Gospel Story Finder

Enter the apartment of Venkat and Lynda Dunna of the Hyderabad Fourth Branch, and there are plenty of clues that these newlyweds are crazy about each other. A handmade birthday banner from him to her is taped to the wall. An album with their wedding photos sits on the table near the sofa. As they talk, he puts his arm around her, and she smiles so often it’s contagious.
They describe how they met through Church-sponsored activities and how happy Lynda’s mother was when they got engaged because she knew Venkat from church. But there was a problem. Venkat had an older brother who was single, and in India some still hold to the tradition that older siblings should be married before younger siblings. His parents, who are friendly to the Church but are not members, were also building a house and didn’t want a wedding until the house was finished. “My parents didn’t want to say no, but they did want us to wait many months, maybe a year,” recalls Venkat.
“What helped us was the Spirit,” he continues. “I felt prompted to tell everyone that Lynda and I were both working, so we would help take care of everything but that it was important to get married as soon as possible and that it was important to start by going to the temple. We just kept thinking, ‘The Lord’s going to help us,’ and He did.”
A new Latter-day Saint chapel was opened just in time for them to have their wedding and reception there, and then they left immediately to be sealed in the Hong Kong China Temple. “Seven of us traveled to the temple together,” Lynda says. “On the same day Venkat and I were sealed, my mother, my sister, and I were able to be sealed to my deceased father. It was a wonderful day in every way.”
Venkat, who is now serving as branch president, says one of his greatest desires is to see a temple in India some day. “That will be a great blessing,” he says. “It will help us to build Zion where we are.”

The afternoon my mother died, we went from the hospital to the family home. We sat quietly in the darkened living room for a while. Dad excused himself and went to his bedroom. He was gone for a few minutes. When he walked back into the living room, there was a smile on his face. He said that he’d been concerned for Mother. During the time he had gathered her things from her hospital room and thanked the staff for being so kind to her, he thought of her going into the spirit world just minutes after her death. He was afraid she would be lonely if there was no one to meet her. He had gone to his bedroom to ask his Heavenly Father to have someone greet Mildred, his wife and my mother. He said that he had been told in answer to his prayer that his mother had met his sweetheart. I smiled at that too. Grandma Eyring was not very tall. I had a clear picture of her rushing through the crowd, her short legs moving rapidly on her mission to meet my mother.
Dad surely didn’t intend at that moment to teach me about prayer, but he did. I can’t remember a sermon from my mother or my father about prayer. They prayed when times were hard and when they were good. And they reported in matter-of-fact ways how kind God was, how powerful, and how close. The prayers I heard most were about what it would take for us to be together forever. And the answers which will remain written on my heart seem to be the assurances that we were on the path.
When I saw in my mind my grandmother rushing to my mother, I felt joy for them and a longing to bring my sweetheart and our children to such a reunion. That longing is why we must teach our children to pray.

The last week with Stevo in our house passed quickly. The Saturday morning it was time for him to leave you’d have thought someone died. Tim said he was losing his best friend, and Mom dabbed her eyes and said it felt just like when Rodney went away to college, even though he was going only a few miles to his next host family.

As I drove Stevo to his new home, I realized there was something I wanted to say to him. I had been a jerk. Selfish. My own little room, my kingdom, where I could shut the world out and indulge in self-pity, had been so important. So important I almost shut out something that on some level seemed more important than I knew how to explain. I glanced over at Stevo. His large nose pointed straight ahead, serene, knowing exactly where he was going as he continued his journey through life.

I made my decision. I pulled over to the curb and parked under the bough of a large chestnut tree.

“Something is wrong, Matt?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I have a confession to make.” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t like you at all when you came to live with us. And the first time I saw you I didn’t know what I was going to do with you for the next month. You seemed like trouble and a bother. I didn’t even try to hide it. I’m sorry. I was wrong, and I’m going to miss you and our talks.”

“I will miss our talks too, Matt.”

“Stevo, you have something. People always seem to want to be around you. Why? What is your secret?”

“I don’t know any secret, Matt. All I know is from the time I was tiny my mother told me often that if I treated other people as important as I wanted to be treated, then things would always work out. When we found the Church and discovered Christ, it was easy to see that all children of God deserve to be loved.”

“Even people who are trying to kill you?” I asked.

“Them especially. Easy to love those who treat us nice, my father says. Best part is to love those who hate us. That doesn’t mean we try to put ourselves in a place where they can hurt us. We try to understand so we don’t hate them back.”

Then I said, “I wish I had something to remember you by, Stevo. When I am with you, you make me want to be better. I want to change.”

“Matt, can I give you a gift?”

“I guess so.”

Stevo reached into his flight bag and pulled out the Book of Mormon he read nearly every night. He opened it and wrote in it.

I took the book and read what it said. To my best American friend, Matt: To want to change is the first step to be better. This book makes me want change to every day. Perhaps it can do the same for you. Your friend, Stevo.

I set the book down on the seat, put the car in gear, and headed down the street. We drove in silence. When we arrived at our destination, Stevo’s new host family was out front waiting. I helped him with his bags and then did something I had never done before in my life. I gave a guy a hug. Stevo was out of my room, but I knew he would never be out of my life.

I keep Stevo’s book by my bed and read from it often. Mom and Dad wonder why I treat everyone around here better. I even invited Tim to move in with me.

What shocked everyone most, though, was one Sunday several weeks ago I told them I wanted to go to church with Stevo before he returned to his home. That was, however, only part of the truth. The place Stevo goes every Sunday has a spirit of change, and that’s what I want to do. When I grow up, I want to be like Stevo.

When I was 13 or 14 years old, I dreamed I was with a group of people, ready to travel in an airplane to a beautiful and peaceful place where Jesus Christ was. We had to travel by air to get to this place, and I was responsible for these people and for our safe arrival.
I was somewhat surprised by this dream, so the next day I told my mother about it. She thought it was a nice dream, perhaps a little strange, but neither she nor I knew what to make of it. Although we never mentioned the dream again, the impressions it left upon my heart remained with me for many years.
I was born in Bogotá, Colombia. My parents taught me to believe in God, and for that I am very grateful. But like every human being, I made mistakes, and these mistakes slowly weakened my relationships with my family. Due to tension in my home and with the motivation of seeking a better life, I decided to take a vacation in Fusagasuga, a town close to Bogotá. While I was there, my problems continued.
One day I went out for a walk, wondering if I should seek help. Finally I asked God to help me; I felt that was the right thing to do.
After a few days I met a young woman who told me about the church she was attending. What she said made me curious and hopeful. I asked if I could attend one of her church’s meetings.
On arriving I was welcomed by kind people. They introduced me to the missionaries, who gave me the first discussion and a Book of Mormon.
At the end of my vacation I went back to Bogotá, where I was in an accident and injured my leg. Because I could not walk well, I started to read the book the missionaries had given me. It was then that I found answers to many questions I had about the purpose of life and the correct way to worship God. The teachings of Nephi and Mosiah and others gave me the desire to talk with the missionaries about this Church.
Because of my accident it was difficult to move about, but the desire to learn more was so great I went to Fusagasuga in search of the missionaries. When I found them, they gave me the address of some missionaries close to my home, and I returned.
The day the cast was taken off my leg, even though I still could not walk well, I looked for the nearest Latter-day Saint Church building. I found the missionaries there—as if they were waiting for me. Elders Castro, Mamani, and Duran answered my many questions and invited me to join the kingdom of God.
Every time we talked, I felt that this was the right road and that God had answered my pleas for help. Like many, I sought the truth on my knees; the nicest part of the gospel message was that I could know the truth for myself. Two months later, on 4 June 1994, I was baptized.
A year after my conversion, I was called to go on a full-time mission. I was happy to be able to share with others what I had learned about Jesus Christ and His great love for us, about modern prophets, and about the Book of Mormon. One week before leaving, I had the privilege of baptizing my mother; she, too, had found the true Church of Jesus Christ.
On 14 July 1995 I entered the Missionary Training Center in Bogotá, Colombia. At the end of the training, the MTC president called me as the leader of a group of missionaries going to the Lima Peru Temple. As I traveled with the group of 21 missionaries from Colombia, Ecuador, and Venezuela, I looked out the window of the airplane. Suddenly the memory of that dream I had never understood came to my mind. I was traveling on an airplane, I was the leader of these people, we were going to the temple—the house of the Lord, the holiest place on the earth—and I was responsible for our safe arrival.
From the time I was young, it seems, my Heavenly Father had prepared the way for me to join the Church. He had prepared me to be able to bear testimony of His truths, which I did full time as an ambassador of His message in the Colombia Barranquilla Mission.

As a young man, I was greatly impressed and inspired by a story President Heber J. Grant used to tell about a Scandinavian family who came to Utah. They hadn’t been taught much about the gospel. All they knew was that it was true. So the bishop went to this man and taught him the law of tithing, and the man paid his tithing. Then the bishop taught him the law of fast offering, and he paid his fast offering. Then sometime later the bishop asked for a donation to help build the meetinghouse. The man thought that that ought to come out of the tithing, but before the bishop was through, he made his contribution for the building of the meetinghouse. Then sometime later the bishop went to him to call his son to go on a mission. The man said, “That is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. We can’t spare him. He is the only child at home.” Then the bishop said, “Brother, whom do you love in this world more than anyone else outside of your immediate family?” After thoughtful consideration the man said, “I guess I love that young Mormon missionary who hame up to the land of the midnight sun and taught me the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ.” Then the bishop replied, “Brother, how would you like someone to love your boy as you love that young Mormon elder?” His reply was: “Bishop, you’re right. Take him. I will pay for his mission.”

Now, with a wonderful and talented family of 11 children, Sister Groberg reflected on times Brother Groberg served as a Regional Representative of the Quorum of the Twelve to the Pacific Islands and was frequently gone great distances three weeks at a time. On one occasion a call from the prophet to Elder Groberg conveyed this message: “Tell your wife you won’t be gone over six months on this special assignment (it turned out to be only two months), but we’re not sure how long it will be.” Of these times she spoke tenderly: “When your husband is giving his all, it doesn’t separate you even while he is away. It really doesn’t separate you. You are a part of it with him,” she explained. “It was his letters,” she said. And she had already developed a deep appreciation for his sensitive writing. “He would write such inspiring letters. His letters to us as a family had a profound influence on everything we did. They always have been such a strengthening influence,” she emphasized. “He would share what he could of his experiences and then he would come home and the girls would look forward to their daddy coming back and telling them really special and inspiring things that had happened on his trip.”

My late father, Claude Roy, passed away in 2015, not long after being baptized. By then, my mother, siblings, and I had been members of the Church for some time, but for decades my father remained adamantly unwilling to join.
Over time, he said, “my heart hardened, and I became irritated by visits from my children and grandchildren and wanted to isolate myself from my family. Tensions grew in my house, and my relationship with my wife became strained.”
Around this time, he began to retrace his Canadian aboriginal ancestors, who were descendants of the Mi’kmaq and Huron-Wendat nations. After reaching out to the Mi’kmaq community near where he grew up, he was invited to a powwow, a Native American ceremony.
During the evening of the powwow, the high chief opened his arms and asked the children to come to him so he could bless them. The discourse that followed on the importance of family and descendants struck my father like thunder.
In that moment, he said, “I saw my family holding out their arms to me while I turned my back on them. I was filled with an overwhelming, indescribable sadness as though my heart was breaking in pieces. I knew in that moment that the Lord had used the words of my ancestors’ tribe to soften my heart. I knew I had to turn to my Heavenly Father and repair the damage I had caused my family.”
Dad began to make peace with our family, asking forgiveness from each family member. With the example of his wife and children, he began to pray and read the Book of Mormon. Having read many histories about the American continent, he felt drawn to the Book of Mormon. Its veracity was confirmed to him immediately.
“Surrounded by my family, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said. “That was the most beautiful day of my life! I testify of the power of a loving example. For 36 years, my wife kept her faith and was a Christlike example to me, though my heart had hardened. Then, one weekend changed everything for me.”

This story took place in the USA.
Chakell laughed at her sister’s silly pictures. It was Christmas Eve, and she and her family were playing a drawing game around the fireplace.
Christmas Eve was Chakell’s favorite day of the whole year. She felt cozy and happy after all the treats and giggling. She didn’t want it to end!
“All right,” Mom said. “It’s time for the white stocking!”
Chakell grinned. Christmas Eve was her favorite day, and this was one of her favorite traditions.
Where she lived, people hung big, fancy stockings by the fireplace at Christmas. On Christmas morning, they would be filled with treats! But this stocking was extra special. Chakell and her family would fill it with gifts for Jesus.
Mom pulled out a beautiful white stocking with gold trim. Then she handed each person a little slip of paper and a pencil. “Write down one thing you want to promise Jesus next year,” she said.
“Then we will put them in the stocking, and we’ll read them next year on Christmas Eve,” Dad added. “But first, let’s read our promises from last year.”
He reached into the stocking and pulled out the small slips of paper from last year. He handed them out, and Chakell quietly read hers: “I will help more at home.” She thought she did a pretty good job at that this year. But what would she write this time?
“I know what I’m going to write!” her sister said happily.
Chakell thought about what she could give to Jesus. What could she do better next year to be more like Him? What would He want her to do?
That’s when she saw her older brother, Braeden, writing something down on his slip of paper.
Chakell frowned. She couldn’t see what he wrote, but she was sure it wasn’t anything he would really do.
Braeden teased Chakell a lot, and they hadn’t been very nice to each other this year. She loved her big brother, but she didn’t think he would ever try to be more like Jesus.
Why does he have to be so mean to me? she thought.
She watched as he folded his paper and put it in the white stocking.
Braeden saw her staring and smiled. “Don’t peek,” he said.
Chakell looked back down at her paper and wrote, “I will try to be nice to everyone this year.” Then she put her paper in the stocking too.
Soon it was time for bed. But Chakell couldn’t stop thinking about what Braeden had written. Nobody was supposed to read anyone else’s promise to Jesus, but she really wanted to know!
While the others got ready for bed, Chakell snuck over to the white stocking. She found Braeden’s slip of paper and opened it.
“I promise to be kinder to Chakell this year,” it said.
She couldn’t believe it. Was this really what Braeden wrote? She felt tears in her eyes and carefully tucked the paper back inside the stocking.
Mom always said that having faith in Jesus Christ could help anyone change and become more like Him. Maybe she was right. Maybe Jesus really could help Braeden and her be nicer to each other.
The next morning as Chakell sat down for breakfast, she still felt warm inside. As soon as Braeden came down the stairs she wrapped her arms around him in a big hug.
Braeden’s eyes widened. “Whoa, what’s this for?”
“I just wanted to give you a hug,” she said. “Merry Christmas!”
Braeden grinned and hugged her back. “Merry Christmas.”
Illustrations by Kevin Fales

While editing the text, Jacinta learned of the heartbreak the prophet had experienced. His wife Julina had been desperately ill and although President Smith wanted to stay at her bedside and attend to her, she insisted he leave and go and do the Lord’s work. A short time after, while delivering a talk in a church meeting, someone came into the room and handed President Smith a note—it informed him that his wife had passed away.

The Persian marketplace looked like a giant circus of brightly colored tents. It sounded like one too.
Jonas Hanway had come to Persia to buy wool to take back to England in his ships. But before he could begin trading with the wool merchants, a royal parade stopped everything.
“Make way for the Prince of Persia!” a courtier announced.
As the prince passed, the people bowed low as was their custom, but Jonas did not. He wanted to see everything that was happening. Four strong men were carrying the prince in a velvet-draped sedan chair. They held him on their shoulders high above the heads of the people. Over the prince’s head another servant held a strange shade to keep the sun away.
“What a wonderful idea!” exclaimed Jonas. He soon learned that the prince’s shade was called an umbrella.
How helpful it would be if everyone in Persia had an umbrella of his own, Jonas thought.
Soon Jonas had a number of umbrellas made to shield the sun’s rays from the heads of common persons. But when the prince heard about it, he ordered Jonas to come to the palace.
“You must stop making umbrellas,” commanded the prince. “I forbid it. Only princes and kings may carry an umbrella in Persia. It is a sign of royalty.”
The prince shook his finger angrily at Jonas and shouted even louder, “This is the way it has always been in Persia and this is the way it will stay. Take your umbrellas and go home!”
Jonas returned to his home in England, stored the umbrellas in his attic, and became so busy that he forgot about the prince.
Then one day as Jonas was leaving his home it began to rain. In minutes all the covered chairs and horse-drawn coaches were taken. Jonas was left wet and cold on his doorstep.
In those days riding in a covered chair called a sedan was an easy way to travel. Two or four men carried the chair between them on two long poles. When it rained everyone jumped in a sedan chair to keep dry.
All the people riding in chairs reminded Jonas of the Prince of Persia.
If an umbrella can keep the sun off the prince of Persia, maybe it will keep the rain off me! he thought.
Jonas ran to his attic and found an umbrella. Holding it over his head, he walked down the street.
“Look at that crazy man!” cried the children as he passed. Few Englishmen had ever seen an umbrella before.
Jonas carried his umbrella every time it rained. He gave umbrellas to his friends to carry too.
The chair men became angry. They tried to run over Jonas and some threw rocks at him.
But the people liked Jonas Hanway’s strange new idea. It was not long before many people in England were carrying umbrellas. And as the new idea spread to other parts of the world, the umbrella became known everywhere as man’s best friend—when it rains!

As the years go by, I continue to reflect on the Sabbath days of my youth and young adulthood. I still remember the first day I passed the sacrament as a deacon and the little glass cups I passed to the members of our ward. A few years ago a Church building in my hometown was remodeled. A compartment in the pulpit had been sealed. When it was opened, there were some of these little glass cups that had remained hidden for years. One of them was presented to me as a memento.

Late Tuesday afternoon, April 17, 1906. President Joseph E. Robinson of the California Mission arose to conclude the two-day conference of the San Francisco District. Pleased by the special spirit of the sessions, he praised the members and missionaries present, then warned them of the predicted latter-day calamities by quoting from Luke, wherein Jesus tells of wars, pestilences, heavenly signs, and earthquakes in divers places. Afterwards, to round out the conference, the missionaries gathered for an MIA social at the mission home on Franklin Street. Joining the festivities were five elders who had arrived that afternoon on their way to missions in the South Pacific. When the party ended about midnight, local missionaries were reminded of the district picnic scheduled the next day for the Golden Gate Park.
That night, while most of the 122 Saints and elders of the San Francisco Branch slept, two former Utahns were at work in the San Francisco Chronicle office. Race Whitney and Wally Young, both reporters, worked through the night until daylight on an article about the visiting Metropolitan Opera Company. Exhausted, they were walking home at 5:13 A.M. when the world seemed to fall apart. The entire city suddenly began to jerk and sway. Timbers splintered and groaned, and walls collapsed with a roar.
“We were standing in front of the Auditorium Hotel when the crash came,” Race Whitney wrote to his father, Orson F. “Instinctively we started for the middle of the street, and where we [had] stood less than one second before there was a pile of bricks seven feet high.” With legs wide-spread to keep their balance, they outran the remaining four stories which likewise crashed to the street behind them. Wally stopped in the middle of the street beneath a dangerous mass of electric wires; Race yelled a warning, and Wally jumped aside just as “the wires came down, sputtering and tearing up everything they touched. That we were not both electrocuted was the second miracle of the morning.” Half in shock, they congratulated themselves on being the only reporters on the street to witness the spectacular earthquake, little dreaming that a few hours later every newspaper office in town would be smouldering in ruins, unable to print their stories of the catastrophe.
Three massive tremors also rocked the LDS mission home on Franklin Street, “as with a giant’s mighty hand,” until it seemed to the occupants that the three-story structure would collapse. According to President Robinson: “The chimneys crashed into the roof and ceiling of the room above us. In the parlor the mantle and fire-place with the candelabra … fell outward and covered the floor. Dust arose from the broken walls, swinging pictures, etc. The chains of the little cuckoo-clock … were broken into a hundred bits by the swinging weights and flew about the room.”
While comforting his terrified children, President Robinson glanced out a window and in the early morning grayness could see broken buildings, frightened dogs trying to get into houses, and shattered glass covering the sidewalks. Moments later an observant daughter cried out, “Papa, there are fires breaking out downtown and big clouds of smoke everywhere.” The mission leader felt stabs of fear as he viewed the spreading holocaust and pondered the fates of branch members scattered throughout the huge city.
And what about the Pacific-bound elders? President Robinson did not know until later that their hotel, a five-story brick structure, received massive damage. The five elders were jarred awake by the violent tremor. Noise and confusion outside convinced them that they should dress and investigate. Forcing their door open, they found the outside hall and stairwells filled with fallen plaster, rubbish, and dust. Reaching the main entrance, they were shocked to see that the front and back walls of their hotel had collapsed to the sidewalks. Panicking, they followed along with a mob of terrified people rushing through the streets. Then, somewhat regaining their reason, they decided to rescue their luggage, which contained all their mission clothes and supplies. Through debris and smoke they hiked to the railroad depot, where the baggage agent told them their things had been transferred to the warehouse building across the street, pointing to a structure which was a solid blaze of fire.
Dejected, the five headed back to their hotel when a second strong quake caught them in an alleyway. Dodging bricks and beams, they managed to reach the hotel without a scratch. Once there, said Elder Leo Gardner, “to our great astonishment we discovered that the two rooms which we five missionaries had slept in were the only two rooms in the entire building which were intact. There was not even so much as the plaster knocked off the ceiling of either room.”
Such reports were common among the terrified populace, and other Mormons felt similarly fortunate. One young Latter-day Saint nurse, a Sister Wolfinger, was on duty at French Hospital when the first earthquake came. According to President Robinson, nearly every hospital room was wrecked and all were damaged except the one where she was nursing. Keeping calm, she helped move patients out and into tents in a vacant lot for safety.

On one occasion I was on a trip through the great forest of Oregon and saw a great giant lying low for no apparent cause, while all its companion trees were standing. On close examination I observed that for a long period of time a process had been going forward under the bark, out of sight. An insect was making a hole no larger than a pin, but cross sectioning through the great giant. A weak link had thus been created, and under some small pressure the giant went down and its weakness was exposed. I have been led to say how that is like human life. There are many men and women who seem fair above board, who seem from all outward appearances strong, but who are tolerating secret weaknesses and practices, thereby creating weak links that may be their undoing, leaving an open door for the enemy to assault them.

An old Jewish legend tells of two brothers, Abram and Zimri, who owned a field and worked it together. They agreed to divide both the labor and the harvest equally. One night as the harvest came to a close, Zimri could not sleep, for it didn’t seem right that Abram, who had a wife and seven sons to feed, should receive only half of the harvest, while he, with only himself to support, had so much.
So Zimri dressed and quietly went into the field, where he took a third of his harvest and put it in his brother’s pile. He then returned to his bed, satisfied that he had done the right thing.
Meanwhile, Abram could not sleep either. He thought of his poor brother, Zimri, who was all alone and had no sons to help him with the work. It did not seem right that Zimri, who worked so hard by himself, should get only half of the harvest. Surely this was not pleasing to God. And so Abram quietly went to the fields, where he took a third of his harvest and placed it in the pile of his beloved brother.
The next morning, the brothers went to the field and were both astonished that the piles still looked to be the same size. That night both brothers slipped out of their houses to repeat their efforts of the previous night. But this time they discovered each other, and when they did, they wept and embraced. Neither could speak, for their hearts were overcome with love and gratitude.8

The choir’s effectiveness as missionaries for the Church can be attested to by their August 1985 trip to Japan. Choir members made a commitment to do more personalized missionary work, and distributed more than a thousand Japanese copies of the Book of Mormon. In addition, they distributed more than 3,000 brochures about the choir, and approximately 3,200 Articles of Faith cards.
Within two months of the choir’s visit, Elder William H. Bradford, Area Administrator in Japan, “told us that several baptisms had been traced directly to the copies of the Book of Mormon that had been distributed by choir members,” related Brother Ottley. “We may never know the total number of people we influence through our music or through the personal contacts we make.
“While in Japan, I met and talked with one lady who had been studying the gospel for months but committed to baptism that very night at the concert. That’s the most gratifying part of our work. While we like to do things that are musically viable and important, if we can touch someone’s heart and spirit through our music and cause them to feel about the gospel of Jesus Christ the way we do, then we are doing what we are supposed to be doing.”
As an example, on the 1985 trip, Marilyn Smith was introduced to a Japanese woman who attributed her membership in the Church and the mission she just completed to the spirit she felt when Marilyn sang a solo during the choir’s previous trip to Japan.
Members of the choir rejoice that they are singing in “the Lord’s choir.” Duffie Hurtado, who has been singing in the choir for the past ten years, remembers, “After the choir sang at the dedication of the Washington D.C. Temple visitors’ center, we had the opportunity to be greeted by President Spencer W. Kimball, who shook our hands and thanked us for singing. At that point in my life, I was making some really serious decisions, and because of personal problems I was having, I felt it might be best if I left the choir. When I reached President Kimball, he took my hand and said, ‘This is the Lord’s choir, and this is where he wants you to be.’ I hadn’t told him I had a problem, or asked for his counsel. He just knew. With the other choir members around me in the line he just shook hands and said hello or thank you or God bless you. But when I stopped that’s what he said, and I will never forget it. I know that that man was a prophet of God, and I am so touched that the Lord would answer my prayers in such a special way.”
Duffie and Victor Hurtado’s friendship developed through their acquaintance in the choir, and they eventually married. Singing together in the choir is a “beautiful experience” although it does create some hardships on the family with both parents being away. However, the Hurtados have largely solved that problem as Victor’s mother, who, like Victor, joined the Church in Peru, lives with them. She cares for the two children when Victor and Duffie are rehearsing or performing with the choir.
Edna Alba, a woman of Mexican descent who has sung in the choir for the past twelve years, feels that the choir is “like a big family.” She loves her association with other choir members. In Brother Ottley, she sees “a perfect balance of spirituality, musicianship, and good humor.”
In speaking for choir members, Brother Ottley says, “Of all the things that the choir does that seem glamorous and exciting and wonderful, there is nothing that we enjoy more than singing at general conference sessions in April and October. We feel that we are a part of preparing and setting the right atmosphere and keeping things moving in terms of the spiritual outpouring of conference.”
Jerold Ottley, Jerry to his friends and associates, is a remarkable leader. Gifted musically, he is also gifted in relating to people. He understands the dynamics of a large group and states that “one of the ways that I stay personally involved is to constantly keep the names of the choir members on the tip of my tongue so that I can call them by their first names. I work hard at it because I feel it’s important. It’s very easy in a group this large for the sense of responsibility to be dissolved when you’re just one of over 300 people. But I find that if I can ask a question pointedly to a specific individual or call them by name in the hallway, they feel a little more personally responsible not only to me but also to the entire organization.”
His interest in the individual members of the choir is returned 300-fold, for as Marilyn Smith comments, “Brother Ottley is very much beloved by his choir. He is everybody’s favorite person. Every inch a musician, he is extremely knowledgeable about the music we sing. His conducting techniques are flawless. And with his quick wit he has the ability to release the tension that can build up.”
He does know the value of humor and has the ability to laugh not only at situations but also at himself. Brother Ottley says, “We have a lot of good times when we sing together. The hard work is broken up by these humorous times. And I’ve found that a very good technique in working with the dynamics of a group this large is to allow myself to become the target of a joke or a situation, so I laugh at myself with them a lot.” In fact, “the choir loves to lie in wait for me to get my foot in my mouth, which I do quite often. And they don’t let me get away with it.”
One of the experiences that Brother Ottley still laughs about occurred several years ago when the Tabernacle Choir was performing with the Utah Symphony Orchestra at the University of Utah commencement exercises. As he was conducting the two groups, he recalls, “Somehow my baton got away from me and flew clear over the orchestra and dropped down in front of the choir. We just continued with the performance, and I noticed my baton coming along the floor as orchestra members kicked it forward toward me. The principal violist picked it up to hand it to me but realized that at that moment he had to play so he dropped it. Then the concert master picked it up and handed it to me just at the time I was to cue the choir for a big entrance. It got us giggling to the point where we almost didn’t make the entrance.
“But that wasn’t the end of the story; that was only the beginning. The next day my brother, who had been at the commencement exercises, gave me a tube of glue and instructions on how to stick the baton to my fingers. Then a day or two later a choir member presented me with a glove with the index finger cut out of it so that I could slip the baton in through the hole. Several weeks later a lady member of the choir stopped us in the middle of a rehearsal (and you have to remember that our rehearsals generally have a lot of observers), walked down to me and said, ‘Brother Ottley, something must be done before we can proceed.’ On behalf of the choir, she presented me a package which I was forced to unwrap in front of everybody. In it was an archer’s quiver containing a whole bunch of batons so that if I lost one I could grab another one quickly.”
Brother Ottley carries on a tradition of talented, dedicated leadership. A predecessor, Richard P. Condie, served as an assistant choir director for twenty years, and then eighteen years as director. Brother Condie succeeded J. Spencer Cornwall, who served as choir director for 22 years.
An integral part of the choir are the organists. Currently, they are Robert Cundick, John Longhurst, and Clay Christiansen. German-born organist Alexander Schreiner was well-known as a Tabernacle Choir organist for 53 years until his retirement in 1977.
Whether it’s participating in the annual First Presidency Christmas Fireside in the Salt Lake Tabernacle, singing at the inauguration of the President of the United States, taking part in non-religious music festivals, or airing its weekly broadcast, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir brings more to its music than finely trained voices and much-rehearsed choral numbers. What touches the hearts of millions of people is the spirit of 300 testimonies of the gospel musically united in what is indeed “the Lord’s choir.”
Just how does the choir contingent of 500 people move from Salt Lake City to Europe, Central America, or Japan?
It isn’t easy, but it is carefully planned by choir president, Wendell M. Smoot, and business manager, Udell E. Poulsen. Usually planning begins two years ahead of a scheduled trip. However, for the August 1985 trip to Japan, advance notice was shorter, and the choir had only a year and a half to make the arrangements. And because August is a busy month for the airline industry, the choir could not get a charter flight from Salt Lake City to Osaka. Instead, they traveled on four different commercial flights to cities on the U.S. West Coast and then took three different flights to Osaka via Tokyo. Once the 300 members of the choir, the spouses who accompanied them—at their own expense—and the management and technical staff finally arrived in Osaka, 297 hotel rooms were required to house them. According to Brother Poulsen, shipping the 1,000 pieces of choir luggage is always “the most difficult aspect” of a trip. But through detailed planning and previous practice, he has streamlined a system in which the right pieces of luggage end up in the right choir member’s room.
The choir members’ enjoyment in taking special trips and the added opportunity of spreading the gospel through music makes all the planning and effort more than worthwhile, he says.

When Troy and Sheralee Johnson were young, they had a problem—with each other. They fought all the time.
“They just couldn’t seem to leave each other alone,” says their mom, LeAnn. “A lot of times they couldn’t even be in the same house together.”
At about the time Troy and Sheralee were having the most trouble getting along, the Johnsons decided it was time to commit the family to daily scripture study.
“During a general conference session when I was still pretty young, President Ezra Taft Benson counseled all of the Saints to read and study the Book of Mormon both as a family and personally. He promised blessings to all the families that followed his counsel. My parents decided that if anyone needed blessings, it was us,” says Sheralee.
A family meeting was held and all eight Johnsons agreed to get up early every morning to study together. That was more than nine years ago, and the family has hardly missed a day since.
The family’s dedication also brought about an unexpected, although welcome, result.
“When we started reading scriptures together, the overall feeling in our house changed, and Troy and I just didn’t fight anymore. We focused on other things, like school and church. Then, since we weren’t fighting, we could really get to know each other,” says Sheralee.
“I don’t remember anything specific happening to make us stop fighting,” says Troy. “Things just changed for the better and we started to get along. I guess we just had a better feeling in general and that made things better between us.”
Now Troy, a returned missionary, and Sheralee, a student at BYU, are friends. In fact, Sheralee says she really missed having Troy around while he was on his mission in Rome, Italy.
“Until he was gone, I didn’t really realize what an integral part of my life Troy had become. I couldn’t wait to see him again,” she says. The rest of the Johnson siblings, Curtis, Benjamin, Michael, and Angie, are now carrying on the tradition, getting up at the crack of dawn to study the gospel every day.
“Growing up, I learned how the Book of Mormon affects our lives,” says Troy. “The same feeling continued on my mission, and that helped with the work.”
“Our parents really taught us the importance of the Book of Mormon. We knew that if they made that much of an effort to get us up, it must be important,” adds Sheralee.
Is getting up at 5:30 A.M. to study scriptures with your family a challenge? Troy, who isn’t a morning person, answers a hearty “yes.” Is it worth it? Troy and Sheralee both say they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kylie stepped onto the big yellow school bus, trying not to look right at Marsha, the bus driver. Marsha always gave Kylie a look that made her feel like a bug under someone’s shoes.
“Sit down and be quiet!” Marsha barked over her loudspeaker. Kylie slipped into a seat next to her best friend, Tanisha.
“Is she ever in a good mood?” Tanisha whispered to Kylie.
“I don’t know why she’s so mean,” Kylie whispered back.
Just then, Marsha yelled, “Boy in the blue shirt! Turn around and face forward!”
Kylie and Tanisha looked at each other and frowned. They used to tell each other jokes on the bus ride, but now they were afraid to—Marsha might yell at them.
On the way home, Marsha yelled at a girl for talking too loud. Kylie didn’t say a word. When she got home, she sat down and put her head in her hands.
“Is something wrong?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know why our bus driver is so mean,” Kylie said. “Why does she hate everyone?”
“Maybe she feels sad,” Mom said. “Maybe she needs a friend.”
Kylie hadn’t thought of that, but it made sense. Anyone could become grumpy without friends.
Then Kylie had an idea. She got out some paper and folded a card. On the front she drew some flowers and wrote, “To Marsha.” On the inside of the card, she wrote: Dear Marsha, My name is Kylie. I have one sister and one brother. I like to draw. Thanks for driving the bus for us! Love, Kylie.
Kylie was nervous on the ride home the next day. Her hands shook as she pulled out the card. At her stop, Kylie handed Marsha the card, then ran out the door.
Kylie thought about it for the rest of the day. She wondered if Marsha would be angry about the card.
The next morning Kylie walked to the bus on jelly legs. She thought Marsha might yell at her. But when she looked up, Marsha gave her a big smile—something Kylie had never seen on her face before.
And then—even stranger—Marsha handed Kylie something. It was a postcard!
Kylie read the postcard on the bus ride to school.
Dear Kylie, Thank you so much for the card! No one has ever been so kind before. It sounds like you have a nice family. I don’t have a family, but I do have three cats I rescued from the shelter. Thanks for thinking of me! Love, Marsha.
Marsha didn’t say an angry word the entire ride.
“What’s that?” Tanisha asked, pointing to the postcard.
Kylie grinned. “A letter from my new friend!”

“Are you a Christian?” It was a headline for an advertisement soliciting community service volunteers, and it attracted Roger Freeman’s attention. Brother Freeman is a faithful member of the Church—a Sunday School teacher, home teacher, and father of nine. Surely no one could accuse him of not serving his fellow man in a Christian way. Still, the question concerned him.
Brother Freeman contacted the community service agency that had placed the advertisement and asked how he could help. The agency gave him the names of several elderly people who needed someone to do various tasks around their homes.
Since that day several years ago, Brother Freeman has mowed lawns, repaired furniture, cleaned yards, and done odd jobs in many of the older sections of his city—often taking along a few of his children to help. Every few months, he calls the agency for more names. Sometimes he has cried, seeing people who are so poor and so lonely. Occasionally, he can befriend a person he serves and maintain some personal contact. He wishes he could do more.
Where does he find the time to reach beyond his circle of family and Church associations? “It doesn’t take much time,” says Brother Freeman. And what motivates him? He explains, “It’s mostly a matter of reaching beyond my own needs. Sometimes I think of the Savior walking down the dusty roads he traveled. He was aware of people’s needs.”
Serving those around us is not merely something added to the gospel. In fact, the Lord equates serving each other with serving Him. (See Mosiah 2:17.) Brother Lowell Bennion, who runs the community service agency in Salt Lake City that Brother Freeman called, feels that Saints should go to church not to be satisfied, but to “be motivated to go out and serve our neighbors in need.”

When I was six years old, my family moved to a new house in our hometown of Quetzaltenango, Guatemala. On the day we moved in, we were tired and thirsty. My older brother took me into the kitchen to get me a glass of water, but the utilities had not been turned on yet.
We didn’t know what to do. It was late, and we didn’t know anyone. Just then, someone knocked on the door. It turned out to be a pleasant and smiling older lady. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” she said. “I’m your neighbor, Tenchita. I thought you probably didn’t have any water, so I brought you some lemonade and bread.”
I was so happy to see the lemonade that I smiled a huge smile. A few days later, Tenchita invited us to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and gave us a copy of the Book of Mormon.
We soon took the missionary discussions, and three months later the elders challenged us to be baptized. My five older siblings accepted the challenge, but my parents didn’t feel ready. They continued to attend church, however, and they and I were baptized and confirmed two years later, when I was eight.
I was young, but I could see the changes the gospel of Jesus Christ made in our family. Like all families, we had our problems, but communication and harmony increased in our home, and we trusted that solutions would come because of the teachings we received in the true Church. We were grateful that Tenchita had introduced us to the gospel, but she soon moved, and we didn’t hear from her again.
Thirteen years later, my family was sealed in the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple, and I decided to serve a mission. In my first area in the Guatemala Guatemala City South Mission, we often visited members who were ill or less active. One day the bishop asked us to visit an elderly sister who was sick and couldn’t leave her home. He told us that this sister’s favorite drink was lemonade.
When my companion and I arrived at the house, the sister was ill in bed, but I recognized her immediately and gave her a big hug. Sister Tenchita didn’t know me at first, but after we had talked for a while, her eyes shone in recognition. She smiled and said, “I brought you lemonade and bread.”
I thanked her for also bringing me the gospel and making it possible for me to serve a mission.
Giving a glass of lemonade and a loaf of bread is easy and inexpensive, but giving them the way Sister Tenchita did—with affection and concern for our eternal welfare—truly made them valuable. She changed my life and the lives of members of my family. Likewise, we can all change people’s lives by helping them find their way to the “living water” and the “bread of life” (John 4:10; 6:48).
Today my family and I don’t share just lemonade and bread with our neighbors; we also share the true gospel of Jesus Christ.

I was blessed with wonderful parents. My mother was a member of the Church, and although my father wasn’t, he still supported us in our Church activities. Growing up, I prayed daily that my father would join the Church.
When I received my patriarchal blessing at age 16, I was promised that I would be an influence in helping my father join the Church. I talked with him about the things I learned in seminary. I told him about the scriptures that state that it is necessary to be baptized and confirmed to enter the kingdom of God (see John 3:5). Tearfully, I told him about the blessings of the temple that would make it possible for us to be together forever.
I attended a small school in Arizona, USA. I had wonderful friends during high school even though I was the only Church member in my class. At the time, President David O. McKay (1873–1970) was the prophet. We often heard his counsel for “every member [to be] a missionary” (see Teachings of Presidents of the Church: David O. McKay [2011], chapter 6). One summer my sister Marilyn and I invited some friends to take the missionary lessons. They took two lessons and were no longer interested. We were disappointed, but it didn’t end our friendships.
I went to college at the end of that summer. During spring semester, I received a letter from my dad. He wrote: “It is my greatest privilege to be the head of a household of wonderful girls. Because of all of your strong testimonies of the gospel and the meetings and interest in other young people last summer, I really started getting interested in the Church. While I was outside the house painting and you and the kids were inside holding those meetings, I was convinced I had been on the outside looking in long enough. I have thanked Heavenly Father many times for your mother and the fact that she was brought up in the Church and for the way she has brought up you girls.”
My father was soon baptized, and a year later our family was sealed for time and eternity in the Mesa Arizona Temple.
Even though none of our friends joined the Church, the most important person in our lives did. We never know how we will be blessed when we follow the counsel of the prophet.