Gospel Story Finder

The San Jose Second Ward Scouts and Venturers rejuvenated the outside of their chapel by painting the eaves above outside entrances. Laurels and Mia Maids cleaned all the filters and grills for the heating and air-conditioning system. Then they painted the bathrooms and locker rooms, filling in and repairing joints and cracks. Everyone planned to return later in the week to finish the interior painting when the patches had dried.
“Work first, play later is pretty much what it was,” said Mike Black, 16. “That was neat because we worked on the service project first and that was altogether togetherness.”

I can relate to the Prophet Joseph’s experience because of something that happened to me. When I was a boy, I used to love to walk in the fields and in the meadows and to swim in the creeks and in the ponds. My father taught me to hunt and to fish. One summer our family went on an outing near Wanship, Utah. We camped in tents among the trees that grew along the banks of the river. A group of our parents’ friends and their families went with us and pitched their tents close to ours. One afternoon some of my young friends and I went out hunting varmints, which were considered pests because they ate the tender feed the sheep needed as they grazed. We had .22-caliber rifles, and I was accidentally shot in the leg above the knee at close range. When the bullet passed through my leg, it felt like a hot poker was going through the flesh. Then I felt the warm blood running down my leg from the hole where the bullet had passed through it. I called my father to show him what had happened. He and the other men administered first aid to control the bleeding, then helped me into our family car to go to the nearest doctor, who was in Coalville.

After laying me on the operating table and examining the wound carefully, the doctor decided that he must first sterilize the hole in my leg through which the bullet had passed. When I saw how he was going to sterilize it, I was afraid of two things: I was afraid of the pain and I was also afraid that I would cry. I didn’t want to cry, because I wanted my father to think I was no longer a child. In my heart, I said a silent prayer that Heavenly Father would help me so that no matter how badly it hurt, I wouldn’t cry.

The doctor took a rod like those used to clean gun barrels. On the end of the rod was a hole through which a small piece of gauze was threaded and dipped into a sterilizing solution. The doctor then took the rod and pushed it into my leg. When it came out on the other side, he changed the gauze, put fresh antiseptic on it, and pulled it back through the hole, pushing it back and forth three times. It hurt quite a bit, especially when he got near the bone. But my father held my hand, and I gritted my teeth and shut my eyes and tried to hold still. Heavenly Father had heard my silent prayer, because it did not seem to hurt as much as I thought it would, and I didn’t cry. The wound healed quickly and completely. I was never bothered again by that leg, even when I participated in sports in high school and college. I have felt something of a feeling of kinship to the Prophet Joseph ever since, knowing that he, too, had had a painful wound in his leg and had been healed and that he was later described as being a hale and hearty man.

I thought of another great man in my life—a coach who has affected my life for eternity. I am pleased to announce that he and I are engaged together in learning more fully the gospel of Jesus Christ in a missionary effort.
I will never forget the day I walked into his office, scared to death as fifteen-year-olds are, trying to sign up for a varsity team. I stood outside his door for the better part of five minutes; and then, when I got the courage, I knocked timidly. The voice said, “Come in!” I opened the door and walked in.
He said, “What can I do for you, son?”
I said, “Where do you sign up for varsity baseball?”
He said, “Let me ask you a question—do you want to play ball or be a champion?”
I said, “I came to play ball.”
He said, “I’m sorry, we’re all filled up.”
With a broken heart, I turned and walked out. That wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear! I stood in the hall for a minute (thank goodness my dad had taught me courage to keep trying), then plucked up my courage and again knocked on the door. The answer came as before, “Come in!” I walked in.
He said, “Oh, it’s you again.”
I said, “Yes, sir, maybe you didn’t understand my earlier question. I asked you where to sign up for varsity baseball.”
He said, “I asked you a question. Do you want to play ball or be a champion?”
Well, I knew the other answer hadn’t worked, so I said, “I want to be a champion.”
“Oh,” he said, “sign here.” And I did. He said, “We build champions.” Then he turned and said, “Have you ever signed a contract before?”
I said, “No, sir, I’m only fifteen.”
He said, “At this institution, we commit ourselves to principles.”
He took from the bottom drawer of his file a contract already typed, and on it were the standards that we have been listening to in this great conference. He said, “You take that home and read it over with your parents. If you can agree to the conditions, you sign it and bring it back tomorrow.” I did. Somehow, I made the team.
In the contractual agreement were promises to be the kind of a Latter-day Saint I knew I ought to be. We went through a great, great season. It ended in a tie with our arch-rival high school. The play-off game was to determine the state championship. As we assembled on the field in the last-minute preparation for the great event, the coach had us around the batting cage. As he was making his little pep talk, he stopped in front of me and said, “Oh, by the way, you will pitch the deciding game.” My heart dropped! He continued his counsel. And then he stopped in front of our excellent second baseman. Most of you would know him because he went on to play for the Chicago White Sox for a number of years. He said, as he looked, “Jimmy, is that a nicotine stain on your finger?” Jimmy, like the rest of us, had made a commitment to keep his body clean.
Jimmy, looking at his finger, quickly hid his hand and said, embarrassed, “Yes, sir.”
The coach said in front of the whole team, “Did you sign a contract with me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you broke the contract?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know the penalty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you turn in your uniform? You’re through.”
I wanted to say, “Coach, tomorrow’s the big game. (Jimmy was batting .385 and hadn’t made an error at second base all year.) But the coach was thinking of a boy, not a game. Jimmy turned in his uniform, but the coach kept close to him.
I drew the assignment the next day to pitch against Al Yalian, who later signed with the New York Yankees for a fabulous bonus. Thirteen innings we went, and he beat me in the thirteenth—1–0. The run came when a ground ball was hit to second where Jimmy normally played. The ball got through a nervous substitute’s legs onto the outfield grass and eventually scored an unearned run, which defeated us. And now, years later, I thank God for a great coach who taught me that principles are more important than games.

President Russell M. Nelson has told of a nurse who asked then-Dr. Nelson a question after a difficult surgical procedure. “Why are you not like other surgeons?” Some surgeons she knew could be short-tempered and profane as they performed such high-pressure procedures.

Dr. Nelson could have answered in any number of ways. But he simply replied, “Because I know the Book of Mormon is true.”

His answer prompted the nurse and her husband to study the Book of Mormon. President Nelson later baptized the nurse. Decades later, while presiding over a stake conference in Tennessee, USA, as a newly ordained Apostle, President Nelson enjoyed an unexpected reunion with the same nurse. She recounted that her conversion, brought about by his simple testimony and the influence of the Book of Mormon, helped lead to the conversion of another 80 people.3

Anja Pedersen, 16, lives in another Arctic city, Finnsness. On Sundays, she and her father, the only active members in town, drive two hours each way to Narvik, the nearest branch.
“I have a brother who says he could write five pages of things he thinks are wrong with the Church,” she says. “And I have a sister who thinks my father has brainwashed me. My mother and my other two brothers just don’t care. But I met a friend a year ago who asked me about the gospel. I had to read and study and I found things that I needed. My testimony grew stronger and stronger.”
Since then, she’s shared seven copies of the Book of Mormon with friends and given two copies to local libraries. She also wrote a seven-page report about the Doctrine and Covenants, which she read to her school religion class, and saved up enough money to take a trip to the temple that left her feeling “all warm inside.”

I dreaded testimony meeting each fast Sunday. Time moved slower than Gertie, my pet turtle, especially on those sticky hot summer days when folks’d rather lean back and wait for somebody else to do the talking. The waiting always made me squirm in my seat. Sometimes I’d watch the big wall clock and time how long it took until somebody’s conscience finally dragged him up the aisle.
Most of the time, though, so many people wanted to bear their testimonies that the meeting went five or ten minutes over the usual time. Some of them would start crying in the middle of their testimony, and that really drove me nuts.
But the worst part was Molly Prentiss. She had been bearing her testimony almost every month for two years. She always used fancy words and went back to her seat with a contented smile on her face.
One day I got a great idea: I wrote up a testimony that even a returned missionary would be proud of and practiced it for days until I had it memorized. I even practiced how I’d walk to the front with just the right combination of confidence and humility. I hadn’t ever born my testimony before, but how tough could it be? I’d just walk up, deliver my brilliant speech, then go back to my seat amid gasps of admiration from the whole ward. Yup—that’d show Molly Prentiss, all right.
On fast Sunday, before we left for church, I stood in front of the full-length mirror and practiced one last time for good measure. Wow! Even I was impressed! For once even my braids stayed neatly in place.
I decided I’d save the best for last and give my performance right at the end of the meeting. What I didn’t count on was how many butterflies could hatch in my stomach in such a short amount of time. When the moment came, I tried to boldly walk up the aisle, but my confidence had become about as solid as warm gelatin.
It was when I was nearly to the pulpit that Sister Johnson and I noticed each other for the first time. Both of us had thought we were the only one headed for the front. I knew that I should let her go first, but I also knew that I would never make it back up that aisle if I had to sit down. Sister Johnson took matters into her own hands and with an understanding smile waved me on and sat in an empty seat on the front row.
When I stepped up to the pulpit, I was suddenly gripped with panic. There must have been a thousand people at church that day, and that meant that there were two thousand eyes staring at me! I opened my mouth, only to discover that the butterflies in my stomach had flown off with the wonderful speech I had prepared. I couldn’t remember one word of it. I closed my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, hoping I could find the words better that way. When that didn’t work, I opened my eyes again, and there was Sister Johnson down on the front row, smiling encouragingly.
That was when the ultimate humiliation happened. I felt tears pricking at my eyes. And try as I might to hold them back, they burst out and flooded down my cheeks. Knowing how bad my freckles stand out when I cry, and feeling a strand of hair suddenly spring from a braid, there was only one thing I could do. I turned and stumbled back down the aisle to the pew where my family was sitting. Mama put a comforting arm around my shoulders, and I heard Sister Johnson saying something about how her testimony affects her the same way sometimes. But there was no consoling the burning embarrassment I felt. I vowed then and there that I would never try to bear my testimony again for the rest of my life.
I was surprised that when church was over, no one from my Primary class teased me about what had happened. Molly Prentiss gave me a sympathetic look.
The next few weeks were busy ones. School started again, and then my eighth birthday came along almost before I realized it. After my baptism and confirmation, a few things began to change. I started getting up a little earlier each morning to read the Book of Mormon before I headed off to school. That was tough because I hate getting up in the morning, but I was determined to make it all the way through that book.
I also started fasting each month on fast Sunday. There aren’t many things I like to do more than eat, so I slipped up sometimes, but even so, I started noticing a difference in how I felt about testimony meeting.
I began paying more attention to what each speaker was saying, and that made the meeting a lot more interesting. I found out that Sister Johnson had joined the Church when she was twenty-six years old. I thought she’d been a member all her life! And I loved it when old Brother Badger bore his testimony. He had exciting stories to tell about his life and about miracles he had witnessed.
I finished the Book of Mormon early the next summer. There were great stories and teachings in it, and I was happy that I’d reached my goal. But Moroni had written in the last chapter that if you read the Book of Mormon and want to know if it’s true, you should ponder it in your heart and pray to Heavenly Father about it. He promised that if you do that with faith in Jesus Christ and with a sincere heart, the Holy Ghost will help you know that it’s true. I decided to try it out for myself.
The rest of that week I prayed every morning and night. Sometimes I even said a quick prayer in my head when I was at school, but I never saw a vision or even heard a voice that told me the Book of Mormon was true. I felt like giving up, but I really wanted to know, so I just kept on praying.
The next fast Sunday, I fasted to know if the Book of Mormon was true. I spent a lot of time on my knees, and I reread some of my favorite parts. It was amazing how seldom I thought about food.
Testimony meeting was going along great that day. I was even happy for Molly Prentiss when she went up and bore her testimony. Then Brother Badger went to the front to speak. His quiet voice trembled as he spoke of his great love for the scriptures and how he knew of the truth of the gospel.
As he spoke, a strange feeling started in a little spot in my chest. It got warmer and bigger until my whole body was filled with glowing, tingly warmth. When he finished, that warmth seemed to pick me up and carry me right to the pulpit. The lump in my throat loosened into a few words that came right from my soul: “I know that the Book of Mormon is true. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Assembly Instructions: Cut scenery along solid black lines on pages 30 and 31. Glue scene to cardboard and trim.
Cut out objects on floor along solid black outline and then fold up on broken lines.
Glue figures and props to cardboard and cut out. On the back of each figure glue a Popsicle stick. Place a piece of masking tape on the back of the props so they can be positioned in the scene. If the scenery is set on the forward edge of a table, the figures can be moved around in front of it.
Characters: Mother, Ezra, Susan, Elizabeth, and Thomas
Setting: Kitchen of a pioneer cabin with table, chairs, coal stove, and a hearth.
Scene opens: Mother is churning butter. Susan is working on a rag rug. Ezra is sanding a stool he has made in preparation for the Primary fair. Elizabeth kneels on the floor watching Ezra and his stool.
NOTE: Instead of using puppets, this play could be given by boys and girls in a family home evening.
Elizabeth: (in a discouraged voice) What can a five-year-old make to show at the Primary fair?
Mother: Why, Elizabeth, you’re going to play in the rhythm band at the fair. And, I might say, you do a good job on the triangle.
Elizabeth: I know, but I want something to put on the display table with my name on it!
Ezra: You can help me paint this stool and we can put both our names on it.
Elizabeth: No! That wouldn’t be the same as making something all by myself.
Susan: Do you want me to show you how to make a rug?
Elizabeth: No, that’s what you’re doing; besides, there isn’t time for me to finish one.
Mother: (holding out jar of butter) Here, Elizabeth, please take this butter outside and put it in a cool safe place by the stream.
Ezra: On your way back, Elizabeth, would you do me a favor? Bring in the bucket of corn inside the barn for Mother. I forgot. That way I can keep sanding till I’m through.
Thomas: (calling from outside) Elizabeth, come quick! That pesky raccoon’s in the cornfield again! Help me catch him.
Elizabeth: All right! I’m coming! (Elizabeth runs out, carrying the butter. The other family members run to peer out the window.)
Susan: How can little Elizabeth help?
Ezra: Elizabeth is small and quick enough to run through the cornfield to head him off. (Mother, Susan, and Ezra go back to their work.)
Mother: Susan, will you help me clean out this big heavy kettle so I can make soup in it? (The kettle is on the floor by the hearth.)
Susan: I’ll be glad to, Mother. (Helps mother clean kettle.) This kettle will sure hold a lot of soup!
Mother: Yes, it has to. We’re going to have a soup kitchen at the fair, and I told the sisters I would make a big pot of our favorite vegetable soup.
(After a time Thomas and Elizabeth return. Elizabeth is carrying the bucket of corn. Mother and Susan have finished cleaning the kettle and are getting ready to peel the vegetables on the table.)
Elizabeth: Where do you want this corn, Mother?
Mother: Put it in the kettle on the hearth, dear. (Elizabeth puts corn in kettle.)
Thomas: That pesky raccoon got away. If I ever catch him, I’ll have his tail!
Ezra: Then you can have a raccoon hat (family laughs).
Susan: Maybe we could make the raccoon a family pet. The Cole family has a pet raccoon.
Thomas: No thank you! Then he would eat all our crops.
Mother: Elizabeth, did you find a good place by the stream for the butter?
Elizabeth: (looks alarmed) Oh, Mother, in my hurry to help Thomas catch the raccoon I left the butter outside on the porch. I’ll go get it right now. (She leaves.)
Mother: Thomas, if you’ll lift that large kettle from the hearth to the stove, Susan and I will soon have other vegetables ready to put in it.
Thomas: All right, Mother (lifts pan).
Elizabeth: (enters carrying the butter jar) I’m sorry, Mother. I left the butter in the sun and it’s almost all melted. Is it ruined?
Mother: (walks over and looks in butter jar) Oh, dear! No, it’s not ruined, Elizabeth, but it has to be used right away. What can we do with so much melted butter?
Ezra: We could make pancakes (looks in butter jar) but wow! We’d sure have to eat a lot of them!
Mother: (begins to sniff) Say, what can I smell? Oh dear, I forgot to put some water in the kettle for the corn.
Ezra: But what’s that noise? (everyone sniffs and listens.)
Thomas: It smells and sounds like corn popping. (Everyone looks at the stove.)
Ezra: Oh no! Elizabeth must have brought in my popcorn that I was saving for tithing.
Elizabeth: I’m sorry, Ezra.
Ezra: That’s all right. I wonder if the bishop will take popped corn for tithing (family laughs).
Mother: You’ll have to take some more from your supply for your tithing, Ezra.
Susan: Hey! All that popcorn solves the problem of what to do with all the melted butter.
Thomas: That’s right. We can pour it over the popcorn!
Mother: And that’s what Elizabeth can take to the Primary fair and put on the display table with a big sign that reads BUTTERED POPCORN MADE BY ELIZABETH, age 5.
Elizabeth: Yippee!

Young Women in the Park Ridge Ward, Brisbane Australia Stake, are not content to wait for service opportunities to present themselves. They go out and find them. For their service project a couple of years ago, the girls went to a nearby blind hostel and visited the people who were staying there.
“At first, everyone was a bit nervous, not knowing where to go or what to say. Gradually the barriers of age and sight were overcome and the young women were chatting and learning about their new friends’ lives,” says Sariah Wesener, a Laurel.
The girls made the project a monthly activity, and were soon performing concerts for their newfound friends. After travel became too difficult, the girls had to say good-bye to the residents of the blind hostel, but they have decided to find ways to serve others every month.
This year, each girl is donating a can of food per month to those in need.

“I am 92. I was born in Germany. I am a Jew.”
So began John Fieldsend BEM at an invitation only meeting held in Manchester Central Library. The theme was ‘Fragility of Freedom’. Three members of Manchester Stake attended along with a mainly Jewish audience.
John Fieldsend and his brother enjoyed their early childhood until local children no longer wanted to play with them because they were ‘dirty jews’, no doubt resulting from the brainwashing of their parents. Later, as things in Germany became worse, his parents decided their children should go to England. They left on the kinder transport and were fostered in the north of England. They were never to see their parents again.
John Fieldsend attended university and then, to the surprise of the audience, told us that years later he had become a Church of England vicar!
At this time of universal strife and fragile freedom, we must ensure that our children learn from us not to judge people because of their colour, creed, or ethnicity, but to value all of our brothers and sisters – for all have something good to contribute if we take the time to get to know them.
Words that John Fieldsend said that made an impression on me were:
“Be honest in your own faith and live together.”
“You need a living faith.”
“History repeats itself. Nobody listens.”
“The best is getting better. The worst is getting worse.”
The evening concluded with kosher refreshments and an opportunity for friendly talks with those of other faiths.

Sister Brock remembers pondering the meaning of life when she was only five. When she was a teenager in Venezuela, the missionaries taught her and her family the gospel, and they were baptized. Filled with faith, she was called to be branch Primary president at age 16. Now, after a lifetime of service, she has come to realize that for her, “faith is a choice.” She explains, “I choose to make room for the Savior in my life. I have come to know that the Atonement is the most wonderful, selfless act of love for all humanity. My Savior and Redeemer, the Giver of peace, has become my very best friend—a constant for me.”

One of the most difficult times in my life was during my sophomore year in high school. My brother Sid was the greatest big brother. We were really close even though he was seven years older. I basically lived to be with my dad and older brother, and Sid served the big-brother role perfectly. I was just a tagalong, and he didn’t mind at all.
Sid had quit high school so he could work to help put food on our table and help Mom and Dad with the bills. To show you what kind of brother Sid was, he would work these long days on his construction job, then come home and work out with me. He would be wearing his big heavy boots from his job and still run patterns while I played quarterback and threw the ball to him. Here was my brother playing receiver for me after a long day at work when he probably would have rather gone in and relaxed. But that’s the kind of brother Sid was.
One weekend in November during my sophomore year, my family went to a small family reunion in Washington. Sid and I stayed behind to work around the farm. We spent the whole weekend together and had a really good time.
When my family returned, Sid left to take a friend to Sun Valley (Idaho). On his way back from dropping his friend off, he had a head-on collision and was killed. I’ll always remember sleeping on the floor of our trailer home when a knock came at the door at two in the morning and the most terrible feeling coming over me. An off-duty policeman had come to tell us Sid had been killed in an accident.
That was the hardest thing to have to go through. And it was tougher for my parents because they had already had their two-year-old daughter die because of a bronchial problem, and a baby boy die of crib death before I was even born.
And although there is pain for the loss of a loved one, I understood. I understood the plan of salvation and the eternal perspective. When I lost Sid, I asked why it had to happen. I also asked Heavenly Father, Why me? How could things get any harder in my life? Sid had always told me I would make it in the National Football League, and his death made me more determined to do that.
Within two years, I had grown to six-foot-three which made me attractive as a football player. I had always hoped to be a quarterback and was named the starter as a sophomore. This caused a lot of resentment among the juniors and seniors, and I ended up playing on a team with a bunch of guys who hated me. It made it very hard to succeed. I knew if I was going to play college football, I had to get out of that town.
After my junior year, I moved to St. Anthony (Idaho) to live with my sister and attend high school there. I knew I would be living in a Mormon community, where a lot of the kids at school were Mormon. I thought all my problems were finally behind me. It didn’t work out that way. Again I was the new kid on the block. I immediately tried out for the football team and was named the starting quarterback. That was great for me, but I beat out the guy who had started at that position the year before.
Nobody seemed happy about the new competition, and hardly anybody was friendly to me during the football season. When I finally broke into their circle and made friends, the season was over.
Since St. Anthony is close to Rexburg, home of Ricks College, I decided I would try to walk on Ricks’s football team. The coaches there wouldn’t give me a scholarship, so I practiced with them for a couple of weeks hoping to prove myself. When they still wouldn’t give me a scholarship, I had to quit. I just didn’t have enough money to pay tuition.
I now had a decision to make. Some guys I knew from St. Anthony told me about a good-paying job up in the woods cutting trees. Instead, I told them I was going to stay in Rexburg and get a job there so I could lift weights every night at the college. I told them I was going to play football the next year. They just laughed and thought I was crazy. After making the decision to stay, I never regretted not going with my friends.
During that year, I worked at a job throwing 50- and 100-pound grain sacks for nine hours a day. My pay was $3.60 an hour. After I got off work, I’d go down to the weight room and lift weights until ten at night. Everybody kept telling me I was crazy, and even my family questioned what I was doing. My family still supported me, but I think I was the only person in the world who thought I could make it—well, besides my girlfriend, Roxi, whom I later married.
That next year I earned a scholarship and played for Ricks. By this time I weighed 230 pounds and had switched from quarterback to defensive lineman. After Ricks, I had coaches from Ohio State, Alabama, Georgia Tech, Arizona, Kansas, Texas, Texas Tech, and BYU recruiting me. I chose BYU, and I’m glad I did.
After my senior season with the Cougars, I knew I was going to be drafted by an NFL team, and it turned out to be the Cincinnati Bengals. By the end of my second season I was starting in the Super Bowl. In my third year with the Bengals, I led the team in sacks. Everything seemed great. But for some reason, at the beginning of my fourth year, I was sitting on the bench.
It seemed the coaches wanted bigger guys playing the defensive line positions, leaving me to stand on the sidelines. I knew I wasn’t in Cincinnati’s long-range plans, and sure enough I was cut toward the end of fall camp. The 1991 season was about ready to begin and I was out of football. All the other NFL teams had their rosters finalized, so I had to wait and hope a team would pick me up.
This was another terrible period in my life. I knew I was still good enough to play, yet I wasn’t being given the chance. A few weeks into the season the Seattle Seahawks seemed interested in signing me to a contract. Instead, they took another guy, which was one of the hardest blows of my career.
I came back to my home in Utah not knowing what to do or what was going to happen. I wasn’t giving up, but I was really down. To take my mind off my situation, I went to play golf by myself. It was fall, in the middle of the week, and nobody was there playing. I was out on the back nine all by myself crying and thinking about what I was going to do. I stopped my cart and had a word of prayer.
When I finished, I went from tears and this distraught feeling to the most wonderful, calm feeling that told me everything was going to be okay. That Sunday, I got a phone call from the Washington Redskins. They told me they had some injured players and needed a replacement.
It was amazing. One day I was crying, and the next thing I knew I was playing for one of the best organizations in the NFL. I left behind the Cincinnati Bengals, who finished 3–13 in 1991, and went to the Redskins, who went on to win the Super Bowl. I finished my first Redskin season with 12 tackles, three quarterback hurries, and one and a half quarterback sacks. Plus I earned a Super Bowl ring. Things couldn’t have turned out better.
I’ve learned much in my life through all these experiences. The greatest lesson is that in order to know happiness, you have to know sorrow and pain. That’s why Nephi’s testimony means a lot to me. If you always put God first, work hard, and hold up your end, you’ll be led through those difficult times.
It’s sure worked for me.

As I have reflected on my friends and my life experience, I have concluded that there was not just one special friend that made a difference. Rather, my life has been lifted and sustained by relatively large numbers of people. As I mention one particular friend, I would wish for no one to be confused that he was any more my “best friend” than were all my other “best friends.” He was just one of the guys in my ward and school “gang” (when that was a positive term!). Whatever else we did, or whatever else our other divergent activities, we were always good friends.
Jim was more than a year older than I and a year ahead in school. One of the things I appreciated about him is that age or school grade didn’t seem to make any difference to him. Jim was not necessarily always the best behaved until his later teens. He did, however, constantly have a good heart.
Jim is a talented musician and his natural aptitudes declared themselves quite early. He was a skilled saxophonist who did things seemingly much easier than did I, who also tried to play, but in a very ordinary way. Even when we were young boys, Jim was always patient with my musical deficiencies and those of others and built our self-esteem with his tolerance and good-natured support. One interesting observation about Jim is that as a teenager, he had more than a few people who were sure that he was their “best friend.”
One of Jim’s greatest accomplishments, in my judgment, was his dramatic change for the good when he entered the army after high school graduation. Recognizing that for perhaps the first time in his life his behavior would reflect not only on himself but on his family and the Church, he quickly became exemplary to his mainly non-LDS associates and qualified to serve a mission.
After his release from military service, he was called on a mission, which he successfully served. He then graduated from the university and married in the temple. He has served with distinction in the Church as a bishop, teacher, and in other assignments.
In all of this he continues to be a great friend to many and to me.

When Ketsana hit Metro Manila, the Alaminos Philippines District president, Porferio Balute Jr., said he was impressed to ask the members in his district to help their neighbors to the south. However, many members in the Alaminos district were still recovering from Typhoon Emong, which hit four months earlier in May 2009. It was the costliest typhoon to ever hit that western Philippines city. Many of the members made their living fishing or farming, and their livelihoods had been destroyed by the ensuing floods.
Though he was afraid to ask too much of those who were still struggling to get back on their feet, President Balute asked anyway.
That afternoon the members arrived at the meetinghouse with 21 sacks of clothing, a bag of food, and Philippines $1,500.
When Parma struck a week later, this time to the north, the members from the Alaminos district responded again and gathered more clothing, food, and money. Some of them even volunteered their time to go and distribute the goods directly.
“We just wanted to help,” said President Balute. “We never realized that we would gain so much. Our faith increased, our love for our fellowmen increased, our testimonies were strengthened, and our understanding of the Savior’s love and His Atonement was deepened.”

Jane’s mother was a wonderful gardener. She could grow beautiful flowers even in a patch of rocky soil. “No matter how tired I get, working in the garden or just looking at a meadow of Maine wildflowers always perks me up,” she had once told Jane.
After Mama got sick, Jane picked flowers for her each day, filling her bedroom with forget-me-nots, daisies, lady’s slippers, and wildflowers of all the colors of the rainbow.
But then autumn came, and there were no more flowers.
“The frost killed the last flowers,” Jane whispered one day as she brought a handful of bright orange and red maple leaves to cheer her mother.
Mama took her hand. “When spring comes, Jane, remember to look at the flowers for me.”
Jane thought that the long Maine winter would never end. The house seemed so cold without Mama. Little Rose and Isaac had been sent away to Aunt Ellen’s. Father was grave and silent.
One day her father said, “Aunt Ellen has found a cousin of your mother’s who can come and keep house for us this spring. If she does, then Rose and Isaac can come home.”
“What’s her name?”
“Kate. Cousin Kate.”
Cousin Kate didn’t look much older than a girl. She was plump and wore her dark red hair in braids piled on top of her head. Rose and Isaac came home. They missed Mama, and so did Jane. But Cousin Kate cuddled Rose and Isaac and made them laugh. Even Papa smiled a little at her funny ways. But Jane still could not laugh.
Finally the beauty of spring touched the world. Mama’s daffodils came up; then the forsythia bushes burst out in bright yellow. There were new leaf buds on the trees. One night Jane caught the sweet scent of lilacs from the bush under her window.
But Jane only wanted to scream and yell at the flowers. How could they be here when Mama was gone?
One morning Kate said, “Jane, we must set about spring cleaning.”
Kate and Jane began a whirlwind of turning over mattresses and shaking out rugs. After the whole house had been cleaned, Kate said, “We haven’t touched your mother’s dresses. Come and help me go through them.”
Reluctantly Jane followed Cousin Kate into her parents’ room. Mama’s dresses still hung in the closet.
“We’ll put some of these dresses aside for you, Jane. Then you’ll have something of hers to wear when you’re grown.”
Kate began to sort through Mama’s dresses. Jane sat on the floor, holding a familiar red wool dress her mother had worn often to church. She felt the tears run down her cheeks and turned toward the window so that Kate wouldn’t see them.
Outside, Papa was just visible near the barn, and Rose and Isaac were playing near the garden. Kate had worked hard in the garden, and it was blooming with the promise of all kinds of flowers and vegetables.
Jane looked down at the dress in her hands. She didn’t want to give it—or any of them—away. They would help her remember Mama during the long, cold winters when there were no flowers. Suddenly she had an idea. “Remember to look at the flowers,” Mama had said. Jane turned to her cousin and said softly, “Kate, could I have one of my mother’s dresses now, before I’m grown?”
Kate stopped and looked at Jane. “These dresses bring her back, do they?”
Jane nodded. “I want to make something to remember her by. I could make a quilt, but I’m not very good at quilting.”
“Did your mama teach you how to make rugs? She made some beautiful ones herself, with appliqué and embroidery.”
“Oh yes! Mama did teach me! I remember she said that if you knew how to make a rug, you could make any house into a home.”
“Well, let’s see,” said Kate, nodding her head. “The red dress you have there would be perfect. Here’s a black wool one too.” She smiled at Jane.
She understands how I feel, thought Jane.
The rug would be made from wool, so it would last. Jane began to plan its design—it must have lots of flowers!
Jane worked on the rug each summer evening. It was big—almost four feet wide and six feet long—perfect for in front of a fireplace or in the kitchen.
She filled the center of the rug with pictures of everything around her that summer: trees, their old cow, birds sitting on their nests in the apple orchard, her father riding his horse to town. She even put in their house, with its two large windows downstairs, four windows upstairs, and two big chimneys. She embroidered a beautiful starflower, and a dozen lovely hearts. In the very center she copied her mother’s favorite vase filled with a bright bouquet.
“You don’t have any more room in the center,” Kate laughed one evening. “Now what will you do for the borders?”
“Vines and more flowers,” Jane said.
“That’s quite a project for an eleven-year-old,” her father observed. “I don’t recall ever seeing anything like it in the whole of Maine.”
“Oh, Papa!”
“Well, in Wiscasset, anyway. It’s sure to win a prize at the Harvest Fair,” he said.
“Jane has put a lot of love and memories into the rug, and it shows,” Cousin Kate agreed.
Jane cut out over one hundred flowers to appliqué around the border. She used her mother’s brightest clothes. She embroidered curving leaves, vines, and flowers trailing up and down the sides of the rug. Each night when she went to bed, she had to shake her hand because her fingers were so tired and sore from holding the needle. But each morning she looked around her more eagerly, wanting to capture the beauty her mother had taught her to see.
Finally it was done. Cousin Kate helped her press it with a warm iron the night before the Harvest Fair.
They took the wagon to the center of Wiscasset to the big churchyard. Quilts and rugs and samplers of all kinds were already displayed.
Jane hesitated.
“Come,” said Cousin Kate, taking her arm. “Let’s enter it.”
“What have we here?” Mrs. Kingsbury asked.
“A rug made by Jane Gove, age eleven,” said Kate proudly, while Jane stood shyly to one side.
In the morning sunlight the bright cloth and the colored threads shone and sparkled on the black wool.
“Why it’s almost like being in a garden! You’re Mary Gove’s oldest, aren’t you? Your mother would be proud!” Mrs. Kingsbury exclaimed.
As they walked around the churchyard, looking at jams and jellies and animals and pumpkins, it was almost like being a family again. Cousin Kate couldn’t ever take Mama’s place, but Jane was glad that she had come to live with them. It was good to see Isaac and Rose laughing again. And Papa seemed to walk with a lighter step. But we haven’t forgotten Mama. She is still in our hearts.
After supper, the winners were announced. After seeing the display of needlework, Jane didn’t really think her rug would win. But suddenly she heard her name!
“For the 1845 Wiscasset Harvest Fair, first prize for needlework, the winner is Miss Jane Gove. This young lady is only eleven years old, but she has created one of the most extraordinary pieces of needlework our judges have ever seen!”
Although Jane grew up and made other rugs for her own family, she always kept this special rug. It stayed in her family for a long time, and finally someone decided that it should be seen by other people as well. It is now recognized as a masterpiece of American folk art and is displayed in the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County, California.
As long as she lived, Jane kept the joyful memory of her mother in her heart. And she never forgot to smile each spring when the flowers came back to the gardens and meadows.

My grandfather, Fa’alogo Tovia Fa’alogo, was a convert to the Church. Early in life he learnt about God and Jesus Christ while he was a member of the Congregational Christian Church. He passed away in 1960 aged 84, before I was born. I learnt about Grandfather from my father who took care of him, assisted by his siblings and family, until he passed away.
Grandfather learnt about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ from two missionaries. In his search for the truth, he came to know for himself that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the kingdom of God on earth and that Joseph Smith was the Lord’s revelator, the instrument through which the gospel was restored. This he believed with all his heart. In time Grandfather was ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood, office of elder.
In 1959, grandfather gifted to the Church, by way of declaration, part of the land belonging to the Faalogo (paramount chief) family title in the village of Paia, Savai’i. The declaration (pulefaamau) was published as required by law in Samoa’s national newspaper, called ‘Savali,’ in September 1959. The declaration was subsequently approved and registered by the Samoa Lands and Titles Court.
Part of the declaration published was “this piece of land has been set aside for religious matters and an area is made available as an access road to it for use by the congregation of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-days Saints, that they may use it every day as needed by that Church for religious matters.” (“ua tuueseina atu e ia lea fasi fanua mo Mataupu tau Lotu ma le avanoa o se ala e ui i ai ia aoga i le aulotu a le Ekalesia a Iesu Keriso o le Au Paia o Aso e Gata Ai ia faapea ona latou faaaogaina mo aso uma lava . . . e mana’omia pea ai e lena Ekalesia lea fasi fanua mo Mataupu tau lotu.”) Since that time, the Church has used that land for religious matters. It now has a ward worshipping there, using the chapel, teaching areas, a cultural hall and a playing court.
I believe Grandfather knew what The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints stood for and that it added great value to what he already knew about God the Eternal Father and His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ. His desire, as I learnt later, was not only to please and show his love for God but also for his family, village and community to be blessed, as well as those who may come to live there. He loved God, he loved the Church, he loved his family, and he loved his village and country. He gave up something good for something much, much better. He lived as he believed.
At the time of the declaration there were only three generations of his family in the Church, now there are six; many of them reside in foreign countries with their growing families, who serve the Lord in numerous capacities. They continue the legacy he left behind—to encourage their family to keep the two greatest commandments: love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and to love thy neighbour as thyself (see Matthew 22:37, 39).
Lastly, I learnt that when Grandfather made the declaration, well before a temple was ever dreamed of in Samoa, to my mind he was essentially practicing the law of consecration. That law we have come to know so well in our temple worship and in the scriptures—knowing that the earth and all it contains belongs to God, the Creator of heaven and earth. To return a portion of it for the establishment of His kingdom seems not a sacrifice but an acknowledgment of God’s love and an expression of greater appreciation for the people and the world around us. I know Grandfather saw the hand of God touching him and his family whilst he was still living.
Grandfather reminds me of Father Lehi, when he partook of the fruit and desired for his family to do likewise, to taste of the goodness of it and to hold fast to the iron rod (See 1 Nephi 8). I am eternally grateful for Grandfather’s faith in exercising his agency to choose the right when he heard the restored gospel message and accepted it, and then he did let the consequences follow, as in the words of Choose the Right:
Choose the right when a choice is placed before you.
In the right the Holy Spirit guides;
And its light is forever shining o’er you,
When in the right your heart confides.
Choose the right! Choose the right!
Let wisdom mark the way before.
In its light, choose the right!
And God will bless you evermore.1
Grandfather’s family and village have been abundantly blessed because of his faith and trust in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and because of the righteous choices he made.
I pray that as we celebrate the birth of our Saviour Jesus Christ during this festive season, that we may honour His name in all that we do, just as our forefathers have done, to bless the rising and future generations, that they may come to know Him as the Saviour and Redeemer of the world, and that we all may confess Him to the world, and that He may confess us to the Father.

“How long is it until my birthday?” Jonathan asked Mother one cold, snowy day when he couldn’t go outside to play.
“Four months,” Mother said. “Why?”
“Oh, I just wondered. How long is it until Susan’s birthday?”
“Don’t you remember? Susan’s birthday was just last month,” Mother said. “It will be eleven months before she has another one.”
“Oh,” Jonathan said. “Christmas was last month too.” He sighed as he walked down the hall. More than anything, he liked times like Christmas and birthdays.
“I like getting presents,” Jonathan told his dog, Wags, when he got to his room. “I like giving presents too. I wish today was Christmas or a birthday so we could have presents.”
Suddenly Jonathan realized that he hadn’t asked Mother about her birthday or Dad’s. He ran back to the kitchen.
“No,” said Mother, looking up from the big pot of soup she was stirring. “Neither Dad nor I have one today. Why do you keep asking about birthdays?”
“Oh, I just like them.” Jonathan trudged back to his room. He opened the bottom drawer of his dresser, where he kept his special treasures. “If it was Mother’s birthday,” he told Wags, “I could make her a crayon print with these leaves I saved. Mother liked the crayon print I made her at kindergarten. She liked it a lot.
“If it was Dad’s birthday,” he told Wags, “I could give him this nice block of wood I found in the park last week. Dad’s always looking for wood that he can carve into animals.
“If it was Susan’s birthday,” he told Wags, “I could give her five of my best marbles. They would look very pretty at the bottom of her fish tank.”
Jonathan gave a deep, big sigh. “Oh, Wags,” he said, “I do wish it was someone’s birthday, or Christmas, or any day at all when I could give a present!”
Then he smiled, “Maybe, just maybe, today is a day when I can give presents. He grinned a big grin. “Yes, it is!” he told Wags. Then he went to work.
First, he put his pretty leaves under a sheet of paper. Carefully he rubbed across the paper with red and yellow and orange crayons.
Next, he took out the block of wood and wiped it with tissue paper so that it would be nice and clean for Dad to carve.
Finally, he counted out five of his prettiest marbles.
“It’s time for dinner,” Mother called.
Jonathan carried his presents to the dinner table and placed them beside the right plates.
“Presents for everyone!” he exclaimed when Dad and Mother and Susan sat down.
“But it isn’t our birthdays,” said Mother. “I told you that.”
“And it isn’t Christmas,” Susan and Dad said at the same time.
“No, it isn’t a birthday or Christmas,” Jonathan said. “It’s another special day I thought of—it’s today! And I decided that today was the best day for giving ‘just because I like you’ presents!”
“What a lovely idea,” Mother said. “As soon as we’ve eaten, I’ll hang up this picture where we can all enjoy it.”
Dad said, “This block of wood is just the kind I like for carving.”
Susan said, “The marbles are really pretty. Thank you, Jonathan.”
Jonathan was smiling from ear to ear. He had more treasures in his bottom drawer, and lots of friends he could give presents to on another “just because I like you” day.

Before I was five years old, I had discovered that the walkway of vinyl between our dining room and our kitchen was a good place to sulk, especially when I wanted my dissatisfaction to be noticed. I would sit there for a long time and feel that no one understood or loved me.
Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. My teenage sister, Rebecca, found me there one evening before dinner. She knelt down and quietly said to me, “Manda, let’s go count your freckles.”
It was a simple suggestion but so kindly put forth that I forgot my frowns and followed her to the bathroom mirror. She set up a stool for me so I’d be tall enough to see my nose up close in the mirror. With her chin resting on my head, she started with number one, and I helped her as high as I could count. I remember proudly entering the kitchen with the announcement that I had more than a thousand freckles, and we hadn’t even finished counting.
With just a small investment of her time and energy, my sister had changed my black mood. And, although my sulkiness that night probably wouldn’t have lasted very long, by giving me some positive attention, Rebecca insured me against the next time I felt unhappy.

My good friend at school asked me what I did over the weekend. I told her, and the topic of general conference paved the way for her follow-up questions about my beliefs and the Book of Mormon. I was able to use the Articles of Faith to share some essential differences of our Church from other Christian churches, and I was also able to clearly explain what the Book of Mormon is and how it relates to the Bible.
I am so grateful for this opportunity I had! I know the Spirit guided me with my answers to her questions, and if it weren’t for general conference, I probably wouldn’t have been in the right spirit to readily answer them.
Ellie W., England

In the spring of 1972, President Spencer W. Kimball, who was serving as the Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, was very ill. Throat cancer had returned, and his heart was threatening to fail due to a clogged artery and a malfunctioning valve. He was seventy-seven years old. The cancer was stopped with cobalt treatments, and his physicians recommended a complex surgical procedure on his heart, with only some chance of success.
In a meeting with his doctors and President Harold B. Lee of the First Presidency, President Kimball said wearily, “I am an old man and ready to die.” He wondered whether, at his age, it made sense to fight so hard to extend his life when, perhaps, his time had come. President Lee arose and said with power, “Spencer, you have been called! You are not to die! You are to do everything you need to do to care for yourself and continue to live.”
Spencer did not give up and die. He was not a man who gave up, no matter how difficult the task.
The surgery was performed and was successful. While he was recovering, President Joseph Fielding Smith passed away. Eighteen months later, President Harold B. Lee also passed away, and Spencer W. Kimball became the twelfth President of the Church. Considering his age and health history, most people expected his administration to be a brief “caretaker” period. But instead, it was a vigorous time of miracles. For the next twelve years, in the words of Elder Neal A. Maxwell, “one often got the feeling that [President Kimball] was always on the next ridge waiting for the Church to catch up. Though he smiled at us and beckoned us, he would like to have seen us move more than just a bit faster.”
He talked about the importance of missionary work and challenged us to “lengthen our stride.” He said, “It seems to me that the Lord chose his words when he said ‘every nation,’ ‘every land,’ ‘uttermost bounds of the earth,’ ‘every tongue,’ ‘every people,’ ‘every soul,’ ‘all the world,’ ‘many lands.’” He urged us to pray that the hearts of leaders of oppressive governments would be softened and that they would allow the missionaries to come into their lands. The number of missionaries doubled, and nearly three million people came into the Church. At the time of his death, 60 percent of the stakes in the Church had been created during his time as President.
He stressed the importance of temple work, and the number of temples rose from fifteen to thirty-seven, with several others announced or under construction.
He discussed the importance of the family as the basic unit of the Church, and a new Sunday meeting schedule was introduced to give families more time together.
A new English hymnbook was published; it became a standard for many language editions that later followed.
He taught the importance of scripture study, and new editions of the standard works with more extensive cross-referencing and a better topical guide were published. Individuals and families were encouraged to study the scriptures. Two revelations were added to the scriptures—the vision of the celestial kingdom given to Joseph Smith (D&C 137) and the vision of the redemption of the dead given to President Joseph F. Smith (D&C 138).
The First Quorum of the Seventy was formally organized and expanded, so that there were more General Authorities to handle the responsibilities of a rapidly growing worldwide church. Men from half a dozen nations were called to that Quorum. All the General Authorities, including President Kimball, traveled extensively, and area conferences were held in many cities on six continents.
But perhaps the most exciting moment occurred in June 1978 when the Lord revealed that the time had come to extend the priesthood to worthy men of all races. (See OD 2.)
Every good teacher knows that one of the best ways to get the attention of students is to whisper. President Kimball whispered, not because he wanted to, but because cancer had taken most of his vocal cords. And he got our attention! We listened raptly to his inspired counsel:
“I find that when I get casual in my relationships with divinity and when it seems that no divine ear is listening and no divine voice is speaking, that I am far, far away. If I immerse myself in the scriptures the distance narrows and spirituality returns.”
“Grow all the food that you possibly can on your own property.”
“We ask you to clean up your homes and your farms. … Make our properties a thing of beauty to behold.”
“Every person should keep a journal and every person can keep a journal.”
“Suffering can make saints of people as they learn patience, long-suffering, and self-mastery.”
“Marriage can be successful as long as selfishness does not enter in.”
“The spectacle of a nation praying is more awe-inspiring, more powerful, than the explosion of an atomic bomb.”
“Security is not born of inexhaustible wealth but of unquenchable faith.”
“I know that Jesus Christ is the Son of the living God and that he was crucified for the sins of the world. He is my friend, my Savior, my Lord, my God.”
Surely the Lord had prepared Spencer W. Kimball for just this time, had known of his unique talents, had seen him grow through many trials, and knew that he was the man who could lead the Church in a time of such growth and excitement.
He was born 28 March 1894 in Salt Lake City, the sixth child of Andrew and Olive Woolley Kimball. When he was three years old, his father was called to be president of the St. Joseph Stake in southeastern Arizona, so the family made the four-day move south.
Spencer thrived in the Gila Valley, but he also learned sorrow. There his mother died when he was just eleven years old. Four of his sisters also died.
The first World War thwarted his hopes for more advanced education, but he served a mission in the central United States and later married Camilla Eyring, who was a school teacher. They had three sons and a daughter. He established his own insurance business, was active in community affairs, and served in Church callings as diverse as music director, stake clerk, and stake president.
One youthful experience tells us much about his personality and abilities. When Spencer was fourteen, he attended a meeting in which the speaker asked how many in the congregation had read the Bible. He felt miserable that he could not raise his hand. He wrote, “That very night at the conclusion of the sermon I walked to my home a block away and climbed up to my little attic room in the top of the house and lighted a coal-oil lamp that was on the little table, and I read the first chapters of Genesis. A year later I closed the Bible, having read every chapter in that big and glorious book.”
He learned to work hard and long on his father’s farm, and he was not one to give up easily. When he was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1943, he was shocked, overwhelmed, and humbled. In his first talk as an Apostle at the October 1943 general conference, he testified:
“I remember reading that Jacob wrestled all night, ‘until the breaking of the day,’ for a blessing; and I want to tell you that for eighty-five nights I have gone through that experience, wrestling for a blessing. Eighty-five times, the breaking of the day has found me on my knees praying to the Lord to help me and strengthen me and make me equal to this great responsibility that has come to me.”
The announcement of the June 1978 revelation also illustrates his patience: “We have pleaded long and earnestly in behalf of these, our faithful brethren, spending many hours in the Upper Room of the Temple supplicating the Lord for divine guidance.
“He has heard our prayers, and by revelation has confirmed that the long-promised day has come when every faithful, worthy man in the Church may receive the holy priesthood” (OD 2).
Perhaps Spencer W. Kimball’s patience and tenacity were just the qualities needed to bring about this great blessing from the Lord.
In a speech to a group of servicemen shortly after he had been called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Elder Kimball expressed his feeling of humility and wonder that such a call could come to him. But then he said, “I don’t know exactly why the Lord has called me, but I have one talent to offer. My father taught me how to work; and if the Lord can use a worker, I’m available.”
He became a legend for his energy, his long working hours, and the way he applied his motto—“Do It”—to himself. But always evident in his life was his great love of people. In fact, he often described himself by saying, “I love people.”
He had a special love for the Lamanites. In his patriarchal blessing he was told, “You will preach the gospel to many people, but more especially to the Lamanites.”
As a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, he was given responsibility for the Indian mission and later for the South American missions. President George Albert Smith gave him a special charge to look after the Indians throughout the world.
Stories abound of his kind acts and thoughtfulness. One snowy day when many airline flights had been canceled, thousands were stranded in a busy airport. A young mother and her two-year-old child waited in line after line trying to buy a ticket. The child was tired and hungry, and the mother was pregnant and could not carry her child. As the child sat whimpering on the floor, the mother moved her along with her foot. As people behind her in the line muttered and criticized, the young mother wanted to cry.
Then a man approached her with a kind smile on his face, “Young lady, it appears to me that you need a little help.” He took the child in his arms, comforted her, and gave her a stick of chewing gum. After he told the other people of the woman’s plight, they agreed to let her go to the front of the line. The man took her to her flight. As she boarded the plane, she thought, “What a wonderful man, and I don’t even know his name.” A few days later, she saw his picture in a newspaper and learned that he was Elder Spencer W. Kimball of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
On another occasion, a bishop in South America asked if Elder Kimball could bless a dying man in the hospital between stake conference sessions. They raced to the hospital and ran up the stairs and down the hall. As they entered the room, the bishop recalled, “There was an amazing change. Elder Kimball seemed to have all the time in the world.” They visited unhurriedly, administered to the man, and took their leave. Once out the door, they ran to the car and sped back to the conference.
Many people, sick in the hospital, were blessed and comforted by a much sicker Spencer Kimball during his many hospital stays. He once said, “My life is like my shoes—to be worn out in service.”
He spent a great deal of time counseling those who had become weakened by sin or were struggling with adversity. The sorrow and joy he shared with them inspired his books The Miracle of Forgiveness and Faith Precedes the Miracle, which have, in turn, inspired many more members of the Church.
Had Spencer W. Kimball died at the age of seventy-seven, he would have lived a marvelous life as a missionary, husband, father, businessman, stake clerk, stake president, and, for thirty years, Apostle. His many struggles with poor health, his acts of kindness, his loving wisdom would have stood as a monument to him.
But, at an age when most people retire and take their ease, he was given the greatest challenge a man could have. He accepted a calling he never expected to have and magnified it in such a way that millions of people, living and dead, were blessed.

One morning in April 1991, Kiril and Nevenka Kiriakov were at their home in Virginia when the telephone rang. Nevenka immediately recognized the familiar voice: “May I speak with Brother Kiriakov?” then-Elder Thomas S. Monson asked. 7
“Certainly,” she responded. Before she could hand the phone to Kiril, however, Elder Monson continued, “How would you feel if your husband were called as the first mission president in Bulgaria?” 8
Kiril and Nevenka had fled Bulgaria in 1963 with their children, Julia and Peter, and joined the Church in France before settling in the United States. Although Communist authorities had threatened Kiril with death and his family with life imprisonment if they ever returned, Kiril had been promised in a blessing that he would preach the gospel in Bulgaria. With a new government in place, they felt safe to return. Despite Kiril’s significant health concerns, he and Nevenka courageously accepted a call to serve. 9 “I was anxious to see all my relatives and friends,” Nevenka said, “and share with them the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.” 10
As Kiril and Nevenka prepared to return to their homeland, the first missionaries who would serve under their leadership were arriving at the missionary training center in Provo, Utah, USA. The language teacher who greeted them on their first day was Julia Kiriakov Caswell, Kiril and Nevenka’s daughter. 11
In July 1991, the Bulgaria Sofia Mission officially opened. Through the faith, perseverance, and efforts of the local members and the missionaries, the Church soon received official recognition. 12 By the end of 1991, more than 150 Bulgarian Saints had been baptized. 13