Gospel Story Finder

I can remember as a young boy hearing my mother and father in our daily family prayers asking for the kind and protecting care of our Heavenly Father to be with us during that day, or on a particular trip, or during any special activity in which we might be engaged. I was so impressed by those pleadings with the Lord by my dear parents that I incorporated them into my personal prayers as well, and later into our own family prayers.

“Ship 3527 to mission control. We’re entering launch codes. Stand by.” Nathan’s four-inch-tall stuffed monkey couldn’t really talk, and he wasn’t really the copilot in a brigade of intergalactic star fighters, but as Nathan sat on a swing outside his elementary school on a warm Saturday afternoon with the monkey perched in his lap, he couldn’t help letting his imagination get carried away. He pictured his miniature copilot typing in a flurry of complicated formulas, preparing their ship to launch.
Nathan gripped the swing ropes and shuffled backward, careful not to let the monkey slip from his lap. He was now in ready position.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1 … we have ignition!” With an explosive whoosh, Nathan shot forward into motion. Pumping furiously, he propelled himself higher and higher, faster and faster, as he imagined the two of them soaring past the moon, past Mars, out of the solar system, out of the galaxy.
“Nathan! Come over here!” The voice of one of Nathan’s neighborhood pals brought him back to reality. “Look at this sand village I built! Do you want to help? We could make it huge!”
Nathan leaped from the swing and tossed his monkey onto a nearby bench so it wouldn’t get dirty. “OK,” he said. “I’ll start on the roads.”
The boys were just finishing the town when Nathan’s mom called out from a nearby bench, “Nathan, it’s time to go home.”
Nathan stood up, brushed the sand from his clothes, and headed toward Mom. They walked across the grass, down the street, around the corner, and into their front yard. Suddenly, Nathan gasped. “Oh no! My copilot!”
After a quick explanation to Mom, Nathan ran around the corner back to the school playground. Drawing close to the familiar bench, he was puzzled to find it bare. He checked under it, around it, and behind it, but there was no stuffed animal. Desperately, he scanned the area for any sign of his favorite toy, but all he could see were swings, slides, an abandoned city of sand, and a couple of kids playing catch with their dog. The monkey was gone.
Nathan carefully retraced his steps around the playground but couldn’t find the monkey anywhere. Losing hope, Nathan was about to give up the search when he remembered something his mom had told him about prayer: “If you ask the Lord for something that’s right, you’ll receive it.” He knelt on the ground and pleaded, “Heavenly Father, could you please help me find my monkey?” When the prayer was finished, he stood and thought for a moment. “I’ll just look one more time,” he decided.
He looked up and saw the children who had been playing with their dog walking by. He was about to walk right past them when a thought came to his mind: maybe they could help.
“Did either of you see a little stuffed monkey?” he asked them.
The kids looked at each other and laughed. “Yeah,” one of them said sheepishly. “We didn’t think it belonged to anyone, so we tossed it around and let our dog try to catch it.”
“I threw it too hard,” the other boy said, “and it landed on the roof of the school. I’m really sorry.”
Nathan couldn’t help grinning in relief. “It’s OK,” he said. “I’ll get it down. Thanks!”
Later, with the help of his parents, Nathan was able to get his monkey down from the roof. He realized how blessed he had been to meet those kids before they left, and how fortunate it was that he had thought to ask them about his toy. Without their help, the monkey would never have been found. He was grateful that his prayer had been answered.
Nathan tucked the monkey firmly into his pocket and radioed mission control. “This is ship 3527. Copilot recovered. We’re ready for launch once more.”
And with a nod from his parents, Nathan shot down the road toward home, happy to be back in the pilot’s seat with his favorite stuffed friend.

One day at school, a few of my classmates were making fun of another student by calling him names. It looked like fun, so I joined them. For a few weeks, I made fun of him with my friends.
Several weeks later, the boy told me how he was feeling. He was hurt by our words even though he pretended like he didn’t care that we were making fun of him. He said he cried every night. I almost cried when he told me. I wanted to help him and decided to apologize for what I had said to him.
So the next day, I went up to him and put my arm around his shoulder. I said, “I’m really sorry that I made fun of you.” He nodded at my words, and his eyes filled up with tears. But the other kids were still making fun of him. Then I remembered what I learned in my Primary class: choose the right.
I told my classmates valiantly, “Stop making fun of him! Do you guys know how hard this has been for him? Please say you’re sorry for what you have done and be his friend.”
But they wouldn’t change that easily. Instead, they were mad at me and said, “What’s the matter with you all of a sudden? You made fun of him too!”
I still felt bad for what I had done before. So I said, “I already said sorry to him. I want you to understand how he feels and stop making fun of him too.”
One of them said sorry, and the three of us became good friends. A few people still make fun of him, but he feels better because he has us. I will choose the right by helping a friend in need.

Our youngest daughter, Abby, saw a unique opportunity to stand as a defender of the role of mother. One day she got a notice from her children’s school that they were having Career Day presentations at the school. Parents were invited to send in an application if they wanted to come to school to teach the children about their jobs, and Abby felt impressed to apply to come and speak about motherhood. She didn’t hear back from the school, and when Career Day was getting close, she finally called the school, thinking they may have lost her application. The organizers scrambled around and found two teachers who agreed to have Abby come talk to their classes at the end of Career Day.
In her very fun presentation to the children, Abby taught them, among other things, that as a mother she needed to be somewhat of an expert in medicine, psychology, religion, teaching, music, literature, art, finance, decorating, hair styling, chauffeuring, sports, culinary arts, and so much more. The children were impressed. She finished by having the children remember their mothers by writing thank-you notes expressing gratitude for the many loving acts of service they received daily. Abby felt that the children saw their mothers in a whole new light and that being a mother or father was something of great worth. She applied to share again this year at Career Day and was invited to present to six classes.
Abby has said of her experience: “I feel like it could be easy in this world for a child to get the sense that being a parent is a secondary job or even sometimes a necessary inconvenience. I want every child to feel like they are the most important priority to their parent, and maybe telling them how important being a parent is to me will help them realize all that their parents do for them and why.”

There is a better gift, but it will take effort now. My dad, when he was a boy, must have tackled the rowboat problem and lots of others. That was part of the equipment he needed to become a scientist who would make a difference to chemistry. But he also made a difference to me. Our family room didn’t look as elegant as some. It had one kind of furniture—chairs—and one wall decoration—a green chalkboard. I came to the age your boy or girl will reach. I didn’t wonder if I could work the math problems; I’d proved to my satisfaction that I couldn’t. And some of my teachers were satisfied that that was true too.

But Dad wasn’t satisfied. He thought I could do it. So we took turns at that chalkboard. I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and gave to me. But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice. His teaching took more than knowing what I needed and caring. It took more than being willing to give his time then, precious as it was. It took time he had spent earlier when he had the chances you have now. Because he had spent time then, he and I could have that time at the chalkboard and he could help me.

And because he gave me that, I’ve got a boy who let me sit down with him one year. We rowed that same boat up and down. And his teacher wrote “much improved” on his report card. But I’ll tell you what improved most: the feelings of a fine boy about himself. Nothing I will put under a Christmas tree for Stuart has half the chance of becoming a family heirloom that his pride of accomplishment does.

My eldest son was always a healthy, obedient, and focused child in the ways of the Lord. When the time came to serve a mission, he was prepared. I remember him saying that he had always planned to be a missionary and we, as his parents, were happy and grateful. He was always a loving child and had a wonderful sense of humor that charmed everyone who knew him.
A year and a half after serving an honorable mission, he was attending college with defined goals for his life, preparing for a profession, meeting an eternal companion, and starting a family. I was the happiest and most peaceful mother to have such a focused, loved, and cherished son.
On May 2, 2022, while I was working from home, I received news that would forever change my life and that of my family. My eldest son had drowned at a beach. It couldn’t be true! Did I hear wrong? Was it a joke? No, it was real. For a moment, I felt like I was falling into an endless abyss. Then the thought came to me that my son was already on the other side of the veil.
I went to my room and knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father like never before. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t complain. I simply asked for strength. I did it with so much faith and certainty that from that moment, everything passed in slow motion.
I cried for my beloved son, but at the same time, I felt that everything would be okay. I felt calm. I thought of the temple, the covenants I made there with my husband, and the promises given to my family.
From that moment, I had the strength to comfort my younger son, be a loving companion to my devastated husband, and I fully, and without any doubt, believe that families can be eternal. I understood that my son had moved to the other side of the veil, but he continued to be and still is my beloved son. I felt and recognized that his time on earth had ended, but that one day I could embrace him again and we would be together forever.

In 2002 Goodson Mofya Kapata was called as the first branch president of the Kitwe, Zambia Branch, but his conversion took place many years before that.
One day while cleaning shelves in his home, Brother Kapata found a pamphlet about Joseph Smith, and after reading it he knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was true. His whole family came to agree with him. In 1994 Brother Kapata and his sister were on their way to be baptized when their car broke down. When they went again the following day, they found out that the Church had withdrawn from the Copperbelt area where Kitwe is located. For eight years Brother Kapata waited for the Church to return.
In 2002 a senior missionary couple was sent to the Copperbelt to help members there, and in October 2002 Brother Kapata and his family were finally able to be baptized. Two months later Brother Kapata was ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood and set apart as the president of the newly formed Kitwe Branch.
Zimbabwe Harare Mission annual history, 2002, 3, folder 1, Church History Library, Salt Lake City (LR 2012146 3).

We found a place to stay in Ogden with a family named Ferrin. Mother got better and cooked for this household of grown men in return for our board and room. I fell in love with one of the Ferrin brothers, Jacob Samuel. We were married in the Endowment House, and we moved to Provo with my brother Heber.
Later my husband and I moved to Arizona, where we were once again pioneers in an unknown territory.

Kennedy was orphaned when both parents passed passed away from undiagnosed diseases just a couple of months apart. They left behind eight cherished children, the youngest just three weeks old. The lives of Kennedy and his brothers and sisters were forever changed. The emptiness and loss robbed him of hope. That feeling would follow him for many years. His Spirit craved acceptance, love and belonging.
As a young orphan, Kennedy depended on others for survival. Prior to being brought to the children’s center, he and his siblings were scattered among relatives. As with most experiences in life, some of the times were good, some desperate. Throughout it all, and despite separation from each other, the siblings remain bonded together. His older brother Bwalya was ever present in his life and took on the role of father and protector even though he was only two years older than Kennedy.
Kennedy was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when he was nine and became a baptized member at the age of eleven. Five siblings were also baptized.
As a young teenager, life became difficult for Kennedy when no funds were available for his continued housing, food and much desired education. It was at this time that BJ Warnick, Sandra Peters, and Anthony Mulenga—who had all known Kennedy since he was four—were able to take him into their care. Through their Heart to Hands Foundation, he and Bwalya were immediately adopted into their flock. While it was obvious that Kennedy needed the basics required for daily survival, what he really needed was hope and love and they had plenty of that to offer. Kennedy said while he was not officially adopted, it was even better. He now had two moms. With his new family’s help, he was able to complete grade twelve, obtain a driver’s license and complete auto mechanic school. Again, he was wrapped in the arms of his Savior, but it was through the acts of others. Kennedy remarked, “I don’t know who I would have become without the continual love of my enlarged family and friends who have dedicated so much time to me.”
It was a year ago that Kennedy made the decision to serve a mission and to become those arms of the Savior for others. His ‘better than adopted family’, his brother Bwalya and his determined Bishop Michael Simbeya in the Libala Ward helped him prepare. While at the Ghana MTC, before departing to the Kenya Nairobi mission, miracles occurred and he was able to attend the temple and take part not only in his father’s ordinance work, but also to participate in the sealing of his parents and finally his sealing to them for time and all eternity.
Now, as Elder Chitalu, in the mission office he met Sister Stacie Sturt, mission leader for Kenya Nairobi West Mission. She captured this beautiful photo of Elder Kennedy Chitalu standing in front of the picture of his much younger self, cradled in the arms of his Savior. Now he wears a name tag as a representative of Jesus Christ. It is his turn to wrap his arms around others and help bring them to Christ. He testifies: “I know and stand as a solemn witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, and I know that His Atonement has healing power for all kinds of afflictions”.

Another mother I know of has sat alone at church for a number of years with her four young children. Seldom able to concentrate on the Savior during the sacrament, she formed a plan. Now she tries to spend time each Saturday reviewing her week and thinking about her covenants and what she needs to repent of. “Then,” she says, “no matter what kind of an experience I have with my children on Sunday, I am prepared to partake of the sacrament, renew my covenants, and feel of the cleansing power of the Atonement.”

Did you ever stop to think how difficult it would be to be the only hearing-impaired person in your ward? Daniel Frame of Lansing, Kansas, has.
On his application for the Robert K. Neeley Scholarship that enables a hearing-impaired student in the Chicago Temple District to attend an “Especially for Deaf” session at BYU, Daniel wrote, “My home ward is a hearing ward where everything I do must be done with my parents, who act as interpreters. Attending the ‘Especially for Deaf’ conference would be my first opportunity to participate in a learning and spiritual activity with other deaf members of the Church.”
Daniel got the scholarship and hopes to use some of the things he learns there on his mission next year.

Anders had a new cap. His mother had knit it for him, and he thought no one could ever make anything quite as nice as his mother! The cap was red except for a small blue section in the middle and a blue tassel.
All of Anders’s brothers and sisters thought the cap was beautiful, and he wanted everyone else to see and admire it too.
One day he put the cap on and went for a walk. The very first person he met was a farmhand, who was walking beside a cart loaded with wood and driving his horse. When the man saw Anders’s new cap, he bowed so low that he was almost bent double. Anders was pleased, but he only nodded as he walked by.
At the turn of the road Anders met the tanner’s overgrown boy Lars, who was wearing a pair of fine high boots and whittling on a stick with a bone-handled jackknife. Now when Lars saw Anders’s beautiful cap, he stopped whittling to admire it. And he could not keep himself from going up close to Anders to touch the handsome blue tassel.
“I’ll trade you my cap for yours,” he cried, “and my jackknife besides!”
Lars’s knife was a splendid one, and Anders was sure that having a jackknife would make him feel manly. But still he would not give up the cap his mother had made even for the knife. So he nodded goodbye to Lars and went on his way.
Soon after this Anders met a strange little lady. She curtsied to him until her skirts spread out about her like a balloon. “Lad, you look so fine in your cap that you could wear it to the king’s ball!” she declared. Then why don’t I? thought Anders. Wearing this cap, I am certainly properly dressed to go and visit the king.
And off he went.
Two uniformed soldiers with guns on their shoulders and shining helmets on their heads were guarding the palace gate.
“Where are you going?” one of the soldiers asked.
“To the king’s ball,” answered Anders.
“No, you are not,” challenged the other soldier. “No one can go to the king’s ball except in formal dress.”
But just at this moment the princess, dressed in a white gown with ribbons of gold, was out walking. She overheard the guards arguing and went to see what the commotion was about.
“It’s true this boy is not formally dressed,” she said, “but his elegant cap is enough. Let him in so he can attend the ball.”
Then the princess took Anders by the hand and walked with him up the broad marble stairs, past all the soldiers who stood on every third step, and through the long, magnificent halls where gentlemen and ladies in silk and velvet were waiting for the ball to begin. And wherever Anders went, the people bowed to him. Such attention is all because of my cap, thought Anders, nodding to each one as he passed.
At one end of the largest hall a table was set with long rows of golden plates and shining goblets. Pyramids of tarts and cakes were heaped on huge silver platters. The princess seated herself at the table and motioned for Anders to sit in a golden chair by her side.
“But you must not eat with your cap on your head,” she said and reached over to remove it.
“Oh, but I can eat just as well with it on,” claimed Anders, holding onto the cap with both hands.
“Please give it to me,” begged the princess, “and I will give you a kiss.”
The princess was beautiful, and Anders would not have minded a kiss from her, but he was afraid she would not give him back the princely cap that his mother had made. So he only shook his head and moved farther back in his chair. Then the princess filled his pockets full of cakes, put her own heavy gold chain around his neck, and bent down and kissed him.
At that moment the doors were opened and the king himself entered, accompanied by his attendants in glittering uniforms. The king wore a mantle of blue velvet, bordered with ermine, and he had a large gold crown on his head.
When he saw Anders in the golden chair, he smiled and said, “That is a very fine cap you are wearing.”
“Yes it is,” Anders agreed. “My mother knit it herself from the very best yarn, and now everyone wants to get it away from me.”
“But surely you would change caps with me,” said the king, lifting the sparkling jeweled crown from his head.
Anders did not say a word. But when the king came close to him, holding his gold crown in one hand and reaching for the beautiful cap with the other, Anders leaped from his chair. Like an arrow he darted out of the hall, through the palace, down the stairs, and across the courtyard. He ran so fast that the necklace the princess had given him fell to the ground, and all the cakes tumbled out of his pockets.
But he still had his cap! With both hands he clutched it tightly until he was home.
“Well, Anders, where have you been?” cried his mother, startled.
So he told her the surprising things that had happened to him, while his brothers and sisters stood and listened, their mouths open in amazement.
When his older brother heard how Anders had refused to give his cap in exchange for the king’s golden crown, he cried out, “Anders, you foolish boy! Just think of all the things you might have had after selling the king’s golden crown! Besides, you could have bought yourself a much finer cap, one with a feather instead of just a tassel on it.”
“I was not foolish!” Anders declared. “I could never have bought a finer cap, not even in exchange for a king’s crown. I could never have bought anything in all this world half so fine as the cap my mother made for me!”
And his mother smiled at him lovingly and kissed him.

My father’s name is Jean de Dieu Nsanzurwimimo. He was born in Rwanda’s Western Province. He married my mom, Emmeline Mukamusonera, in 1981, after they met in Kigali, Rwanda’s capital city.
My parents came from very different backgrounds; my father was a member of Rwanda’s majority ruling Hutu tribe, and my mother is from the Tutsi tribe. In Rwanda when they were growing up, there was an extended civil war and a long-simmering conflict between the two tribes. This animosity led extremist groups of Hutus to promote the ideology that all the Tutsi people living in Rwanda should be killed.
I was born in 1994, just four months before a series of events led to a catastrophic genocide of Rwanda’s Tutsi population, led by Hutu extremists who took over the government. During a 100-­day period from April 7 until mid-­July, nearly one million Rwandans were brutally killed, including as many as 70% of the Tutsi population.
Even before the 1994 Tutsi genocide, many leaders of the Hutu tribe taught that a Hutu man married to a Tutsi woman should be required to kill her and all her family to show his allegiance to his tribe. Because of those teachings, and to better protect his family, my father moved his wife and children to a small village near Cyangugu, in the far southwestern corner of Rwanda. Even in that small village, the majority of Hutu villagers spurned and rejected my mother because she was a Tutsi. But my father continued to protect us. In 1993, when the tension and genocide ideology increased, she was pregnant with me and caring for my three older sisters. Because it was known that she was a Tutsi, our family didn’t have many friends and it was dangerous every time she had to fetch water or go to the market. It was a very difficult time for her, but always my father was on her side, protecting her and taking care of his family.
During this time, there were constant meetings in the community where the locals were given machetes and guns and trained on how to kill the Tutsis. Every week they had a community meeting. In March 1994, my father attended a town meeting where it was announced that Hutu men married to a Tutsi woman would be required to kill her and all their children. It was a hard time for them. Some of the men and some of the women who were Hutus did kill their children.
In a meeting in early April, my father was ordered to kill my mother and his four daughters. When he came home from the meeting around 6:00 p.m., it was very dark because there were no street lights at the time. He immediately took us to a small island located in the southern part of Lac Kivu, a large lake dividing Rwanda and Congo. He told my mom that the villagers had determined that we were supposed to die, so we should hide in that place; he was going back home to find a safe place for us. He told her that if she saw any boats, she should ask them if they would carry us over to Congo, where we would be safe from the Rwandan genocide. She was able to find someone willing to take us across to Congo, where we spent the next five months, until peace was restored in Rwanda and it was safe to return.
All the while in Congo, and after we came home, we didn’t know what had happened to my father. When we came back we didn’t see anything; they didn’t allow us to enter the house where we had lived, and we were told everything that belonged to my father had been sold. It was a very hard time for my mom. We didn’t have a house to stay in. We didn’t have anything to eat. We went to the Seventh-­Day Adventist chapel, where we slept for a whole week. After that my mother carried all of us to town where she learned we could get small help from the new government.
In 2003, nine years after the violence ended, the government created a reconciliation program called “Gacaca” to help resolve the hard feelings from the killings. As part of the process, people who had killed others during the genocide confessed and asked for forgiveness. Through gacaca, we came to know that my father’s family members, after they looked everywhere for us and could not find us, had killed him. My mother and my eldest sister attended the hearing where my father’s family asked for our forgiveness, and they forgave them. They told my mother that they had thrown his body into the river after killing him, so we were never able to locate his body. Because I was so young at the time he saved us, I have no recollections of my father; I don’t know his face.

Missionary service has ever called for courage. One who responded to this call was Randall Ellsworth. While serving in Guatemala as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Randall Ellsworth survived a devastating earthquake that hurled a beam down on his back, paralyzing his legs and severely damaging his kidneys. He was the only American injured in the quake, which claimed the lives of some eighteen thousand persons.
After receiving emergency medical treatment, he was flown to a large hospital near his home in Rockville, Maryland. While Randall was confined there, a newscaster conducted with him an interview that I witnessed through the miracle of television. The reporter asked, “Can you walk?”
The answer: “Not yet, but I will.”
“Do you think you will be able to complete your mission?”
Came the reply: “Others think not, but I will. With the president of my church praying for me, and through the prayers of my family, my friends, and my missionary companions, I will walk, and I will return again to Guatemala. The Lord wants me to preach the gospel there for two years, and that’s what I intend to do.”
There followed a lengthy period of therapy, punctuated by heroic yet silent courage. Little by little, feeling began to return to the almost lifeless limbs. More therapy, more courage, more prayer.
At last, Randall Ellsworth walked aboard the plane that carried him back to the mission to which he had been called—back to the people whom he loved. Behind he left a trail of skeptics and a host of doubters, but also hundreds amazed at the power of God, the miracle of faith, and the example of courage.
On his return to Guatemala, Randall Ellsworth supported himself with the help of two canes. His walk was slow and deliberate. Then one day, as he stood before his mission president, Elder Ellsworth heard these almost unbelievable words spoken: “You have been the recipient of a miracle,” said the mission president. “Your faith has been rewarded. If you have the necessary confidence, if you have abiding faith, if you have supreme courage, place those two canes on my desk and walk.”
After a long pause, first one cane and then the other was placed on the desk, and a missionary walked. It was halting, it was painful—but he walked, never again to need the canes.
This spring I thought once more of the courage demonstrated by Randall Ellsworth. Years had passed since his ordeal. He was now a husband and a father. An engraved announcement arrived at my office. It read: “The President and Directors of Georgetown University announce commencement exercises of Georgetown University School of Medicine.” Randall Ellsworth received his Doctor of Medicine degree. More effort, more study, more faith, more sacrifice, more courage had been required. The price was paid, the victory won.

I grew up in an active Latter-day Saint family in England, the eighth of 10 children. Our faithful parents taught us the gospel and set good examples. But at about age 14, I began to find it difficult to attend early-morning seminary, go to various classes and firesides, and attend youth activities. Most of my friends were not members of the Church and had very different standards from the ones I was raised with.
I began to make bad decisions because I wanted so much to be like my friends and have the so-called fun they were having. By the time I was 15, I was completely inactive in the Church. As I became older, my life grew even more worldly.
At the same time, however, I began to feel something deep down in my soul. Questions about the purpose of life and the destiny of man started to fill my mind. The world I once knew and thought I loved had become a very dark, cold, and lonely place. My soul was not fully satisfied with what the world had to offer. I had a feeling that I should be somewhere other than my hometown, a feeling that I was meant to do something else with my life.
After many weeks of these feelings and thoughts, I decided to pray and ask for help, the first time I had prayed in a long while. I decided to wait until night, when everyone was asleep. After my prayer, I thought and listened, but there was nothing. I continued in this way for weeks until it hit me: perhaps God would not answer me straight away simply because I had been raised in the gospel and unfortunately I had never seriously appreciated it.
One evening I changed my method. Instead of demanding an answer and expecting the Lord to give it straight away, I promised the Lord that if He would answer, I would serve Him as a missionary. For the first time, I prayed to know if the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and the Church teachings were true. I felt something so powerful yet so peaceful that it caused me to weep.
I went to my bishop, who happened to be my eldest brother, and asked to serve a mission. I was nervous, but I knew that because the Lord had kept His end of the deal, I had to keep mine. Tears streamed down my bishop’s face as I related my experience.
Then I began dating Kelly, a friend who was not a member of the Church. I related to her my plans to serve a mission. Kelly saw that I had changed and wondered why. This led to Kelly’s having the missionary lessons and joining the Church, and I had the opportunity to baptize and confirm her. At this point I wondered if that missionary effort had fulfilled my service to the Lord. I wrestled with having to go, and I was determined to pray to find out if leaving Kelly and serving a mission was the right thing to do.
I chose a place in the hills on the moors called Saddleworth Dovestones, where I would not be disturbed. I took my lunch, scriptures, and my journal and headed out, climbing to the top to offer the desires of my heart to my Father in Heaven. As I prayed, I listened very carefully for an answer, maybe a peaceful feeling or a burning in my bosom, but I felt nothing.
As I walked back, I noticed a series of rocks on the ground carefully placed to spell out the words “Truth Will Prevail.” “Curious,” I thought, but nothing more. However, when I told my mother, she said simply, “That’s your answer.”
You see, when the Latter-day Saint missionaries first came to England in 1837, they began their labors in Preston. At that time the city was in the midst of a grand celebration of Queen Victoria’s reign. As the missionaries alighted from their coach, they saw a banner overhead proclaiming in bold gilt letters “Truth Will Prevail.”
It became a widely-used phrase in the Church and appeared in various publications. One elder, reporting on his mission to Indiana, wrote in a letter published in Nauvoo’s Times and Seasons in 1841: “Although the Lord has chosen the weak things of this world to preach his gospel, truth will prevail, and will prosper.”1
Trusting the Lord, I turned in my mission papers. On my 21st birthday, along with my birthday post, came my call to serve in the England London South Mission. Due to my years of inactivity, I still felt weak and inadequate. Only later would I understand what that early missionary understood: the Lord may choose the weak things of this world to preach His gospel, but truth will prevail and will prosper.
I went in faith to the temple to be endowed. When I came out of the temple, I met two missionaries who had served in my home ward. As we talked, I described my experience out on the moors. One of the elders smiled broadly and explained that on a particular preparation day, he and his companion had hiked up on the moors and at a certain point felt impressed to place some rocks across the hillside spelling out the familiar phrase “Truth Will Prevail.”
Tears streamed down our faces as we realized what had happened. Those familiar with the area know there are miles and miles of trails amongst the moors. Yet I happened to choose the very spot where the missionaries had placed those rocks. I knew there and then that the Lord had answered my prayer in the hills that day.

An illustration of the spirit of President Hunter occurred at the conclusion of a regional conference at BYU’s Marriott Center as he was exiting the building through the west tunnel. This was the period when he was just beginning to stand again and use his walker, but he was still a little unsteady. My son Lee and three of his children had attended the conference, and they were also exiting the Marriott Center through the west tunnel. As Lee and his children moved up the tunnel, his son Justin, who was wandering more left and right than in a straight line, drew dangerously close to President Hunter. Lee cautioned Justin, “Don’t get in President Hunter’s way.” President Hunter stopped for only a moment, turned his head around, smiled, and with a twinkle in his eye said, “Nothing gets in my way.”

Dear Reed or Elder May,
I miss you. I miss you very much! I miss you, very, very much! Do I have to call you Elder May, or can I still call you Reed? I’m glad that you got out of the empty sea. I was worried about you drowning or something. When I asked her, Mom laughed and said that you were fine there, but I was still worried.
I have something that I want to tell you. But maybe I’d better not tell you.
Please write a letter just to me.
Love,Brad
Dear Buddy,
I miss you, too—very much! When I think of how much you will grow and change in two years, sometimes it makes me a little sad that I can’t be there with you. But I know that I’m doing the right thing by going on a mission. Besides, the elders here who are almost ready to go home all say that two years zoom by so fast that you can hardly believe it.
To answer your question, yes, you can still call me Reed instead of Elder May. But do I have to start calling you Brad now, or can I still call you Buddy?
Buddy, I have to admit that I was puzzled for a long time about what you meant by the “empty sea.” Then yesterday I told Elder Watts, my companion, that you were worried about me in the empty sea, and all of a sudden it came to me! Where I was, was not the empty sea, but the MTC. That stands for Missionary Training Center. That’s where I learned about being a missionary and how to teach people the gospel.
The MTC was a good experience, but I’m glad to be in the mission field now. The members here are friendly, and some of them help us a lot. We are teaching some great families. Elder Watts is a hard worker, and we spend a lot of hours trying to find people who want to learn about the restoration of the gospel and the Church.
Write to me again soon. I want to keep in touch and know everything that happens to you, kind of like our talks in the dark across the bedroom as we were going to sleep. Only now we will have our talks by writing letters.
And remember, you can tell me anything, just like always.
Love,Reed
Dear Reed,
It was awesome to get my very own letter from you. I’ll keep writing to you, if you’ll keep writing to me. But I still miss you very, very much! Nobody else calls me Buddy, but you can because I will always be your buddy.
Last night was our second grade Spring Sing. Everyone was there but you. Even Grandpa Richards was there, and your girlfriend Kelly. She says that she misses you very much, but I know that she doesn’t miss you as much as I do.
After the Sing we went to get ice-cream cones, and we talked about you. Mom and Dad said that you seem grown-up now. Natalie and Rachel said that they’re proud to be the sisters of a missionary. Scooter didn’t say anything because he’s too young.
I ate two scoops on my cone, one scoop of chocolate and one scoop of your favorite, pralines-and-cream. I did it for you.
I still have something I need to tell you, but I’m still afraid to tell you.
Love,Buddy
Dear Reed,
I know that I just wrote to you yesterday, but I have to write to you again today. If you were home, we could talk about it, but you’re not here.
Last night Melissa came to our house. She brought chocolate chip cookies that she made. She gave me a big hug and said that I look just like a little Reed, like somebody took you and let some of the air out. She’s pretty! Anyway, she says that she misses you very much.
Tell me, Reed, does Melissa know about Kelly? Does Kelly know about Melissa? What am I supposed to do with all your girlfriends? What if they both come over at the same time?
I told Melissa that she should send some chocolate chip cookies to you. I can’t tell you what she said because she wants it to be a surprise. If I can figure out a way to do it, I’ll send you some pralines-and-cream ice cream too.
Maybe next time I’ll tell you my secret problem.
Love,Buddy
(To be continued)

Let me share with you the beautiful message which appears on the Christmas card of Dick and Mary Headlee. It is entitled “A Modern Miracle.”

The Headlees wrote: “Our family and friends, working with Project Concern International, aided by the LDS Church’s Humanitarian Aid Relief, had been gathering food, clothing, medical supplies, blankets and toys for months. Finally the project deadline arrived, and the container had to be shipped from Salt Lake City that day. The last hour we sealed the 40-foot container for shipment to the Romanian orphanage was hectic. The 40,000 pounds of needed supplies were finally packed. A friend, Barbara Brinton, arrived from Provo literally at the last minute. She had several items, among them a child’s orthopedic walker. Her neighbor had heard of Barbara’s interests in our orphanage project and was inspired that they might need her child’s walker in Romania. Our daughter Kathy thanked her for the supplies and looked quizzically at the orthopedic walker. It wasn’t on the list of needs, but she thought, ‘Oh, well; it doesn’t weigh much. We’ll throw it on.’

“When our family arrived in Romania, they met a doctor who was working with a multiple-handicapped four-year-old orphan named Raymond. Raymond had been born with severe club feet and was blind. Recent orthopedic surgery had corrected the club feet, and Dr. Lynn Oborn was attempting to teach Raymond, who had never walked, how to use his legs. Dr. Oborn’s first words to us were, ‘Oh, you’re the people who have the container. I hope you brought me a child’s walker for Raymond.’ Kathy responded, ‘I can vaguely remember something like a walker, but I don’t know what size it is.’ She dispatched our son Bruce back into the container, and he crawled amongst all the bales of clothes and boxes of food searching for the walker. When he found it, he lifted it up and cried out, ‘It’s a little one!’ Cheers erupted—which quickly turned to tears, for they all knew they had been part of a modern-day miracle.

“There may be some who say, ‘We don’t have miracles today.’ But the doctor whose prayers were answered would respond, ‘Oh, yes, we do, and Raymond is walking!’ The neighbor who was inspired to give the walker was a willing vessel, and surely would also agree.

“Our family members, whose lives have been enriched by this entire experience, bear witness that God hears and answers prayers, and for this we give thanks.”

It’s Tuesday night in Nashua. Sixty teachers and their spouses begin arriving at the appreciation night. They’re talking with their students, and the youth are relaxing.
I stop 14-year-old Cyndie Munk and ask her how it’s going. Three or four of her teachers are already here. “The teachers are just so impressed that we want to honor them,” she says, grinning. She sees her vice principal walk in and waves in his direction. “He never gets to do anything,” she tells me. “I gave him his invitation and told him what it was for and he absolutely beamed. Every time I saw him around school he just started smiling, asking if he was still supposed to come.”
The teachers are filing out and Cyndie sums up the Nashua evening for me. “My teachers said they’ve never had anyone do anything like this for them,” she says. “But I think they work hard. They give up a lot of their own time for us. I think they deserved this.”

One who escaped a brush with gang life is Ath Ket, 16, a Cambodian by birth. Ath recalls what his life was like before he encountered the Church: “It was pretty bad. I used to hang around gang members a lot.” And if he hadn’t met the elders that day four years ago as he walked along the Boston Common? “I’d probably be hanging around, fighting, stealing cars, drinking.”
But Ath did meet the Elders and did agree to hear the lessons. He had already been baptized into another church, but the missionaries’ message rang true. “I feel good about the Church. Now I know it’s true. I learn more about it every day.”