Gospel Story Finder

At the end of a term at my school in Lagos, Nigeria, I was confident that I would receive good marks because I had been a good student. But my economics teacher called me into the staff room and told me I had scored below average. I couldn’t believe it. My answer to him was, “That’s not true.”
He showed me where he had recorded my marks. I saw he had written a wrong mark for me, and I explained that it was not correct. He told me the only thing that could prove him wrong would be for me to bring in my test sheet by 9:00 the next morning.
After finishing my chores the following morning, I started looking for the test sheet. First I searched for the book I knew I had put it in, but I couldn’t find it. Then I started searching for the sheet in all my other books. I still couldn’t locate it. Next I searched my wardrobe where I kept my schoolbooks and clothes—but it wasn’t there. I went back to the bookshelf and searched again. At 8:00 a.m. I knew that if I didn’t show the missing test sheet to my teacher in one hour, he would not listen to me anymore. Tears filled my eyes as I wondered where the test sheet could be. For a moment I gave up hope of ever finding it.
Then the thought struck me that I should pray. Immediately I closed my eyes and knelt in front of the bookshelf. As I prayed I had a calm assurance the test sheet wasn’t lost at all. When I opened my eyes, to my amazement I saw the book in which I kept the sheet right on top of the bookshelf. Inside was the sheet I had been searching for. At that moment, my sorrow vanished and my eyes filled with joyful tears.
At school I thought about how much Heavenly Father loves me and how grateful I was that He had answered my prayer so quickly. The thing I could not find in an hour-long search took me only a second to find when I called on the Lord.
That day, a simple prayer helped me recognize that Heavenly Father loves me and hears my voice when I call on Him. I learned that with God all things are possible (see Luke 2:37). He wants us, His children, to call on His name whenever we are in need, and He will give answers to our prayers.

Once there was a man and his wife who were very happy living in their big house. But one evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting, she looked up and said, “We have a lovely house with many nice things, but don’t you think something is missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and said, “Yes, something is missing. Our house is too quiet. Maybe we need a dog.”
So the man and his wife went to the pet shop and bought a cute little soft and cuddly puppy.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting and the puppy lay sleeping on the floor, the woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house and many nice things. We have a cute little puppy, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and answered, “Yes, something is still missing. Our house is much too quiet. Maybe we need a kitten.”
So they bought a playful little kitten. The kitten liked its new home, and the man and his wife and their little puppy liked the kitten.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting and the puppy and kitten chased each other, the woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house and many nice things. We have a cute little puppy and a playful kitten, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and said, “Yes, something is missing. Our house is still too quiet. Maybe we need a bird.”
So they bought a pretty canary that sang beautifully. The canary liked its new home, and the man and his wife and their little puppy and playful kitten liked the canary.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting and the little puppy and playful kitten chased each other and the canary sang, the woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house with many nice things. We have a cute little puppy and a playful kitten and a pretty canary that sings, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and said, “Yes, something is still missing. Our nice house is too quiet. Maybe we should get a parrot.”
So they bought a parrot that talked and squawked. The parrot liked its new home, and the man and his wife and their puppy and kitten and canary liked the parrot.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting, the little puppy and playful kitten chased each other and the pretty canary sang beautifully and the parrot talked and squawked. The woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house with many nice things. We have a cute little puppy and a playful kitten and a pretty canary that sings beautifully and a parrot that talks and squawks, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his paper thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said, “something is still missing. Our house is still too quiet. Maybe we need to adopt a baby to come and live with us.”
“Oh, yes,” said his wife.
“Arf,” barked the little puppy.
“Meow,” agreed the playful kitten.
“Tweet, tweet,” sang the pretty canary.
“Squawk, indeed,” replied the noisy parrot.
And so one day the happy man and his happy wife welcomed a tiny baby girl into their house.
Then the little puppy was happy.
The playful kitten was happy.
The pretty canary was happy.
The noisy parrot was happy.
And the beautiful little baby girl was happy too, for now the big house was a home full of love.

In Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo, President Bokolo shares how he and his family joined the Church in France. One day, as he was reading his patriarchal blessing, the Spirit inspired Brother Bokolo to return with his family to the DR Congo. Brother Bokolo knew they would face many challenges if they returned. And their church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was not yet established in Kinshasa.

Yet, in faith, as have many others, the Bokolos followed the Lord’s Spirit. In Kinshasa, they ministered to and blessed those around them, overcame challenges, received spiritual and temporal blessings. Today, they rejoice in having a house of the Lord in their country.

One preparation day, my missionary companion and I were visiting a cathedral in Parma, Italy. While marveling at the beautiful paintings there, I noticed a monk reading nearby. I received a prompting to talk to him about the Book of Mormon, but I became afraid.
How would a Catholic monk react to a missionary proselyting inside a cathedral? The prompting came again, but again I dismissed it.
A few weeks later, the other two elders in our apartment told us they had visited with a monk named Giuseppe while street contacting. After they had taught him a lesson, he accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon.
When the missionaries met with Giuseppe a week later, he had already read much of the book. He was very excited about it.
Before the missionaries met with Giuseppe again, my companion was transferred, so I joined their companionship. When we went to teach Giuseppe in the cathedral, I was not surprised to see that he was the same monk I was prompted to talk to earlier.
Giuseppe told us he was reading the book of Alma, whom he compared to the Apostle Paul. We decided to teach him the second lesson, which ended with an invitation to be baptized. At the end of our lesson, just before we could invite Giuseppe to follow the example of Jesus Christ by being baptized, the cathedral bells began ringing, startling us.
Giuseppe had lost track of time and said he needed to join the other monks for midday prayers. Then he apologized, saying he would be unavailable in the future because he was going to a monastic retreat. His ordination as a priest would follow.
We were surprised at how that significant moment had just evaporated. Had I responded to my earlier prompting, we would have had more time to teach Giuseppe and he would have had time to finish reading the Book of Mormon. As far as I know, missionaries never taught him again.
After that experience, the sound of clock-tower bells reminded me how valuable and short our time is. For the rest of my mission, every time I heard a bell tower ring, I was motivated to speak to anyone I could about the gospel. Today, I still strive to follow promptings from the Spirit.

Our daughter, Kathryn, is serving as the Primary president in her ward in Salt Lake City. My wife and I attended her ward last Sunday to observe the Primary sacrament meeting presentation, “I’ll Follow Him in Faith.” I was thrilled to hear the children recite scriptures and stories coupled with songs focused on faith in Christ.

After the meeting, I asked her about her calling. She said that initially the calling weighed her down. Much time was spent going over problems. Then the presidency decided to emphasize love, faith, and prayer. Suddenly spiritual impressions came to mind about a particular child or family. Friction was replaced with love. She tells me that as they acted upon promptings from the Spirit, Primary reflected a reverence and peace, and real gospel learning was taking place.

After boot camp and military police school, I found myself assigned to an army base to work as a military policeman. One night I was given an all-night assignment to escort a convoy of prisoners from one camp to another.
During the night the convoy stopped at a halfway point for a rest. The commanding officer instructed us to go into the restaurant and drink coffee so we could stay awake the rest of the night. Right away he noticed that I declined. He said, “Soldier, you need to drink some coffee to stay awake the rest of this trip. I do not want any prisoners escaping or causing trouble on my watch.”
I said, “Sir, I respectfully decline. I am a Mormon, and I don’t drink coffee.”
He didn’t care for my answer, and he again admonished me to drink the coffee.
Again, I politely refused. I took my place at the rear of the bus, my weapon in hand, praying in my heart that I would stay awake and never have to use it. The trip ended uneventfully.
A few days later the same commanding officer invited me into his office for a private interview. He told me that even though he had worried that I would not be able to stay awake during the all-night trip, he appreciated that I had stood by my convictions. Then to my amazement he said his assistant was being transferred and he was recommending me to be his new assistant!
For most of the next two years I had many opportunities for leadership and managerial assignments. As it turned out, the positive experiences during my military service were more than I had ever dreamed possible.

I snatched my roller skates out of the box marked “Deseret Industries,” where Dad had just tossed them.
“Not these!” I cried. “These are mine!”
“But those skates don’t even fit you anymore,” Dad replied. “By donating them to the Deseret Industries you’ll be—”
“No. They’re mine!” I interrupted.
For a minute Dad didn’t say anything, but I could tell that he was thinking hard. Then he looked at me.
“You’re right,” he said. “They are yours. And you should be the one who decides what happens to them. But,” he continued, “before you decide, I’d like to tell you a true story.”
“What about?” I asked.
“Well, it’s a story about a boy and a broken collarbone and a clarinet,” Dad answered.
“Who was the boy?” I asked. “Was it you?”
“No, it wasn’t me,” Dad said, “but it’s someone you know, someone who has red hair.”
“Uncle Max!” I cried. “But what does Uncle Max and a broken collarbone and a clarinet have to do with my roller skates?”
“But you know,” Dad said, looking straight at me, “that clarinet wouldn’t have been sitting on the shelf, waiting for Uncle Max, if someone hadn’t been generous enough to give it away.” He smiled. “Have to get going,” he said, picking up the box for Deseret Industries and heading toward the door.
For a second I just sat there, holding my skates. Then I jumped up. “Dad!” I called. “Hey, Dad! Don’t forget these!” I tossed my skates into the box and hopped onto the front seat of the car next to him. For a minute I thought that he was going to say something, but he just smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

As I lay in the motel room anticipating the next day’s state cross-country race, I struggled with all the difficult emotions a 16-year-old can have. I felt I was running worse than in past years. I felt ugly. Having never had a date or a boyfriend compounded my feelings of insecurity. I wanted so badly to feel accepted.
I had gone to bed early, and my teammates thought I was asleep. I heard them giggling, and then they nudged my shoulder and said, “Here, Jenny. Have some water.” I could distinctly smell that it was not water.
I was angry at these “friends” for trying to play a trick on me. Did they think I was stupid? I was scared they might force the alcohol down my throat. I yearned for the security of my family, but that seemed childish for someone my age.
A thousand questions raced through my mind. By drinking, will I be part of the “in” crowd? Will the alcohol make me beautiful? Will it give me a boyfriend? Will I be able to run faster or even win the race tomorrow?
I knew the answers to these questions. I said firmly, “No, that’s not water, and I’m not going to drink it.” Even though both of those girls beat me in the race the next day, I knew I had won a more important race in the Lord’s eyes.
The bus trip home seemed particularly long. I was anxious to return to my family and tell my mother what had happened.
The next night at dinner Mom presented me with a gift. My five brothers and sisters watched me open it. It was to let me know my family was proud of my decision to live the Word of Wisdom.
Around the dinner table that night my family helped me feel talented, beautiful, and accepted—an acceptance I may never find at school or on a cross-country team.

On one occasion, I accompanied President Bill Whitworth, the president of the Sandy Utah Canyon View Stake, to do ministering visits. He was prayerful about whom we should visit, trying to have the same experience as Nephi, who “was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which [he] should do” (1 Nephi 4:6). He demonstrated that as we minister, we should be led by revelation to those who are most in need, as opposed to just going down a list or visiting individuals in a methodical way. We should be led by the power of inspiration.
I remember going into the home of a young couple, Jeff and Heather, and their little boy, Kai. Jeff grew up an active member of the Church. He was a very talented athlete and had a promising career. He began to drift away from the Church in his teenage years. Later, he got into a car accident, which altered the course of his life. As we entered their home and became acquainted, Jeff asked us why we came to see his family. We responded that there were about 3,000 members who lived within the stake boundaries. I then asked him, “Jeff, of all the homes we could have visited tonight, tell us why the Lord has sent us here.”
With that, Jeff became emotional and began to share with us some of his worries and some issues that they were dealing with as a family. We began to share various principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. We invited them to do a few specific things that might seem to be challenging at first but in time would bring great happiness and joy. Then President Whitworth gave Jeff a priesthood blessing to help him overcome his challenges. Jeff and Heather agreed to do what we invited them to do.
About a year later, it was my privilege to watch Jeff baptize his wife, Heather, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They are now preparing themselves to enter the temple to be sealed as a family for time and all eternity. Our visit altered the course of their lives both temporally and spiritually.

Leah looked around the third-grade classroom. The desks were lined up in neat rows, and bright posters hung on the walls. Most of the other kids were talking with their friends.
Leah sat down at her desk. She didn’t really know anyone in this class. She hoped she’d be able to make a new friend at school this year.
“Hey.”
Leah looked up. A girl had sat down next to her.
“My name is Anna,” she said. “Want to be friends?”
Leah smiled. “Sure!”
Later Leah and Anna ate lunch together. During their break, they played four square and jumped rope. At the end of the day, Anna waved goodbye to Leah through the window of the bus. “See you tomorrow!” she said.
From then on, Leah and Anna were good friends. They played together every day. In the winter, they made long paths in the snow. When the snow had frozen over, they slid down the paths. One time they were partners for a science project about space. Leah had fun making a poster of the planets with Anna.
But one day Anna started acting kind of strange. She didn’t wave back to Leah in the morning. She joined a new group for math practice. And at lunch, she barely talked at all.
“Hey,” Leah asked, “what’s going on?”
Anna sighed. “Look, I don’t think we should hang out as much. My friend Audrey said you were weird.”
“Oh.” Leah frowned. She and Anna had fun together. Why would Anna care so much about what other kids thought?
Anna said they could still be friends, but after that, she never talked to Leah. Leah tried not to feel hurt, but it was hard to be by herself while Anna played with other kids.
Soon the school year ended, and their summer break began. Leah stayed busy with lots of fun activities. She went to ballet class and cooking class. She also took a sewing class with her best friend, Ellie.
Ellie and Leah had known each other since they were little. They went to the same school, but they’d never been in the same class. Sometimes Ellie came over to play at Leah’s house. Leah found a pair of fake glasses to wear that looked like Ellie’s. That made Ellie laugh.
“I can’t believe summer is almost over,” Ellie said. “I wish we got to see each other more.”
Leah smiled. “Me too.”
Another school year was coming up fast. Leah was excited for fourth grade, but she was a little nervous too. She was fine with being by herself most of the time. But a year was a long time to not have a friend in her class. She remembered how she felt when Anna stopped being her friend. She didn’t want to feel lonely.
Leah kept praying to Heavenly Father for peace. When summer ended, she felt hopeful. She knew things would turn out OK.
On the first day of school, Leah walked into her new classroom.
“Leah!”
She couldn’t believe it. Ellie was in her class!
Ellie ran to Leah and gave her a hug. “I’m so happy you’re here! This will be the best year ever!”
Leah smiled big. She knew Heavenly Father had been with her, even when it was hard. And Ellie was right—this year would be the best one yet!
This story took place in the USA.

“Sarah! Sarah, wake up!” five-year-old Christiana Larsen said to her little sister. “It’s time to leave.”
Three-year-old Sarah struggled to open her eyes.
“But it’s still dark outside,” she complained sleepily.
“I know, but Mama says we have to get an early start. The ship to America leaves soon.”
The Larsen family had joined the Church in Denmark. Now they would be making the long journey to join the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley.
Christiana helped Sarah get dressed. Then the little girls tearfully took one last look around their comfortable bedroom. They knew it would be a long time before they would sleep in a real bed again.
“Don’t forget your parasol, Sarah,” Christiana said as she picked up her own lacy silk parasol. “Mama said she would pack them with the bedding.”
Mama and Papa had said they couldn’t take anything besides necessities on the trip to America. After the bedding, clothing, and tools were packed, there wouldn’t be much room for anything else. But Christiana and Sarah had begged to take just one favorite thing to their new home. After all, they were leaving behind their dolls, books, and toys. Each girl chose her pretty parasol.
As the sun rose, Christiana and her family boarded the ship that would sail to America. They were excited to go to Zion, even though they had to leave friends, family, and their home.
The ocean voyage was long and tiresome. During the hot afternoons on the ship, the two girls used their pretty parasols to keep the sun off their heads. If the wind blew in the right direction, the ship sailed steadily on. But if it changed course, the ship was forced back, often as far as it had already come.
When the Larsens landed in America, they bought a wagon and oxen and began the long journey to the Salt Lake Valley. The ride in the wagon was bumpy and hot, so Christiana and Sarah often walked instead.
Like many other pioneer families, Christiana’s family experienced hardships and tragedy along the way. Christiana’s newborn brother died during their journey and was buried on the plains.
After the Larsen family reached the Salt Lake Valley in 1857, Christiana loved to go to church with other children her age. Christiana and Sarah happily carried their parasols to church every Sunday to keep the hot desert sun off their faces.
As the days and weeks went by, the family’s money and food began to run out. One night Christiana heard her parents discussing the problem. Her father said he knew of a family who had been blessed with a good harvest of grain. The Larsens could trade something they had for some flour. But what did they have to trade?
Christiana spoke up. “You can trade Sarah’s and my parasols, Papa.”
“But you love your parasols, Christiana. I couldn’t do that!”
“It’s all right, Papa,” Christiana said. “We need the food more than we need the parasols.”
The next day Christiana’s father traded the beautiful lacy parasols for some flour. The flour provided food for the whole family.
That night, as Christiana got ready for bed, she looked sadly at the corner where her lovely parasol had stood. But as she remembered the wonderful bread she had eaten for supper, her sadness turned to gratitude. As she said her prayers that night, she thanked Heavenly Father for her lovely parasol, which helped to feed her family.

Eighteen-year-old Annie Smith wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and looked back across the railroad bridge she had just crossed. It was a beautiful winter day in 1892, a perfect day for their school outing. She and her students had already enjoyed dinner at her house and a sleigh ride. Now, as they carefully made their way across the bridge, Annie paused to watch them. These children from her one-room schoolhouse in Porterville, Utah, were a variety of ages and sizes, with some students even older than she was. It warmed her heart to see the bigger ones helping the smaller ones along the tracks.
As Annie watched, she felt a small hand slip into hers. She looked down into the face of her youngest student, little Hughie. His brown eyes were large with excitement.
“Do we really get to go through the tunnel?” His voice was almost a whisper.
Annie nodded. “I have special permission from the railroad. They assured me that no trains were scheduled for today, so it will be perfectly safe.” She looked at the dark opening in the mountainside ahead. “It’s a long, dark tunnel, Hughie. There are no lights inside, but on the other side is a beautiful view of the rockslide and the valley.”
Hughie gave a little sigh and smiled. Annie’s words had put his fears to rest. Now he tugged anxiously on her arm. “Come on, Teacher. Let’s go see the valley.”
Soon they were all inside the tunnel. It took a while for their eyes to adjust to the darkness after the bright daylight. “Take it slowly,” Annie’s voice echoed in the tunnel. “Keep on the tracks and hold hands so that you don’t trip.”
At first the children were laughing and joking, but they soon grew silent as they concentrated on their footing. The only sound was the grating of their footsteps on gravel and their quiet voices as they guided each other over the railroad ties.
Annie knew they were about halfway through the darkness when she saw a small circle of light ahead marking the other end of the tunnel. “We’re almost there,” she told her students. “See the light ahead?”
As they paused to look, they heard a rumbling noise coming closer and closer, and then a sound that made their blood run chill: a train whistle.
“Teacher?” It was Hughie’s voice. “Did you hear? What—”
Annie hushed him quickly. She stood frozen on the tracks, not daring to believe her ears. But then the whistle sounded again, nearer this time. There was a train rounding the point of the mountain and coming across the bridge. It was coming very fast!
Annie prayed silently for help. Please, Heavenly Father, what should I do? Tell me what to do.
“Teacher?” an older child asked. “Shall we run?”
The tracks were starting to vibrate under their feet.
“No!” The words seemed to spring from her lips of their own accord. “Lie down at once as close to the wall as possible. Don’t move or try to get up until I say that you can. Now, go!”
This last word she had to scream because the sound of the approaching train was loud and unmistakable now. She pulled the nearest child with her to the wall of the tunnel and held him tight. As the train roared into the tunnel, many of the children screamed in terror. Sparks flew from the smokestack in a shower of light, and the smoke almost suffocated them. It seemed to last forever. Annie trembled and tightened her grip on the child, afraid she might lose him in the hot, rushing wind that swept through the tunnel with the train.
When the silence finally returned, she helped the child up and hurried toward the light. She went as swiftly as she could, tripping on stones and bumping into her students, who were also in a panic, crawling to get out of the dark.
Once outside the tunnel, the students helped brush the dirt from each other’s clothing and began to breathe more easily. Then one of the older children asked, “Where’s Hughie?”
Taking some older boys with her, Annie returned to the dark tunnel, afraid of what she might find. The boys ran ahead calling Hughie’s name. Then, “He’s here!” a boy called, relief in his voice. “Lying facedown by the wall.”
“It’s OK, Hughie.” Annie heard another boy comforting him. “The train is gone. You can get up now.”
Hughie turned his face toward them and said in a brave but frightened voice, “Did Teacher say that I could?”
Annie hurried over to him and put her arms around him. “Oh, Hughie,” she said, tears in her eyes. “Thank you for being so obedient. You did the right thing, and you are safe. You can get up now. Teacher says so.”
Hughie got to his feet, and Annie took his hand and led him toward the light. As they walked, Annie silently thanked Heavenly Father for watching over this little boy who had such faith in his teacher. She hoped that she would always live worthy of that trust.
Annie also knew that her trust in Heavenly Father had not been in vain. Her prayer had been answered when she knew what they needed to do to be safe. They had been spared because they had immediately obeyed those promptings. There is safety in obedience. That was a lesson that neither Hughie nor his teacher would ever forget.

Once I was asked to meet an older couple returning to the Church. They had been taught the gospel by their parents. After their marriage, they left the Church. Now, 50 years later, they were returning. I remember the husband coming into the office pulling an oxygen tank. They expressed regret at not having remained faithful. I told them of our happiness because of their return, assuring them of the Lord’s welcoming arms to those who repent. The elderly man responded, “We know this, Brother Andersen. But our sadness is that our children and grandchildren do not have the blessings of the gospel. We are back, but we are back alone.”

After a meeting with some of our servicemen in Da Nang, South Vietnam, one man in battle dress came up to me and asked if I would write a letter to his parents, who were nonmembers, explaining to them the great honor that had come to him that day. He said they knew nothing about the Church and asked, “Bishop Brown, would you mind telling them what a great honor it was for me to be ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood today?” Some time ago in New York City a fine-looking young man said to me, “It isn’t easy to be a Jew and a Mormon.” When this young man was baptized, his parents were so displeased they held a formal funeral. As far as they are concerned, their son is dead. How important it is that all young men of the Aaronic Priesthood recognize their responsibility as priesthood holders and, as President McKay used to say, act accordingly.

I had that illustrated some years ago when I served as a stake president. We had a very grievous case that had to come before the high council and the stake presidency that resulted in the excommunication of a man who had harmed a lovely young girl. After a nearly all-night session that resulted in that action, I went to my office rather weary the next morning and was confronted by a brother of this man whom we had on trial the night before. This man said, “I want to tell you that my brother wasn’t guilty of what you charged him with.”
“How do you know he wasn’t guilty?” I asked.
“Because I prayed, and the Lord told me he was innocent,” the man answered.
I asked him to come into the office and we sat down, and I asked, “Would you mind if I ask you a few personal questions?”
He said, “Certainly not.”
“How old are you?”
“Forty-seven.”
“What priesthood do you hold?”
He said he thought he was a teacher.
“Do you keep the Word of Wisdom?”
“Well, no.” He used tobacco, which was obvious.
“Do you pay your tithing?”
He said, “No”—and he didn’t intend to as long as that terrible man was the bishop of the ward.
I said, “Do you attend your priesthood meetings?”
He replied, “No, sir!” and he didn’t intend to as long as that man was bishop.
“You don’t attend your sacrament meetings either?”
“No, Sir.”
“Do you have your family prayers?” and he said, “No.”
“Do you study the scriptures?” He said his eyes were bad, and he couldn’t read very much.
I then said to him: “In my home I have a beautiful instrument called a radio. When everything is functioning properly we can dial it to a certain station and hear the voice of a speaker on the other side of the world, but after we have used it for a long time the radio tubes begin to wear out. The radio may sit there looking just like it did before, but because of what has happened on the inside, we can hear nothing.
“Now,” I said, “you and I have within our souls something like what might be said to be a counterpart of those radio tubes. We might have what we call a ‘go-to-sacrament-meeting’ tube, a ‘keep-the-Word-of-Wisdom’ tube, a ‘pay-your-tithing’ tube, a ‘have-your-family-prayers’ tube, a ‘read-the-scriptures’ tube, and, as one of the most important—one that might be said to be the master tube of our whole soul—we have what we might call the ‘keep-yourselves-morally-clean’ tube. If one of these becomes worn out by disuse or inactivity—if we fail to keep the commandments of God—it has the same effect upon our spiritual selves that a worn-out tube has in a radio.
“Now, then,” I said, “fifteen righteous men living in the stake prayed last night. They heard the evidence and every man was united in saying that your brother was guilty. Now you, who do none of these things, you say you prayed and got an opposite answer. How would you explain that?”
Then this man gave an answer that I think was a classic. He said, “Well, President Lee, I think I must have gotten my answer from the wrong source.” And, you know, that’s just as great a truth as we can have. We get our answers from the source of the power we tend to obey. If we are following the ways of the devil, we will get answers from the devil. If we are keeping the commandments of God, we will get our answer from God.

It was a sunny Sunday morning, May 18, 1980, when Mt. St. Helens blew her top with a blast 500 times as powerful as the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. The top 1,400 feet of the mountain were blown off, killing at least 22 people, wiping out homes, displacing families, creating steaming mudslides and floods that demolished bridges and logging camps, and blanketing much of the northwestern United States and parts eastward with a fine gritty, gray volcanic ash. Over a billion dollars in crops, timber, and property were lost; cities and schools closed down; food and water supplies were sometimes cut off; and people stayed in their homes.
The chalky ash covered trees, houses, fields, streets, everything, like tons of powdered sugar, but it was far from sweet. It clogged car engines, swirled up in white clouds like dense fog whenever cars drove through it (making driving extremely dangerous), choked out new crops, weighed heavily on rooftops and awnings and people’s minds. You could shovel it from your walk to the street, but it often blew back, and how did you get it out of the street, anyway. For most people it was a gritty nightmare that eventually city bulldozers and trucks would help handle.
For the young Latter-day Saints living in volcano territory, the disaster became a time of faith, service, and closeness to our Heavenly Father.
“I was in sacrament meeting when it happened,” said Joyce Allsop, 19, of the Yakima Fifth Ward, Yakima Washington Stake, about a hundred miles from Mt. St. Helens. “I looked out the window and everything was getting darker and darker. There were flashes of eerie, orange-red lightning through the ash particles, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, but no rain. The thunder came so close that we all ducked, and the building shook. We thought it would fall down on us. Then everything turned pitch black, at 10:00 in the morning, and stayed that way for 24 hours.
“Outside, ashes were falling like snow, only you could feel it, like sand pelting you. Then it started coming down like a heavy, gritty rain.”
The members of Joyce’s ward were told that the volcano had erupted and that the roads were extremely hazardous, with visibility down to zero. She and a friend decided to drive the 20 miles home, because they wanted to be with their families.
“As soon as we got into the car, we said a prayer to help us get home. We started out and could barely see anything, it was so dark. Cars where pulled off in ditches to the side of the road because people couldn’t see where the road was. Most people had no idea where they were. The only way we ever made it home was with the Lord’s help.
“When we got home, we got calls from all sorts of concerned people, some we hardly even knew, checking that we’d made it home safely,” she added.
The abrupt change from a peaceful, secure life to not knowing what would happen gave Joyce a lot to think about.
“I realized how blessed we were to get home safely. And I thought, if this is anything like the Second Coming, we have to be more prepared. I think I could also relate a little to how the Nephites must have felt when Christ was crucified, when it turned pitch black. Those words from the Book of Mormon suddenly took on new meaning.
“I also understood how powerful the forces of nature are and how quickly the world could be destroyed. And I realized, more fully why we need to have food storage and clothing, supplies, and water on hand. As soon as the general public in Yakima heard that the roads were closed because of the eruption, they all rushed to stock up on supplies. Now a lot of the single people from home are starting their own food storage programs,” said Joyce.
Sheryl Hague of Yakima was also at church when the volcano erupted. “I thought it was a blessing that we were all in church when it happened, in a safe place,” she said, “I go to a singles’ branch, but I knew my family was in church at their ward, and my dad, who’s a stake president, was in church somewhere. My bishop was making sure we had wet paper towels over our mouths so we didn’t breathe the dust in, and people were making sure that everyone who wanted a ride home had it and that we were all okay. Right away we organized a calling committee to make sure that everyone had food and any help they needed.”
Many of the Young Adults at Sheryl’s ward opted to stay at the institute building where church was being held, until things quieted down. Food was brought in to the group by the Relief Society and elders quorum presidents.
“The prophet tells us constantly to be prepared, but often we don’t really listen until something like this happens, which is too bad,” added Sheryl. “During the first day especially I thought a lot about the Second Coming and how if you’re not prepared you’re going to panic, like a lot of unprepared people here did. I found out how important food storage is, too. Some people here didn’t have enough food to last them for even a couple of days. On the radio people were advised to store water, which our family had already done long before. We stored quite a bit more, though, including a bathtub full.”
Immediately after the shock of the eruption, even with the uncertainty of not knowing what was going to happen, the young people of wards across Washington jumped wholeheartedly into helping other people. Calling committees checked to see that ward members were safe; teachers and priests quorums and the young women organized to help clean chapels and homes. Volcanic ash started flying as young volunteers got out their shovels and brooms and started the cleanup.
“The youth in my ward were helping even as families started leaving the chapel the morning of the eruption,” said Bishop Terry Brandon of the Yakima Fourth Ward, Yakima Washington Stake. “The teenagers comforted the children, talked with them, and in many cases scooped the young ones into their arms and delivered them safely to waiting cars and their parents. Breathing was uncomfortable, and the falling ash was irritating their eyes, but these youth didn’t care about that.
“Then early the next morning I began receiving phone calls from teens wanting to help anyone who needed it, so we organized a cleanup force. They spent eight, nine hours at a time in the grittiest, dirtiest mess you’ve ever seen helping other people, in addition to the efforts spent in cleaning up their own homes. They took a lot of initiative themselves. All of them helped clean up the stake center.
“It was such a spiritual uplift to work alongside such cheerful youth during a depressing, messy week of cleanup. We have a fine generation of young people here with goals and ideals that just won’t let them be defeated. When we didn’t know if we’d be able to hold church the next Sunday, I was determined we should, just so I could let them know how I felt towards them. I’ve never seen a finer group of young people,” said Bishop Brandon.
Hundreds of young Latter-day Saints across the disaster area swept ash, piled it high into giant gray hills, washed down roofs and streets, wiped it from their ears and hair and faces. And despite the seeming drudgery, some of them even had fun while they did it.
In the Moses Lake Washington Stake, over 150 miles east of the volcano, 33 youth helped clean the stake center, working until 1:00 in the morning so they could return the hoses they’d borrowed from the fire department in time. Scouts in Moses Lake helped clean the homes of ward members. The four teenagers of the Allen Brown family helped a blind ward member clean off his house and yard. The teens in the Don Larson family surprised a ward member who was out of town when the eruption occurred by having his house cleaned up when he got back to town. He then helped clean the chapel grounds and homes of other people. Craig Duvall, a recently returned missionary, cleaned county roads and driveways for a week. Carolyn Whiteman, a 14-year-old Lamanite, went day after day to haul ashes out of the yard of an elderly couple down her street.
“We got a wonderful response from all our people with the cleanup,” said President Lew Judd Allsop of the Yakima Washington Stake. “We had all sorts of help from the youth in our stake when we needed to clean the ash off the roof of the stake center. It was tedious work, sifting the ash out of the gravel on the roof so the roof wouldn’t cave in with the first rain. It was a dirty, gritty job, and I didn’t hear anyone complain about the dust in their eyes or it being terrible, dirty work. Working conditions couldn’t have been worse. Faces were black; there was grit in your ears, your hair, all over. And yet they got the job done, and in good spirits.”

Some years ago, while I was serving as the mission president in Portugal, several of our missionaries introduced me to their shoeshine man. Their shoes looked so good that I was anxious to meet the man that could put such a shine on missionaries’ shoes. Even though he had not chosen to listen to the missionaries’ message, I considered the shoeshine man my friend, and we visited while he was busy shining my shoes. He indicated that his wife had died, that he had no family, and that about the only pleasure he had in life was seeing people walk away happy with the shoes he had just shined.
His place of business was on the curbside of a small square on a busy street in downtown Lisbon. His stand seemed to have all that was necessary. It consisted of a short, rusty, three-legged stool, upon which my frail friend would sit as he shined the shoes that were placed on a stained and well-used shoeshine box that was full of his polishes and brushes, and there was an ornate lamppost (which was kindly furnished by the city of Lisbon), upon which the customer would lean while he was having his shoes shined.
He would carefully apply two coats of polish, using a brush to polish between each coat. Last, he applied a special product that would give the shoes that extra special shine. With a final snap of the cloth, he would stand up, take off his little Portuguese cap, make a deep bow, and say, “Pronto. Seus sapatos foram engrashados pelo o melhor engraxate do mundo.” “There. Your shoes were shined by the very best shoeshine man in the world.” I was convinced that I had had my shoes shined by the very best.
A few months after our mission, I was called to serve as the Regional Representative to Portugal and had the opportunity to return to Lisbon a number of times. As occasion permitted, I would have my shoes shined by the “best shoeshine man in the world.”
The last few times that I went, I was unable to find him at his usual place of business. I finally inquired at the prestigious stores that surrounded the square. The response was the same, “We don’t know what happened to him. It seems that we had heard that he had died.” I remember thinking, Could it be that the best shoeshine man in the world had died, and no one really knew or even seemed to care? I wondered: Had there been someone there with him, or did he slip away unnoticed?
May we contrast that for a moment with Brother and Sister Joaquim Aires, a marvelous man and his wife who came to Portugal following the 1974 revolution of Portugal’s colonies in Angola and Mozambique. They had returned to Portugal unknown and with very few possessions. A great blessing occurred in their lives. They opened their door to two young missionaries, who taught them of the restoration of Christ’s church. They received the missionaries, accepted their message, and were baptized.
As is the opportunity for all worthy men in the Church, he received the priesthood—authority to act in the name of our Father in Heaven—and to become a leader in the Church. Brother Aires became President Aires, president of one of the mission districts.
One day I received a telephone call. President Aires was in the hospital in Coimbra, several hours’ travel away. He had suffered a very serious cerebral hemorrhage and was in very critical condition. Another priesthood holder and I made the trip as quickly as possible. As we walked quietly into the hospital room, we found him asleep. My first inclination was not to awaken him. And then I thought he would want to know that we had come. So I reached over and carefully touched his hand. He slowly opened his eyes and then looked at me for a moment, and then the tears came to both of our eyes. He then said in a very weak and soft voice, “I knew you would come. I knew you would come. Would you please give me a blessing.” In his dear, sweet faith, he was asking for a priesthood blessing, the same that is taught of and recorded in the Bible. We read in James 5:14–15: “Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord:
“And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up.”
As men of the priesthood, it was our privilege to pronounce a blessing on him with power and authority of our Father in Heaven.
As I would meet with the members of the Church from one end of Portugal to the other, the brothers and sisters would ask, “How is Brother Aires? Will you please tell him we love him and we’re praying for him?”
This good man and his wife, who had returned to Portugal almost unknown, now, because of their membership in the Church, had literally thousands who loved them and were concerned about them and remembered him in their prayers.
The prayers of faith were answered. He recovered completely, and he and Sister Aires went on to fulfill a full-time mission together.
I have thought often of the contrast between the two—my little shoeshine man on one hand, who, like so many of life’s unknown wanderers, had slipped away without any understanding of life’s purpose; and Brother Aires on the other, who was not only taught of life’s real purpose, but had now become a part of a great body of people who showed their love and appreciation for him.
As the Apostle Paul wrote to the members of the Church, or Saints as they were called and are called today, he reminded the newly baptized members of the Church of the blessings of belonging when he told them, “Ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). What a blessing it is to belong and to be wanted and needed! It becomes even more apparent during life’s tender moments.
To all who find yourselves outside the household of faith and away from the Saints, would you please accept this invitation to come unto Christ that we might all, as Alma said, “bear one another’s burdens” (Mosiah 18:8). Join with the Saints, that you might not be any longer strangers alone in this world, but truly cared for, loved, and appreciated.
And to all of us—those of us who are members of the Church, could I just counsel with you for a moment? Do you have anyone that you know who might be as our little shoeshine man, who is alone—alone in this great crowd of people—that could use your special love and caring and concern? Could you take a moment and let such people know how much you love them?
And may we also, as members of the Church, truly do our part to make His church a welcome refuge for all of our Father in Heaven’s children, I pray humbly in the name of the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, amen.

During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive about my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine, and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my serving a mission.

Speaking under the influence of the Holy Ghost and within the limits of his or her responsibility, a person may be inspired to predict what will come to pass in the future. The one who holds the office of the prophet, seer, and revelator prophesies for the Church, as when Joseph Smith prophesied concerning the Civil War (see D&C 87) and foretold that the Saints would become a mighty people in the Rocky Mountains. Prophecy is part of the calling of a patriarch. Each of us is also privileged occasionally to receive prophetic revelation illuminating future events in our lives, like a Church calling we are to receive. To cite another example, after our fifth child was born, my wife and I did not have any more children. After more than 10 years we concluded that our family would not be any larger, which grieved us. Then one day, while my wife was in the temple, the Spirit whispered to her that she would have another child. That prophetic revelation was fulfilled about a year and a half later with the birth of our sixth child, for whom we had waited 13 years.

When I was 12, we moved near Pendleton, Oregon, a city of 7,000 people. For the first time I lived in a ward. A couple of years later, my father was called to the high council of the Union Stake. He served in the stake presidency for more than 12 years.
During my teenage years, I traveled with him to high council or stake presidency assignments. We’d get up early on Sunday morning and drive some distance to his assignment. As we drove, he taught me the gospel. He had great gospel knowledge. I have found that I usually know the right answer to gospel doctrine questions because I was raised in a home where the gospel was understood and taught correctly.