Gospel Story Finder

Recently I read the true account of a dramatic manifestation concerning these promises. A faithful member of the Church, John A. Larsen, served during World War II in the United States Coast Guard on the ship USS Cambria. During a battle in the Philippines, word came of an approaching squadron of bombers and kamikaze fighter planes. Orders were given for immediate evacuation. Since the USS Cambria was already gone, John and three companions gathered their gear and hurried to the beach, hoping for a lift out to one of the departing ships. Fortunately, a landing craft picked them up and sped toward the last ship leaving the bay. The men on that departing ship, in an effort to evacuate as quickly as possible, were busy on deck and had time only to throw ropes to the four men, that they might hopefully be able to climb to the deck.
John, with a heavy radio strapped to his back, found himself dangling at the end of a 40-foot (12 m) rope, at the side of a ship headed out to the open sea. He began pulling himself up, hand over hand, knowing that if he lost his grip, he would almost certainly perish. After climbing only a third of the way, he felt his arms burning with pain. He had become so weak that he felt he could no longer hold on.
With his strength depleted, as he grimly contemplated his fate, John silently cried unto God, telling Him that he had always kept the Word of Wisdom and had lived a clean life—and he now desperately needed the promised blessings.
John later said that as he finished his prayer, he felt a great surge of strength. He began climbing once again and fairly flew up the rope. When he reached the deck, his breathing was normal and not the least bit labored. The blessings of added health and stamina promised in the Word of Wisdom had been his. He gave thanks to his Heavenly Father then, and throughout the remainder of his life, for the answer to his desperate prayer for help.2

Among the friends I made in the theater business was a fine man who was a great success as the star of his own network television show. He was also an outstanding business man. Through our association over the years, we had many interesting experiences. One special experience stands out in my mind as a personal example to me that what the Lord said to Hyrum really does apply today.

This story began when my friend and I had an occasion to fly to Mexico with two very wealthy friends of his in a private, executive jet that was owned by one of the two men. The arrangements were that I was to fly from Salt Lake City to join the others at the Los Angeles Airport. I boarded their jet, and we began our flight to Mexico. On board I was introduced to a man who is reported to be one of the most wealthy men in the world. His personal net worth was estimated at that time to be in excess of 2 billion dollars! The seating arrangement within the executive jet was such that four seats were grouped in one compartment, and we were invited to sit with this wealthy man. As I look back on this experience, it is somewhat amusing to me that in my humble circumstances I would have been sitting with two millionaires and one billionaire.

As the jet took off from the Los Angeles International Airport, the conversation became most interesting to me. These three wealthy executives spent the first little while talking about the various multi-million dollar business deals in which they had recently been involved. I must admit that I sat in wonderment as I listened to their conversation, but as time went on, it became progressively more apparent to me that the most important thing in the life of the billionaire was his desire to make and accumulate more and more money. I studied very carefully the billionaire’s attitude and philosophy of life as he talked to us. He seemed to me to have found great power with his wealth, and money was certainly the center of everything that was important to him. He discussed his vast, worldwide financial empire and earthly possessions.

By the time we landed at our destination, it had become abundantly clear to me that the billionaire, with all of his wealth, was really a most unhappy and spiritually deprived man. During the conversation I had learned that he had no children of his own. He had no definite faith in God and no positive assurance of hope for a life after death. He seemed to me to epitomize the words of the Savior when He said:
“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon the earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” (Matt. 6:19–21.)

We completed our business in Mexico and again boarded the jet to return to Los Angeles. Upon our arrival I bade these three men good-bye and boarded a commercial flight to return to my home in Salt Lake City. During the flight I had time to ponder what had taken place during the past two days. When I walked into my home, my wife Barbara greeted me, and her first question to me was, “How did the meetings go?” My response to her question was, “Honey, we may not have very much money, but I do know this—of the four men aboard that plane, I was by far the richest man of them all because I was the only one who knew where I came from, why I am here on this earth, and where I can go in the eternities to come if I am faithful.”

My wife and I discussed this experience, and as we did, again the words of the Lord seemed to ring clearly in my mind. He said:
“No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.
“Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment?
“But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:24–25, 33.)

The billionaire, with all of his hundreds of millions of dollars, cannot buy what comes to members of the Church freely when we accept and live the teachings of the gospel. How blessed we are as a people! How rich we are individually because of our knowledge that we, in fact, do possess the eternal truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Just imagine—the most valuable treasure a man can have in this life comes freely, without monetary price, to all men everywhere when they embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ and live its teachings.

I am grateful for this unusual experience because I now understand more clearly than ever before that the most important asset one can have in this life is the personal, inner peace and positive assurance that come in knowing that the purpose of this life is for men to learn how to prepare for eternal living in the presence of our Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. The billionaire will not take one cent of his wealth with him when he dies, and perhaps only then will he realize that the greatest possession a man can obtain is the knowledge that humble service to our fellowmen, love of family, and knowledge of eternal truths make a man rich. As the Lord said to Hyrum, “Behold, he that hath eternal life is rich.” [D&C 11:7]

I am moved by the inspiring example of Melissa Engle of West Valley City, Utah. Melissa was featured in the August 1992 issue of the New Era. She told her own story:
“When I was born I only had a thumb on my right hand because the umbilical cord got wrapped around my fingers and [severed them]. My dad wanted to find something I could do to strengthen my hand and make it useful. Playing the violin seemed like a natural because I wouldn’t have to finger with both hands, like you would with a flute. …
“I’ve been playing for about eight years now. I take private lessons, and I have to work at things like a paper route to help pay for them. I get to [my violin] lessons by riding a bus across town. …
“A highlight [of my life] was Interlochen, located on a lake in Michigan, one of the best music camps in the world for [youth]. I sent in my application for the eight weeks of intensive music training and couldn’t believe I [was] accepted.
“The only problem was money. It cost thousands of dollars, and there was no way I [could] make that much before the deadline. So I prayed and prayed, and about a week before I had to send in the money, I was called into the office of a man who had a grant for someone with a handicap who was pursuing the arts. That, to me, was a miracle, and I’m really grateful for it.”
Melissa, when she received the grant, turned to her mother, who had been anxious not to see her daughter disappointed and had thus attempted to curb her enthusiasm and hope, and said, “Mother, I told you Heavenly Father answers prayers, for look how He has answered mine.”
He that notes a sparrow’s fall had fulfilled a child’s dream, answered a child’s prayer. Melissa has since gone on to earn a college degree and to serve a full-time mission in Croatia.

“Who’s out there, Pieter?” Charity asked.
Her younger brother shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he replied. “It looks like somebody trying to see into our shop, but the snow is too thick on the windows.”
“Why don’t they come in?” Charity hurried to the door and opened it. A gust of cold wind blew a cloud of snowflakes into the shop. Standing on the doorstep was an old man breathing deeply of the delicious fragrance of baking that drifted to him from the shop.
“Come in,” Charity said softly. “Please come in. It is warm by the fireplace.” She reached out and touched his bony elbow. Caked snow fell from his head and shoulders as he followed the girl into the shop. He was wearing a bearskin robe and deerskin moccasins.
“He’s a Canarsee Indian,” Pieter whispered to Charity.
“Please be quiet, Pieter,” Charity replied, “and get him something warm to drink while I get some apple tarts.”
The old Indian sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the huge fireplace in the back of the shop and closed his eyes. When the food was brought to him, he ate it quickly. Then he closed his eyes again and seemed to be napping.
Charity had never seen such an old Indian. While it was not unusual for Canarsee Indians to be roaming the streets of New Amsterdam during the seventeenth century, there was a law that prevented Dutch bakers from selling goods to them. But to twelve-year-old Charity, anyone who was hungry was entitled to sample her mama’s delicious Dutch apple tarts.
“What will Mama say when she comes back?” Pieter asked.
Charity replied, “I’ll explain to her that he is just a homeless and hungry old man.”
The little bell over the door of the shop tinkled, and in strode a burly Dutchman. “Well!” he exclaimed, puffing out his red cheeks. “Where is the Widow Van Elf?”
“Mama is not here now, Master Donk,” Charity told him politely. “We are waiting for her to come home. She has gone to the miller’s for more flour.”
The Dutchman looked around the shop. “Business must be good if she needs to buy more flour. Does your mama have money for the rent as well?”
Charity shook her head sadly. “No, Master Donk, business is not good. Mama has gone to ask the miller for some flour on credit. The dampness ruined our barrel of flour.”
“The rent is long overdue, Charity,” he said more kindly. “Tell her I hope that things will go better soon.”
“Yes, Master Donk, I will tell Mama what you said,” Charity replied.
When Mama returned, she was cold and discouraged. The miller had refused to lend her any more flour until she had made a payment on the flour he had loaned her last month. After Charity gave her Master Donk’s message, Mama sighed deeply. “It’s no use,” she said wearily. “We’ll just have to close our shop and move in with Aunt Jenny.”
“But we love the shop!” Charity cried. “I don’t want to leave it.”
“It isn’t what we want to do, but what we must do,” Mama responded sadly as she walked to the back of the shop. When she saw the old man, she let out a little cry in surprise. He opened his eyes, and Mama and the Indian stared at each other.
“Mama, he was hungry and out in the storm,” Charity explained. “Oh, Mama, he’s so old, and he was very hungry.”
“And so you gave him our food.”
“Just two apple tarts and something to drink.”
“Without flour I can’t make more apple tarts,” Mama replied softly. “But you did the right thing.”
“What can we do with him when we close the shop?” Pieter asked.
“We’ll worry about that later,” Mama said. “Get down the trunks and boxes so that we can start packing, Pieter.”
Later Mama cooked a simple meal of cabbage soup. While she was dishing it up, she filled an extra bowl for the old man and gave it to Charity to take to him.
The snow fell quietly all evening, drifting against the doors and windows. At bedtime Mama said, “The Indian can sleep by the fire for the night and leave tomorrow when we do.”
“I’ll give him my extra blanket,” Charity said.
“And I’ll put more wood on the fire,” said Pieter.
In the morning, the sky was still full of whirling white snowflakes. Mama and the children found the Indian sitting in front of the fireplace, just where they had left him. Charity’s extra blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, and the shop was still cozy and warm.
“We have to try to make him understand that he must leave now,” Mama said. “We can’t close the shop and leave him in it.”
“The snow is still coming down hard,” Pieter replied. “If we let him sit here a little longer, maybe it will stop.”
Mama sighed deeply. “I was hoping he would leave when he saw us packing everything,” she said. “But I suppose he has nowhere else to go.”
The Indian looked from one face to the other, not understanding what they said. And after eating the warm food Charity brought to him, he closed his eyes again.
Soon a distant sound startled him awake. Mama and the children looked at each other, wondering what the noises could be. It sounded like people chanting or yelling.
The old Indian listened for a moment, then, with difficulty, rose to his feet and limped slowly to the door. As he opened the shop door, the sounds became very loud. A large group of Canarsee Indians were coursing through the narrow streets, shouting and calling. The old man gave a surprisingly lusty cry, and the entire group came running to the door of the shop.
Mama put her arms protectively around the children as the tiny shop filled with fur-clad Indians.
The old Indian stood among them, talking excitedly in his own language. From time to time he pointed to Mama and the children. When he finished talking, several of the younger men picked him up in their arms and carried him away.
A tall young Indian walked toward Mama and the children. “I speak your language,” he said. “My brothers and I want to thank you for caring for our chief, White Eagle. He said that you took him in out of the storm and gave him food, even though you didn’t have much for yourselves. We are grateful to you, for we love and respect our chief.
“We have come,” he continued, “to find our chief and to trade with the Dutch. We wish to give you some of our pelts. Please take them with our gratitude.”
One by one each Indian came forward and dropped some of his fur pelts on the floor in front of Mama and the children. Soon there was a large pile of valuable furs. Then the men left as quickly as they had come. The shop was empty. Mama and the children were alone.
No one spoke for a long time. Finally Mama said, “I never dreamed that he was the Canarsee chief!”
“Chief White Eagle,” Pieter murmured in a hushed voice.
“Oh, Mama!” Charity cried. “I thought he was just a poor, homeless, old man.”
Mama gave Charity a warm smile. “Your father certainly knew what he was doing when he named you Charity,” she said. She turned to Pieter. “We have work to do,” she told him. “While you and I carry some of these pelts to trade for flour, sugar, and other supplies, Charity can start unpacking. When we get back, we’ll all start baking cakes and pies again.”

The reality of Aulola’s life, however, didn’t quite follow the plan in her heart. After her mission, it took some time before marriage became a priority for her, and by then she was in love with someone who didn’t share her faith.
“He’s a good man,” Aulola says. “He always welcomed [my Church’s] missionaries into our home and always fed them, but he was never interested in hearing their message.” His family are devout members of their own faith, and he would not break with their tradition. Their difference of religion put a great strain on their marriage. Aulola was unable to attend sacrament meetings as often as she liked, and she couldn’t raise their children in the Church the way she had been. Eventually, the contention in their home proved too much. After 23 years, the couple decided to part ways.
Aulola was devastated. She had lost her marriage and, with it, her hopes for the future with her family, but she was also suffering now from debilitating health issues. In her grief and pain, she turned to her Father in Heaven for guidance. “I fasted and prayed, and I promised the Lord that if He would accept me back, I would never turn away again.”
Her prayers kept leading her back to her patriarchal blessing, which brought her comfort and peace at such a troubling time. One day, she reread the promise that she could be sealed in the temple, and Aulola knew what she needed to do. “I realised that if I don’t do my part, it’s not going to work.” In that moment, she recommitted to follow all of Heavenly Father’s commandments, and to draw near to Him through church attendance, daily prayer and scripture study.
Before long, Aulola reconnected with an acquaintance from her early days in Tonga: Brother Semisi Mounga Mateialona, a priesthood holder who had recently found himself single again, too. They bonded over shared experiences and their mutual love for the gospel of Jesus Christ, and Aulola knew in her heart that this was the man for her. The couple got married in New Zealand in 2019 and at the end of September 2022, they travelled to the Nuku’alofa Tonga Temple to be sealed to each other for time and all eternity.
At a recent temple fireside in the Auckland Papatoetoe Stake, Aulola reflected on what she says is a miracle. As a young woman, she had experienced the sweet sacredness of the temple and knew how important it was to worship there. Then, for 23 years, she didn’t know if she could ever qualify for the temple blessings promised to her in her patriarchal blessing—but she didn’t give up hope.
It took time, patience and the kind of faith that changes lives, but now Aulola feels like she’s come home again. Finally, she can testify: “When you stay near God, He is going to bless you as He promised—if you do your part.”

Elder Harold B. Lee and Elder Marion G. Romney were always teaching, and they would, in a sense, go out of their way to tell me something or teach me something. I think the reason they did it—I’m not sure they ever saw me in this position or calling—is that I had one virtue: I wanted to learn, and I didn’t resent it. And if you don’t resent it, and if you want to learn, the Lord will keep teaching you, sometimes things you really didn’t think you wanted to know.
Both of those great teachers would teach me. When I would see Brother Romney, sometimes he would say, “Kid, I want to tell you something.” I knew it was coming. He was going to tell me I was doing something that I shouldn’t do, and I would always thank him.
I learned early on that there is great value in listening to experience in older people. I had a stake president once who said, “I always tried to be in the presence of great people.” He was in a little town in Idaho, but he said, “If there was a lecturer coming or something special, I would always try to be there, because I could learn.”
I have always been drawn to associate with older people (now I am one). I remember in the Quorum of the Twelve, LeGrand Richards didn’t walk as fast as the other Brethren, and I would always wait and open the door for him and walk back to the building with him. One day one of the Brethren said, “Oh, you’re so kind to take care of Brother Richards.” And I thought, “You don’t know my selfish motive”—as we would walk back, I would just listen to him. I knew that he could remember Wilford Woodruff, and he would speak. One-on-one teaching is very powerful. Generally one-on-one teaching is what happens when you are corrected.

My wife and I, and two of my colleagues and their wives, recently participated in a Jewish Shabbat (Sabbath) at the invitation of a dear friend, Robert Abrams and his wife, Diane, in their New York home.21 It commenced at the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath on a Friday evening. The focus was honoring God as the Creator. It began by blessing the family and singing a Sabbath hymn.22 We joined in the ceremonial washing of hands, the blessing of the bread, the prayers, the kosher meal, the recitation of scripture, and singing Sabbath songs in a celebratory mood. We listened to the Hebrew words, following along with English translations. The most poignant scriptures read from the Old Testament, which are also dear to us, were from Isaiah, declaring the Sabbath a delight,23 and from Ezekiel, that the Sabbath “shall be a sign between me and you, that ye may know that I am the Lord your God.”24

The overwhelming impression from this wonderful evening was of family love, devotion, and accountability to God. As I thought about this event, I reflected on the extreme persecution that the Jews have experienced over centuries. Clearly, honoring the Sabbath has been “a perpetual covenant,” preserving and blessing the Jewish people in fulfillment of scripture.25 It has also contributed to the extraordinary family life and happiness that are evident in the lives of many Jewish people.26

I came across a Personal Progress goal that motivated me to get started on my family tree. Whenever I went to my grandparents’ for lunch, they told me stories from their lives and from those of my other relatives. I began going to the family history center and gathering information about my family.

Through my research, I became even closer to my grandparents, and I came to know my ancestors as if I had lived with them. I found information about my ancestors, shared the glad tidings of eternal sealing, and helped bless many generations.

I continue to discover hidden treasures thanks to FamilySearch.org. I love what President Thomas S. Monson said: “I testify that when we do all we can to accomplish the work that is before us, the Lord will make available to us the sacred key needed to unlock the treasure which we so much seek” (“The Key of Faith,” Ensign, Feb. 1994, 5). Through our efforts, we will discover the keys to our eternal treasure, and one day we will be able to meet our ancestors in person.

Hiding behind Dad’s truck, I pulled ever so slightly on the rope that reached up over the tree branch above the garage door. The large bucket of water at the other end of the line jiggled as I pulled. I grinned. The trap was finally ready!
My big brother was so going to get it as soon as he came out of the garage. Kyle deserved it, too! This time his teasing had gone too far.
My little sister walked over to my hiding place again. “Come on, Megan. Let’s go play. Just forget about it,” she said.
“No way,” I told her. “I’m going to get even.” She didn’t understand. I had to do this.
“But I want to play on the swings,” she said. “Won’t you come with me?”
I shook my head. “Not until Kyle walks under my trap.”
My sister left. The sun rose higher. It was a perfect day to play outside. But this was important. I thought of all the rotten times my brother had teased me.
Banging and clanging sounds came from inside the garage. What was he doing in there?
I had to admit it was getting a little boring holding that rope. Especially on such a nice, sunny day. But I didn’t think about letting go for a second. The wait would be worth it when Kyle walked through the garage door and I dumped the big bucket of water on his head. I couldn’t wait to see his face! It would be the perfect payback.
A noise came from behind the garage door. My muscles tightened as I gripped the rope. I watched the door like a cat ready to pounce.
The lock clicked. The door swung open. I saw the edge of a tire and one of my brother’s sneakers. This was it! I yanked hard on the rope. The entire bucket of water tipped and poured all over Kyle. As the now-empty bucket dangled from the rope on the tree, I jumped up and hooted in excitement. Yes!
Then I noticed something that stopped my yell of excitement right in my throat. Kyle was pushing my bike. It had been broken for weeks. But now it was all ready to ride. I didn’t understand.
Kyle looked at me and said, “Um, I fixed your bike.”
I just stood there. As the water dripped off his face and off my bike, I didn’t feel at all like I expected to. My trap had worked perfectly, but I felt horrible.
The whole time I’d been waiting there, my big brother had been doing something nice for me. In fact, now that I thought about it, Kyle did nice things for me all the time.
“I’m sorry!” I said, still feeling awful. “I was … I mean, earlier today …”
He held up a hand and smiled. “It’s OK, Megan. I’m sorry too. That’s why I wanted to fix your bike.”
Kyle looked up at the bucket. “Nice trap,” he said. Then he laughed. “I never saw it coming.”
I couldn’t help but laugh with him. Suddenly I felt much better inside. My big brother had already forgiven me. Just like that! I realized I needed to learn how to do that too.
“Hey, want to ride bikes?” I asked.
Kyle nodded. “Sounds awesome. I’ll probably dry off faster that way.”
As we laughed again, I knew it was going to be a great day after all.

Oliver and Rosetta Snow, Eliza’s parents, taught their children to listen to people with different religious beliefs and choose for themselves. Eliza soon realized that with so many diverse religious practices, she searched for something firmly founded in Bible teachings. In the fall of 1830, when Eliza was 26, the Snows heard about Joseph Smith, “a Prophet to whom the Lord was speaking from the heavens”—the very model that she had been looking for since her childhood. As much as she wanted the news to be legitimate, she wrote, “I considered it a hoax—too good to be true.” Eliza continued to study the ancient prophets in order to learn their patterns.3
In the winter of 1831–32, Joseph Smith came to the Snow home. As he sat by the fire, Eliza “scrutinized his face as closely as I could without attracting his attention, and decided that his was an honest face.” Even so, her investigative nature led her to observe what happened over time. She attended a local meeting where Joseph and two Book of Mormon witnesses spoke, and she was deeply impressed. Her mother and sister, Rosetta and Leonora, believed and were baptized that spring.4 Still Eliza waited, studying the Book of Mormon, watching and listening.
In the spring of 1835, Rosetta and Leonora went to Kirtland, Ohio, where other Latter-day Saints lived. They returned with stories about the Church, the priesthood, and great spiritual manifestations. Five years had passed since the time Eliza first heard about Joseph Smith. The accounts of her mother and sister brought Eliza an undeniable witness of the truth. She had waited until she knew it was true. “My heart was now fixed,” she wrote. She decided to be baptized.5
Even then, baptism was a challenge for Eliza, a humble woman who followed social rules and propriety. She prayed for someone to come baptize her, but no one came. When she heard of a meeting of the Saints about two miles from home, she asked her father’s permission to go and be baptized—as an adult, she respected her father, and he readily consented. At the meeting, there was no discussion about baptism, but Eliza gained courage to stand up and request the privilege. Before she could arise, a dark fear came over her. She pushed through the fear and was baptized in a nearby stream on April 5, 1835. “From that day to this I have not doubted the truth of the work,” she wrote.
That night, Eliza reflected on her baptism: “I felt an indescribable, tangible sensation, … commencing at my head and enveloping my person and passing off at my feet, producing inexpressible happiness.” She saw in a vision a candle with a long, bright flame, and a voice told her, “The lamp of intelligence shall be lighted over your path.” She was satisfied.6
Eliza moved to Kirtland to join the Saints for a time and taught school. When she returned to her family’s home at the end of the term, her old friends and neighbors asked about the “strange people” with whom she associated. “I was exceedingly happy in testifying of what I had both seen and heard,” she later wrote. Eliza determined to change her life and live permanently with the Latter-day Saints. Her conversion deepened even further in 1837 when she lived with Joseph Smith and his family. Again, she observed. “I had ample opportunity of judging his daily walk and conversation,” she recalled. She saw much more than the miraculous events of the Kirtland Temple dedication—she saw the life and relationships of a prophet of God. “The more I made his acquaintance, the more cause I found to appreciate him in his divine calling.”7
Thirty-seven years after her baptism, with a heart firmly fixed through persecutions in Missouri and the eventual assassination of Joseph Smith, Eliza remained a committed Latter-day Saint. On June 22, 1872, she shared about her conversion with a group of women in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA: “When I heard it announced that the Lord had spoken from heaven and a record had been brought forth I was deeply interested. I prayed unto the Lord to let me know if the work were true, covenanting with him if he did so that I would ever praise his name.” After her baptism, she said, she attended Church meetings. “We were called upon to speak; I dared not refuse for I had promised God I would ever praise his name in the congregation of the Saints.”8 Her continual conversion required her continued witness.
Eliza bore her testimony over a thousand times as she traveled throughout Utah Territory to teach the Relief Society, young women, and Primary children about the Restoration. Her heart was fixed, and she invited others to experience their own conversions and become firm and steadfast.

It is important for all of us to remember that we can learn both from the teachings of the Brethren and from the examples of their lives. Given the majestic vision of the future growth of the Church articulated by the Prophet Joseph Smith, please now consider the power of his personal example in the performance of routine and mundane but necessary tasks. George A. Smith described in his journal the reaction of the Prophet to the daily challenges of the march to Missouri.
“The Prophet Joseph took a full share of the fatigues of the entire journey. In addition to the care of providing for the Camp and presiding over it, he walked most of the time and had a full proportion of blistered, bloody and sore feet. … But during the entire trip he never uttered a murmur or complaint, while most of the men in the Camp complained to him of sore toes, blistered feet, long drives, scanty supply of provisions, poor quality of bread, bad corn dodger, frouzy butter, strong honey, maggoty bacon and cheese, etc., even a dog could not bark at some men without their murmuring at Joseph. If they had to camp with bad water it would nearly cause rebellion, yet we were the Camp of Zion, and many of us were prayerless, thoughtless, careless, heedless, foolish or devilish, and yet we did not know it. Joseph had to bear with us and tutor us, like children.”12

Seeing an excellent financial opportunity, Elder Ribeiro and his wife Zélia and their small children, planned to move to the USA. Ready to leave, after prayer, fasting and attending the temple the answer was “no”. Months later, Elder Ribeiro was called as a stake president. His wife comforted the family by saying, “We were born to serve the Lord.”
During the following years, they experienced very significant financial losses. The hardships seemed to have no end. The heavens were silent. Days followed months, and months followed years. Faith was tested to the limits. Elder Ribeiro‘s testimony was forged. He learned to know his Saviour in a deeper way. He said: “The Son of God trusted in His Father, endured all things, and endured well until the end. We‘ll never know when the end will come. We can only bear it and bear it well”.

In another stake, in a Sunday morning Primary meeting of that stake conference, I met two beautiful daughters of a faithful young Latter-day Saint physician and his devoted wife. The older child was in a wheelchair, and the younger child moved with great effort. Both of these children suffer from a degenerative disease of genetic origin thought to be progressive and incurable. According to medical wisdom, their time in this life is extremely limited. Their eyes were beautiful and clear—full of faith and love of their Savior, whose presence had been made real in their lives by loving parents and grandparents and devoted Church teachers.
To fulfill a deep desire for more children, their devoted parents have adopted two other beautiful daughters from another country. Instead of cursing God as Job was encouraged by his associates to do in the face of other faith-testing burdens, this couple has reached out to these two beautiful additional daughters, who now feel the blessing of being reared in a household of faith with love from parents whose hearts and lives demonstrate the pure love of Christ.

Because of my father’s experience, he was very anxious for me to have a good education. When I’d say, “But I don’t want to go to school,” he’d say, “Then I’ll go in your place. Do you think the teacher would mind? I wonder if I can fit into the seat at your desk?”

That always made me laugh because I think it would have frightened my teacher to see a grown man coming to school, and I knew he couldn’t fit into the small seat at my desk. So I would go to school.

Sometimes I’d complain, “My teacher makes me work too hard.” Then Dad would just smile and mess up my hair and say, “I doubt it.” (I’m not sure, but the way he smiled always made me feel as though he wanted that teacher to make me work hard. I never could understand why, for I thought the only good thing about school were the recesses.)

Later when I had graduated from high school, served a mission, and completed my courses in college, I went on to earn a Ph.D. from a school in New England. (Ph.D. just means you are a doctor that doesn’t give shots or fix broken legs. In fact, I’m not sure Ph.Ds can fix much of anything.)

When I received my diploma I wanted my father to have it. He had never received a graduation diploma from any school and I thought he deserved this one. I told him that although my name was on it, the diploma should really be awarded to him. I told him they probably just made a mistake in the printing. That made him laugh and then it made him cry. I wasn’t sure then why it made him cry—but I know now.

My father died last year, and now he is getting more of the education that he always wanted when he was a little boy. And me? Well, my wife and I have children of our own in school. And when they say, “But I don’t want to go to school,” I say, “Then I’ll go in your place. Do you think the teacher would mind? I wonder if I can fit into the seat at your desk?” And when they say, “My teacher makes me work too hard,” I just smile and mess up their hair and say, “I doubt it.”

Fathers, I guess, are like that. In His own special way, I think Heavenly Father is like that too.

Have a good year in school and learn all you can. It is going to be important to you for a long, long time. In fact, it will be important forever.

Betsy walked into her mom’s room, holding a pair of scissors, a book, and a box of jumbo crayons. “Will you help me cut out and color my paper dolls?” she asked.
“Maybe later honey,” answered Mom. “I still have housework to do before our company comes.”
Betsy walked back to her room and flopped down on her bed. If only Mom weren’t so busy, she thought, we could spend some time together. Looking up, she noticed something on the cluttered bulletin board nailed to her wall. A pink paper hand dangled from a thumbtack. Betsy read the words printed across the hand: “I’ll be a helping hand.” Sister Summers had helped Betsy and her classmates each make one in Primary.
Betsy had a great idea! She quickly straightened her room, then tiptoed to the bathroom and cleaned off the countertop. Next she crept into her brother’s room, made his bed, and put away his toys. Then she slipped into the laundry room, pulled the towels from the dryer, folded them neatly, and placed them on top of the washer. She heard Mom’s footsteps as she sneaked back to her room to wait.
Betsy grinned when her mom’s happy face appeared in the doorway. “You’ve been quietly busy, haven’t you?” asked Mom as she hugged Betsy.
“I thought if I helped you with your work, you would have more time to spend with me,” said Betsy.
“You were right,” said Mom. “My fingers are ready for cutting and coloring.”
As Betsy snuggled close to her mom, she was glad she had helped her—not just so Mom could spend more time with her, but because she had a wonderfully warm feeling inside!

One returned missionary found himself stressed with a very heavy schedule. He was trying to find time for work, studies, family, and a Church calling. He asked the Lord for counsel: “How can I feel at peace with all that I need to do?” The answer was not what he expected; he received the impression that he should more carefully observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy. He decided to dedicate Sunday to God’s service—to lay aside his school courses on that day and study the gospel instead. This small adjustment brought the peace and balance that he was seeking.

I grew up on a farm in Utah as the youngest of five kids. We worked on our farm almost every day because there was always something to be done. The summer I was 17 I had an experience I will never forget.
My older siblings had moved out of the house either to go to college, to go on missions, or because they were married. I was the only child living at home, and that left me with big responsibilities. Doing a lot of the farm work was up to me since my dad was still working full-time and our funds from our farm that year were not sufficient to allow us to hire out help for the summer.
One evening, after working on the farm for a good part of the day, I had dinner with my parents. Then my dad told me I needed to help him move the irrigation pipes off the hill behind our house. This was the task I dreaded most because the hill was big, we had two long lines of irrigation pipes, and it took a lot of work to move them. It took even more work to get them completely off the field.
I went to the field with my dad just as the sun was starting to set. We started to get the pipes off the field as the sun was going down and the field was getting darker and darker. It was a long task that was taking even longer than usual because it was getting dark. I thought to myself, “How will we ever get these irrigation pipes off the field before it gets completely dark? There’s no way we’ll be able to move them in time.”
Just as I was thinking this, I saw a truck pull into our field and drive toward us. My dad and I stopped what we were doing and watched the truck coming closer. Soon the truck parked by where we were and the stake president stepped out. He looked around the field and at us. He turned to my dad with a look of concern and said, “Where’s all your help tonight?”
My dad pointed to me and said, “You’re looking at it.”
The stake president watched me, a 17-year-old girl working fast to get the pipes off the field but not strong enough to be fast enough; he looked at the several pipes we still had to move; then he looked at the setting sun and at the darkness closing in around us. He said, “Well … let’s get these pipes off the field.” He picked up two pipes, one in each hand and started taking them off the field.
My dad and I, both a little caught off guard, gladly resumed our task. Between my dad, the stake president, and me, we got all the pipes off the field in less than 10 minutes. We finished before dark. I was so happy to be done with our task and to be done working for the day. My dad thanked the stake president, they shook hands, and then we all went home.
As soon as we were home, my dad told my mom what happened. She was quite impressed that the stake president would take time out of his busy schedule to help us on our farm. Such a small act of service made a big difference to us that night.
My dad then got his scriptures and told me he wanted to talk to me. We sat down on the couch and he turned to Matthew 23:11, “But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.” My dad told me that the stake president was the busiest man in the stake. Not only did he have a very busy Church calling, but he also ran a dairy farm and a part-time store and had a large family to take care of. However, he took time to help us get the pipes off our field and made our burden easier. He was known as the greatest among us because he was a good example to everyone and was in a leadership position in our stake. But he served us on this night.
My dad then went on to say that this was like the Savior, always serving people even though He was the greatest, busiest, and most important person among them.
I don’t think the stake president realized how much our family appreciated his help that night or how much his act of service helped us and strengthened us. But it taught me a valuable lesson I will never forget: he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.

It all started when my friend Brett said, “Last night when I talked to my friend, I found out that her parents have been telling her stuff about our religion, making us sound really bad. She told me that I was wrong for being Mormon, and she seemed to have plenty of evidence. Lots of stuff that I didn’t know about. I figured I can’t defend this if I don’t know what we believe.”
Then he asked me, “Do you want to come over and study scriptures tonight? You know, we could do a little reading, look some stuff up.”
“Seriously?” I hesitated. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It was just that I was taken off guard. I mean, how many teenagers hang out on weeknights to study the scriptures for fun?
“Sure, I guess,” I accepted slowly. “If you really want to.”
Brett was the only other Church member in my grade, and he’d never seemed very religious. I still remember being surprised my sophomore year when I first met him. He asked me why I chose not to date until I was 16. I was astounded by his question because Brett had been an active member his entire life but he somehow still didn’t know some of the basic teachings of the Church. To him, church was a Sunday thing. I remembered answering Brett’s question about my decision not to date until 16 and then enlightening him on many other standards we had as Church members.
Now, as seniors, we’d grown to be close friends. And once again I found myself surprised by Brett.
I arrived at his house not sure what to expect. As I walked into his family’s study, I noticed the Bible was open and several LDS reference materials were stacked on the desk. He’d already begun. “Look at this,” he said excitedly, pointing to James 2:21–26.
“I thought we could find some answers.” Then he asked, “Do you have any questions?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“After listening to my friend, I know I need to study more,” Brett continued.
“So, are you looking up things about the points she made?” I asked.
“Yeah. I can see where she’s coming from, but you know, the more I find out about what we believe,” he continued, “the more I see and feel just how right our beliefs are. It’s exciting. I want you to help me.”
I’d never considered the scriptures exciting before. I felt humbled by his enthusiasm. He wanted my help because I’d read the Book of Mormon, prayed, felt the Spirit, and from then on hadn’t had doubts.
But at that moment, I realized I too needed to search the scriptures more.
Brett and I really studied the scriptures that night and found the answers to his questions. Time and time again, Brett searched the scriptures in response to criticisms of the Church. As he learned to trust the scriptures, his testimony grew. Not only did that study help him talk with his friend, but his example of asking questions and finding the answers in the scriptures made a difference for me too.

Recently I attended the blessing of our newest granddaughter. It was a holy sight to me as my husband and our sons, along with many other loved ones, encircled this little infant. She was so elegant all dressed in white—and it didn’t hurt a bit that she was named after her two grandmothers! But the thing that touched me most was the blessing given by her father, our son Zach. He blessed little Annabel Elaine that she would understand her identity as a daughter of God, that she would follow the examples of her mother, grandmothers, and sister, and that she would find great joy as she lived a virtuous life and prepared to make and keep sacred temple covenants. In that sacred moment, I prayed that every young woman might be encircled, strengthened, and protected by righteous priesthood power, not only at the time of birth and blessing but throughout life.

I know of a young priest who was asked by his bishop to fellowship an inactive quorum member. The bishop indicated that others had failed in their attempts to recover the boy. The final words of the bishop’s commission were: “Please save _________.” After many tries and failures, the miracle was wrought—the inactive returned to full activity in the quorum. It was thrilling for me to hear the hero in this experience bear testimony of the joy which he received as a result of his soul-saving efforts.