Gospel Story Finder

I think of Royce Flandro and his wife, who after retirement served a mission in Spain, performing valuable service. Upon returning home, they missed that beautiful experience, so they came to the Missionary Department to ask where they could help the most. It was suggested to them that they might learn Hungarian, which they did. A few months later they were called to Hungary, once again serving with distinction. Now they are headed for Mongolia.

Some time ago, I went to Africa to gather oral histories in my role as a professor of Church history at Brigham Young University. My visit to Chyulu, Kenya, was an unforgettable experience. The journey was difficult. The 240-kilometer trip from Nairobi took five hours, with one 20-kilometer section that took an hour and a half.
We arrived on Sunday and went to the meeting place an hour before Church services were to begin. The meeting place was a bower (a shelter made of poles) about 4.5 meters wide and 9 meters long. The sides were made from long grass interwoven between poles, and the roof was palm branches and corrugated iron. Next to the bower was a small handprinted sign that read, “L. D. S. CHYULU BRANCH.” At the entrance, a thick bushy shrub was wedged into the doorway. We were surprised to see about 20 children between the ages of 5 and 12 coming to the meeting place. Without supervision they swept the dirt floor with small tree limbs to remove any debris that had blown in since the last meeting. They tidied up and arranged the rough wooden benches.
Soon families began to arrive. Music was provided by a cassette tape of hymns played on a battery-operated tape recorder. Everyone sang; the children were reverent. The adult Sunday School class met in the bower, and Primary and other classes were held in various areas outside. A 12-year-old young woman taught about 30 Primary children, who eagerly participated in the lesson. It was fast and testimony Sunday, and testimonies and prayers were in Swahili—the members’ native language—or English. The Spirit was strong in both languages.

As an “active nonmember,” as everyone called me, I learned to have patience and hope that one day I would become a member of the Church. I knew it was a test of my faith and patience. I wondered how long it would take to be cleansed and start a new life.
That day came almost seven years after my friend took me to church on that cold February morning in 2000. I was baptized at 21 at the mission home in Sofia. My baptism day was one of the happiest days of my life. At that moment I felt the great redeeming love Heavenly Father has for me. I felt that even more when I partook of the sacrament the next day. I couldn’t hold back the tears. The Spirit burning inside me was telling me it was worth waiting for. I could finally enjoy the gift of the Holy Ghost and other blessings of being a member of the Church.

When my father-in-law passed away, our family gathered together to greet others who came to pay their respects. Throughout the evening, as I visited with family and friends, I often noticed our 10-year-old grandson, Porter, standing near my mother-in-law—his “granny.” Sometimes he was standing behind her, watching over her. Once I noticed his arm linked with hers. I watched him pat her hands, give her little hugs, and stand by her side.
For several days after that experience, I couldn’t get this image out of my mind. I was prompted to send Porter a note, telling him what I had observed. I emailed him and told him what I had seen and felt. I reminded Porter of the covenants he had made when he was baptized, quoting Alma’s words in Mosiah chapter 18:
“And now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light;
“Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, … that ye may have eternal life—
“… If this be the desire of your hearts, what have you against being baptized in the name of the Lord, as a witness before him that ye have entered into a covenant with him, that ye will serve him and keep his commandments, that he may pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon you?”
I explained to Porter that Alma taught that those who want to be baptized need to be willing to serve the Lord by serving others—for your whole life! I said: “I don’t know if you realized it, but the way you showed love and concern for Granny was keeping your covenants. We keep our covenants every day as we are kind, show love, and take care of each other. I just wanted you to know I’m proud of you for being a covenant keeper! As you keep the covenant you made when you were baptized, you will be prepared to be ordained to the priesthood. This additional covenant will give you more opportunities to bless and serve others and help you to prepare for the covenants you will make in the temple. Thank you for being such a good example to me! Thank you for showing me what it looks like to be a covenant keeper!”
Porter replied back: “Grandma, thanks for the message. When I was always hugging Granny, I didn’t know that I was keeping my covenants, but I felt warm in my heart and felt really good. I know that it was the Holy Ghost in my heart.”
I also felt warm in my heart when I realized that Porter had connected keeping his covenants with the promise to “always have his Spirit to be with [us]”—a promise made possible by receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost.

I learned this more deeply during a difficult season of my life. Early in my service as a young stake president, as my wife, Busi, and I were raising our family, it felt as though one challenge followed another. We had just buried my mother. Two weeks later, we stood again at a graveside—this time with my counselor, mourning his teenage son. Work pressures felt overwhelming, and I began to wonder if I was measuring up—at home, at work, and before the Lord.
My prayers were best expressed in the Primary song: “Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer ev’ry child’s prayer?”
My answer came in an unexpected way.
One Sunday, while driving to a ward conference, I poured my heart out to the Lord. When I arrived at the meetinghouse, a bright-eyed Primary boy stopped me and said, “We need to talk.” With a very serious look on his face, he asked—almost in a scolding voice—“When are you going to stop being a naughty boy?” I knew I was in some kind of trouble. Before I could respond, he added, “Every morning and every night, my parents ask us to pray for you.”
I will never be able to fully describe what I felt as I stood there. I felt seen. I felt loved. I felt known. I felt that I was not alone. And as I looked into that child’s eyes, I felt the warmth of the Savior’s love.

Not long ago Sister Rasband and I had an experience we shall never forget. I was assigned to preside at two stake conferences in Peru. While there, we went to the city of Puno, high in the Andes Mountains, on Lake Titicaca. At 12,000 feet (3,660 m) above sea level, we were amazed at this simple and beautiful city, high on this Andean lake. We met with stake presidents in the area and had a wonderful youth fireside with hundreds of young people from the Puno area.
One morning we were invited to visit a small group of local members who lived out on the floating reed islands of Lake Titicaca. The people who live there are known as the Uros Indians of Bolivia and Peru.
We were told that a few Latter-day Saint families had joined together and built their own small, new floating island. With excitement, we took a boat out to the island and were greeted warmly by these wonderful members.
We held their babies wrapped in the most beautiful, colorful handmade blankets. We ate the fish they caught that very day from the lake, which had been so carefully prepared and generously shared. We saw their wares and handicrafts and exchanged gifts with one another.
As we visited, we learned that their children paddled by canoe 45 minutes to and from Puno for seminary and school each day. We were also pleased that these members knew the scriptures well, understood them, and loved them. Eagerly they showed us their current temple recommends, having been endowed and sealed in the Cochabamba Bolivia Temple.
Before we were to leave, one of the mothers asked if we would kneel with them and have a family prayer. I remember well kneeling on the spongy reeds with these faithful Saints. As we knelt, she asked if I would say the prayer and, using the Melchizedek Priesthood, dedicate their new island and home.
I was deeply humbled that, there on the floating islands of Lake Titicaca, these faithful Latter-day Saint families would ask me to pray for the little island of Apu Inti and ask the Lord to bless the homes and families of the Lujanos and Jallahuis.
As I consider this special experience that the Lord blessed us with, I know a new building block has been added to my house of faith. I often think of that experience in Puno as another reminder of the fulfillment of my own patriarchal blessing.

As I sit here today I am reminded of an invitation I received 15 years ago. It was from a good friend of mine who was attending school here. He asked me to come and visit him for two weeks while I was on break from my school. I didn't feel like I had the time or the money and struggled with the decision. As I thought about it I mentioned it to my Dad one morning. He simply said, Go, it could change your whole life. I was surprised by his answer but when I heard those words I felt a deep impression that they were true. So I came and as a result fell immediately in love with this place. So much so that I didn't want to leave when my two weeks were up, but knew that I had to. So I did, with a prayer in my heart that some day He would allow me the blessing of returning to stay and be a permanent part of this wonderful university and place. I mean it when I say, I am truly grateful for the opportunity to be here today.

Martin Pratt was a talented professor, but he had one strange notion—he believed that religion was only for weak-minded men and silly women. Martin’s wife, Nell, loved him, for he was a fine husband. His hobby was growing beautiful flowers.
In the Pratt’s neighborhood lived a young boy named LeRoy, who delivered newspapers to them and sometimes stopped to visit. Mrs. Pratt reminded him of his grandmother, who had died just the year before.
“Dad,” LeRoy asked one day, “what’s an atheist? Martin Pratt says he’s one.”
“I doubt that a real atheist even exists, son,” his dad replied.
“But what is an atheist?” LeRoy persisted.
“An atheist is a person who denies the existence of God.”
“Mr. Pratt says our universe is like a big automatic clock that was wound up long, long ago and that we don’t need a Heavenly Father to look after it.”
“Actually, LeRoy, nothing could be further from the truth. Perhaps one day Martin will change his mind. At least we can hope.”
But something happened to Martin Pratt before he had a chance to change his mind. One morning when he heard that a hailstorm was coming, he rushed out into his garden to pick his dahlias and was stricken with a fatal heart attack.
The day after the funeral LeRoy delivered the newspaper to Mrs. Pratt and saw her rocking in her chair, looking very lonely. LeRoy got off his bike and went up on the porch and sat down next to her. “Don’t feel bad, Mrs. Pratt. Someday you’ll see Mr. Pratt again. He’s gone to live with Heavenly Father now—just like my grandma.”
Mrs. Pratt shook her head sadly. “No, LeRoy,” she said, “I will never see him again. Martin was a very wise man, and he always told me there is no such thing as a Heavenly Father. So when a person dies, that is the end.”
“But do you believe that, Mrs. Pratt?”
“Yes. If Martin said it was so, it must be true.”
LeRoy finally went home, wondering what he could do to cheer her up. Each day after that when he delivered the newspaper to Mrs. Pratt, he hoped to see her smile again but her eyes were always red. When she took the paper, she just mumbled, “Thank you.”
One afternoon when LeRoy’s mother gathered her last chrysanthemums, LeRoy spied a little tree cricket perched on one of them.
“Mother, can I take this flower to Mrs. Pratt?” he asked.
“Of course! Why don’t we fix her a bouquet.”
With eyes shining, LeRoy knocked on Mrs. Pratt’s door. When she saw him holding the beautiful flowers, she invited him in.
“I brought you some company, see!” LeRoy pointed to the little cricket. “He’ll sing for you in the night and make you happy.”
“Oh, LeRoy, you’ve been so kind to me. But I don’t think I’ll ever feel happy again.”
“Yes, you will,” he quickly replied. “Heavenly Father made lots of things to make you happy, like this little cricket.”
As she turned her gaze on the pale green insect, LeRoy eased toward the door. “Good-bye,” he said softly and closed the door behind him.
The little cricket sang, but Mrs. Pratt refused to be happy. When morning came, she walked out into the yard and saw the pigeons flying high in the sky. She wondered if she could ever feel that carefree again. A bird hopped among the crisp fallen leaves, chirping, “Cheer up!” But she didn’t cheer up. Instead, she went inside and closed the drapes to shut out the sun. She encased herself in such a pall of gloom that one day when LeRoy knocked on her door, she felt like not answering it. But finally she opened the door and looked mournfully at LeRoy.
“Hi!” he greeted her.
Weakly she said, “I’m too busy to talk to you today.”
“That’s all right,” he said, trying to understand her unhappiness.
“Wait,” said Mrs. Pratt. “Maybe we could have a little visit—but for only a few minutes.”
Once inside, the boy noticed that all of Mr. Pratt’s flowers were wilted.
“I bet Mr. Pratt would feel sad to see his flowers looking like that.”
“How could Martin feel sad now that he’s gone forever?” she asked gloomily.
“But he isn’t really gone,” the boy told her. “Dad said Mr. Pratt must have been terribly surprised when he found that out.” LeRoy paused a moment. “I know he’d want his flowers watered if he could see them all wilted now. Can I help you water them?”
“Thanks, LeRoy,” she said, “but I’ll take care of them.” After he left, Mrs. Pratt looked thoughtfully at the pitiful plants. Slowly she opened the drapes and then went for a pitcher of water.
At Christmastime LeRoy arrived at Mrs. Pratt’s door, holding a small flowerpot in one hand. The other hand he kept hidden behind him.
“I made this Christmas tree for you in school today,” he announced. “It’s a peach twig trimmed with gumdrops.”
“Come in,” she said as she set the pot in the center of the table.
Shyly, he handed her another package.
Removing the ribbon and paper, she was startled to see a gold-framed picture of Jesus, finished in soft brown tones.
“It will look pretty by your reading lamp,” he suggested.
As she placed it there, she felt strangely moved. “Thank you,” she said softly.
As springtime approached, LeRoy shared with her the first apricot blossom. Then just before Easter he asked, “Can you go on an Easter walk with me next Saturday? There are things down by the creek I’d like to show you.”
Mrs. Pratt hesitated. Then she said, “I suppose so.”
Saturday morning as they walked down the grassy slope together, they saw buttercups and wild larkspurs and watched the burnished metallic-green tiger beetles scurry through the grass. Meadowlark songs rippled on the sun-sparkled air.
Later they sat in the shade of the cottonwoods to eat their lunch at the creek’s edge. They dropped colored Easter eggshells into the water and watched them float like little boats. Mrs. Pratt gave the boy a chocolate rabbit.
“Thank you,” he said. Then he added, “I like Easter eggs and bunnies, but most of all I like the real Easter on Sunday when we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. My dad says that because of what He did for us, everyone will be resurrected, including my grandma and Mr. Pratt. And we will never die again.”
“I want to believe you, LeRoy, but I can’t believe that what your father tells you is true.”
“You can find out if it’s true, if you want to.”
“How?”
“Well, you can pray, and then you’ll know for sure.”
“How can I pray when I don’t know how or to whom I would be praying? That would be pretty foolish, wouldn’t it?”
“Then I’ll pray for you, Mrs. Pratt. We can kneel here on the grass together. The trees and bushes are thick, and no one can see us.”
He patted a soft place in the grass for her. She waited for a moment then knelt beside him.
“I’ll pray first so you’ll know how,” he said. “Praying is just talking to Heavenly Father.” Slipping his hand into hers, he bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Dear Heavenly Father, Mrs. Pratt is so lonely. Please let her know You are there, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” LeRoy raised his head slightly. “Now it’s your turn,” he said. “Just ask Heavenly Father what you want to know.”
The hand that held his was trembling. Her eyes were closed, but tears were beginning to form on her lashes. “Oh, please, Father in heaven—if there is a Father in heaven—touch my heart that I may know. Is there truly a resurrection? Will I see Martin again?”
Suddenly Mrs. Pratt was crying, and her tears wet LeRoy’s hair. She held him so tightly he could hardly breathe. When he began to sniffle his own tears, he fumbled for a paper napkin beside him.
Releasing him, she said, “Heavenly Father has spoken to my heart. Oh, LeRoy, what you have said is true. I will really and truly see Martin again. I know it.”
Once more she bowed her head, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, she whispered, “Heavenly Father, thank you. Thank you so much!”
Softly she arose, and taking LeRoy by the hand, they silently climbed the grassy slope together.

Two years ago last spring I was caught in the middle of a very heated controversy. A group of creative writing and art students at Brigham Young University, where I am one of the deans, published an issue of the school’s literary magazine which some members of the administration, faculty, and student body felt contained spots of questionable language and photography that should not be permitted to circulate. I was asked as Dean of the College of Humanities to withdraw the publication. Feelings were strong on both sides, and I was painfully squeezed between.
In the confrontations that followed, some teachers and students urged me to really clamp down on those students and their advisors who were responsible for the publication. It was suggested by some that I ought to exercise tighter controls in supervising students and their creative activities. Meanwhile, other teachers and students were pressing me even more strongly to stand up with vigor in defense of academic and creative freedom. Each side stressed the important “principles” involved.
The whole situation was intensely awkward for me because I felt that both sides were, to some extent, right. Surely morality, refinement, and good taste are standards to be defended and practiced, especially by members of the Church and in all Church publications. Equally, however, academic and creative freedom is also surely an ideal to be championed; and its opposite, censorship or suppression, inevitably contains elements that are not only inherently repugnant but also most difficult to control.1
This unpleasant incident of two years ago was particularly tense for a few weeks, but, rather than standing alone, it was merely one of many such incidents that have come to my door during the past twenty-five years in my responsibilities as a teacher and school administrator supervising creative writing classes, publications, and contests. The incident I have referred to happened at BYU, but it could have been in any high school or university. In fact, similar confrontations, often far more severe, have occurred and are occurring all over the world, wherever talented young people are writing, and that is everywhere. It is a problem that concerns all of us who are students and educators; and for those of us who are students and educators in the Church, it is a problem of special concern. The typical pattern is for some students and their teachers to press for increasing freedoms in writing and publishing while other students and educators press for tightening restrictions and controls.

Josie yawned as she slowed her jog to a walk. Today was the big race! She had been looking forward to this day for months. But instead of feeling excited during warm-ups, Josie felt tired.
“How’s it going?” her older sister, Christine, asked. She sat down with Josie on the grass so they could stretch their legs.
“I’m really tired today,” Josie said, reaching for her toes.
She had been sick and had to miss several days of school. So last night she stayed up late catching up on her schoolwork.
“I hope I don’t let our team down,” Josie said.
“Just do the best you can,” Christine said. “Looks like we’re about to start!”
The girls jogged over to join their teammates. As they lined up with the other runners, Josie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew her team was counting on her to run fast, like she usually did. The race time from the top five runners on their team would determine whether their team went on to the finals. She barely had time to get in position when the gun sounded to start the race. Bang! The runners pushed off the starting line and sprinted forward.
Josie pumped her arms and lengthened her steps. She knew she needed to get ahead in the beginning if she wanted to be a top finisher. At first Josie could keep up with the other lead runners. But when she tried to run faster, she couldn’t.
Josie breathed harder. She just couldn’t get her legs to move any faster. The runners behind her started passing her. Usually Josie was the one doing the passing! Maybe I should just give up, she thought.
Josie looked down at the ground as she heard another runner pass her. “Keep going, Josie!” the runner said as she ran by. Josie looked up. Then she smiled. It was one of her teammates.
“You can do it!” another teammate said as she ran past. One by one as Josie’s teammates passed her, they encouraged her to keep running.
Josie felt a surge of determination. Maybe she wouldn’t be in the top five, but she could still finish the race. She focused on her steps and didn’t stop until she finally crossed the finish line.
“I’m sorry I … didn’t help us … qualify for the next race,” she said between big breaths.
“Our team did qualify!” Josie’s coach said as she ran over to the girls. Everyone on the team cheered, and Christine threw her arms around Josie in a big hug.
That night as Josie knelt to pray, she thought about how her teammates had helped her. Their words gave her strength to keep going when she wanted to quit.
Josie looked up at the picture of Jesus hanging above her bed. Jesus does the same thing for us, she thought. She smiled as she imagined the Savior cheering her on. “Keep going, Josie! I am here to help you.” She wanted to help others too.
Josie thanked Heavenly Father for His help in running the race and for her wonderful teammates. She felt like she could do anything with Jesus cheering her on!

Brandon, another remarkable friend, has chosen to live with that same perspective.21 Paralyzed in an accident at age eighteen, just before he was supposed to leave on a full-time mission, he has spent as many years living with a lack of physical mobility as he did with a fully functioning and highly athletic body. Brandon will be the first to tell you that the change was excruciatingly difficult to accept, yet he has chosen to use his considerable gifts and talents to bless others, rather than dwell on what he wishes he still had. As he serves in a bishopric, his sensitivity to the Spirit allows him to understand, comfort, and encourage those with whom he counsels. Again, choosing to prioritize those things over which he does have control allows him to experience unexpected joy and to progress eternally.

Many years ago, I went to Peru with my family to be the general manager of a small company there. We only had 42 employees, but one of them was a member of the Church, a young salesman named Mario. I was serving in the stake presidency, and on one occasion I asked the bishop of our ward:

"Bishop, how is your family?" He said: "My family are all very well, except that my niece (who lived in our ward), is unhappy because her husband won't pay -tithing."

Her husband was Mario, the young man who was our salesman. I determined at that point that I would keep checking with the bishop, and that if Mario ever started to pay his tithing, I would give him an 11 % salary increase (so that he would have the same amount of money after paying tithing, that he had had before). Naturally, I didn't communicate this to anyone.

Every so often, I would meet with the bishop, and I would ask him: "Is Mario paying his tithing?" ''No, President, he is not", the bishop would answer. The weeks went by, month after month after month went by, and the time finally came that I was transferred from Peru; and Mario never knew, that if he had paid his tithing, he would have received an 11 % increase in his salary.

Now I am not promising you that you will receive an 11 % salary increase if you pay your tithing; but I am promising you that you will be blessed if you do so. And those blessings could be much greater than a simple increase in salary.

But that leads me to wonder how many times in our lives there are angels ready to bless us; if only we will be obedient to a principle or to a commandment. But because we are not, we do not receive the blessing, and we never know that it was right there, almost in our hands.

Long ago in the land of old Russia there lived a young and beautiful maiden named Tamara. She gathered mushrooms each day to earn enough money to buy food. One day she wandered very deep into the forest, and there she found an enchanted well. From the well a voice called out and asked her to be his wife, and so began a magical adventure for Tamara. She married the mysterious prince and then lost him because of her own foolishness. After she had faced great danger and learned not to look back, Tamara encountered the evil Sea Witch, and the magic spell was broken!

I think of the Saints in the little village of Bermejillo, Mexico, where I went with some health missionaries in 1975. As we walked along a dusty road with the branch president and his wife, we were taught how to pick out the homes of Church members. Their fences and homes were painted, and vegetable and flower gardens accented their neat and tidy yards. As we passed several homes, the branch president’s wife told us, “These people are not active right now, so you can’t tell they’re Latter-day Saints. But soon they’ll be back with us, and on your next visit you can pick them out, too.” Eventually the members in this branch built their own chapel.

“My father ran a grain elevator, and as a young boy, I used to have to shovel wheat. Dad taught us to work for our own money. He paid us three cents a sack to stack and load wheat, and I thought that that was pretty generous of him. We could load a thousand bushels into a boxcar in about three or four hours. My two brothers and I could make as high as nine dollars a day loading wheat. And that was back in the days when earning two dollars a day was good wages. My father encouraged us to be frugal and to put the money away for our education.
“Mother was a great lady. I remember sitting by her and having her read to me from a little white Bible. She loved the scriptures. She also loved poetry and prose and history; she was a deep reader and a deep thinker. She helped instill in her children an appreciation for good books.
“When I was about thirteen years old, my mother had prepared a delicious Thanksgiving dinner. Before she could get the table set, an emergency call came, and my mother and father had to go to be with my brother, who was very ill. After my parents left, I went to a friend who didn’t have a mother and whose father wasn’t well. I knew that he wouldn’t have a Thanksgiving dinner, so I invited him to our home for dinner. I got out Mother’s best linen, crystal, and silverware, and I set a table that was fit for a king. After our dinner together, I sent some food home for my friend’s father. I was trying to follow my parents’ example to serve others.
“I have a great respect for nature, and I have always loved animals and birds and have tried to protect them. Once when we were youngsters, a friend of mine and I were riding double on a horse along the railroad track. Suddenly I spied an owl that had a broken wing and couldn’t do anything but run along the ground. I slid off the horse, caught the owl, and got back on the horse behind my friend. I remember that it was a beautiful white horse with a long mane. We started galloping along the railroad track, and the owl started to wiggle. It stuck its claws into that horse, causing it to jump straight into the air and make a big kick. I rolled off backward, but somehow I kept my hold on the owl, and it never got away. We took the owl home, put splints on its broken wing, and turned it loose.
“My wife and I have had a wonderful experience in the Pacific Islands. One day we went to a little Tahitian island on a boat, and as the boat pulled up to the dock, twenty-seven children were standing on it, singing, ‘I Am A Child of God.’ I thought, What a beautiful, beautiful thing to know that children all over the world are singing the hymns of the Church and beautiful Primary songs.
“Heavenly Father loves all children. Jesus loves them, too—children of all countries, colors, and creeds.
“Live the principles of the gospel so that you can live again with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Listen to the counsel of the prophets. Stay pure and clean after your baptism. Your parents and Primary teachers will teach you the things that you should do. Listen to them and do what they tell you.”

Janelle Miller of Huntington, Indiana, has many responsibilities and has managed to succeed in many ways.
Janelle is an excellent student and is ranked close to the top in her class at school. she is active in her school’s performing choir group both singing and playing the piano. She also teaches piano lessons to her younger brothers and sisters.
In addition, Janelle serves as class president in her early-morning seminary class. Plus she plays on her ward’s softball team and coaches her younger sister’s team.
But what makes Janelle particularly outstanding is the way she cares for her younger brothers and sister when her mother is ill. Her mother has a degenerative disease that often requires hospitalization. During those times Janelle takes over completely caring for the family’s daily needs.

Sacrament Meeting—My family attended the branch’s sacrament meeting today. After the meeting, I went with the elders to my parents’ home for a missionary lesson. After the first discussion Elder Johnson tried to make an appointment to come again and teach my family.
“How about right now?” Mom asked.
So the second lesson was given. Dad had to leave then to do the farm chores. Mom quickly prepared a meal, and about an hour later Dad came back in and ate, and the third lesson was given. Three in one night!
July 27—Tonight I baptized my family. It is three months to the day since I joined the Church. Our family is finally united. As I brought Mom up out of the water, she embraced me and shed tears of joy. We have received life’s greatest blessings.

When I came home from my mission, my bishop called me to be the priests quorum adviser. He said, "I want you to teach on Sunday and attend mutual every week." I thought at the time that he was asking a lot of a young returned missionary who was working a lot of hours, carrying a heavy load in school and running hard to catch up to his future wife. I soon realized, that my bishop was inspired. The Lord knew that I needed the spiritual balance of a significant calling during those years. I am so grateful today for the gift of that calling. I was engaged and I received so many blessings because of it. Subsequent callings have also been a source of great blessings for me. Church service is a gift given by a loving Heavenly Father who knows where true happiness is found.

My son Taylor (Elder Mulford) is serving a mission on the island of Bora Bora in Tahiti. He told me that not long ago the stake president came out to Bora Bora and told the missionaries about how he had visited a barber, who was a member, for a haircut. He asked the barber why there were no Liahona magazines among the others he had for patrons to read. The barber promised him that the next time he came, there would be Liahonas there. However, the next time the stake president went to the barber, there were still no Liahonas. Disappointed, he asked the barber why. The barber explained that each time he put a Liahona out, someone would read it, ask him many questions, and then ask if he could keep the magazine. The barber said he had no more magazines to give away, but he added that many of the people who took the magazines were taking the missionary discussions.

I love the experience President Wilford Woodruff tells of the Prophet’s message to the elders who met in preparation for the 1834 Zion’s Camp march: “On Sunday night the Prophet called on all who held the Priesthood to gather into the little log school house they had there. It was a small house, perhaps 14 feet [4.2 meters] square. But it held the whole of the Priesthood of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who were then in the town of Kirtland, and who had gathered together to go off in Zion’s camp. That was the first time I ever saw Oliver Cowdery, or heard him speak; the first time I ever saw Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball, and the two Pratts, and Orson Hyde and many others. There were no Apostles in the Church then except Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. When we got together the Prophet called upon the Elders of Israel with him to bear testimony of this work. Those that I have named spoke, and a good many that I have not named, bore their testimonies. When they got through the Prophet said, ‘Brethren I have been very much edified and instructed in your testimonies here tonight, but I want to say to you before the Lord, that you know no more concerning the destinies of this Church and kingdom than a babe upon its mother’s lap. You don’t comprehend it.’ I was rather surprised. He said ‘it is only a little handfull of Priesthood you see here tonight, but this Church will fill North and South America—it will fill the world’” (in Conference Report, April 1898, 57).