Gospel Story Finder

“I had wanted to tell others about the Book of Mormon since the day I found it when I was eight years old,” she says. “Now I felt I had to become a missionary.”
But she was only seventeen. Every year thereafter on her birthday, she asked her bishop if she was old enough yet to be called on a mission, but each year he told her she must wait until she was twenty-one. In the meantime, she taught Primary and Sunday School and continued to grow in her knowledge of the gospel.
Then—on the very day she turned twenty-one—her call came.
Sister Marilu Ramirez was prepared. A bright student, she was teaching elementary school even before finishing her university degree, and she carefully saved her earnings. By the time she received her call, she had saved up enough money to pay for her entire mission. At that point she gave up her job, with no assurance of finding one when she returned.
Her family was sure she was insane. The child who had wasted time and money on religious books was now throwing away a good job, all her savings, and eighteen months of her life. But once again, no amount of pressure made any difference.
Now on her mission, she prays for her family and writes them weekly.
On 24 January 1988, as her group is about to leave the Mexico City Missionary Training Center and enter their fields of labor, Sister Marilu Ramirez stands during a meeting to bear her testimony. Her jet black hair, pulled back and held in place with two blue hair clips, almost reaches her waist.
At the pulpit, she stands on a short stool in order to speak into the microphone. Her petite frame suggests that she might speak timidly, but her voice is powerful and her testimony is that of a mature disciple. “I have had to fight to get here,” she says with emotion, “and I have learned that without the Lord, I am nothing. But I have felt his infinite love for me, and I know in whom I have confided.”
The next day, as she meets her new mission president and his assistants, she again bears powerful witness of the Father’s love. “When I entered the temple for the first time a few days ago, I felt his Spirit and was overwhelmed by his love,” she says. “As I prayed to him, I asked, ‘Why do you love me so much?’ And I seemed to hear an answer: ‘Don’t you know I love all the world—all my children? I don’t want anyone to be lost.’ And I began to comprehend the great love he has for each one of us.” Her voice again fills with emotion. “I know that our Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ live and love us. I feel very honored to be a daughter of God and to serve him as a missionary.”
Sister Ramirez is currently teaching the gospel to non-members who come to the Mexico City Temple visitors’ center. In the evenings, she and her companion go out into the surrounding neighborhoods to teach families the gospel in their homes.
Like that eight-year-old child, the twenty-one year old missionary is still consumed with thoughts about God. And her cup, filled drop by drop when she read the pages of the Book of Mormon as a child, is now overflowing.

My family’s faith began years ago when my father was 10. When the U.S. Army, under General Douglas McArthur, left the Philippines because of Japanese advancement, they set up a training/recreational base outside Brisbane, Australia. My grandparents were dairy farmers on the Brisbane River and their farm became the base for the encampment of the American soldiers.
One day, while my father and his sister were milking the cows, a soldier, Danny Roberts, offered to give them a hand. He was lonely and his thoughts were of his home on a farm in America. Danny stayed for dinner, and when asked about his religion, he told the story of the First Vision.
With great interest, my family discussed what they had been taught, and asked the question of most investigators: “Could a young boy of 14 really see God and Jesus Christ in our day?” The feeling surrounding the conversation caused great contemplation. Eventually they determined that if Moses and Abraham in years gone by could see Jesus, then why not a prophet in our day as well.
A flicker of faith began in the Maurer family. Did they know for sure that this was true? No. Did they receive a personal visitation from Heavenly Father? No. What prompted them to take the next step? It was the Spirit of God impressing on their minds that this felt right, and a hope that this, maybe, was true.
Faith brings a power and a desire, and it motivates us to action. So strong was the feeling of faith that they wanted to find out more. The nearest Church meetinghouse was over two hours away, but they attended the next Sunday and loved the Spirit they felt there. They loved the people who were so genuine and friendly.
There were no missionaries because of the war, but the leaders and members taught and helped strengthen their faith in Jesus Christ. The family added to their faith and built a stronger understanding of the plan of salvation. Through sacrifice, their faith in Jesus Christ gave them a power they had not experienced in their life to that point.
I have often reflected on that unique experience that my father, his two sisters, Tess and Julie, and their parents had. They sacrificed, endured hardship, and changed their lifestyle—all because they felt that the Lord led this Church, which provides the greatest chance for eternal salvation and lasting happiness. There is a power that comes when faith is exercised.

I had a lovely exchange at the Saturday Review with, I guess, a sweet lady. I had rejected some of her poems. I have to reject a lot of them. I get about 500 a week, and I can only accept two. But she took my rejection personally, as many people do, and wrote me a hot letter. I had not remembered the poem, but she said, “I suppose you rejected my poem because it was about God.”
I had to reply. “Dear Madam: No, I did not reject your poem because it was about God. I rejected it because I could not conquer a feeling that you were not equal to your subject.”

“Can you see where that smoke is coming from? It seems awfully close. I wonder what’s burning?”
“Could be just a brush fire.”
“It’s not that close. It just seems that way.”
“Yeah! Could be somewhere around … our … Oh, no!”
It was our 13th wedding anniversary. Because of other commitments that evening, we had decided to celebrate with a fancy restaurant lunch and include our five children in the festivities. We had barely ordered our meal when one of the children had spotted the smoke and our spirit of celebration was all but ruined. We tried to tell each other that it just couldn’t be anywhere near our home and thus somehow got through the lunch. But that was about it. Hurriedly we scampered into our car and started the drive home.
It was only about ten miles, but what a long distance it seemed to be. The closer to the smoke we came, the more worried we got. It sure looked like it was coming from our neighborhood. I can still remember the fear and anxiety reflected on each face during that drive.
We lived in southern California, where after a dry summer terrible fires were rather commonplace. Our home was situated near the top of the hill, and the road leading to our home ran higher on top. In back of the house and down the hill were thousands of acres of grassy undeveloped land with some clusters of trees here and there. The grass that summer had grown high and then, due to a lack of rain, had died and dried standing up. Somehow that grass had caught on fire.
As we arrived home the police and a couple of fire trucks were already positioned on the road up the hill. The wind was toward us, and the fire was advancing with unbelievable speed.
I whispered a quick prayer, “Dear God, save our home.”
It is interesting to see what a person thinks important and valuable when faced with the fact that there is just a small pickup truck in the driveway with which to haul his prized possessions to safety. In our case, sentimentality played a bigger role than monetary value. The family records came first, and the only piece of furniture we even thought of bothering with was my great-grandparents’ untunable piano. The girls, with their selected valuables, were sent off with a ward member, but our 11-year-old twin boys stayed around placing wet blankets on the top of the roof and keeping them wet.
There were only a few houses on that hill, all some distance from one another. We started, as did all our neighbors, to clear away the dry grass and the shrubbery surrounding our property. It seemed like useless work, but we had to do something; we couldn’t just stand there waiting.
“Dear God, save our home.”
The fire was getting closer, and the place was getting hotter. And we were becoming newsworthy! The cameras were whirring away, and we were being interviewed for the evening news.
“How does it feel to wait for your home to burn down?”
“It might not burn.”
“Yeah, well, tell us how you feel right now.”
“Terrible. Scared.”
The police had long since cut off all the traffic to our area. Only the people living there and close relatives were admitted. Suddenly a station wagon full of men from our ward arrived. They were all anxious to help, and we were grateful for their concern. Then other elders started to come. We knew about the roadblock and wondered how these good men had been able to come through.
“Brother Ellett,” I said to one of them, “how did you get past the police?”
“That was easy,” he chuckled. “I just told them that my brother lives there!” That seemed to be the way all the other brethren had come through the roadblock.
A few minutes later, while the elders were still pouring in, one young policeman came walking down the driveway.
“I came to see the man,” he said, “who has so many brothers.”
I went out to the patio and counted all the men from our ward that I could see. I counted 39. Thirty-nine brothers!
Thirty-nine priesthood holders, I thought. There they were fighting the fire with every possible means they could lay their hands on. They fought it with shovels, with hoes, with rakes, and even with sticks. And right then and there I realized that they had even stronger power than those few helpless tools in their possession. Great feelings of peace filled my soul. I knew then as surely as I have ever known anything that no fire could get through that line of fire fighters.
Anybody who has ever seen a group of full-grown trees, or even one of them, explode with fire will know how scary such a thing is, especially when seen at close quarters. There I stood watching the flames that seemed to lick the sky, and still I knew that I and all that was mine were safe from that raging inferno. The peace and calmness that filled my being is something I will never be able to fully describe. I was so grateful, oh, so grateful for my membership in the Church and for the knowledge I had. Tears running down my cheeks, I thanked the Lord, not so much for the material things he would preserve, but for the spiritual things nothing can destroy.
Somebody had bulldozed a big gully between the burnt area and us. The TV cameras were whirring “happily” in all this commotion, recording what to them was news. The bulldozed area would not have been wide enough to stop the fire if something else had not happened suddenly. The wind that had all the time blown briskly toward us turned unexpectedly and completely and began to blow now in the direction of the already burnt area. The fight was now easier, and the fire never crossed the bulldozed area to our home.
“My brother lives there,” they had said.
My brother! I felt then stronger than ever before the bond that ties us together in the Church. I felt it loving and caring for my family. We are not alone. We have one another.
Often, when I travel at night and see a light in the distance all by itself, I wonder who might live there. And then I remember, and this thought comes to me like a flash, “My brother lives there!”

The court case was troubling for Portuguese labor judge Artur Manuel Ventura de Carvalho. An employer was being prosecuted because he did not pay the legal adult wage to a young man working for him.
But the young man, though in his late twenties, was mentally handicapped and he could not do as much work as the other employees. The employer would have to let the young man go if he had to pay him more, although he was sympathetic to the young man’s responsibility in supporting his mother.
The decision required by federal laws seemed plain. “My difficulty was that I felt something was not right in this case,” says soft-spoken Brother Carvalho. “I prayed, and suddenly the answer came.” He declared that although the young man was legally of age to receive the required minimum wage, his mental age and work capacity did not justify the adult pay level. Therefore, the employer did not have to meet the demands of the law. The young man kept his job, and the grateful employer even raised his wage a bit to help the man better support his mother.

“It’s my life! I’m not hurting anybody else.”
What most amazed everyone was that John* seemed so sincere when he said it. He really didn’t seem to realize that he was hurting people all around him. He obviously loved his family. He was, in fact, remarkably sensitive and thoughtful. He saved his money to buy his mother a figurine she admired. He cleaned the garage for his dad when he hurt his back. He was consistently kind to his brothers and sisters, especially Becky, who was two years younger.
John had walked Becky to school when she started kindergarten, let her wear his baseball caps, and listened to her talk about which boys were really cute. The day she registered for junior high school, he showed her how to open her locker.
John’s problems had started in the seventh grade when he had tried marijuana. He soon moved on to a variety of drugs. Despite prayers and counseling from both the bishop and professional therapists, he continued his drug use. He also began a life of flamboyant immorality. “Hey, I’m not hurting you. And I’m not hurting them. Every one of those girls knows what she’s doing. What we do doesn’t hurt anybody else. Besides, we’re careful.”
His whole family continued to love John and looked for ways to help him. Becky especially stuck by him, and he stuck by her. When Becky married Hal, John immediately put his arm around his new brother-in-law and said he’d always be available if they needed help. And he always was. He drove out into the rain to help pull a stalled car off the freeway. He helped clean the house when Becky was pregnant. He brought wonderful little surprises to his nephews as they came along. Sometimes he simply showed up with a bag of groceries and offered to fix dinner.
Then, suddenly, Becky needed a lot of help. When Becky became sick that summer, the doctors found that her constant cough stemmed, not from flu or pneumonia, but from cancer. Chemotherapy had very little effect; radiation helped but did not stop the tumor.
The cancer continued to spread so rapidly that the doctors said Becky’s only chance would be to have massive radiation. The problem was that radiation strong enough to kill all the malignant cells would also kill the healthy cells in her blood. They could be replaced by a bone marrow transplant, but the donor needed to be a person genetically similar to the patient, usually a brother or sister. When Becky explained the need, each of her brothers and sisters hurried to the hospital to give tissue samples.
A few days later, the entire family went with Becky to the hospital to learn the results. They sat together in the waiting room, watching anxiously as the doctor came toward them carrying a file folder and one of the little blue cards the lab technician had made for each of them.
When Hal asked if there was a match, the doctor said, “Possibly.” Then he asked which one of them was John. John stood, and the doctor asked if he would come with him for a moment. They disappeared into a small office. When they returned, John sat down dejectedly at the end of a long couch. The doctor explained that John was the only member of the family whose genetic pattern was a close match to Becky’s. He was, in fact, an excellent match, but he couldn’t be a donor, at least not for six months.
John’s blood test showed no infections, but his history of sexual activity and IV drug use put him at high risk for AIDS. If he were infected, he could pass that infection along to his sister. The doctor explained that there is no test for the AIDS virus itself. All that can be detected are the antibodies produced to fight the disease, and those take six months to develop. The hospital continued to look for a good match.
It turned out that Becky didn’t have much time, certainly not six months. Within a few weeks the cancer was so widespread that even massive radiation couldn’t stop it, and Becky was gasping for every breath she took. A friend, watching her labor to breathe, expressed his anger with John, but Becky simply said, “I knew when the doctor first told me about the tests that John’s lifestyle would make it impossible for him to help me. I forgave him then.”
Hal made arrangements for a burial plot and tried to explain to their children why Mommy couldn’t play with them anymore. Becky’s parents cared for their daughter and their grieving son.
And John? In some ways, his life changed. Yet his addictions and patterns of behavior are so strong that he has been unable to change them right away. But it’s been a long time since anyone has heard him say, “I’m not hurting anybody.”

Fifty years ago, Kathy and I met an impressive couple who had also been recently married in the house of the Lord. Life was promising. They had children. She was talented and full of faith. His work prospered. They kept their covenants.
Unexpectedly, the young woman developed serious health issues.
Their son recently shared these reflections with me:
“In my younger years, my sweet mom went through crushing periods of severe depression, bringing extended periods of difficulty in taking care of even her own needs. It was a new reality for both of my parents. Life would be different than they had anticipated.
“My dad had never experienced mental illness and sought the help of his Heavenly Father. I can’t count the number of times I walked in on him while on his knees, or the number of Sundays he was quietly fasting again. He served my mother—and served us—with incredible love, patience, and humility. He sought the influence of the Holy Ghost, hoping to love, act, and react as the Savior would.
“My mother was the love of his life. These seasons would be but a small moment. They were bound to one another forever. As they remained faithful, they would spend eternity together in health and happiness. That promise gave him a perfect brightness of hope.
“While many times my mother felt that her challenges created a burden for my dad, he saw it differently. He loved serving this incredible, precious daughter of God.
“As my mom bravely—and miraculously—overcame many of her health struggles, they experienced light and joy together: as a couple and as parents and grandparents.
“Later, in her 60s, she faced an entirely different set of trials, including breast cancer and neurological issues that impacted her ability to walk. Once again, she and my dad doubled down on their commitment to each other and their covenants with the Lord.
“They did it together through the final day of her mortal journey.”
Eternal marriage is an eternal journey.

“On the Fourth of July we camped for the day, not entirely to celebrate, but to wash and do mending and various other things that were necessary. We camped in a pretty place near a creek. I was to wash with Phebe’s help. She was only twelve but very energetic. We selected a place quite secluded, close to the creek where we could have plenty of water. Well, we were making the suds foam when a dapper young gentleman from New York, a nephew of our captain, who was on his way to California, discovered us and brought a drink and a large piece of delicious fruitcake which was made to celebrate the Fourth on the plains. A rather embarrassing position, to accept this compliment in the midst of soiled linen and soapsuds. I had not been introduced to him before. However, I accepted the cake and drink with great patriotism, and from that time he often called at our wagon—that is, our wagon yard. Everyone was supposed to honor all the land that was occupied by ox yokes, camp kettles, and everything that goes to make an outfit for traveling. So when any of the young folks called I was as much at home sitting on an ox yoke as if I were sitting in an easy chair in a parlor. Such is life on the plains.”

I appreciate being taught by the example of my mother and father. Mother, for fifteen years, was a Relief Society president. After I received my driver’s license, she had me drive her to deliver the welfare supplies and care for the needy. Father would always have me polish the sacrament trays when I was a deacon, and we would bring them home and wash the sacrament cloths and honor the priesthood. When he was in the bishopric, he took care of the outside of the building; and we, as Aaronic Priesthood boys, assisted him.

When Eli Herring was little, he would sometimes try to be sneaky and watch Sunday professional football on television. He didn’t know much about the game, but he knew he liked it. He liked it so much that each week when his class at school would go to the library, he would check out books about football players. He knew they were big and strong, he knew he wanted to be one, and he knew that they played most of their games on Sunday. And he wanted to watch some football.
One Sunday when he had the television on, he suddenly noticed his father looming in the doorway. Eli promptly forgot about the game. His father wasn’t angry, but he sure looked disappointed. Brother Herring simply said, “Turn it off,” and Eli did. He never watched football on Sunday again.
It didn’t take Eli and his brothers and sisters long to find out how their parents felt about the gospel. The family often gathered and read their scriptures and talked about the things of the Lord. Like many Latter-day Saints, the Herrings taught their children about eternal life and eternal families. They taught their children how to fast and pray and how to seek guidance from the Lord.
Other than watching games on Sunday, Eli found no conflict between football and the gospel. He played little league with his friends, and he often thought about playing college and professional football. He was always big for his age, and his father was a big man, so he assumed he would be able to play if he wanted to.
Then one Sunday when he was 16, he and his family were talking about football. Springville (Utah) High School had just won the state championship, and between his sophomore and junior years Eli had really begun to grow, gaining 80 pounds. Playing in college—and maybe after—was beginning to look like a real possibility.
As the family was talking about this exciting possibility, his mother commented, “You know, Eli, if you play professional football, you will have to play on the Sabbath.” Suddenly Eli knew that one day he might have to decide between keeping the Sabbath as his father had taught him and playing football.
Several universities recruited him to play for them when he finished his senior season. At this point, playing football first began to clash with doing what he knew he should. When he told recruiters he intended to go on a mission, two of the schools, Washington and Stanford, lost interest. But that didn’t deter him. More than once as he was growing up, his father had taken out his mission slides, and the family had watched as he told about his mission. Eli had always known that he, too, wanted to go on a mission, and he never questioned that decision.
Eli finally chose to attend BYU, and he played there his freshman year before leaving on a mission to Argentina. He came back two years later, stronger, faster, more coordinated, and even more ready to play football. He played his sophomore and junior seasons. He got married and took classes at the university. But always at the back of his mind, he knew that someday he might have to choose between playing football and keeping the Sabbath day holy.
Then, the summer before his senior season, the time suddenly came for Eli to make a decision. That summer USA Today published an article that ranked the top professional prospects among college football players. To his surprise, Eli found his name on the list. It dawned on him how much money he could be making playing football the next year, and he knew he had to make a decision.
It was not an easy one. Eli knew that something he had often dreamed of since elementary school was within reach. He considered all the things that he could do with the money he would make as a professional football player: he could put his children through school and pay for their missions; he could have a retirement fund; he could go on as many missions with his wife as he wanted; he could teach and coach and not have any financial worries. He would be set.
On the other hand, experiences he had had in his life told him things weren’t that simple. When he had arrived on his mission, one U.S. dollar was worth 15 Argentine australs. By the time he left, a dollar was worth about 10,000 australs. In less than two years, people who had been rich in Argentina were not rich anymore. From this Eli knew that he could not trust in money nor make his decision based solely on that.
On one hand there were good people who were active in the Church and who did a lot of good for the Church who played professional sports on Sunday. On the other hand, Eli had seen some very powerful examples of people who had refused to break the Sabbath.
One was Erroll Bennett, one of the top soccer players in Tahiti, whom Eli read about one day on his mission. When Brother Bennett joined the Church, he decided to withdraw from his team because he chose not to play on the Sabbath. When Eli read the story and saw how dedicated Brother Bennett was to the gospel, he was impressed. He says, “I knew I wanted to be a man like that, with that kind of commitment and dedication to what I knew was right.”
Eli discussed his choices with the people most important to him. His mother always reminded him of the commandment to keep the Sabbath day holy. His father, who had worked hard trying to support his family, told him to consider the decision carefully, reminding Eli how the money would help him support his wife and children. His wife, Jennifer, had received a paper in school full of quotations from leaders of the Church about the Sabbath day. Together they studied those and talked about the decision, but Jennifer and Eli’s parents all said that the decision was his and they would support him however he decided.
Eli talked to many other people. Some told him to play; some said maybe he shouldn’t. But Eli knew that talking to others wouldn’t make the decision for him. “When you’re considering giving up hundreds of thousands or millions of dollars,” he says, “it’s probably not something you’re going to do just because you’ve talked to someone.”
He knew that he would have to make the decision himself after praying to his Heavenly Father. Eli recalls: “It occurred to me to pray and fast about it because of what my parents taught me. … During the rest of the summer and through the next football season, all my scripture study and all my prayers and everything were focused on what the best decision would be. This lasted about six months. I didn’t make the final decision until the season was over at the end of December.”
That was an intense six months. Eli says: “I don’t think in my life other than sometimes on my mission I ever had the scriptures come to life for me as they did during that period of time. … I saw things I had never seen or understood before.”
One day, for example, he was reading in the Book of Mormon about Alma counseling his son Helaman. Alma urges his son: “O remember, remember, my son Helaman, how strict are the commandments of God. And he said: If ye will keep my commandments ye shall prosper in the land—but if ye keep not his commandments ye shall be cut off from his presence. … Therefore I command you, my son Helaman, that ye be diligent … in keeping the commandments of God as they are written” (Alma 37:13, 20).
The phrase “as they are written” particularly struck Eli. He knew the key to being in the Lord’s presence and to prospering was to keep the commandments “as they are written”—with exactness. Eli understood that to have financial security and other blessings for his family, “it was a more sure thing to keep the commandments and trust in the Lord than to have a million dollars.”
As the months progressed toward the end of the season, Eli became more sure of what he had to do. “I read my scriptures, and time after time I would see more and more and more reasons that I felt in my heart that I needed to observe the Sabbath more than I needed to play football,” Eli says.
When he finally made the decision, it was easy. He laughs now about all the attention he received: “I had been on the offensive line my whole career, and it’s not like a lineman gets a lot of recognition. I got so much more recognition for making that decision than I ever got for playing football. People wrote me, telling me what they thought about the decision I had made, good or bad. I never got so much mail in my life.”
Some people asked whether he had considered all the factors, and some asked if he had thought of all the money he could make. Eli laughs, “One of the most interesting things to me was that people would say, Haven’t you thought of this and this, when I had been thinking about it for ten years and had considered those things maybe a million and a half times.” The letters were entertaining, but they didn’t change his mind or cause him to reconsider. He had been very careful in making his decision, and once he made it he was firm.
Now Eli is doing what he has wanted to do for a long time—he is teaching and coaching in a local high school. Teachers aren’t famous for their high salaries, and sometimes the money is a little short. But Eli smiles about it: “The paychecks now, in spite of being low, are more than we were making when we were students. We’re happy to have more than we had before. Occasionally I think we could have a brand-new car or a nice house, but I have never had any serious doubts about the decision.”
He gathers his family around the room as he talks about the decision that has made such a difference in their lives. His daughter Hannah plays on the floor while his wife, Jennifer, holds the baby, Sarah. They don’t have the new house, car, and retirement fund, but they’re happy. Eli has come a long way from the boy who sometimes sneaked in to watch football on Sundays. Now he is a father who, like his own father and like Alma long ago, is determined to teach his children the commandments “as they are written” and to help them be covenant people of the Lord.

I lay there, feeling disgusted with my family’s lack of consideration for my feelings. I had told them that I didn’t want those young men coming into our home and talking about God. I was bitter about religion and had pushed God out of my life. I blamed him for striking me with multiple sclerosis at age thirty-three and then taking my father a few years later, when I needed him most.
When two young men offered to talk to my family about their religion, I wanted nothing to do with them. But I was unable to walk out of the room, so I pretended to be asleep as they taught my family about Christ and a book called the Book of Mormon. When they finished, one young man said a prayer, and then my mother gave them permission to return in a few days. As soon as they left, I told her that I wanted no part of religion, and if my family wanted to hear such nonsense, then I wanted to remain in my bedroom while the young men were there.
The missionaries returned three days later. Despite my request, my family left me propped up in a chair in the living room. Once again I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. The young men came in, asked if they could begin with a word of prayer, then started to teach. Although I tried, it was very hard to shut their words out of my bitter world. They talked about where we came from, why we are on earth, what happens when we die, and where we will go after this life. They also mentioned three kingdoms—not the heaven and hell I’d heard about all my life.
The entire discussion fascinated me. And at the same time, it made sense—I knew it was true. Even in my bitter and unforgiving state, I could tell right from wrong, truth from fiction.
I opened my eyes and began to ask questions. Each time the missionaries answered, their faces seemed to glow as they taught me what they knew concerning life and death. I began asking them every question I ever had about religion.
Before they left, they placed a Book of Mormon on my lap. I wanted so much to read it, but because the multiple sclerosis had stolen most of my vision, I had to wait impatiently for my niece to find time to read it to me.
When the missionaries returned a few days later, I was excited about what I had read, but I had a very important question. The missionaries were Caucasian. I wondered if all members of the Church were white and how they felt about black people joining. The missionaries explained that it was Christ’s church and all were welcome. When they said that three black families were active in the ward, I couldn’t wait to be baptized.
A year after my baptism, after much prayer and a lot of effort on the part of faithful ward members, I was able to go to the Atlanta Temple to receive my endowment. Doctors advised me not to make the five-hour trip, but I knew I had to try.
Eleven years ago, when the doctors diagnosed me with multiple sclerosis, they gave me two years to live. Today, I am still alive, although I am totally paralyzed from the neck down. But now that I have the gospel, I am no longer bitter about my illness or my father’s death. I look forward to God’s promise of eternal life if I faithfully endure to the end.

You may recall a story told about President Spencer W. Kimball when he helped a young mother in an airport. This act of kindness is often told, but let me share with you the result of that kindness. It came in a letter President Kimball received more than 20 years later.

Dear President Kimball: . . .

I was sitting in priesthood meeting last week, when a story was told of a loving service which you performed some twenty-one years ago in the Chicago airport. The story told of how you met a young pregnant mother with a . . . screaming child, in . . . distress, waiting in a long line for her tickets. She was threatening miscarriage and therefore couldn’t lift her child to comfort her. She had experienced four previous miscarriages, which gave added reason for the doctor’s orders not to bend or lift.

You comforted the crying child and explained the dilemma to the other passengers in line. This act of love took the strain and tension off my mother. I was born a few months later in Flint, Michigan.

I just want to thank you for your love. Thank you for your example! [Gordon B. Hinckley, “Do Ye Even So to Them,” Ensign, December 1991, p. 5]

I never really read the New Era until just recently. Oh sure, I read one or two articles that caught my eye and, of course, Mormonisms. I have to admit that I never realized the great messages I was missing. Being 16 and full of questions about the Church and the views of our leaders on many topics, I was and am still looking for sources to answer them. Somehow I always overlooked the New Era until two weeks ago when I was asked to be on my Laurel class New Era bowl team. Finally I had to read the whole magazine, every article. To my surprise I found that I learned more about the things I had wondered about than from anything else I had ever read, except for the scriptures. Immediately after the bowl I ordered my own subscription. I now read the magazine from cover to cover, a habit I picked up from the New Era bowl, and it has been the smartest thing I have done in a very long time! I save every issue and use them for seminary devotionals and talks as well as for personal reference.
Caroline WootonTempe, Arizona

I am familiar with a ward that struggled with an ineffective ward council. It was difficult for the bishop to embrace the direction found in Handbook 2 because he was comfortable in his ways and liked his old patterns. After much counseling and training by a loving stake president, however, the bishop softened his heart, repented, and began in earnest to organize the ward council as instructed. He watched training videos available at LDS.org, he read sections 4 and 5 of Handbook 2, and he acted upon what he learned.
Members of the ward council quickly embraced the changes, and a spirit of love and unity settled on them as they focused on strengthening individuals and families. In every meeting, they spoke at length about investigators, new converts, less-active members, and members with needs. Their hearts began to be drawn out to these brothers and sisters, and miracles began to happen.
The bishop reported that almost immediately after these changes were made to the ward council, previously unknown less-active members began to attend church. These members said they suddenly felt moved upon to return to the Church. They said they had received a clear and compelling impression that they needed to once again associate with the Saints. They knew they would be loved and that they needed the support members would offer.
The bishop shared with me that he is certain Heavenly Father was just waiting for him to follow the counsel he had received and organize the ward council as instructed before He could put the desire into the hearts and minds of these less-active members to return to activity in the Church. The bishop realized that he needed to create the loving, nurturing environment these members needed before the Spirit would lead them back. His words remind me of the experience of Peter the fisherman:
“And [Jesus] entered into one of the ships, which was Simon’s, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land. And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.
“Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
“And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
“And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes” (Luke 5:3–6).
As we listen to and follow the counsel given us by modern-day prophets, seers, and revelators—true “fishers of men”—and as we inspect and mend our nets while serving, our capacity to hasten the work of salvation will be greatly increased and we will become instruments in Heavenly Father’s hands to gather His children.

I also remember attending a meeting near Bancroft, Idaho, years ago. It was sponsored in part by the extension service of the University. We’d had a wonderful meeting, and after it was over, I was greeting some of the wonderful farmers who were there, and among them was a man by the name of Brother Yost, and I said, “Brother Yost, how are things out on the farm?” Brother Yost said, “Oh, things are fine, Brother Benson, but I’m about 20 thousand dollars worse off than I was three days ago.” I said, “What’s the matter—another frost?” He said, “Yes, it hit the wheat just in the dough stage, and you know what that means.” He said, “We’re starting the mowing machines in the morning, but everything’s all right. We’ve still got a little wheat in the bin, and we’ve got at least part of our year’s supply laid away. We’re not going to starve, and there’ll be another crop.” As we left him, I said to my wife, “What a wonderful spirit.”
We drove on down to Logan. We had our children with us, and we stopped on Main Street to go into a grocery store to pick up a few cookies for the kiddies. And who should I meet on the sidewalk but Brother Yost. I said, “Well, what are you doing way down here?” He said, “Brother Benson, it’s our day to go to the temple.” And I said, “Well, reverses don’t dampen your spirit any, do they?” Then he taught me a lesson. He said, “Brother Benson, when reverses come we need the temple all the more.”

As for the fear of proselyting, much of it ended on that first night. Credit definitely goes to the inspiring messages and testimonies of the 130 elders of the Cumorah Mission who performed in pageant. It was a thrill to watch them among the audience—the joy they had for being back tracting after a week away from it was obvious in their handshakes. But Heavenly Father deserves most of the credit. As Barbara Eichler of the Fairport Ward, New York, explained: “After the study group meeting, my companion and I decided we could use all the help we could get, so we went up to the top of the hill and prayed. As we rose from our knees and walked back down, we could feel our bodies being led, but not by our own power.”

Sitting on the stand of the St. George (Utah) Tabernacle, waiting for her performance to begin, Sheena Rosander couldn’t help remembering the year before when she had been waiting to perform at a high school talent show.
“It was one of the only times I really had the jitters before a performance,” says Sheena. “I followed a rock group and knew immediately that the classical song I loved to play on the piano wasn’t really what kids wanted to hear. I depend so much on the Spirit to help me play, and that Spirit just wasn’t there.”
But this night, things were different. Thankfully, the Spirit was in abundance as her six functioning fingers flew over the keyboard of the grand piano creating music, the kind that brings a lump to the throat.
Sheena Rosander, 18, from Hurricane, Utah, was born with what some people consider a disability. But to Sheena, having only a partial thumb and no fingers on her left hand is a gift. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have all 10 fingers, like how much easier keyboarding would be,” says Sheena. “But I usually just find a way to go around it. My mom wanted me to peel potatoes, and I was really struggling with that potato peeler. So I decided when I have my own family I’ll just have baked potatoes. There’s always a way to do things.”
And that’s pretty much how Sheena has been able to enjoy her favorite activities, like playing and teaching tennis, playing the violin, teaching piano lessons, and competing at performing-arts festivals.
In fact, she’s used her good attitude as a springboard to propel her into positive social situations. On her first day of kindergarten, when Sheena proudly displayed her hand at “show and tell,” one child told her it looked like a Cabbage Patch doll’s hand. Delighted, she added several Cabbage Patch dolls to her already thriving collection. Her favorite had red hair and blue eyes, just like Sheena.
That kind of confidence comes naturally. Even before she was born, her mother, Toni, decided all her children would learn to play piano. Sheena began lessons at age five.
“She was determined to play the piano,” recalls her teacher, Tammy Drake. “Her hand was never an obstacle. She would compensate with her right hand to achieve a full sound. Then one day, she began playing with her left hand, using her thumb and pinky stub. Sheena has shown all of us a new kind of courage and determination. Some listeners never even know about her hand. She plays beautifully.”
But piano wasn’t Sheena’s only interest. She developed a love for sports, particularly basketball. Just before ninth-grade tryouts, however, Sheena experienced what she would term the greatest challenge of her life so far. She developed immune thrombocytopenic purpura, or ITP, a blood disorder which causes bleeding under the skin. Her disease prevented her from playing basketball since even an accidental bump on her head could cause a major brain hemorrhage.
After a year of transfusions, cortisone, and other medications, Sheena faced the decision of whether or not to have her spleen removed. As she had done since she was a small girl, Sheena turned to the Lord in prayer for a confirmation of her decision. After her surgery, she continued to worry. What if the ITP returned and kept her from her normal activities?
“I kept asking Heavenly Father if I was done with it,” she says, “but I never felt like I was getting an answer. Then my friend Liesel Bennion and I went to EFY [Especially for Youth] at BYU—Idaho. I had a wonderful counselor there who gave a devotional about the woman who had suffered with an issue of blood for 12 years and touched the hem of the Savior’s garment. When she read the words, ‘Daughter, be of good comfort: thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace’ (Luke 8:48) and sang a song called ‘Close Enough to Touch,’ my heart started pounding and tears sprang to my eyes. I knew at that moment I was done with the ITP. In a way I felt I also had touched the Savior’s hem by exercising faith in having the surgery.”
Not long after, the two friends decided to enter the Miss Hurricane pageant. This was not new to Sheena. She had tried out the previous year and had won the talent award but bombed the interview. So, in her typical style, she practiced with anyone who would interview her and tried out again. “I was so excited when I got first attendant, with talent and interview awards. And I was so happy for Leisel to be chosen queen. We’ve had a lot of fun together.”
As a senior at Hurricane High, Sheena loves performing, competing with the high school tennis team, and attending to her many responsibilities as mayor of the Hurricane Youth City Council. She loves family outings with her four siblings, going to school games, yelling and cheering, and watching old movies.
But while Sheena loves average teenage activities, she is far above average in her desire to serve and be obedient to the Lord. As Brother Stewart Wilson, her seminary teacher, says, “Sheena doesn’t lead with charisma. She leads with consistency. She lets her choices speak for themselves and carries the Spirit with her wherever she goes.”
Sheena doesn’t really see herself as a leader, just someone who knows what she wants to do and does it. “I’m really comfortable just slipping out of a room if I don’t like the movie my friends and I are watching,” says Sheena. “But I usually find most of the group out on the trampoline with me long before the movie is over.”
Friends, family, and fun are all a major part of Sheena’s life. But the most important aspects to her are faith and character. “Everyone has some kind of handicap and some distinct talent,” she says. “I think the best advice is to count your blessings and find something you can do well.
“Then remember,” she adds, “nothing is impossible. If you run into an obstacle, find a way to either go through it or around it. Then bring the Spirit into your life so you can put your trust and faith in the Lord to help you.”

Another characteristic that we must develop is that of personal authenticity. A number of years ago, at Universal International Studios, I watched the filming of television programs and movies. It was delightful, with one exception. Everything that I saw was false—the sheriff’s office, the jail, even the running rivers and sagebrush were made from plastic. As I was observing this artificiality, a beautiful young television star came up and asked, “How do you like what you see here?” “I love it,” I answered, “and I’m enjoying my self; but I’m sort of disappointed because everything is false.”

She looked up and said, “But that’s why we must be so real. The audience must focus on us.”

And then I thought, “Oh, how true that is with life!” Almost everything we see outside in the world, brothers and sisters, is false; it is misdirected. That is why we must be so real, why we must be so honest, why integrity must be tattooed upon the spirits of us all.

Since as far back as I can remember, I’ve been gaga, as in crazy, about America, and have always dreamed of being an American! For the longest time, however, coming to this country remained a dream, a goal without any plan for its achievement, until I discovered basketball at the relatively old age of 18. I started to play basketball because I got tired of answering in the negative whenever I was asked if I played the sport. You can imagine why, but that was the first question everyone I met asked me! I was also tired of being made to feel as if I was wasting my height.

Because I realized immediately that basketball could be my passport to America, mastering the sport became the most important thing in my life. I knew I had to be extremely good to be recruited. So, I became laser-focused on achieving that goal. What a goal, though, for someone who just started learning at age 18! Time was not on my side! Admittedly I had one huge advantage: my height. But that was not enough. But with God, everything is possible! Where there’s a will, there’s always a way!

With inspiring quotes such as these, I encouraged myself. I also received encouragement from my mother and a few friends, who supported me because they loved me. If I had told them I was going to the moon, they would have told me that the moon was too low for me to aim!

However, there was not a shortage of naysayers, but I guess they probably meant well. They were sure I wouldn’t succeed. “You are too old to learn basketball,” they told me. “ "It's an impossible dream!" How could you hope to be good enough in a few years to compete with players in America who started playing the sport as soon as they started walking?” To make matters worse, I was doing most of the learning by myself, as there were not very many good coaches or good basketball programs around.

The enormity of my task loomed like Mount Everest before me. I knew it would certainly take a miracle for me to succeed. But that was okay because I believed in miracles. I felt certain that if I did my best, God would surely take care of the rest. So, with faith in God, I persisted through the long and painful transformation from a novice to someone who didn’t “travel” every time he got the ball, and eventually, to a somewhat decent basketball player. It was an embarrassingly brutal experience at first, but the intensity of my desire to come to this country and my faith in God gave me a very thick skin.

But after a few years of prayer and hard work that seemed to be getting me no closer to being recruited, I became very frustrated and impatient. I, however, refused to consider defeat, and instead, I worked even harder. But still, there was no breakthrough!

And then, one day, I had an experience that became a turning point. I was on my knees praying when a new idea occurred to me. I immediately sensed it was a brilliant idea! Why hadn’t I thought of it before? I was sure I had found God’s soft spot. You see, previous to this time; I was only thinking of just basketball, the NBA, and many other temporal blessings that awaited me in America. But suddenly, my mind was recalibrated. I knew now what to do. With tears in my eyes, I began to pray again, “Please God.” This time making sure to ask in a way that I felt would be in line with His will, “send me to a college in America where I will not only get to play basketball and live the American dream but please send me to a college where I will also have the opportunity to learn more about You and draw closer to You so that I can better serve You.”

I meant every word of this prayer. Even though I was by no means a saint, my heart was always attuned to God, and I had always wanted to serve Him. This had been my greatest unspoken ambition. A feeling of peace descended upon me even before I finished praying, and with it came the assurance that I was on the right track and would soon receive my miracle. Whereas before, my faith was tempered by not knowing if emigration to America was God’s will for me, I now felt sure that it was. It's now going to be only a matter of time! A few weeks later, out of the blues, I got a letter from the then BYU–Hawaii men’s basketball coach, Chic Hess. I had no idea how he discovered me and wouldn't find out until many months after I arrived. I will always be grateful to Coach Hess, but also to one Jack James in Nigeria, a friend of a friend, whom God also used, unbeknownst to me at that time, to answer my prayer and to bring to my family and me a tremendous blessing.

After this first contact with Coach Hess, many obstacles still persisted, but with guidance from above, I overcame them. However, the last obstacle was so daunting that it was as if it had to be so, to make it forever clear to me that it would require nothing short of God’s miraculous intervention to overcome it. When I finally made it to the American embassy, I was denied a Visa, because the supporting documents I brought with me had expired.

You see, the scholarship letter and Form I-20 BYU–Hawaii had sent me got lost in the mail, and by the time I received them, the dates on them were expired, making the documents invalid. But, believing that this was only a test of my faith, I decided to take the expired documents with me to the embassy anyway. But I was denied a Visa. It was not meant to be. Dejected, I left the embassy, not knowing what to do next. But remember, where there’s a will, there is always a way! There had to be away. As I was praying for direction, another idea, which some might have considered too fantastic, occurred to me. I realized that there had been a precedent over 5000 years ago, which now offered a perfect solution to my problem! The Old Testament stories of Abraham and Lot, his nephew, and the many miracles they experienced had always been my favorite. At this point, it provided me the inspiration I needed.

It was clear that the odds were stacked against me. I now had more than my expired documents to worry about! The rule then was that if your application for a visa was denied, you had to wait for six months before you could return to the embassy for another application. They would even stamp your passport, an easy way for them to detect if you had returned within the six months.

I couldn’t wait for six more months, and I had to do something now! As I thought about it, it became clear to me that the only way I would have a chance was if the stamp on my passport as well as the expired dates on my Form I-20 and on the scholarship letter would just disappear and become invisible. My brothers and sisters, drastic times call for drastic measures! And that’s where the story of Lot came to my rescue!

If God struck the men of Sodom and Gomorrah with temporary blindness, and I believed He did, I would then ask Him to blind the eyes of anyone that would examine my documents at the embassy so that they would not see the expired dates, nor the stamp of rejection on my passport from my previous visit to the Embassy only a couple of days ago.

I was at this point ready to try anything to show my faith in God! To show that faith, I purchased a nonrefundable plane ticket to Hawaii, and against every logic and reason, but armed with the same faith as Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, I went back to the embassy with the expired documents. It was reckless and foolhardy, but I didn’t care! Were I not a witness to what transpired at the Embassy that day, I would dismiss the whole thing as totally made up, the same way some folks dismiss the miracles in the scripture as fabricated. But I was there and witnessed firsthand that indeed my mother was right! God is the same yesterday, today, and forever, and He is definitely a God of miracles. And so on that fateful day, I not only walked out of that embassy with an American visa, but I also walked out with something else, much more valuable than a visa: An absolute conviction of the reality of God!

It’s still amazing to me that out of the thousands of colleges I could have gone to in America, I ended up here at BYU–Hawaii. Coming here was truly an answer to my prayer.

Will recognized that just wanting to serve a mission wasn’t enough. He knew it was important to prepare. One thing he did was go to teaching appointments with the full-time missionaries. “When the missionaries asked me to respond to questions, words seemed to come that I didn’t know could help the investigator understand a bit more,” he says. “And a few of the investigators they were teaching—whom I helped teach—have recently been baptized. It’s been a blessing for me to see that.”