Gospel Story Finder

“Life’s a disaster,” Travis mumbled, slouching into the bench at the back of the chapel. It was Sister Stott’s last Sunday in the ward, and he hadn’t felt this bad since he fell off his skateboard into a muddy ravine.
He scanned the chapel, looking for Sister Stott, his Valiant teacher. She had just finished teaching his Primary class and now was sitting in her favorite spot, the center of the second row. Her shiny brown hair hung over the back of the bench as she hugged her one-year-old daughter, Tiffany.
I don’t care if I ever go to Primary again, Travis decided, looking away.
Now she was leaving. Travis’s stomach knotted up as the bishop read her name to be released. Staring at the podium, he raised his hand in a vote of thanks.
As Bishop Olson read names to be sustained to new callings, Travis gripped the bench in front of him. Who will be my new teacher? He wondered. It could be Brother Coty, probably the strongest man in the ward. Or maybe Sister Campbell. Every year she won a blue ribbon for her homemade pie at the state fair.
Travis sighed. It didn’t matter who his new teacher was—class would never be the same.
Bishop Olson shuffled through his papers at the podium. “We have called Brother Rolf Meyer as Valiant teacher in the Primary.”
Travis stared at the bishop. Brother Meyer! Travis was sure Bishop Olson had made a mistake. Brother Meyer had to be a hundred years old, and he walked with a cane. Because of his German accent, he was also a little hard to understand. Even so, Travis raised his hand to sustain his new teacher.
After sacrament meeting, Travis stopped to look out the large glass door in the foyer.
“Hello, Travis.”
Travis jerked around.
Smiling, Sister Stott moved Tiffany from one hip to the other. “I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed being your teacher.”
Travis dug his shoe into the carpet as he looked away.
“Travis,” she said softly, “you’re going to learn a lot from Brother Meyer. You know that, don’t you?”
Shrugging, Travis slowly lifted his eyes to meet Sister Stott’s.
She placed her hand on Travis’s slumped shoulder. “Can I teach you one more thing before I leave?”
“Sure,” Travis muttered, wishing she hadn’t reminded him of her move.
Sister Stott bent slightly to be at eye level with Travis. “There are lots of ways to teach. If you give Brother Meyer a chance, just like you gave me, you’ll learn more than you’ve ever imagined.” Smiling, she stood up.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Sister Stott said, nodding. “Remember it.”
“I will.” He pushed open the heavy door and ran across the parking lot to his family’s station wagon.
As he scanned the parking lot, the only other person outside was Jennifer Mizway, practically on her knees, staring at the rear tire of her mother’s car. Travis knew she had just gotten her driver’s license. Normally, he’d ask if he could help, but this afternoon he wasn’t in the mood.
The rear door of the meetinghouse opened, and out stepped Brother Meyer. He slowly made his way across the parking lot and called something to Jennifer. Reaching her car, he set his cane against it, then bent down to examine the tire.
Travis watched as Brother Meyer and Jennifer struggled to pull a spare tire out of the trunk of the car. The tire slipped from their hands, bouncing twice before falling with a thud in front of them.
“Brother Meyer, Jennifer,” Travis hollered, going over to the car, “let me help.”
“You know how to change tire?” Brother Meyer’s German accent brought life to his words.
“No,” Travis replied as he came up to them, “but you can tell me what to do.”
“Das ist gut (This is good)!” Brother Meyer nodded at Travis and signaled him to pull out the jack from the trunk.
Pumping the jack, Travis listened as Jennifer told them how grateful she was for their help. Her father had taken her mother home early with the flu, and they would worry that she’d had an accident if she was late getting home.
Travis stopped pumping to rub away the burning sensation in his upper arm.
“Here.” Brother Meyer handed his cane to Travis. “I show you a trick to help.” Bending on one knee, he pulled out the jack’s lever and inserted his cane into the opening where the lever had been. “My cane is longer. It will be easier to pump now.”
Travis began to pump again. A smile spread across his face as his arm moved faster with less effort. “It is easier!”
As Travis set the hubcap on the tire, he felt a thumping on his leg. Turning, he saw Brother Meyer smiling.
“Is good to help, ja (yes)?” Brother Meyer asked.
Travis smiled. “Yeah, it is. Well, I’d better get going.”
He and his father arrived at the station wagon at the same time.
“Is everything all right?” Father asked.
“Yep.”
“Your mother and I were worried. We know how you feel about Sister Stott. She was a special teacher, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, she was.” Travis waved to Brother Meyer as he got into the car.
Rolling down his window, Travis thought about Jennifer dejectedly examining the tire. He thought about Brother Meyer tapping him with his cane, saying “Is good to help, ja?”
Valiant class was going to be different, Travis decided, but he had a feeling that one thing wouldn’t change—he was going to learn a lot this year.

Many years ago, while serving as a bishop, I asked our ward council, “How could we become the most welcoming and friendly ward?” We counselled together on what it would be like to come to our ward for the first time. Who would greet us? Would someone sit with us? What would happen if we weren’t dressed correctly or were clearly struggling with an addiction to smoking? We talked about the Savior’s love and how we could ensure that those visiting our ward felt of that love. As we continued to counsel together, each member of the ward council considered and talked about the contribution they could make to help our ward become more welcoming and friendly. Together, we developed some ideas and as a ward council committed ourselves in the coming weeks to try to:
Personally shake hands with new members and investigators and help them feel welcome and comfortable.
Discuss ways of becoming a most welcoming and friendly ward in each auxiliary and quorum meeting.
Invite young men to be in the parking area before meetings to greet everyone and to provide assistance to anyone that needs help.
Invite young women to be greeters in the foyer and help all entering the building feel the Savior’s love.
Introduce new members and investigators to a member of the bishopric.
Welcome and recognise new members and investigators at classes, auxiliary, and priesthood meetings.
Avoid making any judgement of, or suggestions to, new investigators or returning members who are not dressed in normal church attire.
Make recommendations for callings and assignments to new members that will bless their lives and help them feel needed and learn and grow.
Assign ministering brothers and ministering sisters to care for new members.
Work shoulder-to-shoulder with full-time missionaries so that their investigators are connected and have ward member friends who love them as soon as they start attending church.
As the ward council continued to implement their ideas and to review progress, we quickly became a happier ward. As we learned together how to be welcoming and friendly, we all felt more loved and united. Church became a joyful experience, and people attending the ward for the first time felt like they were home.

Greg hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. We all hushed up as if we were waiting for an important news bulletin. “We’re going down the block to do some painting.”
“Huh?” I stared at him. “You mean work?”
“Mark, don’t be a dope.” He held up a can of black spray paint. “I ‘found’ it in the hardware store.”
We laughed. That meant that Greg had stolen the paint. I felt kind of funny in the stomach. I really didn’t like the idea. But I was new here. If I said anything, the other guys wouldn’t be my friends.
Greg led us to a house with a wooden fence around the backyard. He handed the paint to Sam.
“Wait a minute,” I blurted out.
Greg cuffed me on the side of the head. “Are you chicken?”
I snorted. “Me? Of course not.”
When Greg wasn’t looking, I rubbed my head where he’d hit me. It hurt. He’s a year older than I am, and a lot bigger.
After Sam finished, Greg and a couple of other kids did their thing. Then it was my turn. I took a deep breath and pushed the button on the can. Black paint sprayed out.
“Hey!” The shout came from an unseen person.
We took off running. Then I tripped. I jumped up, but someone grabbed my arm. My heart rate speeded up so much that I thought I’d either faint or get sick all over my new sneakers.
I peeked up at a gray-haired man wearing glasses. “What were you doing?” he asked, not loosening his grip any.
“I don’t know,” I said, though it sounded silly.
“Who gave you the right to vandalize my property?”
“Uh, I’m sorry. Are you going to call the police?” I asked. My voice shook like I was going to cry.
“I believe I’d rather keep this between me and your parents.”
I took a shaky breath, then told him my name and phone number. But I’d rather have gone to jail than have my parents know what I’d done.
Dad came over right away. He looked as though he couldn’t decide whether he was more hurt or more angry at what I’d done. I kind of shrunk down inside my shirt.
“Mark will pay for all damages, Mr. Parker,” Dad said.
I gulped hard. My allowance after tithing and savings, doesn’t cover half the stuff I want to buy. I figured that it would take a big part of my childhood years to pay for repainting that fence.
“I believe I have a better idea,” Mr. Parker said. “I’d planned to repaint it, anyway. How about if I buy the paint and Mark does the painting?”
I sagged with relief. I wasn’t looking forward to the work, but painting the fence was a lot better than paying for damages.
I wouldn’t have been so happy if I’d known what was also in store for me at home—Mom and Dad grounded me for six weeks.
“Hurting others is against the word of God,” Mr. Parker said when I went over to his place. He handed me a brush.
I shrugged. “I know.”
“You sure didn’t act like it the way you worked my fence over.”
I turned away and carefully drew the brush out of the paint can. I took my time making my first brush stroke nice and neat. I figured that if Mr. Parker saw that I could do a good job all by myself, he’d leave me alone.
Mr. Parker didn’t take the hint. In fact, he got a brush of his own and started painting too.
My hand shook. I dribbled paint onto my pants leg.
“Careful,” Mr. Parker said.
“I can’t help it—you make me nervous!” I blurted. I dug the toe of my sneaker into the ground.
“I do? Now, why is that?”
“You keep watching me as if I’m bad or something.”
“Is that so? Well, I know you’re not bad or you wouldn’t have stayed and owned up.”
“I never did anything like that before. But Greg said …” I stopped and looked away quickly. I hadn’t meant to mention anyone else.
Mr. Parker chuckled softly. “Greg must be one of the other young fellows I saw running away that day.”
“You saw them?”
“I sure did.”
“You didn’t even ask me to snitch.”
“I was a boy once myself.” Mr. Parker winked at me.
I felt a knot ease out of my shoulders. Mr. Parker was turning out to be a lot nicer than I’d figured.
We started painting again. After a while he said, “Do you ever go to church?”
“We used to.”
“I’m going to ask your folks to come with me on Sunday.”
“They’re pretty busy.”
“We’ll let them decide. I think your parents will welcome the chance for you to meet the right kind of friends.”
My face turned warm. I leaned over and concentrated on my painting. “I have friends,” I mumbled.
“Sure you do, son.”
Mr. Parker didn’t say anything else. I’d expected him to start preaching and tell me how bad my friends were—how they were not only a bad influence but how they ran off and left me. I was all set to get mad and tell him my friends were great.
But all he did was start whistling. I recognized the tune—it was a hymn.
My parents were all eager to take Mr. Parker up on his church offer. I told myself that it didn’t matter—at least I had somewhere else to go for the next six weeks. I couldn’t wait until my grounding was over and I could see Greg and the other guys again.
The only thing was, I got busy with the kids from Primary. By the time the six weeks were up, I was involved in a ward project to get books for a shelter for the homeless. After that, we Blazers all got parts in a play that we were going to put on at the care center.
The next time I saw Greg, he was leading his gang past the park. He stopped suddenly, and everyone piled into the back of him. They reminded me of robots playing follow the leader.
“Mark. I haven’t seen you around.”
“I … uh … I’ve been busy.” I felt a familiar shrinking in my stomach. Funny, I’d never realized it before, but I always felt that way around Greg.
“Yeah, I heard you were busy painting old man Parker’s fence.”
Greg and the robots cracked up. I clenched my fists.
“Come on—we’re doing something fun.” Greg held up a cloth sack.
I knew that they planned to steal oranges from Mr. McKellar’s grove. Six weeks ago I’d have stumbled over my own feet rushing to join them. Now all I felt was sorry for them.
“No thanks.” I turned and marched away. I had new friends now. My kind of friends. The shrinking in my stomach disappeared. It didn’t come back.

Traveling without purse or scrip, Brigham found that $13.50 given them by the Saints and kept in his trunk became like the Old Testament widow’s cruse of oil and barrel of flour that were continually replenished; drawn from again and again, it provided $87 worth of fares and meals as they traveled by stage across Indiana and Ohio to Kirtland. There they found John Taylor; he had left earlier while in good health but had been stricken enroute by a near fatal illness from which he was just then recovering. Brigham, showing the expanding dimensions of his spiritual leadership, met with the apostles in the temple where he anointed and blessed Elder Taylor and washed the apostles’ feet.25

Abraham Lincoln demonstrated his great integrity in his famous house-divided speech. John Wesley Hill, in his book Abraham Lincoln—Man of God, says: “Lincoln showed his independence and tenacity of purpose when he wrote his address accepting the nomination for United States Senator. … This is known as ‘The House Divided Against Itself’ speech. It embodied the historic declaration that the Union could not exist ‘half slave and half free.’ To his friend, Jesse K. Dubois, Lincoln said:
“‘I refused to read the passage about the house divided against itself to you, because I knew you would ask me to change or modify it, and that I was determined not to do. I had willed it so and was willing, if necessary, to perish with it. I would rather be defeated with this expression in the speech … than to be victorious without it.’” (Abraham Lincoln—Man of God, New York and London: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1927, p. 151.)
Now it took real courage for Lincoln to leave that “half slave and half free” sentence in his speech. He was ambitious, and it seemed that through the Senate was the way to the presidency, but the political climate at the time was not ready for the stand he took on that issue. The probability was that the statement would mean defeat in his race for the Senate, and that’s what it turned out to be. All this Lincoln well knew; nevertheless, he had the integrity to act in harmony with his convictions. Although his course did shut the door to the Senate, fortunately for the country, it later opened the door to the presidency.

It is interesting to read some of the accounts of Christmas from our pioneer forebears. Elizabeth Huffaker wrote of the very first Christmas in the Salt Lake Valley in December 1847:
I remember our first Christmas in the valley. We all worked as usual. The men gathered sage-brush, and some even ploughed, for, though it had snowed, the ground was still soft, and the ploughs were used nearly the entire day. Christmas came on Saturday.
We celebrated the day on the Sabbath, when all gathered around the flagpole in the centre of the fort, and there we held meeting. And what a meeting it was. We sang praise to God; we all joined in the opening prayer, and the speaking that day has always been remembered. There were words of thanksgiving and cheer. The people were hopeful and buoyant, because of their faith in the great work they were undertaking. After the meeting, there was handshaking all around. Some wept for joy, the children played in the enclosure, and around a sage-brush fire that night we gathered and sang:
“Come, come, ye Saints, No toil nor labor fear, But with joy wend your way!”
That day we had boiled rabbit and a little bread for our dinner. Father had shot some rabbits, and it was a feast we had. All had enough to eat. In the sense of perfect peace and good-will, I never had a happier Christmas in all my life.
It is difficult for most of us to appreciate what a blessing it was for them simply to have peace—to have very little of the necessities of life but, at last, to have peace.

After we had been married six years, I came to a knowledge that the gospel was true. There is no question in my mind that our previous efforts to serve and please one another were at least part of the reason Jim agreed to look into the Church and allow the missionaries to come. I was reactivated, Jim was baptized, and we were sealed in the temple a year later.
The next six years sped by quickly, and our marriage continued to improve with the foundation and application of gospel principles.
Then one night Jim returned home from an institute class and asked me about several terms he had heard there. “Do you know what these mean?” He spoke them, and they bounced against the blank wall of my mind. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” I answered. As we talked, a suspicion arose in us, awesome, even terrible, that we did not fully understand the doctrines of this gospel we professed to believe in—that our knowledge was shallow and unenlightened.
We started a concentrated study program immediately. We went back to the beginning again to understand faith, baptism, repentance, and the Holy Ghost. We chose vacations with the express purpose of studying together, weeks or weekends, in quiet places where we could relax, research, pray, and ponder.
Growth and understanding came in sudden leaps, as well as line upon line. Our efforts again meant selflessness, sacrificing other interests occasionally, in order to keep pace with one another and to share what we learned with our family. To drag a foot was to slow the rest of us, and neither wanted to be guilty of that.
Today, gospel study and service continue to be a central activity between us, a privilege, we hold most precious. As we look back, our first successes seem small now. But we will always acknowledge a certain ray of light that came one late winter evening to two desperate, seeking newlyweds. The gospel has reaffirmed to us that selflessness and service are truly a vital part of our Heavenly Father’s formula for an enduring marriage.

After I had completed my contract, I was offered a permanent position, but I knew it was time to be baptized into the Church. It was time to begin a new chapter in my journey of discipleship.
When I told members of my family, they were not happy—at first. But three months after I joined the Church, I baptized my mother and two of my siblings. After serving a full-time mission in the Oklahoma Oklahoma City Mission, I baptized my younger sister.

Upon his release from the hospital, Enzio immediately sought out his Lutheran minister, recounted his conversion, and declared his desire to follow Christ. But after a period of attending every possible meeting—and finding some satisfaction in the dignity and ceremony of the services—Enzio was troubled by doctrines and practices he could not understand. Why, for example, did infants need to be baptized? And why had ministers blessed the weapons of the war? The ministers and presbyters of the church could give him no sound doctrine—just conflicting opinions.
One evening Enzio and Jutta knelt in despair to tell the Lord of their situation. By now Enzio could form his own prayers, “I told the Lord we wanted to find his church,” Elder Busche recalls. “I knew that the earlier followers of Christ had been persecuted, so I told the Lord that it didn’t matter if his was an obscure church, even a ridiculed church.” After that prayer, the overwhelming peace Enzio had felt in the hospital returned.
Several weeks later, two Latter-day Saint missionaries stood on the Busches’ doorstep. At first, Enzio Busche was skeptical of their “strange” message, but he was always impressed with their sincerity and righteousness. His two years of investigation were accompanied by dreams and spiritual experiences that had the same sacred quality and authority that he had felt in the hospital. At last, he had to admit that the Spirit truly was in the message of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, although he still feared breaking with his social life and the traditions of his family.
When he was finally ready for baptism, he asked his wife to investigate the gospel. Jutta Busche had long before felt the Spirit in the message of the missionaries, though she had not been involved in the sometimes long discussions. After just three evenings of hearing them teach her the gospel principles—to her husband’s astonishment—she too had a testimony. Both were baptized on 19 January 1958 in a public swimming pool in Dortmund.

Joseph Smith was the only prophet of this dispensation to labor as a full-time missionary while presiding over the Church. During the first years after the Restoration, as the infant Church began its amazing growth, Joseph undertook preaching missions on various occasions.
One small treasure in the archives of the Church Historical Department is a worn leather journal, 14 pages of which tell of Joseph’s missionary trip into Canada in late 1833.* Joseph’s entries in the journal appear almost daily; half are in his own handwriting and the others he dictated. This is the earliest diary account we have of any mission of the Prophet. Prodded by “Father” Freeman Nickerson, a convert from western New York, Joseph, along with Sidney Rigdon, his first counselor, set out to preach to Brother Nickerson’s relatives and others along a 250-mile crescent stretching north and east from Kirtland, around Lake Erie, and west into Canada.
Let us follow the Prophet’s four-week journey by examining the entries in his private diary.
With team and conveyance provided by Brother Nickerson the three started eastward from Kirtland on October 5. The next day at Springfield, Ohio, they attended a meeting of the Saints, where, as Joseph recorded, “Brother Sidney spoke to the people, etc., and in the evening held a meeting at Brother [John] Reed’s. Had a great congregation, paid good attention. Oh God, seal our testimony to their hearts. Amen.”
Journeying along the shores of Lake Erie they visited with various Church members, holding similar meetings. One week from Kirtland the missionaries stopped at Brother Nickerson’s home in Catteraugus County, New York. Here the Prophet noted: “I feel very well in my mind. The Lord is with us, but have much anxiety about my family.” Did Joseph, like most missionaries, feel here a tinge of homesickness? Evidently so, for that night he received a revelation (D&C 100) wherein the Lord assured him and Sidney that their families were well and in his care, adding that there were many people in the region of their mission awaiting their testimonies. “Continue your journey and let your hearts rejoice” were their instructions.
On Sunday, October 13, a large congregation listened to Elder Rigdon preach, followed by the Prophet. “I bear record to the people,” Joseph wrote. “The Lord gave His spirit in marvelous manner for which I am thankful to the God of Abraham. Lord bless my family and preserve them.” When starting for Canada the next day, Joseph recorded a quick plea: “Lord, be with us on our journey. Amen.” He tells of one disappointment on October 15 when a meeting scheduled for a Presbyterian meetinghouse was canceled because the man who kept the keys refused to open the door. From there the missionaries turned westward, arriving three days later at the home of Eleazer F. Nickerson, the second son of Freeman Nickerson, at Mount Pleasant, Upper Canada.
The following Sunday they preached to an attentive congregation in the morning and a large gathering that evening, which “gave good heed to the things which were spoken. What may be the result we cannot tell but the prospect is flattering.” During a Tuesday evening meeting, while it was “snowing vehemently,” the missionaries were verbally attacked and then denied the right to speak by a Wesleyan Methodist. This caused Joseph to write: “We find that conviction is resting on the minds of some. We hope that great good may yet be done in Canada, which O Lord grant for thy name’s sake.”
During that week the missionaries’ preaching brought success. On Wednesday they interviewed a Mr. Wilkeson, who was a leader in the Mount Pleasant Methodist group. “He could not stand our words,” the diary reads. “Whether he will receive the truth the Lord only knows. He seemed honest.” Thursday, a wet day, their preaching at Weathersford drew only a small congregation. But at Mount Pleasant that evening a fine meeting developed: “One man, [Eleazer] Nickerson declared his full belief in the truth of the work. Is with his wife who is also convinced to be baptized on Sunday. Great excitement prevails in every place where we have been. The result we leave in the hand of God.”
But their excitement about the pending baptisms diminished somewhat during a negative Friday discussion with a Mr. Patrick, which caused Joseph to lament: “People very superstitious. Oh God, establish thy word among this people.” But later that evening, before an attentive audience, “the Spirit gave utterance” to the Latter-day Saint preachers.
As anticipated, October 26 was a successful Sabbath and the highlight of the proselyting venture. Joseph and Sidney first preached to a large congregation at the Nickersons’, then took 12 converts into the waters of baptism, including Brother Nickerson’s two adult sons, Moses and Eleazer. That evening they “held a meeting for confirmation. We broke bread, laid on hands for the gift of the Holy Spirit. Had a good meeting, the Spirit was given in great power to some and the rest had great peace. May God carry on his work in this place till all shall know him. Amen.”
Because others at the Sunday meetings felt deeply impressed, another service was held Monday morning. Here two more souls were baptized and then confirmed at the water’s edge. At candlelight, to provide a leader for this new cluster of converts, the missionaries ordained Eleazer Nickerson an elder. “Had a good meeting,” Joseph noted. “One of the sisters got the gift of tongues which made the Saints rejoice. May God increase the gifts among them for his Son’s sake.”
The mission was accomplished and affairs at Kirtland needed their attention after a month’s absence. The missionaries spent the next five autumn days on the road. Upon reaching Kirtland, Joseph added a final comment to the missionary journal: “Found my family all well according to the promise of the Lord, for which blessing I feel to thank his holy name. Amen.”
In his own words Joseph Smith not only provides details regarding a successful mission but also conveys his strong conviction about the truthfulness of his work. His hopes, worries, concerns for loved ones, disappointments, and successes all revolved around the Lord. Deep and genuine dependence upon Him in his daily affairs characterized this little-mentioned mission of the Prophet.

A passage from the novel Les misérables illustrates how priesthood holders can treat those individuals viewed as strangers. Jean Valjean had just been released as a prisoner. Exhausted by a long voyage and dying of hunger and thirst, he arrives in a small town seeking a place to find food and shelter for the night. When the news of his arrival spreads, one by one all the inhabitants close their doors to him. Not the hotel, not the inn, not even the prison would invite him in. He is rejected, driven away, banished. Finally, with no strength left, he collapses at the front door of the town’s bishop.
The good clergyman is entirely aware of Valjean’s background, but he invites the vagabond into his home with these compassionate words:
“‘This is not my house; it is the house of Jesus Christ. This door does not demand of him who enters whether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you are hungry and thirsty; you are welcome. … What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me [your name], you had one which I knew.’
“[Valjean] opened his eyes in astonishment.
“‘Really? You knew what I was called?’
“‘Yes,’ replied the Bishop, ‘you are called my brother.’”7

Clomp, clomp, clomp! Twenty-one pairs of feet walked across a wooden bridge. Twenty-one Primary children were about to travel back in history to a special place—and leave it better than they found it.
Primary children from the Billerica Ward, Nashua New Hampshire Stake, were having a service activity at the Minute Man National Historic Park in Concord, Massachusetts. The wooden bridge is a replica of the Old North Bridge, where the first battle of the American Revolution took place on April 19, 1775.
The children’s goal was to help clean up the park. Before they got started, a park ranger told them about the park’s history. Then their Primary president, Sister Stephanie Davis, reminded them how the founding of the United States helped prepare the way for the gospel to be restored.
The children knew they were in a place that deserves respect. They had fun without yelling or being rowdy. What does it mean to respect a place? Here’s what the children had to say:
“It means you want to take care of the place so that it’s kept special.” —Abby K., age 8
“It means you leave it looking the same or better than when you got there.” —Dallen H., age 9
“It’s like saying, ‘I appreciate you.’” —Taylor A., age 11
Then they put on rubber gloves and went to work, putting every piece of trash they could find into their garbage bags.
How did the children feel when they were finished? Good, because “this is a place where something really happened,” said Alden D., age 11. All the children agreed that it felt great to show their respect for an important place that’s right in their own backyard.

Two years later, Simon came home from work and asked Rostya if she would like to move to Brazil on a company assignment. “When?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” he replied. They were soon in Santos, Brazil, where Simon began work on an oil pipeline along the coast. They knew they had opened a new phase in their life. But the real change was yet to come.
The young couple soon joined a club for expatriates, where Rostya was attracted to a group of women that seemed enthusiastic and open. When Rostya introduced herself, one of the women said, “‘Gordon-Smith’ sounds English enough, but ‘Rostya’ certainly doesn’t.” “That’s because I’m Czech,” Rostya replied. To Rostya’s surprise, the women started speaking in Czech. Rostya had just met Zaza, a native Czech raised in Brazil, married to an American, Don Clark.
The Clarks and the Gordon-Smiths soon became friends, attending movies together, playing tennis, and just visiting. One day, two Latter-day Saint missionaries called at the Clark home while Rostya was there. “I did not know they were missionaries at that time,” Rostya says. “They were just two young men with short haircuts, dressed in shirts and ties. I asked them who they worked for, because I presumed any foreigner was working for a company. They gave me a very vague answer: they were working for a church, they said, and they were visiting people and reading scriptures with them in their homes. I thought it sounded very strange at the time.”
Don and Zaza Clark, who were members of the Church, began to talk to the Gordon-Smiths about the gospel. Soon, the Clarks invited their friends to attend a Church meeting with them. It was a fast and testimony meeting. “It was a shocker for me,” Rostya says. “All I could see was that everybody wept: men, women, and children. I was very, very embarrassed, and my husband was, too. When Don Clark asked me what I thought about the meeting, I looked at him and said, ‘I think it’s mass hysteria.’”
A short time later, Don and Zaza invited Simon and Rostya to an area conference in São Paulo, where President Spencer W. Kimball announced the building of the temple in Brazil. Rostya was impressed by the affection the people showed for the prophet. Following the conference, the Gordon-Smiths agreed to take the missionary discussions.
Nothing much happened until the lesson on repentance. “I was good at justifying any of my actions,” Rostya says, “but somehow the process of repentance seemed logical to me.” She found herself thinking about repentance, even writing letters of reconciliation. “But when the missionaries asked me to pray about the principle of repentance, I said, ‘How can I pray if I don’t believe in the existence of God?’ ‘How will you know if anyone lives on the tenth floor,’ they asked me, ‘if you don’t ring the bell? Ring the bell and see if anyone answers.’
“I was thinking about what they said while I was doing the dishes one day. I decided to follow their suggestion. I knelt down and said, ‘Heavenly Father,’ and a wave of warmth enveloped me. I started again, ‘Heavenly Father,’ and the warmth intensified. I felt enveloped in love and protection for the first time in many years. I asked all the questions: ‘Is this the true church?’ ‘Is Joseph Smith a prophet?’ ‘Is the Book of Mormon true?’ ‘Do you love me?’ My answers came in the affirmative by the power of the Spirit.
“I telephoned my friend Zaza Clark. ‘I’ve got it! I’ve got it!’ I cried. ‘What have you got?’ she asked in alarm. ‘A testimony!’ I exclaimed.”
Rostya and Simon were scheduled to be baptized after a stake conference. During the conference, Elder James E. Faust of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles called on members of the congregation to bear their testimonies. He motioned for Rostya to come to the podium. With Don Clark translating into Portuguese, she bore her testimony in English. When she finished, tears were running down her cheeks. “At the end, when I said, ‘Amen,’ Don Clark turned to me and smilingly said, ‘I don’t understand. What is all this mass hysteria about?’”
Before they left Brazil, the Gordon-Smiths introduced their friends Richard and Sally Hardwick to the Church. When Richard sustained a serious injury that required surgery, the Gordon-Smiths accompanied Sally to the hospital. Rostya said, “Simon, I wish you would give Richard a blessing.” Sally asked, “What is a blessing?” The blessing was given and fulfilled. The Hardwicks joined the Church.

In 2018, at the age of 42, Thierry commenced service as president of the Maryland Baltimore Mission. His diligence in learning English while serving as a full-time missionary was now a necessity in his new responsibility. Thierry and Nathalie experienced miracles as mission leaders. On one occasion, in a tender and timely mercy, Thierry had a vivid dream. In the dream, he saw the footsteps of Jesus. He approached the footsteps and placed his foot inside one. It fit perfectly. He realized, that as a servant of God, he was following in the footsteps of Jesus.

For all of us, doing our duty to God as parents and leaders begins with leading by example—consistently and diligently living gospel principles at home. This takes daily determination and diligence.

For youth, there is no substitute for seeing the gospel lived in our daily lives. The stripling warriors did not have to wonder what their parents believed. They said, “We do not doubt our mothers knew it” (see Alma 56:47–48). Do our children know what we know?

I have a grandson who once asked me to go with him to a popular but inappropriate movie. I told him I wasn’t old enough to see that film. He was puzzled until his grandmother explained to him that the rating system by age didn’t apply to Grandpa. He came back to me and said, “I get it now, Grandpa. You’re never going to be old enough to see that movie, are you?” And he was right!

Besides showing youth the way by example, we lead them by understanding their hearts and walking alongside them on the gospel path. To truly understand their hearts, we must do more than just be in the same room or attend the same family and Church activities. We must plan and take advantage of teaching moments that make a deep and lasting impression upon their minds and hearts.

For example, Church leaders regularly plan priesthood activities and Scouting pow wows and encampments—but do those activities always accomplish their most important purpose? I have learned that what makes a priesthood or Scout activity most meaningful to a boy is not just getting a merit badge but having the opportunity to sit and talk with a leader who is interested in him and his life.

Similarly, mothers and fathers, as you drive or walk children to school or their various activities, do you use the time to talk with them about their hopes and dreams and fears and joys? Do you take the time to have them take the earplugs from their MP3 players and all the other devices so that they can hear you and feel of your love? The more I live, the more I recognize that the teaching moments in my youth, especially those provided by my parents, have shaped my life and made me who I am.

It is impossible to overestimate the influence of parents who understand the hearts of their children. Research shows that during the most important transitions of life—including those periods when youth are most likely to drift away from the Church—the greatest influence does not come from an interview with the bishop or some other leader but from the regular, warm, friendly, caring interaction with parents.

With that in mind, when we sit down at the dinner table, is our whole family there? I remember as a young man asking permission to play baseball through dinnertime. “Just put my meal in the oven,” I said to my mother. She responded, “Robert, I really want you to take a break, come home, be with the family for dinner, and then you can go out and play baseball until dark.” She taught all of us that where family meals are concerned, it’s not the food but the family interaction that nourishes the soul. My mother taught that the greatest love we give is within our homes.

Everybody knows that pine trees come from plain old nuts. And when the Munns family decided to grow pine trees to pay for their missions, some people thought the Munnses were just that—nuts.
To begin with, April and Ranier Munns of Longwood, Florida, have 13 children. That’s pretty unusual by many people’s standards. Then there was the matter of the big pine tree nursery they started in their backyard. That’s not exactly conventional, either. But then, the Munnses have never been that concerned about what’s conventional.
What April and Ranier were concerned about was the fact that theirs was a family with great potential for missionary service. They also knew that they could end up with three or four sons on a mission at one time. So during one family meeting, they discussed the possibility of setting up a tree nursery in the three-and-a-half-acre vacant pasture behind the house. It seemed an ideal solution, since they had three or four years to earn the needed money.
Once they decided on a project, things just started to happen. From a nursery in Sanford that was going out of business they bought, for 50 cents apiece, about 400 slash pines planted in one-gallon buckets. The trees were small, only 12–18 inches tall, but the Munnses knew that with hard work and care, the potential was there.
Then the family purchased about 5,000 bare root seedlings from the Florida Department of Forestry and bought used three-gallon buckets to plant them in. “We had a family night and got the assembly line started,” Leah says.
“One person put dirt in the bucket,” Jacob continues, “one person used the planter Grandad made for us to make a hole in the dirt, and another put the seedling in and passed it to the next person who added more dirt and watered the tree.” Then the responsibilities of weeding, fertilizing, and watering the seedlings were assigned and divided among the family members. “All of us worked,” Daniel recalls.
Ryan remembers, “My friends thought it was a little bit bizarre that we worked so hard to go on a mission instead of applying the money to college or using it for a car. We’d work in the trees in the mornings and get green stains on our hands that we couldn’t get out before class. I remember somebody asking me if I had a disease because of the green stuff on my hands.”
Eventually they had 6,000 slash pines and 700 oak trees. Jacob reports, “Raising the trees was not easy. Dad would wake us up before school to work an hour before we got ready for classes. And in the afternoons and Saturdays, when the rest of my friends were bowling, fishing, camping or going to movies, parties, and football games, we were picking weeds.”
Daniel says, “Our friends called our house ‘The Plantation,’ and those who came to stay overnight or for weekends knew we had to get up early on Saturday mornings. But they didn’t mind. Most of them didn’t have chores at their own homes, so they had fun riding the tractor around the nursery, hauling dirt, and filling buckets. They’d move trees and work along with us.
“Rain or shine, we’d always be down there. We liked working in the rain best because then you didn’t perspire and the weeds were easier to pull. Sometimes when we picked the weeds out of the pots, we’d find surprises. Like huge piles of ants—we’d be working fast and not even looking at our hands and wouldn’t realize until the ants started biting that we were in a fire ant bed. We occasionally found snakes and spiders. Once we caught a six-foot albino rat snake.”
An opportunity arose for them to sell the trees when they were three to four feet high for seven or eight dollars apiece. But the family decided to continue with the nursery as the boys were not yet old enough for missions. It was at this time that all 6,000 trees were transplanted into 15-gallon containers. That meant handling each tree, one by one, getting the dirt for them, and changing the sprinkler system. In the following two years, the trees grew from four feet tall to between eight and twelve feet tall.
Despite the hard work, the family recalls the Mission Pines Nursery as a positive experience, and they laugh as they recall the difficult times.
Collin tells how “one morning Dad said we all had to get up because 75 percent of the trees were on the ground. Some of the rain and winds from Hurricane Andrew had come through during the night. Luckily, slash pines just bend with the wind.”
But there was as much fun as work. Sometimes they’d take a break from the heat by jumping into the pool or by spraying each other with the hose. And there was still time for high school sports, Scouting, and the boys’ favorite activity of all—fishing. In fact, it was during this time that Collin caught a 250-pound blue marlin.
Finally, the spring arrived when the family contacted potential buyers. Many trees went to Atlanta, Georgia, in preparation for the 1996 Summer Olympics and to the Miami area for reconstruction after Hurricane Andrew. Others were sold to Disneyworld or to the state of Florida. Ranier says, “We had prayed about the trees and taken good care of them. The largest landscaping nursery in Florida, which never bought from other nurseries, came down and looked at our trees. It was the first time they bought directly from another nursery and put their labels on them.”
The Lord answered their prayers. The Munnses were able to sell, not only the trees, but the mats, the old three-gallon buckets, the stakes, and the bamboo. The only thing left in the pasture was the large patch of brown grass where the trees used to stand.

It was a normal day until later in the evening, when I started getting stomach pains. I’ve had stomach pain all my life, so it seemed like one of those “stomachaches” that I could pretend wasn’t there until it went away.
But then the pain worsened. I lay in bed, sweaty and in increasing pain, and prayed that God would help lift my burden.
There was no answer. I asked God again. And again.
And there was still no answer.
When my mother came in to check on me, I asked her, “Why isn’t God answering my prayers?”
She replied, “It might seem like God isn’t listening, but sometimes you have to endure trials.”
By this point the pain was lighting every nerve on fire. The night felt as if it dragged on for days. Somehow, I was able to eventually fall asleep.
When I woke up, the pain had dulled. But I still didn’t understand why God hadn’t helped me.
One day, I read a talk by Elder Quentin L. Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles entitled “Hope Ya Know, We Had a Hard Time” (Oct. 2008 general conference). One certain part stood out, quoted from Doctrine and Covenants 121:7–8: “My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; and then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high.” When I read that quote, I remembered Jesus Christ’s pain when He atoned for my sins. Our Savior willingly endured this great pain—for us.
Everything aligned. I understood why we have trials. If God took away our pain, we would never appreciate our great moments of weakness. But if, when we experience trials, we endure faithfully, we can be exalted on high.

Last Monday night at family home evening, Dad said he wanted to take the family to visit the new temple on Saturday. It had just been built, and we could all go inside. “Is that all right with everyone?”
“I don’t want to go,” I said.
Dad put his hand on my shoulder. “Why not, Derek?”
“I’m afraid of the dead people.”
“The dead people? There aren’t any dead people at the temple. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Yesterday Sister Bergman, my CTR teacher, told us that people do work for the dead at the temple—like baptizing them.”
I watched Dad’s eyes get big and his mouth go funny like it does when he’s trying not to laugh. “Derek, if I promise that there won’t be any dead people, will you go with us?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering how Dad was going to keep his promise.
On Saturday we drove to the temple. I looked at the sharp points on the top of it as we stood in a long line. Near the door a man shook my hand and said, “Welcome.” I was relieved that the first person we met wasn’t dead.
I asked Mom, “Can anyone come in here?”
“Now they can,” she said, “but next week the prophet will come and say a special prayer in the temple to dedicate it. After that, only members of the Church with special permission can come in.”
I went on in and walked on a thick blue carpet. It gave me a warm feeling all over.
Our family stopped to look at some pictures hanging on the walls. Mom told us a story about one of the paintings of Jesus holding little children.
I saw one room with an organ and benches. Another room had lots of mirrors on all the walls. As I stood with mirrors in front of and behind me, I saw hundreds of my reflections getting smaller and smaller, going on forever. In the middle of the room was a table with soft cushions on top of it, and a padded step all around the bottom. “What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s called an altar,” Mom said.
Dad said that people knelt at the altar when they were married. Then he said something about ceilings for the dead.
I quickly looked up. The top of the room looked ordinary to me. I asked, “Dad, why is it called a ceiling for dead people?”
Dad bent down and quietly explained that a temple sealing was a special kind of ordinance. It was spelled s-e-a-l-i-n-g, and didn’t have anything to do with the top of the room. He said that when a man and a woman are married in the temple, it is called being sealed, and when they are sealed to each other, or when their children are sealed to them, it means that if they live righteously, they can be a family forever.
I felt a lot better, but I still had to ask, “Do they bring the dead people here to seal them?”
“No, Derek,” Dad replied. “People who are alive, like your mother and me, are sealed in behalf of people who are no longer living. They died before they could be married or sealed in a temple, so we do it for them.”
“Where are they?” I asked.
“Their bodies are in their graves, and their spirits are in the spirit world.”
“How do you know they want you to do this for them?”
“We don’t. We just do the work, and if they want to, they can accept it. But they don’t have to. It’s like sending someone a package. That person gets to choose whether he or she wants to accept it. For that person the important choice is the accepting. Heavenly Father says that for us, though, it’s the sending.”
We left the room with the mirrors and walked down a hall and into other rooms. Dad said that some of these rooms were like special schoolrooms and that people who came to the temple learned important lessons and received blessings there. I learned that living people could receive the lessons and blessings for people who had died.
I saw a large room with private little places for women to dress, and another one just like it for men. Mom explained that people change into white temple clothes in these rooms. She said that everyone would wear white in the temple after it was dedicated.
Finally, we came to a room with a bare floor. It was rock-hard, and as we entered, I heard our shoes make loud sounds on it. In the middle of the room was a giant bowl of water sitting on top of twelve oxen that were standing on a floor below the level of the floor where we were.
Dad took my hand, and we walked over a small bridge and stood by the water. As I leaned over it, I could see my reflection. “This is where they do baptisms for the dead,” he said.
“How do they do that?”
“Living people are baptized in place of the dead,” Dad said. “In fact, young people are often baptized for them.”
“You mean I could be baptized for someone who has died?”
“Yes—when you’re twelve, you can come to the temple and be baptized for the dead if you’re worthy. You might even be baptized for people who have been waiting hundreds of years for it to be done for them.”
As we left the parking lot, I said, “I hope when I’m twelve I can get permission to come here and get baptized for some of Heavenly Father’s children. I’m really anxious to do it.”
“They’re anxious for you to do it, too,” Dad said.

The Aaronic Priesthood quorums in a ward in Worcestershire, England, began the year like many others—setting goals. They came together to plan ways to do more to honour their priesthood and fulfil their personal duty to their Heavenly Father. Everyone generated ideas, and soon the blackboard was full of worthy endeavours.

The ideas were then grouped into three main goals:
Attend the temple at least twice to perform baptisms for the dead.
Work diligently on their current portion of Duty to God.
Increase the membership of each quorum by one, either through baptism or activation.

The young men recognised that the first two goals were things that were mostly down to them to achieve but that the third would require the Lord’s hand. They left that day excited and confident that these goals, though not easy, were definitely achievable through diligence and committed action.

As December approached, however, it looked like the third goal would not be achieved, although the young men had done their part. They had worked diligently on their Duty to God, attended the temple, and strengthened their quorum unity. They had also taken part in many different missionary challenges, like going out with the missionaries, inviting friends to youth activities and church, and placing copies of the Book of Mormon.

Little did they know that the Lord had been preparing people’s hearts to hear the gospel.

In November the Young Men president introduced the missionaries to his neighbours, Portuguese women whom he had spoken with about the Church as they had been introduced to it previously in Portugal. These women quickly saw what good the gospel could do for their sons, Patrick Pereira and Miguel Lima, and asked the missionaries to teach them.

Patrick and Miguel progressed very quickly and loved coming out to the youth activities as they felt great excitement and friendship whilst they were there. “It was quite exciting,” Miguel remembers. “I got to meet new people and find good friends.”

A baptism date of December 19 was set by the missionaries, who were not conscious of the young men’s goals. But the Lord was, and this was recognised by all the young men.

The Lord had been preparing the hearts of Patrick and Miguel, who were of deacon and teacher age, respectively. Together with Craig, their baptisms meant that each quorum had increased by one, which exactly matched the goal the quorums had prayerfully set. On their baptismal day, most of the ward members were there to see these two young men make a sacred covenant with their Heavenly Father.

“It felt right,” Patrick remembers. After being baptised, he says that he felt “like a blank slate, a new beginning.”

Matt Stobbs says, “It was amazing when I found out they were to both be baptised just before the end of the year. It made me feel that Heavenly Father really knows us and is watching over His children individually and is aware of our struggles and our goals.”

Paul Stobbs, bishop of the ward, says, “I can only describe the events that led to the young men’s goals being met as miraculous. I know that Heavenly Father recognised their faith and dedication to the gospel and subsequently blessed their efforts. Being witnesses to these events has inspired all members of the ward to show more faith.”

I can understand in some small part how joyful the Lord must be when His servants obey without murmuring. Recently, my dear wife and I participated in a meeting during which our responsibilities were to be explained. We had no idea, at that time, what our assignment would be or where we would be serving. I was privately advised that we would be called to serve in West Africa. I was surprised and delighted with the assignment, but there passed through my mind the thoughts that would inevitably arise in the mind of my companion of almost 39 years. How would she receive this assignment? I knew she would agree to go. In all our years together, she has never refused a call from the Lord. But what would be the feelings of her heart?
As I sat next to her, she discerned in my eyes that I knew our assignment. She said, “Well, where is it?” I simply said, “Africa.” Her eyes brightened, and she said with cheerful heart, “Isn’t that great!” My joy was full.