Gospel Story Finder

Please ask the Lord if we can be the special witnesses mentioned in the Book of Mormon.
The Lord has told me that if you will rely on the Lord, humble yourselves, and testify of the truth, you may see the plates.
Later that day.
Each man took a turn praying to be shown the plates.
Nothing happened.
I’m the reason the heavens are closed.
Soon the angel Moroni appeared.
Then they heard the voice of God.
These plates are from God. The translation is correct, and I command you to share what you now see and hear.
Later, Joseph finds Martin praying.
I haven’t received a witness from the Lord, but I still want to see the plates. Will you pray with me?
A few days later and with direction from God, Joseph invited eight others, including his father and two of his brothers, to see the plates. They did not see an angel, but they got to hold the plates in their hands.
All eleven witnesses attached their names to statements in the Book of Mormon, known as Testimony of Three Witnesses and Testimony of Eight Witnesses. Though some left the Church for a time, they all bore testimony throughout their lives that they had seen the gold plates. None of the witnesses ever denied what they saw.

“A hot fudge sundae says you miss,” Clay Carson taunted from the edge of the cement basketball court behind the elementary school.
“Make that a double,” Tad Patterson yelled from under the basket.
At half court I bounced the ball three times and then held it at chest level. Eyeing the basket, I crouched slightly in the knees and was about to send the ball arching toward the basket when a voice called behind me, “I’ll make that a triple.” My concentration crumbled, and although I still pushed the shot off—I was too far into it to stop—I missed the rim entirely. Barely hit the backboard.
Amid hoots, hollers, and hassling, I turned to see Samuel Feagin, our priests adviser, standing at the other end of the court with his hands on his hips and a goading grin on his face.
Brother Feagin was probably the best athlete ever to come out of Rolling Hills High School. He had been a two-time All-Stater in both football and basketball and second in the 100 meters his senior year. Although he was a little over 30 and had a desk job at a bank, he continued to stay trim and fit, maintaining his weight at a healthy 185 pounds, just 10 pounds heavier than the day he graduated from high school.
“Thanks a lot, Brother Feagin,” I muttered, wiping the sweat from my brow with my shirttail. Tad and Clay were coming up behind me, Clay bouncing the ball and Tad pulling on the shirt he had discarded on the grass 30 minutes earlier.
“Ross needs a little more practice,” Clay teased me, slapping me on the back. “He just doesn’t have the touch today.” He wagged his head. “In fact, I’m not sure he’s ever had the touch.”
“I’ve hit seven of those today,” I said, turning to Brother Feagin, who was ambling toward us, kicking a couple of pebbles from the court as he came.
“I’d have drilled that one too if you hadn’t yelled when you did.”
Brother Feagin chuckled, “Ross, you’re always telling me how good you are, but whenever I come around you lose your concentration. I don’t know how you ever managed to be voted All-State guard as a junior. Must have been a bad year for basketball players. Do you think you can even make the team this year?”
I didn’t answer. I knew Brother Feagin was only joking. Tad, Clay, and I had been on the Rolling Hills varsity football and basketball teams since we were sophomores. Though none of us had played much that first year, Brother Feagin had rarely missed one of our games; and though to our faces he didn’t hesitate to kid us about our athletic prowess, we knew he bragged about us otherwise every chance he got. A lot of our success had to be attributed to him. He’d spent more than one afternoon scrimmaging with the three of us, giving us pointers, pushing us to our limits, and humbling us a little when it was timely and appropriate. He wasn’t just an adviser; he was a friend, a coach, and just an all-around good guy.
“How’d you find us, Brother Feagin?” Tad asked, looking a little sheepish.
Brother Feagin didn’t answer right away. He snatched the ball from Clay and bounced it a few times. “I figured I’d find you here playing basketball. Or out front on the lawn playing football. You’re pretty consistent, you know.”
“Are they finished over at Sister Howard’s place?” Tad asked.
“Yep. I came to tell you the grub’s ready.” He dribbled toward the basket, jumped, and pushed the ball off. It jangled through the chain net. “If you’ve earned it,” he added, as he ran after the ball.
“We helped,” I responded. “Didn’t we?” I asked, turning to Tad and Clay.
“Yeah,” Clay corroborated. “We raked up two of those big piles in back. Honest.”
Brother Feagin was walking back, bouncing the ball as he came. “I know. I saw you. For a while I thought you’d stick around. Then the next thing I knew you were gone.”
“Ah, Brother Feagin,” I groaned, “those service projects are so—so blah. They’re so sappy.”
“You’re the guys that organized the thing for the Mutual. It was your idea.”
“But it was your suggestion,” I pointed out.
“You didn’t come up with anything better.”
“Service projects are dumb,” Clay grumbled.
“Clay, service is what the Church is all about,” Brother Feagin came back.
“Yeah, but it’s not raking leaves and hoeing weeds,” I countered. “Why don’t we do something meaningful? Something that will make a difference. We’re always running around trying to scare up some service project, just something to keep us busy. We put in our hour and a half and we’re supposed to be better people for it. I’d rather play basketball.”
“There’s more to life than basketball, Ross.”
“Football?” Tad joked.
Brother Feagin studied us for a moment. We couldn’t look him in the eye, though. We stared down at the court and felt his eyes on us. “Go ahead, chew us out and get it over with,” Clay mumbled. “Then let’s go eat.”
“I didn’t come to chew you out,” he came back. He tossed the ball hard into Clay’s stomach. Though it caught Clay off guard, he caught it, but not before it knocked his wind out. Brother Feagin grinned. “You’re getting better, Clay.” Then he became serious. “There are a lot of people looking up to you three. A lot of the kids back there are wondering why the three of you get off. You might not want to be examples to those other kids, but you are. But it’s up to you as to the kind of examples you’ll be.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. “I’m not going to chase you down anymore when we have a service project,” he announced simply. “If you want to be there, you be there. If you’re good enough to start for Rolling Hills, you’re good enough to stay with a service project until it’s finished.”
“Are you threatening to resign?” Tad asked knowingly, trying not to smile, but the smile escaped through his eyes.
Brother Feagin took a deep breath. “No, I’m not going to resign. I guess I like you guys too much. Don’t ask me why,” he muttered, then smiled wanly. “Maybe you remind me too much of myself.”
“Yeah,” Tad grinned, “you probably skipped out of all your service projects when you were growing up. Now you feel guilty so you want us to do all the work to relieve you of your guilty conscience.”
Brother Feagin rubbed his chin with the backs of his fingers. “Maybe. Maybe I don’t want you to feel guilty when you’re 30 and looking back.”
“Hey, Brother Feagin,” I burst out, “if we were doing something that was unique, we could handle it, but who wants to rake leaves?”
“Yeah, if there were about ten banana splits that needed to be cleaned up, we could handle that,” Tad offered.
“Or if you know of three lonely, beautiful girls, we could make them happy,” Clay suggested. “That would be a praiseworthy service project.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “we would have two or three service projects like that a week. One a night if you wanted.”
“Just give us something—something tailored to us,” Tad said seriously. Then he grinned.
“It’s not what you do. It’s why you do it. That’s what makes service unique. The task isn’t nearly as important as the attitude.” Brother Feagin thought for a moment and then said, “But if I think up something unique, something that’s never been tried before, you’ll do it?” We eyed him suspiciously and glanced at each other. “I might even be able to make it so there was food involved. And maybe a girl or two. What do you say?” The three of us shifted our weight uneasily and then nodded, entrusting ourselves into Brother Feagin’s care.
We soon forgot about the deal we had made with Brother Feagin. Football season was almost upon us and the three of us were trying to work summer jobs, push weights in the evenings, do a little jogging, and work on our plays before we started two practices a day in a week and a half.
One evening after one of our workouts, Brother Feagin called up and asked us to drop over by his place for a few minutes. Still wearing our shorts, T-shirts, and running shoes, we strolled over to his place. He and his wife Connie were sitting on the front porch in a bench swing while their three little girls were out playing on the lawn. Tad, Clay, and I dropped down on the front steps.
“What’s up?” I asked, feeling the sweat trickle down the small of my back.
“I’ve got your service project lined up,” Brother Feagin announced, “and it’s tailored to you.”
I glanced at Connie who looked at her husband and then smiled down at the three of us.
“What’s he got planned for us, Sister Feagin?” I asked.
Her eyes sparkled and her quiet smile blossomed into a full grin. Just then her youngest daughter, Tara, padded barefoot up the steps and scampered over to her. Sister Feagin pulled her up into her lap and then answered, “You’ll have to ask Sam about his plans.”
“We’re waiting,” Tad said suspiciously.
“I lined you all up,” Brother Feagin announced, coming right to the point.
For a moment the three of us were silent. Maybe dumbfounded is a more accurate description.
“You did what?” Clay asked.
“You said you wanted a unique service project. You accused me of always making the suggestions to you, so I decided that I’d take one of your own suggestions. You said you’d be perfectly content to take a girl out for a service project. So I lined you up.”
“With who?” Tad demanded, fidgeting uneasily on the front steps.
“Does it matter with whom as long as you make her happy?”
“It sure does,” I answered, getting nervous. I glanced over at Sister Feagin, who had taken her husband’s arm and snuggled up next to him. She winked at the three of us.
“I think you’re setting us up,” Tad complained.
Brother Feagin rolled his tongue around his mouth like he does when he’s thinking. “Have I ever led you astray?” he asked.
We shook our heads. “But there’s always a first time,” Clay murmured.
“Have I ever done anything that would cause you not to trust me?” We shook our heads again. “Then trust me now,” he said solemnly.
“I trust you to give our priesthood lessons and stuff, but I’m not sure I want you choosing my dates.”
“Are you questioning his taste?” Sister Feagin asked, holding her chin up and looking down at us. Brother Feagin laughed, put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Personally,” she continued with a smile, “I think he has remarkable taste.” She started to giggle.
“When you do a service project, you help those in need,” I pointed out, obviously skeptical and disgruntled. “Any girl that’s in need of a date can’t be too—”
“Don’t judge,” Brother Feagin cut me short, raising a warning finger. “I just followed your suggestion. But I’ll throw in a guarantee if it will make you feel better.”
“Keep talking,” Tad said.
“If this service project isn’t the best you’ve ever had, if you don’t come off this date with absolutely no regrets, I’ll give you each a steak dinner.”
“He’ll probably fry them himself,” Clay grumbled. “And burn them to a crisp.”
“I’ll take you out for steaks then. Any place you want to go. But remember,” Brother Feagin cautioned, “you’ve got to be on your best behavior. You’ve got to do all you can to make it a good date. Fair enough?”
We nodded and Clay asked, “Where and when?”
“Tomorrow night, here. Bring a corsage and wear a suit. And I’ll tell you tomorrow who your dates are. We’ll take my van.”
“Are you and Sister Feagin going with us?” I asked hopefully.
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Sister Feagin laughed.
None of us had ever had a blind date, and though we weren’t expecting great things from this one, we couldn’t help feeling just a little anticipation as we congregated in Brother Feagin’s living room the next evening. Perhaps it was as much curiosity as anticipation, but it had a certain luring effect which made us all show up on time.
“Well, who are the lucky ladies?” Tad asked as he pulled at his shirt collar and cradled his corsage.
“They don’t go to Rolling Hills,” Sister Feagin spoke up, “but one was a beauty queen.”
“Keep going,” Tad said.
“In high school, none of them worried about getting a date. They were very popular. And pretty.”
I began to chuckle. “I’m dying to hear the catch. What happened after high school? Did they all get run over by a train?”
“No catch. You really couldn’t find better people.”
“I’ll take the beauty queen,” I spoke up. Clay and Tad glared at me.
“All right, Ross,” Brother Feagin said, “you’ll take Mandy Wilson.”
“Mandy Wilson.” I smiled. “Sounds nice.” I thought for a moment. “Is she any relation to Sister Wilson that lives over on Alpine Drive?” Brother Feagin nodded. “Granddaughter?” He shook his head. “Great-granddaughter?”
“Closer relation than that.”
“Daughter?” I gasped. Brother Feagin shook his head. “Well, how much closer can you get?” He didn’t answer. I stared at him and my eyes began to narrow. “Now wait a minute,” I said slowly in protest. “Just a minute.”
“What’s going on?” Clay asked, utterly confused. “I don’t get it.”
“Mandy Wilson isn’t Sister Wilson?” I rasped.
Tad and Clay both bolted to their feet. “What?” they asked in horror.
“You set me up with Sister Wilson?”
Brother Feagin remained calm. He had his arm around his wife’s shoulder and was looking steadily at the three of us.
“And who are we going with?” Clay demanded.
“Bette Douglas and Liz Arnold.”
“Not Sister Douglas, not that Bette Douglas?” Tad wheezed. “The one that lives over by the elementary school?”
“That’s the one. And Liz Arnold lives over in the 15th Ward.”
“But they’re old ladies,” I protested.
“Sister Wilson is 74, Sister Arnold is 77, and Sister Douglas is 75.”
The three of us stood gaping in shocked silence.
“They’re very nice women,” Sister Feagin said. “Fun ladies.”
“What do we have to do, pick them up in a wheelchair and hire a nurse to give them periodic heart massage?” Clay asked.
“They’re all in very good health. They don’t even carry canes. And if you’re not too terribly thrilling, they might not even have a heart attack.”
“They’re married,” Tad cried out.
“Widowed. That makes them eligible. There’s no law that says you can’t ask someone out who’s older than you.”
“They’ve probably got grandkids older than we are.”
“No probably about it. They all have grandkids older than you. Look, you’re not going to marry them. There’s an adult two-stake dance tonight. You’re going to take them out for an evening and show them a good time. Something they don’t get very often.”
“We’re just a bunch of kids. They’ll be wondering if they’re supposed to baby-sit us.”
“Prove to them that you don’t need a baby-sitter anymore.”
“Brother Feagin,” I groaned, “they’re not going to want to go with us.”
Brother Feagin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll admit,” he said, nodding his head, “that you’re probably not first on their list of eligible males, but you just happen to be all there is. Don’t flatter yourselves. They have some misgivings themselves.”
“But they won’t want to go,” Tad insisted.
Brother Feagin thought for a moment and then said, “Do you know how many years Sister Arnold has been a widow?” We shook our heads.
“Thirty-five years. Her husband was killed when she was 42. She had eight kids under 18. She went back to college, got a degree, and then taught for the next 19 years. She didn’t have much time for a social life. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go 35 years without a date? That’s twice as long as you’ve been alive. People never outgrow their need for doing things with other people. Oh, she’s gone to a church dance occasionally, but always with a couple, always feeling like a fifth wheel. Now she has a chance to go out and be the main wheel. Going with someone young enough to be her grandkid won’t be ideal, but it beats staying home for 35 years.”
“But why us?” I mumbled.
“I know you can play football and basketball. I know you can push weights. I know you can get good grades. I know you can charm the girls at school. Now I want to see if you can be gentlemen.”
We were silent, staring at the floor, knowing that whatever this service project wasn’t, it was certainly unique. No one else would have dared ask us to do something so utterly crazy. No one else could have asked and had us accept. Brother Feagin was probably the only person in the whole world we knew we couldn’t turn down. There was just no way we would have disappointed him.
“All right,” I muttered without enthusiasm, “we’ll go for you.”
“I don’t want you to go for me,” he said, his voice soft but charged with emotion. “I want you to go for those three sisters. I’m happy. I have a wife and three kids at home. I don’t need to go to that stake dance tonight to be happy. I can stay home and be happy. But those three sisters are alone.”
No one spoke for a couple of minutes. We just stood around avoiding each other’s eyes and waiting for someone else to be the one to break the stifling silence. Clay ended up being the bold one. He took a deep breath and cried out, “Well, let’s get going before the flowers wilt. I’m not giving Bette a crumby wilted flower.” Turning to Tad and me, he ordered, “And get those glum looks off your faces. We’re not going to a funeral.”
Never in my life had I been so nervous to pick up a date. When we drove up to Sister Wilson’s place, my mouth was dry and my cheeks burned with an annoying blush. I’m sure I was sweating, but I was so uptight that I couldn’t think about anything so trivial as wet underarms, bad breath, or messed up hair, the usual considerations I had before picking a girl up.
“Why don’t all three of you go,” Sister Feagin suggested as the van stopped.
“Yeah, let’s all three of us go,” I joined in. Tad and Clay looked dubiously at me. “To all three of them,” I quickly added.
So all three of us marched up to Sister Wilson’s front door. Amanda Wilson came to the door in a navy blue dress. She had a narrow face, creased with smile wrinkles about her thin lips and her piercing blue eyes. She smiled. “Well, hello, boys,” she greeted us warmly. I’d never paid much attention to her in the past. There had never been a need. She was just one of the older women that I’d seen wandering about the church on Sunday. I wasn’t even positive what ward she was in. But on this particular evening, standing on her front steps, I took a good look. I could still detect those faint features that had made her a beauty queen in her youth.
“Are you ready?” I stammered.
She laughed. “I guess I’ve been ready for half an hour.”
“We’re not late, are we?”
She shook her head and smiled. “No, I’m just early.” Her voice broke slightly, and her cheeks colored some. I was taken back as I realized that she was just a little nervous. We were the ones who were supposed to be nervous. We were the kids. She was the adult. But we were making Sister Wilson nervous. Or was it a rare kind of excitement?
“This is for you,” I said, holding out the corsage.
Her eyes widened and she clasped her hands together in front of her. “A flower? For me?” she gasped, happily surprised. “You shouldn’t have,” she whispered. “I had no idea.”
I just smiled and shrugged.
“I really wasn’t expecting a flower.”
“Well, there is one catch,” I said, grinning. “I’m not an expert when it comes to pinning them on.”
While Tad and Clay watched, I fumbled about to pin the corsage onto Sister Wilson’s dress. My hands were shaking badly and I almost took two of my fingers off trying to get the pin through everything it was supposed to go through. “You sure your mom isn’t here to do this for you?” I muttered in jest.
Sister Wilson laughed. “Will my grandson do? He lives across the street.”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid he’d be as clumsy as me. I don’t know why they don’t just tape these things on instead of using these pins.”
Tad and Clay had to pin their corsages on their dates too, and they weren’t any better than I was. When we all got in the van, I noticed for the first time how excited these three older ladies were. Here they were going out with a gang of boys and they were excited. I had been so worried about me that I hadn’t noticed them until I heard and saw them talking and laughing with each other. It made me feel warm inside to think that I could make someone feel that good.
“I feel privileged to be going with such handsome young men,” Sister Douglas laughed.
“There are going to be a lot of unhappy young girls at home tonight, wondering why you young men aren’t taking them out instead of old ladies.”
Clay sighed and answered, “These young girls just don’t have what it takes. We like our dates to be—” He groped for the word.
“We like them to be mature,” I helped out with a smile. “And we take only the best,” I added as the women laughed.
“Actually,” Tad injected, loosening up and getting into the jovial spirit of the occasion, “we’ve been wanting to take you out for a long time.”
“And what kept you?” Sister Wilson asked.
“Well, we were just waiting until you were—well, until you were old enough!” Everyone laughed. “We wanted to make sure you were old enough to date.”
“I’m glad you didn’t wait much longer,” Sister Arnold joked back, “or we might not have been available.”
I had never imagined that a date with a 74-year-old woman could be fun. But it was. I suppose what made it so fun is that they were so appreciative of everything we did. When we opened a door, offered them our arm or any of the other little common courtesies, they were so quick to thank and praise us. I soon felt so proudly chivalrous that I was about to burst.
When we entered the stake center for the dance, we heard the soft music, which wasn’t exactly our style, and I leaned over and announced to the three women, “You’ll have to be a little patient with our dancing skills—or lack of them. We play a pretty mean game of football, but we’re not too great on the dance floor.”
Sister Wilson smiled and patted my arm. “We’ll show you,” she said. “Our football days are behind us, but with a little support we can still dance a pretty wild waltz. At least for girls our age.”
“Don’t expect to be danced breathless, though,” Sister Arnold chuckled.
We felt awkward at first, being in there with all the adults of the two stakes, but the awkward feeling soon left as we saw how pleased the women were to be there, not just to sit on the periphery of the action with another couple but to be escorted by someone of their own, even if that someone was as young as we were. I could tell they were proud of us. Every time they saw someone they knew, they would introduce us and brag how they had “the cream of the crop tonight.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Clay announced around 11:00 as we sat at a table for a rest and drank punch. “Let’s drop over to the youth dance.”
“What?” Sister Douglas asked, almost choking on her punch.
“Sure,” Tad joined in, “we’ll show you how the—other side lives.”
“I don’t know if we could do anything but stand around and watch,” Sister Arnold said.
“We’d love to go,” Sister Wilson spoke up. “And we’ll even dance.”
We loaded up in Brother Feagin’s van and headed over to the South Stake Center to the youth dance there. By then we had all grown accustomed to the idea of being with three older sisters and we walked right in and started to dance. It was a fast one and the ladies were a little reluctant to get started, but with a little encouragement from us, they were soon swaying and shaking their arms and laughing and having a good time. The kids at the dance were shocked at first, but soon they got a real kick out of it.
Halfway into the third dance, someone tapped me on the shoulder and growled in my ear, “Do you think you can keep her to yourself all night?” I turned around to see Tye Brown grinning at me. “Don’t be so greedy.”
“Huh?”
“I’m cutting in,” he said, slapping me on the back and pushing me away. “You don’t get all the fun. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”
As I walked off the floor and went over to sit by Brother and Sister Feagin, I noticed that two other guys were cutting in on Tad and Clay. I laughed and dropped into the chair next to Connie Feagin.
“I’m proud of you, Ross,” she whispered over at me while her husband visited with Clay and Tad.
“I’m having a good time,” I laughed. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I’m just glad we were able to talk you and Brother Feagin into coming with us.”
She smiled. “I’ve never seen them so happy.”
“Yeah, I think they’re having a good time.”
“No one else could have brought them here tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“All the young people respect you and Clay and Tad. Everyone else would have been afraid to be so bold. But now that they see you doing it, they all want to be part of it too.”
I was quiet, listening to the powerful pulse of the music and watching Sister Wilson joke and dance with Tye. Soon Tracy Hall walked up and stepped in for Tye. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come here. It looks like we’re going to lose our dates,” I observed.
“Remember last year when you were chosen to the All-State team?” Sister Feagin said, leaning over so I could hear above the music. I nodded. “Sam and I were so proud of you. I’d never seen Sam so excited about anything. Until tonight. He’ll probably never tell you, but he’s so proud of the three of you that he’s almost ready to bawl.”
When we took the sisters home, we walked each one to the door and said goodnight. Sister Wilson was the last to be escorted to her front steps. When she reached the front door and opened it, she turned and faced the three of us. Then she reached out, took my face in her hands, pulled me down and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said softly. There were tears shimmering in her eyes.
When we returned to the van, we were all quiet for several minutes, deep in thought. Brother Feagin was the one to break the silence. “Where do you want to go for your steak dinner?” he asked.
Clay chuckled, “Oh, you’re too late, Brother Feagin. I’ve got another date with Sister Arnold.”
We all laughed. “No, seriously,” Clay went on, “I think we’d like to take you out.”
“No,” Brother Feagin objected, “I promised to take you out for a steak dinner if you’d go tonight.”
“You promised to take us if this wasn’t the best service project of our life. It was the best.”
Tad and I nodded our agreement.
“And,” I added, “we’ll be by in the morning at 5:30 to pick you up.”
“Tomorrow at 5:30?” he asked puzzled.
“Yeah, there’s a ward work project over at Sister Call’s place. We’re painting her house.”
Brother Feagin laughed. “I think you guys have put in your service hours for the month.”
“Don’t try to weasel out of it,” Clay spoke up. “We don’t want to chase after you and drag you over there. But we will. Don’t you know that a guy can never get all his service hours in? That’s what the Church is all about, Brother Feagin. Didn’t you know that? And if you go over to Sister Call’s and don’t come away with a warm feeling, we’ll pitch in and buy you and Sister Feagin a steak dinner tomorrow night.”
“You’ve got a deal,” he laughed.
“We’ll throw in the steak dinner anyway,” I added. “Just to tell you thanks. For everything.”

As a young boy growing up in Firth, Idaho, population 292 and dropping, I approached my eighth birthday wondering about the boy prophet and the hardships he faced at such a tender age. I knelt on the banks of the Blackfoot canal and prayed about the first vision and to my surprise no startling revelation occurred. Our church was a very old red brick building with no air conditioning but large cottonwood trees in back for shade. The kitchen was our Sunday School classroom and because of limited space the boys sat on the kitchen counter with the girls in front on a row of chairs. On a spring Sunday I sat squirming behind Janette Lyons and probably after pulling her pigtail I was struck by a clear and powerful feeling. I recognized this feeling as an answer to my former prayer. In essence, I knew from that time forth that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God and he had knelt in a sacred and holy place.

None of the changes described above, of course, needs to happen all at once. Neuroscientist Alex Korb writes that “one small change at a time” can reverse the course of depression by creating an “upward spiral.” I once visited with a family whose depressed teenager felt unable to commit to anything except getting a little more sunshine. After two weeks of getting outside more to play sports with his father, this young man felt enough energy to experiment with adjustments to his diet, which triggered other improvements and a new momentum of gradual healing. This reflects “the aggregation of marginal gains” that Elder Michael A. Dunn of the Seventy recently emphasized.18

In February 2022, Sister Basilisa Nadreke Lotawa was asked by the Sigatoka Branch president to serve as a temple and family history specialist. Basilisa’s job was to urge her congregation to lift their spiritual eyes to the light of the temple and to prepare themselves for temple worship. She also had to learn how to do genealogical research and then teach her fellow Saints how to identify their deceased ancestors and perform proxy temple ordinances on their behalf.
Basilisa, a young mother of three, shook her head and laughed. “I knew nothing about doing family history—nothing . . . and I’m too young to do it.” Still, wanting to serve the Lord, she sought the help of an experienced genealogist and was soon able to assist her branch members. With a new conviction and passion for family history, Basilisa expressed: “I am so blessed and honoured to participate in this glorious work. It has been marvelous, tremendous! I have seen miracles and wonders. The Lord provided a way for me to do the work and to help my branch.”
With young children in tow, Basilisa spent many hours at the computer in her chapel helping others to extend the branches of their family trees. She invited them—adults and youth—to find five deceased family members who needed proxy baptisms. Branch members caught her enthusiasm and found two hundred ancestors!
As for Basilisa, there is no doubt that her love for the temple and family history work—even at this busy stage of her life—will continue to bless her. She said: “I feel the same joy doing this [work] that I felt when I served my mission.” She and her branch now keep their eyes fixed firmly on the holy temple.

Much of the inspiration that influences my life comes from the lives of others. Let me tell you of one such example; she was a nine-year-old girl. The story was told me by my brother, the presiding judge of the family court. He was sitting on a child custody case in which a father was suing for the custody of his daughter. She did not want to live with him; she was frightened of him. She was being reared by her aunt. After listening to the arguments on the case from the various attorneys, the judge decided he wanted to get a bit better acquainted with this little girl; so he invited her to the privacy of his chambers—just the gray-haired judge in his judicial robes and a little nine-year-old black girl.
He asked her, “Who do you love more than anyone else in the world?” She did not respond. He tried again. “Do you love your grandmother more than anyone else in the world?”
She said, “Nope.”
“Your grandfather?”
“Nope.”
“Your auntie?”
“Nope.”
“Who do you love more than anyone else in all the world?”
And this little nine-year-old girl said, “I love Lord Jesus more than anyone else in the world. Would you mind if I speak to Lord Jesus?”
The judge said, “You go right ahead.”
So she pushed her chair back from his desk and knelt down and said, “Lord Jesus, will you please bless Mr. Judge Brown so he’ll know what’s best for me.” Touched by the faith of this little girl, the judge was more secure in rendering a wise decision.

Youth just like you have already started seeing the blessings of striving to become more like Jesus Christ in their everyday lives. Danika and Natasha R., 15, from Ohio, USA, are twin sisters who decided to do just that. Their dad is from Thailand, and because they sometimes visit family there, Danika and Natasha decided they wanted to learn more about Thai food and language.

Danika made a goal to learn to cook some Thai soup recipes. She shopped for the ingredients and practiced new cooking techniques with her dad. Natasha wanted to learn to communicate with her family in Thailand, so she set a goal to learn one new Thai word each day. She used a website to aid her language study and practiced pronouncing words with her dad.

As Danika and Natasha worked on their goals, they wanted to share what they learned with the other young women in their ward. Their leaders helped them organize an activity to learn more about Thailand. At the activity, Danika cooked soup for everyone while Natasha taught them some Thai words.

The sisters also included their friend Grace in the activity. Grace had a personal goal to get better at public speaking, so she gave a presentation on how to use chopsticks so they could eat their soup!

By practicing their goals and working with their leaders and other young women, Danika and Natasha were able to plan a fun night to enjoy with their friends.

Danika and Natasha share that they have received many blessings from striving to learn more about their heritage and celebrating it with their family and other young women. Their experience didn’t come without challenges. Natasha explains, “I was in school while I was learning Thai, so it was sometimes hard to find time to do it.” Danika adds, “At the activity, I had a little bit of trouble making the soup on my own since my dad wasn’t there.” But the sisters both agree that in the end, it was worth it.

Danika says, “I like that I got to spend time with my dad, and it helped me feel closer to my family.” She also explains, “Making and keeping my personal goals helped me come closer to Jesus Christ by giving me a clear path to helping myself and others. Instead of mindlessly milling around like some nights, I had a set standard to follow and keep to, and that gave me more time to think about Christ.”

Natasha says making and keeping her goal “really got me to think deeply about what I needed and wanted to do to become closer to Christ.” She also notes that although she has shifted her focus to a new goal, she was inspired to keep learning Thai: “My original goal was to learn Thai so I can speak to my family in Thailand, so I want to keep learning Thai so I can talk to them.”

Danika and Natasha’s balanced approach to their personal development helped them learn more about their dad’s culture, have fun with friends, and come closer to their family and the Savior—and that’s what Children and Youth is all about.

Frances couldn’t sleep. She felt like jumping up and down with excitement, but she forced herself to lie still so she wouldn’t wake her three younger brothers on the floor beside her.
She pinched herself to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. “Tomorrow I’m really going with Father to Salt Lake City for the temple dedication. This will be my happiest birthday ever!” she thought.
It seemed only minutes had passed when Father nudged her and whispered, “Wake up, Frances. It’s nearly sunup.”
She quickly slid into her dress and smoothed her hair. Clutching the small bundle containing her other dress, she hurried to the wagon.
Frances had never been away from home. She wanted to see everything. But by mid-morning, she realized that red soil, gray sagebrush, and dark cedar trees were the only sights for miles around. “I wish we could go faster,” she said. “I can’t wait to see the temple. Perhaps we’ll even see the prophet!”
“Singing will make the journey go faster,” Father suggested. He began singing his favorite hymn, “The Spirit of God.”* After he finished singing, Father said, “That song was sung at the Kirtland Temple dedication. I expect it will be sung in many more temples of the Lord.”
Frances and her father began to sing in harmony. The hymns “Now Let Us Rejoice” and “Redeemer of Israel”** echoed through the nearby hills. Frances smiled. “I’ve never been so happy,” she thought.
After Father stopped the team for the night and the two of them had eaten, Father said, “It’s time for scripture study. Will you read from Isaiah, Frances?”
She opened Father’s well-worn Bible to the page they had read the night before and began reading.
After scripture study, Frances lay on the corn-husk tick (mattress) in the wagon and quickly fell asleep.
April 6, 1893, dawned cold and windy. Frances awoke early. She could hardly contain her excitement! “Today we will finally see the temple!” she thought. “I couldn’t receive a better birthday present.”
The scenery changed as they traveled north. The mountains were higher and more rugged. The air was cooler with cloudy skies, threatening to rain.
When they arrived in Salt Lake City, many wagons and buggies bumped along the busy, dusty road toward the temple. “It looks like everyone in the Church is going to the dedication with us,” Frances exclaimed.
Rounding a curve, she gasped. In the distance a huge granite building with six majestic spires rose in splendor. Standing high on one spire was a golden statue of the angel Moroni.
Father stopped the wagon. Tears filled Frances’s eyes as she hugged Father’s arm. “The temple is even more beautiful than I had imagined,” she whispered.
Father’s eyes were moist, too. “It’s taken forty years of sacrifice and hard labor to build this temple, but it is a small price to pay to finally receive the blessings the Lord has in store for us in His house.”
To Frances’s surprise, Father drew a tiny box from his pocket and placed it in her hand. “I want you to always remember this day,” he said. Opening the box, he removed a gold locket and fastened its delicate chain around her neck.
Tears of joy flowed down her cheeks. “Father, I love you so! I’ll always treasure this locket. It will help me remember the things you’ve taught me.”
“Always remember the importance of the Lord’s house,” Father said. “The desire of my heart is for all of my children to be sealed in the temple. I’m depending on you to set the example and teach your brothers and baby sister.”
“I will, Father,” Frances promised.
Father jerked the reins, and the horses moved forward. Outside the temple a large crowd was assembling. Father parked the wagon a short distance from the temple, secured the horses, then helped Frances climb out of the wagon.
As Frances studied each detail of the great temple, she remembered the words she had read in Isaiah the night before:
“Even them will I bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer: their … sacrifices shall be accepted upon mine altar; for mine house shall be called an house of prayer for all people” (Isa. 56:7).
She looked at the golden angel, high against the ash-gray sky. Walking reverently beside her father, she whispered, “I’ve never felt this close to the Lord. I know that this is His house.” She reached for her father’s hand. A feeling of joy and peace filled her heart as they walked toward the temple doors.

When I was a boy, my family wasn’t very active in the Church. When my older brother, Ron, was turning 12, a man in the ward convinced him to become a deacon.
Ron started going to church. He didn’t want to go alone, so he convinced me to go with him. I was only about seven, but I’d sit on the bench behind the deacons and watch Ron pass the sacrament.
At first I didn’t like church too well. It was hard for me to sit still. But I kept going because Ron promised me a small bag of candy for every time I went with him. So I probably ate more candy than any boy around.
When Ron was about 17 and I was about 12, his teacher told him that he needed to gain a testimony of his own. He said to me, “I intend to find out for myself if the Church is true. I’m going to pay any price to know for myself.”
Over the next few weeks, I watched him. I’d find him on his knees praying. I’d see him reading the Book of Mormon. I was amazed at how diligent he was.
One morning a few weeks later, I found Ron lying on his bed with his knees tucked up on his chest. He had great pain in his lower right abdomen.
My mom called for an ambulance. As we stood there over my brother, Ron said to my dad through gritted teeth, “Please, I need a priesthood blessing.” I didn’t know if my dad knew how to give a priesthood blessing. I’d never seen him do it. But he laid his hands on my brother’s head and pronounced a blessing of healing. About the time my dad said, “Amen,” Ron jumped off the bed and said the pain was totally gone. He was absolutely thrilled that the Lord had answered his prayer through that blessing.
My parents still took my brother to the hospital to be checked. All the doctors could say was that Ron’s symptoms sounded like he had had a ruptured appendix, but now they could find no trace of a problem.
Later that day, Ron told me, “Gene, I now know that the gift of healing is real. When Dad put his hands on my head, I felt the Spirit of the Lord go through my whole body. I know the priesthood is real.”
Then he said, “I also now know for myself that the Church is true. Not because of the healing, but because of what has been happening to me in reading the Book of Mormon. I’ve got my testimony by reading and praying over every page. I know all that we’ve been taught in the Church is correct, and I am going on a mission.” I’d never heard Ron say that before. It was evident to me, even as a young boy, that he had really been impacted by something.
After Ron left me alone, I thought to myself, “If the Lord would tell my brother, then I’ll bet the Lord would tell me.” So I did what my brother did, reading and praying over every page of the Book of Mormon. Because I was still young, I didn’t understand a lot of the words, but it wasn’t long before I began to feel the Lord speak to me in my heart, telling me it was true. I read the whole book through and ended up with a strong testimony even at age 12. That really helped me through my youth and in preparation for a mission.
I have always been thankful for my good brother, who loved me enough to show me by example how to gain a testimony.
Ron became the first one in our family to serve a mission. And then I went, and my younger brother too. My sister served a number of stake missions. My entire family became active in good measure because of the impact of my brother. Children, I know that you too can have a great influence for good on your family. Praying every morning and night and reading the scriptures will help you develop your own testimony. That testimony will be a wonderful blessing to you and will strengthen others as you share your personal testimony with them.

Slanting patterns of sunlight fell across the green bedspread and across Jesse’s face. She opened her eyes and lay quietly for a moment in the unfamiliar room. She closed them again and pictured the pleasant home where she used to live in Long Beach, California: the greenness everywhere, the long white beaches, the sea air, and the small swimming pool in their own yard. I’ll miss the swimming pool most of all, she thought, and the chance it gave me to swim every day. This town at the foot of the mountains feels very different, but it must have a good pool somewhere.
And today she would find it. Her mother had promised her they would. Jesse threw back the covers. Placing her hands under her knees, she swung her limp legs off the bed and sat up. She pulled her wheelchair close to the bed and shifted herself into it. Banging the chair impatiently against the door frame, she maneuvered into the bathroom.
“Need any help?” her mother called from the kitchen.
“No thanks,” Jesse said, finally working the chair into the narrow room.
At breakfast in the large, sunny kitchen, she reminded her mother about going swimming.
“There’s a lot of unpacking still to do, and you haven’t started on your language arts lessons.”
“I hate English, and you did say that we could go today.”
“I know, and we will. Anyway, doing the work at home is better than going to summer school, don’t you think?”
Jesse sighed. “Yes, it’s better than that. I just wish I’d worked harder last year and didn’t have to do it now.”
“Why don’t you work on your studies this morning while I put things away. I’ll find out where there’s a good swimming pool, then drive you there this afternoon.”
“Sounds pretty good,” Jesse said. “I’ll try to get something done.” She wheeled out onto the wide, pleasant front porch and set her books on a table. She looked up and down the tree-lined street at the neat frame houses with small front lawns. There were no fences, no hedges; everything was in plain view. Jesse missed the privacy of her yard in California with its redwood fence and tall shrubs.
A girl about Jesse’s age emerged from a white house directly across the street. She hopped lightly down the front steps, picked up an old bicycle from the front lawn, and languidly swung her leg over the tattered seat. As she coasted down her driveway and into the street, she gave Jesse a casual wave. Jesse waved back and watched the girl disappear around the corner, then managed to do one work sheet before the girl reappeared with a loaf of bread under one arm.
At that moment Jesse’s mother came out onto the porch. She put a gentle hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “How about inviting that girl to go swimming with us this afternoon?” she asked.
“I don’t know her.”
“You’d get to know her.”
“Maybe so.” Jesse shrugged. “She looks like she’d be a good swimmer.”
The girl’s name was Diana. She and Jesse found very little to talk about as they rode to the pool. Jesse avoided dressing rooms because they usually were impossible to maneuver in, so the girls wore their suits and removed their street clothes in the car outside the pool.
Jesse’s mother left the two girls at the gate, and Jesse wheeled her wheelchair through the entrance, where they paid, and over to the pool. Jesse was used to curious stares, but she would have preferred being home in her own pool. The pool was not crowded, however, and only a few people watched as she shifted out of the chair, grasped the railing, and lowered herself onto the steps leading down into the water.
Once in the water, Jesse became like anyone else. If anyone stared, it was with admiration as her smooth, powerful strokes took her quickly to the other end of the pool and back before Diana had stowed the chair over by the fence. She did four more laps, relishing the cool water and her feeling of freedom and mobility. In the water her useless legs, trailing obediently behind her, were no problem as her strong arms took her smoothly through the water. At the deep end she stopped and looked around for Diana. Jesse finally spotted her splashing around in the shallow end. “Come on down here!” Jesse called.
Diana struck out, splashing and thrashing. As she reached the center of the pool, the splashing increased, and Jesse could see that Diana was no longer making any real progress. Her wild strokes became more frantic. Jesse swam quickly to her, caught one hand in hers, and pulled her to the edge. Diana sputtered and coughed and rubbed her face with her hands.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t swim very well?”
“Was I supposed to shout across the pool, ‘I’m a lousy swimmer’?” She coughed again.
“Let’s get out a minute,” Jesse suggested. She shifted herself up the steps and onto the edge of the pool and sat with her legs dangling in the water. Diana climbed out and sat silently beside her.
“I’m not very good at lifesaving because I can only use my arms, so don’t do that again,” Jesse said, smiling.
“There’s a lifeguard here,” Diana said coolly.
Rebuffed, Jesse didn’t say anything.
“I don’t really like the water much,” Diana said, breaking the silence.
“Maybe we could just sunbathe for a while,” Jesse offered. Diana nodded, and Jesse shifted herself away from the pool’s edge while Diana spread out their beach towels. The two girls stretched out on their stomachs under the hot summer sun.
“I’m hungry,” Diana said, rolling over onto her back. “It must be all that exercise.” She laughed lightly, her easy good humor restored. She stood and got some money from her beach bag. Jesse watched her stride easily to the candy machine against the fence. She returned with two chocolate bars and put one under Jesse’s nose. Jesse raised her head and looked first at the candy bar and then at Diana.
“Thanks anyway, but I don’t eat much of this kind of stuff,” she said, handing the candy back to Diana.
“Why not?” Diana asked through a mouthful of chocolate.
“I try to keep in condition.”
“Condition for what?”
“Well, I want to be on the swim team at school, and I do wheelchair racing and stuff. Also, it’s easy for me to put on weight because I sit so much.”
“You’re really an athlete, huh?”
“I have a lot of respect for my body, such as it is,” Jesse said quietly, “and I try not to put junk into it.” Trying to sound casual, she added, “What do you like to do for exercise? I’ve seen you ride your bike. …”
Diana thoughtfully licked the chocolate from her fingertips. “I ride my bike to get places because it’s easier than walking. They make us exercise at school, but, other than that, I don’t do much. I’d rather read.”
Jesse stared at her.
“What’s the matter?” Diana asked.
Jesse shook her head. “It’s just that your body is so perfect, and you don’t care much about it.”
Diana shrugged her shoulders. “We don’t all have to be athletes.”
“No.” Jesse put her head down, and they soaked up the sun in silence for a while. Later they swam again, Jesse doing vigorous laps up and down the pool while Diana floated on her back or splashed around in the shallow end.
Jesse’s mother came to get them, and they rode home in silence. While Jesse transferred from the car into her chair, Diana climbed out quickly and called her thanks as she crossed the street to her own house.
“I don’t think I’ll be seeing much of her,” Jesse said as her mother pulled her up the few stairs onto the porch. “We don’t seem to have much in common.”
“Having something in common helps, but it’s not absolutely necessary for friendship,” her mother commented.
The next morning Jesse again sat on the front porch with her English book, two apples, and a teenage romance she had been reading. She opened her grammar book and stared for a few minutes at the page without reading it. She picked up an apple, studied its pattern of white specks on red for a while, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully.
The mountains loomed above the houses across the street, and the morning light touched the rock outcropping and made them golden. Light filtered greenly through the maple leaves, making dappled patterns on the sidewalks and lawns. Jesse itched to be doing something or going somewhere. Reluctantly she looked at the page again. Pronouns. What could be more boring than pronouns? She could hear quiet morning sounds up and down the street—dishes clinking softly as they were washed, a hoe scratching, a ball hitting against a house. She looked longingly at the novel, but she wouldn’t read more of it until she’d done some work on her English. She sighed, and as she picked up the textbook again, she saw Diana come out her front door.
Diana waved to Jesse, hesitated for a moment, then crossed the street with her long, easy stride.
Grateful for any distraction from the grammar, Jesse smiled and waved and then pulled the lawn chair out, motioning for Diana to sit down.
“What are you doing?” Diana asked, looking at the books.
“I did so poorly in language arts last year that they said I had to go to summer school. But since we were moving, they let me take the course at home and send the work sheets in.”
“Why did you do so badly?”
“I guess I was more interested in swimming and racing. The teacher gave us a lot of homework, and I never did it.”
Diana took the apple that Jesse offered her and bit into it. “It’s terrible to have to do homework in the summer.” She chewed thoughtfully. “But at least it’s not a hard subject.”
“I think it’s pretty hard. Pronouns are hard—and very boring.”
“They’re a little boring, but they’re not hard and there aren’t too many of them. I’ll help you.”
Jesse smiled up at her. “Will you?” she said. “That would be great. I have to read some stories and poetry too.”
“That’s the fun part,” Diana said. She picked up the romance novel from the table. “You don’t read books like this, do you?”
“Well, yes,” Jesse said. “They’re kind of interesting. Don’t you read them?”
Diana didn’t answer for a minute. She turned the book over, put it back down on the table, then smiled at Jesse. “I have a lot of respect for my brain, such as it is. I try not to put junk in it.”
Jesse looked at her for a minute, then laughed. “Suppose you help me learn pronouns, and I’ll help you with your swimming.”
“Sounds like a good summer,” Diana answered. She pulled her chair up to the table and opened the grammar book between them.

Some time ago I received a letter written by a man who had strayed from the Church. It typifies too many of our members. After describing how he had become inactive, he wrote:

“I had so much and now have so little. I am unhappy and feel as though I am failing in everything. The gospel has never left my heart, even though it has left my life. I ask for your prayers.
“Please don’t forget those of us who are out here—the lost Latter-day Saints. I know where the Church is, but sometimes I think I need someone else to show me the way, encourage me, take away my fear, and bear testimony to me.”

While I was reading this letter, my thoughts turned to a visit I made to one of the great art galleries of the world—the famed Victoria and Albert Museum in London, England. There, exquisitely framed, is a masterpiece painted in 1831 by Joseph Mallord William Turner. The painting features heavy-laden black clouds and the fury of a turbulent sea portending danger and death. A light from a stranded vessel gleams far off. In the foreground, tossed high by incoming waves of foaming water, is a large lifeboat. The men pull mightily on the oars as the lifeboat plunges into the tempest. On the shore stand a wife and two children, wet with rain and whipped by wind. They gaze anxiously seaward. In my mind I abbreviated the name of the painting. To me it became To the Rescue.1

Some years ago a priests quorum decided to gather food for the needy as a service project. Jim, one of the priests, was excited to participate and was determined to collect more food than anyone else. The time arrived when the priests met at the chapel. They all went out at the same time and returned at a specified time later in the evening. To everyone’s surprise, Jim’s cart was empty. He seemed rather sober, and some of the boys made fun of him. Seeing this and knowing that Jim had an interest in cars, the adviser said, “Come outside, Jim. I want you to look at my car. It’s giving me some trouble.”
When they got outside, the adviser asked Jim if he was upset. Jim said, “No, not really. But when I went out to collect the food, I really got a lot. My cart was full. As I was returning to the chapel, I stopped at the home of a nonmember woman who is divorced and lives within our ward boundaries. I knocked on the door and explained what we were doing, and she invited me in. She began to look for something to give me. She opened the refrigerator, and I could see there was hardly anything in it. The cupboards were bare. Finally, she found a small can of peaches.
“I could hardly believe it. There were all these little kids running around that needed to be fed, and she handed me this can of peaches. I took it and put it in my cart and went on up the street. I got about halfway up the block when I just felt warm all over and knew I needed to go back to that house. I gave her all the food.”
The adviser said, “Jim, don’t you ever forget the way you feel tonight, because that’s what it is all about.” Jim had tasted the nutrient of selfless service.

“One time I invited a sports club friend to the English class that the missionaries were teaching at the church,” Kosei explains. “He and the missionaries became good friends with each other while he was learning English.”
However, the conversations didn’t stop at English lessons.
“My friend started to think about why these missionaries, who were almost his same age, were doing volunteer work and serving as missionaries in Japan. His next question was to ask what drives missionaries to serve. He’s now heard the missionary lessons and still has a correspondence with missionaries through video chat.”

The reality of the virus hit me even more when my little family came down with flu-like symptoms. I thought to myself, “Maybe it’s just the seasonal flu that usually goes around,” but we ended up getting tested as a precautionary measure. Our results came back positive: my husband, my 18-month-old daughter, and I all had COVID-19.

The news of our positive results affected us mentally, especially for my husband and me. It felt like our symptoms grew worse and that our recovery took longer the more we dwelled on the fact that we were infected with coronavirus. Focusing on our sickness built up more fear, which crippled us mentally, emotionally and spiritually—we had no room for faith. After two weeks of being down with the virus, we realized that we weren’t showing faith in Jesus Christ because we let fear in the way by focusing on being sick. So, to counteract that, we started shifting our focus to the Saviour and the power that comes from acting on our faith in Him.

The minute we chose to have faith in Jesus Christ and to act on it, our mentality and attitude began to change, and our actions started to align with our faith. We prayed with real intent and kept expressing in our prayers that we have faith in Jesus Christ and in His ability to heal us physically. We started reading more of the scriptures and quoting scripture around the house and to each other.

We started to be a lot more optimistic, and we continued to build on hope. We didn’t feel any more fear or worry. We were happier around the house and enjoyed each other’s company. When we really started to show our faith in Jesus Christ by doing these things, we noticed that our recovery started to pick up and we were able to fully recover shortly after.

Beep! Beep! Beep!
I slipped my hand from underneath the warm cover and gently tapped the alarm clock. Since I had received that old clock as a Christmas present years ago, that same, resounding “beep” became the clue to start each day of my life. Today, though, my new life was beginning, and the sound of the clock became the introduction to the course my life would follow.
As I sat up on the edge of my bed, I stared at my old clock. A friend had given it to me, and I smiled as I thought of Rebecca. Only a short 18 years ago, Rebecca and I had been born three days apart in the same local hospital. She lived two houses down, and I remember vividly the many times we would play together in the neighborhood park.
Some days, we became world-famous explorers. Other days, Rebecca was transformed into the fairest of all princesses, and I, of course, became her knight in shining armor. Most days, though, I would teach Rebecca about the chirping noises the robins made in spring, the sound of the lawn mower trimming the summer grass, or the rustling sound of blowing leaves in fall. She was always full of questions.
“Rebecca, the red bird,” I would say, as I flapped my arms and pointed to the treetops, “sounds like this.” Then, I’d chirp as loud as I could. Rebecca would laugh with delight as she witnessed my performance; then she’d brush two of her fingers across her nose a few times to tell me I was funny.
I laughed, too, then began my next impression of the water flowing beneath the bridge.
“Water sounds like this,” I’d explain. Then, moving my hands in a wave formation, I’d curl my lips and create a loud gurgling noise. “Do you understand, Rebecca?” I was proud of my ability to conjure up various noises and became a sort of maestro of noisemaking.
Rebecca would smile and bring her forefinger close to her head, then move it up and down to show she understood. In my mind, I set Rebecca apart from the other girls because she didn’t communicate like everyone else did. But she was my favorite because she made me feel comfortable and needed. She taught me to enjoy the simple things of life, and out of those small things, to find the great things within. Rebecca was deaf, but that alone didn’t set her apart. She was also a Mormon, and at school, I saw the Mormon kids as such a life-loving people. Something about them and about Rebecca intrigued me.
I smiled as I thought about our friendship and all those days we’d spent together in the park. Sometimes I felt like her protector, especially when the other kids teased her about her hearing aids or how she used her hands to talk. My role of “knight in shining armor” became real when I’d rescue Rebecca from her tormentors.
The past didn’t seem so distant now. Just after entering high school, I went to the annual Christmas concert in the town square. Rebecca had asked me to go with her family.
As we sat listening to the familiar carols and arrangements, I studied Rebecca’s mother with envy. Because she was Rebecca’s interpreter, she would sit in front of the audience and use sign language to illustrate the music. Her facial expressions melted from one emotion to the other helping Rebecca to actually “hear” the meaning of the songs. And although at the time I didn’t realize it, I, too, “heard” a distinct voice as the choir sang about the Christ child that night.
The clock flashed to 8:43. I grabbed my towel and stumbled to the shower, still thinking about the days after that Christmas concert. Until a few months ago, there was a time when I refused to allow Rebecca to be a part of my life. As high school activities began, I was so involved with the basketball team, student council, and trying to be “cool” that Rebecca no longer was a priority. I occasionally joined with the other kids, ridiculing and tormenting my old playmate behind her back. Sometimes, Rebecca would wave across the lunchroom, but I’d pretend I didn’t see her, turn, and walk the other way.
Throughout the next three years, Rebecca sometimes invited me to church dances, firesides, or to summer youth conferences, but I never accepted her invitations. I always felt like I had an image to uphold, and being seen with Rebecca would destroy that. The differences that had attracted me to her when we were young were the same differences that kept me away from her now.
My friends would tease me, “So, Rebecca asked you to another church thing, huh, Drew? When she uses her hands to talk, she looks like a bird ready to take off the runway. She’s so weird.”
The whole crowd would laugh, and on the outside I would laugh, too, but, in my heart, I knew Rebecca wasn’t weird. Yet my integrity weakened, and my “shining armor” lost its sparkle.
My clock flashed to 9:32. I concentrated on what had taken place during the past few months. During the spring of our senior year, Rebecca invited me to her church worship services, but this time, I couldn’t come up with a ready excuse, so I consented to go. I recollect that day in the hall.
“Drew,” Rebecca yelled as best she could at me.
I was about to continue down the hall, but something told me to turn back and talk to her. I had “heard” this voice before at that Christmas concert. The strangest feeling pulled me back to talk to Rebecca.
She greeted me with her warm, enthusiastic smile, and using her hands in various gestures, she asked me to a sacrament meeting. “Drew, I teach little children, and I taught them a song that I think you’ll like. Will you come with me Sunday?”
“Um, well, I …” I stammered.
“It’ll only last an hour, and I promise, I’ll never ask you again,” she tried speaking while her hands created each word.
“Well, I guess I can go, but I don’t …” I tried to conjure up another excuse, but a powerful feeling of “Drew you need to go” overwhelmed me.
“Great!” she grinned. “I’ll pick you up at 10:45.”
When we were younger, I had gone to church with Rebecca, but it had been ten years since I’d been inside a chapel. I remember that following Sunday well. Rebecca promptly rang the bell at 10:45, and within 15 minutes, I was sitting in the middle section of the chapel waiting for sacrament meeting to begin. This week would be the Primary program, and Rebecca’s CTR class had a special part.
Through the prayers, announcements, and sacrament, I kept feeling that same strange sensation I had encountered in the school hallway and at the Christmas concert, and I puzzled over the joy and warmth that the congregation seemed to create. These people really enjoy being here, I thought.
After a few talks and scriptures, it was finally Rebecca’s turn. She marched to the front with five eight-year-olds trailing her heels. She looked like a mother duck with her ducklings. They took their positions, and the melody of “Teach Me to Walk in the Light” seeped from the piano. My heart began to pound as the children formulated the words with their tiny hands. They grinned from ear to ear as they followed Rebecca’s slow and cautious signals. Then the song ended, leaving the chapel in complete silence. A flood of memories filled my mind, and I felt at peace as when I used to play with Rebecca. The feeling of being needed was back.
After the meeting, I approached Rebecca to ask her about the meeting, the song, and the strange feeling I was experiencing.
“You did a good job. Those kids are amazing,” I said while trying to sign the words I knew. It had been quite a long time since I’d talked with Rebecca in her language. She beamed.
“Could you come to dinner?” she asked. “Then I will explain more about the Church.”
I agreed. I truly wanted to know why I was feeling this way. After all, I hadn’t felt like this since that Christmas concert years ago, and now, suddenly, Rebecca asked me to church, and the feeling was back and I wanted to know why.
I went to dinner and met Elder Dial and Elder Burningham for the first time. They immediately became two of my best friends, and my friendship with Rebecca began to strengthen again. Through months of study, discussions, going to church, and praying, I decided to join the Church, and last night, my decision became reality as I dressed in white, went into the water, and was baptized. Now, I “hear” that familiar voice, and my friend and confidant Jesus Christ is always with me as I do my part.
At school, my integrity began to blossom, my rusting armor gleamed again, and my friendship with Rebecca was as strong as when we were younger. My friends eventually softened their hearts and began including Rebecca in our circle. She started teaching them various signs, and throughout classes and in the halls, this became our secret code.
For years, I felt sorry for Rebecca because she couldn’t hear the sounds I heard, but when it came to what was truly important, she had full hearing, and I was the deaf one trying to find the true voice to follow. When I began meeting with Elder Burningham and Elder Dial, along with Rebecca’s testimony, I received my “hearing aids” through scripture study and prayer. Ultimately, my “hearing” began to improve. Last night, I received the most precious of gifts when my spiritual ears were restored.

While the formal classroom may be intimidating at times, some of the most effective teaching takes place other than in the chapel or the classroom. Well do I remember that some years ago, members holding the Aaronic Priesthood would eagerly look forward to an annual outing commemorating the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. By the busload the young men of our stake journeyed 90 miles (145 km) north to the Clarkston Cemetery, where we viewed the grave of Martin Harris, one of the Three Witnesses of the Book of Mormon. While surrounding the beautiful granite shaft which marks the grave, a high councilor would present background concerning the life of Martin Harris, read from the Book of Mormon his testimony, and then bear his own witness to the truth. The young men listened with rapt attention, touched the granite marker, and pondered the words they had heard and the feelings they had felt.
At a park in Logan, lunch was enjoyed. The group of young men would then lie down on the lawn at the Logan temple and gaze upward at its lofty spires. Often beautiful white clouds would hurry past the spires, moved along by a gentle breeze. The purpose of temples was taught. Covenants and promises became much more than words. The desire to be worthy to enter those temple doors entered those youthful hearts. Heaven was very close. Learning what we should learn was assured.

It takes forever to clean the slate when you get behind in your nut cracking. Once our family was planning a vacation. Dad decided that we weren’t going until everyone had his nuts cracked. Those who didn’t have nuts to crack were encouraged to help the others. We started out being grumpy, but by the end, we were all working together and actually enjoying it! Spending that time together, just talking while we were at our nut cracking, made us closer.

One day a woman came to my business office. She leaned across the desk and said, “President, I have carried a transgression on my heart for thirty-four years that I cannot carry one more step in this life. I know how tender-hearted you are, and I wouldn’t add one particle of a burden to your soul.”
I said, “My dear sister, before you go on, let me share with you a principle of the gospel. When you take a burden off your soul, it is lifted from the priesthood leader’s soul also.”
She said, “I know I will be cast out; I know I will be excommunicated, but does it have to be forever? Thirty-four years ago, before my first husband and I were married, I was involved in an abortion. Since that time, I have felt like a murderess. It was my husband’s idea, and I did not resist. I had an abortion. Later we got married. He was unfaithful constantly during the first two years of our marriage. I finally divorced him and have since remarried a wonderful man who is a convert to the Church. He knows everything, and he still wants to be sealed to me. President, do you think that either in time or in eternity we can be sealed together? I know I will be cast out, but does it have to be forever?” The tears flowed down her cheeks.
I had known this woman and thought she was one of the most Christlike women I had ever met. She always baked bread, rolls, or cookies for the people in the neighborhood. Whenever they had a ward party and the Relief Society sisters cleaned up, she always scrubbed the floor. She said that she didn’t feel worthy to stand by them and do the dishes after what she had done; she only felt worthy to scrub the floor where they walked. She told me that she had never gossiped about anyone else. “How could I,” she said, “after what I had done?”
I listened to her confession, humbled to tears, and told her, “I have never had a case of abortion before. I will need to write to President Kimball, President of the Quorum of the Twelve, and get his counsel.”
I wrote to President Kimball and shared the entire story. I told him she was one of the most Christlike women I had known and that she was willing to submit to any decision he would have for her. Two weeks later I received his response. I called the sister and asked her to meet me at the stake office as soon as she could. When I arrived at the stake center, she was already there. Her eyes were red, and she was pale. I know she must have been on her knees several times after my call, asking for mercy.
Again I sat across the desk from her and said, “I do not want to keep you waiting one second longer. We are not even going to stop for prayer. Let me read you President Kimball’s letter.
“‘Dear President Featherstone: You inquired about a woman who had been involved in an abortion thirty-four years ago. From the way you describe her it sounds like she has long since repented. You may tell her on behalf of the Church she is forgiven.
“‘After a thorough and searching interview, you may issue this sweet sister a temple recommend so she can go to the temple and be sealed to her present husband.’”
If the Savior had been sitting where the woman sat, I would not have felt any closer to him. I believe that is exactly what he would have done. It was as though a two-thousand-pound burden had been lifted from the heart of this good woman. She wept great tears of relief and joy. To this day, I do not remember who the woman was.

Photographs by Kaui Wihongi
“Son, don’t do this,” his parents said. “You’re throwing your life away.”
Those aren’t the words most missionaries expect to hear—right at the airport—just as they are leaving to report to the missionary training center (MTC).
Elder Morris, from New Zealand, knows how much his parents love him. They’ve been there for him through thick and thin. They cheered him on in his rugby matches. They applauded his decision to attend law school. They raised him with love and with hope that he’d have a bright life ahead of him.
Their pleading words came from a place of love. To them, the idea of their precious son serving a two-year mission for his new faith seemed not only confusing, but also a threat to the goals he’d worked so hard to achieve.
You see, Elder Morris was a gifted athlete on his way to becoming a professional rugby player. In his schooling, things were just taking off in his legal career.
Oh, and he was thinking about getting married!
Elder Morris already had this conversation with them many times before. He responded in the only way he knew how. “I told them I loved them. I embraced them. And I shared my testimony that I knew this was what I needed to do.”
Then he bid them farewell and hopped on the airplane for the MTC in Provo, Utah, USA, to prepare for his mission to the Philippines.
At which point COVID-19 showed up and turned the world upside down.
COVID-19 had already been making headlines throughout the globe for weeks before Elder Morris showed up at the MTC. In fact, his group would be the last batch of missionaries to report to the MTC for another 16 months. Groups after him were told to stay home and wait for further instructions.
To say that things were uncertain at the MTC would be an understatement. “Many people were worried about what was going to happen,” Elder Morris says. “For me, I felt calm. I still didn’t know how things would unfold. I only knew that they would work out for the best.”
When the news came that Elder Morris would be reassigned to his home country of New Zealand, his reaction might not be what you’d expect.
He was more excited than ever!
“I realize that many missionaries hope to serve in a faraway place,” Elder Morris says. “For me, though, I always thought it would be a privilege to teach my own people in my own country. I wanted to share the gospel with New Zealand.”
“I always thought it would be a privilege to teach my own people in my own country.”
Little did he know how this would change his life—and the life of a woman who is very important to him.
Elder Morris’s grandmother (his nan) was dealing with some serious health challenges. “She was so unwell that she said she reached a point where she was ready to die. She didn’t feel she had anything left to live for.”
Before his mission, Elder Morris had a chance to start teaching the gospel to his nan. But now, he was a full-time missionary assigned to the very area where his nan lived.
“I love my nan very much,” Elder Morris says. “And I’ve seen the gospel absolutely transform her.”
His nan chose to be baptized and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She’s the first member of Elder Morris’s direct family (besides himself) to join the Church.
Her life, Elder Morris says, is very different now. “When my nan found the gospel, she realized why she was still alive. Now she wants to live! Every morning she wakes up at 4 a.m. or 5 a.m. and sings hymns. She prays and reads her scriptures every single day. She does it because the gospel has blessed her with purpose.”
Time and time again, Elder Morris has seen the light that the gospel brings into the lives of those he teaches. He’s had the chance to teach other friends and family members. He’s seen firsthand how they improve. “The gospel of Jesus Christ gives us purpose,” Elder Morris says. “I feel so sorry for those who don’t have the gospel in their lives. They don’t know their true identity.”
On a related note, even his parents have begun to notice the changes in Elder Morris’s nan. They can now see that the gospel has blessed her life in many ways.
Elder Morris with his nan (grandmother).
Elder Morris has no doubts whatsoever that serving a mission was the right choice. He also knew at the start of his mission, when COVID-19 began to rage throughout the world, that God would still guide His work. “The work of man will be frustrated, but God’s work never will be,” he says.
Every time he has an opportunity to do so, he encourages youth to live worthy to serve a mission. For Elder Morris, no other decision would have had a greater impact on his future—especially his eternal future. “The biggest advice I would give to youth is to prepare to serve a mission. It will change your life.”
He recognizes that choosing to serve may come with sacrifice. But then again, he knows a thing or two about sacrifice, and the blessings that come from it.
Witnesses of Jesus Christ
Elder Morris: The gospel is simple, and the gospel is true. Jesus Christ is our Savior. He and our Heavenly Father are mindful of us. I testify that the Book of Mormon is amazing. It helps us to come closer to Jesus Christ and to learn the fulness of His gospel. The Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ through the Prophet Joseph Smith had to happen. Without it, we would still be lost today.
Elder Fotuaika (Elder Morris’s companion): I’ve seen in my life that, without the Lord, I’m nothing. With the Lord, I’ve seen myself grow to the best person that I could ever become. When we try to do the small and simple things like praying and reading the scriptures, God magnifies who we are. I have a testimony that God loves us.

Our family moved to Logandale, Nevada, more than eight years ago, and we have been involved with the Clark County Fair ever since. It is held each year in April, near Easter. Children can show pigs, steers, or lambs they have raised. The animals are judged on Thursday, and the auction takes place on Saturday.
I always dread the auction. I worry that one of my children will have an animal that doesn’t sell. Most parents try to get someone to prebuy their child’s animal. But even if your child’s animal is presold, you still have to wait endlessly for his or her turn at the auction.
One of the most touching events I have ever witnessed took place at the auction three years ago. We had sat most of the day on aluminum bleachers, listening to the auctioneer’s bark, the crowd’s babble, and the animals’ bleating, mooing, and squealing. Suddenly we heard another sound—the wind pelting a freezing rain against the building.
Soon, in addition to parents and extended family attending the auction, we had many other people seeking shelter inside the metal livestock pavilion. They were quite surprised to find an auction taking place. Most were from the big city of Las Vegas and had never experienced a real animal auction before. They apparently found the auction entertaining, and a few even bid on animals. Of course, after the auctioneer explained that the price was per pound, the bidding slowed considerably.
Our boys’ pig came up for auction, and I remember feeling quite relieved when it was sold. All I could think of was getting home, away from the people, the noise, and the smell. It was still raining outside, so while I waited for my brother-in-law to get the car, I listened involuntarily to the auctioneer as he started the bidding on lambs.
A young girl brought out her lamb, and the bidding commenced. I don’t remember the exact amount, but I do remember thinking, “That’s a lot of money for a lamb.” Then a most amazing thing happened. The auctioneer explained that the person who had purchased the lamb was donating it back to the little girl to be resold. He went on to explain that this little girl’s father, who normally would have been there with her, was in the hospital. He had cancer, and the prognosis was not good. The family had no medical insurance, and the father was their sole support.
What happened next will burn in my mind and heart forever.
The bidding resumed, and again the little lamb was sold for an unheard-of amount of money. Again the lamb was donated back to be resold. About that time my brother-in-law returned, wet and windblown, but I couldn’t move. I told him something remarkable was happening, and though I tried, I could not stop my tears.
That lamb was sold again and again, and all those people, many of them from the city, were bidding and giving donations for that local family.
As I stood there in amazement, I couldn’t help but think of another lamb—not one that was sold again and again to benefit just one family, but One who allowed Himself to be sacrificed for all of God’s children. It seemed fitting that Easter was just around the corner. The Spirit bore witness to me that day of the significance of sacrifice in behalf of others and the importance of community.
Regrettably, this little girl’s father did not survive. The family has since moved into our ward, and the wife of that good man bore her testimony in Relief Society one Sunday. She told us how she had been at the hospital with her dying husband when she heard of the auction. She didn’t know who or how many people had donated money, but she was moved to tears when expressing her gratitude for all who cared enough to help. She was amazed at the outpouring of love and support shown to her family that stormy day at the Clark County Fair—the day the lamb was sold.