Gospel Story Finder

I had been going to church for four years and waited until my adoption was final before being baptized. I had fasted many times to know if Jesus Christ is our Savior and if Heavenly Father does answer our prayers.
Before my baptism date was set, I had a strong desire to know if being baptized was the right thing to do. I went to my Young Women leader and asked her how to go about getting an answer to my prayers. She told me to read Doctrine and Covenants 9:7–9 [D&C 9:7–9]. These verses explain that you should study your question in your mind, choose a course of action, and then go to Heavenly Father with your decision in prayer. This scripture says that if it is right, you will have a burning in your bosom. But if it is wrong you will have a stupor of thought.
After I read these scriptures, I knew that I had more to do if I wanted my prayers answered. I had to “search, ponder, and pray.” I also found it very helpful to fast.
I now can tell you that I do know that Jesus Christ is our Savior. Our prayers can be answered if we are diligent and faithful. I also know that choosing to be baptized was the right thing for me to do.

It had all begun under the stars and the moon one night in Wyoming in a mad flight of spinning wheels and flying shadows known forever after as the “midnight ride of the Orem 15th.” The quorum was on a camping trip and a few priests brought along their motorcycles. One night about bedtime their adviser, Dave Anderson, jumped into the saddle, called his cohorts to horse, and they flew away over mountains and moonlit meadows like so many Paul Reveres. The night seemed to be alive. More animals than they had ever seen stood watching them pass as if hypnotized by the string of moving lights.
They got back to camp about 2:00 A.M., feeling that they were much more than just a few people assigned to the same quorum. They were friends.
Fired by the enthusiasm of the midnight riders, the whole quorum joined in, and in the weeks that followed they framed a lot of territory between handlebars.

Recently I was hospitalized to have open-heart surgery. I shared a room with a young lady who was blind due to diabetes and was to have surgery to renew her eyesight. I spoke briefly to her parents who told me that her last surgery had not been successful. They were praying very hard for her, and they promised to pray for me that night as well. I thought it was beautiful of them to even care. That evening the girl’s family came from many different states to visit her before her surgery the next morning. I couldn’t believe it—seven brothers and a great set of parents! It was such a beautiful picture. To this day I don’t know how they made it past the nurses’ station. We were only allowed two visitors at a time. After they left, Rhena asked me to pray with her, and I did. The next morning we both were frightened, but as we talked, she said to me, “Mrs. McDonald, we don’t need to be frightened because Heavenly Father is watching over us.” We prayed again, and as we prayed I felt the Spirit. Then the anesthesiologist came in and gave Rhena her medication for surgery.
I didn’t see her afterwards because she was in intensive care for about a week. During that week her folks visited me, introduced me to the missionaries, and left me a copy of the Book of Mormon. I began to read it and prayed to know of its truthfulness. I was to leave the hospital that Saturday, and Brother DeVito offered me his home, and he and his wife took care of me until I was able to return home to California. That following Saturday their daughter was released from the hospital, and thanks to everyone’s prayers, that beautiful young girl can see. I was really impressed with them as a family and just love them for showing me the gospel. Recently I found a March 1979 issue of the New Era and read an article called “A Blind Man Helped Me See.” I can relate very well to that because I have joined the Church and so have 23 members of my family.
Joyce McDonaldSan Diego, California

Brother Law has lived in our predominantly LDS community for 36 years. For the past 13 years, since his wife passed away, he has lived alone. He is a kind gentleman and a good neighbor. But just as his large garden and row of wild yellow rosebushes shield his house, there was an unseen barrier between him and his neighbors.
He was not a member of the Church. Although ward members often extended to him a hand of fellowship and offered to include him in Church activities, he always politely but firmly refused.
The neighborhood children have always loved him, but a few years ago a special friendship grew between him and nine-year-old Jessica, who lives across the street from him.
Worried about his being lonesome, she often went to pay a visit. One day she noticed a Book of Mormon on his shelf. Missionaries had left it years earlier. Jessica picked it up and announced that she was going to read to him some of her favorite scriptures.
Amused at first, Brother Law listened only to be nice to Jessica. Then the spirit of that great book began to warm his heart. He started looking forward to her reading it to him.
In the past when missionaries had come to his door, he had politely told them he was not interested. But not long after Jessica had begun reading to him, the missionaries came again. This time he listened!
Jessica’s friend, Kristen, invited him to go to church with her family. As Sunday approached, however, he told her that he had nothing to wear and that he didn’t feel very well.
The following Sunday, Jessica invited him to join her family at church. When he again tried the excuse of nothing to wear, Jessica told him, “You can wear one of Daddy’s shirts.”
Brother Law chuckled—Jessica’s father’s shirts were several sizes larger than his.
Not one to give up, Jessica told her mom the problem, and the next week Jessica gave Brother Law an early Christmas present—a new white shirt. By this time he was running out of excuses, but he tried once more by telling Jessica he had no appropriate pants. She simply replied, “Oh, you can wear most any pants. Just make sure they don’t have paint on them.”
He didn’t have a tie, either, but Jessica’s dad promptly loaned him one. With no excuses left, Brother Law agreed to attend church with Jessica’s family. After 71 years of not going to church, Brother Law was very nervous. Once he was in the chapel, though, he felt warm and comfortable.
The next hurdle came when the missionaries approached him about baptism. He had decided the Church was a family church, so it was really no place for him.
The following Sunday one of the Relief Society sisters gave a talk at ward conference on how we are all brothers and sisters in the gospel. As she talked, the Spirit touched his heart, and he realized that he really could be a part of the ward “family.” Besides, he recalled, all the children in the neighborhood were already calling him Grandpa or Brother Law.
This story has a wonderful ending—or beginning. On 10 April 1994, he was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Today when you look at Brother Law, he literally glows with the Spirit.

In our infantry battalion of some 500 men, there were three of us who were Latter-day Saints. Sundays in Vietnam usually found us somewhere in the jungle. But we would find a few moments to get together. We would take some canned bread from our C-rations and a cup of warm water from a canteen; one of us would bless these humble emblems and pass them to the rest of us. We would share our testimonies and have a prayer. Then, we would pick up our rifles and return to our duties. My dear brothers and sisters, I testify to you that never in any of our beautiful chapels have I felt the Spirit of the Lord more profoundly than I did in those simple jungle sacrament services. Those words: “[T]that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” took on a literal meaning that they have never lost.

Our family once found a wonderful playground with a large playscape. Its beautiful design was anchored by a center metal pole with four surrounding stakes, connected by a web of ropes. There appeared to be infinite ways to climb through the ropes to summit the top with an amazing view. Our youngest son Christian energetically followed his big brother, Ethan, through the maze excited to conquer the challenge!

At one point, Christian, in the red shorts, got a little off balance with foot placement. As he slipped, his focus quickly changed from his brother to looking down. He anxiously tried to correct his mistake, but within seconds, and only a few turns, he was clinging to the bottom of the center pole, upside down! What you cannot hear is him saying, “Um, I think I need help!” Fortunately, President Meredith was there to pick him up and get him moving upward again.

Have you ever felt like Christian? I have! You may have, too. I hope you will remember this image of Christian upside down when you feel this way. We will have missteps as we learn and grow. It is rare that students do not face some type of challenge during their university experience. Please remember the following:

Like Christian, we have a Father, a Heavenly Father who can and will pick us up and turn us if we ask for help. And, like Christian we all have an older Brother who has given us an example of where to go and how to get there. This may include additional support from family, friends, and professionals.

As you can see, Christian triumphantly made it to the top! And you can too!

Many years ago, while on vacation with my family, I had an experience that taught me a great lesson. On a Saturday, my wife and I decided to take the children for a drive and to do some shopping. During the drive the children fell asleep, and not wanting to wake them, I volunteered to stay in the car while my wife ran into the store.
While waiting, I glanced at the car parked in front of me. It was full of children, and they were looking at me. My eyes caught the eyes of a small boy, six or seven years old. As our eyes met, he immediately stuck his tongue out at me.
My first reaction was to stick my tongue out at him. I thought, What have I done to deserve this? Fortunately, before I reacted, I remembered a principle taught in general conference the week before by Elder Marvin J. Ashton (see Conference Report, Oct. 1970, 36–38; or Improvement Era, Dec. 1970, 59–60). He taught how important it was to act instead of react to the events around us. So I waved at the little boy. He stuck his tongue out at me again. I smiled and waved again. This time he waved back.
Soon he was joined in his enthusiastic waving by a little brother and sister. I responded by waving this way and that until my arm became tired. Then I rested it on the steering wheel and continued with every creative wave I could muster, all the time hoping their parents would quickly return or that my wife would soon come back.
The parents finally did come, and as they pulled away, my newfound friends continued to wave for as long as I could see them.

On the day of our graduation from high school, two of my classmates, Bryan and Monte, and I decided to go waterskiing. But because the boat hadn’t been used since the year before, we spent all morning and part of the afternoon getting it ready. This included getting it out of the barn, cleaning out the winter garbage, getting gas and oil, and borrowing a battery from our car.
Finally at 2:00 P.M. we were ready to go. That would give us four hours of skiing with enough time to be back for commencement exercises at 8:00 P.M. However, I had forgotten the most important thing—to get my father’s permission. I ran into the house and called him at work. After I told him of our plans, he said, “I don’t think you should go today.”
“But why?” I begged. He wouldn’t say why; he just kept saying that he would rather I didn’t go.
After arguing with him for a few minutes, I disappointedly said good-bye and hung up the phone. When I told Bryan and Monte what my dad had said, they seemed upset and angry. But then I said, “Hey, we’re adults. We can take care of ourselves.” They both agreed, and we decided to go anyway. Besides, my dad didn’t actually say we absolutely shouldn’t go. So we jumped into the van and headed for the Ririe Reservoir.
After 20 minutes of driving, we arrived at the boat ramp for the lake. As we began unloading the boat, we noticed that there were no other boats on the lake. Of course, nobody was crazy enough to go waterskiing in the middle of May in Idaho. We were just seniors on graduation day, out doing something crazy and memorable before we graduated. When I felt the icy water, I wondered if I really wanted to ski on it. Needless to say, I was the first one to go. The water took a little getting used to, but once you were up it wasn’t so bad.
As we were taking turns skiing, we kept going further up the reservoir. Soon we were several miles away from the loading ramp. Then, as we were pulling Monte out on one ski, the engine sputtered and died. After numerous unsuccessful attempts to start it again, we went back to the engine to try to fix it. When we took the outer cover off, we noticed that the distributor had exploded. There was no way we were going to get it running again.
The only thing we could do was to start paddling back down the reservoir to the van. We began paddling with everything we had, but as heavy and awkward as it was, we barely made any progress. We spent nearly an hour going only 30 feet from where we started. Then, to top it all off, one of these wonderful Idaho winds began to blow in our faces. It was blowing us back up the reservoir, in the wrong direction. About that time, I began to panic. There we were, stuck in the middle of the reservoir. We were cold and wet, the engine was dead, and a cold wind was blowing us in the wrong direction. But the worst part of it was that graduation was less than two hours away. Boy, I wished then that I had listened to my father and not gone. But because of my disobedience, I was in a mess I couldn’t get out of alone. There was something I could do, however, and that was to pray to Heavenly Father for help.
We knelt down and gave a very humble and sincere prayer. In it, we asked for help in getting back to the van safely before graduation. After the prayer, I felt a calm, peaceful feeling come over us.
It couldn’t have been more than 15 minutes before we heard the sound of a boat engine echoing against the canyon walls. As the sound got closer, we finally saw the boat come around a bend. When it got close enough, we began jumping up and down and waving towels in the air.
When the boat pulled alongside us, we found that the occupants were also graduating that night. They said that they had seen us waterskiing and that they were about to leave, but something made them decide to first make sure we were all right. After they consented to tow us back, we gave both them and our Heavenly Father our deepest appreciation.
As they towed us back to the loading ramp, my thoughts were on the prayer we had offered. Now I knew for myself that Heavenly Father really does hear and answer our prayers. In addition, I realized the importance of obedience to parents, a lesson I will remember all of my life.

Prior to the handover ceremony, 132 members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints congregations joined with other members of the community to clean the health center and prepare the building for new medical equipment.

The building had been abandoned many years ago. During the four-month renovation project, skilled laborers volunteered their time to the project. Electricians, carpenters, bricklayers, aluminum fabricators, painters, plumbers, and masons all served to ensure the completion of the project. The community youth participated by clearing debris and cutting the grass.

The coordinator of the project, Clement Okoye, was excited that months of hard work and sacrifice had come to fruition. “The community has been needing a functional health Center for a very long time,” said Okoye. “This is a dream come true. The mortality rate here is very high due to lack of medical amenities. Daily life is a risk where we live. We are grateful that LDS Charities came to our rescue.”

Ezeigwe Peter, president of the Onitsha Nigeria Stake, stated that he was overwhelmed by the support and appreciation shown by the community and was impressed by the commitment of individuals. He charged them to maintain the facility and ensure they use the donated equipment judiciously.

Many were saying then, as they had in Kirtland and before, that here was a fallen prophet. Occasionally, with a twinge of humor, he would say, “Well, I had rather be a fallen true prophet than a false prophet.” In the conspiracy to take his life in which the Laws were involved, two young men had been invited to the secret ­meetings—Dennison L. Harris and Robert Scott. They consulted with the Prophet. He asked them to go and observe. At the risk of their lives they attended these meetings and reported back what they had heard. Prior to the last meeting they reported their expectation that at that meeting everyone present would be asked to come forward and take an oath to be willing to take the life of Joseph Smith.

The Prophet wept. Now he knew by natural means as well as by his presentiments what was happening. The young men heroically attended the meeting as he suggested, and narrowly escaped with their lives when they were put under pressure to take the oath.

“My father came from a large family. They were homesteading in Idaho and had little money. When he reached high school age, he asked my grandfather to allow him to go to high school. His father gave him five dollars and a one-way ticket to Salt Lake, where he had to make it on his own. He found a job caring for President Joseph F. Smith’s cows and lived in the Beehive House like a member of the family for three and a half years. Father attended LDS High School and then went on to the University of Utah, where he was valedictorian of his graduating class. He accepted a position as principal of a school in Rexburg, Idaho. There he met my mother who was a teacher in the same school. They were married and Dad left teaching and went to law school and became an attorney.
“Dad was a very intense man, but he knew how to relax. Saturday afternoon was spent with the family—fishing, hiking, or playing ball up Logan Canyon. He and I enjoyed pitching horseshoes together even when I was very young
“My mother was a tremendous woman. She had more energy than anyone I’ve ever been around. She was the first one up in the morning and the last one to bed at night—just perpetual motion all day long. Her family came first and she was a tremendous support to my father, who was a bishop for eighteen years and then in the stake presidency for another twenty years.
“I had some great teachers when I was a boy. I remember a Sister Johnson, who was president of the Primary for years and years. How tender she was!
“But the teacher I remember best was Sister Call. She was just a jewel. I remember how impressed I was that she was willing to go on hikes with the Trail Builders. She’d plan scavenger hunts, but they were not just the regular kind. Each one would have a connection with some part of the lesson. As we would find each thing, it would teach us another part of the lesson. Then there was always a nice reward—some special treat at the end. I can’t believe the creative ways she used to keep our attention as young boys.
“Sister Call is a person who keeps on giving. Recently I received a phone call from her son. He wanted to bring a gift Sister Call had just completed for me. He brought to my office a beautiful quilt she had made. Thousands of careful stitches prepared in a beautiful pattern. She is ninety-one years young. I could not hold back a tear as I thought of the kindness of this great teacher.”
We concluded the interview with some conversation about Elder Perry’s own family: “I have two grandchildren who live here and two who live in the East. We try to have family home evening together once a month with those who live here. One of our greatest family activities has been a garden that we planted in a vacant lot. We call it the Perry Family Welfare Farm. Both grandchildren have assignments. We plant, water, irrigate, harvest, and have a great time together! I hope I’m teaching them something about the Lord’s cycle of replenishment—that if we’re diligent, He will reward us abundantly. Each little seed brings forth a hundredfold.”
“Do you have a last word about children?”
“Children are receptive and attentive and able to follow the leader. They have freshness and are eager to learn. Children are wonderful!”

Roberto frowned. This was only his second time at Primary since he had moved from Chile to America, and already his teacher was telling the class she loved him.
How can she say such a thing? Roberto wondered. She does not even know me. And besides, why should anyone love a chubby boy who doesn’t have nice clothes to wear? Tears threatened to fill his eyes as he thought of the many relatives and friends he had left behind in South America. He had been so lonely since his father had died. He and his mother had come to Utah so that she could learn English and attend Brigham Young University.
“I have made each of you a special valentine,” Sister Porter said, handing each child a shiny foil heart on which she had written “I love you.” Roberto took his but shrugged off the hug his teacher tried to give him. Later, when he got home, he tore up the card and threw it in the garbage.
All that week, Roberto felt very sad. During class, he looked out the window and daydreamed about moving back to Chile. He was never going to fit in here.
On Thursday afternoon, Roberto walked home from school. He forgot all about locking the door behind him when he saw a note from his mother taped to the refrigerator: “I’m taking a test. I’ll be back at 5:30. Read the Friends Sister Porter dropped off for you.”
After fixing himself a snack, Roberto began to leaf through the magazines.
First he looked at the pictures. Then he started to read a few stories. After a while he noticed that the sad and lonely feelings were starting to go away.
Then he remembered the unkind things some children had said on the school bus that morning when they thought that he couldn’t hear. One of the children had been in his Primary class! Hurt and anger began to build up inside him again until he looked down at the magazine in his hands. There was a picture of the Savior with little children all around Him. Roberto was surprised to find tears of happiness in his eyes. It was almost as if a voice was saying to him, “Jesus loves you, Roberto.”
A feeling of warmth and love surrounded him, and he knew somehow that the Savior truly did know him and love him. He was filled with hope and an overwhelming assurance that in time he would have many friends in his new school and ward.
Roberto thought back to Sunday and how Sister Porter must have felt when he pulled away from her hug. I will make her a valentine, he decided, jumping up and gathering paper and crayons. Then he remembered the new colored markers his mother had bought for her college classes. They were on top of the highest shelf in the kitchen, and he climbed onto the counter to get them.
Stretching as far as he could, he couldn’t quite reach them. He jumped just a little but lost his balance and fell. Twisting awkwardly, he plunged to the floor and heard an ugly cracking noise as he landed on his left arm.
Never had he felt such pain! His arm felt as if it was on fire. He knew that he should telephone his mother, but as soon as he tried to stand, waves of nausea and dizziness washed over him, forcing him back to the floor.
The clock on the wall read ten to four. Swallowing back the tears, Roberto began a silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to send someone to help. As he worked up his courage to crawl to the phone, a car pulled into the driveway. His mother! Heavenly Father had sent her home early! But then he heard a knock, and after several moments, a familiar voice called his name.
“Help me!” Roberto yelled. “I’m hurt!”
The door opened and Sister Porter looked in. “What happened?” she asked, hurrying to his side.
“My arm—I think I broke it.” Roberto was embarrassed by his tears, but his teacher didn’t say anything about them as she gently helped him up and made him as comfortable as possible on the couch in the living room.
“Where’s your mother?” she asked him then. “Your arm will need to be X-rayed.” After leaving a message at the university for his mother, Sister Porter sat beside him. “I see you’ve been reading the magazines I sent over. Did you find any stories you really liked?”
Roberto felt a little shy, but talking helped keep his mind off the pain. “I read a lot of the stories, but the best part was finding this picture of Jesus with the little children. I have never seen it before.”
Sister Porter studied the picture, and a very peaceful look came to her face. “I think that this is a special picture, too, Roberto. Whenever I look at it, I feel how much love Jesus has for all children.”
Roberto found himself telling his teacher about his feelings on Sunday and all during the week. Then, somewhat sheepishly, he admitted that he had torn up the valentine he had received in class. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I was going to use my mom’s special markers to make you a valentine. They were up high, and when I climbed up to get them, I fell.”
Sister Porter smiled as she gently patted his cheek. “Crayons will do fine.”
Just then Roberto’s mother came in. “Roberto! Oh Roberto!” She knelt beside him, very tenderly feeling the large lump on his arm. “It must be broken. We will go to the hospital right away.” She looked at Sister Porter with worry and pleading in her eyes. “There will be many insurance papers. My English is not very good. …”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Sister Porter said. “I’ll call my children and have them fix supper. I’ll go with you to the hospital and help you with the papers.”
That evening was a long one. Many people were waiting in the emergency room, and it seemed forever before a nurse called Roberto’s name and he was examined and X-rayed. Never having had a cast before, Roberto felt a bit nervous. But Sister Porter stayed with him the whole time, entertaining him with a story about the time her oldest son had fallen from the backyard swing set and had broken his wrist.
Roberto lay on the examining table after the cast was applied. He was surprised to see that it was almost nine o’clock. “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked his teacher. “Doesn’t your family need you?”
“They’ll be fine,” Sister Porter said, producing a granola bar from the depths of her purse. “Feel up to sharing this?”
They ate and talked while they waited for Roberto’s mother. Sister Porter had found a Spanish-speaking nurse to help his mother fill out the insurance forms.
“Do you know why I came to your house this afternoon?” Sister Porter asked.
Roberto shook his head.
“I was on my way home from running errands, and I felt prompted to stop my van. I think you must have been praying for help. Were you?”
“I was! I asked Heavenly Father to send someone. I am very glad He sent you.” Roberto smiled at his teacher.
Sister Porter asked to borrow a red marking pen from one of the nurses passing by.
“What do you need a marker for?” Roberto asked.
Sister Porter winked and uncapped the pen. “In this country, we have a tradition,” she said. “If someone gets a cast, we write nice messages on it. May I be the first to write on yours?”
Roberto nodded, curious and pleased.
Sister Porter drew a large red heart, then wrote I • U in the middle of it. She grinned mischievously. “This one you can’t rip up and throw away!”
“Don’t worry,” Roberto said, his eyes twinkling. “Today I have learned that you really do love me!”

I was down in California some time ago and found a missionary there preaching some false doctrine. I heard him say to a contact, “Missionaries don’t get paid; we work for nothing.”

When the contact had gone I said to the missionary, “Now, that’s the most ridiculous statement I have ever heard anybody make in my life. How did you ever figure out that missionaries didn’t get paid? I thought the Lord said that if you labor all your days and bring just one soul unto him your reward is going to be very great.”

I asked him if he remembered what the Lord has said about the worth of the soul being greater than the wealth of all of the earth, and he did. I asked him if he knew what the earth was worth, and he did not. I had a newspaper clipping that said the assessed valuation of just one little section of the United States alone—California, Arizona, and Nevada—was over a trillion dollars. I got this elder a piece of paper and a pencil and had him write a trillion dollars down on the paper—it has twelve zeros, in case you have never seen it written. He had brought in a convert each month for the past twelve months, which was all the time he had been out; so I had him figure out that if he worked thirty days a month and ten hours a day, that would be three hundred hours’ work to save a trillion-dollar soul. Then I had him divide a trillion by three hundred and he figured he was getting three billion three hundred thirty-three million dollars per hour.

I asked him, “What is the most that anybody ever paid you when you were at home?”

He said, “Seventy-five cents.”

I said, “All right, now what were you trying to get those poor people to believe when you said that a missionary doesn’t get paid?”

When 10-year-old John joined the swimming team, he told his coach he could compete in the meets held on Saturday but not those held on Sunday. At the last meet of the season, John’s relay race was scheduled for Sunday. He remembered a family home evening lesson about making decisions in advance so it would be easier to do the right thing when the time came. John said: “I had made the decision not to swim on Sunday before I joined my team. That made it easier for me to tell the coach that I couldn’t swim the relay. I thought the coach would be mad at me. But at the end-of-the-year banquet, … he told the team how proud he was of me for having standards and then sticking to them.” John shows he knows by keeping the Sabbath day holy and setting an example of someone who follows the teachings of Jesus. Every time you keep the Sabbath day holy, you show you know.

I was taught about vertigo when my Air Force instructor took me up in an airplane with the cockpit covered by a canopy so I could not see outside. I would have to rely on the instruments. Unknown to me, he gradually turned the airplane upside down, keeping positive G forces. My ear did not detect the slow rollover. He told me to take control of the airplane. Of course, I did what every other student did. I pulled backwards because I was losing altitude, and, of course, I started a dive toward the earth because I did not know I was upside down.
As I started to regain control of the airplane, I could see the little marks on the landing gear were upside down. My instructor taught me the principle that you can take a human being at a two- or three-degree turn while keeping positive G forces and turn them upside down without their knowing they have left the straight and level flight. The motion is imperceptible.

Remember when the Prophet Joseph Smith went to John E. Page and said to him, “Brother Page, you have been called on a mission to Canada.”
Brother Page, struggling for an excuse, said, “Brother Joseph, I can’t go to Canada. I don’t have a coat to wear.”
The Prophet took off his own coat, handed it to John Page, and said, “Wear this,and the Lord will bless you.”
John Page went on his mission to Canada. In two years he walked something like 8,000 kilometers and baptized 600 converts.2 He was successful because he responded to an opportunity to serve his God.

Al and I were married in 1959. A decade later we had three children and were living in a small town in Canada. Al ran a construction business, and I was a stay-at-home mom who sometimes helped with the business. On the weekends, Al and I partied with our friends, always with alcohol. My dad had been an alcoholic, so I hated that drinking was such a big part of our lives, but it had become our way of socializing.
That year, 1969, I realized my life was going nowhere and that our children deserved better than what we were offering them. One night after another drinking party, I got down on my knees and prayed, “Dear God, if You are there, please help me change my life.” I promised Him I would never drink alcohol again, a commitment I’ve honored ever since.
That was the first memorable prayer, and it was answered quickly. My sister-in-law’s daughter, my niece, had been invited to attend Primary with a Latter-day Saint friend. As my sister-in-law learned more about the Church, she felt inspired to send me a subscription to the Church magazines, which arrived within a month after I had said that first prayer. I didn’t know what a Mormon was, but I loved the messages the magazines contained and read them cover to cover. I decided to investigate the Church and therein found my answer. I did change my life, and I was baptized on June 19, 1970.

This painting, titled A Sparrow Alone, by Elspeth Young, depicts a 23-year-old Drusilla Hendricks after she learned her husband, James, was shot.

In 1838, James and Drusilla and their five young children lived in Caldwell County, Missouri. Because of persecution, the Saints posted night guards around their communities. One autumn night, James was called to help defend the Saints from a mob at Crooked River.

The next morning, neighbor children reported to Drusilla that her husband had been shot. She writes, “I went to the field to give vent to my feelings. My husband was shot in the neck where it cut off all feeling of the body. It is of no use for me to try and tell how I felt for that is impossible.”1

The title of this painting comes from Psalms 102:1-3, 7.

Hear my prayer, O Lord, and let my cry come unto thee.
Hide not thy face from me in the day when I am in trouble; incline thine ear unto me; in the day when I call answer me speedily.
For my days are consumed like smoke, and my bones are burned as an hearth. . . .
I watch, and am as a sparrow alone upon the house top.

Elspeth Young provides this insight into the title of her painting:
As A Sparrow Alone portrays the moment in which Drusilla pours out her soul in heartfelt anguish, reaching heavenward for strength and assurance as she gave vent to her feelings. The figure's gaze rests upon a handful of house sparrows, foraging among the wreckage left by the mob. Despite the desolation in which she sits and the lowering skies, life is all about her. The sparrows symbolize the worth of a soul in Heaven's sight. While the Psalmist described feeling "as a sparrow alone," it was the Savior himself who
reminded his disciples that despite the seeming insignificance of a sparrow, "one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father" for "not one of them is forgotten before God. . . . Even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows."2

by Scott Richards
Brian Rasmussen of the High River Ward, Calgary Alberta South Stake, recently became the youngest commercial airplane pilot ever licensed in Canada.
He received his commercial license on March 18, 1981, the day of his 18th birthday.
Brian first enrolled in flying lessons when he was 16 years old, and since that time, he has proven to be a very dedicated and talented pilot. By the time he turned 17, Brian had flown 35 hours and had passed five exams and a flight test to qualify for his private pilot’s license. In receiving his private license, Brian set a record by becoming the youngest private pilot ever licensed in western Canada.
After achieving that goal, Brian set his sights higher and kept on working. Between his 17th and 18th birthdays, Brian logged another 115 hours flight time to bring his “in air” total to 150 hours. He also passed another flight test and written exam and participated in 30 hours of classroom instruction. By the time his 18th birthday arrived, Brian had qualified to become Canada’s youngest commercial pilot. In addition to his flying, Brian also finds time to work on his dad’s farm and participate in Church activities. When he turns 19, Brian plans to serve a mission.

Lots of young men prepare financially to serve a mission. In Africa part of that preparation is earning enough money for a passport. Sedrick Tshiambine earned what he needed in an enterprising way: by selling bananas from the back of a bicycle.
Sedrick lives in Luputa, Democratic Republic of Congo. He’s one of 45 young men in the Luputa district who is working to save money for a passport to go on a mission. In DR Congo a passport costs $250, which is about two-thirds the cost of building a house.
But Sedrick was undaunted. He earned his mission money by cycling 15–30 kilometers (9–19 miles) from Luputa to small villages, where he purchased bananas, then cycling back across the hot African savanna, his bike heavily laden with fruit to sell in the city. Each week he traveled about 180 kilometers (112 miles) along the sandy roads, and only once did an unbalanced load cause a tumble.
For his efforts Sedrick earned about $1.25 a week, or $65.00 a year. It took him four years to save enough to purchase his passport, but now he knows his future will include a full-time mission because he is financially ready to answer the call to serve.