Gospel Story Finder

I love playing volleyball. Last summer I went to a volleyball camp with my friend, and we became friends with another girl there. One day at lunch, she brought up the Church, and we were able to share some of our beliefs with her. She seemed interested and wanted to know more. Although camp was only a few days long and we may not see her again, I hope talking with her will lead her to learn more about the Church and the gospel.
Kate K., 15, Utah, USA

A mzungu in a tree? What was a mzungu doing up in a tree? And what was this tool he was using to cut through branches so quickly?
Such questions ran through the minds of Ugandans watching a foreigner (mzungu) using a battery-powered reciprocating saw to trim dead limbs from a massive shade tree. The tool itself was a marvel to the locals. Many of them had never seen anything like it before.
But even more amazing to them was the mzungu himself. Elder Roland Harris, a senior missionary from Utah, USA, trimmed branch after branch, cutting dead limbs from lofty perches. The people below were amazed that a foreigner would do such a thing for one of their own.
Ultimately, Elder Harris’s simple act of service would mark the beginning of a friendship with someone who had wanted nothing to do with the Church or anyone in it.
Elder Roland Harris and Sister Janet Harris were serving a 23-month mission in the Uganda Kampala Mission. Sister Harris, a registered nurse, was called as medical adviser to the missionaries. Elder Harris, a retired construction superintendent who can fix almost anything in the universe, cared for Church facilities and mission vehicles.
Shortly after arriving in Uganda, Elder and Sister Harris hired a local Church member, Mary, to assist in cleaning their home.
Mary had been baptized three years earlier. “We just grew to love her,” says Sister Harris. “She helped teach us the ways of Uganda.”
The more they got to know Mary, the more their friendship deepened. They learned quickly about her husband, Godfrey—a good man who nevertheless kept his distance from members of the Church, especially missionaries. “He wouldn’t let missionaries in his home,” explains Sister Harris. However, Mary still wanted Godfrey to meet them.
She invited the Harrises over for a brief visit. “We had no expectations,” Sister Harris explains. “We told Godfrey that Mary is our dear friend now, and we want to know her family.” Godfrey chatted with them but didn’t really warm up to the idea of getting to know them more than as acquaintances.
That all changed the day Elder Harris showed up with power tools, a ladder, and an offer to serve.
Godfrey and Mary’s home was surrounded by towering shade trees full of dead branches and overgrown limbs that stretched precariously above their roof.
Elder Harris set to work straightaway. He spent four hours in the treetops lopping off limbs up to 10 inches (25 cm) in diameter. The task was definitely overdue. “I was at least 20 feet (6 m) off the ground,” Elder Harris says. As people walked by, they could hardly believe their eyes.
For his part, Godfrey was astounded. “He thanked us profusely,” says Sister Harris. Even relatively simple activities like tree trimming can carry serious risk. “They have no money for medical attention,” Sister Harris explains. If someone fell out of a tree and broke an arm or leg, for example, they would likely have to heal on their own.
That large pile of tree clippings on the ground laid the foundation for a cherished friendship. “Godfrey would come out and greet us from then on,” Elder Harris says. Godfrey and Mary also began welcoming other Church members into their home.

I have personally experienced, though only once, the exhilaration of a real balloon flight. It was during the exciting time immediately following World War II when in Holland, my native country, many public festivities were held to celebrate the regained liberty after five years of war. There were big parades, neighborhood dance festivals, and in some cities manned balloon flights to attract large crowds for yet other festive events.
A friend taught me a lot about ballooning in preparation for a flight that I was promised to be able to make as a guest, when at some future date the weather conditions would be suitable.
I learned that we would go up in a class A gas balloon filled with coal gas and that it would ascend until its weight would be in equilibrium with the air around it.
I also learned that in the wicker basket under the balloon there were navigational instruments, maps, and ballast sandbags, which could be emptied overboard to make the balloon rise higher.
Furthermore, I discovered that if gas is released from a balloon through a valve, it descends. But this was not all! I also heard from my friend many delightful stories about previous balloon flights. On one occasion, as the story goes, clouds developed unexpectedly during a flight, and the two men in the wicker basket had not the faintest idea over which part of the country they were sailing.
They decided to lower the balloon, and all of a sudden they saw a Dutchman walking on a lonely country road. When they were able to draw his attention, one of the men in the basket shouted: “Where are we?” And the lonely walker looked up, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted back, “You are in a balloon.”
To make their urgent request for direction more clear, the man in the balloon cried vigorously, “Where are you?” And the man called back at the top of his voice, “I am on the ground!”
Discouraged, the balloonists unloaded some ballast and sailed again into the clouds, while one of them remarked: “The man down there must be a bureaucrat.” The statements he made were perfectly true, but totally useless!
After what I have shared with you thus far, I have come to the conclusion that a strong parallel can be drawn between the steady rise of a balloon and our spiritual upward mobility.
Just as gas is necessary to fill a balloon to push it upward, so must the individual be filled with inner motivation in order to move upward. Just as the balloon can rise higher by throwing ballast overboard, so must a person be willing to rid himself of unnecessary ballast that limits his rise in spirituality.
When I made my balloon flight, strangely enough, I did not have the feeling that I was going up. I had the impression that I remained stationary, as it were, and the world floated silently away from me.
Later, when through the missionary effort I joined the Church, I gained as a new member that peaceful feeling of being safely placed in the environment of true gospel living and that Babylon had floated away from me. As it was expressed by an early European balloonist: “I felt as though I had left behind me, all the cares and passions that molest mankind.”
I testify that we all can have that peace of mind if we are willing to rid ourselves of the ballast that prevents us from rising to greater spiritual heights. It will facilitate our ascent to a loving Father in Heaven, who will, in his due time, await our return after our journey through life.
Let us, therefore, get rid of our sandbag of impatience and learn to be more patient with our spouses and children, our friends and neighbors, because the Lord has counseled us to “continue in patience until ye are perfected”! (D&C 67:13.)
And for those of you who do not know what the word patience really means, I offer a simple definition: Patience is learning to hide your impatience.
And how many of us still go through life with a ballast bag called criticism? We should, instead, give more praise wherever and whenever possible because we have been told and retold, “Cease to find fault one with another.” (D&C 88:124.) And let us in this respect also remember that the faults and shortcomings we see in the members of our own ward or branch are of less consequence to us than one of the smallest in ourselves.
Furthermore, do we still have a sandbag with unfriendliness in our basket, even though the Savior asks us to be friendly and loving? As he said: “Ye are they whom my Father hath given me; ye are my friends.” (D&C 84:63.)
While on our spiritual flight, let us totally empty our ballast bag of pride and be more humble in all things, always remembering the Savior’s glorious promise to all: “And inasmuch as you have humbled yourselves before me, the blessings of the kingdom are yours.” (D&C 61:37.)
And will we really ascend in our spiritual balloon if we are not prepared to dispose of our sandbag of greed? Living prophets have counseled us to pay an honest tithing and to give a generous fast offering; and, moreover, the scriptures reveal in a very candid way: “Wo unto [them] that [do] not give [of their] substance to the poor.” (D&C 56:16.) And, unfortunately, some people think they are being generous because they give so much free advice!
Finally, we must get rid of the heavy ballast of frustrations. All of us must discover in the wicker basket of our personal spiritual balloon those frustrations against which we continually have to be on guard. It was revealed unto us, and we have already heard it twice from this pulpit in this conference: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught. … Remember that it is not the work of God that is frustrated, but the work of men.” (D&C 3:1, 3.)
The only way we can move upward from our present level of spirituality and performance to a higher level is by doing away with the ballast that holds us back. We have to learn to live the commandments, not only for our own good, but also for the good of other people because we reform others unconsciously when we keep the commandments of God and live the teachings of the Church. That’s another way of doing missionary work and lifting the spirituality of those around us.
Therefore, let’s start our flight today. If we are still at ground level, let’s cut the cords; and our rise will start immediately! However, even that will not ensure our continuous spiritual mobility. Our balloon will rise only so high and then will begin to stall. At that time we have to investigate what ballast we need to get rid of in order to rise even higher. If you find it hard to cut the cords, you will find it even harder to do away with the sandbags to lighten your load.
The balloon trip of our spiritual upward mobility is a demanding and sometimes difficult adventure, and only the person with true perseverance will make it to the highest realm!
In closing, after talking about flying, sailing, and rising, I would like to give some down-to-earth guidelines.
To those who are within the sound of my voice this day and who have already entered the wicker basket of their spiritual balloon through baptism into the kingdom of God but who are just sitting there, waiting inactively for things to happen, cut the cords that hold you back from lift-off.
To those who are quietly drifting at the same elevation with little upward mobility, take a close look at the ballast that prevents you from going to a higher level of performance. Make a decision and remove the restraining weight from your spiritual flight.
I give you a solemn promise that if you do this, you will enjoy a feeling of spiritual euphoria because you will elevate yourself.
I testify—as one who twenty-three years ago was baptized into the kingdom of God in Toronto, Canada—that my flight since my baptism has been a magnificent one, with breathtaking scenes and spiritual panoramas and with the never-failing knowledge that my day-to-day flight plan is made available to me by an understanding, loving, forgiving Heavenly Father.
The same is true for all of us! How do I know this? Because I know with all my heart that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ. He is the Savior of mankind, the great mediator for the salvation and exaltation of all of our Heavenly Father’s children, if they are willing to follow his outlined flight plan. Of which I testify this day, gratefully and happily, and in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The autumn wind whistled noisily as it whipped at the black mud clinging stubbornly to conceal the cracks between the spruce logs of the Jameston’s cabin.
Persistently, as if in an effort to determine whose strength was greater, the breath of strong air picked up small rocks and huge thistles and hurled them powerfully against the pioneer structure that housed the family of 13.
“Sounds like a real storm’s brewing,” papa said as he reached for a block of wood to replenish the dancing flame in the potbellied stove that stood in the corner.
Emily looked at mama to see if she was going to verify what papa had said, but mama seemed deep in thought as her fingers expertly guided the heavy thread with her darning needle.
Emily walked to the window and stood looking anxiously out. “I don’t think it’s going to be a bad storm,” she said, hoping someone would agree with her. “It’s much too early in the year.” She looked around. No one seemed to care that the wind was blowing and soon there would be snow. Much, much too soon winter would be upon them.
She stood a moment longer at the window and then hurried to the bedroom and removed a small fruit jar from the third drawer of the dresser. She turned the wick up and lit the lamp that stood on the table by the bed. Carefully she emptied the contents of the jar and began to count the coins.
“Five, 15, 25, 50 …”
Lora opened the door and tiptoed in. She stood in silence as she watched her older sister pick up the money and drop it one coin at a time into the jar.
“Four dollars and thirty cents, $4.4, $4.45.”
When Emily finished, she put the lid back on the jar and gave a deep sigh. Lora sat down on the bed beside her.
“Is there enough?” she asked hopefully.
“Not yet,” Emily answered, “but soon there will be. Soon there will be,” she echoed.
“Show me the picture of the coat again, Emily,” Lora said excitedly.” I could look at it forever.”
Emily leaned over and pulled the catalog from underneath the bed. Without effort she opened the book to the turned-down page, its edge ragged from constant contact.
“I think it is the most beautiful coat in the whole world,” Emily said breathlessly.
“So do I,” Lora agreed. “Do you think I will ever have a new coat, Emily?”
“If you want it strongly enough,” Emily nodded. “Mama says if you really want something and work hard enough for it, you’ll most likely get it.”
“How long have you been saving for the coat?” Lora wanted to know.
“About two years now,” Emily answered as she carefully placed the catalog back under the bed.
“Seems like you’ve been saving forever.” Lora pulled the covers back and fluffed the feather pillows vigorously. “And you’ve counted the money a hundred times, maybe a thousand, and there still isn’t enough.”
“I know,” Emily said, “but soon there will be, you’ll see.”
The next day was cold, and the night’s wind had not subsided.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring in Aunt Hattie’s used coat from the box in the granary and make it over for you?” Mama asked anxiously as she examined the worn wrap Emily was putting on.
“No,” Emily stated firmly, “it would be a waste of time, mama. The sale catalog will be here soon, and I’m sure by then I’ll have enough money.”
“Will they have your coat in the sale catalog?” Lora asked doubtfully.
“Oh, I hope so,” Emily said as she took her younger sister Karen by the hand and started for school.
“You can find Lora or David to go home with this afternoon if you want to,” Emily counseled as they walked along. “I’m going to stop by Mrs. Harwells’ after school to help her clean house.”
“I know why,” Karen said importantly. “So you can buy an unused coat.”
Emily smiled and gave her sister’s hand a tight squeeze.
The afternoon sun had long departed from visibility as Emily hurried out the Harwell’s gate and down the road towards home. Her mind had no room to think about how tired she was, for thoughts of owning the coat crowded everything else out as it drew closer to becoming a reality.
“Oh, I hope the sale catalog came in the mail today,” Emily thought and she started to run in her anticipation. But the catalog wasn’t there when she got home, and in the many days that followed while she waited for the book, she worked. When folks could afford to and whenever mama could spare her, she worked and saved and saved and worked for a nickel or a dime, and although money was getting more and more scarce, the coins in her jar continued to slowly to add up.
On a particularly cold December day shortly before Christmas, the sale catalog came. Lora went to the Post Office, and if there was any other mail she failed to notice it in her excitement. With a squeal of delight she raced toward home, and as the cabin came into view, she began waving the book and shouting, “It’s here! It’s here!”
Emily burst out of the door and met her at the gate. Karen was close behind, and it seemed the whole family came from every direction oblivious of the wet, cold snow.
“Open it and tell me if the coat is there,” Emily said, not daring to look for herself.
Lora held out the book and started to open it. Then she stopped. “Oh, it’s on the cover,” she said in a hushed tone. “Your beautiful blue coat is right here on the cover of the catalog.”
Emily reached quickly for the book, looked at the price of the coat, and then without warning she burst into tears. No one knew what to do.
“Don’t you have enough money to buy it?” Karen asked worriedly.
Emily picked up her young sister. “Oh yes, Karen. I do! That’s why I’m crying, because I’m so happy.”
“Girls are dumb.” Sam threw a snowball at Emily and everyone started laughing.
The mood carried over into the evening, and all were having a good time. Emily, the center of attention, was at the table filling out the order blank when Chris Landin and his wife, Irene, came to the door. Papa hurried to open it.
“Good evening, Brother Jameston.” Chris shook papa’s hand.
“Come in, come in,” papa smiled.
Brother and Sister Landin spoke to the children and then sat visiting with mama and papa.
“We just came from the Andersons,” Chris said. “Joe’s health is getting worse, and it seems that if he is to get well, he must move to a lower climate soon.”
“How ironic it is,” Irene shook her head sadly, “that since he has been too ill to work, his finances won’t permit him to do this.”
“Do you suppose there is some way we neighbors could appropriate some money to help Joe?” Chris wondered.
Papa’s eyes saddened. He remembered how Joe had stopped in the middle of his work and rushed Sam to the hospital 18 miles away when the accident with the runaway horses had crushed the little boy badly. The Jamestons had all known that Joe’s instant concern and his automobile were an important part of the team that had been needed to meet the emergency that day.
“I have done a lot of custom work lately,” papa said finally, “but no one has been able to pay me for more than a month, and although we raised a big garden and have plenty to eat, I have no cash on hand at all.”
“I know. That’s the way it is with most of us,” Chris agreed, “It has been especially hard for a lot of folks this year. All of us are feeling the pinch of the depression.”
Emily sat listening. She liked the Andersons. Joe and his family weren’t members of the Church, but he was often doing something good for others. The kids in the neighborhood all liked him and called him Uncle Joe. He always had time to listen to troubles and never made light of an individual’s problem, no matter how small. In spite of how busy he was, Uncle Joe would often stop and play a game of softball if an extra player was needed, and Emily especially liked the way he could tell a story. His imaginative tales fascinated not only small children but teenagers as well. But one of the things that claimed priority in importance in Emily’s thoughts was how Uncle Joe had helped her and David and Lora make a tie rack for papa’s birthday after he had hired the three to pull weeds in his garden so they could purchase lumber for the gift.
After the Landins left, Emily closed the catalog, mumbled something about deciding to wait for a day or two before ordering the coat, and then hurried to the bedroom before anyone could question her further.
The next day Joe Anderson’s health was constantly on Emily’s mind. She caught snatches of conversation at school from his daughter who was two years younger than Emily. “People have been good. So many have given what they could, but there is not quite enough money. He is getting worse—his lungs …”
Papa and the neighbors helped with the Andersons’ chores and offered words of cheer, but few could contribute financially.
A few days later, when the Jamestons were gathered around the pump organ singing, Emily slipped unnoticed into the bedroom. For a long time she stood quietly thinking.
“Yes,” she whispered to herself, “if my papa were ill, I would want everyone who could to help him get well.” Then she took the small jar of coins from the drawer of the dresser and joined her family in the front room.
Going to mama and papa, Emily held out her hard-earned savings. “I’ve thought about it for a long time, and I’ve decided that I want you to give this money to the Andersons,” she said.
Lora pressed her hand quickly over her mouth to smother the cry of disbelief that sprang to her lips. She looked around. Wasn’t anyone going to stop Emily from giving her money away? Mama was just sitting there, sitting there smiling, and papa, what was papa doing? Was something the matter with his eyes? Why was he brushing his hand across them so vigorously?
Finally, Lora could stand the silence no longer. “Are you sure, Emily?” she burst out. “What about your coat? You’ve waited so long and worked so hard.”
“I’m sure,” Emily said. “At least I’m sure that it isn’t as important for me to have a new coat as it is for Uncle Joe to get well.”
Papa placed his hand on Emily’s shoulder. For a few seconds he was silent When he spoke, the tone of his voice was low and unnatural for he was touched by the courage his 14-year-old daughter had shown in deciding to part with her savings.
“You are very unselfish, Emily, and you are filled with sweet compassion for others.” He stopped and swallowed hard before he went on. “And since you have given this considerable thought and this is what you want to do, then I think it would be nice if you gave the Andersons the money yourself.”
The next morning mama brought in Aunt Hattie’s coat that she had been altering as a surprise and gave it to her daughter. Emily’s eyes portrayed a quick preview of a smile that was coming. If she couldn’t have a new coat, this was next best, and her happy expression mingled gratitude with admiration at mama’s insight.
Emily wore the coat that night to a special school program. She arrived a little early, and the prelude music was being played softly when two classmates, Nadine and Lucille, neared the bench that she was sitting on. Emily heard their voices as they approached, but she wasn’t prepared for the shock she received when she looked up to speak to them, for Lucille had on a new wrap. Emily caught her breath sharply as she recognized it as being the beautiful blue coat from the sale catalog.
The program became a blur as Emily kept looking at the coat she had wanted so much, and after the closing song, she slipped quickly out of the building and stood for a moment, her hand pressed tightly on the jar of coins concealed in her large patch pocket. As Nadine and Lucille came out they were laughing and whispering. They didn’t see Emily hidden by the shadows.
“Did you see Emily’s made-over coat?” Lucille asked her cousin in a low tone.
“Did I ever!” Nadine giggled. “I have never seen such an ugly mess in my entire life.”
“Did you see how it bagged and how it sagged?” Lucille pulled at the hem of her coat in an exaggerated gesture to emphasize her meaning.
The two girls burst out laughing as they walked away. Emily waited until they were out of sight; then she turned and ran toward home, her tears keeping fast tempo to her running steps. She kept her hand tightly gripped on the small jar in her pocket while the decision to give her money away stood on rocky ground.
When she came to the Andersons’ residence, she stopped abruptly. Joe was propped in a chair in front of the window, and he looked pale, even at a distance. She saw him cough harshly, and his wife hurry to his side. Emily thought of Sam and how Uncle Joe had come immediately to the rescue when he had been needed. After the coughing subsided, Emily opened the gate and went up the walk to the door.
As she left the Andersons’ home, the piercing stab of hurt that had come from Lucille and Nadine’s cruel words began to fade from her memory. Instead she recalled the mist that had come to Uncle Joe’s eyes when she had handed him the money and his raspy voice thanking her again and again.
The crisp December air was near freezing, but Emily stopped for a moment in the darkness before she reached the cabin and looked at her secondhand wrap. Then a soft smile touched her lips, for in a sense, the coins were serving their purpose after all. True they hadn’t been used to purchase a new coat, yet because of the giving, Emily was aware that something new and beautiful was hers, and it was wrapping her in a feeling of warmth she had never experienced before.
Her smile broadened, and she hugged her made-over coat closer around her as she hurried on.

It was just a normal Sunday morning until we entered the classroom. Our new Primary teacher, Brother Smith, was waiting for us.
“We’re going on a field trip today,” he announced after Sue gave the opening prayer. He put on his coat, grabbed his cane, and walked out the classroom door. “The bishop has given us special permission.”
Brother Smith had a twinkle in his eye, but he’s old and walks with a cane, so we didn’t have a hard time keeping up with him.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we went out the foyer doors and started down the walk.
“To a very special library,” explained Brother Smith, the twinkle in his eye getting brighter.
Our town had just opened a new library, but I hadn’t been to it yet. This was going to be fun! Then I remembered something. “The library is closed today—it’s Sunday!”
Brother Smith smiled as we reached the parking lot. “This library is open whenever someone wants to read and learn.” We all looked at each other with surprise; nothing in our town was opened that often!
“What kind of library is it?” asked David. David’s father was a lawyer, and he knew that lawyers had their own libraries full of law books.
“It’s a sacred library,” Brother Smith answered.
“You mean the meetinghouse library?” asked Sue, looking back. Her mother was the meetinghouse librarian, and she knew that it had lots of books and pictures and tapes about gospel subjects.
“No, not the meetinghouse library.” Brother Smith took out his keys and opened his van. “Everyone in!” We all piled in, jockeying for the window seats, as Brother Smith explained more about his mysterious library. “It has two rooms—an ‘old’ room and a ‘new’ room.”
“Our new city library has two rooms just for children’s books!” Jared piped up.
“This sacred library doesn’t have many books,” Brother Smith said. “In fact, it has only 66.”
“We have more books than that at home!” exclaimed Justin.
“In the old room there are 39 books,” Brother Smith continued with a smile.
“What kind of books?” asked David.
“Well, the first five are often called ‘The Law.’”
“My dad uses law books,” David said.
“These law books teach us God’s laws. They teach us about the Creation and about Adam and Eve. They also teach us about Moses and the laws God gave to him.” Brother Smith paused, but none of us said anything, so he continued. “There are 12 history books that tell us how the people were blessed when they obeyed God and how they were punished when they didn’t obey.”
“Is there any poetry?” Michelle asked. “I like poetry.”
“Yes,” Brother Smith replied, “there are four poetry books and another of wise sayings.”
By now I’d noticed that Brother Smith hadn’t started the engine; we were just sitting in the van, talking.
“And the last collection of books in the old room of the sacred library is 17 books written by prophets.”
“What do they say?” Justin asked.
“They teach the people to obey God, and they tell us about future events.”
By now most of the class realized we weren’t going on an ordinary field trip. But we still wanted to know about this sacred library.
“Now, in the new room of this library,” Brother Smith continued, “there are only 27 books.”
“Yes,” said Sue, “and four of them are history!”
Unlike me, Sue seemed to know what Brother Smith was talking about.
“Actually, there are five history books,” he told her, “but in four of them, sometimes called the Gospels, four different authors tell the story of Jesus and his life and teachings.”
“What are the rest of the books?” I asked.
“They are letters from church leaders to church members who lived in different places,” Brother Smith explained, pleased to see that I was interested.
“Where is this library?” I asked.
“In my hand.” Brother Smith held up a book.
“The Bible!” David announced.
“The Holy Bible,” Michelle added.
“The Holy Bible,” Brother Smith agreed. “In the Greek language, bible came to mean ‘divine library.’”
“The Old Testament and the New Testament are the two ‘rooms’!” I exclaimed.
“What did you learn today in Primary?” my mom asked later that day. She always asks, and in the past, I didn’t remember very often.
“We learned that we carry a whole library to church,” I answered proudly.
Mom gave me a funny look. But then Dad whispered, “Brother Smith’s his new Primary teacher,” and her puzzled look changed to one of understanding.
I can’t wait to go to Primary next week. Brother Smith says he’s going to take us on another field trip.

Today is one of those days when getting out of bed is nothing but a trial. Six o’clock is just too early for any sane soul to be up. Even the birds aren’t yet awake! And besides, it’s Sunday—a day when I should be resting from my labors. But I have to go to work, and needless to say, I’m not thrilled. But I’ll go, grudgingly. Just let me sleep ten more minutes.
My name is Jana, and that is the attitude I had on that certain Sunday morning. Even though I love my work as a nurse at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City, I just wasn’t in the mood to be there.
I staggered into the hospital promptly at 7:05; I was supposed to arrive at 7:00. Seeing the time on the clock in the hall, I panicked and pushed the elevator button several times, only to see that the elevator was on the fifth floor and not coming down. No time to waste. I ran up the six flights of stairs. By the time I reached the top, I was exhausted—huffing and puffing, my heart pounding in my ears in rebellion against the sudden exertion. I was relieved to know that I was in a hospital and if I had a heart attack, someone could save me.
I dragged myself down the hall, passing the clerk who looked up from her work and said without emotion, “They’ve started without you.” I smiled and stumbled into the report room where all the other nurses were gathered, none of whom glanced up at me. And even if they had done so, it wouldn’t have mattered. I was still alive, and that was all I cared about.
In the meeting I received a list of patients to care for and instructions for the day. Several patients were assigned to me, each with special problems and needs. I had baths to give, bed linens to change, equipment to monitor, temperatures to check, food trays to deliver, charting to do, medications to administer, bandages to change, tubing to check, sore muscles to rub, and to top it all off, doctors to please. I had no choice but to dig right in. Unfortunately, the work was not going to get done by itself.
In the midst of all the hubbub, a voice came over the intercom, “Any patient who would like to go to church, please notify your nurse.” Oh yes, I had almost forgotten; it was Sunday. I asked each of my patients if they wanted to attend the short half-hour meeting. No one seemed interested; most were too ill or too tired. That was how I felt too. Only one little lady, Mrs. Whitmer, an arthritis and bone cancer patient, answered my question with a quiet yes. This dear woman—who was confined to bed and in pain with every movement, every touch—desired to attend the meeting.
I requested that Mrs. Whitmer be wheeled to church in her bed. Then without delay, I hurriedly prepared her for the trip, combing her hair, washing her face, and changing her gown and bed linen. She grimaced with pain at every move, but she never uttered a word of complaint. No sooner had I finished sprucing her up than the brethren came for her, and off she went. I turned my attention to other patients without giving her another thought.
The day progressed, and finally my shift was over. I could relax! Before leaving duty I checked once more on the patients who had been under my care. Mrs. Whitmer had long since returned from church and was resting calmly—and so was everyone else, thank goodness. As quickly as I had sprinted to work that morning, I sprinted back to my apartment, ending another working day.
A few days later when I was working the evening shift, just as I was ready to sign off, the call light went on in room 4. “Oh boy,” I thought. “Why do they wait until I’m ready to leave before they call for me?” But I really didn’t mind. I went down the hall and groped my way through the darkness to the patient’s bedside. It was Mrs. Whitmer.
“Jana?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
She reached out and gently took my hand. In a quiet, quivering voice she said, “I just wanted to thank you for helping me get to church last Sunday. I haven’t been for awhile because I’ve been so ill, and you’ll never know how much it meant to me that day to go. When I partook of the sacrament …” There was a long pause; then in trembling words she continued: “I felt God’s Spirit, and I just knew that Christ is my Savior.” And with that she began to cry. I realized that I too was shedding some tears. This beautiful woman, as weak as she was, was stronger than I had ever been. She had a glowing testimony.
I couldn’t help but recall the times when I had only gone to church out of habit, never partaking of the Spirit, though I always partook of the bread and water. I also recalled the Sunday when I prepared Mrs. Whitmer for church and how hurriedly I had done so, as if it were a burden on me. Never would I feel that way again.
The two of us cried together that night, only for a few minutes, but it was long enough to share our souls. No other words were spoken; none needed to be. The tears and the touch of our hands had said it all.
I no longer live in Salt Lake, and I don’t know what happened to Mrs. Whitmer, but I’ll never forget her and her radiant testimony of Christ.

One rainy day, my beloved wife Elisa, our little daughter Beatriz, and I were in our car, merging onto a highway, when we saw a small and frail elderly woman walking on the side of the road. The heavy rain had soaked through her thin clothes. We were too fast to stop, but we just looked at one another and turned our car around as quickly as possible. When we came back to the woman, we stopped the car, and my sweet wife ran to help the poor woman while I called the police. We gave her a seat in our car, dried her off, and wrapped her in a warm blanket. We promised her protection and safety. We stayed with her until a police patrol arrived and, after making some inquiries, the officers took her into their care. They expressed their appreciation for what we had done for this good woman who had been walking with a sad face in a dangerous place.
When we continued our journey, we were grateful to the Lord for allowing us to be His hands and to share the care and kindness He bestows upon us daily with this lonely woman.

The missionaries first traveled east to New Bedford, Massachusetts, where they hoped to find a ship going to their mission area. When they couldn’t find one, they booked passage on a ship traveling to the Society Islands (French Polynesian Islands) in the South Pacific. They set sail on 9 October 1843.
After they had been at sea only a few weeks, Elder Hanks, a young man who had suffered from ill health, died and was buried in the Atlantic Ocean. The three remaining missionaries continued on. Their voyage took them east and south across the Atlantic, around the Cape of Good Hope, across the Indian Ocean, along the southern coast of Australia, and into the Pacific.
The first island reached by the ship was Tubuai in 1844. The people there showed the missionaries kindness and hospitality, and when some of the people pleaded with the elders to stay, Addison Pratt left the ship to teach them. Serving alone there for many months, struggling to learn the Polynesian language, he baptized 60 out of a population of 200 and organized the first branch of the Church in the South Pacific. To this day, the Latter-day Saint community on Tubuai is a strong one.
Elder Pratt’s two former companions traveled on to Tahiti, where their teaching met with far less success. After a few months, Elder Rogers traveled west to a small group of islands and Elder Grouard sailed to the island of Anaa in the Tuamotus. Elder Rogers again met with little success and much opposition. When rumors finally reached him of the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith, he began to fear for the safety of his family in Nauvoo, and he returned to America. He died during the exodus from Nauvoo.
The people of Anaa, on the other hand, came to greatly love Elder Grouard. He was the first white missionary of any religion to come to their island, and many of them accepted the truth he taught. He baptized over 600 people, organized five branches, and called local officers to serve. He wrote to Elder Pratt and asked him to come to Anaa, as there was too much work for him to do alone.
Elder Pratt responded to his companion’s invitation, and a conference of the Church was held on Anaa with more than 800 in attendance. At this time Addison Pratt decided to travel back to Church headquarters to request more missionaries to help in the work in the South Pacific. Leaving Elder Grouard behind, he traveled first to California, then to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving in September 1848, one week after his wife and four daughters had arrived there from Winter Quarters.
He shared his experiences with the Saints, taught Tahitian classes, and prepared to return to Polynesia. In 1850 he set out with a new companion, James S. Brown, and the promise that his own family and other missionary families would soon follow. They did follow, and despite growing problems with the French government in the islands, the missionaries and their families served until 1852, when they were forced to return to America.
Forty years passed before LDS missionaries were allowed back into French Polynesia. When they returned, the missionaries found that many members had remained faithful despite the lack of contact with Church headquarters, but many others had fallen away. The work began anew in 1892 and has continued with a few interruptions to this day. The gospel truth has shone in these islands for 150 years!
There are now four stakes in the Society Islands, and a beautiful temple stands in Papeete, on the island of Tahiti. The stories of the early missionaries are remembered and shared often by those who now send their own sons and daughters as missionaries to other countries and other islands.*

Once while attending church in London, my wife, Marie, and I met a woman named Libby Casas from Maine. Because the Knaupps were the only people we then knew in Maine, we asked if she knew them. Her face lit up: “Know them? Wendy is my dear friend. She introduced me to the gospel!” Wendy had met Libby in a Laundromat—two mothers doing their family laundry—and shared the gospel with Libby just as we had done with Wendy in the train station. What first impressed Libby most about the Church was the power of Wendy’s personal example—as mother, wife, and human being. For Libby, at least at the beginning, Wendy herself was the message of the Restoration.

The boys’ own testimonies have grown as they have shared them with others. Matías talks about one of his recent testimony-building experiences: “A little while ago, on Saturday before I went to bed, I was praying and asking that more people would come to church. That Sunday there were a lot of people there. I felt good about it. Things like that strengthen my testimony. Reading in the Doctrine and Covenants about Joseph Smith strengthens my testimony. I want to pray like he did—he was my age!”

There are many today who harbor in the deep recesses of their hearts a canker, a hurt, a feeling of resentment, a dislike, or in some cases even a hate because of unpleasant experiences with past and present associations. Some have been taken advantage of in a business sense. Others have had their feelings hurt by neighbors, or relatives, or friends. A few have been lied to or had a trust of long standing betrayed. Some children, young and now grown, have been offended by harsh or dictatorial parents. Husbands and wives may have deep schisms between them caused by criticism and a resulting resentment. The list of sad experiences goes on and on—yes, it is too long. To those of you who have been nursing the wounds of hurt feelings from the past, even from the little things, I would like to tell an experience which happened some time ago.
For much of our lives, we lived in central Arizona. Some years ago a group of teenagers from the local high school went on an all-day picnic into the desert on the outskirts of Phoenix. As some of you know, the desert foliage is rather sparse—mostly mesquite, catclaw, and palo verde trees, with a few cactus scattered here and there. In the heat of the summer, where there are thickets of this desert growth, you may also find rattlesnakes as unwelcome residents. These young people were picnicking and playing, and during their frolicking, one of the girls was bitten on the ankle by a rattlesnake. As is the case with such a bite, the rattler’s fangs released venom almost immediately into her bloodstream.
This very moment was a time of critical decision. They could immediately begin to extract the poison from her leg, or they could search out the snake and destroy it. Their decision made, the girl and her young friends pursued the snake. It slipped quickly into the undergrowth and avoided them for fifteen or twenty minutes. Finally, they found it, and rocks and stones soon avenged the infliction.
Then they remembered: their companion had been bitten! They became aware of her discomfort, as by now the venom had had time to move from the surface of the skin deep into the tissues of her foot and leg. Within another thirty minutes they were at the emergency room of the hospital. By then, the venom was well into its work of destruction.
A couple of days later I was informed of the incident and was asked by some young members of the Church to visit their friend in the hospital. As I entered her room, I saw a pathetic sight. Her foot and leg were elevated—swollen almost beyond recognition. The tissue in her limb had been destroyed by the poison, and a few days later it was found her leg would have to be amputated below the knee.
It was a senseless sacrifice, this price of revenge. How much better it would have been if, after the young woman had been bitten, there had been an extraction of the venom from the leg in a process known to all desert dwellers.

A few summers ago our family visited Catalina Island just off the coast near Los Angeles. While there we visited the excellent aviary, which has the most interesting collection of birds I have ever seen. But even though the birds were fascinating, the most important part of the visit for me was the acquaintance I made with a man whom I shall never forget. He told me something that still lingers vividly in my memory, even though this must have been ten years ago.

He worked at the aviary. I first noticed him as he was feeding the birds in the cages. He seemed to know each bird individually, calling them by name and chatting with them as though they were children gathered around him. It was easily apparent that he loved every bird in the place, and the birds seemed to feel the same way about him. After he had finished his feeding chores, I felt compelled to talk to him for a moment.

“It was interesting to watch you feed the birds,” I said. “It’s easy to see that you enjoy your work here.”

“Yes sir, I enjoy it here more than I can tell you. In fact, I can’t think of a single person I would trade places with—none of the movie stars, none of the bankers or lawyers, none of the merchants, none of the presidents, premiers, or kings. I like it right here, and I like what I’m doing.” We chatted a few minutes longer. Then he said, “You know, mister, there is one important thing I’ve discovered in life—at least as far as I personally am concerned. It’s this: If you like what you do, and if you’re doing something that is really worthwhile, and if you do the best job you can do, then, brother, you’ve got it made!”

I remember shortly after Alessandra and I got married, we had both just finished our university studies and moved back to Brazil to start our professional lives. It was difficult to find a job and we were both working in jobs that were below what we believed to be our potential. We could not even afford to pay rent, so we lived with my in-laws for a period of time, but we always paid an honest tithe.
We could see through some very small miracles throughout our lives how the Lord was opening the windows of heaven and rebuking the devourer in our lives. Over the years we were able to progress in our careers and afford rent, and later we were able to afford a mortgage. I remember one instance where the company that I was working for was laying off people and I was not laid off. I remember friends that were not members of the Church saying that I was lucky, but I knew that it was the Lord rebuking the devourer as mentioned in Malachi.
In other circumstances where I received a promotion at my work, I know that it was not only because of my qualifications, because I would look around and see that many of my colleagues had the same qualifications that I had. I know that it was the Lord opening the windows of heaven and blessing our lives.

When I was 12, my mother died of cancer. After her death, I thought I was dying of cancer too. I didn’t really have cancer, but my thoughts were very real to me. I didn’t talk to anyone about it. I carried the burden alone and was quite troubled.
I knew that when we have a problem we should go to the Lord in prayer. I always said my individual prayers at night and would think my prayers in my head as I knelt by my bed. But this particular time, I felt I needed to pray out loud.
Now, it was not easy to find a time to be alone in our house. I had five brothers and sisters and shared a bedroom with a sister. One afternoon I remember coming home from school to an empty house. I went into the living room and poured out my heart aloud to my Heavenly Father. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to suffer as my mom had suffered. I pleaded with the Lord.
Immediately after I had closed my prayer, a peaceful, strong feeling surrounded me. It was as if loving arms were around my shoulders and as if a voice said to me, “You are fine. You are fine.”
My prayer had been answered. I felt very loved, and I knew I was OK. A huge burden had been lifted from my shoulders. My thoughts of dying left me. Since that time, I have prayed to my Heavenly Father for answers. The answers never have come as quickly as they did that day, but I know prayers are answered—even if it is in the Lord’s timing and not mine.

According to The Journal of Pacific History, in 1780 the Spanish captain Francisco Antonio Mourelle set sail aboard La Princesa from the Philippines to Mexico. The voyage across the Pacific Ocean was perilous—the crew suffered severe food and water shortages, and the ship desperately needed repairs as they battled infestations and deteriorating equipment.
In March 1781, “they first sighted Fonualei and after finding it barren called it Amargura (bitterness). They proceeded to Late but were unable to locate anchorage, so they sailed on to Vava‘u and anchored near the present village of Longomapu on 1 March 1781. Captain Mourelle called the harbor Puerto del Refugio—Port of Refuge—because of their desperate state and the warm hospitality they were shown. During their three weeks stay the Spaniards were able to reprovision and to repair their ship. They left Vava‘u on the 19 March 1781 . . . sailing to San Blas to complete their mission.”

Steve Pollei, a young Latter-day Saint from Salt Lake City, Utah, has been elected National President of the Explorer Council at a Washington, D.C., convention to which he lead some 152 post presidents from the Great Salt Lake Council.
But Steve’s finest moment wasn’t found among the cheering delegates in the nation’s capital. The new president reports that the highlight of the experience came upon his return to Salt Lake when he had the opportunity of meeting and talking with President Harold B. Lee and his counselors about the gospel and the Explorer program.
The honor was earned with a lot of hard work. Campaign strategy was planned, a platform prepared, and preparations for good floor demonstrations mapped out long before the convention met.
On the second day of the convention Steve was elected Chairman of the Western Region. This was a critical step in becoming president, because the six regional chairmen become the candidates for National President.
The prospects didn’t always look promising. For example, when the candidates drew for speaking order, Steve drew the last number and had to speak to the convention at a very late hour.
But he was sustained by a very well organized campaign. An official who had been present at the National Republican Convention said that Steve’s floor demonstration was bigger and better organized than President Nixon’s in 1968.
The primaries were held, and Steve was swept into the finals by a solid vote. His opponent was a young lady named Beth Caruso. Steve’s organization made a great effort to get everyone out to vote in the final election, regardless of whom they supported.
Steve was elected by a fairly close vote, and he gives a lot of the credit for his victory to the approximately five hundred Mormon delegates at the convention.
Steve will have many challenges and opportunities as president of the National Explorer Council. He will travel over 50,000 miles in the U.S. and overseas with his adviser. He will direct his cabinet (made up of the regional chairmen) in leading the Explorer program. He will also work with the executive committee of the Boy Scouts of America to develop programs and activities for Cub Scouting, Boy Scouting, and Exploring.
Steve feels that his biggest challenges will be to involve the young people from ages fourteen through twenty-one in the Explorer programs and to iron out the bugs in some of the existing programs. He would especially like to see some advances made in the area of inner-city Exploring.
His personal goal is to set an example as a Latter-day Saint, to show the spirit of the Lord in all that he does so that the Lord will be pleased.

Paul’s counsel, “Be thou an example of the believers,” applies equally to members. Most have not been and may never be full-time missionaries. But all can be member missionaries. That statement reminds me of a report of a humorous event. On a large playing field at a missionary training center, a sign was posted. It read, “Missionaries Only!” People who also wanted to play on that field posted a new sign of their own. Their sign read, “Every Member a Missionary!”

Each member can be an example of the believers. Brethren, as followers of Jesus Christ, each of you can live in accord with His teachings. You can have “a pure heart and clean hands”; you can have “the image of God engraven upon your [countenance].” Your good works will be evident to others. The light of the Lord can beam from your eyes. With that radiance, you had better prepare for questions. The Apostle Peter so counseled, “Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.”

Let your response be warm and joyful. And let your response be relevant to that individual. Remember, he or she is also a child of God, that very God who dearly wants that person to qualify for eternal life and return to Him one day. You may be the very one to open the door to his or her salvation and understanding of the doctrine of Christ.

After your initial response, be ready to take the next step. You may invite your friend to attend church with you. Many of our friends do not know they are welcome in our Church buildings. “Come and see” was the Savior’s invitation to those who desired to learn more about Him. An invitation to attend a Sunday meeting with you or to participate in a Church social or service activity will help to dispel mistaken myths and make visitors feel more comfortable among us.

As a member of the Church, reach out to those you do not know and greet them warmly. Each Sunday extend a hand of fellowship to at least one person you did not know before. Each day of your life, strive to enlarge your own circle of friendship.

You can invite a friend to read the Book of Mormon. Explain that it is not a novel or a history book. It is another testament of Jesus Christ. Its very purpose is “to the convincing of the Jew and Gentile that Jesus is the Christ, the Eternal God, manifesting himself unto all nations.” There is a power in this book that can touch the hearts and lift the lives of honest seekers of truth. Invite your friend to read the book prayerfully.

The Prophet Joseph Smith said “that the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth, and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.” The Book of Mormon teaches of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and is the instrument by which God will fulfill His ancient promise to gather scattered Israel in these latter days.

Many years ago two colleagues of mine—a nurse and her doctor husband—asked me why I lived the way I did. I answered, “Because I know the Book of Mormon is true.” I let them borrow my copy of the book, inviting them to read it. A week later they returned my book with a polite “Thanks a lot.”

I responded, “What do you mean, ‘Thanks a lot’? That’s a totally inappropriate response for one who has read this book. You didn’t read it, did you! Please take it back and read it; then I would like my book back.”

Admitting that they had only turned its pages, they accepted my invitation. When they returned, they said tearfully, “We have read the Book of Mormon. We know it is true! We want to know more.” They learned more, and it was my privilege to baptize both of them.

Another way that you can share the gospel is to invite friends to meet with full-time missionaries in your home. Those missionaries are called and prepared to teach the gospel. Your friends, in the comfort of your home and with your constant reassurance, can begin their journey toward salvation and exaltation. The Lord said, “Ye are called to bring to pass the gathering of mine elect; for mine elect hear my voice and harden not their hearts.”

Scripture tells us that “there are many yet on the earth … who are only kept from the truth because they know not where to find it.” Isn’t that your opportunity? You can become their own disciple of discovery!

Now in this day of the Internet, there are new and exciting ways you can do missionary work. You can invite friends and neighbors to visit the new mormon.org website. If you have blogs and online social networks, you could link your sites to mormon.org. And there you can create your own personal profile. Each profile includes an expression of belief, an experience, and a testimony. Because this is a new feature, most of these profiles are available in English. Profiles in other languages will follow.

These profiles can have a profound influence for good. Two months ago a young man named Zac—a freshman in college—saw an ad for mormon.org on television in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He connected with the website and was intrigued by the profiles of Church members. At our website he found the link that informed him where he could attend church. The next Sunday, dressed in a white shirt and tie, he attended church, was introduced to members of the ward, and enjoyed all three hours of meetings. He was invited to a member’s home for dinner, followed by his first missionary lesson. In less than two weeks, he was baptized and confirmed as a member of the Church. Welcome, Zac! (He is listening.)

Each exemplary follower of Jesus Christ can become an effective member missionary. Members and full-time missionaries may walk arm in arm in bringing the blessings of the gospel to cherished friends and neighbors. Many of them are of Israel, now being gathered as promised. This is all part of the preparation for the Second Coming of the Lord. He wants each of us truly to be an example of the believers.

I know that God lives. Jesus is the Christ. This is His Church. The Book of Mormon is true. Joseph Smith is its translator and the prophet of this last dispensation. President Thomas S. Monson is God’s prophet today. I so testify in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My great-grandma’s candy dish doesn’t hold a lot of candy these days. Instead, it sparkles under the display lights in my grandpa’s cabinet, and the lights reflect off the grooves of the crystal in the dish. Most people save things to remind them of happy memories, but my grandpa has saved this candy dish to remind him of an important lesson.
When my grandpa was 10, his family had a rule against playing ball in the house. But he loved basketball, so one day when it was raining outside, you can guess what he decided to do. Instead of following the rules, he went into the living room to play basketball, and it quickly got him into trouble.
He threw a pass, and the basketball hit the bracket of an antique mirror, causing the mirror to fall onto a grand piano where his mom displayed her crystal collection. The mirror shattered onto the piano and broke all the crystal dishes except one single candy dish.
When his mom came to see what had happened, she sent him to his room. He felt awful; he knew she loved those dishes. His dad came to his room and they discussed a punishment. Then, his mom entered the room with a wrapped box. Inside was the surviving candy dish. His mom said, “I’m giving you this dish to remind you that I love you more than any of the dishes you broke.”
One day that candy dish will be passed down to my mom and then to me, but we could never sell it. In our family, the candy dish represents how much love a mother has for her children. Even though Great-Grandma lost nearly her entire crystal collection, she gained something even more important—a stronger relationship with her son.
Material possessions can be replaced, but families are worth a lot more than crystal. Family members are the most important people. My family, including my mom, dad, and brothers, mean more to me than anything else. I’d give up a million crystal dishes to be with my family forever.

The following winter, Joseph Jr. hobbled through the snow with his mother, brothers, and sisters. They were on their way west to a New York village named Palmyra, near where Joseph Sr. had found good land and was waiting for his family.
Since her husband could not help with the move, Lucy had hired a man named Mr. Howard to drive their wagon. On the road, Mr. Howard handled their belongings roughly and gambled and drank away the money they paid him. And after they joined up with another family traveling west, Mr. Howard kicked Joseph out of the wagon so the other family’s daughters could sit with him as he drove the team.
Knowing how much it hurt Joseph to walk, Alvin and Hyrum tried to stand up to Mr. Howard a few times. But each time he knocked them down with the butt of his whip.10
As Joseph limped along beside the wagon, he could see his mother was certainly bearing with Mr. Howard. They had already traveled two hundred miles (322 km), and so far she had been more than patient with the driver’s bad behavior.
About a hundred miles from Palmyra, Lucy was preparing for another day on the road when she saw Alvin running toward her. Mr. Howard had thrown their goods and luggage onto the street and was about to leave with their horses and wagon.
Lucy found the man in a bar. “As there is a God in heaven,” she declared, “that wagon and those horses as well as the goods accompanying them are mine.”
She looked around the bar. It was filled with men and women, most of them travelers like her. “This man,” she said, meeting their gaze, “is determined to take away from me every means of proceeding on my journey, leaving me with eight little children utterly destitute.”
Mr. Howard said that he had already spent the money she paid him to drive the wagon, and he could go no farther.
“I have no use for you,” Lucy said. “I shall take charge of the team myself.”
She left Mr. Howard in the bar and vowed to reunite her children with their father, come what may.12
The road ahead was muddy and cold, but Lucy led her family safely to Palmyra. As she watched the children cling to their father and kiss his face, she felt rewarded for all they had suffered to get there.
The family soon rented a small house in town and discussed how to get their own farm.13 The best plan, they decided, was to work until they had enough money for a down payment on land in the nearby woods. Joseph Sr. and the older sons dug wells, split fence rails, and harvested hay for cash, while Lucy and the daughters made and sold pies, root beer, and decorative cloths to provide food for the family.14

Several years ago I heard about a good brother who described his attitude as President David O. McKay gave the concluding talk of general conference. It was a sultry afternoon, and this was the fifth session he had attended. He was sitting in the balcony, and his mind had a serious wandering problem. He noticed a man sitting in the middle section who had fallen asleep with his head tilted back and his mouth open. It occurred to him that if he were in the roof of the Tabernacle, he could drop a spit wad through one of the vent holes right into the mouth of that sleeping man. What a glorious thought! Following the meeting, he overheard two men talking about their feelings during President McKay’s talk. They were visibly moved by what they had heard. He thought to himself, These two brethren were having a marvelous spiritual experience, and what was I doing? Thinking about dropping spit wads from the ceiling!