Gospel Story Finder

Rachel Moss knew three people in the congregation.
Seated nearby were her mom and dad and her stake president. Outside of those familiar faces, the place was filled with a bunch of strangers. Well, except for the people she didn’t know but did recognize, namely former U.S. President George Bush and his wife, Barbara, as well as former Secretary of Transportation Elizabeth Dole and General Colin Powell.
Gulp.
Lots of things were going through her mind. “Yeah, I was really nervous,” she says. “I just wanted to make sure that I did everything right.”
As she sat with the other speakers in the sanctuary of Mother Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, her stomach was churning.
Be sure to make eye contact, she kept telling herself. Don’t talk too fast.
Rachel, a Mia Maid in the Marshaltown Second Ward, Philadelphia Pennsylvania Stake, was invited by her stake president to represent the Church and speak at an interfaith worship service that concluded U.S. President Bill Clinton’s Summit for America’s Future in April of 1997. She was one of five youth speakers on the program.
“That’s one of the things I remember most, just sitting there waiting. I’m not much for being in the spotlight,” Rachel adds.
But the spotlight was glowing brightly that day, and it didn’t take Rachel long to realize what a great opportunity she had to teach people a little about her beliefs.
After the microphone was adjusted for her, she began.
“I am grateful for this opportunity to share with you our feelings about the importance of young people and the contribution they can make to the community around us,” Rachel said.
“Before I began, everybody was clapping and talking,” she remembers. “When I went up, it stopped. There was no talking, and everything was completely quiet. I thought it made it kind of easier because I felt like they were actually listening. Really listening. That was neat.”
Rachel’s five-minute talk dealt mainly with the Church’s emphasis on the family. She quoted from the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Church’s proclamation on the family, and the 13th article of faith [A of F 1:13]. She then concluded with this from For the Strength of Youth:
“Joy and happiness come from living the way the Lord wants you to live and from service to God and others. The Lord asks you to keep your life pure, seek his Spirit, maintain your self-respect, and be a good influence on your family and friends,” she said.
Then she sat down.
I’m sure glad I didn’t mess up, was her first thought.
Indeed not.
“I’m glad I was chosen. My testimony got a lot stronger, and I feel like I have more conviction. What I believe is important to me, and speaking in that meeting has made me think of my beliefs more,” she says.
Her talk gave others plenty to think about too.

The sunny skies of Cape Town were dark with rain clouds. Why, oh why, the children thought, would it rain today?
The special afternoon the boys and girls had been working and waiting for had finally come, and now it seemed as if their bake sale would be ruined by the storm. But they knew that Ouma (Grandmother) Fourie would expect them regardless of the weather, so they all splashed through the rain to be at the chapel at the hour she had set.
Sister Ouma greeted them in her usual loving way and then explained that the sale must be held that day since the baked goods could not be kept over. She also said the sale must be held outside so people would stop to buy.
“We’ll all pray for the rain to stop,” she directed, “and we know it will, for we need the money to continue holding our Primary. This is what our Father in heaven wants, so of course He will help us.”
There was so much assurance in Sister Ouma’s voice that as each child bowed his head and she prayed for the rain to stop, everyone just knew it would.
And it did!
The rain that had pelted unceasingly for several days stopped almost at once. The sun smiled on the children as they carried tables outside and placed on them the baked goods they had brought. After a most successful sale, the empty tables were carried back into the chapel, and the rain began again and continued steadily during the next three days.
“But what would you have done, Sister Fourie,” asked a Primary worker later, “if it hadn’t stopped raining?”
This woman, who for thirty-four continuous years loved and taught the boys and girls of South Africa, answered very softly, “But we all knew that it would!”

When I was seven years old, I had one of the best experiences of my life—I went to the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple to be sealed to my parents. My mom had grown up without the Church, and my dad had been inactive, but one day they decided to commit themselves to the gospel of Jesus Christ.
They started making changes—my mom joined the Church, my dad quit smoking, and we started having family home evening and family prayer. But nothing captured their commitment more than being sealed in the temple. That affected our family in more ways than I can count! Because of my parents’ commitment, I became the first person in my family in over 100 years to serve a mission. I’m grateful for that binding, eternal relationship with my parents and siblings, and now with my wife and children.

One day in August 1989, I was doing my chores when my mother asked me to join her in listening to a message from two sister missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Even though I was only 12 years old, I was interested in what they said. The missionaries asked me to pray about the Book of Mormon and the principles they had taught us. I said I would.
When the sisters returned to give another lesson, my mother had lost interest. But with her permission, I continued to listen to them. The sisters always reminded me to pray and ask Heavenly Father if the things they were teaching me were true. I took this seriously and prayed constantly, but nothing happened.
I attended church twice and liked it very much, but I was still not sure of its truthfulness. I told the sisters I could not be baptized because I had not received an answer of any kind. The sisters merely repeated their invitation to be baptized and asked me to pray with greater fervor.
Again I accepted their challenge and prayed fervently for an entire week. Perhaps because I was so young, I expected to receive a glorious manifestation, such as a dream or a visitation from an angel. Nothing like this happened. Sunday came, and I told myself this was the last time I would go to church.
That day I attended all three meetings, starting with priesthood meeting. Then I went to Gospel Essentials class and finally to sacrament meeting. Right in the middle of sacrament meeting, something indescribably wonderful happened. Something began to burn inside my heart, and I was overcome by a feeling of certainty unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was a simple feeling, but it was clear and sure. It reached deep into my soul and penetrated my whole being. By the end of the meeting, I was a different person. I went to tell the sisters I was ready to be baptized.
I know Heavenly Father hears our prayers when we pray with real intent. He knows us individually, and He knows when the time is right to answer our prayers.

As a boy, I loved to run. When I was eleven years old, I won an Oregon state cross-country race and I vowed to become a national champion before I graduated from high school. Full of boldness, determined to be better than anyone else, I began a training routine that was to last for years. Every day I ran from five to sixteen kilometers. I loved training. Neither mud, rain, sweat, nor pain were to keep me from my goal. “You only get out of it what you put into it” became my motto.
I began to look ahead to running in the Junior Olympics. My plan was to prepare to race in the 1985 competition, when I would be fourteen years old, and again in 1987, when I would be sixteen. I calculated that these would be in my best years and I would be in my top running condition. What I didn’t calculate was that by 1985 I would grow from a skinny, lightweight boy, to a taller and heavier young man. My whole system had to catch up with the added dimensions of my growing body. My knees ached constantly; my feet and hips almost cried out in pain as I ran; and it was all I could do to win a state championship by a fraction of a second. I knew 1985 wasn’t the year to enter the Junior Olympics, but I would have two years to prepare myself for the 1987 event.
By the spring of 1987 I was running well. I was undefeated in the 1,500-meter run and praised by a local newspaper as the fastest high school freshman in the state of Oregon. My aches and pains had gone. I felt good and I knew I was ready for the Junior Olympics.
Meanwhile, three teammates and I had been invited to participate in a prestigious regional track meet. Full of confidence and in high spirits, we got into the team van with our coach for the ride to the meet.
As we drove onto the main highway, I noticed how congested the traffic was and subconsciously fastened my seat belt. We were all laughing and joking when I casually looked up and noticed a speeding car coming our way. Completely out of control, it began swerving back and forth in our traffic lane, barely avoiding several cars ahead. Stunned into silence, we helplessly watched the car head straight for us.
I awoke to the sounds of screaming sirens, two-way radios crackling, and shouting policemen. We had been hit head-on by a car driven by a wanted man in a stolen car who was being pursued by police in a high-speed chase. My teammate and good friend, Lenny, who was in the seat behind me without his seat belt on, had been thrown across my seat. I had been propelled forward and pinned under the weight of his unconscious body and my doubled-up seat.
I managed to move just enough to see out of the window. The other car looked like a crumpled piece of paper. Two ambulances drove in beside our crushed van, and I was quickly, but very carefully, lifted out of our wrecked vehicle. “I think this one has a broken back!” I heard one ambulance man say as he looked at me with pity and concern.
As miracles go, my back wasn’t broken—just my nose! However, serious back strain, several pulled muscles, and joint displacement prevented me from walking for a few days and kept me from running normally for several months. This had not been in my plan. I became discouraged as my training schedule for being in top condition was once again interrupted.
I continued to train, both with the high school team and with a running club my brothers and sisters and I belong to. As I watched my ten-year-old brother, Tyler, run, I began to feel more frustration and irritation. He ran strong and well. He could keep up with several of the high school runners and was getting better every week. As much as I loved him, I resented how easy it all seemed for him.
I watched Tyler win in a state track and field championship, defeating his nearest competition by 500 meters. A crowd of excited supporters gathered around him as I stood back. An incredible sense of pride built up inside me, and as Tyler looked past all the well-wishers, seeking my approval, the feeling of love was so intense between us that I felt we were the only two in the noisy stadium. As I sensed his deep need for my approval my resentment of his success totally left me. At that moment, I vowed that my little brother would go to the national championships prepared with all the knowledge I could share and with the assurance of my support.
We ran together after that. I talked about form and strategy, how to pass other runners and maintain a lead. We ran up hills to build his endurance, sprinted on the track to build his speed, and made up all sorts of exercises to improve his reflexes. We talked about racing as we did chores around the house, as we ate breakfast, as we drove into town, and as we watched sports news on television. We ran in pouring rain and sweltering heat.
Tyler and I both placed first in our age categories in the Northwest Regional Championships, and that gave us the chance to compete in the national championships. Because of the accident and the interruption of my training, I thought I might only place in the top twenty-five runners. My race was first, and I was twenty-first out of 300 and gained a national ranking.
Satisfied and happy with my performance, I then turned my attention to Tyler. I had already taken him through the cross-country course, showing him how to approach and hurdle a deep ditch, when to stride out, where to save his strength, what to avoid, and how to stay mentally tough. He wa ready! As we looked for his starting place among the other 265 runners on the starting line, I felt as nervous as when I had lined up for my own race. Tyler was tense, and I just kept assuring him that he was the best. I could sense his apprehension as if it were my own. How I wished I could transform his pain to joy! “Be tough, Tyler. Just remember, no one is better than you. No one can beat you,” I said. My arm slipped around his slumping shoulder, and I felt like I was deserting a desperate man when I walked away and noticed the tears in his eyes.
I watched him run a perfect race as I ran from place to place on the course to cheer him on, hoping he could feel my support reaching out to him. Could he hear? Could he sense my strength reaching out to him? He came toward the last stretch of the race in second place. “Keep going, Tyler!” I yelled. “Use your arms! Breathe deeply!” If he could just feel what I felt for him in that crowd of 5,000 wildly screaming spectators.
He was turning the corner for the last 100 meters—a part of the course we had run over and over together as we planned this moment. “Now Tyler! Give it all you’ve got left! Come on!” I pleaded. My voice choked as I thrilled at the sight of my little brother, a picture of perfect health, striding down the homestretch to a spectacular finish to become the national champion I had planned to be.
My pride in him told me that I had won something too. I realized I had given part of myself away to help Tyler succeed, and it created a feeling within me far richer and more powerful than I could have ever imagined. As an exhausted Tyler broke away from the crowd and came to me, he gasped out the words which taught me the lesson of my life.
“Jason, I felt terrible—but I could hear you cheering the whole way, over the noise of all the people, and I knew I could win. I knew I had to win!”
What other lessons would this little champion learn from me—good or bad?
What about all our other brothers and sisters in the family of men. What messages do they hear above the crowd? Just as Tyler could hear and respond to that call to win, how many others need that voice in the crowd? How often do we get caught up in our own plans and fail to call out our encouragement, fail to cheer others on to victory?
As Tyler and I embraced, I truly knew the meaning of the words, “He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him” (1 Jn. 2:10).

Knowing how to organize a service project, plan a youth conference, or work with the service and activities committee isn’t going to be a problem for the youths of the Pleasant Hill Ward, Walnut Creek California Stake. A day-long leadership conference for class presidencies, advisers, and the ward bishopric was held recently beneath beautiful redwood trees in the Oakland Hills.
Stress was placed in four areas: conducting meetings, delegating responsibilities and then following up, working with advisers, and understanding the purpose of the service and activities committee. Those leading the workshops made it clear that they were there to guide and encourage but not to lecture.
After discussing basics, the participants divided into small groups to practice delegating responsibilities for a sample party. They were “criticized” by their group, received a “second chance,” and “phoned” for follow-through experience. In addition, youths and adults practiced agenda writing and planned the calendar of activities for the coming year.
But it wasn’t all work. Following the workshops time was set aside for softball, volleyball, and horseshoes. The day concluded with inspirational talks by ward and stake leaders together with testimonies from those participating in the conference.

The members’ ability to receive, in their native tongue, that reassurance from modern-day prophets was thanks in large measure to a team of translators who suffered their own losses during the disaster.
Assigned to provide live interpretation from the islands for the first time rather than from Salt Lake City, the translation team had a choice to make after the disaster struck. The team could turn interpretation over to Salt Lake City on short notice so that they could tend to the needs of friends and family affected by the quake, or they could fulfill their assignment.
Aliitasi Talataina, the translation supervisor and interpretation coordinator, said she felt an impression that there were many who could tend to the physical needs of the people or bury the dead but that “this is what the Lord would have us do [for] the living and generations to come.”
Because a disaster management team took over the service center where the interpretation equipment had been set up, the team had to find a facility that had the digital telephone lines and other technical requirements necessary to provide remote, simultaneous translation.
Sister Talataina said the team’s faith was like Nephi’s in that they said, “Even if we [had] to do this under a tree, we [would] go and do” (see 1 Nephi 3:7).
With the Lord’s help they found a location, and the necessary equipment was transferred, set up, and tested in the few days prior to conference.
“We felt the hand of the Lord in accomplishing what we were commanded,” Sister Talataina said.
Because of the team’s efforts, when conference began, members who took time from the massive cleanup effort to participate in the proceedings were able to hear and understand the Lord’s message for them.

Steve and Anita Canfield are representative of Latter-day Saints throughout the world who have experienced for themselves the transformative blessings of giving to the Lord. As welfare and self-reliance missionaries, the Canfields were asked to provide aid at refugee camps and immigrant centers across Europe. In her professional life, Sister Canfield had been a world-class interior designer, contracted by wealthy clients to beautify their luxury homes. Suddenly she found herself thrust into a world that was the complete opposite, as she served among people who had lost nearly everything in terms of earthly possessions. In her words, she exchanged “marble walkways for dirt floors,” and in doing so she found an immeasurable degree of fulfillment, as she and her husband began to befriend—and soon to love and embrace—those who needed their care.
The Canfields observed, “We did not feel as though we had ‘given up’ anything to serve the Lord. Our desire was simply to ‘give to’ Him our time and energies to bless His children in whatever way He saw fit to use us. As we worked alongside our brothers and sisters, any outward appearances—any differences in backgrounds or belongings—dissolved for us, and we simply saw one another’s hearts. There is no degree of career success or material gains that could have equaled the way that these experiences, serving among the humblest of God’s children, enriched us.”

The cool evening air felt good on my face as my companion and I were frantically riding our bicycles back to our apartment to make it home on time. The May weather had been typical for Texas, hot and humid, so the crisp evening air was a welcome feeling.
I began thinking of the success we were enjoying in the city of Brownsville. A family of five was baptized last month and another family of five was to be baptized this month. Suddenly that warm, familiar, and welcome feeling came over me, and I was prompted to look back. Through the trees I saw a row of houses a little way off the road—houses I had never noticed before!
When we reached the apartment I told my companion, Elder Maughn, that we needed to go back to those houses in the morning and meet a few people. Then we planned our activities for the next day and went to bed. I could hardly sleep for the excitement of that day. We had challenged a family to be baptized, and they accepted, and now it seemed that the Lord had more people for us to teach.
The morning came not too soon for me. After a shower, breakfast, and study class, we headed out for the houses I had noticed the last night. It was easy to see why we had missed them before. Somehow between the junkyard and bushes and the low-hanging trees, there was a road. Actually, it was more like an alley. It was so rough that we could hardly get our bikes down it.
There were about seven houses down this road, so we began at the first and worked our way to the last. Yes, number six was the house. We knocked at the door, and a woman answered. Her face radiated with a warm, kind, and protective glow. We introduced ourselves and said we had a brief message about the Lord. She invited us into a small, two-room house.
As we entered the living room, we were greeted by no less than five children, ages ranging from eleven down to two. The children giggled as we spoke to them. We told her we would like to return when the father was home, and she invited us back that evening.
The rest of the day my head was spinning with thoughts of how we would teach the family. We knew with the Lord’s help and consent we would help this family become members of his church.
Somewhere between banging on doors and lunch a fearful thought came over me. Tithing! Reflecting back about that family we visited earlier that morning, I wondered how they would accept the principle of tithing. I thought of that family of seven and their home, which apparently had only the bare necessities. The kitchen had just a table and benches in it. The other room, which was divided in half and separated only by a curtain, was both the bedroom and the living room. The only furniture in this room was one chair and a tattered couch. How would this family be able to budget tithing?
Paying an honest tithe seemed to be a stumbling block to some of the people we had taught before, and I worried about this all day. Silently I prayed that this family would gain a strong testimony before we were to teach the principle of tithing to them.
Again the cool evening air felt good on my face as we rode back to that home to meet the father and begin teaching his family. The father held as many of the children as he could, and the others huddled close by. We felt a warm, familiar feeling as we visited with them and explained our message about the Lord’s true church.
After a brief prayer we started with the filmstrip Man’s Search for Happiness. It would keep the children interested, and parents always seemed to enjoy it. I glanced over at the mother during the part about leaving the pre-mortal existence, and I thought I saw traces of tears in her eyes. I couldn’t help but again glance over at her during the part about death and our spirit returning home to loved ones. Yes, this time it was plainly clear. That sweet mother had tears in her eyes and half way down her face.
The mother was still wiping away the tears when the film ended, so I quickly bore my testimony to the truthfulness of the concepts taught in the film and the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. We then proceeded into the rest of the discussion. It was accepted well, very well. After arranging another appointment for the next night, we offered prayer and were on our way.
I noticed that there was no car in front of the house, and again I wondered how they would accept the principle of tithing.
When we reached our apartment, Elder Maughn and I knelt down and prayed. We prayed to our Heavenly Father to bless this family with a strong testimony and to provide a way that they could keep the commandments.
When we knelt for personal prayer I stayed on my knees a little longer than usual before climbing into bed. When the time came, how could we present the commandment of tithing so the Spirit would touch them with a testimony and a desire to keep it?
The family was progressing well. Every lesson was a spiritual experience for all of us. Members visited them and took them to church. Finally the challenge was given to be baptized, and they accepted.
The next step was the lesson on the commandments. I cleverly arranged it so my companion would present the concept on tithing. Yes, I would give the first concept, he the second which was tithing, then I would continue with the third and so on. This way I wouldn’t have to ask the family to keep the law of tithing and wonder about their answer.
That moment seemed to come all too soon. When we entered the home that evening and settled down for the lesson I began the discussion with the first concept. Before I had completed two sentences the father eagerly asked a question, and my companion answered it and continued on with my concept! He then finished the first concept, and now it was my turn—tithing! I said a quick silent prayer and proceeded with confidence.
I explained what the word tithe meant, how it was a commandment anciently and now also in our day. Then I came to the part I dreaded—to ask the family to keep the law of tithing. This fine brother answered back, but I was so worried that I didn’t hear the answer. I hurriedly continued on with the concept and then realized he had answered yes! I was then at the part where the question was to be repeated so I confidently asked again, “Will you keep the law of tithing?”
Again the answer was yes. I then bore my testimony with tears in my eyes that it was a true commandment and that many blessings would follow.
That following Sunday, just a week before the family was to be baptized, I looked eagerly for them. When Sunday School began, the family was not there. I didn’t see them anywhere. Perhaps they had decided they couldn’t keep the commandments after all, I thought to myself. I wondered if the problem was tithing.
Then just before sacrament meeting started, in through the front doors walked the family. I hurried to greet them. I had a smile on my face from ear to ear I’m sure. They explained that they had walked all the way, at least four miles I think, and the father carried two of the little ones.
We sat down in time for the meeting to start, and all I could think about was this family. What an example to me. I loved them already, and I had only known them for three weeks.
After sacrament the mother took me aside and said, “Here, Elder Myers. Here’s ten dollars. My husband gets paid every two weeks, and we wanted to start paying tithing now.” I stood there for what seemed like an eternity and just looked at the mother, with sincerity and humbleness written all over her face. I looked at the ten dollars. Her husband made two hundred dollars a month, and they were willing to keep the law of tithing. What a faithful family.
I guess I hesitated too long, for the mother said, “Isn’t it enough?” I quickly turned my head for tears began to fill my eyes. I found the second counselor in the bishopric and asked him to explain to this good sister about filling out the tithing slip.
As he explained the process to her, I slipped away to an empty room. I tried to hold back the tears, but “Here, Elder Myers” kept ringing in my ears. I thanked my Father in Heaven for this great opportunity and the testimony he had given to this family.
That following week the family was baptized.
Even now that I have returned home from my mission and have continued on with my life, I still think of this wonderful family and the great lesson they taught me about tithing. Every time I pay tithing I can still hear those words from that sweet sister, “Here, Elder Myers. Isn’t it enough?”

There is an old fable about a king and a jester. One day the king decided to reward the jester, so he called him in, offered him a beautiful staff, and told him, “You may keep this beautiful staff until you find a bigger fool than you.”
Time passed and one day the king became very seriously ill, called the jester, and told him that he would probably go on a long journey and never return. The jester then asked him, “And have you made any provisions for a journey that lasts forever?”
The king answered, “No.”
The jester then handed the king the staff and told him, “King, if you have made no provisions for a journey that lasts forever, this staff belongs to you. You are a bigger fool than I.”

Nine-year-old Annie peered through the chain-link fence. Where is he? she wondered. The shrill bell had announced the end of the school day. Children ran across the playground, clinging to a backpack, a spelling list, or a work of art. But Carl was nowhere to be seen. He was always the last one to leave school. A few more children trickled out.
Finally the gray door of his special-education classroom opened, and Carl plodded across the black pavement. When he saw Annie, he started waving excitedly. He smiled so big that it made his face look lopsided.
“Hi, Carl,” Annie said, walking over to meet him. Ignoring his excitement, she grabbed his elbow and started for home, gently pulling him along. “Hurry up—we’re late.”
Carl’s large feet turned in, and he limped as he walked. Annie was careful where she walked so that she wouldn’t bump him and throw him off balance.
As they made their way up the hill, Annie thought of the cold grape juice bar in the freezer at home. She was eager to get home and relax on the couch. But at the rate Carl was going, she’d probably miss her favorite television show. If only Carl could walk faster! His large shoes stumbled along the sidewalk. He was just so clumsy.
“How are you doing, Carl?” she asked. Carl smiled. “Good, then let’s keep going.” Annie marveled at his twisted hands. On Monday she had tried to open a clenched fist and hold his hand, but she couldn’t unfold his fingers. Today she just guided him by an elbow. When he grunted and rubbed his face with his fist, Annie leaned away, afraid that he might fling his arm at her as he had yesterday. Finally they neared the top of the hill and Carl’s house.
“Here’s a step, Carl. Step up,” Annie said as they reached his front porch. He just stood there. “Come on, Carl, you’re almost home.” She stepped up and tried to pull his large body after her. He resisted. “Come on, Carl.” He didn’t budge. “Oh, Carl!” Annie whispered in despair, throwing her hands up.
Carl turned and headed for the grass. He sat down clumsily and began rubbing his fists over the green spears. The grass tickled his hands, and he began giggling.
Annie set her backpack on the porch and walked over to him. “Get up, Carl, it’s time to go inside,” Annie said. She tugged at his arm, but he was much too big for her to lift. “Oh please, Carl!”
Now what do I do? she wondered as she looked down at the chunky boy gleefully stroking the grass. She felt totally helpless.
The door opened, and Mrs. Rich walked outside. “Oh dear. I hope Carl hasn’t been too much trouble today,” she said. “The people at school are still strangers to him. When he gets to know them better, he’ll be as good as he is at home.” She took Carl’s face in her hands. “Carl, you need to stand up.”
Carl slowly pushed himself to his feet, almost falling over as he stood. Mrs. Rich took his arm and led him up the stairs to the door.
“Thank you, Annie dear,” she called over her shoulder. “You’re a tremendous help!”
Annie managed a smile, grabbed her backpack, and said good-bye. When she entered her house next door, she didn’t even bother to turn the television on. She knew that her favorite show was over. “Mom,” she called. “Mo-o-o-om!”
“I’m out here!”
Annie opened the back door and went over to the greenhouse. Her mother was on her knees, packing black soil into a pot. The greenhouse was warm and smelled of fertilizer and plants.
“Oh, Mom, I’m through!” Annie exclaimed. She paced the greenhouse as she let off steam. “I don’t think I can do it one more day! He’s so big and clumsy, and his hands are all twisted. It was horrible today!”
“Whoa, Annie. Settle down,” Mom said. “I suppose you’re talking about Carl.”
“Yes! This is only the third day I’ve walked home with him, and I’m going crazy! He’s just so … so strange!”
Mom turned over a wooden crate and motioned for Annie to sit down. “Honey, you’re just not used to him yet. It’s only the third day. Carl is mentally disabled, and in that respect, he is very different than we are, but he is cheerful and kind. He just takes some getting used to.”
“Mom, if I keep walking Carl home, I’ll always be the last kid to leave the playground, I’ll never get to go to a friend’s house after school, and I’ll miss cartoons every day!”
“You’re right—it is a bit of sacrifice. But if you think of Mrs. Rich taking care of Carl every day and night, maybe a fifteen-minute walk home will seem bearable.”
“Oh, Mom, it’s a three minute walk that ends up taking fifteen minutes!” Annie said, shaking her head. “I want to help Mrs. Rich, but I just don’t understand Carl. He doesn’t talk, he slobbers, and sometimes he suddenly makes strange noises. He scares me.”
“Annie, Carl is different, but. …” Mom stopped and looked around the greenhouse. Her eyes stopped on an old tin pot. She smiled and picked it up. The silver tin was rusted and dull, but inside was a brilliant fuchsia-colored begonia plant. “Annie, what do you think of this?”
Annie smiled at the beautiful flowers. Of all the plants in the greenhouse, this one always caught her eye because of its beautiful color. “I love your begonias, Mom!”
“But do you think it’s beautiful even in this old pot?”
“You don’t even notice the pot because of the flowers.”
“Exactly! That is why I put this flower in this pot. It’s the same with Carl. His spirit is so beautiful that it shines brightly even in an imperfect body.”
Annie stared at the flower.
Mom held up the clay pot she had just filled with soil. “We were given bodies that are whole and nice-looking—like this one,” she said, running her gardening glove over the soil. “There is a flower buried deep inside, but you can’t see it yet. With a little light, water, and tending, it will be beautiful too. It’s the flower that counts, not the pot.”
“Do I have a flower in my pot?”
Mom smiled and reached over to give Annie a hug. “Of course! You have a beautiful spirit too. I just think that you and I may need to work a little to make our spirits as loving and kind as Carl’s.”
“Give ourselves some water and light?”
“Exactly.”
“Mom, do you think that walking home with Carl will give some water and light to the flower in my pot?”
“Definitely! Whenever we do the right thing or help others, our spirits become more beautiful.”
Annie picked up the tin pot. “Well, it was nice when he was so happy to see me. … I think I’ll keep walking with Carl.”
Mom smiled. “I thought you might.”
“But Mom, Carl will still act crazy and stumble up the hill. He’ll still make strange noises. Will I ever be able to see the beauty inside him?”
“I think you already see it at least faintly—and you’ll see it more and more clearly as you help him each day.”

The lesson was short-lived, however, for soon the complaining and contention began again. Joseph warned the men that the Lord had revealed that a scourge would come upon the camp in consequence of the rebellious spirits among them. He prophesied that many would die like sheep with the rot. He also again promised that if they would repent and humble themselves before the Lord, the scourge might be turned away.

Despite the miracles, many members of the camp were still disgruntled. Why, after one thousand miles (1600 k) and forty-five days of marching, had the Lord commanded the army not to fight? Joseph explained that like Abraham of old, it had been a test of obedience for the men.

But for some, this was a test they could not endure. Their testimonies crumbled, and in anger they left the Church. Joseph pleaded with the men to remain faithful, and he reminded them of the prophesied scourge that would befall them if they refused to humble themselves.

His words fell on many deaf ears. Two days later Zion’s Camp was struck with the dreaded disease cholera. About midnight on June 24, moans and cries pierced the darkness. Men on guard duty fell to the ground, guns still in their hands. Violent attacks of vomiting and cramps turned strong men into writhing victims. Before it ended, sixty-eight people were stricken and fourteen members of the camp died.

As the first few men were taken sick, Joseph tried to give them a blessing, but he was immediately struck with the disease himself. From this painful experience, he learned that when God decrees destruction upon any people, men must not try to stop it.

Slowly Zion’s Camp began to disband. Some stayed in Missouri. Some went on missions. Most returned to their homes and shared the things they had learned with their friends and families.

Elder Marcus B. Nash of the Seventy, the President of the Africa West Area of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, along with his wife, Sister Shelley Nash, and other leaders made a courtesy visit to His Royal Majesty Otumfuo Osei Tutu II, Asantehene of the Empire of Asante. The Asantehene is highly revered in the Asante territories (Ashanti region and other parts of Ghana) and is regarded as the first among equals of traditional rulers in Ghana.
The meeting was held on 4 March 2020, at the Manhyia Palace in Kumasi, Ghana, in connection with Awukudae Festival meaning: “Wednesday ceremony”, a traditional Ashanti festival in Ashanti. Accompanying Elder and Sister Nash to the meeting were Honorable Francis Addai-Nimoh, a friend of the Church and former Member of Parliament of Asante Mampong; Emelia Ahadjie, Area Director of Communication; Edmund Adusei, Asokwa, Kumasi Stake president; Edmund Osei, Coordinating Council Director of Communication in Kumasi; Brent Belnap, Area Legal Counsel; Richard Dadzie, Area Family History Manager; along with Elder Lyle and Sister Cricket Parry, Area Communication Specialist Missionaries. There were also other dignitaries from organizations across Ghana in attendance, including the Bawku Naba Asigri Abugrago Azoka II, and the inspector general of police, and the chief defence commanders of the military, air force and navy.
Elder Nash said, “we believe all people are children of God, you are my brother and I am yours”. He also spoke of families, stating, “We believe a family is a husband who loves his wife, a wife who loves her husband, and together they love their children”. He explained the Church is here to lift and serve all people. Elder Nash thanked the Asantehene for allowing the freedom of religion in his region because we know how important that is.
Elder Nash also presented the Asantehene with a statue of a family from the Church. His Royal Majesty told Elder Nash and other church leaders he is looking forward to a future meeting.

Another member, Miguel Samudio, joined the Church while studying in Buenos Aires. He made the difficult decision to leave his girlfriend behind and serve a mission. “Her parents wouldn’t let her get baptized, and she didn’t want me to go,” he explains. “But I had to. I had found a great treasure.” Six months later he received a photograph of her dressed in white and standing with two missionaries; he realized she had been baptized. When he returned, they were married in the temple. He was called as second counselor in the Jujuy stake presidency less than five years after his mission.

I was told once of a young man who for many years was more or less the brunt of every joke in his school. He had some disadvantages, and it was easy for his peers to tease him. Later in his life he moved away. He eventually joined the army and had some successful experiences there in getting an education and generally stepping away from his past. Above all, as many in the military do, he discovered the beauty and majesty of the Church and became active and happy in it.

Then, after several years, he returned to the town of his youth. Most of his generation had moved on but not all. Apparently, when he returned quite successful and quite reborn, the same old mind-set that had existed before was still there, waiting for his return. To the people in his hometown, he was still just old “so-and-so”—you remember the guy who had the problem, the idiosyncrasy, the quirky nature, and did such and such. And wasn’t it all just hilarious?

Little by little this man’s Pauline effort to leave that which was behind and grasp the prize that God had laid before him was gradually diminished until he died about the way he had lived in his youth. He came full circle: again inactive and unhappy and the brunt of a new generation of jokes. Yet he had had that one bright, beautiful midlife moment when he had been able to rise above his past and truly see who he was and what he could become. Too bad, too sad that he was again to be surrounded by a whole batch of Lot’s wives, those who thought his past was more interesting than his future. They managed to rip out of his grasp that for which Christ had grasped him. And he died sad, though through little fault of his own.

As a 17-year-old, I enlisted in the United States Navy and attended boot camp in San Diego, California. For the first three weeks, one felt as though the navy were trying to kill rather than train him on how to stay alive.

I shall ever remember the first Sunday at San Diego. The chief petty officer said to us, “Today everybody goes to church.” We then lined up in formation on the drill ground. The petty officer shouted, “All of you who are Catholics—you meet in Camp Decatur. Forward, march! And don’t come back until three!” A large number marched out. He then said, “All of you who are of the Jewish faith—you meet in Camp Henry. Forward, march! And don’t come back until three!” A smaller contingent moved out. Then he said, “The rest of you Protestants meet in the theaters in Camp Farragut. Forward, march! And don’t come back until three o’clock!”

There flashed through my mind the thought, Monson, you’re not Catholic. You’re not Jewish. You’re not a Protestant. I elected to stand fast. It seemed as though hundreds of men marched by me. Then I heard the sweetest words which the petty officer ever uttered in my presence. He said, “And what do you men call yourselves?” He used the plural—men. This was the first time I knew that anyone else was standing behind me on that drill ground. In unison we said, “We’re Mormons.” He scratched his head, an expression of puzzlement on his face, and said, “Well, go and find somewhere to meet—and don’t come back until three o’clock.” We marched away. One could almost count cadence to the rhyme learned in Primary:
Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone.
Dare to have a purpose firm,
And dare to make it known.

Illustration by Jimmy Holder
“Are you sure you’ll be OK taking care of Reynna?” Ashley asked. She gave Emma a worried look.
Emma nodded. “I’m 12. I can handle it!”
Emma’s grownup sister, Ashley, was going with Mom to visit Grandma in the hospital. That meant Emma got to babysit! Emma loved playing with her little niece. It was the best part of being an aunt!
“Thanks for looking after Reynna,” Ashley said.
“We’ll have lots of fun,” Emma said. “Everything will be fine.”
Reynna clapped her hands and giggled.
Ashley smiled. “Sounds good! We’ll be back soon.” She kissed Reynna on the forehead, and then she and Mom left for the hospital.
Emma started playing hide-and-seek with Reynna. Actually, Reynna wasn’t very good at hiding. But Emma pretended to look for her anyway and acted surprised when she “found” her. Reynna squealed with laughter every time.
After playing for a while, Emma got thirsty. She left Reynna in the hallway for just a minute to grab a juice box from the kitchen. When she came back, Reynna wasn’t there!
Then she heard splashing and laughing coming from the bathroom. She peeked her head around the doorway and saw Reynna. “There you are!”
“Dere are!” Reynna said back.
Emma noticed Reynna’s clothes were wet and her little feet were dancing in puddles of water on the bathroom tile.
Then Emma saw where the water was coming from.
Oh no. Reynna had tried to flush a whole roll of toilet paper down the toilet!
Reynna looked up at Emma with a sweet smile. Emma tried to smile back, but she flinched as more water gushed from the toilet. “Reynna, you and I are in so much trouble.”
Reynna just giggled.
Emma took her out of the bathroom and dried her off. Then she did her best to clean up the water. But it kept pouring out of the toilet like a waterfall. Some of it even spilled out into the hallway. Emma used towels to soak up the puddles as much as she could. Finally the water stopped running. But the bathroom was a mess.
“Mommy and Grandma are not going to be very happy about this,” Emma told Reynna.
Reynna frowned. “Uh-oh.”
Emma sighed. Babysitting was a little tougher than she thought!
When Mom and Ashley got home, Emma burst into tears. She explained what had happened and showed them the bathroom.
“It’s only water,” Mom said with a smile. “We’ll clean it up in a jiffy.”
“You’re not mad?” Emma asked.
“No,” Mom said. “Reynna was curious about what would happen if she stuffed a roll of toilet paper down the toilet. Now she knows.”
Ashley smiled. “And now we know how fast she can make a giant mess!”
“And I know I can’t leave Reynna by herself,” Emma said. “Ever!”
They all laughed.
Ashley put her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “You’re a good aunt, Emma. Thanks for helping with Reynna.”
Mom nodded. “You did your best. That’s what Heavenly Father asks of us. Just that we do our best.”
Just then Reynna tugged on Emma’s leg. “Hide see?” she asked.
Emma grinned and took Reynna’s hand. “Let’s go play one more round of hide-and-seek!” ?

As a new member having received my patriarchal blessing, I would read it from time to time. One day I read something that I had never read before. I cannot remember the exact words, but I was told how the Lord had preserved me for this time. In that instant my mind went back to the late 1950s when I worked for a private firm repairing railway wagons. Twice a week about eight of us would pile in the works’ van to be dropped off at places where wagon repairs were needed.

I realise now that the Lord had protected me, I did not show my patriarchal blessing to my wife, but I told her about what I had read. However, the following week when I read my blessing again, looking for the phrase about Lord preserving me for this time, it was not there. I read and re-read it, but it was not there. To this day I cannot explain this, but I do believe that our Heavenly Father is watching over us and preparing the way we go.

As Tyler climbed out of Grandpa’s truck, the cold January wind off Boston Harbor whipped at his face. With each breath, a tiny cloud of fog appeared in front of him. “This is Boston, Grandpa?”
Not waiting for an answer, he continued eagerly, “Where is Boston Garden? And Fenway Park—where is Fenway Park, Grandpa?”
Smiling, Grandpa answered, “Put your scarf on, and then I’ll show you where everything is.”
Wrapping his scarf close around his face, he followed his grandfather. As they walked, Tyler saw a man sit down and take a huge army knapsack off his back. Sitting next to the man was a black Labrador retriever wearing a guide-dog harness. Tyler noticed that the dog’s shaggy fur was scruffy as it looked at him in apparent misery on the cold pavement.
He looked from the dog to the man, who had now set up a small keyboard, amplifier, and generator.
It was obvious that the man was blind as he fumbled to find the power switch. His hands were cracked and bleeding as he placed an old, battered cap upside-down on the ground and began to play. The man smiled politely and said thank you whenever he heard coins drop into the hat.
“Why is that man playing outside in such cold weather, Grandpa?”
“He probably doesn’t have a home,” Grandpa answered solemnly.
“Unfortunately, some of the street performers in the shopping district are homeless.”
Tyler pulled his coat tighter about himself and thought of his own warm home.
When Grandpa dropped him off at home that night, Tyler went straight to his room. Taking his piggy bank from his dresser, he opened it and dumped the contents onto his bed. Slowly he counted first his bills, then his coins. Nineteen dollars and fifty-eight cents.
He lifted the bank up to his face and peered into the hole in the bottom. Reaching in with two fingers, he pulled out a folded catalog page. He unfolded it and admired the fishing pole that he had been planning to get for his grandfather. Now, however, even though Grandpa’s birthday was only two days away, Tyler couldn’t forget the blind man’s cracked hands or the dog’s sad eyes.
The next day after school, Tyler emptied the contents of the piggy bank into his coat pocket, borrowed his little sister’s red wagon, and walked to the store. Twenty minutes later he left it, his pockets no longer jingling with change. Instead, one pocket bulged with a new pair of wool gloves, and his wagon creaked under the weight of a large bag of dog food.
After parking the wagon in the garage, Tyler went to his room. Grandpa’s birthday was only a day away, and Tyler still had no gift to give him. Searching his room, he found the ceramic pot he had made in art class. Dumping out the loose baseball cards in it, he took a closer look.
Well, it’s blue, and that’s Grandpa’s favorite color, he thought, trying to convince himself that his grandfather would like it. He cleaned it up, then sat down with a pencil and a sheet of paper and began to write:
Dear Grandpa,
For your birthday, I wanted to get you something you would really like. I know that to really help people, we are to give as much as we can to fast offerings, but this gift is a sort of remembrance of our wonderful day in Boston together. …
When he finished, he stuck the note and the creased picture of the fishing pole inside the ceramic pot and wrapped it.
The next evening, his stomach felt as though he had eaten stone soup instead of the wonderful birthday dinner his grandmother had prepared. Grandpa is going to be awfully disappointed at my present, he thought sadly as Grandma brought out the candle-lit cake.
When it was time for Grandpa to open his gifts, he reached for Tyler’s package first. Tyler held his breath as he watched his grandfather’s face. When Grandpa finished reading the note in the pot, he smiled at Tyler, his blue eyes twinkling.
The following Saturday, Tyler and his grandfather were back in Boston. Grandpa carried the dog food, and he carried the wool gloves. Rounding the corner, Tyler saw a number of street performers. Straining his eyes, he spotted the blind man and his dog at the end of the block. Approaching him, Tyler said, “Excuse me, sir.”
The man continued to play, but turned his head in the direction of the boy’s voice.
“I have something for you. I paid for it with my own money.”
The man stopped playing his keyboard, and Tyler handed him the gloves. As he felt the wool gloves, a huge smile spread across the man’s face.
“Also,” Tyler quickly went on, “I brought a bag of food for your dog.”
Now the man spoke, his voice husky. “Thank you, boy. Thank you.”
As Grandpa set down the heavy bag, Tyler noticed the Lab’s ears perk up. And when he glanced back later, he saw that the man was wearing the new gloves while he gave his dog some of the food.
Tyler looked up to see Grandpa’s eyes twinkling again. “I’ll treasure the pot,” Grandpa said, “but I like this gift even better.”

“My mother is a unique person,” began Elder Paramore in tribute to his mother. “She has implicit, absolute faith in our Father in heaven. Through prayer and undeviating faith, she has been able to accomplish many things in her life. She prayed that my father would become active in the Church, and it happened; he became a very strong, faithful, and capable leader. She prayed to have more children, a thing that was especially difficult for her. Yet she was able to have six children, who mean so much to her. She set as fine example for all of us to follow.
“My father is special also. When I was young, he trained me to be a dental technician. We often sat side by side while I worked under his direction until I became quite proficient. He would show and tell me things about this skill and this went on for about five years. When I went into the service, they learned of my skills. I was taken out of basic training when I was only eighteen years old and put in charge of a dental laboratory with many workers. All this because of my dad’s training.
“We have some great progenitors on the Paramore side of my family,” Elder Paramore continued. “My grandmother left Denmark alone at the age of eight. Her mother put her on a boat with a tag around her neck addressed to a place in Utah. When she arrived in New York, some Mormon missionaries who had arranged to meet her there helped put her aboard the train that would take her to Ephraim, Utah. What an experience for an eight-year-old child! It makes me weep to think about it. I’m sure her mother thought that this was a wonderful chance for her daughter to be where the Church was strong.”
On the subject of children who are eight years of age, Elder Paramore added, “As a former bishop, I must have interviewed at least eighty children and watched them be baptized. In all those interviews, I never knew a time when I felt that the child wasn’t ready for baptism. Eight is the age of accountability and children do know right from wrong at this age. They don’t know all of the doctrines, of course, but they know how to make proper judgments. They know instinctively, by the light of Christ, what is right. Whether they do what is right is subject to the exercise of their free agency, but there’s no question in my mind regarding an eight-year-old child’s ability to choose the right. I’ve had that witness come to me many, many times.
“I would like the children of the world to know that the great message from our Heavenly Father is to trust in Him and to love their fellowmen. Keep the loving spirit you have at this age in your life. You are humble now and teachable. You have a marvelous ability and that is that you can forget—you don’t hold grudges and you can put problems out of your mind and go on loving someone who may have hurt you. Don’t build walls or barriers, just keep a loving heart. There is no substitute for love. Love means interest and concern. It means doing things for others. When there is a spirit of love between two people, it encourages a feeling of trust and self-worth. You can share any problem with each other and solve it together. Love breaks down barriers. President Kimball loves unconditionally.
“If you are remembered for only one thing, what would it be? Would you want to be remembered because you were steadfast in the things of the Lord? That you were honest? That you were trustworthy? All of these are cherished attributes, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to be remembered above all else for your love of people?
“I bear witness to the truth that loving the Lord and loving your fellowmen is the message of the Savior and that we must find and return this love if we are to have eternal life.”