Gospel Story Finder

That is how I came to find out about Juana Cancel, one of my father’s grandmothers (and one of my great-grandmothers). She was born in Vega Baja, Puerto Rico in the year 1880. I wrote and recorded the following information about her, which I learned from my father. “Juana Cancel was a very beloved grandmother of my father. She would protect, love, nurture, and spoil him. She safely kept his Life Magazine collection for him. Her husband, Jose Hilario Martinez, died eighteen years before she did. That meant that she had to continue administering and working their farm by herself after his death. She then used to sleep with a half a cue stick, an iron bar, and a hatchet underneath her bed, in case somebody tried to break into her home. She also used to smoke cigarettes. She said that she smoked in order to repel the mosquitoes! She passed away from a metastatic cancer of her cervix. My father remembers her going to receive treatments in the oncologic hospital in San Juan. I love her very much, because it is quite clear to me that my father nearly worshiped her.”
I could not rest until the temple work was done for her. It was a moving labor of love to have all of her vicarious ordinances performed. Family history and temple work are truly the “most glorious of subjects belonging to the everlasting gospel” (D&C 128:17).

When an LDS member is the host and needs to offer a toast, the problem is more conspicuous. I solved the problem successfully for the first time in Paraguay, and used that formula from then on. At a major banquet in which I had to offer a toast to the president of the country, to his cabinet ministers, and to Paraguay as our host country, I decided to use water. In Paraguay one of the bank’s clients was the new municipal water system, which for the first time in that country’s history produced a pure, fine-tasting uncontaminated water. At the appropriate time, I lifted my champagne glass full of water and announced to the assembled important people, “I don’t know what you have in your glasses, but in mine I have the purest of liquids—water from the municipal water system of Asuncion—and I lift my glass in a cordial toast to his Excellency, the President,” etc., etc. The compliment was sincere, and it worked very well. They laughed, and no one ever forgot that “Mormon Toast.”

I really don’t know how I let Sister Moffat talk me into it in the first place. Before I knew what was happening, I had agreed to give a five-minute talk in sacrament meeting about being a Cub Scout. All the other guys were pounding me on the back, saying that they were glad it was me, not them.
“You really are a pal, Alan,” Will said. “You saved all the rest of us.”
Yeah, I thought, but who’s going to save me?
When I got home, I told Mom about it. “I don’t know why I said I’d do it. I can’t talk for five minutes.”
“It sounds like a great opportunity to me,” she said, smiling.
Somehow I knew she’d say that. That’s what mothers always say. “But five minutes,” I said. “That’s a long time to say I like Cub Scouting because it’s fun and helps me learn new things.”
Mom chuckled. “Five minutes isn’t nearly as long as it sounds to you. I’ll help you. Together I’m sure we can think of enough to take up five minutes.”
“I sure hope so,” I said. I was glad she had volunteered to help though. It was kind of like she had picked up the other end of a heavy load that I had been trying to lift by myself.
Because this was a talk for sacrament meeting, and because Dad says that sacrament meeting is probably the most important of all our Church meetings, I knew that I couldn’t put off preparing it until Saturday. So after school on Monday I asked Mom if she had had time to write any of my talk.
She looked at me in surprise. “Now, wait a minute. I didn’t say that I would write your talk. I said that I would help you write one.”
“But you always wrote my talks before,” I said. “I thought that that’s what you meant when you said that you’d help me.”
“You’re old enough now that I don’t have to do everything for you. Wasn’t it you who was telling me last week that a ten-year-old ought to have more privileges than his eight-year-old sister?”
“But I don’t even know how to begin,” I wailed. “You said that you’d help me.”
“I will,” Mom answered. “But there’s a difference between helping you and doing it for you.”
Well, when Mom finally convinced me that she really wasn’t going to do it all, I pleaded for suggestions. She said that we should start with prayer. Then, by asking questions, she helped me get a better idea of what I wanted to say. After that, she helped me decide in what order to say things.
I still had to sit down and write the talk out myself, but it wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be, because I knew what I wanted to say. When I finished, Mom helped me correct some grammar mistakes.
Once the talk was written, I started feeling kind of glad that I was going to talk in sacrament meeting. I practiced giving it every day in front of a mirror. By the time Saturday rolled around, I felt pretty confident. As long as I had my paper there to remind me what came next, I could give most of the talk by just glancing down once in a while.
Sunday morning I made one last trial run with Dad as my audience. “Alan, that is a very fine talk,” he said. “You’ll do just great in sacrament meeting. But there is one thing that you don’t want to forget.”
“What’s that?” I asked, a little disappointed to think that something wasn’t just right.
Seeing my disappointment, he said, “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with your talk. I just want to remind you to ask Heavenly Father to help you do your best.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling much better. “I will.”
Sitting up on the stand, I felt pretty important. I glanced at the clock—two minutes until the meeting started. I felt a nervous excitement as I reached into my pocket for my talk. It wasn’t there! I felt in my other pockets. I looked on the floor. It was gone! Just then the bishop got up and announced the opening song and prayer.
What was I going to do? I caught Mom’s eye and gave her a pleading look. She just smiled at me. I began praying fervently that the paper with my talk on it would miraculously appear. I felt in my pockets again—nothing. When I put the hymnbook under my seat, I felt around the entire area for my paper—still nothing.
When the deacons were just about finished passing the sacrament, I knew that my miracle was not going to happen. I began praying that I would be able to remember my talk or that I would at least know what to say.
Suddenly I heard my name as the bishop announced me as the first speaker. With leaden feet I walked slowly to the pulpit. I could see my mother and father smiling at me. Will was pointing at me.
I was sure that everyone could see me shaking. Very slowly I announced the topic of my talk. There was Sister Moffat. She was smiling too. I just stood there quaking for a minute. Then something miraculous did happen: I remembered the first few sentences! As I began speaking, I remembered more and more. It was almost like I was standing in front of the mirror at home, except that I felt a warm, radiating glow around me.
I was finished before I knew it. The rest of the meeting was like a pleasant after-glow. I felt wonderful. That feeling was only intensified by all the compliments I received when the meeting was over.
“Alan,” Dad said, “you were great!”
“You really were,” Mom said as she planted a kiss on my cheek. “We’re proud of you.”
“But you know,” I confessed, “I didn’t think that I was going to be able to do it, because I lost the paper with my talk on it. When I discovered that it was gone, it was too late to do anything else but pray for help. So I did. Heavenly Father really came through for me.”
“It sounds like you learned more than just how to give a good talk,” said Dad, giving my shoulders a squeeze.
“Yeah, I really did.”

When Larry was nine years old he decided to pursue a career in law. Watching Perry Mason save unjustly accused defendants appealed to his sense of justice. In addition, a lawyer’s ability to lift people and improve their life coincided with his belief that people should love and serve one another.
Soon the whole family knew of Larry’s desire to be a lawyer. When Larry turned 17, his mother’s cousin invited Larry to work for his law firm. Larry was thrilled. Three nights a week he would go to the law library to do research. He spent the evenings reading, and reading, and reading. Larry enjoyed reading, but the cases did not excite him. In the summer he worked full-time for the law firm filing papers, serving subpoenas, and doing other tasks.
The more he learned, the more he discovered how much Perry Mason failed to show. Yes, lawyers did all the things that had excited him so much. Unfortunately, they also did a lot of things that didn’t excite him. Finally, he realized he didn’t want to practice law.
He became a career counselor instead, an occupation that has made him happier than he ever thought possible. He is grateful to his mother’s cousin who gave him a chance to find out, before going through all the schooling, that he would not enjoy law.

During my mission, I had the opportunity to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ to my brothers and sisters in Kenya and Uganda. More important, I gained a testimony of Jesus Christ. When I returned home in 1997, I was a different creature (see 2 Corinthians 5:17).
I had the opportunity to serve with companions from different countries. Most of them told me they were going back to college after their missions. I found myself wanting the same thing.
My companions gave me a lot of hope, but going back to my humble life and home after my mission was a culture shock. However, I knew that Heavenly Father would help me, so I was able to live through that time with much faith and hope.
Using loans from the Church Educational System given to returned missionaries, I was able to study. I earned my diploma in medical laboratory, graduating in 2002. Since then, I have had the blessing of serving in many Church callings. When I came to western Kenya, under area leadership we started a group of the Church in Kakamega. That group grew into a branch that has now been divided into two branches.

Consider the choice made by one faithful couple. After recently purchasing a farm for their retirement, they felt prompted to accept a mission call. They were called to serve in a village far from other Church units. They built their own housing, dug their own water well, attended to all their personal needs, and proselytized by bicycle. While the living conditions were extremely difficult, they enjoyed wonderful success in teaching, training members, and bringing converts to the gospel.
In the course of their mission this couple received a letter from a family member reporting that thieves had broken into their farm and stolen all their farm implements and machinery. They were urged to return home and seek to reclaim their much-needed property. The mission president gave them the option to do so. This couple considered their choice and decided to stay. They were not held captive by their worldly goods. They were free to choose the Lord’s service, and they so chose.

I recall an event described by a man I met at a stake conference in the Midwest more than a decade ago. The setting was a beautiful campus in central Illinois. My informant, a participant in a summer workshop, saw a crowd of young students seated on the grass in a large semicircle about 20 feet from one of the large hardwood trees that are so common and so beautiful there. They were watching something at the base of the tree. He turned aside from his walk to see what it was.
There was a handsome tree squirrel with a large, bushy tail playing around the base of the tree—now on the ground, now up and down and around the trunk. But why would that beautiful but familiar sight attract a crowd of students?
Stretched out prone on the grass nearby was an Irish setter. He was the object of the students’ interest, and, though he pretended otherwise, the squirrel was the object of his. Each time the squirrel was momentarily out of sight circling the tree or looking in another direction, the setter would quickly creep forward a few inches and then resume his apparent indifferent posture. Each minute or two he crept closer to the squirrel, and the squirrel apparently did not notice. This was the scene that held the students’ interest. They were silent and immobile, attention riveted on the drama—the probable outcome of which was becoming increasingly obvious.
Finally the setter was close enough to bound at the squirrel and catch it in his mouth. A gasp of horror arose, and the crowd of students surged forward and wrested the beautiful little animal away from the hound, but it was too late. The squirrel was dead.
Anyone in that crowd of students could have warned the squirrel at any time by waving their arms or crying out, but none had done so. They just watched while the inevitable consequence got closer and closer. No one asked “Where will this lead?” and no one wished to interfere. When the predictable outcome occurred, they rushed to the defense, but it was too late. Tearful and regretful expressions were all they could offer.

The last part of the hike was the hardest. The sun beat down on us, and my feet hurt. But I continued to run ahead and look for the place that marked the end of our hike—St. George’s Monastery.
At last I saw the great monastery, built on the side of the cliff. It sure looked neat, but I was just as interested in getting to the top, where a stand with cold drinks and ice cream was waiting.
I wanted to run ahead, but my little brother, Joseph, was having a hard time going up the last steep hillside, so I stayed behind and helped him.
I’m proud to be a Cub Scout, and I always try to live the Cub Scout promise to help other people.

Welcome to Barrow, Alaska, northern-most town on the North American continent. A town where the polar bears that sometimes prowl the streets in the long Arctic night at least provide a little excitement. After all, this is a place where a typical date might consist of browsing through the large general store.

It’s so isolated that some of the locals call it “Planet Barrow.” But for now, the Gaylin Fuller family calls Barrow home. According to them, this may be the end of a continent, but it is not the end of the world. It’s the top of the world.

Like many others in the 1980s, they were forced off their Idaho farm by high operating costs. Gaylin needed work. He had been a university librarian before but had to reestablish his credentials. And the best opportunities at the time happened to be in Alaska.

So here they are in a town of about 3,000 inhabitants huddled on the far northwest coast. From the air, the surrounding land looks flat and soggy, as though it had just barely crawled from the Arctic Ocean and could sink back at any moment. The Alaska of travel posters, with its rugged mountains, immense forests, and misty fjords, is many miles to the south and might as well be on another planet.

Frankly, the kids really weren’t sure what to expect. When they moved Ronald, who is now 14, says, “I didn’t know if we’d be living in an igloo or what.”

Their snug home in Barrow is certainly no igloo, though it’s probably a good thing that the five older Fuller boys are either married, away at school, or serving missions. It’s hard to imagine fitting that many more people in this house. The six Fuller children living at home—Lyle (18), Clark (16), Ron (14), Linnae (12), Stanley (10), and Owen (7)—fill the house quite nicely.

The Fullers’ first home in Alaska was located in tiny Akiachuk, a village some 400 miles west of Anchorage—a place with fewer than 500 people and accessible only by air or snowmobile.

The isolation was tough. In Idaho, the Fullers had been able to get in the car and go to town to attend church, shop, visit friends, go to a movie—whatever. But in Akiachuk, church was at home, shopping was by mail, and movies were on TV. And friends? Well …

If the geographic isolation was tough, the social isolation was even worse. As outsiders, the Fuller children had to prove themselves. In the meantime, family was more important than ever. “We really had to be each other’s friends,” Brother Fuller recalls.

Fortunately, the Fuller boys are good athletes—and relatively tall. At least the Fullers were able to fit in on the court. A major sign that the ice had been broken (pardon the pun) came when Mark Fuller (now serving a mission in Italy) was invited to travel with a village team to play basketball in another village.

They traveled on snowmobiles in the dark, 20 to 30 miles across open countryside, in temperatures of 20 to 30 degrees below zero. Then they played hot, fierce basketball until 11:00 P.M., and returned home the same way they came.

By the time their two years in Akiachuk were up, the Fullers could say they had friends there. But then the opportunity came to move 700 miles north to Barrow.

Now I want to tell you about Samantha. Samantha had just started work in the administrative offices of a local university. She was excited to work in a stimulating environment full of diverse thoughts, ideas, and backgrounds. One day at work a co-worker approached Samantha, said she had heard that Samantha was a Mormon, and asked if that was true. Samantha cheerfully responded that it was, but the question that followed surprised her.

“So why do you hate gays?” her co-worker asked. Samantha was surprised by the question but tried to explain her belief in God and God’s plan for His children, which she said includes guidelines on moral and sexual behavior. Her co-worker countered by telling her that the rest of society had progressed beyond those beliefs. “And besides,” she said, “history is full of people using religious teachings to wage wars and marginalize vulnerable groups.”

Samantha restated her convictions and her understanding of God’s love for all people and then asked her co-worker to respect her right to believe. The co-worker felt compelled to tell other employees about their conversation, and over the next few weeks, Samantha felt increasingly isolated as more and more co-workers confronted her with questions and attacks.

Samantha’s boss, seeing the increase in religious conversations in the workplace, cautioned Samantha that proselytizing in their work environment would put her job in jeopardy. Her work, like Ethan’s, began to suffer. Rather than risk being fired, Samantha started to look for another job.

Now, these are hypothetical stories, and yet they are not. There are many Samanthas and Ethans. However we choose to live and whatever choices we make, we all share a common humanity and desire for fairness and kindness. Ethan should not have been fired for being gay, and Samantha should not have been intimidated for being religious. Both were wrongly criticized, judged, and retaliated against.

Connecting 150 generations was not easy. Like many others who are involved in searching out their ancestors, the Wu family acknowledges that they had help.
After going back 26 generations, they got stuck.
“About all we had was a nickname,” Sister Wu says.
On the final day of the Chinese New Year, Sister Wu had plans to attend a holiday celebration after serving in the temple. But when a friend on the shift mentioned she was going to stop by the family history center located on the temple grounds, Sister Wu felt impressed to go with her.
She went to a book containing information on people with the surname of the ancestor the family couldn’t find. When she opened the book, it fell open to a page that listed information on this particular ancestor. With that information, they were able to connect to other lines that led back many generations.
“It was a very special experience for me,” Sister Wu says. “I can feel that our ancestors are very anxious to have their ordinances done.”

In Primary we learned about giving “warm fuzzies.” We were given three fuzzy balls to cheer up someone who was sick or sad. The next Sunday I was sitting in my grandma’s sacrament meeting, and the man next to me was crying. I gave him a warm fuzzy. It made me feel good inside. A few weeks later, we went to my grandma’s ward New Year’s celebration. The man’s wife told my mom that I had made him feel good when I gave him the warm fuzzy. He thanked me for brightening his day.

As members of the Church today, some of us may find it easy to take these glorious eternal truths for granted. They have become second nature to us. Sometimes it is helpful when we see them through the eyes of those who learn about them for the very first time. This became evident to me through a recent experience.
Last year, just prior to the rededication of the Tokyo Japan Temple, many guests not of our faith toured that temple. One such tour included a thoughtful leader from another religion. We taught our guest about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, Jesus Christ’s redeeming role in that plan, and the doctrine that families can be united eternally through the sealing ordinance.
At the conclusion of the tour, I invited our friend to share his feelings. In reference to the uniting of families—past, present, and future—this good man asked in all sincerity, “Do the members of your faith truly understand just how profound this doctrine is?” He added, “This may well be one of the only teachings that can unite this world that is so divided.”
What a powerful observation. This man was not moved simply by the exquisite craftsmanship of the temple but rather by the stunning and profound doctrine that families are united and sealed to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ forever.

There sits in this hall today a man who grew up with love for the Church. But when he became involved in his business career, obsessed with ambition he began in effect to deny the faith. The manner of his living became almost a repudiation of his loyalty. Then fortunately, before he had gone too far, he heard the whisperings of the still, small voice. There came a saving sense of remorse. He turned around, and today he stands as the president of a great stake of Zion, while also serving as a senior officer in one of the leading industrial corporations of the nation and of the world.

The living room lights were making patterns on the front lawn when I pulled in the driveway. I gathered my books and practice uniform and staggered toward the door, hoping I would find my family about to say the closing prayer for family home evening. Instead the strains of a Primary song greeted me. Home evening was just getting started.
I dropped my armload on the kitchen table and tried to ignore the number of books I’d brought home. Of all nights to have so much homework. Of all nights for Carrie Willard to ask for a ride home and then insist we stop to look at the sweater in the window of Robertson’s Department Store. We’d probably still be there if Paula hadn’t finally said, “Hey, it’s Monday night. Don’t you guys have family home evening or something?”
I hope she caught the grateful look I threw her. Paula, the only nonmember in the group, knows the conditions of the pact I signed with my dad after getting my driver’s license. It states that I agree to drive carefully, treat the car with respect, keep it clean, keep the tank filled, and attend to my family and Church responsibilities. Specifically, that means keep my room clean, do my assigned household chores, and attend Church meetings, seminary, and family home evening.
All this for the privilege of driving the old clunker so I don’t have to beg rides wherever I need to go. I am allowed infractions, but only rarely, or I lose my driving privileges.
“Kathy,” Dad called, “we’re waiting for you.”
I dropped into the nearest chair. “Sorry,” I said. “Practice ran awfully late tonight and I’ve got a ton of homework.”
Dad just smiled and stood up to begin the lesson. “A thought came to me today. It just wouldn’t go away, so I decided it must be inspiration and that I would go with it for tonight’s lesson.”
I swallowed a groan. My sister Gayle rolled her eyes heavenward. Dad’s inspirations usually meant we were in for something unexpected.
“On the way to work this morning,” Dad continued, “I heard a radio program about first aid. It seems too few people know what to do in an emergency.” He paused for effect.
“It just so happens there’s a section on first aid in the Family Home Evening Resource Book. Now who knows what to do in the case of shock?”
For the next half hour we acted out various scenarios. Dad treated Darrell for shock as the result of a traffic accident. My little sister Linda cut her arm on a broken bottle and Mom controlled the bleeding. Then Darrell saved Dad from drowning in the ocean between the bookcase and the couch and revived him. Gayle and I went out to dinner where we each managed to save the other from choking by using the Heimlich maneuver.
It was all rather silly and fun, and as usual we learned something. When we’d finished, Dad announced he’d signed us all up for a CPR class the first Saturday of next month. Gayle and I sighed. One more thing to fit into our busy schedules.
We had strawberry shortcake for refreshments. I took mine to my room to eat while I studied. Mom came in later and found me with my nose resting in the margin of my vocabulary book. I’d finished my math problems and written an essay, and I knew most of my vocabulary words. I’d have to study biology in the morning while I curled my hair.
My hair refused to cooperate in the morning and it got more attention than my biology, but I still had the noon hour. I gathered at a corner table with the usual lunch group and tried to memorize all the bones in the body while everyone else criticized the food and exchanged lunches. I was barely listening to the conversation, so I missed whatever it was Kenny Jamison said that made everyone else shout with laughter, especially Paula. I’ve noticed lately that Paula pays particular attention to anything Kenny says.
Suddenly, through the lunch room sounds, I heard something else—a sound so soft that I shouldn’t have been able to hear it above the noise and laughter, but I did. I glanced up to see Paula with her hand at her throat. There was perspiration on her forehead and she seemed to be turning a bluish color, just as Gayle had pretended to last night. Except this was for real.
Almost without thinking I jumped up and pulled Paula to her feet. I circled my arms around her from behind and tried to find the place to fit my fist. It had all seemed so easy last night with Gayle. But Gayle had been laughing all the while, not actually choking.
I pulled my fist back with my other hand in four sharp thrusts. Nothing. All the noise and laughter at our table stopped, but around us it continued. I closed my eyes and prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, help me.”
I pulled again, four quick movements a little harder than the last. A bite of Paula’s peanut butter sandwich flew from her mouth like the cork from a bottle, just as the resource book had said it would. I felt her lungs fill with air. Then I began to cry.
Pandemonium broke out at our table. As soon as Paula had enough air to breath she was crying too. Several students patted me on the back. Someone had called the principal and the school nurse, and they took Paula off to the nurse’s office. The bell rang, but I didn’t follow everyone back to class. I dropped my head down on the table and tried to stop crying.
“Aw c’mon now, is that any way for someone who just aced a biology test to act?”
I lifted my head to see Mr. Spencer, my biology teacher, sit down next to me. He patted my hand and smiled. “It’s standing policy in all my classes. Anyone who can successfully demonstrate the Heimlich maneuver can skip their next test. Of course finding a volunteer for the victim is usually the hard part.”
I started to cry again.
He handed me a tissue. “Hey, hey, I’m only teasing. Mr. Williams said you could go home, Kathy. You’ve had enough excitement for the day. Do you need someone to drive you?”
I dabbed at my eyes and shook my head. “I’m okay. Thanks for letting me skip the test.”
The smile slipped from his face, leaving it serious. “Thank you, Kathy. You know you may have saved Paula’s life. How is it you were so quick on the Heimlich maneuver?”
“My Dad … last night … it was inspiration …” I was crying again.
“Go home, Kathy,” Mr. Spencer said. “Tell me about it some other time.”
I stopped by my locker and got the rest of my books. I thought about Dad and home evening as I walked home. And then I thought about Paula. She had moved to our school last year, and from the beginning we’d been good friends. We liked so many of the same things—volleyball, hot Mexican food, track. Neither one of us cared about being up on the very latest styles and fashions. Paula was comfortable just being who she wanted to be.
When she first moved, several of the kids tried to get her interested in the Church, but Paula politely informed them she had her own church. She and I kind of agreed not to talk about religion. She came to an occasional activity with me, and I went places with her family. Once just after I met Paula, Mom had challenged us in a home evening lesson to write our testimony in a Book of Mormon and give it away. The testimony I wrote was for Paula, but I had never given the book to her. That copy of the Book of Mormon still lay in a drawer I rarely opened. It seemed to accuse me every time I saw it. I wanted to give it to her, but I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship. I loved Paula as much as a sister.
“Kathy!”
I’d been so intent in my thoughts I hadn’t seen my mother’s car pull up.
“Are you all right, honey? The school called and Paula’s mother called. I’m so proud of you.” She gave me a big hug and I started to cry again.
“Mom,” I said when my voice was under control. “Can we go over to Paula’s house later this evening? I didn’t get a chance to tell her that I learned the Heimlich maneuver in home evening last night. And besides, there’s something else I need to give her.”

The Prophet’s parents, Joseph Smith Sr. and Lucy Mack Smith, married in Tunbridge, Vermont, USA, in 1796. After six years of fairly successful farming, the Smiths moved to nearby Randolph to try their hand at storekeeping.3

The line of goods Joseph Sr. acquired with the help of Boston-based creditors moved quickly to eager new customers—not for cash but for promises of payment once harvests came in at the end of the growing season. As he waited for promised payments to pay off his creditors, he jumped into a new investment opportunity.

In those days Chinese markets were clamoring for crystallized ginseng root. Though Joseph Sr. had a hard-cash offer from a middleman for $3,000 for the ginseng root he had collected and prepared for shipment, he decided on the riskier but potentially more lucrative strategy of taking the product to New York himself and contracting with a ship’s captain to sell his goods in China on consignment. By eliminating the middleman, he stood to make as much as $4,500—an immense sum in those days.4

As bad luck or sinister planning would have it, Joseph Sr.’s shipment ended up on the same boat carrying the son of the middleman with whom he had declined to do business. Taking advantage of the situation, this son sold the Smith ginseng in China “at a high price” and kept the proceeds while spinning tales that the venture had been a bust, producing only a chest full of tea as reward.5

Meanwhile, just as this swindle was unfolding, the payments for a large inventory of merchandise had fallen due at the Smith store. In the face of demanding creditors, the Smiths hit a desperation point. To pay their debts, Lucy gave up a wedding gift of $1,000 that she had saved for years, and Joseph accepted $800 for the family farm in Tunbridge.6 The farm was the one thing that would have at least guaranteed a modicum of economic stability and long-term physical security in the often harsh world of the early American frontier. Now, penniless and landless, the Smiths would be forced to move eight times in 14 years, constantly looking for a way to provide for their family.

“When I was a teenager, Brother Jacob, my teacher, asked that I write down on a card what I had thought about during the sacrament. I took my card and began to write. First on the list was a basketball game we had won the night before. And then came a date after the game, and so went the list. Far removed and certainly not in bold letters was the name of Jesus Christ.
“Each Sunday the card was filled out. For a young Aaronic Priesthood holder, the sacrament and sacrament meeting took on a new, expanded, and spiritual meaning. I anxiously looked forward to Sundays and to the opportunity to partake of the sacrament, as understanding the Savior’s Atonement was changing me. Every Sunday to this day, as I partake of the sacrament, I can see my card and review my list. Always on my list now, first of all, is the Savior of mankind.”
Elder Don R. Clarke of the Seventy

Twelve years ago, in company with the mission president from Hong Kong, it was my opportunity to initiate the work in the Philippines. On April 28, 1961, we held a meeting that will never be forgotten by those of us who were present. We had no hall then in which to meet. We made a request of the United States Embassy for permission to meet on the beautiful porch of the marble memorial in the American military cemetery at Fort McKinley on the outskirts of Manila. We convened at 6:30 in the morning. In that hallowed and sacred place, where are remembered the tragedies of war, we commenced the work of teaching the gospel of peace.
We called upon the only native Filipino member we had been able to locate. He recounted a story which I have never forgotten.
When he was a boy he found in a garbage can an old tattered copy of the Reader’s Digest. It contained a condensation of a book giving the story of the Mormon people. It spoke of Joseph Smith and described him as a prophet. The word prophet did something to that boy. Could there actually be a prophet upon the earth? he wondered. The magazine was lost, but concern over the presence of a living prophet never left him during the long, dark years of war and oppression when the Philippines were occupied. Finally the forces of liberation came, and with them the reopening of Clark Air Base. David Lagman found employment there. His supervisor, he learned, was a Mormon, an Air Force officer. He wanted to ask him if he believed in a prophet, but was afraid to do so. Finally, after much inner turmoil, he mustered the courage to inquire.
“Are you a Mormon, sir?” the young man asked. “Yes, I am,” was the forthright reply. “Do you believe in a prophet, do you have a prophet in your church?” came the anxious question.
“We do have a prophet, a living prophet, who presides in this church and who teaches the will of the Lord.”
David asked the officer to tell him more, and out of that teaching came his baptism. He was the first native elder ordained in the Philippines and today serves as president of the Northern Luzon District of the Church, now knowing for himself that there is indeed a living prophet on the earth.

Perhaps I was influenced too—as have been countless thousands of others—by the words of Charles Dickens as he wrote that immortal classic, A Christmas Carol. We recall the habitual response of “Bah! Humbug!” that Ebenezer Scrooge gave to any Christmas greeting. On one such occasion his cheerful nephew replied: “I have always thought of Christmastime … as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time … and I say, God bless it!”
Then you will remember Scrooge’s dream when the Ghost of Christmas Past appeared and said to him: “I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link … and of my own free will I wore it.”
Thus Scrooge was reminded of his own neglect of his fellowmen and his heart began to soften. By the time of the appearance of the Ghost of Christmas Present, he was able to say, “Tonight, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.”
Then when the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come appeared, Scrooge said: “I am prepared for what you have to say to me … with a thankful heart.”
As he was shown the sad fates of some he had failed to help and foresaw his own lonely death, he pleaded, “Assure me that I yet may change … [and] I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”
He was overjoyed when he awakened and found that he was still alive and had time to make amends, which he promptly set about to do.

By Peter V. Hilton
“We’re going to discuss section 64 tomorrow, so you had better read section 64 tonight!” As always, Sister Dorff was adamant.
Early-morning seminary. To my sophomore mind, the idea was laughable. Between writing, directing, and acting in my own play, trumpet lessons, piano practice, and eight high school classes every day, there was barely time to sleep. But guilt won out over math, and I decided to put scripture study in the 25th hour of my daily allotment of 24.
“Who read their scriptures?” Sister Dorff asked the next morning. She was answered by a smattering of raised hands. “Tell me what you read.”
“Well …” I blinked away the morning bleariness. “It was the word of God, as revealed to Joseph Smith.” Nobody had a better answer; Sister Dorff scowled. More lecture, more please-read-your-scriptures.
It was the same the next morning. “Who read their scriptures?” Again, a couple of hands went up. “Well, our lesson is going to take two days, so congratulations! You have no reading tonight.” Tired cheers went up. “The rest of you need to not ‘procrastinate the day of your repentance.’” Then she added, “Please read your scriptures.”
That night, I didn’t feel quite right about going to bed without my nightly chapter of reading, so I grabbed my Book of Mormon and opened to Mosiah 6, a chapter only seven verses long. I was elated! Rather than staying up past midnight to half-digest hefty chunks of doctrine, I could breeze through this chapter in under a minute.
I thought I’d discovered a great way to go to bed. Every night I read the same short chapter. I was reading my scriptures daily. I was a good Church member, I told myself. The speed-read-flop-and-drop worked wonders for fatigue until one Monday night. I got to bed a couple of hours earlier than normal. That meant I was more awake as Mosiah 6 once again stared back up at me.
“And it came to pass that there was not one soul, except it were little children, but who had entered into the covenant and had taken upon them the name of Christ.
“… That thereby they might hear and know the commandments of God, and to stir them up in remembrance of the oath which they had made” (vv. 2–3).
There it was. The sacramental covenant, its elements recorded in Mosiah.
With a few hours of sleep separating me from the next seminary lesson, I realized that I had renewed that same covenant just the day before. Every Sunday, I took the sacrament and promised to take Christ’s name upon me. I really wanted to—that’s why I got up for seminary—but there was a difference between getting up and waking up. I winced, realizing I wasn’t holding up my end of the covenant. Here I was promising to always remember the Lord and keep His commandments, and instead of meditating, I was vegetating.
I started over. After a prayer, I turned to the beginning of the Book of Mormon. “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, therefore I was taught somewhat in all the learning of my father.” The words seemed to be full of meaning. I, Peter, was born of Heavenly Parents and had been taught God’s word, even if it had only begun to sink in. That night, I caught up in my seminary reading all the way to Doctrine and Covenants 84.
“Tell me about what you read.” Sister Dorff’s familiar question greeted us the next morning.
“Mosiah,” I answered, winning a friendly scowl from the teacher. “I mean, I read the assigned Doctrine and Covenants scriptures too, but what I read first last night stuck with me. The Book of Mormon is true!”
Sister Dorff smiled. “What did you read?”
“Well, I started with Mosiah 6, then 1 Nephi, and then I felt the Spirit! It was just like that quote from President Ezra Taft Benson where he says there is a power that will enter our lives the moment we begin a serious study of the Book of Mormon.” I grinned at my classmates. “It was so cool. I felt that power last night.”
From then on, I was glad to tell Sister Dorff about what I had read. I had gained a testimony of scripture study.