Gospel Story Finder

“Remember that game we played in the mud last summer?” Jason asked. “Lucky for me, I got home before my folks saw me. But who do you think I found in the bathroom? Christine! It smelled like a perfume factory in there! Phew!”
Randy frowned. “I bet she told on you, too, didn’t she?”
“Well, … no.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I guess she didn’t,” Jason said with a shrug. “At least Mom and Dad never said a word when—”

Car horns blared and taxis and buses jostled for a place in the traffic. As Benjamin Misalucha sat in the marketplace watching the automobiles roll by, he reached for a handkerchief and mopped his brow. He hoped his wife would be done with the shopping soon. The weather was hot and muggy, as it often is in the Philippines, and he was eager to get home and relax with his children.

Then he noticed a sign, high on the side of one of the buildings overlooking the square. “No other success can compensate for failure in the home,” the sign read. He found himself contemplating the message and believing in its truth.

“During those times I was young, about 30, and had four children. We had everything, comparatively speaking, compared to other Filipinos, but I was not satisfied with my life. In my heart I knew I was searching for something more,” he said.

He didn’t guess that the quotation from President David O. McKay had been inscribed on the sign by missionaries living in the building, the same kind of Mormon missionaries who had already visited with him for three weeks when he lived in Manila, the capital city. He had also been visited twice by the elders here in Davao, another large city in the south.

A short time later, Benjamin Misalucha was transferred by his pharmaceutical company to Cebu City, an important community on one of the central islands. It was in Cebu that Mr. Misalucha and his family would discover the secret of what had been lacking in their lives.

The Misaluchas were excited about their new home. Cebu and the region surrounding it are important in the history of the Philippines. It was here that Ferdinand Magellan, who sought to circumnavigate the earth, first introduced Christianity to the islands. What is reputed to be Magellan’s wooden cross still stands in the city plaza. From 1565 to 1571, Cebu was the Spanish colonial capital, and Cebuanos later played key roles in the fight for independence from Spain. During World War II, in reprisal for guerilla action, Cebu City proper was almost entirely razed. But the port remained intact and the city was rebuilt. Today Cebu remains an inter-island trade and domestic airline center. Its citizens are a conglomeration of farmers, factory workers, and businessmen. The Misaluchas soon discovered that, like Filipinos everywhere, the people of Cebu are quick to smile and just as quick to lend a helping hand.

“Filipinos are basically close,” Benjamin’s wife, Avelina, explained. “We maintain close family ties, and ties with other Filipinos as well. We share experiences, even material things.”

In a society in which sharing is so accepted, it might seem unusual that someone would stand out as being particularly kind and generous. But such was the case with the local Parent Teacher Association (PTA) president. Right from the start she went out of her way to help the Misaluchas adjust to their new city. Soon Mr. Misalucha was serving on the PTA board. He eventually found out that the PTA president was also the wife of the local Mormon bishop. His curiosity grew and grew.

“One day I saw both of them walking home, and I ran over to catch up with them,” Mr. Misalucha explained. “I told him I wanted to know more about his church. He said he could recommend a couple of nice young men who could teach me about it.”

For the next ten months, the elders became a regular fixture in the Misalucha home. Benjamin Misalucha would entertain them with stories about previous encounters with missionaries, before he fully understood who they were: “They knocked on my door and asked me if I was the head of the house. I was all hot and perspiring from doing some chores, so I told them, ‘No, I’m just the janitor here.’ It’s something I say jokingly to my family all the time, but the missionaries believed me!”

Avelina would always provide cold water or juice, cake, or even siopao (doughy, white, steamed Chinese bread stuffed with sausage and eggs). And of course, the children, who numbered five by now, would have fun teasing the missionaries and telling jokes before the serious gospel discussions began.

“I wanted answers from the Bible,” Benjamin said, “because I didn’t believe in the Book of Mormon yet. And they showed me answers in the Bible. I was totally perplexed by how they could always get answers to questions I couldn’t even answer myself.” Slowly his perplexed state gave way to understanding. The missionaries could find the answers because they knew the truth. He summoned a family council.

“Take this individually into prayer,” he told his wife and children. At the next family council, they all voted in favor of becoming Latter-day Saints. The family was baptized on April 29, 1978, a Saturday.

“Ever since we’ve been members, we’ve been blessed,” Brother Misalucha said. He began working for an insurance company, and his business has grown steadily, “in spite of the fact that some of my friends were hostile. They told me I’d return to my former church within two years. But I had found the true church, Christ’s church. Our family bonds were stronger. The children were becoming more pronounced in developing their skills, learning to speak in public and overcoming their shyness. I knew I was following the Lord’s way.”

Nadean Nielson, a graduate of Manti High School, where she was a member of the National Honor Society and yearbook photographer, had the unusual distinction of winning Sanpete County (Utah)’s annual demolition derby. Nadean and her car, Ragin’ Rufus, eliminated the other six female contestants and 50 male drivers. The derby is a popular annual event for high schoolers in the county.
Nadean’s skill at driving has been put to another use. She certified as an Emergency Medical Technician. Her duties include driving the ambulance with the volunteer ambulance service.
Nadean is a member of the Manti First Ward, Manti Utah Stake, where she has served as youth camp director and has held leadership positions in her Young Women classes.

Mary Jane was remembering the night she and her family were baptized. They had waited until it was dark to be baptized because some of their neighbors didn’t like “Mormons,” and the family didn’t want there to be any trouble. The ocean was very cold that night. But when she came out of the water and the missionaries laid their hands on her head, Mary Jane had a warm, wonderful feeling.

Ruby B., age 10, Massachusetts, USA
My friends and I like to bake treats and give them to our neighbors. We leave a little note to cheer them up. Then we ring the doorbell and run away fast!

The blessings of the priesthood were never greater in my life than three years ago when my husband, Dave, lay critically ill in a hospital. Medical examinations had revealed a massive, cancerous tumor that could not be operated on. The doctors explained that modern methods could extend life perhaps many years; some people were even being totally cured of cancer. So we were full of hope, confident that Dave would be one of the lucky ones.
He was recovering well when he began to have severe chest pains. He had developed pneumonia and blood clots in his lungs. For the next three weeks our concern over the cancer became secondary as the doctors battled to save his lungs and life. Finally, he underwent major chest surgery and was once more on the road to recovery.
We breathed a sigh of relief. One problem at a time was enough for me. Now we could think about the cancer again. I was feeling optimistic when I asked the doctor about Dave’s outlook for the future. He answered that if the treatment of chemical injections worked, we might expect a slowing of the cancerous growth for as long as two years.
I was stunned. I thought he’d speak in terms of fifteen or twenty years; now he was telling me that it would be marvelous if my husband survived for two. I gave myself up to grief; it couldn’t have been worse if Dave had actually died. For three days and nights I thought I would perish myself from the anguish I suffered. On Sunday evening I attended sacrament meeting, and several people, including our bishop and home teachers, asked what they might do to help. I desperately needed a priesthood blessing, but was afraid that if I spoke I would lose all composure. So I nodded that everything was all right and left the building.
A few minutes later, on my way to the hospital, I was angry at myself for not letting them help me. I knew I couldn’t survive much longer in my present state. “What am I going to do now?” I asked myself. Then suddenly the answer came: “Dave has the priesthood. He could give me a blessing.”
It did seem a bit strange that he should do it; after all he was the one who had been receiving one blessing after another in efforts to save his own life. It would be like asking the “sick” to bless the “well.” But I had nowhere else to turn.
I’ll never forget how my husband looked standing before me that evening as I sat on his bed. Wearing a hospital robe, gaunt and pale with pain and so weak he could hardly stand, he finally lifted his left arm to my shoulder, and with his right hand on my head proceeded to give me a priesthood blessing.
Oh, the magnificence of the priesthood of God exercised by a righteous man! My husband spoke with strength, power, and authority, asking the Lord to remove the sorrow from my heart. Immediately I felt great relief from my pain; it was though the Lord had reached into my heart and removed the sadness.
My grief never returned, though many difficult days lay ahead.
Dave’s struggle against cancer has been painful and hard the past three years, but he lives—and his doctor tells us that he now has a good chance of total cure. We’re convinced the reason he is alive today is because of the power of the priesthood.
I have learned without reservation that, as the hymn says, “Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.” (“Come, Ye Disconsolate,” Hymns, no. 18.) I thank our Father in heaven daily for the blessings I have received through the priesthood; but never had the priesthood been so dear to me as it was that night—filling a room with power under the hands of a courageous man in a hospital robe.

My grandparents have had a great influence on my life. Even though they have been dead for many years, I still feel their love. One grandfather, James Akerley Faust, died before I was born. I knew him only through the stories my grandmother and my parents told about him. However, I feel a strong kinship with him because I am in part what he was. Among other things, he was a cowboy, a rancher, and a postmaster in a small town in central Utah. On one occasion Grandfather took a trip in the winter to Idaho, where he met an acquaintance who had fallen on hard times. It was cold, and Grandfather’s friend had no coat. Grandfather took off his coat and gave it to him.

4. At the University of Idaho at Moscow, each class chose a student whose job it was to nag other students about bringing visitors and making sure that all newcomers felt welcome. Within a short time, no assignments were needed—performance was terrific!

The Pacific Area Presidency invited members and friends of the Church to make extra efforts to serve during February 2021—“Come and Help” month.
In South Australia, members of the Onkaparinga and Happy Valley wards chose to serve at The Stables Christian Centre at Huntfield Heights.
The volunteers dismantled two large sheds and many old tables and desks. They also sorted items for rubbish removal and recycling. Many overgrown trees and bushes were cut, the large woodpile was tidied up, and flooring and furniture were rearranged to be under cover.
They also cleaned donated medical equipment and packed it in a container to be sent overseas. Desks, tables, and other usable furniture donated by schools, were cleaned up to be either sent overseas or sold in their “Op shop”—a store to raise funds for shipping containers to Africa, Papua New Guinea, and Vanuatu.
“We appreciate that your Church has joined us in this clean-up,” Lynne said, “as the work is quite extensive. We are well on the way to restoring the site so that we can invite families, vulnerable people and people with disabilities to enjoy our unique property that we see as the Lord’s place and a place of blessing.”
The morning was a great success, providing needed service and accomplishing much more than was expected.

In the last moments of my father’s righteous and exemplary life, with all of the strength he could muster, he uttered in a hardly audible voice, “I only hope the Savior will find me worthy to call me His friend.” Oh, to be called a friend of the Savior! As my father yearned, I also wondered: Would Christ count me as one of His sheep? Would He see me striving to exemplify His teachings and live His divine principles? Would He call me a disciple? Would He call me a friend? This is what really matters.

Sara stared at her bowl of oatmeal. She hated oatmeal. She had always hated oatmeal. But ever since Grandma had come to live with them, she cooked a big pot of oatmeal every morning. Sara had told her grandmother that she didn’t like oatmeal, but Grandma always forgot. Grandma forgot a lot of things. Sometimes she forgot to put her teeth in. And she often forgot where she had left her glasses. Even worse was the way she dressed and talked. She called Sara “Sarey,” and she wore flowered cotton housedresses that came down to her ankles. And when she went outside, she always put on a sunbonnet.
Sara’s mother said that they should be kind and humor Grandma. Well, today I don’t feel like humoring anyone, thought Sara. Her best friend, Gail, was moving to San Diego, and this was her last day of school. “I’m not hungry,” Sara said. She pushed away the hated oatmeal, got her books and sweater, and went out the back door.
Sara walked slowly down the street toward Gail’s house. They had been walking to school together since second grade. In fact, they had been doing everything together since second grade. Gail, as usual, was waiting in front of her house. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, while Sara had dark hair and eyes.
A big yellow moving van, with its back doors open, was already parked in front of Gail’s house.
“Hi,” said Gail.
An enormous lump filled Sara’s throat, and she couldn’t answer for a minute. The girls walked to school in silence. Sara went through the motions of schoolwork and lunch and recess as if she were a robot.
After school the girls walked home together for the last time. When they got to Gail’s house, they stopped. The moving van was almost loaded. The front door of the house was wide open, and Sara could see the empty rooms inside. She had never felt so lonely in her life. Nothing would ever be the same again.
“Be sure to write,” said Sara in a choked voice.
“I will,” Gail said, her eyes brimming with tears. They had talked before about writing and visiting each other during the summer, but this time it was for real.
Suddenly the dam in Sara’s throat broke, and sobs wracked her body. She turned and ran. As she got close to home, her heart sank even further. A tiny figure topped by a sunbonnet was bent over the flower bed.
Oh, no! I can’t talk to Grandma now, thought Sara. I’ll go around to the back door. Grandma’s hearing isn’t too good, so she’ll probably never notice me.
Sara cut across the lawn and was almost to the corner of the house when Grandma’s shrill voice cut the still air. “Sarey, is that you?”
Sara had a wild impulse to keep going, but she stopped. She pulled a tissue from her pocket, wiped her eyes, then turned around. “Yes, Grandma. It’s me.”
“Will you come over here a minute? I need some help.”
Sara sighed. “All right, Grandma. I’m coming.”
Grandma peered up at Sara from under the sunbonnet. She looked like a sharp little bird. Sometimes Sara had the uncomfortable feeling that Grandma could see right through her.
“You’ve been crying, Sarey.”
“A little,” admitted Sara. “Today was Gail’s last day at school.”
“Oh,” said Grandma. “Sarey, would you mind helping me plant these tulip bulbs. It won’t take long if we both work at it.”
Sara put her books down and knelt beside Grandma. Grandma dug a hole with her trowel. “Now, set the bulb right in there,” she said.
Sara did as she was told. Then Grandma poured water into the hole from a watering can, placed dirt on top of the bulb, and watered it again. “There, that’s all there is to it. Do you think you can do that?”
“Sure.” Sara picked up the other trowel and started to dig where Grandma showed her.
“When’s your friend moving?”
“Today,” said Sara.
“Too bad. That will be a big change for you.”
“Yes,” said Sara in a choked voice. She wanted to tell Grandma to be quiet, that she didn’t want to talk to her about Gail.
Grandma was quiet for a while, then started chuckling. “Did I ever tell you about my Grandma Ruth, Sarey?”
“No,” said Sara, grateful that Grandma’s mind had wandered off to a different subject.
“She was born and raised in North Carolina and moved to Kentucky when she was a bride of sixteen. She rode a horse alongside her husband. They had everything they owned piled onto their two horses, and it wasn’t much, I can tell you.”
Grandma set a bulb into the hole she had been digging and continued, “One thing that Ruth had with her was a little bag of tulip bulbs. Her mama gave them to her before she left. As soon as Ruth’s husband got a little log cabin built, Ruth planted those bulbs. Then came one of the hardest winters on record in Kentucky, and she and her husband nearly froze to death. But when those tulips came peeking through the ground in the spring, she knew that they would make it.”
Sara put dirt over a bulb and patted it down.
“Ever since then, we’ve been a tulip family,” Grandma went on. “I received some bulbs from Grandma Ruth when I married and went to Missouri with your grandpa. Many’s the year the tulips coming up in the spring have lifted my spirits. Grandma Ruth always said that tulips are the Lord’s promise to us. No matter what happens, those tulips just keep coming up every spring.”
Sara stopped digging and looked at her grandmother. “You brought these bulbs with you from Missouri, didn’t you?”
Grandma ducked her head shyly. “Yes. I put them in my suitcase because I was really afraid to come out here to live. I figured I needed that promise more than ever to hold on to.”
Sara looked down at her dirty hands. “Some things will always be the same, won’t they?” she said softly.
“That’s a fact,” Grandma agreed.
Suddenly Sara had an idea. “Grandma, do you think you could spare one or two of these bulbs?”
Grandma’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why, sure, honey. I brought plenty.”
Sara held out her hands for the bulbs Grandma gave her. “I want to give these to Gail to take with her. She can plant them at her new home. Is that all right?”
Grandma smiled. “It’s a fine idea. Grandma Ruth would have liked knowing that her tulips will go all the way out to California.”
Sara stood up and dusted off her hands. “Grandma, do you have any pictures of her? Of Grandma Ruth, I mean.”
“I sure do, honey, and I have a peck of stories about her too.”
Sara reached down and hugged her. “I’ll be back in a little while, and you can start telling me about her.”
Sara clutched the bulbs in her hand and started for Gail’s house.

The family eventually moved to Melbourne, where they connected with other members of the Church. It was a haven for them to be around like-minded people. Elizabeth was especially touched by the warm welcome they received from the sisters, who opened their homes for Sunday meetings and generously provided meals.

Although they were not organised as part of the official Relief Society organisation yet, the sisters worked together to cook, sew, and coordinate fundraising efforts for a new chapel. Elizabeth felt a companionship with these women that she had never known before.

Young women laughed, joked, and sang songs while the sausages they were roasting on an open campfire sputtered and sizzled to keep them company. The group had hiked all day, and the rest and food were welcome.
It could have been a girls’ camp anywhere in the world. But this was on the border of the Wildschutzgebiet (a game preserve), and the four days of nature treks planned during the camp would lead 22 Latter-day Saints from the Frankfurt Germany Stake and their three leaders through the scenery surrounding the towns of Laubach, Ilbeshausen, Lauterbach, and Schotten.
Each morning there was a devotional. One night Brother Baumgart from the stake high council came to visit and conducted a fireside and testimony meeting. And everywhere they went the girls sang folk songs like “Hejo, spann den Wagen an” (“Hey, Hook the Wagon Up”), or hymns like “Der Morgen erwachet” (“The Day Dawn Is Breaking”).
There were pillow fights, trips to town for food, a night spent in a quaint hostel with yellow shutters and squeaky beds, meals like goulash and rice, a daily quiz with questions such as “Does a cow use its front or rear legs first when standing up?”, and many entries in journals.
Two particular experiences remain impressed on the girls’ memory: (1) At Lauterbach, the group chanced to meet a couple being married at city hall, so they serenaded them. (2) Hiking in the woods during the only day with bad weather, the group got lost in the fog. After stumbling around for several minutes, they decided to say a prayer. Following the prayer, they all agreed on one direction and walked straight to their destination.
But perhaps the ideals shared on the trip show more than anything else that it was an activity planned by young Latter-day Saint women. The goals were: (1) to be together as girls and have enjoyable, beautiful experiences; (2) to get better acquainted with nature; (3) to increase physical endurance; and (4) to draw closer through spiritual moments and to learn to understand one another. As they rode the train back to Frankfurt, the girls’ comments suggested that those goals had been realized in many ways.

In 1985, two letters from the First Presidency called upon Church members in the United States and Canada to join in special fasts. The funds donated during these fasts would be “dedicated for the use of victims of famine and other causes resulting in hunger and privation among people of Africa, and possibly some other areas.” The letters promised that “all funds contributed … will … assist the hungry and needy in distressed areas regardless of Church membership.” In their desire to help, the Saints donated almost (U.S.) $11 million.
Immediately following the first special fast in January 1985, Church leaders identified “organizations of unquestioned integrity” that the Church could assist in distributing food, tents, and medical supplies to suffering victims in Ethiopia and neighboring African nations. During the remainder of 1985 and most of 1986, the International Committee of the Red Cross, Catholic Relief Services, and the Cooperative for American Relief Everywhere (CARE) delivered the Church-provided relief supplies.
In the spirit of the Church’s welfare services philosophy of helping people to help themselves, however, the Brethren determined that some money should also go into projects that would promote long-term self-reliance. So a portion of the donations were used for several projects like the one in Geddobar. Most of these activities, carried out in Ethiopia, Chad, Niger, Cameroon, Nigeria, and Ghana, have focused on water and agricultural development as a protection against future drought. Monies from the second special fast held in November 1985 are currently being allocated for projects in other areas of Africa, as well as on other continents where severe need exists.

The shipping industry is a major employer, and it would have employed Richardt Andersen, Copenhagen’s stake president, if his commitment to the Lord had not changed his plans.

“I had served in the Danish Navy and wanted to be trained as a navigator,” President Andersen recalls. But after completing his mission in Denmark in 1970, he married Helmi, and they had the first of their six sons. Instead of Esbjerg and a life on the sea, he was called as bishop of the Copenhagen Second Ward and became a policeman. For the past nine years he has been the stake president.

For the past three years the number of convert baptism in the Copenhagen stake has doubled, growing from twenty-seven in 1988 to one hundred in 1990. “We stand on the shoulders of those who’ve gone before. We’re working to finish the building on the foundation they laid,” he says. His work includes Saturday jobs with his sons, who are earning money for their missions; whatever he earns while working with them goes into the fund.

Jamie’s conscience pricked him as he climbed to the top of the tree. He knew that he should be helping his dad on the farm—after all, he was twelve years old now—but something important was happening in Colesville, New York, today, and the whole town was talking about it.
Joseph Smith was coming back to their little farming community after attending the first conference of the recently organized Church in Fayette, New York. His wife, Emma, was traveling with him, as were Oliver Cowdery and John and David Whitmer. Some of the people in Colesville wanted to be baptized while the Prophet was there, and Jamie was one of them. He’d sat in the back of the room when Joseph had preached to them before, and he knew that the Prophet’s words were true. Now Jamie wanted to look again upon the face of the man who had actually seen God the Father and Jesus Christ, and he wanted to do it without the Prophet knowing that he was being watched.
Before long, Jamie caught sight of the wagon. He could see a woman in the wagon and noticed the other men too. But one person seemed to stand out from the others. A burning feeling quickened Jamie’s heart as he watched, and he knew more surely than ever that this man was the Prophet. Even after the Prophet had passed and Jamie had climbed down from the tree, his feeling of elation continued as he returned to his home.
As Jamie stepped onto the porch and slipped inside the kitchen, he heard his mother say, “But I’m not sure! I’ve known Joseph for some time now, and I want to believe that he speaks the truth. But to have someone say that he has actually seen and heard God! That’s hard for me to accept.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind that what Joseph says is true,” his father said. He walked over to the shelf and took down a book. “I’ve read the Book of Mormon, and I believe that it’s true—every word of it,” Father testified to her. “If Joseph lied about seeing God, then he lied about this book being true. The reverse is also true. If this book is true, then Joseph actually saw the Father and Jesus Christ. Joseph is a prophet, and I intend to be baptized this Sunday when they hold the service.”
Jamie walked forward. “Me too. I know that what Joseph teaches is true.”
“How can you, a young boy, know if a church is true?” his mother asked, smiling gently to soften the words.
“I know,” Jamie stated. “And I’ve read the Book of Mormon. It’s true!”
“I’ve really wanted to read it, too,” Mother said with a sigh, “but I just haven’t found the time. There are so many chores …”
Jamie’s heart started pounding. More than anything in the world, he wanted his family to all be baptized at the same time. But if his mother didn’t have time to read, she wouldn’t know that the Book of Mormon is true. He could give her that time.
“If Father will give me time from my own chores, I’ll do yours, Mother. Then you’ll have time to read the Book of Mormon. I just know that when you’ve read it and prayed about it, you’ll know that it’s true.”
“I can do Jamie’s chores if he’ll do yours,” Father agreed. “How about it, Martha?”
Mother looked at her husband, then at her son. She loved them both very much. “All right. I’ll read the Book of Mormon. But I’m not promising that I’ll be baptized.”
For the next two days Jamie was busy from morning till dark. He’d never realized before all the work that his mother did during the day. At night he fell into bed exhausted. He even missed the special meeting where Joseph announced the baptism on Sunday. All his strength was directed toward helping his mother.
Saturday afternoon Brother George Riggs rode up to their farm. Jamie went out with his mother and father to greet him.
“Brother Johns,” Brother Riggs said after the greetings were over, “I need a pair of strong arms to help dam that stream above Brother Knight’s farm. That’s where we’ll hold the baptismal service. Could I have your son’s help for the afternoon?”
Father glanced at Mother, who nodded her head.
“We’d be proud to have him help,” Father answered. “He desires to be baptized also, so it’s fitting for him to help dam the stream.”
Brother Riggs smiled at Jamie. “That’s just fine. Brother Joseph will be glad to know that.” Turning to Father, he asked, “And you, Brother and Sister Johns? How about you?”
“I’ll be baptized, too,” Father spoke out clearly.
The group then turned to Martha for her answer. She hesitated for a moment, then smiled at her son. “Jamie gave me the time to read the Book of Mormon and to ponder and to pray. I know that Joseph Smith is a prophet. I know the Book of Mormon is true. I, too, want to be baptized!”
Jamie had never felt happier in his life.

John Conrad was not my best Scout. As a matter of fact, he was one of the biggest problems in the troop. Of the 20 boys in the Regina 35th Scout Troop, Saskatchewan, Canada, John was the one who could always be counted on to be where he wasn’t supposed to be, doing what he wasn’t supposed to be doing. But you couldn’t stay mad at the kid. He was just a skinny little 12-year-old with big teeth. He’d look up at you with those big brown eyes and say, “Sorry, Skip, it won’t happen again.”
We both knew that it would.
It was John who whacked himself on the top of the head with the flat of the ax on our first day of camp. It was John who tumbled head over heels from the top of a valley to the bottom, spreading all his camp gear in a trail to be picked up in the dark by others.
It was John who rescued me.
We were on our way to the biggest camp of the year. We had saved and worked for months so we could camp at my granddad’s farm in the mountains. Hiking, swimming, fossil hunting—anything we wanted to do, we could do.
It was a fairly long drive, so we drove during the early-morning hours to save as much daylight as possible for activities. About halfway there, John popped his head over the back of the front seat and said, “Skip, why are you inactive?”
I said, “What do you mean, inactive? I’m your deacons quorum adviser and your Scoutmaster!”
“Well, I never see you at sacrament meeting, so how can you say you’re active?”
Oddly enough, as penetrating as his questions were, I felt as though he really cared. He wasn’t being rude or sarcastic, just direct.
I mumbled something about how my nonmember wife wouldn’t understand about my being away all day Sunday. John said, “Well, you teach us that to be active, we need to go to all our meetings, so how can you say that you’re active when you don’t come to sacrament meeting?”
Before I could form a decent rebuttal, John was on to his next question. “Brother Spencer, do you pay your tithing?” All of a sudden Skip the Scoutmaster was gone and I was “Brother Spencer.” I felt like I was in front of the branch president for one of those personal interviews that I tried to avoid.
I once again tried to shift the blame onto my nonmember wife. “But how can you say that you are active if you don’t pay tithing and don’t come to sacrament meeting, Brother Spencer?”
“I guess I can’t,” I replied.
“Well, are you going to get active?”
What a question! It was four in the morning. I was tired, and this kid was asking me to commit to change my life. But how do you lie to a boy asking a sincere question? I couldn’t say yes and I couldn’t say no.
“I can’t make a commitment to you, John.”
“Well, will you think about it?”
“Yes, John, I will think about it.”
“Good, because I will ask you again.”
That boy ruined a perfectly good camping expedition. I couldn’t put the challenge out of my mind. When he and a friend set fire to Granddad’s pasture, I hardly even exploded. When they took down all the leaders’ tents during our mega-water fight, I didn’t bat an eye. Ten years of semiactivity weighed on my mind. For the first time in many years, I took a long and really hard look at myself.
At the end of the camp, I took John aside. I made a commitment to the Lord, with John as a witness, that I would start going to sacrament meeting the next Sunday. I committed to start paying tithing with my next paycheque. I told John that I could only do it with his help.
“I’ll help you, Skip,” he promised. And he did.
John befriended my wife and children. Each Sunday he would check on my progress. “I’m praying for you,” he told me. He was still a pest, but a loving one.
Four months after I made my commitment, John and I went together to get our patriarchal blessings. Four months after that, my wife was baptized. I performed the baptism and John was there. A year later, my wife and I were sealed in the Alberta Temple.
Whenever I look at myself and the changes in my life since the day John confronted me, I ask what would have happened to me and my family if he had been afraid to ask those questions. Then I thank my Heavenly Father for a 12-year-old Scout who had both courage and love.

Let me share with you a personal experience that may be of some help to those who feel insignificant, forgotten, or alone.
Many years ago I attended pilot training in the United States Air Force. I was far away from my home, a young West German soldier, born in Czechoslovakia, who had grown up in East Germany and spoke English only with great difficulty. I clearly remember my journey to our training base in Texas. I was on a plane, sitting next to a passenger who spoke with a heavy Southern accent. I could scarcely understand a word he said. I actually wondered if I had been taught the wrong language all along. I was terrified by the thought that I had to compete for the coveted top spots in pilot training against students who were native English speakers.
When I arrived on the air base in the small town of Big Spring, Texas, I looked for and found the Latter-day Saint branch, which consisted of a handful of wonderful members who were meeting in rented rooms on the air base itself. The members were in the process of building a small meetinghouse that would serve as a permanent place for the Church. Back in those days members provided much of the labor on new buildings.
Day after day I attended my pilot training and studied as hard as I could and then spent most of my spare time working on the new meetinghouse. There I learned that a two-by-four is not a dance step but a piece of wood. I also learned the important survival skill of missing my thumb when pounding a nail.
I spent so much time working on the meetinghouse that the branch president—who also happened to be one of our flight instructors—expressed concern that I perhaps should spend more time studying.
My friends and fellow student pilots engaged themselves in free-time activities as well, although I think it’s safe to say that some of those activities would not have been in alignment with today’s For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. For my part, I enjoyed being an active part of this tiny west Texas branch, practicing my newly acquired carpentry skills, and improving my English as I fulfilled my callings to teach in the elders quorum and in Sunday School.
At the time, Big Spring, despite its name, was a small, insignificant, and unknown place. And I often felt exactly the same way about myself—insignificant, unknown, and quite alone. Even so, I never once wondered if the Lord had forgotten me or if He would ever be able to find me there. I knew that it didn’t matter to Heavenly Father where I was, where I ranked with others in my pilot training class, or what my calling in the Church was. What mattered to Him was that I was doing the best I could, that my heart was inclined toward Him, and that I was willing to help those around me. I knew if I did the best I could, all would be well.
And all was well.15

When the long-awaited mail arrived today, the first thing that caught my eye was the cover of the March 1984 New Era. Being a member of the U.S. Navy and having been away from home for four months, I immediately turned to the article “The Homecoming.” As I read each paragraph, memories and dreams flashed through my mind while tears of love filled my eyes. The story captured the true love and excitement that exists for those who sail the world’s seas. The love of the Church members has been extended to our eight LDS members. Even though three or four countries we’ve visited have non-English-speaking people, we have been welcomed into the homes and wards of the Church members.
Only by having services on Sunday and LDS group discussion during the week while at sea have we been able to strengthen ourselves and share thoughts of our homecoming, when we can again be with our families. It’s feature articles like “The Homecoming” that enlighten those who haven’t experienced such an event as well as strengthening and uplifting those who have. Thank you, New Era.

by Jeanne McInelly
The silent dignity of the Arkansas House of Representatives was pierced with shouts of “Contact! Contact!” A hundred Arkansas seminary students were clamoring for points in the final scripture chase contest of the year.
“Hold it down! Quiet, quiet! Let’s remember where we are,” cautioned the teacher. “Are you ready? Here’s the clue for scripture number seven.”
It all began the month before in seminary officers meeting where plans were being laid for the next Super Saturday.
“Hey, our lesson is on good government next month.”
“Wow, let’s all go to Washington!”
“No, we’ve got roadshow practice that morning.”
“Well, how about having our lesson at the state capitol building at Little Rock?”
“You’ve got to be important to get in there.”
“Well, so who’s more important than LDS seminary students from all over the state—in our Sunday best?”
“It’s worth trying for. At least after we ask they’ll know there are Mormons in Arkansas.”
Within a week officials were approached, permission was received, and the secretary of state had agreed to speak to the group. Bright picture postcards of the capitol building arrived at all 12 seminary classes around the state announcing the news.
“We’ve got the state capitol building for the next month’s Super Saturday! Be sure to dress up. Now we’re the VIPs.”
The morning of the activity, prior to the lesson, the seminary officers met in a plush committee room complete with microphones at each desk and swivel executive chairs.
“Such class! We ought to meet here every month.”
“So this is what my license plate fee pays for!”
For the lesson students climbed the white marble stairs leading to the assembly room where a seminary fife and drum corps brought in the flag. The Arkansas secretary of state, Kelly Bryant, was a special guest speaker. Some visitors touring the building paused to admire the group and to ask, “Are these kids some special committee for the governor?”
As part of the lesson students impersonating prominent Book of Mormon characters gave campaign speeches in an effort to win votes from the group and gain imaginary seats on the Zarahemla City Council. As this was in progress, one of the state representatives, returning with his wife for some papers, paused to listen and chuckle at King Noah as he confused his interrogators with evasive answers and political double talk. “He sounds like one of us at a press conference,” laughed the representative.
After the lesson students were treated to a tour of the governor’s conference room. Their enthusiasm and good deportment won them a rare peek at the chambers of the state supreme court. “Nobody gets to see these rooms except on court day, but for you I’ll make an exception,” said their guide.
Picnic lunches under the sweet Magnolia trees on the capitol grounds rounded out the impressive day. Between crunches of potato chips, conversations were overheard:
“You know, one of our seminary group just might be a state legislator here someday.”
“Yeah, that kid who played King Noah seemed like he had potential.”