Gospel Story Finder

Mom, we’ve been thinking about our Australian cousins, Max and Mindy. You said their mom is your second cousin.
What does that mean?
Miranda and I have the same great-grandparents. If we’d had the same grandparents, we’d be first cousins.
I’m getting a little confused.
Well, let’s look up our family tree on FamilySearch.org. That’ll make it easier.
At least you can’t fall out of this tree and break your arm.
So that’s how we’re related to Max and Mindy!
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world …
Mum, we’ve been wondering—
—how we’re related to our cousins Matt and Mandy …
When you start learning about family history, interesting things can happen!
At least you can’t fall out of this tree and break your arm.

While dating my wife when she attended BYU, I brought a friend of mine to Provo. We were going to double-date that evening. I had become acquainted with a marvelous young woman in the mission field and I wanted him to meet her.

I knew a little bit about his home and where he was from. He had been raised in poverty. His parents could not afford furniture, so they didn’t have any furniture. Where lawn or shrubs and flowers would normally be planted, there was mud when it rained and blowing dust when it was dry. Yet he had pulled himself up by his bootstraps and the future would see him serving as a brilliant educator in the Midwest. At that time he was seeking a wife.

When he went to pick up this young woman, he stepped into an apartment of squalor. She had come from a lovely home, and perhaps the condition there was temporary, but suddenly he recalled all of the embarrassing moments when friends had come to his home and found the same condition there. That was the end. He never did invite her again. She didn’t know why.

For example, when Elder Neal A. Maxwell was an 18-year-old infantryman fighting on the island of Okinawa, he faced the most frightening night of his life. As enemy mortar shells began exploding ever closer to his foxhole, he knelt in the mud and pledged his life to the Lord if only he could be spared.

God answered his prayer. But soon afterward, days of hot, rainy weather turned Okinawa into a giant mud puddle. The supply trucks could seldom bring the soldiers food or water. They became unbearably thirsty. One historian said the only thing that saved those soldiers from thirst was coffee, boiled and hand carried from distant supply points. Neal wrote his parents a card, saying he was keeping all the commandments, but he wrote, “The coffee is tempting some times.”28 That wasn’t about the smell. He was constantly thirsty, but he wouldn’t drink the coffee. He had committed otherwise. He did find a way to get just a little water. He said he caught rainwater in his helmet to bless his sacrament each week. Young Neal Maxwell knew that God had heard him, and he showed his gratitude by sacrifice. His disciple’s journey gained traction in the mud of Okinawa.

Christmas is a giving time of year for the young people of the Mt. Pleasant Second Ward, Mt. Pleasant Utah Stake. The youth were involved in service projects that helped emphasize the true spirit of giving.
With the bishop’s approval, the Young Men and Young Women held several fund raisers to buy a member of their ward a new wheelchair. The gift was presented to Sister Sadie Barney during the annual ward Christmas party.

This story happened in Kenya.
“Elise, wake up,” Mum said.
Elise groaned and rolled over. She wanted to keep sleeping!
She squeezed her eyes shut for a minute longer. Then she thought of her friends at school and the things she would learn there. Finally she crawled out of bed to say her prayers.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “thank Thee for a new day. Please help me get to school on time. Help me to learn and be kind to others. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
It was 4:00 in the morning, and it was still dark outside. Elise’s school was far away. That’s why she had to wake up so early. But she knew learning was important. Besides, she had to go to school if she wanted to be an engineer someday!
Before she left, Elise grabbed her book bag and some chapati for breakfast. She finished eating the flatbread while she waited for the bus.
When the bus go there, the sun peeked over the buildings in the distance. Elise stepped on and found her seat. She looked out the window and thought about being an engineer. Someday, she would build machines to help people.
When she got off the bus, Elise still had a few blocks to walk to get to school. She checked the time and started running. She couldn’t be late!
“Welcome, class,” Auntie Claudia said. “Auntie” was what they called their teacher. “Today we are learning about fractions.”
Elise sat up straighter in her seat. She loved mathematics!
But as Auntie Claudia wrote the equation on the board, Elise felt confused. She looked back at her maths book, then at her notes. The numbers didn’t make sense.
“Please finish the assignment on page 42 by tomorrow,” Auntie Claudia said. “You can use the rest of the hour to work on it.”
Elise wrote down the first problem. She started to solve it, but then she got stuck. She sighed. Maybe her friend Jessie could help.
“Jessie,” Elise whispered. “Can you help me do the first problem?”
Jessie shook her head. “I’m trying to finish my work before class is over.”
Elise frowned. She turned to her friend Miguel. “Do you know how to do the first one?” she asked.
But Miguel was also too busy. “Sorry,” he said, and kept working.
Elise felt sick to her stomach. She was usually so good at maths!
When Elise got home, it was dark again. She was tired. And she still needed to finish her homework.
Elise started the problem again. But she still couldn’t solve it. The numbers made her head hurt! Maybe she couldn’t be an engineer after all.
Just then, Elise’s older sister Emma sat down next to her. “Are you OK?” she asked.
Elise groaned. “I don’t know how to do these problems! Everyone else in class does. I’m just not smart enough.”
Emma laughed. “You are smart!” she said. “When something is hard, that doesn’t mean you aren’t smart. It just means you need more practice. Here, show me what you’re working on. I can teach you.”
Elise showed her the equation, and Emma started writing the numbers. After a few minutes, everything started to make sense. Elise took the pencil from Emma’s hand and finished the problem.
“You did it!” Emma said. “Keep practicing. If you get stuck again, I can help you.”
Elise felt warm inside as she started working on the next problem. Heavenly Father had answered her morning prayer and helped her learn! She was grateful He had given her a patient older sister to explain the problems to her. With Heavenly Father’s help and some hard work, she really could be an engineer someday!
Illustration by Simini Blocker

I’ve had a few particularly powerful experiences as I’ve lived this practice. One came many years ago, while teaching a stake seminary class in Texas.

My mom is alive and well today, but back then, she was preparing to have a brain tumor the size of a golf ball removed. The tumor had been growing undetected for more than 20 years and was only discovered after my parents were in a terrible car accident.

To say I was grateful they found it and terrified for her to have this surgery is an understatement. I didn’t know if she would survive or if she would have long-lasting side effects. What if she woke up with a completely different personality? What if she lost her memory? I was consumed with worst-case scenarios; maybe you’ve felt that same spiraling anxiety.

One night before class, the Spirit reminded me I could ask for help. Like Esther [14], I could take courage. I could rely on the Savior's promise that He would not leave me comfortless [15], and as Alma said, others had been asked to help so that I didn't have to bear this burden alone [16]. The Spirit reminded me that we are on this journey through mortality together, just as the early Saints we were studying about in the Doctrine and Covenants that year. They had banded together to face trials side-by-side, and so could we.

So, as class began, I asked my students if they had anything on their hearts or minds they wanted the class to pray for. I got the usual blank teenage stare. The Spirit prompted me to go first. So, the week before her surgery, I opened up and asked for their faith and prayers; comfort for my family, health for my mom, and skills and ability for her medical team.

As I wrote my plea on the board, I asked again, “Is there anything on your heart or mind that you’d like included in our prayer?” It was still silent, but as I turned around, I saw hands peeking up in the air. In those few moments, we learned more about one another and the struggles we were facing individually and collectively than in the previous weeks and months we'd spent together. It was refining and humbling to watch these young people share their burdens and have faith that we would love them through their difficulties and celebrate their successes. We continued this practice once a week for the rest of the year.

At church, I was called as a ward clerk and later as a counselor in the bishopric. I couldn’t believe that someone in a wheelchair could serve. My accident had made me feel useless, but working in the Church made me feel useful and helped me realize I could contribute. I love the opportunity to grow closer to Jesus Christ as I serve.
As a counselor in the bishopric, I wanted to be guided so I could be better at my calling. That made me want to prepare more for each Sunday. I got into the habit of reading my scriptures, and I had opportunities to bear my testimony. Being a leader at church even helped me become a leader at work. I built up the feeling that I could lead and speak up, allowing me to lead in other areas.
“Working in the Church made me feel useful and realize that I could contribute,” says Posenai. “I love the opportunity to grow closer to Jesus Christ as I serve.”

There is a man I hope someday to meet—a brother of yours and mine in the kingdom. He lives somewhere behind the Iron Curtain. Another man, a priesthood leader behind the Iron Curtain, was told that there was such a man, who had not seen another member of the Church for many years. This good brother, moved by the Spirit, saved his money (which he didn’t have much of), made his way through the red tape of crossing borders, and found this brother of yours and mine; he learned that he who was found had not seen another member of the Church for over twenty years. And when the man who was the finder indicated that it was possible, because he had been so authorized, to give this brother a patriarchal blessing, this good brother demurred momentarily until he got the tithing which he had saved for over twenty years and gave it to this other man so that he would be fully worthy of that blessing!

I don’t know what the divine design is in the challenge of that kind of solitude. I know that this man, our brother, is meeting that challenge. Some of us will have to be most courageous, not when we’re alone, but when we’re in a crowd. Whatever the form the test takes, we must be willing to pass it. We must reach breaking points without breaking. We must be willing, if necessary, to give up our lives—not because we have a disdain for life as some do, but even though we love life—because we are the servants of him who did that in such an infinite way for all of us.

My siblings and I grew up believing in God, but our family wasn’t religious. We did our own thing and didn’t bother to learn about our purpose on earth.
When a few relatives died, I wondered if I would ever see them again. I remembered my grandfather warning us not to sleep too much because when we die, we sleep forever, and it got me curious. Was death just a dark place of eternal sleep?
As my soul searched for the answer to what happens after death, a neighbour—a former bishop for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—sent missionaries to us. They taught my sister, Fiasili, and me the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and introduced us to the plan of salvation, which finally answered all my questions about death.
Fiasili and I were soon baptised. She was 13 years old and I was 12.
Our parents were happy for us to join the Church, but they wanted no part of it. My sister and I tried our best to regularly attend church meetings, but it wasn’t easy, especially with competing influences in our home. For example, we often had to choose between going to sacrament meeting and spending Sunday at the beach with our family.
But Fiasili and I worked to strengthen each other’s testimonies. We thought that if our parents could just accept the gospel, we wouldn’t have to live in two worlds. So, we invited the missionaries to teach them. In the process, our younger brother—and many of our cousins who lived with us—joined the Church.
It took a little longer for my parents. My sister was serving a full-time mission in Suva, Fiji, when our mother finally got baptised. Our father had actually been a less active member for many years, and it was such a joy to see them both start coming to church with us.
In 2019 I was called to the Philippines Quezon City Mission. Serving there was like living a dream—I’d always loved the Filipino culture and really wanted to learn Tagalog. But my missionary experience also taught me the true nature of our heavenly parents, and when I returned home to Samoa last year, I felt a strong desire to see my family sealed to each other for time and all eternity.
We have some work to do before we can achieve that goal. My parents are still new to the gospel and continue to learn. My brother is still finding his path, exploring if a mission is in his future. Fiasili and I continue to persevere. We are determined to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men” (2 Nephi 31:20), as we strive to help deepen our family’s conversion.
I sometimes wonder how my siblings and I found the gospel and have stayed committed all these years, especially without our parents. I now realise that our Heavenly Father has been guiding us all along. Even through our challenges, we have felt His hand in each of our lives, and I know that—just as He did for the Jaredites in Ether 2:7—He will not rest before we have reached the beautiful shores of that promised land prepared for us.

By late December 1845, the Nauvoo Temple was completed sufficiently so that the blessings of the endowment could be bestowed. During this time Church members were being forced out of the area by mobs once again in winter. But right up to the last moment, the temple was in full use. President Brigham Young recorded the following in his journal on February 3, 1846:

Notwithstanding that I had announced that we would not attend to the administration of the ordinances, the House of the Lord was thronged all day, the anxiety being so great to receive, ...the endowments until our way was hedged up, and our enemies intercept us. But I informed the brethren that this was not wise,...that I was going to get my wagons started, and be off. I walked some distance from the Temple, supposing the crowd would disperse, but on returning I found the House filled to overflowing. Looking upon the multitude and knowing their anxiety, as they were thirsting and hungering for the word.... we continued at work diligently in the House of the Lord.

Then they were forced to leave. An entry from one of the member=s diary adds to the sorrow of the scene. It reads:
The top of this hill was the last point from which I could see the Nauvoo temple. I have no words with which to convey a proper conception of my feelings when taking a last look at this sacred monument of the living faith of the Saints, and which was associated in their minds with the heavenly and holy. After the lapse of thirty-six years I can scarcely restrain my feelings when I write of it.

Elder Wilford Woodruff wrote:
The work in Nauvoo was done. Henceforth the city of the Saints was to be nothing more to them than a memory until God should determine otherwise. It brought its joys; but its history was also full of sad reminiscences, apostasy, murderous intent, and destruction.
I was in Nauvoo on the 26th day of May, 1846, for the last time, and left the city of the Saints feeling that most likely I was taking a final farewell of Nauvoo for this life. I looked back upon the Temple and City as they receded from view and asked the Lord to remember the sacrifices of his Saints.[10]

After all those years of toil, sacrifice, and anticipation, the temple was in use no more than eight weeks before the embattled and harassed members formed that trail of tears down Parley Street to the Mississippi River. Many even left the doors of their homes unlocked, forsaking all their material possessions except for what could be carried in a wagon box, and many, with their families, crossed the frozen Mississippi on ice into Iowa and the unknown.

For Cho Young Hyun, who serves as bishop of the Poong Hyang Ward in Kwangju, the determination to live gospel principles has even become an advantage in the competitive business world.
After completing his university studies, Bishop Cho became a candidate for a prestigious chemical engineering position with one of South Korea’s largest oil companies. As part of the hiring process, he interviewed with all of the company’s directors. “They sat in front of me and fired off questions,” he explains.
One of the questions asked was how he felt about family responsibilities in comparison to company responsibilities. “I think they were anticipating that I would assure them my first priority was with the company,” Bishop Cho says. “But I answered, without hesitation, that no success could compensate for failure in the home. My answer surprised them and moved them. And I was able to share the words of a prophet.”
Bishop Cho got the job. But after only five months, he received an offer to teach in the Church Educational System. Despite the fact that his salary would be cut by two-thirds, he accepted the offer and now teaches in Kwangju, a community in southwestern Korea near where he grew up.
“From the time I was young, I wanted to be a teacher,” says Bishop Cho as he reflects on the direction his life has taken. “But teaching math or science or history didn’t interest me. I wanted to teach people things that could change their lives. And now I am.”

A sister missionary told the story of three men she met during a district conference in Africa. They came from an isolated village far away in the bush where the Church had not yet been organized but where there were 15 faithful members and almost 20 investigators. For over two weeks these men had walked on foot, traveling more than 300 miles (480 km) over paths rendered muddy by the rainy season, so they could attend the conference and bring the tithes from the members of their group. They planned to stay for an entire week so they could enjoy the privilege of partaking of the sacrament the following Sunday and then hoped to set out on the return trip carrying boxes filled with copies of the Book of Mormon on their heads to give to the people of their village.
The missionary testified how touched she was by the sense of wonder these brethren displayed and by their wholehearted sacrifices to obtain things that for her had always been readily available.
She wondered: “If I got up one Sunday morning in Arizona and found that my car wasn’t working, would I walk to my church only a few blocks away from home? Or would I just stay home because it was too far or because it was raining?” These are good questions for all of us to consider.

While I was growing up, my life was carefree and simple. School and hobbies came easily to me. I didn’t have much to complain about and was generally happy.
But after I turned 19, my life changed.
When I left for my mission in Asuncion, Paraguay, I was excited. I expected things to go smoothly, just like the rest of my life had. After about four months on my mission, however, I found myself back in my hometown due to overwhelming depression and anxiety. In my mind, I’d always been successful—someone who didn’t have weaknesses, as if that were possible. Now I was consumed with fear, guilt, anger, hopelessness, and sadness. All I could think about was how much of a failure I was.
When the Saints in Zion’s Camp faced the news that they would be returning home without their expected blessing, they may have wondered why Heavenly Father had asked them to take the journey in the first place. I, too, wondered why I’d been led in a direction that didn’t turn out as I had planned.
After several weeks of feeling more sadness than I’d ever felt before, I realized I didn’t want to continue living with such a negative attitude. I knew I was not sent to earth to live a life consumed with discouragement and pessimism. After all, we are that we “might have joy”! (2 Nephi 2:25). I decided to shift my focus from the “whys” of the past to finding purpose in the midst of affliction.
I reached out to other people, became involved in new hobbies, and went back to school. I also started a daily gratitude journal. What started out as one-line entries turned into full pages as I began to recognize the Lord’s hand in my life more effortlessly. My prayers changed from wish lists to gratitude lists.
Even though my hard days didn’t disappear—they still haven’t—I now know what a difference it makes to focus my perspective on the good in life. Instead of seeing my trials as a bad thing, I decided to view them as an opportunity for growth.
Looking back on how things have turned out since I came home from Paraguay, I can see how Heavenly Father was guiding me and giving me opportunities through my experiences. I met some of my closest friends in those months following my mission, and I was able to immediately start studying at a local university, even though the deadline for enrollment had passed. That program led me to a study abroad in Switzerland, where I got to share the gospel with my host family.
Those years of consciously choosing gratitude have instilled in me a habit of thanking Heavenly Father for all things, which increases my faith in Him.

Keite de Lima A. Ahmed and Viviana Torres Noguera struggled to make ends meet even though their husbands worked hard for their families. For both, the PEF was a great blessing.
Viviana and her husband, Rafael, moved from Colombia to Manaus, an important industrial center in northern Brazil, in 2002 in search of economic opportunity. “Prayer, family councils, guidance from priesthood leaders, and career workshop classes helped us to know what our Father in Heaven wanted for us and to make the right decision at the right time,” says Viviana, who felt prompted to use a PEF loan to study international business.
In 2007 Viviana went to work overseeing imports for a supermarket in Manaus. Her family needed the extra income, but with a baby on the way, she had to resign. A few months after that child—the couple’s fourth—was born, Viviana was offered a job as director of international commerce for another company. By this time she had learned to speak Portuguese, and her native Spanish made her invaluable in doing business with Brazil’s Spanish-speaking neighbors.
“When I was offered the job, I said, ‘I have four children. I can’t commit myself to work 8:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m.,’” says Viviana. “My boss told me that he had a lot of confidence in my abilities, saying, ‘I need someone I can depend on. Work at home.’ That surprised me.”
Using the Internet and a computer, Viviana works at home while her older children attend school and her baby naps. Only occasionally does she have to go to the office.
Rafael attributes the family’s blessings to more than coincidence. “The blessings we have received have come from a series of prayerful decisions and from actions made possible by the tools the Church has provided,” he says.

On Thursday 19 May 2022, we had a temple trip for service missionaries. Sadly, not all the missionaries could attend—but for those that could, it was a wonderful time in a sacred place.
The sun was out, and the grounds were beautiful. Being new to the mission at the time, it was good for me to meet some more missionaries.
I still feel nervous every time I go to the temple and get left alone, or even with another person my age, almost as if we are left unsupervised! But I love the feeling I get when I’m in the temple with other service missionaries (though as wonderful as the elders are, I’d definitely like more sisters in the mission!).
The temple brings a peace to my heart, even when I don’t understand everything that is going on around me. I know that Heavenly Father has a plan for us, and we won’t understand everything in this life—but that we can also bring any questions we have to Heavenly Father. He loves us and He is there for us, no matter what.
Elder and Sister Kimberling, the service mission leaders, brought a picnic style lunch for us to have afterwards. I love that they are always there to take care of us missionaries, whenever we need. They are the best. I had a wonderful time with everyone and hope that sometime soon everyone in the mission can enjoy the temple together.

This counsel from the prophet helped one young man make an important decision.
“The month before this talk came out I was struggling with the decision of getting a tattoo,” he wrote. “I knew that it wasn’t a choice thing to do, but I still wavered in the thought of it being a sin. When the talk came out I knew there would be a wise purpose behind not getting a tattoo. I am so thankful the Lord would care enough about my friends and me that He would send a prophet to give us this message. Because of that talk I now enjoy having a body with no markings, and I have no regrets.”

I spent my next summer at home and learned, from a friend, that O Kin Yan Cante was working on a beautiful bedspread, a very complicated piece of work that she had started after returning from Salt Lake. My friend assumed that it was a gift for me, but I had never seen it and O Kin Yan Cante had never mentioned it.
One night I couldn’t sleep and arose to find her laboring in the dim light over a magnificent crocheted bedspread—red and pink roses set in white squares and surrounded with small green leaves.
“Oh, mother!” I exclaimed. “Is it for me?”
“No.”
I knew I shouldn’t pry anymore.
As I was getting ready to go back to school, O Kin Yan Cante lovingly and gently tucked the spread into a box. “Will you please give this to the people in Salt Lake who let me stay at their home?” she asked. “It is my gift of pewhal (thanks).”
I burst into tears. “They were cruel to you. They were snobs. They deserve nothing,” I sobbed.
Quietly, my gentle mother said, “I am a member of the Church. It teaches us a better way. We are to forgive; and how often do we really have a chance to return good for unkindness? I have done that which my Savior and those in the kingdom would have me do. Do not harbor ill-will; pray for them and help them.”
I turned away, the tears running, silently now, down my face. My mother had not only forgiven them but forgiven me for being ashamed of her. But how could I forgive myself?
But that too was the gift of my mother’s gentle heart. She had given me both a Lamanite and a white name. And my Lamanite name, “Twanica,” means “willing to try.”

October 9, 1846—Sugar CreekA miracle in camp today. We have been living on parched and boiled corn, and drinking muddy river water. Many are ill and all are hungry, but today, flocks of quail suddenly flew into camp, falling on wagons and tables. My brothers were able to catch many in their hands! We had a feast. God has not forgotten us. Our rescuers taught us a new song written by Brother Clayton. The song reflects well how I feel today: “All is well!”

I was thinking how wonderful it would be to witness such a powerful response to prayer. Then I realized I already had.

I was working with my father on the family ranch in Robertson, Wyoming, USA. It was my mother’s birthday, and her parents had invited the family to dinner at their place on Hillard Flat, east of Evanston. In order not to disappoint my mother by arriving late, my father decided to take a shortcut through the hills. Unfortunately, April was way too early in the year to attempt that particular shortcut. As we drove into the hills, it became obvious that we were the first to attempt to cross there that spring. There was still a lot of snow.

The first part of the journey went well, but then we started to find larger and larger drifts, and it became harder and harder to get around them. At one point my father, in his pride-and-joy Suburban, decided go around a large drift by climbing up the side of a hill. The truck was unable to negotiate the slippery terrain. We tipped on an angle, with my father’s side of the Suburban completely embedded in the drift. We were completely helpless and unable to continue.

I was only 10 years old at the time, and I found the adventure quite exciting. We finally had to climb out the window to get out. I did not understand the serious nature of our situation. This was long before the age of cell phones. No one knew that we had taken the shortcut. We were around 12 miles from any homes or the highway. The temperature was plummeting, and unbeknownst to me, my father was worried that we would freeze to death.

I still remember kneeling in prayer. My father asked only two things. First, which way we should walk. Second, could my mother please know something was wrong and send help. I don’t know if my father actually said, “Please, don’t let us freeze,” but I’m sure that was on his mind.

The two requests he voiced in prayer were answered almost immediately. My father felt like we should return the way we had come. At the same time (we later learned), my mother was doing the dishes when she felt distinctly that something was wrong. She counseled with my grandfather, Joseph Barker, and they also prayed. After a short time, my grandfather said, “I know where they are. They’re at Horseshoe Bend.”

Horseshoe Bend is exactly where the Suburban was embedded in the snow.

Grandpa Barker organized two rescue parties. One, led by my uncle Brent Barker, would try to go in where we would have come out. They made the attempt but ran into drifts that were impossible to pass. Grandpa and two other uncles, my father’s brothers Max and Richard Brough, came the long way around and entered at the same place where we had started. They soon found one lonely set of tracks entering and nothing returning.

In the meantime, my father kept talking to me as we were walking. He kept asking if I was tired and if I felt like I was falling asleep. I remember thinking those were strange questions. Of course I was cold—very cold and very tired. But where would I sleep? In the snow? (I have since learned that being tired and sleepy may be signs that you’re freezing to death. My dad was worried.)

After hours of walking, we finally saw the headlights of our rescuers’ trucks. When they reached us, my mother leapt out and ran to me. She swept me up and carried me to the warm vehicle. I also remember her shaking her finger at dad—we all know how mama bear reacts when baby bear is in trouble! Let’s just say that my father’s reception was not as warm as mine.

I want to relate a story about a man who demonstrated love through service in a way that not only greatly blessed the lives of those he served, but who also worked out his own salvation in so doing.

The man in this story is my Grandfather, Glenn Walters known to his friends as Walt.

Walt made choices in his life that led him away from the gospel. An alcoholic, a heavy smoker, completely inactive in the church. His wife and two children would travel the lonely path to church each week missing father and husband as they witnessed other families worshipping together.

In spite of this trial, my grandmother always felt that her sweetheart would be brought back into the church through service to the youth. You see, my grandfather was a great outdoorsman. A true man’s man to whom the youth could relate because of their love of similar things.

My grandmother asked the Bishop to consider calling Walt to a position with the youth to encourage him to get involved. After prayer to the Lord, the Bishop called Walt to his office to issue the call: explorer scout leader. The answer from Walt, a resounding NO!

A few weeks later his young son Max was asked to give a talk in sacrament meeting. He pleaded with his father to attend the service to hear his talk. With much trepidation Walt decided to go. Sitting through the sacrament meeting it was finally time for Max to give his talk. He stepped to the podium and proceeded to give a wonderful address about the importance of accepting callings in the church and said that if the Bishop called you to serve you were to accept it every time. That even if someone were called to be the Explorer Scouts Leader they should accept it.

As Max stepped back from the podium, his message delivered, my mother recalls Walt leaning over to his wife and whispering, “Why, that little devil”.

Walt had a change of heart that day. He quit alcohol; he quit smoking. A carpenter by trade, he gave his family a very special Christmas gift, a beautifully carved, exceptionally appointed coffin just the right size for his pack of cigarettes.

He met with the bishop, accepted the call, and became an exceptional scout leader.

Walt created an explorer post that was second to none. His post was called to Salt Lake City and was named by general authorities as the top explorer post in the church and was featured in the Church News. He became an outstanding leader in the community that all the boys in Sugar City, Idaho looked up to and wanted to emulate. He developed a code of conduct for his scouts that taught the boys the value of having a moral, ethical and spiritual standard and he held those boys to that standard.

Walt became a great source for good to all who knew him. He became a great friend to others struggling with alcohol and literally helped over 100 men quit drinking.

Many, many years later, after struggling for years with Alzheimer’s disease, Walt passed away. At his funeral, over 100 of Walt’s scouts came from all across the country, including one of BYU–Idaho’s former Vice Presidents, dressed in their explorer scout shirts, and saluted Walt’s casket as it was carried to the hearse.

Many lives were touched by the remarkable service of one man. One man’s life saved because of his willingness to serve.