Gospel Story Finder

The other experience was related to me by a good friend. He gave a Book of Mormon to one of his associates in business. He soon retired from the company and heard nothing from this former associate for several years. When he saw him again, the friend said, “Possibly you’d like to know what happened to your Book of Mormon? I haven’t read it, but many of my family have, and there are now nineteen of my family members in your church as a result of reading it.

“I took the book home and put it on the shelf. One night as my mother was babysitting for us, she saw the book and began to read it. When we came home, she asked us about it. She said, ‘This book is true.’ This started a chain of events that brought about these many baptisms.”

I was ecstatic when, just after high school graduation, my uncle offered me a summer job working as his secretary in California. Eager to earn money for college and escape the sweltering heat of my home in Arizona, I accepted my uncle’s offer and moved to Los Angeles for the summer.
One weekend after I had moved in with my uncle’s family and started my job, my aunt took my two young cousins for a three-day visit to Grandma’s house. That Friday evening I arrived home from work before my uncle and was slightly disturbed to see the garage door left open. Thinking my aunt had forgotten to close the door, I pulled my car into the garage and got out.
On the bottom floor of the house was the garage, a short hallway, a small bathroom, and my bedroom. As I walked into my bedroom, I was surprised to see my empty suitcase lying upon my bed and my dresser drawers pulled open. I shrugged this off, thinking my aunt must have been looking for something.
I then walked down the hallway toward the bathroom. As I gripped the handle to open the bathroom door, what seemed like a small voice inside my head urged, “Go check the mail!” I didn’t question this unexpected thought, but immediately changed my course, turned from the door, and walked out through the garage to the mailbox. Mail in hand, I was walking back toward the house when I saw the hallway light suddenly turn off. It was then that I realized that something was wrong. Heart pounding, I dropped the mail right there in the driveway and ran to the neighbor’s for help.
Twenty minutes later, I was numbly walking with two policemen through the upper floors of my uncle’s ransacked, burglarized house. Couches were overturned, drawers were pulled out onto the floor, a stereo system and other valuables were missing. When we came to the bottom floor, I nearly fell over when I saw my bedroom closet door and my bathroom door, both of which I had left closed, standing wide open. At least one burglar had been hiding behind each door! It wasn’t until then that I fully understood the grave danger I had been in. That night, I fervently thanked my Heavenly Father that I had been prompted to turn away from the bathroom door.
Later I reflected on my patriarchal blessing, which urges me to always follow the promptings of the Spirit of the Holy Ghost. One promise of my blessing stood out in particular: If I would promptly do the things the Holy Ghost would place in my mind, I would be protected from crippling harm or injury.
How grateful I am for that quiet voice which whispered, “Go check the mail!” What a real and powerful influence the Holy Ghost can be.
Although I will always remember how I was protected from possible physical harm that day, I am most grateful for the great spiritual protection and guidance the Holy Ghost has given me throughout my life.

One of Amanda’s great-great grandsons is Hal Loren Taylor, my father. In February 1966 he was serving as president of the Southwest Indian Mission, headquartered in Holbrook, Arizona. While in Salt Lake City for training meetings, he and my mother had to take my two-year-old sister, Susan, who was critically ill, to the Primary Children’s Hospital. When the meetings concluded, Dad left Mom and Susie there in the hospital in Salt Lake City while he returned to the mission in Arizona. He later recounted,

I had a terrible cloud of discouragement over me and I didn’t want to leave them. . . . This heaviness seemed to become worse the closer I got to Holbrook. When I arrived that night, I was so discouraged that I felt I would simply work and work hard enough that I might overcome this terrible feeling.

He started going through the large stack of letters on his desk. A thick letter from a friend who worked out on the Indian reservation caught his attention. He opened it and began to read, hoping to receive some words of encouragement. Instead, the letter contained harsh criticism of him personally and his approach to teaching the gospel to the Lamanites. He stopped reading partway through the letter, his discouragement reaching a new low. He buried his face in his hands and cried aloud, “What am I doing down here?” feeling that the Lord had forsaken him. In that moment the following occurred:

I no more than said those words when a glorious spiritual experience took place where in it was brought so clearly to my mind that I thought someone was speaking these words to me: “Fear not, I am with thee, be not dismayed, for I am Thy God and will still give thee aid. I’ll strengthen thee, I’ll help thee, and cause thee to stand.” That is where the message ended. I looked up from having my head in my hands almost expecting to see someone, or the words written on the wall, because of the glorious feeling which I had. I saw no one, but know that somehow the Lord was giving me the encouragement which I badly needed. I remember straightening up my shoulders and raising my head and feeling a strength that I had never felt before. . . . I realized like I had never realized before that the Lord did not neglect his servants. I cannot remember ever having a real discouraging feeling for the next two and a half years of mission work. [Personal history of Hal Loren Taylor, unpublished manuscript]

My sister, Susie, survived. Although she still has health challenges, she is today the happy mother of a missionary son who this week completes his service in Chicago, Illinois. My father finished his mission in Arizona and four more that followed, faithfully relying on that firm foundation, the Savior. My father recently celebrated his 92nd birthday.

“When I was a little boy,” President Hinckley said, “we traveled by horse and buggy. We had a sorrel horse, Prince, who was a feisty animal. He had to be treated just right or he would get a little balky and mean. He was rather high-spirited but a fine-looking animal.

“Then one historic day in our family, my father came driving up to our home in a new 1916 Model T Ford. What an exciting day that was! That Ford took the place of Prince and the buggy, yet all the time that I was growing up, we had a saddle horse or two.”

Katie looked at the hole in her mother’s garden, then at her big shaggy dog. “Jolly, why do you dig so much?” she asked.
The big dog gave her a curious look.
Katie giggled. “And look at your face—it’s all covered with dirt.”
Jolly wagged his tail.
“I guess digging makes you happy. That’s all there is to it.” She reached down and fastened the leash she carried onto Jolly’s collar. “Time for our walk.”
Leading Jolly through the backyard gate and heading up Cranberry Lane, Katie smiled and waved to everyone she saw. “Know what, Jolly? The people on this street are probably the nicest neighbors in the whole wide world.”
When they walked past the house on the corner, though, Katie said, “But I do wonder about the new people. I don’t think they’re very nice at all.”
For years the Martins had lived in the house on the corner. Then last month they had moved away. Now some new people, named Logan, lived there.
The Martins had always let the kids play in their front yard, but the Logans had plowed it up, spread black dirt, planted grass seed, and posted a sign that read: KEEP OFF THE GRASS.
“I don’t like that sign,” Katie told Jolly. “It doesn’t belong on Cranberry Lane. I don’t think the Logans do, either. Neighbors on this street don’t tell other neighbors to stay away.”
Just then a car pulled into the Logan’s driveway, and a man got out. He wore a dark blue uniform.
“That must be Mr. Logan,” Katie whispered to Jolly. “Look, there’s something shiny pinned to his shirt. Oh, wow—it’s a badge! He must be a police officer! He’ll probably arrest anyone who steps on his lawn, even if it’s just an accident.”
After watching Mr. Logan go into his house, Katie turned and started for home, feeling a little scared. Things were never going to be the same, now that the law was keeping tabs on Cranberry Lane.
When she reached home, she took Jolly to the backyard. But before she could close the gate, he scampered through it and headed lickety-split up the street. When he got to the Logans’ yard, he stopped and began to dig.
When Katie finally caught up with him, she started shouting, “Jolly! Stop that!”
But the shaggy dog just started a new hole. Dirt flew everywhere.
Katie began to cry. “Jolly,” she wailed, “you’re going to get me arrested!”
Suddenly, as if he understood, Jolly stopped digging and ran pell-mell over to her and jumped up on her legs for a comforting pat.
“Oh, Jolly, you’re the only dog living on Cranberry Lane. Mr. Logan can easily find out who ruined his lawn. He’ll probably put me in jail!”
Katie quickly took Jolly home and to the backyard, where she carefully shut the gate. Then she went to the garage and got a garden rake. Dragging it behind her, she headed for the Logans’ house.
Knees knocking, heart pounding, Katie rang the bell.
Mr. Logan answered immediately. “Hello there,” he said.
Katie swallowed. “My name is K-K-Katie C-C-Cooper. My d-dog—” It was no use. Katie dissolved into tears.
Mr. Logan opened the screen door and stepped outside. “What about your dog?”
“He—he d-d-dug up your new gr-gr-grass,” she managed to get out.
“Oh, so I see. Tell you what—I’ll go get my rake, and you and I will do a little repair work.”
He wasn’t going to arrest her—he was going to help her! Katie could hardly believe it.
He returned with his rake and more grass seed, and the two of them went to work. “Know what, Katie? My wife and I have always lived in an apartment, so this yard is a dream come true for us. Especially now. My wife and I have a new baby boy—born last night!
“We want nice soft grass for him to play on,” Mr. Logan continued. “That’s why I put up the sign. Grass seed won’t grow if people walk on it, you know. But as soon as it has a good root system, the sign will come down. Then you kids can play here anytime.” He took a final swipe with his rake, then leaned on it and smiled at her. “Thank you for your honesty and your help, Katie Cooper.”
“Mr. Logan, if I hadn’t told you about Jolly and helped you fix the yard, would you have arrested me?”
Mr. Logan started to laugh, then became serious. “Katie, police officers don’t arrest children—or big shaggy dogs, either. At least not unless they’ve done something really bad. I’m just a regular neighbor, and I want to be a good one—like you were for me today. Promise me that you’ll come back soon. I want you to meet my wife and our new son.”
Katie smiled. “OK.”
“Good.” He turned and started to sprinkle grass seeds on the newly raked areas.
Suddenly Katie had a good idea. “Mr. Logan,” she called. “I’ll help keep the kids off your yard until the seed grows.”
He turned and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
She waved, then slung the rake over her shoulder and headed for home, feeling great. Jolly was waiting for her at the gate.
“Guess what, Jolly? That sign does belong on Cranberry Lane. And I don’t have to be afraid of Mr. Logan. He’s just like everybody else on this street—one of the nicest neighbors in the whole wide world!”

Second, Sidney Rigdon’s son John spoke to his father as he lay on his deathbed: “[Father], you owe it to me and to your family to tell [the truth about the Book of Mormon].”

In other words, this is the day of reckoning; be totally honest before you go to the judgment bar.

The son then recounted his father’s response: “My father looked at me a moment, raised his hand above his head and slowly said, with tears glistening in his eyes: ‘My son, I can swear before high heaven that what I have told you about the origin of that book is true.’”

After this tender moment, the son said, “I believed him.”11

Later, John joined the Church, and thus another argument fell by the wayside.

The answer to this question from the Roy Utah Central Stake young women is a resounding, “Yes!” With a goal to collect 1,000 pairs of new or gently used shoes from the members of their stake, the young women organized a shoe drive. On the day of the drive, the young women collected, cleaned, polished, tied together, sorted, and boxed up 1,223 pairs of shoes. The week following the activity, shoes continued to trickle in. When the shoes were finally dropped off at the Church’s Humanitarian Center, there were nearly 1,500 pairs of shoes ranging from baby shoes to hiking boots to sneakers.
One person who donated shoes left a note for the young women that read, “Thanks for doing this. It is a super neat thing for you to do. You will bless many lives.”

President Wheelwright and I have 18 adorable grandchildren, with one on the way, and each is a source of great delight to us. Of course they're all unique and talented but there seems to be about one per family that arrives with the "invention" bug, and they've come up with some pretty clever things!
Rachel is nine years old. When her older sister left for college, she begged her parents to turn her vacated room into a science lab to use for experiments and inventions. Though her parents refused, that didn't stop Rachel from inventing the Snazzy Page Turner to help her hold her music in place as she practices the piano.
Steele is eight years old. He recently took a bad fall while sledding, resulting in scrapes and bruises all over. During his convalescence he came up with this solution: He calls it the RareTip. Pretty ingenious! Luckily, he has a willing and capable dad to help with his big ideas.
Ben is four years old. Ben introduces himself to strangers by announcing, "My name is Ben and I'm an inventor!" Ben's favorite tools are twist ties, toilet paper rolls, and Elmer's glue. He recently asked his mother if she would please buy an emergency supply of 129 bottles of glue, so he would never run out. One of his bigger creations of late was an airplane that filled much of the garage, using every piece of scrap wood he could find, and more than a little glue.
As you might have realized by now, there's a fairly wide range of usefulness, not to mention safety, among these inventions. Some, though currently in prototype form, might actually prove helpful, like Rachel's Snazzy Page Turner or Steele's RareTip; others, like Ben's airplane, might be more of a liability than an asset, I'm afraid!
Life is a lot like that, isn't it? There are things we use, inventions, if you will, that make our lives easier, and other things we use that might actually make our lives harder. In fact, you may know certain people who just seem to have a gift for simplifying their lives, while others have a real knack for complicating things.
What's the difference? What is your friend who is always on time, always neatly groomed, and always remembering birthdays doing differently than your neighbor who seems to be perpetually "a day late and a dollar short?" What's the secret?

Kristin Campbell of Salt Lake City had no idea she was preparing herself for a lifetime of service when she decided to take a sign language class for her Laurel project. She just wanted to learn for her own enjoyment. But as she practiced with deaf students she began to feel a change of heart.

“For some deaf people, our hearing world is like a different planet where no one speaks their language,” Kristin says. “Working with them, my heart changed from selfishness to really wanting to be able to communicate with others.”

“When I said hi to a deaf student in the hall through sign language for the first time, he got really excited! He started signing fast!” says Kristin. “The look on Bryan’s face was worth any sacrifice. I could tell it helped his self-esteem to know that a hearing person would care enough to learn how to communicate with him.”

Kristin had previously been afraid of Bryan because he attended special classes and sat with an interpreter at lunch. But once she learned how to communicate with him, they developed a unique friendship.

They talked about classes and school. “It’s really hard to communicate names so I never did get his last name,” said Kristin. “We did have Jesus in common, though.”

Gabe King, 15, of Jeffersonville, Indiana, wasn’t exactly looking for a service project. But when he found out about his neighbor’s misfortune, he couldn’t help but act.

While working in his orchard, the neighbor fell out of a tree. He was hurt badly enough that picking the apples himself was impossible. If the apples weren’t picked, he wouldn’t be able to make a living. Gabe organized a group of about ten young women and men to join him in an apple-picking party. They chose a cool day in October and picked all day long to bring in the man’s crop.

“He was very grateful and really happy,” Gabe explains. “He would have lost a lot of money had we not picked his apples. It was a great feeling to know how much it meant to him.”

If you saw Deborah Freeman of Silver Spring, Maryland, your first reaction might be to try to help her. Deborah is orthopedically disabled, and her mobility is limited to a motorized cart. But with a little help, Deborah joins right in to serve others.

For a youth conference service project, Deborah’s stake picked strawberries on the Church-owned Johnson Farm near Kirtland, Ohio. As everyone disappeared into the fields for the all-day project, Deborah was right there with everyone until dirt paths grew too rough and her cart began to stick in the mud.

Fortunately, Ben Tibbets, a high school senior, and Aaron Hill, the youth chairman of the conference, saw the problem and immediately began figuring out ways they could help.

“We surprised her by pushing and lifting her motorized cart through the rough spots so she could help too,” says Ben.

“They put the bucket in my basket and threw the strawberries in it,” says Deborah. “They kept joking around. It was fun!”

Deborah wasn’t the only happy one either. “Service is one of the most fun things we have to do,” says Aaron. “It’s something you can actually do to show love for others and a love for Christ.”

Nathan Skene of Salt Lake City didn’t always know how happy service could make him. The summer after graduation from high school, Nathan really didn’t want to go to youth conference. He would be the oldest there. All his friends were gone, and it didn’t look like it was going to be that much fun. But he went anyway.

The theme for the youth conference was MASH—Modern Army Serving Heaven. His “platoon” was chosen to spend time with a group of mentally handicapped students. The students chose a partner; then each pair took a walk together.

“Terry chose me,” Nathan explains. “Being close to him and seeing what kind of spirit he had opened my eyes to how much I love people and how much I enjoy serving others.”

Nathan’s bad attitude dissolved. And now he sees things a little differently. “My most important goal is to gain a Christlike love for everyone,” he says.

So even though there are hungry children in the world today and homeless people on the streets, don’t get discouraged about helping. Just decide what you can do—and then act. You can make a difference. And even better than that, “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

When 14-year-old Ken Welty of Centerville, Utah, learned that people in Africa needed food desperately, he decided to raise money for seeds to send to Africa.

First, Ken handed out fliers explaining what he was doing and which seeds needed to be purchased. After checking with seed companies about growing requirements, Ken assembled and sent seed packets for tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, corn, and other foods to contacts in Mali and Botswana.

The project was a real eye-opener for Ken. “My mom and dad have jobs, and they bring home the food for us to eat,” Ken explains. “It was weird to think that there are people over in Africa who are a lot older than me, but because of my service project I am helping them feed themselves.”

For some kids one night a week of Mutual is enough, but not for Claudine Miller of Sandy, Utah. Besides going to her own Mutual night on Wednesday, Claudine also volunteered to help with her region’s handicapped Mutual every Thursday night.

One of Claudine’s most memorable times with the girls was on “Cinderella Night,” she says. The Mutual girls dressed up in fancy dresses and learned how to put on makeup and fingernail polish. “It really helped them feel pretty,” says Claudine.

Another great experience came when Claudine helped the handicapped Mutual do baptisms for the dead in the Jordan River Temple. “It was really neat,” she said. “The Spirit was so strong!”

Her service project ended up lasting two years, but the time flew by for Claudine. “It made my testimony grow so much to feel their spirit and hear them say thank you and express their love for me,” she says. “When I serve I feel like I’m doing it for Christ, and it makes me feel really good.”

Shannon Welty of Centerville, Utah, is saving the lives of African children—with puppets.

“When little children get sick with diarrhea and vomiting, the parents don’t know it’s dangerous to restrict water,” Shannon explains. “Because their children are discharging liquid they think they have had too much moisture, so they stop giving them food and water. The children end up dying from dehydration.”

Instead of waiting for some international committee to help, Shannon organized a service project to teach African villagers how to treat sick children. She persuaded people in her hometown to donate materials, enlisted elementary school students as volunteers, and spent many hours preparing 13 puppet kits.

The puppets will be used to tell a story about a little boy who is sick with dehydration and how to treat him. Contacts in Mali, Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Burkina Faso will receive and translate the kits.

“I couldn’t have imagined I’d be saving lives by making puppets,” Shannon says. “People were asking how I felt saving someone’s life and that’s when it hit me. Service is really Christlike because he saved everyone.”

Zavannah Vaaulu and Keri Robinson are walking from class. They’re also in the familiar yellow and blue colors of the Church College’s uniforms. When you begin talking to Zavannah and Keri, you notice right away that their friendship resembles Justina and Melinda’s. The fact all four are friends isn’t surprising.
Although Zavannah and Keri aren’t busy growing bacteria, Zavannah, at 14, and Keri, at 15, are also top netball players and members of the Church College’s intermediate school championship team. They take many of the same classes together, they both play the saxophone, and they, too, are in the Apia Fifth Ward. And if you see Keri, you can usually find Zavannah nearby. Keri is usually the one laughing, while Zavannah tends to be a little more serious. While Zavannah is a lifelong Church member, Keri was baptized less than a year ago.
“Keri’s also the better saxophone player,” Zavannah says.
“Yeah, but Zavannah is better at tennis,” says Keri.
The words volley back and forth until Keri talks about her baptism last August. Now it’s her turn to get serious as she talks about Zavannah’s friendship and influence.
“Zavannah kept bugging me to come to church,” Keri says, “She always helped me come to church. She always invited me to Church activities. She wanted me to see how fun it would be. It really has been.”
When asked about her role in helping Keri join the Church, Zavannah starts by saying, “I do feel a certain responsibility.” Then Keri finishes Zavannah’s sentence with “to set an example for Keri.”
They look at each other and start laughing. They spend so much time together that they seem to know what the other is thinking. As they both sit there, Zavannah makes sure Keri knows a little bit more of what she’s thinking.
“I just want [Keri] to be happy the way I am because of the Church. I want her to know the true meaning of happiness is in the gospel, something I’ve come to learn and appreciate.”
Zavannah’s voice trails off, and it suddenly gets very quiet.
It’s been five days since you first met Justina, Melinda, Zavannah, and Keri. Here’s what you know: They’re like girls anywhere in the world. They love to laugh, talk about boys, eat pizza, and play sports.
But when it comes to these four young women, this is what you really know. They’re devoted friends and very serious about the gospel. They help each other and want to see each other’s testimonies grow.
“Some days I have doubts about the Church, and then I look at Melinda and I see her and see how happy she is. It makes me want to be like her,” says Keri.
“And I guess I’ve been pretty lucky because Tina has been like an older sister to me. Melinda and Tina have been some of the best friends I’ve ever had. They give me advice, and just seeing what they do is very helpful,” explains Zavannah.
It’s quiet again, and this time you’re touched by the things they say. You’ve learned a lot about friendships and about them.
Later that day you’re standing on the grounds of the Church College of Western Samoa. It’s bright and sunny in Apia. A warm breeze is blowing off the ocean, and another day of school is over. Students are all going in different directions. But four girls are walking together, and you know why.

About halfway through my mission, my companion and I were struggling to work well with our ward mission leader. There had been various disagreements, so we decided to talk to the bishop to see what we should do. Deep down, I hoped that the bishop would just have a talk with him and fix our problems for us.
But instead, the bishop had told me that I was being prideful and overly critical of others. I went stomping home feeling misunderstood and frustrated—how could he say that about me? Did he even care about our struggles to share the gospel?
As we walked, I vented my feelings to my companion. But suddenly a phrase came into my head: “The guilty taketh the truth to be hard” (1 Nephi 16:2). It stopped me in my tracks. It was obvious to me that the thought came from the Spirit. My pride may have prevented me from accepting the bishop’s chastisement as truth—but could I really argue with the Holy Ghost?
I was guilty, and God was letting me know it.
In my case, I had convinced myself that I was complaining for the good of the missionary work in our area. And rather than accepting our ward mission leader’s faithful service—imperfect as it seemed to me—I suddenly saw that I was being ungrateful, impatient, and frankly, unkind. Because of the Spirit’s prompting, I could see my actions for what they truly were.
Receiving such direct chastisement from the Spirit was painful, but in the best way. It made me realize that I had to be honest with myself about my flaws.

The testimony of the Prophet Joseph continues to change lives. Some years ago I served as the president of the Canadian Mission. In Ontario, Canada, two of our missionaries were proselyting door-to-door on a cold, snowy afternoon. They had not had any measure of success. One elder was experienced; one was new.
The two called at the home of Mr. Elmer Pollard, and he, feeling sympathy for the almost frozen missionaries, invited them in. They presented their message and asked if he would join in prayer. He agreed, on the provision that he could offer the prayer.
The prayer he offered astonished the missionaries. He said, “Heavenly Father, bless these two unfortunate, misguided missionaries, that they may return to their homes and not waste their time telling the people of Canada about a message which is so fantastic and about which they know so little.”
As they arose from their knees, Mr. Pollard asked the missionaries never to return to his home. As they left, he said mockingly to them, “You can’t tell me you really believe that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, anyway!” and he slammed the door.
The missionaries had walked but a short distance when the junior companion said timidly, “Elder, we didn’t answer Mr. Pollard.”
The senior companion responded: “We’ve been rejected. Let’s move on.”
The young missionary persisted, however, and the two returned to Mr. Pollard’s door. Mr. Pollard answered the knock and angrily said, “I thought I told you young men never to return!”
The junior companion then said, with all the courage he could muster, “Mr. Pollard, when we left your door, you said that we didn’t really believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I want to testify to you, Mr. Pollard, that I know Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, that by inspiration he translated the sacred record known as the Book of Mormon, that he did see God the Father and Jesus the Son.” The missionaries then departed the doorstep.
I heard this same Mr. Pollard in a testimony meeting state the experiences of that memorable day. He said: “That evening, sleep would not come. I tossed and turned. Over and over in my mind I heard the words, ‘Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I know it. … I know it. … I know it.’ I could scarcely wait for morning to come. I telephoned the missionaries, using their number which was printed on the small card containing the Articles of Faith. They returned, and this time my wife, my family, and I joined in the discussion as earnest seekers of truth. As a result, we have all embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ. We shall ever be grateful to the testimony of truth brought to us by those two courageous, humble missionaries.”

Elder M. Russell Ballard shared this example:
“One of our outstanding missionaries that served with us in the Canada Toronto Mission years ago came to my office in Salt Lake City. During our visit, he told me that he was losing his faith and his testimony and that he had many questions. I asked him to write down his questions and promised to find answers to them, certainly as many as I could. As he was about to leave . . . I said, ‘Elder, how long has it been since you have studied the scriptures; specifically, how long has it been since you have read from the Book of Mormon?’ He lowered his head and said he had not been doing that. I gave him an assignment to begin reading the Book of Mormon for an hour each day while I worked to prepare answers to his questions. He agreed to do so.
“Two weeks later, he came back to my office, and as he entered in and sat down he said, ‘President, I don’t need answers to those questions anymore. I did what you asked—I know the Book of Mormon is true and I know Joseph Smith is a prophet of God.’ I was very happy to hear that but said, ‘Elder, I spent a long time answering your questions so you will have to sit down and hear the answers!’ What a joy! The Spirit and light of the gospel had returned to him. I commended him and gave him a big hug before he left.”

At the birth of each of my children, during those precious, solemn moments when I held them for the first time, I felt the whisperings of the Spirit teaching me of their unique qualities. When these impressions first came, I doubted. But as my children grew, the truths suggested at their births were verified. I feel wonder for a God who would thus offer counsel to me as he, our Heavenly Father, transferred his precious children to a new father’s earthly care.

Like my friends in Rexburg, one nonmember couple in Florida focused on helping the community rather than laboring on their own property. When some Latter-day Saint neighbors offered help with the two large trees blocking their driveway, the couple explained that they had been overwhelmed and so had turned to helping others, having faith that the Lord would provide the aid they needed at their own home. The husband then shared that before our Church members arrived with offers of assistance, the couple had been praying. They had received an answer that help would come. It came within hours of that assurance.

Well, the first two or three weeks out there weren’t bad. While war was very much on our minds because of our previous training and the films we’d seen and all of the other things that train a boy to be what he ought to be in war, it still wasn’t real. Interestingly enough, during the first two weeks of our voyage, the army and navy, because they are always interested in the well-rounded personality, held a general church service every evening at 5:00 where we could come and sing a common song, whether we were Jew, Catholic, gentile, or Latter-day Saint, something that would bind us together in a religious cause. And the chaplain would talk to us for four or five minutes, and then we’d just sit and visit and talk about home and girls and all the other things that seem to be important to men at that stage of their lives, and then we’d be dismissed—about an hour of service every day at 5:00. Out of 3,000 there were 35 or 40 who used to go to this little service every day. Thirty-five or forty! That’s typical of life, isn’t it, as you look at your campus, your stake, your ward, or surrounding communities?
As we entered the third week, things started to pick up in tempo a little bit. They brought out some big rubber relief maps, and they had our target island depicted right down to the last palm tree and pill box, everything perfectly marked. Then they’d say, “Boat team 27 (that was mine), you’re going in.” And then, since it was the last hour and because they didn’t have room in the regular meeting place, we held the evening services topside on the bow. And there was one of the most interesting studies of human life I have ever watched in my life.
Do you know what happened that July 21, 1944? Three thousand men came to church! How about that? Three thousand got kind of excited about higher values in life. When the crisis is really on, watch people get religion. They sensed, as you can only when the chips are down, the need for higher aid, be they merchant, criminal, or ball player.
Well, I’ll never forget that church service conducted by a marvelous Protestant chaplain. I don’t even know what faith he represented. But bless his heart, he was honest and sincere, and he came straight to the point. I’ll never forget that calm day; the water was almost like glass, and we were sitting out there, 3,000 strong, singing that opening song, “Abide With Me, ‘Tis Eventide.” Can you imagine a chorus of 3,000 male soldiers letting their souls go, probably in many cases for the first time in their lives. Can you imagine what that sounds like? And you could even hear other ships echoing the same type of activity. There was a brief opening prayer, and then the chaplain got as serious as I’ve ever seen a man.
He said, “Men, I’m not going to kid you tonight. You’ve been training for the last year for what you’re going to do tomorrow, and you know full well what’s before you. Army statistics tell us that in an invasion like you’re going to experience tomorrow morning, a lot of you aren’t going to make it. We’ve got to pay a price to get this island.” He said, “If our records are accurate, half of you will lay your lives down sometime before 8:00 tomorrow morning. What I’m trying to say, men, is that one-half of you will be standing before your Maker tomorrow morning at 8:00. Are you ready?”
Well now, what would you say, young people? I was 18 years old at the time. If someone said, “Tomorrow morning at 8:00 you’re giving an accounting to the Savior for your life and your attitude and your activity,” how would you feel? There I was, sitting out there thinking of all my great and glorious ball days. See how insignificant they appear to be all of a sudden? Contracts and fame and fortune—a lot of nonsense, aren’t they, when you get right down to what really counts?
And for the first time I wanted to know something about the validity of religion. Does God really live? Why am I out here? Why should I take the life of a person I’ve never even seen before? Thousands of questions like that started to rush through my mind. Why? Why? Why? And it’s questions like that we ought to ask right now. Why do we do any of the things we’re doing in this existence of ours?

I spent my next summer at home and learned, from a friend, that O Kin Yan Cante was working on a beautiful bedspread, a very complicated piece of work that she had started after returning from Salt Lake. My friend assumed that it was a gift for me, but I had never seen it and O Kin Yan Cante had never mentioned it.
One night I couldn’t sleep and arose to find her laboring in the dim light over a magnificent crocheted bedspread—red and pink roses set in white squares and surrounded with small green leaves.
“Oh, mother!” I exclaimed. “Is it for me?”
“No.”
I knew I shouldn’t pry anymore.
As I was getting ready to go back to school, O Kin Yan Cante lovingly and gently tucked the spread into a box. “Will you please give this to the people in Salt Lake who let me stay at their home?” she asked. “It is my gift of pewhal (thanks).”
I burst into tears. “They were cruel to you. They were snobs. They deserve nothing,” I sobbed.
Quietly, my gentle mother said, “I am a member of the Church. It teaches us a better way. We are to forgive; and how often do we really have a chance to return good for unkindness? I have done that which my Savior and those in the kingdom would have me do. Do not harbor ill-will; pray for them and help them.”
I turned away, the tears running, silently now, down my face. My mother had not only forgiven them but forgiven me for being ashamed of her. But how could I forgive myself?
But that too was the gift of my mother’s gentle heart. She had given me both a Lamanite and a white name. And my Lamanite name, “Twanica,” means “willing to try.”

Ethan gazed at the colorful video game covers that lined the shelves. His parents said he could pick one game for a birthday present, and there were so many to choose from! Ethan’s eyes jumped from a car racing game to an adventure game to a dance game. Finally, he picked up the racing game and took it to his dad.
“Did you find one you like?” Dad asked.
“I think I want this racing game,” Ethan said.
“Looks fun,” Dad said. “What is it rated?”
Ethan turned the cover over. He knew he could only play games with certain ratings. When he first got his computer, his parents talked to him about the importance of following their family’s rule about video game ratings. Ethan knew that a lot of games had bad stuff in them, and he wanted to be obedient.
Ethan found the rating on the cover and showed Dad. “It’s rated for everyone,” he said.
“Great,” Dad said. “Let’s go pay for it. Happy birthday, Ethan!”
“Thanks, Dad!” Ethan grinned, excited to get home and try out his new game.
A few days later, Ethan went to his friend Chase’s house to play. He and Chase were in the same Primary class, and they played together a lot. Ethan took along his new video game.
“Hi, Ethan,” Chase said when he answered the door. “Come on in. I got a new video game we can play!”
“I did too!” Ethan said, holding out his game.
The boys settled in front of the computer, and Chase put in his game. The title flashed across the screen, and so did the rating. Ethan froze. It was a rating that he wasn’t allowed to play.
Chase eagerly navigated through the menus with his controller and started the game. Ethan didn’t see anything bad yet. He clicked his own controller to move his character in the game. It was fun, but the longer he played, the more uncomfortable he felt. He still hadn’t seen anything bad, but he wanted to follow his family’s rule.
“Hey, Chase, I’m not allowed to play games with this rating,” Ethan spoke up.
“Oh, it’s OK,” Chase said. “There isn’t anything bad in it.”
“Are you sure?” Ethan asked.
“Yeah,” Chase said. “My family plays it. I think it was given the wrong rating.”
Just then, Chase’s mom stuck her head into the room. “Hi, boys,” she said. “Is everything OK?”
Ethan swallowed hard. “Hi, Sister Murphy,” he said. “It’s just that I’m not allowed to play video games with this rating.”
“I told him there wasn’t anything bad in it,” Chase said.
Chase’s mom waved her hand. “Don’t worry, Ethan,” she said. “I know a lot of the games with that rating aren’t good, but I’m sure your mom would let you play this one.” She smiled and then left the room.
Chase continued playing, but Ethan put down his controller. “Chase, how about we play the racing game I brought?” Ethan asked.
Chase shrugged and kept staring at the screen. “Nah, I’d rather play this.”
Ethan quietly got up and went to Chase’s room, where he found some toy racing cars to play with. They weren’t as fun as his video game, but Ethan felt good knowing he was following his family’s rule.

Sometimes even those of us who think we practice inclusion can be unintentionally exclusionary. For example, when I served as a nursery leader, I often missed announcements that were shared during the second hour of Church meetings. When I told a leader about this concern, he said, “But doesn’t your wife hear the announcements in Relief Society?”

At the time, I just laughed. But this good man’s response represented a mindset that excluded me. Do we view our fellow Church members as part of a “family ward,” made up of married men and women with children? Or do we view one another as part of a “ward family,” made up of individuals who care for and strengthen one another? Both views are important. While remaining aware of families in our ward, we can also get to know people individually—their circumstances, interests, needs—and perhaps prevent unintentional exclusion.

Six-year-old Amber looked around the busy chapel as the people came in. She saw the young men who passed the sacrament smiling as they sat down. Moms and grandmas hugged their neighbors. Dads and grandpas shook people’s hands. She also saw her friends from Primary sitting on benches with their moms and dads and brothers and sisters.
Then Amber looked at her bench. Only her mom, older sister, and brother sat with her. Her dad sat with the bishop at the front of the chapel.
Amber didn’t like Dad sitting at the front of the chapel. She knew he sat there because he was called to be the second counselor in the bishopric. But she wanted him to sit next to her so she could snuggle against his arm.
Mom looked at her grumpy face. “What’s wrong, Amber?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t like Dad sitting in the front,” Amber said.
“Bishop Smith is responsible for all the people in the ward,” Mom explained to her again. “That is a very big job. He needs helpers like Dad and Brother White. They have received a call from Heavenly Father to help the bishop and each person in the ward.”
After sacrament meeting Amber went home with her family. Dad stayed at church for a meeting. When Dad got home, Amber sat on his lap. “I missed you in church,” she said quietly. Dad looked at her carefully. “Well, I’ll see what I can do about that,” he said.
The next Sunday after Primary, Dad was waiting for Amber. Together they walked into the chapel and up the steps. Dad took his place next to Bishop Smith. Dad had told Amber that she could sit with him for a few minutes before the meeting started.
Amber tried to be very reverent. She listened to the soft organ music and watched as all the people sat down in the chapel. She saw white-haired ladies sitting together on a bench. She noticed that some of the families had only a mom, and some had only a dad. And some children came to church with their grandmas and grandpas.
“And the bishop takes care of all these people!” she thought. “He does need help.” Amber knew that she could help the bishop by not being grumpy when Dad sat away from her. “From now on I’m going to be happy!” she thought. Then she looked at Mom and her brother and sister. “They look lonely without me sitting next to them,” she decided.
Amber smiled at Dad and whispered, “See you at home. We’ll be waiting for you.” Then she walked quietly back to her family.