Gospel Story Finder

At the end of a particularly tiring day toward the end of my first week as a General Authority, my briefcase was overloaded and my mind was preoccupied with the question “How can I possibly do this?” I left the office of the Seventy and entered the elevator of the Church Administration Building. As the elevator descended, my head was down and I stared blankly at the floor.
The door opened and someone entered, but I didn’t look up. As the door closed, I heard someone ask, “What are you looking at down there?” I recognized that voice—it was President Thomas S. Monson.
I quickly looked up and responded, “Oh, nothing.” (I’m sure that clever response inspired confidence in my abilities!)
But he had seen my subdued countenance and my heavy briefcase. He smiled and lovingly suggested, while pointing heavenward, “It is better to look up!” As we traveled down one more level, he cheerfully explained that he was on his way to the temple. When he bid me farewell, his parting glance spoke again to my heart, “Now, remember, it is better to look up.”
As we parted, the words of a scripture came to mind: “Believe in God; believe that he is … ; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth.”1 As I thought of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s power, my heart found the comfort I had sought in vain from the floor of that descending elevator.

Just as in graphic design, sometimes in life a visual, tangible pattern replaces a mental one. We often learn from the service of others. I still remember the first time as ward executive secretary that I couldn’t completely fill the bishop’s interview schedule. The bishop, however, reminded me that the Lord was in charge and He knew who needed to see the bishop that day—even if we didn’t. And sure enough, every time we had this “problem,” the phone would ring or someone would stop in to ask if the bishop had any time. And because of his inspired leadership, he did have time.

Several years ago I attended a stake conference in Tonga. Sunday morning the three front rows of the chapel were filled with men between 26 and 35 years of age. I assumed they were a men’s choir. But when the business of the conference was conducted, each of these men, 63 in total, stood up as their names were read and were sustained for ordination to the Melchizedek Priesthood. I was both pleased and stunned.

After the session I asked President Mateaki, the stake president, how this miracle had been accomplished. He told me that in a stake council meeting reactivation was being discussed. His stake Relief Society president, Sister Leinata Va‘enuku, asked if it would be appropriate for her to say something. As she spoke, the Spirit confirmed to the president that what she was suggesting was true. She explained that there were large numbers of wonderful young men in their late 20s and 30s in their stake who had not served missions. She said many of them knew they had disappointed bishops and priesthood leaders who had strongly encouraged them to serve a mission, and they now felt like second-class members of the Church. She pointed out that these young men were beyond missionary age. She expressed her love and concern for them. She explained that all of the saving ordinances were still available to them and the focus should be on priesthood ordinations and the ordinances of the temple. She noted that while some of these young men were still single, the majority of them had married wonderful women—some active, some inactive, and some not members.

After thorough discussion in the stake council, it was decided that the men of the priesthood and the women of the Relief Society would reach out to rescue these men and their wives, while the bishops spent more of their time with the young men and young women in the wards. Those involved in the rescue focused primarily on preparing them for the priesthood, eternal marriage, and the saving ordinances of the temple. During the next two years, almost all of the 63 men who had been sustained to the Melchizedek Priesthood at the conference I attended were endowed in the temple and had their spouses sealed to them. This account is but one example of how critical our sisters are in the work of salvation in our wards and stakes and how they facilitate revelation, especially in family and Church councils.

I know of one girl named Diana who will always appreciate what a good friend did for her without being asked during a critical period of her life. When she was 17, Diana became extremely and chronically depressed. Her depression was so severe that she eventually required medical attention. When her friend Rachel learned of this, she made quietly sure that she was available whenever Diana needed her. To this day Diana maintains that the phone calls, long walks, tennis matches, and lengthy conversations on a variety of subjects, including her illness, were instrumental in helping her return to full health and activity.

I remember visiting a friend in southern India. This man worked as an accountant in a cement plant. His salary was meager. His house was small; it would fit into the front room of many homes. But his heart was large and overflowing. Out of a great love for others that came from his understanding of the gospel of Jesus Christ, he built a school with his own hands on a piece of ground he bought from his savings. It was a simple, rough building; but studying there were some 400 poor children, each being brought out of the darkness of illiteracy into the light of learning. What this act of love has meant and will mean in their lives is beyond calculation.
Through this one man’s efforts, there were established five small branches of the Church in the rural villages of southern India. The members constructed three or four little buildings, neat and clean. Over the door of each was a sign, in both English and Tamil, that read, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” The floors were of concrete and without benches where the people sat together as we met, shared our testimonies, and partook of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.
Someday, someone will write the story of the Church in India. That story will be incomplete unless there is a chapter on my friend who lost himself in the service of others.2

Antonio follows Jesus by sharing his testimony. One Sunday before church, Antonio decided he would share during testimony meeting that day. He wrote his testimony down in a notebook and read from it. “I shared my belief that Jesus Christ died on the cross and that He loves every one of us and cares for us,” he says.
Antonio knows that sharing his testimony helps him feel the Holy Ghost. It also helps him feel closer to his grandad who died a few years ago. He says, “I know my grandad and my entire family support me, and that helps my testimony to grow!”

“Kids,” Mom said as she gathered us around her, “your uncle has to have surgery. He has a tumor. Would you be willing to fast for him?” she asked, her eyes wet with tears.
“Sure, Mom, we’ll fast for him,” I said in unison with my brothers and sisters.
Dad continued, “This surgery is very risky because the tumor is near his brain. We are going to have a family fast on Sunday, the day before his surgery. Do you think you can help?” he added while we all nodded.
I really wanted to do this for my uncle, but I was a bit nervous. It had always been hard for me to fast. I would usually just give up because I was so hungry. I decided this was my chance to do it right.
Sunday came, and I started my fast with a prayer. I asked Heavenly Father to let my uncle get through the surgery. I asked Him to bless the doctors that they would know what was best. I also asked Him to help me through the fast. I really wanted my uncle to be all right, and I wanted to fast right for once.
I went to church thinking about my uncle and hoping the operation would work. I was glad to get home from church. I decided to read the New Era to try and keep the day holy. And before I knew it, it was time to end the fast. I ended it with a prayer.
I noticed that this fast felt different from all the other times I had tried to fast. When I didn’t think about myself, or crave food, the fast went smoothly and felt meaningful.
The next day my uncle had surgery. Again I asked Heavenly Father to bless him. The surgery was successful, and my uncle was fine.
I felt great. I knew my fast had helped him. I thanked Heavenly Father and was filled with joy and love.
Not only did my uncle make it through his surgery, but I had a great feeling. I would no longer think fasting was just going without food. I would always remember the power that helped my uncle and taught me the value of fasting and prayer.

Allison Bowman of Chandler, Arizona, explains her way of saying no. “I don’t preach; I just say no. You can’t be rude or they’ll think you’re stuck up. I just let them know what my standards are, and that’s the way I am. They can’t change me.

“When I moved to Arizona, there were some older guys in my debate class who wanted me to ditch class and go out to lunch with them. I told them, ‘No, I don’t do that.’

“They used to ask me to go on dates too. Every time they’d ask me, I’d tell them, ‘No, I can’t date until I’m 16.’ I must have explained it 100 times. But now they kind of look out for me. We’re all still good friends.”

At a nursing home for the aged, two young men prepared the sacrament. While doing so, an elderly patient in a wheelchair spoke aloud the words, “I’m cold.” Without a moment’s hesitation, one of the young men walked over to her, removed his own jacket, placed it about the patient’s shoulders, gave her a loving pat on the arm, and then returned to the sacrament table. The sacred emblems were then blessed and passed to the assembled patients.
Following the meeting, I said to the young man, “What you did here today I shall long remember.”
He replied, “I was worried that without my jacket I would not be properly dressed to bless the sacrament.”
I responded, “Never was one more properly dressed for such an occasion than were you.”
I know not his name. He remains anonymous.

I stopped at the bottom of Sanford’s huge sycamore tree and looked up the ladder of wooden slats that led to the door of our clubhouse. I avoided looking at the sign that read, “FOR BOYS ONLY” nailed to the tree trunk.
I glanced back uneasily at Meg and Michelle, the two sisters who had moved in next door to us the day before.
“The clubhouse is way up there,” I muttered, nodding toward our hideout overhead. “It’s pretty high up—kind of scary too. There’s not much to see. Are you sure you want to go up?”
Meg, the older of the two, gazed up into the branches. “Looks like a pretty neat place. I’m not afraid of heights, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Who put that up?” Michelle asked, pointing to the sign.
“We did.”
“Well, it’s kind of dumb, if you ask me,” she muttered. “Why aren’t girls allowed?”
“We like it that way.”
“Your mom said you’d take us up,” Michelle reminded me. “I’d like to see what it’s like.”
When Mom asked me to show Meg and Michelle around the neighborhood, I told her that I wouldn’t. She just shrugged and said something about my not getting to do something the next time I wanted to. Well, I knew what she was thinking about: Garett Hadfield’s family was going to Disneyland in two weeks, and Garett had asked me to go with them.
Slowly I turned back to the ladder, grabbed the first slat, and started up. When I reached the trapdoor in the middle of the clubhouse floor, I could hear voices inside. I gulped and knocked softly.
“Who’s there?” a voice growled.
“Me, Jared,” I answered meekly.
The trapdoor opened. I pulled myself up through the opening and sat there with my legs dangling down. “Hi,” I greeted them sickly. I looked around. Sanford was there. Garett too. Then I saw Will, Andrew, and Mark in the dim light. The whole club was there, except Paul. “I brought some … uh … some visitors,” I explained. “They’re our new neighbors.”
“Let’s have a look,” Sanford said.
I gulped again, pulled my feet up, and slid across the floor to sit against the wall. Then Meg’s head poked up through the trapdoor. She looked around and grinned. “Hi. I’m Meg.”
“A girl!” all the guys gasped, jumping to their feet. They stared at Meg as she climbed into the clubhouse, then glared at me.
Before the guys had a chance to get over their shock, Michelle poked her head up through the hole.
“Another girl!” the guys groaned.
“What’s wrong with girls?” Michelle challenged them.
“You brought girls into the clubhouse?” Andrew asked, pointing at me. He turned to the girls. “Didn’t you read the sign?”
“Sure,” Michelle retorted before I had a chance to open my mouth. “But we figured anybody dumb enough to put up a sign like that didn’t know what he was doing anyway.”
“It’s just for today,” I put in. “I’m just showing them around. Mom made me.”
“I haven’t even let my mom come up here,” Sanford protested. He glowered at the girls. “I say they leave right now.”
I looked at Garett. He looked back at me and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “They look all right.”
Well, as long as Garett was with me, I still had a shot at Disneyland, so I didn’t much care what the others thought. “I say they stay,” I said, standing up. “The clubhouse is part mine.”
“My dad built it!” Sanford shouted.
“He couldn’t have built it without my dad’s lumber,” I reminded him. “I say they stay.”
For a few minutes we all just sat there glaring at each other. Then Mark spluttered, “Listen, guys, we have a bigger problem than these girls to worry about—remember? Today’s the day we’re supposed to play the Highland Heights team.”
Then all of us boys groaned. We had been bragging to the Highland Heights team that we could beat them. All that they had to do was name the time and place. Well, they’d named the city park as the place, and this morning as the time. But our best pitcher had the chicken pox!
“We just can’t play them today,” Will croaked. “We don’t stand a chance without Paul pitching.”
“I can pitch,” Sanford volunteered.
“And we can help out,” Meg said.
“We let you come into our clubhouse just this once,” Sanford growled, “but that doesn’t mean we’re going to let you play baseball with us. Those guys would laugh us clear out of the park.”
“We’re going to need all the help we can get,” Garett said uneasily.
“Are you saying that we should let girls play ball with us?” Sanford yelped.
Garett shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe they can fall down in front of a ball. At least we can cover the field that way.”
“I say girls don’t play on our team,” Sanford insisted, folding his arms across his chest defiantly. “If they want to come, they can cheer for us.”
“We’re not cheerleaders,” Michelle protested. “We know how to play ball. Meg and I were in a league where we used to live.”
“I say we let them play,” I said, starting for the door. “If we lose, we’ll just say it was the girls’ fault.”
Michelle grabbed my arm and turned me around. “We don’t play on a losing team. We play to win.”
When we reached the city park, the Highland Heights team was there waiting for us. “We thought you got scared and decided not to show up,” TJ Blake called out as we walked up. TJ was the leader of his team and their best player. He could hit a home run almost every time. He started to grin. “No wonder you’re late. You had to find some girls to help you out. That’s OK with us—you’ll need all the help you can get.”
Well, the Highland Heights team batted first. We put Meg and Michelle in the outfield, where there’s a little less action. Sanford pitched, but he pitched everything that the other team wanted. The first three batters got hits and loaded the bases. Then TJ came to bat, grinning.
“I thought you said you could pitch,” I shouted at Sanford as I covered first base. “Now they’ll have four runs and no outs.”
“Well, you haven’t done anything to help,” he growled back at me. “The only thing you’ve done is drag those two girls along.”
“Michelle can pitch,” Meg called from center field. “She’s a good pitcher. She pitched for our old team.”
I looked at Garett, who was playing second. He shrugged. “She can’t be much worse than Sanford,” he muttered.
TJ laughed as Michelle came in to pitch. “Oh, I love it! I get to bat against a girl.” Then he frowned. “Just make sure you get it this far,” he grumbled at Michelle.
Michelle ignored him. She turned to me. “Meg plays shortstop better than any guy I know.”
I looked over at Mark, who was playing shortstop. “Mark, why don’t you trade places with Meg?”
“With a girl?” he protested.
“It’s just for a little while,” Garett explained. “Besides, we’re going to need three good outfielders while TJ bats.”
“Come on, little girl, throw it here,” TJ taunted when Michelle was ready to pitch.
Michelle just glared at TJ, then wound up and let the ball fly. It zoomed right across the plate, and TJ swung hard enough to knock it clear over Mark’s head. But he missed the ball! Instead, he spun around and fell on the ground. Everybody on our team laughed as TJ stood up, brushed himself off, and got ready to bat again.
“Don’t let a little girl strike you out!” chortled Jason, who was catching.
TJ glared at him, then turned back to Michelle, who was already winding up. Again she let the ball fly across the plate. TJ swung and got just a piece of it. Foul ball. The next time, Michelle wound up and looked like she was going to throw that ball clear into next week. But it was a slow one. TJ swung and missed the ball completely.
We all cheered as TJ stomped away from the plate. Clay Barnes came up to bat next. He missed the first two pitches, but on the third pitch, he hit a line drive—straight for Meg! I thought for sure that it was going to knock her right off her feet, but she snagged the ball and burned it over to me for a double play.
TJ pitched for his team. Boy, was he mad! And the first one to go to bat was Michelle. The fielders came in, since it was just a girl batting, and on the first pitch Michelle got a piece of that ball and knocked it over Clay Barnes’s head into right field.
We beat the Highland Heights team that afternoon ten to eight. And we were sure glad that Meg and Michelle had refused to cheerlead for us.
When we got back to Sanford’s backyard, his mom called from the back porch, “Sanford, there are some cookies and punch in your clubhouse.”
“How’d they get up there?” Sanford asked, surprised.
“You’ve never invited me up, so I decided I’d use the cookies and punch as an excuse to take a look around.”
“You went into our clubhouse?” Sanford gasped. “But it’s just for boys!”
“Don’t worry about it, Sister Nichols,” I called to Sanford’s mom. “You’re not the first girl that’s ever been there.”
“And you won’t be the last,” Michelle added, grinning.
As we were about to climb the tree, I looked at the FOR BOYS ONLY sign. I shook my head and turned to Garett. “There’s a pencil up in the clubhouse. Would you go get it?”
When Garett came back down with the pencil, I grabbed it and scribbled on the sign, “(AND A FEW GOOD GIRLS).”
We all looked at the sign and grinned, then climbed up for cookies and punch.

I was going to visit my uncle but when I got there, I was told that my uncle had traveled. Instead of seeing him, I was given some books and asked to read them. I met the missionaries and had some friends who met them under a mango tree in the area. The missionaries gave me a Book of Mormon, but I dumped it somewhere because I didn’t want to read it.
Later, after my sister gave me the Church manuals and magazines to read, I decided to pray about it. I was also given another Book of Mormon. I found out that everything the missionaries were talking about made sense to me. At that time, I wasn’t married but thought that if I found someone that I loved, I would want them forever. The church I was attending always said “Till death do us part”. I couldn’t understand having that be the end of the union. When the missionaries talked about the plan of salvation, I was very interested. I said “Wow”. If we can get some authority to bless our marriages here and when we die, we can find ourselves together, then I would want to be in this Church.
Secondly, I am not good at dancing. So, when I would go to the church I was attending, they would always make some music, make noise, and ask us to come and dance. And while you were dancing, you would also be paying some offering. I don’t like that. So, I said I would read about this book and pray to God to find out if it is true. And by so doing, I got baptized.
Before I was baptized, I attended church for several months and did everything but when they talked about baptism, that’s when I was hesitant. Before I started meeting with the missionaries, I had been baptized into the church I was attending. I didn’t want to be baptized again. Finally, I decided to go forward with the baptism.
The next thing I wanted to do was go on a mission. One day my father questioned me asking if the Church I was attending was restored by Joseph Smith? I said “yes”.
He said “Ahh, that church is a cult. I’ve read some things about them. You must be very careful about that church.” I told him “OK, if that is the case, I will pray over it and find out for myself”.
One day I was sleeping, and I had this dream. There were two churches, and they were built across the street from each other. There was a fire burning and people were running all around. The two churches were there, and one was big and the other small. The bigger church had lots of people running into it and a few were running to the small one. The fire was coming, and it was burning the entire city. When the flame got to the two churches, the big church was consumed by the flame and the small church was not. I beheld that the small church had an inscription on it that said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”.
I said, “Wow, this is wonderful”. I woke up from my dream and prayed and thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayers because I thought I was lost, and the Church was somewhere I belonged. A place that would comfort me and where I could have a family. I told my father about it and that I had got an answer. He said, “OK, if you’ve gotten an answer, then you need to go on a mission”.
Within a year, my call came, and I went to the Nigeria Lagos Mission and served faithfully. I returned home with honors. When I was on a mission, I would always bear my testimony that I know the Church is true. This is because I have strong testimony of what I know. I wish that everyone that is investigating the Church could have the same conversion as I had. Joining the Church was not a mistake but rather, I have been saved and I’ve been blessed.
In the Church I’ve been able to educate myself. The Church has taught me a lot. At first, I couldn’t even stand in front of a few people to talk. It has given me the confidence to stand in front of a lot of people and share that the Church is true. When we are on the Lord’s errand and pray and ask Heavenly Father what He wants us to do, He will always show us the way.
I am married with three children. In my family, I am not the oldest, but they always look to me and call me if there is an issue and we discuss it. I tell them we should do things the way that the Lord wants us to. I know that the Church is true, and I am not going back, no matter what.

Port Erin, Isle of Man—
I work out a little bit, but I don’t believe the strength I had that night on the cliff was my own. I feel the promise that has been made to everyone who keeps the Word of Wisdom was kept to me.
I was coming aback from a local disco (club) in Bradda Glen, where they play oldies like ’60s and ’70s music, when I saw some friends. Some of them had been drinking, and they weren’t their normal selves. Two of them decided to take a different way home.
There are two ways back. You can go the normal way, by road, which is much safer. Or you can go along the coast path, which is windy but has a good view. That’s the one my friends decided on. Normally, I would have just walked along the road, but I decided my friends weren’t in a fit state to look after themselves, so I walked along with them.
One of them started staggering and suddenly plopped down, off the side of the cliff. The other guy went to try to help him, but he went over too. It wasn’t completely sheer, but it was very steep, and they were hanging on with one arm. They could have easily slid right down, and I don’t know if they would have made it back up.
I remember clearly actually grabbing hold of their arms, one at a time, and hoisting them. I not only pulled them up; I actually pulled them off the ground, over the top, and back onto the path. The words from the promise of the Word of Wisdom, in section 89 of the Doctrine and Covenants, came to me, “And shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint” (D&C 89:20).
They were amazed. I was amazed. They said, “Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t drink tonight.” And I said, “Well that’s really my religion for you.”
For my entire life I’ve strived to keep the Word of Wisdom. I find it easy to keep, even though smoking, drinking, and drugs seem to be an increasing problem here on the Isle. But when I was young, I heard President Spencer W. Kimball say that if I decided to keep standards then, when I was young, it would be much easier for me when the temptation came up, because I would have already made the decision to abstain.
I’ve really tried to apply that in my life, and that night on the coast path, I was glad I did. By following the Word of Wisdom, I believe I was given extra strength for that moment in time.

Soon after Will’s fourth birthday, his Grandpa Swaner died. Grandma Swaner was old and in very bad health, both mentally and physically. Grandpa had been caring for Grandma, so when he died, she needed someone not only to comfort her but to care for her. She needed help getting in and out of bed, chairs, or wherever she wanted to be. Several family members took turns spending the night with her.

Two nights after Grandpa’s death, it was my turn to spend the night. Will and his daddy and I were with her that afternoon and evening, and Daddy was going to take him home while I stayed the night with her.

But when Will was told to clean up his toys so that he and Daddy could go home, he said, “No. I’m going to sleep with Grandma.”

No matter how much we tried to persuade him to go home, he insisted on staying. Finally we let him put his pajamas on and get in Grandma’s bed. We thought that he would go to sleep right away, and Daddy could take him home. An hour later, I went to see him. He was still awake. He said, “I’m not asleep because I’m waiting for Grandma to come to bed. She needs me because Grandpa isn’t here.”

He was still awake when Daddy and I helped Grandma into her bed. Will snuggled up to her. During the night when I checked on them, I often found Grandma covering his shoulders with the blankets or rubbing his back while he slept.

Will knew best. Grandma was sad and needed comforting and someone to care for, and he wasn’t going to leave her alone that night. He was truly trying to be like Jesus Christ.

When selected chapels in your stake are only ten minutes from the Bull Run battlefield of Civil War fame, 20 minutes from George Washington’s Mount Vernon, and 30 minutes from Washington, D.C., it’s only natural that your stake roadshows would bear the theme, “What’s More American?”

And for the newly formed Fairfax Virginia Stake, they did.

On March 16 and 17, 176 youths paraded up aisles to open their first annual roadshows with just that question. They carried with them 176 possible answers in the form of corn flake boxes, toothpaste tubes, footballs, baseball gloves, Christmas tree decorations, American flags, rock albums, peanut butter jars, and an array of other paraphernalia.

“What’s More American?” was asked in song. It was answered at the song’s conclusion with a unanimous shout, “I am!”

Once it was established that there’s nothing more American than Americans, each decade of our 20th century was introduced with narration and slides made from authentic pictures of the period. Among the 76 slides shown were the Wright Brothers’ first flight, Henry Ford’s Model T, and Scarlett O’Hara’s Tara.

Each ward roadshow was developed around a decade and immediately followed its slide introduction. Wakefield Ward opened the century with Teddy Roosevelt frantically searching for his missing daughter, Alice. Even the Pinkertons were called in to assist. But it all ended happily with Alice’s lavish wedding to Mr. Longworth. Manassas Ward brought 1910–1920 alive with the suffragette movement.

The 1920s gave Fairfax Ward a story line that included everything from crashing airplanes to flappers and gangsters. Charlie McCarthy, Edgar Bergen, and Shirley Temple were among those who helped Americans through the “Hard-Time 30s.” Prince William Ward brought them all to life with lavish imagination and costumes.

Warrenton Branch introduced the ’40s with a wartime laboratory that was trying to split the atom but ended up inventing the milk shake. Stuffing phone booths, doodling, and viewing 3-D movies didn’t make much sense to “square” Freddie of the 1950s. Woodbridge Ward showed Freddie finally finding someplace where he could excel so he was no longer considered a square. Fancy Foot Freddie and Boogie Woogie Betty ended the decade with a swinging rendition of the jitterbug.

The curtain closed. The combo began playing. Once again the Fairfax Stake young people marched up the aisles and began singing, “What’s More American?”

To accompany their singing, slides of the most American thing around were flashed on two large walls: The young people themselves were featured. They were hiking, laughing, running, playing, working, singing, picnicking, camping, painting, practicing, listening, serving, learning, wondering, stretching, yelling, swimming, eating, dancing, and praying.

After it was all over, church members may have driven past Bull Run, Mount Vernon, and Washington, D.C., on their journeys home. But the most American things in this area were still at the Fairfax chapel removing make-up and costumes.

Janet Egbo of Big Qua Town Ward, Calabar Nigeria Stake
I am a teacher by profession, I reside and work in Calabar. I have always wanted additional income because what I earned was not sufficient to support my family. I was part of the self-reliance group in my stake and I joined the Starting and Growing My Business group.
I learned a lot of principles throughout the Starting and Growing My Business group meetings, which motivated me to start a business of my own. I never knew that I could start small and grow big.
The principles I learned that gave me the guide I needed to succeed were: payment of tithing, praying, savings, budgeting, and record keeping. I was able to start with two bags of flour and a bag of sugar. Today I have rented a shop for the business.
I have a variety of commodities on my shelves, and my shop is a mini supermarket because I have most of the items that households may need.
I am indeed grateful that I heeded the call to join a self-reliance group. I now have the additional income I needed.
I am now growing my business. I keep record of my sales, use a budget, and I can save money.
I now pay my tithing and fast offering, take care of my basic needs, and that of my family members.

Mapleton, Utah, where I grew up, was a little farming community. My father was not a farmer; he worked building highways. Our neighbor, Bishop Oscar Whiting, did have a farm, and because my father and mother wanted their children to learn the value of work, they said to him, “If you will put our sons to work on your farm, we will pay you to pay them.”
Our good bishop said, “No, it isn’t necessary for you to pay us; but we’ll put them to work, and we’ll pay them.” So as a boy, from as early as I can remember (I was about seven or eight years old then), I learned to work.
In the summertime we harvested the hay on the Whitings’ farm. Tractors were just coming out then, but the Whitings couldn’t afford one, so they used wagons pulled by horses to do the farm work. My first job, at 15 cents an hour, was to stomp around on top of a load of hay in the wagon (we called it “tromping hay”) to settle it so that it wouldn’t fall out when we took it from the field to the barn, and so that more could be loaded onto the wagon.
Primary was held during the week in those days, and every Monday at three o’clock in the afternoon, Bishop Whiting would say, “Jay, your work is finished for the day; off to Primary.”
In those days, too, the Church did not have a family home evening program like we have today, but my family did have family nights. One of my fondest memories is of sitting on Dad’s lap during family night as he read us stories from the Book of Mormon. It was the beginning of my testimony of the Book of Mormon, and my love for my father and mother grew as well.
After we spent this time together, we played games like Hide the Thimble, and Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button. We played basketball, too. In the winter, when it was too cold to play outside, we’d bend a metal coat hanger into a circle and wedge it above a door. As a ball, we’d use some wadded up stockings. Of course, we couldn’t dribble the ball, but we could shoot it at the hanger-basket, and we could pass it to each other. We loved playing together.
The fifth article of faith had a special meaning to me as a boy, not because it was preached to me, but because our family lived its principles. It says, “We believe that a man must be called of God, by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority, to preach the Gospel and administer in the ordinances thereof.” Mother and Father were loyal to, supported, and loved their leaders. When priesthood leaders asked us to serve, we did, believing that the calls came through them from God.
I remember my missionary farewell. Being the proud young man that I was, when it was Dad’s turn to speak, I thought that he was going to say something about me—what a good missionary I’d be, what a good boy I’d been. But Dad did not say one thing about me. He stood at the pulpit and gave one of the strongest, most powerful testimonies about tithing that I have ever heard. It wasn’t until about halfway through my mission, as I was thinking about his talk, that it dawned on me: Dad had been trying to tell me, “I don’t know how we’re going to support you, Jay, because I don’t have work some seasons of the year. But I have faith that if we pay our tithing, we’ll be able to do it.” And they did. Our priesthood leaders have told us to pay our tithing and to do missionary work, and if we faithfully follow their counsel, we will be blessed.
I encourage each of you children to join your family in family prayer, to join your family in scripture study, to join your family in going to church. I don’t think that anything had a greater impact on me as I was growing up than doing these three things. Just as they strengthened me, they can strengthen you spiritually and help you make important decisions throughout your life.

There are many other opportunities to share the gospel. For example, just this summer I received a happy letter from a new member who learned about the restored gospel when an old classmate phoned her to inquire about an illness she was experiencing. She wrote: “I was enlightened by the way he presented himself to me. After [a] few months of learning from the missionaries, I was baptized. My life has improved since then.” We all know many whose lives would be improved by the restored gospel. Are we reaching out to them?

Philippe and Chantal had the best grandmère (grandmother) and grandpère (grandfather) in the whole world. Why, what other grandmère and grandpère lived in a magical house—a house with a small cement pool outside where they could go wading and sail toy boats and play pirates? Who else had a house with a secret room halfway up the stairs and halfway down, with shelves full of storybooks, magazines, and old toys?
Philippe and Chantal loved to visit Grandmère and Grandpère. They loved to play in the pool and in the secret room. They helped Grandmère cook, and she took them to the library and to the park, and she taught them how to crochet. They helped Grandpère fix the car, weed the garden, and put puzzles together. Both Grandmère and Grandpère played tennis with Philippe and Chantal and read them stories. Philippe and Chantal had so much fun at their grandparents’ house that they always hated to leave.
One day when Philippe and Chantal arrived for a visit, Grandmère and Grandpère were especially excited to see them. “Guess what!” Grandmère exclaimed, taking their jackets. “Guess what Grandpère and I are going to do!”
“Are you going to travel around the world?” Philippe asked.
“No, but that’s close.”
“Are you going to take a class to learn something new?” Chantal asked.
“No, no, but that’s close too.” Grandpère’s eyes twinkled.
Philippe and Chantal frowned at each other. “We give up.”
“We’re going to be missionaries for the Church!” Grandmère exclaimed proudly.
“Oh, but that means that you’ll go away, and we won’t be able to visit you!” Philippe said sadly.
“I’m glad that you’re going on a mission, but what will happen to your house?” Chantal wiped a tear from her eye.
Grandmère put her arm around Philippe. “We’ll miss both of you very much. But we’ll think about you, and pray for you, and write you letters too. Think of all the mail that you’ll get! Won’t that be fun?”
Grandpère pulled Chantal onto his lap and held her as he rocked back and forth. “And we’ll miss this house and having you come to visit. We’ll have to rent it to someone while we’re gone. But,” he added, “we won’t tell them about the room that’s halfway up the stairs and halfway down. It will be our secret! How about that?”
Philippe and Chantal laughed.
“But, Grandmère, how can you and Grandpère go on a mission if you’ll miss us and the house so much?” Philippe asked, looking puzzled.
“A mission is a special way to serve Heavenly Father,” Grandmère replied. “Not everyone is as blessed as we are to have the gospel. We are such a happy family that we want to show other families how to be happy too.”
“We’ll teach families about Jesus and His gospel,” Grandpère added, “and we’ll share our testimonies and our love with others, just as we have with you.”
“It will be hard to leave you, but we’ve fasted and prayed, and we know that it’s right for us to be missionaries now,” Grandmère explained.
“Oh, Grandmère,” Philippe said, giving her a hug, “I love you. And I guess I can share you and Grandpère with other people who need you.”
Chantal kissed Grandpère on the cheek. “And when we grow up, we want to be missionaries just like you because you’re the best grandpère and grandmère in the whole world!”

Jennie shivered and drew the patchwork quilt more tightly around herself. She snuggled close to Susan. Outside the wagon, the wind whipped fiercely across the prairie, snapping the white wagon cover above her. Frightened, she wondered if the big wagon could withstand the raging storm. Papa had said the wagon was to be their home on the long journey to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. But suppose the wind shatters this old wagon, she thought, then how would Susan, Baby Sarah, Mama and Papa, and I get to the valley?
Although the wagon was cold and uncomfortable, it did provide pretty good shelter from storms, and it was large enough to carry the things that Jennie’s family would need to start their new home in Salt Lake. Besides all of Papa’s tools, there was a heavy iron blade for a plow. Mama, too, had packed many things. Her beautiful dishes were carefully wrapped in bedding and linens to protect them from breaking as the wagon creaked and jolted across the land. She had also packed a sewing box of scissors, thread, and needles. Along with the grain and vegetable seeds there were tiny packets of flower seeds. Lovely flowers blooming in the yard would help make their new house a home. There had been no room to carry furniture, so Mama’s beloved carved dressing-table had been sold, as had Papa’s chest of drawers and Susan’s framework for her bed.
Jennie remembered their pleasant home in Nauvoo. It had been hard to leave it, but cruel men had forced them to go. Papa had promised her that someday they would have a new home in the Rocky Mountains where they would all be safe and happy. Now thunder rumbled loudly across the prairie, and the wind moaned through the night. Jennie buried her head in her pillow and wished that the days of happiness and safety would come soon.
“Sister Quigley! Sister Quigley!” It was Brother Olenslager’s urgent voice. The light of his flickering lantern could be seen through the canvas wagon cover. “Are you awake? You must come. My wife is having her baby!”
“Yes, Brother Olenslager, I’m awake and I’ll come at once.”
Jennie heard Mama hastily dressing in the cold darkness of the wagon box. Tonight Papa was gone, for it was his turn to guard the horses and cattle. Jennie suddenly realized that she would be alone in the big dark wagon with four-year-old Susan and Baby Sarah.
“Mama?” she whispered.
“Jennie, I must go to help Sister Olenslager. Please watch after the little ones if they wake up.”
“Yes, Mama.” Jennie’s throat was dry and she could scarcely speak. How she wanted to cry out, “Don’t go, Mama. I’m frightened!”
“If I’m not back before morning, Jennie, you must prepare breakfast and prepare the wagon to start moving at daybreak. The morning bell will signal when it is time to wake up.” Then Mama slipped from the wagon into the wet night and was on her way to Sister Olenslager.
BOOOOM! A frightening clap of thunder directly overhead split the night, jolting Susan from her slumber. “Mama!” she cried.
“She isn’t here, Susan,” Jennie explained, trying to soothe her frightened sister. “She’s gone to help Sister Olenslager with her baby.”
“I want Mama,” Susan began to cry. “I’m scared.”
Jennie hugged her younger sister and said softly, “Don’t be afraid. Everything will be all right. I’m here with you. It’s just that this noisy storm woke you up! Go back to sleep now.”
Jennie held the trembling little girl in her arms, concealing the terror that she herself felt. Uninvited tears rolled down her cheeks and onto Susan’s blonde hair. Oh, if only Papa were here! she wished. He always laughs at storms. Jennie believed that Papa’s booming laugh was louder than thunder and his muscled arms stronger than a fierce wind.
“Shhh …” Jennie whispered. “Be still, Susan.” But the little one, shivering beneath the patchwork quilt, was not easily quieted. Soon her sobs woke Baby Sarah, who began to fuss and whimper.
All the while the storm grew wilder, and the rain beat unceasingly against the canvas. Lightning crackled, brilliant and white, and thunder boomed and echoed across the sky. A cold knot of terror tightened in Jennie’s stomach. She could no longer bring herself to speak to her sisters or to comfort them. Mama had told her to tend the little ones, yet she, herself, was frightened. Oh, what can I do? she wondered pleadingly.
Then Jennie remembered something Papa had told her before they had left their home in Nauvoo. He said that there would be times in her life when she might be lonely or frightened and that during those times she might have to do things that she felt she could not do all by herself. But even though he and Mama might not be close-by, she need never be alone. He explained that Heavenly Father was anxious to help her in times of need. He was eager to comfort her when she was fearful, and happy to be near her when she was lonely. All she needed to do was pray and ask for His help and her prayers would be answered.
Controlling her fear, Jennie sat up and knelt beside her two sisters. Then she prayed with all her heart for Heavenly Father to bless her and Susan and Sarah and be with them during the storm. When she finished praying, she crawled back under the covers.
Soon both Susan and Sarah were sleeping soundly next to her. As she lay beside them, Jennie felt the cold fear go away from her own heart, to be replaced by a warm calm. And weary from listening to the roaring of thunder, she, too, fell into a peaceful sleep.

A cloud of Mexican dust consumed the minivan, and Jeff drove blind for a moment.
A moment was enough.
A sharp grinding sound from under the vehicle made the barren landscape suddenly seem menacing, and as soon as the dust had cleared among the dry, crusty cactus, Jeff, Brandon, and I climbed out to inspect the damage.
We had driven to Baja Mexico in Jeff’s mother’s car to spend the last week before school camping, surfing, and remembering Spanish from our missions, but our excitement quickly changed into dry-mouthed worry.
Jeff looked below the car and found that a large rock had punctured the oil pan. A pool of thick, black motor oil was spreading on the dirt. We tried to stop the leak with a towel, but the slimy oil spread into it. The flow couldn’t be stopped. This wasn’t good.
As we tried to figure out how far it was to town, a truck we had seen earlier at the beach pulled up in a cloud of dust. A tan man with shaggy hair leaned out the window and asked what was wrong.
“We put a hole in our oil pan,” Jeff said. “We tried to plug it, but it didn’t work.”
“Hold on,” said the man. “I have some stuff that could help.”
He and his wife climbed down from the truck, and after fishing around in a toolbox, he produced a tube of self-hardening epoxy made specifically for sealing oil pans.
Wow, are we lucky, I thought.
While her husband was putting the epoxy on our car, his wife explained that they had just had battery trouble with their truck and had needed a jump start from someone else.
“So we get to help you now,” she said. “Now it’s your turn to help someone.”
Her comment made me think, and I promised myself that I would help someone in need the first chance I got.
The couple drove off, and we waited an hour for the epoxy to harden. As we waited, we all expressed our gratitude for the couple and marveled at the perfect timing we had had in driving down the deserted road at about the same time they had. And they had happened to have something that could fix our problem.
We decided to say a prayer of thanks, and as we prayed, we knew our Father in Heaven was looking out for us personally, even in that remote desert in Mexico.