Gospel Story Finder

Another important relationship in a family is that between children themselves. Often an older brother or sister will come to the aid of a younger sibling in a show of love and concern. If there is any doubt about love as a divine inheritance, consider a brief Reader’s Digest story shared by Sister Sharon G. Larsen at the recent Young Women conference. The story is about

twin girls, Brielle and Kyrie, who were born prematurely. “They were placed in separate incubators to reduce the risk of infection. Kyrie, the larger sister at two pounds three ounces, quickly began gaining weight and calmly slept. But Brielle, who weighed only two pounds at birth, could not keep up with her.”

Sister Larsen said Brielle’s condition became critical as her oxygen intake plummeted and her heart rate soared. “Then the nurse remembered a procedure she had heard about. The parents consented, and the nurse slipped the squirming baby into the incubator with the bigger sister. No sooner had the door of the incubator closed than Brielle snuggled up to Kyrie and calmed right down. Within minutes Brielle’s blood-oxygen readings were the best they had been since she was born. As she dozed, Kyrie wrapped her tiny arm around her smaller sibling.” [“Protect Families from Anger, Strife,” Church News, 4 April 1998, p. 5]

One might argue that the relationship formed in the womb was the reason why Brielle snuggled up to her sister and why Kyrie wrapped her arm around her smaller twin. Even then, the bonding reflects a divine spark in both children that reaches back into the eternities.

Christmas Island and Call to Seventy When President Workman was presiding over the Honolulu Mission, he had the responsibility for a branch of the church on Christmas Island. Christmas Island is a small island which is part of the Republic of Kiribati. We had made many trips to Christmas Island and all of them were difficult. The airplane only travelled once a week so when we went, it was always a week long affair. The accommodations were rustic to say the least and the heat oppressive. Still, the saints there were wonderful and they always wanted and needed spiritual leadership.

On one occasion, Ross told me that we needed to travel to Christmas Island to effect a change in the branch leadership. These trips always taxed me but I agreed to go and we fixed the last week of March 2001 as our travel date. We would leave early on Tuesday and return the following week Tuesday.

One morning early, as we were preparing for a week of intensive missionary zone conferences, Ross said to me: “I have a feeling we should travel to Christmas Island this very week.” I thought briefly that this would mean cancelling already planned zone conferences and otherwise rearranging a very complicated schedule. Besides, I always dreaded this trip and the very thought of moving it up would normally have caused me much stress.

However, to my surprise, I felt strongly to agree with Ross. I recognized it as a witness of the spirit. I immediately said, “I agree.” He was as surprised with my quick response as I was.

We travelled there, accomplished the work required, trained local leaders and did what we could to strengthen that branch. However, as we returned home, I could not think of any particular reason why the work we did there was of such urgency that it could not have waited for another couple of weeks as we had originally planned. There seemed to be no answer to it and Ross and I wondered if we had simply misread the powerful spirit we had both received.

The following week, the last week in March 2001, as we were sitting in a zone conference (one of those we had postponed for the Christmas Island trip), Ross got a page from the mission office. It was one of those rare urgent pages that sometimes meant serious trouble with a missionary. Ross left the conference meeting and returned sometime later. He seemed calm but I could tell he had something important on his mind. We had but barely restarted the conference when he was paged again. He left again and when he returned, he handed me a note which said only: “President Hinckley.” We spent the next several hours in the zone conference and when finally we headed out to the airport, I asked Ross: “okay, what is going on?”

He told me that he had received a call to serve as a general authority in the Seventy and President Hinckley had instructed us to be in Salt Lake City immediately. I then realized that the decision to go to Christmas Island two weeks before was a defining moment. Had we not listened to the spirit and gone on the planned schedule, we would have been away from Hawaii when President Hinckley called. We would have been isolated on Christmas Island and could not have travelled to Salt Lake for Conference. We could not have accepted the call to the Seventy because we could not have been reached and even if we had known of the call, could not have made the trip to Salt Lake to be sustained in Conference. The Lord knew we could not be on Christmas Island at the time scheduled and we did not. That we both were guided remains one of the great blessings in our lives.

“Today we are going to learn a new song,” Sister Reid announced. “It’s called ‘Baptism.’ Everyone close your eyes and listen to the music.”
I closed my eyes and relaxed in my chair. The pianist started playing a melody that sounded soft and graceful, like flowing water. Then Sister Reid started singing: “Jesus came to John the Baptist, in Judea long ago, and was baptized by immersion in the River Jordan’s flow.”
I felt a tear slide down my cheek. I tried to wipe it away before Mom could see, but it was too late. Mom was the Primary president, and she always saw everything. I saw Mom look at me and smile sadly. She knew why I was crying.
After church, my little sister, Julie, hummed the song the whole ride home. I stayed silent.
“Do you want to color with me?” Julie asked when we got home.
I shook my head. “Maybe later. I’ve got to do something first.”
I found Dad in the living room. He was sitting in his favorite chair with a book open on his lap. He liked to read while Julie, Mom, and I went to church.
I took a deep breath. “Dad?” I said. “Can I get baptized?”
Dad closed the book and asked me to sit by him.
“Oh, Sadie. We’ve talked about this. My answer is still no,” he said.
“But I really want to!” I said. “I turned eight a few months ago, and I’ve thought about it a lot. I know the Church is true, and the longer I wait, the more I know I want to be baptized.”
Dad shook his head. “I still think you’re too young to make such a big decision. But you know I love you.”
“I know,” I said. I knew Dad wanted what was best for me. He just didn’t think I was ready to make this choice.
I ran to my room and bowed my head. I prayed harder than I ever had before. “Heavenly Father, I really want to be baptized. Please help Dad understand.”
At first nothing happened, but I stayed on my knees. The melody of “Baptism” ran through my mind. After a while, I didn’t feel so sad. Instead, I felt peaceful inside. I started thinking about all of the things I could do, even though I couldn’t be baptized yet.
I could keep praying and keep going to Primary. I could be an example for Julie, and maybe I could even ask Mom to fast for me next week.
The peaceful feeling stayed with me as I headed down to dinner. I didn’t know when, but one day I would be baptized. And it would be worth the wait.
Six months later, two days before her ninth birthday, Sadie’s dad gave her permission to be baptized.

A small river runs through the field near Cooper House, a farm a little more than four miles outside of Barnard Castle in northeast England. Normally the setting is quite tranquil, and it seemed like the perfect spot for our annual camp.
When we parked the cars, however, we realized that we would have some chores to do before we could enjoy our fun. Due to the location of the site, all the equipment had to be carried down a steep, dusty hill. Most of the 38 young men felt an inclination to slide rather than walk, but somehow everything and everyone arrived intact.
The next challenge was pitching our tents. Those who had brought their own tents were familiar with them and seemed to have no problems. But others, like our stake president, Craig Marshall, had borrowed tents. The owner of the tent had told President Marshall that it was a cinch to put up, but despite lots of head scratching and lightning suggestions from the great brains of the group, he had trouble getting the frame to fit together.
While President Marshall struggled, the rest of us put up the food tent (the most important camp item), collected firewood, constructed a rack for the canoes and paddles, and prepared cocoa and biscuits to eat around the fire in the true tradition of camp. Eventually even President Marshall got his tent erected, with some friendly help from the rest of the group.
The next morning some poor, unfortunate boys had to go to the girls’ camp seven miles away in Middleton Teesdale to collect the canoes. The girls were heading for home that day, and it was our turn for the boats. It may have been hard work shifting the canoes, but the volunteers were glad to accept the girls’ offer of fish and chips before returning to camp.
Back at Cooper House, young men clad in shorts or wet suits formed human chains out into the river, passing rocks and boulders to each other to build dams to create a section of fast-running water for the canoes. After slipping and splashing, most of us ended up soaked. Soon canoes and inner tubes were set to water, and we were all delighting in maneuvering ourselves along in the current.
After tea (that’s what we call our evening meal, even though Mormons don’t drink tea), we organized a game of T-mac (sort of like group hide-and-seek) with one team seeking and one team hiding. The game lasted until it was too dark to recognize anyone anymore, so once again we slipped back to the campfire, then to bed.
During the next few days there were special moments at camp like singing “Onward Christian Soldiers” as a group, loud even though it was off-key. And we played a puzzle game which could not be done without all of us sharing our pieces. That taught us charity and selflessness. We also read our scriptures and retraced some of the journeys made by the ancient prophets.
Some of us went on a 30-mile hike that took two days. Some of us just stayed at Cooper House and floated in the stream. One day we made a raft from the inner tubes, but it had a tendency to throw its passengers. Another day we tried to use inner tubes, plastic bags, and ropes to walk across the river on top of the water. Paul Anderson of Billingham Ward walked the farthest. He had inner tubes tied to his hands and knees.
Brian Jones, the camp leader, spent time one day leading a rope course to prepare us for rock climbing and absailing (rappeling). Brian gained his knowledge from several expeditions in the Antarctic. Later on we tried our skills at a nearby quarry.
Thursday was one of those rainy English days when there is nothing you can do but play games or read in your tents. Hot meals and an opportunity to catch up on sleep were the only relief from the downpour. But during the afternoon, the two counselors in the stake presidency, Alex Stewart and Geoff Mawlam, arrived with some of their family members to join us overnight. It was President Stewart who persuaded some of the braver souls to go canoeing in the rain. It didn’t matter to him about the rain, since he capsized every time he went down the rapids anyway.
The first thing we wanted to do Friday was to dry out. The rain had stopped, but some of the sleeping bags and clothes were wet. We hung things out to dry. Then we built an obstacle course. The course consisted of various tasks—pushing the canoe trailer around some tyres (that’s the English spelling for tires); running the rapids on inner tubes; crossing over the river by rope and then wading back; climbing a rope; and monkey climbs (climbing over and through logs fashioned together like a jungle gym). Not surprisingly, most of us finished wet and dirty. Prizes were awarded for the fastest group time and the fastest individual time according to age.
Like any camp, we also had our cleanup time. The tents were dismantled, the dams broken down, the turf replaced where the fire had been. For our last meal, Brother John Dale, our chef de cuisine treated us to fish and chips from Barnard Castle.
We picked up our tents and equipment and climbed the hill for the last time. Looking back, the field seemed bare, except for yellowed patches of grass where the tents had been. All that we have now are the memories.

From 2003 to 2005 I served as Young Women president in the Gutiérrez Zamora Ward, in Veracruz, Mexico. Each Christmas the young women and their leaders baked treats to take to the older members of our ward.
As Christmas 2005 approached, we practiced singing Christmas carols and donned red hats and scarves. In the winter our village receives a steady drizzle of rain and a lot of cold wind from the north. But that did not prevent about a dozen of our young men and young women from going out with our load of pineapple pies.
When we arrived at the homes of our elderly brothers and sisters, we sang with great joy. We left each home feeling pleased because, even if for only a moment, we had brought happiness with our carols and pies.
The last sister we visited had been less active for many years. Though none of the youth had met Juanita, my husband and I had known her for a long time. She was now bedridden, terminally ill, and very poor. A few days prior, the elders quorum had visited her home to make some repairs.
When we arrived at her home, I called out her name. No one answered, so I kept calling. Soon I heard a soft voice say, “Come on in, Sister Araceli.” We entered and sang with joy and enthusiasm, even though her condition saddened us. Not long before, Juanita had been full of life. Now when she sat up, the youth couldn’t restrain their tears. She was deeply moved and thanked us for visiting her and helping her feel, through our carols, that our Heavenly Father remembered her and loved her.
After we left her humble dwelling, the youth expressed gratitude for having been able to sing for her. They didn’t care that they ended up wet and cold; their hearts were filled with joy for having shared a small portion of the happiness they felt. It was then that I understood more fully the verses that read:
“I was sick, and ye visited me. …
“… When saw we thee sick … and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:36, 39–40).
I was saddened when Juanita passed away a few days later, but I know without a doubt that Heavenly Father loves His children. I also know that if we follow the Spirit, we can be instruments in His hands in blessing each other.

“Invite Mr. Wood* to seminary.” The thought popped into my mind as soon as I heard the announcement, and I immediately thought it was crazy. Why would I invite my music teacher to come to seminary at 5:30 in the morning?
The seminary president had just told our class that we would be having a teacher appreciation day. We were challenged to invite some of our schoolteachers to join us for a morning of seminary where we would thank them for their service. The entire week after hearing this announcement, I thought about inviting Mr. Wood. Every time I went to seminary or saw him in music class, the thought came back: “Invite Mr. Wood to seminary.” After several days of this, I couldn’t ignore the thought any longer.
One morning as all the students in music class were getting out their instruments, I put my trombone aside and approached Mr. Wood. My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking, but when I opened my mouth to extend the invitation, I felt comfort.
To my surprise, Mr. Wood said that he would come! He was curious about why I went to seminary every morning before school and wanted to learn more. After giving him all the details, I walked away full of joy.
During this experience, I didn’t feel a burning in the bosom (see D&C 9:8). But I did feel the Holy Ghost. The recurring thought to invite Mr. Wood (see D&C 128:1), the comfort I felt when I invited him (see John 14:26), and the joy I felt after I invited him (see Galatians 5:22) all came from the Spirit. But if I had been looking only for a burning in the bosom, I might have not recognized when the Holy Ghost was prompting me.

The story is told of a traveler who asked a farmer, “How’s the cotton crop going to be this year?”
The farmer replied, “There won’t be any. I didn’t bother to plant it, because I was afraid of the boll weevil.”
Upon hearing this, the traveler asked further, “Well, are you going to harvest a big corn crop?”
“It’s the same,” came the response. “I was afraid we wouldn’t get enough rain for the kernels to mature.”
The traveler pursued, “At least you will have a good potato harvest.”
“Nope. I didn’t dare plant any, because I was afraid of insects.”
Somewhat frustrated, the traveler then asked, “Well, what is it that you have planted?”
“Nothing, my good man,” came the answer. “I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

Tauna May of the Groveland First Ward, Blackfoot Idaho Stake, has won the Ruth Sayer Phoenix Young Artist Competition Award. She performed as a piano soloist with the Idaho State Civic Symphony.
Tauna commented about her performance with the symphony. “I auditioned for four years before being chosen as a soloist and, believe me, the wait was worth it. I love being an LDS youth because it sets us apart, makes us special. There are so many, many temptations in the way of our eternal goal. The Church is there; the plan is all laid out. All we have to do is follow it like we follow the notes and markings on sheet music; and our life, like our piece, will turn out beautifully.”

Let me tell you about a little girl who is well on her way. Eight-year-old Lindsay had studied well for her math test at school. She said: “When the test began, my friend leaned over and asked if I would help her with the answers. I thought of the family home evenings we have at the first of every school year. Dad reminds us that we should always do our own work. He says it’s better to be honest than to cheat for a higher grade. I knew if I helped my friend cheat, I would be cheating too. So I shook my head, no. The next day, the teacher called my friend and me out into the hall and said our answers were the same. It was easy for me to look at the teacher and tell her I didn’t cheat. When I looked at my friend, she was crying. She told the teacher she had looked on my paper. I was really sorry for my friend, but I was very glad I had been honest.”

I got to know of the Church in 1993 through a classmate while a law student at Rivers State University of Science and Technology (RSUST) Port Harcourt Nigeria. I visited with him and saw the book Jesus the Christ by Elder James E. Talmage. I read a portion of the book titled “Christ’s Tabernacle in the Flesh.” I was touched by the gospel insights in the book and asked where I could get one. He then told me about the Church that he joined in 1987.
I asked Brother Amadi more about the Church. I was desirous to find answers to questions I had as a young man. I eventually arrived at the nearest meetinghouse, the Port Harcourt 3rd Ward, located close to the university entrance which was also within walking distance from my hall of residence. I arrived late and sat at the Sunday School class, which was the first meeting of the day, as was the pattern then. A few moments later, I was invited to the Investigators class. The bishop later gave me a copy of the Ensign magazine, and specifically referred me to a talk by Elder Russell M. Nelson, attending the Parliament of the World’s Religions. I read the story and it changed my attitude about marriage and family as he brought with him Primary children who sang “I Am a Child of God” in the meeting.
In the investigators’ class, I was taught about the Prophet Joseph Smith and was asked if I had heard about him. The name seemed familiar, but I could not recollect where I had come across it. But now I know that it was the Spirit telling me about the Prophet Joseph Smith.
Bishop Kalu was a source of strength and inspiration and a great gospel teacher. I sincerely wanted to teach the restored gospel with a testimony like his. I eventually got baptized on December 26, 1993. The following Sunday, I was ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. And during sacrament meeting, I was asked to bless the sacrament.
The message of the restored gospel appealed to my heart, though born Anglican to humble parents and, as the tradition of the Anglican Church, was given infant baptism with my other siblings in 1973. The Book of Mormon changed all that as the copy I was given in the investigators class and with marked portions to read, I tried my best in reading it not with a desire to obtain a testimony but with my student legal mind. I was searching for faults because nothing compares to my Holy Bible. I had been doing critical Bible study before coming to the Church. I finished the Book of Mormon in no time and diverted my love for secular books to love of scriptures, particularly the Book of Mormon.
My bishop extended a call to me the Sunday after my ordination in the Aaronic Priesthood as a Sunday School teacher. I was also called as a seminary teacher, and I enrolled in an Institute of Religion class. While I taught the Old Testament in seminary, I studied the Book of Mormon in the institute class. This connection to the scriptures changed my life as that was the beginning of a lifelong love for the standard works of the Church and other writings that I have accumulated over the years a large library of Church literatures and scriptures. I even went on to teach institute classes for years even as a stake president.
While I was in Lagos, Nigeria, where I did my National Youth Service, I received the strong feeling that I had a mission to establish the Church in my hometown. I felt inspired and decided to fulfill the mission. I began with my wife, who was not a member at the time. With her unique testimony, she joined the Church and I baptized her like I did our five children.
We went to church in Port Harcourt from Omoku, our hometown. It was about two-hour drive. We did this every Sunday until sometime in 2001 when the Port Harcourt West Stake Presidency authorized me and family to stay back and worship in Omoku under the supervision of the Rumueme Ward. We reactivated some members of the Church who resided in our town and surrounding towns, two of whom were old schoolmates at the university. We started worshipping in my one-room apartment and later moved into a three-rooms flat in the city center where, on the 9th of January 2005, the Church was officially organized with me as the first branch president and my wife as first counsellor in the Relief Society. We had 36 members of our branch.
Missionaries who taught us the gospel of Restoration and eternal families inspired us tremendously and helped to inspire our infant children to love missionary work.
The gospel of Jesus Christ means everything to me and my family. The principles of the gospel are true and life-changing when we apply every word therein. As a branch president in a new place, it naturally imposed a new life on me. They must see the change in me to believe and follow. This is a religion with everlasting promise, hope, and blessings.
The Aba Nigeria Temple was dedicated on August 7, 2005, by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008). Our family of five then—me, my wife, Justina, and our children (Joy, Daniel, and Gabriel)—were overjoyed. We got sealed as a family on September 22, 2005. Our sons John and Joseph were born in the covenant. My life is about family, Church, and community.

Far off in the middle of the Pacific, near the Equator, you’ll find a group of 33 small islands known as the Republic of Kiribati. Of the 78,000 residents who live there, 400 are students of Church-sponsored Moroni High School on the island of Tarawa.

“The Young Warriors” are the school’s pride and joy. That’s the school’s championship basketball team, made up of sophomores and juniors. They started practicing in March for the national tournament in July. When the time came, not only did they beat all the teams in their own division, but they were challenged by the teams in the upper division, and beat all of them, too. That cinched the national title.

In Kiribati, people seldom use surnames, so here is a list of the winners as you would know them. Back row: (l–r) Tauati, David, Jonathan Shute (an American teacher), Birate, and John. In the front row are (l–r) Maraeru, Pakaa, Temaati, Eddie, and Been. They’re all winners, both on and off the court.

We see cases of kidnapping, when children are taken away. I remember years ago, I think it was in 1932, when Colonel Lindbergh’s little boy was kidnapped and a note was left asking for $50,000. He would gladly have paid what they asked if he could have gotten his boy back again. And yet here we come along with the knowledge of life eternal. Brother Marion G. Romney quoted this morning the revelation of the Lord where he said that in the resurrection children would come forth and grow up without sin unto salvation. (See D&C 45:58.)

There are those of us who have laid away our little ones in the grave, and we had that responsibility. A little daughter was born to us over in Holland while I was president of the mission there, and we kept her until she was three and a half years old. My wife has said time and time again that she knew the angels brought that spirit to her because she felt their presence, and yet we laid her away in the grave. If we had to feel that that was the end, we would have given anything in this world to have her back again. And then we come to this great knowledge that we have in the restoration of the gospel, that she will be ours in the eternal world and we will have the joy of seeing her grow up without sin, unto salvation. Sometimes I have thought that probably some of these choice spirits did not need the experience here in mortality like other children, and that is why the Lord has seen fit to call them home.

We had four daughters before we had a son. We were sent to California to preside over a stake down there, and our boy went out with a member of the high council and his boys, and he lost his life in an accident. That is the greatest sorrow that ever came to us, but now we are getting up on the top of the ladder, so to speak, and we look forward, knowing that these love ties are intended by God, our Eternal Father, to endure throughout the eternities. It takes the sting away from death to know that we are going to meet those who are so dear and sacred to us. Thank God for this knowledge! I want to see our foundation here so laid that we will be worthy to stand with our loved ones and with the sanctified and the redeemed of our Father’s children.

Bishop Brown’s relationship with his family is one of respect and love, of understood meanings, and of honest and helpful criticism. Joanne, Bishop Brown’s oldest daughter, remembers that when she went to BYU there was a lesson given in her student ward about loving your parents, and the counsel was given to the new students at BYU to write their parents and tell them of their love for them. Joanne said, “In our home we didn’t say I love you, we just loved each other.” But Joanne followed instructions and wrote her father and mother telling them how much she really did love them. When Bishop Brown received that letter he called his daughter immediately. Joanne says she will always remember how touched and grateful her father was for her expression of love to him.

Academic Success
I came to BYU–Hawaii thirsty for academic success. I knew a university education would change my life, my family, and the nation at large. I had been given a chance of a lifetime. I wasn’t going to squander it and looking back, I did not. My parents had no formal education. They grew up in the rural part of South Africa where opportunities for education during their days were non-existent. My mother was a domestic worker and my father a labourer at a timber company. My father had told me as a boy that education is the ticket to success. This understanding of my family background, a single chance to taste success, and the role education could play to one’s success served as an inspiration to do well.

In addition, there were people I could not disappoint. The list included my mission president, Dr. Wayne Shute, the BYU–Hawaii staff at the Admissions and Financial Aid offices, and my family, whom I had not seen since I left for my mission. These people worked hard to make sure I was on this campus.

Back to my background, soon after arriving on campus, it became clear that my early education under the apartheid regime had not prepared me to compete at the college level in the U.S. The apartheid education had only prepared me to do manual labour. In short and to quote the Soweto Student Representative Council, “hewers of wood and drawers of water."

It came as no surprise when I was asked to enroll in EIL (English as an International Language). I took Math 90 before I could take Math 110. A few semesters later I registered in Astronomy 110. Even though I had completed high school, it was the first time in my life that I learned about the planetary system. As a college student I was shocked to learn that beyond the clouds and the skies there are planets and let alone the universe.

Despite the poor academic preparation, I was determined to succeed and complete my studies within time. I put every effort into my studies. I dedicated four hours per day to my studies outside the classroom. Two hours at night and two hours in the morning. I completed all my assignment on time. The hard work I put into my studies paid off. I graduated cum laude and was on the Dean’s List for the last three years of my studies. I was on an academic scholarship which paid for most of my studies.

The academic training I received on this campus prepared me to obtain four more additional high education qualifications, passing them with flying colors.

As a Kenyan teenager, Jastus Suchi Obadiah once vowed to his friends that he would physically harm any white South African he happened to meet. “My friends and I often read in the newspapers about the injustices of apartheid, and we hated white South Africans,” he explains. Fortunately, Jastus forgot his hateful vow before he ever met a South African.
As a young man, Jastus was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by his cousin, a Church member. “I’ll never forget the first missionaries who taught me; one was a black African, and one was a white elder from the United States,” says Jastus. As Jastus observed these two young men working together in harmony, “I learned there were many good people no matter what their color.
“As they taught me, the principle of love came into my heart. I realized that to be like God, you really must be loving. My sense of love grew—even for my enemies.” Two years after his baptism, Jastus was himself a missionary, serving in the Kenya Nairobi Mission.
Jastus and his senior companion seemed to work particularly well together; they shared a strong mutual respect and quickly became the best of friends. One day, as Jastus was looking into the white face of his South African companion, the long-forgotten vow made in his teens came rushing back to him. “It really affected my heart when I remembered what I had said. Then I realized how wonderful the gospel is, because it brings people together, no matter who we are or where we come from.
“And I felt how wonderful it is to teach this gospel together with my white companion,” he says. “The gospel changed the course of my life.”

However, I have had a personal witness that this doctrine works. Let me share it with you. Many years ago as I was starting my career as a school principal at the ripe old age of 27, the school superintendent took me to the elementary school where I was to be the principal and introduced me to my new faculty of 18 women teachers and 1 man teacher. I think the women teachers were shocked at my young age but at least in the meeting they were polite to me. However, the male teacher, Al, was not at all polite, he merely gave me a cold icy stare and refused to even shake my hand.

After we had left the meeting and had gotten into the superintendent’s car, I said to him, “What was Al’s problem?” He replied, “Al is old enough to be your father. He has been at this school over 20 years waiting for the previous principal to retire or die so he could get his job. Need I say more.” He continued, “Al doesn’t have a problem, you have a problem, it’s Al. Good luck.”

Time proved the superintendent correct. I did have a very difficult problem. Al obviously hated me. I had taken his job and it seemed that no matter what I did to be his friend, he threw up a road block to stop it. I really felt that someday we were going to have a major confrontation which I wanted to avoid if at all possible. I prayed that I might be wise and Christ-like in my dealings with Al. I knew all of the faculty knew I was a Latter Day Saint and a bishop and I didn’t want to do anything that would reflect negatively on the church and I sincerely wanted to be the kind of person the Savior would have me be. This problem with Al caused me to have nightmares. I remember one night I dreamed we were having a faculty meeting and Al and I got into a fight and were rolling around on the floor while the lady teachers all stood around screaming.

Fortunately that dream never came true but the confrontation did come. Toward the end of the school year it was time for teacher evaluation. It was my job as principal to evaluate each of the teachers. In each category I had to rate the teachers with one of three options. The highest option was “Above District Standards, middle option was “Meets District Standards” and the lowest category was Below District Standards. No one, of course, wanted to be evaluated “Below District Standards” but I had agonized over one category for Al. He was constantly in confrontations with all of the other teachers. He couldn’t get along with others and I’m sure that is one of the reasons why he was not made the principal.

The wording in the evaluation category I had struggled over said “Rate this individuals ability to relate well with fellow teachers.” To rate Al at any level but Below District Standards would have been a lie so I bit the bullet and rated him accordingly. When he came into my office and I handed him his evaluation sheet and he spotted the check mark in “Below District Standards” that lit the fuse and the explosion began.

He stood over me and began to shout obscenities. By the way, I need to tell you he had been a Navy Captain and his language reflected his acquaintance with obscene language.. He began by attacking the University I attended, BYU-Provo, my church, my family, my youthful age, my philosophy of teaching, etc. etc. etc. To be honest with you, I was amazed at how much he knew about me. For about 15 minutes he screamed every filthy, negative and cutting remark about everything he thought would be hurtful to me. I’m sure he had rehearsed in his mind that speech for months and had waited for the right time to launch it. Then he just stopped and the room was silent. For one thing, I think he was exhausted from screaming at the top of his voice for so long and for another thing, I think he now wanted me to give a response so he could give his rebuttal to whatever I might fire back at him.

I have to confess that there were many things that went through my mind that I would have liked to say in response, but none of them would have been appropriate in light of my knowledge of Matthew chapter 5:6 and 7. So for about two minutes I sat silently saying a mental prayer that I would be guided to give the appropriate response.

Finally I broke the long silence, and in a very quiet voice I said, “Al, “whatever I have done to you to make you hate me so badly, I apologize to you for offending you. I am very sorry. But I want you to know something, I love you as my brother and I would like to be your friend.” Then I said nothing more. The room was very quiet. I think Al was ready for almost any response I might have given except for “I’m sorry if I have offended you, I love you, and I want to be your friend.

We sat in silence for a few minutes and then Al did something I wasn’t prepared for. He began to cry. He finally gained his composure and said these few words. “No one has ever told me they loved me in my entire life. Not even my mother or father,” and with that he left the room.

In the months that followed Al and I became good friends and when I left that school to take another assignment, Al came up to me, put his arms around me and began to cry. Finally he said, “I don’t want you to leave, you are the best friend I have ever had.”

“I sing and play the piano and violin. For a Personal Progress project, my older sister Marinda and I performed at a rest home every Sunday morning. This gave me the opportunity to share my talents and to make those people happy. It was also fun for my family, who helped me when they could.
“One Sunday we asked the elderly people if they had any favorite songs they would like us to sing next week. One sweet lady said she loved ‘Danny Boy.’ This was a song my family knew well. But when we prepared our music, we decided not to do ‘Danny Boy’ because we figured that lady would have forgotten, and we had other songs to do.
“When we got to the rest home that morning that lady came in looking very sick and tired. She told us that she was not feeling well at all, but she came to hear us perform because she knew we would be singing ‘Danny Boy’ for her. Luckily we had brought along the book with that song in it. My brother Richard sang the song for her in his beautiful bass voice. That lady cried during the whole song. I was impressed that she came to hear us sing even though she was sick. She was a great example to me. I hope all youth find an opportunity to serve the elderly. They have a sweet spirit about them, and it is fun to serve them.”Jessie Allred, 16Park Ward, Centerville Utah North Stake

The wagon of Joseph Stanford Smith was the last of 26 wagons to pass through Hole-in-the-Rock that day. Brother Smith, known as Stanford, had helped others all day while his wife and three children sat on a pile of quilts in the snow and watched. Apparently not realizing that men would be coming to help them, Stanford and his wife, Belle, thought they were stranded. So they determined to bring their wagon down by themselves. Belle sat their three-year-old son on the quilts, placed the baby between his legs, and told them not to move until their father came back for them. Ada, the oldest, sat in front of her brothers and said a prayer.
Belle and one of the horses pulled on the ropes tied to the back of the wagon as Stanford braced his legs against the dashboard and gently urged the lead horses on. As soon as they started down, the anchor horse fell. Belle caught her foot in the rocks and broke free several times before she too fell and was dragged along with the horse down the steep slope. By the time the wagon stopped, a jagged rock had torn into Belle’s leg from heel to hip. Stanford ran to her to see if she was all right. With pioneer tenacity, Belle told him she had “crow-hopped” all the way down. Stanford helped her into the wagon, cleaned her cut, and then climbed back up for the children. As he passed his horse, which was dazed but alive, Stanford took off his hat and waved it in the air as a salute to his wife. They had made it!

When she paused between arithmetic problems to look out the schoolhouse window, Julia thought about how Billy Johnson would have sweet rolls in his lunch again. Resting her pencil eraser on the unfinished problem, she pictured the package of rolls as he always produced it from his jacket pocket at noon. He would lay it on his desk and look around at everyone else to make sure he had their full attention before unwrapping the wax paper and revealing two rolls in all their splendor, filled with apricot jam and crowned with white frosting.
Julia’s stomach rumbled. Although her family had not really been wanting for food since they’d moved five months ago, she seemed always to be hungry. Most of it was a hunger that the boiled navy beans in her pail wouldn’t satisfy.
Her brother flashed her a grin when she looked his way. “I’m hungry,” he mouthed.
She raised her eyebrows and looked toward the clock. Twenty more minutes.
The teacher was hearing third graders recite the multiplication tables: “Four times five is twenty.” “Four times six is twenty-four.” “Four times seven is twenty-eight. …”
Julia bit the end of her eraser and stared at her own problem: What is the simple interest on a loan for eighty-five dollars for eighteen months with an annual rate of eleven percent?
There’s no sense thinking about rolls, she told herself. But she couldn’t get the thought of them out of her mind. Had she ever eaten sweet rolls? She wondered. She couldn’t remember the taste—only the smell, buttery rich and fruity rising out of Billy’s wax paper every day.
Get back to the problem, she scolded herself. Multiply first. What next? She worked out the first part of the problem:
$85 x .11 ——– 85 850 ——– $9.35
Loans! That’s why they had had to move and didn’t have much money for food. When the drought had come, there had been loans against the farm to buy seed. Loans against the cattle and then the horses, until they had had to be sold. Loans for more seed and for a hospital bill. Everything had finally been forfeited to the bank—as had almost all the other farms in the area. What would a bank do with all those farms and all those thin cattle and hungry horses?
Next, eighteen months is a year and a half, so multiply nine dollars and thirty-five cents by one-point-five.
Seven years of crop failures and loans. The last time Dad made a wheat crop, I was five years old, Julia thought. No wonder I can’t remember the taste of sweet rolls.
The schoolhouse door and the windows were open to the filtered light that made the month of April so hopeful. Snow still filled the ditches beside the road, but at recess Julia had heard water running under the snow and had seen it through holes her brother made by poking a stick through the crusty snow. Perhaps this year there wouldn’t be a drought. Last year they had lived on wheat that Dad had scraped out of the granary of an abandoned farm. This year there were navy beans. Maybe next year her mother could make her sweet rolls to bring to school.
Julia’s stomach rumbled again as she pictured Billy Johnson licking the frosting from his fingers the way he did every day.
Two more arithmetic problems.
Julia touched the eraser to her lips, considering. A merchant makes fifteen percent profit on clothing he sells in his store. He sells $5,082 in clothing one year and $4,237 the next. What are his total profits for the two years?
Who makes profits? Billy Johnson’s dad. He must be a rich merchant to buy all those sweet rolls.
And all she had were beans. Cold beans. All cooked from the huge sacks of beans brought with them last November when Uncle Fred had moved them the six hundred sleety, wind-whipped miles to his home in Michigan.
Uncle Fred had been cutting and hauling cedar fence posts, expecting to trade them for wild horses to sell at a profit. But none of the ranchers were building fences. Why put up fences for dying cattle? None of them had horses to trade, either. If he had gotten horses, Julia and her family would still be in Dakota.
A Crookston garage owner had let them stay all night in his shop. It had a wood fire, so Uncle Fred stoked it with some fence posts and said that if he couldn’t use them for barter, he might as well burn them.
Since November Dad and Uncle Fred had been cutting more fence posts in the cedar swamp. Their whole family was cramped into one room at Uncle Fred’s—along with their three beat-up mattresses and Mom’s cookstove. Every day Mom cooked up a pot of beans and sent it and three bowls and three spoons to school with the children.
Julia was writing down the merchant’s two-year profit, $1397.85, when the teacher announced the lunch hour.
Julia stood in line with the other girls to wash her hands in the wash pan in the entryway. She watched Billy Johnson pull the package of sweet rolls from his jacket pocket and head back to the classroom. Her mouth watered as she saw the sweet jam oozing from the coils of golden bread. “Those look good,” she said to the girl next to her.
“They’re stale,” the girl said. “His dad buys them by the bushel to feed his hogs. He gets them really cheap from a bakery in Grand Rapids.”
Julia thought a bushel of sweet rolls, even stale ones, sounded pretty good. “How do you know?”
“My mother got a bushel there once,” the girl replied, rocking on her heels. “Some of them were moldy. Most of them were just powder-dry. But it’s easier for Billy to grab up a package of rolls than to make a sandwich. Besides, I doubt if they even have stuff for sandwiches. They’re having a hard time getting by.”
“If Mom only had the things to make some rolls, …” Julia began.
“It wouldn’t matter if Billy’s family did have the stuff to make rolls,” the other girl said. “His ma’s dead.”
Julia thought about that. She thought, too, about her mom, who loved her and who cooked beans for them. Today the beans would taste better than ever. Even better than a sweet roll.

Another member, many miles away, shared the gospel in correspondence to a friend in Richmond, Virginia. A wonderful experience followed. Two missionaries were tracting one day in Richmond. One had been ill; the other felt uneasy as they walked the streets, knowing that his companion was not at his best. Both desired to persevere, however.

After two hours of having little success, they knocked on a door and introduced themselves as missionaries with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Oh, yes,” the woman replied, “Ann Smith sent you.” The elders looked at each other, shook their heads, then told her they were just knocking at the doors in the neighborhood and that no person in particular had sent them to her. She invited them in; the husband and other family members were present in the room.

She then told the missionaries something that caused them to marvel. She said, “Just an hour or two ago I finished reading a letter that I had received today from my dearest friend who lives in California. A year ago her husband and she were converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and were recently married in the temple. When we last heard, their marriage was falling apart, and she confided in me the sad situation. But today I received this ten-page letter telling me all about your church and the marvelous change it has made in their lives.”

She allowed the missionaries to read the contents of that letter, which covered Relief Society, Primary, Sunday School, MIA, and much, much more. Then they read a short note at the bottom, which said, “I will be sending two missionaries to your house to teach you more about the Church.”

After hearing the elders’ message, she said, with tears streaming down her face, “I believe the Lord sent you to us.”

When members and missionaries work faithfully together, they become as one and the Lord can use them to achieve his purposes among his children. The Lord had united as one the efforts of this faithful member and these diligent missionaries, to bring this family instruction which, if followed, will bring them joy and peace beyond measure and lead them back into the presence of our Heavenly Father.