Gospel Story Finder

Although the afternoon was crisp and cold, inside our house we were warm and snug. In my parents’ room, my three sisters and I were all busily wrapping presents for the Fitzpatricks.* Ever since my early childhood we’d been friends with the Fitzpatricks, and I was always painfully aware of how little the parents and their four children had.
With the gifts in a pile, my sisters and I formed an assembly line wrapping a present and taking it to my mother. After checking the contents of the package, she would decide who would get what, and then sign it “Santa.” She would deposit the gift in a large plastic bag, and we would go to the next one. Using this method we quickly and efficiently finished wrapping the presents in about an hour.
Later that night we all piled into the family van with those plastic bags and headed toward the trailer park where the Fitzpatricks lived. After parking the van, my dad got out, walked to the trailer, and waited at the door. When he was sure no one was home, he unloaded the bags and left them on the porch.
The following Sunday I sat with my family in sacrament meeting. Sitting still and trying to listen was not something I did readily, and soon I became mesmerized by the pictures I was drawing. At one point I glanced up to see Sister Fitzpatrick at the pulpit. But I was only vaguely aware of what she was saying. Suddenly my sister Audrey jabbed me with her elbow and whispered that she was talking about us.
Streaming down her face were tears, and her voice shook as she spoke. She told the congregation how they didn’t have money for Christmas and they weren’t sure what to do. Upon returning that night, they found the bags of presents on their porch. She warmly thanked the gift givers.
The Fitzpatricks never found out who left the Christmas presents for them, although from the pulpit Sister Fitzpatrick said she knew the gifts came from someone in the congregation. Amazingly, tears came to my eyes, and I had to look down to brush them away. That was when I first felt like an angel.

They are the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of 95-year-old Arthur W. Andersen and his wife Clara, from Provo, Utah. They all began coming to the library in 1972 when Arthur’s oldest daughter, Lyona, had what she considered an inspired idea. For years Lyona had taken upon herself the responsibility for continuing genealogical research for the Andersen family. She had obtained funds from family members (all 15 of Arthur’s children) and had hired professional researchers to help her carry on the work.
One day the thought came to her, “Why not organize things so that all the young cousins in the area can join in and assist us in this important work?” She approached her researcher specializing in English records, Wilma Adkins, and asked if she would be willing to delegate work and supervise all the youth in doing research. Wilma willingly agreed, and since that time the Andersen family has held monthly workshops.
These workshops give many teenagers and adults in the family the opportunity to actually do firsthand research in the Salt Lake Genealogical Library. They have become familiar with how to operate the microfilm machines and how to track down the various microfilms they need. They have struggled over the elaborate and often foreign-looking handwriting contained in these records. And perhaps most important of all, they have felt the joy that comes from discovering a name that others have hunted for for hours, weeks, and sometimes even years.
Lyona recalls an incident with a young cousin, not yet in his teens, who was faithfully poring over census records for a name Wilma had given him. All of a sudden he jumped up and ran to Aunt Lyona, excitement mirrored in his face. “Come look,” he said. “Is this really the name I was looking for?” Lyona quickly conferred with Wilma. It was the very name Wilma had unsuccessfully been seeking for a long time.
Many hugs and congratulations followed, as Wilma and Lyona took special pains to praise and thank him for his unexpected discovery.
Other researchers in the library on these Saturdays, if they took the time to eavesdrop, would hear such boastful comments as, “Hey, Nina, just think! Because of me, John and Mary Stafford can get married in the temple and be sealed for all eternity! What if I hadn’t come today and had gone swimming instead?” Or, “Wilma told me I can read that awful handwriting as well as the people who work here!”
Since 1972, 70 members of the Andersen family have participated at one time or another in these genealogy workshops. Ages range from eight years to 95, the majority in their teens. The 95-year-old helper is Grandpa Andersen himself. Although he can’t actually search (because of failing eyesight), he often shows up, nonetheless, with his wife Clara. Their enthusiastic spirits and encouraging words make their presence as valuable as though they were doing the research themselves. Their grandchildren know how important they consider this work and how pleased they are with each person’s effort.
Through these Saturday workshops, the Andersen family has truly taken seriously the admonitions to do genealogical research. And they are busily engaged in turning “the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers.” (Mal. 4:6.)

Come with me for a moment to the small island of Lifuka in the South Pacific. The time is 1956. I was serving as a young missionary in Tonga and had recently been appointed district president of the Ha’apai District, with headquarters in Pangai on this island of Lifuka. The district covered seventeen islands. Because our only means of transportation was by sailboat, I needed some experienced, sea-worthy counselors. As always, the Lord provided, and two fine local men were chosen as counselors.

I will mention just one at this point. His name was Brother Vea. He had a beautifully kept thatched home, a lovely, clean yard, and a beautiful family. He had a nice garden to provide food for him and his family, and in addition he grew a lot of peanuts. To earn money he was a peanut vendor, and most evenings one would see him out with his cart, selling peanuts and a few other items his wife had made. The best days and evenings for business were when there were shows or rugby games or fairs or other forms of entertainment in town.

I don’t know how many times we would have presidency meetings on the night of a big dance or social, but never was I aware of his saying, “I can’t come tonight,” even though selling peanuts was his main source of income.

Very often our schedule called for us to go to another island for a conference or for tracting or some other Church business which would take us away from Pangai right during a main rugby match or other large gathering. But never once did I hear Brother Vea complain or suggest we change our schedule. He was committed to serving to the best of his ability in the position to which he was called. He chose to invest in obedience and in service to others—often at the seeming expense of some worldly gain.

Now, let’s follow that particular investment through. About fifteen years later, as a Regional Representative, I was given a special assignment to the South Pacific. I had the responsibility of holding some meetings in California and then moving on to Honolulu and to the islands farther south. We had two meetings scheduled in California—one in the evening and one the next morning—involving a few stake presidents there. As we went through the agenda that evening, I found myself feeling that we ought to finish all our business that night and not stay on the next morning. Partway through the agenda I announced that we would do so, and, of course, the presidents asked, “Why?”

I said, “I don’t really know why, but that’s the way it’s going to be.” (Most stake presidents are pretty submissive when someone else is in charge.) We completed the entire agenda that evening, even though it was late. Then I began to wonder why myself.

I didn’t have a reservation out the next day until the early afternoon because we had originally scheduled to meet until noon. I wondered, “What am I going to do with these extra several hours I have?”

I got up early the next morning and, as all of you would do, prayed fervently to know if there was something I ought to do. I didn’t have any especially strong feelings, but I thought, “Well, I’d better check.” So I called the airport and said, “I have a reservation on this particular plane. Do you have anything leaving before then?”

The man said, “Well, we have one leaving in forty-five minutes. Where are you?”

I said, “I’m here at the hotel.”

He said, “Oh, you’ll never be able to make it.”

I asked, “Do you have space?”

He said, “Yes.”

I said, “Let me give it a try.” So I quickly gathered up everything, threw it in the suitcase, and charged off to the airport. As it turned out, I went straight to the gate and was the last person on the plane, but I did get on.

I arrived in Honolulu four or five hours later, and then I thought, “Well, now you’ve really blown it.” The meetings I had were in Laie, and here I was in Honolulu with no one to pick me up for many hours. What should I do now?

In just a few minutes I ran into a young man whom I had known in the mission field. He asked, “What are you doing right now?”

I said, “I’m just sort of waiting around.”

He replied, “I’m on my way up to the hospital. Did you hear that the other night Brother Vea was flown in from Tonga? He has some kind of disease, and he is over at the Queen’s Hospital. I was just going to visit him. If you have a few moments, would you like to come?”

I said, “Sure.”

Together we went to the hospital to visit Brother Vea. (This was the same man who had served as the very faithful and helpful counselor to me when I was district president those many years before.)

When we got to the hospital, the nurse wouldn’t let us in. She said, “He is in very serious condition, and only family members can visit him.”

I knew that I had to get in. This was the first time I began to feel for sure that this was what I ought to be doing. I said to the nurse, “Look, I’ve come several thousand miles to visit him. He asked me to come and visit him. Would you let me in?” I showed her my ticket.

She said, “If you have gone to all that effort, I guess I will let you see him.”

We went in. He was writhing in pain. His whole body was yellow with a very jaundiced condition because of a serious kidney problem. His eyes were closed. One could tell he was really hurting.

I went over to him and said, “Brother Vea, I’ve come to visit you.”

He suddenly stopped writhing and opened his eyes. They were about as yellow as anything I had ever seen. Then he said, “Oh, thank you for coming. I knew that you were scheduled for a conference in Tonga, and I knew that the only way to get there was by coming through Honolulu.” He then proceeded, “All last night I prayed as fervently as I could that some way or another you would come and visit me. As you know, I don’t have much family here. I don’t have a bishop here. I don’t have home teachers here. I don’t have many friends here. I really need a blessing. I’m in a bad way. Would you please bless me?”

We administered to him. As I began to seal the anointing, I thought that everything would be just fine. With his kind of faith, how could it be otherwise? But, as is so often the case, that wasn’t what the Lord had in mind.

I won’t go into detail, but basically I had the opportunity of telling him what the Lord had in mind for him, of actually specifying what he would be doing in just a short period of time. I was able to tell him that very shortly he would be performing a certain service on the other side that was badly needed. In a way it was a shock to me, but the Spirit was so strong there was no question as to the Lord’s will. When we concluded, he looked up at me and simply said, “Thank you, thank you very much. I really wanted to live here, but more than that I want to do my Heavenly Father’s will. I appreciate knowing what it is.”

We left. Hours before the plane I was originally scheduled to come on even arrived, Brother Vea was transferred from this sphere of existence to his next assignment, and he went with a great peace and calm in his heart. What a return on investment!

I wrote to my wife about the experience. I remember receiving a letter from her saying, “The folks dropped in tonight, and I shared the letter about Brother Vea with them. I told them I had been thinking that we so often try to figure out why things happen when and how they do and analyze and give reasons—the ins and outs of pressures and politics, and so forth, in the busy schedules and assignments of the Brethren. At the time all seemed to be playing their roles in determining when you needed to hurry and get away on this trip. And yet, with all due respect to the Brethren and their heavy responsibilities, I guess the Lord even uses such things to get His real purposes accomplished. A humble, faithful servant, unknown to most of the world, or to the Church for that matter, needed a blessing and a confirmation and calling from his Father, and our Father saw that he received it when the time was right.”

A fifteen-year investment paid off in a quiet, yet stunningly impressive way. And his service paid dividends of joy all through those years and will continue to pay increasing dividends throughout all eternity.

When I graduated from BYU in 1996, I felt a bit lost. So much in my life was not what I had imagined it would be, and the future felt incredibly scary and uncertain. I was looking for Heavenly Father to direct me in every decision, big and small. I wanted a set of step-by-step directions to tell me exactly what to do and how to do it. I believed the Lord would direct my path, but my fear was at times immobilizing.

One day I came across a book titled Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway by Susan J. Jeffers (1987). I don’t remember much about the content of the book—or if I even read more than just a few pages of it—but the title was the perfect description of the faith I needed to demonstrate. I needed to act on my faith in the Savior. I needed to act on my belief that He would always be with me and strengthen me, no matter the circumstance. We might feel scared, confused, or uncertain, but we can still move forward with faith in Jesus Christ. This is what it means to put our trust in Him.

Sister Rebecca L. Craven has taught, “A key component of trusting in the Lord is moving forward, believing He will guide us even when we don’t have all the answers.”8 As I started to move forward, even while also feeling fearful and uncertain, I gained a greater capacity to act more fully on my faith. Some of that faith to act looked like accepting a teaching position in inner-city Washington, DC, and then making the decision to attend graduate school in New York City. However, acting on my faith looked most importantly like an intentional decision to stay on the covenant path. This included committing to actively attend church, even when I didn’t always feel I fit in; worthily partaking of the sacrament to renew my covenants with the Lord; striving to develop Christlike attributes; repenting; studying the scriptures to strengthen my knowledge and testimony of gospel truths; attending the temple; loving and serving others; and more fully understanding my identity as a beloved daughter of God. All of these efforts to stay on the covenant path and trust in the Lord required faith—faith in Jesus Christ as my Savior and Redeemer and the belief that He had something better for me in the future. This tremendous growth period in my life began as I learned to put my full trust in the Lord and act on my faith in Him.

Let me tell you about a young couple who lived that way. Amy met her sweetheart, Curtis, in the Clyde Building on campus, where they both took engineering classes. Curtis was a returned missionary who was serving in his elders quorum. He loved the Savior, and Amy knew it because of the ways he served others and how he lived his life. They were sealed in the Mount Timpanogos Temple, and Curtis continued to serve Amy, and later their daughter, in countless little ways. Family came first, balanced with responsibilities as a student, a counselor in a BYU freshman ward bishopric, and a member of the BYU Ultimate Frisbee team. As Curtis was traveling to Canada with the BYU team, there was an accident and he was killed. Amy and Curtis’ marriage is eternal: not because he died but because of how he lived—serving others and honoring his temple covenants.

The Toit Rouge Stake Presidency of Abidjan, Cote D’Ivoire, launched a cultural event known as Culturama in August 2018 at the Toit Rouge Stake Center. The organizing committee comprised the stake presidency, bishoprics and stake officers.
Elder Dekaye, Area Seventy, was present and presided over the launch of the ceremony. In his opening remarks, Brother Konan Amani Aime Christian, second counselor in the stake presidency and president of the organising committee said the objective is to “bring all members together on one hand and unite members and leaders on the other hand.”
A member of the organizing staff, Brother Zoh Didier, said that Culturama is a set of wholesome games and entertainment that includes cultural activities, sports, board games and Scripture knowledge and Church History Competition. He added that this program will take place throughout the vacations and will bring together all seven wards in the stake.
Elder Dekaye congratulated the initiative and organization of such a cultural event within a stake. He also helped the congregation to see the link between Moses 1:39 and Culturama. He then encouraged everyone not to procrastinate what we can do now, but rather to take actions like these and rejoice, because that is the purpose of life. He said that we can do this by using the “five-­second” technique, that is, counting to five and getting up to do what we have to do. “In this way, we will overcome everything in life and accomplish greater things.” After that, he asked the whole congregation to stand up and practice this right away. Everyone got up and shouted for joy as they jumped after five seconds. Finally, he encouraged everyone to continue to socialize in Zion, after which he officially opened the event.
To close the ceremony, there was a parade of all the seven wards on the podium, each with its own flag and logo and the presentation of the different trophies and medals.
The first competitions began on the same August 4 after the opening ceremony and continued every Wednesday and Saturday until September 15, 2018, the day of the final contests and the closing ceremony of the first Culturama.
On that day, both members and investigators in the stake, as well as members of other stakes, rushed to the stake center at 8 a.m. to attend the final contests in the various disciplines.
Before starting the competitions, the stake president took the opportunity to congratulate all the members for their mobilization in the first edition of Culturama. He then encouraged the ward leaders and everyone to be more involved for the upcoming year. He pleaded for fair play and tolerance during the competitions.
There was joy and enthusiasm on everyone’s face. There were all age groups: children, youth and adults as well as the elderly. Some were dancing, while others came to support their various wards that qualified for the final. The first competitions of the day were basketball, athletics, and football.
At the end of the ceremony, everyone was really happy to meet again, and we could see the unity and closeness the Toit Rouge Stake Presidency had hoped for.
Finalists and winners of the various Culturama 2018 competitions:
Basketball (Nouveau Quartier 1st Vs Attecoube): winner ? Attecoube
Athletics 4 x 100 m relays (Nouveau Quartier 2nd, Attecoube, Sante, Abobodoume): winner ? Nouveau Quartier 2nd
Athletics 100 m sprint (Sante, Attecoube, Toit Rouge 1st, Nouveau Quartier 2) : winner ? Sante
Football ( Nouveau Quartier 2nd Vs Kote): winner ? Kote
Scrabble (Attecoube Vs Sante): winner ? Attecoube
Draughts (Toit Rouge 1st Vs Sante): winner ? Sante
Awale (Attecoube Vs Sante): winner ? Sante
Scripture and Church History (Toit Rouge 1st Vs Attecoube): winner ? Toit Rouge 1st
Choir Competition (All Wards): winner ? Toit Rouge 1st

This morning I wish to speak of an even more personal aspect of ministering that isn’t by assignment, does not involve a calendared interview, and has no reporting line except to heaven. Let me share just one homespun example of that kind of ministering.
Grant Morrell Bowen was a hardworking, devoted husband and father who, like many who made their living on the land, had an economic downturn when the local potato crop was poor. He and his wife, Norma, took other employment, eventually moved to another city, and started their climb back to economic stability. However, in a terribly unfortunate incident, Brother Bowen was deeply hurt when, in a temple recommend interview, the bishop was a little skeptical regarding Morrell’s declaration that he was a full-tithe payer.
I don’t know which of these men had the more accurate facts that day, but I do know Sister Bowen walked out of that interview with her temple recommend renewed, while Brother Bowen walked out with an anger that would take him away from the Church for 15 years.
Regardless of who was right about the tithing, evidently both Morrell and the bishop forgot the Savior’s injunction to “agree with thine adversary quickly” and Paul’s counsel to “let not the sun go down upon your wrath.” The fact is they didn’t agree and the sun did go down on Brother Bowen’s wrath for days, then weeks, then years, proving the point made by one of the wisest of the ancient Romans, who said, “Anger, if not restrained, is frequently more [destructive] than the injury that provokes it.” But the miracle of reconciliation is always available to us, and out of love for his family and the Church he knew to be true, Morrell Bowen came back into full Church activity. Let me tell you briefly how that happened.
Brother Bowen’s son Brad is a good friend of ours and a devoted Area Seventy serving in southern Idaho. Brad was 11 years old at the time of this incident, and for 15 years he watched his father’s religious devotion decline, a witness to the terrible harvest being reaped where anger and misunderstanding had been sown. Something needed to be done. So as the Thanksgiving holiday approached in 1977, Brad, a 26-year-old student at Brigham Young University; his wife, Valerie; and new baby son, Mic, loaded into their student version of an automobile and, bad weather notwithstanding, drove to Billings, Montana. Not even a crash into a snowbank near West Yellowstone could keep this threesome from making their ministering contact with Brother Bowen Sr.
Upon arrival, Brad and his sister Pam asked for a private moment with their father. “You have been a wonderful dad,” Brad began with some emotion, “and we have always known how much you loved us. But something is wrong, and it has been for a long time. Because you were hurt once, this whole family has been hurting for years. We are broken, and you are the only one who can fix us. Please, please, after all this time, can you find it in your heart to lay aside that unfortunate incident with that bishop and again lead this family in the gospel as you once did?”
There was dead silence. Then Brother Bowen looked up at these two, his children, bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, and said very quietly, “Yes. Yes, I will.”
Thrilled but stunned by the unexpected answer, Brad Bowen and his family watched their husband and father go to his current bishop in a spirit of reconciliation to set things right in his life. In a perfect response to this courageous but totally unexpected visit, the bishop, who had extended repeated invitations to Brother Bowen to come back, threw his arms around Morrell and just held him—held him in a long, long, long embrace.
In a matter of only a few weeks—doesn’t take long—Brother Bowen was fully engaged in Church activity and had made himself worthy to return to the temple. Soon enough he accepted the call to preside over a struggling little branch of 25 and grew it into a thriving congregation of well over 100. All of this took place nearly half a century ago, but the consequence of a son and a daughter’s ministering plea to their own father and that father’s willingness to forgive and move forward in spite of the imperfections of others has brought blessings that are still coming—and will come forever—to the Bowen family.

Thomas Giles, a Welsh convert who joined the Church in 1844, suffered much in his lifetime. He was a miner, and while he was digging coal in the mine, a large piece of coal hit him on the head and made a wound nine inches (23 cm) long. The doctor who examined him said the injured man would not live longer than 24 hours. But then the elders came and blessed him. He was promised that he would get well and that “even if he would never see again, he would live to do much good in the Church.” Brother Giles did indeed live but was blind the rest of his life.
In 1856 Brother Giles and his family moved to Utah, but before he left his homeland, the Welsh Saints presented him with a harp, which he learned to play well. At Council Bluffs, Iowa, he joined a handcart company and headed west. “Though blind he pulled a handcart from Council Bluffs to Salt Lake City.” While crossing the plains his wife and two children died. “His sorrow was great and his heart almost broken, but his faith did not fail him.” When Brother Giles arrived in Salt Lake City, President Brigham Young, who had heard his story, loaned Brother Giles a valuable harp until his own arrived from Wales. Brother Giles “traveled from settlement to settlement in Utah, … gladdening the hearts of the people with his sweet music.”1

“There’s dry wood here,” Henry said. “Let’s build a fire to frighten the wolves away.”
Henry and Wilford quickly built a roaring bonfire, and the wolves retreated.
The missionaries had walked nearly 60 miles that day, so they lay down by the fire and tried to sleep. The night grew quiet. It began to rain. A yip, yip, yip sounded through the trees.
“That’s a dog!” Wilford said.
“It’s a wolf,” Henry said. “Go back to sleep.”
The night grew quiet again. Then a bell tinkled.
“That’s a cowbell!” Wilford said.
“Let’s investigate,” Henry said.
Each man lit the end of a thick stick in the fire to light his way and scare off wolves. Soon they found a small cabin with a tattered blanket for a door. The missionaries looked inside. A woman, some children, and several puppies slept on a bed in the corner. A man slept on the floor with his bare feet by the fire.
“Hello,” Wilford whispered, but the man snored on.
Wilford stepped inside and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. Suddenly the man jumped up and ran around and around the room.
“Calm down!” Henry said. “We are friends.”
The man sat on the floor, panting. “I shot a panther yesterday, and I thought you were its mate come to kill me,” he explained.
“No,” Wilford said. “We are missionaries who need a place to sleep and a bit of breakfast.”
“You can sleep on the floor, but unless I shoot something, none of us will have a bite to eat,” the man said.
“We’re grateful for the roof and the fire,” Wilford and Henry said as they lay down with their tired feet toward the warm coals.

Once there were two brothers, Hasty and Swigley, who lived near the sea. Hasty was a pleasant fellow but very poor. Swigley was cranky and stingy but very rich.
When a holiday feast day came Hasty had nothing to eat so he went to his brother’s house. “Please give me some food for me and my wife, Brother Swigley,” he said. “You have plenty and I will repay you in work when harvesttime comes.”
Swigley didn’t really want to give Hasty anything, but he was afraid the neighbors would scorn him if he didn’t, so he gave Hasty a piece of ham. “Take it and be off with you. When harvesttime comes I’ll expect a good day’s labor in payment,” he said ill-naturedly.
Hasty took the ham and started for home. Because he was anxious to get there he took a shortcut through the woods. As he hurried along, the woods began to look unfamiliar to him. Hasty finally decided he had lost his way. While he was deciding what he must do, Hasty heard the sound of a woodcutter’s axe in the distance. Following the sound of the chopping, he soon came upon a large house where an old man was cutting wood.
“Can you tell me the way to—” he began. But before Hasty could finish the sentence, the axe flew from the old man’s hand and would have cut the woodcutter’s leg had Hasty not jumped quickly and knocked it to the ground.
“You are a good man,” said the old woodcutter, “and you have saved me from being hurt. Now go into the house where there are those who will want your ham. Be sure to take nothing in exchange except the old mill that stands behind the door. Then come back and I’ll teach you how to use it. That mill can grind anything.”
Hasty thought this was strange but he did as the old man directed. Inside the house were several dwarfs. When they smelled the ham they began clamoring and asked Hasty what they could give him for it.
Hasty said, “I’ll take the old mill behind the door and nothing else.”
They offered several other things in exchange but Hasty refused. Finally the dwarfs agreed to the trade of the ham for the mill.
The old woodcutter smiled when he saw Hasty coming with the mill under his arm. Quickly he told Hasty how to start the mill and then how to stop it. Hasty thanked the old man and soon found himself on the right path for home.
When he reached home Hasty put the mill on the table. “Grind a good dinner,” he said. To his wife’s delight the mill began to turn and out came the best dinner she and Hasty had ever eaten.
After that Hasty had the mill grind many good things—food, clothing, silver, gold, and anything else he and his wife needed. They invited all their friends and neighbors to come and share their good fortune. Swigley was invited, too, but when he saw how much Hasty had to enjoy he was jealous and angry. “Where did you get so much wealth?” he demanded.
When Hasty explained about the mill, Swigley was determined to have it. He begged so hard that Hasty finally agreed to give it to him. However, before he did, Hasty and his wife had the mill grind enough good things to last them for several years. Then he took the mill to his brother.
Swigley could hardly wait to be alone with his new treasure. He was so anxious to use it that he didn’t listen when Hasty explained how to stop the mill. As soon as he was alone with the mill Swigley commanded, “Mill, grind out porridge! I am hungry for good porridge.”
At once the mill began to grind. First it ground a bowlful, then a tubful, a tableful, and soon the room was half full. Porridge was running out the door into the yard. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” cried Swigley, but the mill did not stop and the flood of porridge kept coming from the mill.
Finally, Swigley decided to go see his brother. He slogged through the porridge until he was outside and then ran to Hasty’s house. “Take the mill back,” he cried. “Take it quickly! If it grinds more porridge we’ll all soon be smothered in it! Take it back! I’ll give you anything you ask if you’ll only take it back!”
Hasty took the mill back, stopped the porridge flow in the way the old woodcutter had told him, and for a long time continued to use the mill to get the things they wanted. Soon he became a rich man, living in a fine home that shone with splendor near the seashore. Many who sailed by stopped to see the wonderful mill.
One day a skipper of a ship asked, “Can the mill grind salt? I have to travel a long way to fill my ship with a cargo of salt to sell. I’d like a mill that could grind out salt.”
“Of course it can grind salt,” Hasty answered.
“I’ll give you a thousand coins for it,” the skipper offered.
“No,” Hasty answered. “I don’t want to part with my wonderful mill.”
But the skipper kept begging until Hasty finally decided to sell it. The man hurried off with the mill, boarded his ship, and sailed for deep water.
When he stopped the ship he set the mill down and commanded, “Grind salt! Grind salt and grind it fast!”
Immediately the mill began to grind. And just as had been the case with Swigley and the porridge, it didn’t stop. The ship’s hull was soon full. Salt filled every crack and the skipper shouted, and begged, and whimpered, and cried for the mill to stop. However, the salt continued to pour out, piling up on the deck while the boat began sinking lower and lower into the water.
At last the boat sank completely out of sight and came to rest on the ocean floor. And there it is to this very day, endlessly grinding salt into the sea.

When I met my wife, Pamela, she was the only member of the Church in her family. When we decided to get married, something seemed an obstacle. I had no money to get all the items listed by her father as requirements for her bride price.
I was a graduate with no job. The little I made from odd jobs here and there was barely enough. I lived in my Father’s house at the time. Faced with these challenges, Pamela and I fasted and prayed to Heavenly Father for help. I knew the Lord through His prophets and apostles have counseled that “young people should follow the Lord’s pattern of marriage in the temple without waiting for the payment of a bride price” (Dallin H. Oaks, “The Gospel Culture, Ensign, March 2012, 45). But Pamela’s father was not a member of the Church and saw this practice as proper traditional rites for marriage. After counseling with the Bishop, I decided to make a move. I love Pamela and wanted to obey the Lord’s commandment to marry in the temple. But I did not want to do that without the consent of her parents.
After a difficult and trying period, with the help of other, I began to get offers to paint buildings. After three painting jobs, I gathered the little I had, called on my family and travelled to Pamela’s village. Still, things seemed difficult and the marriage seemed impossible. Despair, melancholy and anger almost took over my faith, but the encouraging words of the leaders and the scriptures kept me focused and continue to trust in the Lord.
We were married traditionally on 13 February, 2016, wedded on 2 April and Sealed in Aba Nigeria Temple on 5 April in the same year. It felt like a dream to us. The Lord raised people who offered to help us with one thing or the other. The Lord literally made it happen. That experience is etched in our memories as one the many of the Lord’s miracles in our lives, a manifestation of His tender mercies towards us.
We have been joyfully married for almost three years now in the mercies of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Toby opened the apartment door and stepped inside quietly. Carefully he folded his collapsible snow shovel and propped it against the wall so that it could drip on the throw rug. Then he knelt to remove his boots. As he unzipped them, his grandpa lifted his head from the pillow on the sofa bed and smiled sleepily.
“Done with your papers already, Son? It’s not even light out yet.”
Toby hung his things on the coatrack. “It’s almost seven o’clock, Gramps. Mom left for the restaurant an hour ago.”
“It must be going to snow some, then,” Grandpa mumbled. “It still seems dark.”
“You’re right, the snow is already flurrying again,” Toby replied as he went into the kitchen. “I’ll make us some oatmeal.”
It wasn’t long until Toby set a steaming bowl of oatmeal on the bedside table; then he propped another pillow behind Grandpa’s head.
“I thought that your mother was supposed to be off today.”
“She was,” Toby replied, “but she’s filling in for Martha.” He moved a footstool closer to the sofa. “Mom’ll be home by eleven, Gramps. Will you be OK till then?”
“Just leave me a book and the remote control for the TV,” Grandpa replied, “and I’ll be fine.”
Toby scooped up a spoonful of warm oatmeal, then aimed it at Grandpa’s mouth.
“Going down to the Center this morning?”
Toby nodded. “Miss Wiggins said that they’re sending someone out from the Village Observer to take pictures and do a story on our gymnastics group.”
Grandpa’s eyes sparkled. “So you’ll have your picture in the paper! Well, that’s something—a celebrity!”
Toby grinned. “I’m no celebrity, Gramps. Just part of the gang.”
Grandpa was dozing when Toby left. As he reached the second floor landing of their apartment building, Mrs. Brindle opened her door. “Would you mind, Toby?” she asked hopefully.
Toby shrugged and took the bag of garbage that she held out to him. “Nope. Do you need anything from the store while I’m out?” he asked.
“Not today, Toby,” she said. “But thanks for asking … and for taking down my garbage.”
“No trouble,” Toby said as he hurried down the stairs.
When Toby reached the Center, he knew that he was the first one there, because the snow hadn’t been broken by anyone’s footprints. He unfolded his snow shovel and began clearing a path. Shovelful by shovelful he worked alone, until a little gray station wagon chugged up and parked in the empty parking lot behind the old building.
Miss Wiggins jumped out and came toward Toby with a cheerful grin, a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck. “You’re always doing something, aren’t you, Toby?” she said as she put an arm around his shoulders and swept him along with her to the door. “You must be getting wet and tired! How long have you been here?”
“Not long,” Toby replied.
Miss Wiggins jangled her keys, searching for the right one. “Well, I can see that you’ve been here long enough to shovel a lot of snow. Where did you get that handy little folding shovel?”
Toby grinned proudly. “Gramps gave it to me for Christmas.”
She unlocked the door and swung it open. “That’s a really neat gift. Brrr,” she added as they stepped inside the huge empty room. “It’s colder in here than outside!”
“I’ll turn up the thermostat,” Toby offered.
She grinned and pointed at a blob of oatmeal on his sweatshirt. “I see you fed your grandfather oatmeal this morning.”
Toby looked down, then tried to wipe it off. “Sorry,” he mumbled self-consciously.
“Don’t be,” she said happily. “Helping others is always visible in one way or another, and helping others seems to be a habit with you.” She blew into her cupped hands and shivered.
“Wait a minute, and I’ll help you get the mats down,” Toby called as he hurried to the thermostat on the wall.
The other gymnasts began to arrive, and soon everyone was busy working out on the balance beams, the mats, the horses, or the overhead rings. When Miss Wiggins called for a break, they all sat around a long wooden table, eating cookies and drinking juice. They talked excitedly about what they’d do for the newspaper reporter.
“I thought that we could make a pyramid,” Miss Wiggins suggested. “That would be an impressive shot, don’t you think? And that way everyone could be in the same picture.”
“I should be on top,” Nancy Matthews said. “That’s an important position, don’t you think so, Miss Wiggins?”
“Well, you are one of the lightest,” she agreed.
“Well!” Brian Cramer snapped. “That’s not the most important position! If Calvin, Marty, Toby, and I didn’t hold everyone up, there wouldn’t be a top. We’re the most important because we’re the strongest and we hold everyone else up!”
“Hey, wait a minute!” Carol and Jan chorused. “If it weren’t for us—”
Miss Wiggins laughed and waved her arms. “Wait a minute, all of you! What’s the sudden interest in who’s the most important? In a pyramid, everyone’s important! It takes a team effort to make a pyramid. You can’t have a top without a base and a middle, so quit arguing.” Miss Wiggins shook her head and added, “The city started this program as a learning experience in cooperation. But now I’m not sure that you know what the word means!”
Carol frowned, then screwed her mouth up at one end. “It means working together,” she said.
“That’s right,” Miss Wiggins replied. “It doesn’t mean fighting over who comes first. In Heavenly Father’s eyes, the one who puts everyone else ahead of himself is first! So if you’re done with your snacks, let’s get back to work!”
The kids tossed their empty cartons toward the trash can. A lot of them missed the target, and the cartons landed on the floor. Toby dropped his juice container into the can, then deposited those that had missed the can as well. The others were already busy at the mats, so they didn’t even notice, but Miss Wiggins did. As Toby hurried to join the others, Miss Wiggins watched him coming and met him with a smile.
As he neared her, she reached out and rumpled his hair gently. “You’re a good kid, Toby,” she said quietly.
“Thanks, Miss Wiggins,” Toby said.

Just what is it that these missionaries have or do that brings about this happy phenomenon? I think I came very close to discovering the answer to this question when I received the following letter while serving as a mission president in the Arizona Holbrook Mission.
“Dear Brother Lynn,
“I have been meaning to write to you for some time now and let you know how blessed the members here in Durango are to have Sister Brown and Sister Poss working here. By their dedication and examples, they have done more for the attitude of the members toward missionary work than all the sermons in the world. They are so busy teaching people they don’t have time to come for dinner!
“In the five years we’ve lived here, Durango has just about been dead as far as missionary work goes. We’ve had elders come to our house and tell us how hard this area is. But whatever these sisters have, it has turned everything around. They keep saying it’s the members, but it’s these two special sisters. They have touched our hearts and changed our lives, not by spending time in our homes but by working their hearts out. We have really come to love them.
“Yesterday was their P-day, and they used my washer and dryer to do their laundry. While they were here, they baked a cake for a dinner my husband and I were having for a nonmember friend whom we told about the Church and gave a Book of Mormon to, just last night. It was the first time ever that I have had the courage to do that. (They baked the cake for me because I’m in a wheelchair and unable to do it.) So if they inspire me to become involved in missionary work, they are doing miracles.
“I just wanted you to know how hard they work to keep the rules and do things right. Yesterday was the second or third time they have been in our home in the months they’ve been here, so it isn’t because they’ve spent time with us that we feel this way. They love Heavenly Father’s children. You can feel that love when they welcome you to church on Sunday. I know they are teaching the gospel with the pure love of Christ. That’s what has made the difference. I was thinking this morning that if every missionary in the field, elder or sister, filled their missions the way these two are, the Church would experience incredible growth.
“I’m certainly a better person for having met these young women and seeing their dedication. You could talk to anyone in the wards here, and they would tell you the same thing. I wish I could write to their parents to let them know how we feel. But the sisters wouldn’t give me their addresses, so I can’t brag about them. They don’t feel like they’re special. But they are, and I wanted you to know we think so.
“Sincerely,
“Roberta and Gene Shirley”

In more than 165 countries of the world, our sisters are being instruments in the hands of God. I think of a ward in Brazil that has an influx of new members every week. The sisters in that Relief Society decided to set a goal to not let even one week pass without each newly baptized sister receiving a visit in her home and a copy of “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” and the Relief Society Declaration. So far they haven’t lost any sisters to inactivity.

My wife likes to tell the story of a friend of hers who, when she was a little girl, was left an orphan. She scarcely knew her mother. As she grew, she wondered about her mother: what kind of a girl, what kind of a woman was she?

One day she came across her mother’s old report card. The teacher had noted on that card, “This student is excellent in every way.”

When she read that, her entire life changed. She recognized that her mother was a woman of excellence. Her whole attitude changed. She took on the aura of excellence herself and became a remarkable woman in her own right. She married a man who is recognized in many communities, and their children have distinguished themselves for their excellence.

Often this is the way faith works. I was assigned, for example, to escort Elder and Sister Bateman and Elder and Sister Steadman to their missionary assignments as English teachers in Hanoi, Vietnam. We planned and organized, but we had more questions than answers. After completing our planned agenda, we still had one full day unplanned. More remained to be done, but what and where?
That morning we decided to act by faith by walking out our doors. Events swept us through an amazing day of welcoming ceremonies at the Hanoi Children’s Palace, dinner in our honor with Operation Smile Vietnam, and other activities planned by our hosts. Our hosts had been too busy to communicate their plans to us, but the Lord knew them and moved us into place like pawns on a chessboard.

My husband, Cory, and I serve as ordinance workers in the temple. Before our shift I often find myself sitting in front of a painting of a distraught Mary and Martha being comforted by a weeping Jesus.

In the painting, the women have brought their troubles to Christ and are having a moment of undisturbed connection with their Savior. They are allowing Him to minister to them, and He is bringing them comfort and lifting their burdens.

One day I found myself craving this level of individual connection with the Savior. A thought came clearly to my mind: “I show up every morning at our appointed time for you to receive this kind of ministering. Do you?”

This question changed how I thought about my mornings with the Lord. I thought back to my recent morning scripture study, which involved a rushed listening of the audio version of the Book of Mormon at two-times speed in my car on my way to work. Although I still considered listening to the scriptures a good practice, it didn’t provide me with the depth of experience that I was craving. I was seeking rest, healing, guidance, and assurance, but I was barely giving God enough time in my life to allow for that kind of experience.

In 1919, the University of Pennsylvania track team was invited to compete in the annual Intercollegiate Association track meet. Creed Haymond, a member of the Church, was the team’s captain.
The night before the track meet the team’s coach, Lawson Robertson, who coached several Olympic teams, instructed his team members to drink some sherry wine. In those days, coaches wrongly felt that wine was a tonic for muscles hardened through rigorous training. All the other team members took the sherry, but Brother Haymond refused because his parents had taught him the Word of Wisdom. Brother Haymond became very anxious because he did not like to be disobedient to his coach. He was to compete against the fastest men in the world. What if he made a poor showing the next day? How could he face his coach?
The next day at the track meet the rest of the team members were very ill and performed poorly or were even too sick to run. Brother Haymond, however, felt well and won the 100- and 220-yard dashes. His coach told him, “You just ran the 220 yards in the fastest time it has ever been run by any human being.” That night and for the rest of his life, Creed Haymond was grateful for his simple faith in keeping the Word of Wisdom.1

When GayLynn Ribeira, an art student at Brigham Young University, heard the amazing stories of the pioneer Saints in Ghana, she knew she wanted to create their portraits for her bachelor of fine arts illustration project. In the fall of 2005, she began to pursue a way to do this. The result was a grant allowing her and three other art students—Jesse Bushnell, Emmalee Glauser Powell, and Angela Nelson—to spend May and June of 2006 in Ghana. BYU faculty member Richard Hull oversaw the project. The five gathered stories and images of not only pioneer Saints but newer members also. The wealth of information found its way onto canvas in the months following the trip and onto the walls of the B. F. Larsen Gallery at BYU in October 2007. Following is some of that artwork.
2. Joseph William Billy Johnson: Holiness to the Lord, by Emmalee Glauser Powell
“Gratitude and love emanated from him,” the artist wrote of Brother Johnson of Cape Coast. “He taught the gospel for 14 years, and over a thousand people were ready for baptism when the missionaries arrived in 1978. He is a man who consecrates his life and soul to God. He inspired me to strive to make the Christlike attributes of love and charity a part of my being.”

This ward is composed of members of many ages, from a variety of countries, all with varying economic circumstances and Church experience. A number of those with the most Church experience are busy graduate-student couples with demanding schedules and young families.

What I saw was a young mother serving as a visiting teaching mentor to newer converts in the ward. While her husband cared for their baby, she enthusiastically modeled loving watchcare to two African sisters. This watchcare involved teaching these sisters not only how to function in a new country but also how to adapt to their new religion.

Through her example she taught these African sisters how the Lord would have us serve each other. The words of the Apostle Paul tenderly describe what I saw in this visiting teaching mentor’s actions toward these new converts: “We were gentle among you, … being affectionately desirous of you, … willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because ye were dear unto us.” With each visit, the young mentor brought good cheer, a gentle helping hand, and the visiting teaching message.

In time, together the sisters prepared the visiting teaching message to share in other sisters’ homes. Assessing needs, giving on-the-spot service as they went, they became true Relief Society sisters committed to lifting, comforting, and encouraging one another. I doubt I will ever hear the phrase “hearts knit together in unity and in love” that I won’t think of those three happy, loving women demonstrating through their determined service to others what it means “to grow up unto the Lord.”