Gospel Story Finder

“Whenever we fall, whenever we do less than we ought, in a very real way we forget mother,” declared President Thomas S. Monson. He added, “Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered.”1
President Monson’s message has been a strength to me, so much so that when I first read his words, they brought to mind my mother and the wise counsel she gave me years ago, shortly after I joined the Church.
My mother was a member of another Christian church, but she was kind to the missionaries who taught me the gospel. Once I decided to become a Latter-day Saint, she always supported me.
Everything had been going well in my new life as a member of the Church until I joined in Journalism Day observances in my home country of Peru. At a party I attended, talks and complimentary words filled the air. Toasts then followed. As the party grew, so did the temptation to drink with my friends.
The change that converts to the Church make when they accept the gospel often means that they must make new friends. In some circumstances, as I learned, former friends can be instruments of the adversary to tempt us to break the commandments and resume our old ways.
When my co-workers offered me a glass of beer, I took it, drank it, and kept on drinking. At the end of the party, my conscience convicted me. I had fallen. What would my mother say?
When I arrived home, I entered quietly and immediately went to bed. My mother said nothing, but I felt ashamed and decided to quit attending church. A week later, as we sat at the table eating lunch, she looked me straight in the eye and said, “Son, never forget that you are a Mormon.”
To go to and from work, I rode my bicycle by the Church meetinghouse. Every time I did so, my conscience bothered me. One evening I decided I could no longer live with my guilt. I parked my bicycle directly in front of the branch president’s office, went in, and requested an interview.
I told the branch president what I had done and asked for forgiveness, after which he counseled with me. From that moment on, I have never broken the Word of Wisdom.
My mother died more than 20 years ago, but I have always tried to remember what she told me never to forget: I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

“I want to tell all the members of the Church that I loved my mission very much,” said Cambodian member Eng Bun Huoch, who was baptized on October 25, 1998. He served a mission in Phnom Penh two years later. “Serving a mission is not easy, but it is worth it. I can’t describe how important and profitable it was to my life. My two-year mission instilled in me leadership skills and teaching skills and showed me how to be a better friend, son, and member.”
After returning home on July 17, 2002, Elder Huoch was able to find a job that improved his quality of life. His testimony had been strengthened, and he felt better prepared to deal with the challenges of life.
“I thank the Lord that He brought the gospel to Cambodia before I was too old to serve a mission,” he says. “I would be very sad if I missed the opportunity to do this marvelous work.”

Finally, I learned that there are many kinds of pioneers. I am a first-generation member of the Church. My family was not happy with my decision to be baptized, which made it difficult for me to attend my meetings. Our small branch struggled because of a lack of members, especially priesthood holders. Eventually it became evident that the mission was going to close it.
As a result, I decided to move to Canada, which was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made. I was an only child and loved my parents very much, as they loved me, but my testimony would have been at risk had I stayed in an area where I couldn’t attend church. I can still remember the night I left—my father running alongside the train blowing kisses to me while my mother looked on. My heart was breaking, but I knew I had to leave.
I arrived in Calgary, Alberta, on Mother’s Day in May 1967. I attended church with the members I was staying with and cried through the whole meeting. I remember writing letters home to my parents with tears streaming down my face, telling them I loved Canada but missed England and my family so much.
I struggled to adjust to my new life, suffering homesickness, loneliness, and disappointments, but I stayed true to the gospel. I attended all of my meetings and accepted callings. These were my pioneer days.
Eventually I met my husband. We were sealed in the Cardston Alberta Temple and raised three children in the Church.

When Dad suggested we go tubing, I was excited. I had never gone floating down a river on an inner tube, and it sounded like fun. Dad said that it would be fun but that we also needed to be careful and watch out for logs and other hidden dangers. He said that the river is a lot like life—if we follow the wrong path, even unknowingly, we are in danger of getting hurt. We all promised to be careful and to watch out for each other.
After we had inflated our inner tubes, Mom dropped us off at the river. The water was muddy and moving fast. Dad told me to sit back in the tube with my legs and arms hanging out. When I did, I gave a little screech, both because the water was cold and because I started floating away from my family. My big sister soon caught up with me and reached out to hold my hand. Soon we were floating down the river together beneath the big trees that grew along the banks.
After about an hour, my sister and I decided to share one inner tube, and we hand-paddled over to very shallow water so we could do it safely. We had fun grabbing the vines that hung into the water, watching the birds, and reaching up to pick leaves from low tree branches. The water didn’t seem very deep, and sometimes my sister, who is very tall, would slide off the tube and push us around sandbars so that we wouldn’t get stuck.
We were trying to avoid two sandbars when she discovered that she couldn’t reach the bottom. Suddenly we were both caught up by a swift current and pushed into some fallen branches. The inner tube flipped over. I fell into the river. Thanks to my life jacket, I stayed afloat, but I couldn’t get out of the strong current. I was being scratched by the branches as I struggled and called out for help. My sister tried to reach me, but she was also caught in the current. She was hanging onto a big branch so that she wouldn’t get pushed under the water.
Dad immediately saw us and came to our rescue. He had to move carefully because he could barely touch bottom and didn’t want to get caught in the current like we were. He climbed over some branches and reached out for me. As soon as he was close enough, I grabbed onto his neck, and he held me tight. Then he put me on the inner tube and pushed me toward my brother. My brother grabbed the inner tube and pulled me to safety. Then Dad helped my sister. Finally we were all safe on a sandbar.
After a brief rest, we continued to float down the river. This time I was sitting in Dad’s lap. I was still a little scared, but after a while, I closed my eyes and relaxed. When I opened my eyes, I saw some hawks. Then I saw Mom waving from a bridge, and I knew that we had come to the end of our journey. I was very grateful that we had arrived safely.
That night Mom asked me what I had learned from my experience. I told her that even though I’d done what Dad had told us to do, I still had needed help. I said that whenever I need help, I’ll think of the river and remember that my family will always be there to help me.
Mom said that those were good things to remember. She also said that Heavenly Father is watching out for me and that I should remember to thank Him for that when I prayed. I did. I know that Heavenly Father watched out for me on the river. And I know that He watches out for me every day and wants to protect me from life’s hidden dangers.

While I knew that God was there to help me and guide me, there was a whole list of people I’d turn to first before I would even think of turning to Him.

I realized this needed to change.

I knew how to change my relationship with God: love Him with all my heart, might, mind, and strength (see Doctrine and Covenants 59:5). But Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles helped me understand the why. He said: “The first great commandment of all eternity is to love God. … But the first great truth of all eternity is that God loves us. … That love is the foundation stone of eternity, and it should be the foundation stone of our daily life.”5

I started making God’s love the foundation of my daily life by talking to Him every day on the way to work. Though it started out awkward, it eventually grew into sharing the best parts of the day with Him, thanking Him, laughing with Him, and crying to Him. Praying changed from an obligation into something I knew would bring me closer to God.

While serving as bishop a number of years ago, I became alarmed by the number of young people who came to me, frightened and confused, thinking their parents were not in love and were even heading for divorce because of family disagreements. Because I knew the parents well and knew they were deeply in love, I explained to their children that while this was unpleasant, it was sometimes a part of marriage and did not mean the family was about to disintegrate.

Elder David B. Haight once told this story:
James Peter Fugal was an honest man! He herded sheep much of his life in the rolling hills of Idaho—both his own sheep and sheep for others.
On one bitterly cold winter night, he was herding sheep for another man when a blizzard set in. The sheep bunched together, as sheep do, in the corner of a fenced area, and many died. Many other sheep on surrounding ranches also died that same night because of the weather.
Though the death of the sheep was no fault of his, James Fugal felt responsible and spent the next several years working and saving to repay the owner for his lost sheep.
This was the type of deep moral honor and accountability that was fostered by scripture reading, God-fearing settlers on the early frontier. [David B. Haight, “Ethics and Honesty,” Ensign, November 1987, 13]

As I was thinking about the mission of BYU and preparing for this opportunity to speak with you today, a wonderful memory came to my mind.
On October 10, 1975, I was twenty-three years old, recently married, and a senior at BYU. That day I attended the weekly devotional and listened to President Spencer W. Kimball deliver his landmark message “The Second Century of Brigham Young University.” Among the Church and university leaders seated on the stand were Neal A. Maxwell, the commissioner of Church Education, Dallin H. Oaks, the president of the university, and Jeffrey R. Holland, the dean of Religious Instruction.
President Kimball’s instruction that day was inspiring, edifying, and prophetic. He reviewed key aspects of the university’s first century of service and described both opportunities and challenges for the university’s second century. Listening to the president and prophet of the Lord’s restored Church that day was a historic event and a most memorable experience for me.
We are approaching the halfway mark of the second century of BYU, and I believe it is an appropriate time to consider where we are and what may be coming next.

Prior to his mission young Ezra fell in love with a vivacious young coed. He first noticed her when he and a cousin were standing on a street curb in Logan, Utah, and an attractive woman drove by in a Ford convertible. A few minutes later she drove by a second time. “Who is that?” Ezra asked. “Flora Amussen,” his cousin replied.

Though Ezra was a homespun farm boy from Whitney, Idaho, who had rarely been off the farm, he asked Flora for a date. She accepted. Wearing his blue serge suit, shiny from much wear, he pulled up in front of her large, three-story home, took a deep breath, and wondered what he’d gotten himself into, calling on the most popular—and apparently one of the wealthiest—young women on campus.

Many of his friends were amazed that Flora even gave him the time of day. She was very popular at Utah State Agricultural College (now Utah State University) and involved in everything from tennis to drama. But once they became acquainted, their courtship proceeded smoothly, and it wasn’t long before Ezra felt he’d found the woman for him. Marriage, however, wouldn’t come immediately. First there was a mission for “Elder” Ezra Taft Benson to serve in Great Britain, and before he knew it he was saying good-bye to Flora at the train station and heading for Europe.

Two-and-a-half years later when he returned, Ezra was delighted and a little relieved to find Flora still available. Their dating resumed, and it wasn’t long before he felt ready to settle down on his Idaho farm with Flora as his wife and begin to rear a family.

Flora seems to have liked the attention of this handsome young farm boy and had entertained thoughts of marriage herself. At 23, she was certainly of marriageable age. But something held her back. For some reason she felt the timing wasn’t quite right for their marriage. She saw in Ezra Benson more than a hard-working farm boy who would make a fine husband and father; she had the impression that Ezra had potential that might not surface if he returned to the farm immediately.

Flora didn’t discuss her feelings with Ezra, but “prayed and fasted for the Lord to help me know how I could help him be of greatest service to his fellowmen. It came to me that if the bishop thought I was worthy, [he would] call me on a mission. The Church came first with Ezra, so I knew he wouldn’t say anything against it.”

Without telling her beau about her plan, Flora talked with her bishop. And before Ezra had a chance to formally propose, she made her own announcement: she was going to Hawaii, where she’d been called to serve a mission. Ezra was shocked. Another separation from Flora? It seemed too much to ask of him. “I was ready to settle down on the farm,” he recalled. “And I didn’t have too much briefing as to why she was leaving. It was really tough. She was the light of my life.”

Flora knew she was taking a calculated risk. Though convinced her boyfriend needed to finish his education and that both of them would profit by maturing spiritually before tying themselves down, she also recognized the possibility he might not wait two years. Nevertheless, she felt she needed to serve this mission.

On August 26, 1924, Flora and Ezra boarded the westbound train in Salt Lake City, and he rode with her as far as Tooele, where he said good-bye. It tore at him for her to leave, but he knew, somehow, that things would work out. Later he wrote in his journal, “We were both happy because we felt the future held much for us and that this separation would be made up to us later. It is difficult, though, to see one’s hopes shattered. But though we sometimes had a cry about it, we received assurance from Him who told us it would all be for the best.”

Things did work out. When Flora returned from Hawaii, Ezra lost no time in proposing, and on September 10, 1926, they were married in the Salt Lake Temple.

It was through experiences such as these that the young Ezra Taft Benson gained confidence in the Lord, and confidence in what happened when he tried to do what was right—even when it wasn’t easy.

At one point in my life, I had a highly paid job with great responsibility and recognition. One day my wife said, “You are so busy in your work. You should pray and think about whether you should find a new job that would make you more available to serve the Lord.” We prayed and received a confirmation by the Spirit that I should change jobs. But I was still a little resistant. When I prayed about it, I told the Lord the name of the only company I would consider working for if I quit my job.
Three weeks later, I contacted a recruiting agency and had an interview. In the end, the person said one of his clients had just requested a new director. It was the company I had mentioned in my prayer. It’s a small company that has such openings only every 10 years or so. It was a miracle.
I jokingly told my wife, “I have good news and bad news. The good news is I’m going to be hired by that company. The bad news is I think the Lord has something in store for me.”
I signed on with that company on a Friday. On Saturday I was called as the stake president.
My wife and I placed greater value on the promptings of the Spirit and serving God than in material blessings or our intellectual satisfaction or social recognition. We sought the Lord’s will and received spiritual confirmation that everything would be all right. That was one of the greatest experiences in my life.

Peter really missed Grandpa. Mom and Dad had said that Grandpa wouldn’t be home until summer was over. Grandpa was in Kansas, helping people learn about the Church, and he was happy. Peter wanted Grandpa to be happy, but he also wanted to show Grandpa how much he’d grown and how he could ride his bike without the training wheels and how many new birds and little animals he’d found in the woods where he and Grandpa always walked together.
One afternoon a thick envelope addressed to Peter came in the mail. It was from Grandpa, and inside was a small packet and a short letter. Inside the packet were five large black-and-white striped seeds. Mom read the letter to Peter:
“Dear Peter,
Here is a mission surprise for you. Find a nice sunny place by the fence to plant the seeds. If you water them a little every day, you will grow something that we can share with our special friends.
Love,Grandpa”
Mom gave Peter a big, old spoon, and Peter dug five little holes in the soft, warm soil by the fence. He put one seed in each hole, then covered it with soil and patted it down with his hand.
Peter found a watering can in the shed and watered the ground every day, just as Grandpa had told him. But nothing happened. Peter told Mom, “I don’t think Grandpa’s seeds are going to grow.”
Mom smiled at him. “You have to be patient,” she said. “It will probably take at least another week before they push up out of the ground.”
“How many days are in a week?” Peter asked. “I want to see what the mission surprise is. Besides, the sooner the seeds grow, the sooner Grandpa will be home.”
“There are seven days in a week,” Mom told Peter. “Look. Every morning when you get up, cross off one day on this calendar. When you get to this one with the circle around it, you will know that a week has passed.”
So Peter watered the seeds and marked the calendar every day. And sure enough, on the day that was circled, five little green bumps were coming out of the ground!
Soon the bumps were little plants, and then they were big plants! Peter was astonished each time he watered them at how much they grew every day. Soon they were taller than he was, and he still didn’t know what they were or whom he and Grandpa were going to share them with.
One flower grew at the top of each tall plant. Peter had never seen such big flowers. They were even bigger than Mom’s dinner plates, and they followed the sun all day.
Before long summer was nearly over, and Peter was worried. The flowers had gotten so fat that they drooped over and no longer followed the sun. Would they die before Grandpa came home? How could he and Grandpa share dead flowers with their friends? And Peter still didn’t know who the special friends were.
Then one bright sunny afternoon, Grandpa came home. “I see you took good care of the sunflowers, Peter,” he said. “Let’s go cut them down and dry out the seeds. They’ll be a wonderful treat for our special friends this winter.”
Sunflower seeds! Now Peter understood—and he could guess who the special friends were too. All the little animals and the birds would be very happy to share Grandpa’s mission surprise.

One Saturday night I went to a friend’s house to watch movies and hang out. Although my friend isn’t a member of the Church, her standards are similar to mine. We were having a good time and we picked out a movie to watch. Then right as my friend put the disc into the player, I felt that I should check the back of the box to find out more about the movie. To my surprise, I found that it had inappropriate content. At first, I didn’t know what I should do, but as I thought about it, I felt it would be wrong to watch it.
It wasn’t easy, but I gathered my courage and told my friend, “I’m sorry, but I can’t watch this movie” and told her how I don’t watch movies with that kind of content. I was afraid that she would be annoyed, but she wasn’t. She knew that I was LDS and respected my beliefs.
Later, as I thought about the experience, I was surprised at how close I had come to compromising my standards. I was able to see that Satan can make something seem so harmless even when it’s not. The next day I was thinking about the experience while the sacrament was being passed. I thanked my Heavenly Father for helping me make the right decision and for the gift of the Holy Ghost to help us get through those situations. I’m glad that I chose the right because if I’d made the wrong choice, I would have felt bad after viewing the content in that movie and not listening to the Spirit when I knew what the right choice was. I’m grateful to have the gospel in my life and to know that if we are worthy, the Holy Ghost will always be there for us when we need Him.

Several years ago, I was working as a software engineer. I was married, had two kids, and was serving in the Church. I started teaching some night classes at the local university, and I loved it. So, I was considering trying to become a university professor, but that would mean that I would need to quit my job and go back to school full-time.

My wife and I counseled together about it and asked the Lord to help us with wisdom and judgment. In the end, we felt good about this option and moved forward with faith that the Lord would help us through the process. So I quit my job and started back into school full-time. In addition to my schooling, I was working on the side to try to make ends meet. Needless to say, this was a busy time for me.

Perhaps you can relate.

At this time, I was serving as the executive secretary in my ward, and so I attended bishopric meetings. During some of these meetings, it came up that our ward needed a new young men's president. As the bishopric discussed names of possible people, none quite felt right. And in the process, my name came up. The bishop knew this was a very busy time in my life, but he asked me to give it some thought and let him know how I felt. He said he wasn't officially issuing me a calling, and if I said it wasn't a good fit right now, it wouldn't be a problem.

This was a difficult decision for me to wrestle with. In some ways, I think it would have been easier for me if the bishop had issued the calling directly. Because, as it was, I was left to weigh the options myself.

My wife and I counseled together about it, because it would affect our whole family, and we felt assurance and faith that the Lord would bless us if we moved forward with this calling.

I wrote the following in my journal: "It was really in my court whether or not I would be called. I didn't sleep well and wasn't sure what to do, but as I was reading in the scriptures, I had the distinct impression that if I waited until I had time to serve, then I never would, because things will always be busy. So I told the bishopric I was willing, and I was given the call."

This decision blessed my life in many ways during that time, but it has blessed it even more since, because it established a pattern in my life that has made a huge difference for me.

I can't tell you how many blessings have come from simply saying yes and showing up—even when I was tired or didn't always start with the best attitude.

Several respondents felt society’s emphasis on personal appearance could lead to a form of idolatry. While a clean and healthy body is important, some people go to extraordinary lengths to emulate the beautiful men and women who smile from advertisements in magazines, in newspapers, and on television. Our society too often equates personal happiness with its definition of personal beauty. Trying unsuccessfully to emulate these unrealistic images, many people are constantly discontented. One of my students shared the following story:
“I had just moved away from my high school, where I was involved in everything. At my new school, I felt I was nobody. I knew no one, and no one knew me. I desperately wanted to be included.
“As I observed the popular crowd, I noticed that the girls who received attention were skinny and beautiful. Furthermore, slender girls graced the covers of magazines, billboards, and television screens. I looked at my body and realized it was not like theirs. I decided that the only way to gain back the popularity I had lost when I moved was to be skinny. So I began to diet.
“I was trying to lose only a few kilograms, but then I read a magazine article discussing qualities the men in the article looked for in women. The best-looking guy said, ‘A girl can never be too skinny.’ I concluded that in order for the guy I was interested in to pursue me, I had to be skinnier. I was still not associating with the popular crowd and did not know many people. Obviously, I was not thin enough.
“I continued to diet and exercise but still did not achieve the acceptance I wanted. Finally, after five months of starvation and depression, I was hospitalized, weighing only 40 kilograms.
“I was deceived. Being skinny does not bring happiness. Now I realize that happiness accompanies spiritual growth and comes from within. When one’s only focus is worldly popularity, it is difficult to progress spiritually. I have found that true happiness is obtained only through striving to please the Lord.”

Notwithstanding, answers to our prayers may come from reading the scriptures, from listening to the speakers. And occasionally when it is important, some will come by very direct and powerful circumstances. The promptings will be very clear and unmistakable. Let me share an experience with you:
It was one of those days when the tracking seemed endless with no success and no contact. The days were getting hot. My senior companion and I walked almost mindless in an area called Shaukeiwan, search for something, but did not know what.
All of a sudden we heard sirens and commotion around the corner and decide to find out. There was a gathering of 100 people, along with firefighters working feverishly setting up a safety net, also in search of something up in the air. It seemed to us that all the attention was focused skywards.
We turned our heads upwards and saw a woman sitting on a window edge 12 stories high.
The window edge was about 2 feet long and two feet wide and she could barely sit on it - her feet dangling in the air. Apparently she had locked herself from outside so no one could reach her. She was going to jump and kill herself. Down from her, the noise of the onlookers grew louder and louder and people began to loose patience watching her and started to jeer and laugh at her
Someone noticed us: two white shirt, young missionaries standing in their midst, also looking up. In a mocking tone, one of them said, "Hey, you represent God; why don't you go up and save her?!..."
My companion looked at me and said, "Well, why don't we do just that!"
So we waded through the crowd and went to the 12th floor where this woman lived. Once inside that dinky little apartment of 100 square feet, we found ourselves stood out even more: the room was packed with policemen, firemen, paramedics and the tenants of the apartment. All looking at us with query eyes. We explained that we're from the Church and wanted to know if there was anything we could do...
Someone told us the situation: the women had a big argument with her husband hours ago over family matters. Desponded and confused, she attempted to kill herself. She climbed out of the window, locked herself UP from outside, and had been sitting there on that tiny window edge for hours. Despite all the persuasion from her husband, children and even the servicemen, she remained sitting out there and threatened to jump if people move any closer. It is now an impasse. Meanwhile, she's getting weaker and tired by the minute. And her limbs were turning stiff and blue from the wind sheer and the constant sitting.
I said to my companion: "Why don't we have a prayer?" He agreed. We looked around: there was simply no room to pray in that tiny apartment packed with people and with all the commotion going on. All, except the bathroom: it was not much of a bathroom, simply a smelly wet floor with a hole in the middle of the room that could barely fit two people. We walked in, closed the door behind us and knelt in that wet, soggy unpaved floor and began to pray.
My companion started first, pleading with the Lord if it be His will that this woman's life be spared, then allow her to come back to her love ones. Then it's my turn: we poured out our hearts earnestly pleading with our Heavenly Father for the Spirit to guide this woman in her behavior so she could be saved. We knew the TIME was running out and asked the Lord to intervene with saving this woman's life.
Suddenly, we heard a loud roar and cheer. We finished our prayers and got up from the wet floor and walked out of the bathroom. To our surprise, the cheering came from the servicemen. After all the impasse, the woman had suddenly changed her mind, reached in and handed over the keys to the locked windows and wanted to come back.
It was an emotional scene: the husband hugging and crying with his wife with the children hanging onto the parents. There were similes of content in the faces of the policemen, policewomen, the firemen and the paramedics. Everyone began to pull out from this apartment and my companion and I were amongst some 15 others all jammed into the elevator.
On our way down, one fireman spoke, "I wondered what happened there?
She's was so adamant to kill herself..."
He went on, "I bet it must be the sound of the 'jaws of life' that we're about to pry open the window that changed her mind..."
"Yeah, right..." Everyone else ECHOED and chimed IN their own version of rationale.
Then they discovered us:
two missionaries wearing white shirts and ties standing in their midst.
All eyes focused on us.
All of a sudden, no one spoke and there was dead silence in the elevator.
I turned and looked at my companion, who turned and looked at me, smiled and nodded knowingly.
We knew at that moment it was the Spirit of our Heavenly Father that had touched this woman. It had made her changed her mind and be united with her family once again.
Our prayers were answered. Right there and then.

Late Tuesday afternoon, April 17, 1906. President Joseph E. Robinson of the California Mission arose to conclude the two-day conference of the San Francisco District. Pleased by the special spirit of the sessions, he praised the members and missionaries present, then warned them of the predicted latter-day calamities by quoting from Luke, wherein Jesus tells of wars, pestilences, heavenly signs, and earthquakes in divers places. Afterwards, to round out the conference, the missionaries gathered for an MIA social at the mission home on Franklin Street. Joining the festivities were five elders who had arrived that afternoon on their way to missions in the South Pacific. When the party ended about midnight, local missionaries were reminded of the district picnic scheduled the next day for the Golden Gate Park.
That night, while most of the 122 Saints and elders of the San Francisco Branch slept, two former Utahns were at work in the San Francisco Chronicle office. Race Whitney and Wally Young, both reporters, worked through the night until daylight on an article about the visiting Metropolitan Opera Company. Exhausted, they were walking home at 5:13 A.M. when the world seemed to fall apart. The entire city suddenly began to jerk and sway. Timbers splintered and groaned, and walls collapsed with a roar.
“We were standing in front of the Auditorium Hotel when the crash came,” Race Whitney wrote to his father, Orson F. “Instinctively we started for the middle of the street, and where we [had] stood less than one second before there was a pile of bricks seven feet high.” With legs wide-spread to keep their balance, they outran the remaining four stories which likewise crashed to the street behind them. Wally stopped in the middle of the street beneath a dangerous mass of electric wires; Race yelled a warning, and Wally jumped aside just as “the wires came down, sputtering and tearing up everything they touched. That we were not both electrocuted was the second miracle of the morning.” Half in shock, they congratulated themselves on being the only reporters on the street to witness the spectacular earthquake, little dreaming that a few hours later every newspaper office in town would be smouldering in ruins, unable to print their stories of the catastrophe.
Three massive tremors also rocked the LDS mission home on Franklin Street, “as with a giant’s mighty hand,” until it seemed to the occupants that the three-story structure would collapse. According to President Robinson: “The chimneys crashed into the roof and ceiling of the room above us. In the parlor the mantle and fire-place with the candelabra … fell outward and covered the floor. Dust arose from the broken walls, swinging pictures, etc. The chains of the little cuckoo-clock … were broken into a hundred bits by the swinging weights and flew about the room.”
While comforting his terrified children, President Robinson glanced out a window and in the early morning grayness could see broken buildings, frightened dogs trying to get into houses, and shattered glass covering the sidewalks. Moments later an observant daughter cried out, “Papa, there are fires breaking out downtown and big clouds of smoke everywhere.” The mission leader felt stabs of fear as he viewed the spreading holocaust and pondered the fates of branch members scattered throughout the huge city.
And what about the Pacific-bound elders? President Robinson did not know until later that their hotel, a five-story brick structure, received massive damage. The five elders were jarred awake by the violent tremor. Noise and confusion outside convinced them that they should dress and investigate. Forcing their door open, they found the outside hall and stairwells filled with fallen plaster, rubbish, and dust. Reaching the main entrance, they were shocked to see that the front and back walls of their hotel had collapsed to the sidewalks. Panicking, they followed along with a mob of terrified people rushing through the streets. Then, somewhat regaining their reason, they decided to rescue their luggage, which contained all their mission clothes and supplies. Through debris and smoke they hiked to the railroad depot, where the baggage agent told them their things had been transferred to the warehouse building across the street, pointing to a structure which was a solid blaze of fire.
Dejected, the five headed back to their hotel when a second strong quake caught them in an alleyway. Dodging bricks and beams, they managed to reach the hotel without a scratch. Once there, said Elder Leo Gardner, “to our great astonishment we discovered that the two rooms which we five missionaries had slept in were the only two rooms in the entire building which were intact. There was not even so much as the plaster knocked off the ceiling of either room.”
Such reports were common among the terrified populace, and other Mormons felt similarly fortunate. One young Latter-day Saint nurse, a Sister Wolfinger, was on duty at French Hospital when the first earthquake came. According to President Robinson, nearly every hospital room was wrecked and all were damaged except the one where she was nursing. Keeping calm, she helped move patients out and into tents in a vacant lot for safety.

April 14, 1832, was a snowy day in Mendon, Monroe County, New York. In spite of the cold, thirty-year-old Brigham Young went down into the waters of the river near his home and was baptized by Elder Eleazer Miller. Immediately after, at the river’s edge, he was confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. Brigham Young had given his heart to a great cause, and he never wavered from the promises he made that day.

As a young man just returning from military service, I anxiously looked forward to attending BYU, completing my degree, beginning my life’s work, and getting married. I had been away nearly two years and saw many of my friends getting married and doing the things I wanted to do. While in the service I had saved my money, worked an extra job on the army base several evenings and weekends, and begun my college training by taking several classes at the local college. I was really enthused about the prospects for the future and, now that I had completed my military commitment, I could move forward without further interruptions.
On returning, I purchased the car I had worked and saved for and entered BYU. Life was good. I was living at home among friends of many years, and the prospects for the future were excellent. At BYU I became involved as a cheerleader, joined several service agencies, worked part-time, and became totally immersed in the Church. My life was full to overflowing.
Then, one day several months later, my bishop tapped me on the shoulder and asked me in for an interview. What did he want, I wondered. I had just recently come home, and I was already teaching Sunday School and serving as president of the M-Man class. And then I learned: he wanted me to accept a call to serve a mission. Oh yes, the thought had crossed my mind several times, but very few young men went on missions in those days following the end of World War II because of years away from home and also because of age and a desire to settle down and complete their education.
My first thoughts were, I don’t have time now; there is so much to do, so many years of education ahead. Then I remembered several things. First, my patriarchal blessing said that I would be a missionary; and second, I had been taught by parents that the Lord would bless me as I accepted any calling that came to me. I must admit today that those were anxious moments for me, being pulled in one direction by the life I enjoyed so much and contemplating leaving all that to serve a mission. I enjoyed every day and awakened with enthusiasm for the many things that lay ahead that day and week. And yet, there I was with a patriarchal blessing—“your own personal plan of salvation,” as President Harold B. Lee used to say—and a request from a bishop to go and serve the Lord.
I thought that two and a half years would cause me to forfeit many of the goals that were important to me, all of which I thought were creditable and acceptable to the Lord. I would be behind so many of my friends, some of whom were already married. But the Spirit of the Lord continued to work upon me, and after much supplication unto the Lord I knew, by the Spirit, what I must do and began to develop an anxiousness to serve the Lord in the mission field.
I would be the first, the very first Paramore ever to serve a full-time mission and would be setting the example for others of our family to follow. It would be little repayment indeed for the blessings that had come to our families—the Paramores from England, the Nielsens from Denmark, the Maxwells and Lamonts from Scotland—because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the eternal sealings that had been done for our families and the principles of truth which had come to be ours. I would go and take these blessings to others, first, because I was asked to go, and then, because I wanted to share these blessings with others.
The weeks passed and finally an interview (in those days this was always done by a General Authority) with Elder Marion G. Romney, who was then a member of the Council of the Twelve. And finally that special day arrived when my call came to serve the Lord in the French mission. That day will always live in my mind, and, as I have reflected hundreds of times since in my life, it was one of the most important days and one of the most important calls to ever come to me to serve here upon the earth. I have thought many times, suppose I hadn’t served? There would have been some testimony I would not have received, people I would never have known and helped to love the gospel and receive its blessings.
That time in the mission field was one of the most dramatically important experiences of my life. It gave me hundreds of witnesses that the gospel is true, that it was established by the Lord Jesus Christ upon the earth, and that it brings joy, health, peace, progress, and eternal blessings to every person who fully embraces it. I would have the witness in my life forever, and it would propel me to serve the Lord all the days of my life. What a foundation for the future, for my family, to know from missionary service what the gospel can do for all who are involved.
How did I know then how the Lord would use me in the future? What were his plans for me here upon the earth? The mission was the first crossroad that I had to walk through, and since then it has been easier when faced with important decisions to ask, “What would the Lord have me do?”
I have since had the privilege of returning to the French, Belgians, and French-speaking Canadians many times. Each time I thank the Lord for my first call to these great peoples. I have friends and know members in literally a hundred of those cities, and I have seen the gospel change thousands of lives in the past 30 or more years. In the past few years while working with missionaries throughout Western Europe, I have had the blessing several times of having missionaries stand in a testimony meeting and say, “Because of Elder Paramore I am here today, for he took the gospel to my parents,” in Paris, France or Liege, Belgium.
One of the most important, wonderful Christmas presents I have ever received was a letter that came in December of 1980. Sister Young, who had joined the Church in Paris, wrote me and gave an account of what had happened since her family’s conversion 30 years earlier. She described what had happened to each member, how dozens had served missions, and that more than 170 persons had been baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Someone, I think Elder LeGrand Richards, had said it, but I thought about it tearfully that day, “The blessings of a mission continue into the eternities.”
My dear young friends, the most glorious of all service in the Church begins in the mission field. It exacts from each missionary a commitment to know the Lord and his gospel and then to share it with profound appreciation. It is the Lord’s way to bestow his blessings upon all his children and in rich abundance forever upon his missionaries. I bear you my testimony that those blessings are there and invite you young people, in spite of the challenges (for there will always be some), to serve him and the great family of mankind in the mission field. You will be the greatest beneficiaries of all.

At 6:00 A.M. on Thursday, August 11, 1976, Bobby Elkington, Bishop Brian W. Hunt of the Temple View Third Ward (Temple View New Zealand Stake), and Bardia Taiapa met in the Temple View chapel. There they turned over the $30.00 earned by the early morning seminary class of the Temple View New Zealand Stake for their brothers and sisters on the Gilbert Islands. The money was raised on two successive Saturdays when the class members made doughnuts and sold them at stake leadership meeting and around the Temple View community. It’s a very enthusiastic seminary class that will get up at 5:00 A.M. and earlier to go to class, raise $30.00 for a struggling seminary group, and then raise another $16.00 for their own activities.
Many of the youth have 100 percent attendance records.

On the many occasions “when death invaded his home, … and his little ones were taken from him, he grieved with a broken heart and mourned, not as those mourn who live without hope, but for the loss of his ‘precious jewels.’”18 On 6 July 1879 President Smith expressed grief in his journal over his daughter Rhoda’s death: “I took her on a pillow and walked the floor with her, she again revived but only lingered about an hour and died in my arms at 1:40 A.M. Now God only knows how deeply we mourn. This is the 5th death in my family. All my little ones most beloved! O! God help us to bear this trial!”19