Gospel Story Finder

In the military service during World War II, I associated with some fine young men of great promise. But little by little, I saw some of them turn from the decent, God-fearing qualities of Dr. Jekyll and revert to the baseness of a Mr. Hyde. For some, it began by drinking coffee because the water was foul, and the water decontamination pills had such an unpleasant taste. The coffee led some to take an occasional drink of beer. Every soldier serving overseas was allocated a ration of cigarettes and an occasional bottle of whiskey, which were worth considerable money.

President George Albert Smith once gave this advice: “If you cross to the devil’s side of the line one inch, you are in the tempter’s power, and if he is successful, you will not be able to think or even reason properly, because you will have lost the spirit of the Lord.”

Some soldiers stayed on the safe side of the line and never experimented with nor trafficked in these addicting substances, even though they were given to us free. But others would sample the cigarettes or alcohol as a diversion to the challenges of the war. A few were even drawn away into immorality, believing that the stress of war justified lowering their standards and letting the Mr. Hyde side of their personalities take over.

After the war, those who had become addicted to tobacco, alcohol, and immorality found that they could not readily shake off these bad habits. The young men who had started out with such potential crossed that line inch by inch, robbing themselves and their families of the promised happiness and experiencing instead divorce, broken families, and heartaches.

Those who never lowered their standards did not succumb to these addictions. They came through that stressful period of their lives stronger and more prepared to lead productive, exemplary, and happy lives as faithful fathers and grandfathers of righteous families. They have also served as honored and respected leaders in the Church and in the community.

I was taught about vertigo when my Air Force instructor took me up in an airplane with the cockpit covered by a canopy so I could not see outside. I would have to rely on the instruments. Unknown to me, he gradually turned the airplane upside down, keeping positive G forces. My ear did not detect the slow rollover. He told me to take control of the airplane. Of course, I did what every other student did. I pulled backwards because I was losing altitude, and, of course, I started a dive toward the earth because I did not know I was upside down.
As I started to regain control of the airplane, I could see the little marks on the landing gear were upside down. My instructor taught me the principle that you can take a human being at a two- or three-degree turn while keeping positive G forces and turn them upside down without their knowing they have left the straight and level flight. The motion is imperceptible.

This past month the Canada Toronto Mission held a mission-wide seminar. I was asked to sing a song but couldn’t find one that fit our mission program, which we call SOAR (S—sacrifice; O—obedience; A—attitude; R—rededication). I prayed about my problem, and I was directed to the August 1976 New Era, which was buried in a pile of magazines. There I found the song “Let Me Soar.” I sang this for the seminar. It was a definite answer to prayer.

Photograph from Getty Images
On a cold winter night in February, my two children and I, along with my mother, Jo Ann, were driving to Idaho. Our eight-hour drive included driving through two mountain passes. During this time of year, the weather can be brutal.
We had just left Baker City, Oregon, when it began to snow. As we drove, the snowflakes grew bigger and bigger. Within minutes, as we drove through a mountain pass, I could not see anything in front of me, so I pulled over. I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me get my family to safety. After I prayed, a semitruck pulled up behind us, stopping within inches of my bumper.
The driver never got out of his truck, and I never saw his face. But I knew at that moment that he had come to protect us. By parking behind us, he used his truck lights to alert other drivers that we had pulled over. When I finally got the courage to continue driving, we pulled back onto the road behind another semitruck while the first semitruck stayed behind us. We drove between the two trucks as they guided us out of danger.
As we left the mountain pass, the snow turned to rain. I wanted to thank the driver behind us, but as soon as we were out of the pass, I couldn’t see him. By then, I knew we were going to be OK and would make it home safe and sound, which we did.
I have never been so scared in my life. I am grateful that Heavenly Father sent guardian angels to protect us, ease our worries, and give me the strength and courage I needed to bring my family home.
“I have never been so scared in my life,” says Chelsey, pictured with her mother, Jo Ann Bressler, and her sons, Wyatt and Adam.
Photograph courtesy of the author
Ironically, I am the daughter of a truck driver. Heavenly Father answered my prayer by sending us protectors in the form of truck drivers. My testimony grew much that night—not only of prayer but also that He is with us always and forever.

Jeremy rocked the porch swing while his sister, Meg, fanned herself with one hand. “It’s hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalk,” she said.
Jeremy shrugged. “Mom and Dad still want us to find a summer job. If we don’t, they’ll find one for us.”
Both children looked glum. Their parents’ job ideas tended to be long on service, short on cash.
“Baby-sitting?” Meg suggested.
“And be stuck all summer with someone’s kids? I don’t think so. How about yard work?”
“And be stuck all summer with someone’s yard? I don’t think so,” Meg mimicked. She paused, her eyes growing large. “That’s it! We’ll combine the two ideas!”
“Too much sun, Sis?”
She ignored him. “Remember last year when we got back from vacation? The tomatoes were dead, and the grass was knee-high.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So let’s start a yard-sitting business for people on vacation! We’d only have to spend a couple of weeks on any one yard, and we’d probably only have one or two yards at a time. We could work in the early morning, when it’s cooler, and spend the afternoons at the movies. Mom and Dad will go for it. You know how they like ‘initiative.’ Besides, this will keep us too busy for those service projects they always plan.”
“Like working in the soup kitchen,” Jeremy said.
“Or cleaning litter out of the park.”
“Or delivering meals to the elderly.”
Finally! An excuse to get out of being nice. They hurried inside.
“What a wonderful idea,” their mother said.
“Shows a lot of initiative,” their father agreed, “but. …”
Meg looked at Jeremy. “But what?”
Their parents consulted in whispers for a few moments.
“You can set up your yard-sitting business,” their father finally said. “But we hope you’ll also help someone, unpaid. We’ve always planned service projects for you, but we think that at eleven and twelve years of age, you’re ready to come up with one on your own.”
“I hate helping other people,” Meg said. “It’s just a lot of hard work for nothing.”
“Not if you do it right,” Mother insisted.
“They’re always trying to teach us great moral lessons,” Meg said later. “Still, I suppose we could find some really quick thing we could do to satisfy them.”
The next day they made posters advertising their yard-sitting service.
To their amazement, the phone was soon ringing. It seemed everyone had vacations planned and wanted someone to take in the mail, mow the lawn, and keep the garden watered.
“This is a gold mine!” Jeremy said.
Meg looked at their schedule. “We can still get everything done in the morning, if we push it. We’ll make a fortune!”
Their parents’ request that they come up with a service project completely slipped their minds.
It was hard work, but profitable. Sitting on the porch, Meg and Jeremy rattled the change in their pockets and smiled.
“Maybe we could expand,” Jeremy suggested.
“I thought you didn’t like work.”
Jeremy grinned. “Nope, but I like money. Besides, lots of yards around here could use a little extra work. Look at Mrs. Mahoney’s for example.”
Mrs. Mahoney lived only a few doors away.
“Yeah,” Meg agreed. “The grass is high, and the hedge is overgrown. She has planted a garden, but it hasn’t been weeded, and I think she’s expecting dandelions to inherit the earth!”
“It’s an eyesore,” Jeremy agreed, “but that’s life, I guess. She may be getting too old to take good care of her yard. She can’t afford to pay us, though, so it’s not our problem.”
“Maybe the neighborhood could help,” Meg offered.
Jeremy laughed. “She’d never accept charity. Last Thanksgiving we practically had to force that pie on her. There’s no way she’d ever let someone else clean up her yard.”
They dropped the subject, but Meg couldn’t get Mrs. Mahoney’s yard out of her mind.
The next morning Jeremy was surprised to see Meg up already, when he went down to breakfast. Her shoes were damp, and the knees of her jeans were dirty.
“What’ve you been doing?” he asked.
“Nothing much,” she replied. But as they passed Mrs. Mahoney’s yard, Jeremy noticed the garden had recently been weeded.
During the next week the dandelions began to disappear from Mrs. Mahoney’s lawn. Jeremy didn’t say anything. At first he was afraid Meg would rope him into it. Then he got a little peeved when she didn’t even try.
Finally, one morning, he got up earlier than usual. When Meg headed out the door, gardening tools in hand, he was waiting.
“So, what are you doing today?” he asked, falling into step beside her.
Meg hesitated. “I’m weeding the garden again, and starting to trim the hedge.”
“Mrs. Mahoney must have noticed what you’re doing,” Jeremy said. “What about when she catches you?”
“She doesn’t get up until ten o’clock. I’m long gone by then.”
“Give me the hedge clippers,” Jeremy said gruffly. “I don’t want us to be late to our first job this morning.”
Meg smiled.
Over the next few weeks, Mrs. Mahoney’s yard bloomed. She woke up earlier and earlier, hoping to catch sight of the mysterious gardeners. Finally one morning she heard low voices outside her window and quickly flung it open. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Two open-mouthed faces stared at her.
“This is trespassing,” Mrs. Mahoney said firmly. “Besides, you know how I feel about charity. I appreciate what you’ve done, and I’ll find a way to pay you, but I wish you’d stop. I’ve never owed anyone in my life, and I don’t intend to start now.”
Meg tried to speak, but Jeremy beat her to the punch.
“Charity?” he said. “Charity? I don’t like charity, either. That’s why we’re sneaking around like this. We didn’t want to admit that we owed you something.”
“You owe me?”
“Sure,” Jeremy said. “You know about our yard-sitting business?”
Mrs. Mahoney nodded. “I’ve seen the posters.”
“Well, our parents told us we had to do one yard free, or we couldn’t open the business. Your yard is perfect. It’s close, and it’s small. But we were afraid you wouldn’t understand.”
Mrs. Mahoney looked doubtful, but finally smiled. “Well, if you need my yard, it’s yours for the summer,” she finally said, “but only if you’re sure it’s not a bother.”
“It isn’t,” Jeremy said, surprised to find that it was true. “We really like doing it. Besides, it’s good for business.”
Meg grinned. “Thank heavens we got that settled. Now we can mow the lawn without worrying about waking you up!”
They all laughed.
September came, and school began again. The yard-sitting business closed. Still, Meg and Jeremy found time to rake Mrs. Mahoney’s leaves. In the winter they shoveled her walks.
Their parents watched and smiled.
“See?” their father said. “Helping others is great, if you do it the right way.”
“We’re not ‘helping others,’” Jeremy and Meg insisted. “We’re doing a favor for a friend.”
“Exactly!” their parents said together.

When it came time to plan youth conference, leaders of a stake in northern Utah, USA, asked the youth what they thought would make it memorable.
After some discussion, their answer was simple: “We want to serve!” They decided they wanted to make a difference where they live. They wanted to help the hungry and the homeless, the lonely and the elderly. They also wanted to hold workshops in which professionals could help people struggling with serious issues like suicide and depression.
They adopted the theme, “You Love, You Serve.” And during the three-day youth conference, they did just that.

1. Let thy love be for them as for thyself. Bill had always been an avid sports fan and sportsman. Fishing, golfing, bowling, hunting, going to ball games, and watching sports on television had been a regular feature of his life. To the extent she could, Susan also enjoyed many of his hobbies. But as the children began to arrive, it became more and more difficult to spend much time with him in such activities. This became a sustained source of irritation with her as she felt his lack of support with the children.

As Bill was reading the Doctrine and Covenants one day, a scripture struck him with thunderbolt force: “Let thy love for them be as for thyself; and let thy love abound unto all men, and unto all who love my name.” (D&C 112:11.) He cross-referenced this scripture with one even more familiar to him: “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matt. 10:39.) He was ashamed with his own past behavior as he recalled King Benjamin’s observation that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.” (Mosiah 2:17.)

Bill had a few mental pains of regret as he gradually disengaged from many of the activities with his friends and began to spend more time in family-centered activities. Often he would take the children for a walk in the countryside or a drive in the car and leave Susan some needed time alone to go shopping or just to relax at home without the demands of the children pressing upon her. He also resolved to go out alone each week with Susan, and to take frequent walks with her after the children had gone to bed. He was determined to lose his life in making his wife and children happy. And then an amazing thing happened: he began to enjoy the association with his family more than with his friends.

Hiking into the foothills and onto the mountain east of Manti, Utah, was a favorite activity for me when I was growing up. One crisp fall day when I was about ten years old, my friend and I decided to go for a hike.
My mother carefully wrapped two peanut butter and jam sandwiches and pieces of raisin pie in waxed paper and put them and an apple apiece in brown paper bags for us to take for our lunches.
I enjoyed the cool, fresh air and the smell of the fields and orchards as we made our way past the outskirts of town, past one neighbor’s farm and through another’s apple orchard. The trees were loaded with delicious red apples.
We were each carrying a large burlap sack, as we hoped to find pine nuts. As we took the narrow trail through the sagebrush and into the junipers, we found a piñon pine tree here and there, and a few pinecones.
We put the cones, sticky with fresh pine gum, into our burlap sacks, with the knowledge that each hard, green cone contained a number of pine nuts locked tightly inside it. I loved pine nuts then; I still do. The Indians liked them, too, but they gathered them for survival. They made a pine-nut bread that was half pine nuts and half grasshoppers. I preferred my pine nuts straight.
My friend and I climbed higher until we came to a maze of flat, white rocks laid out so that they formed a huge letter “M” visible throughout the valley below. At the top right side of this letter, we found a large, flat rock and sat down to rest. Taking our shoes off to cool our feet on this smooth rock, we enjoyed looking down on Manti, out across the fields and valleys, and beyond. The air was clean and clear, and we could smell the mixture of sage, juniper, and pine. It was good to be alive!
So that we could roast some of our pine nuts, we gathered dry brush and limbs and started a fire. It was soon blazing quite high—too high!
The flames caught onto a nearby clump of sagebrush, then another and another. It looked as though it would soon spread to the whole mountainside and be a forest fire. We had learned to put a fire out by pouring water on it, but we had no water, so we tried to beat it out with our burlap sacks, but every time we beat at the fire, it seemed to fan out and spread more. In desperation my friend said, “I’ll go for help.” He pulled his shoes on and took off running down the mountain.
I was alone! I went to my knees in prayer. “Father in Heaven, help me put this fire out.” This is all I remember saying. I don’t know what I expected. There was not a cloud in the sky, and it didn’t suddenly start to rain. I didn’t hear a voice telling me what to do, but He answered my prayer.
Before I’d even gotten off my knees, I was impressed to start throwing dirt on the nearest burning bush, and then on the next one. I threw dirt on another, and another until I had encircled the entire fire and had it under control and only smoke was left blowing up on the mountain where the fire had been.
I had not heard a voice saying, “Throw dirt on the fire,” but I had felt strongly impressed to do it. In some way Heavenly Father had conveyed that intelligence to my mind. If I forgot to thank Him then, I have thanked Him many times since then!
I am grateful, too, for the way He answered my prayer. He didn’t put the fire out. He could have, but I’m glad that He didn’t. I would have been embarrassed. Instead, He allowed me the dignity of putting the fire out, which boosted my self-confidence and helped me realize that I could solve difficult problems with His help.
I learned many lifelong lessons from this experience, the first being to not start a fire next to brush with a breeze blowing. More important, I learned that the prayer of a small boy on a mountain would be heard and answered. I also learned that Heavenly Father will generally not do for us what we can do for ourselves but will prompt us to use our own intelligence, our own strength, and the materials at hand, such as the dirt under our feet.

In June 1830 the prophet Joseph Smith’s brother, Samuel, set out on the first missionary journey for the Church. He took with him several copies of the Book of Mormon, but was unsuccessful in his attempts to sell them. He returned home disappointed and discouraged, feeling that his work had proved to be fruitless.

Samuel Smith felt he had been a failure, but the one Book of Mormon he managed to give away made its way into the hands of Brigham Young, who passed it to Heber C Kimball. We too can see amazing results if we but try.

I remember when Dad asked my brother and me to help him build a corral. That afternoon we marked the soil where the posts were to be placed. A lot of hard work digging holes lay ahead of us.
To make it go faster and to give us some fun, Dad suggested we have a contest. “You two start and go one way, and I’ll go the other. Let’s see who can win—me or you two together.” We agreed and chose our side.
The next morning, after we had finished the morning chores and had breakfast, we took our shovels and crowbars and got ready for the race. Dad said “Go!” and the dirt started flying. We hardly looked up. I’ll always remember how hard the rocks were and how my hands stung each time I jabbed the crowbar into the soil to loosen them.
Soon Dad was gaining on us, and we stepped up the pace. It seemed, however, that no matter how hard we dug, Dad was still going faster than the two of us together. We couldn’t figure out how he was doing it.
After about half an hour, Dad called out, “Take a five-minute rest.” We were very willing and quickly sat down. While resting, we planned how we would work and beat him from then on.
When we started back to work, I took the crowbar and went ahead of my brother to loosen the rocks while he shoveled them out of the holes. It was then I discovered the reason for Dad’s speed. I came to one of the marked holes that Dad expected to dig, and when I stuck my bar in it, the bar went deep into soft ground.
I found out that the night before, Dad had quietly slipped outside and poured water into each of his marks. The water had softened the ground, and now all he had to do was scoop it out while we were breaking our backs and hands with the crowbar.
That experience taught me a valuable lesson: Thinking and planning ahead can make hard tasks easier. Dad could have told us to pour water in the marks of our post holes the night before, but because we learned our lesson the hard way, we have never forgotten it. Don’t be afraid of hard work, but be willing to take advantage of the great wisdom of those who have dug many post holes before you.

The Latter-day Saint snowboarder from Australia, Torah Bright, surprised the world when she noticed that the American snowboarder Kelly Clark was nervous after a bad first run. Instead of focusing on her own performance, Torah hugged Kelly until Kelly could calm down. Because of this simple act of kindness from Torah, each girl got to stand on the winners’ podium. Torah won a silver medal and Kelly won a bronze. If you have a friend or family member who needs encouragement, help them too.

On October 28, 2000, I moved into a home behind a Latter-day Saint meetinghouse. While putting my things away that night, I noticed activity in the building. Not accustomed to so much noise in the evening, I was upset at first. Then a woman from the Church came over and invited me to their activity that night. Since I was a member of another faith, I declined and said that I did not want to mix up my beliefs. During the activity I heard the Church members singing hymns, and I found the music very beautiful.
On Sunday I got up early and went to my church, but when I returned home, I saw that the meetinghouse was full of people, and I again heard the hymns. The music was so pretty, and I could feel something touch me deep in my heart. People were in the church again in the afternoon. This time I turned off the television and paid attention to their music.
As they sang I stood at the window. I felt something special, a great peace within my heart. I wanted to go out to the garden to feel closer to them. My emotions were so great that I started to cry.
My daughter and I walked outside. A gentleman came out of the church, looked at me, and invited us to attend a baptism. At first I refused, but then I felt I should go in. I called to my daughter, but she would not go. Even so, I did not resist. My daughter finally came too, and we attended the baptism. I was moved and felt the Spirit touch me. On December 10, 2000, my daughter and I were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The hymns changed my life. I was a profoundly sad person, and now I am happy. I am grateful for the hymns that praise and express love to the Lord. They helped bring me to baptism.
Carmelinda Pereira da Silva, Brazil

Recently, while giving a lesson in my ward, I asked for a show of hands of those who wanted to hear words of counsel from the Lord’s prophet. Everyone raised their hands. Then I said, “The best way to receive counsel from our President and the other Brethren and to bring their messages into our homes is to subscribe to the Liahona (Spanish).”
Now I am the ward magazine representative! I am very happy to have this calling, and the Lord blesses me as I respond to the call.
Marcelo Imaldo Castillo NavarreteAlmirante La Torre Ward, Los Angeles Chile Stake

“The Lord could not have put it more clearly when he said, ‘Why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?’” (Luke 6:46).
Brother Murray’s talk suddenly pushed through my thoughts of the Civil War and tomorrow’s geometry test.
“For decades He has been telling us to prepare our families for self-sufficiency by putting aside a year’s supply of necessities. We have been counseled to produce as much of our own food as possible. But how many of us are really prepared for any emergency the future might bring?”
Thinking of my frequent errands to the supermarket for mom, I looked along the bench. Mom and dad’s faces were serious. Fourteen-year-old Greg looked deep in thought. Even 11-year-old Corey and Carrie were listening. We all probably had the same thoughts. With six of us in the family, it seemed that food started disappearing as soon as a grocery bag entered the house. Live off our storage for a year? We didn’t even have a month’s supply of most things!
But what could I do—16-year-old Joyce Brown? No part-time job was allowed because my parents didn’t want me distracted from schoolwork and Church activities. My allowance of $5 a week covered lunches, school supplies, and assorted small miscellaneous expenses. And, with the junior prom a month away, I’d been saving all my baby-sitting money for a new dress. I couldn’t think of a single contribution I could make to a storage program for the Brown family.
“Church leaders haven’t prescribed a storage system that fits everyone,” Brother Murray went on. “Each of you, each family using free agency has to prepare in its own way. The important thing is to start! Don’t put it off any longer. If you wait until you can buy a year’s supply all at once, you may still be waiting when the chance for preparation has slipped away.”
Brother Murray’s words bounced around in my head. “The important thing is to start!” “Prepare in your own way.” “Start!”
Opening my hymnbook for the closing song, I vowed that this message would not be hidden away in my mind to be dealt with on a distant, vague someday.
At dinner I mentioned Brother Murray’s talk.
“It was a good reminder,” dad said. “We should start putting something aside for the future.”
“When?” I asked.
“Soon,” he said and finished spooning gravy onto his mashed potatoes. “I think Mr. Blanchard is going to come through with that raise within a couple of months. Then we’ll really have some funds to work with. Please pass the salt, Greg.”
“Brother Murray said we shouldn’t wait until we could start in a big way. We should just make sure we start.”
Mom passed the green beans to me. “It takes extra money to buy extra food, Joyce. Of course, being prepared is important, but—”
She didn’t finish because Corey spilled his water while reaching for a slice of bread.
I just couldn’t push family preparedness from my mind. “The important thing is to start! Start!” But how?
Tuesday after school, mom asked me to go to the store for her. “We’re having spaghetti tonight. I need a can of tomato sauce.”
It’s amazing, but the twins can hear the car keys jingle all the way upstairs in their bedrooms.
“Where are you going, Joyce?” Corey asked, bursting into the kitchen.
Carrie was right behind him. “We want to go,” she said when I disclosed my destination.
“I’m starving,” Corey moaned. “Can I buy a fruit pie to tide me over till supper?”
“Me, too?”
Mom smiled. “It’s quite a while till soup’s on. Go ahead. You can have something, too, Joyce.” When we got home, I handed the bag to mom.
“Joyce, I only need one can of tomato sauce.
You’ve got three in here!”
I smiled at the twins.
“It’s for storage,” Carrie explained.
“Joyce convinced us to give up fruit pies for extra tomato sauce.” Corey was looking in the refrigerator. “We’ll have a jam sandwich instead.”
With a puzzled look, mom put the extra cans on the shelf.
Friday was payday. That meant allowances for everyone. As dad handed me my $5 bill, mom said, “You just might have enough for your prom dress now.”
Dad grinned. “My princess is growing up.”
“Oh, dad!” I smiled.
That evening I spent some time going over my clothes. When I finally pulled out my best go-to-school-dances dress, it didn’t look as bad as I’d thought. In fact, Saturday, when Mom took me shopping for a prom dress, I just couldn’t find anything to top the dress that was already hanging in my closet.
After a stop at the market, we went home.
Dad was in the kitchen. “All right,” he smiled. “Let’s see that dreamy prom dress you picked out.”
I laughed because dreamy is dad’s idea of teenage language. He uses it when he wants to show he’s not old-fashioned. I carefully tipped my grocery sack over and let the contents slide onto the table: 3 large bags of pinto beans, 2 bags of rice, and a box of powdered milk!
Dad just stared for a few seconds. “A very interesting prom dress,” he finally said.
“I decided I’d rather add to our storage instead of buying a new dress,” I explained. “My old one is dreamy enough!”
Dad glanced at mom, but she just gave him her don’t-ask-me shrug. She said, “Find a place for all that stuff.”
I finally fit my storage contribution into the bottom of a corner cupboard. At least it would be undisturbed, unless someone wanted to risk a sprained back getting it out again.
Thursday, after I had maneuvered an extra jar of peanut butter into the storage corner, I unkinked my back, had a brilliant idea, and went to find Greg. He was practicing foul shots on our old basketball hoop in front of the garage.
“Greg, I have this idea. Will you help me?”
He bounced the ball a couple of times. “Sorry, Joyce, I’m busy.”
“Not now, I mean tomorrow afternoon.”
“I have a million things to do,” he said, making a basket.
“Nice shot,” I beamed, deciding not to beg. “I can understand your obligations. Just tell me where I can find the hammer and nails.”
“Hammer?”
“And some nails,” I said with a smile.
“You’re going to hammer?” He looked very surprised when I nodded. “Just what are you making?”
“That’s what I was going to get your help with,” I said, starting toward the house. “I know you’ve been doing some carpentry in Careers Ed. I was going to put some of that skill to work.”
“Since you put it that way, I’ll do it, Joyce,” Greg said, following me. “I can make time. I mean, if you really need a carpenter, how can I turn you down?”
After dinner I found dad reading the paper in his favorite chair.
“Dad?”
“Hmmmmm?”
“Greg and I are going to use some of that lumber stacked behind the garage. Okay?”
He didn’t look up. “Sure, honey,” he said without even asking why.
I have to admit, Greg’s carpentry skills surprised me. He had shelves built in half of my closet before dad got home from work on Friday. I was so proud of Greg’s work that I dragged both mom and dad in to show off our storage shelves. The beans, rice, dried milk, peanut butter, and two cans of tomato sauce looked a little lonely, but it would get more crowded as time went on. At least I wouldn’t have to strain and stretch to get things under the kitchen cupboard.
Mom and dad smiled at each other.
“What a perfect arrangement,” dad teased. “If Joyce is going to buy food instead of clothes, it’s only logical to reserve half of her closet for food.”
The next week mom bought a few extra sale items each time she went to the store. Greg gave up a record album and a new sweatband so he could add three cans of honey to the shelves. Even the twins added a jar of jam apiece by giving up ice cream cones.
After a few more weeks, the little bit that appeared on our storage shelves started to really look like something. It was still a little something, but something just the same.
By then, warm spring days were here, and I knew there was one more thing that Joyce Brown could do to help with the family preparedness. One Monday right after school, I got the trusty shovel from the garage and began turning over the far corner of our backyard. Years ago that area was set aside as a garden spot, but something always came up to prevent us from using it.
Greg came out to play basketball, stopped, then sauntered down to me.
“Looking for gold?” he grinned.
“Better than gold,” I puffed. “I’m going to plant a garden.”
“A garden? you’ve got to be kidding!”
“Nope.”
“What do you know about gardening, Farmer John, or should I say Farmer Joyce?” He was smiling, but at least he didn’t laugh.
“Not much,” I admitted, “but I can read, and the library is full of books about raising vegetables.”
He took the shovel from me. “We just might make it … if we team up! Farmer Joyce and Gardener Greg!”
We had a pretty good-sized section turned over when dad drove in. He sat in the car watching us for a long time. Finally he walked over.
“Don’t tell me,” he sighed. “A garden, right?”
We both grinned and nodded.
“Just what the storage program needs!” Greg panted and jumped on the shovel again.
Dad went in while we worked awhile longer.
After supper, dad announced, “Special lesson for family home evening, or maybe I should say, emergency meeting!”
Emergency meeting? It was all very mysterious, so we got settled in the living room very quickly.
“First of all,” dad started, “your mother and I appreciate the special effort all of you have been giving to a storage program. Joyce and the twins showed real initiative in getting it started.”
The twins beamed at each other.
“Then Greg used his talents to help the project along. Now, if you kids could use some more partners, your mother and I would like to join in.”
Everyone agreed unanimously.
“It looks like the next step is a garden. Joyce and Greg have already started turning the ground in the corner of the yard. I say, let’s all help them and make this an organized Brown family project! Now, I really don’t know too much about gardening—”
Corey interrupted, “Carrie and I can stop by the library after school tomorrow. I’m sure they have tons of books on gardens.”
“That’s a good idea,” mom said. “I’ll find that book on food preservation that Aunt Norma gave us a few years ago so we’ll know what to do when all those lovely vegetables start rolling in.”
For the next few minutes everyone juggled for a time to share their ideas about this family food project. Then dad looked at mom, and she smiled some encouragement.
“You all know how we enjoy a pretty nice family vacation each summer,” he said. “We’ve made some special memories while traveling around visiting new places.”
We all nodded.
“Well … your mother and I thought … that maybe the family would like to think about taking some of the vacation money we’ve saved to really get the Brown family preparedness program heading in the right direction.” Dad looked at us uncomfortably. “You know, plan what we’ll need for a year’s supply, keep track of inventory, build a real storage area—things like that.”
All of us just looked at dad.
“We could take one-day-trips and really explore the area close to home.”
The room was quiet.
Finally I said, “We’re quiet not because we don’t want to give up our vacation but because we think it’s a great idea!”
Greg grinned. “In fact, it’s weird, because Joyce and I talked about the same plan while we were working outside, and then we talked to the twins before dinner.”
“We were worried about what you two would say,” Corey added with a smile.
“We know how much you enjoy those vacations,” Carrie said.
Mom and dad looked at each other and then at the four of us. I think there were tears in their eyes.
Dad smiled. “Even with that money, we will still be working at this preparation business slowly, a little at a time. We won’t be able to get ready all at once, but the important thing is to start!”

Returning to college after my mission, I was considering whom I should room with. My dad suggested I reach out to a sister missionary who had recently served in my home ward and had just completed her mission. He explained that Holly was transferring to my school and she might not know many people there.
Although I knew Holly a bit from her time in our ward, I was hesitant to invite her to live with me. I was afraid she would think it was weird since we didn’t know each other well—and also because I didn’t know if we would click.
Despite my fears, I felt like following my dad’s tip would be a good thing to do. I had been praying to make new friends as I started school again, so I felt like Heavenly Father’s hand might be in my dad’s suggestion. I decided to go for it. Holly accepted my invitation, and during the year that we lived together, she became one of my best friends. Holly has offered me counsel and love during critical moments of my life, and I’ve been able to be there for her as well.
Our lives are filled with decisions. They may range in significance, but sometimes the smaller ones have the biggest impact down the road. While Heavenly Father might not initially reveal to us which choice is best in every situation, He has given us agency to act according to gospel principles and go forward with faith. I didn’t think that choosing a college roommate would have a lasting impact on my life, but it did. Only after reaching out to Holly did I realize that the Lord allowed me to make my own good decision, and I was blessed for it. Because I moved down the path I felt was right, Heavenly Father was able to introduce an amazing person into my life.

His employment was interrupted by a 15-month stint in the Yugoslavian army, where he was exposed to “all kinds of people, good and bad,” he says. “I learned that I wasn’t supposed to think too much but do only what I was told. I came to believe that all people are selfish and are ready to walk all over those who are weaker. I became distrustful of others and relied only on myself. I didn’t feel any real emotions at that time.”
After his military assignment, Albin returned to his job but felt restless and dissatisfied. He eventually quit his job to study computer and information technology at the university. But he was still not finding joy in life. “On weekends my friends and I would have what we called fun—wandering from place to place, drinking alcohol, and flirting with girls we met,” he says. “I wasn’t happy because I felt empty inside. It all seemed fake.”
Then in 1987 he met Boza Gartner, a young woman he had known briefly before, and they began dating. And in June 1989, he was accepted as an international student trainee for three months at a company in Stavanger, Norway. He moved to Norway, started his internship, and met the missionaries a few weeks later.
“A young man holding a book stopped me on the street,” Albin says. “He said something to me in Norwegian, and his book was written in Norwegian. I explained in English that I didn’t understand a word he said and that I had no intention of taking any book, especially one in a language I did not understand.” To his surprise the missionary, an American, responded in English and offered to get Albin a copy of the Book of Mormon in English. Albin politely gave the missionary his address, but he hoped nothing would come of it.
A few days later the missionaries arrived at his door and gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon in English. They later gave him a copy in Croatian, which he could also read. (A Slovenian edition did not yet exist.) Albin’s conversations with the missionaries caused him to think about his religious beliefs.
“I had always believed in God,” he says. “And I prayed almost daily—but my prayers were ones I was taught as a Catholic, and I was only subconsciously repeating words. I didn’t believe my church was true, but I wasn’t looking for an alternative.”
Although parts of the Book of Mormon were interesting, he says, “I had no spiritual witness while reading it.” And when he attended the Stavanger Branch in Norway—a stranger who knew no one and didn’t speak the language—he initially felt uncomfortable.
But he liked what he saw and felt at church, and the members welcomed him warmly. “They were extremely kind to me,” he says. “They showed great interest in me by asking where I was from and what I was doing in the town. They invited me to come again. When I did, they accepted me as a part of their family.”
Now he felt more motivated to study the Book of Mormon and pray about it. “I prayed more and more,” he says, “waiting to get some kind of answer. Then one day while I was reading the words of Moroni, the answer came—unexpected, unannounced. I felt the Holy Ghost giving me indescribable feelings, and my mind was enlightened. At that same moment I was aware of all my sins, and I began to cry. I had never cried because of a book before. In that moment I knew the Holy Ghost was present with me, and I was thankful to the Lord.”
Albin was baptized on his 26th birthday, 19 August 1989. “I was a completely different man now than when I went to Norway in June,” he says. “My soul was clean, my sins were forgiven, and I was starting a new life much different from the one before. I felt glad, peaceful, and safe.” He also felt the nudges of the Holy Ghost—hinting of spiritual responsibilities that awaited him at home.
When he learned that the Church had not yet been established in Slovenia and that, as far as he knew, no Church members lived there, he realized the importance of learning all he could during his few remaining weeks in Norway. He continued attending Church meetings, family home evenings, and other activities; received the Aaronic Priesthood; had many discussions with missionaries, members, and Church leaders; and read the Doctrine and Covenants in English.
“I was worried about being left on my own back home,” he says. “I prayed that God would give me strength to explain my beliefs to my girlfriend, my parents, and others. I knew it would be difficult, but I also knew God would help me as long as I remained worthy.”
The closest branch in what was then the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia was in Zagreb, Croatia—three hours away from Albin’s home in Slovenia. He later learned there was a branch a little more than an hour away, in Klagenfurt, Austria. For more than a year he attended the branch in Austria every Sunday, even though his ability to speak German was limited. “The branch president and all the members were very friendly and kind,” he says. He received the Melchizedek Priesthood and served in his first Church callings in the Klagenfurt Branch. And his girlfriend, Boza, often went with him. Sister missionaries taught her the gospel.
“It took me almost six months to get my own testimony,” says Boza. “The Book of Mormon had not yet been translated into Slovenian, and it was difficult for me to read it in Croatian. One Sunday in 1990 I went to a nearby grove to pray for the answer, just like Joseph Smith did. The answer came in the middle of the prayer as an exceptional warmth around my heart. I thought at first that this warmth came from the sun—but the sun had already gone down, and the warm feeling was still there. I felt peace and knew from that moment on that God wanted me to accept His gospel.” Albin baptized her in the Klagenfurt Branch in March 1990.
In December of that year, the first two full-time missionaries were assigned to Slovenia, and soon the first baptisms in that land took place. In the summer of 1991, Slovenia proclaimed independence from Yugoslavia. After a tense 10-day war, the matter was peacefully resolved. A few months later, on 22 December 1991, the first branch in Slovenia was organized, with Albin Lotric as branch president.
The next year, in July 1992, Albin and Boza were married in Slovenia and then sealed in the Frankfurt Germany Temple—the first couple living in Slovenia to be sealed. “I could not have found a better, more understanding wife,” Albin says. “She gives me strength with her love and encouragement. It is especially wonderful to be together in the temple, to review the plan of salvation and enter into an eternal bond together. It gives perspective to all other activities in life.”
Their three children were born in the covenant: Lea Martina, April 1993; Flora Ema, January 1995; and Benjamin Luka, November 1996. “My wife and I are trying to plant the seeds of a gospel-centered life in the hearts of our children,” Albin says, “so they will be strong enough to face the challenges that will come and so they will be able to stand up for their beliefs.” The children are learning about the gospel through family home evening and scripture study, using the illustrated Book of Mormon Stories, which has been translated into Slovenian. Albin and Boza are helping them learn to recognize answers to their simple prayers.
“The Lord is blessing us abundantly,” Albin says. “I am trying to return this blessing by being faithful in the Church and trying to be a good husband and father.”
With the Church still in its infancy in Slovenia, President and Sister Lotric and other pioneering Saints continue giving much to assist in its growth. Sister Lotric serves in the auxiliaries and is writing a history of the Church in Slovenia. And after serving as branch president for seven years, President Lotric was called in April 1998 to his current assignment as Slovenia’s first district president. Over the years he has represented the Church on national television and radio, in newspapers and magazines, and in legal matters.
Meanwhile his career has blossomed. With university degrees in business administration and computer science, he currently works in the information technology department of the Slovenian ministry of finance. He enjoys friendly associations with colleagues and feels that most of them respect his lifestyle and beliefs. “To live according to the teachings of this Church requires many demands of the members,” he says. “But I know from my own experience that the resulting blessings bring much more joy than any earthly thing.”
One of his most memorable assignments has been to serve on the translation team for the Slovenian edition of the Book of Mormon, which is expected to be completed soon. “When the Book of Mormon comes forth with all its divinity and power,” says President Lotric, “the gates of heaven will open wide. The Spirit will testify even more mightily to the people of Slovenia that the word of God has once more been revealed to the children of men and that there is no name given under the heavens but the name of Jesus Christ through which salvation can come.”
Map by Thomas S. Child
In July 1999, nearly 10 years after Albin’s baptism, the Slovenia Ljubljana Mission—which includes various countries of the former Yugoslavia—was created. In Slovenia itself, a nation of two million inhabitants, there are now 200 members, one district, and three branches—in Ljubljana, Celje, and Maribor. Local leaders and members are learning to fellowship new converts. Couples have been sealed in the temple. Young men and women from Slovenia are serving full-time missions in many parts of the world. And members in Slovenia can now receive the Liahona in their own language.
“I know this is just a beginning,” says President Lotric. “I have a vision of the Saints blossoming like a rose in this country.”
Was it worth anyone’s time to befriend a stranger in a foreign land and teach him the gospel, knowing that in three months he would return to his home in a nation where the Church had not yet been established?
“The ways of our Lord are sometimes unpredictable and beyond human imagination,” says Albin Lotric. “He chose a wonderful way to present the gospel to me.”

Leaders of the Church have counseled us to cultivate a garden at our homes. Recently, members from the Mountain View Ward in Nairobi, Kenya heeded that counsel, and following their bishop’s assignment and worked hard to create a ward shamba (the word ‘shamba’ means ‘garden’ in Swahili). Ward members joined hands and applied their knowledge in transforming the thickets and shrubs into a bountiful harvest.
Brother Michael Bahati mentioned he had always wanted to apply his farming skills on the shamba, saying that it had been neglected for as long as he could remember. Brother Bahati made sure that he had reserved enough time to dig, dung, graft and prune. It would have grieved him if he had lost the harvest, which was not only for himself but was stored up for the benefit of all the ward members.
The words from Jacob 5:62, “Wherefore let us go to and labor with our might” described Bishop Musaka’s efforts as well. He drove to the Church on the weekends, rolled up his sleeves and labored diligently. He knew his members, understood their needs, and worked alongside them. As the bishop is also president of the priests quorum, he made sure that the priests were not left behind, and he invited them to work.
Brother Bonabol was among those who took heed of the bishop’s call. He took the responsibility to ensure there was food enough to provide for the members. He saw it as his priesthood duty, and he fulfilled it with honor.
Sister Omondi used to exercise every morning, running from her home to Uthiru. Then she thought there was something more she could do. She contacted Brother Vidonyi, who informed her there was work to be done in the shamba. That is how her morning run was alternated with work at the shamba.
Ward members who previously worked there had little training in planting, so Sister Omondi taught them how to dig and plough. She explained her experience this way: “I doubted if the groundnuts (peanuts) would grow, but they did and despite growing the potatoes in the wrong format, they caught root.” Sister Omondi’s main responsibility was to water the plants and she learned her duty and acted in her appointed office with strict obedience.
As much as it was a learning opportunity for Brother Omondi, he also taught others. The soil at the church was not foreign to him and he understood what would flourish best in the shamba.
Sister Mahindi was concerned about her daughter’s illness but she trusted that she could take her mind off of that. She felt that by busily working at the shamba, things would get better—and they did. She gained comfort and peace as her daughter recovered.
Bishop Mukasa made it possible for the members to irrigate the plants. He made sure there were enough pipes to use as they still waited for the water sprinklers. He described, “As the plants need water to be nourished, the members also need nourishment from the holy scriptures.” The plants couldn’t go a day without water, just as members shouldn’t go a day without studying their scriptures.
Missionaries also managed to bring investigators to come work in the shamba. What a privilege those investigators were given to receive the restored gospel at the same time they received food from the garden in which they had worked.
Finally, the day came when the rewards were quite visible and abundant. The Mountain View Ward members’ hard work proved itself. There was an abundance of food, ranging from bananas to mboga to beans and they are about to harvest the maize. It was clear that the members’ aim wasn’t for instant gratification. They understood that in all harvests, some blessings don’t come until later, so they chose to be patient with the sweet potatoes and cassava.
As I worked in the shamba and saw it progress, I noted the change in myself. If the plant tamed by the Master came out as He desired, can I also involve the Lord and allow Him to guide me to reach my potential and live within my privileges? My lesson from the shamba is a resounding, “Yes!”
Marc Otieno is ward mission leader in the Mountain View Ward, Nairobi West Stake.

It was at this point, just two months after my first visit to the mission home, that I met my future husband. He was a freelance American photographer and writer traveling in France. The missionaries told him about me, and he decided to interview me for a possible article for the Church magazines. After talking with me about the Church, he asked if I had ever considered joining. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I’m really just curious.”
But as an afterthought, I reflected, “There is something unusual about your church. I always feel a sense of peace when I come to the mission home. Actually, I welcome reasons to come back.” Still, I insisted that my interest was only academic curiosity.
A few months later I decided to continue my thesis research by visiting the famous genealogical facilities in Salt Lake City. I arrived in Utah the day before President Joseph Fielding Smith’s funeral, and I went to the public viewing with an LDS girl I had corresponded with while I was in France. I was impressed by the lack of despair at the services.
During this time, the photographer I met in Paris returned to Salt Lake City, and we became reacquainted. I asked him to help proofread my thesis, and as time went on, he noticed my comments in the thesis becoming more and more positive—starting with “the Mormons believe …” and later expressing, without my realizing it, “We believe …”
One evening, he asked if I would like to take the missionary lessons. I hesitated and gave my former response, “I’m only curious.” But there was less certainty in my voice, so he suggested, “What have you got to lose?”
I smiled and said, “Well, nothing, I guess. OK.” Three weeks later, I was baptized, and the wagon wheels turned again as I became a pioneer myself—the only member of the Church in my family. Soon I would be privileged to give many of my ancestors the opportunity to choose to become members of the Church of Jesus Christ.
A year and a half after my baptism, the photographer and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple. Little did he know when he met me how the wagon wheels shown in a French documentary would affect his life.
Now it is 1997, the 150th anniversary of the pioneers entering the Salt Lake Valley, and as I tell my story I truly do feel the jar of the wagon wheels as they crunch the rocks and churn the dust in a deeply rutted trail. It is a day like many others, and I am pulling a handcart as part of the 1997 Sesquicentennial Mormon Trail Wagon Train on the old historic pioneer route near Big Sandy Crossing, Wyoming. During this reenactment, I am playing the part of an actual pioneer girl from France who joined the Church in Italy and came to Zion in the 1850s. It seems incredible that I am walking the same trail, breathing the same dust, and hearing the same sounds as she and so many other pioneers did so long ago.
As I walk, I remember the documentary I saw when I was a young girl in France, and I can feel the presence of the many Latter-day Saints who lived and died along this trail. However, the part I am playing is not just a story from our pioneer past, it is also my story—for I am a pioneer, too.

When the Americans had cleared the mountain and were gone, we left the house and marched on again toward home. A few days later, we were stopped once more by the Americans. At first I didn’t speak. I wanted to act like I didn’t know English. I heard them say, “Well, we’ll just let them sit here, and we’ll put them on the next truck that comes to transport them to a camp.” Trucks had been going by every two to three minutes.
We sat there waiting for a truck to come by any second. We waited and waited, for an hour or longer, but no truck came. I finally went up to the MP who was chewing gum. I had never seen anyone chew gum before—and he was talking at the same time.

I told him who we were, and he said, “Oh, all of a sudden you speak English.”
“Yes, I speak English. I learned it in school. I was just scared.”
“How old are you?” he asked me. I told him I was 17-and-a-half years old.
“Where have you been?”
I explained the whole thing—what we had done, why we had civilian clothes on, where we wanted to go—home. He called up on the phone and checked the outfits where we had been to see if the information I had given him was correct. Then he looked at me for a long time and said, “I have a boy about your age, and if he would say to someone, ‘I’d like to go home to Mother,’ I hope they’d give him the chance. If you take this road, there is an American headquarters; but if you take that road, they can’t see you. Good luck.”

Finally we were almost home. Everything was shut down. There was no train, no car, no bus, no telephone—nothing. So we continued crawling through the forest, following the creek. I knew that area well. We reached my neighborhood, and I just wanted to go through the gate of our neighbor’s backyard. I left the others and opened the gate. A little gun that had been put there to shoot the gophers went off. It scared the wits out of me and the neighbors, who quickly came running. But they were glad to see that I was home safely. I sent my sister back to the forest with some food for my friends before they continued on to their homes.

Our grandson Quinton was born with multiple birth defects and lived three weeks short of a year, during which time he was in and out of the hospital. Sister Jensen and I were living in Argentina at that time. We truly wanted to be there with our children to comfort them and be comforted by them. This was our grandchild whom we loved and wanted to be near. We could only pray, and we did so fervently!
Sister Jensen and I were on a mission tour when we received word Quinton had died. We stood in the hallway of a meetinghouse and hugged and comforted each other. I witness to you that assurances came to us from the Holy Ghost, a peace which passes all understanding and continues to this day (see Philippians 4:7). We also witnessed the unspeakable gift of the Holy Ghost in the lives of our son and daughter-in-law and their children, who to this day speak of that time with such faith, peace, and comfort.