Gospel Story Finder

The bomb went off as suddenly and with as much impact as the one dropped on Hiroshima. I always thought they were happy; it was nearly their 18th wedding anniversary. You never think something like this can happen to you; it’s always the other guy. But this was real, and it was happening to me. My parents wanted a divorce.
Dad moved out. Then I realized what my family meant to me.
I was praying pretty regularly, and I felt I was receiving help. But one place I didn’t get any help was from my church; the members didn’t seem to care. People would say how sad it was, but they really wouldn’t listen. I felt there must be some way to hold a family together forever.
I didn’t know where to start looking, but I could always talk to Jill, a friend of mine. She said she was LDS, and she told me something about her church. We talked about things like temple marriage and the eternal family unit. I went to a family home evening at Jill’s house. Not every family sets aside one night specifically for each other. Her family members were in tune with each other; they weren’t just a bunch of people living together. Jill said she didn’t have all the answers, but she knew someone who could help me.
I became acquainted with the missionaries. Once a week I’d meet with them for a discussion. Some really hit home and helped with my problems. After reading the Book of Mormon I felt something inside hinting that maybe it was true. I attended sacrament and other Church meetings. I began to feel that maybe this church did have Jesus Christ at its head.
Then the big question came up. Did I want to become a member of the Church? I believed the Lord had chosen Joseph Smith to restore the truth, and I felt it was the Lord’s church, but I also realized I would have to live up to his standards. I thought and prayed until the answer came: My family-to-be would be an eternal family.

When I face this temptation, I have a personal hero to look to. He is my younger brother Stuart. Like my given name, Stuart's name is a powerful reminder of the principle of stewardship. The Stuart family ruled England during the 1600s; the first of these Stuart Kings, James I, commissioned the translation of the Bible that we use. But before the Stuarts were kings, they served as the High Stewards of Scotland. They took their family name from the service they rendered for generations as stewards to the kings of Scotland. When my mother named Stuart, she was careful to use the spelling (with a "u") that was preferred by the royal Stuarts.

Stuart was born just 16 months after I was, and so we have always been close. When I went off to kindergarten he would wait for me in the afternoons at the school bus stop. We played on the same little league baseball team in Rexburg and together farmed the hills west of town. When I left for my mission to Japan, Stuart protected my interests in a girl named Kelly by cleverly serving as her high school locker partner.

Stuart was also called to preach the Gospel in Japan. My mission ended as his began, and we were able to meet in his mission home for a few minutes. Stuart became a better missionary than I was, in part because he had read the grumpy journal entries I sent home each week and decided that he would be happy even in difficult, ordinary circumstances.

When Stuart returned home he became a Japanese language trainer in the Missionary Training Center. He enjoyed the experience, but worried that it was interfering with his challenging BYU coursework. One day he called our father to say that he planned to quit his MTC job. President Eyring was then Bishop Eyring of the Presiding Bishopric. He had an uneasy feeling about Stuart's decision, but he had to hurry to a bishopric meeting. In that meeting, he saw in his mind's eye Stuart meeting his wife in a hallway at the MTC. After the meeting, he called Stuart to advise keeping the job. Stuart followed that counsel. Two months later, he met another Japanese language trainer, Carol Anderson. They were soon married.

The fulfillment of the Prophet’s statement came some months later when Dan Jones was called to go to Wales. His wife, Jane, accompanied him. They traveled with Wilford Woodruff and others to the British Isles. Elder Jones was assigned to labor in northern Wales. Though he had the great asset of speaking both Welsh and English, he accomplished relatively little in touching the hearts of the people of that area. On the other hand, William Henshaw, who did not speak the Welsh language, enjoyed considerable success in the south.

When Brother Henshaw was released a year later, Elder Jones was called to preside over all the work in Wales. He made his headquarters in Merthyr Tydfil in southeastern Wales. Working with a handful of missionaries, he witnessed a remarkable harvest. From 1845 to 1848, approximately 3,600 were baptized. It is estimated that in terms of population, one out of every 278 people in Wales at that time was baptized into the LDS Church.

Opponents of the Church had access to newspapers and other publications to attack the Mormon missionaries. But the press would not open its columns to Elder Jones. He therefore determined that he would answer with publications of his own. He enlisted the help of his brother, John Jones, a Protestant minister who owned a printing press. It is said that John printed Dan’s literature during the week and denounced him from the pulpit on Sunday.

Dan Jones’s publication was the first Mormon periodical published in a language other than English.2 Issued in 1846, it carried the title Prophwyd y Jubili (“Prophet of the Jubilee”).

We catch the spirit of his sometimes feisty manner in his opening article:
“Dear Reader,—Behold the beginning of a new era in our age, yea, the most remarkable which has ever been, the most wondrous in its preparations, the most goodly in its deeds, and the most glorious in its effects of every previous age. Once more the golden keys of heaven have been entrusted to men for them to open all treasures, to unlock all mysteries and for the clarification of all errors in the midst of mankind. Already the doors of eternity can be seen opening on their rusty hinges, its hidden pearls and the treasures old and new are once again starting to shine before the eyes of men as in the days of God! Let the inhabitants of the earth rejoice, and let every Welshman give a hearkening ear to the good news of great joy which is sounded through this last trumpet.”3

He had an interesting missionary technique. It was essentially one of controversy, a technique not fit for our time but used well by him then. He feared no one. He moved with great boldness. Of his method it has been written: “He would often advertise in a town for several weeks that he was coming to ‘convert’ the whole town. He would inform the mayor, the city council, the ministers, and the police force of his intentions. He would have the local members of the church distribute thousands of tracts to all the city. When he arrived at the railroad station he was often met by all of the officials of the city and many excited citizens.”4

Ministers of other churches lashed out against him. They used their pulpits and the public press. Of their antagonism, Dan Jones wrote, “Most of the stories that were told on poor Brother Joseph in America, are here fathered on Captain Jones, and I often hear those who don’t know that little man [himself], unhesitatingly denounce him as ‘a curse upon this nation.’”5

Public opinions raged this way and that. But instead of shrinking, Dan Jones capitalized on controversies. He drew such public attention that people had to decide whether the gospel of the Mormons was true or false. An increasing number of converts came into the Church while a veritable storm arose against the Mormons in general and Elder Jones in particular. He was vilified in the press. He was shouted at in the streets. His life was threatened.

In those circumstances he wrote, “I delight in the trophies of war. I came here to fight for the spiritual freedom of my brethren, and I thank heaven … that He is knocking off their shackles by hundreds! Who that has tasted of the sweets of liberty would say, ‘hold!’”6

Some years ago my wife, Harriet, and I had a memorable experience in which we saw this promise fulfilled. We were in West Africa, a beautiful part of the world where the Church is growing and the Latter-day Saints are delightful. However, West Africa also has many challenges. In particular, I was sorrowed by the poverty that I saw. In the cities there is high unemployment, and families often struggle to provide for their daily needs and for their safety. It broke my heart to know that many of our precious members of the Church live in such deprivation. But I also learned that these fine members help each other to lighten their heavy burdens.

We eventually arrived at one of our meetinghouses near a large city. But instead of finding a people burdened and absorbed by darkness, we discovered a joyful people who were radiating with light! The happiness they felt for the gospel was contagious and lifted our spirits. The love they expressed for us was humbling. Their smiles were genuine and infectious.

I remember wondering at the time if there could possibly be a happier people on the face of the planet. Even though these dear Saints were surrounded by difficulties and trials, they were filled with light!

The meeting began, and I started to speak. But soon the power went out in the building, and we were left in complete darkness.

For a while I could hardly see anyone in the congregation, but I could see and feel the brilliant and beautiful smiles of our Saints. Oh, how I loved being with these wonderful people!

The darkness in the chapel continued, and so I sat next to my wife and waited for the power to be restored. As we waited, something remarkable happened.

A few voices began singing one of the hymns of the Restoration. And then others joined in. And then more. Soon, a sweet and overwhelming chorus of voices filled the chapel.

These members of the Church did not need hymnbooks; they knew every word of every hymn they sang. And they sang one song after another with an energy and spirit that touched my soul.

Eventually, the lights sparked back on and bathed the room with light. Harriet and I looked at each other, our cheeks wet with tears.

In the midst of great darkness, these beautiful, wonderful Saints had filled this Church building and our souls with light.

It was a profoundly moving moment for us—one Harriet and I will never forget.

President Wilford Woodruff tells of an interesting incident that occurred in the days of the Prophet Joseph Smith:

I will refer to a certain meeting I attended in the town of Kirtland in my early days. At that meeting some remarks were made that have been made here today, with regard to the living oracles and with regard to the written word of God. The same principle was presented, although not as extensively as it has been here, when a leading man in the Church got up and talked upon the subject, and said: “You have got the word of God before you here in the Bible, Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants; you have the written word of God, and you who give revelations should give revelations according to those books, as what is written in those books is the word of God. We should confine ourselves to them.”

When he concluded, Brother Joseph turned to Brother Brigham Young and said, “Brother Brigham, I want you to take the stand and tell us your views with regard to the living oracles and the written word of God.” Brother Brigham took the stand, and he took the Bible, and laid it down; and he took the Book of Mormon, and laid it down; and he took the Book of Doctrine and Covenants, and laid it down before him, and he said: “There is the written word of God to us, concerning the work of God from the beginning of the world, almost, to our day. And now,” said he, “when compared with the living oracles those books are nothing to me; those books do not convey the word of God direct to us now, as do the words of a Prophet or a man bearing the Holy Priesthood in our day and generation. I would rather have the living oracles than all the writing in the books.” That was the course he pursued. When he was through, Brother Joseph said to the congregation: “Brother Brigham has told you the word of the Lord, and he has told you the truth.” [In Conference Report, October 1897, pp. 18–19]

Another class in Gillingham, Kent, has nine students. Two of these, Helen and Vicki Butcher, live on the Isle of Sheppey. At one stage they were arising at 4:00 A.M., walking one and a half miles to the local station, catching a train to the mainland, then walking another mile to Sister Isaac’s house for lessons. The return journey differed only a little. The walk from the station to school was two and a half miles.
Then an inspired bishop had the solution—telephone link teaching. With amplifiers attached to telephones in the teacher’s and Helen and Vicki’s homes, lessons went airbound.
“The first day was one big giggle,” said Helen. “I felt like someone in the Australian outback, but when we looked outside and saw snow settling on the ground, we were glad to be sitting in the warm house listening to the little box.”

I was visiting Yellowstone National Park with my daughter and her family, and we had spent the day sightseeing. It had been a rainy day, but we were not going to let it get us down. My daughter had been driving for much of that day, but at the end of the night I was prompted that I should be the one to drive back to our lodging.
It wasn’t clear to me why I needed to be the one driving, but I always try to follow promptings of the Holy Ghost when I feel this way. As Joseph Smith taught, “Be careful and not turn away the small still voice; it will teach [you] what to do and where to go.”1
It had become dark, and the rain was coming down hard. Out of nowhere, something appeared in front of my truck. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was close. I knew we were going to hit it. I realized a piece of the hillside had broken away and fallen in our path. As quickly as I could, I tried swerving around the large boulder, but it was too close and we hit it.
The momentum of the truck pushed us up onto the rock, causing the truck to tilt and go on two wheels. I tried to stop the truck, but the gas pedal was stuck. We continued to rapidly move forward, like a rocket flying down the road on two wheels. In that instance, I realized we were heading toward a guardrail by a cliff that led down into Yellowstone River. I had lost control of the vehicle, and I knew what was on the other side of the railing if we went over it.
In that moment, I said a silent prayer: “Father, please help me save my family!” All of a sudden, the Holy Ghost prompted me to turn off the engine. That would require me to remove one hand from the steering wheel, but it was taking both of my hands to control the truck. I thought, “I can’t let go.” I felt a comforting whisper from the Holy Ghost: “It’s OK. I will help you. Turn off the ignition.” I reached for the ignition switch and removed the key. When the truck started slowing down, I was able to once again steer it so we stayed on the road.
I know it was the prompting of the Holy Ghost that led me to turn off the engine. It was as if angels were holding tightly to the wheel so I could remove my hand to turn off the engine. I know Heavenly Father and the Holy Ghost helped me that night. I am so grateful for the gospel in my life that made it possible for me to be prepared to receive the promptings that guided us to safety.

My theory comes from thinking about many gifts and many holidays, but one day and one gift can illustrate it. The day was not Christmas nor even close to it. It was a summer day. My mother had died in the early afternoon. My father, my brother, and I had been at the hospital. As we walked out, my brother and I went to the car together, smiled, and looked up at the mountains. We remembered how Mother had always said she loved the mountains so much. He and I laughed and guessed that if the celestial worlds are really flat, like a sea of glass, she would be eager to get away to build her own worlds, and the first thing she’d build would be mountains. With that we smiled and got into the car and drove home. We went to the family home, and Dad met us there. There were just the three of us.

Friends and family came and went. In a lull, we fixed ourselves a snack. Then we visited with more callers. It grew late and dusk fell; I remember we still had not turned on the lights.

Then Dad answered the doorbell again. It was Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill. When they’d walked just a few feet past the vestibule, Uncle Bill extended his hand, and I could see that he was holding a bottle of cherries. I can still see the deep red, almost purple, cherries and the shining gold cap on the mason jar. He said, “You might enjoy these. You probably haven’t had dessert.”

We hadn’t. The three of us sat around the kitchen table and put some cherries in bowls and ate them as Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine cleared some dishes. Uncle Bill then asked, “Are there people you haven’t had time to call? Just give me some names, and I’ll do it.” We mentioned a few relatives who would want to know of Mother’s death. And then Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill were gone. They could not have been with us more than twenty minutes.

Now, you can understand my theory best if you focus on one gift: the bottle of cherries. And let me explain this theory from the point of view of one person who received the gift: me. As we’ll see, that is crucial. What matters in what the giver does is what the receiver feels. You may not believe that yet, but trust me for the moment. So let’s start from inside me and with the gift of the bottle of cherries.

As near as I can tell, the giving and receiving of a great gift always has three parts. Here they are, illustrated by that gift on a summer evening.

First, I knew that Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had felt what I was feeling and had been touched. I’m not over the thrill of that yet. They must have felt we’d be too tired to fix much food. They must have felt that a bowl of home-canned cherries would make us, for a moment, feel like a family again. And not only did they feel what I felt, they were touched by it. Just knowing that someone had understood meant far more to me than the cherries themselves. I can’t remember the taste of the cherries, but I remember that someone knew my heart and cared.

Second, I felt the gift was free. I knew Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had chosen freely to bring a gift. I knew they weren’t doing so to compel a response from us. The gift seemed, at least to me, to provide them with joy just by their giving it.

And third, there was sacrifice. Now you might say, “Wait. How could they give for the joy of it and yet make a sacrifice?” Well, I could see the sacrifice because the cherries were home bottled. That meant Aunt Catherine had prepared them for her family. They must have liked cherries. But she took that possible pleasure from them and gave it to us. That’s sacrifice. However, I have realized since then this marvelous fact: It must have seemed to Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine that they would have more pleasure if we had the cherries than if they did. There was sacrifice, but they made it for a greater return: our happiness. Most people feel deprived as they sacrifice to give another person a gift, and then they let that person know it. But only expert givers let the receiver sense that their sacrifice brings them joy.

I found Ginky yesterday. Boy, was I surprised! “Mom!” I shouted. “I found Ginky!”
Mom wasn’t surprised at all, and she told me a story: “When you were a tiny baby and round all over, your daddy brought you this blanket. He held you and the blanket in one arm and said, ‘Blanket, blanket,’ lots of times. You said, ‘Ginky.’ Dad smiled and said, ‘Blanket.’ Both of you were talking about the same thing.”
I had to laugh at that.
“Pretty soon,” Mom went on, “we all got used to calling your blanket Ginky, the way you did. ‘Here’s Ginky,’ your daddy or I would say, or ‘Won’t you let us wash Ginky just once, real quick?’ But you never wanted Ginky to be washed.”
“I didn’t want Ginky swooshing around in all that soap,” I told her.
Now Ginky smells kind of stuffy and dusty from being in the drawer so long. Ginky used to be soft. I remember stroking my cheek with Ginky and wrapping it around my arm (the one with the good-tasting thumb) before I went to sleep.
At first Ginky had a satin edging that I could curl around my fingers. I could make a scratchy noise on it, too, with my fingernail. But the satin is almost all worn off now.
Lots of babies have blankets. But there isn’t another Ginky.
You know, I took Ginky to bed with me last night—just for remembering. I didn’t really need to. I tried wrapping Ginky around my arm. I tried scratching the worn-out satin. I even tried sucking my thumb.
But my thumb just doesn’t taste good anymore. After a while, I got all tangled up in Ginky. I wanted to go to sleep, so I folded Ginky carefully beside me. “Good night,” I said.
This morning Ginky was still there, looking kind of raggedy on my pillow. I packed Ginky away in my special box. Mom says that when I’m a big person, we’ll open my box and look at all the things I saved as I was growing up.
My picture album and my doll without any hair and a drawing I made of a fire engine were in my box already. I think Ginky belongs there with those other things.

After raising her children, Martha Paewai took classes through BYU–Pathway Worldwide and then started an online business.
Photograph courtesy of Martha Paewai
“Some people are surprised to learn that I began an online business later in life,” Martha Paewai notes. “Some friends said to me when I first began, ‘What does a Samoan woman with only casual work experience know about marketing?’”
There’s no age limit to learning, Sister Paewai likes to say. Besides, working from home now gives her more income and better working conditions than she had working as a domestic in New Zealand. It was hard to start a new business, but she learned as she went along and was willing to ask others for help when needed. “BYU–Pathway Worldwide gave me the confidence to try something new as well,” she says.

My employer transferred our family to Beijing just a few years after I had finished graduate school. As I arrived to develop clients for our consulting firm, business leaders from the United States and Europe advised that, to be successful, I would need to take Chinese executives to karaoke bars and consume a lot of alcohol. I chose not to do that, and yet our firm still succeeded.

You may be tempted to break the Word of Wisdom to fit in socially, to try something new, or to obtain a work promotion. You may think that just a little sip will not hurt. I assure you that it will—spiritually, and perhaps physically as well. I testify the Lord will bless you with “wisdom and great treasures”20 as you choose to be peculiar in joyfully living the Word of Wisdom.

In our little Finnish town, the ski race was the biggest event of the year.
It’s part of Russia now, the village in Karelia where I spent my childhood. The Russians annexed it, along with the rest of the Karelian region, after the two countries fought a war in 1939–40. But when I was young, the land of lakes, marshes, streams, cold weather, and hills was part of Finland. And that meant it was a land of skiing and of ski races.
Each February, when the worst of the winter chill was over, the townsfolk would come out of hibernation and gather at a large sand pit on the outskirts of the village. The sand pit was the site for the finish line of the cross-country ski competition, and for good reasons. For one thing, the hole torn from the side of the hill by summertime construction workers was large enough not only for the finish line, but for a food stand as well. One race day, the air was full of the aroma of gooey, steaming meat pies and sausages. For another thing, the snow-covered sides of the sand pit formed a natural amphitheater. Standing around its sides and rim, spectators could clearly see the final stretch of the course, and the entire town knew who the winner was the moment he crossed the line.
There were many preparations for the contest. Race officials tied blue paper armbands on some of the older children, authorizing them to monitor the crowds of people and keep competition lanes uncluttered. Trails were marked for the different events—short courses for younger children, longer courses for older children; separate trails for male and female teenagers and for men and women; and even a grandpa trail for the older folks, who always performed well in their own special race. Each group followed its own path, clearly marked by colored paper streamers. But the biggest event of all was the men’s 30-kilometer race. The winner was the hero of the village for a year, the man who had proved what he was made of. Many a quiet farmer, shoemaker, or storekeeper imagined himself gliding past his neighbors and on to victory.
As children, though we had a hero of our own. We called him Tappi-Eiska. He was the smallest and shortest possible full-grown man without being a midget. He was also the nicest, fun person we knew outside our family circles. Maybe his shortness helped us relate to him, because we could look at him eye-to-eye. Maybe we understood the struggles he’d been through because of his size. “Eiska” is probably a shortened form of Einari, which could have been his true first name. But “Tappie,” in Finnish, means “stump” or “shortie,” and it might well be that originally the nickname was intended as an insult. It didn’t matter to us children. He was the one we felt should be the best skier of the year.
The problem was, Tappi-Eiska wasn’t a very good skier. The first year he raced in the men’s division was a complete failure. The men had to go around a ten-kilometer course three times, and when the winner came in, Tappi-Eiska was just finishing his first time around the course. By the time Tappi did finish, the other skiers were all in the bath house or on the way home. Only a few disappointed children waited for their tired friend at the finish line.
The rest of that winter and all of the next one, Tappi-Eiska spent every spare minute skiing on that trail. In the summer he swam and rowed a big army boat around in the Vuoksi River. He didn’t grow taller, but he did grow muscular. We children were excited, certain that all those muscles and all that practice would make him a winner at last. We thought a man should win just because he was nice. It always happened that way in the movies.
But Tappi-Eiska didn’t win that year, either. This time, he crossed the line with the last group of skiers. At least he wasn’t hours behind, and some other people besides us saw him complete the race. We figured his legs were just too short to compete with the big men. Maybe he’d even stop trying now.
But during the next year, Tappi-Eiska showed us what the Finish word sisu means. It means determination or courage. And that’s what this man had. He went on training and training and training. By the time of the next ski contest, we knew Tappi would win. Of course, we had felt that way every year, but this time it seemed possible all over again.
The striding skiers kicked up snow as they raced into the forest. Through one lap, through two, and back into the forest again. When we knew they would be coming into sight, some of us, on skis ourselves, moved out from the sand hole to meet the winner, sure that it would be our hero, Tappi-Eiska.
We waited in the cold. The trees were white with frost. Smoke from the few visible chimneys stretched straight up in gray ribbons. Our cheeks were red. But then, suddenly, we were warm all over! Emerging from the edge of the forest was the shortest man in town, now the biggest man in town—Tappi-Eiska! He was ahead of everyone! Even the adults rose to their feet to cheer him on.
He came to the hill. We could see his short legs pumping so fast we could hardly focus on them. Then behind him came another man, a huge, lumbering giant! I’m sure many of us wished inside that somehow this long-legged pest would trip or break a ski, anything to keep him from passing. But as the two neared the top of the sand hole, the larger skier slipped past and crossed the line first.
How often in the years since then have I felt sorry for the man who came in first. Few of us cheered the winner. But when Tappi-Eiska crossed that line, there was much noise and confusion. We followed him on our skis down into the pit, and no older children with blue armbands could have stopped us. We gathered around Tappi-Eiska, then threw him into the air, skis and all. Many townspeople, who knew of Tappi’s struggles, joined us. Some were weeping without shame. We completely forgot that he had come in second, not first. This stubbornly determined little man had shown us the value of not giving up and had become the hero of my childhood.
That was 1938. World War II came the next year and took many things away. There were no ski contests. I never got my chance to be one of the older children wearing a blue armband and monitoring the crowd. And Tappi-Eiska never got another chance to prove he could cross the finish line first. But for me, and for the others, he would never have to. He had already proved he was a true winner in every sense of the word.

1 Harold B. Lee was a busy man. He was a city commissioner, stake president, husband, and father of two little girls.
2 It was early morning on the day before Christmas. President Lee had been up all night, helping city crews snowplow the streets. Now he was on his way home to change clothes before going to his office.
3 He saw a small boy by the side of the road. The boy had no coat, no gloves, and no overshoes. President Lee stopped the car and offered the boy a ride into town.
4 As they rode along, the man and boy began to talk. President Lee asked the boy if he was ready for Christmas.
5 He was shocked when the boy replied that there would be no Christmas at his house. His father had just died, and the family had no money. Before President Lee dropped the boy off in town, he asked him his name and address.
6 That Christmas Eve, as Harold B. Lee and the bishops in his stake delivered gifts to needy families, he remembered the young boy. He asked one of the bishops to take some Christmas boxes to the boy’s family.
7 Harold B. Lee was always very loving and caring. When he became the eleventh President of the Church, this talent was greatly appreciated by Church members.

In the last session of October conference, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle gave a touching and inspiring sermon on faith. He spoke from his heart, with scriptures in hand, without a prepared text. When he had concluded, President Hinckley, who conducted that session, said:

“I should perhaps be guilty of an indiscretion, but I think I will risk it and say that Brother Tuttle has been seriously ill and he needs our faith, the faith of which he has spoken. It will be appreciated if those who have listened to him across the Church would plead with our Father in Heaven, in the kind of faith which he has described, in his behalf” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1986, p. 93).

President Ezra Taft Benson, who was the concluding speaker, endorsed what President Hinckley had said and appealed himself for fasting and prayers of faith for the recovery of Brother Tuttle.

But Brother Tuttle did not recover. He died seven weeks later.

Now, lest there be one whose faith was shaken, believing prayers were not answered, or lest there be one who is puzzled that the prophet himself could plead for the entire Church to fast and pray for Brother Tuttle to live and yet he died, I will tell you of an experience.

I had intended to tell this at his funeral, but my feelings were too tender that day to speak of it.

One Sunday when Brother Tuttle was at home, confined mostly to his bed, I spent a few hours with him while Marné and the family went to church.

He was deeply moved by the outpouring of love from across the world. Each letter extended prayers of faith for his recovery. Many of the messages came from South America, where the Tuttle family had labored for so many years.

That day we reviewed his life, beginning with his birth in Manti, Utah, to an ordinary Latter-day Saint couple. We talked of his father, whom I knew, and of his mother, a faithful temple worker.

He talked of his mission, his college days, his marriage to Marné Whitaker, and his heroic service in the Marines.

Then we relived our days teaching seminary in Brigham City and supervising the seminaries and institutes of religion.

He talked of his seven faithful children and the flock of grandchildren whom he always described as “the best kids in the world.”

He spoke of his call to the First Quorum of the Seventy and the assignments that followed. Soon the Tuttle family was called to South America. They were hardly settled back home when the Brethren interviewed him about returning.

Others could say, “Of course, if you should call us, we would go.” But not him, nor Marné, for they had made covenants. Without complaint, his wife and family followed him back time after time for a total of seven years.

No matter that he had never recovered from serious physical troubles which began on his first assignment there. That day Brother Tuttle spoke tenderly of the humble people of Latin America. They who have so little had greatly blessed his life.

He insisted that he did not deserve more blessings, nor did he need them. Others needed them more. And then he told me this: “I talked to the Lord about those prayers for my recovery. I asked if the blessings were mine to do with as I pleased. If that could be so, I told the Lord that I wanted him to take them back from me and give them to those who needed them more.”

He said, “I begged the Lord to take back those blessings and give them to others.”

Brother Tuttle wanted those blessings from our prayers for those struggling souls whom most of us hardly remember, but whom he could not forget.

Now, I know that skeptics may ridicule such things. But I, for one, am content to believe that our prayers were accepted and recorded and redirected to those whose hands hang down in despair, just as Brother Tuttle had requested.

In any case, ought we not to conclude all our prayers with “Let thy will, O Lord, be done”?

Not long after his baptism, Junior was visiting another ward’s fast and testimony meeting with his father. He felt impressed to bear his testimony for the first time in public. “I wanted to see if I could bear my testimony in front of everyone. I couldn’t. Then Dad stood up and helped me, and I could.” Junior’s testimony is simple and strong. “I know that God lives. I know that Joseph Smith was a true prophet.”

Dear brothers and sisters, when our son was in the Provo Missionary Training Center, Sister Gong mailed fresh-baked bread to him and his missionary companions. Here are some of the missionary thank-you notes Sister Gong received: “Sister Gong, that bread was a taste of home.” “Sister Gong, all I can say is wow. That bread is the best thing to enter my mouth since my mother’s enchiladas.” But this is my favorite: “Sister Gong, the bread was wonderful.” He then jokingly continued, “Keep me in mind if things don’t work out between you and Mr. Gong.”

Let me share a simple example: In family home evening, a father asked, “How are we getting along as a family?” Five-year-old Lizzie complained that her big brother, Kevin, was teasing her too much and hurting her feelings. Kevin reluctantly admitted that Lizzie was right. Kevin’s mother asked him what he could do to get along better with his sister. Kevin thought and decided he would promise Lizzie that he would go one whole day without teasing her.

At the end of the next day as everyone gathered for family prayer, Kevin’s dad asked Kevin how he had done. Kevin’s response was “Dad, I kept my promise!” Lizzie happily agreed, and the family congratulated Kevin.

Kevin’s mother then suggested that if he could keep his promise for one day, why couldn’t he do it for two days? Kevin agreed to try it again. Two days passed, Kevin was successful in keeping his promise, and Lizzie was even more thankful! When his father asked why he was keeping his promises so well, Kevin said, “I kept my promise because I said I would.”

People come to make that crucial choice for many reasons. At first one man we taught could not see the need to be baptized. After all, he had tried to be good all his life. He had committed no serious sin. He had been baptized as a child in another church. But then two things came to his mind. One was that the Savior was baptized out of obedience, having never sinned. The other is that he wanted to make the commitment to the Savior through the authority of the true priesthood, just as the Savior went to John to be baptized.
Another young man we taught chose to be baptized out of a heart broken by the sorrow he felt for his sins. As he came up out of the waters of baptism, he threw his arms around my neck, tears streaming down his cheeks, and said in my ear, “I’m clean. I’m clean.”
Their choices to make the covenant of baptism sprang from a common faith. They knew that if they would keep a covenant to obey the Savior’s commandments, He would keep His covenant with them to lead them toward eternal life. They were ready to come unto Him that they might be changed and led by Him and, in time, become like Him.

I remember years ago I was visiting a branch of the Church in Savannah, Georgia. I was taken to the Relief Society with my wife for lunch. I said, “My, you have a big Relief Society. How many members do you have in the Savannah Branch?” She said, “Well, about 40 sisters.” I said, “There’s a lot more than 40 here this morning.”

“Yes,” she said, “there are 84 here this morning.”

I checked and found out many were investigators and friends of members, all being “worked” and fellowshipped into the community of the Church. Fellowshipping is particularly effective with many of our part-member families.

The average stake has, say 450 prospective elders. About 60 percent are married to nonmember wives. So that’s about 300 nonmember wives. Now, we also have many member women who have married nonmember husbands—let’s say 150. And so, you have 450 or so part-member families. Add the children and you have another 100. That presents a lot of eligible people to be taught by the full-time and stake missionaries, uniting the families, and helping them get to the temple.

I’m a great believer in the power of teaching in groups. But I would not just toss any of these 450 nonmembers and their partners together without thinking and praying about it and making some divisions, grouping the younger-aged couples together, the middle-aged together, the more elderly together. I would subdivide even further. Just because a person is young or old doesn’t mean he is interested in anyone his age—what about educational and vocational and personal interests? Prayerful grouping and teaching of these families in companionable groups results in marvelous things.

Where I have found this most successful, it was because a member of the stake presidency or a high councilor called and said something like, “John, I know you’re not active in the Church, but I’m just calling a group of men and their wives like you to come over and see me individually. I’d just like to talk to you. Would you mind coming over at such and such a time?” Many come and relatively few are bitter—they’re just spiritually dead, as far as outward signs indicate. I’ve heard that many of them respond and say, “This is the first time in 10 years anyone really asked me to come and talk to them.”

Following the visit, the man and his wife may be invited to associate with one of the groups. And just as in the case of a nonmember family, this is exactly where the great help of the members is needed—in the social transition, in the friendshipping. While the discussions are being given, the following activities have shown themselves to be very effective: (a) do something for the investigating family or part-member family daily; (b) take them to Church meetings and socials now—this week!; (c) for nonmember families, coordinate through the missionaries the visits of the auxiliaries during the first weeks; and for part-member families, coordinate through the home teachers the same visits by auxiliary officers and teachers; (d) arrange appropriate activities with ward members; (e) take the family to a baptismal service; (f) arrange a family home evening—even with the part-member family if it would be appreciated; (g) leave a schedule of Church meetings and tracts—but not all of them at once; (h) help with substitutes for Word of Wisdom problems; (i) fast and pray with them; and (j) for part-member families, arrange visits with the bishops—bishops have converting power.

Elder Richards: My advice to such persons is to show their husbands or wives by the way they live the wonderful influence of the gospel in their lives. They should be better parents and more thoughtful, considerate, and happy companions.

As much as possible, they should practice the teachings of the gospel in their homes and bring its influence into the lives of their children.

Whenever possible, their friends should be from among those who will have a good influence, who will build up respect and admiration for the Church and its teachings through their association.

Without pushing, opportunities should be made for the husband or wife to be taught the gospel. Often, this is most effective when the couple can be part of a group that is being taught. If there are others in the group who are in the same circumstances, this often helps.

Never let the husband or wife feel that he or she is an outsider. The member spouse and the family should help the nonmember to feel that family unity, “oneness,” is important, and hold tight to the belief that the family should be “one” in every way.

Above all, and after all else you can do, remember that the greatest help will come from your Heavenly Father. Pray always and be patient.

But your spouse needs help. Fellowshipping plays a vital part here. It concerns me that some of our stake and ward leaders have not fully understood how important fellowshipping is. I tell you this is an area where every member can make a real contribution.

But you just can’t sit around waiting for someone to come up and ask you to fellowship them. Life is not like that. You’ve got to get involved wherever you can, volunteer to help, and just be alert. That’s one of the reasons the Lord gave us the Holy Ghost—to keep us alert to our opportunities for blessing others, as well as ourselves.

I was in Vernal, Utah, near the Colorado border, and met a sister who had just helped a family of five join the Church. She said she was down at the grocery store and saw this woman having trouble finding groceries. “Can I help?” she asked. After helping her, she asked if the woman was just traveling through. The woman said she and her husband were traveling to Colorado to find work, and our sister said, “Well, why don’t you look around here?”

“Oh we wouldn’t know where to look,” said the woman.

“Well,” our good sister said, “let me help you out. Let’s get your groceries and come on over to our home and maybe I can help your husband meet some people who can help him get a job.”

The sister got on the phone and within an hour or two, the man was on the way out to interview for some jobs. He accepted one of them, working and helping to manage a ranch.

Well, do you think this good Samaritan sister stopped there? I should say not. The family of five had nowhere to stay, and so they were invited to stay at her home that night, where they saw happy family life, blessing of the food, family prayers, night and morning, and all the rest. The man and his wife and three children were most appreciative and were interested in this sister and her family. She said that after they got settled, she’d like to let them know why they were the way they were. A week later, she took the missionaries out to this man and his wife—and the family was baptized and eagerly entered the Church. And through it all, our good sister and others provided a transition into the community.

One of the most difficult aspects of conversion is the investigator’s feeling that he is alone and that he is leaving his old friends and way of life for something new. All members can be actively involved—and need to go out of their way to get involved—in helping others find the Church, find new friends, take persons who are investigating the gospel to socials, meetings, athletic events—everything good and wholesome. Otherwise, the investigators generally fear the awkward sensation of being obvious newcomers and strangers. This is another reason why I like grouping part-member families in compatible groups. By teaching several together, we make it possible for new friendships to develop. Many choice things have happened when a group of sincere part-member families get together to learn about their spouse’s religion—and as they talk and learn and share feelings and as the member spouse bears appropriate testimony, even about his or her life, the Spirit moves across their hearts and wonderful truths are discovered. It works! I see and hear about it all the time.

Then I began dating Kelly, a friend who was not a member of the Church. I related to her my plans to serve a mission. Kelly saw that I had changed and wondered why. This led to Kelly’s having the missionary lessons and joining the Church, and I had the opportunity to baptize and confirm her. At this point I wondered if that missionary effort had fulfilled my service to the Lord. I wrestled with having to go, and I was determined to pray to find out if leaving Kelly and serving a mission was the right thing to do.
I chose a place in the hills on the moors called Saddleworth Dovestones, where I would not be disturbed. I took my lunch, scriptures, and my journal and headed out, climbing to the top to offer the desires of my heart to my Father in Heaven. As I prayed, I listened very carefully for an answer, maybe a peaceful feeling or a burning in my bosom, but I felt nothing.
As I walked back, I noticed a series of rocks on the ground carefully placed to spell out the words “Truth Will Prevail.” “Curious,” I thought, but nothing more. However, when I told my mother, she said simply, “That’s your answer.”
Trusting the Lord, I turned in my mission papers. On my 21st birthday, along with my birthday post, came my call to serve in the England London South Mission. Due to my years of inactivity, I still felt weak and inadequate. Only later would I understand what that early missionary understood: the Lord may choose the weak things of this world to preach His gospel, but truth will prevail and will prosper.