Gospel Story Finder

Mother sat back and started the amazing story of a little boy and his mother who was very ill. “Gobo was a three-year-old boy in 1857. His mother knew that she was dying and could no longer care for him, so she tucked him into the branches of a tree on the Talbots’ property. Ruth Talbot soon found the starving boy and gently coaxed him from the tree. Tired and cold, little Gobo climbed down and into the arms of his new mother. The entire Talbot family cared for Gobo as one of their own.
“When the family was taught by Mormon missionaries and joined the Church, they had a strong desire to follow President Brigham Young’s counsel to join the Saints in America. The Civil War was starting, and it was dangerous to bring Gobo to America because he was black. When the ship’s captain refused to allow Gobo on the boat, Henry Talbot knelt and asked for Heavenly Father’s guidance. He knew that Gobo would not be able to take care of himself if left behind.
“An idea came to Brother Talbot—his prayer was answered! He would roll Gobo into a large rug and smuggle him on and off the ship. Gobo was afraid to be wrapped inside the dark, heavy carpet. However, he had faith in the prophet’s counsel to go to America, so he remained very still and quiet. No one knew of the precious treasure tucked away in the old, faded rug.
“Once in America, Gobo was excited to start his new life there. He wanted to meet the prophet and see the temple that the missionaries in Africa had told him about.
“The family journeyed mostly by train. At one station, they were startled by an angry mob boarding it. Someone had told them that a child slave was being smuggled through. Gobo was not a slave, but the mob would not have believed it.
“Quickly Sister Talbot lifted her large hoop skirt and hid him underneath. Gobo pulled his knees tightly against his chest and held his breath until the mob left and his mother took him upon her lap. She reminded him that he was a child of God and explained that their home with the Saints in Utah would be a place of acceptance and love for their entire family, including Gobo. She assured him that their fellow brothers and sisters in the gospel understood what it was like to be persecuted and judged. Surely they would not turn Gobo away.
“Sister Talbot was right, and as soon as they could, the Talbots adopted Gobo.
“Once in Utah, Gobo grew into a righteous, hardworking sheepherder. He was always faithful to his baptismal covenants. In 1886, when a tablet of paper cost two cents, he willed his entire life savings—some five hundred dollars—to help build the Salt Lake Temple. Years later, the temple work was done for Gobo and he was sealed to Ruth and Henry Talbot in the very temple he helped build.”

Some 12 years ago, there was a tennis match with two LDS physicians and a nonmember medical student from Brazil. With no intervening communication, last month in Curitiba, Brazil, Valentim Goncalves stood by me again, not on a tennis court but instead in a regional conference to translate for me. Thanks to his innate goodness and the good work of others, ophthalmologist Valentim is not only a member but is a stake president in Curitiba. Valentim and his special wife, sealed in the temple, have been blessed with three lovely children. This remarkable rendezvous added to my already appreciative wonder over the workings of the hand of the Lord (see D&C 59:21).

Last year, Lyndsey Payzant and her mom, of the Rancho Cucamonga California Stake, searched in vain for a modest dress at a department store near their home in Alta Loma. After being approached by a store manager to see if they were finding what they needed, Lindsey and her mom explained that they were having trouble finding modest clothing in the store.

The store manager was interested in what they had to say and helped set up a meeting with Lyndsey, her mom, and the store’s managers and buyers. Having read about some forward-thinking Kansas young women, Lyndsey went to her Young Women group for help on what to propose at the meeting (see New Era, Jan. 2001, 28).

The meeting was a success, and Lyndsey was invited to help put on a fashion show of appropriate and modest clothing. Lyndsey got to pick most of the clothes, and she already has plans to meet with the store’s designers to have a spring fashion show as well. Strike one up for modesty … again!

I was 16 when I took my first typing class. It was 1963 and I was a sophomore at Samoana High School in Pagopago, American Samoa. I had dreamed of one day becoming a stenographer for the courts, so I was excited to learn how to use the Underwood model typewriters in my new class.
You had to have strong fingers to push down the keys of the Underwood. Learning to type without looking at my hands was tough, and when my fingers slipped and got caught between the type levers—ouch! But typing was fun, and I continued to take it throughout high school. I had no idea back then just how well my typing skills would serve me for the rest of my life.

Keeping the Sabbath day holy is important to Melynne Murdock, 14, a former Miss Hawaii National Preteen who helped change the statewide pageant because of her commitment.
When Melynne was informed that the 1989 pageant in which she was to turn over her crown was scheduled for a Sunday, she asked the director if it could be changed. The director explained that a suitable location for a Friday-Saturday event could not be found on the busy island of Oahu. But he agreed to a change if Melynne could find a place and work out the details. She did.
BYU—Hawaii hosted the 1989 pageant, and the director was so impressed that next year’s pageant has also been scheduled there.
Melynne, 14, has since moved with her family, which includes seven brothers, to Lake Arrowhead, California.

One day when President Hinckley was about five years old, he was sitting on his front porch with some friends. A family of another race walked down the street. Young Gordon and his friends made some unkind remarks. His mother talked with them and told them that all people are sons and daughters of God. That day he learned we must respect and help one another, regardless of race, religion, wealth, or anything else.

There came to my desk recently a bulletin issued by the Utah Boys Ranch. It included the story of a boy named Mike. A judge of the juvenile court wrote concerning him:
“Mike, at the age of 9 years, was sleeping in cars, associating with gangs and involving himself with dangerous weapons. No state agency could help this young boy turn his life around. The Utah Boys Ranch stepped forward and offered their help. The Boys Ranch saved his life. They gave him a place to live and taught him values and standards. His environment and world changed and now he is out of the Juvenile Justice system.”
Included also was a letter from Mike himself, which reads:
“Hi. This is Mike. I had a bad childhood where I grew up. I was in a gang that was bad. I came to this place. I’m glad that I came to this place ’cause if I didn’t come here I would still be in gangs and getting in trouble. I was so glad that I came here ’cause I met some good people like Chris and Delpha. But now I have a family and I am doing good” (Utah Boys Ranch, New Beginnings Round-up, fall 1996, 1).

Crocodiles, sharks, and sea snakes may seem to be strange things to mention as memories from childhood. But when Domingos Liao was growing up in Darwin, Australia, they were an everyday part of his life.
Domingos and his friends would ride their bikes to the mouth of Rapid Creek, where fresh water and sea water mix.
While wading across, dodging jellyfish adrift in the current, they would watch for sharks that had wandered in from the sea, crocodiles buried in the mud, poisonous sea snakes, and stonefish with their venomous spikes. Despite the perils, they crossed the river again and again, lured by what they knew was on the other side.
“It was a land of promise,” Domingos remembers. “We could catch buckets of fish. The beaches were untouched and clean. There were green fields where nobody had been before.”
Today a bridge crosses the river. The open spaces have become a park, crisscrossed with jogging paths and frequented by university students. Still, Domingos likes to visit the river, to remember and to think.
His young life is full of memories. They begin on the island of Timor, several hundred miles north of Australia. His Chinese parents were working in the Portuguese colony there (Domingos is a Portuguese name) when it was invaded by Indonesia. The men fled to Portugal. Women and children escaped to Australia. “My mother, myself, and some other relatives came on one of two boats that got away,” Domingos explains. “We were lucky to survive.”
Domingos’s father later joined them in Darwin. Thanks to hard work, the family prospered. Two more boys were born. Domingos learned English. He discovered sports—cricket, karate, tennis, soccer, handball, volleyball. He excelled in school, in music, and in art. He worked in his uncle’s restaurant.
One day his aunt, a newly baptized Latter-day Saint, introduced his family to the missionaries. Soon the Liaos family joined the Church. “We were active for about a year,” Domingos says. “Then my parents stopped going. I kept on for a while; then I started to play cricket on Sundays. But my conscience kept nagging me that I should be in church.”
It was at this time that Domingos’s grandfather, who lived in Melbourne, suffered a stroke. He wasn’t expected to live. Domingos, 16, felt compelled to pray. “I told Heavenly Father that if he would give Grandfather a chance, I would devote my life to the Church. But I didn’t just wait for him to recover. When we returned home, I returned to church. I’ve been taught that if you promise something, you should do it.”
Grandpa did get better. And by the time he did, Domingos was going to church, not just to keep a promise, but because he truly believed it was the right thing to do.
By the time Domingos turned 18, his Church activity began to irritate his father.
“Dad thought seminary was getting in the way of my schoolwork, so he banned me from getting up early to go. I wanted to honor him, so I quit going. But I still did seminary at home. Then he didn’t want that either, so I put that away.
“Then he would find me reading my scriptures and think I hadn’t done my homework, even though my grades were good. One time he grabbed my scriptures and threw them in the rubbish bin. I had spent the last two years reading them and marking them, and they are really precious to me. The next morning I was able to get them back, but I had to give them to the branch president for safekeeping.”
It wasn’t long before Domingos’s father banned him from everything related to Church activity—scripture study, Mutual activities, home teaching, and, finally, Sunday meetings.
“Even though I was 18 and legally my own person, my first reaction was to obey. Really. You want to obey your father because he is your father. But I knew I couldn’t break my promise to Heavenly Father to attend church.
“Dad said if I went that Sunday, not to worry about coming back. So I packed my bags. My prayers were very sincere that night. The next morning, when he saw me dressed up, he was furious.”
Domingos left, but his parents came to the chapel and found him. They reached an agreement that he could attend every other Sunday. “I wasn’t happy with it, but it was better than nothing,” he says.
The next time he got ready for church, his father again told him that if he went, he could never return. “The second time was just as bad, probably worse. I’d been waiting to receive my patriarchal blessing, and the patriarch, who can come only about once a year, had come from far away. I got there for the appointment, but my father came at the same time. I had to go home and missed my blessing.”
The third time that his father confronted him in a similar way, Domingos left home and moved in with his grandmother. “Eventually my mum came and said my father was all right and wouldn’t get angry again. So I came back.”
While at his grandmother’s home, Domingos had developed a desire to serve a full-time mission. “I prayed, and the answer was very certain that I should go when I turned 19. From then on, my mind was made up—I just needed to prepare.”
He found that if he completed his first year of study, the University of the Northern Territory would agree to give him two years off to serve. But he would have to carry an even harder class load for a few months before he left. “My coordinator actually encouraged me and said the mission would be a good experience,” Domingos says. Domingos continued something he had done since high school—telling fellow students about the steps of repentance and the plan of salvation.
He intensified his scripture study, memorizing many passages. “The scriptures brought me peace,” he says. “They reminded me of the things I should be doing.”
He joined the full-time missionaries when they gave discussions. He often bore his testimony. He kept a journal, writing in it every day. His Church leaders interviewed him, found him worthy, and sent in his missionary application.
Then one day, this time when he returned from church, his father ordered him out of the house for the fourth time. “It was pretty final,” Domingos says. “He was not pleased with my plans for a mission. He said if I went, I wouldn’t be his son anymore.”
Domingos’s branch president, Michael Kuhn, invited him to live in his home until the mission call arrived.
Finished with his schoolwork, Domingos filled his days with prayer, uplifting music, Church activities, missionary work, and scripture study. Sometimes he would read the scriptures all day long.
And then the letter came: “You are called to labor in the Hong Kong Mission.” Domingos returned home for a short time to try to make peace with his family before he left. “Mainly because they knew they could not change my mind, they yielded,” he says. Before he left, the family went out to dinner together and took lots of farewell photos.
Letters written from the Missionary Training Center and from the mission field reflect the joy that quickly followed:
—“At the airport I was able to meet one of the missionaries who taught me, Elder (Hoyt) Skabelund, and his wife and baby and parents. I am slowly learning Cantonese. The people in the MTC are wonderful.”
—“I’ve received two letters from my mother. Everything is going well at home. They are being blessed greatly, and they know it! My family and relatives are now happy that I am serving a mission. Surely God is a God of miracles!”
—“I have done my first street display, talking to everyone who goes by. I have taught the six discussions in Cantonese.”
—“Now I have been transferred to Macau, a Portuguese colony neighbouring the coast of China. I am pretty lucky because not many missionaries get to serve here. We are teaching an investigator, and he will be baptized. I know that God called me here to do a special work.”
—“Every inconvenience was worth overcoming to read the Book of Mormon. Every insult was worth swallowing to keep the Sabbath holy. Every moment was worth waiting for to kneel in private prayer, every pain worth enduring to attend church. Every blow was worth taking, every torment worth suffering, every tear worth shedding to come on this mission.”
Today in Macau, Elder Liao looks out the window of his missionary apartment and sees a promised land.
“When I decided to go on a mission,” he says, “I knew there would be strong currents against me. I didn’t really know the dangers lurking in the water, what might try to sting me or to swallow me up. I was thinking only about making it. Now here I am, and I know that it’s worth it.”
And he is eager to build a bridge to help others, including his family, to cross over to the other side.

After Peter M. Johnson, the son of a facility supervisor and taxi driver, had accepted a basketball scholarship at Brigham Young University–Hawaii, he found himself standing before an institute teacher.
“You will [either] join the Church right away, or it will take you a while,” the teacher predicted.
The teacher was correct. More than a year later, Peter “fasted and prayed and received an answer.” He was baptized on August 16, 1986.

Photographs by Mark Davis
Ever dream about your future career? You know, what you’ll do when you head out on your own, become an adult, and realize it’s time to earn your own living? And what do you want to do when you get there? Fly planes? Create video games? Play professional football? How about acting in movies? How about making your own movies?
That’s exactly what Kamila T. of New York, USA, 16, hopes to do. That’s why she’s enrolled in a school of art and design. Kamila doesn’t just like watching movies; she loves making them too. But she knows that if she wants to make a living at it, she’s going to have to learn a few things and get to work right now. No matter how young you are, you can start thinking about your future. As it says in For the Strength of Youth, “Set high goals for yourself, and be willing to work hard to achieve them” ([2011], 40).
Kamila’s love for making movies started when she was 12. “My friends and I used iMovie on a tablet to make funny movies,” she said. “I became interested in it then. I started making films for my school and really enjoyed it.”
Pretty soon Kamila decided she wanted to pursue film in high school. But most high schools don’t have a strong film program, so she started looking around.
She explained, “When I originally heard about the school of art and design, I didn’t want to go. But my dad wanted me to. He has a lot of friends who are in film, and he thought it would be a good decision for my career. He said it was the best school for film. So I visited the school to check it out and really liked it.”
Liking the school was one thing, but getting accepted was another thing altogether.
“I had to audition in front of the teacher,” Kamila said. “It was really hectic, because I had to create two storyboards [outlines of her film ideas] to present. I wasn’t prepared on the first day like everyone else, so I had to go on the second day. On the way there we got a little lost, and I was late. My mom told me not to worry and to call my dad. I did, and he said a prayer with me over the phone. It was nice.”
Kamila calmed down and presented her storyboards. The result? She was accepted into the program, and she just started her third year there.
For Kamila, studying film has been amazing. Recently her class created a public service announcement for a competition. Experiences like that have helped her see what she can achieve.
But going to her school also comes with sacrifice. It’s an hour and a half commute each way. Plus, “All the other kids in my area go to a normal high school with football fields and other sports,” she said. “My school is different because everyone’s interested in the arts. But going there has also prepared me for things in life. I know how to take the train and how to get around on my own.”
At the same time, Kamila knows that making a living as a filmographer—especially for one holding LDS standards—can present challenges. So she’s kept her mind open to other interesting options.
“In English class we learned about psychology, and I really liked it,” she said. “My mom is going back to school, getting a minor in psychology and a major in teaching. So she shares with me what’s she’s learning. I still want to follow film, but psychology is my backup. Or finding a way to combine film and psychology would be great.”
Kamila is developing her gifts and talents for a career and independence—and a future family. “I hope to get married in the temple and be a mom one day,” she said. “I believe that by developing my talents like psychology and film, I would be able to have more open communication with my family.”
As prophets have counseled: “Heavenly Father has given you gifts and talents and knows what you are capable of achieving. Seek His help and guidance as you work to achieve your goals” (For the Strength of Youth, 40).
For other youth trying to figure out their goals and future plans for education, jobs, and family, Kamila had this advice: “Follow your dreams. Do what most interests you. It’s not a status thing or an obsession—it’s doing something you’ve always wanted to do, the thing you really want to be in the back of your mind. You can do it!”

Sahr from Bo, Sierra Leone, traveled by motorcycle taxi to a rural area to take much needed medicine to his elderly parents. He stayed later than planned to help his parents repair their roof, which had been damaged in a windstorm. By the time it was fixed, twilight had fallen.
Because of the late hour, it was unlikely a taxi would come along. Sahr became worried. Without a taxi, he faced a journey on foot that would not only be long but also possibly dangerous. Remaining at his parents’ home wasn’t an option because he had an early work shift the next morning. In addition, he didn’t want to leave his young family alone at night.
Praying for a motorcycle taxi seemed a bit strange, but Sahr asked God to help him get home. Minutes later, a taxi came along, having just dropped someone off in that usually quiet area. Sahr gratefully climbed on, feeling blessed he would be able to be home in plenty of time to keep his work commitments and keep his family safe.

This story happened in the USA.
Eight . . . nine . . . ten!
Izzy carefully put the 10th egg in her basket. Grandpa paid her one penny per egg. Since there were 10 eggs, Izzy would get 10 cents today.
The chickens fluttered and clucked as Izzy tossed them their food. She was careful to keep her Sunday skirt clean. The chickens had to be fed every day, even on Sunday. And the eggs had to be gathered.
“Thanks for the eggs, hens!” Izzy said. “And thanks for the 10 cents!”
Izzy looked at the beautiful eggs in her basket. Grandpa wouldn’t need all 10. He would give most of them to Izzy’s family. But he liked to have an egg for his breakfast. She skipped across the yard and into Grandpa’s kitchen.
“Special delivery!” Izzy called.
“Thanks!” Grandpa smiled. “I feel so happy when you bring me an egg.”
Izzy handed him the biggest egg from the basket. “I love you, Grandpa,” she said.
Grandpa tapped the egg on the edge of a hot frying pan and cracked it open. The golden egg yolk sizzled in the pan.
“Now get your 10 pennies from my jar.” Grandpa gave Izzy a hug. “Then I’ll see you at church!”
Izzy ran home with the other nine eggs in her basket and 10 shiny pennies jingling in her pocket.
When she went to Primary, Izzy still had her pennies with her. She put her hand in her pocket to hold them while she listened to the lesson.
“Tithing is when we give one-tenth of what we earn back to Heavenly Father,” Sister Ayala said. “So if you have 10 cents, you give one cent as tithing.”
Izzy’s face felt hot. Give one of her pennies? She couldn’t! She held her money tighter.
“Why does God need our money?” asked Izzy’s friend Jaime. “He doesn’t even use money.”
Sister Ayala smiled. “But God knows it takes money to pay for things like this beautiful church building,” she said. “He asks us to pay tithing so we can meet the Church’s needs. But more importantly, He wants to bless us. If we pay our tithing, God promises us blessings from heaven.”
Izzy felt the pennies in her pocket and thought about Grandpa’s egg.
The eggs were from his chickens, but he kept only one for himself. It made Grandpa so happy to get an egg every morning that Izzy wanted to give him the very best one. Besides, she loved Grandpa more than eggs. That was the most important thing.
“So,” Izzy said slowly, “we give Heavenly Father back a little of what He gives us. Because we want to show Him we love Him.”
“Exactly.” Sister Ayala handed each child a tithing envelope.
Izzy took out her 10 shiny pennies and counted them in her lap.
Eight . . . nine . . . ten.
Feeling warm all over, Izzy took the shiniest penny and slipped it into her envelope to give to Heavenly Father. “Thanks for the pennies,” she whispered. “And thanks for the blessings from heaven.”
Illustrations by Alyssa Petersen

It had been an unusually warm day in Lüneburg, Germany, and Elder Kevin Pepper and I were tired. Our last appointment ended at 9:00 P.M., and we had a half hour more to work before returning to our apartment. It was too late for knocking on doors, so we got on our bikes and rode to Lüneburg’s central shopping district. Most of the shops had closed three hours earlier, and the busy daytime crowds were gone—leaving only a few window-shoppers enjoying the evening, in no hurry to get anywhere.
We pushed our bikes slowly, stopping now and then to ask fellow pedestrians if they would like to know something about the restored gospel. No one was interested. And this was typical. Germany was considered a “hard mission.” Few baptisms. Lots of knocking on doors and stopping pedestrians. People were usually polite, but they were cautious about anything new, for the most part unwilling to consider a change in religions.
We reached the far end of the street at about 9:25. Time to head for our apartment. But there in the evening shadows, leaning against a wall, was a man with thinning hair and a somewhat straggly beard. I looked at Elder Pepper; he looked at me. We were tired, we’d had no success that day, and I could tell we were thinking the same thought. One of us may have even spoken it aloud: “He’s probably just like the rest of the people we’ve talked to today. Let’s go home.” But something inside me said, “Go talk to him.”
We approached the man and asked if he knew anything about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He didn’t. Would he like to learn something about it? Yes, he said, and he gave us his address.
When we visited Alfred Kliche later that week, we discovered he was markedly different from most of the people we talked with. He was more reserved, more serious than most, but also more open-minded. He was searching for something. As he later put it, “I was considering becoming acquainted with other people who, like me, had not yet lost their faith in God.” He showed us a book he was reading, a book from an Eastern religion. We taught him about Joseph Smith and gave him a book of our own. He accepted it with reserved curiosity and said he’d read it.
We left after that first discussion not knowing quite what to think about Herr Kliche. Personally, I doubted he’d read the book. The first year of my mission—a year with no baptisms and plenty of disappointments—had left its mark on me. I’d seen enough “reality” to dilute my hopes with a fair dose of skepticism. But Herr Kliche invited us back, and when we came to teach him again, he told us he had read a good deal in the Book of Mormon. He said he particularly enjoyed the Isaiah chapters in 2 Nephi. During my 10 months in Germany, no one had ever made that claim before. In fact, I don’t recall having heard it in the 23 years since.
We taught Herr Kliche all through an unusually hot July and into August. He made slow, steady progress but seemed in no hurry to make any permanent changes in his life. Elder Pepper and I didn’t really know what was going on inside him. He was as indecipherable as the Eastern religious book he had shown us.
Then one day in early August a letter came from the mission office. I was being transferred. Elder Pepper and I had a few good investigators by this time, and it was hard to leave them. I wondered what would happen. But immersing myself in a new area and in the lives of a new group of investigators and members took all my attention and left me little time to worry about Lüneburg.
One day several weeks after the transfer, however, I received a phone call from Elder Pepper. He told me Herr Kliche was getting baptized on 16 October, and he wanted me to be there. Since my transfer had been merely to the other side of the Hamburg stake, our mission president gave me permission to attend.
Elder Pepper told me over the phone that Herr Kliche had made slow, steady progress for the most part, but in the end he completely surprised them. The missionaries had given him a baptismal challenge on 21 September, and he had accepted. But on 28 September he was concerned. He believed he had received a witness but wanted to be sure. Then, a few days later, everything seemed to fall apart. Herr Kliche informed them he wasn’t interested in meeting with them anymore. Elder Pepper and Elder Hardy were devastated. Where had they gone wrong? What could they do?
But on 3 October something unexpected happened. Elder Pepper recorded in his journal: “Herr Kliche came to church this morning. … The Spirit was so strong that everyone in the tiny chapel could feel it, especially Herr Kliche. He sat in the second row to the left all by himself. … With tears in his eyes he stood and bore his testimony. The sun shone through the large windows, and a beam of light appeared to shine directly on him as he bore a simple and beautiful testimony. It was so sincere. He said he felt fulfilled in this Church and hoped to become a member soon. Just seven weeks or so ago he was ready to give up his search for the truth; he didn’t see any reason why he should change churches, because they were all about the same. And now the Spirit of Truth has helped him see the difference, and he wants to be a member. I was so thrilled I could hardly keep the joy I felt inside. Today will always be a cherished memory.”
Ironically, four days later Elder Pepper was transferred to Kiel and was unable to attend the baptism. But on 16 October 1976, my companion and I took the subway into Hamburg, walked to the stake center, and there witnessed the baptism of Alfred Kliche, a rare and gratifying event in the course of a difficult mission. I have kept in touch with Bruder Kliche over the years. Indeed, his conversion, because it was complete and enduring, has brought me much joy.
The little Lüneburg Branch was dissolved a few years after Bruder Kliche’s baptism, and the members were absorbed into a Hamburg ward. Bruder Kliche, always solid in the gospel, has served in the bishopric and on the stake high council. He also married a fine Latter-day Saint, and after several years they served a temple mission together. “I am here to serve the Lord,” he wrote me recently, “and to make progress. We are very thankful for our time in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
As I look back to that summer evening in 1976, I am glad Elder Pepper and I were not too tired to talk to just one more son of our Heavenly Father. We almost didn’t, and it has been a lesson to me ever since. Had we quit a few minutes early, what a loss it would have been—for us, for the Church, and, most of all, for Bruder Kliche.

It is 1869, and President Brigham Young is concerned about the young women in the Church. He is worried that some of them, including his own daughters, are too caught up in the fashions and trends of the world.
On 18 November 1869, he holds a meeting with his daughters. He asks them to set an example by spending more time learning about the gospel and gaining important life skills rather than chasing after trends.
“I desire [you] to retrench from [your] extravagance in dress, in eating, and even in speech,” President Young tells his daughters. “I should like you to get up your own fashions, and set the style for the rest of the world who desire sensible and comely fashions to follow. … There is a need for the young daughters of Israel to get a living testimony of the truth” (A Century of Sisterhood, 8).
At first this is difficult for his daughters. These girls are some of the most popular girls in the territory, and they enjoy stylish things. Now they can’t spend hours looking at clothing catalogs from back East. Instead they must sew their own simple and modest dresses, without any ruffles, that go all the way to the ground. They must spend less time socializing and more time studying the scriptures and learning the gospel.
But these girls know their father is a prophet, and they choose to follow him. They create the Young Ladies Department of the Cooperative Retrenchment Association and begin meeting often to support each other in their efforts.
It has been almost 50 years since Brigham Young first met with his daughters, and now girls throughout the world are following his counsel.

My mother and I were baptized on 5 October 1997. It was such a great blessing for me. I had always felt something important was missing in my life, and I could not understand what it was. But while studying the Book of Mormon I felt that this book was true and that the Church was true. This feeling grew stronger and stronger. My faith grew too. I read the Book of Mormon every day. When the missionaries came to visit us, they asked my mother and me if we had asked the Lord if the Book of Mormon was true. I told them I did not have any doubts about the Book of Mormon. My feelings about the book were strong from the minute I started to read.
Julia Martynova,Obukhovsky Branch, St. Petersburg Russia South District

“There is enough food for only one more day,” the captain said. “Would you like to eat it all or divide it into smaller portions to last three days?”
The company agreed to divide the food. Louisa’s stomach growled as she and her family accepted their tiny portions. As a member of the Martin Handcart Company, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had enough to eat.
That night, the company gathered around the fire to sing. “And should we die before our journey’s through, happy day! All is well!”*
Louisa’s sister Elizabeth wiped away a tear.
“Are you worried about Mother?” Louisa whispered.
Elizabeth tried to smile. “A little. But remember Mother’s blessing?”
Louisa nodded. “Yes. It comforts me too.”
Mother had been sick before leaving England, and Father had helped carry her onto the ship. Mother had been given a blessing that promised she would live to see her children reach Zion. Though she improved during the sea voyage, pulling a handcart through the early winter snow and surviving on such little food had weakened her again. Every day she grew worse.
Staring into the dying fire, Louisa tried not to think about the snowy graves that had been dug for so many of her friends along the trail. Instead she thought about Mother’s blessing and the warm feeling of assurance she had felt. Mother, Father, and all six of her siblings—even the two-year-old twins—would make it to Zion safely. Louisa was sure of it!
The next morning, as they plodded through the snow, Louisa’s mother began to stumble.
“Go on without me,” she called to Louisa’s father. “I can’t go any further!”
“You have to keep trying,” Elizabeth pleaded.
It was no use—Mother’s strength was gone. She kissed each family member good-bye. Then she hobbled over to a boulder, sat down, and cried.
“The company can’t wait for us,” Louisa’s father said, his eyes filled with sadness.
Louisa tried to keep her voice steady. “Elizabeth, will you help Father take care of the others?”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. “Louisa—”
“We can’t all stay here, and we can’t leave Mother alone to die,” Louisa insisted. “I’ll stay here. Don’t worry.” She tried to sound brave. “Heavenly Father will help us.”
As the weary company struggled past, tugging their sagging handcarts, Louisa sat next to Mother and watched them disappear over the ridge. Soon Louisa and her mother were alone, listening to the howling wind. Louisa’s skin prickled at the thought of howling wolves.
“I’ll be right back, Mother,” Louisa said. She walked down the trail a short distance and knelt in the snow. “Please, Heavenly Father, wilt Thou protect us from the devouring wolves? Wilt Thou grant Mother the strength to continue so we can reach camp tonight?”
Louisa remained on her knees, waiting. She thought of camp, its welcoming bonfire and loving family members huddled around it. She thought of Zion, still hundreds of miles away.
Even though the chilling wind blew, she felt a warm spot growing in her heart. Yes. Heavenly Father would answer her prayer.
Louisa hopped onto her sore feet and started back up the trail, but something lay in her path. She blinked in surprise. She squinted and crouched down for a better look.
There, in the middle of the road, was a perfectly made pie.
“Oh my goodness,” Louisa cried. “Manna from heaven!” Laughing, she snatched it up. It looked and smelled delicious, like the pies Mother used to make back home in England.
“Mother, I’ve found something!” Louisa called.
“What is it?”
Louisa’s eyes glittered above her rosy cheeks as she placed the pie in Mother’s hands.
She gasped. “Louisa, where did you get this?”
“I prayed for you, and Heavenly Father sent me a pie. I found it on the road.”
Tearfully, Louisa’s mother thanked Heavenly Father for the miraculous gift. She ate the pie and rested awhile.
“I’m feeling much better,” Mother finally said, pulling herself onto her feet. “The Lord doesn’t want us to give up, and I won’t—not ever again.”
Louisa grinned. “Let’s catch up with the others. We can still make it to camp tonight.”
After darkness fell, they met Louisa’s father coming back to look for them. He rejoiced that Mother had regained her strength.
For the rest of the journey, whenever Louisa’s mother felt like quitting, she remembered the gift of the pie and offered a prayer of thanks instead.
Louisa and her family prayed with gratitude all the way to the Salt Lake Valley, where they arrived together safely on November 30, 1856. Mother’s blessing was fulfilled, just as Louisa had always known it would be.

The four-wheel-drive pickup bumped carefully along the twisted mountain road leading into Chulac, a plantation built among the mountains of the Central Highlands in Guatemala. Rain suddenly spilled from the dark clouds and lashed the windshield as the truck arrived at the central house of the 23,000-acre plantation.
At the wheel was Cordell Andersen, president of the Guatemala Cobàn District. Seated next to him were two missionaries to the Kekchi Indians, Elder Bringhurst of California and Elder Rios-Lazo of Costa Rica. Riding under the canopy were President Andersen’s oldest daughter, Julie, 17, and her two Provo (Utah) High School friends, Leslie Ann Knight and Ann Gardner. The fourth occupant was Gustavo Ramirez, a 73-year-old convert to the Church. Brother Gustavo was an itinerant dentist.
The full-time and member missionaries had come because the cooperative manager, who lived five hours away in San Cristobal, had met the missionaries and become interested in their message about the book of his ancestors and the religion of his forefathers.
The missionaries in San Cristobal then met with the plantation’s board of directors, each of whom purchased a copy of the Book of Mormon, and invited the missionaries to visit the plantation. President Andersen arranged to take a set of missionaries on an overnight visit to Chulac.
It was at the end of a workday on Friday when they finally pulled into the large courtyard of the central house and sought shelter from the drenching rain. Several workers, holding torn pieces of plastic over their heads, raced across the courtyard to meet the visitors. They took President Andersen and the two missionaries to the plantation office where arrangements were made for meals and lodging.
Meanwhile Brother Gustavo, who’d been let off under an overhang by the plantation store, was telling a number of workers that he would be willing to pull any infected teeth. He also gave an introduction to the Book of Mormon and said there would be a meeting after dark for those interested.
By the time arrangements for lodging were made, the rain had let up. Two workers brought over a box and set it on edge for Brother Gustavo. The itinerant dentist pulled out his bag and arranged his tools along the hood of the truck as his first patient took a seat on the box. He took out a bottle of novocaine and filled a syringe.
After the tooth had been pulled, the visitors unloaded a portable generator and a slide projector. They carried the equipment and an extension cord with a light bulb into the warehouse where the meeting was to be held. Later, along with President Andersen, they visited several families nearby.
President Andersen explained that wages at the cooperative averaged $1.25 a day, with a two-week bonus at Christmas. From surplus profits the workers had purchased a marimba and several other musical instruments the previous year.
Many of the Indians lived in improved dwellings. Although these homes had no floors, they were larger than the unimproved dwelling and were usually sheeted with galvanized roofing rather than thatched.
“Under the cooperative rules no one who drinks can be a member,” President Andersen explained. “This was their own decision.”
That night 175 people assembled for the meeting. One of the cooperative leaders, who was also a lay leader in his own church, apologized for the lack of a crowd. “It is too bad you can’t stay tomorrow night,” he said. “There would be a much larger crowd.”
President Andersen started the generator. By the light of the single light bulb Julie, Leslie, Ann, and the other visitors sang an opening song.
Brother Gustavo followed the song with a prayer in the Indian dialect, and President Andersen, speaking in Spanish, explained the origin of the Book of Mormon. Brother Gustavo translated. Elder Bringhurst then talked in Kekchi to the 175 people. After he concluded, he and Elder Rios-Lazo sang “I Am a Child of God” in Kekchi.
When the meeting was concluded, few got up to go. Instead, they gathered into small groups. Those who spoke only Kekchi talked with Elder Bringhurst and Brother Ramirez. Those who understood Spanish asked Elder Rios-Lazo and President Andersen several questions.
The district president then explained that although they had to leave in the morning, Brother Gustavo was remaining for the rest of the day to extract teeth and to answer gospel questions. This member-missionary had only a one quetzal note (equivalent to $1) in his pocket from pulling the tooth earlier, but he was not worried about getting back home.
“Perhaps I’ll pull enough infected teeth to get a bus ticket and to buy some food,” he said with the confidence of the recently converted.
After breakfast the next morning, the visitors said good-bye and started home. As they drove along ridges and cliffs, past cattle, scattered Indian homes, and a mine, President Andersen explained that the secret in the Central Highlands, as in the rest of the world, is member-missionary work.
“It’s people like Brother Gustavo who really help the work go forth. There just aren’t enough full-time missionaries to go around,” he said, “especially here where the people live in a scattered condition.”
During the following weeks and months the missionaries and President Andersen continued visiting the people at the Chulac Plantation, telling them more about the book of their ancestors. This missionary work bore fruit when one Saturday 20 people entered the waters of baptism. Among them were seven couples, the ten-year-old daughter of one of the couples, and five teenage boys. One hundred and fifteen of their neighbors were on hand to witness the sacred event.
The next day the converts and 12 other adults bore testimony in their native Kekchi dialect to the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the benefits of living gospel principles.
President Andersen later wrote, “Add to the adults their children who have been blessed and it comes to 37 new members of the Church.”
Less than a year after the people of Chulac first heard the gospel, serious plans were being made to organize a branch in that remote area of the Central Highlands of Guatemala.
For those people, the missionary adventure has just begun.

I was in the midst of a very difficult period of my life. I had left my home in Taiwan to pursue a master’s degree at Utah State University in Logan, Utah. I missed my family terribly. As I struggled with my studies, I often felt entirely alone in a different culture.
I vividly remember walking home one snowy day. I reached the front door, checked the mail box, and found it empty. Despondently, I climbed the stairs to my room and tried to study.
Just at that moment, the telephone rang. The speaker introduced herself as Tamara Beard and said that she was my visiting teacher. She said that she and Greergy, her companion, wanted to visit me. Well, wasn’t that something! They were students, too, and I knew they had to be busy. I had not really expected them to make time for me. But they did, and that was the beginning of my unforgettable friendship with Tamara.
Tamara was not flamboyant. Quiet and gentle, she reminded me of Leah in the Old Testament, who was “tender eyed” (Gen. 29:17). On the first visit, she and Greergy got acquainted with me and delivered a brief message. On other occasions they brought me little gifts, such as a wonderful quotation, a package of candy, or a birthday card. I was amazed that they would go to so much trouble.
After a while I noticed that Tamara’s walk was becoming unsteady. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I got sick,” she replied. “No big deal.” But the Relief Society president told me that Tamara had a neurological disease and that she was suffering. Each month I observed her condition gradually worsen. Still, she never stopped coming.
One day when I answered the phone, I was surprised to hear a strange computerized voice ask, “May I speak to Lin?”
At first I said nothing; I suspected that someone was playing a trick on me. Then I heard, “Hi, Lin. This is Tamara. I’m sorry I frightened you.” Later, Greergy explained to me that Tamara’s disease had affected her voice; she could no longer speak without the aid of a machine.
Eventually, Tamara lost her ability to speak. But this did not stop her from keeping in touch with me. To talk on the phone, she typed a message on a special typewriter that transmitted the message to a telephone operator. When the operator received the message, she called and read it to me.
As time went on, Tamara grew even weaker. Still, she went to the temple once a week, and we often went together. On those occasions we both felt blessed by the peace we experienced there.
It seemed to me that she was in an unbearable situation. I was amazed that she was suffering this trial without complaint. How was she able to be happy?
What amazed me, too, was that she seemed more concerned about me. She knew I was having trials of my own and was always urging me to smile. After a long period of prayer and fasting, I decided to go home to Taiwan. Tamara was sad to say good-bye to me, but she understood that I needed to follow the promptings of the Spirit.
When I think of Tamara, I remember the way people were attracted to her. No one seemed to notice the illness itself, and everyone was happy to do something for her, to take her shopping or to the temple or to stop by and visit. I sometimes ask myself, What made me and everyone else so devoted to her?
The answer is simple: It was charity—the pure love of Christ. She personified charity. She never asked for special consideration or complained about her pain. As a visiting teacher and a friend, she did everything she could to serve others and share their burdens. She taught us that caring for others—loving them—is possible—no matter what circumstances we find ourselves in.
Tamara Beard DuRee is now married and living in Logan, Utah.

I want to describe the characteristics and tactics of two cheetahs Susan and I watched hunting their prey and relate some of the things we observed to the daily living of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Cheetahs are the fastest land animals on earth and reach running speeds as high as 75 mph (120 km/h). These beautiful animals can accelerate from a standstill position to running as fast as 68 mph (109 km/h) in less than three seconds. Cheetahs are predators that sneak up on their prey and sprint a short distance to chase and attack.
Susan and I spent almost two hours watching two cheetahs stalking a large group of topis, Africa’s most common and widespread antelopes. The tall, dry grass of the African savanna was golden brown and almost totally obscured the predators as they pursued a group of topis. The cheetahs were separated from each other by approximately 100 yards (91 m) but worked in tandem.
While one cheetah sat upright in the grass and did not move, the other cheetah crouched low to the ground and slowly crept closer to the unsuspecting topis. Then the cheetah that had been sitting upright disappeared in the grass at exactly the same moment that the other cheetah sat upright. This alternating pattern of one cheetah crouching low and creeping forward while the other cheetah sat upright in the grass continued for a long time. The stealthy subtlety of the strategy was intended to distract and deceive the topis and thereby divert their attention away from the approaching danger. Patiently and steadily, the two cheetahs worked as a team to secure their next meal.
Positioned between the large group of topis and the approaching cheetahs were several older and stronger topis standing as sentinels on termite mounds. The enhanced view of the grasslands from the small hills enabled these guardian topis to watch for signs of danger.
Then suddenly, as the cheetahs appeared to be within striking distance, the entire group of topis turned and ran away. I do not know if or how the sentinel topis communicated with the larger group, but somehow a warning was given, and all the topis moved to a place of safety.
And what did the cheetahs do next? Without any delay, the two cheetahs resumed their alternating pattern of one cheetah crouching low and creeping forward while the other cheetah sat upright in the grass. The pattern of pursuit continued. They did not stop. They did not rest or take a break. They were relentless in following their strategy of distraction and diversion. Susan and I watched the cheetahs disappear in the distance, always moving closer and closer to the group of topis.
That night Susan and I had a memorable conversation about what we had observed and learned. We also discussed this experience with our children and grandchildren and identified many valuable lessons. I now will describe three of those lessons.

As Wilford Woodruff traveled west with the advance company, he often reflected on its sacred mission. “It should be understood,” he wrote in his journal, “that we are piloting a road for the house of Israel to travel in for many years to come.”17
One night, he dreamed that the company arrived at the new gathering place. As he gazed upon the land, a glorious temple appeared before him. It appeared to be built of white and blue stone. Turning to some men standing near him in the dream, he asked if they could see it. They said they did not, but that did not diminish the joy Wilford felt in beholding it.18