Gospel Story Finder

The tree had been young when Olivia Tucker McCoy joined the Church. In her diary she wrote: “We were baptized Oct. 3, 1897. My husband’s father had given him the place he settled on with the understanding that he would help him work and pay for that place and the one his father bought, but as it was his father’s he never got the deed. So, after we joined the Mormons his father told him he would have to move.”
Their little daughter had been burned in a fire in December, and they asked for time before moving the child but were ordered out. On January 3, 1898, “We put her in the wagon on a bed, moved to what they called the Coates place, and rented the same from Jim Smyly.
“The Christmas of 1898 I spent with my sister, a Mrs. Guinn, the one I lived with when I was married. But the folks didn’t seem just the same. You see, I had joined the Mormons and I was reminded of it.”

In the hospital one day I was wheeled out of the operating room by an attendant who stumbled, and there issued from his angry lips vicious cursing with a combination of the names of the Savior. Even half-conscious, I recoiled and implored: “Please! Please! That is my Lord whose names you revile.”
There was a deathly silence; then a subdued voice whispered, “I am sorry.” He had forgotten for the moment that the Lord had forcefully commanded all his people, “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain” (Ex. 20:7).

At the age of 12 years Anders Peter Anderson was orphaned. He had begun working in a woolen factory at age 10 because his family was poor. When he was 14 he heard the message of the missionaries, and in January 1878 he was baptized. As soon as it became known that he was a Mormon, the family that had taken him in when he was orphaned and treated him like a son drove him out. Called as a local missionary, Anders was frequently summoned before the Lutheran Church councils. In one city he was sentenced to 14 days in prison on bread and water, but he secretly moved to another area and escaped the punishment. During his mission he baptized 85 people. In the company of 270 other emigrants he came to America in August 1881. In 1889 he left America for another mission to Scandinavia, eventually serving as president of the Stockholm conference and baptizing 66 people.19

After I was baptized and confirmed, I attended the little Matsumoto Branch of 12 to 15 active members. I made friends, and it was fun to attend every week. About a year later I graduated from high school and moved to Yokohama to attend the university. The nearest branch was the Tokyo Central Branch, which had more than 150 active members. When I attended this new branch, I felt like a country boy in the big city. I had a hard time making friends. One Sunday I stayed home from church. Soon I stopped attending altogether. I began making friends with my nonmember classmates, and the Church drifted further and further from my mind.
This continued for several months. Then one day I received a letter from a sister in the Matsumoto Branch. “I heard you have stopped attending church,” she said. I was surprised. Apparently someone from my new branch had told her I was not attending church anymore! The sister continued her letter by quoting Doctrine and Covenants 121:34: “Behold, there are many called, but few are chosen.” Then she wrote, “Koichi, you have been baptized a member of the Church. You have been called, but you are no longer among the chosen.”
As I read these words, I was filled with regret. I knew I needed to change somehow. I realized that I did not have a strong testimony. I wasn’t sure if God lived, and I didn’t know if Jesus Christ was my Savior. For several days I grew anxious as I thought about the message in the letter. I didn’t know what to do. Then one morning I remembered something the missionaries had taught me. They had asked me to read Moroni 10:3–5, promising that I could know the truth for myself. I decided that I must pray. If I felt nothing, I could completely forget about the Church and the commandments, and I would never go again. However, if I did receive an answer, as Moroni promised, I would have to repent, embrace the gospel with all my heart, go back to church, and do all I could to follow the commandments.
As I knelt and prayed that morning, I pleaded with Heavenly Father to answer me. “If Thou live—if Thou are real,” I prayed, “please let me know.” I prayed to know if Jesus Christ was my Savior and if the Church was true. As I finished, I suddenly felt something. I was surrounded by a warm feeling, and my heart was filled with joy. I understood the truth: God does live, and Jesus is my Savior. The Lord’s Church was truly restored by the Prophet Joseph Smith, and the Book of Mormon is the word of God.
Needless to say, I prayed for forgiveness that very day and resolved to follow the commandments. I returned to church and promised the Lord that I would do whatever it took to remain faithful.

Even an unbelievable spring blizzard didn’t stop the modern-day pioneers of Kearns and Ogden (Utah) who found out firsthand what their ancestors went through.
No one expected as much snow as the two groups ran into in their April handcart and covered wagon treks. But it didn’t stop either group from experiencing doughy scones, burnt skirts, raw-potato stew, and square dancing in mud.
The Kearns group of 50 individuals, both youths and parents, pulled hand-carts more than 43 miles, with seminary youths averaging four miles per hour. Dressed in pioneer clothing, the group spent one night in barracks built in 1857.
They weren’t without their problems, however. The 14 handcarts that had been constructed for the event were often overpacked—wheels gave way and water had to be dumped. It meant everyone had to pitch in to help and the food that remained dry had to be pooled. Half of the group didn’t complete the trek because of the severe weather.
Having followed the Pony Express route to Saratoga, Utah, the trek ended with a swim in a heated outdoor pool—in the snow.

One day while taking a math test, I couldn’t remember how to solve one of the problems. I had prepared for this test, but I could not remember what I had reviewed at home. I did, however, have faith that I could ask my Father in Heaven for help.
I decided I would accept the first prompting I felt. After the prayer, I had the feeling that I could solve the problem in a specific way. But I began to doubt because it seemed like an odd way to work the problem. So I went ahead and did it on my own as well as I could.
Once all the tests had been handed in, our teacher went over the test with us. I found that the feeling I had had after the prayer would have led to the right answer, but I had not listened.

Subject: Dan
Age: 17 years
Event: Laurel-Priest dating workshop
“Okay,” the Laurel adviser coached Dan and a girl, “you’ve just entered the restaurant. Pretend that the card table is where the hostess wants you to sit. Show me how you sit down.”
Dan sat down while the girl remained standing.
“Cut,” the adviser said. “That’s not right.”
“What’s wrong?” Dan asked.
“What about your date?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dan agreed. “Hey, sit down; rest your feet,” he said, pointing to the empty chair.
“No,” the adviser corrected, “help her be seated.”
“She can sit down by herself. I’ve seen her do it hundreds of times.”
“You are a gentleman,” the adviser said.
Wearily he stood up. “If you ask me, gentlemen go to plenty of extra work.”
“Do it!” the adviser ordered. “How?”
“Pull the chair out so she can sit down and then slide the chair in closer to the table.”
“Not that much!” the girl cried as he pushed her into the edge of the table.
“Okay,” the weary adviser continued, “now we come to ordering.”

Subject: Dan
Age: 17 years
Event: Laurel-Priest dating workshop
“Now that you’ve ordered,” the Laurel adviser continued, “it’s time for some pleasant conversation.”
“My sister had a nosebleed last night,” Dan said. “We must’ve packed a box of tissues before we got it stopped.”
“Cut!” the adviser shouted. Fighting to gain control, she quietly continued. “You don’t discuss that at a dinner table.”
“What am I supposed to say?” Dan asked.
“Find out more about her interests,” the adviser said.

The sky is still black when 15-year-old Jossie Comandao and her father, Domingo L. Comandao, awaken. They get up every school day at about 4 A.M. “When the alarm rings,” Brother Comandao explains. “I have to use an alarm clock.”
The Comandaos live in Tatalon, one of several relocation areas in Manila, capital of the Philippines. “We don’t have any running water,” Brother Comandao explains. “So after breakfast I must go fetch water so Jossie can take a bath.” Jossie wants to be bright and fresh for her seminary class. As soon as she’s ready, she and her father begin the one-and-a-half mile walk to the stake center.
Jossie’s regular school classes don’t begin until 7 A.M., and her father doesn’t have to be to work until 8 o’clock. “So we have plenty of time to walk,” Jossie says. “And I enjoy talking to my father.” They both carry their scriptures with them, and gospel discussions are common.
Friends smile and wave as the Comandaos arrive at the church. While Jossie visits with her friends, her father rests for a moment before turning to walk back home.
“I am very grateful for the seminary program,” he says. “It has been most worthwhile for my daughter. Seminary has helped her to be more industrious and to learn to prepare assignments on time. It has also helped her to make many good, strong friends. It has also helped us as a family.”
He pauses. “My wife is not yet a member, but perhaps as she sees Jossie grow in the knowledge of the gospel, she will realize how important the Church is to all of us.”
Inside the classroom, Jossie and her fellow students are eager to share their own appreciation for early-morning seminary.
“I enjoy seminary because I feel myself and the members of this church being blessed through it,” Jossie says. “I know that if we prepare ourselves and become worthy people, we will receive great blessings at the Second Coming of Christ.”
The lesson ends all too soon. Following a closing prayer, Jossie and the other students walk out to the parking lot and linger for a moment, talking and savoring seminary’s happy spirit. The gospel light is rising, like the sun that is now greeting the radiant morning. A moment later, Jossie is running to catch a bus that will take her to school. It’s a direct route—she doesn’t even have to transfer.

Kathy Solomon thought carefully about whom her gift subscription should go to and felt impressed to choose a girl who was suffering a great many problems in her life and was not very popular at school. “When I said, ‘I want to give you a gift subscription to the New Era,’ she just started crying right there. She couldn’t believe that anybody would want to give her a gift.” When the first issue arrived, the girl read it from cover to cover and came to school with a lot of questions about it. Sometimes the least likely prospects turn out to be the most receptive. Sherilyn Oakey and some friends were feeling crestfallen one day because a friend had just refused a gift subscription. “Well, I’ll take it,” a voice behind them said. They looked and then they had to look again. The voice belonged to one of the most anti-Mormon students in the whole school. She hasn’t shown much interest in the Church yet, but she now reads and enjoys the New Era.
Lynne Nielsen has been sending the New Era to some nonmember relatives in England for three years. These relatives gratefully report that when they finish reading each issue, they send it to their cousin in Cheshire who reads it and then takes it to work where clients and fellow workers read it.
Perry Christensen sent a subscription to an inactive young man who received it with real gratitude.
Patti Mackelprang sent her gift to an old friend in Florida. She received a letter telling how much enjoyment the first issue had brought.
Kelly Manning gave the New Era to some girls who had received the missionary discussions in his home but didn’t feel they could join the Church at the time because of family loyalty. The girls came by his house and told him that they and their family both enjoyed it.
When looking for someone to give the New Era to, don’t overlook your school or public library. If they do not subscribe presently, you could expose a lot of people to gospel principles for the first time by subscribing for them. You might also want to give a subscription to a barbershop, doctor’s office, beauty parlor, or any other place with a waiting room.
So the who is really no problem, but what about the how? Basically all you have to do is fill out one of the subscription blanks in this magazine and send it in along with your money. But that still leaves you three possibilities: you can tell the recipient you are sending the subscription before you send it; you can just send in the subscription with your name as donor and a gift card will be sent to the recipient; or you can send the subscription anonymously. The seminary leaders suggested that the students check with their friends in advance to assure that no subscriptions would be wasted on someone who didn’t want one, but in practice everybody did it his own way. Kelly Manning, who was mentioned above, asked that his name be listed as donor but said nothing to the girls in advance. He felt that the element of surprise made the gift even more exciting. Shanna Grayson, on the other hand, sent an anonymous subscription to her nonmember cousins. A week later when visiting them, she saw the New Era on their coffee table and asked if they were reading it. They said they were and that they really enjoyed it.
Fawn Burrell found still another option. She sent a subscription to an inactive girl but did it in the name of her whole Mutual class. In the meantime somebody sent an anonymous gift subscription to her little brother who is a nonmember. He became an immediate fan and now reads every word as soon as a new issue comes, even if it means reading all night. He no sooner had the June issue open than he made Fawn sit down and play the leadership game with him. He is currently taking the missionary discussions.
Carrie Buffat told her friend in advance that she would be receiving a gift subscription. The friend was so excited that she kept coming back every few days, asking when the first issue was going to arrive. By the time it did, anticipation had whetted her appetite to a fine pitch. Many students reported this side-benefit of telling the recipient in advance, although some also said that if the magazine was late in coming, the person could get a little irritated.
In short, there doesn’t really seem to be a wrong way to send the New Era. You’ll have to examine each case on its own merits.
If you do decide to tell the lucky person in advance, what do you tell him? Vickie Owen simply said, “I’m giving you a gift subscription to the New Era magazine. I really enjoy reading it, and I think you will too.” Others explained in more detail what the New Era contained. Some mentioned specific articles they had enjoyed.
Just as we’re not all Captain M, we’re not all Mister Rich either, so we’re providing a special service for those with echoes in their pockets—a special six-month gift subscription for two dollars, in addition to the regular four dollar year’s subscription. Isn’t it worth giving up one movie in order to give your friend a six-month smile?
When your friend has received an issue or two of the magazine, you can mention specific articles from time to time in your conversation with him or her. If you feel there is a growing interest in the Church, you might want to follow up with some more direct missionary approaches. Be sensitive, use wisdom, and rely on the Spirit in making those decisions. Do not try to push the gospel down anyone’s throat. Missionary work requires love, not salesmanship. The gospel should be shared, not sold. We think that you, like the youth of Pocatello, will find it easier to share than you ever suspected, even if you’re not yet Captain M.
Although we at the New Era wholeheartedly recommend this program to you, we must humbly admit that it was not our idea. Ever since the first issue was published, many wise readers have been sharing the magazine with their nonmember friends through gift subscriptions. In fact, it was their success that inspired this program in the first place.
We’d like to share with you a little of their success through a few of the many letters we’ve received from nonmember readers.
Barbara Lemke of Sacramento, California, wrote: “This month marks my year-and-a-half anniversary. Since Christmas 1974 I have been receiving the New Era every month, and I’ve enjoyed each issue thoroughly. A very dear friend gave me a subscription as a gift, and I’m so glad she did. It keeps my Christmas spirit alive each month, renewing my awareness that Christ lived and died and rose again as an expression of our Father’s love for us. It reminds me that this isn’t just for a day in December, but for every day, every month, and every year of our lives, and the life hereafter. It also makes me happy to read about so many people who are in love with the idea of loving each other. Thank you for a wonderful magazine. Even though I’m not a Mormon, I can appreciate the love and thoughtfulness that go into every issue.”
Cindy Shufeldt of Jackson, Wyoming, demonstrates the missionary potential of the New Era in her letter: “The New Era really brightens my day. Just recently I read one through from cover to cover and then lent it to a girl friend. She quickly devoured every word, and then I took it to my place of employment—the Jackson Hole Playhouse Theatre—where it was passed around one evening. One of the guys in the cast adopted it, and I haven’t seen it since! I am an investigator of the Church, and I can’t express in words how much the New Era has helped me in my studies. In fact, you may wish to know that I plan to be baptized.”
In giving the New Era, you should always keep in mind that the personal example you set for your nonmember friends may have the largest influence of all on their attitude toward the Church. When they read the New Era, they will learn what the standards of an LDS youth should be. If you yourself are not living those standards, your gift may be in vain. If you are living those standards, the New Era’s effect will be multiplied.
Consider this letter from Kathleen Garvey of West Sacramento, California: “I am not a member of the Mormon church, but I really like the New Era and the inspiring articles it has each month. However, I wouldn’t be enjoying the New Era if it weren’t for my Mormon friend who has given me several subscriptions to your magazine. In addition to giving me the magazine, she has given me an even greater gift. She has set such a fantastic example for me by living the Church’s high standards that she has really helped me in leading a clean and spiritual life, which I might not have done otherwise. So thank you, Vicki, and thank you, New Era.”
“If it weren’t for my Mormon friend,” Kathleen wrote. Perhaps there is someone who will never have the opportunity of getting to know the gospel through the New Era, unless you give it to him.

Tears gathered in 56-year-old Frans Lekqwati’s eyes as he sat across from Olev Taim, his stake president. President Taim had just asked him what he thought about creating a branch of the Church in Frans’s hometown of Soweto, South Africa.
“Why are you crying? Did I offend you?” asked President Taim.
“No,” Frans responded. “This is the first time in South Africa that a white man has asked me my opinion before making a decision.”
The year was 1981. At the time, black and white people in South Africa were segregated under a system of laws known as apartheid. This legal separation, together with the Church’s restriction preventing black African men from being ordained to the priesthood, had long meant that the Church could not thrive among black South Africans. A new day dawned in 1978 when President Spencer W. Kimball received the revelation that lifted the priesthood restriction, but the challenges of segregation and a culture of suspicion between races remained.
The vast majority of black South Africans lived in townships, usually built on the outskirts of predominantly white cities such as Johannesburg. Soweto, short for South Western Townships, was the largest. White people rarely went to the townships, and black people who went to the cities were rarely treated as equals with the whites.
Frans and his family were part of a small group from Soweto who had embraced the restored gospel during the 1970s. At first they attended the Johannesburg Ward. Frans’s son Jonas remembered getting up on Sundays at 4:00 a.m. so the family could catch an early train into Johannesburg and then make the long walk to the chapel before the services started at 9:00 a.m. The family was always early—though sometimes it was difficult for the children to stay awake through Primary!
Being a pioneer of racial integration could also be an emotional challenge. Josiah Mohapi remembered overhearing a six-year-old white boy say something offensive about the black people he encountered at church. “To be honest, I became hot under the collar,” Josiah recalled. But then he heard the mother tell her son, “The Church is for everybody.” Comforted by the reminder, Josiah cooled down.
President Taim was aware of the physical and emotional challenges black members faced. He considered starting a branch in Soweto to make travel easier for them but did not want to make them feel as if they were unwelcome in Johannesburg. He decided to interview Soweto members like Frans to gauge their feelings before taking any action. They gave him a clear answer: “We would love to establish the Church in Soweto.”
President Taim identified experienced leaders who could help mentor recent converts. He interviewed over 200 members in Johannesburg and ultimately called 40 to join the new branch long enough to help train a pioneering group of local leaders there.
Just as black members had crossed into another part of town and another culture to attend the Johannesburg Ward, white members had to adjust to a new environment and culture as they served in Soweto. Things did not always go smoothly. Maureen van Zyl, a white member who had been called to serve as Primary president, thought nothing of it when the South African national anthem of the time was chosen as the opening song in Relief Society meeting one week. She soon learned, however, that black South Africans viewed the anthem as a symbol of apartheid and that many black sisters were offended by the choice of song.
Black and white members alike could easily have become discouraged by such misunderstandings, but they chose to see them as an opportunity for discussion and improvement instead. “We shared all sorts of things,” Maureen remembered. “As blacks, what would be offensive and as whites, what we’d find offensive. How they did certain things and how we did certain things. And so it was just this wonderful time of learning together.”
As the branch in Soweto grew stronger and larger, branches were started in other townships using the same model. Khumbulani Mdletshe was a young man living in the KwaMashu township near Durban. When he joined the Church in 1980, he brought with him suspicions of white people common to almost all young black men in South Africa at that time. But his experiences worshipping in an integrated branch changed his perspective.
In 1982, Khumbulani and several other young men in his branch were invited to attend a young single adult conference. His branch president, a white brother named John Mountford, wanted the young men to look their best, though few of them had nice clothing. He emptied his closet, distributing suits to the young men, who wore them to the conference. The next Sunday, President Mountford wore the suit he had loaned to Khumbulani. “I could not imagine a white person wearing the same clothes that have been worn by me,” Khumbulani recalled, “but there he was. He began to help me see white people differently than I’ve ever seen them before.”
Now an Area Seventy, Elder Mdletshe observed, “We all needed these lived experiences that caused us to change.”
Years before apartheid ended, the Johannesburg South Africa Temple, dedicated in 1985, helped unite members of the Church.
Apartheid in South Africa ended in 1994. While many congregations today exist in mostly black or mostly white areas, the greater freedom means that an increasing number of areas are mixed. Like the pioneers of the first branches in the townships, members with different backgrounds worship and work together to build up the kingdom of God.
The current Soweto stake president, Thabo Lebethoa, describes the gospel as glue that binds people together in times of division. “We may not have agreed on things that were happening outside church, with politics and other things,” he observed, “but we agreed on the doctrine.” Working from that shared foundation, people can learn from each other’s differences as they counsel carefully and listen with spiritual sensitivity. “One of the most important things about leadership is to listen to people,” President Lebethoa advises. “Listen so that you can understand. Listen so that you can feel. Listen so that you can receive inspiration.”
Thoba Karl-Halla, the daughter of early Soweto Branch member Julia Mavimbela, agrees that listening helps keep inevitable friction from turning into painful division. “I should listen with an ear that would make me understand the frustrations of the person who might probably come out as an offender to me,” she says.
Elder Mdletshe urges South African Saints today to find strength in their diversity, especially in council settings. “The Lord would have liked that,” he observes, “to have people from all walks of life sit around the table and talk about the issues.” His call to local leaders throughout the Church is to continue to build up leaders from different backgrounds, just as a past generation supported him. When trying to reach new areas and new groups, he notes, “you’re not going to find experienced people. But you build experiences in the Church. You build experiences by bringing people right into the center and having them work together.”

One Christmas season when I was about five, I saw in a store window a jigsaw puzzle with a picture of an old fire engine going full speed down the street. The horses pulling it were galloping, smoke from the engine chimney was blowing out behind, and dogs were barking. I passed that store window many times and glued my eyes on that picture. I wanted that puzzle for Christmas more than I wanted a sled or skates or anything else.
When Christmas morning finally came, I found hung on my chair a stocking full of good things. But right off I spotted my puzzle. It was wrapped in bright paper, but I could tell by the shape what it was. I quickly opened the box and was soon lost in the pleasure of putting the puzzle together.
Before long my father came into the room and explained to my younger brother, older sister, and me that the Jensen family down the street had recently come from Denmark. He said the father had no job and no money, and then he suggested that we take our Christmas dinner to them. He also asked each of us to select our most loved toy and give it to a child in the Jensen family.
Father said we would leave at eleven forty-five and were to be ready then with our toys.
Before we left for the Jensen’s, I spent three happy hours playing with and enjoying my puzzle. I thought about giving something else, but I knew deep down that there was only one gift to give.
At eleven forty-five we all started out. Father carried the turkey on a platter. Mother and my sister Emily followed with potatoes, gravy, dressing, cranberries, and dessert. And under my arm, carefully rewrapped, was my fire engine puzzle.
When we entered the Jensen home, Father placed the turkey on the small bare table in the corner, and the others followed.
Each one of us in turn then gave his present. Emily gave her beautiful doll to the girl. I stepped forward and looked at the boy about my age. “Here,” I said as I pushed the puzzle at him. He took it from me and smiled. Next my brother gave his offering to the smallest child. And then we returned home.
It was strange, but somehow as I walked the block between our house and the Jensen’s, it seemed as if my feet didn’t touch the ground. I felt as though I were floating on clouds of good feeling, for I knew I had made someone else happy.
Even our Christmas dinner of canned beans, bread, butter, and bottled fruit had a special and unforgettable meaning on that special Christmas Day!

Long before the sun rises over Buenos Aires, Argentina, the moist morning air carries quiet sounds of students arriving at a chapel located in a busy area of the city. A key turns, and the door is opened. A group of students enter, and then the door is locked—a standard security measure in the dark hours before dawn. A soft knock, and someone runs to let in more students, whose smiles and cheer belie the early-morning hour. In all, 13 students arrive to begin their day by studying the New Testament. After class, they enjoy a simple breakfast prepared by one of the parents. Fortified in body and spirit, the students leave for school or work.

In the midst of the last-minute hubbub of parting friends, a woman walking down the street sees the meetinghouse gate open and hesitantly enters. “Are you Mormons?” she asks. “My son wants to be like his cousins in Mendoza who are Mormons. Can someone tell me about your church?” Coincidentally, missionaries arrive at the chapel, and arrangements are soon in place to introduce the woman to the gospel of Jesus Christ. This scene, illuminated by the early-morning rays of the rising sun, captures two sources of hope for the future of the Church in Argentina: the strength of the rising generation and a growing missionary harvest.

It was July 1915, and the world was at war. But the struggles on the battlefield could not have been more emotion-shearing than the confrontation storming in our English home.
It had been a tempestuous session; my father had hurled malicious arguments at me since 9:00 in the evening, and it was now past midnight. I had dreaded the interview, but father was a mariner, and his ship was leaving soon. In those days no one knew exactly when a boat would return. Not only were schedules less exact and more subject to nature’s unpredictable furies, but now the waters swarmed with submarines. Torpedoes hunted merchants, soldiers, and passengers with equal vindictiveness.
All the missionaries in Europe were being called home on a ship departing on November 26. All emigrants had to leave that day, too, or wait until World War I ended. I wanted to be on that boat. I wanted to travel on that boat in the company and protection of the priesthood.
Knowing that father had been bitter against the Church for the last 15 years had given me a good idea that I would need divine help in obtaining his permission to separate myself from my family. Not sure when he would land in an English port again, I had known it would be necessary to speak to him before morning. Now for hours he had been bellowing reasons why he deemed my action irrational. But I had prayed long and hard for the Lord’s aid in softening my earthly father’s heart.
A tassel of his gray hair toppled over the furrows of his forehead. He had stopped his pacing before the fireplace, only momentarily, to announce his decision: “All right, you may go to America. But remember, I have seen much of that country, and I do not like it. I shall never live there. Your mother will stay with me, and you will never see either of us again.”
What I had thought would be a moment of relief filled my soul with agony. Those words, “You will never see your mother again,” had done what three hours of argumentation had failed to do. Every device had been used to make me change my mind, and now the final dagger stabbed deep, twisting in my heart. Leaving my mother would stretch my cord of faith into a fragile thread.
The bond was solid between Mother and me. Our mutual love of the gospel of Jesus Christ had drawn us close. But Father was the head of his home, and logic argued with him that his prediction would probably come true.
Then, somehow, words said years before fought their way into my mind, surmounting despair and reinforcing my faith. With a surge of courage I squared my shoulders and looked deep into my father’s eyes. “It may not be so, Father,” I said. “It was a few years ago, but the mission president told Mother that if she were faithful, she would gather to Zion. I believe that promise. All the obstacles will be removed.”
My father’s face registered astonishment, disbelief, and anger.
His hands clenched and unclenched. The outburst left me limp and numb.
I looked across the room at Mother. She was living every emotional vibration but knew better than to interfere. It was enough. I had my father’s word, and he would not break it.
I decided I had better go to bed and let things calm down until Dad left in the morning. There would be plenty of time to get ready for my journey after he had gone to sea.
Two weeks later my mother and I sat in a small compartment of a train headed to the docks. My married sister had come to bid me farewell. Looking at her for what I was sure would be the last time, I realized the love she had for me. Tears tumbled down her cheeks, though she had kept up her English reserve until then. We were not a demonstrative family, but now I thought, If I had known you loved me so much, it would have been even harder to leave.
My sister had arranged for the Baptist minister to talk to me in her home, and he warned of the sinking of the Lusitania in May of that year, which rushed 1,189 people into eternity. But I was filled with the spirit of gathering prevalent among the Saints in that day, and I had faith in the priesthood. My commitment had been made.
Mother and I reached Liverpool in the total darkness of a blackout. A guide escorted us through a maze of unlighted streets. Finally we could make out what seemed to be an immense wall in front of us. We were told it was the ship. Boarding procedure followed blackout restrictions, too, and we entered the ship in darkness.
The guide wanted to rush me in and Mother away. I turned to Mom, wrapping her in a tight hug with my arms, and said, “Don’t grieve. The Lord said it will be a land of Zion to us if we pay our tithing. And you know I pay my tithing.”
“Yes, my dear, I am sure of that,” she said. “God bless you.” She kissed me and disappeared into the shadows of the crowd.
February’s white snow piled powderpuffs on the fence posts and frosted the windows of homes in the Utah village in which I now resided. It had been seven months since I left Liverpool. Perhaps Lucifer had heard my parting words about tithing and decided to mock me. The lack of prospects for work dulled the beauty of the winter day. I was homesick, disappointed, and lonely.
The postman crunched up the sidewalk and slid an envelope through the slot in the door. It was a letter from my mother. She, too, was struggling. My brother stared death in the face every day in the trenches of France; Father’s location on the ocean was unknown, except perhaps to a periscope prowling icy waters. And she wasn’t worrying alone, she said. Neighbors worried, too. Everything was secret and suspense clouded the atmosphere.
My patriarchal blessing appointment was scheduled that afternoon, and I should have been busy preparing myself for it. But even through my fasting and prayer, my concerns about my family floated to the surface of my mind. I wished my family could join me to hear the patriarch’s words! I dropped the letter from my hands as I sobbed, releasing tears I had stored inside since the day I had last seen England.
I dropped to my knees by my bed and uttered the most sincere, heartrending prayer of my 19-year life. I told Heavenly Father I was sorry to be so weak, but that he knew how homesick I was, how disappointed to be out of work, how concerned about my family.
I said that if he could see fit to give me two promises in my patriarchal blessing, then I could be brave enough to endure anything the future held. I pleaded that my family and friends might someday come to this country and that I would someday be married in the temple.
I left the house and walked a block to the patriarch’s home. I spoke to no one and saw no one. But my Father knew of my prayer. That good patriarch came in from working in his fields and invited me to dinner. The food fortified me, and I was able to restrain my tears. We went to a private place, with his granddaughter along to act as scribe.
He described glorious promises, many of them. Then I heard, as it were, my own words, the ones I had spoken to my Father about one hour before: “Your loved ones from whom you have been parted—the Lord will bless and protect them, and many of them will follow you to the fold of the Good Shepherd and bask in the life-giving light of the gospel of their Redeemer. With them you will sing the songs of Zion and have much joy in their society. You shall have the privilege of going to the house of the Lord to receive a worthy helpmate and companion to be with you for time and all eternity.”
The patriarch continued outlining the blessings the Lord planned for me if I lived worthily. While he did, quiet tears trickled down my face. Heaven was in my heart.
When the patriarch had finished, I thanked him, tried to dry my face, and rushed home. I walked into my room, picked up my pen and wrote, “It’s all right now, Mother; Heavenly Father will protect George and Father. And you will come to Zion. Our Heavenly Father has said it. Be brave until we meet again. Much love, Mary.”
Many prayers in my life have been answered just as rapidly as the one concerning my patriarchal blessing, but time has not dimmed that miracle to me. I felt power, exultation, and gratitude; it seemed that my Father in heaven had come down and answered my requests in my own words through the patriarch. The promises all came true after many trials. Through the difficult times, the blessing fortified me. We are finer for the things we learn through the ups and downs of life, but the joy always outweighs the pain. Through my patriarchal blessing, I learned the happiness of compliance with the divine instruction given in Proverbs 3:5–6 [Prov. 3:5–6]:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

George and Hine Chase of New Zealand found that their mission call was just right for them; they were pleasantly surprised when so many of their vocational and family talents helped them do humanitarian work in Papua New Guinea.
Elder Chase had been a carpenter and could help assess and organize projects such as establishing water wells. Sister Chase had worked for 18 years in office management. “My administration and computer skills were invaluable,” she says. She and Elder Chase used their combined abilities to run a career workshop program, helping locals learn skills like time management, organization, leadership, hygiene, and communication.
Together the Chases used the experience they’d gained from their Church callings and—most of all—from being parents. As the Chases worked to distribute school supplies and improve infant child care, their parenting experience helped them appreciate the difficulties local families and schools faced.

At first, the LDS Hour seemed to be a service just for Church members. But Brother Noble and the boys found out that the show was being watched by an audience they hadn’t quite expected. They found that members who have not been attending church for years are tuning in.
“They don’t want to commit themselves to attend church meetings, but they want some connection. One lady who watches our show was baptized 33 years ago,” said Brother Noble. “Her home teachers and visiting teachers have never been successful in encouraging her to attend the ward. But she watches the program and calls her friends to watch it.”

One of the blessings I have had while working at BYU–Hawaii has been to have the friendship of Isileli Tupou Kongaika. He comes from a family of faith, one that understands the importance of covenants. Isi’s parents were poor by U.S. standards. They had saved for years to go to the temple. When a group from Tonga was going to the New Zealand Temple, they wanted to go too, but Isi’s father Viliami realized that there was only enough savings for him and his wife to go. He postponed going because he said, “When we go we all go.” So he set to selling everything they had. They sold their frame home, the cook house, the stove, the furniture, all the furnishings and then the cows, pigs, and other animals, even Viliami’s bicycle and his wife’s sewing machine. They literally had nothing but their clothes, but they had enough money that all could go to the temple. They travelled to New Zealand and made the sacred covenants in the holy temple and had all their family sealed together. Later after returning home, they began to try to build a home again, starting from nothing. Not long after, a hurricane hit the small island, and everyone on the island lost everything. Viliami was to remark something like this: “We are poor, but everyone on the island is poor. The difference is that now we have a family sealed for eternity.” If they had kept everything, they would have lost it and not had the covenant. To the Kongaikas, obtaining the covenant was worth selling all they had. It was like the pearl of great price mentioned in the New Testament where the individual sold all he had so he could buy it.

I remember well an experience I had as a passenger in a small two-propeller airplane. One of its engines suddenly burst open and caught on fire. The propeller of the flaming engine wasn’t moving anymore. As we dropped in a steep spiral dive toward the earth, I expected to die. Some of the passengers screamed in hysterical panic.
Miraculously the steep dive put out the flames. Then, by starting up the other engine, the pilot was able to get the plane under control and bring us down safely.
Throughout that ordeal, though I “knew” death was coming, I was not afraid to die. I remember a sense of returning home to meet ancestors for whom I had done temple work. I remember my deep sense of gratitude that my sweetheart and I had been sealed eternally to each other and to our children, born and raised in the covenant.
The Lord has said, “Fear not even unto death; for in this world your joy is not full, but in me your joy is full” (D&C 101:36).
I realized that day that my marriage in the temple was my most important accomplishment. Honors bestowed upon me by men could not approach the inner peace provided by sealings performed in the house of the Lord.

On the last Sunday in April 1834, Joseph Smith invited a number of the leaders of the Church to address Zion’s Camp volunteers gathered in a schoolhouse. After the brethren had concluded their messages, the Prophet arose and indicated that he had been edified by the instruction. He then prophesied:
“I want to say to you before the Lord, that you know no more concerning the destinies of this Church and kingdom than a babe upon its mother’s lap. You don’t comprehend it. … It is only a little handfull of Priesthood you see here tonight, but this Church will fill North and South America—it will fill the world.”11
Men such as Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Orson Pratt, and Wilford Woodruff listened to and learned much from the Prophet that night—and years later helped to fulfill his prophetic pronouncement. What glorious opportunities these men had to observe, to learn from, and to follow the Prophet.

In June, between my freshman and sophomore years of high school, my oldest brother took some of the younger brothers for a few days hiking and camping in the mountains of Central Idaho. This was a welcome respite from the daily chores of life on a dairy farm to which I had become accustomed. We had a great time.

One afternoon, about ten days after returning from our trip, as I was out in the barn performing a deep clean of the milking system, I began to feel quite sick. After finishing the chore, I went to the house and reported to my mother that I had a pounding headache. She told me to go lay down, which I gladly did.

That evening my headache and I attended mutual together. After mutual I went to softball practice for our young men's church team. At the time, our stake played fast pitch softball and while I was taking my turn at batting practice, I was struck in the head with a high and inside pitch. It knocked me to the ground and I was done for the night. I got home and immediately went to bed.

The next day, I felt even worse. My parents and I didn't know if I hurt because I was actually sick or because I had been hit in the head with the softball. On the second day I felt worse yet and could not keep any food down. My head was still pounding, I had a high fever, every muscle in my body seemed to ache, and I nearly passed out every time I tried to stand. A rash began to appear on parts of my body.

My father gave me a priesthood blessing and my mother took me to the doctor. After nearly passing out in the doctor's office, the doctor decided to admit me to the hospital so that I could receive an IV in order to avoid becoming dehydrated. Once there, all sorts of tests were administered, but the doctor couldn't figure out what was wrong with me.

After being in the hospital two days and the doctors yet to determine my ailment, I remember pleading with Heavenly Father to direct the doctors to know what to do. That night my mother was at home fast asleep when she was suddenly awakened. She sat straight up in bed as she distinctly heard the words, "Keith has Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever." She immediately jumped out of bed and consulted her medical books. All of the symptoms described were an exact match of what I had been experiencing and she read that it could be fatal. She immediately called the doctor and told him what my illness was. The doctor consulted his medical books, agreed with my mother, and I was treated for Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.

Even though we had diligently checked for ticks, apparently one found me to be of its liking, burrowed in, and went undetected in our daily examinations. I slowly gained my strength back throughout the rest of the summer and was able to play football that fall. This experience helped me realize that I was developing a greater trust in Jesus Christ and that He personally cared about me. In looking back, I also realize that through my prayers and pleading with Heavenly Father, I was learning to take over the helm of my own ship from my parents.

When enemies of the Church saw this increase in temple activity, they renewed their determination to drive the Mormons away. They obtained a warrant for the arrest of Brigham Young and eight other Apostles. On December 23, government officials went to the temple to arrest Brigham Young. Knowing that they were coming, Brigham knelt and asked for guidance and protection so that he could “live to prove advantageous to the Saints.”
Soon afterward he noticed William Miller in the hall. He proposed a plan to Brother Miller who was about the same height as President Young.
Brother Miller put on President Young’s cloak and left the temple in his carriage. The waiting marshals thought that he was Brigham Young and arrested him. They took him to the Mansion House, where friends and relatives of Brigham went along with the masquerade. Miller was then taken to Carthage and held until someone who knew Brigham told them that they had the I wrong man. In the meantime Brigham Young and the others had gone safely into hiding.