Gospel Story Finder

When President James E. Faust informed my wife and me that we would be transferred to Lima, Peru, we had no clue that on August 15, 2007, only a few days after our arrival, we would witness a devastating earthquake. More than 52,000 houses were destroyed by its sheer strength. Worse yet, it left more than 500 dead. Nine of them were members of the Church. Members in the Ica and Pisco stakes and the Cañete and Chincha districts suffered the brunt of the tremor’s aftermath.
The Church provided immediate relief to its members and those of other faiths. The morning after the quake, our members in the disaster area were receiving food and clothing, and before noon the Church was donating humanitarian aid to the nation’s civil defense. Many members who were left homeless were sheltered in our meetinghouses. Despite how unexpected the catastrophe was, the priesthood organization functioned very well to bring relief to those less fortunate.

Allow me to share the true story of Alex, a quiet, thoughtful, and bright young priest. One Sunday, Alex’s bishop found him alone in a classroom in a state of great distress. The young man explained how painfully difficult it was for him to attend church without his father, who was not a member. Then he tearfully said it would probably be better for him to leave the Church.
With genuine concern for this young man, the bishop immediately mobilized the ward council to help Alex. His plan was simple: to keep Alex active and help him develop a heartfelt testimony of the gospel, they needed to “surround him with good people and give him important things to do.”
Quickly the priesthood brethren and all the ward members rallied around Alex and expressed their affection and support. The high priests group leader, a man of great faith and love, was chosen to be his home teaching companion. Members of the bishopric took him under their wings and made him their closest associate.
The bishop said: “We kept Alex busy. He ushered at weddings, ushered at funerals, assisted me at graveside dedications, baptized several new members, ordained young men to Aaronic Priesthood offices, taught youth lessons, taught with the missionaries, unlocked the building for conferences, and locked up the building late at night after conferences. He did service projects, accompanied me on visits to elderly members in hospices, gave talks in sacrament meeting, administered the sacrament to the sick in hospitals or in their homes, and became one of only a very small handful of people that I could totally rely on as bishop.”
Little by little, Alex changed. His faith in the Lord increased. He gained confidence in himself and in the power of the priesthood that he held. The bishop concluded: “Alex has been and will always be one of my greatest blessings in my time as bishop. What a privilege it has been to associate with him. I genuinely believe that no young man has ever gone into the mission field more prepared by his priesthood service.”

Seventeen-year-old Kim Sherwood of Victor, New York, is delighted to be among those gathered in the study shelter as they get the day under way by singing “Oh, How Lovely Was the Morning.” Equally enthused are her three teenage sisters, Kris, Kari, and Koni, 14, 13, and 12, respectively, and virtually every other member of the cast of more than 500 from 22 states, Mexico, and Canada.
“I’m so excited. I’d rather be here right now than any other place,” Kim says. “I’m looking forward to meeting new friends, having new experiences, telling people about the Book of Mormon, and strengthening my testimony.”
In addition to the Salute-to-Rochester scene, Kim Sherwood is assigned to the “Yearning Scene” and the “Flag Scene.” She’s delighted. Everyone has an assigned companion, and she and Holly Phippen, of Roanoke, Virginia, immediately hit it off and become fast friends.
A writer interviewing Kim asks her if she would like a major role in the pageant instead of being assigned to “crowd scenes.”
“Sure,” she says, “that would be great, but there just aren’t that many female characters in the Book of Mormon.”
“Have you ever thought about the possibility of playing the role of Mary in Nephi’s vision of the Nativity Scene?” she is asked.
“That would be wonderful,” she responds. “Any of the girls here would be honored, but that’s not up to me. There are hundreds of young girls here for the pageant, and I think the Lord and the pageant director might have something to say about who gets that role.”
Three days into rehearsal, assistant director Virginia Schmidt reminds Dr. Sederholm that he has yet to choose someone to play the role of Mary. Mary has no dialogue. No movement. She simply sits and holds the baby Jesus in the Nativity Scene.
“But the role is among the more significant in the pageant,” Sister Schmidt says. “Mary is the mother of the Savior. She must have dignity. She must be pleasant looking. She must have a particular spirit about her. We look for someone with that special look and that special spirit.”
Sister Schmidt and Dr. Sederholm review the older girls in the cast. All are worthy candidates, they agree, but then their eyes fall on a brown-haired 17-year-old from Victor.
“That’s Mary!” the directors agree, and moments later a thrilled Kim Sherwood is excitedly telling her parents about the special honor that has come her way.
“How do I feel? It’s hard to describe. It’s so exciting, so flattering, and yet so challenging. I consider it a privilege and a blessing to be chosen, and I just hope that I can portray it the way the Lord wants me to. I pray that I can touch people in some small way.”
Night after night the show goes on. Aaron Moore fights his perpetual losing battle with Ammon, Kim Sherwood maintains a regal presence in the Nativity Scene, and thousands receive the message of the Book of Mormon and the restored gospel.
Finally, it’s Saturday night of the second week—time for the final performance. The same enthusiasm that has prevailed for two weeks is still there, but somehow it’s different. Everyone realizes that after this one, it’s all over. That’s it.
The show goes on. Once again the audience is impressed by the dazzling lights, the sound, the music, the story. Many are moved by the message. As the final scene fades, the “house lights” go on, and the crowd begins working its way to the parking lots. But “back stage”—back in the trees on the hill—no one is in a hurry to leave. There are hugs and handshakes, tears of joy at having had the experience, and tears of sorrow at the knowledge that it’s over. The cast assembles and sings the inevitable “God Be with You Till We Meet Again,” and the tears flow even more freely. Kim Sherwood and Holly Phippen, friends forever, say good-bye, as do countless others who have formed similar lasting bonds of friendship.

A Relief Society presidency in Pleasant Grove, Utah, met with their bishop to discuss ward goals before planning Relief Society classes. Based on those goals, Relief Society leaders planned a meeting where a sister in the ward shared how she uses Preach My Gospel for family home evening. They also arranged several gardening workshops, including how to store food from one’s garden. Of the presidency’s meetings with the bishop, the Relief Society president says, “We feel our bishop’s love, knowing he is praying to the Lord in our behalf.”

We recently had an experience that pointed out the importance of communication. Our stake was given an emergency welfare assignment to can food, and the high councilor responsible for welfare received the assignment on Sunday—but not in time to announce it in our Sunday meetings. Only the bishops were notified of the assignment. When I attended a meeting of ward Relief Society presidents on Tuesday, I was faced with such comments as: “Why can’t they give us more than three days’ notice? Surely they’ve known about it for six weeks.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I said, but not knowing whether it was or not put me in an awkward position. I felt discontent among the sisters at that meeting. Later, when I had the facts, I learned that most of what the sisters had said was incorrect and could have been immediately corrected if I had only known more about the situation.
Of course, there will always be emergencies in which we have to make the best of things, but when there is time to do so, it is important for priesthood leaders to inform Relief Society leaders of activities and assignments well in advance. Thus informed, Relief Society sisters can help promote goodwill and enthusiasm in a ward or stake. Just as important, Relief Society leaders should be trustworthy in dealing with confidential information and be positive in supporting priesthood leaders. Gossip and negative speaking detract from the Spirit’s influence and should be avoided.

Sister Beck: I met with a group of women cabinet ministers and parliament members from West Africa who asked me how we help African women. I explained that in their countries we have many organized groups of women, called Relief Societies. We send the Church Handbook of Instructions to the president of each group. The women gather together often to study the gospel and to learn how to care for their families.

The president divides the Relief Society women into pairs that visit the women in their homes, where they assess needs. Is anyone sick? Do they have enough food and clothing? Do they have the education they need? After the visits the women report what they found. Someone needs shoes, someone is having a baby, and one of them needs work. They ask if within their group they have the needed resources. Most of the time they do. That is what we do for our women in Africa.

As I talked, these women nodded their heads and smiled. One said to me, “That model would work for our women.”

I believe that Relief Society is a model that works throughout the world and that our sisters are the finest, most capable, greatest force for good on the earth today. I have confidence in our ability to further the Lord’s work of salvation together.

Day by day the scenery and travel grew increasingly tiresome. Near Chimney Rock some of the cattle became diseased and died, forcing the company to double team the wagons and make shorter drives each day. William began to think he would never get to Utah and rejoin Elizabeth. He became particularly depressed when the company passed places on the plains strewn with bleached bones upon which messages—including declarations of love—had been written by previous companies. “I began to worry that someone would pick up a rib with ‘Miss E. Gentry loves someone or married someone or is to be married to someone.’”

Cattle continued dying, so the company was forced to send for assistance from the valley. Finally one October Saturday, William’s company descended the hills above Salt Lake City, awed by a beautiful sunset across the Great Salt Lake and by the splendid square-blocked city stretched out below them. As they approached the city, an occupant of a nearby cabin called and waved to William. It was Sister Wardell, the woman with whom Elizabeth had traveled to Utah! William hurried to her, but his anticipation was instantly crushed. She informed him that Elizabeth no longer loved him and planned to marry a local polygamist! “This was like a bolt of thunder to me,” he recalled. Heartsick, the young man continued with the company to the valley floor, then returned that night to the Wardells. The woman tried to persuade William to marry her daughter, but he was not interested. “I formed a resolution that I was going to have the ‘love of my youth,’” he said.

Friends from Maldon lived in Centerville, so early the next week William hiked 12 miles to locate them. He arrived at night, and “to my great joy the girl of my heart was found lying asleep on an old home-made lounge and looking fine although almost in rags. She awoke, and her joy was unbounded.” Elizabeth then explained that the Wardell woman had tried to marry her to her own son. That failing, the mother turned the girl out and kept all the clothes and bedding until Elizabeth’s 40-dollar fare was paid in full. The woman then had made up the story about Elizabeth’s loss of affection for William, hoping the navy veteran would marry into the Wardell family.

William returned to Salt Lake City and drove his freight team to Springville where he received his three months’ wages. Then he walked back to Salt Lake, paid off the 40-dollar debt, obtained his and Elizabeth’s belongings, and then got a ride back to Centerville. Two weeks later the engaged couple were married. It was a joyous celebration, William remembered, thanks to neighbors who “came with their old-fashioned squash pies and ground cherry tarts, and … sweet cake and roasted all their roosters, and had roast pork and roast bear and lots of other good things.”

While I was stationed in Manila, Philippines, during World War II, I would often meet with a small group of other LDS servicemen to hold sacrament meeting. During one meeting I noticed a Filipino woman at the back of our bombed-out building peering through an opening that had once been a door. I wondered if our singing had attracted her. While our eyes were closed for the benediction, she quietly slipped away.
During one of her subsequent visits, we invited her to join us. Her name was Aniceta Fajardo, and she enthusiastically accepted our friendship. As she continued attending our meetings, she learned about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
With Christmas approaching, we decided to bless Aniceta and her family with some Christmas presents. We gathered canned milk, meat, and vegetables; a couple of blankets; and a medical kit, including penicillin to treat Aniceta’s sick grandson.
On Christmas Eve we loaded up the gifts and went to Aniceta’s home. She lived with her daughter and grandson under sheets of corrugated metal that leaned against a brick wall—a remnant of a building that had been blown apart. We wondered how they could survive with such little protection during the tropical rains so prevalent that time of year.
One of our men pulled a branch from a mango tree and stuck it in the ground. We found bits of litter to decorate the branch.
Aniceta and her family looked on with delight and amazement. When they saw the gifts we had brought, their delight turned into tears of happiness and appreciation. They hadn’t seen or eaten such food in a long time, and they wept so much that for a time they couldn’t speak.
Because it was Christmas Eve, our thoughts turned to home and loved ones. I thought of the cablegram I had received just two days before, informing me that I had become a father. We shared our feelings, ending with our testimonies of the Savior and the restored gospel.
We assured this wonderful family of the Savior’s love for them. They found comfort in our words, and a feeling of peace warmed the night air. Then we bid our dear friends good-bye and wished them a merry Christmas.
Soon afterward I was transferred to a new area, and I never saw Aniceta or her family again. But years later I opened the Church Almanac to a section on the Philippines and read that Aniceta Pabilona Fajardo was the first Filipino to join the Church in the islands.1 What a wonderful blessing to think of the seeds that were planted during that Christmastime in 1945.

Now you might not think a church youth dance is something to be afraid of, but for my friends and me, this one was different. It was our first.

Unfortunately, the bulk of our adolescent training to this point was in camp-outs and knot tying. Girls had scarcely begun to crack our vocabulary. We tried to look excited, but secretly we were scared stiff.

So when the music finally started, we found ourselves standing at the edge of the dance floor, staring straight ahead like timid zookeepers looking into an alligator pit. Just one false move and …

“Do you want to dance?”

Yipes! A girl I had known since first grade was standing in front of me in a new role: potential dance partner. What do I say? What do I do? I wanted to say yes, but I choked.

“Uh … thanks, but I’m just going to watch for a while.”

Rats! I couldn’t believe what I had just said. But while I was busy feeling sorry for myself, she turned to Rob, a friend of mine, and asked him. Incredibly, he said yes.

What courage! The rest of us watched in awe as the couple moved to the middle of the room. Though Rob wasn’t winning any awards for grace or style, it looked like he was actually having fun. And when the music changed, he asked someone else to dance.

Wow! He made it look easy, but my remaining friends and I would definitely need more experience before trying something that risky. Until then we would stick to safer jobs, like supporting the cultural hall walls.

After hours of indecision, the night finally ended. I had kept my position along the wall, but by holding out I had forfeited any chance of having a good time.

Amid the bustle of the Christmas Eve excitement, my father was preoccupied. His thoughts kept returning to the used bicycle hidden carefully in the garage rafters. Next to it lay the boxes holding two brand-new shining black, matching three-speed bikes which he had purchased for my two older sisters. The budget strains of Christmas had prevented Dad from buying a third black three-speed for Leanne, my third sister.
Instead, he set about restoring the old single-speed, fat-tired bike the older two no longer rode. Scouring pads and elbow grease made the rusty spokes shine. The inner tubes were patched, and a new coat of paint erased the battle scars of collisions and neglect. A replacement set of handgrips made the handlebars look almost new.
This Christmas Eve, when he finished the bicycle assembly projects and rolled out and placed the rejuvenated old bike next to the new ones, the stark contrast of the old half-sized, blue, thick-tubed bike against the sleek, black beauties made the revamped two-wheeler suddenly look small and old-fashioned. Had he made a mistake in trying to redo the old bike for Leanne? Would she feel slighted?
Early Christmas morning, we were poised in our annual positions in the hall—all in a row, youngest to the oldest. Dad was in the living room making the movie camera and the lights ready to record our grand entrance. My older sisters spotted their black beauties, gave them the once over with due praise and admiration, and moved on. Amid the chaos and clutter, Leanne stood firmly next to the old blue bike. She was touching every part and talking aloud, “Look, it has new grips and new paint! Just look at those pedals, and it’s my very own, my very own bike!”
She stayed near the bike and repeated the same speech several times, though no one was listening, no one, that is, except my father. He stood silently, the movie camera held low on his side, listening to Leanne. Tears of joy streamed down his face as he witnessed this perfect acceptance of his imperfect gift.
(December 1984, p. 29.)

Following the meeting on this beautiful morning, Elder Barry Bennett, Area mission medical advisor, and his wife, Christine, traveled with the mission president and his wife about 90 minutes on rough dirt roads out to the villages surrounding the city of Lae. It rains every day of the year here, and the area is spectacularly beautiful and green. The humble homes are often built on stilts so when the floods come, they don’t get washed away.
With the country’s growing population, there is one physician for every 20,000 people. Local medical challenges include tuberculosis, dengue, and malaria. The purpose of Elder Bennett’s trip to this country was to assess available medical care in Lae. He was pleasantly surprised with the capability of the three hospitals he visited.
During their visit, the Bennetts also met with missionaries and spoke to them about these medical issues and how to stay healthy.

As a young missionary in Germany, just a month or two in the field, I had two similar experiences that affected my testimony of the Book of Mormon in a profound way.
One morning as we were tracting, my companion and I knocked on the door of a minister of a prominent church. He invited us in, asked us to be seated at his table, and then immediately began to attack the Book of Mormon in a highly agitated and animated way. I understood most of what he was saying, and the contentious spirit in which he was saying it was unmistakable, but my lack of proficiency with the German language made it difficult for me to respond. My senior companion, a strong and outstanding missionary, simply bore a powerful testimony of the book, and we excused ourselves and left. My heart was pounding. I believe I was shaking a bit. I felt troubled.
A week or two later we met a man while street contacting who agreed to an appointment. We set a time, and he gave us his address in Bückeburg, a picturesque little town several miles from our assigned city of Minden but still in our area.
It was winter, and on the Sunday morning of our appointment, we mounted our bicycles and pedaled the entire distance, bucking a strong, cold headwind. Cold and panting, we pressed the doorbell on the man’s apartment building, and he buzzed the door open. We climbed the stairs to his apartment, and he let us in. Immediately we recognized a contentious spirit in the room—the same spirit we had felt a few weeks earlier in the home of the minister.
Our host did not invite us to sit down. Instead, he left the room for a moment. He returned carrying several editions of the Bible, dropped them on the table, and said in a very loud and defiant voice, “So you want to talk [religion], do you?” Then, pointing to the window, he bellowed, “Good, but first throw your Book of Mormon in the Weser [River]!”
A couple of weeks had passed since our experience with the minister, and I was now able to say a sentence or two in German. I attempted to do so. Once again, my senior companion simply bore a strong, quiet testimony of the Book of Mormon and politely thanked the man for his time. Then we excused ourselves and rode back to Minden, this time with the wind at our backs.
I had a testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, or so I thought at the time. But it became painfully clear after those two experiences, so close together in time, that my testimony was neither deep nor strong. I was unsure of myself and of my ability to truthfully bear witness of the Book of Mormon in a powerful and convincing way.
I made up my mind that if I were to have a successful mission, I had better make sure my testimony of the Book of Mormon was true and strong. I went to work on it. I read and prayed and thought and contemplated. Ultimately, the Lord blessed my efforts. A testimony came to me and has never left; rather, it has grown stronger through the years.
I have thought often of those two experiences. I am grateful to a wise and steady companion, and in a way I am thankful for an unwitting minister and a rather fanatical man, who figuratively took hold of my shoulders and shook me. To this day, well beyond 40 years later, I remember their names and the details of our meetings. When I think of them, the great passage from 3 Nephi comes to mind:
“And according as I have commanded you thus shall ye baptize. And there shall be no disputations among you, as there have hitherto been; neither shall there be disputations among you concerning the points of my doctrine, as there have hitherto been.
“For verily, verily I say unto you, he that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil, who is the father of contention, and he stirreth up the hearts of men to contend with anger, one with another.
“Behold, this is not my doctrine, to stir up the hearts of men with anger, one against another; but this is my doctrine, that such things should be done away” (3 Nephi 11:28–30).
I think too of the great words of Paul to the Galatians: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance” (Galatians 5:22–23).
These are the fruits I experience when I read the Book of Mormon. Reading its pages, contemplating the transcendent doctrines of Christ it contains, attempting to apply these in my life—all this settles in my mind and in my soul as a “mighty change” (Mosiah 5:2; Alma 5:14) in my heart, one that gives me resolve to do better; to be a little kinder, less critical, more generous; and to share with others the great blessings the Lord has given me.
These are the fruits of the Spirit of God. These are the fruits of the Book of Mormon.

I recall a story of a Latter-day Saint boy in military service. He was the only Latter-day Saint in his barracks, and he soon wearied of the jibes of his associates. One day when the going was particularly rough, he finally agreed to go into town with the crowd. But as they entered the town, there came before his mind’s eye a picture. He saw the kitchen of his home. It was supper time. There was his family, kneeling at the kitchen chairs—his father, mother, two sisters, and a small brother. The little brother was praying, and he was asking our Heavenly Father to look after his brother in the military.
That mental picture did it. The young man turned away from the crowd. The prayer of that little brother, of that family, brought clarity of mind and courage to that Latter-day Saint youth.

While studying at Brigham Young University as a young, single returned missionary, I attended a priesthood session of general conference in the Tabernacle on Temple Square. President Ezra Taft Benson, then-President of the Church, urged every returned missionary to take marriage seriously and make it a top priority in his life. After the session, I knew I had been called to repentance and needed to act on the prophet’s counsel.
Thus, I decided to go to my home country, Brazil, to find a wife. Before leaving for Brazil on a two-month internship, I called my mom and some friends on the phone and came up with a list of about 10 young women—each of them a potential wife.
While in Brazil, after much pondering and prayer, I met, dated, got engaged to, and set a date to marry one of the young women on the list. It was not record-breaking time for students in Provo, Utah, to date and become engaged, but it was fast by Brazil standards.
A few months later, I married Elaine. She is the love of my life and a choice blessing.
I am not suggesting that everyone should make a similar list, but I am suggesting—maybe more than suggesting—that we always act when our living prophets speak.

One missionary, for example, told of a dream she had at the age of nine or ten about the idea that God was an individual person, not three in one, and of a Heavenly Father whose son was Jesus Christ. Her views, which she held to faithfully, caused her and her family much discomfort during the time she went to private religious schools. Anyone she spoke to about religion was asked to satisfy her question, “Do you believe God is a person who has a son?” She often asked her friends at school, which was why she was troublesome to them and to her teachers. After a while, getting no satisfaction, she tired of asking.
Years later at work. when she was in her early twenties, she started talking with a co-worker about religion. These talks continued until the woman asked her to attend church with her. “I must ask you a question first,” she said. She asked the woman, and for the first time in her life received an answer that satisfied her. The woman answered, “Yes, my church teaches that God is the father of us all and has a son who is Jesus Christ.”
Missionaries were found, the young woman was taught the gospel, and as soon as possible she began serving on her own mission. On her first day of class when her MTC teacher walked in, she recognized her as the missionary who had taught her the gospel months earlier in a place far away from the Missionary Training Center.

South Wales Police were called to a home very close to the Bridgend Ward chapel, following a tragic and devastating incident resulting in the loss of a precious two-year-old boy.
The family and community were in shock, and the incident resonated beyond the immediate vicinity, as the details of it came to light. This sensitivity arose from another local domestic homicide, which had occurred a week earlier, when the life of a young five-year-old boy was lost.
One of the police officers called upon to assist in the investigation was Constable Jon Shorland, the elders quorum president for the ward, who was working an evening shift. That very day President Shorland had been engaged with the incident in a Church capacity. A request had been posted on social media by a local resident enquiring if the chapel could be opened for members of the public to attend, lay flowers, and grieve. Never had such a request been made before.
President Shorland immediately requested permission from the stake president, Jason Spragg, and set to work coordinating the ward’s response to the local need. Shortly afterwards, the opening of the building and the attendance of full-time missionaries and ward council members was organised, and the opportunity for anyone to attend was advertised on social media.
Several members of the community, along with Church members, subsequently attended to lay flowers and to pay their respects. Messages were written on decorative hearts provided by the stake Relief Society president, Carolyn Davies, who had been given them only a week before as a donation from the Welsh Millennium Centre.
That evening, the specialist team, in which President Shorland was attached, were deployed to the scene, and this tested their emotional resilience.
Following the completion of their duties, and to President Shorland’s surprise, he was called upon by one of his colleagues to say a prayer. This colleague mustered the team of nine officers on to the front lawn of the family home, where they stood reverently in prayer.
President Shorland was impressed by his colleagues, almost all having no religious affiliation, and their desire to take part. All left uplifted and comforted.
Over the following days, the entire family of the deceased boy attended the chapel, while it was open, where they displayed incredible faith and were extremely grateful for the ward’s response.
A two-minute silence was also held for both boys during sacrament service that following Sunday, to which all members, family and the community were invited.
The next day, President Shorland was contacted directly by the family asking if they could attend to grieve collectively without the public or media representatives being present. He made the necessary arrangements. Time was spent in the chapel reading the messages and in a prayerful reflection. President Shorland said it had an “extremely spiritual impact” on him.
The donation of the hearts, President Shorland’s pastoral response and attendance at the incident as a police officer, the family contacting him and the availability of missionaries and members, and their desire to help, were all blessings for affected individuals and families, and the community.
Locally, the Church has a relatively small membership and is somewhat unknown to the public, but the circumstances and the ward’s response illustrate the depth and majesty of the Lord’s influence in the daily lives of all in the community.
Said the Bridgend full-time missionaries: “As missionaries, we speak a lot about baptism, how it’s a commandment, how we can be forgiven of our sins, and become a member of Christ’s Church. However, during our time acting as servants to the community, offering consolation and refuge for those experiencing horrible loss, we recall the covenant we make at baptism, in addition to every other: ‘To mourn with those that mourn; … and comfort those that stand in need of comfort’ (Mosiah 18:9). It was sobering to act as representatives of Christ at the chapel, offering hopeful words to those who came there with heavy hearts. The gospel is a joyous thing; because of Christ, there is peace and comfort to be found even in the hardest times.”

The girls have seen a number of friends come into the Church, and many others have come to appreciate and respect their standards. On one occasion Sheila was surprised when a young man she knew from school approached her about the gospel.
“I’m going to tell you some things I’ve heard about your church,” he said, “and I want you to tell me if they’re true.”
“He asked me a lot of questions,” Sheila recalled, “many of them based on misinformation. I explained the best I could and then asked him if he was interested in learning more. He said, ‘Yes, but not from the missionaries. I want to hear it from you.’ That really motivated me to study and find out more for myself.”
Still, they have been exposed to much opposition. Each family member has had soul-searching experiences that have forged individual testimony.
As Stacy said, “Once you know what the truth is, it doesn’t matter anymore how many people tell you you’re wrong.”
Hollywood is a challenging place to grow up in—the cultural standards are very high; the life-styles and philosophies are incredibly varied. But to the Phelps Family Musicians, the gospel is the harmonizing element. It is what helps them to keep a balanced perspective in meeting the everyday challenges of life in Hollywood.
Editor’s note: Since the time this story was written, Brother Phelps has passed away.

Fifty-five years ago, I knew a young man, Robert Williams, who held the office of priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. As the bishop, I was his quorum president. When he spoke, Robert stuttered and stammered, void of control. He was self-conscious, shy, fearful of himself and everybody else; this impediment was devastating to him. Rarely did he accept an assignment; never would he look another person in the eye; always would he gaze downward. Then one day, through a set of unusual circumstances, he accepted an assignment to perform the responsibility to baptize another.
I sat next to Robert in the baptistry of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. I knew he needed all the help he could get. He was dressed in immaculate white, prepared for the ordinance he was to perform. I asked him how he felt. He gazed at the floor and stuttered almost uncontrollably that he felt terrible.
We both prayed fervently that he would be made equal to his task. The clerk then said, “Nancy Ann McArthur will now be baptized by Robert Williams, a priest.”
Robert left my side, stepped into the font, took little Nancy by the hand, and helped her into that water which cleanses human lives and provides a spiritual rebirth. He spoke the words, “Nancy Ann McArthur, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
And he baptized her. Not once did he stutter! Not once did he falter! A modern miracle had been witnessed. Robert then performed the baptismal ordinance for two or three other children in the same fashion.
In the dressing room, I hurried to congratulate Robert. I expected to hear this same uninterrupted flow of speech. I was wrong. He gazed downward and stammered his reply of gratitude.
I testify to you that when Robert acted in the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood, he spoke with power, with conviction, and with heavenly help.
Just over two years ago it was my privilege to speak at the funeral services for Robert Williams and to pay tribute to this faithful priesthood holder who tried his best throughout his life to honor his priesthood.

Some of our most vivid and significant memories of living in the Midwestern United States as young parents are of yearly visits to the temple in Washington, D.C. At the time, it was the only temple in operation east of the Mississippi River. Knowing that temple ordinances are essential for all of Heavenly Father’s children gave a sense of urgency to our efforts.
Like many of you, we arranged for friends to care for our small children, traveled through the night with a busload of fellow members, spent a couple of precious days doing as much temple work as we could, and then rode the bus home through the night so we could attend our Church meetings on Sunday. Those trips did not seem to be sacrifices; they were cherished because of the spiritual uplift that fed our souls for months afterward.
A few years later, we were thrilled to welcome the Chicago Illinois Temple, the first temple built in the North America Central Area since the Cardston Alberta Canada Temple 62 years earlier. With a temple only 45 minutes from our home, it was a joy for us to attend more often than once a year and to receive that spiritual food on a regular basis.

When I was in high school, I was one of three LDS students in a student body of five hundred. One year I sent invitations out for my 16th birthday. On the bottom they read, “No alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs.” When I gave those invitations out, my parents and I were afraid that no one would show up at the party. However, 35 out of 50 did show up.

About a month later, I received an invitation to a friend’s party. On the bottom it read “No alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs.” More such invitations followed in the next two years.

What you have to do is decide now what you will do and then stick to it. True friends will accept you for who you are. They may continue to smoke or drink, but they won’t pressure you once you’ve politely said, “I don’t smoke” (or drink, or whatever). If they do continue to pressure, find a new set of friends who accept you for you and what you stand for.