Gospel Story Finder

In November of 2015, from the comfort of my warm bed, I watched a video about the devastating refugee crisis going on in Greece. By the time the video was finished, my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. I knew what that familiar feeling meant. I’d had a prompting, and a few short weeks later, I found myself stepping into the eerie heart of the biggest refugee camp on the island of Lesbos.
As Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Seventy stated in general conference, “The reality of these situations must be seen to be believed.”1
I can testify that this is true.
After witnessing the unbelievable conditions for myself and upon learning how dangerous it had been for the refugees in the camp to even make it there alive, I asked one Syrian man why he would risk so much to come there. His answer ended my naive bewilderment:
“Either we stay and die, or we go and maybe die.”
My time at the Moria refugee camp was one of the most difficult experiences of my life, but it also quickly became one of the most inspirational. At first I didn’t think that the small tasks I was given were even making a difference for anybody, but I experienced firsthand the true, indisputable power that love really has.
One afternoon I was talking with Ebrahim, a new friend from Iran. He wanted to know how much I got paid to help in the camp. I smiled and told Ebrahim that I was a volunteer. He had never heard of this word, so I explained. He was shocked and then asked how much money my team leader made. I laughed and told him that everyone in that camp was a volunteer.
I guess word got around, because more of my new friends began commenting on it, saying how surprised they were that we would help them for nothing in return. They had never seen anything like it.
After the horrible, inhumane ways they had been treated, they were justified in thinking that no one would help them—especially strangers. Many told me they hadn’t had any idea what would happen to them once they reached European soil. What a great surprise it must have been to be welcomed off the raging sea into open, caring arms and emergency blankets.
It wasn’t long after these conversations about us volunteers had begun circling the camp that I noticed something very interesting. The refugees began to help me with my tasks! They started picking up trash. They asked if they could help make hot drinks and serve them throughout the freezing nights. They helped with folding, sorting, and distributing donated clothes and setting up and taking down tents. And to my amazement, by the end of my service, there were hardly any jobs left for me to do.
I couldn’t carry a heavy water jug without a man offering to carry it for me. I couldn’t wash dishes without refugees happily telling me they would do them. And not only could I not fling open a garbage bag without a herd of boys rushing over to help, the refugees had almost stopped throwing their trash on the ground altogether!
The changes I witnessed inside the camp were undeniable.
When the somber day arrived that I had to leave the people I had grown to love so much, a man recognized me on the ferry. He approached to thank me for what I had done, when he saw that I held only a coach ticket. He insisted that I switch my ticket for his first-class one for the long, 14-hour ride. He told me that seeing the volunteers’ examples changed him. He wanted to help someone else too, and switching his ticket was the best he could do right now.
“Please,” he begged. “Please.”
Tears filled my eyes as I witnessed once again the ripple effect that genuine service and love can cause.
I had been so naive thinking that the little cups of tea I had been serving weren’t really making a difference for anyone.
Thanks to this experience, I’ve realized that these people truly do need us. They need our time, they need our donations, they need our love, and they need our examples. And we also need them.
What a beautiful world it would be if instead of turning our backs or leaving them to navigate their new circumstances alone, we could just embrace them as our Savior would—showing them love, belonging, and gratitude, and instilling in them a desire to serve others when they are able to themselves.
With the ongoing refugee crises around the world and the different beliefs about how to handle them, I am often reminded of the principle in Mosiah 4:19: “For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?”
It is my prayer that we someday come to realize that we are all beggars. We all need assistance in this life, and I now firmly believe that Heavenly Father expects us to learn from the inevitable suffering that happens around us in mortality. We can learn to love and serve those in need.
Experiences like serving at a refugee camp allow us the chance to be humbler, more understanding, and more compassionate humans. And they give us the sacred honor and privilege of extending a hand to our brothers and sisters and developing true, perfect Christlike love for one another.
I already knew that God loves those refugees enough to have sent others to help them. But now I understand that He loves me just as much to allow me to learn from them too.
At the beginning of my service, I felt discouraged and useless and wished so badly I could fix every problem, or at least do more than just serve tea to those deserving people. But I eventually witnessed the much bigger effects of what I was actually doing there. What my calling there actually was—to spread hope, goodness, and light in a darkening world.
We are all children of heavenly parents, and there is much we can do to help one another, wherever we may be.

It looked as though the Dublin football match would have to be stopped. The game just couldn’t continue with two referees blowing identical-sounding whistles. The official referee was blowing his whistle at the proper times, but the whistle of a mysterious, unseen “official” was sounding at all the wrong times.
Fortunately for the players and spectators, the unofficial whistle-blower was discovered to be a starling perched in a nearby tree! The bird was chased away, and the game continued.

“OK,” the counselor said. “Just remember: move your legs and feed the rope through the hitch. If you lose your balance, don’t worry. Your belay partner at the bottom has a hold of the rope. Got it?”
I took a deep breath and nodded. I and another young woman from my class were standing at the top of a 60-foot cliff, preparing to rappel (abseil) down to the bottom. For Young Women camp that year, my leaders had arranged to bring us to a Scout camp in the Uintah mountains. I had only discovered after our arrival that a lot of the activities involved one of my greatest fears: heights.
Even though I was terrified, I’d agreed to give this activity a try. “It’s not that far,” I told myself. “Just don’t look down.”
My friend was way more excited about rappelling than I was and quickly got ahead of me and disappeared over the edge. After taking a deep breath (and another, and another) I decided that I was ready. With one hand on the rope in front of me and one on the rope behind me, which I would use to lower myself down the cliff face, I began to walk slowly backwards down the steep incline toward the ledge that marked where the real work would begin.
I eased myself down onto the cliff so that I stood with my feet on the cliff, nearly parallel to the ground below. It was here that things went wrong: I kept feeding rope through the hitch, but I was so afraid that I completely forgot to move my legs. In a matter of seconds, I was hanging upside-down on the cliff with my back against the rough stone.
I tried pushing myself back out but couldn’t seem to find a way to get upright again. Finally, I decided that the only thing I could do was try to catch the attention of the counselors at the top of the cliff.
“Hey,” I called. “Help! Help me!”
There was a pause, and then a helmeted head appeared over the cliff.
“How did you do that?” the counselor said. He started to laugh so hard that he had to step back and get another one of the counselors to help. By then, I could hear the worried voices of my leaders and fellow young women asking if I was OK and shouting encouragement. I started laughing too—the whole situation was so ridiculous that I couldn’t be afraid!
With the help of the other counselor, I was able to flip myself around. When I reached the bottom of the cliff, I realized that I hadn’t been afraid once on the way down. I even found enough courage to try some other activities that I was normally afraid of during the remainder of camp.

While I was growing up, I felt like my life needed to be mapped out too. But it wasn’t so easy for me to decide what I wanted to do. I felt like I wasn’t smart enough, dedicated enough, or brave enough to set a course for my life and stick with it. To be honest, I still struggle with this sometimes.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that many young people feel the same way. Few people know exactly what path to take early on. Most of us figure it out as we go. And that’s all right! Thankfully, we don’t have to go it alone. There is help along the way.
Being unsure of what direction I wanted to take caused me to often feel uneasy. I felt that I should be doing something else or be somewhere else. I felt like there was just one thing that Heavenly Father wanted me to do, and if I missed it, I would derail my opportunities for eternity. As you can imagine, this created a lot of unnecessary anxiety in my life!
I’ve since learned that Heavenly Father has blessed each of us with spiritual gifts and that there are many good things we can do that will please Him. We don’t need to worry about finding the one and only path for our life. As long as we’re living the gospel and making and keeping sacred covenants, He will help us make the most of where we are now and know how to move forward.
When I received my patriarchal blessing, one part stood out to me—something that applies to all of us. I was reminded that getting to the celestial kingdom isn’t done by one decisive act or one great deed. It’s done in the choices—big and small—that we make each day, particularly as we choose to come unto Jesus Christ and live His gospel.
As we take action in all areas of our lives with faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, we put ourselves in a position to be guided. We’ll also find that wherever They lead us will be exactly where we want to be too.
Even with the best-laid plans, things don’t always turn out the way we think they will. My dad’s life didn’t. He never became an astronaut, but he’d be the first to tell you that the Lord guided him to what was best for him and our family.
The scriptures teach us to “search diligently, pray always, and be believing, and all things shall work together for your good” (Doctrine and Covenants 90:24). Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know how all things work together. They also know what is good for us because They know and love us perfectly.
Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ don’t expect us to figure out our lives all on our own. If we trust Them and allow Them to walk this life with us, we will be encouraged to keep going and make decisions that will help us make the most of our lives.

There is a boy in my ward who has hemophilia (a disease that makes people bleed too easily). He is three years old. One day he fell off his bike and had a terrible seizure. He was in the hospital for three days. My whole ward fasted for him, and after the fast he got well enough to go home. I am so happy that he is home. I am thankful for fasting. I know that when we fast, wonderful things can happen.Jamie Robbins, age 10,Crestline, California

When Cassie fell in love with Albert, she worried about falling into the same negative communication patterns she had seen in her first marriage. So they took a marriage class together, where they learned to:
Practice listening skills.
Honestly share feelings.
Cooperate, not compete.
Agree to disagree when needed.
Discuss money management.
“Building a successful marriage takes practice, but we love each other enough to make it work,” Cassie said.

While going from a chapel to an airport in Central America, their vehicle was involved in an accident. Sister Nelson and I were traveling behind them and saw it occur. A truck loaded on top with unsecured metal rods approached them at an intersection. To avoid a collision, its driver suddenly stopped the truck, launching those iron rods like javelins to pierce the Hinckleys’ car. Windows were smashed; fenders and doors were dented. The accident could have been very serious. While shattered glass was being removed from their clothing and skin, President Hinckley said, “Thank the Lord for His blessing; now let’s continue on in another car.”

That August, Apostle Luke S. Johnson ordained 16-year-old Erastus to be an elder. The new elder then became junior companion to Apostle William E. McLellin during a trip into New Hampshire. At Littleton they parted, and Erastus headed West, preaching on the way and performing his first baptism—Zadock Parker. That fall he “baptized many people and organized a branch of the Church in the towns of Lyman and Littleton, in New Hampshire.”

Garret W., 18, North Carolina, USA
When I was set apart to serve in the California San Bernardino Mission as a full-time missionary, my family was right there with me. This picture is of me hugging one of my brothers after I got set apart. It’s been a journey to get to this point, but I’m so grateful for the changes I’ve seen in myself and in my family.
My second-to-last year of high school, I got in a serious car crash. Before that I just wasn’t doing the things I should. But after the wreck, my viewpoint really shifted. My life could’ve been taken right then and there, and I did not want it to end like that. My bishop helped get me on the right path: reading the Book of Mormon daily and preparing to serve a mission.
Running track is my sport, my passion. After the wreck, I was out for the season, and I wondered what I even had left. But I turned to the Lord, and as I did, I had a phenomenal season the next year. There were still struggles, but what changed is instead of doing it for myself, I did it for the Lord.
Just seeing how many blessings can come from the fulness of the gospel was what changed me. Getting all of that happiness and joy, I want to spread it around the world. I’m longing for people to have the joy that I have every day because of the gospel. And that’s why I’m serving a mission: to help “bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39).

“Hi, Mom,” Ben called as he rolled his bike into the garage. “Hi, Ben,” Mom answered. Closing the recycling bin, she turned to look at him, and her smile faded. “Where’s your helmet?” she asked.
Ben slid his bike into its place. “I don’t need it anymore.”
Mom’s eyebrows went up. “Ben, what is our family rule about helmets?”
Ben took a deep breath and slowly repeated: “If you’re riding your bike, you wear a helmet.”
Mom looked steadily at Ben until he squirmed. “But, Mom!” he protested.
“Please go inside. We’ll talk about it in a minute.”
Ben went in and sat down at the table. Pretty soon Mom and Dad joined him. “So, Ben, tell me about your helmet,” Dad began.
“Dad, I don’t need it anymore. I’m a great bike rider now.”
“You are a good bike rider,” Dad said. “But helmets aren’t just for beginners. I’ve been riding a bicycle for many years. Do I wear a helmet?”
“Yes, you do,” Ben admitted. “But the kids at school think only babies wear helmets.”
“Oh,” Mom said. “So it isn’t cool to wear one?”
“No, it’s not!” Ben exclaimed.
“Ben, do you know why we have the helmet rule?” Dad asked.
“To make me look stupid?” Ben answered with a wry smile.
Dad chuckled. “No. For exactly the opposite reason. It’s to help keep that brain of yours safe.”
“As a matter of fact,” Mom added, “every rule, whether it’s a family rule or one of Heavenly Father’s commandments, is given to help us be safe and happy.”
“But having kids make fun of me for keeping the rule doesn’t make me happy,” Ben complained.
Dad thought for a moment. “Sometimes we have to be obedient even when other people make fun of us for it. I know that in the long run you’ll be happier because you obey.”
Mom looked Ben in the eyes. “Ben, this wasn’t the first time you went riding without your helmet, was it?”
Ben’s shoulders drooped. “No,” he admitted.
“Thank you for being honest,” Dad said. “Your Mom and I both feel that it is very important that you obey our family rules. You’ve broken this one. What do you think a good consequence would be?”
Ben was quiet for several long moments. “Maybe a time-out from my bike?” he said at last.
Dad nodded. “That sounds fair. I think maybe it should be long enough to help you remember the rule. How about until the end of summer?”
Ben groaned.
“OK,” Mom said. “When school starts, you get your bike back.”
As the sunny days of August went by, Ben often looked wistfully at his bike hanging on the garage wall. “Next time I’ll obey the rule,” he told himself. He remembered what Mom had said about obedience helping people be happy. “Well,” he thought, “It’s true that I’ll be happy when I can ride my bike again, even if someone makes fun of me.”
When school began, Mom helped Ben lift the bike down. First he checked the tires and oiled the chain. Then he picked up his helmet, adjusted the fit, and snapped it onto his head. It felt great to be riding again!
One bright sunny afternoon in December, Ben was riding home from school. When he came to an intersection he stopped and looked carefully both ways. But a young lady who had just learned to drive turned right without looking or stopping. The bumper of her car struck Ben’s bike and sent him flying headfirst into the sidewalk.
A neighbor who saw the accident called Mom. As she ran down the street, she heard a siren and saw the ambulance. “Ben!” she shouted.
“I’m here, Mom.”
Two paramedics were checking Ben. “Your son is going to be just fine,” one of them said. “He was wearing this, and it saved his life.” He handed her Ben’s helmet. There was a big dent in it.
Mom gave Ben a long hug. “I’m glad you were wearing your helmet today,” she whispered.
“Me too,” he said. “Obeying the rules really does help keep me safe and happy.”

As part of the UK‘s coronation celebrations, Monday 8th March was designated the Big Help Out Day. On this bank holiday, individuals, groups and communities were encouraged to give volunteer help. Members of the Belfast Stake assisted in the Windsor Community Garden rebuild in Belfast. This was organised by the Northern Ireland Inter-faith forum.
The Windsor Community Garden is a volunteer initiative created by a group of Baha‘i youth around 10 years ago. The previously small disused site on Lower Windsor Avenue has since flourished as local residents have cared for it and developed it.
Victor, who arrived as a refugee from Ukraine alongside his spouse, became the main caretaker of the garden a year ago. He highlighted that much of the wood for the raised beds was rotting away, and was in need of being replaced. So it was planned to rebuild the garden on the 8th as part of the Big Help Out.
It was a large project, and involved moving about 10 tonnes of soil. In recent years the Windsor area of Belfast has become increasingly diverse so the volunteers came from many different faith and belief backgrounds, and from many different nationalities.

During this missionary journey, Lorenzo labored in four states. Then in February, he was in Kentucky, preparing for his return home—a journey of more than five hundred miles through deep snow. With only $1.25 in his pocket, he had deep faith that the Lord would provide.
This return trip was a difficult one. During most of the journey, his socks were soaked from mud, snow, and rain, and he was fortunate if he found lodging near a fire. The trip completely emaciated the young missionary, and when he returned home to his loved ones, they did not recognize him. Under their care, he collapsed and was seized with a violent fever. He remained in bed for many days.
Such were the missions in the early career of Lorenzo Snow—and the beginnings of many more. The following year he went to Great Britain. He was upon the sea forty-two stormy days. Writing to his aunt he described the storms:
“Just look at me in your lively imagination, in one of these terrific storms, seated to a large hogshead of water—holding on, with both hands, to ropes near by … the ship reeling and dashing from side to side—now and then a monster wave leaping over the bulwarks, treating all present with a shower bath—see, sitting near me, a man weeping bitterly with terror on his countenance—the next moment a wave shoots over the bulwarks, dashing him from his seat and landing him … on the opposite side, from which he arises with a broken arm and dripping wet.” Below, boxes broke loose and tumbled about among the groaning and crying women and children. Yet, through it all, Elder Snow was filled with peace, for he was on the Lord’s errand.
This scene was much like one involving the Apostle Paul. (See Acts 27.) In fact, there was much in Lorenzo Snow that was like Paul in terms of missionary labors. Elder Snow’s mission to Britain was followed in coming years by many more years of missionary labors. As an Apostle, he opened missionary work in Italy, Switzerland, and Malta, and oversaw the Italian translation of the Book of Mormon. He later served in the northwestern United States, Hawaii, and the Holy Land. Before his missions were completed, he had crossed the ocean eight times, had traveled over one hundred and fifty thousand miles, and had borne his own expenses through it all.
On 13 September 1898, at age eighty-four, Lorenzo Snow became the fifth President of the Church. President Snow should be remembered for many things: for his refined, gentlemanly manner, for his deep spiritual commitment to the Lord; for his great abilities as a colonizer and a legislator; for his work as an educator. He should be especially remembered as a missionary. One of the major thrusts of his administration was that of fostering missionary efforts worldwide. He sent out young men to serve as stake missionaries for a period of five or six months. He assigned Elder Heber J. Grant to open Japan to the teaching of the gospel. He spoke of carrying the gospel to Russia, Austria, and Latin America. And during the first year of his administration, he called over one thousand missionaries to labor throughout the world—a number that had never been sent out before in the history of the Church, and never was again for twenty years.
Perhaps the major contribution of Lorenzo Snow’s ministry as President of the Church was his reemphasis on the payment of tithes among the Latter-day Saints, which enabled the Church to become financially solvent. In 1898, the Church had many large debts, because the United States government had seized most of the Church’s assets over the issue of plural marriage. In 1899, President Snow told the members of the Church: “This is the answer to our financial problems. Even though as a Church we are heavily in debt, I say unto you that, if this people will pay a full and honest tithing, the shackles of indebtedness will be removed from us.” The Saints responded faithfully, and the Church’s debts were resolved before President Snow’s death.
A lifetime of spiritual experiences for Lorenzo Snow was climaxed following the death of President Wilford Woodruff. President Snow, who was then serving as President of the Quorum of the Twelve, went to the Salt Lake Temple. Dressed in his temple robes, he knelt to pray, reminding the Lord that he had often prayed that President Woodruff would outlive him, so that he would not be required to carry the heavy responsibilities as President of the Church. But he then told the Lord that he would do whatever was required of him.
After his prayer, President Snow waited for an answer from the Lord, but nothing came. Later, as he was walking through a corridor, a glorious manifestation was suddenly opened up to him: The Lord Jesus Christ appeared to him. President Snow later told his granddaughter about the experience, showing her the spot in the temple where it had occurred. She wrote:
“Grand-pa came a step nearer and held out his left hand and said: ‘He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as though He stood on a plate of solid gold.’
“Grand-pa told me what a glorious personage the Savior is and described His hands, feet, countenance and beautiful white robes, all of which were of such a glory of whiteness and brightness that he could hardly gaze upon Him.
“Then he came another step nearer and put his right hand on my head and said: ‘Now, grand-daughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grand-father, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior, here in the Temple, and talked with Him face to face.’”
One is left to wonder what might have happened if Lorenzo Snow, as a young college student, had decided that religion was not for him.

A Mia Maid in the Philippines expressed the same thought like this:
“I used to ask myself, ‘Am I one of the chosen daughters of our Heavenly Father?’ and ‘Did God create all people?’ These questions prompted me to read the scriptures with the hope of receiving immediate answers. But the answers took long in coming. I became involved in the Young Women organization, and through the promptings of the Holy Ghost, I developed a strong faith that I am indeed a daughter of God, who created all of us.”

When a sister in our ward started coming to church again after six years, my mother told my brothers and sisters and me that we should be friends with the sister’s two children. Their dad had died just a year before, and they were still very sad. One of the children, Evelyn, was a little younger than I am.
Mama asked me, “Monahra, will you be Evelyn’s friend? Heavenly Father has asked you to be a member missionary. Be loving and friendly, and be sure that she is not left alone.”
I told Mama that I would, and since that day, I have tried to be a member missionary for Evelyn. Because I want to be a full-time missionary when I grow up, I am trying my best to be a missionary now.
Evelyn is a great friend, and she smiles a lot now. We play, go to Primary, and sing hymns together. Sometimes we have family home evening together at her house. I know that Heavenly Father is happy because I have tried to be a member missionary and a friend. I am grateful to have Evelyn as a friend.

Anna Matilda Anderson huddled with her mother and sister, Ida, under the black umbrella. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the train approach. She shivered. This train would take her from Sweden and begin her journey to America.
“Be good and listen to Elder Carlson,” Anna’s mother whispered in Swedish. She held the girls close. Elder Carlson was a missionary who had been serving in Sweden for three years, since Anna was eight. Now it was time for him to return to his family in Idaho, in the United States.
When Mamma had decided to send Anna and Ida to America to escape the persecution in Sweden, Elder Carlson had offered to watch over them. Now he stood by the train. He motioned for the two girls to join him. Ida hugged her mother tightly and moved forward, but Anna stayed behind.
“I love you,” Anna said. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too. Now listen closely. If you come to a place where you can’t understand what the people are saying, don’t forget to pray to your Father in Heaven because He can understand you.”
Still thinking of her mother’s words, Anna got on the train and settled next to Ida and Elder Carlson. She had been excited about her first ride on a train, but now she only wanted one last glimpse of her mother. The train was too tall for her to see people’s faces, but she smiled when she saw her mother’s black umbrella held high above the crowd. It reminded her that Mamma was watching.
With a great bellow of smoke, the train lurched forward. At first it moved so slowly that Mamma ran beside the train. The black umbrella waved at Anna. But soon the black umbrella disappeared from view. Anna leaned against the windowpane and wondered what lay in store.
Several weeks later, Anna leaned against the windowpane of another train. This one was taking her to Salt Lake City, Utah. “America looks different than Sweden, ja?” she said to Ida.
“Ja,” Ida whispered back in Swedish. “But America is home now, and if we work hard enough, we can bring Mamma here too.”
There had not been enough money for Mamma to buy her own ticket. A family in Ogden, Utah, had paid for Ida’s passage to America. Ida would stay with them on their farm and work to repay them. But Anna would be staying with her aunt in Salt Lake City. Anna’s aunt had come to Utah several years earlier, and Mamma had written to tell her that Anna was coming.
After the train, they had taken a boat over the North Sea to Denmark. Then they sailed to England and Ireland before crossing the Atlantic Ocean and landing in New York City. Anna had been seasick for most of the 15-day journey. She had been relieved to board a train in New York headed to Utah.
“Ogden, Utah!” the conductor called. Anna still knew no English, but she recognized the name of the city. Her heart sank. It sank even further when Elder Carlson stood and picked up his and Ida’s bags.
“Do you have to go?” she asked her sister.
“Yes,” Ida said gently. “Don’t worry, Auntie will be there when you get to Salt Lake City.”
Anna watched as Ida and Elder Carlson met his family at the station. They would take Ida in a covered wagon to her new home on the farm and then travel on to Idaho. Now Anna felt truly alone.
The train rumbled through the night until it shuddered to a halt at the station in Salt Lake City. It was nearly midnight. Anna grabbed her bag and leapt down onto the platform. Her tired eyes searched for her aunt.
But there was no one waiting for her.
Fear slid over Anna. She scanned the platform again, hoping she had missed something. Her eyes lingered on the shadows. She tried to make out people’s features in the flickering gaslights. But her aunt was not there.
Strangers walked up to her and asked her questions. Anna thought they wanted to help, but she could not understand what they were saying.
She had never felt so scared in her life. Not when her classmates in Sweden had mocked her new faith. Not when she had been sick on the boat to New York. And not even when she had said good-bye to Mamma.
Anna closed her eyes and thought back to her mother’s words: “Don’t forget to pray to your Father in Heaven because He can understand you.”
Anna knelt on the platform next to her suitcase and prayed harder than she had ever prayed in her life. She prayed that Heavenly Father would send her someone who spoke Swedish and could understand her.
When she finished the prayer, she looked up. There was still no one waiting for her. But then she saw a German family she recognized from the train ride. The mother motioned for her to follow them. Still crying, Anna grabbed her bag and shuffled after them.
She followed them to the south gate of the Temple Square block. She looked at the spot where the beautiful new temple had been built. Then suddenly Anna heard rapid footsteps nearby. A woman was hurrying toward them, looking closely at all the arriving immigrants. The woman’s gaze passed over the German family. Then she paused on Anna. When Anna looked up, the woman stopped and stared. Anna stared back, hope rising in her.
Anna knew her! It was her Sunday School teacher who had gone to Utah only a year before! She knew her!
The teacher pulled Anna tightly into her arms. She wiped away Anna’s tears and whispered in Swedish, “I was awakened over and over again. Images of the arriving immigrants raced through my mind. I could not go back to sleep. I was prompted to come to the temple to see if there was anyone I knew here.” She took Anna’s hand and led her down the street. “Now come with me.”
Later Anna learned that her aunt and uncle had moved from Salt Lake and had not received her mother’s letter. Her teacher sent word to them, and they came to pick up Anna four days later. Eventually Ida and Anna were able to bring Mamma to America too.
But for now, none of that mattered. As Anna walked to her teacher’s home, she thought, “Heavenly Father more than answered my prayer. I only asked for someone who could understand me, and He sent someone I knew.”

My mind drifted back 135 years. Our people were then in Commerce, Illinois, homeless and destitute, facing the bitter winter that soon followed. They had been driven from Missouri and had fled across the Mississippi seeking asylum in Illinois. Where the river makes a wide bend, they had purchased a tract of land, beautiful in its location, but so swampy that a team could not cross it without becoming mired in mud. This site, with tremendous effort and great sacrifice, was to become Nauvoo, the Beautiful. But in 1839 it was Commerce, a rendezvous for thousands driven from their homes and now homeless. They had left behind the labors of years—houses and barns, churches and public buildings, and hundreds of productive farms. Moreover, they had left loved ones buried beneath the Missouri sod who had been killed by vicious mobocrats. Destitute now, and dispossessed, unable to get redress from Missouri, they determined to petition the president and Congress of the United States. Joseph Smith and Elias Higbee traveled to Washington.
They left Commerce on 20 October 1839, riding in a light horse-drawn buggy. They arrived in Washington five weeks later. Much of their first day was spent trying to find accommodations they could afford. They noted in a letter to Hyrum Smith: “We found as cheap boarding as can be had in this city” (History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 4:40).
Calling upon the president of the United States, Martin Van Buren, they stated their case. Responded he: “Gentlemen, your cause is just, but I can do nothing for you. … If I take up for you I shall lose the vote of Missouri” (History of the Church, 4:80).
They then appealed to Congress. In the frustrating weeks that followed, Joseph returned to Commerce, much of the way by horseback. Judge Higbee remained to plead their cause, only finally to be told that Congress would do nothing.
How far the Church had come in the respect and confidence of public officials between 1839, when Joseph Smith was repudiated in Washington, and 1974, when the Church and its temple were welcomed and honored! Such, in essence, were the first and last chapters of my thoughts during those beautiful days at the Washington Temple.

I remember that when we went to Arizona, President Christopher Layton had been the president of the stake. He was ill and soon passed away. My father took the reins and became the president of the stake. I remember we lived in a one-room house. I guess there were about nine of us at that time, and we lived in that one room for some time. Then we moved to a little adobe building a few blocks away, where there were about three rooms. The roof leaked and many times we had to sleep out in tents.
And then we acquired a ten-acre place which was above the canal. It was covered with mesquite bushes and chaparral and other desert plants. How to get rid of them, how to clear the land—that was the question. The first thing we knew, the brethren from Central Ward had come those several miles with their picks and shovels, their axes, and they began to help us clear our ten acres. They came from Layton Ward, and then they came from Pima Ward. They came before we knew it, almost. With the help of my father, who was a very excellent worker, and two sons who were older than I was, we soon had the place ready to plant.
That was welfare work. It wasn’t under the same direction. It wasn’t stimulated in the same way. But it was real welfare work, because each helped the other.

“When I worked at the candy shop,” his older sister began, “I practically ate my paycheck each week in candy. I couldn’t help myself, it tasted so good. Finally after praying about it, I decided to set a candy quota for each day. If I stuck to my quota, I rewarded myself by taking the money I would have spent on candy and putting it toward a new pair of jeans. Some days I didn’t make it, but gradually I ate less candy. And I got the jeans!”

When I was 17 years old, we lived on an island in southern Norway called Andabeløy. My father converted to the Church on Andabeløy, and I was baptized in the ocean there.
I was a fisherman by that time and was well experienced in handling a boat. My father put me in charge of our maritime taxi service used by area residents.
One day in 1941 we got a call from the doctor in Flekkefjord, to the north. A woman who lived about two hours away by boat needed immediate medical attention. Dr. Hoffman asked if I could take him to see her, but my parents were worried about a storm raging in the North Sea. We decided to pray, asking Heavenly Father what to do. We received an answer that I should proceed.
When I eased Tryg, my 31-foot (10 m) fishing boat, into the sea, the weather was bad and the waves were big. After picking up the doctor, I set out through the fjord into the open sea. We were to travel to a community just north of Lista, located on Norway’s rocky southern coastline—famous for stormy weather and shipwrecks.
I steered through the storm until we got to a rocky inlet, about 40 feet (12 m) across, which led to our destination. The waves, so high I could not control the boat through the inlet, were rushing into the inlet and crashing against the rocks.
“What should we do?” the doctor asked over the gale.
“We have to pray about it,” I replied.
I paused and prayed, asking Heavenly Father for direction. As soon as I had said amen, an answer came to me clearly. I suddenly recalled a story an old fisherman had told me. He had been fishing in this same area during a bad storm and couldn’t get to shore. As he waited out the storm, he noticed a pattern in the incoming waves. After three great big waves washed in, a short period of calm followed—long enough for him to enter the inlet.
I had fished many times in this area but had never noticed a wave pattern. Nevertheless, I brought the boat to the front of the inlet, where we waited and watched as three big waves came in. Sure enough, a sudden calm followed. I glided the boat forward over the smooth water of the inner bay and brought Dr. Hoffman safely to shore. He hurried to the ill woman while I waited in the boat, thankful Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.
When the doctor returned about an hour later, he declared, “We saved her life!”
Relieved by the news and the improving weather, I piloted the boat home without incident.
I bear witness that when we need help, we should pray. I know that Heavenly Father will answer.

When you meet Chris Jones, the first thing you’ll notice is how quick he is to smile.
And the second thing—which follows almost immediately—is how quickly he begins to treat you like a good friend.
As Chris’s new friend, you’ll be talking football—because Chris has been a football player since the age of seven—but you can’t help noticing that his conversation is full of references to the gospel. It soon becomes clear that he loves the Lord and the Church with all his heart.
Even though Chris has been home from serving in the Oregon Portland Mission for a couple of years, he still has the sure handshake of a missionary. A mission is something he had been planning for his whole life. And his missionary spirit certainly did not get left in the mission field when he returned.
Chris is from St. Mary’s, Georgia. His parents, Artie and Carolyn Jones, met the missionaries in 1978, when Chris was only two. Chris said, “The first time my dad went to church, he saw a lot of people that he recognized in the community that respected him. That was one thing he really noticed.”
The Jones family was baptized and, as Chris has been told, they received a lot of ridicule for joining the Church. When Chris looks back, he is so appreciative of the fact that his parents were able to raise him and his two brothers and one sister in a way consistent with the principles of the gospel. And Chris grew up knowing that someday he would serve a mission. “If it is part of the Church and the Church is true, then I’ll do it.”
In fact, Chris says his mother helped him keep that in mind. “My mom was the one that pulled us out of bed at 5:15 in the morning to go to seminary for four years. It was a struggle. I hated getting up at 5:15. But it was through a combination of my mother and going to seminary that I gained a testimony of the gospel. Up until then, I always knew the gospel was right. I just didn’t know why it was right.”
As Chris gained a testimony, he found that living the gospel principles helped him learn about prayer. “I can’t recall a prayer that I’ve never received an answer to. Receiving an answer is a matter of allowing the Lord to answer you and give you His answer. A lot of times if you pray with your own answer in mind, you look for that answer. If another answer comes, then you’re not ready to receive it.”
Chris loved playing football in grade school and junior high. He started at linebacker all during high school. And, as Chris points out, football in Georgia is serious business. His high school would have 10,000 fans attend its Friday night games. During his junior year, he began getting attention from college scouts. It was exciting, but his mom would remind him not to get too interested because he was going on a mission.
When the scouts showed up, that was the time Chris had to face the possibilities of playing football at the college level. His high school coach told the scouts that he was a hard-working player and was an honor student. Finally concrete offers started to come—full-ride scholarships through four years of college, worth thousands of dollars.
“I asked,” said Chris, “if they would hold a scholarship for two years. One coach was shocked. I told him I was going to go on a mission for my church. He just stared at me and said, ‘You’re going to give up 80 thousand dollars to serve a mission for two years?’ He got mad at me. But I didn’t get offended.” After that, his coach started turning away college recruiters interested in Chris.
Eventually, State University of West Georgia called. The school offered him a scholarship. It turned out that Chris would be able to play a year and a quarter, essentially two seasons, before turning 19 and receiving a mission call. “I knew that all things were possible with the Lord. There were people saying that I couldn’t serve a mission and play ball, yet the Lord provided a way to do both.”
Chris struggled at West Georgia, not on the field where he started as a true freshman but in the permissive atmosphere in the dorms. He didn’t like what was going on around him. He was more determined than ever to go on a mission. And it was on his mission that Chris put football behind him completely. He told his coaches that if they needed to talk to him, to go through his parents. He didn’t keep up on what the team was doing. He says that the only way to serve on a mission is completely and with total focus.
At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.
Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.
There is, however, one thing Chris has always wanted—a championship ring. He just missed taking state in high school. And his college team won the conference the year he left on his mission. Knowing this, some friends on his mission got together and bought Chris a ring—a CTR ring that he wears continually. It’s become his championship ring.
Whenever Chris looks at it he is reminded of what he believes deep inside. “Right makes you happy. If you do what is right, everything will fall into place.”