Gospel Story Finder

“Have you ever had the feeling that your life is out of control?” asks Gwen Legler of Arlington, Washington. “So you spend your time worrying. Such was my life a few years ago. I constantly worried and felt anxious about our future.
“One day I was reading the Book of Mormon and came to 2 Nephi 4:27 [2 Ne. 4:27]: ‘Why should I give way to temptations, that the evil one have place in my heart to destroy my peace and afflict my soul?’ Lightning could not have pierced my soul more deeply than did those words. I realized that worry and anxiety were temptations of the devil and were destroying my peace. This scripture did not change my circumstances, but it did change my attitude. I gained peace of mind as I put my faith in Heavenly Father for the future.”

Later, as a teenager, I visited the Sacred Grove. It was a beautiful summer evening and a quiet setting. It seemed to be the perfect occasion. I prayed for some sort of confirmation of what I believed. I prayed very sincerely for a very long time and nothing happened. Disappointed, I gave up and walked back to the town of Palmyra where I was staying. I asked myself, “What did I do wrong?”
The spiritual confirmation I was searching for came a month or two later when I was at home. I was reading the Book of Mormon by myself, and I was overcome with a very powerful spiritual witness of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the calling of the Prophet Joseph Smith—basically, the kind of witness I was hoping to receive in the Sacred Grove.
I’m glad the Lord didn’t respond when I was praying in the Sacred Grove because it taught me that you don’t have to be in any special place to receive a witness. I was at home, in my bedroom, and the Lord found me there.

Our parents were happy for us to join the Church, but they wanted no part of it. My sister and I tried our best to regularly attend church meetings, but it wasn’t easy, especially with competing influences in our home. For example, we often had to choose between going to sacrament meeting and spending Sunday at the beach with our family.
But Fiasili and I worked to strengthen each other’s testimonies. We thought that if our parents could just accept the gospel, we wouldn’t have to live in two worlds. So, we invited the missionaries to teach them. In the process, our younger brother—and many of our cousins who lived with us—joined the Church.
It took a little longer for my parents. My sister was serving a full-time mission in Suva, Fiji, when our mother finally got baptised. Our father had actually been a less active member for many years, and it was such a joy to see them both start coming to church with us.

Many faithful Latter-day Saints have demonstrated that they are “settled” in keeping their covenants with God and are forever changed. Let me tell you about three such individuals—Brother Banza Mucioko, Sister Banza Régine, and Brother Mbuyi Nkitabungi.

In 1977 the Banzas lived in Kinshasa in the country of Zaire, now known as the Democratic Republic of the Congo. They were highly respected in their Protestant church community. Because of their talents, their church arranged for their young family to go to Switzerland to study and provided a university scholarship.

While in Geneva, on the bus route to school, Brother Banza frequently saw a small meetinghouse with the name “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He wondered, “Does Jesus Christ have Saints now, in the latter days?” He eventually decided to go and see.

Brother and Sister Banza were greeted warmly at the branch. They asked some of the persistent questions they had about the nature of God, such as, “If God is a spirit, like the wind, how could we be created in His likeness? How could He sit on a throne?” They had never received a satisfactory answer until the missionaries explained restored doctrine in a brief lesson. When the missionaries left, the Banzas looked at each other and said, “Isn’t this the truth that we have heard?” They continued coming to church and meeting with the missionaries. They knew that baptism in the restored Church of Jesus Christ would have consequences. They would be stripped of their scholarships, their visas would be revoked, and they and their two young children would be required to leave Switzerland. They chose to be baptized and confirmed in October 1979.

Two weeks after their baptism, Brother and Sister Banza returned to Kinshasa as the first and second members of the Church in their country. The members of the Geneva Branch stayed in contact with them and helped them connect with Church leaders. The Banzas were encouraged to faithfully await the promised time when God would establish His Church in Zaire.

Meanwhile, another exchange student from Zaire, Brother Mbuyi, was studying in Belgium. He was baptized in 1980 in the Brussels Ward. Soon thereafter, he served a full-time mission to England. And God worked His miracles. Brother Mbuyi returned to Zaire as the third member of the Church in his country. With parental permission, Church meetings were held in his family home. In February 1986 a petition was made for official government recognition of the Church. The signatures of three citizens of Zaire were required. The three happy signatories of the petition were Brother Banza, Sister Banza, and Brother Mbuyi.

These stalwart members knew the truth when they heard it; they made a covenant at baptism that anchored them to the Savior. They metaphorically threw their old ways into a churning waterfall with no intention of retrieving them. The covenant path was never easy. Political turmoil, infrequent contact with Church leaders, and challenges inherent in building a community of Saints might have deterred less-committed individuals. But Brother and Sister Banza and Brother Mbuyi persevered in their faith. They were present at the dedication of the Kinshasa Temple, 33 years after they signed the petition that led to the official recognition of the Church in Zaire.

The Banzas are here in the Conference Center today. They are accompanied by their two sons, Junior and Phil, and daughters-in-law, Annie and Youyou. In 1986, Junior and Phil were the first two individuals baptized into the Church in Zaire. Brother Mbuyi is watching these proceedings from Kinshasa with his wife, Maguy, and their five children.

These pioneers understand the meaning and consequences of covenants through which they have been brought “to the knowledge of the Lord their God, and to rejoice in Jesus Christ their Redeemer.”

Upon graduating from high school, I had the opportunity to serve a full-time mission in my homeland of Tonga. The first area that I was assigned to was the island of Ha’afeva in Ha’apai, where I traveled by boat with my mother as my companion. My mother was given permission from the Mission President to accompany me in order to ask her mother, my grandmother, to allow the missionaries to live with her. You see, my grandmother was not a member of our faith however, she agreed to allow the missionaries to live with her under one condition: that the gospel not be preached in her home. She did tell my mother that the missionaries were required to join with her in morning and evening prayers. My companion, Sister Masiu, joined me on the island two days later. We happily agreed to my grandmother’s arrangement, and already saw opportunities to share the gospel with her “under her conditions.” We also resolved to leave some of our church pamphlets around the house, hoping that she would read them.

At the time that I was serving, there was maybe about 300 people living on the island and the only members were the Branch President and his family along with my companion and me, so you can imagine the amount of work we had ahead of us. Most of the people on the island were my family members and even though they provided us with meals, they refused to hear the message that we had to share of the restored gospel. We continued to pray and plead with the Lord for an opportunity to find a family that would not only be willing to let us in their home, but also be accepting of His message. Through acts of service, we were only able to answer the inquiries of those who received us. Because we were young and recently graduated from high school, many people associated our age with naiveté, which is why many rejected our invitations. After four months of serving with no one accepting our invitations to hear the message, we felt discouraged. Even though we prayed, fasted, obeyed missionary rules and worked diligently, we felt that we had yielded no fruit.

On April 2, 1978 which was a fast Sunday, Sister Masiu and I decided to set a specific goal that we would fast and pray about. We asked the Lord to direct us to one person on the island who would be ready to hear the message of the gospel and accept the invitation to be baptized. That night as we evaluated our day and made plans for the week, Sister Masiu suggested that we each prepare scriptures to help us focus on our goal for the week. I turned to Alma 29:1-4:-
“O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God with a voice to shake the earth and cry repentance unto every people!
Yea, I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth.
But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me.
... I know that he granteth unto men according to their desire…”3
Sister Masiu then shared her scripture from Alma 37:36-37:-
“Yea, and cry unto God for all thy support; yea, let all thy doings be unto the Lord, and withersoever thou goest let it be in the Lord; yea, let all thy thoughts be directed unto the Lord; yea, let the affections of thy heart be placed upon the Lord forever.
Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the morning let thy heart be full of thanks unto God; and if you do these things, ye shall be lifted up at the last day.”4
After sharing our scriptures and thoughts with each other, we had both felt the impression to act. We decided we would pray unto the Lord all night in a sincere petition for His help to achieve our goal of finding one adult to teach and commit to baptism. Throughout the night, we would pray together as a companionship and then individually. The most meaningful and sincere prayers we offered contained many expressions of thanks, asking forgiveness for our shortcomings and imperfections and petitions for assistance to improve the work in that area.

Monday morning came and although we had been up all night praying, we felt rejuvenated and ready to tackle our goals for the week. I felt armed, not only with the understanding that our answers, or assistance, may not arrive immediately, but also with the comfort and confirmation from the Holy Ghost that the Lord had heard our pleas and was aware of each of His children on that little island. As we were leaving the house that morning, my grandmother called us back to ask if we could help with the cooking and house chores because she was not feeling good. We gladly told her not to worry and made slight changes to our schedule for the day. Grandmother was sick that whole week, so we adjusted our schedule to accommodate the chores at home. Our week was successful in rendering service and finding joy while building the Kingdom, but we still hadn’t found someone who fully accepted the gospel and the invitation for baptism.

The following Monday, April 10th, as we were leaving the house for the day, grandmother called us back to the house. She wanted to speak to me in private, and had asked Sister Masiu to wait outside.

Grandmother looked at me seriously and my first thought was, “This is it! She will tell me her last wishes and I will have to relay them to her children.” But to my surprise, she whispered to me very quietly, as if there were someone in the room over hearing our conversation. She made me promise that I would not tell a soul of what she was about to share with me. I didn’t know what to expect at this point, so I made the promise as she proceeded to tell me of a dream she had.

She told me that she had this dream the previous Sunday and didn’t understand what it meant. It caused her to worry, which resulted in her being sick the whole week. In her dream, she said she was laying in her bed and a man came to her window calling her by name, “Sioana.” She said she looked at the man and didn’t recognize him, so she got out of bed and went to the window to find that the man calling her was her father, Sulivenusi Hafoka. He told her, “Come join the true church.” Grandmother couldn’t make sense of this and asked him, “What is the true church?” He answered, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”. Then he walked away. My grandmother followed him because she didn’t understand his response of “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”, but wanted to know what this “true church” was. In her dream, she recalled that they arrived at a place that was not familiar to her. Her father stood on one side and her on the opposite side of the room. My grandmother said she saw a white cemented space, surrounded by pipes, with stairs leading into water. Her father told her once more, “Come, join the true church.” Grandmother said she asked him again, “What is the true church?” Her father answered, “The Mormon Church”, which is when she awoke from the dream.

While laying sick in bed, she wondered how her father knew that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the “true church”. He had been a minister in the Methodist Church and was very devoted to his faith. It didn’t make sense to her and she couldn’t understand the dream, in addition to that, she did not speak to others about it for fear that she would be mocked.

Tears of happiness rolled down my face while my grandmother recounted her dream. In my heart, I shouted for joy. I couldn’t help but think of the many prayers offered that night by our own families and many church members asking the Lord’s assistance for missionaries to find the honest in heart. I called my companion into the house and we knelt in prayer, giving thanks to the Lord for hearing and answering our pleas of assistance to further his work on the island.

My companion and I told grandmother of our goal, the plans we committed to carryout to achieve that goal, and the struggles that we had in the work. I told her that the place her father took her to in her dream was a baptismal font. We helped to answer questions she had about the church as well as questions she had about how her father had joined the Church even though he had already passed on. We shared the Plan of Salvation with her and our conversation turned from minutes to hours.

That day, brothers and sisters, my testimony was strengthened and I knew that we were not alone in the isles of the sea. Heavenly Father had heard and answered our prayers reminding me of the promise given by the Savior in the books of Matthew and Mark:
“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:
“For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened”.5
“What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.”6
My grandmother was 77 years old when she was baptized on June 11, 1978. I was able to serve on her island for ten months. After being baptized and confirmed a member of the church, she remained faithful in attending her church meetings and received her endowments in the Tonga Temple in 1982. Some of her children were sealed to her and their father on April 6, 1982 in the Oakland Temple.

“Blessings require some WORK or EFFORT on our part before we can obtain them.” This experience required work and effort not only on our part as missionaries, but also my grandmother, our families at home who prayed for us and the members of the church who prayed on our behalf. We did not see blessings as an immediate result our efforts alone, but as the continuous and combined work or efforts of everyone involved in the work.

No matter how old we are, if we do not understand and feel what it means to be a child of God, we will not have the courage to endure life's trials. I had such an experience relatively recently. When faced with uncertainty related to a particular situation, and not knowing how to resolve it, I decided to kneel and pray. I simply asked, "Father, Am I your son? and Father, do you love me?" The answer came with such power that I knew that He was listening, and sending the comfort I desperately needed. I did not receive the knowledge as to how to fix the problem at that moment, but I had the courage not to give up, and to keep moving forward.

But I learned an important lesson from an argument I had with a family member. In this situation, we both felt strongly that we were in the right. I quickly got frustrated with how the discussion was going. I’m not a good debater, and he presented his points with a confidence that was hard to contradict. I did my best to state my points respectfully, but it didn’t seem to matter.
My words felt weak.
I felt weak.
I tried not to let my frustration get the best of me, but when he left, I broke down in tears. I felt discouraged and humiliated.
A couple of hours later, he came back. I braced myself for another frustrating argument, but his words surprised me.
“Thanks,” he said. “Thanks for listening.”
He told me how much it meant to him that I’d heard him out, even though I didn’t agree with him. In the end, neither of our opinions had changed, but we understood each other better.
What I had thought was a disastrous conflict turned out to be an opportunity to build a stronger relationship. That simple exchange made me think a lot about how I relate to others during conflicts and the importance of simply listening.

Caroline Jacobs focused on the words of the closing song. If she concentrated hard enough, she could block out the jeers and cries coming from outside—almost. Her father offered a prayer, and the meeting was dismissed.
Because there was no church building, the Mormon families in the area met in the Jacobses’ home. No one was in a hurry to leave tonight, Caroline noted. They were afraid, just as she was.
The mob hadn’t actually attacked anyone yet. But daily they grew louder and bolder in their protests against the Mormon families in the small Missouri settlement.
Surely they won’t harm people who only want to live in peace, Caroline kept telling herself. But the struggle to believe it intensified every day. Reports came, relating the persecutions the Saints in other towns were suffering, but so far the mob had stopped short of real violence here.
Caroline’s family had moved from New York a year ago, just after her baptism. At first she had liked the frontier town. She’d seen trappers and traders, cowboys and soldiers, all of whom she’d only read about before her family’s move to Missouri.
But as more Latter-day Saint families settled in the area, anti-Mormon sentiment had grown. Caroline kept close to home now and no longer played outside by herself.
When the other families had left the house with her father, who was seeing the widows safely home, Caroline turned to her mother. “Mama, why do the men outside hate us?”
Her mother sighed. “I don’t think they really hate us. I think they’re afraid.”
Caroline listened to the shouts that could still be heard, even though the meeting had ended. “They don’t sound afraid. They sound angry. Besides, why would they be afraid of us?” She knew her father didn’t even own a gun. He’d told her often enough that he believed in talking out differences, not shooting them out.
Her mother looked sad. “People often are afraid of what they don’t understand.”
Caroline thought about that. Maybe her mother was right. “Are you ever afraid, Mama?”
Her mother busied herself with sweeping the wood floor. “Sometimes I am,” she said at last. “Then I remember that if I am at peace here”—she placed a hand over her heart—“I don’t have to be afraid.”
Caroline put a hand over her own heart. “But how can I feel peace when people are trying to force us to leave our homes?”
“Peace isn’t something that comes from the outside. It’s a feeling inside,” her mother said with a slow, soft smile.
“A feeling inside,” Caroline repeated, liking the sound of the words.
The next day Caroline walked with her mother to the small store that sold supplies to the farmers. She kept her eyes straight ahead when several boys from town yelled, “Dirty Mormons!”
“They can’t hurt us with their words,” Mama said quietly, but she tightened her hold on Caroline’s hand and walked faster toward the store.
Caroline thought about Mama’s counsel from last night and placed her hand on her heart. This is where it matters, she thought. If I can feel peace here, it doesn’t matter what’s happening around me.
She fixed her thoughts on the sweet feelings she’d received the previous night, when she’d knelt by her bed and prayed for Heavenly Father’s help. Never before had she known such peace.
On the way home she ignored the taunts aimed at her and concentrated on what she felt inside. Her mother was right. The peaceful feeling didn’t go away. Instead, it grew steadily stronger until she no longer even noticed the boys’ insults.
At home she climbed the ladder to the loft that was her bedroom. Once more, she knelt by her bed and prayed. This time it was a prayer of thanks.

Things don’t always work out the way they hope, but that doesn’t mean the Lord’s arm of mercy isn’t still extended (see 2 Nephi 9:14). Kache says, “There was a cow this last summer that needed a C-section. We pulled the first calf out and it ended up being twins.” They both died not long after the C-section. “Seeing them die was hard,” said Kache, but he is learning to trust God even when things don’t work out. “If we are strong and stay true to the gospel, we will be rewarded in the end.”

When I was eight, my parents divorced. My dad and I had always been close. At the time, I didn’t realize how hard it would be to not have my father involved in my everyday life. And it was difficult to come to terms with the fact that my dad would not be there to baptize me or participate in many other important events.
Seven years later, there were still times when I would sit to write something about him in my journal, but the feelings of love and sorrow were so strong I couldn’t. It was awful being that completely miserable.
During the 1999 April general conference, Elder Jeffrey Holland’s talk about the importance of a father really struck me. As I listened intently to Elder Holland, my eyes filled with tears. I felt the Spirit surround and comfort me. I realized I did have a father who is always here for me, my Heavenly Father. I was embarrassed that my stubborn thoughts about living a fatherless life were blinding me to the fact that Heavenly Father was waiting to be my support and friend.
Often when we are faced with one of life’s many trials, we focus on the negative effects it has on our life, I was using my parents’ divorce as a reason to be unhappy.
I realized I was drowning in a sea of self-pity, hoping for some miraculous change to come. But I eventually realized that the only way things would change was if I changed. Hardships are what you make them become: a never-ending problem or a chance to learn and grow. As I prayed and grew closer to my Father in Heaven, I realized that I was learning and growing. What a comforting feeling it is to know that when I kneel down to say my prayers, there is always someone who is willing to listen to me and help me. Both my mortal father and my Heavenly Father live far away, but One can hear my silent pleas for guidance.

In the darkness we started along an icy ledge that dropped off into some unseen black depth. The night and the darkness had come quickly—too quickly for me. Our only source of light now came from a hazy moon rising up between the horizon and a ceiling of storm clouds.
“What am I doing here? What are we doing here?” I kept asking myself. It was late November, the day after Thanksgiving, and, as is almost always true of high places in the Northeast, in winter, there was a hard, icy wind blowing. I was with Scout Troop 235 from the Westchester Ward in New York State.
“Nor far now,” one of the leaders ahead of us shouted. “You won’t want to miss this.”
But I did want to miss it. What I wanted most was to be back in the camp we’d just set up, back safe and warm and dry in my sleeping bag. We’d come a long way since morning and were all wet and tired. The Scouts and the leaders ahead of us stopped and were forming a line on the ledge.
“This is incredible,” I heard someone say. What I saw was incredible. I forgot the cold and the wind and found my heart beating faster. In a lifetime a few scenes, a few images, have seared their lines and shapes and colors indelibly into my memory: there was a lightning storm rolling over the Grand Canyon, 50-foot waves crashing into rocks on the northern coast of California, the moon at midnight rising over El Capitan in Yosemite Park. This was such an image. It was as if the universe had been tipped upside down and we were looking down into a clear, star-filled night sky.
These were no ordinary wilds. These were the wildest of the wilds, a place of legends and dreams, the capital of the new Byzantine Empire. These were the wilds of the Big Apple, New York City; and the Milky Way galaxy we were looking down into was the east river, and the stars, the lights of Manhattan Island.
The place where we were standing—the place that, beyond the railing, dropped straight down 107 stories—was the top of the World Trade Center. The twin towers of the World Trade Center are the tallest buildings in New York City and the second tallest in the world. We—Troop 235 plus 150 other Scouts and their leaders, all from the Yorktown Stake, New York State—were to be the first group to camp out there.
The camp-out on the World Trade Center began that morning when we arrived at St. Mark’s Church in the Bowery district of Manhattan Island. Good weather had been forecast, but the night before the camp-out it started raining, and by morning the rain turned to snow. By the time we had started on a seven-mile hike that was to end at the World Trade Center, a hard wind was blowing, turning the storm into a blizzard. What had started out as an easy hike down Broadway became a test of survival just like any winter camp-out can become. On a regular winter camping trip we would have been able to find temporary shelter from the storm in caves or in quickly constructed lean-tos. Here we had to improvise, stopping at laundromats and restaurants. The stops were short. One hundred and sixty Scouts and their leaders in a laundromat doesn’t leave much room for customers.
The rain and the snow and the wind gave the city a kind of iridescent beauty. The streets were a black pearl color reflecting the bright reds, yellows, and greens of street lights, stop signs, and taxi cabs. “It even made the graffiti look good,” John Merrick, 13, from Poughkeepsie, said.
Like bulbs from Christmas trees, in the alleys, against fences, and in the gutters, umbrellas, some of them with broken spines and some that had been stolen by the wind from unsuspecting hands, were piled like tumbleweeds.
The Scouts followed the Old New York Historical Trail, visiting China Town, St. Paul’s Chapel (George Washington worshipped there during his presidency), Wall Street, Trinity Church, Battery Park, and Fraunces Tavern, where George Washington said farewell to his troops after the Revolutionary War.
Manhattan Island is rich in history, beautiful buildings, and parks, but for Rich Poccia, 15, from the Westchester Ward, they weren’t what he found most interesting about the city.
“The people are the most interesting thing here,” he said. “You can stand on any street corner and in just a few minutes see people from a dozen different countries.”
Even though the wind was blowing at over 40 miles per hour and the snow was coming down hard, most of the streets we passed through were crowded. It was business as usual for the Hasidim, wearing full beards and long, dark wool coats; Indians with colored turbans wrapped around their heads; and businessmen with heavy trench coats and copies of the Times held over their heads.
In the city, where almost nothing is surprising, people stopped and stared as they watched 160 Scouts and their leaders march down the streets.
Hiking through Manhattan and camping on top of the World Trade Center was unusual enough to be front-page news in the Reporter Dispatch of White Plains, New York. USA Today and the Poughkeepsie Journal also covered the story.
Late in the afternoon, the fury of the storm began to slow until the wind and the snow stopped. The evening sun dropped below the dark clouds, and golden light spilled in long rays onto the city. The effect was magical. The city was transformed into the fabled city of gold, El Dorado. The buildings and sidewalks, the water in the bay, and the people were turned into a bright, warm, gold color. The air was cool and clean. The city was at its best. In this golden light the Scouts took a ferry to Governor’s Island to eat dinner.
Because of the work the leaders put into organizing the trip, costs for the Scouts were kept to a minimum. Discount rates were obtained for meals, ferry and subway rides, and admission to museums. Several food companies donated hot dogs, drinks, and snacks. A national sporting goods company donated eight basketballs to give away as awards. The U.S. Olympic Committee donated 160 U.S. Olympic pins.
“What we have learned from this event,” Doug Jackson, a Yorktown stake Scouting leader said, “is that people and corporations are very willing to help the Scouting program.”
After dinner the Scouts returned to Manhattan and took a subway to the Natural History Museum. The rides on the New York subway were among the most exciting events of the trip.
Imagine, if you can, a group of 160 Scouts waiting in a subway station, the subway cars rattling and groaning with the sound of a flood roaring down the tunnel, then screeching to a stop. Amazed passengers watch as leaders hurry Scouts onto the cars. The doors slam shut as the Scouts get on. Then the subway cars groan again, shake, rattle, and start off with a jerk. The ride has the smoothness of an old-fashioned buckboard wagon and makes a roller coaster seem smooth. Lights flash off and on. Through the windows other stations are seen—a blur of lights, people, and graffiti. The leaders are studying the subway route, schedules clutched in their hands, with worried looks.
Erik Anderson, 12, from the Poughkeepsie Ward, said the subway was great but that he wouldn’t want to ride it every day.
Tired and wet and hungry, the Scouts finally arrived at the twin towers of the World Trade Center.
We had planned to sleep on the roof of the number two tower. But when the leaders found the decks were iced over and there was a 30-mile-an-hour wind blowing, it was decided the Scouts would spend the night one floor down in the warmth of the observation deck. The Scouts were able to go up onto the roof to see what is one of the most spectacular views in the world.
“Nothing beats this,” said Warren Moon, 14, from Pawling, as he looked down at the city lights.
Elder Robert L. Backman of the First Quorum of the Seventy, and a member of the National Executive Board of the Boy Scouts of America, joined the Scouts at the World Trade Center and spent the night with them on the observation deck. Among the highlights of the trip for many of the Scouts, along with the views of the city at night and the sun rising up over the city the next morning, was the talk Elder Backman gave.
“This morning when I saw the sunrise and light started to hit all of the buildings up and down Manhattan,” Elder Backman, dressed in full Scout uniform, stated, “it occurred to me that none of us better limit ourselves as to what we can accomplish. Just look at this engineering marvel we’re in, 107 stories up. It’s breathtaking. I’m convinced that if we really understand we are sons of God, and I know we are, we can accomplish even greater things. Being sons of God, we can even become like him, and there’s nothing more exciting than that.”
While he was packing his gear and getting ready to leave the building, Brian Fields from the Newburg Branch said camping on the top of the World Trade Center was something he would never forget.
“Camping here overnight and having Elder Backman with us—well, it’s the kind of thing I’ll tell my grandchildren about. We were the first people to ever camp up here. It’s history.”
During the night the storm blew out to sea, leaving the sky cloudless and a deep blue color.
We visited the Statue of Liberty, watched a recreation of a Revolutionary War battle, and explored the aircraft carrier Intrepid (now an air and space museum).
Then it was time to go home. While we waited for our rides, tired and happy, we sat watching the city. The air was cool and still smelled of the rain from the night before. Sea gulls circled overhead. There was a rushing sound, like the sound of a river, coming from the city. A lone man moved along a street pushing a hot dog cart.
“Hot dogs. Get your red-hot hot dogs here. Pretzels, hot fresh pretzels,” he was singing the words.
“It’ll be hard to beat this one,” Douglas McEldowney said, biting into a pretzel covered with mustard. “But I can’t wait to try.”
We all agreed.

It was a beautiful day for a walk in California’s San Bernardino Mountains. Our seven children found walking sticks, and my husband, Mark, took the lead. We stopped to marvel at a spider meticulously spinning its web. We looked at the tall pine trees, stretching their branches to heaven. It seemed the birds were singing just for us.
At last we reached the perfect spot for a testimony meeting. We all sat on some old tree stumps forming a circle. Mark started by expressing his love for me and our children and by bearing his testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and the blessings of our temple marriage.
After I bore my testimony, each of the children, starting with the oldest, expressed love for us and for each other.
Finally it was time to hear from four-year-old Lynette, who had sat patiently for almost an hour with her thumb in her mouth. I asked, “Lynette, what are you thankful for?”
She looked up at me with her clear blue eyes and confidently answered, “I’m thankful for Jesus, because He loves me.”
We were all taken aback. For an hour we had expressed our love and appreciation for all we had, but we had failed to acknowledge that it is through the love and sacrifice of our Savior that we receive our blessings. Little Lynette, with the directness and innocence of a child, had cut through to the core of our beliefs.
Later I thought of the Savior gathering the little children about Him and saying, “Behold your little ones” (3 Ne. 17:23). How well our little one taught us that day!

It was interesting to me that a few months later, while I was serving a mission in London, England, that another professor, a distinguished Oxford-educated teacher at London University, took exactly the opposite position. Dr. Ebeid Sarofim, an Egyptian by birth and an expert in Semitic languages, read a copy of the Book of Mormon that he had discovered by chance and sent a letter to President David O. McKay asking for permission to be baptized. President McKay referred him to the London mission home.

Dr. Sarofim met with the missionaries and said he had an intellectual testimony of the validity of the Book of Mormon because he was convinced that it was indeed a translation of the learning of the Jews and the language of the Egyptians for the periods described in the Book of Mormon. One of the many examples he used was the conjunctive phrase “and it came to pass,” which he said mirrored how he would translate phraseology used often in ancient Semitic writings.

The professor was informed that while his intellectual approach based on his profession had helped him, it was still essential to have a spiritual testimony. Through study, listening to prophetic messages, and prayer, he gained a spiritual witness and was baptized. So what one famous humorist saw as an object of ridicule, a scholar recognized as profound evidence of the truth of the Book of Mormon that was confirmed to him by the Spirit.20

Some years back, Terry, a deacon, was at Tracy Wigwam on an overnight camp. That night a full moon hung overhead. The adviser took Terry by the arm and said, “Let’s go for a walk.” They went several hundred feet from the cabins. The adviser said, “Terry, let’s kneel here and have a prayer.” They knelt together and prayed. After the prayer Terry’s adviser said to him, “Terry, do you pray?” Terry answered that he did not. “Terry, will you commit to pray every day all the rest of your life?”
Terry said, “I never made a commitment unless I intended to keep it.” He thought about prayer and decided it was right. It was a good thing. He said to his adviser, “Yes, I will pray all the rest of my life.”
Terry, who went on to high school, then quarterbacked for the University of Utah where he was all-conference, and went on to play for the Pittsburgh Steelers, said, “I have kept that commitment, and I have prayed every morning and night since that day.” And Terry is here tonight.

Perhaps not coincidentally, Father Damien arrived at Kalaupapa about the same time the Napelas did. This Belgian priest would eventually gain international fame because of his demonstration of faith and attitude of selfless service on the island best, captured by his own words: “Suppose the disease does get my body, God will give me another one on Resurrection Day.”6 From the day of his arrival in 1873 until his death in 1889 at age forty-nine, his concern was for all the patients, regardless of race or religion. He especially loved the orphaned children whom he often led in singing. His Christian service on the Kalaupapa peninsula serves as an important reminder of Elder Orson F. Whitney’s words, offered in a 1921 general conference address: “God has been using not merely his covenant people, but other peoples of the world as well, to carry out a work that is too demanding for the limited numbers of Latter-day Saints to accomplish by themselves. Other good and great men and women have been inspired of God under many circumstances to deliver dimensions of light and truth.”7

Soon after their arrival at the settlement, Jonathan Napela and Father Damien became acquainted. Both had come to Kalaupapa to serve, and both contracted Hansen’s disease as a result of their charity. Damien was twenty-seven years younger than Napela, and the cultural background of each was very different, yet both were firmly committed to their religious orientations. Though ecclesiastical leaders of different faiths, they became dear friends. In fact, one of their contemporaries who lived at Kalaupapa wrote, “After Father Damien arrived in the Leper Settlement, ...Mr. J. Napela and...Father Damien were the best of friends.”8

Growing up in southern Utah, some of us sought employment at the many gasoline service stations that lined old Highway 91 as it made its way through downtown St. George. My younger brother, Paul, then 18, worked at Tom’s Service, a station located about three blocks from our home.
One summer day, a car with New York license plates pulled in the station and asked for a fill-up. (For you brethren under the age of 30, in those days someone actually came out and filled your car with gas, washed your windows, and checked your oil.) While Paul was washing the windshield, the driver asked him how far it was to the Grand Canyon. Paul replied that it was 170 miles.
“I’ve waited all my life to see the Grand Canyon,” the man exclaimed. “What’s it like out there?”
“I don’t know,” Paul answered. “I’ve never been there.”
“You mean to tell me,” the man responded, “that you live two and a half hours from one of the seven wonders of the world and you’ve never been there!”
“That’s right,” Paul said.
After a moment, the man replied, “Well, I guess I can understand that. My wife and I have lived in Manhattan for over 20 years, and we’ve never visited the Statue of Liberty.”
“I’ve been there,” Paul said.
Isn’t it ironic, brethren, that we will often travel many miles to see the wonders of nature or the creations of man, but yet ignore the beauty in our own backyard?
It is human nature, I suppose, to seek elsewhere for our happiness. Pursuit of career goals, wealth, and material rewards can cloud our perspective and often leads to a lack of appreciation for the bounteous blessings of our present circumstances.
It is precarious to dwell on why we have not been given more. It is, however, beneficial and humbling to dwell on why we have been given so much.
An old proverb states, “The greater wealth is contentment with a little.”
In his letter to the Philippians, Paul wrote, “Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content” (Philip. 4:11).
Alma instructed his son Helaman, giving him counsel that all fathers should teach their children: “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the morning let thy heart be full of thanks unto God; and if ye do these things, ye shall be lifted up at the last day” (Alma 37:37).
Alma says, “Let thy heart be full of thanks unto God.” The Lord desires that we give thanks. In Thessalonians we read, “In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you” (1 Thes. 5:18).
As holders of the priesthood we should constantly strive to increase our gratitude. Gratitude may be increased by constantly reflecting on our blessings and giving thanks for them in our daily prayers.
President David O. McKay has said: “The young man who closes the door behind him, who draws the curtains, and there in silence pleads with God for help, should first pour out his soul in gratitude for health, for friends, for loved ones, for the gospel, for the manifestations of God’s existence. He should first count his many blessings and name them one by one” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1961, 7–8).
A constant expression of gratitude should be included in all our prayers. Often prayers are given for specific blessings which we, in our incomplete understanding, believe we need. While the Lord does answer prayers according to His will, He certainly must be pleased when we offer humble prayers of gratitude.
Brethren, the next time we pray, instead of presenting the Lord petition after petition for some action in our behalf, give Him thoughtful thanks for all with which He has blessed us.
President Joseph F. Smith has instructed us that “the spirit of gratitude is always pleasant and satisfying because it carries with it a sense of helpfulness to others; it begets love and friendship, and engenders divine influence. Gratitude is said to be the memory of the heart” (Gospel Doctrine, 5th ed. [1939], 262).
In October of 1879 a group of 237 Latter-day Saints from several small southwestern Utah settlements was called to blaze a new route and colonize what is today known as San Juan County in southeastern Utah. The journey was to have taken six weeks but instead took nearly six months. Their struggles and heroics are well documented, particularly their seemingly impossible task of crossing the Colorado River at a place called Hole-in-the-Rock. Those who have visited this place marvel that wagons and teams could have been lowered through this narrow crack in the red rock canyon walls to reach the Colorado River far below. Once the Colorado was crossed, however, many other severe tests awaited them on the trail to San Juan County. Tired and worn out, early in April 1880 they faced their final obstacle, Comb Ridge. The Comb is a ridge of solid sandstone forming a steep wall nearly 1,000 feet high.
One hundred and twenty years later, our family climbed Comb Ridge on a bright spring day. The ridge is steep and treacherous. It was difficult to imagine that wagons, teams, men, women, and children could make such an ascent. But beneath our feet were the scars from the wagon wheels, left as evidence of their struggles so long ago. How did they feel after enduring so much? Were they bitter after the many months of toil and privation? Did they criticize their leaders for sending them on such an arduous journey, asking them to give up so much? Our questions were answered as we reached the top of Comb Ridge. There inscribed in the red sandstone so long ago were the words, “We thank Thee, O God.”
Brethren, I pray that we might keep our hearts full of thanks and appreciation for what we have and not dwell on what is not ours. As holders of the priesthood, let us adopt an attitude of gratitude in all we do is my prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

It was 11 p.m. when I heard my father’s car door close outside. He was home a little early tonight. Dad was a college professor with a full load of night classes to teach, so his normal arrival time wavered somewhere between 11:30 p.m. and midnight. And since I left for my early-morning seminary class before sunup, I usually only saw him for a few flurried minutes each night. That is, if I saw him at all.
Tonight I was brushing my teeth when he popped his head through the bathroom doorway. “How are you?” he asked. Through a mouthful of toothpaste I mumbled a response, then asked how his day had been.
“Great,” he said boisterously. “The plane got in a few hours ago, and the bus dropped us off at the school. After that I came right home.”
Plane? Bus? Was I missing something? He must have noticed my vacant stare, because he quickly added, “I was at a conference in Indianapolis all week.”
He was? Why didn’t I know about this? I realized with a pang of shame that my father had just spent five days on the other side of the country, and I hadn’t even noticed he was gone.
As my sister and I got older, it seemed like the whole family got busier until we were, as Mom liked to say, “like ships passing in the night.” We barely had time to blurt out “good morning” before we rushed in separate directions. But even with our classes and after-school activities, my sister and I couldn’t compete with Dad at being busy. His workday was longer than anyone else’s. Even when he was home, he spent hours at the computer, writing textbooks and revising lecture outlines.
Because Dad wasn’t a member of the Church, we only saw him on Sunday mornings over our bowls of breakfast cereal. By the time the rest of the family came home after our Church meetings, he had usually disappeared to his office at the college to get more work done.
I had always thought my family was a regular busy family, and I figured that feeling out of touch with my dad was just a part of such a high-speed life. Until that night over the bathroom sink, I never really considered the idea that we might be too busy.
A few weeks later, the missionaries from our ward came to my house for dinner. Dad, of course, was missing in action, but after we had eaten, the missionaries began to ask us some questions about Dad’s feelings toward the Church. Had he ever taken the discussions? Had he read the Book of Mormon? Did he ever come to Church with us? My mother and I answered the questions as best we could. Then the elders said that they’d really like the chance to teach my father the gospel, and they wanted to enlist our help.
Although I was usually enthusiastic about thinking up ways to help share the gospel with my father, I leaned back into my chair and frowned. “What can we do?” I asked skeptically. “We hardly ever see him.” I explained to the missionaries about Dad’s overly hectic schedule, and they nodded understandingly.
Finally one of the missionaries, who also had a nonmember father, said, “My dad was the same way when I was in high school. He was such a workaholic that I felt like I never saw him, and we just drifted farther and farther apart. I got even busier after I joined the Church.
“I just decided,” he went on, “that it was important for my dad to know that I loved him, that my joining the Church didn’t make me love him less. Since I didn’t see him very often, I started leaving him notes. Nothing special. I just wrote a quick note telling him that I loved and appreciated him, and I made sure I put it where he’d find it.”
“Did it work?” I asked skeptically.
He smiled and shrugged. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
It was a challenge I couldn’t refuse. That night, after I was in my pajamas and Dad still hadn’t gotten home from work, I pulled out a pad of sticky notes and wrote a quick message: “Dear Dad: I hope you had a good day. I love you.” I signed my name at the bottom and stuck the note to his computer screen, knowing Dad almost always made a stop at his computer before he finally got to bed.
The next morning when I plodded into the bathroom still half asleep, I noticed a piece of yellow paper clinging to the mirror. “Dear Melody,” it read. “Thanks for the note. I love you too. Love, Dad.”
I smiled, something I rarely did at 5:30 in the morning.
For the rest of that year before I went away to college, I left notes for my father a few times a week. Nothing elaborate, just a few lines to tell him what was going on in my life, to wish him a good day, to tell him I loved him. He almost always responded with another note attached to my bathroom mirror or my bedroom door.
As the weeks went on and our note exchange became a regular thing, it became easier to put into words how I really felt about my dad. I realized that even though I didn’t spend as much time with him as I wanted to, I really did love him. And I realized that even though he worked a lot, he really loved me too. Having a true friendship made us more eager to do things with each other, too, like trips to museums or into the city on Saturday afternoons.
Over the years I kept a few of the sticky notes from Dad. I even taped one to the mirror in my dorm room at college just to make it feel like home. When I finally went back home for Christmas, I noticed that Dad had done the same. A piece of yellow paper with the words “Dad, I love you. Melody” was firmly attached to the top of his computer desk.
My father never joined the Church. But when he died suddenly several years ago, the yellow sticky note was still on his computer desk, right where it had been for five years. In the weeks after his death, I felt grateful that I had found a way to communicate with Dad even when we were both at our busiest. I didn’t have to wonder whether he knew that I loved him. I knew that he looked at my words every day.

Every time Jared Burton Ikihega, 12, of New Zealand, looks up a telephone number in the directory, he sees something familiar—his artwork on the cover.
Jared was one of 20 winners in a national competition to produce a picture for the local telephone directories. His artwork, a linoprint which he called “Looking over the East,” is a view of houses in Porirua East from his school.
Jared’s entry was selected from nearly 600 entries in his area. But this isn’t the first time his art has been recognized. One of his pieces was included in an exhibition of New Zealand school children’s art in Paris. Another work was chosen for a brochure for the Wellington Social Welfare Department.

The mother of a young man whom Elder Andersen had once met briefly recalls that at one point her son “was on the verge of emotional and physical collapse” when he saw Elder and Sister Andersen sitting at a table in a cafeteria. “My son later told us, ‘I would not have approached any other person, but when I saw Elder Andersen, I knew he loved me, and I immediately got up from my chair and approached him.’”
Despite the terrible change in the young man’s appearance caused by his current crisis, Elder Andersen recognized him and called him by name. Elder and Sister Andersen took the young man home, fed him, and talked at length with him. Then, though it was midnight, Elder Andersen drove several hours to take the young man home.
“Elder Andersen’s influence didn’t end there,” explains the mother. “Now, years later, he continues to see our son, to be interested in his life. He saved our son.”

Years ago my great-great-grandfather picked up a copy of the Book of Mormon for the first time. He opened it to the center and read a few pages. He then declared, “That book was either written by God or the devil, and I am going to find out who wrote it.” He read it through twice in the next 10 days and then declared, “The devil could not have written it—it must be from God.”1
An honest, unbiased reading of the Book of Mormon will bring someone to the same conclusion as my great-great-grandfather, namely: “The devil could not have written it—it must be from God.”
I too have read every page of the Book of Mormon, again and again, and I bear my solemn witness, like my great-great-grandfather, it is from God. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.