. “I feel good about the Church. Now I know it’s true. I learn more about it every day.”

Katie smiled as she hurried to her piano lesson. Today was Store Day! Every time she practiced the piano, she earned points to spend on prizes. Katie had worked hard, and she couldn’t wait to see all the cool things she could buy.
She looked at the row of prizes carefully. There were candy bars, colored pencils, baseball cards, and even a book of jokes. Then Katie noticed two little red and white boxes. She picked one up and opened it. Inside the box was a shiny red harmonica. The other box had a shiny red harmonica too.
Katie counted up her points. She had enough for the harmonica. In fact, she had enough for both harmonicas! She would give the other one to her little brother Ryan. He was going to be so excited! Katie could hardly wait.
When Katie got home, she tied a little ribbon around the box and gave it to her brother. “My own harmonica?” Ryan asked when he opened it.
“Yeah!” Katie said. She pulled out her matching harmonica to show him. “We both have one!”
“How will we tell them apart?” he asked.
Katie showed him where she had marked an “R” in black marker on the side of his harmonica. “Yours has an ‘R’ for Ryan, and mine has a ‘K’ for Katie.”
Ryan smiled. He took a deep breath and blew into his harmonica. Then he laughed. “You’re the best,” he said.
Katie loved seeing how happy the harmonica made Ryan. He carried it in his pocket everywhere he went. He even tucked it under his pillow before he went to bed.
A few days later, Ryan came inside from helping Dad in the yard. He was crying. “What’s wrong?” Katie asked.
“My harmonica,” Ryan said. “I can’t find it anywhere.”
“I’ll help you look for it,” said Katie. They went outside and crawled through the grass, searching behind bushes and under rocks. Dad helped them look too.
“Do you think we should say a prayer?” Ryan asked. “Maybe Heavenly Father can help us find my harmonica.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said.
They knelt down in the grass and Ryan said a prayer. “Heavenly Father, please help us find my harmonica.”
The three of them kept looking, but it was nowhere to be found. Ryan went to bed without his harmonica under his pillow and cried himself to sleep.
Seeing Ryan so sad made Katie feel sad too. “Heavenly Father, please help Ryan to not feel so upset. Please help him find his harmonica.” Katie finished her prayer and climbed into bed.
Then an idea popped into her mind.
She crawled out of bed and pulled out her own little red harmonica. She washed it with soap and water. She could still see the “K” written on the side, but the harmonica’s shiny red color made it look brand new. After Ryan fell asleep, Katie sneaked into his room and slipped the harmonica under his pillow. Then she went back to bed and tried to fall asleep. She was so excited to see Ryan’s face. It felt like waiting for Christmas morning!
The next day, Katie woke up extra early. Soon Ryan was awake too. She heard him yell in surprise and ran to his room. Ryan was holding the harmonica, smiling big. “Look! It’s my harmonica!”
Then Ryan noticed the little “K” written on the side. “Wait,” he said. “This one’s yours.”
“I know,” said Katie. “It’s for you!”
“Really?” Ryan asked. “But I thought Heavenly Father was going to answer my prayer.”
“I think He did,” Katie said back with a big smile. “He just let me help Him!”

I learned this lesson by two experiences. First, at Junior College. After high school, my father would not let me go on a mission until I had earned an A.A. degree from a college. I was disappointed as my friends left for their missions, but, I knew I needed to obey my father. So I took some “SELF” to college with me. I took a full-load each semester and worked 30+ hours per week. I did what I had to in order to get by. I ended up with 62 credits with a 2.65 GPA. My motive was to “get through those two years” to get on my mission, earn money to pay for my mission and to get two years of college behind me.

I became more educated about discipleship in the mission field, learning that my chief goal in life was to please Heavenly Father first, and to labor to know that the course of life I was pursuing was pleasing to Him.

I learned my second lesson when I returned from my mission. Sister Cole and I married and I started at BYU (Provo) in the fall. I decided that I wanted to become the best servant of the Lord I could be; and then also do something for my career that would be sufficient to sustain my wife and future family. I found that by trying to please Heavenly Father, that I became accountable to Him for how diligently I approached my studies. I also recognized that that accountability to God caused my planning, the scheduling of my time, and my attitude to change, so I could no longer feel good about “just getting by” as I had done previously. As I kept working to make Heavenly Father a full partner in my education, I found I had new vision. For instance, I had never planned to go to graduate school, and yet, in my senior year, I began to have a desire to go to graduate school and applied to three schools. Can you imagine how shocked my parents were when we told them I won a full-ride scholarship for a master’s degree at University of Hawaii’s East-West Center?

During the message I delivered at general conference in October 1975, I felt prompted to direct my remarks to a little girl with long blonde hair who was seated in the balcony of this building. I called the attention of the audience to her and felt a freedom of expression which testified to me that this small girl needed the message I had in mind concerning the faith of another young lady.
At the conclusion of the session, I returned to my office and found waiting for me a young child by the name of Misti White, together with her grandparents and an aunt. As I greeted them, I recognized Misti as the one in the balcony to whom I had directed my remarks. I learned that as her eighth birthday approached, she was in a quandary concerning whether or not to be baptized. She felt she would like to be baptized, and her grandparents, with whom she lived, wanted her to be baptized, but her less-active mother suggested she wait until she was 18 years of age to make the decision. Misti had told her grandparents, “If we go to conference in Salt Lake City, maybe Heavenly Father will let me know what I should do.”
Misti and her grandparents and her aunt had traveled from California to Salt Lake City for conference and were able to obtain seats in the Tabernacle for the Saturday afternoon session. This was where they were seated when my attention was drawn to Misti and my decision made to speak to her.
As we continued our visit after the session, Misti’s grandmother said to me, “I think Misti has something she would like to tell you.” This sweet young girl said, “Brother Monson, while you were speaking in conference, you answered my question. I want to be baptized!”
The family returned to California, and Misti was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Through all the years since, Misti has remained true and faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Fourteen years ago, it was my privilege to perform her temple marriage to a fine young man, and together they are rearing five beautiful children, with another one on the way.

There it was. Dead ahead of us. Stopped totally and completely. It was a train. As far as we looked in either direction we saw only boxcar after boxcar with no hint of either engine or caboose. Dad parked the car. One more problem on a day like this was something he did not need.
We had been late leaving, as is our norm for vacations. Dad’s inspection of the new high school he was building in Pekin, Illinois, was not made any easier by the curiosity of six young children who wanted to “help” in any way they could. Finally, however, we were on our way to Nauvoo, Illinois, via some of the state’s seldom-used country roads. Our white station wagon was large, but we were still crowded with three adults (our grandfather was visiting us from Salt Lake City) and six wriggling kids. Gradually, the number of shoves, pinches, and whispered threats from the back seat grew.
Just when the situation was ready to erupt, we saw the train, directly in front of us. When dad got out to see what was wrong, we clamored to get out with him. He gave an emphatic no. “I’m just going to go see why it’s stopped. If any of you step out of this car …” He let the threat hang.
The most unnatural thing in the world is for a child to be in a stopped car on a spring day when he can see the sun outside sparkling its welcome. We endured it, but not too gracefully. Dad returned from his lengthy conference with the switchman with bad news. “They say it will be at least 15 minutes before they can move.”
My oldest brother, David, pleaded, “Can we get out then?”
Mom, who had been trying to restrain us from mortally wounding each other, looked at dad imploringly. His stern face melted.
“Well, I guess so,” he finally conceded. With a shout of triumph we literally poured from the doors and windows of our car.
“Look!” It was 11-year-old Jim’s discovery. “Dandelions!” Dandelions there were, seemingly acres and acres of them, some gone to seed, others with their brilliant yellow blossoms. We happily raced to the fallow field that promised so much fun for us, the adults following with not much less enthusiasm. We blew the seeds into the air, trying to catch the lucky ones that hadn’t touched the ground yet. My older sisters, Lisa and Joanne, me, and almost unbelievably, my mom, made dandelion chains. As we draped the fragile jewelry around each other’s necks, we almost forgot that mom was a grown-up. Grandpa sat in the midst of it all, blowing dandelion seeds far and high for us. Tiny arms that had been afraid of grandpa’s gruff voice wrapped themselves around his neck.
The switchman returned with a progress report. It might be another half hour before they could get the engine fully repaired. No matter! This newfound friend told us of the places this never ending track led.
At last, as the crew had assured us, the train was ready to resume her delayed journey. Dad, carried back to his boyhood days in Salt Lake City where the Bamberger Railroad served as inter-city transportation, recalled a favorite trick. He pulled a penny from his pocket and laid it on the train track. We watched in amazement as the accelerating train reduced it to a steaming mass of shiny copper. Joanne and I shivered in delighted suspense as we wondered if a U.S. marshal would suddenly appear from nowhere and commandeer our father for defacing American currency. David and Jim ran through the fields trying to keep up with the quickly moving train, if not outrun it. I helped little Stephen count the cars as they whizzed by.
When the last click of the turning wheels had subsided into the distance and the train was only a faraway speck, we climbed back into our car, an hour late but eons happier.
As I think about it now, it seems a little strange that one of our family’s fondest memories is of sitting around in a farmer’s weed patch waiting for a mechanic to finish his job. It does, though, make Doctrine and Covenants 64:33 a little easier to understand: “And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.” [D&C 64:33]
We did eventually make it to Nauvoo. I am sure that the time we spent there was fun and even inspirational, but no one seems to remember much about it. On the other hand, whenever we’re busy pulling pesky weeds out of our garden or if we must pause at railroad tracks as a train passes, someone is sure to say, “Remember the dandelions?”

When our daughter Margie was in the second grade, she invited her best friend to go with her to Primary. Both were assigned parts for the sacrament meeting presentation. Her friend’s father had rejected the missionaries in the past, but when Margie showed up in his house with a handful of Church pamphlets, he listened carefully to her simple explanations and testimony of Joseph Smith and the First Vision. He not only allowed his daughter to continue going to Primary but also gave her permission to receive the lessons from the missionaries and be baptized. He and his wife attended the baptismal service.

When our children were young, our family motto was “We work before we play.” We told them we could do all the playing they wanted, but the work—chores, homework, music practice—had to be finished first. They would often roll their eyes when we offered that reminder.
But as they grew, they expressed gratitude for that principle, and now since becoming parents, they continue to do so. When our grandson was two years old, we went to Tacoma, Washington, to tend him while his parents went out of town. One day I was having so much fun with our grandson that I suggested we go outside and play after lunch. He said, “Grandma, we work before we play.”
In the Church, we often talk about work: missionary work, temple work, family history work, building temples, building the kingdom of God, the work of salvation, the Creation, the Restoration, and eternal progress. All of these require work. God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, exemplify perfectly the principle of hard work.
God said, “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39). The prophet Isaiah wrote, “But now, O Lord, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand” (Isaiah 64:8). Think of it! Everything we are and all we enjoy as sons and daughters of God are the result of His holy work! The Savior worked out our salvation by paying for our sins through His atoning sacrifice in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross at Calvary. “And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground” (Luke 22:44).
Our Heavenly Father invites us to become more like Him. One way we can do this is to give our best and honest effort in education, employment, homemaking, and developing our talents. Good, honest, sweat-producing labor is refining. It can develop character and strengthen bodies and minds. The Lord told Adam and Eve, “Cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life” (Genesis 3:17). President Joseph Fielding Smith (1876–1972) taught, “It is contrary to the law of God for the heavens to be opened and messengers to come to do anything for man that man can do for himself.”
And Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles testified:
“A consecrated life is a life of labor. Beginning early in His life, Jesus was about His Father’s business (see Luke 2:48–49). God Himself is glorified by His work of bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of His children (see Moses 1:39). We naturally desire to participate with Him in His work, and in so doing, we ought to recognize that all honest work is the work of God. …
“God has designed this mortal existence to require nearly constant exertion. … By work we sustain and enrich life. It enables us to survive the disappointments and tragedies of the mortal experience. Hard-earned achievement brings a sense of self-worth. Work builds and refines character, creates beauty, and is the instrument of our service to one another and to God. A consecrated life is filled with work, sometimes repetitive, sometimes menial, sometimes unappreciated but always work that improves, orders, sustains, lifts, ministers, aspires.”
Many of us wonder how we can help those who are suffering more than we perceive ourselves to suffer. When we respect and participate in the sacred blessing of work, we are able to help others. Elder Robert D. Hales (1932–2017) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “The purpose of both temporal and spiritual self-reliance is to get ourselves on higher ground so that we can lift others in need.” And in the Book of Mormon, King Benjamin says, “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).
As welfare and self-reliance specialists in the Church’s Wasatch Front Service Mission, my husband and I are blessed to work to help local leaders and members. Elder Hales explained that “the welfare plan is an integral part of the plan of salvation” and that “the scriptures provide the spiritual framework for the welfare plan.”
When we work hard in our fields of labor, live within our means, save for an unforeseen difficulty, and pay tithes and generous fast offerings, we collectively become the Lord’s storehouse. “And all this for the benefit of the church of the living God, that every man may improve upon his talent, that every man may gain other talents, yea, even an hundred fold, to be cast into the Lord’s storehouse, to become the common property of the whole church” (Doctrine and Covenants 82:18).
The Savior is the perfect example of hard work and self-reliance. In the great Intercessory Prayer, He prayed, “I have glorified thee on the earth: I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do” (John 17:4). Our Redeemer worked out our salvation alone. And His work today is hastening. He said, “Behold, I will hasten my work in its time” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:73). He gives us the opportunity to work with Him and to have a purpose in the labor we do and that which we are able to share with others because of our hard work.
In the mid-1980s, my husband and I were newly married and getting ready to move away to law school. We were worried about having enough money to make the move. We had always been self-reliant and did not want to ask our families for help, and the amount we needed was large. We had been praying about what to do. Out of the blue, I was commissioned to do a large art project for the college we attended. It would pay exactly what we needed. This experience was a direct blessing of paying tithing. But it was also something more. The Lord blessed me with the opportunity to work for that money. He gave me a way to earn it myself, and He honored my agency. I could have turned down the offer. I had a full-time job and a major Church calling, but I made the time and completed the project. We paid our own way to move.
I testify that the Lord wants and expects us to work and to be self-reliant. It is His way. Work and self-reliance are true principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Now that my husband and I have served seven years in the Wasatch Front Service Mission, more than ever I have tremendous respect for our Heavenly Father. He wants to help His children, but He knows it would not be good for us if He were to do for us what we can do for ourselves.
Our son is a new hematology-oncology doctor. He has had the blessing of obtaining all his medical school education and training through a scholarship from the United States Army Medical Department (AMEDD). It has provided 100 percent of his tuition, housing costs, and expenses and even a small monthly stipend during medical school. When he was working hard to qualify for that scholarship and fearing the possibility of having to take out six-figure loans if he did not, I remember a conversation we had. I will never forget what he shared. My son told me that he knew it would all work out somehow because he was committed to paying tithes and fast offerings while he was in medical school.
He wanted to know he was doing everything he could to qualify for the Lord’s help with the large task he was setting out to accomplish. His work ethic has since been tested to its limit, but he is a good example to me of never being weary in well doing (see Doctrine and Covenants 64:33). Even with his busy hospital schedule, he has happily accepted heavy Church assignments, and he and his wife and little family have been blessed.
I testify that the Lord will bless us with the power and strength we need to work hard and be self-reliant, if that is what we desire. Our Father in Heaven honors our agency, and when we show Him we want to be like Him, He shows how to do it, and He helps us to be successful. We honor God and His Son, Jesus Christ, when we follow Their example of honest and worthwhile labor.
The author lives in Utah.

Since the Mount Timpanogos Temple is in their community, students at the Pleasant Grove seminary join with other seminary students from other high schools on Sunday evenings at the temple grounds. It’s an informal gathering where young people sit on the grass and sing hymns. John Fisher’s favorite hymn is now “I Need Thee Every Hour,” because of an experience that happened to him while singing at the temple grounds. He said, “When I first read through the Book of Mormon, I fasted and prayed to know if it was true. I was singing at the Mount Timpanogos Temple. During “I Need Thee Every Hour,” I looked up at the temple, and I got my answer right there. The temple just seemed to be glowing about three times brighter. I just knew.”

In sacrament meeting one hot afternoon, the speaker was talking about the Holy Ghost. I couldn’t really imagine what the Holy Ghost was like, but I wanted to know that he was real. One night I found out.
My cousin Chasta came over to spend the night. We wanted to sleep outside in our tent trailer, so we got my sister, Korina, and an armful of games and blankets. It was dark, and my dad lit the lantern so we could have light to play games by. He showed us how to turn off the lantern when we were done with it.
We played for hours. Then I got up and turned off the lantern. We tried to go to sleep, but we all agreed that we wanted to play another game.
We stood a couple of flashlights on the table, but it still wasn’t enough light to see the game by. So I suggested that we turn the lantern back on. I had seen my dad do it several times, so I thought I could do it. I felt important, pumping gas into the lantern with the matches in my hands, while Korina and Chasta stood near me watching.
I went to strike a match, but I stopped. Something told me not to. I had never felt anything like this before. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. All I did know was that we would be in danger if I lit the match. The thought came to me to move the lantern out of the tent trailer.
I set the lantern down on a chimney support right next to the house and continued the process of pumping gas, getting the lantern ready to light. The feeling came again just as strong.
I remember my dad saying one night during family home evening that the Holy Ghost was the still, small voice that helps you when you need help and warns you about sudden dangers.
Right next to the house was not a good place either, we decided. I placed the lantern on the cement, away from everything. I realized I was talking aloud. The words, “Be prepared to jump and run, just in case,” came out of my mouth. I hadn’t even thought of saying it. When I finally did light the lantern, it blew up and caught fire. But none of us was hurt, and nothing except the lantern was damaged.
Ever since that night, I think about what could have happened if I hadn’t been warned to get the lantern away from the tent trailer and also away from the house. I felt the Holy Ghost had really prompted me. Now I know he is real and I can feel his promptings.

I served the first 11 months of my mission in Utah instead of where I had been assigned. This reassignment came because of the COVID-19 pandemic. I spoke my native language, ate food I was comfortable with, and visited familiar faces and places. It was amazing!
When travel restrictions lifted, I spent the remaining seven months of my mission in the beautiful Dominican Republic (my original assignment). I walked hours along the bright and lively streets, spoke Spanish, ate a ton of plantains and mangos, and taught the gospel of Jesus Christ to some of the most humble, fun, and faithful people I’ve ever met. This was also absolutely amazing!

One year and one month after his baptism, Samuel Owusu Amako was called to serve as a full-time missionary in the Ghana Accra Mission. He began his service in January 1988, and midway during his service, in June 1989, the government of Ghana suspended all Church activities and public meetings. With his missionary service being interrupted for a while, Samuel went to teach in a private elementary school in Cape Coast.
When “the freeze,” as the restrictions were called, was lifted in 1991, he resumed his missionary service. During his mission he encountered people from different parts of the world, and tales of their countries intrigued him. So, after returning home from his mission in December 1991, he made plans with some of his friends from his early days in the Church, who had also completed their missions, to get travel visas and to see the world. Obtaining travel visas in Ghana to certain countries that were of interest to him and his friends proved to be difficult during that time, so in November 1993, he and some of his friends, including his high school classmate Albert Frederick Alexander, who had also joined the Church and had become a returned missionary, left Ghana. They arrived in The Gambia in December 1993 where they had heard it was easier to get travel visas. His friend Charles Amoah was the first among them to travel to The Gambia.
What is interesting is that when Samuel and his friends joined their friend and brother, Charles Amoah, in The Gambia, Samuel’s interest in pursuing his goal of travelling abroad waned considerably for reasons he admits he doesn’t know and he never bothered about. Samuel eventually abandoned his desire to travel abroad from The Gambia. He had somehow found The Gambia as a home, which he now strongly feels that God knows something about that.
In The Gambia, Samuel and his friends met often in the home of his friend Charles Amoah to partake of the sacrament and teach one another. This was in 1994. Sometime during the latter part of 1994, they met the Endecotts. Michael Endecott was a member of the Church from the United States and was living in The Gambia with his family. The friends met in the home of the Endecotts on a couple of occasions till the Endecotts travelled back home to America. During that time, two of the Endecotts’ sons were baptized in The Gambia.
Later all the friends, except Albert Frederick Alexander, left The Gambia. Some travelled back home to Ghana whilst some travelled abroad. Charles Amoah travelled back to Ghana and is currently serving as a counsellor in a mission presidency in Cape Coast; Stephen Amoah travelled to the United States and lives in Utah with his family. Ernest Arko sadly passed away in Cape Coast after a brief illness during one of his visits to Ghana. Samuel Amoah lives in Ghana.
Samuel, however, stayed behind and found employment in The Gambia, hoping to still, at some point, realize his dream. During the early days of his employment, he noticed a beautiful young woman working in another department. As he describes it, “My antenna was switched on,” and he enquired after her, wishing to know if she were married. He was told definitively that she was not, so he approached her to ask for a date. She rebutted him, telling him she was married already. Recounting her response, Samuel laughed and said, “She lied!”
Persistence paid off and eventually his requests for a date proved fruitful. After a period of courtship, Samuel and Fatou Badjan were married. There was no Church presence in The Gambia at that time, and Fatou was Muslim, so they were married civilly and began to raise their family there. But Samuel’s faith and dedication to the Lord never wavered—he knew that the covenant path leads to a temple sealing. Without any formal Church presence in The Gambia, Samuel and his friend Albert F. Alexander met every Sunday with their families to partake of the sacrament. Samuel and his friend sometimes invite friends to join them.
When some members moved into the area, and his missionary efforts continued. The little congregation grew, and for the next 25 years, he welcomed Church members and friends into his home for Church services. These efforts were unofficial as the Church did not have legal status in The Gambia, and the country had not been dedicated for the work of the Lord.
In June 1988, Elder Terrence Vinson, then-President of the Africa West Area Presidency, accompanied by his counsellor, Elder Marcus Nash, visited The Gambia. They met with Samuel, his wife, Fatou, their children Sampson, Daniel, Princess Amelia, Hannah, his sister Juliana Sandra and Albert Frederick Alexander, his longtime good friend, fellow Church member and fellow returned missionary.
Elder Vinson and Elder Nash authorised them to meet as a group and hold sacrament meetings. It was an exciting moment. The two sons of Samuel, namely Sampson and Daniel, were later baptized by Samuel after the visit by the General Authorities.
The year 2022 turned out to be what Samuel describes as the most momentous year in the history of the Church in The Gambia.
In January 2022, President Hugo Martinez, President of the Africa West Area Presidency and his First Counsellor, Elder Larry S. Kacher, also visited The Gambia. They met with Samuel and his family and the group in The Gambia.
In February 2022, Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles came to The Gambia to dedicate the country and to meet with government officials to pave the way for the Church’s legal status.
Fatou Badjan Amako, Samuel’s wife, finally joined the Church and was baptised in February 2022, shortly after Elder Christofferson’s visit.
Finally, on June 10, 2022, the Banjul Branch of The Gambia was formally organized, and Samuel Owusu Amako was made its first branch president. In September of that year, Daniel Nana Kofi Owusu Amako, Samuel’s second son, was called as the first missionary of the Church from The Gambia to serve a full-time mission. He served in the Congo Brazzaville Mission.
Princess Amelia Nana Ama Ahima Amako, Samuel and Fatou’s eldest daughter, joined the Church in October 2022.
In August of 2024, Samuel and members of his branch made the journey from The Gambia to Accra, Ghana. He was returning to the place where he began his missionary service so many years before, and where there is now a temple, so that he and his family could be sealed in the house of the Lord. They met their son Daniel there, who was returning home from his mission just in time for the sealing.
Besides the unspeakable joy of becoming an eternal family, Samuel experienced the additional sweetness and tender mercies of the Lord in a most special way. The president of the Accra Ghana Temple, who sealed Samuel and his wife and children, was John K. Buah, the very same missionary who had confirmed Samuel a member of the Church. And the incoming temple president, who will replace President Buah, is President Anthony M. Kaku, who baptized Samuel. According to Samuel, “God is the unfailing compass of our lives.”
A pioneer in establishing the Church in Gambia, Samuel Owusu Amako reflects on his reasons for going to the Gambia in the first place: to get a travel visa and see the world, something which has never happened. “How did I miss that?” he asked rhetorically with a big smile just before returning to his home with his family. He knows that he was led to The Gambia for a higher purpose, a mission that began on that harmattan-cold December morning in 1986 when he “failed to flee”.

Sister Mary Robinson shared a heartwarming experience that she had with her family while they served. “It was easy for me to volunteer for this project as I thought it would be a great opportunity to enlist my children in service and to teach them some new skills in the process. We started with a conveyor belt system, which was great to begin with, but it didn’t take too long to descend into something like chaos. Everyone wanted it to be their turn with the sewing machine, as they were thoroughly enjoying how fast they could get it to go.
“I spent most of my efforts re-organising their work, unpicking stitches, re-threading the machine, and so on. My husband, Lee, helped the boys with the machine, and my six-year-old daughter was trimming the threads. My four-year old’s counting efforts consisted of throwing the bags in the air and hoping they’d land in some sort of pile. I was ironing them back into shape and hemming the tops with the help of my 11-year-old daughter, Rosa, and musing to myself that it would be so much quicker and easier for me just to do them myself.
“Just as I’d finished that thought, Rosa quietly whispered to me, ‘Mum, this is great seeing my prayers come true. I’m always praying that the poor will get what they need, and now I’m helping them too.’ My heart melted, and I was so grateful for every tiny hand and for every loving heart that was so willing and happy to help. I didn’t see the mess or chaos after that, just the love they each had for their fellowmen. I was reminded of how richly we are blessed as we reach out and serve, and how willing the Holy Ghost is to teach and mould us into a more Christlike version of ourselves as we do. And more than that, how incalculably valuable it is to teach these lessons to our children.”

Four years after I joined the Church I learned from relatives in Chile that my earthly father had died. The separation from my father’s memory became even more definitive. The need to know him and to be closer to him did not subside, however. As soon as I could, I took his name to the temple and did vicarious work for him, which allowed me to feel closer to him. But I still knew little about him and wanted to know more.

Two years after my father’s death, I left Uruguay on a mission to Peru. Upon my return, life blessed me with a family of my own, university degrees, and a career in business. I became an international executive, which made it necessary for us to move from country to country—Peru, Argentina, Venezuela, and the United States. My home base was then in the United States, and I eventually became a citizen.
Then life took a sudden turn. I became a diplomat for the United States government, first in Mexico, then in Chile. I sought the assignment to Chile because I desired to get to know the country where I had been born and perhaps find more about my father.
A few months after my arrival in Chile, I had the opportunity to make an official visit to Antofagasta, the city of my birth. I knew that my father, a British subject from whom I had inherited my name, had worked at the Chile-Bolivia Railroad as his own father once had. Therefore, I asked my secretary to make an appointment with the president of the Chile-Bolivia Railroad to see what I could learn about my father. As the main diplomat on commercial business, this meeting with the railroad was eminently qualified for my assignment as well.
Because the company’s president was traveling, my secretary set up an appointment with another executive by the name of Jorge Lyon on a Saturday morning. Saturday came. I put on my best suit and headed for the offices of the railroad. Mr. Lyon soon arrived, and I introduced myself as John Harris, head of commerce for the United States in Chile. He was a stately man in his sixties, who had sacrificed part of his day off to see a visitor from Chile’s main trading partner.
I started the conversation with the usual questions about goods transported, tonnage routes, and expansion plans. After a few minutes, Mr. Lyon interrupted me and said, “It is quite a coincidence, but I used to work at the railroad for a man with your same name.”
I remained silent for a moment. John Harris is not a common name in South America, much less in a railroad company in the midst of the Atacama Desert. I knew I had found someone who had known my father personally.
“How was he?” I managed to ask. But inside I was asking questions similar to those of Joseph of Egypt: Did he love me? Did he care about me?
Mr. Lyon answered. “He was a good man. He hired me and trained me. He was a patient and good teacher. He knew the railroad business better than anyone else in the company.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “He was my father,” I said, barely containing a tear.
Mr. Lyon then showed me what my father did and where he worked. I did not find out about his feelings toward me; for that I will have to wait a few years. But in my search I have been able to define my feelings toward him.
That day in the city of my birth, I learned something about my two fathers. I learned about the life of my earthly father, but more importantly, I learned that my Heavenly Father cared enough for me that 33 years after my father’s death he had helped me find the only man alive in Chile who had known my father. If the president of the railroad had been able to receive me, I would have missed the opportunity to meet Jorge Lyon and thus learn about my own father.
I have learned that life on this earth is nothing but a search for a Father: Doth my Father yet live? How is He? Does He love me? I have experienced that as we grow older, in our service as missionaries, teachers, and most important of all, as mothers and fathers in our own families, our yearning to get to know Him gets only stronger. Our prayers become more fervent and sincere.
The most wonderful experience is that eventually, as we face life’s challenges, our hearts learn to listen to His voice. We start to recognize the whispers of His Spirit. All of us who serve Him diligently in various capacities—as worthy fathers and mothers, as bishops, as members of the Seventy, as Apostles, and as prophets, have heard this wonderful voice cutting through, soothing at times, when we feel like strangers and must rise from the depth of our extremities. It is at that time that we learn the answer to Joseph’s question, “Doth my father yet live?”
I have learned that our Father in Heaven lives, that He loves us, that He indeed cares for us and is always close to us. I know I was guided by the Lord to meet Jorge Lyon in order to satisfy my thirst to know my earthly father. How grateful I am for the plan of salvation and eternal life and for the opportunity to reunite with loved ones in the next life.

When Liisa, 20, first heard about the job at the Delfinaario (dolphin aquarium), she was excited. She had good qualifications. In the Finnish equivalent of high school, she had studied biology, but also mathematics, science, physics, and chemistry.
“All those things are part of the job,” she explains. “And I’ve always been interested in animals.” And the job would help her earn money to pay for college in Sweden. Her enthusiasm and background paid off. She was hired.

Streamers of crimson, pink, and yellow crepe paper seemed to glow in the California sun. Orange and yellow balloons clung to the peaks of arched Spanish doorways, with strands of multicolored paper serpentines trailing in the breeze. At a dozen booths arranged in a rectangle around the church courtyard, white banners, lettered in black, proclaimed the names of countries from all over the globe.
At one of the booths Svetlana Rudovsky, 17, a descendant of Russian, Italian, and Spanish ancestors, cut and served a tray of apricot pastry typical of her father’s home region in the Soviet Union. She wore a traditional costume with scarlet satin sleeves, a patterned green front, and yellow and black trim. It was bright, but not as bright as her smile.
At another corner of the courtyard, Tina Ksajikian, 13, opened a piece of pita bread and ladled tahini (yogurt) sauce onto a garbanzo bean patty called felafel. She topped the Arabian sandwich with shredded lettuce and handed it to an elderly woman eagerly waiting to try a new kind of food. Felafel is an Arabian dish, but Tina’s booth also offered a sampling of Armenian cuisine. Two large stainless steel bowls to her right contained egg-shaped balls of kufta—a blend of pine nuts, cracked wheat, and lamb.
Next to the bowls of kufta Tina had arranged a small display of Armenian books, most notably a Book of Mormon. “I can read parts of it,” she said. She attends an Armenian school and is learning the language as part of her classwork.
Both Tina and Svetlana are members of the Los Angeles California Stake, and both were serving food at a festival organized and run by the stake’s Young Women. As at almost any Los Angeles stake activity, there were young Latter-day Saints present representing a multitude of backgrounds and nationalities. So many different cultures were represented, in fact, that the festival seemed like a feast for all the world.
Central and South Americans comprise the largest portion of the stake’s young Latter-day Saints who were born outside of the U.S. In fact, there are two Spanish-speaking wards in the stake. “One of the most difficult things for us,” said Bertha Garcia, Young Women president of the Third Ward, “was to decide which countries we could represent at the festival. We finally decided on Guatemala, because that’s my native land. But we also did El Salvador and Mexico.”
Each country’s booth featured young ladies wearing native costumes and serving traditional national dishes. Cultural displays including posters, postcards, books, souvenirs, crafts, and artwork were also scattered around the covered lanai adjacent to the meetinghouse.
Louise W. La Count, stake Young Women president, said that the “Cultural Cook-off” was organized to encourage the Los Angeles Stake youth to appreciate each other’s background. “The stake is composed of a real potpourri of nationalities,” she explained. “A lot of the elderly people meet in the Wilshire Ward, and there are also the Korean and Chinese branches there. There are the Spanish-speaking wards, and the Hollywood Ward includes a lot of Armenian and Arabic members. The Westwood First and Second wards seem to have a high number of Americans with Scandinavian ancestors, so they chose to represent both America and Scandinavia.”
And, of course, everyone in the stake was invited to come taste treats and learn about other lands. By about 2:00 on a Saturday afternoon, members, families, missionaries, and investigators were wandering through a courtyard filled with foreign fragrances, new customs, and friendly, knowledgeable young women. Youngsters slurped up genuine Italian spaghetti, fathers tried to open wide enough to bite an all-American hot dog, and two college coeds from the UCLA Ward exulted over the delicious plátanos con crema (bananas with cream) offered to them by El Salvadorians.
Dressed in an elegant red and black Chinese gown, 15-year-old Mimi Chu of the Wilshire Ward described the mixture of cabbage, carrots, bamboo shoots, celery, water chestnuts, and mushrooms used as a stuffing in egg rolls. Mimi is the only member of the Church in her immediate family, but she said that family love is strong in her home, and “it’s not that hard.” “Support from friends and other members of the Church helps a lot,” she said. “My family runs a restaurant, and a lot of the members come there to eat.”
At a booth surrounded by shrubbery and bamboo, Kim Phuong Ho, 12, of the Westwood Second Ward, offered fried rice to onlookers and also talked about Vietnam, the country her family fled during time of war. “We came over when I was in second grade,” she said. “Since then, most of my friends have been American.”
Cotton puffs and red and blue ribbons outlined the wooden counter where Julianna Rees, 14, of the Westwood Second Ward, delivered crusty, powdered sugar-coated Scandinavian dessert rosettes to her customers. She explained how the cookies are made by dipping an iron into batter, then into hot oil. “I got the recipe from my grandmother,” she said.
Her friend Margaret Stohl, 13, from the Westwood First Ward, grinned and said, “I learned how to make them from my grandmother, too. Scandinavian grandmothers and cookies—they go together. When I was making my cookies, I was talking to my grandmother and she said she got her cookie iron for Christmas when she was seven years old. That was neat for me because I just got my cookie iron for Christmas, too.”
It seemed only natural for the chefs to swap recipes and for descendents to share stories of the influence, past and present, of their heritage. Svetlana told how her mother’s friends from the Greek Orthodox Church had volunteered to help cook food for the Mormons. Tina discussed her struggles to maintain an LDS identity at her Armenian school. In between serving slices of leche flan, a rich custard topped with burnt-sugar caramel, Maryjoy Morato, 17, of the Wilshire Ward, told how missionaries in the Philippines contacted her family and shared with them the gospel of Jesus Christ.
“They just knocked on the door one day,” she said. “But they were always welcome in our home because they would talk about good things.” Exposed to the light of the restored gospel, the entire family eventually joined the Church. Maryjoy’s father died, her mother remarried, and the family moved to America. “Members here are the same as in the Philippines,” she said. “There’s no change. They’re all nice.”
Laura Sanchez and Claudia Sosa, both 12, are members of the Los Angeles Third Ward. Both arrived in the U.S. just months ago, Laura from El Salvador and Claudia from Mexico. They would agree with Maryjoy that fellowship among the Saints is universal. “One of the reasons I know this is the true Church is because I always feel the same spirit,” Laura said. Their friend Maria de los Angeles Valenzuela, 17, from the same ward, expressed the same idea. Asked through an interpreter if there is a friendliness among Church members no matter what language they speak, she enthusiastically responded, “¡Sí, sí, sí!”
Many of the young women who participated in the festival spent hours with their mothers, relatives, and friends learning recipes, preparing food, sharing stories about “the old country,” and telling each other about parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and traditions. They shared their spirit of love and appreciation for who they are and where they came from with each other, and later with those who came to take part in their celebration. They rejoiced together in the fellowship of the gospel, and in that small way, perhaps, invited everyone everywhere to join in another sort of banquet—the spiritual feast of the gospel, a feast to which the door is always open.

President Oaks and I live directly across from the Salt Lake Temple; we look out on the construction every morning and see the mud and the trucks and the cranes. The temple is now hidden behind scaffolding and is a work in progress being made stronger and steadfast.

My ten-year-old niece, Emma, came to visit and stood in our living room that looks out at the temple. She called in a loud voice, “Oh, no! Come quick Aunt Kristen the temple is gone!”

I laughed and explained to her, “The temple is still there, you just can’t see it. It is being upgraded and prepared by Heavenly Father to make it safe from earthquakes and provide the ability for more Saints to do the work of the Lord.”

Our times are unique because just like Emma—it seems so much around us seems to be changing and things we held on to don’t seem to be there. This world is full of surprises. The truth and doctrines that we know are questioned on every side. Our beliefs are peculiar and unique and holy and not of this world, and if we really want the assurance of our Heavenly Father we have to seek to find Him.

We do not know the future, but we do know with a certainty—just like the photo you saw—that under the scaffolding lies the temple, the House of the Lord and every day they work a bit more to reinforce and strengthen it. In three years, it will emerge more beautiful, more perfect, and able to stand in every circumstance.

Let me explain a hard lesson I learned during the third year of our mission. Very unexpectedly, Heber was rushed to the local hospital in Richmond, British Columbia with what the doctors diagnosed as a life-threatening condition. A virus was attacking the valves of his heart. As he was wheeled into a hospital room on a gurney, I followed close behind praying every step of the way. There in the room was a very sick man sitting on the edge of the other bed. He looked emaciated. His eyes appeared to be crossed, his mouth was drooping, and his gown was off his shoulder revealing dark tattoos down both arms. I immediately turned my back. I didn’t like the feeling I had. He looked to me like a man who had made a lot of wrong choices. My thoughts told me I didn’t want to be in that room with him.
As soon as Heber was settled with medication that relieved the pain and put him to sleep, I took a seat in a folding chair and began pouring out my heart pleading with the Lord for my husband’s complete recovery. In my anguish I thought I heard the words, “You reach out to others and I’ll take care of you.” I immediately reflected on our total commitment to the missionaries, the members, the nonmembers, the investigators, and asked myself, “what more can I do?” Again the whisperings of the spirit, “you reach out to others and I’ll take care of you.”
I found myself turning to look again at the old man with the tattoos. Could he possibly be one of the “others” I wondered? I was prompted to get him a drink in a little paper cup. He thanked me and seemed appreciative. Later I took him a second drink. This time I had the Book of Mormon in my hand. He asked me about the book. When I told him it was the Book of Mormon he stumbled over his words admitting that he used to be a Mormon and asked if he could borrow it when I was through. When I handed the book to the patient he reached for it like a hungry man would reach for food, maybe remembering that it contained the bread of life.
I went back to my chair and found myself praying for the old man. When the night nurse came in he said to her in his muffled voice, “get the big chair at the end of the hall.” The nurse explained, “Oh Mr. Kapp is much too sick. He will not be getting up tonight.” The man insisted. “Get the big chair.” The nurse wheeled in the big chair and he said pointing to me, “it’s for her.” Can you believe that in his hour of struggle he was thinking of my comfort? I went once more to get him a drink of water, the only thing I could think to do in appreciation for his kindness. This time when I returned to the big chair he had arranged for my comfort, things were different. Not with the brother in the bed close by, but within me. He looked different than before. His eyes looked very tired but not crossed, and his speech was slow, but not slurred. And in an amazing way I realized that the tattoos, which had been so offensive to me, were not the ones on his arms but the ones in my heart.
During the long night I continued praying for Heber and also my new friend. In the process, I experienced a healing. Not physical, but spiritual. In the morning the curtain that had been drawn around the patient’s bed was opened and the bed was empty. He had passed away during the night. I realized in soberness that one of his last acts was for my comfort. Into my mind came the words of Elder Maxwell, “Empathy at a time of agony is part of divinity.” I realized then that this brother’s concern for me, was more Christ like than my first judgment of him. I asked myself, “why did I just loan him the book, why didn’t I offer to read to him?” But that opportunity was gone. I felt a love for this man, my brother, who had concern for my comfort when he was in need himself.
I related this experience to a group of sisters in the northern part of the province. When the closing prayer was given by someone who had been labeled, “less active,” she closed in a tone of deep emotion with these words, “Oh God, help us to love one another and look past each other’s tattoos.”