Gospel Story Finder

Several years ago, while serving as president of the Germany Munich Mission, I had an unusual experience that confirmed my faith. I was meeting, as I did on a regular basis, with my two assistants, Elder Betteridge and Elder Gregory Smith. Trying to emphasize a certain point, I referred to an experience I had some twenty years before as a young missionary in Trenton, New Jersey. At the mention of that city, Elder Smith, somewhat surprised, stated that his birthplace was Trenton, New Jersey, and asked when I had serve my mission there. I replied, “1954.” His excitement grew—that was the year of his birth. I then asked about his family background, suddenly realizing that I had played an important part in this young man’s life. Quickly the details came back to me.
There weren’t many members of the Church in Trenton when my companion and I were called to go help organize a branch there. The Lord blessed us, though, and we taught and baptized several families. The branch started to grow.
One day Sister Smith, a member of the branch whose husband was not then active, came to us and asked for a special blessing. She was pregnant, and the doctors feared that there would be complications with the development and the birth of the child. Following the Lord’s counsel in the scriptures, with great faith in the Lord and his priesthood, Sister Smith was asking for help.
I recorded the event in my missionary journal and even now recall the calm feeling I had as I sealed the annointing. Under the influence of the Holy Ghost, I promised Sister Smith that there would he no complications and that the child would be born healthy and strong and that it would serve the Lord.
Soon after that I was transferred, but I shall never forget meeting Sister Smith a few months later at a district conference. She placed a beautiful, healthy baby boy in may arms. To this day I remember the warmth, the gratitude, the humble pride, and the priesthood power that surged through my soul. In my journal I wrote that, though I did not yet know how it felt to be a father, it must be something like what I felt for the little Smith boy that day.
After my mission I lost contact with the Smiths and their son. However, as I sat in the mission home in Germany with Elders Smith and Betteridge, these sweet and beautiful events came back into my mind. Could this be the same boy I had held in my arms twenty-one years before? I asked Elder Smith if his mother had ever related any unusual circumstances regarding his birth. His answer confirmed my expectations, but I asked him to write his mother for the details. Two weeks later the answer came. She stated that an Elder Kelling, a missionary from Germany, had indeed given her a blessing and that consequently her son’s birth was normal.
It is difficult to find words for what I felt then. The Lord was returning to a humble servant a blessing he had given away many years ago. “Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days” (Eccl. 11:1). There in Germany, serving with me at that time in the Lord’s vineyard and assisting me in my sacred calling, was that young man whom I had assisted twenty-one years earlier. Through the Lord’s priesthood power, Elder Smith had been granted life and he had been given—health, energy, and great faith—all of which he was using to serve the Lord.
Joy and wonder and gratitude for the ways of the Lord then filled my soul. I did not know that Elder Smith was born in Trenton when I called him to be my assistant. In my stewardship were 200 missionaries, and I did not know where each was born. I know that Elder Smith was called through inspiration to be my assistant. It was not by chance that he was sent to the Germany Munich Mission. It was not by chance that I mentioned Trenton, New Jersey, in our meeting and that Elder Smith responded.
And what were the results of these things? Elder Smith’s testimony of the gospel and his calling were strengthened. My own testimony of the power of the priesthood was confirmed. I felt deeply our Heavenly Father’s kindness to us—he had mercifully and gently given powerful encouragement and assurance to a servant to help him carry out a most challenging assignment.

We encourage those of you who have a large reservation of names to share them so that members of your extended family or ward and stake can help you in completing that work. You can do this by distributing temple cards to ward and stake members willing to help or by using the FamilySearch computer system to submit the names directly to the temple. This latter option is something Cindy Blevins of Casper, Wyoming, has been doing for years.
Sister Blevins was baptized as a teenager and has been the only member of her family to join the Church. She has completed a vast amount of genealogical work. But there are far too many names for her and her immediate family to complete. Consequently, Sister Blevins has submitted the names to the temple, which, she reports, are often completed in a matter of weeks, usually at one of the two temples closest to her home. She says she likes to think that friends and neighbors in her own ward and stake may be among those helping to complete the work for her ancestors. She appreciates their doing so.

When I was a student in dental school, the financial outlook of our local economy was not very encouraging. Inflation dramatically decreased the value of currency from one day to the next.
I remember the year when I was to enroll in surgery practices; I needed to have all the necessary surgical equipment before enrolling that semester. My parents saved the needed funds. But one night something dramatic happened. We went to buy the equipment, only to discover that the amount of money we had to buy all the equipment now was sufficient to buy only a pair of surgical tweezers—and nothing else. We returned home with empty hands and with heavy hearts at the thought of my losing a semester of college. Suddenly, however, my mother said, “Taylor, come with me; let’s go out.”
We went downtown where there were many places that buy and sell jewelry. When we arrived at one store, my mother took out of her purse a small blue velvet bag containing a beautiful gold bracelet with an inscription that read, “To my dear daughter from your father.” It was a bracelet that my grandfather had given her on one of her birthdays. Then, before my eyes, she sold it.
When she received the money, she told me, “If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that you are going to be a dentist. Go and buy all the equipment you need.” Now, can you imagine what kind of student I became from that moment on? I wanted to be the best and finish my studies soon because I knew the high cost of the sacrifice she was making.
I learned that the sacrifices our loved ones make for us refresh us like cool water in the middle of the desert. Such sacrifice brings hope and motivation.

But let’s add a bit more BYU-Idaho light to the story. A few years later, naval personnel came to present a university forum and in part to find another intern with similarity to Brady’s high moral character, abilities, and charisma. Jeff Staker was selected. Jeff has given me permission to share some of his experience. During this time of high global security, not only did he work in Washington, D.C., but Jeff accompanied Tom Bortmes and his assistant on a trip to Europe where they participated in a gathering of international intelligence agencies. Jeff provided some of the factors in his being selected. Please note how each of these past opportunities became part of his personal “sixteen stones”; some may even be familiar to you. Jeff knew how to give a presentation (he had been doing them since he was a three-year-old Sunbeam). He had a suit (he wore it every Sunday). He had a passport (he was a returned missionary).

After fulfilling his internship, Jeff came back to BYU-Idaho to complete his senior year. One of my most cherished experiences on campus was facilitating an introduction of Jeff to Ken Howell and witnessing their tender expressions of gratitude for one another. In the 17 years since his internship, Jeff’s life has progressed with marriage, family, and vocational choices. He shares, “I don’t have adequate words to describe the path this all created in my life and career. All because Brady was, indeed, a good man. . . . I love to visit Brady’s memorial at the Pentagon. It’s a sacred place for me to reflect on the life I’ve lived and the kids I’ve started to raise. I hope in some small way it is worthy of his loss.”

When I was a young boy, about 12 years old, I loved to play baseball. The only piece of athletic equipment that we had around our house was an old baseball mitt. We didn’t have footballs in those days. We didn’t have a lot of other things. I thought the great moment in my life would be that I would be playing baseball for the New York Yankees, and this was back in the days when the Yankees were a great team. I would be playing for them in the World Series, the games tied 3 and 3. Now in the deciding game, guess who would get up to bat? As I stood at the plate, the pitcher would pitch the ball exactly where I’d want it, I’d knock it out of Yankee Stadium, and I would become the hero of the World Series. I thought that would be the great moment of my life. But I want you to know that that isn’t true.

A few years ago I sat in the Los Angeles Temple in a little sealing room with my wife, Ruby. We had our sons there with their wives—they’d been married just for a short time—and our sweet daughter was kneeling at the altar, holding the hand of the young man she was to be sealed to. And as I looked around the room, I then realized that this was the great moment of my life because I had in that room everything that was precious to me—everything. My wife was there, my eternal sweetheart and companion. Our three children were there with their eternal companions. And I thought, David, in your youth you had things all wrong. You thought some worldly event of some kind might be the great event of your life. But now I was witnessing that great event. I was there, I was feeling it, I felt a part of it, and I knew in that little white sealing room—clean, sweet, pure in that room—with all of my family there, that this was the great moment of my life.

As a mission president in France, Belgium, and the Netherlands some years ago, I had the privilege and blessing of interviewing individuals for worthiness to be baptized. I will never forget the interview I had with one sister.
During our interview I asked her how she came to know that the Church was true. She reached in her handbag and brought out a worn and well-read paperback copy of the Book of Mormon. She opened the book to 3 Nephi 27 and explained that this was the first chapter the missionaries had invited her to read. She said that as she began to read, she was profoundly moved by what she read and the Spirit she felt. She was so overcome with the spirit of the Book of Mormon that she took a red pencil and began to underline the words that impressed her the most.
Then she showed me her copy of the Book of Mormon, open to 3 Nephi 27. Almost every word in that chapter was underlined in red.
“That is why I believe,” she said. “This book speaks to me in a way that I cannot deny. I know that it is true, and I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true.”
She was baptized and became a faithful member of the Church.

I watched a young student make that connection this semester. After studying the remarkable epistles of the Apostle Paul, she commented to the class:

Paul taught that the grace of Christ will make up for everything that we lack, if we will have faith in Him. During this semester, I was called to teach Gospel Doctrine in my ward. This was the scariest calling for me because I am just not one to stand in front of a class, especially for 45 minutes. But as I prepared for my first lesson, I remembered what Paul said about the grace of Christ. So I prepared everything that I could and then intensely prayed that the grace of Christ would make up for all I lacked. What happened was amazing. It was amazing because it wasn’t me. The spirit was so strong and the lesson was powerful because the grace of Christ made up the difference between my preparation and what needed to be taught by the Spirit. His grace is a powerful gift. It is nothing that we earn.

Two hours after Jay arrived, I knew I didn’t like my cousin. Two days after he arrived, I didn’t like myself. I knew that this would be my worst Christmas ever, and I began fervently wishing for it to be over with and for Jay to be gone. More than anything, I thought about how ashamed of me my father would be if he found out that I was a weakling who couldn’t stop somebody from rubbing my nose in the dirt.
A month ago Aunt Edith had written that she and Uncle Harley and Jay were coming to spend Christmas with us. On the day they were to arrive, we waited expectantly on the porch as we watched a moving cloud of dust appear far down the road. Soon a shiny green car pulled up in front of the gate.
“A brand new Studebaker!” my father said, wonderment in his voice. Since the drought and the dust storms and the depression had started, we had seen little that was new, much less a new car.
During the handshakes and hugs, I noticed that Jay was almost as big as Uncle Harley, although my cousin had just turned twelve, not quite a year older than I was.
“Jay’s the biggest boy in his grade,” Aunt Edith announced proudly.
“Yes, sir, this boy’s going to be a football star,” Uncle Harley boomed, even prouder.
“I reckon Andy’s like his dad,” my mother said, chuckling. “John says he got his growth late, but there was plenty of it—six-four in his stocking feet.”
My father didn’t say anything, and I wondered if he was wishing that I was bigger so that he could act proud too.
Later, upstairs in my room, Jay wandered around, restlessly touching things.
“You any good at marbles?” he asked. He sounded as if he was pretty sure I wasn’t.
“OK, I guess,” I answered.
While he got his marbles from his suitcase, I drew a chalk circle on the worn linoleum floor. “You go first,” I offered, since he was company.
He won the first game. I won the next two.
He scooped up his marbles. “This sorry old floor is uneven, and you have an unfair advantage, ‘cause you’re used to it. Without an unfair advantage you wouldn’t have won, kid.”
“Nuts! You’re just a bad loser,” I returned.
Before I knew what was happening, he had pinned me facedown on the floor, and with his knee in my back, he twisted my arm up behind my shoulder blades.
“Say uncle,” he ordered.
“I won’t.”
“Say uncle, you redheaded, freckle-faced runt. Say it!” He twisted until hot pain seared my shoulder.
“Uncle,” I managed to gasp.
Shoving my nose hard against the floor, he released me. When we were standing, facing each other, he said calmly, “If you tattle, I’ll get you again.”
“I don’t tattle.” I could feel my face flame at the insult.
“Dandy little Andy,” he taunted, with a mocking grin.
Around the grown-ups flattery just oozed from Jay, and he was extra polite to me. But when we were alone, he was something between barely tolerable and awful. In his tolerable state he talked incessantly but brushed aside anything I had to say as if he were shooing away a fly. When he prodded the cow I was milking and she put her foot in the bucket, he jeered, “Dandy little Andy.” My arms were sore from his constant knuckling me with his oversize fist.
On Christmas Eve, when we were chucking rocks at a fence post, Jay threw one that missed its mark and hit the door of his father’s car. It left a big dent and chipped the paint. My father and Uncle Harley, approaching from the well house, saw the damage and both of us with rocks in our hands.
“Son, did you do that?” Uncle Harley sounded stern.
Jay looked him directly in the eye and replied so earnestly that I would have believed him myself if I hadn’t known better, “No, sir, I did not.” Then he glanced at me with a pained expression.
After that performance my “I didn’t do it” sounded like a guilty denial.
My father stood silent for a moment, then turned and strode toward the barn.
Despite my misery, Christmas day did come. Jay and I took the firecrackers Uncle Harley had brought for us to a bare spot of ground near the windmill and spent the morning blowing up tin cans. I was so relieved that this was the last day of his visit that I actually had a good time.
Late in the afternoon Jay tagged along when I went to the pasture to drive in the milk cows. I rounded up the cows and was headed back with them when I saw a firecracker arc and explode under the lead cow. She tossed her horns and ran bellowing toward the barn.
I turned and saw my cousin, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, a satisfied smirk on his face.
Then I smelled it—prairie fire! I whirled around to see flames beginning to lick through the dry winter grass.
I ripped off my plaid mackinaw and beat out the fire nearest me, but the ever-present west wind fueled new flames that raced along, devouring the grass. I knew that if I couldn’t stop the blaze, it could burn up three counties. As I ran up and down beating the growing line of fire, I became like a piece of machinery, with no thought of heat or smoke or time. I didn’t even wonder where Jay was. I had completely forgotten him.
Finally I became aware of my father’s voice. “Andy, it’s all right. The fire’s out.”
I saw my father, his eyes red-rimmed from the smoke, holding wet gunny sacks in each hand. Blackened grass surrounded us. We walked wearily to the dry creek bed and dropped down on a flat rock.
From farther down the creek Jay suddenly appeared, striding purposefully. “I was going for help, sir. After I saw Andy drop that firecracker, I—”
My father’s voice cracked like a whip, “Don’t bother with another one of your lies, Jay. Go along to the house.”
My father turned back to me and put his hands on my shoulders. He said in his quiet way, “You did a man’s job today, Andy. With everything the way it is, if all the winter grazing had burned, I don’t see how we could have held on to the ranch another year. I’m grateful to you.”
I understood then that in ways that mattered to my father, I stood tall.
The next morning as we waved good-bye to the occupants of the green car, I found myself suddenly thinking that this was my best Christmas ever.

During the dedication service angels were seen. Elder Heber C. Kimball testified that “an angel appeared and sat near . . . Joseph Smith, Sen., and Frederick G. Williams, so that they had a fair view of his person.” In the evening meeting that day, “the beloved disciple John was seen in our midst by the Prophet Joseph, Oliver Cowdery, and ­others.” The Apostle Peter also was named. Eliza R. Snow, herself something of a master of language, wrote: “No mortal language can describe the heavenly manifestations of that memorable day. Angels appeared to some, while a sense of divine presence was realized by all present, and each heart was filled with joy inexpressible and full of glory.”

In fulfillment of a promise by Joseph Smith, George A. Smith arose in the evening meeting and began to prophesy. “A noise was heard like the sound of a rushing, mighty wind, which filled the Temple, and all the congregation simultaneously arose, being moved upon by an invisible power; many began to speak in tongues and prophesy; others saw glorious visions.” Joseph recorded: “I beheld the Temple was filled with angels.”

Oliver B. Huntington later recalled: “Father Smith started up and spoke aloud, ‘What’s that—is the house on fire?’ Some one answered by asking, ‘Did not you pray, Father Smith, that the Spirit of God might fill the house as on the day of Pentecost?’”

Ring! It was the final bell of the school day on Friday afternoon. I jumped from my desk and raced to the door. My friend Kent had invited me and two other boys to camp out that night by his house. I had been looking forward to it for two weeks.
When I got home from school, I gathered my sleeping bag, pillow, flashlight, comic books, and a bag of snacks. When I got to Kent’s house, he and his father were just spreading out the tent. We took turns hammering the stakes that kept the tent secure on the ground.
Then Kent’s dad barbecued hamburgers, and we all played hide-and-seek in the woods. As soon as the sun went down, we turned on our flashlights and went exploring.
After a while, Kent’s mother called us all back from the woods and told us it was time to settle in for the night. We ran into the tent, laid out our sleeping bags, and got comfortable. Soon we were sharing snacks and listening to some of Kent’s amazing adventure stories. Kent always made us the heroes in his stories. We could always fly, and we always saved the day.
As it got late, everyone was tired and began to fall asleep. I could hear the crickets chirping in the night air and a train passing in the distance. I began to think about Kent’s stories. I realized that even though Kent had told me a lot of great stories, there was one important story he didn’t know. It was the true story of Joseph Smith and the Restoration of the gospel. The more I thought about it, the more I felt I should share this special story with my friend.
“Kent, are you still awake?”
“Yes. What’s up?”
My heart started beating a little faster and I felt anxious, but I kept talking.
“I was just wondering. Do you believe in God?”
“Yes, of course,” he said.
“Do you believe in the prophets in the Bible?”
“Yes,” Kent said as he sat up in his sleeping bag.
“Well, what if I told you that we have a living prophet on the earth today, just like in the Bible?”
“What do you mean—a prophet like Moses?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“Well, that’s something new,” he said. “Tell me about it.”
My anxious feeling began to melt away, and excitement grew in its place. I told Kent about the Prophet Joseph Smith and how the gospel was restored to the earth. I told him about the living prophet and apostles on the earth today.
When I finished, I asked Kent what he thought about it.
He was quiet for a few moments. “I think that’s an amazing story that I really need to think about. Do you really believe it?”
“Yes, I really do.” I felt warmth inside my chest, and I knew I had said what Heavenly Father wanted me to say. I said a silent prayer that Kent would find out for himself that what I had said was true.
I later learned that Kent did pray to find his answer. He also shared what he had learned with his parents. Soon Kent’s family was studying the gospel and meeting with the missionaries. It wasn’t long until Kent’s whole family was baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Although many years have passed since then, Kent and I are still great friends. We both served missions, and we attended Brigham Young University together. I’m so glad that I took the time to share the gospel with my friend.

Realeboha Lesia, a young single adult from Bloemfontein, South Africa, has recently implemented this principle in her own life. While working a full-­time job to support herself, she also started her own business or “side hustle” as she refers to it, in which she hopes to one day replace her income by following her creative interests and passions.

“Coming back home after work, I would be so tired, having worked all day in my job and then working after hours to get my business going,” she says. It meant pushing through fatigue and fighting the desire just to take one night off. It also meant sacrificing some things she enjoyed: “It often meant not going out and doing fun things,” says Rea. “I was staying at home, doing research and meeting people to find out how they started their business and how they made things work.”

For Rea, part of perseverance has meant being flexible and realising that plans and reality often don’t coincide. It’s “seeing that with time, plans change,” she says. But contrary to what we might expect, this change is often for the better. And with every effort, she finds that the process itself helps her progress. “You learn things, you make contacts, you meet mentors, and learn better ways of doing things,” Rea explains.

Rea has found that positive self-talk is extremely important too. “How you speak to yourself is vital,” she says. “You must be careful what you say to yourself, because you are always listening. Tell yourself if you’re positive, it will happen.”

In order to stay motivated and keep going, Rea has identified unofficial mentors. “I chose people who are in the creative sector, I told them this is what I want to do and asked them for their insights.” On a tough day or when things don’t go as planned, she calls a friend and shares her frustrations. Afterwards she finds renewed energy and focus. She also relies on the example of others, such as someone who also started his own business and battled through a tough period before experiencing success.

“When things were going badly, I saw him keeping on going, he didn’t give up and say let me quit and start on a 9 to 5 job or start another project,” says Rea. “I have these people that can advise me and listen to me.”

But most importantly, she’s seeking direction and support from God. “Besides talking to these mentors, I’m also talking to my Heavenly Father,” she says. “Always remembering that I’m not alone, and it would be far better to let Heavenly Father be my partner in my goals.”

It has now been a little more than two years since I returned home. I still have lingering problems, and my stamina and energy have not been the same since before I served my mission. The doctors have never figured out what is wrong with me. It has not been easy for me to be a returned missionary who did not get to serve the full length of my mission. Nevertheless, I still love every one of my sweet converts. It has taken time for me to feel validated and know that my shortened missionary service had value just as 18- or 24-month missions have value to other missionaries.

The Lord has given me many opportunities to talk to others who have faced the trauma of returning home unexpectedly. I know Heavenly Father has led me to them to share my testimony and help them realize that returning home early because of health problems is not a flaw to be kept a secret but an experience to be discussed.

The first time I returned home, I experienced how it felt to neglect my faith, but the second time I returned, I experienced what it was like to stay true. I kept to the basics: studying the scriptures, attending institute, participating in church, and fulfilling my callings. I prayed many times to know why everything happened the way it did. I stopped blaming myself, and I stopped blaming Heavenly Father. As I look at my life since returning home and my visits with my Chinese brothers and sisters who live in my home city, I maintain the firm position that there has been an eternal purpose to it all.

I believe that if I continue living my life in dedication to the Lord, I will be forever blessed. In that way, I know I was healed through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, for although my body could not be 100 percent healed physically, my heart has never been more whole or ready to serve the cause of the Master.

Susa Young Gates, one of Brigham Young’s daughters, also understood that family history was important. She had been about to die, but a priesthood blessing had miraculously cured her, and she was given this promise: “There has been a council in heaven, and it has been decided you shall live to perform temple work, and you shall do a greater work than you have ever done before.”* Once she recovered, she devoted much of her time to helping people find their ancestors. She started genealogy classes, encouraged Saints throughout Utah and Canada to do research, and compiled a book on genealogy.

In the year 2015, the institute teacher Brother Suresh Natrajan asked the class, “How many went to temple?” As I had visited the temple in 2014, I raised my hand proudly. Then immediately he asked another question, “Do you remember how many covenants you have made in the temple?”
The first time I visited the temple in 2014, I had focused only on some things. After all these years, I recognized that I have forgotten the covenants that I made in the temple. At that very moment, I took a decision to go to temple for the second time, and this time to pay attention to and remember the covenants and other things that are essential for my salvation.

I once attended a meeting with President Joseph Fielding Smith. Someone asked President Smith about a letter that was then being circulated by an apostate who claimed that the Church had lost the priesthood because certain words had not been used when it was conferred. President Smith said, “Before we talk about his claim, let me tell you a little about the man himself.” He then described the character of the man and concluded, “And so you see, that man is a liar pure and simple—well, maybe not so pure.”

I know of another little boy who came home from school one day long ago to find a rented piano in the house. “What’s this piano here for?” he asked his mother.
“It’s for you,” she replied.
“For me?” he asked. “Why for me?”
“Because,” she said, “you are going to take piano lessons.”
He said he didn’t want to take piano lessons. But she had already arranged for a teacher.
Well, this little boy began to miss a few lessons. One day his mother asked, “How was your piano lesson?”
He said, “Fine. I’m doing pretty well.”
“That’s interesting,” she said. “I just talked to your teacher, and she hasn’t seen you for a while.” He had been caught. He didn’t know what the punishment would be, but he knew it would be bad. Then his mother said, “Just for that, you may not take piano lessons.”
He tried to look punished, but inside he was very happy with her decision. Mother, he thought, you have hit on the perfect punishment. I hope you use it often. Within his heart he felt that he had just been liberated. He was free from practice, free from lessons, free from discipline, routine, and regimentation—free from all that seemed to limit his freedom.
When he grew to be a man, he was sitting one day in a church meeting during which a woman was to sing a solo. When her time to perform came, she walked up to the podium and announced, “My accompanist could not come today. I need someone to accompany me.” Looking over the congregation, she saw a man who used to teach piano. “Will you accompany me?” she asked him. The man came forward, and she handed him the music.
As he watched this happen, my friend who had avoided music lessons thought, What would I have done if she had asked me? If she had asked me, I would have been free to do only one thing: to say no. Suddenly, he realized that what he had assumed to be one of the great liberating moments of his life—when his mother said, “You may not take lessons any more”—was in fact a moment of bondage, not freedom. As he sat in that church meeting, he might as well have been handcuffed, for he could not have played the piano if he had wanted to. The other man was free; he could choose to play or not to play. Ultimately, then, freedom is more a matter of capacity and ability than of permission.

Danna looked out the window. She could see Papi coming home from work. He was later than usual.
“Is something wrong, Papi?” Danna asked when Papi came inside the house. He looked tired and sad.
“Well, I had a hard day at work,” Papi said. “And now I’m late for an important meeting at the church.”
“May I help you?” Danna asked. She was worried about Papi.
“Could you please ask Mami if she can make me some food to eat in the car?” Papi asked. “I need to hurry and change into my church clothes.”
Danna ran to tell Mami. She was already in the kitchen making a sandwich.
“Is that for Papi?” Danna asked. “He said he’s late.”
“Yes, it’s for Papi,” Mami said. She put an apple and some juice next to the sandwich.
“Papi is sad, and I don’t know what’s wrong. Do you know?” Danna asked.
Mami sighed. “Papi has lots of things to do. His back has been hurting lately too.”
“I want to do something to help him,” Danna said.
“What if you said a prayer? You can ask Heavenly Father to help him feel better,” Mami said.
Danna went to her room. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “please help Papi. And please help me know how I can help him. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After her prayer, Danna grabbed a piece of paper. She had an idea!
Dear Papi, she wrote. Thank you for everything. Thank you for doing your calling even though you come home tired sometimes. You are a good example for me. You are a child of God, and He loves you! With love, Danna.
Danna left the letter in the kitchen by Papi’s food. Then she walked outside without making a noise.
Danna was playing with her little sisters when Papi came out a few minutes later. He had a big smile on his face. “Thank you for the letter, Danna,” he said. He gave her a hug and a kiss. “You helped me feel Heavenly Father’s love.”
After Papi left for his meeting, Mami asked what had happened. Danna told her about the letter. Mami smiled and gave Danna a big hug.
“Thank you, Danna. With that little note, you ministered to Papi.”
Danna hugged Mami tight. She was grateful Heavenly Father had answered her prayer. It felt good to help Papi like Jesus would.

When he was twenty-eight, Jacob married Magdelena Roschi, a lovely, cultured girl from his own village. Life was now a joyful experience for the young man, who was the principal of the high school he had attended. He was also honored by holding all of his late father’s offices, including auditor, assessor, and treasurer of Canton Bern, the second largest county in Switzerland.
In the late 1870’s, however, Jacob’s life took a drastic change. He heard the gospel, accepted it, and immediately faced persecution. He was forced to resign his position as principal, and was relieved of his county offices. But the worst shock came when Jacob’s father-in-law took Jacob’s wife and four small children from him.
Jacob felt that he should go to Zion, and in 1879 he emigrated to Logan, Utah. He led a lonely but diversified life for the next five years. He studied English and Church history, worked in sawmills, and laid track for the railroad. His sister in Switzerland, Anna Clara, forwarded his letters so he could keep in touch with his wife and children.
Those first years in America were difficult for Jacob. His daughter, Elizabeth Stowell, tells that he had a hard time adjusting to his new life and was often discouraged. But he never regretted having accepted the gospel.
In 1884 Elder Spori was called on a mission to Turkey. He arrived in Istanbul just a few days after Christmas and immediately began to proselyte. At first he needed an interpreter, but he had a unique talent with languages and in only three months had a good command of Turkish. He taught the gospel with strength and vigor. Using various methods to get his message into the homes of Turkish families, he taught French and English without charge and blessed the lives of many by teaching them the gospel. His students learned new languages, but they learned about the restored Church at the same time. Jacob also taught German but charged for this service to obtain funds for food and clothing.
In the summer of 1886 Elder Spori was called to go to Palestine. He was the first called specifically as a missionary to that country in this dispensation. Orson Hyde dedicated the land in 1841, but did not proselyte there. Elder Spori performed Palestine’s first baptism when he baptized Johan George Grau on 29 August 1886.
Elder Spori’s labors extended as far as Joppa, Damascus, and Jerusalem. It was here in the land of Palestine that he discovered how miracles can come about through small means.
By local law all Christians had to be out of the city of Haifa before the gates were locked at dusk. But Elder Spori was working in that city with an investigator who was ill at the time. The young Mormon elder hated to leave until he was sure his friend was better. That evening, with the investigator getting better, Jacob made plans to leave the city. He knew the gates were locked and that getting caught meant going to jail. As he walked along the city’s shore, pondering what to do, he watched the fishing boats coming into port. He noticed some men preparing the nets for the next day’s work and had the feeling he should help them. He stepped up and began working; no one seemed to notice him. When the work was finally done the men rolled up the nets, got into the small boat and prepared to set sail. Without a word Elder Spori also got into the boat. Before long they were on the sea. The next day the boat landed at Cairo, and Elder Spori jumped from the boat, went into the city, and resumed preaching the gospel.
After a mission of three and a half years, Elder Spori was released, and he returned to Switzerland. There he fulfilled an assignment from President Wilford Woodruff to help organize a company of Saints for their journey to Zion. It took him nearly a year to accomplish this.
Before his mission had ended, Elder Spori had received word from an almost inconsolable wife, still in Switzerland, that their eldest daughter, Katherine, had died from injuries received in a fall from a swing. Jacob, knowing well of the gospel’s ability to heal spiritual wounds, wrote his wife of the doctrines of the Church. She was touched by these new truths and became convinced the gospel was true.
Mrs. Spori applied for baptism and was reunited with her husband when he arrived in Switzerland following his missionary labors. She later bore fervent testimony and gave thanks for the eternal truths the gospel brought into her life.
Before leaving for Zion, Elder Spori translated several Church tracts into French. He was assisted by his youngest sister, Anna Clara Spori, a talented and well-educated young woman.
Finally, Jacob Spori and his wife and three children, Jacob, Magdalena, and Louise, and his sister Anna Clara left Bern for America. It was June, 1888. Their destination was Rexburg, Idaho. Jacob had been called to be the first principal of Ricks College, and the new school was getting ready to open.
Homes in Rexburg were scarce so the Spori family moved into an empty tithing granary. Their fifth child, Elizabeth, was born there 6 July 1888.
For the four years Jacob Spori was principal, he not only taught school, but was a friend of the families of the students. He would visit the homes of the Saints, especially when there was sickness there.
“At the time of the diphtheria epidemic in 1891,” his daughter recalls, “he went fearlessly to administer to the sick and comfort the bereaved.” Two of his daughters caught this dreaded disease, but he administered to them, believing they would be spared by the power of God. And they were.
After four years as academy principal Elder Spori asked for and received an honorable release from his work. He then turned to farming and began a project that was in later years a boon to agriculture in the area—he helped in the development of the canal on the Egin Bench, known as the Spori Canal.
Jacob Spori died in 1903—he was back teaching again, still doing the things he felt had to be done. His doctor had warned him that he suffered from diabetes and that he should stop working and rest more. Jacob’s reply was that he would rather “die working than die resting.”
Versatility and unwavering faith are two traits that characterize Jacob Spori’s life. He was a great educator, a student of languages, a missionary. He liked geology and mining, receiving his final degree in metallurgy when he was fifty years old. He became interested in medicine in Istanbul. Music was his great escape. He learned to play several different instruments. Science and agriculture were also parts of his life.
His life is well summarized in the words of his daughter: “He had such a burning testimony that he bore it whenever the opportunity presented itself. He used to tell us that nothing men can do will ever change the truthfulness of the gospel. All the seeming sacrifices he made seemed nothing to him compared with the peace and joy that came into his life when he joined the Church.”

This story happened in Denmark.
Amalie followed her parents through the church doors. The sound of the piano playing hymns filled the chapel. Amalie and her family found a bench and sat down.
Sacrament meeting started, and soon the whole branch was singing the opening hymn. While she sang, Amalie noticed their next-door neighbor, Sister Aisha, sitting nearby. But Sister Aisha wasn’t singing. She was frowning.
Sister Aisha was always so nice to Amalie. But she looked sad a lot. Amalie knew that she lived alone. Maybe she was lonely.
Amalie wished she could do something to help. But what?
The next week, Amalie went on a bike ride down a long road. She rode past big green fields. The sun warmed her skin.
Soon she came to a field of sunflowers. The bright yellow flowers waved slightly in the wind and stretched to the sun. They were so tall and so big!
A sign next to the field said, Free sunflowers! Take as many as you want.
Amalie stared at the field. The flowers looked like an ocean of yellow smiling at the sky.
She parked her bike and picked a bunch of flowers. She could give them to Mom! Mom loved flowers. But there were enough flowers that she could pick more for someone else too.
A name came to her mind: Sister Aisha. Maybe these flowers could help brighten her day.
“I hope she likes sunflowers,” Amalie said quietly to herself. But she was a little nervous. What if Sister Aisha thought it was weird?
Amalie stopped picking the flowers. She rubbed the soft petals between her fingers. Maybe she shouldn’t give flowers to Sister Aisha.
No, Amalie thought. She knew she should give them to Sister Aisha. They might not make everything better. But Amalie still wanted to help, even in a small way. She could give the flowers to Sister Aisha at church tomorrow.
Amalie spent a long time picking the best flowers. She put them together and placed them carefully in her bike basket. Then she hopped on her bike and rode home. The bright yellow of the flowers looked pretty with the deep green of the forest in the background.
When Amalie got home, she tied each bouquet with a ribbon. She gave one to Mom.
Mom smiled big when she saw it. “Thank you! They’re beautiful.” She put the flowers in a vase on the table.
The next day, Amalie took the other bouquet of sunflowers to church. She found Sister Aisha sitting alone on a bench.
“Hi,” Amalie said. “I picked some sunflowers for you.”
Amalie held the flowers out. When Sister Aisha saw them, she smiled. Amalie hadn’t seen her smile in a long time. Her eyes were filled with light.
“Thank you,” Sister Aisha said. She gave Amalie a hug. “These are my favorite flowers.”
Amalie smiled too. She hadn’t known they were Sister Aisha’s favorite flowers! But the Holy Ghost had prompted her to make a bouquet for Sister Aisha, and Amalie was grateful she had listened.

Several years ago I picked up the desk pen in my office at BYU to sign a paper that had been prepared for my signature, something I did at least a dozen times each day. That document committed the university to a particular course of action we had decided to follow. All the staff work had been done, and all appeared to be in order. But as I went to sign the document, I was filled with such negative thoughts and forebodings that I put it to one side and asked for the entire matter to be reviewed again. It was, and within a few days additional facts came to light which showed that the proposed course of action would have caused the university serious problems in the future.