Gospel Story Finder

Let me illustrate with a personal and treasured experience. For many years my assignments took me into that part of Germany which was behind what was called the Iron Curtain. Under Communist control, those who lived in that area of Germany had lost nearly all of their freedoms. Activities of youth were restricted; all actions were monitored.

Shortly after I assumed my responsibilities for that area, I attended a most uplifting conference held in that part of Germany. Following the inspirational songs and the spoken word, I felt the impression to meet briefly outside of the old building with the precious teenage youth. They were relatively few in number but listened to every word I spoke. They had hungered for the word and encouragement of an Apostle of the Lord.

Prior to attending the conference, before leaving the United States, I felt the prompting to buy three cartons of chewing gum. I purchased three flavors: Doublemint, Spearmint, and Juicy Fruit. Now, as the gathering of the youth was concluded, I distributed carefully to each youth two sticks of gum—something they had never before tasted. They received the gift with joy.

The years went by. I returned to Dresden—the site of our earlier conference. Now we had chapels; now the people had freedom. They had a temple. Germany was no longer separated by political boundaries but had become one nation. The youth were now adults with children of their own.

Following a large and inspirational conference, a mother and her daughter sought me out to speak to me. The daughter, who was about your age and who spoke some English, said to me, “President Monson, do you remember long ago holding a brief gathering of youth following a district conference, where you gave to each boy and each girl two sticks of chewing gum?”

I responded, “Oh, yes, I surely do remember.”

She continued, “My mother was one to whom you gave that gift. She told me that she rationed in little pieces one stick of gum. She mentioned how sweet to the taste it was and so precious to her.” Then, under the approving smile of her dear mother, she handed to me a small box. As I opened the lid of the box, there I beheld the other stick of gum, still with its wrapper after nearly 20 years. And then she said, “My mother and I want you to have this,” she said.

The tears flowed; embraces followed.

The mother then spoke to me: “Before you came to our conference so many years ago, I had prayed to my Heavenly Father to know that He indeed cared about me. I saved that gift so that I might remember and teach my daughter that Heavenly Father does hear our prayers.”

I hold before you tonight that gift—even a symbol of faith and assurance of the heavenly help our Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, will provide you.

Illustrations by Scott Peck
So much homework … But tomorrow I get to play with my friends.
Mom? Nobody wants to go to the school carnival with me tomorrow.
I just don’t have any real friends.
I’m so sorry, sweetie.
I wish I could help … What would Jesus do?
I know!
I can go with you to the carnival, if you want. I bet we’d have lots of fun together!
But aren’t you playing with your friends tomorrow?
Well, you are one of my friends!
Best carnival ever!
Kindness is one of the best gifts you can ever give.
See family manual, page 79.

At any given recovery meeting, a variety of addictions may be represented. Steve, for example, was addicted to prescription drugs. He initially took medication for a back injury, but after his injury had healed, he lied and eventually stole in order to get more prescription drugs. Steve, who served as a counselor in a bishopric, ended up in jail wearing his suit one Sunday when he was supposed to be conducting sacrament meeting. It was at that point he knew he needed help.
Steve, who found himself in jail wearing his church suit, says, “Today I’m clean and sober because of my Heavenly Father and the 12 steps.” His activity in the Church is especially meaningful to him. “I am a father. I am a priests quorum adviser. I am also a facilitator because I want to give back to a program that gave so freely to me.”

Last June my father lost his job. My dad went to a lot of different interviews before getting a job in Jackson, Alabama. None of my family wanted to move because we loved it where we lived in Texas. There were a lot of young people in my ward there, and when we went to visit the Jackson Branch, there were only about 30 people. I felt out of place, but I know we are supposed to be here. I just want to say that the New Era has helped me a lot through this.
Abby AultJackson, Alabama

I had an experience when I was in the southern states that helped me to realize what I think the Lord meant. I received a letter from a good brother from Phoenix, Arizona. He was quite an elderly man. He said that his grandfather was one of the first converts in the state of Mississippi back in 1840. He said, “Since that time my father and his descendants have given over 100 years worth of missionary service to the Church.” There were then 15 in the mission field, and we had three of them in our mission.

I told that story in a missionary meeting after I was appointed Presiding Bishop in 1940—just 100 years after the grandfather joined the Church. His grandson happened to be in that meeting and I didn’t know it. He came up to me after and said, “Brother Richards, it is now 165 years of service.” When you get to adding 10 to 15 years at a time, it doesn’t take long to add another 100 years.

This was my thought: If that missionary who waded through the swamps of Mississippi back in 1840, when they traveled without purse or scrip and many of them contracted malaria fever, had only brought that one man into the Church, he might not have thought that he had done much. But in 100 years there was 165 years of missionary service from that one man and his descendants, without counting all the converts he had made and all the converts they had made. How can you “lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal” (Matt. 6:20) in any better manner than by performing a service like that?

As a leader he has tried to encourage that desire in others. He remembers a time in 1987 when he was the bishop in Fayetteville, Arkansas. “I went into Primary one Sunday,” he says. “They had invited me. I decided to wear red suspenders. I thought that I would somehow use them as an object lesson. So I got in the Primary room, took off my coat, and said, ‘Now, boys and girls, the bishop has these red suspenders. How are the scriptures like my red suspenders?’ And one little boy raised his hand and said, ‘The scriptures hold up our faith in Jesus the same way your suspenders hold up your pants.’ I said, ‘That is exactly right.’ The little boys in the ward started wearing red suspenders, and the little girls had red bows in their hair.

“My dad was a tool-and-die maker, and he would never be caught without his tools. It seemed to me that for members of the Church of Jesus Christ our tools are the scriptures and we would always have them in our meetings. When I became the stake president, we began to hold them up to remind us how they can, if we use them, hold up our faith.”

Recently I was running a little late to church and hurried into the chapel during the opening hymn. When I walked into the chapel, I saw that it was fuller than normal. As I looked around at the numerous visitors, I realized two things: it was our ward’s Primary program, and my usual spot was taken.
I hurriedly took a seat on the first row of chairs in the overflow seating just in time to see a young mother arrive with her two-year-old son in tow and her six-month-old daughter in her arms. I noticed that her husband didn’t follow her in. When I glanced around the chapel, I saw that he was on the stand, sitting at the piano—he was the accompanist for the Primary.
Because I am single, I usually sit with a particular friend. But that day my friend was out of town. I thought it might be nice to sit with the young mother and her children instead, so I asked if I could join them. The mother agreed. Throughout the meeting I enjoyed helping with the young boy and listening to the Primary children.
At the end of sacrament meeting, the mother leaned over and said she had prayed for me that morning. I waited for her to elaborate. She said she had prayed that I would be at church and that I would sit with her and help her. She had thought she might not be able to make it through sacrament meeting by herself. I felt overwhelmed that I had answered her simple prayer, offered just that morning.
I know that the Lord loves us more deeply than we can truly comprehend. Witnessing an answer to a simple request taught me a powerful lesson, and I am sure the experience taught this mother as well. When I asked if I could sit with this sister, I wasn’t thinking about being the answer to a prayer—I was just doing what I would want someone to do for me if I were in her situation.
Truly Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers, even the seemingly small ones.

Peace McBride, an apprentice seamstress, and her mistress, Mrs. Root, have heard the Prophet Joseph Smith preach, studied the Book of Mormon, and been baptized into the Church. Now Peace has received Sister Root’s permission and the necessary money to visit her family in a distant county to share her joy in the gospel with them.
On the eve of a brand new decade, December 31, 1839, Peace was bundled in a warm cloak and sitting on top of a coach. Only something as important as the gospel could make Peace take such a journey. Sister Root had tried for days to find someone who was traveling toward the town of Chester Springs, but there were few travelers this time of year. Even so, not a seat was left inside the coach, and no one had been willing to give up his seat to the young girl. I won’t think of the cold, Peace decided. I’ll think of how warm I was after my baptism, of Sister Root’s warm parlor, of anything but the cold.
Cheerfully she hugged a paper-wrapped parcel to her chest. It was Sister Root’s copy of the Book of Mormon. She had given it to Peace as the excited girl had boarded the stage. “I shouldn’t let you be doing this,” Sister Root had fretted. “But since you’re going, here, take the book. It won’t do you much good to just talk about it—your folks need a chance to read it.”
Feeling cold creep around her toes as the coach got farther and farther from Philadelphia, Peace wriggled them and thought about the past few weeks. There had been such a change in her employer! Peace could remember when sour words and slaps were served up regularly to her. Sister Root’s whole manner had changed from the time that she first listened to the Prophet.
Glancing around, Peace noticed that the slush in the road had frozen. She stomped her feet and moved her arms to keep warm. Finally she saw the inn up ahead. It was a two-day trip home, and whenever she made it, she always stayed there.
After a warm meal, Peace felt better and hurried to her room. She knew that the coach would leave shortly after dawn, and she needed all the sleep that she could get. Wrapping herself in the quilts, she drifted peacefully to sleep.
Several hours later she awoke as cold again gripped her. The cozy little room that she had enjoyed in the summer was far from any heat source. Seeing frost forming around the window and on the panes, Peace knew that it was frightfully cold. Reaching for her cloak, she hastily put it on over her nightclothes. Back under the covers, she shivered until she was warm enough to fall asleep again.
The frost was so thick on the panes when Peace awoke a second time that light from the feeble sunrise hardly penetrated the room. She dressed under the covers, then hurried to the gathering room. The other travelers were already huddled around the fire, so she had to stand behind them, where she could barely feel its warmth.
A warm breakfast and cheerful words from the inn-keeper helped. Bracing herself, Peace again took her seat on top of the coach. This time she wore all the clothes that she had brought with her. Yet, before noon, her throat was scratchy. By evening, she was really sick. As the coach approached Chester Springs, she was so ill that she hardly knew what was happening around her.
A kind farmer going her way agreed to take Peace to her family’s farm. It was only two miles outside of town, but to Peace the trip took forever. Each time the wagon hit a rut, her head seemed to explode with pain.
Hearing her mother’s voice was almost like being in heaven. Peace tried to rise from where she lay in the back of the farmer’s wagon, but she sank back weakly.
“Peace!” her mother cried. “Whatever are you doing here?” She bustled around and fussed as the farmer and Mr. McBride carried the girl into the house.
It was bliss for Peace to lie in a soft, warm bed in the safety of her home. Her mother helped undress her and started to take the paper-wrapped parcel from her.
“No!” Peace mumbled. “I need to keep this with me. It’s why I came here, and it’s very important.”
“Important or not,” her mother said firmly, “it’s going on the dresser. It will be there when you get better.”
It was a week before Peace felt well enough to even sit up. She had developed a fever and a deep cough and was able to do little but lie there and try to get well.
“You’re awake!” her mother said cheerfully one morning as she came into Peace’s room. “After breakfast and a wash, you’ll feel much better, I’m sure.”
Peace smiled at her mother. It was so good to be home. Looking over at the dresser, she noticed that the parcel was gone. “Where did my book go?”
“I have it, but not for long.”
Peace looked up in surprise at the angry tone of her mother’s voice.
“How did you come by such a book,” her mother asked.
“Sister Root gave it to me.”
“I should never have let you go off on your own.”
“But, Mother, you know I had to. It was an opportunity for the whole family for me to train with such a great dressmaker.”
“She promised to watch over you!”
Peace smiled at her mother and hoped to get her in a better mood. “She watched over me very well. Do you know anything about the Book of Mormon?”
“Reverend Thompson said that the book is of the devil. He told me to burn it!”
Peace sat up in bed. “You didn’t, did you?” she cried.
“Not yet.” Her mother’s face softened. “It seemed to mean so much to you. And you came so far to bring it to us. I’ll admit that I was a little curious about it, because you value it, so I read a little of it.”
“Did it sound like the devil wrote it?” Peace asked softly.
“Well, no,” her mother admitted and smiled back at Peace. “I read a beautiful story about the Savior visiting a strange people in a land that I never heard of.”
“Bountiful?”
“Yes, that’s it. I have to say that it was a beautiful tale!”
“Oh, Mother,” Peace said fervently, “it’s more than a tale. It’s true—every word of it! If you read about it and pray about it, you’ll know that too.”
“Reverend Thompson said that no God-loving person would get involved with this book. He’s a good man, and he’s been our minister since you were a baby.”
Peace didn’t know what to say. Reverend Thompson was a good man. He’d been more than kind to her over the years. “Have the Mormon elders been in this area?”
“Yes, they have,” her mother answered. “Why?”
“Did many people listen and join the Church?”
“Yes. In fact, the number of people in our church has dwindled. And Reverend Thompson is very unhappy about it.”
“There, Mother. That’s your answer. Reverend Thompson is afraid that he’ll lose his congregation.”
Now it was her mother’s turn to look thoughtful. “You may be right. …”
“Mother, will you and Father read the whole book—and pray sincerely about it? Then if you have any questions, we can ask the elders to come visit.”
“I’m still not sure.”
“Please? It means so much to me.”
Peace’s mother loved her oldest daughter very much. She had been parted from her for a long time, and she felt that it wouldn’t hurt to do as Peace asked.
“All right. I will read it, and I’ll ask your father if he will too. I can’t promise more than that.”
“I know,” Peace said understandingly. “Sister Root didn’t want to believe, either. She wouldn’t let me be baptized until she knew more about the Church.”
“Rightly so,” her mother agreed. “I guess that maybe she was caring for you well.”
With just a few days left till she had to go back, Peace spent all the time that she could with her two brothers and three little sisters. She talked to them about the big city and the things that she had seen. “Not long ago I went into a big church near Mistress Root’s shop. There was a man speaking there,” she told them. “His name is Joseph Smith. He’s a very great man, and he’s a prophet.”
“Like Moses?” Jimmy asked in wonder.
“Yes, like Moses. When he talked, I felt that he had great power. We all felt it, and it changed my life.” She told them all that had happened to her. She told them, too, about the Savior and His visit to the New World. They listened eagerly as she told them stories from the Book of Mormon.
Because it was winter, the McBrides spent most of their time indoors. Peace read the Book of Mormon to her father as he mended harnesses and to her mother while she knitted. They listened intently to what Peace read, and her brothers and sisters did too.
Peace attended sacrament meeting at the small branch. Afterward she invited the elders to visit her family. When they came, her father asked many questions. He didn’t say much but nodded his head as the elders answered him.
The time soon came when Peace had to leave. Her heart was heavy because her parents still had not committed themselves to joining the Church.
Her father took her in their wagon to the inn and placed her bag inside the boot of the coach. Peace had a seat inside this time. She also had a warm quilt that her mother made for her to wrap up in.
“Good-bye, Peace,” her father told her, giving her a big hug. “I know what you want from your mother and me. I’m proud of you for believing your religion enough to suffer hardship to try to bring it to us. We’re not ready yet. Don’t give up on us, though. Just give us time.”
Peace left with a warm feeling. She knew that no matter what happened, she had done what she could to teach her family. Now she would give time and the Holy Ghost a chance to finish the work.

—Susi Hayden-Smith, 12, of the Pennant Hills Ward, says that from the moment she entered the temple, “I felt really special, like Jesus was watching. One of the main things I was thinking about was that when I go to heaven, the people I was baptized and confirmed for will thank me. That’s a really special feeling.”
Susi had a long talk with her father before she came to the temple. “He told me how grateful he felt when my brother was baptized for my grandpa,” she says. “He told me how blessed we are to grow up as members of the Church.”
—And three cousins, Laura Walker, 12, of the Blacktown Ward; Rachel Alekna, 13, of the Baulkham Hills Ward; and Brooke Mauger, 13, of the Castle Hill Ward, explain how three generations have been brought closer together through the temple, right here and now.
“Our grandfather is a sealer at the temple,” Rachel says. “He comes every Tuesday. Our parents come all the time. Now we’re coming, too.”
“There are six of us who are cousins, all born within 12 months of each other,” Brooke explains. “Two times now, we’ve all come to the temple together. It’s great.”
“You get used to coming to the temple,” Laura says. “You feel reverent, but you also feel comfortable. You start to think about coming here with your husband someday, to be married for eternity.”
And you start to understand that the blessings of the temple are the blessings of forever, that by starting when you’re young, you can have their influence with you constantly.
GEELONG—Anthony George, 17, lives in this seaside town southwest of Melbourne. “I actually got my testimony from attending the temple,” he says. “Before I started going to the temple, I didn’t really have much of a testimony. I just went along with everyone.” Then, a few weeks before his third trip to the temple, Anthony’s Sunday School teacher told the class that everyone needs a testimony. “So I started thinking about that.”
At the Sydney Temple a few weeks later, Anthony was in the font. “I had already been baptized a few times, and they said the baptismal prayer and I was baptized again. I just had this really good feeling like the person was grateful for what I had done for him. I just felt that this was the right thing, and that going to church was the right thing.” Everything just came together “like a jigsaw puzzle the Spirit put together for me.”
Nerissa Bielenberg, 16, also of Geelong, is willing to sacrifice quite a bit for trips to the temple. When she goes, she passes up a couple days’ wages from her job at the local Kmart. In addition, there’s the actual cost of the bus fare and food during the stay. But it’s worth it. “It’s just different from anything else,” Nerissa explains. You have an experience in there and you know you’re doing the right thing, and you want to keep that same spirit with you all the time.”
ADELAIDE—The Clements and McFarlane families live in the beautiful green hills above Adelaide. For them it’s a two-day drive to the temple with an overnight stop. If they lived closer, “I’d go all the time,” says Rachel Clements, 14. “You feel really spiritual when you come out of the temple.”
Daniel Clements, 16, agrees that the temple gives you a boost—especially your testimony. “It makes it stronger because of the feeling that you get when you go there.” Twelve-year-old Jacob admits to being a little nervous when he went to the temple for the first time. But the temple workers made him feel at home.
Over at the McFarlanes’, 14-year-old Matthew also admits to having been nervous his first time at the temple. But once he was there, “I had a warm feeling,” he says. When he got home, he told his younger brother Paul, “It was beautiful; you’ll enjoy it.” So now Paul looks forward to going when he’s 12.
The Semmler family of nearby Christy’s Beach tries to go to the temple together once a year. Catherine Semmler, 16, says that in the temple, “everything’s perfect. Everything’s peaceful, and everyone’s happy and friendly.” That can make going back to school kind of a shock. But, still, the feeling of the temple stays with you.
The Soinninens are another Adelaide family with a strong temple tradition. Erin, 12, is the most recent family member to go do baptisms for the dead: “You just feel special, that you are doing something really good.”
Her sisters echo those feelings. Kate, now 17, first went when she was 12. “I thought it was kind of like a renewal, as if you were being baptized yourself.” Amelia, 15, repeats what so many of the others have said: “I felt the Spirit there.”
Luke tells us that when young Jesus was in the temple, he amazed the people with his understanding. By following the Savior’s example, young Latter-day Saints who go to the temple are gaining wonderful understandings too.
Aussie teens who go to the temple know that in the temple you can learn what the Spirit feels like, that you can learn what real peace is—the peace that comes from God. They know that in the temple there is reassurance that you are on the right course and that the Church is true. Great blessings—you can find them in the temple, even at the age of 12.

Youth today have lots of temptations, like certain trends, some bad types of social media and music, inappropriate language, and alcohol and drugs. My classmates at school don’t have bad intentions, but sometimes they invite me to try these things.
I’ve had to learn to say no. As my classmates have gotten to know me better, they’ve realized I’m not like everyone else. I have earned their respect by showing them I can be a normal teenager without having bad language or behavior.

My cousin Carrie was a sterling example of a single sister who was a happy, generous, loving woman, blessing all with whom she associated. She was killed in an automobile accident when she was in her late 30s, but her final act of goodness prior to her untimely death was finishing scrapbooks for each of her nieces and nephews. She was fulfilling her mission to the degree that she could within her opportunities.

All the Smith children grew up with a rich supply of love—and nearly as much work. School often had to be set aside when too many chores and too little money stood in its way. For a short time, when he was about thirteen, Hyrum was able to attend an academy in Hanover, New Hampshire. But classes there ended abruptly for him when an epidemic of typhus fever broke out, for Hyrum was needed at home to help care for his sick family.

Joseph had come down with the fever, and the infection moved to his leg. Caring for her ailing children had drained Mother Smith until she, too, became ill, and since Hyrum was a trustworthy boy and had uncommon tenderness and sympathy, he was allowed to care for his little brother. Joseph, suffering greatly with the pain in his leg and unable to get around by himself, was moved to a low bed, where Hyrum could sit beside him. Much of each day and night for many days Hyrum sat holding his brother’s affected leg in his hands, pressing it between them to help ease the pain. Hyrum’s loving care undoubtedly helped Joseph recover, and it strengthened the bond between them.

On a rainy Saturday morning prior to a Kolwezi district conference in 2013, President Ellie Monga, Counselor in the Lubumbashi Democratic Republic of the Congo Mission and Elder Jeffrey Wright, the mission finance secretary, welcomed two strangers at the mission office. Their clothes were muddy, and they were exhausted. They arrived pushing a single, beat-up bicycle and carrying a parcel that was wrapped in a torn and dirty plastic.
President Monga and Elder Wright inquired about their journey and learned that these two tired pilgrims, Brothers Yumba Muzimba Paul and Muba Wa Umbalo Delphin, had arrived from Kinkondja, a city located 600 kilometers (375 miles) north of Kolwezi. They had departed eight days earlier as part of a larger group that was traveling to attend the district conference. En route, most of the group fell sick and decided to return to their homes—but these two brothers were determined to complete the journey by themselves, taking turns between pedaling the bicycle and riding on the back. They said that they had travelled the last three days continuously through the night without stopping and without food—and after a tire went flat, they pushed the bicycle through the rain along the muddy roads. Their bicycle was broken, and these brothers had no money for tools or parts. They had not eaten for three days. They did not know how they would fund a return to their homes.
Brother Paul and Brother Delphin explained that they represented the roughly 60 Saints living in the Kinkondja area and had come to bring tithing from those Saints and to attend the district conference. This came as a surprise to President Monga and Elder Wright as there was no officially organized Kinkondja branch of the Church. Elder Wright recorded in his journal, “It was my honor to receive [the tithing envelopes]. It was my honor to process them.” Elder Wright continued, “I have never felt like I had handled such sacred money before in my whole lifetime.”
Brother Paul related that he was one of three men from Kinkondja who had begun writing to then-Church President Spencer W. Kimball in 1975, asking for missionaries to be sent to the DRC—known as Zaire at the time—and especially to their own village. Brother Delphin added that his deceased father was one of those same three men. (This was well before the Church had been formally organized in the country and before the first missionaries arrived in 1986.) These brothers said that years before, both had been baptized and ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. But in earlier instructions from Church leaders, they were told that they could not be ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood because at that time they lived too far away from an organized Church unit.
For the next two days, President Monga and Elder Wright taught and trained Brother Paul and Brother Delphin in the duties and obligations of the Melchizedek Priesthood. During his interview with Brother Paul, Elder Wright stressed the obligations associated with priesthood ordination, and reminded Brother Paul that “the priesthood is an irreversible event with heavy consequences based on the oath and covenant of the priesthood.” Speaking through President Monga as translator from Kiluba, his native language, Brother Paul replied, “I have waited for this event for 38 years, anticipating this happening for me. Do you think I will fall away? I will never turn away.”
Both brothers were sustained to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood in the district conference, and afterward ordained by Elder Wright with President Monga translating his words into Kiluba. After their ordinations, they were further authorized by President Monga to baptize their wives and children and to administer the sacrament to the Saints upon their return to Kinkondja. Brother Delphin, the younger of the two brothers, was given an additional instruction to dedicate the grave of his father to “honor him as one of the original converts and pioneers of the great work in the Congo.”
Elder Wright recorded in his journal: “I told the mission president [President Phillip McMullin] that night about the condition of their bike and mentioned that I was going to recondition it, buy them [a second] bike and buy them some tools to fix the bikes.” He and President McMullin also funded a ride home for them along with their bikes in one of the big trucks that travel the route to Kinkondja. Before departing, the brothers were given Church materials to take back to their village—among those materials were a sacrament tray and cups so that these newly-ordained and authorized priesthood holders would be able to conduct the ordinance of the sacrament each week.
That Kolwezi district conference in 2013 was memorable for all involved. The district president asked the Kinkondja brethren, to share their powerful testimonies in priesthood meeting and in the Sunday session of conference. They had arrived very tired and very early on Saturday morning. By the end of the conference, they—and all who heard their stories and their testimonies—left refreshed, fulfilled, and feeling God’s love in their hearts.

Mark Johnson is a young man striving to fulfill his duties as a deacon. But at times, it’s a struggle. Seven years ago doctors discovered that Mark had muscular dystrophy; Mark was given just two years of mobility. But he set a high goal for himself—he wanted to pass the sacrament when he was ordained a deacon. It seemed impossible, especially after Mark was forced into a wheelchair. But because of his undying desire to render service, Mark has found a way to fulfill his duties. His father, Lee Johnson, carries Mark in his arms every Sunday as Mark passes the bread and water.
In addition to deacon’s duties, Mark is earnestly pursuing the Eagle Scout rank. As a member of Troop 101 of the Ventura First Ward in California, he is a Life Scout and is working on the two remaining merit badges left to fill the Eagle requirements. Some of the badges have not come easy; take, for example, hiking, camping, swimming. But he claims his hardest merit badge was music.
Mark’s troop helps him every chance they get. They alternate backpacking with car camping so Mark can participate. He has a special friend in Ricky Johnson who pushes the wheelchair up the trail and through the streambeds on the walk-in camps.
Mark lives close to the Lord, and his diligence is an inspiration to others. He has been helped by many, but when asked how he has achieved his goals, his answer is, “My dad and I do it together.”

Not long after our friend Carolyn Rasmus joined the faculty of Brigham Young University, a group of her new teaching colleagues invited her to join them on a Saturday hike in the mountains above Provo. Carolyn was not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she had felt particularly welcome in her new circle of associates. She eagerly joined them for the climb.
As the sun steadily rose, so did the hikers on the mountainside. Then, as the ten o’clock hour approached, the group began to find places to sit down. Carolyn thought, “This is wonderful. How did they know I needed the rest?” and she, too, looked for a comfortable spot to stretch out. But the participants seemed unusually earnest about this particular break, some pulling out pencils and notebooks while one intently dialed a transistor radio.
What then happened would be a turning point in her life forever. One of her friends said, “Carolyn, we need to explain something. This is the first Saturday in October, and for us that means not only lovely weather and bright fall foliage, but it also means a general conference of the Church. As Latter-day Saints, wherever we are or whatever we are doing, we stop and listen. So we are going to sit here among the oak and the pines, look out over the valley below, and listen to the prophets of God for a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours!” thought Carolyn. “I didn’t know there were prophets of God still living,” she said, “and I certainly didn’t know there were two hours’ worth!” Little did she know that they were going to stop again at two o’clock that afternoon for another two hours and then invite her to tune in at home for four more the next day.
Well, the rest is history. With the gift of a leather-bound copy of the scriptures from her students, the love of friends and families in the LDS ward she began to attend, and spiritual experiences we want all who make their way into the light of the gospel to have, Carolyn was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. With her introduction to general conference that day sitting high atop Y Mountain, Sister Rasmus had seen her own personal fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophetic invitation: “Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths: for out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.”

I was a typical high school football player with a typical football vocabulary. I was one of the captains of the football team at El Segundo High School and didn’t have the best reputation. Glenda’s locker was a couple of lockers from mine, and whenever she walked by I suddenly improved my language. I worried that if I offended her she would avoid me.
As the semester progressed so did our mutual respect and friendship. She was unique, but I did not understand why. One thing I knew for sure, though, was that she never attended the parties I went to.
So, when she invited me to a Christmas party at her home, I didn’t know what to expect. Although I enjoyed my friends, I had seriously considered changing my bad habits. I was searching for something different. I was interested to see what kind of a party she would throw. I put on my best clothes, poured on the cologne, and off I went.
Was I surprised! I was shocked to see everyone having fun, dancing, playing games, and drinking—soft drinks! After a while, I couldn’t believe that I was having fun too. I was surprised to meet Glenda’s parents at the party, since all the parties I ever attended occurred while the parents were away. Most everyone was a bit surprised to see me. Still, they were all smiles and treated me with kindness.
As the evening ended I offered to provide rides home to anyone who needed one. Fortunately, one particular girl I had my eye on during most of the party needed a ride. I drove all around town dropping people off until we were alone. I drove her home very slowly.
I asked her what she was doing for Christmas, and she told me her family was leaving for Argentina the next day. What a small world, I thought. I briefly explained to her that my family had immigrated from Argentina 11 years ago. She said her father had served a mission there, and they were going to visit some of her father’s old friends. Soon we were at her home, and I didn’t get a chance to ask her what a mission was, but the seeds of curiosity were sown and so was my interest in her.

Ever since I was little, I was fascinated by the stories of Church leaders who served in the armed forces. Many of them have been war heroes and great examples of valor and humility in their home countries. Their experiences inspired me to participate in my country’s military.
When I was 13, I entered a school known for its strict military discipline and infantry training. My schedule was demanding. I often was so exhausted by the end of the day that my scripture study and seminary participation seemed impossible.
By my second year at school, I had made plans for my life: upon finishing school at age 18, I would go directly into officer school and graduate four years later as an officer in the Guatemalan Army. All my wishes and dreams seemed to be coming true.
One day I told my mom about my plans, and she asked, “When are you planning to serve a full-time mission?” From that day forward her question lingered in my mind every time I thought about my future.
I still had a rigorous schedule, but I started to show more interest in my spiritual training. I started attending seminary, working with the full-time missionaries, and participating in Church activities. Following the advice of my older brother who was serving a full-time mission, I also began reading the Book of Mormon.
When I was training to be a paratrooper, we had very intense training each day. We would get back to our barracks almost crawling, but I always found the strength to read the Book of Mormon. Daily reading of the scriptures strengthened my spirit and helped me continue with my training.
One evening several of my friends gathered around my bed to ask me some questions about the Book of Mormon and the Word of Wisdom. It was my opportunity to be the best kind of soldier—one who defends the truth and brings freedom through a firm and convincing testimony of the Book of Mormon.
When I was 19, I enlisted again in an army—the army of God, the most powerful army of all. I had the privilege of standing shoulder to shoulder with the valiant elders and sisters of Zion in the battalion of the Mexico Puebla Mission. Girded with the armor of God, we proclaimed the gospel and fought for liberty with courage and strength.
We are fighting against the hosts of darkness, but the victory belongs to God. I want to continue to be a brave soldier, enlisted for our King. We have powerful weapons: the Book of Mormon, the Holy Ghost, and the fulness of the gospel. We are led to victory by living prophets. If we train and prepare ourselves for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ, He will give us crowns of honor in celestial glory.

My mid-teens were years when there was a confluence of conditions that tried and vexed me. Those are years when peer approval weighs so heavily. I found myself contending with shortness of stature, shyness, a home with outdoor plumbing, and a 4-H pig project, each of which had by then become an embarrassment. The periodic pain can be smiled at now but was real enough then. Programmed by doting uncles (and myself) in early childhood to love basketball and to aspire to be all-state, I had (until this period) been more adept at basketball than most peers. Soon I started not making the first string, then the second, and then the squad. It was a bitter pill. This failure (for the first time in athletic affairs) cruelly combined with other indications that I was for the first time outside that hard to define but real inner circle. It was a time of long thoughts. Somehow being at home feeding the pigs was not like working out with the team, especially when the boy down the block (whom I had helped somewhat to learn to play basketball) was where I wanted to be: he went on to be all-state, which he deserved.
During this time, I noticed that recycling regrets didn’t change reality. Pawing through the past was not productive. (This period was the time when my aspirations got diverted to the world of words, where there was a teacher who would not let me pass without genuine achievement.) Thus an insight dawned—not all at once—showing me that too much attention to what might have been actually gets in the way of what still can be.

On a cool October evening, fathers and sons steadily filtered into the old Alpine Tabernacle for the priesthood session of general conference, even filling the cushioned choir seats. I sat on the back row of the large meeting hall—alone, as usual. It was hard not to envy the other boys whose fathers reached arms over their shoulders. There was no one to show such affection for me. I was the 16-year-old boy from the “broken home.” I was the boy whose father had abandoned his family, leaving me an embarrassing legacy of impropriety and shame.
I continued watching as the Beck brothers made their way to the top row of the soft choir seats, smiling and laughing, with their father leading the way. I knew that they would likely be going together for ice cream after the meeting. And I also knew that I would be walking home alone.
I leaned over, placing my elbows on my knees, and sat uncomfortably on the edge of the wooden pew, wanting the meeting to be over before it began. I told myself, “Someday, I will be one of the fathers that puts his arm around his sons and leads them to the choir seats; someday, I will be everything that my father failed to be.” I vowed to be different in all the best ways—to form my own family, free from burdens of disgrace and embarrassment.
Then, a miracle happened: the speaker, then-Elder Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, said that he wanted to discuss a topic that fathers should discuss with their sons. But, he said, he was aware that many young men didn’t have fathers who could talk to them about these sensitive subjects, so he wanted to speak to the young men himself. It was as if Elder Packer had singled me out and spoken directly to me, indicating his willingness to be the father figure that I had longed for for years.
In that very moment, I determined that I would not let my family history, my personal circumstances, or my less-than-perfect family relationships stand in the way of my Father in Heaven’s blessings resting fully upon me! That night, I sought counsel from a prophet, seer, and revelator. He would be the father that I did not have. Although I did not have an opportunity to speak to him directly, and I did not feel his arm resting upon my shoulder, from then on, I actively sought counsel from his speeches, books, and instruction in an effort to rise above all the hardship and disappointment I faced in life.
As I left the tabernacle that evening, instead of walking home alone or feeling sidelined and marginalized by my unique family circumstance, I felt hope and encouragement: I could claim a connection to an Apostle of Jesus Christ. Thirty-two years later, almost to the day, my wife and I were invited to meet with Elder Packer in his office. Heavenly Father had granted me the tender mercy of being able to tell Elder Packer how much he had meant to me over a lifetime. As we discussed a calling to serve as a mission president, my father figure imparted wisdom and counsel that continues to serve me even now.

Elder Fyans will always remember a story his mother told him about herself as a baby. This story has been a source of faith and strength to him over the years. “My mother was the first white girl born in Tuba, Arizona. One morning when she had barely learned to walk, she fell into an open fireplace and was badly burned. Her father was away from home at the time, but something impressed him that he should return home. Arriving home about four o’clock in the morning, he found that his little daughter was critically burned. Grandmother said, ‘Let the child die. She’s so badly scarred.’ But my grandfather picked his little daughter up in his arms, and he and the patriarch gave her a blessing. He blessed her that she would not be scarred and that one day she would sing before the crowned heads of Europe. That kind of blessing for a little child born on an Indian reservation was impressive.

“My mother grew to be a healthy, normal child, and, as the blessing had promised, she was not scarred. As she grew to maturity, she sang for a number of years with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. The choir toured Europe and she did sing before royalty there, fulfilling the blessing given to her years before by those having priesthood authority.”