Gospel Story Finder

One day I was fasting because I was troubled by many difficulties, and I opened the July 2007 issue of the Liahona. I decided to read From the Life of President Spencer W. Kimball, the episode called “Resist Evil Influences,” which I don’t usually read because it is in the children’s section. This story helped me flee from the bad influences that surrounded me that day, and I was fortified by the message. I encourage everyone to read all the sections of the Liahona.
The Liahona is a light and a protection for me. It is the first tool I use to proclaim the gospel to my friends.
Arlette Azi, Ivory Coast

“We could not have hoped for a better assignment,” said former President McReynolds. “It was great to be going back to the British Isles.” President Stuart and Sister Sheryl McReynolds led the England Manchester Mission from July 2017 to July 2020.
President McReynolds grew up in Leicestershire and Sister McReynolds was born in North Wales. Later, Sister McReynolds lived on the Isle of Man for a short time but spent most of her growing up years in London. At the time of their call, it had been 20 years since they lived permanently in the United Kingdom.
Sister McReynolds hadn’t served a full-time mission when she was young, so the prospect of serving as a mission president’s wife was a bit daunting, and she felt inadequate in many ways. “Yet, I knew I wouldn’t be transferred, or get a new companion, so I hoped we would get on all right,” she said light-heartedly. “But the opportunity to be together, that was a real privilege – just wonderful.”
“When I didn’t know what to do, or I thought I couldn’t do something that needed to be done, I realised that the Lord carries you when you do His work,” she said. “I think intellectually I knew this, but I’ve seen it so much more on a day-to-day basis than I ever had in the past.”
One highlight for the McReynolds was seeing the strength and personal growth of more than 550 missionaries from all over the world, giving their best to share a message about hope in Jesus Christ. They were from over 60 countries including: Madagascar, Eswatini, Lithuania, Curaçao, Japan and others.
When compared with the mission he served as a young man, President McReynolds was pleased to see a substantial increase in the number of sister missionaries serving. Nearly half of the missionaries in the Manchester mission were women. He said this created a balance of perspective and leadership in the mission, including new positions for sister-trainer leaders. Both were also amazed at how quickly they would come to love each elder and sister.
“We had been told that we would have instant and deep love for them,” she said. “But it was when we had been there just nine days, and about 24 missionaries were leaving for home, I realised how strong this love would be. It nearly broke my heart to say goodbye. Perhaps this is a blessing of the calling and comes when you are set apart – your capacity to love is expanded.”
“We have found that this love doesn’t really leave you,” President McReynolds said. “While we have only been back at home a short time, we still think about them, talk about them, worry about them and wonder how we can help them.”
The McReynolds saw quiet miracles take place in the mission. During one transfer, a missionary from South Africa who spoke Zulu, was sent to an area in the mission where a family of five from Africa would be taught the gospel. “It wasn’t that the family couldn’t speak English, but they saw it as a miracle—getting their very own Zulu-speaking missionary,” President McReynolds said.
They also witnessed tender mercies in the lives of the missionaries themselves. “It was lovely to see a missionary, who had the gospel all of their life; allow the gospel into their life,” Sister McReynolds said. “Suddenly it starts to click and come together on their mission and then you see them change and progress as they learn to rely more on the Saviour and on Heavenly Father more than on themselves or their parents.”
At a production of “Our Story Goes On,” they were also able to see awareness of the Church grow with civic leaders. She recalled meeting a local mayor and his wife at the event. “Afterward, when the musical had finished, he and his wife, especially him, were in floods of tears. He said, ‘I’ve never felt anything like this.’ It was as if he had a better understanding of gospel principles and indirectly, the plan of salvation. Perhaps in the future, this could lead to an increase in positive support.”
The restrictions surrounding COVID-19 changed the way missionary work could be done. “The pandemic was a considerable challenge for us as mission leaders, and as missionaries. Staying at home, staying in place, and adjusting everything that we did,” President McReynolds said. “It created a need to rethink how missionary work could continue virtually. We had always done everything face to face, yet we all know how powerful technology and social media tools can be. Online missionary work became a massive pivot for the mission. I think we made good progress, as we were able to find people, continue to teach and later baptise.”
In March, everything was being cancelled including the mission’s upcoming ‘Why I Believe’ devotional, featuring the conversion stories of new members of the Church. It was decided to take a leap of faith and hold it online. This was a big undertaking to make sure that the programme would be uplifting and inspirational, without the distractions online meetings sometimes have when technology fails.
“We saw the Lord’s hand in that first one,” said Sister McReynolds. “Because of COVID-19, we were all in separate locations, and it honestly shouldn’t have come together as nicely as it did.”
Typically, the in-person monthly devotional saw an attendance of anywhere from 250 to 550 people, depending on the location. With the move to online, an estimated 4,000 people have tuned in each month.
“While we did the devotional together as a mission, the missionaries were likewise adapting their own sphere of responsibility,” said President McReynolds. Asking questions like, “How do I adapt finding? How do I adapt my teaching? How do I adapt working with members, by using all these online tools?”
The mission also began using Zoom-conference calls, to reach out to individual missionaries for interviews, and for training and mission-wide calls which typically took place three times a week. “I really think it united the mission in a way that we hadn’t had before,” said Sister McReynolds. “They were interacting with others in breakout rooms, meeting fellow missionaries that they had never met before. It was a huge blessing and created a feeling that we were all in this together.”
The McReynolds’ aim was that all the missionaries would: first, be leaders and govern themselves; second, immerse themselves in Preach My Gospel, the guide to missionary service; and third, become Christlike missionaries. “We felt that becoming a Preach My Gospel Missionary or a Christlike missionary would not come until they really understood that they were agents to act, and truly govern themselves,” President McReynolds said. “Our dearest hope was that their conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ, and [to] Jesus Christ Himself would become deeper and deeper.”
President McReynolds shared a scripture in the Book of Mormon that summarised his and Sister McReynolds’ experience in the mission field as it relates to each other and the missionaries of the England Manchester Mission: “Nevertheless they did fast and pray oft, and did wax stronger and stronger in their humility, and firmer and firmer in the faith of Christ, unto the filling their souls with joy and consolation, yea, even to the purifying and the sanctification of their hearts, which sanctification cometh because of their yielding their hearts unto God. (Helaman 3:35)
“Humility is not something the world ever puts in the same sentence as strength, and in these assignments, you learn that, number one, they’re just humbling and in that humility, there is strength,” he said. President McReynolds attested that he and his wife had themselves become “firmer and firmer in the faith” as they served in this assignment. For them, it was indeed a case of, “Filling their souls and our souls with joy—lots of joy.”
“Yeah, been an amazing three years,” Sister McReynolds said. “I don’t think we’ll ever be the same again.”

Years ago a friend of mine spoke of his grandmother. She had lived a full life, always faithful to the Lord and to His Church. Yet one of her grandsons chose a life of crime. He was finally sentenced to prison. My friend recalled that his grandmother, as she drove along a highway to visit her grandson in prison, had tears in her eyes as she prayed with anguish, “I’ve tried to live a good life. Why, why do I have this tragedy of a grandson who seems to have destroyed his life?”

The answer came to her mind in these words: “I gave him to you because I knew you could and would love him no matter what he did.”

Welfare services missionaries were assigned by the branch president to visit the home of every newly baptized family. In carrying out this assignment, the missionaries often found emergency teaching situations.

For example, one day upon entering the home of a newly baptized member, they were greeted by the mother, who invited them to sit own and then began to cry. Her baby was sick. Its stomach was badly bloated.

Upon investigation, it was found that the child had never had anything to eat except flour and water or powdered milk. For eight months the mother had been afraid to give the baby any other food because it was so sick, and it was sick because it was starving!

The missionaries taught the mother how to include cereals, fruits, and vegetables in the child’s diet. Now the child is on the road to normal health.

Growing up in a devout LDS family in Utah, USA, Brian felt like the Church wasn’t for him. “I enjoyed fantasy games, movies, and rock music,” he says, “not Scouts, scriptures, seminary, and sports.” As soon as he could leave home, he moved into an apartment and “opened myself to the world, including sex and drugs.” After an extended period of what Brian calls “riotous living and experimentation,” he ran into financial troubles and his parents took him in again, although he did not return to church.
The birth of a baby sister caused Brian to reevaluate his views. When he held her for the first time, he recalls, “I knew she was not just another kind of animal.” Somewhat apprehensively, he attended her baby blessing, and when the sacrament came to him, “I passed it on without partaking, but part of me felt spiritually hungry for it.”
Trying to sort out his conflicted feelings, Brian started keeping a journal. “I stayed up writing about my spiritual dilemma late one night,” he says, “and I had my first spiritual experience, though not with the good side.” He felt an evil, hateful, angry force trying to take over his soul. “After that,” he explains, “I knew I needed the Lord.” But having strayed so far, Brian wondered, “Could I be worthy of His help and protection?” He also questioned whether he could ever partake of the sacrament again.
The road back was hard. Giving up cigarettes wasn’t easy, confessing to the bishop took courage, and turning from old friends and activities was difficult. His family, girlfriend, and bishop all supported him, but Brian discovered his main source of strength in Jesus Christ.
“I found the Lord eager to help me,” he remembers. “New opportunities opened to replace my old pursuits. The more effort I put into living the gospel, the clearer my pathway became.” As Brian trusted the Lord and discovered His willingness to forgive and heal, the sacrament took on a greater meaning for him and helped bring him closer to the Savior. “While I’d eaten the bread and water at church as a child hundreds of times, I was finally able to partake of the sacrament for what felt like the first time.”

“What can I get Mom for Mother’s Day?” I asked the same question again and again, but still no answer came. Because it was the last year I would be living at home, I wanted to give Mom something extra special. When she unwrapped this gift, it had to say, “Thank you for taking care of me and loving me for the last 20 years.”
“Well, if there is such a gift, I should be able to find it here,” I said out loud as I pulled the car into the shopping mall parking lot. Each little store seemed inviting, but I felt drawn into the pet shop. The fluffy dogs and cuddly hamsters had always been irresistible to me. As I walked around the fish tanks, there it lay—a green, scaly lizard! My thoughts hurled back through time, and for a moment I was a child again.
“Can I help you?” asked the clerk in the stationery store.
“No, just looking,” I mumbled. I lifted a piece of fine embossed stationery from a box. It felt smooth and cold in my hand.
“Should I wrap that up for you?” the sales clerk asked.
“No,” I said shaking my head.
“It’s not quite what I’m looking for.”
As Mom received each gift, her bright face and sweet words of gratitude made me feel absolutely confident that I had picked out the perfect present.
“The mall is now closing,” announced the voice over the loud speaker. Slowly, I walked out to the car. My hands were empty. The evening was gone, and still I had not purchased a gift for my mother.
“What is wrong with me? Why doesn’t anything seem right? What is it that Mom really wants?” I asked myself. Then suddenly I had the answers, and I knew the gift I would give to my mother this last year that I would be living at home. It didn’t have to be written down, nor did it have to be wrapped up. It wouldn’t take as much effort to get as the lizard nor cost as much money as the gold watch. But still it was the perfect gift.
This year I would give to my mother my sacred promise to always love the Lord and keep all his commandments and serve him by staying active in his Church, all the days of my life. Peace and happiness filled my soul as I pictured my mother’s joyful expression when she received this gift. In my heart I knew she would say, “It’s just what I have always wanted.”

Brother William and Sister Johanna Buckley are converts to the Church and live on the island of Aruba. Years ago, when they were investigating the Church, they became friends with Sister Ana St. Cyr and her four-year-old grandson, Ralph, who attended the Oranjestad, Aruba branch. These two were the only members of the Church in their family and the only Haitian members of the branch. As the Buckleys integrated into the branch they found special joy in watching young Ralph’s testimony and spirituality develop.
In John 4:13–14, Jesus says to the Samarian woman at the well, “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again:
“But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”
It was apparent that Sister St. Cyr and little Ralph had allowed those everlasting waters to spring up within them.
Like the Samarian women who went off to share the good news, Ralph did the same. In 2018, Ralph Desir was called to serve in the Vanuatu Port Vila Mission where he had the opportunity to share the everlasting waters of the Savior, Jesus Christ. He was blessed with many companions from diverse cultures, lived in eight different places, and learned Bislama, the native language of Vanuatu, which helped him to effectively create relationships with the people.
Elder Desir was blessed to see the gospel of Jesus Christ strengthen the people he taught as they overcame the challenges in their lives. Upon completion of his mission, he testifies of the truthfulness of the power of everlasting waters and knows how to allow those waters to continue to bless his own life and the lives of others.
Brother Desir testifies that “serving a mission was the best decision that I have made in my life. I have learned to be like the Savior and teach the gospel by example in all things. I love the gospel with all my heart, and I wouldn’t exchange my mission experiences for anything. One of the reasons I served a mission was because I knew how much it would bless my family and how much joy it would bring to my own life.”
Since returning from his mission, Brother Desir has served as first counselor in the San Nicolas Branch presidency, Aruba, and as a delegation leader for the Aruba, Bonaire, Curacao District that attended the youth conference in the Dominican Republic in 2022. He is now serving as branch secretary. He uses his proficiency in the Dutch, Spanish, English, Papiamento, and French Creole languages to continue to bless lives in Aruba and elsewhere.
Brother and Sister Buckley have followed Brother Desir’s example and are now serving in the ABC district as church communication directors. They continue to enjoy watching him grow and share the gospel.

Many of you are aware that a short time after October conference, my dear wife, Frances, suffered a fall, which left her with a broken hip and a broken shoulder. After two successful surgeries and several weeks of hospitalization, she was able to return home. She is doing well and continues to make progress toward a full recovery. She was able to attend the general Young Women meeting last Saturday and plans to attend a session or two this weekend. In fact, at the last minute she said, “I’m going today!” And she’s here! She joins me in expressing our deep gratitude to our Heavenly Father and to all of you for your prayers and your well wishes in her behalf.

I decided to enroll in early-morning seminary, and I was eager to learn. Every morning I woke up at 5:00 a.m. to get ready for school, and then I drove to the seminary building. I was amazed at how much I enjoyed early-morning seminary.
Halfway into my early-morning seminary experience, I grew tired of my usual music collection and decided to turn on the radio. I didn’t listen to the radio often, so I turned the station to a popular one that I knew my friends listened to. The station streamed fast-paced, popular music that I recognized from school dances. I decided it couldn’t be too bad, and I left it there for weeks. I wasn’t really listening to the music—it was mostly just background music while I focused on driving and thought about school. If I ever heard a bad word, I immediately turned the volume down and waited until the song was over before turning the volume back up and listening to a different song.
A gradual change started happening in me. I found that I didn’t want to go to Mutual activities and struggled to focus in church. I became increasingly irritated with my family. I didn’t want to go home, and I argued with my parents over things that didn’t really matter. I was frequently in a bad mood and I had no idea why.
One morning I was running late, and when I started my car, the radio blared with a popular song streaming through the speakers. I was getting tired of the song, so I started rummaging through my music collection, looking for music that I hadn’t listened to in a while. I had trouble finding something, and I kept thinking, “Just leave it, you’re already going to be late!” Still, I kept looking and settled on the soundtrack of a fun animated movie I enjoyed.
My mood changed. For one week I left that soundtrack playing in my car, and my mood immediately took a turn for the better. I focused on church more, eager to feel the Spirit and become closer to my Heavenly Father. Then one day, as I drove to seminary, I thought about what could have been the cause of my sudden sour mood and what had fixed it. I offered a prayer in my heart for the answer so I could prevent it from happening again.
Then it hit me: even though I hadn’t been listening to the messages of the lyrics, the songs played on the radio station I’d been listening to didn’t have an uplifting spirit to them. Even when the message wasn’t bad, the sound of the music was dark. The music, which I’d only left on for background music, had started affecting my spirit, without my even realizing it.
I’m not saying all popular music is bad, but I learned that day that it isn’t just the lyrics we need to focus on when choosing good music but also the feel of the music as well. I started asking, “If I just listen to the sound of it, how does it make me feel?” I am so grateful to my Heavenly Father for teaching me this lesson. Music is a very powerful thing. Wholesome, spiritual music can bring us almost as close to our Heavenly Father as prayer does, but music that doesn’t possess these qualities can drive us dangerously far away from Him. I love music, but I love my Heavenly Father more, and I’m grateful He has provided music that brings us closer to Him.

The Holy Ghost guided me when I had to decide whether or not to go on a mission. When I became old enough to serve a mission, no one suggested that I go. In fact, I didn’t really know much about what a mission was or what it required. But my patriarchal blessing had mentioned something about a mission, and that had stuck in my mind. And the Holy Ghost whispered to me, urging me to tell my bishop that I wanted to serve a mission. I knew what I should do. As a missionary in Uruguay, I really enjoyed going from door to door to tell people about the gospel.

Many years ago in a general conference, I spoke of how José de Souza Marques understood the words of the Savior that “if any man among you be strong in the Spirit, let him take with him him that is weak, that he may … become strong also.”6
Brother Marques knew the name of every sheep in his priests quorum and realized that Fernando was missing. He hunted for Fernando at his house, then looked for him at a friend’s home, and even went to the beach.
He finally found Fernando surfing in the ocean. He did not hesitate until the boat sank, like in Daniel’s story. He immediately entered the water to rescue his lost sheep, bringing him home rejoicing.7
He then ensured through continual ministering that Fernando never again would leave the fold.8
Allow me to update you on what has happened since Fernando was rescued and to share the joy that came from rescuing just one lost sheep. Fernando married his sweetheart, Maria, in the temple. They now have 5 children and 13 grandchildren, all of whom are active in the Church. Many other relatives and their families have also joined the Church. Together they have submitted thousands of their ancestors’ names to receive temple ordinances, and the blessings just keep coming.
Fernando is now serving as bishop for the third time, and he continues to rescue, just like he was rescued. He recently shared, “In our ward, we have 32 active young men of the Aaronic Priesthood, 21 of whom were rescued in the last 18 months.” As individuals, families, quorums, auxiliaries, classes, and home and visiting teachers, we can do that!

One lunchtime in the fall before my sixth birthday, Dad came home and presented me with a beautiful, shiny-new harmonica. The wooden part was painted a bright red. A gleaming, nickel-plated metal guard on both sides protected the delicate reeds. The harmonica came in a small cardboard box lined with dark red velvet. It was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen!
I knew nothing about playing the harmonica, so I just blew and drew air through it as I had seen other people do. Somehow, I expected it to make music. I tried again and again, but nary a tune came out. “It doesn’t work,” I told my dad.
“Oh yes it does,” he responded. “Here. Let me have it a minute.” He tapped it in the palm of his hand a couple of times to release the moisture, then played an old Danish dance. It sounded smooth and happy.
“Can you play ‘Yankee Doodle’?” I begged.
He immediately switched tunes, and “Yankee Doodle” came out sharp and crisp.
I tried again, but all I got was that same monotonous, discordant sound.
“When I get home tonight,” Dad said, “I’ll teach you how to play some tunes. In the meantime, keep trying to play it. You may learn something by yourself.”
Dad wanted me to eventually learn to play a more difficult instrument. He reasoned that if I learned to play the harmonica well, it might be easier for me to learn a more complicated instrument.
When my friend Arthur Schultz came over later, I showed him the harmonica, and we decided to show it to some of our other friends. Hans Larsen was the first one we met. He was about a year younger than me, and we played together often.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“It’s a brand new harmonica that my dad gave me,” I answered. “Isn’t it a beauty?”
Hans looked skeptical. “Can you play it?”
“Sure,” I replied.
“Play ‘Yankee Doodle.’”
I began to play. It was that same monotonous sound.
“I bet I can play it better than that,” he bragged. “Here—let me try it.”
I gave him the harmonica. His “tune” sounded exactly like mine.
“This harmonica’s no good,” he said, and he threw it as hard as he could. I let out a yelp when I saw that it had landed in an irrigation ditch. We’d had a big rainstorm the day before, and the water in the ditch was so muddy that the harmonica instantly sank out of sight.
I ran to the water, got down on my hands and knees, and began probing around. I thought that I knew exactly where the harmonica had landed, but it wasn’t there. I searched for ten minutes before I finally located it. When I waded out of the ditch, my pants were wet from my thighs down. My shirt was wet up to my elbows, and the harmonica was all covered with mud and dirty brown water.
After Hans had thrown my harmonica into the irrigation ditch, he had run away as fast as he could. I was really angry. In fact, I was furious! I couldn’t believe that Hans would do such a terrible thing. Hans deserves some awful punishment, I decided. Looking at that mud-streaked harmonica only increased my anger. I had to figure out a punishment equal to his terrible crime.
Arthur walked with me over to Hans’s house. I imagined that he was hiding somewhere inside. “Hans,” I yelled, standing on his front porch, “you’re going to get it! I’m going downtown and tell the city marshall on you. He’ll come and arrest you and take you to jail. He’ll put you in a cell all by yourself. At night it will be dark and cold. No one will talk to you, you’ll have to eat miserable jail food, and everybody will hate you. I won’t come to see you. They’ll make you do all kinds of hard work!” The list became longer and longer.
Then Arthur and I started downtown. I didn’t exactly know where the city marshall might be, but surely I would find him there. As we walked along talking, my voice became louder and louder. Pretty soon I was shouting about what was going to happen to Hans Larsen.
“What’s going on, boys?” a man sitting on his front porch asked. He was wearing a business suit, with his coat and vest unbuttoned. I explained to him about Hans’s terrible deed and told him that I was on my way to tell the city marshall to arrest him.
“Why don’t you come up on the porch so that we can talk about it some more,” the man suggested.
We climbed the man’s steps.
“My name is Brother Allred,” the man said. “What’s yours?”
I told him that my name was Christian Jensen and that my friend was Arthur Schultz. I showed him the muddy harmonica, and he agreed that it looked pretty shabby.
“His dad paid fifteen cents for it at the Co-op,” Arthur explained.
“It looks like a very fine instrument,” Brother Allred remarked. “Let me have it for a minute, and I’ll see if I can clean it up a bit.” He took the harmonica and went into the house. In a few minutes he returned. The harmonica looked brand-new. “It’s all cleaned up now,” he said, “inside and out. By evening the reeds will be dry enough that you can play it again.” Then he asked, “Can you play it yet?”
“I can play it, but I can’t play any tunes on it yet,” I answered.
“Do you know where you live from here?”
I pointed in a south-easterly direction.
“Don’t you think that your folks might be wondering where you are and that they might be worrying about you because you’ve been away so long?”
In all my excitement I hadn’t given a thought to my folks. “I guess that you’re right, but I still have to go downtown and tell the city marshall about Hans.”
“I can take care of that for you,” he answered.
“Do you know the city marshall?” I asked.
“Well, yes,” he replied. “You might say so. Now listen, I’ll walk with you boys up to the corner, and then I think that you’d better get home as fast as you can.” Pointing to me, he added, “You’re going to need to get into some dry clothes.”
The three of us walked to the corner, and Brother Allred said, “Well, boys, it was good to visit with you, but now I must get to work.”
As he was talking, he began buttoning up his vest. Under his left armpit was a holster with a revolver in it! On his buttoned vest was a star!
Then it dawned on me. “You’re the—” I couldn’t bring out the words.
“Yes,” he said, “I’m the city marshall. I’ll leave you boys now. I have to do my job.”
Does he mean that he’s going over to Hans Larsen’s house to arrest him right now? I agonized as Arthur and I headed for home. Suddenly I panicked. I had told the city marshall about Hans, and now he’d arrest Hans and put him in jail! Deep down in my heart I didn’t want Hans arrested, even though I had made those threats against him. I must stop the city marshall right now, I decided.
When we caught up with the marshall, I said, “Marshall Allred, about Hans—”
The marshall put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me from saying anything more. “I understand,” he said. “You were angry because he threw your brand-new harmonica into the dirty water, and you had a right to be angry. I’m sure that Hans is sorry for what he did. He’s probably worrying now about what he can do to make things right with you so that you can be friends again. I want you to go straight home and get on some dry clothes. Things will work out.”
I said good-bye to him, and Arthur and I hurried home. While I was getting on some dry clothing, I told my mother about the entire incident.
As Marshall Allred had predicted, after supper the harmonica was dry enough for my dad to begin teaching me how to play it.
The marshall was right about Hans, too—in a little over a week, Hans and I were playing together again.

One of the things he had done to help pay his way through university was tutor younger students. Among them was Maria Victoria Chiapparino, who came under his tutelage as a fourteen-year-old. Elder Abrea’s mother was instrumental in teaching Maria the gospel, and Angel, as an eighteen-year-old priest, baptized her.

But that was not the end of the story. He was attracted by her beauty and maturity. Their acquaintance blossomed into romance, and they were married in 1957. Elder Abrea was then twenty-three, and his bride was eighteen. (Their marriage was solemnized in the Salt Lake Temple in 1966.)

“She has been a tremendous help,” Elder Abrea says of his wife. “More than that, she has been an inspiration.”

Let me give another example from these very valleys:
Some time ago I was assigned to a conference in northern Utah in June. As I drove through Cache Valley on Saturday, I was struck by the beauty of that peaceful green valley. I marveled at the temple in Logan—such a serene, peaceful beacon in so many ways. As I continued north on that clear summer day, I was impressed with the green fields so rich with a variety of crops. I particularly noticed the great number of alfalfa fields and the constant activity in nearly all of them. What a pleasing sensation it was to smell that freshly mown hay and to see the straight rows and the orderly cutting of those meticulously groomed fields.
I pulled the car over to the side of the road at the top of one of the hills and got out. I found myself absorbed right into that beautiful valley. As far as I could see was a whole panorama of the same activity in every direction—hay being mowed and stacked and hauled.
I finally drove on to the stake where we had a wonderful conference.
My parents live in southeast Idaho, and since I was already more than halfway there, I decided to drive up Sunday afternoon to visit them before returning home.
So, after conference I started north through the rest of Cache Valley. Within a few miles I was in Idaho, but the scenery and feeling were just the same. I again became absorbed in the beauty of the green fields and the smell of fresh hay all around. Again, I stopped at the top of one of the hills and got out and looked as far as I could in all directions. It was just as beautiful—if not more so—than the day before. “Yes, even more beautiful,” I thought, “but why?” The sun and sky and the clouds and the fields were all the same. Why this deep feeling that this sight this Sunday afternoon was even more beautiful than the day before?
What was the difference? I noticed in the distance a small LDS chapel and a few cars starting to pull up to it. Then it struck me, rather peacefully but very effectively: “There is the difference. No one is mowing or hauling hay today.” I looked as far as I could and saw hay fields everywhere, tractors stopped, mowing machines idle, and trucks resting in the fields, but no one working—for it was the Sabbath and this was Cache Valley and these were largely good Latter- day Saint people.
As I continued north, I saw everywhere hay to be cut and stacked and hauled and equipment and weather to do it, but no man or woman in the fields. The people of this valley were observing a higher law, and the Sabbath was being kept holy in Cache Valley.
I went by dozens, even hundreds, of farms with machines waiting in the fields—left Saturday evening by God-fearing men waiting for Monday to come and the whine of activity to resume. I wondered to myself, “Will someone break this spell, will someone be out in his fields working?”
Each time I rounded a corner or came to the top of a hill, I would look and look and then breathe a sigh of relief—no one working.
I went farther and farther north, realizing I was near the end of this beautiful valley. “Would anyone break the spell? Could it be a whole valley so dedicated to God that no one would work on the Sabbath?” The suspense became almost unbearable. Each curve I rounded or each hill I came over found me looking in almost fearful anticipation, then smiling as the same peaceful scene continued.
Finally I came to the last curve and the confluence with the main road that marked the end of Cache Valley. I looked and looked, but all was peaceful and quiet. I was so excited, I pulled the car over, got out, and in almost a Toyota-like jump I raised my hands and shouted, “You did it, Cache Valley. You did it! I have traversed your length. You didn’t know I was looking, but you did it—not one field being mowed, not one tractor at work, not one truck hauling. You did it!” (I recognize that I had been through only the northern end of the valley that Sunday, but it was still Cache Valley.)
I instinctively looked heavenward and said, “Did you see that? Did you see Cache Valley this Sunday afternoon?”
Even though I didn’t hear anything, it was as though I sensed a response saying, “Yes, we know. We see everything.”
I had such a joyful feeling—almost ecstasy—as I drove north to a wonderful meeting with my parents before returning home.
For some time after that, I couldn’t get that Sunday afternoon off my mind. I kept feeling, “You have observed and witnessed something very special, something truly significant: an entire valley keeping His Sabbath holy.”
It caused me deep reflection then and many times since, but like so many things it was moved further and further to the back of my mind with the press of many current problems. Winter came, and for all intents and purposes it slipped from my conscious memory.
I continued to travel each weekend to various parts of the world. Many months later, I was assigned to a conference in a city noted for its particularly flagrant violations of God’s laws. The Saints there were wonderful, but oh, the decadence and debauchery that seemed to be all around them.
As I returned from the especially hectic weekend, I began reading in the scriptures. I thought about Sodom and Gomorrah. Could they have been much more wicked than this? And yet the Lord promised to spare them for fifty righteous souls—or even down to ten—but they were not found.
I let my imagination go and seemed to see a band of destroying angels loosed from heaven—thundering across the land. And even before I had time to think about the situation, I seemed to see myself standing in front of these determined destroyers, declaring, “Hold, hold, hold”; and they held. “Go back,” I said: and their horses reared, their eyes flashing in impatience. The destroyers’ anxiousness showed, but they held.
The leader looked me squarely in the eye and challenged, “By what right do you ask us to hold? Have you not seen the evil of the land?”
I replied, “Yes, I know of the sordidness of the world. I see the constant mocking of God’s laws, the merchandising on his holy day, the constant breaking of his commandments. I see the evil that exists almost universally. Yes, yes, all these things are true, still …” Then I became concerned. What right had I to ask them to hold?
My eyes began to fall from his penetrating gaze, but something inside kept searching, searching, until finally a laserlike beam locked onto a misty memory made many months ago and faithfully filed away for such a time as this. A vista of a beautiful green valley passed before me and moved to the front of my consciousness.
I raised my eyes and met his as he again said, “What right do you have to ask us to hold?”
Then with the confidence of sure knowledge and spiritual direction, I replied, “You must hold, for you see, I have been through Cache Valley on a Sunday afternoon.”
There was no hesitation, no anger, no look of surprise, no disappointment, only obedience; and he turned and rejoined his group, and they left.
Oh, my dear brothers and sisters, there is power in keeping the Sabbath day holy—power to help others as well as ourselves. If we would have God’s blessings and protection as individuals, as families, as communities, and as nations, we must keep His Sabbath day holy.
May we all live that someday, someway, somewhere, somehow, as we face that which is very serious, we may be able to say, “Hold, hold, hold”; and, when challenged as to why (even by ourselves), be able—through obedience and the confidence of the Spirit—to say in our own way, “For I have been through Cache Valley on a Sunday afternoon,” I do humbly pray in the name of our Savior, who lives. I know he lives, even Jesus Christ, amen.

As a boy Dale had a testimony-strengthening experience after reading the Book of Mormon. The mission president in Sweden had invited the young men of the Aaronic Priesthood to read the Book of Mormon, so Dale’s older brother, Gary, who was 12 at the time, accepted the challenge. Eleven-year-old Dale also took the challenge. After reading the Book of Mormon, he prayed and asked if it was true. Elder Renlund recalls, “I had a distinct impression: ‘I’ve been telling you all along that it’s true.’ And that was an amazing experience.”

Sweat beads up on Bret Rasmussen’s forehead and drips down his face. He pauses in the brilliant sunshine and wipes his face on his sleeve, then hoists a stack of six folded wooden chairs. A few rows away, Brian Herr and his dad carry tables two at a time and set them up. They move steadily in the afternoon heat, staying just a little ahead of the group cutting white plastic and taping it to the tables as covers.
Bret and Brian are Boy Scouts, and they are part of a ward effort to benefit the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra. Twice a week, all summer, the youth of the Noblesville Indiana Ward labor in the hot sun. They carry dozens of tables and chairs to the base of a long grassy hill in preparation for a symphony concert. Sweat, Scouts, and symphony—an unlikely trio? What brings them together?
They are not alone. Scout leaders, families, and friends all lend a hand. “It’s a time to see friends and get to know new people,” says Emily Runyan, whose brother Chris is a Scout. “Those of us who aren’t in the troop can still be an example of service to others.”
The LDS youth finish and settle down on the hill with cool drinks and snacks. With their service comes a bonus—they can stay and hear the symphony concert for free. As the sun lingers near the edge of the concert shell, thousands of concertgoers arrive. Sometimes 10,000 people throng the grounds on a symphony night. After the sun goes down, the scattered lights of hundreds of tiny citronella candles flicker like caged fireflies.
The concert is finished. A few fireworks light the sky over the orchestra shell, and the LDS youth scramble up from their places. Swarming down the hill, they start folding chairs, clearing tables, and carrying them back to storage. Now that it is cooler, demonstrations of strength take place. Austin Armstrong carries eight chairs at once. Brennan staggers under 13. Jamie Ketring and Jennifer tote one table between them, but Jon Foote hoists one above his head and carries it alone.
The final tarpaulin is tugged up and over a mountain of chairs. It is time to go home.
The thoughts of all the youth are echoed by Emily Runyan. “My main memory of summers is our work at Conner Prairie.”

Seated across from me was a despondent man, head buried in hands, sobbing from the inevitable consequences of repeated violations of the commandments of God. He anguished: “I don’t know what to do. Everything is pressing in on me. I’m tired of running. There is no peace, no happiness. When I pray, no one is listening. What’s the use?”
I have known him for a long time. His parents and others have tried to give him guidance with little success. Because of his choices, he has become separated from the truths that would help him. He has not cultivated faith in the Master nor in the power of prayer. His decisions are centered on what could quickly satisfy his cravings. He either ignores problems or lies about them. He has manipulated the generosity of parents and friends to attempt a quick fix to challenges. He does not evaluate the consequences of today’s decisions on tomorrow’s life.
As my heart sorrowed for him, I realized he does not see the world as it really is—a place of joy and happiness, of true friendships where faith in Jesus Christ and obedience to His teachings invite the Holy Ghost to prompt correct decisions. He lives in an environment dominated by the influence of Satan. He has not followed sound counsel, because in his world he cannot see how it would possibly work for him. This distorted view of life is reality to him. It was forged as he succumbed to the subtle temptations of “Go ahead. Try it. Nobody will ever know. It’s your life. Live it the way you want to. They can’t force you. You have your moral agency.”
These promptings and the allure of the forbidden led him down a path that seemed fascinatingly attractive. He was carried on the crest of the wave of appetite and passion, oblivious to the consequences until the inevitable crushing encounter with the laws of God occurred. That produced pain, remorse, and regret. Then Satan provided other direction: “There is no way back. You might as well keep doing what you’ve been doing. It’s hopeless to try to change.” Because of his sins, he cannot see a way out of his failures. He will not see the tools needed for a new life in his current environment. His tragic, confining world has been created by the violation of eternal law, motivated by desire for a quick response.

When Olivio was seventeen, he played on a team for the Angloan military. All the boys in the country were required to go into the military for an indefinite amount of time. He also made the national team.
That’s when Olivio began to dream of playing ball in Portugal. He was fluent in Portuguese. (Angola is a former Portuguese colony, and Portuguese is the official language.) And what’s more, Olivio heard that they actually paid professional players salaries in Portugal. He would be able to send money home to his family.
It took Olivio a few years to get a visa to go. But once he arrived in Portugal, it took him only a few days to find a professional team that wanted him. At six-foot-seven, he not only had the stature they were looking for, but he also had the skill.
And it took him only a month to find something else. “I was on the metro, and I saw these two boys—they were only boys, but they were wearing nice suits—and they said they wanted to talk to me, so I said okay.
“They started to teach me the discussions. The Joseph Smith story surprised me, but it felt good. Everything felt good. One week later I went to a conference. I attended the meetings, and afterwards I was baptized. Baptism is for the remission of sins. I was a good guy, but I knew I needed to be baptized.”
Little did Olivio know what that baptism would lead to. When he wasn’t playing basketball, Olivio was at church. “I tried to go to church all the time. Every time I would go, my mind would open up, and I would learn something new. It felt good.”
Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That started Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God. I have to explain them to other people.”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and his professional team had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.
That isn’t the kind of fame that makes you a star on national television—it’s more the kind of fame that makes you a star in the eternities. And while he won’t make lots of money from gigantic contracts and endorsements, he knows that his eternal reward will be far greater.
Still, you see his eyes light up when you put a basketball in his hands on preparation day. Watching him glide around the court, you realize basketball is as natural for him as swimming is to fish. It seems to be what he was made for. Oh, once his mission is over he would like to use basketball to earn a university education. But then he wants to return to Angola “to help the Church and help the people grow there.” Elder Manuel speaks mostly Portuguese now, but he remembers his native language, an African dialect called Quinbondo, and he knows English as well.
Even though the end of this tale is far from written, it’s already a success story as tall as Elder Manuel himself. After all, the richest pro in the world can’t buy his way into heaven. And no matter how many autographs you’ve signed, if your name isn’t written in the book of life, your fame won’t mean a thing.
Elder Manuel has already gained more success than he ever hoped to, and his secret is simple: “I listen to God, and when I do what he says, he blesses me.”

Some people find it counterintuitive that the commandments are at the trailhead of the path to happiness rather than something to be carried along the way. The following story from my service as a mission president in Nagoya, Japan, some years ago illustrates this.

My wife, Lesa, and I became acquainted with a young woman soon after she came to church to attend an English class taught by the missionaries. She was outgoing, vibrant, and in control of her life, which included a good job, a longtime boyfriend, and her family. Her association with the missionaries and members through English class piqued her interest in the Church, and she began to receive the missionary lessons. Her testimony of the truthfulness of the restored gospel seemed to blossom each time she met with the missionaries. As she read the Book of Mormon and pondered and prayed about it and the things she was hearing, she knew they were true.

When the missionaries began teaching her the commandments, she knew she must obey. She broke up with her boyfriend and quit her job, which required that she work Sundays. She began observing the Word of Wisdom and accepted the law of tithing. Her faith was so strong that she began keeping the commandments virtually the moment she learned them.

When she announced to her family her interest in the Church and her study of the restored gospel, her parents told her that their relationship with her would suffer as a result. Within a few weeks of accepting the commandments, she found herself without a job, an apartment, or family support. Clearly, the consequences of her obedience affected her life in what appeared to be a devastating way.

I worried deeply about her situation. Late one night, at the end of a hectic day, Lesa and I left the mission home for a walk, seeking some quiet time together. We were surprised as we came upon a busy intersection at the same time this vibrant young investigator approached on her bicycle. She greeted us with a warm smile and a hug. Surprised that she was out so late, we asked what she was doing.

“I am on my way to my new job working the graveyard shift at the drive-up window of a fast-food restaurant,” she gleefully exclaimed.

This job represented a significant drop in pay, responsibility, and hours from her previous job. Despite significant trials and setbacks in the temporal affairs of her life, happiness exuded from her. She then announced that her baptismal date had been set. As we walked back to the mission home, Lesa and I marveled at how her faith and obedience to newfound commandments had put her on the pathway to true joy.

A few weeks later she was baptized. After some time had passed, she reconciled with her family and found better employment. A few years following her baptism, she was sealed in the Tokyo Japan Temple to a returned missionary she had met at a young single adult activity. Now an eternal family, they were recently blessed with a beautiful baby boy. A short, sweet hymn describes what occurred in her life as a result of keeping the commandments:
Keep the commandments; keep the commandments!
In this there is safety; in this there is peace.
He will send blessings; He will send blessings.
Words of a prophet: Keep the commandments.
In this there is safety and peace.2

Permit me to read a letter which came the other day in response to a call to a young man to serve a mission. It reads:
“Dear Brethren:
“Gregory was killed in an accident two days before his call arrived. We feel Greg’s talents, abilities, and testimony are now being used on life’s other side.
“He died Saturday, June 19.
“We are enclosing a check representing his mission savings and are donating it to the International Missionary Fund with a request it be used in the Dominican Republic, if possible. We feel we would like to see it used by those Saints less fortunate and unable to normally serve a mission. We leave it to your discretion.
“Greg saved all this money himself. From the time he earned his first money he saved 50 percent for his mission, 10 percent for tithing, and the rest was … to supply his needs. This money [the mission portion] was dedicated to the Lord’s work, so we are sure he wants it to be used for this purpose.
“We love you and know the work is true—we know without a shadow of a doubt that Greg is about his Father’s business. We are grateful for our blessings.
“May the Lord’s work continue to spread in the world.
“Signed,
“Greg’s mother”
With the letter was a check for nearly nine thousand dollars.