Gospel Story Finder

A practice that was part of LDS culture for many years had to do with dancing and departing missionaries. Shortly before the young elder left for the mission field, a dance in his honor took place in the cultural hall of the church. In the February 1904 issue of the Improvement Era, Don C. W. Musser explained why the Latter-day Saints would find this appropriate. He said:
They find nothing incompatible with their ideas of true religion, in the innocent pleasure of dancing. In fact, like God’s people of ancient times, they find this one way of rejoicing together, and of giving vent to their feelings of gratitude for blessings daily received. In early times, while pushing their handcarts across the plains, they frequently danced under the light of the moon and stars, and around their camp fires, because their hearts were so full of praise, words could not express it, and they had to dance. And it has always been a custom with them, to give their departing missionaries a farewell . . . , and in no way can this end be better accomplished than in a dance. [Don C. W. Musser, “A Peculiar Custom of a Peculiar People,” Improvement Era 7, no. 4 (February 1904): 297–98]
It was at his missionary farewell dance that young Spencer W. Kimball was introduced to a pretty blonde girl who was new in the valley: Camilla Eyring. I would like to paraphrase the story as it appears in the biography of President Kimball, written by his sons Edward and Andrew. Shortly following his mission Spencer picked up the local newspaper one evening and noticed a photograph and article in the upper right-hand corner. It was about Camilla, who was now teaching home economics at the Gila Academy. He read the article several times and then said aloud to himself, “I am going to marry her.”
He lost no time in asking around about Camilla and discovered that she lived with her parents in Pima—several miles down the valley. She rode the bus to Thatcher each day to teach at the Academy. Well, one day soon after that, when Camilla arrived at the bus stop in Thatcher to return home, there was Spencer—on his way to visit his friend Lawrence Holladay, who just happened to live in Pima. During the bus ride “Spencer talked about Shakespeare and art, certain that was the way to a teacher’s heart.” Before the ride ended Spencer asked Camilla if he might call on her sometime, and she invited him to do so.
One evening a short time later, Spencer showed up at her house unannounced. Camilla was preparing to go dancing with another boy named Alvin, but she sat on the porch and visited with Spencer anyway. When it became apparent to her that Spencer had no intention of leaving soon, she said she “fudged.” A crowd of people were going dancing, she told him. Would he like to come along? And so it was that when Alvin drove up, he found two people waiting to pile into the car. As you might imagine, Alvin was not very happy with this arrangement, and he applied his foot to the accelerator to show his anger. Camilla said later that Alvin drove “like the devil was after him.” By the time they arrived at the dance, Alvin was so mad he decided he was through with Camilla—which goes to show you that one man’s bad luck is another’s good fortune! (From Edward L. Kimball and Andrew E. Kimball, Jr., Spencer W. Kimball: Twelfth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1977], 71, 83–84.)
I wonder if Spencer ever wondered what would have happened if he had not arranged to be at the bus stop? What if he had decided that he was too tired or didn’t want to go to the effort that afternoon? Was Spencer’s sudden interest in Camilla just a random thing or was it something more than that? How is it that the future President Spencer W. Kimball, along with Camilla, was in the right place at the right time?

Kylie stepped onto the big yellow school bus, trying not to look right at Marsha, the bus driver. Marsha always gave Kylie a look that made her feel like a bug under someone’s shoes.
“Sit down and be quiet!” Marsha barked over her loudspeaker. Kylie slipped into a seat next to her best friend, Tanisha.
“Is she ever in a good mood?” Tanisha whispered to Kylie.
“I don’t know why she’s so mean,” Kylie whispered back.
Just then, Marsha yelled, “Boy in the blue shirt! Turn around and face forward!”
Kylie and Tanisha looked at each other and frowned. They used to tell each other jokes on the bus ride, but now they were afraid to—Marsha might yell at them.
On the way home, Marsha yelled at a girl for talking too loud. Kylie didn’t say a word. When she got home, she sat down and put her head in her hands.
“Is something wrong?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know why our bus driver is so mean,” Kylie said. “Why does she hate everyone?”
“Maybe she feels sad,” Mom said. “Maybe she needs a friend.”
Kylie hadn’t thought of that, but it made sense. Anyone could become grumpy without friends.
Then Kylie had an idea. She got out some paper and folded a card. On the front she drew some flowers and wrote, “To Marsha.” On the inside of the card, she wrote: Dear Marsha, My name is Kylie. I have one sister and one brother. I like to draw. Thanks for driving the bus for us! Love, Kylie.
Kylie was nervous on the ride home the next day. Her hands shook as she pulled out the card. At her stop, Kylie handed Marsha the card, then ran out the door.
Kylie thought about it for the rest of the day. She wondered if Marsha would be angry about the card.
The next morning Kylie walked to the bus on jelly legs. She thought Marsha might yell at her. But when she looked up, Marsha gave her a big smile—something Kylie had never seen on her face before.
And then—even stranger—Marsha handed Kylie something. It was a postcard!
Kylie read the postcard on the bus ride to school.
Dear Kylie, Thank you so much for the card! No one has ever been so kind before. It sounds like you have a nice family. I don’t have a family, but I do have three cats I rescued from the shelter. Thanks for thinking of me! Love, Marsha.
Marsha didn’t say an angry word the entire ride.
“What’s that?” Tanisha asked, pointing to the postcard.
Kylie grinned. “A letter from my new friend!”

The scarcity of jobs and the financial difficulty of starting out as a couple make many young Ghanaians put off marriage. But Kofi Opare tells other returned missionaries in their mid- and late twenties that it’s a mistake to delay. “You have to forget all the hardship, and do it.”
At 26, Kofi was about the average age for a Ghanaian bridegroom. Like most young member couples, he and his wife, Theresa, had a legally binding traditional marriage. He visited her parents and brought gifts—money, in place of the customary alcoholic beverage; cloth; a hymnbook for Theresa; and her engagement ring.
That ceremony took place in December 1994, but Kofi and Theresa chose not to live together as husband and wife until they could have a formal wedding at an LDS chapel in June 1995. They wanted the influence of the Church in their married life from the very beginning. In the interim, they dealt with practical details—saving cash for all the costs of starting a household and securing a place to live.
Theresa has a steady income from her seamstress shop, but Kofi has to take part-time work as he can get it. Despite this, Theresa says, she and Kofi felt that “you have to make a bold decision” and go ahead. But a wise Latter-day Saint man, she adds, will find a woman in the Church who understands the eternal purposes of marriage and will not demand material things. “It takes two to make a team, to make a marriage work.”

I recall that he lent to young men on different occasions the money necessary to meet their expenses in their study of medicine. He, of course, charged no interest for such loans, which were ultimately paid. At various times when I have met these men since the completion of their studies and their entrance into the field of medicine, they have wept with appreciation for the help thus extended to them, without which it would not have been possible for them to accomplish their ambitions.

I was hurt by his announcement. I had tried for years to interest him in religion but with no success. How could strangers from a different country suddenly convert him? I was determined to face them and show Jakub they had no chance in a debate with me.
When I saw the two young, smiling missionaries standing in the doorway of my parents’ apartment, I forgot about my goal to prove them wrong. They were happy and funny. They asked me lots of questions about myself and my beliefs. They respected my convictions. Later they told me that during that first meeting with the arrogant guy with long hair and ripped jeans who was smoking cigarettes, they had a hard time imagining I would ever be interested in becoming a follower of Jesus Christ. But I felt something special in their presence, and I was intrigued that their Church was the only Christian denomination I knew of that believed in a premortal existence.
I was also impressed with their testimonies and the strong convictions of Jakub and Robert ?elewski, his new friend from the Church. Robert was a psychologist, an intelligent but down-to-earth man whose insights and experiences strengthened my interest in the religion of the Latter-day Saints.
Everything the elders, Jakub, and Robert told me was fascinating, especially the doctrine of the plan of salvation, starting with premortality and ending with the three degrees of glory. But I didn’t see any point in joining the Church until I was able to grasp more fully their unique beliefs. My understanding of Christianity was that anciently, God performed miracles, sent angels, and called prophets, but all those things belonged to biblical times. Once the Bible was completed, humanity no longer needed miracles and revelation because scripture contains all we need to know.
A breakthrough came during our discussion about the Great Apostasy and the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I realized that their beliefs were more consistent with the Bible than the claim that the Bible had replaced prophets and revelation. I felt real joy when I realized I might be living in modern “biblical times.”
I was ready to ask God sincerely for personal revelation, but an answer did not come. Finally, I said, “Heavenly Father, if You called Joseph Smith as Your prophet, I will obey every commandment You revealed through him.” Then the answer came to my heart and mind with surety, and I knew that God had restored the fulness of the gospel and that it is found in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

In conclusion, I would like to share a tender story a close friend recounted to me recently.

It is about his son who was discouraged and miserable just after arriving in a foreign mission. No matter how the parents and others pleaded with the young missionary, he said he couldn't take it and wanted to come home. In a reception during a training session with some general authorities, the distraught father just mentioned in passing to President Hinckley about his son's struggle. The parents continued to plead with the son to stay, but his early return home seemed imminent.

The following week an envelope from the First Presidency's office arrived at the parents" home. Inside was a copy of a letter that had been sent to their son. The letter had been hand-typed from a typewriter and very tenderly addressed to the discouraged Elder. It was a several-page letter, full of encouragement and the writer's own missionary experiences about faith and sticking to it. The letter was warm, loving, thoughtful, personal, and signed, "Sincerely, your brother, President Gordon B. Hinckley."

It is little wonder that shortly thereafter, the Elder wrote to his parents and said he was staying. This Elder not only stayed, but flourished and became a mighty power for good among the people of his mission.

Think of it! President Hinckley, in spite of his age, is such a public figure, revered for his extensive speeches, books, and his general leadership in the Church. Yet, he conducts a private, silent ministry as well to bless others individually. Can you imagine how that single unselfish act of a Prophet will be treasured not only in this young man's life but also in his posterity?

“I was only able to attend one of the workshops,” said Donn Mason, “but it was great. It was Randy Bachman’s presentation on standards. He was more than what I expected. He’s a member of a popular singing group, you know, and when he came to the conference, I met him at the door and introduced myself. I asked him if he was ready and if there was anything we could help him with, and he said, ‘No, I just want a place where I can be alone to meditate and pray and get the direction I need for this workshop.’ Somehow I wasn’t expecting that. I mean, it was a real topper!”

“I attended Randy Bachman’s workshop too,” added Dwight Schmidt, a member of the central committee who had been inactive just seven months before. “The thing that really impressed me about him was that he is so spiritual. He talked about his career and some of the problems he’s had. He has had to go through a lot. The sacrifices that he has made for the gospel really taught me that if he can do it, I can do it.”

Before I was a member of the Church, I had already met someone who was, and is still, a very spiritual man. The Church was very much a part of him, so I saw it as a package - accept him and the Church, or neither. I was having lessons from the missionaries, but when I asked them, “How do I really know if it’s true or not?” they said that I should pray about it, but pray with real intent, with all my heart, might, mind and strength.
So that’s what I decided to do. I went to bed and prayed before going to sleep. I said I needed an answer to my question and needed it right away. It was a very stormy February night, the wind was howling, the hail was deafening. I had velux windows in my bedroom, so the storm was really loud. After praying, as meaningfully as I could, I fell asleep.
I was woken at about 4am with three loud knocks. My heart was pounding, as I thought my ex-husband had come back drunk, forgetting that he didn’t live here anymore. Then I realised that my two little dogs, who were downstairs, hadn’t barked. It was also still and quiet, no storm, not even the sound of a passing car. Then my name was called three times: “Shirley, Shirley, Shirley,” and after about five or so seconds later, the voice said, “Open the door and let me in.” I said, “I will.” Then instantly I was asleep.
When I awoke in the morning, the bed was so perfect, as if I hadn’t slept in it at all. No tossing or turning, just peaceful sleep. I knew that was an answer to my prayer.
Now the picture of the Saviour knocking on the door, but the locks are on the other side, is very meaningful to me. That the Saviour would bother to come to me, it gets more special each time I think of what happened.

At age 22, Jill married Olga Kozáková. Like Jirí, Olga had been introduced to the Church as a teenager by school friends who had heard the missionaries preaching. “When I attended the lectures,” she says, “I felt very, very warm in my heart, and I said ‘I’m at home!’” She was baptized in Prague six months after Jirí was baptized in Plzen.

Jirí and Olga met later at an outing of young people from various branches. Groups of Saints went on outings every July 24th to Priests Hill near Karlstejn Castle to commemorate Elder John A. Widtsoe’s dedicatory prayer there on 24 July 1929. At times the youth had programs and competitions or studied scriptures together. Jirí and Olga were married 24 April 1954—Jirí’s 22nd birthday and the fifth anniversary of his baptism.

Soon thereafter, Jirí was drafted into mandatory military service. Regarded as an enemy of the state because of his religious affiliation, he spent his two-year stint in a military labor brigade rather than as a soldier. Turning to the Lord for strength, he endured, returning to civilian life “in good health and strengthened in the faith.”

Sister Rhonda Patten Grow experienced the gift of tongues in a way familiar to many missionaries. When her husband was called from the United States to be a mission president in Uruguay, she was afraid she couldn’t learn to speak Spanish. But gradually, with the help of members, she finally learned to bear her testimony in Spanish. She was amazed, however, at how much more she could say when under the influence of the Spirit. “In fact, the Spirit helped me so much when I spoke in meetings that the members usually assumed my Spanish was much better than it actually was.”
At one meeting, Sister Grow noticed a young woman signing for a sister who was deaf. When Sister Grow stood to speak, “it seemed as if the Spirit gave me utterance beyond my own abilities. I was filled with feelings of love for the people, and I especially noticed the smiling face of the young deaf woman looking up at me.”
Sister Grow learned later that when she began to speak, the deaf woman communicated that she no longer needed signing interpretation. She could understand Sister Grow’s message without it.

The Ozark Mountains! Karl could hardly wait to see them. The whole last week of school, Karl daydreamed about the backpacking adventure he was going to have as soon as school got out.
Finally, fifth grade was over, and Mom was helping Karl pack his backpack.
“Be sure to pack your bug spray,” she reminded. “And make sure to take your flashlight.”
“OK, Mom,” Karl said. But he was busy thinking about all the animals he hoped to see in the mountains.
“You need to take your whistle too,” Mom added, dropping his whistle into his backpack.
When Mom wasn’t looking, Karl pulled the whistle out of his pack. “I won’t need this,” he thought. “Mom doesn’t understand what adventure is about.”
Early the next morning, Karl and his friends rode in vans to the trailhead. When they finally arrived, all the boys cheered.
Karl was assigned to a trail group. Each group would hike and camp together with their leaders.
After hiking for several hours, Karl began to feel impatient. Several other groups had already passed his. “I’m with all the slowpokes,” Karl thought.
After lunch, Karl decided to blaze ahead. He knew he should tell an adult, but he didn’t want to be stuck with his group anymore.
A few hours later, it began to get dark. Karl couldn’t hear his group anymore. He started to retrace his steps, but as it got darker, he worried that he might fall down a steep incline or stumble near an overlook. He remembered Mom’s reminder to pack his flashlight. “I wish I’d listened better,” he thought.
It was nearly nighttime. Karl unrolled his sleeping bag and found a stick of beef jerky in his backpack. He listened to the strange sounds of the woods at night. Karl knew he had broken an important rule by leaving his group, and he wished he had listened to Mom better before he left.
The next thing Karl knew, something bright woke him up. “You found me!” he yelled happily. But it was only a firefly dancing in front of his face. Karl felt his heart start beating fast. What if no one ever found him?
As soon as the sun rose the next morning, Karl rolled up his sleeping bag and looked through his backpack for something else to eat. At the bottom of the pack he saw the whistle his mother had given him.
“Mom must have put it back in my bag,” he thought with relief. Karl knew it was best to stay where he was and wait for the others to find him. He started blowing his whistle as hard as he could, and soon he saw a search party coming down the trail.
When Karl got home, he gave Mom a huge hug. “I’ll never forget how important it is to listen to you and follow the rules so I can be safe,” he said. Then he handed Mom his whistle for safekeeping.

A mission is a couple of years in the future, but it’s something 17-year-old Jeremy thinks a lot about now. Where will he be called? Will he have the opportunity to learn a language? What will a mission be like? What more can he do to get ready?
Jeremy Pownall lives in Sydney, Australia, a place known for its famous opera house, great climate, relaxed lifestyle, and surfing. Actually, body-boarding is his passion right now, although he pretty much only gets to go for a few hours early Saturday mornings. He is just getting his mind around the fact that when he goes on his mission he’ll be leaving the beach and the waves behind. After all, a lot of his surf mates have done it. In fact, those mates are the very ones who are the most effective in convincing him that he really can serve a mission and be more than happy about it.
“There’s nothing like an early-morning yarn going to the surf,” he says. “I go with the returned missionaries in the ward and my Young Men leaders. They are great advice givers. All of them say that there will be great experiences in your life, but a mission is the best experience for your life.”
What do a bunch of LDS surfers talk about at the beach? Jeremy smiles slightly and says, “We talk about the waves we’ve caught and the places we’re going to travel to, where we would like to go on a mission or where they’ve been on their missions. The older guys tell us to definitely marry in the temple. And they remind us that we are going to marry the girls we date.” Being surrounded by surf and sand seems to be the right spot for all this good advice to sink in.
Jeremy admits that he really is a listener. And he soaks in the good advice that comes from his mentors, the ones who are a few years ahead of him on the road of life. “They tell me that if I ever do something that I regret, to never feel uncomfortable about going to my bishop or talking to my parents.”
In another instance, at Young Men camp, he listened when someone got up and spoke about his patriarchal blessing. “I hadn’t thought too much about that,” he recalls. “A week later I went for my interview, and a month later I got my patriarchal blessing.”
In talking about his testimony, Jeremy mentions one of his mentors in particular. “He’s one of my dad’s friends from New Zealand. Whenever he comes here, he goes out of his way to take me surfing. It’s a perfect opportunity for us to talk. The talks I’ve had with him are a major part of my conversion story.”
Sometimes it is in the relaxing moments out in the water or on the drive to the beach when what is said is the easiest to listen to. For Jeremy, that’s where his own testimony came into focus.
The next step in his conversion was bearing that testimony. “I think my testimony grew exponentially when I started bearing it more often and more freely. I feel more confident.”
After all, he points out, he does live in the mission field every day. “A lot of people respect me for my morals, especially here in Australia. Here people at 14 will start going to parties, getting drunk, and trying smoking and drugs. They respect me for still being an interesting and outgoing sort of person, yet not doing any of that stuff.”
Jeremy has big plans for the future. His success in school and his interest in learning languages might lead to becoming an ambassador or diplomat. “Everyone complains about how world leaders are doing things at the moment. I think I could do a better job. Maybe they need the Spirit to guide them.”
Jeremy is sensitive to the impressions of the Spirit. He listens to those who have made good choices. He pays attention to his seminary teacher and his youth leaders. And he likes what he hears.
The bottom line is that he is happy. He had a friend tell him once that she envied people from his church because they all seemed to be happy. Jeremy agrees. He says he has always treasured that about the gospel. “I’m blessed to live in Australia. I’m blessed to have a good family and be brought up in the gospel. I don’t want to waste it.”

I love sports!
At my high school, I play soccer, volleyball, tennis, rugby, hockey, and handball. And I swim. I also go everywhere on my bicycle.
To keep up, I have to take care of my body. I get up at 6:30 a.m. and go to bed at 10:00 p.m. To keep my body healthy, especially as an athlete, I need 8 to 10 hours of sleep.
The gospel helps me stay healthy too. The Word of Wisdom warns us against smoking and drinking things like alcohol and coffee. Besides protecting our bodies from harm, the Word of Wisdom is like a contract with the Lord that helps us return to Him.
I’m one of the biggest boys in my grade, so everyone always asks me for advice. I try to show others what to do by being a good example. My friends don’t smoke, but some of them drink. I tell them I don’t drink when they invite me to join them, but we still remain friends.
The gospel doesn’t just bless me, it also blesses my family. My brother and sister watch and copy everything I do, so I try to be the best example I can be.
Juan Cruz G., 14, Córdoba, Argentina

The first face I think of is that of my mother. I remember going with her to visit the sick, feed the hungry, and comfort the weary. She never pulled a handcart and was never the first to enter a valley, yet she was a pioneer. Sometimes we went to a home where someone was dying, and my mother would bathe and feed her. Sometimes we went to a nearby Indian village to deliver clothing and food or teach home medical skills.

I think, too, of Barbara Taylor, whom I met in 1962, on the day I entered Hong Kong as a new missionary. Sister Taylor was the wife of President Robert Sherman Taylor, president of the Southern Far East Mission. The day after I arrived, she took me visiting teaching. With a couple of sister missionaries who could speak Cantonese, we took a bus to the harbor, then a ferry to a place called Aberdeen.

Among the homes we visited were some dug out of the side of a hill. We reached these homes by hiking up hand-dug stairs, scattering chickens and children as we climbed. As we visited with one sister—a beautiful young Chinese mother—I saw and felt things I had not felt before. I looked at the refugee families on the side of that hill and realized they were children of God who deserved all the help I could give them in making sense of life on earth with all the challenges they faced. All around me were hosts of waiting youth, speaking a language I could not understand—yet communicating with me through smiles and feelings, eager to learn and grow and help.

Maxine Grimm stands out in my mind as an honored pioneer. I met her in the Philippines in 1964, when there was only one branch of the Church and fewer than one hundred members. With her husband, Peter Grimm (we called him “Grimm-pa”), this remarkable woman helped unfurl the flag of truth in that beautiful island nation.

Sister Grimm had been a Red Cross volunteer during World War II and had remained in the Philippines after the war to help the new Church members there. I clearly remember her arriving at our small place at 7-D Kamias Road to help us begin the first Relief Society in Quezon City. She would always bring copies of the Relief Society Magazine for the sisters to borrow, as well as her portable pump organ so we could sing the hymns together—all six of us.

Many beautiful faces among those first few Latter-day Saints in the Philippines will be etched in my memory forever. One of many that could represent them all is the face of Salud Dizon Jimenez, the first convert to be baptized in Quezon City. She later became the Relief Society president when a branch was organized in that huge city near the Philippine capital of Manila. Sister Jimenez and many like her would often travel for hours on jeepneys and buses to Taft Avenue in Pasay, where we held all our Church meetings. Others followed in the footsteps of those great pioneers, and today the Philippines is blessed by nearly 300,000 members in forty-seven stakes. A temple graces the city of Manila.

I see in my mind another pioneer woman who helped the families in a Monclova, Mexico, branch make their homes learning centers. I met her on a Sunday in September 1975. Adelita happily showed me the things she had done in her own home to motivate her children to study, then told of things she was doing to help the other sisters in the branch teach their children better study habits. Adelita herself was illiterate, yet she placed great value on education. Humble and gracious, she desired only to serve.

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

The beautiful face of Sister Pai on the Altiplano in Bolivia fills my memory with a warm glow. I visited her and her family in January 1975. They had been members of the Church for only three months, but in that time they had learned that President Spencer W. Kimball had encouraged Church members to have gardens. I was thrilled to see their two small vegetable gardens and a flower garden. Each night they covered their three gardens with plastic sheets to protect their treasures from freezing.

I shall never forget their family home evening, held in the warmest spot in the home—on their bed. Of that experience I wrote in my journal: “The rain and the cold, the walk and the mud were all well worth it. I would have walked one hundred miles to visit with this family and have the privilege of feeling their spirit and their enthusiasm in being members of the Church and learning principles which help them to be healthier and happier.” Blessed, honored pioneers.

I think of the woman I met in the Dominican Republic right after Christmas in 1983. Some missionaries and I were sitting in her San Francisco home as she told us of the dramatic changes Church membership had brought into her life. I was impressed with her courage in blazing trails through habits and traditions she felt needed to be changed. My faith was strengthened as this great pioneer soul spoke of her deepest feelings about Jesus Christ and her joy in discovering the gospel.

I cried as I had to leave. We had been together for only a short while, yet I felt as if I had known her forever. As my companions and I walked down the street, I kept looking back to wave. She was still waving back as we turned a corner and lost sight of her radiant face.

Many of the pioneer faces in my mind are the faces of friends in Nigeria, West Africa. When I first arrived there in January 1984, I met Cecilia and learned of her creative pioneering in what seemed to me the overwhelming task of day-to-day living. I said, “You are my teacher.”

She responded, “I will be your teacher.”

I told her that I didn’t know if I could learn very fast, because she had so much to teach me. She smiled gently and said, “I will teach slowly.”

And she did. I lived as Cecilia’s neighbor for several months, and I will be grateful all my life for the things she helped me learn. I am a better pioneer because of this great soul and others in our neighborhood who allowed me to follow in their footsteps for a little while.

One of the most important lessons I learned in Africa was to examine my priorities and values. In one of our Relief Society lessons there, the manual recommended that children should be helped to keep their drawers clean and neat. One of the sisters asked, “What is a drawer?”

So many great Latter-day Saints, honored pioneers, will be exalted without ever having seen a drawer, owned a new dress, used a time planner, or gazed into a mirror. They will rejoice in the celestial kingdom having never walked through Temple Square or visited Relief Society headquarters in Salt Lake City.

It still amuses me that my companion, Ann, and I were sent to teach Cecilia and others about self-reliance. While I hope we were able to share some information about health and sanitation that made a difference for them, I know that I personally learned the greatest lessons. Most of those lessons I learned from them had to do with self-reliance. I’m convinced that Cecilia and her sisters can handle any emergency. Forging onward, ever onward, they are indeed blessed, honored pioneers.

I first met Sally Pilobello in the Philippines in 1972 when I was sent there as a health missionary. I learned that she and her husband had lost their first baby when the baby was five months old. Sally had other children, but she now was pregnant with another and asked me, “What can I do to have a healthy Mormon baby?” I thought of her courage and faith as she responded to truth and adopted some new habits and traditions. Soon people in the neighborhood were sharing the news: “Mormon baby is coming!”

On 20 January 1973, Sarah Pilobello was born—a healthy, beautiful “Mormon baby.” Her mother’s pioneer spirit had enabled her to do things she had not done before—to add more truth to what she already knew. Sally used to smile at me and say, “Sister, you can never teach an old dog new tricks.” Then she’d pause and add: “But Sister, I am not a dog!”

In 1984 I received a letter from eleven-year-old Sarah—“Little Melon” to her family and friends: “I’m sorry that I have not written for a long time because every time I’m going to start my letter my playmates are insisting me to play with them. Now I firmly decided to write to you. We are glad that Mommy is doing what the family preparedness program of the welfare missionaries taught them. We now purify our water and have a balanced diet. That is why we grow faster than the other children. The temple is now being made and I hope I’ll see you there. I love you. Little Melon.”

I also received a letter from her mother, my dear friend Sally: “I want to express my gratitude for the things I have learned which are making such a difference in my family. I realize now that some of the things my mother taught me—things her mother taught her—were not correct. But the truths I’m learning will now be taught to my children, and to their children, and to the generations to come. We will not be damned any longer by ignorance. ‘Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free!’ As they say, it is never too late to learn and change. God must love us dearly to allow us to have so much truth.”

When I first arrived in Indonesia in 1976 I met a group of pioneers in central Java who helped me understand much, much more about the meaning of words such as relief, compassion, and service. These Relief Society sisters, led by their president, Ibu Subowo, were giant souls in small bodies. Every morning before they began their cooking, each sister would hold back a spoonful of rice. They kept the rice in plastic bags that they brought to Relief Society each week. After the meeting, they would gather and prayerfully consider who needed a visit. All would then go together to visit those in need, taking the bags of rice with them to share with those who had less than they did.

Consecration. The Lord’s storehouse. A society of interdependent Saints. I learned much about sacrifice, wondering what my equivalent of a spoonful of rice would be.

I’ve thought a lot about Enos’s comment toward the end of his short narrative in the Book of Mormon. He felt sure that he would someday meet the Lord and “see his face with pleasure” (Enos 1:27). There are many faces on this earth that I hope someday to see with pleasure again. Among them are those of the women who have taught me much about pioneering—about having service as a watchword and love as a guiding star.

We’re all pioneers. Across the years, and across the miles, we blaze our trails through our personal wild frontiers. In a wide variety of circumstances, we cross our plains, sing our songs, bury our dead, deal with our personal sorrows, bear one another’s burdens, visit, comfort, and show compassion. Blessed, honored pioneers!

A man of wisdom often offered this simple piece of advice: “David, stand tall.” My dad did not expect that I would add inches to my stature or rise up on my tiptoes. He meant that I should be courageous in my decision, not compromising principles, not violating spiritual values, and not shrinking from responsibility. When I have followed his advice, life has been very good. When I have failed to stand tall, life has usually been unpleasant. I recently asked my two young grandsons what it would mean to them if Heavenly Father asked them to stand tall. I noticed one inadvertently raised himself to his tippy-toes so as to seem a little taller. And then they quickly said in unison, “He wants us to do what is right.”

Meet Isaac Sani Dadzie from the Bibiani Ghana District—a young man whose determination to serve led him to discover a valuable skill and build a small business along the way.
It started when the young single adults needed a television hooked up in their building. Instead of waiting for outside help, Isaac took it upon himself to learn how to install and configure TVs and networks. What began as a humble effort to help his YSA group quickly grew into something bigger. With practice and persistence, Isaac mastered the process and has since set up multiple systems for others.
Word of his talent began to spread. Through recommendations from satisfied clients, Isaac built a reputation for reliability and skill—and with that, a small business was born. His journey is a powerful reminder that service, curiosity, and faith can open doors to unexpected opportunities.
Recently, Isaac joined fellow young single adults on a visit to the temple, strengthening both his testimony of Jesus Christ and his vision for the future. Whether in a chapel or a career, Isaac is committed to building—one connection at a time.

I grew up in a fine home, and although my parents weren’t active in the Church at that time, my mother always made sure that my brother and I went to Primary. That was where I learned about the gospel, but we didn’t talk about the scriptures as much as children do today.
When I was a young teenager, I got my first job—in construction. I came home after the first or second day and said, “Mom, something happened today that I’ve never experienced before.”
“What was that?”
“At ten o’clock and at two o’clock the crews shut down for a coffee break, and everyone drank coffee. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat by myself.”
My mother said to me, “Dave, tomorrow morning when they have their coffee break, open your lunch box and I’ll have something there for you.”
I was excited about that because I was a typical teenager and really got hungry. But I didn’t see how my mother could possibly stuff anything more into my lunch box!
The next morning at ten o’clock, when it was time for the coffee break, I opened my lunch box. I saw a small book my mother had placed there—a book containing the New Testament, Psalms, and Proverbs.
Now, I’ll be honest with you—when I first saw my “treat,” I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about it. I’d never seen this collection of scriptures before. But I opened the book and started reading. I read during the break that afternoon too. Every day my mother put the book in my lunch box, and every day I read from it. From that time on, I let the scriptures become involved in my life and give me thought, purpose, direction, and answers to many of the things I was concerned about.

A couple of years ago, we had all eight of our children and their spouses together in the Houston Texas Temple for the first and only time, due to people living in far-flung places and busy lives. As we stood in a circle in the celestial room, with tears in our eyes, my joy was reminiscent of Lehi’s description of partaking of the fruit of the tree of life – “I beheld that it was most sweet, above all that I ever before tasted”[11] and “it filled my soul with exceedingly great joy.” [12] Oh, how I long to feel that joy again in this life as well as the next.

Like Lehi, I naturally desire that others might partake of that same fruit and feel what I felt–starting with our family and continuing with others. However, until I had actually felt that, I couldn’t have imagined it. We will all get exactly what we most desire, and we will be content with it, because that is what we have sought.

In that company was a Mrs. Jackson. She said:
“About nine o’clock I retired. Bedding had become very scarce so I did not disrobe. I slept until, as it appeared to me, about midnight. I was extremely cold. The weather was bitter. I listened to hear if my husband breathed, he lay so still. I could not hear him. I became alarmed. I put my hand on his body, when to my horror I discovered that my worst fears were confirmed. My husband was dead. I called for help to the other inmates of the tent. They could render me no aid; and there was no alternative but to remain alone by the side of the corpse till morning. Oh, how the dreary hours drew their tedious length along. When daylight came, some of the male part of the company prepared the body for burial. And oh, such a burial and funeral service. They did not remove his clothing—he had but little. They wrapped him in a blanket and placed him in a pile with thirteen others who had died, and then covered him up with snow. The ground was frozen so hard that they could not dig a grave. He was left there to sleep in peace until the trump of God shall sound, and the dead in Christ shall awake and come forth in the morning of the first resurrection. …
“A few days after the death of my husband … the male members of the company had become reduced in number by death and those who remained were so weak and emaciated by sickness, that on reaching the camping place at night, there were not sufficient men with strength enough to raise the poles and pitch the tents. The result was that we camped out with nothing but the vault of Heaven for a roof and the stars for companions. The snow lay several inches deep upon the ground. The night was bitterly cold. I sat down on a rock with one child in my lap and one on each side of me. In that condition I remained until morning.”3

As a matter of fact, Ed became involved in track in the first place by going over a roadblock. When he was in seventh grade in Ogden, Utah, he desperately wanted to be involved in sports and tried out for the junior high baseball team. He was disappointed when he didn’t make the team, but instead of giving up on sports altogether, he decide to go out for track.
Ed began running the mile, and while he beat everyone at his school, he wasn’t the best in town. He plodded along through eighth, ninth, and tenth grade winning his share of victories, but “there was no real indication that I would be that good,” he said.
“Then in the summer between my sophomore and junior year, I don’t know what happened. Maybe I finally went through puberty, but I started beating everybody in cross-country.” His times went down. His reputation went up, and it looked like he would win the state championship.
But along came another roadblock. This time it was in the form of a stress fracture in his foot— diagnosed three weeks before the state finals. The same thing happened in his senior year.
At that point, the obstacle he faced was called discouragement. “It seemed like every time I was doing really well, I would come down with an injury. I began to think that if I was going to be injured every six months and wear a cast around, I didn’t know if it was really worth it.”
But the “glimpses that I might do well,” were what got him over that roadblock. “I wasn’t ready to trash my spikes yet,” he said. “I had run well in my senior year and I had an offer to come to BYU anyway, so I thought I’d go down to Provo to see how I’d do.”
That was a wise decision. Ed gained a seed in the World Cross-Country Championships in Paris and managed to finish third. He was unaware at the time that that race would later affect his mission.
In the meantime, however, Ed had set his sights on All-America status as a freshman in college. To be All-America, you have to finish in the top six among collegiate athletes at the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) finals. It was an ambitious goal, but Ed’s times weren’t too far off, and, if he worked hard enough, he saw no reason why he couldn’t reach it.
He came close to reaching that goal, too, but another roadblock popped up. The finals were held in Austin, Texas, right in the middle of one of the severest heat waves on record. Ed, however, was paying more attention to the race than to the heat. He was running the 10K, which is 25 laps around the track, and about halfway through, he was in the sixth position, which is exactly where he wanted to be. Suddenly, one of the runners in front of him started to wobble, then passed out on the side of the track from heat prostration.
Ed was now in the number five position. If he could hold it, he’d be an All-American in his freshman year for sure. Then, with about three laps to go, Ed felt the two runners behind him begin to gain on him. He knew he couldn’t let them pass, and he exerted all the effort he could to stay ahead. But suddenly, “everything went fuzzy around the edges, and instead of running straight, I was running to the left and to the right. I was doing what the guy in front of me had been doing before he dropped out. I guess I was feeling the effect of the heat. I don’t remember much after that, but a half a lap later I was dragged off the track by my coach and a few teammates, and I remember waking up in the training room in a tub of cold water with some ice in it. I went back to my hotel room just thinking that I blew it,” he said.
But this time there was a hand outstretched, waiting to help him over that particular barrier. “One of my coaches came by to talk,” Ed relates.
The coach was also a rancher and said, “Ed, I’ve worked a lot with runners, and I’ve worked a lot with animals, and I just want you to know that today you ran like a horse.”
“I didn’t exactly know how to take that,” Ed confided, “but then the coach explained, ‘You can take a good mule out and work with it, and it will do what you want it to until it gets tired. Then it will just sit down. And you can kick it and beat it and do whatever, but until it’s good and rested, it’s not going to budge. But you can take a good horse, and that horse will work for you until it drops over from exhaustion. Today, you ran like a horse, Ed.’
“I learned a great lesson that can be applied in jobs or studies or any aspect of life, really,” Ed relates. He realized that the endurance to follow a job through and give your all is more important than the final outcome. It’s the ultimate effort you put into anything that makes it worthwhile.
Ed would go on to become an All-American ten times before his college career was over. But that path was not to be a smooth one either. At the end of his freshman year, another opportunity arose that the world might consider a roadblock, but that Ed considers one of the greatest blessings of his life. He turned 19—time to serve a mission.
He was called to serve in Barcelona, Spain, and ran off to the mission field without giving track a second thought—except when he used his knowledge and experience to interest members of Spanish track clubs in the gospel. It was under these circumstances that he once again met up with Jorge Garcia, the winner of the world cross-country meet in Paris. Jorge listened to several discussions, and though he wasn’t baptized, “he has a positive attitude about the Church,” Ed says.
Ed did very little running on his mission, but when he returned, his career seemed to improve with each race. He applied the “patience and perseverance” he’d learned in the mission field to his running. By the time the national finals rolled around in his senior year, his times were good enough to garner his second cross-country championship and he was expected to win both the 5 and 10K events.
But a week before the national championships, something that could have proved to be the biggest roadblock of all obstructed his path. Ed’s older brother Robert was killed in a boating accident.
“It’s tough to deal with death,” Ed commented. “Even for us, with the knowledge we have of what lies hereafter, it’s still hard. Knowing that we’re not going to be able to see that loved one or be with them or share their many talents is a loss, no matter how strong a testimony you have. You just have to pull together as a family. And the knowledge that someday you will be together again, even though you won’t see them for a long time, helps.
“The only thing that kept me going through it was that I knew deep down inside that my brother would be disappointed if I didn’t run,” Ed added.
Ed did run, and finished the NCAA finals first in both events.
Since his collegiate running career ended, Ed graduated with honors from BYU in psychology and is certified to teach high school. He minored in Spanish and coaching. His education continues as he works on his masters in health promotion and corporate fitness. He plans on getting his PhD.
He also plans to continue winning races for about the next ten years. When not in class, Ed is working out twice a day. Most of his weekends are spent running races all over the country, and during the summer he spends several weeks running in Europe. He takes advantage of trips to do missionary work, trying to fulfill his father’s challenge of giving away a Book of Mormon every time he travels.
Ed took advantage of a track opportunity to place a Book of Mormon in some of the most prominent hands in the world. He and fellow LDS runner Farley Gerber were competing in the World University Games in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. They were excited to see that Prince Charles and Lady Diana were there as dignitaries, and even more excited to learn that the royal couple would be greeting the athletes individually. Ed and Farley decided it wouldn’t hurt to present them with a copy of the Book of Mormon, so they wrote their testimonies in one and presented it to the prince when it was their turn to shake his hand.
“He was very cordial about the whole thing,” Ed recalls. “He said, ‘Oh, you chaps are Mormons, are you? So that’s what keeps you going.’ When he walked off, he tucked the Book of Mormon in the crook of his arm, and seeing him carrying it, if you didn’t know who he was you might have thought he was a representative of the Church,” Ed recalled.
Ed’s road for the next ten years seems clear. Among his goals are competition in at least two Olympics, and racing in a host of track events along the way. He never knows when roadblocks will obstruct his path, and really doesn’t think much about the ones behind him. In the meantime, he heeds his own advice to just keep trying. “In my career,” he says, “it seems that any successes that I have achieved have been through consistent training and have been very slow in coming. Most improvement has come on a long-term basis.”
Roadblocks, victories, whatever crosses his path, Ed is conditioned to take it in stride.