Gospel Story Finder

Her life changed forever when she awoke in the Prince Charles Hospital in Brisbane with two artificial heart valves. As a patient, surprised to be alive and able to serve, Jane wandered around the hospital visiting other patients.

Jane says, “I feel a deep and abiding gratitude, what a gift all these extra days and years have been. I’ve gained significant insights to pain and patience and have become compassionate in ways that I doubt I could have grasped from any other experience.”

My name is Alan Matthews.* I’m nine years old and have listened to many lessons in church and family home evening. None ever taught me so much about Heavenly Father’s love for me as the lesson I learned through our ducks.
I’m an animal lover. I have a huge collection of small plastic animals from all over the world, and I’ve read nearly every book on animals that our school library has to offer. The fact that I love animals so much is what makes what happened to me so amazing.
My parents, my brothers, and I live in the state of Washington. We have a huge yard with trees, a pond my dad made, and our own little hill. Last spring, my parents surprised us by coming home with two baby ducklings, Samson and Delilah. We raised them in the house until their adult feathers grew in and it warmed up a bit outside. They were cute and cuddly, and we loved to sit and hold them. But once they were old enough to set loose in the backyard, it was pretty hard to catch them when we wanted to hold one.
One day I found myself sitting by the edge of the pond, watching them dive for bugs and bathe themselves. The longer I watched, the more bored I became and the more I wanted to catch one of them to hold. I circled the pond several times, trying to get them to come out of the water. But they knew exactly what I intended and swam away from me. Finally, tired of going in circles, I sat down to try to come up with another idea.
That’s when I came up with what I thought was a foolproof plan. I began to toss small stones into the water beyond the ducks. The splash startled them and made them instinctively swim closer to me. With each stone, I became more confident that I’d soon have a duck to hold. Then the unexpected happened: I looked down to pick up a stone, and there were none left.
Fearful that the ducks would retreat to the other side of the pond, I quickly searched behind me for another rock. I spied one a little way off. Without taking my eyes off the ducks, I grabbed the rock. My fingertips barely had time to feel its smooth edges before I hurled it into the water.
In my hurry, my aim was a little off. Everything would have been fine except that Samson, spooked by my sudden movement, jerked around and headed right into the stone’s path. With a small thud, the rock hit him squarely in the head. For a moment, I sat frozen, shocked at what I’d done and afraid that he’d been badly hurt.
Delilah started beating the water with her wings and screeching at me. Samson jumped out of the water and ran straight across the yard to a little hut we’d built for them. I was relieved that he seemed to be OK, but my heart was beating so hard that I went to lie on my bed for a while.
Two days later the scene came back to haunt me. Mom was out feeding the birds and found Samson nearly drowned at the edge of the pond. Scooping him up and hollering for one of us to get Dad, she rushed Samson into the house. Delilah, who normally set up quite a wail when separated from her mate, followed and stood patiently on the back porch next to the door.
Samson was very cold and could not stand or control his wings very well. Dad wrapped him in towels and put him in a tub under a heat lamp. He showed no sign of improvement after an hour, so Dad brought in Delilah. She nestled right up to Samson.
The next few days, I spent a lot of time by the side of the tub, cleaning up after the ducks and feeding them. I found little comfort in helping them. Everyone tried to guess what had caused Samson’s illness. I felt terrible, knowing what was wrong and that it was my fault.
A week passed. We had seen little change in Samson. It was a warm spring day, and we were all outside enjoying the sunshine. I walked around aimlessly, hitting the ground with a stick that I’d picked up somewhere. I didn’t hear my mother walk up behind me. I jumped as she gently placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Alan, your father felt that I should ask you about Samson.” When I didn’t respond, she continued. “Sometimes we do something we’re not proud of, and it can make us very unhappy inside. It can make us so unhappy that it is like carrying a huge boulder around with us everywhere we go.”
I turned to face her. Tears began to well up in my eyes. I wanted to cry out, “Yes, that’s just how I feel!” but I remained silent.
“When that happens, we need to confide in our Heavenly Father and ask for His forgiveness and for the burden to be removed,” she said.
Finally I mustered up the courage to speak. I asked, “Is that all I have to do?”
“No,” Mother said. “We need to confess our sins, do whatever we can to make the wrong right, and promise that we will never do it again.”
I thought about what she had said. I knew that she was right, and I knew what I had to do. I looked up at her, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Mom, I hit Samson in the head with a rock. I didn’t mean to hurt him, and I don’t want him to die.”
She pulled me close to her and hugged me tightly. “That surely has been a heavy burden to carry around all this time.”
I nodded. Then, pulling out of her comforting arms, I said, “I need to go to my room for a few minutes.”
She nodded in understanding, and I ran inside.
As I knelt beside my bed, I told Heavenly Father that I’d done something very wrong and that I was very sorry. I explained that despite our efforts, Samson was not getting any better, and I asked Him if He would help make things right. I asked for His forgiveness and promised that I would try to never again do something so careless. Closing in the name of Jesus Christ, I arose, amazed at how much better I felt inside already.
For the first time all week, I joined in the dinner conversation and played with my brothers. I now understood what my mother was saying about the weight, because I felt as light as a feather.
When I awoke the next morning, I hurried to check on the ducks and to get their food and water. As I went around the corner, the first sight that met my eyes was Samson, standing up and preening his feathers! He looked his old self again, and he started quacking for his breakfast. He had been healed! Excitedly I ran to tell my parents the good news. I had been forgiven, and I knew that Heavenly Father had helped make Samson better.
That evening I sat on my bed, writing in my journal:
“I know that I am a child of God, that He hears and answers my prayers, and that even a nine-year-old is important enough for a miracle.”

Like all good parents, my own parents desired a bright future for their children. My father was not a member, and because of unusual circumstances that existed at that time, my parents determined that my brothers and sisters and I should leave our island home of American Samoa, in the South Pacific, and travel to the United States in order to go to school.
The decision to be separated from us was a difficult one for my parents, especially my mother. They knew that there would be unknown challenges as we were put into new surroundings. However, with faith and determination, they pressed forward with their plan.
Because of her Latter-day Saint upbringing, my mother was familiar with the principles of fasting and prayer, and both of my parents felt that they needed the blessings of heaven to help their children. In that spirit they began to set aside a day every week to fast and pray for us. Their vision was to prepare their children for a bright future. They acted on this vision as they exercised their faith by seeking the Lord’s blessings. Through fasting and prayer, they received the assurance, comfort, and peace that all would be well.
I know that as we gain a vision of ourselves as the Savior sees us and as we act on that vision, our lives will be blessed in unexpected ways. Because of the vision of my parents, not only was my life blessed by educational experiences, but I was placed in circumstances where I found and embraced the gospel. More important, I learned the significance of good and faithful parents. Simply put, my life was changed forever.
Just as vision led my parents to fast and pray for their children’s welfare and as the early Apostles’ vision led them to follow the Savior, that same vision is available to inspire and help us to act. Brothers and sisters, we are a people with a history of vision and the faith and courage to do. Look at where we have come and the blessings we have received! Believe that He can bless you with vision in your life and the courage to act.

My appreciation for the temple has increased over the years as well. What used to feel like a duty now feels like a joy. I will be honest with you. When I returned from my mission, I learned an important skill that helped me to succeed in school. It was the skill of planning and completing a task list. I applied that same mentality to temple attendance.

In other words, my temple attendance became a task—just one more thing on a list of things to do. When I approached temple service in that manner, it felt more like a duty and almost a burden. But gradually my heart changed and instead of simply checking off another to-do item on a list, I went to the temple to draw closer to Christ. When that happened, the feeling of duty and burden transformed into a feeling of overwhelming joy.

In the temple I began to know my Savior as someone who, because of His love for His Father, was willing to suffer the ultimate and unimaginable sacrifice. I had served a mission and thought I knew the gospel of Jesus Christ. But in the temple endowment instruction, I finally began to feel the gospel of Jesus Christ and His infinite love for the Father and for me. That love is so binding and strong that as I turn to Him, it is sufficient to bring me back to the Father.

In a refugee camp in Asia was a young former schoolteacher who with her mother had escaped their country after having watched the brutal murder of others in their family. She had been viciously violated to the point where she had vowed never to speak again in this depraved world. It was her way of protesting against the wickedness imposed upon her and countless others. For more than five years she spoke not a word. Then one day she came into the influence of some of our Church representatives who are performing daily miracles of love in several refugee camps. They had no medical magic, these selfless young ladies representing us there, no professional competence to deal with a tortured mind and spirit. They prayed for her, took her hand, and spoke words of love to her; and she answered! For the first time in five years she spoke, and she has been speaking since. The Spirit of him who said, “Peace be still” (Mark 4:39), reached out through faithful instruments, touched the storm center of a troubled soul, stilled the winds and waves of torment, and brought faith and hope again.

Twelve-year-old Louisa Bishop gently rocked her baby sister, Emma, in the old, hand-carved rocker. Their mother lay in bed, her face almost as pale as the white pillows. A deadly illness called diphtheria had struck the children of the family, killing three of Louisa’s five siblings. Exhausted from overwork and grief, Louisa’s mother also became sick. Just when it seemed that happiness would never shine on their world again, little Emma had been born. Louisa, now recovered, lovingly cared for her baby sister so their mother could rest and get well. Emma adored her big sister in return.
As the years passed, Emma and Louisa became closer and closer friends. By the time Emma was 11 years old, Louisa had married, and her husband had left to serve a mission in England. Emma was delighted to go to Louisa’s cabin each day to help out.
One day Emma paused in her sweeping and watched quietly as Louisa emptied the butter out of her sparkling glass butter dish and into a jar. “I hope she isn’t doing what I’m afraid she’s doing,” Emma thought.
Louisa stepped to the washbasin and poured in some clean water from the pitcher. Then she carefully washed the butter dish and laid it on a dish towel to dry. Turning to Emma, she handed her the jar of butter. “Now, Emma dear, I need you to take this to the bishop and pay my tithing.”
Emma folded her arms and shook her head. “I won’t do it!” she exclaimed. “You need that butter more than the bishop does.”
Louisa’s mouth drew into a stern line, but her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Emma,” she softly scolded, “tithing is a law that must be kept. If I am willing to do a big thing like letting my husband serve a mission so far away, then surely I can do a small thing like giving up some butter.”
Emma wasn’t convinced. “But it’s a big thing when you have so little.”
“Don’t worry,” Louisa told her with a smile. “I have faith that the Lord will provide.”
Emma looked closely and saw that her sister’s eyes were glistening with tears. Louisa truly believed what she was saying! Emma took the jar of butter and walked out the door without another word, though she still had doubts.
When she returned to Louisa’s cabin, Emma stopped in the doorway and stared, her mouth wide open. The butter dish was back on the table, and inside was a pound of butter! Emma’s eyes asked the question her lips could not—where had the butter come from?
Louisa smiled. “I told you the Lord would provide,” she said. She took a clean dish from the cupboard and placed the butter in it. Then she stepped again to the washbasin and filled the bowl with clean water. She washed out the beautiful glass butter dish and lid. But instead of setting them on a dish towel to drip dry, she dried them and handed both to Emma.
“I want you to have these,” she said. “And whenever you look at them, I want you to remember that the Lord will always take care of us if we keep His commandments. Remember that, Emma. Tithing comes first.” Emma’s eyes misted with tears as she accepted the butter dish.
All her life Emma remembered the lesson she had learned. Each year as her family gathered on her birthday, she told the story again. After Emma’s death, the butter dish was passed down through the family. And everyone who saw the dish heard the story of how Emma learned to always pay her tithing.

I first learned of the treasure on a beautiful Australian morning in October 1992. My husband, who is not a member of the Church, woke up and described a remarkable dream. He said that in his dream someone from my family had asked him for permission to let me go into mainland China to get my family’s genealogy records.
I asked my husband what his response was. He answered that he did not want to be held accountable for not letting me go.
I was amazed. I had already planned to go to Hong Kong in a few months for my daughter’s wedding. It occurred to me that, after the wedding, I could travel to my family’s ancestral village on mainland China, where our records are kept. Because of my husband’s dream, I decided to make the trip.
I was excited, yet afraid of going into China alone. But Heavenly Father provided a solution. A son-in-law was also going to Hong Kong, and he offered to accompany me into China.
On 16 December 1992, we boarded the train from Hong Kong to GuangZhou, China. From GuangZhou, we took another train eleven hours to the city of MaoMeng; then from MaoMeng we took a motor bike with sidecar three more hours to the village. When we arrived, my uncle was surprised to see us, as he had received the letter announcing my visit only the night before. I recognized him immediately, for he looked just like my father. After we all got acquainted, I asked about the records.
My uncle brought out seven volumes that traced my family back nearly seven hundred years. Not only did they contain birth and death dates, but the records also contained a bit of history on each ancestor. I was thrilled.
However, I faced a major problem. The village was so remote that it had no running water, let alone a photocopy machine. Copying the records by hand would take months. When I expressed my concern, my uncle smiled. He said he had a spare set I could take. My son-in-law and I looked at each other in wonder. These people are not well off; making that extra copy must have cost a lot of money.
For years I excused myself from doing family history work because I lacked records. Now there is no excuse. This experience has convinced me that many of my ancestors have accepted the gospel in the spirit world, and that is why the way was opened for me to secure their records—truly a treasure beyond price.

Pornography can jump out at you when you least expect it. Some years ago, after checking into a hotel late at night, I started unpacking my suitcase. I opened the hotel room drawers, only to find three or four pornographic magazines, the kind by just looking at the cover you knew that they were tools of the devil.

I had already changed into my pajamas and was ready for bed. Now I had a dilemma. What if I left the magazines in the drawer and were to die in the middle of the night of a heart attack? Of course, my room would be searched and there in the drawer would be these filthy magazines. But, I was not in my street clothes and didn’t want to change again. Yet, fearing the worst could possibly happen, I begrudgingly dressed again, took the magazines into the hallway, and cast them where they belonged, into the garbage. The Lord has told us to “let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly.”[6]

“I did not have a full assurance that Jesus Christ existed. When people asked me if I believed in God, I would tell them I didn’t know, because I didn’t have a real testimony.
“One of the elders who was teaching me helped me realize I needed to work to have a strong belief in God. He told me, ‘Study the scriptures every day, pray, and go to Church, and you will receive an answer.’ I put his advice into practice, and I soon realized that my faith was growing bit by bit.
“My friends say I’m not the same anymore. They want me to be like I was before, but I can’t. Being a member of the Church has changed my life.”
Shirley Álvarez Vega,El Socorro Branch,Cartagena Colombia El Bosque District

Sometimes we need more than comfort or strength alone; sometimes the blessings we need are more tangible. Tania D. remembers such a time. Her family was facing an especially trying time financially. “It was a Saturday evening, and we had only 40 pesos [about US$1] left for the week, and we didn’t have dinner or even charcoal for our stove at home,” says Tania. “My mother gave me a list of all these things we needed, and we needed 250 pesos to buy all of it. The first thing we needed to buy was charcoal so we could cook dinner.” Tania could see there was not enough money for everything. Then she realized they would not have money for bus fare to go to church the next day. “I told my mother that we didn’t have enough for the fare to go to church. But my mother is really faithful, and she simply told me that ‘God will provide.’
“On my way to the store I was crying because we didn’t have enough money for everything, and I didn’t know what to do,” Tania says. As she rolled up one of the 20-peso bills and put it into her pocket, she did the only thing she could think to do that would help—she said a prayer. “I prayed to Heavenly Father that we could somehow find a way to accommodate our needs.”
But when she got to the first store, she found that the price of charcoal had gone up from 5 pesos to 20 pesos. “I was hesitant to buy it,” Tania says, “but I could feel the Holy Ghost whispering to me to buy it anyway, so I did. Now I had only 20 pesos left, but I still had many things to buy, including diapers for my brother and clean water to drink. So I went to the next store to buy food for our meal, and it was too expensive. I reached into my pocket where I put the 20 pesos, and there were five 20-peso bills in the roll. I started crying right in front of the store owner.
“In the end I was able to buy all of the things we needed,” Tania says, “and we had enough for fare to go to church the next day. When I got home, I went to my room and offered a prayer to God to thank Him for the blessing He had given to us. I know that God really lives and answers our prayers, especially those times when we need Him most and we offer a sincere prayer. He really will answer that prayer.”

Over the past year my best friend has been struggling with leukemia. He had to stay in the hospital for many months and had to undergo chemotherapy. I have prayed for him every night and have been able to see him make progress. Throughout this difficult time, I have grown to know that Heavenly Father is there for us, and He loves all his children. I know that He wants us all to return to live with Him someday and that He wants us all to be happy.
When I think about my friend’s illness too much, I start to worry about the future. But when I think of Heavenly Father’s love for all of us, the pain goes away. I have come to know that I can always turn to Heavenly Father in prayer and that He will be there.
When my friend had a relapse and his cancer returned, I wondered if all of our faith and prayers were in vain. But I soon turned to the Lord for comfort and realized that no matter what happens, Heavenly Father loves my friend and will look after him. I just have to have faith in His plan.

Even though I had been attending a preschool for three years to help me with my speech problems, when I started kindergarten, my family, friends, and schoolteachers still had a hard time understanding what I was saying. My parents were concerned. My family fasted for me, and my dad gave me a priesthood blessing. My speech didn’t improve overnight, but by the middle of the school year my teacher, my family, and my friends could understand me better. Heavenly Father blessed me and the people who worked with me. I could finally bear my testimony. I still have to take speech classes and work hard, but I know Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers.

It was like that for me on my first date with my husband. All evening we were surrounded by myriads of people, but I felt like it was just the two of us. First we went to a banquet and then to a gala Fine Arts Ball at BYU. I remember at the beginning we politely went around the dinner table and introduced everyone. Then just John and I talked to each other, non-stop, the rest of the evening.

I’ve heard it said that “Love is a long conversation.” I believe it. In fact I often joke with our children that if I ever run out of things to say to Dad, then the marriage will be over. I’m pretty safe at saying that, because we love to talk to one another about everything.

I conclude with a favorite vignette that drives this point home.

A mother encouraged her daughter to come home as soon as school was over. The time she was supposed to arrive came, and the time went. Thirty minutes later, her daughter walked in through the front door of their home, and the mother scolded her, saying, “Where have you been? I have been worried sick!”

The daughter said, “Oh, Mommy, I walked my friend Sally home. She dropped her doll on the sidewalk, and it broke all to pieces. It was awful!”

Her mother said, “So you are late because you stayed to help your friend pick up the pieces of the doll and put it back together again?”

She replied, “Oh, no, Mommy. I didn’t know how to fix the doll. I just stayed to help her cry.”

My prayer is that you will leave here today more committed than ever before to be there for each other, not just in sharing tears of sadness but in sharing tears of joy and victory as you support one another in your climb up the four steps on the stairway to heaven—that your life will be significant, that your time will be well spent, that you will prepare in every way, and that you will perform in every moment.

My father received a promotion that necessitated moving to another town. In high school I was a stranger among my new classmates. On the first day in my American history class the teacher asked questions that served both as a preview of the course and as an attempt to arouse interest in history. Examples included
One of the questions the teacher asked was: Do any of you know the real name of the Mormon Church? While my classmates had readily answered or attempted to answer the previous questions, no one responded to this one. After what seemed like a long period of silence, I slowly raised my hand and said, “The Mormon Church’s name is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Even today, many people do not know that answer. At the end of class, the teacher asked me to stay, and he politely asked if I was a Mormon. I replied, “Yes.”
He became my advocate. I believe he was a factor in getting my name on the short list of nominees for various honors and recognitions during my high school years.

Robert Blatchford, in his book God and My Neighbor, attacked with vigor accepted Christian beliefs, such as God, Christ, prayer, and immortality. He boldly asserted, “I claim to have proved everything I set out to prove so fully and decisively that no Christian, however great or able he may be, can answer my arguments or shake my case.” He surrounded himself with a wall of skepticism. Then a surprising thing happened. His wall suddenly crumbled to dust. He was left exposed and undefended. Slowly he began to feel his way back to the faith he had scorned and ridiculed. What had caused this profound change in his outlook? His wife died. With a broken heart, he went into the room where lay all that was mortal of her. He looked again at the face he loved so well. Coming out, he said to a friend: “It is she, and yet it is not she. Everything is changed. Something that was there before is taken away. She is not the same. What can be gone if it be not the soul?”

Later he wrote: “Death is not what some people imagine. It is only like going into another room. In that other room we shall find … the dear women and men and the sweet children we have loved and lost.”

I was born and reared in China and served as a soldier there. Later, while living in Taiwan, I learned about Jesus Christ and was baptized by a Protestant missionary from northern Europe. For the next 42 years, I was an active advocate of Christianity and a leader in my church.
Although I held to my Christian beliefs, over time I became disenchanted with my church and began searching elsewhere for the truth. So when two Latter-day Saint missionaries knocked on my door in September 1993, I was happy to let them in. Sister Nelson and Sister Shao explained the message of the Book of Mormon, and I accepted a copy of the book. But my mind was in turmoil because I had heard many attacks against this “Mormon” Church. The sisters spent two hours resolving my concerns.
On their next visit they invited me to attend services with them. I entered their rented building in Lungtan Taoyuan for the first time in late September. Among other things, I learned that they also believed in the Bible! This discovery sent me hurrying home between meetings to retrieve my scriptures.
The following Sunday the sisters came again, accompanied by two young men named Elder Roser and Elder Bearman. One of the first topics the elders discussed with me was that the Father and the Son had appeared to Joseph Smith in answer to his prayer about which church to join. We read much of the account aloud, including this verse:
“I was answered that I must join none of [the existing churches], for they were all wrong; and the Personage who addressed me said that all their creeds were an abomination in his sight; that those professors were all corrupt; that: ‘they draw near to me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me, they teach for doctrines the commandments of men, having a form of godliness, but they deny the power thereof’” (JS—H 1:19).
These words resonated deep inside me, and the Spirit was very strong. I looked up from reading the passage and said simply, “It is true.”
The elders next taught me about the Apostasy, the Restoration of the Church, and the restoration of priesthood authority. But when they invited me to be baptized, I was shocked. I had been baptized many years before, also by immersion. Being baptized again seemed unnecessary; it felt like a betrayal of my former beliefs.
The elders made me promise to pray about the importance of being baptized by someone with authority. Then they left. Without my knowledge, they began to fast for me that very day, praying for me to understand the importance of being baptized by proper authority.
The elders were surprised and delighted when I announced at one of our next discussions that I wanted to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My soul was filled with joy on that day. “God has answered my prayers,” I told them, “and I know it is God’s will for me to be baptized.” They excitedly began to plan for the ordinance to take place on 14 November 1993.
Going into the waters of baptism and being confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were beautiful and sublime experiences. When the events of the day were over, I tried to express to the elders how I felt. “I have walked with the Lord for more than 40 years,” I told them, “and now, today, I am finally a member of his Church!”

It was Friday when we three boys who had been chums for many years made our plans—three sun-touched boys with an itch for one last outing before cold weather set in.
There was Eddie Simkins, with the mop of curly hair, and Scrummy Chislet. (I never did find out why he was called Scrummy.)
So we three 12-year-olds formulated our adventuresome plans. That afternoon after school we would head for the valley and spend the night.
When our school studies were over I dashed home and spoke to my mother. She was sewing in the living room, and from her little radio came sounds of the music she loved.
“Mam” I said excitedly, “Eddie, Scrummy, and I are going up the valley to spend the night. I would like some bedding and a little food. We are going to have such a good time.”
Mam looked up from her sewing. “Son,” she said, “I just heard on the radio there is a chance of thunderstorms in the hills and the possibility of flash floods.”
There is something about a mother’s look when it concerns the welfare of her children that is hard for a 12-year-old boy to understand. “Mam,” I said, with the know-how of a boy. “You can’t believe all that stuff you hear on the radio.”
I took her by the hand and led her over to the big bay window. “Look Mam. There isn’t a cloud in the sky.” And I argued like only a boy can.
She turned to me and said, “All right, if you insist on going, but remember when the storm comes that I warned you.”
I rolled up an old quilt and a blanket and tied them with a piece of string. Mam made me some sandwiches of homemade bread and blackberry jam, from berries I had picked myself. These she wrapped in a sheet of newspaper and put them in a brown paper bag.
She stood on the doorstep as I left, and again that look was on her face. Later I knew what it was, an unspoken prayer.
The three of us met where the street ended and the valley began. Our destination was an old woodcutter’s cabin about four miles up the valley. What a day! The birds were singing, and up on the hill a patch of gorse was in bloom, giving a bit of gold to the world. Under the hedgerows the last of the violets were peeking. The sun was warm, and a tiny breeze rustled the dying leaves on the trees.
We laughed and joked as we hiked along, not a care in the world.
We were about two miles from the cabin when suddenly there was a change in the weather. The birds’ song was stilled, and a heaviness filled the air. Over the top of a distant hill we saw the tip of a black cloud. It grew as we hurried our footsteps.
Soon the cloud filled the sky, and the thunder and the lightning came. The rain started with a few drops at first. Then it became a deluge. By the time we reached the cabin we were soaked to the skin. To add to our discomfort, the roof of the cabin had caved in during the winter months and only a small corner offered any shelter.
The cabin was erected on a bank above the brook, the brook I loved so well. Its music was a pleasant melody like a lullaby at night. But now as we huddled in that corner the voice of the brook became loud and threatening, and we could hear stones rolling down its bed.
The thunder reverberated through the trees, and once we heard the lightning strike a big beech tree not far away. We were three frightened boys.
We tried to light a fire in the fireplace, but due to the wet wood we only succeeded in making smoke, and I must confess all the tears in my eyes were not caused by the smoke.
During the night we sat huddled together in the corner, but the wind blew the rain in on us. The pangs of hunger came, and I unwrapped the sodden covering around my sandwiches. The bread was sop so I scooped out the jam with my fingers and ate it.
Few words were spoken during the night, but over and over in my mind came Mam’s words to me, “Remember when the storm comes that I have warned you.”
With the coming of the dawn the storm ended, and we gathered up our rain-soaked bedding and started for home.
About a mile down the trail we met our fathers, who had come looking for us. My father took my bedroll and put his arm around my shoulder. His words were simple and sincere. “I am glad you are safe.” Mam was waiting at the door. The look was the same except for the moisture in her eyes.
She had prepared breakfast. There was hot oatmeal porridge with cream from the top of the milk bottle and toast made on top of the coal range.
There was no “I told you so,” only a request: “You must lie down awhile, my son, and rest.”
Through the years I have learned what that look is that mothers get. It is the look of the good shepherd who cares for his flock.
I have also learned the similarity of my mother’s warning to those of our Heavenly Father. I can imagine him saying, “Remember when the storms come and nations tremble and there is desolation on the earth, that I have warned you.”

A few months ago, I visited a city in the Asia Area where the gospel has been preached for many years. We had a devotional with some of the members of the church and had a period of questions and answers. One of the first questions was, “When will we become a stake?” I knew that a member of the Twelve had been in that same city about a year earlier. In response to their question, I responded by asking this question: “When you asked the member of the Twelve the same question a year ago, what was his answer?” The response was immediate –“You will be a stake when you want to be a stake.” They then said that they did not fully understand the response. Of course they wanted to be a stake – they had wanted it for years.

My response was then the same as had been given by the member of the Twelve a year earlier, with one clarification. “You will become a stake when you want to be a stake enough that you are willing to do the work that is needed to become a stake.” As you may know, in order to become a stake, there must be a certain number of members, and they must have a certain level of faithfulness in paying their tithing, and so forth. The things that they were lacking when I visited a few months ago were the very things that they were lacking a year earlier when a member of the Twelve had visited. In the year that had passed, they had lived good lives and had done much good. But they had not focused on the work needed to reactivate a relatively few members, or to invite a relatively few to receive the blessings of being full tithe payers or the work needed to invite a few more of their friends and family to receive the gospel of Jesus Christ. In other words, their desire to become a stake had not been strong enough to motivate them to do the things that they needed to do to become a stake.

Today, we are about 4 months from that visit. During those months, the district leadership, the branch presidents, the missionary force and others went to work to do the things needed to become a stake. I am pleased to report that within a very short period of time – certainly this year – there will be an additional stake in the Asia Area. This is because they came to understand that “desire” in the gospel of Jesus Christ always and must always include the action and work needed to accomplish whatever is desired. Remember, we show our desire to God by what we do, far more than by what we say.

Ludovic picked up some folding chairs and carried them across the street. It was Sunday, and church would be starting soon. The house where they had church in Togo didn’t have enough seats. So Ludovic always brought chairs from his grandfather’s house.
“Why would you leave a nice church to go to a small shack?” someone called after him. “Your church doesn’t even have benches!” someone else said, laughing.
Ludovic pretended not to hear. I just have to keep doing what’s right, he thought.
Ludovic first learned about the Church when he was 10. Now he was 12. He and his family had been baptized recently. He held the priesthood and helped pass the sacrament. He even saved some of his lunch money to buy bread for the sacrament each week. Ludovic was happy to serve Heavenly Father.
When it was time for church to start, the small room was full. Some people sat in the chairs Ludovic had brought. Other people stood.
The meeting started with a song. “Israel, Israel, God is calling,” Ludovic sang. He loved to sing at church.
After church, Ludovic hummed as he put the chairs away. He hummed as he walked home. Then he had an idea! He got out his toy piano keyboard. Maybe he could figure out how to play “Israel, Israel, God Is Calling”!
Ludovic hummed the notes and played different keys until he got it right. Soon he taught himself to play the whole song.
Then he remembered that his family had some recordings of Church hymns. He listened to them and learned to play other songs too. Ludovic practiced and practiced.
“Why don’t you play in church while we sing?” Ludovic’s dad asked one day.
Ludovic’s stomach did a flop. “I’m too shy,” he said. “What if I mess up?”
“Then you will keep going,” Dad said. “You are a better pianist than you think.”
The next Sunday, Ludovic didn’t carry just chairs. He carried his toy keyboard to church too. When it was time for the opening song, he nervously put his fingers on the keys. Then he started to play. Everyone sang along. And it sounded so good!
Ludovic played in church each Sunday after that. Sometimes he messed up. But he didn’t quit. When the song was too hard to play, they sang without the piano, and Ludovic led the music.
Ludovic smiled. It didn’t matter to him that they had church at someone’s house. It didn’t even matter that people made fun of him. What mattered was that Ludovic was using his talents to serve God.
A missionary taught Ludovic to read music so he could play the piano better.
Ludovic is grown up now. He and his wife, Benedict, both love music.
Ludovic owns a real piano at home and plays the organ at church.