Gospel Story Finder

• Berlin, Germany, Thursday, June 20: A very weary choir, running on the Spirit, love, and memory, performs two concerts, matinee and evening, in the glittering former Communist showcase, the restored Schauspielhaus. Tonight, more than 1,500 attenders foot-stamp uproarious ovations. The evening becomes doubly memorable for attenders when Herold Gregory, administrative assistant of the choir and former [1953 to 1957] mission president over East Germany, steps up to the microphone to wish all a good night and to announce that Germany’s lower house of parliament, the Bundestag, has just voted a few minutes ago to transfer its offices, the nation’s chancellor, and his cabinet from Bonn to Berlin. The response is ear-splitting!

When Enoch LaVell Manwaring served as a building missionary in Tonga in 1957, he took some of the building missionaries to the island of ‘Uiha to build a chapel. A small, elderly lady named Vaikato insisted upon helping with the construction, although she was believed to be more than one hundred years old. The missionaries tried to persuade her not to carry heavy bricks and lift buckets, but she refused to quit helping them.
As the work progressed on the building, some of the Tongan building missionaries approached Brother Manwaring and asked if he had talked to Vaikato about the construction plans. He told them no, and was surprised when they told him that Vaikato already knew what the chapel would look like:
The men told me that she was telling all of the workers just where the classrooms would be, where the pulpit would stand, and just how the chapel would look when it was finished. It was amazing what she knew.
I learned through an interpreter that twenty years before the building program began in the South Pacific, she had received a blessing from Elder George Albert Smith, who was visiting the Tongan islands. In the blessing, he told her that if she would be faithful, she would live to see a beautiful chapel erected on her island—and she envisioned it perfectly while he spoke.

Faith to overcome is what we need to help us in our trials. A number of years ago, a man in our community impressed me with his testimony. He was a convert from Ireland, joining the Church against the wishes of his family. They disowned him and never spoke to him again. Tragedy seemed to follow him. His first child developed a serious illness that left him $5,000 in debt (a huge sum at that time). Not long after this, his bishop called in sixty faithful members of his ward, telling them they needed to raise $30,000 immediately. When the bishop called for a show of hands of those who would contribute substantially, his faith wavered momentarily, but his wife quickly held up his hand. He did make his contribution, and the windows of heaven opened. Somehow he was able to pay his debts as well. He recounted what great blessings had come to him because he was faithful.

Last Christmas season, I focused on reading the Christmas stories in the scriptures and sharing them with others. One night while babysitting my four-year-old cousin, Boedi, I asked her why Christmas is so special. She started to talk about Santa and presents. I explained to her that Christmas is especially important because of Jesus.
I showed Boedi a little advent calendar on the wall that had a cartoon picture of the Christmas story on it. She noticed that the picture of baby Jesus seemed to glow, and I explained to her that Jesus is very special. I told her that He came to earth to die for us so that one day we can live with Him. We watched videos and looked at pictures of Him.
I prayed that night that I could remember the spirit I felt and that Boedi would remember the things I taught her.
A couple of weeks later, our family got together for Christmas Eve. After we played games, opened presents, and watched the Church video “The Christ Child,” Boedi went to the table to color. I watched as she showed our two-year-old cousin, Jerett, her drawing of baby Jesus in a manger, with Mary and Joseph. My favorite detail was the glow she put around the baby. She explained to Jerett that He glowed because He was so special.
Boedi had remembered what I had taught her. It warmed my heart to see her share the story with others, just as I had.
I know the importance of sharing the stories of Christ with those around me, both young and old. I now have an even stronger testimony of how special Christ truly is.

Let me conclude in these few moments with one of those answers that I am so prayerfully anxious to share with you. This letter came at Christmastime. I would not for anything betray a confidence this letter so warmly shares. I will simply tell you that the person who wrote it is a graduate of this institution. He writes from prison, where he is in the ward for very serious consequential crime—sin also. He has lost it all. He is brilliant and lettered, and his name can be read here and there. He has done very well in the world. He is very young. Everything was ahead of him, and then this act or series of acts took away his own conscience and his freedom. His sins alienated him then from others and ultimately from God, from the Church, and from the things so dear and precious. Now he writes from a prison, and I share some of what he writes with you. I plead with you to listen with your hearts and your heads to these few sentences. He talks of a happy situation inside this unbelievably tragic place. He himself has been given an assignment that permits him to help others. What all this represents is a miracle. I can put no other label on it.

I’ve had a job that has allowed me to keep my mind active. I have won the respect of people who trust me. The tears come frequently, but in my setting I can let them. I have a room not unlike a college dormitory. It is private. There I can let the emotions vent, can pray, study, write, and weep. The time is tortuous nonetheless, but not beyond my capacities because compensatory blessings were granted. I do not understand all of this, but I am grateful.

He mentions a person who has helped him. I can only pick out a line or two of this marvelous paragraph: “She knows me and accepts me. I feel better about myself than in all my life. She has helped to heal me. For the first time my spirit feels free to be itself.” She has had a difficult life, too. He tells of a position she has which permits her to express her great heart to those who are seriously handicapped. And this is his final paragraph—again, it might save your life. “She has made adversity turn to advantage,” he writes. He then goes on:

Perhaps it is this last thought that expresses the most forceful image I have of Christ. He took the curse of adversity and made it the blessing of advantage. I see Him on the cross, blessing the thief, forgiving the murderers of His own life. I read over and over about the difficulties and the costs of His associating with the poor and the outcasts and of His love for them. Peter was right. Christ did go and preach to the spirits in prison. What else might we expect Him to do?

Then he refers to Paul’s descriptions in the first chapter of Romans of the absolute decadence of that time and says, “That’s how it is in this prison. It’s an exact picture of my surroundings and the nature of man openly fallen.” So much of what he then goes on to say about the fallen state of all men, even those not condemned under the law, is so appropriate. He is quoting scripture and interlarding it with his own comments:

There is none righteous—no, not one. There is none that understand it, and the operation of the law is so that all the world may become guilty before God. And that is the crux of my problem. Righteousness and relief from guilt cannot come from my punishment or the functioning of the law. By the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified in His sight. But while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. [See Romans 3]

Don’t misunderstand his last words. They are a testimony of the highest quality of the truthfulness of what we have been taught in these days through the prophets of God. They need to be carefully considered.

When I understood the grace of Christ, I experienced that grace, that great sense of forgiveness. So much remains to be done—so much restitution that I hope I will be allowed to make. But I won’t have to buy into any more guilt trips. There will always be sorrow for my mistakes. There will always be heartbreak. There may never be forgiveness by others I have hurt. But I don’t have to beat myself into mental illness. “Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound” [Romans 5:20], and I am humbled by the grace which He has given me. I who was so full of insecurities and false pride—I who felt superior to others—now know my true worth and am no longer afraid. I have lost my life but found it.

Little did we know, another miracle was in store for us.
When Kahn turned 4, we holidayed in our homeland of Samoa, where we reconnected with Kahn’s birth family. They welcomed us with open arms, and Kahn’s birth grandmother wept when she recognised him. “Your son is gorgeous,” she said. “He’s so active, and he looks like he enjoys his food, too.”
It was an emotional reunion. They thanked us for loving and nurturing Kahn—and then they asked if we had room in our lives for another child.
My husband and I were astonished.
We discovered that Kahn’s birth mother had another baby. Naree Alalafaga was 5 months old at the time and, again, her family wanted more for this child than they were able to offer.
My mother’s words echoed softly in my mind: you reap what you sow.
It wasn’t by chance we met our miracle daughter this way. The Lord knows our deepest desires, and what is best for us. So, when our reunion with Kahn’s birth family brought a precious addition—his baby sister—to our home, it just felt right.

Several years ago in Osaka, Japan, I received a telephone call from one of the Japanese officers of the Church requesting an appointment. I invited him to my hotel room and there listened to one of the most intelligent and articulate young men I had ever met.
He was a college graduate. He had majored in a special field of science and was employed by a stable, conservative corporation. One of his classmates, who had been at the top of the graduating class in the same field, was employed by a young, progressive firm in Tokyo. Several times in recent months this classmate had tried to entice his friend to change jobs. One of the vice-presidents of the firm in Tokyo made contact with the Church member, saying he could set his own salary at three or four times what he was then making.
The response was, “If there is the slightest question in the minds of the officers of my church about my leaving Osaka, which would require my being released from my Church position, it doesn’t matter how much money you offer me, I will have no interest in your proposal.” The vice-president replied, “I am not a Christian. I know nothing about your religion, but you are the kind of man I want in my organization.”
Should he move from Osaka to Tokyo, which would require his release from his Church assignment? Of course, I assured him that he could serve the Lord in Tokyo as well as in Osaka.
He moved to Tokyo. Later, while visiting that city, I received another call from the same man. We visited for quite some time. He had become extremely successful. He had broadened his experiences and was now a consultant teaching top management personnel in major corporations how to operate their companies. His time was in great demand. He was earning a large income. But he was neglecting his Church work and his family responsibilities.
I told him I wouldn’t tell him what he should do, but that there was a scripture that would tell him if he truly was converted: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:33.) I sensed that this scripture might have caused a little antagonism; however, we parted as good friends.
A few weeks after I returned home, I received a letter from him. He said he had his priorities straightened out. He had resigned from the company. His first priority now would be his family and the Church, and his second priority would be employment. Setting priorities and then reviewing them to see that we are not straying is one of the most valuable lessons we can learn.

In South Africa I met the Cleverlys, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The mother of the family invited me to their home at various times. She always told me about young adult activities, but I could never attend due to my job schedule. Then she invited me to attend church, and I accepted. But before Sunday came, I had three nights of duty. I went downstairs to the embassy library where there was a computer with a huge search capacity. I just typed in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All kinds of information came up, and I read for eight hours the first night, eight hours the second night, and eight hours the third night. What I looked at most of all was what Latter-day Saints believed and how they applied it in their lives. Did they live according to what they had established as laws or standards of the Church?
The week preceding my visit to church, I had a dream. I was sitting at a table, and there were two young men with white short-sleeved shirts and black name tags. They were sitting at the sides of a table, and I was seated at the head. When I woke up, I didn’t think much about the dream.
The first time I walked into a Latter-day Saint meeting, I knew there was something different about this church. It happened to be the first Sunday of the month, which meant the members had an opportunity to stand and bear testimony. Now this is the true order of church, I thought.
I was introduced to two missionaries. One of the young men was one of those in my dream, the exact person. Sister Cleverly invited the missionaries and me to her home for dinner. She placed us at the table exactly as my dream had predicted. The missionaries began teaching me.
Later, when I learned the principle of baptism for the dead, I thought it amazing that one could go to a sacred place and do these things for people who had passed away. I thought about my two grandfathers and my grandmother who had passed away. That’s when I started to feel the Holy Ghost. The teachings sounded right to me.
We got to the next principle, which was about families, and I realized I had always known that was true. When I heard about eternal families, I told the missionaries, “I knew this existed.”
Then the missionaries taught me about the Word of Wisdom, and it was then I made a discovery. It felt as if my soul unfolded, and I shed a sort of shell and a new person came out. I felt like I was floating off the ground. I had always lived the Word of Wisdom, and I had wanted to know why I was the way I was. No one had ever had the answer for me. But the Lord did, and I learned that answer through the missionaries and the discussions. I knew everything they had taught me previously was true and everything they would teach me would be true. I had never felt the Spirit so strongly reading the scriptures as when I read Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21. I knew it was true. I always knew my body was important, and I knew it was never to be defiled.
From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t very happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of kilometers from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. A very clear voice said, “You are to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on 12 October 1995.
It was a year to the day of my baptism, 12 October 1996, that I entered the Washington D.C. Temple to be endowed in preparation for serving full time in the Spain Madrid Mission.
During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive of my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission, my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my mission.
After I returned from my mission, I stayed with my family for three weeks before leaving to enter Brigham Young University. Before school started my father visited me, meeting my friends and seeing Salt Lake City. When I took him to the airport, he embraced me and said, “Out of all 46 years of my life, never ever have I felt more love or the Spirit of God in my home than when you were home the last few weeks. I know we owe it to the service you gave in Spain for two years.”

Amy was the fastest runner in her third-grade class. She loved to run, especially as she skimmed across the furrows in her father’s plowed fields and chased the seagulls flying above her. No one—boy or girl—ever beat her in races at school. She could jump high and far too. She practiced jumping over ditch banks, even when they were wider than she was tall. If Sara or Grant asked to see her jump over a tree stump or a hedge, she would take a long run and fly over it.
Every night, Amy snuggled up next to Mom on her bed while Mom brushed Amy’s hair and curled it into long ringlets. Amy’s baptism was coming up, but Mom was too sick to be with her on that special day. Amy listened closely as Mom and Dad told her what to expect. They told her stories of their own baptisms. Dad had been baptized in a large stream, and Mom had been baptized in the font in the Salt Lake Tabernacle.
“I’m excited to be baptized,” Amy said, “but I’m curious about the Holy Ghost.”
“You’ve already been helped by the Holy Ghost,” Dad said. “Remember when you wanted to be a better reader? You prayed for help, and help came. Your testimony came from the power of the Holy Ghost, and so did your faith to be healed when the bishop and I gave you a blessing when you were sick.”
Mom explained that one of the gifts of the Holy Ghost that Amy could receive was being able to see things to come*—things that would help her make wise choices.
Only five weeks after Amy’s baptism and confirmation, she and Sara and Grant climbed on top of Grant’s garage to look out over the stream and surrounding fields. Wild yellow roses grew on the banks of the stream, and the fields were sparkling green.
“Hey, Amy,” Sara said. “I dare you to jump from here onto the shed.” She pointed to the roof of the nearby shed.
Amy hesitated. She knew it wasn’t good to take dares, but she also knew that she was a good jumper. “OK,” she finally said. But as she stood up—ready to jump—she imagined herself falling to the ground between the garage and shed. She thought she saw herself lying on the ground.
Seeing the danger in her mind, Amy said: “I can’t. It’s too far.” Sara and Grant didn’t say anything as Amy sat down. She was glad they didn’t tease her. They seemed to know that she had made the right decision.
That evening, Amy told Mom and Dad what had happened at Grant’s house. “I knew that it was a gift from the Holy Ghost. He showed me that I would fall if I tried to jump. I could see myself lying on the ground, really hurt.”
Mom held Amy close. Dad told her how thankful he was that she had listened to the Holy Ghost. And both Mom and Dad told her never to climb on Grant’s garage again!
“I won’t,” Amy promised.
Amy never forgot the gift she was given that day by the Holy Ghost and the change it made in her life.

To British Saints and thousands of Americans whose ancestry springs from this part of England, Liverpool and Preston are as much a part of the rich Latter-day Saint heritage as Nauvoo and Kirtland. And it was the word heritage in a letter from the First Presidency to all units of the Church that triggered a chain of events leading to one of the most unusual and spectacular joint activities ever organized by the Liverpool and Preston districts.
That letter urged Church members to organize significant activities to commemorate their history as part of an international heritage year. Rod Fullwood, seminary supervisor in the Liverpool District, and his counterpart in the Preston District, Arthur Hardy, had already talked over the possibility of a joint seminary graduation. From that it was a short step for them to come up with the concept of a major commemorative program telling the story of the first missionaries to arrive in England and the events leading to the first baptisms in the River Ribble in July 1837.
Once the plan had been approved by the Preston and Liverpool district presidencies, the next few weeks were marked by frantic activity as seminary groups in each branch worked on their own projects. Branches in the Liverpool District were assigned to re-create the atmosphere and scenes of 1837 by staging an “English Fayre,” complete with stalls from the period. They also wrote a dramatic production telling the story of early Mormon emigrants. Period dress for the nearly 200 young people and adults who attended was mandatory, but forseeing the likelihood of a few arriving in 20th century dress, the organizers assigned the Southport Branch to construct a set of stocks to “discipline” offenders.
The afternoon following the “Fayre” and the dramatic production the Liverpool Saints joined those at Preston for the second half of the program—a sermon on the banks of the Ribble and a commemoration of the baptisms that took place there in July 1837.
The weekend’s events provided a natural attraction for newspapers, radio, and television, and they were widely publicized. The events were relayed in a four-minute spot on BBC television, which also included an interview with Brother Fullwood. In addition to newspaper reports of the weekend, at least one Lancashire paper began plans for a full-scale feature on early Church history.
Appropriately winding up the commemoration, a 24-member Brigham Young University ballroom dance team, which had been performing in international competition in nearby Blackpool, gave a brief display for members immediately before the seminary graduation. As if to underline the point, it was then announced that Preston seminary students had beaten all other districts in Britain in enrollment and work completion for the year.
Said Brother Fullwood: “I think the weekend’s events and all the work that went in beforehand have given the members here a greater appreciation for those early missionaries as well as for our own heritage. The fact that an ambitious program like this was so successful will encourage us to shoot for high goals in the future.”

After college my sister Grace and I worked for a company with several other Latter-day Saints. Our employers were not members of the Church. When my sister became engaged, our employer planned a surprise bridal shower for her. I hoped she would respect our standards, but instead she ordered liquor, a male dancer, and a scandalous video.
Before the bridal shower, I felt the whispering of the Holy Ghost within me encouraging me to remind my boss of our standards. I grasped my Young Women medallion and thought of all the effort and sacrifices I had made when I was in Young Women to complete my personal progress. I prayed that I would be guided to stand a little taller at this time. I texted my employer my concerns, thinking that she might become offended. Nevertheless, my greatest desire was to please Heavenly Father.
When the party began, my boss didn’t talk to me or even smile at me. However, she did cancel the dancer and the video.
In the days following the party, my boss didn’t talk and laugh with me like she had before the party. However, I felt comfortable because I knew God was pleased with what I had done. About a week later, my relationship with my boss went back to normal. I know God softened her heart and helped her realize that I lived what I believed.
Lemy Labitag, Cagayan Valley, Philippines

God knows our weaknesses and needs. He knows what is best for us and He provides us with experiences and associations from which we can learn great truths. About 18 months into my mission I was called to be a district leader. This particular district had four Korean sisters. I was not the most talented Korean speaker in our mission and the sisters posed a challenge. Not only did I struggle to communicate with and interview the sisters, but they also brought a number of investigators in for baptismal interviews. The other senior elder in this district was a great missionary who had received a powerful gift of tongues. Elder David Middleton not only spoke and understood Korean; he wowed the Koreans with his skills and pronunciation. In most settings Koreans immediately turned to Elder Middleton because of his language skills. For a weak and simple, older district leader this was a humbling turn of events. One Sunday afternoon, as I struggled with this situation, I received an impression that continues to have application for me. In our lives, the Lord blesses (gifts) us with people who possess greater abilities in some areas than we have, that we might be humble. I believe He does this so we will look to and trust others to help us with our assignments and responsibilities. We can’t do it all ourselves. This great work is not about us; it is the Lord’s work and His glory. We are merely assisting Him. In order to bless others and to follow and become like our Savior we must acknowledge this and get out of the way.

We visited Granddad’s farm most summers. The summer I was 14, however, Stu decided he was too old and too cool to come on a family vacation with us. Stu had stopped coming to church and had started going with a new crowd of friends. Most nights he came home late, and I could smell the cigarette smoke and beer on his clothes.

But after a few days camping at Granddad’s farm without Stu, I began to feel very alone and very bored. Early one morning I was kicking a football (soccer ball) against our caravan (trailer) when Granddad passed by carting a big paper bag.

“Fancy sum’ mushrooms?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I muttered, not very happy with the world.

“Aye. Good ‘enough. I’ll just have to try and find ‘em by myself,” he said, and shuffled off across his green pasture. I shrugged my shoulders and ran after him. Mushroom hunting was something to do. And, anyway, Granddad was old and might need my help.

“Thought we might find sum’ by town,” he said as he stepped onto a low stone fence and bounded over. I scrambled over the rocks and had to run to catch up with Granddad. In fact, I soon found myself running a lot to keep up with his breezy pace. Obviously he was not going to need my help.

“You must walk a lot,” I said to him, half out of breath.

He looked down at me and laughed. “I walk these hills every day. But a young ‘un like you should be able to out-walk me. Living in the city makes you soft.”

I dropped my gaze to the path.

“You have something on your mind, lad?” he asked.

“No, just bored.”

“Aye, probably.”

It seemed like we crossed most of the Yorkshire glens before we reached the top of a hill that overlooked town. Granddad led me down the hillside, past at least a dozen bent-over people searching for white mushrooms amid the waving grass. I noticed most of their bags were empty.

“I don’t think there are many mushrooms around here,” I confided to Granddad.

He looked back at the mushroom hunters and chuckled. “Oh, I think we might find one or two.”

He stepped off the trail, and I followed him as we rounded a small rock outcropping and were suddenly alone in a shady clearing with more mushrooms than I’d ever seen. They were everywhere! Big, white, fluffy mushrooms.

It only took us a few minutes to fill our bag. Then we started back up the hill, past the scattered mushroom hunters.

A man with wire-rimmed glasses stood up when we passed and wiped his forehead. “Find any?” he asked.

“Just enough,” Granddad answered. Then he winked at me and whispered, “You have to know where to look, lad.”

I laughed and put my hand on Granddad’s shoulder.

But as we walked away, Granddad looked back at the man and said, “You might want to try behind those rocks.”

“I just might,” came the reply.

We reached the top of the hill and rested on a big, flat rock, perched with a grand view of the gray and green town below.

“That was nice of you, telling that man where to look,” I said.

“Sumtimes people just need a little hint,” he answered.

A few years ago Elder Marion D. Hanks, now an emeritus General Authority, recounted an incident that happened to a man who repented and changed his life overnight:
“He had taken his son to the home of a family who was providing a place for him to stay while he participated in a baseball tournament. The young man seemed reluctant to go with his father to the home of his benefactor, and the father began to wonder if the people had mistreated his son. The boy half cowered behind his father as they knocked on the door. Once they were inside, however, his son was warmly greeted by the host family, and it was obvious he loved them very much.
“Later after picking up his son, the puzzled father asked him to explain his strange behavior. … His son’s answer [was]:
“‘I was afraid you might forget and swear at their house, Dad. They don’t swear in their house; they are really nice people. They talk nice to each other and laugh a lot, and they pray every time they eat and every morning and night, and they let me pray with them.’
“Said the father, ‘It wasn’t so much that the boy was ashamed of his dad; he loved me so much that he didn’t want me to look bad.’
“This father, having resisted a generation of earnest people who had tried to help him find a better way of life, had been touched by the sweet spirit of his own young son.”
The power to change became so strong that this father not only returned to Church activity but became a stake leader.

A simple prayer
Let me begin my story with an answer to simple prayer. In December 1959, I was released as a labor missionary in Tonga and went home to my island of Pangai to be with my family. My parents were on a mission at the time at the big island. While there, I heard the news that the Church called 25 building missionaries to go to Hawaii to build the Polynesian Cultural Center. Oh how I wanted to be one of them. But I was not. There were only two of them called from my island.
Immediately after I heard the news, I went to my room and knelt in prayer, very simply, I said, “Heavenly Father, please send me to Hawaii as a missionary if thou seest that I can be of help.” With all my heart I asked, and I said Amen. During this week President Mendenhall, the chairman of the Church building committee, traveled to New Zealand to call Maori building missionaries to the project in Hawaii. In that meeting, he called 12 Maori men to go to Hawaii. In his talk he announced, “I have called 30 Tongan missionaries to go to Hawaii.” At the end of the meeting my former supervisor from the mission, who was there with him, walked up to President Mendenhall and said, “In your talk you said you called 30 missionaries in Tonga, but you called only 25.” President Mendenhall told him, “when you go back to Tonga, tell the mission president to call 5 more.” And I was one of those 5.
I can tell you that right from that moment, what seemed impossible became possible through God. He answered my simple prayer and through His will I was able to help and play a very big part in that mission in Hawaii. I served three years and nine months.

Clancy O’Clagen was stacking wood in Mrs. O’Reilley’s woodshed. As he neatly piled the sticks, he was thinking of what his wife had said that morning. “It’s a fine thing to be helping Widow O’Reilley, Clancy,” she had said, “but while you’re setting her woodshed to rights your own is a sorry sight, what with kindling laying every which way. But if she pays you well for the work, I’ll be doing no more complaining.”
Clancy straightened up to rest his back and glanced around the gloomy shed. Suddenly he spied a shimmering of metal up high in a cobwebby corner. He moved nearer to see what the glimmer of light might be.
“Sure, and that’s an old Irish griddle, if ever I saw one!” he exclaimed. “But it’s rusted and grimy and in need of a good scrubbing. Now I wonder if I could lift it from the peg.”
Clancy stood on the tips of his toes and grunted and stretched and lifted. Then with a pull that nearly set him back on his heels, the griddle came off. Just as Clancy was slapping some of the webs from the griddle, Mrs. O’Reilley came in.
“So you’re interested in that old thing, I see now,” she said. “That’s been hanging there for many a year, and not much good it is to anyone. ’Tis one that came from the old sod country, it is. But only burned cakes is all it ever would bake, and who’d be wanting burned cakes now?”
Clancy’s eyes sparkled. “Sure, and I’d be glad to take the thing as pay for my work. Somehow I’ve got a fancy for it, seeing as how it came from Ireland.”
Mrs. O’Reilley threw up her hands. “Then pay it is!” she said. “But with that kind of pay, I can’t help feeling I’ll be cheating you for sure.”
Clancy finished his work in the woodshed and then, with a gay whistle on his lips and the griddle tucked under his arm, he went home.
But there was no gay whistling when Clancy’s wife saw the griddle and no money.
“Clancy O’Clagen!” she cried, “have you taken leave of your wits now? A grubby old griddle you bring home instead of money! And you with no good hat to wear on a Sunday and needing the same!”
“But no money could buy a griddle like this, and from Ireland too!” said Clancy. “Old hats shade heads as well as new.”
While his wife grumbled, Clancy went to work on the griddle. He scraped it, he scoured it, he brushed it. He rubbed and he scrubbed and he polished, and after a time part of the dullness was gone from the surface and bits of shining metal winked through.
“Potato pancakes!” said Clancy. “Good old Irish potatoes made into pancakes on an Irish griddle! Doesn’t that sound good? Would you be making some fine Irish potato pancakes, now, my good wife?”
Clancy watched his wife stir the pancakes. He watched while she ladled them out onto the hot griddle. He watched while their edges turned brown. And then, with his lips twitching in anticipation of a delightful mouthful, he saw the pancakes all at once turn black, burned to a crisp.
Time after time Clancy’s wife tried the griddle. But every time she did, it only burned whatever was on it. “A waster of good food and good time it is!” she cried. “I’ll be having no more to do with it!”
Then Clancy tried the griddle. He mixed pancake batter, spread it in little rounds on the hot surface, and watched the dough bubble. But just when he thought the cakes were baking well, they suddenly began to rise and went up and up. Like little round towers, the bubbling dough rose above the griddle—a foot or two high. Then, while Clancy watched open-mouthed, the cakes turned to cinders and crumbled away.
After that, Clancy’s wife turned the griddle upside down and used it to cover her churn of sour cream. But even as a cover it didn’t work well, for often in the mornings the griddle would be off on the floor and the cream would be sloshed about.
“Now you see what kind of a bargain you made, Clancy O’Clagen!” his wife said stomping her foot. “’Tis no good for baking. ’Tis no good for covering. A dirt-catcher and an eyesore is all it is. I’ll not be having it around any longer. If you’re bound and determined to keep the old thing, you’ll be keeping it outside and that’s a fact!”
Clancy picked up the griddle and marched outside. “’Tis no way at all to be treating a fine Irish griddle,” he muttered. “Using it for a cover for sour cream! It’s shame that I feel when I think of it, and this from the green land of Ireland, too, and maybe made with metal that’s been touched by the Little People’s own hands! Could be that houses are an irritation to the likes of it. Could be that a fire in a woodsy spot is what the griddle is needing!”
A sparkle leaped into Clancy’s eyes. He went back into the house, packed things for pancake batter, put two plates, two knives, two forks, a jar of butter, and a jug of syrup into a box, and then he took the griddle and went off whistling to find his young friend Denny O’Day.
“We’re going to make pancakes in the woods, Denny, my lad!” he said. “Pancakes on an Irish griddle!”
Denny loved to go into the woods with Clancy, but this time he kept looking to the right and to the left, and sometimes he even turned around and looked behind. “I’ve got a feeling that there are eyes looking at us,” said Denny. “And now and again I’m hearing the crackling of twigs. Do you think there might be something about, Clancy O’Clagen?”
“Sure, and what if there is? ’Tis nothing to do with us at all,” answered Clancy.
Beside a little spring Clancy made a fireplace. He put rocks about in a neat little ring. He scraped away the grass and built a fire that soon burned down to rosy coals. Then Clancy mixed the pancake batter until it was as smooth as liquid velvet. He whistled awhile, and every now and again he stopped to jig a little. When the griddle was sizzling hot Clancy poured the batter on it.
He stepped back and stared in amazement. For though he had meant to make round pancakes, the batter spread out by itself into dainty shamrock shapes—three rounds together and a little tail for a stem! And the pancakes didn’t burn. They browned gently on one side and, just as Clancy was about to give them a turn, over they flipped by themselves, or so it seemed.
“Hurray!” cried Clancy. “Sure, and I knew this was a griddle to be proud of!”
He heaped the pancakes on Denny’s plate. And when the boy had eaten all he could hold, Clancy said, “Run home now, Denny, my lad, and tell my good wife to come quickly! She’ll never be believing the same! Not till she sees it with her own eyes! Off with you now!”
Denny started off and Clancy made more pancakes for himself. But he was almost too delighted to eat. “I’ll just be making one more big one for myself,” he said, “and then I’ll sit back and wait for my wife.”
With an extra flourish Clancy poured batter onto the griddle. He poured until it was almost covered. Then he watched to see the shamrock take shape. But this time there wasn’t a shamrock.
The pancake spread and spread. It bubbled and bubbled, and then it turned itself over. But before the pancake was completely turned, a great zinging as of ten thousand hornets filled the air. The pancake flew high. The griddle rose and a huge puff of green smoke sent it spinning and sailing off over the woods.
In another moment the big pancake came flapping downward. It flopped on Clancy’s head and knocked him to the ground.
When Clancy sat up all was still, and he reached up his hands to push the pancake from his eyes. But instead of a pancake his hands pushed up a slightly warm, high plush hat of emerald green. From the bushes impish laughter and deep chuckles reached Clancy’s ears.
When Clancy walked into his own house his wife was busy knitting. Without looking up she said, “Clancy, how could you tell such yarns to Denny O’Day? I sent the lad off to nap after the way you’d filled his head with nonsense.”
Before Clancy could answer she looked up. Then she threw up her hands in surprise.
“CLANCY O’CLAGEN! Where did you get that elegant hat?”
Clancy pulled his ear thoughtfully for a moment and then he smiled. “Sure ’tis true,” he said. “In a manner of speaking, you might say I traded it for Mrs. O’Reilley’s Irish griddle! And that’s a fact!”

As a young missionary I was assigned to a small island of about 700 inhabitants in a remote area of the South Pacific. To me the heat was oppressive, the mosquitoes were terrible, the mud was everywhere, the language was impossible, and the food was—well, “different.”

After a few months our island was struck by a powerful hurricane. The devastation was massive. Crops were ruined, lives were lost, housing was blown away, and the telegraph station—our only link to the outside world—was destroyed. A small government boat normally came every month or two, so we rationed our food to last four or five weeks, hoping the boat would come. But no boat came. Every day we became weaker. There were acts of great kindness, but as the sixth and seventh weeks passed with very little food, our strength slipped noticeably. My native companion, Feki, helped me in every way he could, but as the eighth week commenced, I had no energy. I just sat under the shade of a tree and prayed and read scriptures and spent hours and hours pondering the things of eternity.

The ninth week began with little outward change. However, there was a great inward change. I felt the Lord’s love more deeply than ever before and learned firsthand that His love “is the most desirable above all things … yea, and the most joyous to the soul” (1 Ne. 11:22–23).

I was pretty much skin and bones by now. I remember watching, with deep reverence, my heart beating, my lungs breathing, and thinking what a marvelous body God has created to house our equally marvelous spirit! The thought of a permanent union of these two elements, made possible through the Savior’s love, atoning sacrifice, and Resurrection, was so inspiring and satisfying that any physical discomfort faded into oblivion.

When we understand who God is, who we are, how He loves us, and what His plan is for us, fear evaporates. When we get the tiniest glimpse of these truths, our concern over worldly things vanishes. To think we actually fall for Satan’s lies that power, fame, or wealth is important is truly laughable—or would be were it not so sad.

I learned that just as rockets must overcome the pull of gravity to roar into space, so we must overcome the pull of the world to soar into the eternal realms of understanding and love. I realized my mortal life might end there, but there was no panic. I knew life would continue, and whether here or there didn’t really matter. What did matter was how much love I had in my heart. I knew I needed more! I knew that our joy now and forever is inextricably tied to our capacity to love.

As these thoughts filled and lifted my soul, I gradually became aware of some excited voices. My companion Feki’s eyes were dancing as he said, “Kolipoki, a boat has arrived, and it is full of food. We are saved! Aren’t you excited?” I wasn’t sure, but since the boat had come, that must be God’s answer, so yes, I was happy. Feki gave me some food and said, “Here, eat.” I hesitated. I looked at the food. I looked at Feki. I looked into the sky and closed my eyes.

I felt something very deep. I was grateful my life here would go on as before; still, there was a wistful feeling—a subtle sense of postponement, as when darkness closes the brilliant colors of a perfect sunset and you realize you must wait for another evening to again enjoy such beauty.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to open my eyes, but when I did I realized that God’s love had changed everything. The heat, the mud, the mosquitoes, the people, the language, the food were no longer challenges. Those who had tried to harm me were no longer my enemies. Everyone was my brother or sister. Being filled with God’s love is the most joyous of all things and is worth every cost.

“On two different occasions I have tried to approach friends about the missionary discussions but was turned down flat!” said 16-year-old Mari. “Needless to say, I was embarrassed when they let me know that they weren’t interested in finding out about our church.”
Mari is an attractive, intelligent high school student. She attends seminary and comes from a devout, missionary-minded family. And I can understand her frustration at wanting to do what the prophet has asked us to do, yet seeming to alienate good friends in her attempts to do so.
There is no question but what a successful missionary experience is rewarding, but how can we avoid the unpleasant ones? Perhaps we can’t experience 100 percent success, but let’s try a few other approaches.
Robin was just 19 years old when she enlisted in the navy and was assigned to the East Coast of the United States. Her roommate was an LDS girl whom she quickly grew to love.
“I admired my roommate’s way of life, her high ideals and standards. She stood for everything that I wanted to have in my life. I wanted to be in her company and with those who shared her standards. I wished and longed for an invitation to join in the activities of her youth group but was never given an opportunity to join them.”
A few months later Robin was transferred to the West Coast in another navy installation. Unusual as it seemed, her new roommate also proved to be an LDS girl. As they talked together on their first night it became apparent that this Church group was just as busy as the other group had been. The difference was that Robin was immediately invited to accompany her new roommate to all of these functions.
Within a few weeks Robin began the missionary discussions and was baptized. She became the best member missionary in the area and was constantly bringing fellow workers to Church functions so that they could investigate the Church. As soon as she was discharged from the navy, Robin was called as a full-time missionary.
A second experience concerns an elder serving in our mission, who gave this account of his conversion:
“During my first year in high school I became aware of a small group of fellow students who seemed to have a tightly knit bond of fellowship between them. They acted differently from the rest of the students. Their language was clean, their standards were high, even their appearance was different. They were not on drugs, and they did not smoke or drink. I admired them and tried to become acquainted with them.
“They were always having such a good time together, holding their own parties, dances, and other socials. I was told by someone that they belonged to the LDS church, but that did not matter to me. I still wanted to belong to their group.
“I hinted as much as I dared that I would like to attend some of their socials, but they didn’t take the hint. Finally in my senior year, I summoned the courage to ask them outright if I could possibly attend some of their socials, even though I was not a member of their church.
“Within a few weeks I was baptized into their church, and here I am now, about a year and a half later, on a mission for our church. When I see how difficult it is to find converts in the mission field, I wonder why these fellow students of mine found it so difficult to invite me to go with them.”
As I was interviewing the young people in our ward as their bishop, I asked each of them: “Are you dating anyone who is not a member of our church?”
“I’m not exactly dating him, but we know each other very well. We’re good friends.”
“Do you know him well enough to invite him to our student ward party?” I asked.
Susan brought Bill to our party, and our ward missionaries did the rest. Bill is now in the bishopric in Houston after having served a mission for the Church. And Bill and Susan’s experience has been duplicated all over the Church.
Does this give you any ideas? How many of your friends would like to attend your socials, your dances, your outings? How many would like to join you in all the fun times you have? Is this not an easy and inoffensive way to introduce them to the gospel of Jesus Christ? In most cases you can let the missionaries invite them to take the discussions and to teach them.
I recall when my wife and I invited our teenage sons and daughters to take a challenge, one which they accepted. They were to pray earnestly that the Lord would help them identify a person they were to help come into the Church. There would be no time limit. They were to pray and search and wait until the Spirit spoke to them, until they found that special person who would accept the invitation to either participate with them in a Church activity or to listen to the message of our missionaries.
We promised them that they would know for sure because it would be just as though the Lord were pointing his finger at that person. They were also to pray that they would know what to say to that person at the time.
One son returned in about two weeks with the story that he definitely had been impressed to approach a young man who sat by him at the university. He approached him and was turned down. Naturally he felt discouraged and questioned the validity of our project.
“Did you truly love him?” I asked. “Or were you just trying to compile a statistic? Did you have love in your heart and in your eyes when you approached him? Were you listening to the Spirit to help you as you approached him?”
“Let me try again,” our son asked. “Let me fast and pray about it. Then I’ll try again.”
After fasting and praying about it, he still felt impressed that this was the young man he should introduce to the Church. He approached him once more, this time with great love in his heart, in his eyes, and in his soul. The young man agreed to meet with our son and the missionaries to learn about the Church.
Not only was the young man baptized but his inactive wife was reactivated and their three children will now have the blessings of being reared in an LDS home.
Even a young man who was dating one of our daughters (he later became her husband) accepted the challenge to pray and search for someone who would accept the missionary message. He was directed to a friend whom he had known all his life but had never approached about our Church. Within a month this young man was baptized into the Church.
Everyone has a different approach, one that seems in keeping with that individual’s personality and that he feels comfortable with. Although the person we talk to may not join the Church now, he may accept the message later. We are convinced that some of these individuals will come into the fold sometime in their lives.
Whether we accept the fact or not, we are different from the world if we are living what we believe. Let me tell you about two of our missionaries.
It was the dinner hour, and it was raining without any sign of a letup. In spite of the rain, these two missionaries continued tracting. But let the father in one of these homes tell what happened that night:
“I had come home from work tired and hungry and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I might also add that I dislike ‘door knockers’ and canvassers.
“I had just sat down to my dinner when the knock on the door came. I don’t know what I expected to find at the door, but I didn’t intend to be very pleasant about the disturbances at this particular hour.
“Perhaps I was too stunned at first to be angry, but for some reason or other I did not slam the door in their faces. There in the doorway stood two young men, grinning from ear to ear and literally beaming as they told me that they had a special message for me and my family. I still don’t know what prompted me to invite them to come in, except that there was something very special about them. There was an aura about them that I had never experienced before.
“I can tell you that when I invited them to come into our home, I also invited the greatest blessings that have ever come into my life and the life of my family. Yes, we were all baptized into the LDS church.”
In Doctrine and Covenants 88:67 [D&C 88:67], we are told: “And if your eye be single to my glory, your whole bodies shall be filled with light.” We are different when we are living the way the Savior taught us to live. Our bodies will be filled with light, and people will become aware of this.
A man came into the mission home one day asking to know more about our church. “I sat on a plane next to one of your members,” he said, “and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. He told me about his family and the love they had between them. His face almost glowed as he talked.”
This man was far more worldly than the average man on the street. “I know I will have to make some drastic changes in my life, but I want what that man has. My family means a lot to me,” he said.
If we live what we believe, our example may serve as an effective missionary for us and for the Church, especially for those who are searching for the “more excellent way” (Ether 12:11). There are many people who admire our way of life and our standards of conduct. They want this way of life for themselves and for their families.
Doctrine and Covenants 123:12 [D&C 123:12] tells us that “there are many yet on the earth among all sects … who are only kept from the truth because they know not where to find it.” So how can we help them find it? How can we be effective member missionaries?
It just might be that your best method is to be your best self. Be friendly and be sharing. Invite those around you who are not members of our church to share with you the fun and the joy that they may be secretly wishing they could also have.
Instead of losing friends, you may develop friendships that will endure through this life and the life to come.

Although there were a lot of meetings, and a lot of speakers, and a lot of reports at the Tucson, Arizona, regional conference last June, there were even more dancers. More than 300 square dancers do-si-doed and allemanded their partners in the colorful opening cultural event of the conference.
And even though none of the young men and women who participated had ever before performed in a Church dance festival, they enthusiastically accepted the challenge. Gathering from the entire southwestern area of Arizona, the dancers met regularly to learn the intricate patterns involved in executing grand squares, grand parades, airplane spins, and intertwining stars.
“Making instructors out of people who had never danced before and then sending them off to teach all the other beginners in their stakes gave me chills,” admitted Brother Dave Walker, a professional square dance caller who choreographed and called each of the eight dances performed in the festival. He is a convert of three years and had never seen a Church dance festival.
“It normally takes 36 weeks to instruct the basic movements in square dancing and then another year of dancing before one even begins to instruct or call. But these stake dance directors did a fantastic job!”
Opening night saw 38 squares from four different stakes colorfully attired in matching costumes. The swirling movements, accentuated by the skillful lighting techniques playing off the bright and vivid patterns, made the festival even more breathtaking to watch.
Brother Walker remembers being choked up near the end of the performance. “That has never happened to me in calling before,” he said. “There just isn’t much to get choked up about in square dancing. But during these last two dances the kids were flying higher than kites, and when they looked up at me and smiled so enthusiastically, I could tell that they felt all the effort had been worth it!”
Produced by the regional activities committee, the show was performed to 3,000 persons and involved more than 300 dancers.

I grew up in a faithful Mormon family in the mission field, in the southern Bible belt, where there was a good deal of misinformation about Mormons, requiring strong defense. Family activities revolved around church service and driving west to visit the relatives. Serving in the church was a major commitment. Our branch stretched 60 to 80 miles in diameter, and district meetings were 100 miles away. Picking up people for church took hours. But the Lord brought us there to build His kingdom. That branch area has now become a stake of Zion.
But back to my story. Racial unrest in my high school caused me to leave for college a year early. During my first year of university I met challenges that made me want to know for myself, absolutely, the truth of the things I believed. My religion teachers encouraged the quest by assuring us that the revelations and gifts of the gospel are for all of us, not just special, privileged people. They also quoted Joseph Smith saying, "Make yourselves acquainted with men who, like Daniel, pray three times a day toward the temple."[1]
So, I began fasting frequently, and praying formally an extra time, at midday, while my roommate was in class. One midday several months into the experiment, I was again being very honest with the Lord about my need to know, and there came upon me an exceedingly sweet, powerful, full-of-love influence that seemed to enter into every molecule of my body and record indelibly there that Jesus is the Christ, that Joseph Smith and our current prophet are truly prophets of God, and that the gospel which I had been taught from youth up was true—priesthood authority, the Atonement, the Book of Mormon, the temple, the great plan of happiness—they are all true and right.
That sweet influence of light and love stayed with me for about 24 hours. Under its influence, I was filled with love and saw the world and even my fellow men differently. I was amazed that, although I felt very different, I did not appear different to others. I felt changed. Though there have been other experiences since then, that experience has remained a touchstone in my life. It did not come easily, but I know that I know. No knowledge you gain here will be of more importance than the knowledge of the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and His church. Do whatever it takes to gain this knowledge.