Gospel Story Finder

One of those I would like to mention this morning was President David O. McKay, who came into my life as the first prophet to teach and influence me personally.
I was called to be a stake president in California just before President McKay was sustained in a solemn assembly as the President of the Church and as our prophet. My wife, Ruby, and I drove to Salt Lake to be in attendance at that conference. I felt of that spirit, of that leadership, and of the direction that President McKay gave to the Church at that time. Later on I invited him to come to California to dedicate a Church building that we had just finished. That was in the days when we would raise half the money to buy the land and half the money to pay for a building—not like it is today, but where we felt a real ownership in the Church property and in buildings. President McKay came as a result of my invitation, which surprised me. We met him at the train and were pleased to have him in our home. That gave me a new vision of the magnitude and the breadth and the importance of the mission that we have here upon the earth to fulfill.

I was reminded of this beautiful concept of collective missionary work when I received an email one day. A brother who said he was the son of the mission president in Wichita, Kansas, wondered if I was the wife of Robert Monson. The brother went on to say he was looking for the Elder Monson who served in the Central States Mission in 1959. That was my husband.
He told me about two young elders, Elders Bennett and Thompson, who were inspired recently to enter an apartment building. They rapped on the first door and found an elderly lady who invited them to come back the next day. They set a time.
When they returned for the appointment, they learned that this elderly sister had an old triple combination (Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price) the missionaries had given her in 1959. She had read it many times and knew the teachings in it were true. She had not joined the Church then because her husband did not want her to attend church or be baptized. Her husband had passed away recently, and she prayed that she might find the missionaries again. In her triple combination were the names of the two missionaries from 1959: Robert Monson and Granade Curran, my husband and his companion.
Over the next several weeks, this woman learned about the plan of salvation and the blessings of the temple. Her son had passed away at age 22, and she was thrilled at the possibility of being reunited with him. When the missionaries invited her to be baptized, she joyfully accepted their invitation.
Both my husband and his companion, Elder Curran, have passed away, but I can imagine them attending this beautiful baptism from beyond the veil.
As the mission president’s son told me the story, I was reminded that the Savior does not forget any of us. He is always with us if we allow Him into our lives. The New Testament tells the story of Zacchaeus, who climbed a sycamore tree to see the Savior (see Luke 19:1–10). Even up in the tree, Zacchaeus was found by the Savior, who asked to dine at his home. Similarly, an elderly sister prayed and waited for the missionaries to knock on her door, and they did. The Savior knows all of us. “For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which [is] lost” (Luke 19:10).
Two sets of missionaries—one over 60 years ago and then one more recently—brought this sister to Jesus Christ and in turn strengthened their own testimonies and found joy in the Lord. I am humbled that I could be a bystander in this story, feeling the joy of all involved in bringing this sister to the Savior (see Doctrine and Covenants 18:15).

President James E. Faust, in his address of the Young Women general meeting in March, warned, “You young ladies may have a hard time buying a modest prom dress. May I suggest that you make your own?” (Ensign, May 2000, 97).
This is exactly what happened in the Salt Lake Stake.
To encourage the young women to dress modestly, the stake Young Women leaders decided to include a fashion show in a special night for Laurels and their dads, brothers, or other priesthood holders.
“It was a lot of hard work to adjust the pattern to cover my shoulders,” says Elaine Barnhurst of the 19th Ward, whose project was to make her medieval-style dress from a sheet and curtains. “But it was a fun night and really cool to know I had actually made it myself.”

At the end of the California tour last summer, the seven bus drivers (some LDS, some not) gathered together and addressed the group. “We’d like to thank you for the privilege of traveling with you,” said their spokesperson. “We have enough roses for each of the girls, just to tell you thanks for being such a great group.” And 14 dozen roses were presented to the young women.

The best experience of my life was the day I was baptized. My mom taught me that once I was baptized, I would be responsible for all my actions. The day arrived, and my dad and I were both dressed in white. I was nervous, but when I took my dad’s hand to get into the font, I knew everything would be fine. When my dad said the baptism prayer and put me under the water, I felt beautiful things in my heart that are hard to explain. Then I was confirmed and given the gift of the Holy Ghost. I am so happy that I was baptized. Just as Jesus Christ set an example for me, I am setting an example for my little brother. I know Jesus Christ lives and loves us.

Like all of us, Toshio Kawada of the Obihiro Ward, Sapporo Japan Stake, has had to make crucial choices when faced with life’s difficulties. He joined the Church in 1972, and he and his wife, Miyuki, were sealed in the Laie Hawaii Temple in 1978. They have two sons. Brother Kawada served as president of the Obihiro Branch, president of the Kushiro Japan District, and counselor in the Japan Sapporo Mission presidency for many years.
More than 20 years ago, when his family was still very young, Brother Kawada was working for his father as a dairy farmer. Tragically, one day the large barn where they kept their milk cows and all their equipment burned down. Financially devastated, his father went to the farmers’ union for a loan but was turned down. Subsequently, his father and older brother filed for bankruptcy. Although not legally responsible, Brother Kawada felt obligated to help pay back all the debts.
As Brother Kawada was pondering a solution to his problem, he decided to plant carrots. He had grown potatoes, but he did not know how to grow carrots. He planted the seeds and prayed earnestly for his carrots to grow.
All this time, Brother Kawada faithfully served in the Church, kept the Sabbath day holy, and paid his tithing. When he and his family dressed in their best clothes and went to their Sunday meetings, many neighbors scoffed at them. It was difficult to lose one day a week in their fields, especially at harvesttime. It was not always easy for them to pay their tithing, but they offered it to the Lord obediently and cheerfully.
Fall came and Brother Kawada’s carrots turned out to be unusually sweet and large, with an exceptionally rich color. He had an abundant harvest and went to the farmers’ union for help, but they refused to sell his carrots through their distribution system. He fasted and prayed and felt inspired to try to find a produce distributor in Tokyo—something that is very difficult to do without introductions or connections.
Brother Kawada was blessed to find a large distributor in Tokyo. Since then he has been very successful and has repaid all his father’s debts. He currently has a large agricultural operation with many employees, and he is teaching young farmers how to effectively organize their businesses.
Even in exceptionally trying circumstances, Brother Kawada chose to be true to the promises he made in his baptismal, priesthood, and temple covenants. Although it would have been easy to rationalize working on the Sabbath, not serving in the Church, and not paying tithing until his problems were resolved, he was resolute in following the directive to “seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness.” He then found that, indeed, “all these things shall be added unto you” (Matt. 6:33).
I respect Toshio Kawada not simply because he overcame hard times and became a successful farmer. Far more impressive is that he made courageous choices during a difficult period, knowing they would not necessarily bring an immediate reward—or any temporal reward at all. His example of righteously using agency and steadfastly holding to everlasting principles is worthy of emulation.

When I decided to serve a mission, my friends encouraged me to finish college instead. But I decided to go on a mission anyway, and they wondered why. One of my friends said a mission was a waste of time, and I was a little offended by that. But I told him why my mission was important to me. Now I’m on a mission, and I still write my friends and share the blessings I’m receiving as a result of being a missionary.
Elder Janray MillarezPhilippines Quezon City Mission

For single members in Finland, the gospel adds an increased capacity to love, says Mirja Suonpää, Helsinki stake Single Adult leader. “I love the Church. The people, the activities, the teachings have come to fill my life. I am so much happier since I joined; it has made a complete change in the way I see things.

“People noticed changes in me,” she says. “New things have become important to me, and things don’t bother me that used to.

“In my profession as a psychiatric nurse, I have gained insights from the gospel that have helped me understand the needs of Heavenly Father’s children, enabling me to be an even greater comfort, with more patience and strength than I had without it.”

Satan will tempt us to misuse our time through disguised distractions. Although temptations will come, Elder Quentin L. Cook taught that “Saints who respond to the Savior’s message will not be led astray by distracting and destructive pursuits” (in Conference Report, Oct. 2003, 101; or Ensign, Nov. 2003, 96). Hiram Page, one of the Eight Witnesses of the Book of Mormon, taught us a valuable lesson about distractions. He had a certain stone and through it recorded what he thought were revelations for the Church (see D&C 28). On Hiram’s being corrected, an account says the stone was taken and ground into powder so it would never again be a distraction. I invite us to identify the time-wasting distractions in our lives that may need to be figuratively ground into dust. We will need to be wise in our judgment to ensure that the scales of time are correctly balanced to include the Lord, family, work, and wholesome recreational activities. As many have already discovered, there is an increase of happiness in life as we use our time to seek after those things which are “virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy” (Articles of Faith 1:13).

Susan (name has been changed), like many adoptees, had a great curiosity about her birth parents. She was sealed as an infant to her adoptive family and felt the power and confirmation that these were her people—the ones she was meant to be with forever. She felt blessed by doing family history and temple work for this family. However, that didn’t take away her curiosity or her desire to offer the saving ordinances to the people on her birth line. She worried that she was being somehow disloyal to her adoptive family for having that desire. But after a loving conversation with her parents, she was assured that feelings of love and loyalty would not be diminished by pursuing the sacred work for her birth line.

In fact, she’s used her good attitude as a springboard to propel her into positive social situations. On her first day of kindergarten, when Sheena proudly displayed her hand at “show and tell,” one child told her it looked like a Cabbage Patch doll’s hand. Delighted, she added several Cabbage Patch dolls to her already thriving collection. Her favorite had red hair and blue eyes, just like Sheena.

This lesson I learned anew some years ago as I received a rather unique and frightening assignment. Folkman D. Brown, then the Director of Mormon Relationships for the Boy Scouts of America, came to my office, having learned that I was about to depart for a lengthy assignment to New Zealand. He told me of his widowed sister, Belva Jones, who had been stricken with terminal cancer, who knew not how to tell her only son—a missionary in that faraway country. Her wish, even her plea, was that he remain in the mission field and serve faithfully. She worried about his reaction; for the missionary, Elder Ryan Jones, had lost his father just a year earlier to the same dread disease.
I accepted the responsibility. Following a missionary meeting held adjacent to the majestically beautiful New Zealand Temple, I met privately with Elder Jones and, as gently as I could, explained the situation of his mother. Naturally there were tears—not all his—but then the handclasp of assurance and the pledge: “Tell my mother I will serve, I will pray, and I will see her again.”
I returned to Salt Lake City just in time to attend a conference of the Lost River Stake at Moore, Idaho. As I sat on the stand with the stake president, my attention was drawn almost instinctively to the east side of the chapel, where the morning sunlight bathed the lone occupant of a front bench. I said to the stake president, “Who is the sister upon whom the sunlight is resting? I feel I must speak to her today.” He replied, “Her name is Belva Jones. She has a missionary son in New Zealand. She is very ill and has requested a blessing.”
Prior to that moment, I had not known where Belva Jones lived. My assignment that weekend could have been to any one of 50 stakes. Yet the Lord, in His own way, had answered the prayer of faith of a concerned mother. We had a wonderful visit together. I reported word for word the reaction and the resolve of her son, Ryan. A blessing was provided, a prayer offered, a witness received. Belva Jones would live to see her son complete his mission. This privilege she enjoyed. Just one month prior to her passing, his mission completed, Ryan returned home.

Merrill saw Kathy and her friends after his mother made the comment she did about Christmas. It was bad enough seeing Kathy at all. But if a different set of mind wheels hadn’t been reluctantly pushed into a slow, rusty motion, it would have been more than bad—devastating in fact. He knew this and was glad he had let his resentments out of their tight bindings. They were still there, but, like so many helium balloons, they now tugged gently from a less painful position.
“Wipe Bobby’s mouth,” he heard his mother say, and for perhaps the millionth time in his 16 years, he automatically pulled out the big piece of flannel tucked in the back of the wheelchair and bent to soak up the drool from the grotesque, twisted face of his brother.
“He’s too excited,” his mother rationalized. “It’s so beautiful and magic-like. I knew we had to make the effort to bring him here.”
Bobby thrashed his useless arms. The red-knitted, thumbless mittens Sister Arnold had made hid the twisted bones that should have been workable fingers, but weren’t. A cruel accident at birth or before had ruined the control system for his muscles, and an intelligent spirit was imprisoned in a physical body that jerked spastically and made communication with the outside world a tortured affair at best. Sometimes, like tonight, the effort became too much, and he could accomplish nothing but a ridiculous flailing about, accompanied by unintelligible, animal-like sounds. Merrill knew the sight was distressing to anyone unfamiliar with the situation.
And all this Kathy and the others saw. There had been the usual giggling comments and the quick exodus away from the ugly and unpleasant.
Merrill shuddered and bent his arms around his brother. “Hold on there, buddy,” he whispered. This was a familiar reenactment of a familiar routine, one which was usually successful in calming the worst of the unwanted movements.
He stood that way, quiet, between the Tabernacle and the visitors’ center and let the below-freezing air pool around him. The millions of tiny lights pricked the starry night and caused it to back up and hover just beyond the thick, gray walls. It hung there, its own distant light spectacle forgotten as human attention was trapped in the canopy of electric glow. Temple Square at Christmas was spectacular to see, no doubt about it. It was more than even Merrill expected. He could imagine Bobby’s rapture.
Merrill felt something swell in the lonely part of him. It tangled with those feelings that had been dominant for a long time, those feelings of resentment because his life seemed destined to be circled by people, like Bobby, who could never bring opportunities his way.
He loved his mother but knew she, too, would never introduce him to the kind of people he longed to know. His mother’s life centered around Bobby, with her job in the evenings at the library only a necessary part of her circumstance. To expect another man to be big enough to tolerate the presence of a severely handicapped son would never occur to her—not after the boys’ own father couldn’t take it, and an accident in the oil fields ended his life before he had time for a change of heart, and before she was convinced it could be possible.
Between him and his mother the care of Bobby was divided. It held them both out of the reach of opportunities, at least that was the way Merrill saw it, and not without this awful resentment pulling his young features into a perpetual scowl. Tonight his mother had been objecting to that scowl when she said, “But Merrill, Christmas isn’t just for the whole and the beautiful.”
Maybe it was the million lights winking all around him, but for some reason he had been touched with a corner of what she said—just nudged enough to make his resentments back off a little. It was good to get some relief from the anger.
He thought about Jesus. How he had been subject to an imperfect world. A world where he had to deal with terrible things like leprosy and every kind of human misery.
Then he had seen the kids from school. Had he known they would be here, the group he secretly longed to be part of, had he known that, no way would he have consented to come.
Beautiful, blond Kathy. New at school this year, she sat by him in algebra and made his life painful. Each day he both dreaded and longed for the hour. Always he was too shy and couldn’t say anything but answer the few questions she sometimes asked. He always came to class boned up on the day’s assignment in case she did need help. She was one of the leaders in the straight crowd—the fun, respectable group. The ones who didn’t need cigarettes, drugs, or alcohol to give them confidence.
Now that Kathy knew he didn’t have a normal kind of family, would she ever ask his help again? He looked up at the likeness of Jesus looking down from the window of the visitors’ center and reminded himself that even though the eyes seemed to be looking directly down at them, it was just made of stone.
The Nauvoo Bell struck the hour, rolling the clear sounds through the cold air and causing a small vibration to answer back from deep inside where resignation grows. He straightened up and sighed, repositioning Bobby’s bright, red-knit hat. Oh well, it had happened. She had seen them. Might as well get this night over with.
Bobby quickly became frantic again. “Oh, he’s going to hurt himself,” his mother cried. “Can’t you do something?”
He tried, but it was too awkward pushing the wheelchair and keeping his arms around the struggling form at the same time.
“He wants to go in the visitors’ center. I know that’s what he’s trying to tell us,” his mother insisted. She was usually right in guessing what Bobby wanted. Watching his brother jerk his body and bang his head around made Merrill also think Bobby would end up hurting himself and make their holiday that much more difficult.
“Okay. I’m going to carry him,” he told his mother, after looking all around to be sure Kathy and her group had gone. “Here, help strap him on. You know, like we used to.”
Though Bobby was ten years old, he only weighed 60 pounds. Merrill opened his coat, picked him up and waited while his mother arranged the wild arms and legs inside the coat, all the time muttering soft, silly endearments. Then she used the straps from the chair to bind the two boys tightly together. Soon the jerking subsided, and Merrill relaxed the pressure that held Bobby’s face pressed into his shoulder. It was like strength from the one went into the other and brought control. “Don’t talk,” Merrill kept saying. “We know how you feel. Relax, I’ll take you in there.”
“You’re so wonderful when you’re like this,” his mother said. Now she was wiping something besides Bobby’s drooling. Merrill was surprised at her tears.
“Oh, come on, Mom. I’ve carried him around a lot like this.”
“I know, I know. But it’s been a long time.”
Yes, it had. Merrill was glad to welcome back the love he used to feel for his brother. It made him walk taller.
As they climbed the ramp to the second floor, music from some hidden source was playing, “We three kings of Orient are; Bearing gifts we traverse afar.” Merrill felt like asking Jesus how he would like what he was carrying. The thought held some of the old resentment. He stood angled so Bobby could see the Christus over his shoulder without raising his uncontrollable head. The view from the window, with Christmas declaring itself so dramatically, let a thought materialize. It gathered in small waves to gradually push into his mind and be recognized. He smiled as it put itself together. “Yes, Jesus would like the gift he carried. Locked up like this, Bobby was a spirit pure in heart and innocent. Oh yes, Jesus would like that.”
The music changed to “Silent Night,” and he turned to let Bobby see the lights out of the window. Then he saw her. Kathy, standing alone in the hall to the left. It seemed she had been watching, for now she smiled and moved toward them. Merrill watched her approach, too stunned to move. His heart raced, and he increased the pressure on Bobby’s head so hard he cried out.
“Merrill?” said the soft voice, and Merrill felt as if he were connected to a million little hot lights flashing at odd intervals. His face burned, and he wanted to run.
She acted like she didn’t notice. “Merrill,” she repeated. “I’m so glad I saw you here. I wanted to invite you to a Christmas party tomorrow night. Just a fun, game-playing time at my house with the gang—no big deal. I promise no algebra.”
Merrill knew his voice would crack and cleared his throat before trying to answer. Then he couldn’t put together anything sensible.
“I … gee … sure … sounds okay.” He felt stupid for not introducing his mother, for Kathy turned and asked, “Is this your mother?”
He tried to gather his wits and made the introductions.
“I know this is your brother,” she said, smiling with eyes that glistened with something that reflected the tiny lights. “The kids told me.” Then she turned to leave but paused with one hand on the railing. “Hey, you know, you holding your brother like that is the most Christmasy thing I’ve ever seen.” Then she hurried down the ramp.

An example of such acceptance is the story of Oliver Granger. As President Boyd K. Packer stated: “When the Saints were driven from Kirtland, … Oliver was left behind to sell their properties for what little he could. There was not much chance that he could succeed. And, really, he did not succeed!” He had been commissioned by the First Presidency to do a task that was difficult, if not impossible. But the Lord commended him for his apparently unsuccessful efforts in these words:
“I remember my servant Oliver Granger; behold, verily I say unto him that his name shall be had in sacred remembrance from generation to generation, forever and ever, saith the Lord.
“Therefore, let him contend earnestly for the redemption of the First Presidency of my Church, … and when he falls he shall rise again, for his sacrifice shall be more sacred unto me than his increase, saith the Lord.”
That may be true of all of us—it’s not our successes but rather our sacrifice and efforts that matter to the Lord.

In the last half of 1833 Missourians drove the Saints, including the Knight clan, from Jackson County. Mobbers shot Philo Dibble, whom Newel Knight saved from death through a remarkable priesthood blessing.1 Fearing for their lives, the Knights braved the cold weather and rushed to the Missouri River ferries. Joseph Knight, Jr., told of women and children walking with bare feet on frozen ground. The Knights lost all their property, including a gristmill. Of that awful winter, Sally Knight’s sister, Emily Colburn Slade, recalled, “We lived in tents until winter set in, and did our cooking out in the wind and storms.”2 Suffering from poor food and shelter, many Saints became victims of fever and what was called ague (probably malaria). Sally was one of them. She gave birth to a son, who died, and then she died herself. “Truly she died as a martyr to the gospel,” her husband, Newel, eulogized.

At the community pool I looked in the lost and found for a missing piece to my goggles. I didn’t find the piece, but I saw a mermaid doll. I thought it was mine, so I took it. When I got home I found another mermaid doll in my room. I knew the one I had found at the pool was not mine. I could have kept both, but I wanted the person who had lost the doll to find it. We returned the extra doll to the pool. I know that I chose the right thing to do, and it made me feel happy to help someone else.

I used to skip to the Extra Smile to read the cartoons when the New Era came. As I stopped to read some of the stories, I knew I got something even better than just funny LDS cartoons in the mail. I got inspirational messages, including some from teenagers like me that I can relate to. I especially like it when conference messages are included in the magazine. I love to refresh my memory of the rousing messages shared by the leaders of our Church.
Benjamin D., Idaho

Carmelita Gonzalez was once approached by a friend who wondered why she didn’t spend more time with their group of friends. “I told her I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” she says. “I had to tell her that sometimes the things they do are things that I don’t believe in. I said I could be their friend, but I also had to keep my standards as a member of the Church.”

Forty-six years ago I was called as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, and for the first time, I came to this pulpit. I was 37 years old. I found myself standing among the venerable and wise prophets and apostles, “whose names,” as the song proclaims, “we all revere” (“Oh, Holy Words of Truth and Love,” Hymns, no. 271). I felt how keenly inadequate I was.
About that time here in the Tabernacle I had a defining experience. It gave me assurance and courage.
In those days Primary conference was held here before the April conference. I came through a south door as the opening song was being sung by a large choir of Primary children. Sister Lue S. Groesbeck, a member of the Primary general board, was leading them. They sang:
Rev’rently, quietly, lovingly we think of thee;
Rev’rently, quietly, softly sing our melody.
Rev’rently, quietly, humbly now we pray,
Let thy Holy Spirit dwell in our hearts today.
(“Reverently, Quietly,” Children’s Songbook, 26)
As the children sang quietly, the organist, who understood that excellence does not call attention to itself, did not play a solo while they sang. He skillfully, almost invisibly blended the young voices into a melody of inspiration, of revelation. That was the defining moment. It fixed deeply and permanently in my soul that which I most needed to sustain me in the years to follow.
I felt perhaps that which Elijah the prophet had felt. He sealed the heavens against the wicked king Ahab and fled to a cave to seek the Lord:
“A great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks … ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire [came] a still small voice.
“And it was so,” the record says, “when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave” to speak to the Lord (1 Kings 19:11–13).
I felt something of what the Nephites must have felt when the Lord appeared to them: “They heard a voice as if it came out of heaven; and they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard; and it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Nephi 11:3).
It is this still, small voice which Elijah and the Nephites heard that the Prophet Joseph Smith understood when he wrote, “Thus saith the still small voice, which whispereth through and pierceth all things” (D&C 85:6).
In that defining moment, I understood that the still, small voice is felt more than heard. If I hearkened to it, I would be all right in my ministry.
After that I had the assurance that the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, is there for everyone who will respond to the invitation to ask, to seek, and to knock (see Matthew 7:7–8; Luke 11:9–10; 3 Nephi 14:7–8; D&C 88:63). I knew I would be all right. As the years have unfolded, so it has been.
I learned too what power there can be in music. When music is reverently presented, it can be akin to revelation. At times, I think, it cannot be separated from the voice of the Lord, the quiet, still voice of the Spirit.

Among the vocational courses Sig Verano completed in his wide-ranging studies was one in real estate sales. It led to a profitable new career—and to further strengthening of his testimony.
His sales career didn’t begin well. He was fired after only one week when the owner of the real estate agency learned the new salesman’s religion following Brother Verano’s refusal to work on Sunday.
“The gospel is so important in our lives that Sunday is empty if we can’t go to Church meetings,” he explains. But the owner of the real estate company said that the Mormons put too much time into Church service to be successful. Go work for a small agency where the owner will not care so much about sales success, he told Sig Verano.
Brother Verano took the dismissal as a challenge. He found a job with a larger agency, and, working only part-time in 1979, was its top salesman. He has consistently refused to work on Sundays; as branch president and bishop, he also devoted part of his Saturdays to Church service. Yet for several years he has been among the company’s top five salespeople.