Gospel Story Finder

Last year I reported to my doctor. We had a full surgery scheduled for my right hip, which would mean a body cast for several months, perhaps even endangering my ability to attend my senior year of high school. We’d known about this for a year, since the last checkup when he told me my right hip was in bad shape.
When my dad and I got in the examination room, my doctor held the X-rays to the light. After looking at them, examining me, and looking back at the X-rays again, he announced, rather astonished, that there seemed to be nothing at all wrong with my hip. He could see no reason to perform the extensive surgery he had planned. He said that, except for some work that needed to be done on my feet, I was in fantastic health and would need no more surgeries.
That was surprising news to someone who had already had eight major surgeries and several minor ones.
It is more than important to note that our family and others had offered many prayers prior to my examination, and many dear friends were praying and fasting.
Sure enough, my hip was healed. I know only Heavenly Father could have accomplished what I experienced. I know I have been healed by a miracle, but a miracle is not always required. Sometimes the greater miracle lies in how we deal with not having a burden eased.

In 1999, I was serving as the Harare Zimbabwe District president. By that time, I had a good job. Naume and I bought land in Norton, which was about a 40-minute drive from Harare, and we built a nice three-bedroom home on that land. We were excited to begin our new life in Norton. Our plan was to eventually build a bigger home on the property.

When the mission president learned about our plan to move from Harare, he counseled us not to leave. I reasoned that it was too expensive for us to stay in Harare. We continued to pursue our plans to move. A visiting General Authority also counseled us to stay in Harare. He suggested that we rent our house in Norton while continuing to live in Harare. I again said that it was too expensive to live in Harare. If we remained there, we would not be able to build the larger house we had planned.

On the way home from our conversation with the General Authority, Naume asked me why I was being so stubborn. I responded that our leaders did not seem to understand our situation. She said that she would support me only if I was willing to follow our Church leaders’ counsel. We remained in Harare, and we were richly blessed because of that decision.

I’m grateful that Naume had faith to stay.

Ours was a very contented marriage as long as we left religion out of it, which was all right with both of us. Because of my extremely unhappy childhood, at eighteen I left home and church, marrying Norman, a nonmember, when I was twenty. And even though I was not living my religion, I do feel the Holy Ghost guided and protected me in my marriage. Norman was a fine man and, though strongly prejudiced against the Church, agreed to let me raise our children as Mormons. I never intended to set foot in the church again myself, but my spiritual roots must have been deeper than I knew.
We were not blessed with children for fifteen years, and then we adopted a baby boy; two and a half years later I gave birth to a son. When Douglas was three, I took him to Sunday School because I had decided that my children would be taken, not sent as I had been. I had no intention of getting involved; I just wanted our two boys to get a good religious background. One of my favorite sayings was, “My bad habits hurt no one but me, but if I ever accept a call in the Church I will live the standards fully.” I felt safe, since I never intended to accept a call. But when Steven was nearly three, I was called to teach the 3-year-olds group in Junior Sunday School. With great reluctance I accepted the call; Steven wouldn’t go to Sunday School without me, so I was trapped. And I began to live the Word of Wisdom and all other commandments to the best of my ability.
Gradually I discovered that the gospel was what I needed and wanted for my family. I gained a strong testimony, went through a very painful period of repentance, and dedicated my life to the Lord. In 1956 I received my patriarchal blessing and in it the comforting assurance: “If you are faithful and prayerful the Lord shall go before you and by his messenger shall prepare the way that in due time the righteous desire of your heart, and the prayer of your life, shall be answered, and all shall be well.”
What happiness I now knew! Yet it was not without its sadness, because my dear husband would have none of it. I was stubborn and I tried to force the gospel on him. I wanted him to understand and accept this wonderful thing that I had found. With me pushing and pulling, we came close to divorce in 1958.
This crisis completely humbled me and I spent a great deal of time in prayer, putting the matter in my Heavenly Father’s hands. I knew that there must be no more pushing and pulling, no more making my husband feel guilty that he did not attend church with us. And I began trying to make a truly happy home for him. I resolved to be an exemplary and loving wife in every way and leave him his free agency. Norman, being an honorable man, held to his agreement to let me raise the boys in the Church. This was admirable, because his deep prejudice had been there since childhood. My boys and I accepted every call to serve in the Church, and we always returned home with happy smiles and love for dad. We prayed for him, fasted for him, but above all, we loved him. He was always the head of the family.
I felt I must know the gospel well in order to answer any questions Norman might ask, so for fourteen years I studied diligently—and the more I learned, the more important the gospel became. I spoke of it to him only when moved by the Spirit, and many times I received definite promptings as to what to say and when to say it. To talk about these fourteen years in just a few sentences is not really enough. There were many setbacks and much heartache, but the boys and I never ceased to live the gospel.
In 1967 Norman elected to join a religious service fraternity, and I worried that this would be one more barrier to his conversion. Strenuously, I told my objections, telling him it would lead to further prejudice against the Church. When he said he was not prejudiced, I asked, “Are you tolerant enough to go to church with me?” He didn’t answer, but later that day he said that if I really wanted him to attend, he would. So he began attending the investigators’ class in Sunday School, and within a year he was also attending sacrament meeting. Of course, the boys and I were delighted, and we will be forever grateful to the ward members for the way they welcomed him and made him a part of the ward. But through that year I could sense a great struggle going on inside him. He questioned many doctrines. (Later, when we asked him what was most instrumental in his conversion, he said that his family meant more to him than anything else, and this church’s family orientation was a strong appeal. Second, he was unable to prove the gospel wrong, so decided it must be right.) I was also gratified that we were invited to many social activities in the homes of ward members, and Norman found that we could enjoy ourselves without the need for alcoholic drinks. He also supported both boys on missions and gave brief talks in sacrament meeting prior to their leaving.
But it was the inspiring words of Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Council of the Twelve, given at the Relief Society conference in Salt Lake City in the fall of 1971, that gave me the courage to tell my husband how I felt about him joining the Church. Among other things, Elder Packer said:
“I have often said that a man cannot resist membership if his wife really wants him to have it, and if she knows how to give him encouragement.
“If you have faith enough and desire enough, you will yet have at the head of your home a father and husband who is active and faithful in the Church.
“Some who have long since lost hope have said bitterly, ‘It would take a miracle!’ And so I say, Why not? Why not a miracle! Is there a purpose more worthy than that?
“And I repeat, if your husband doesn’t feel at home going to church, then do everything you can to make him feel at church while he’s at home.
“Sisters, make the gospel seem worthwhile to them, and then let them know that that is your purpose.
“He needs to know, he needs to be told that you care about the gospel and what it means to you.” (“Begin Where You Are—at Home,” International Magazines, July 1972.)
Now an apostle of the Lord had told me to tell my husband what it would mean to me for him to accept the gospel. What a task! In our home the gospel was never mentioned unless my husband started talking about it first. I wept, trying to figure out how I’d ever be able to do it. Then I remembered the scripture, “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10). I decided once again to fast and pray and trust in the Lord. It took me until January 1972 to find the courage to speak.
Then, one night, I asked Norman if he felt he could ever accept the gospel. He gave me a firm, but not unkind, no. Taking a deep breath, I told him how much the boys and I loved him, what a fine father and husband he had been; but, I said, he was unable to give me the thing I wanted most of all. Well, I had done it! An apostle of the Lord had told me to do it. Within six months of that night, after thirty-seven years of marriage, Norman was baptized. It was indeed a miracle.
Looking back on the months following that January conversation, I can see that many things happened to bring this about. Some friends from Salt Lake City gave Norman the book, No More Strangers by Hartman and Connie Rector, and challenged Norman to take his place at the head of his family and bear the priesthood. After our younger boy’s missionary farewell, where Norman spoke briefly, Norman’s Sunday School teacher challenged him to be baptized. Steven wrote letters of encouragement and asked his dad to read the Book of Mormon. Douglas also bore testimony to him. Though Steven had left a nonmember father behind in 1972, he returned in 1974 to find his father sitting on the stand as second counselor in the bishopric.

No one knows when emergencies will strike. I am somewhat familiar with the case of a man who was highly successful in his profession. He lived in comfort. He built a large home. Then one day he was suddenly involved in a serious accident. Instantly, without warning, he almost lost his life. He was left a cripple. Destroyed was his earning power. He faced huge medical bills. He had other payments to make. He was helpless before his creditors. One moment he was rich; the next he was broke.

Since the beginnings of the Church, the Lord has spoken on this matter of debt. To Martin Harris through revelation He said: “Pay the debt thou hast contracted with the printer. Release thyself from bondage” (D&C 19:35).
President Heber J. Grant spoke repeatedly on this matter from this pulpit. He said: “If there is any one thing that will bring peace and contentment into the human heart, and into the family, it is to live within our means. And if there is any one thing that is grinding and discouraging and disheartening, it is to have debts and obligations that one cannot meet” (Gospel Standards, comp. G. Homer Durham [1941], 111).
We are carrying a message of self-reliance throughout the Church. Self-reliance cannot obtain when there is serious debt hanging over a household. One has neither independence nor freedom from bondage when he is obligated to others.
In managing the affairs of the Church, we have tried to set an example. We have, as a matter of policy, stringently followed the practice of setting aside each year a percentage of the income of the Church against a possible day of need.
I am grateful to be able to say that the Church in all its operations, in all its undertakings, in all of its departments, is able to function without borrowed money. If we cannot get along, we will curtail our programs. We will shrink expenditures to fit the income. We will not borrow.
One of the happiest days in the life of President Joseph F. Smith was the day the Church paid off its long-standing indebtedness.
What a wonderful feeling it is to be free of debt, to have a little money against a day of emergency put away where it can be retrieved when necessary.
President Faust would not tell you this himself. Perhaps I can tell it, and he can take it out on me afterward. He had a mortgage on his home drawing 4 percent interest. Many people would have told him he was foolish to pay off that mortgage when it carried so low a rate of interest. But the first opportunity he had to acquire some means, he and his wife determined they would pay off their mortgage. He has been free of debt since that day. That’s why he wears a smile on his face, and that’s why he whistles while he works.
I urge you, brethren, to look to the condition of your finances. I urge you to be modest in your expenditures; discipline yourselves in your purchases to avoid debt to the extent possible. Pay off debt as quickly as you can, and free yourselves from bondage.
This is a part of the temporal gospel in which we believe. May the Lord bless you, my beloved brethren, to set your houses in order. If you have paid your debts, if you have a reserve, even though it be small, then should storms howl about your head, you will have shelter for your wives and children and peace in your hearts. That’s all I have to say about it, but I wish to say it with all the emphasis of which I am capable.
I leave with you my testimony of the divinity of this work and my love for each of you, in the name of the Redeemer, the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

A young journalist wrote:
“I was … driving to a scene I didn’t want to see. A man … had accidentally backed his pickup truck over his baby granddaughter in the driveway of the family home. It was a fatality.
“As I parked … I saw a stocky, white-haired man in cotton work clothes standing near a pickup. Cameras were trained on him, and reporters were sticking microphones in his face. Looking totally bewildered, he was trying to answer their questions. Mostly he was only moving his lips, blinking and choking up.
“… I can still see in my mind’s eye that devastated old man looking down at the place in the driveway where the child had been. Beside the house was a freshly spaded flower bed, and nearby a pile of dark, rich earth.
“‘I was just backing up there to spread that good dirt,’ he said to me, though I had not asked him anything. ‘I didn’t even know she was outdoors.’ He stretched his hand toward the flower bed, then let it flop to his side. … I … went into the house to find someone who could provide a recent photo of the toddler.
“A few minutes later, with all the details in my notebook and a … studio portrait of the cherubic child tucked in my jacket pocket, I went toward the kitchen where the police had said the body was.
“… Entering the kitchen, I came upon this scene:
“On a Formica-topped table, back-lighted by a frilly curtained window, lay the tiny body, wrapped in a clean white sheet. Somehow the grandfather had managed to stay away from the crowd. He was sitting on a chair beside the table, in profile to me and unaware of my presence, looking uncomprehendingly at the swaddled corpse.
“The house was very quiet. A clock ticked. As I watched, the grandfather slowly leaned forward, curved his arms like parentheses around the head and feet of the little form, then pressed his face to the shroud and remained motionless.
“In that hushed moment I recognized the makings of a prize-winning news photograph. I appraised the light, adjusted the lens setting and distance, locked a bulb in the flashgun, raised the camera and composed the scene in the viewfinder.
“Every element of the picture was perfect: the grandfather in his plain work clothes, his white hair back-lighted by sunshine, the child’s form wrapped in the sheet, the atmosphere of the simple home. … Outside, the police could be seen inspecting the … pickup while the child’s mother and father leaned in each other’s arms.
“I don’t know how many seconds I stood there, unable to snap that shutter. I was keenly aware of the powerful storytelling value that photo would have, and my professional conscience told me to take it. Yet I couldn’t make my hand fire that flash-bulb and intrude on the poor man’s island of grief.
“At length I lowered the camera and crept away, shaken with doubt about my suitability for the journalistic profession. Of course I never told the city editor or any fellow reporters about that missed opportunity for a perfect news picture.
“Every day, on the newscasts and in the papers, we see pictures of people in extreme conditions of grief and despair. Human suffering has become a spectator sport. And sometimes, as I’m watching the news film, I remember that day.
“I still feel right about what I did” (James Alexander Thom, “The Perfect Picture,” Reader’s Digest, Aug. 1976, pp. 113–14).*

Far off in the middle of the Pacific, near the Equator, you’ll find a group of 33 small islands known as the Republic of Kiribati. Of the 78,000 residents who live there, 400 are students of Church-sponsored Moroni High School on the island of Tarawa.

“The Young Warriors” are the school’s pride and joy. That’s the school’s championship basketball team, made up of sophomores and juniors. They started practicing in March for the national tournament in July. When the time came, not only did they beat all the teams in their own division, but they were challenged by the teams in the upper division, and beat all of them, too. That cinched the national title.

In Kiribati, people seldom use surnames, so here is a list of the winners as you would know them. Back row: (l–r) Tauati, David, Jonathan Shute (an American teacher), Birate, and John. In the front row are (l–r) Maraeru, Pakaa, Temaati, Eddie, and Been. They’re all winners, both on and off the court.

I once counseled a man whose outlook and behavior were so accusing that he frequently swore at his wife and children with the vilest of swear words. I met with him and his wife for a couple of sessions, trying to help him understand and overcome his accusing mentality. But he took offense, called me names, and stormed out of my office. His wife subsequently asked for a separation, and he ended up living with his parents. I never expected to see the couple again.
Needless to say, I was shocked almost beyond belief when he called me on the phone two months later and said he was ready for more counseling! After apologizing for his former behavior, he explained what had been happening to him. Staying with his parents had helped him see himself more clearly. As he watched them continuously put each other down and accuse and strike out at each other, he began to realize that he had been acting just like they had always done. Soon he hated to go home at night because of his parents’ behavior.
He also became more aware of the same accusing behavior in others, especially the people he worked with. He observed that his colleagues spent much of the day gossiping and complaining and putting each other down.
As he began to miss his family, his heart gradually began to soften and he felt remorse for the way he had treated them. Scenes of the times he had physically and verbally abused his wife and children passed through his mind, and he became haunted by the need to make up for his intolerable behavior. His sorrow increased until he began to feel that it was almost more than he could bear.
When he came to me for help, it was obvious that he was experiencing a change of heart. For the first time, he was admitting to himself how awful his behavior had been. Of course, he had really known it all along. But he had deceived himself into believing that his wife, children, and circumstances were to blame for his misery and unhappiness. He had convinced himself that if people only understood him better and were more compassionate he wouldn’t have had the problems he did. Caught in a paralyzing web of misery and self-pity, he had failed to see himself as the architect of that web.
But now he was beginning to see the truth about himself. That self-knowledge took him down into the depths of humility with a broken heart and a contrite spirit; he acknowledged his need to change and sought the Lord’s help in improving. Now he could see that his problems were spiritual and of his own making. He also saw that he was in the best position to do something about them.
He was ready for change. As he responded to the workings of the Spirit within him, his heart continued to soften. It didn’t take many sessions of counseling or much prompting from others for him to make positive and lasting changes.
This man’s turnabout was the most dramatic I have ever seen in a client. I’ll be forever grateful to him for confirming to me what the Lord has said all along through the scriptures and the prophets, but which so many of us fail to understand: The keys to peace and harmonious relationships are to be found within our personal application of the basic principles of the gospel. In other words, in order to have peace and harmony in our relationships, we must first have peace and harmony within ourselves. Such peace comes when we are doing what we know to be right by following the still small voice of the Spirit.

Some years ago there was a news story about a man who believed that if he rubbed lemon juice on his face, it would make him invisible to cameras. So he put lemon juice all over his face, went out, and robbed two banks. Not much later he was arrested when his image was broadcast over the evening news. When police showed the man the videos of himself from the security cameras, he couldn’t believe his eyes. “But I had lemon juice on my face!” he protested.3

When a scientist at Cornell University heard about this story, he was intrigued that a man could be so painfully unaware of his own incompetence. To determine whether this was a general problem, two researchers invited college students to participate in a series of tests on various life skills and then asked them to rate how they did. The students who performed poorly were the least accurate at evaluating their own performance—some of them estimating their scores to be five times higher than they actually were.4

This study has been replicated in numerous ways, confirming over and over again the same conclusion: many of us have a difficult time seeing ourselves as we truly are, and even successful people overestimate their own contribution and underestimate the contributions that others make.5

Dear Reed,
Cub Scouts is awesome! We do lots of fun things. This week our den put on a Thanksgiving play for the pack. Rollin was Myles Standish, Sam was Governor Bradford, and I was Squanto. Other Clubs played other Pilgrims and Indians. We learned that the first winter was very hard and that many Pilgrims died. Then the Indians helped the Pilgrims plant corn and catch fish. The next fall they had lots of food, so they had a feast for three days and invited the Indians to it. The Pilgrims thanked Heavenly Father for the food. They were glad that they could worship Him the way they wanted to. That was why they had come to America.
Then we had our feast. First we put five kernels of corn on each plate because that was all that the Pilgrims had some days that first winter. Then we had turkey and potatoes and cranberries and punch! I’m glad that we have a nice home and good food and clothes. I’m glad that I live today and not back then.
What will you do on Thanksgiving?
Love,Buddy

What does learning how to cut hair have to do with setting up stage lights?
“It’s all part of my plan,” says Lisa, a young adult now in her first year of college.
Lisa started cosmetology school at age 16. She even found a program that let her attend shorter days at high school so she could train at cosmetology school in the afternoons. The fact that she’s now at college studying theater tech doesn’t mean that the whole salon thing didn’t work out, either. In fact, everything is unfolding exactly how she’d hoped.
“I wanted to have a skill I could use to help pay for college,” Lisa says. “Plus, it lets me serve other people and save money on family haircuts for the rest of my life!”

Nikko looked in the mirror and shook his shaggy head and roared. Then he picked up his long tail and flicked it like a whip.
“Honey, are you dressed yet?” His mother called from the kitchen. “It’s time to go.”
Nikko padded into the kitchen, carrying his tail in his hand.
“Please don’t eat me, brave king of the jungle,” Mother begged with a smile.
The lion bared his teeth and roared.
“Let’s get going, or you’ll be late for the school costume party,” Mother said. The lion crept to the car and then pounced inside.
* * * * * *
“Have fun at school, my brave lion,” Mother said as he bounded out of the car.
“Why, Nikko, don’t you look like a brave jungle beast!” His teacher smiled at him as he entered the classroom. “Go sit in the circle with the other children, and I’ll be there in a minute to tell you a story.”
The lion crept toward the other children. Nikko the little boy had always wanted to be Lissa’s friend, but he had been afraid to talk to her. But Nikko the brave lion was not afraid. He looked for Lissa and crouched down beside her. She was dressed like a princess in a sparkling gown. “You look pretty,” the lion whispered.
Princess Lissa smiled and tapped the lion’s shaggy head with her magic wand. “And I name you Nikko, the Wise Ruler of the Jungle.”
The lion pawed the air and roared softly.
* * * * * *
The next morning, Nikko stood in front of his mirror and roared. He shook his shaggy head and flicked his long tail.
“Honey, are you dressed yet?” Mother called.
Nikko padded into the kitchen with his tail in his hand.
Mother was rinsing the dishes at the sink. When she turned around, she exclaimed, “Oh! Oh my!”
The lion looked up and roared.
“You shouldn’t wear your costume today,” Mother said. “Yesterday was costume day. It’s all over now.”
“But I’m brave when I’m a lion,” Nikko told her.
“You’re my brave boy, even without your lion costume. Remember how you helped take care of your Grandpa when he came home from the hospital?”
“But my teacher thinks I’m a brave jungle beast when I’m wearing my lion costume.”
Mother slipped the furry mane off Nikko’s head. “Remember how you felt when you asked if you could help Uncle Jack build his deck? You don’t need a lion’s costume to feel brave.”
* * * * * *
Nikko went to school in his regular clothes. He could not flick his tail or shake his shaggy head or roar.
At recess, Nikko saw Lissa standing at the door to the playground. He still thought she looked pretty, even without her sparkling gown and magic wand. “You’d better go get your jacket and put it on,” Nikko warned her. “It’s going to rain.”
Lissa looked out at the dark sky. “Do you know what, Nikko? You’re wise even when you’re not dressed up like a lion.”
Brave, wise Nikko shook his head, roared softly, and padded out to the playground with his new friend.

The boys in the back of the bus chanted mean words as Amanda and her brother Hyrum stood to leave. The chanting wasn’t loud enough for the bus driver to hear, but the other kids heard and started to laugh and point.
Amanda’s face reddened. She could feel the anger rise within her. Those older boys were always making trouble. She turned around and told them to stop it, but they laughed and continued saying mean things. Hyrum nudged her to keep moving toward the exit.
When Amanda and her brother finally got off the bus, Amanda thought the teasing would stop. Instead the older boys kept yelling through the windows. Amanda wanted to yell mean things back, but Hyrum whispered, “Just keep walking.”
When the bus was finally out of sight, Amanda turned to her brother and exploded. “Didn’t those boys make you mad?”
“Of course they made me mad,” Hyrum said. “But they act worse if we show how much it bugs us.”
“It does bug me. We should tell Mom and Dad,” Amanda said.
“We will as soon as we get home,” promised her brother. “Did you know this sort of thing happened to me last year? When I was in middle school and you were still in fourth grade, some boys at school were saying rude things to me. Mom told me to hear the hidden message.”
Amanda wrinkled her face. “What hidden message?”
“Those boys are saying one thing with their mouths and hands, but Mom says the real message they’re sending is they don’t feel good about themselves. So they try to feel more powerful by being mean to others. My teacher said the same thing. She said people who bully others are really insecure.”
“I guess those guys are really, really insecure then!”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Hyrum said. “They announced it to the whole bus!”
Amanda thought about Hyrum’s words as they turned onto their street. Hearing the hidden message may not have changed the situation, but it helped her not feel so angry about it. “Come on, I’ll race you to the house!” she challenged her brother, and she sprinted down the sidewalk. She wasn’t going to let the boys ruin the rest of her day.

Just 12 years after Elder Jorge Fernando Zeballos was born on July 19, 1955, the first Latter-day Saint missionaries came to his hometown of Ovalle, Chile, in 1967.
The four North Americans walking around town piqued his curiosity, as did a favorable interview with them in the local newspaper. When the missionaries began playing in a local basketball league, Jorge, who loved basketball, followed their games with interest. Once he managed to slip behind the officials’ table to catch a glimpse of their team roster. Surprisingly, all were named “Elder.”
When a classmate told young Jorge that he and his family had joined the missionaries’ church, Jorge asked if he could come too. He attended meetings faithfully for seven months before the missionaries discovered that Jorge had not been taught or baptized. With the permission of his parents, Alberto Zeballos and Ines Zeballos, that was soon remedied.
Later, while at Santa Maria University in Valparaiso, Jorge met Carmen Gloria Valenzuela. “When I saw her for the first time, I knew I was going to marry her,” he recalls. “It was very strange, because I already had my mission call, and she was not a member.” Within a few weeks she was taking the missionary discussions, and he baptized her before leaving to serve in the Chile Concepción Mission.
Jorge and Carmen corresponded during his mission, began a courtship afterward, and were married on June 26, 1982, in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. They are the parents of five children.
Elder Zeballos has a degree in civil engineering from Santa Maria University and a master of business administration degree from Brigham Young University. Prior to his call as president of the Chile Concepción South Mission in 2005, he was a manager of corporate affairs for a mining company in Chile. Elder Zeballos, newly called to the First Quorum of the Seventy, has also served as a bishop, stake president, regional representative, and Area Seventy.

Take for instance, Orson Hyde. Brother Hyde was a sales clerk in the village of Kirtland when he met Joseph Smith, the youthful prophet. It was to this unknown, unpromising young seller of buttons and thread and calico that Joseph, speaking in the name of the Lord, would say that he, Orson Hyde, was ordained “to proclaim the everlasting gospel, by the Spirit of the living God, from people to people, and from land to land, in the congregations of the wicked, in their synagogues, reasoning with and expounding all scriptures unto them.” (D&C 68:1.)

This young man, this clerk in a village store, under the inspiration of that prophetic call, walked two thousand miles on foot through Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Maine, and New York, “reasoning with and expounding all scriptures unto” all he met.

I recall being in Orson Hyde’s home in Nauvoo, the comfortable home he left to travel to England and Germany and to visit Constantinople, [now Istanbul], Cairo, and Alexandria en route to Jerusalem where on 24 October 1841, he stood on the Mount of Olives and dedicated by the authority of the holy priesthood the land of Palestine for the return of the Jews. That was a quarter of a century before Theodor Herzl [1860–1904] undertook the work of gathering the Jews to their homeland.

In 1984, at the age of 15, Elder Cordón and his older brother left their home to attend school in another city where they could study technology. Living on their own, Valeri recalled his mother teaching him to always serve, so once they were established in their new home, he went straight to the bishop and asked for a calling. Since he was very young, Elder Cordon served in several callings, as a member of Aaronic Priesthood quorum presidencies, Sunday School president, auxiliary secretary to the bishopric, then at age 19, he was called to serve a mission in El Salvador.

While attending school in Guatemala and studying computer science, the textbooks were all in English, and by the time they were translated to Spanish, the information was obsolete. Realizing that learning English would be a critical skill, he figured out a way to move to Texas to attend the University of North Texas for six months, with a focus on learning English. He returned to Guatemala, received his computer science degree, and later, in part because of his newly acquired English skills, was hired by a British pharmaceutical company located in Costa Rica.

President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) left a lasting impression on Elder Cordón during one of the videos that aired between sessions of conference, in which the prophet simply said, “Improve your education”. As a result, he took every opportunity to follow this counsel.

When the opportunity arose to enter an MBA program at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, he commented to the area president about the educational opportunity , saying, “This is going to help my career” to which the president replied, “No, this will help the Church.”

Now Elder Cordón feels strongly about sharing his testimony to always be prepared, look for opportunities to improve yourself, and the Lord will bless you for those efforts.

Katie loved singing. She loved dancing. But most of all, she loved Sundays! That’s when she got to see her friend Quincy.
Katie had Down syndrome. Sometimes at church she got confused and didn’t know what to do. But she knew Quincy would be there to help her.
Quincy would hold Katie’s hand and walked with her to Primary. Sometimes Katie felt wiggly during sharing time, and Quincy would give her a hug. It always helped Katie calm down. After sharing time, Quincy helped Katie find her class. Katie loved Quincy.
One day Katie learned that something sad had happened in Quincy’s family. Quincy’s older brother Cory had died. Katie knew her friend would be so sad. She knew Quincy loved her big brother very much.
Mom told Katie that tonight people were going to the church building to show Quincy’s family that they were loved. Then tomorrow would be Cory’s funeral.
“Would you like to go to the church with Dad and me tonight?” Mom asked Katie.
Katie nodded. She wanted to tell Quincy that she loved her!
Mom helped Katie put on nice clothes. Then they drove to the church.
When they got there, Katie could see lots of people. She knew some of them from church. She saw her bishop. She saw her Primary teacher. But she couldn’t see her friend.
“Mom, where’s Quincy?” Katie asked.
Mom didn’t know.
“Why don’t we ask someone?” Mom said.
Usually Katie didn’t like talking around lots of people. But tonight she needed to find Quincy. Katie felt brave. She marched up to the bishop.
“Quincy is sad. I need to find Quincy!” she told him.
The bishop smiled and took Katie’s hand. “Then let’s go find Quincy.”
Together, the bishop, Mom, and Katie walked around the church building. Finally they found her! Quincy was sitting in a corner. She looked really, really sad.
Katie walked over to her friend and wrapped her arms around her. She thought of how much Quincy missed her brother.
“It’s OK, Quincy. Jesus will take care of Cory,” Katie said. She carefully patted Quincy’s hair, making sure to be gentle.
Quincy started crying. Katie hugged her tighter.
“It’s OK,” Katie said. “Jesus will take care of Cory.”
Quincy cried and cried. Katie just kept hugging her friend. After a while, Quincy got quieter. She was still sniffling, but not crying so much. She looked up at Katie.
“Thank you, Katie,” she said. “You’re right. Jesus will take care of my brother.”
Katie was happy that she could help her friend feel better. She loved Quincy!

Indeed, the real challenges had begun after they’d arrived in New York. In order to get to the Missouri River, where they would be outfitted with a small wagon, they had to ride the train in open cattle cars because all other kinds of cars were being used in the Civil War. At times there was barely standing room in the cattle cars! Some passengers sat in the doorways, their legs dangling precariously over the edge. The pungent odors of so many people traveling in such crowded conditions, mixed with the stench the cattle had left behind, made the journey very unpleasant.
Not only were the cattle cars crowded and uncomfortable, but also dangers abounded. Once, sparks from the wood-burning engine flew wildly about and set some of the passengers’ clothing on fire. Fortunately the flames were quickly smothered by nearby travelers.
Times like this evening, when the train stopped for a while, were a blessing—families could eat together away from the noisy crowds and the heat and smell of the cattle cars. Keturah and Keziah especially enjoyed running and stretching their legs, breathing fresh air, and not worrying about soot or sparks from the engine. Even baby Edward cooed and smiled when Eliza placed him on a blanket in the cool shade of a bush before preparing dinner.
The call of “All aboard!” interrupted their meal. Hastily the family gathered their few belongings, and Eliza told Keziah and Keturah to take their father’s hands.
Turning to pick up baby Edward, Eliza’s heart leaped into her throat. Her precious babe was not where she had laid him just an hour earlier! Keziah and Keturah said that they hadn’t moved their baby brother while playing. Frantically the family began to search the nearby bushes. While she searched, Eliza fervently prayed for Heavenly Father’s help in finding her son.
“All aboard!” sounded in Eliza’s ears again. The train was about to leave!
Suddenly a flash of lightning lit the sky, and she saw where her sleeping son lay. Scooping him up, she gratefully thanked Heavenly Father for His loving and watchful care.
It didn’t matter to Eliza that she had sacrificed much for the gospel, or that she would ride many more miles in cattle cars before walking west alongside a wagon for hundreds of miles more. She was just grateful for the gospel and the knowledge it gave her of a loving Heavenly Father Who was watching over her and her family.

Brother Anderson, the dynamic 35-year-old ward Young Men president, was the kind of youth leader everyone admired: returned missionary, father of five, business owner, young at heart. But now he had leukemia. After receiving this news from the bishop, Ryan Hill, the priests quorum first assistant, swung into action, calling each active and less-active priest in his quorum.

“We’re going to the hospital to see Brother Anderson. We need everyone. Can you come?” he repeated during each call.

“I’m not sure I can make it,” one priest said. “I may need to work.”

“Then we will wait until you get off work,” Ryan responded. “This is something we must do together.”

“OK,” the quorum member said. “I will see if I can switch shifts with someone else.”

All 11 priests went to the hospital. Those who were less active and those who never missed a Sunday meeting were there. Together, they laughed and cried and prayed and made future plans. In the ensuing months, they scheduled times to rub Brother Anderson’s feet when his circulation was difficult, took turns donating blood platelets during two-hour sessions so he would get only their blood, and even drove 20 miles (32 km) on prom night with their dates (including two young women who were not members of the Church) to his hospital bedside so he could share in their high school experiences.

In his final days, Brother Anderson asked them to serve missions, marry in the temple, and keep track of each other. More than a dozen years later, home from their missions, married in the temple, and starting families of their own, they still recall these watershed spiritual experiences of service together with their beloved leader.

Norman Hill, Texas, USA

It wasn’t until after my first business venture broke down and my second one burned to the ground that I wondered if I would be able to take my fiancée, Beny, to the temple. We had heard that getting there would be a trial of faith, but when we made temple marriage our goal, we had no idea how thoroughly our faith would be tested.

Beny and I met in our native Panama after serving missions. Because of the laws in Panama, couples who wanted to start their married lives in the temple were married civilly just before traveling to the nearest temple, the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple. It would be an expensive and difficult trip, but being sealed was a blessing we did not want to live without.

The day after I proposed, I lost my job. Undaunted, I decided to earn money by giving bus tours. My bus broke down the first night. Concerned but determined, I next decided to sell T-shirts. The morning I went to pick up the shirts from the manufacturer, I found that the building had burned to the ground the night before. It seemed that my hopes had gone up in smoke too.

It was only a few months before the next scheduled temple trip, yet to this point, every effort I had made to raise money had ended in abrupt failure. I left the smoldering rubble and went to find Beny.

“I have nothing,” I told her. “Maybe you shouldn’t marry me.”

“If I were marrying for money, I’d be married already,” she said. “But I’m not marrying for money. I’m marrying you because I love you.”

That was a turning point. We felt that we had passed an important test. As we pushed ahead with faith, doors began opening. I found work making furniture, though the pay wasn’t enough to meet our needs. Then a kind bishop offered to help us with our bus fare. As exciting as his offer was, it didn’t feel right. We were intent on being self-sufficient. But seeing that he truly desired to help, we asked him if he could give Beny a job instead. He did.

After earning enough money to travel to the temple, we married civilly and were at last on our way to Guatemala with 10 other Church members. But our test wasn’t over yet.

Widespread transportation strikes stopped us at the border of Costa Rica. After waiting at the border for two days, our driver decided to turn back. But Beny and I, along with two brothers and one other couple, decided not to give up. After watching our bus turn around and leave us, we walked into Costa Rica. We kept walking, sleeping in roadside shelters, until we reached the Nicaraguan border. From there we managed to take a taxi to the capital city, where we purchased a bus ticket to the Honduran border. Two days—and two more buses—later we finally arrived at the temple. We were dirty and tired, and we had spent far more than we had planned, but we were happy.

The next day, after all our trials and delays, we were finally sealed eternally as husband and wife. Our joy—worth the working, the waiting, and the worrying—was full!

Not everyone getting married in the temple will face such challenges, but for Beny and me (and the others who went to the temple with us), these experiences were a refining process. It was one of the greatest experiences of my life.

If our goal to marry in the temple had been only for worldly love, we wouldn’t have made it. But because we believed in the sealing power of the priesthood restored in our day, we didn’t give up, knowing that our temple marriage—for time and all eternity—was worth whatever sacrifice we had to make.

During this difficult time, I developed the habit of sitting down at the piano at the end of each day and, with one hand, plunking out favorite hymns and Primary songs. I would play “Our Savior’s Love,” “When He Comes Again,” “I Feel My Savior’s Love,” “I Am a Child of God,” and many others, always ending with “Abide with Me; ’Tis Eventide.” This nightly ritual became a comfort to my family. No matter what the day had been like, if Mom sat down at that keyboard and played some hymns, it seemed all was right with the world—or at least more bearable.
One day when I felt I had had all I could take, I sent the children into the house and sat in the car to have a good cry. After I had calmed down and prayed, I went inside. As I opened the door, I heard the soft notes of one of my favorite hymns. My son was at the keyboard, playing hymns to soothe and comfort me in my distress, as I regularly did for him and his sisters.