Gospel Story Finder

And now about Ed. Ed also comes from a distant city. Ed started stealing when he was nine. He was arrested for auto theft at age thirteen, later convicted of grand larceny, and sent to prison in another state. He came to Utah, was arrested for and convicted of grand larceny again, and was sent to the Utah State Prison.
Ed became acquainted with the Church social services program conducted in the prison in much the same way as Jim. Once when Ed was on his way to one of the Church meetings, some of the prisoners ridiculed him, as only hardened convicts could. He responded that when he was on the outside he had acted as they did. Now he wanted to change and no one was going to stop him.
Ed had some particularly wonderful home teachers who occasionally brought their own children to the prison to have family home evening with him. The children consider Ed as an older brother. He considers himself a member of their family. Ed was one of those who had been released from prison and had returned to receive his certificate at the graduation exercises. He was invited to speak at the service.
As he stood at the pulpit, he took a piece of paper from his pocket. Holding it up to the audience, he said: “You probably can’t read this, but this is the most important document in my life. This is my baptismal recommend that will permit me to be baptized next Thursday.” Ed was baptized. After his confirmation, he walked over to a corner of the room where he could be alone and wept. He wept even more when he was ordained a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood.

Even still, you may sometimes have a hard time. Here is a story that might help you about a Primary boy named Minchan Kim from South Korea. His family joined the Church about six years ago.
“One day at school, a few of my classmates were making fun of another student by calling him names. It looked like fun, so for a few weeks I joined in with them.
“Several weeks later, the boy told me even though he pretended he didn’t care, he was hurt by our words, and he cried every night. I almost cried when he told me. I felt very sorry and wanted to help him. The next day I went up to him and put my arm around his shoulder and apologized, saying, ‘I’m really sorry that I made fun of you.’ He nodded at my words, and his eyes filled up with tears.
“But the other kids were still making fun of him. Then I remembered what I learned in Primary class: choose the right. So I asked my classmates to stop. Most of them decided not to change, and they were mad at me. But one of the other boys said he was sorry, and the three of us became good friends.
“Even though a few people still made fun of him, he felt better because he had us.
“I chose the right by helping a friend in need.”
Isn’t this a good example for you to try to become like Jesus?

When I was 15 years old, I realized the significance of a testimony of the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and the Savior and how it affects our choices.

My brother, Joe, was 20 years old. It was during the Korean conflict, and only one young man in each ward could go on a mission. The others had to be available to be drafted into the military. A young man in our ward had gone on a mission early in the year; my brother’s birthday was in September, so he didn’t think he would get the opportunity to serve a mission.

Our stake president called my brother in and told him that one of the wards had not used its allotment and he might be able to go. Missionaries were called at 20 years of age in those days, and my brother had just filled out his application to medical school. He was a good student. My father, who was not active in the Church, had made financial preparations to help him with medical school and was disappointed when he learned of the conversation with the stake president. My father counseled Joe not to go and suggested that he could do more good by going to medical school.

This was a big issue in our family. That night my brother and I talked about the choice. He was five years older, so it was mainly his thinking. As we reasoned it out, we concluded: If Jesus Christ was a great man but not divine, if Joseph Smith was a wonderful teacher but not a prophet, or if the Book of Mormon had wonderful counsel but was not the word of God, then Dad was right—it would be better to go to medical school. But if Jesus Christ is divine, if Joseph Smith is a prophet, and if the Book of Mormon is the word of God, then it would be more important to accept the call and proclaim the gospel.

That night, more than ever before, I wanted to know the answers to these questions. I had always believed in the divinity of Jesus Christ. I believed in Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, but I wanted confirmation from the Lord. That night, as I prayed, the Spirit bore witness to my soul of the Savior and the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. My brother received the same witness and made the choice to serve a mission. Incidentally, when my brother returned from his mission, he went to medical school. When I reached my 20th birthday, my father was happy to see me serve a mission.

“I am fifteen years old and have been a member of the Church for four years. I was contacted by the lady missionaries and joined the Church. I was the only member of my family who joined, and at first my father wouldn’t let me attend church. But when I missed church, the members, leaders, and missionaries would come to my home to find out why I wasn’t there. This impressed my father, and finally he started letting me go to church. I am happy to say that three months ago the rest of my family joined the Church. It is so good to go to meetings together. Now my father is in the branch presidency.”
Jose Ricardo Martinez, 15Santa Ana, El Salvador

At the beginning of the school year, Vaitiare Pito wasn’t even a member of the Church. So how did a new member who had never been to seminary before help her team win the Faaa stake scripture mastery championship?
“I wasn’t worried about not having a lot of experience,” she says. “I learned many of those verses during the missionary lessons.”
Most of Vaitiare’s family joined the Church after her father died unexpectedly and the ward mission leader brought the missionaries to Vaitiare’s home. They talked about family unity and being together forever. “It really brought a change to our family,” she says.
However, it didn’t necessarily change the 17-year-old’s independent streak. “After I was baptized, everyone told me I should go to seminary,” she says. “I don’t like being told what to do, so it took me a while to go.”
Eventually she decided for herself to go and found she enjoyed it. She was assigned to be part of the same scripture mastery team as Rooma.
At first she didn’t make an effort to read the scripture assignments. But when she decided she would, she soon recognized a number of blessings.
“The scriptures have been a great help,” she says. “I have learned from the scriptures many things,” including the importance of prayer and that Heavenly Father will answer those prayers.
She also learned that when she decides to commit to something, like going to seminary or reading the scriptures, keeping the commitment is easier than if she does it because she has to or is “supposed” to.
Now that the school year is over, Vaitiare is grateful she chose to go to seminary and study the scriptures: “I know when we read the scriptures, we are blessed.”

The Holy Spirit has the power to guide. A 15-year-old girl felt that she needed to find new friends. She wrote to the Young Women office, “Now, I don’t know if you have ever had to change friends, but it honestly was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.” She decided to put her problem in the hands of the Lord, and she also counseled with her parents. She says that after several months “she wanted to just give up.”
One afternoon she was casually talking to her seminary teacher, and she confided her problem to him. Then he said, “I really don’t know why I am asking you this, but do you happen to know these girls?”
This girl answered with a yes. And then he said, “Have you ever thought about being friends with them?”
“I told him that there was no way that I could fit in with them. He then asked me if he could talk to one of the girls. I decided I would let him, if he promised not to embarrass me.
“Well, that next day I received a phone call from one of the girls. Now, you have to understand that this girl was on student council, and I hate to use the term, but she was ‘extremely popular.’ She asked if I would like to go to the basketball game with her that night. It was one of the funnest, most peaceful nights of my life. The next day at school, she introduced me to two other girls. We all instantly became friends.”
She concludes by saying, “I don’t know about you, but I would much rather have the Lord, who knows the outcome of everything, direct my life than me, who just sees things as they are at the time. He is right by our side, walking us through life, even when we feel so alone.”

After spending most of the winter and spring on missionary journeys to Canada, “Elder Young,” as he was now often called, along with Heber C. Kimball, responded to the revelation the Prophet had received calling the Saints to gather at Kirtland. Apparently some of the others who gathered there had difficulty finding the right kind of employment or in getting paid on time, so, contrary to counsel, they went off to surrounding towns for the winter. But as Brigham later remembered, “I told them I had gathered to Kirtland because I was so directed by the Prophet of God, and I … was going to stay here and seek the things that pertained to the kingdom of God by listening to the teachings of his servants, and I should work for my brethren and trust in God and them that I would be paid.”9

Why?
Sven stood watching as his brothers, Nils and Erik, began digging. An icy wind had started, and the snow was falling hard again. It had been snowing steadily now for ten days. Sven folded his arms tightly against his body, more out of habit than for warmth; the question was more bitter than any pain the cold and the snow could bring.
Why had He brought them here for this?
Back behind his family’s tent Sven could see the other members of the company moving their carts into line getting ready to start for the day. A large man wrapped in a heavy wool blanket left the line and walked to their camp and stood by their fire.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” the man said, “but there’s no time for this. You’ll just have to cover her with snow. We have to be moving.”
Nils slammed his pick down and glared at the man: “We won’t bury her in the snow.”
“We’ll catch up,” Erik said.
The man glanced over his shoulder at the line of handcarts.
“We’ve lost people who’ve stayed behind and tried to catch up.”
“The wolves …” Erik said. “It’s hard enough for our father as it is. We can’t bury her in the snow.”
The man looked at the tent and nodded his head.
“I heard your father was taking it pretty badly.”
The man held his hands over the fire for nearly a full minute savoring the heat.
“We can’t help you if you get into trouble. I’m sorry. There were five others who died last night.” The man turned and walked away. Nils started hammering at the frozen earth again. Erik looked at Sven.
“Get the covering from the handcart and put it in the tent.”
The canvas was frozen stiff. Sven shook the snow from it and then carefully folded it. In the tent he found his father kneeling next to his mother. Except for the paleness of his mother’s face, she looked more alive than his father did.
“You’d better come out by the fire, father,” Sven said. His father didn’t move. He was a large man. He’d been a stonecutter in Sweden and planned on helping to build the temple in Zion.
Now, Sven thought, his face looks like it’s been cut from the same gray stone he once worked with. Sven set the canvas down and backed out of the tent. Through the haze of the falling snow he could see the line of handcarts moving slowly away. He watched until they vanished.
When the grave was nearly two feet deep, Erik stopped digging. “This will have to do.”
“No,” Nils said. “It’s not deep enough.”
“It’s nearly noon. We won’t be able to catch up to the company if we wait any longer.”
“Just a little more.” Nils started digging again. Erik stepped from the grave.
“Sven, you’ll have to help me.”
Erik bent down and entered the tent. Sven followed. Their father hadn’t moved. He was still kneeling next to their mother.
“We’ve finished digging, father.”
Their father remained motionless.
“We’re nearly half a day behind the company.”
Erik took a deep breath, picked up the canvas, and spread it next to his mother’s body. He then took the blanket that was covering her and laid it on the canvas. Sven knew they needed the blanket, but it felt right to leave it with her. She’d given them so much.
Why?
The question was now an incessant drumming in his consciousness that muted all other thoughts and memories.
“She looks so young,” Erik said. “It’s as if death is giving her back her youth.”
Sven looked at her face. She did look young. There was a slight smile. He remembered how easily a smile had always come to her face. When they had decided to go to Utah, he remembered how happy she had been. “Zion,” she’d said. “We’re going to Zion.” Sven had never heard a word spoken with more pleasure.
“Zion.” He unconsciously whispered the word out loud. His father looked up at him.
“Lift her shoulders,” Erik said.
They lifted her onto the blanket and then carefully wrapped her in it. Erik tied the bundle with a cord. Their father followed them out of the tent. Nils stepped from the grave, and they laid the body down gently. The dark earth in the grave and the canvas were quickly covered by snow.
“What do we say? The prayer should be right.”
“I’ve never done it before, not a funeral,” Erik said. “I think father should do it.”
He shook his head without looking up.
“Maybe it’s like the baptism prayer.”
“We have the priesthood,” Erik said. “It will be right. The words will come.”
Erik reached out his hand for Nils and his father. They took hands, the four of them, and knelt in the snow.
“By the power of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood and in the name of the Savior,” Erik began the prayer. He whispered the words and sometimes the sound of his voice was lost in the wind, but still, somehow, they all heard the prayer.
Sven felt the tenseness in his brother’s hands relax. The pain that he felt also should have been softened by the prayer, but the question, the drumming noise in his head that was as intense as thunder, was too loud.
Why?
How could God allow this to happen? Sven had seen others die on the journey to Zion, friends, people he loved, but somehow that was distant, and then his mother had always been there to help him understand. In Sweden when his best friend, Ole, had drowned, his mother had talked with him the entire night after the accident happened. Where was she now for this death, the death that he needed her the most for?
When the prayer was finished, they stood.
“I wish we had some flowers, anything.”
“She always loved flowers.”
Erik took the shovel and began to fill the grave.
Their father held out his hand. “Wait.”
He walked over to the cart and took out a small bag and then walked back to the grave. He poured the contents of the bag into his hand.
“They were her favorite flowers.” His voice was hoarse.
He scattered the dark seeds over the grave.
That night, when they finally reached the company, and two days later, when help reached them from Salt Lake City, the question with its dulling thunder was still with Sven. It was with him five years later when he was traveling from Salt Lake City to the East to buy equipment for their stonecutting business.
The weather was cool and crisp when the sun came up over the mountains. Sven’s breath steamed up in the morning, but the newborn sunlight was warm on his face. It was spring. The leaves on the trees were a bright yellow-green, and the earth was covered with new grass.
Sven made his way carefully down a slope. He’d been drawn back to this area. This was where they had traveled with their handcarts. Somewhere on this trail his mother was buried.
He started up a long narrow swale. The floor of the hollow was covered with clover, and dandelions were scattered along the edge of a small stream. Sven couldn’t remember the stream or the trees or even the shape of the land, but the place was still familiar. His recognition was more of a feeling. The morning was warm now. The sunlight was strong, but Sven felt cold. He shivered. The question was drumming hard. It was more than just a question about his mother’s death now. It was his own death that he was facing also.
Sven stopped. There was something, something familiar, a fragrance. It was a memory that took him back beyond the day when his mother had died, back to Sweden. It was a good smell, the smell of his old home. With it came the memory of other smells of baking bread, of a warm fire, of linen. He started walking toward the fragrance. The small valley twisted ahead, and around the turn it broadened into a meadow. Sven stopped again. He began to feel what he knew was true, about eternity, about the things his mother had tried to teach him, about life continuing after death.
An area in the meadow, near the stream, was covered with the same flowers his mother had planted around their home in Sweden.

A few years ago, I decided to attend the temple weekly. At the time, we lived near a temple. This practice became a reliable source of light and power that I came to count on.
A year later, when our family moved across the country, we no longer lived close to a temple. Temple attendance was not impossible, but faced with the longer travel time and the needs of my young family, I attended only twice a month.
Once the COVID-19 pandemic started, I couldn’t attend the temple at all, which seemed like a punishment after reorganizing my life to attend frequently. I wondered how I could continue to grow spiritually, and I felt heavy with how unfair things seemed.
During a routine dental cleaning, I struggled to calm my mind. When the hygienist asked me what I wanted to listen to during my cleaning, I replied, “I would really love some relaxing meditation sounds.”
She said nobody had ever requested that, but she obliged. Fifteen minutes into our appointment, she expressed how much she was enjoying our “meditative cleaning.” Then she told me about the anxiety in her own life, which included her 13-year-old son’s recent injury. Surrounded by the hum of a busy office, she shared her burden with me, and we found peace together.
In my relaxed mental state, my thoughts went to the temple. I found myself progressing through an initiatory session, the words of my temple covenants passing seamlessly through my mind. Three distinct promptings from the Spirit then followed:
Ask the hygienist the name of her son.
Tell her you will pray for him.
Pray for both of them by name.
Through this seemingly simple exchange, I felt my burden transform into a blessing. I caught a glimpse of how my covenants helped me to love Heavenly Father and my neighbor. The Spirit taught me that attending the temple is just as much about helping others on this side of the veil as it is about spiritually empowering myself and my ancestors.
Temple closures hadn’t stunted my spiritual growth. Rather, they had allowed me to create new ways to engage in God’s work and receive heavenly love, light, and knowledge.

In the city of Coronel Oviedo, a native Paraguayan missionary, Elder Christian Turrini, prayed that the Lord would help him and his companion, Elder Matthew Porter, find people who were prepared to listen to the gospel. After his prayer, they left their room and walked two blocks. A campesino (a poor rural farmer) came running up to them. Speaking in Guaraní, he asked, “Are you LDS missionaries? I came looking for you because I know the Church is true and I want to be baptized!”
That campesino was Isabelino Giménez. He and his wife, Estanislada, had heard the missionary discussions in a distant city a few years earlier, along with Estanislada’s family. But although her family joined the Church, Isabelino refused to be baptized or to let Estanislada be baptized. “I told her, ‘We’re going to leave this city and look for our future.’ But really, I was running from the gospel.”
Isabelino and Estanislada moved to a remote area in the Paraguayan jungle. “We walked a long, long way through the jungle,” he says. “We arrived without anything. We didn’t have more clothes than what we were wearing. We didn’t have beds, but slept on the floor. We barely had enough to eat.” He cleared some land and worked hard to grow crops. But then he developed an infected sore on his foot, and one of his sons got a similar sore. A local doctor was unable to give them any relief. I was very discouraged and unhappy. I wanted to change my life.”
Estanislada’s family moved from the city to be near them. Even though moving to this remote place caused them to lose contact with the Church, they continued to live their religion. “My brother-in-law was always reading the scriptures,” says Isabelino. “One day I told him I couldn’t sleep at night because of the pain I had in my foot. He told me I needed to pray to Heavenly Father. I asked him, ‘How should I pray?’ And he began to teach me about prayer. He told me I had to give myself to the Lord.
“That day, I knelt down and prayed to Heavenly Father and asked forgiveness. I asked him to heal my son and me of our sores. I told him I needed to work for my family. When I told my wife that I had given myself to the Lord, she smiled because she was very happy.
“My wife’s parents started teaching me about the Church. We read the Book of Mormon and Gospel Principles. They taught me to pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Our sores were healed.”
Now he and Estanislada wanted to be baptized, but they didn’t know how to proceed. They didn’t have the means to travel back to the city where the missionaries had originally taught them. Finally, four years after being cured of the sore, Isabelino made the four-hour trip on foot and by bus to Coronel Oviedo—the nearest city—hoping the Church was there and that he would be able to find the missionaries.
“I got off the bus at the terminal and asked a boy on a bicycle if he knew where The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was; he told me it was very far away. I walked about four blocks toward the center of town and asked a man; he said he didn’t know. I began praying to Heavenly Father to help me, so I wouldn’t lose hope.
“On a corner, I asked a woman. She said, ‘Wait here. I know the missionaries. They will pass by here soon.’ I waited about twenty minutes, and the woman said, ‘Here come the missionaries.’ When I saw them, I crossed the street without watching the traffic. I could have been killed, but I wanted to talk to them so much.”
The missionaries were eager to teach the Giménez family. First they received permission from their mission president to travel to the remote jungle location. Then they left at 6 A.M. and rode a couple of hours on a bus from Coronel Oviedo to a neighboring town. There they met Isabelino and rode with him on another bus for thirty minutes. Then they walked another hour and a half through the jungle, arriving at the Giménez home at 10:00 A.M. “I don’t think I had ever walked that far,” says Elder Turrini. “I had never been in the jungle like that, even though I’m from Paraguay. We saw lots of wild animals, snakes, and birds. When we got to their home, the family treated us like we were angels. The kids jumped all over us, and the adults were in tears. They had been praying for our safety and had lunch ready for us.”
That day, the missionaries taught three discussions to a group of about thirty people. Some of them were Estanislada’s family—members of the Church—who had almost lost hope of ever finding the Church again. Others were interested neighbors. After three hours of teaching, the missionaries returned home.
The next day, the Giménez family made the journey into Coronel Oviedo. It was raining, and since they were traveling with small children, the trip took seven hours. The elders taught them the last three discussions, and the following day—Sunday, 8 September 1991—Isabelino and Estanislada were baptized, along with two of their children, Aníbal and Diana; a foster daughter; and Estanislada’s younger brother and sister. They also have two younger children, Derlis and Emanuel.
“When I went down in the water,” says Isabelino, “I don’t know how it happened, but I felt that I was dead for one second. As I arose from the water, I felt so happy that I cried for joy. When the missionaries confirmed me, I felt a beautiful feeling. Then I arose to bear my testimony and couldn’t finish because of the great happiness I felt. Since then, I have shared my testimony with all my friends and neighbors. I want them to feel the joy I feel.”

While serving as missionaries a number of years ago, a young married couple had been sent with a young elder to New Orleans by the president of the Central States Mission. They took with them their tiny eighteen-month-old daughter.
Upon returning, it was necessary for them to cross the Atchafalaya River, a wide and deep stream. They drove their car onto the raftlike ferry that was to be pushed across the river by a small tugboat. It was placed about two feet from the edge of the ferry with only a light cable across the front.
The flat ferry could accommodate just four cars at a time, and the automobile in which the missionaries were riding was the third to be driven on. The fourth automobile was to be placed immediately behind the missionaries’ car.
Looking back through the small rear window of the crowded car, the young elder saw a rather large car on the top of the high levee. It was waiting to approach the ferry. At a signal from the ferryman, it started down.
“My goodness!” he exclaimed. “That car is coming too fast! It’ll crash right into us!”
Faster and faster it came, gaining speed as it approached the ferry. There was no time for the missionaries to leave their car. The brief and terrifying thoughts of being pushed into the river raced through their minds. The driver, uttering a brief but fervent prayer, set his foot against the brakes—hard!
A woman in the onrushing car screamed. Onto the ferry it hurtled, out of control. Then, miraculously, one of the wheels struck the edge of a raised plank on the floor of the ferry, and the car turned abruptly away from the one in which the missionaries sat. With its right wheel on the very edge of the platform, the runaway car came to a halt within inches of their car. A period of complete silence followed.
“Poor brakes,” gasped the frightened driver as he climbed out of his car.
Neither he nor the stunned onlookers could explain why the runaway car had stopped where it did rather than bumping the missionaries’ car over the edge of the ferry and into the river. Undoubtedly, many silent prayers were given by both the frightened passengers and the onlookers.
“You must all be good praying folks!” the ferryman said in wonderment, shaking his head slowly.
The missionaries knew that only the watchful care provided by our kind Heavenly Father had prevented a disaster. Before leaving that morning the missionaries had not forgotten to ask their Heavenly Father for special protection in their journey. Their prayers had been answered!
NOTE: I know that this incident is true because I was the driver of the small car. Others involved were Sister Christiansen, our daughter, Frances Jean, and a fine elder. Although Frances Jean was too small to realize what had taken place, the scene has never been blotted from the minds of the rest of us.

With the hovering heat it seemed more like the Fourth of July than Christmas Day. It was the kind of heat Santa Cruz, Bolivia, is famous for. But I soon forgot about the stickiness and my longing for a white Christmas in my excitement to visit Lily and her family.
I had thought about them often, worrying that the children wouldn’t receive any gifts for Christmas because of the economic situation of the family. Yet during the three months I lived with them, they always offered to share whatever they had with me and my companion.
The courage and determination of Lily, the mother, had impressed me as I watched her fight to support her six children by her own ingenuity and the sparse, sporadic help of her estranged husband. She was always an example of faith and trust in the Lord. She often visited other sisters in the ward she knew needed help, even when she was greatly in need of help herself.
I had wanted this to be a special Christmas for the family, so I bought gifts for the children and wrapped each one in pretty paper. But I had a hard time finding a gift for Lily. I kept thinking of the one thing I knew she needed.
Oftentimes missionaries would leave personal belongings behind to make room for souvenirs in their suitcases. Clothes that had been well broken in during their mission life were usually left with friends. Lily had always admired the one thing I hadn’t thought of leaving behind—my coat. It was a burgundy raincoat with a removable wool lining. My mother had helped me pick it out, and I loved it. We had bought it on a special sale where a certain amount of the price was deducted if you traded in another coat which would be given to charity. My mother had donated one of her coats to help me buy mine. My raincoat was my favorite possession. But now I just had two months left in my mission and it was summer.
They had invited us to join with them in their meal of chicken and rice. We gratefully yet reluctantly accepted. I knew that what we ate would be subtracted from their share. We talked and laughed, and the children opened their presents.
Lily told us how blessed they had been that Christmas. All the children had received one nice present through the telephone company where their father worked. Since they all had received a nice toy, she had asked each one to take a favorite toy, not one that was all worn out, and wrap it up. They each took the toy to church with them and gave it to one of the children in their ward who had not received anything for Christmas.
While we were talking, Lily motioned to the girls to go get something from the back of the house. The girls returned a few minutes later with a small package they laid in my lap. I opened it, and pulled out a white, odd-shaped, furry ball that had orange ears and crystal blue eyes. I wanted to cry. It was probably the funniest little stuffed dog I had seen, yet it meant more than any other gift I had received. I tried to protest. They didn’t need to give me anything. But there was no getting out of it. That little fur ball was mine.
It was then that I went to the corner and picked up Lily’s present. When I gave it to her she at first refused. “No, it’s your coat. I couldn’t.”
But as I insisted she began to cry.
She didn’t expect to receive anything, yet she had given me so much by her example of selflessness and her great power to love.
Now, years later, when I hold that little dog in my hands, I can still feel the warmth of our embrace and our tears intermingling. I remember the sweet peace I felt that Christmas day with a family that thought more about giving to others than they did about receiving.

I was baptized on 17 November 1996 in Samara, Russia. Immediately after my baptism, I was filled with the desire to serve a full-time mission and bring souls to Jesus Christ. Eagerly I waited for a year to pass so I could talk to my branch president about a mission.
When the time came, I had the necessary interviews and filled out the missionary recommendation forms. Then I realized I had a problem. Although I had lived in Russia for two years, I was a citizen of Armenia. I had not yet served in the Armenian army, which I was obligated to do.
I began fasting and praying that God would open a way for me to serve a mission. In March 1998 I was drafted into the army and had to return to Armenia. I trusted in God, knowing that He loved me and wanted me to be obedient.
While I was in the Armenian army, I kept the covenants I had made and lived the Word of Wisdom. I often bore my testimony to the other soldiers, and I prayed throughout the day. I fasted and asked Heavenly Father to protect me. And I also asked that I might be able to serve a full-time mission as soon as possible.
After two and a half months in the army, I became ill and was admitted to the hospital. When the doctors examined me, I was surprised to learn I had a heart disease—an illness they believed I had had since childhood. It was now affecting my lungs, liver, and spleen. My body swelled, and I looked as if I had gained considerable weight.
The diagnosis meant I might be released from the army, but the reality of a serious illness scared me. All I could do was trust God to help me.
After I had been in the hospital for a month, an Armenian member of the Church, Brother Ararat, unexpectedly visited me there. He and two missionaries gave me a priesthood blessing.
Three weeks later I was released from the army. Before long I was feeling strong enough to serve a mission.
Now I needed my military release papers. I fasted and prayed. When I rose from my knees, I had my answer. I would rely on the Lord.
Days passed. Whenever I would inquire about my military papers, the officials would say, “Don’t expect them this year. It is not possible.” Still I trusted in the Lord and waited. Finally on 15 December I received word: “Come in and get your papers; they are ready.”
My next problem was getting a passport. The end of the year is a difficult time to secure one, and I was told I could not expect a passport until June. Again I prayed. And again I felt inspired to be patient and rely on the Lord.
And so I trusted, believed, and waited—but not for too long. On 5 January 1999, I received my passport, and on 7 January, my visa. I could begin my missionary service.
All I needed to do now was complete my interviews, finish some paperwork, and receive the required medical examination. Although I felt well, I feared that my heart disease might prevent me from serving. The doctor who examined me knew my medical history and ordered a test of my heart. When he looked at the results, he blurted out in surprise, “You are completely healthy! There is no sign of heart disease. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life!”
I smiled and said, “I believe in God. I received a blessing from bearers of His priesthood and was healed.”
Soon I was called to serve in the Russia Moscow South Mission. I know God lives. I know He performs miracles now just as He did anciently. And I know He blesses us when we exercise faith in Him.

I had the same problem. Nothing interesting ever seemed to happen to me. Then I was challenged by my Young Women leader to keep a journal. She gave us a jar of questions to answer whenever we couldn’t think of anything to write. Slowly I found that my life was interesting. Now I write in my journal constantly. I look back and read my old journals, and I’m fascinated at how much I have grown.Katie Grover, 18, Chula Vista Third Ward, Chula Vista California Stake

My sweet Frances had a terrible fall a few years ago. She went to the hospital. She lay in a coma for about 18 days. I sat by her side. She never moved a muscle. The children cried, the grandchildren cried, and I wept. Not a movement.

And then one day, she opened her eyes. I set a speed record in getting to her side. I gave her a kiss and a hug, and I said, “You’re back. I love you.” And she said, “I love you, too, Tom, but we’re in serious trouble.” I thought, What do you know about trouble, Frances? She said, “I forgot to mail in our fourth-quarter income tax payment.”

I said to her, “Frances, if you had said that before you extended a kiss to me and told me you love me, I might have left you here.”

Last summer I visited Elder Orin Voorheis at his parents’ home in Pleasant Grove, Utah. He is a big, handsome, splendid young man who served in the Argentina Buenos Aires South Mission. One night, about 11 months into his mission, some armed robbers accosted Elder Voorheis and his companion. In a senseless act of violence, one of them shot Elder Voorheis in the head. For days he hovered between life and death, unable to speak, hear, move, or even breathe on his own. Through the faith and prayers of a host of people over a long period of time, he eventually was taken off life support and brought back to the United States.

After months of extensive hospitalization and therapy, Elder Voorheis became stronger, but he was still paralyzed and unable to speak. Progress was slow. His parents decided that they should bring their son home and care for him in the loving atmosphere of their own family. However, their modest home lacked the space or equipment to give the needed therapy. Many kind neighbors, friends, and benefactors pitched in to build an addition to the home and provide physical therapy equipment.

Elder Voorheis is still almost completely paralyzed and unable to speak, but he has a wonderful spirit and can respond to questions with hand movements. He still wears his missionary badge. His parents do not ask, “Why did this happen to our noble son, who was serving at the call of the Master?” No one has a certain answer except perhaps in circumstances where higher purposes are served. We must walk in faith. We recall the Savior’s reply to the question, “Who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?” The Savior answered that no one was at fault but that the works of God might be manifest in him. Rather than harbor bitterness, the members of the Voorheis family bow their heads and say to the Lord: “Thy will be done. We have been grateful for him every day of his life, and with the help of others we will willingly bear the burden of caring for him.”

My purpose in visiting Elder Voorheis was to join his father, his bishop, his home teacher, and others in giving him a blessing of hope. Some may ask, “Is there hope for Elder Voorheis in this life?” I believe there is great hope for everyone! Sometimes we ask God for miracles, and they often happen but not always in the manner we expect. The quality of Elder Voorheis’s life is less than desirable, but the influence of his life on others is incalculable and everlasting both here and in Argentina. Indeed, after his accident the Kilómetro 26 Branch, where he served in Argentina, grew rapidly and quickly qualified for the construction of a chapel.

All of the Authorities who are here tonight could testify that in the reorganization of stakes they have had remarkable and inspiring experiences. I recall being assigned to reorganize a stake about 40 years ago. The president had suddenly died. The Brethren asked me to go down and speak at the funeral and reorganize the stake. I had never done this before. I was new as a General Authority. I was to be all alone.
When I arrived, I was taken to another town, where I participated in the funeral service. I asked all of the stake officers and the bishops to remain after the service and announced that a reorganization of the stake would take place the next evening.
I asked the mission president to sit with me as I interviewed the brethren, none of whom I knew. We interviewed late into the evening. I soon discovered there were problems in the stake. There were divisive feelings. When we were all through, I said to the mission president, “I am not satisfied. Are there not others?” He said, “I know of only one man whom we have not interviewed. He moved here rather recently on a transfer in his company. He is the second counselor in a bishopric. I do not know him well. He resides in another city.”
I said, “Let’s go see him.” We drove and went to the hotel where I would be staying for the night. Here I was, having interviewed all of these brethren and having not found one that I considered worthy to preside and having scheduled the reorganization for the next evening.
We arrived late at the hotel. I called the man; a sleepy voice answered the phone. I said that I wished to see him that evening. I apologized for calling him so late. He said, “I’ve just gone to bed, but I’ll put on my clothes and come.”
He came to the hotel. The conversation that followed was most interesting. He was a graduate of BYU in petroleum geology. He worked for a big oil company. He had served elsewhere in positions of responsibility in the Church. He knew the program of the Church. He had served a mission. He knew the gospel. He was mature in the Church. And the territory for which he was responsible as an employee of the oil company was exactly the same as the territory of the stake. I told him we would telephone him in the morning and excused him.
The mission president went on his way, and I went to bed.
At about three o’clock the next morning I awoke. Doubts began to flood my mind. This man was almost a total stranger to the people of the stake. I got out of bed and got on my knees and pleaded with the Lord for direction. I did not hear a voice, but I had a very distinct impression that said, “I told you who should be stake president. Why do you continue to ask?”
Ashamed of myself for troubling the Lord again, I went to bed and fell asleep. I phoned the man early the next morning and issued to him a call to serve as president of the stake. I asked him to select counselors.
That evening when people gathered for the meeting, there was much speculation as to who would be the stake president, but no one even thought of this man. When I announced his name, people looked at one another for a clue to discovering who he was. I had him come to the stand. I announced his counselors and had them come to the stand.
Even though they did not know him, the people sustained him. Things began to happen in that stake. The people had known for a long time that they needed a stake center, but they had been uncertain and argumentative as to where it should go. He went to work and within 18 months had a beautiful new stake center ready for dedication. He unified the stake. He traveled up and down, meeting the people and extending his love to them. That stake, which had grown tired, came to life and literally bubbled with new enthusiasm. It stands as a shining star in the large constellation of stakes in this Church.

For example, one young girl had great physical beauty. When she walked in a room of strangers, people stopped talking. They seemed in awe of her looks. Boys she didn’t know would stop her and ask for her telephone number. Attention and opportunities came to her just because of how she looked. She was popular and had friends. But in speaking with a Young Women leader, she confessed that her good looks sometimes made her uncomfortable. She explained that she didn’t know if people liked her for herself or because she was pretty. Sometimes friends were only friendly for a short time. She didn’t trust any of the young men who approached her because she felt they didn’t really want to get to know her; they just seemed to want to go out with her because of her looks. Instead of making her happy, her beauty made her feel insecure because she wondered if people would still like her if she weren’t beautiful.

I was in the Pago Pago Stake in American Samoa. President Peters, the stake president, invited me to accompany him to one of the ward sacrament meetings. We arrived unannounced, so there were no special arrangements made.
It was a hot, humid day. As we approached the humble, one-room chapel with no air-conditioning, I suggested it might be appropriate to leave our jackets off. President Peters was quick to tell me that they wore jackets in sacrament meeting in their stake—no matter what the temperature—as a means of showing the Lord that they not only worshiped him but they also honored and respected him by being dressed in their very best.
As I took my place on the stand, there sat the priests and deacons at the sacrament table. Each had on a shirt, tie, and jacket. It was so hot and humid.
The normal dress of the islands is very casual, as you know, but in the eyes of these wonderful Samoan leaders and their Aaronic Priesthood boys, participating in the sacred sacrament service was not a casual experience. It was a sacred duty. They felt that their appearance helped show the respect and reverence they had for the Lord. I shall never forget their influence of reverence in that meeting. Surely their understanding of their relationship with Heavenly Father is an important step in magnifying their priesthood.

When President George Albert Smith was young, his deceased grandfather George A. Smith appeared to him in a dream and asked, “I would like to know what you have done with my name.” President Smith responded, “I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.”1
Each week as we partake of the sacrament, we covenant and promise that we are willing to take upon us the name of Christ, always remember Him, and keep His commandments. If we are willing to do so, we are promised that most wonderful blessing—that His Spirit will always be with us.2
Just as President George Albert Smith had to account to his grandfather for what he had done with his name, someday each one of us will have to account to our Savior, Jesus Christ, for what we have done with His name.
The importance of having a good name is spoken of in Proverbs, where we read: “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold”3 and “The [name] of the just is blessed.”4
As I pondered these scriptures and the importance of having a good name, a flood of memories came into my mind about the good name and legacy my parents left my four brothers, my two sisters, and me. My parents did not have the riches of the world, nor did they have silver or gold. Nine of us lived in a two-bedroom, one-bath home with an enclosed back porch, where my sisters slept. When my parents passed away, my brothers and sisters and I gathered to divide their earthly possessions, which were few in number. My mother left a few dresses, some used furniture, and a few other personal items. My father left some carpenter tools, some old hunting rifles, and little else. The only things of any monetary value were a modest home and a small savings account.
Together we wept openly, giving thanks, knowing they had left us something much more precious than silver or gold. They had given us their love and their time. They had often borne testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, which we can now read in their precious journals. Not so much by words but more by their example, they had taught us to work hard, to be honest, and to pay a full tithing. They also engendered a desire to further our education, to serve a mission, and most important, to find an eternal companion, be married in the temple, and endure to the end. Truly they left us the legacy of a good name, for which we shall ever be grateful.