Gospel Story Finder

Joan began studying her notes first. She had carefully followed the instructions given in the test class: “Teachers will tell you what will be on a test in four ways: (1) they will come right out and tell you, ‘You had better know this; it’s important that you understand this; etc.’; (2) they will write key points on the board; (3) they will repeat a key point several times; (4) they will spend a great deal of time talking about a specific point.” The instructions in the test class were: “Be test-wise when you take notes; put an asterisk by any material that meets the four rules.” Joan also made up a test by using the material in her notes marked with an asterisk.
In her history test Joan completed only the questions she knew. She circled the number of the others. Her sample test had been a good one; she knew 36 of the 50 answers. She went back to the 14 questions she was not sure of, eliminated those choices she knew were wrong, and then used her first impressions about the right answer. She completed ten more questions. Then she studied the answers in the four remaining questions. She crossed out two choices on one question because they had the words always and never in the sentences. She finally circled the alternative that had the word usually in it. The three remaining questions were dates. Question 17 was, “What was the date of the Battle of Bull Run?” Joan tried to remember the events. Bull Run was an early victory for the South. “Probably in the first year of the war,” she thought. She remembered the war began in 1861. She looked down the choices and circled choice C—1862. The other choices on the last two questions drew a complete blank, so she circled C for both of them—remembering instructions in the test class to that effect.
By Friday the test results were back. Drew got a 91 on the math test. He missed half of one problem, but had even been given part credit for his work on the one he hadn’t finished. Ninety-one was third best in the class and better than Drew had ever done. Joan’s history score was the highest in the class. Bob was walking on air when he got his English exam back. He had never done better than a C+ on an English test. The A- he received was better than he had dared hope. He had come from his usual C- to a B+ in history. But Drew felt prouder than both. Bob and Joan. He had gone from his usual D+ to a solid B on his history test.

Consider Sister Hansen, the faithful teacher of a Laurel class of lovely young girls in a small mission branch in Canada. How she prayed for inspiration that she might teach well the precious girls in her class. Particularly did she pray for Julie, one who had been subjected to great stress and temptation to leave the pathway of truth and follow the detour of sin. Through the constant persuasions of her classmates at school, Julie had agreed to follow such a detour. The plan was designed: she would attend opening exercises of Mutual, even the first portion of the class, that she might appear on the roll as being present; and then there would be the sound of an automobile horn to announce to her that her girl friend and their dates, who were older and far more experienced than Julie, were at hand and the night of the carefully arranged escapade of sin would begin. Then she would be one of the inner circle.

Before calling the roll that night, this humble, loving teacher announced to the class that a shipment from Church headquarters had arrived at her home that very day. She had opened the packages and found copies of a pamphlet by Elder Mark E. Petersen. Its subject, chastity. Sister Hansen said: “I feel impressed to leave for another week our lesson scheduled for tonight and want rather to review with you the inspiration of this pamphlet. We will each read a paragraph or two aloud, that all might participate.” Sister Hansen looked at each of her precious girls and then said, “Julie, will you begin?” Julie looked at the clock—just two minutes before the scheduled rendezvous. She began to read; her heart was touched, her conscience awakened, her determination renewed. She scarcely heard the repeated sound of the automobile horn. She remained throughout the class. The temptation to detour from God’s approved way had been averted. Satan had been frustrated. A soul had been saved. A prayer had been answered.

Many years ago, when our children were small, we attended a local fair as a family. We had great fun on the rides and enjoyed the food and music. When it was time to return home, I noticed that I had lost the car and house keys. The place was large and full of people. How were we going to find those keys? Our strategy was to go to a secluded spot in the fairgrounds and have a family prayer. Then we went out to search for the keys.

The first thing we saw was a policeman on duty. We approached him, told him of our predicament, and then asked if a bundle of keys had been handed to him. He immediately asked us one question: “Are you members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?” After the initial shock caused by his question, I answered “Yes.”

He then handed me the keys and explained to us how he knew that we indeed were members of His Church. He told us that his father had been a branch president who also carried among his keys a small vial of consecrated oil, like the one I had on my keyring.

A few weeks later, our two youngest children got lost in a large department store where we had gone to get new eyeglasses for the older children. After waiting a while, they got bored and decided to go off on their own, looking for the toy section. The consequence was that they got separated from us.

What did they do when they realized that they were lost? They went to a secluded spot in the store and offered a faithful prayer that they would be reunited with us. Then they stepped out of that spot, with great faith that they would be found. At that same time, their older brother saw them as he was looking for them in that area.

Consider all that is learned from these two interrelated stories of faith. It is in the daily practice of the gospel that we mostly teach, and that children learn the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It happens as we seek to diligently keep His commandments and covenants.

Malcolm Tent was still a young man when he began putting rocks in his pockets. It started one day when his boss, Mr. Gump, got angry at him for something that wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t yell back at his boss, because he might lose his job. In fact, there wasn’t anything he could do except be angry inside. “But,” he thought, “I’m not going to forget this. No way.” On the way home from the bus stop that night, he thought to himself, “I’ve got to remember how angry I am. I don’t want to forget in the morning.” Suddenly he had an idea. There was a small rock on the sidewalk in front of him. He picked it up and said softly to himself, “I’ll keep this rock in my pocket to remind me of how unfair Mr. Gump was.”
And that’s what he did. That night he put the rock on his dresser with his keys and comb. The next morning, when he got dressed to go to work, into his pocket went the ugly gray rock.
All that day and the next, the heavy bulge in his pocket reminded him that he should be angry at Mr. Gump. Strangely, Mr. Gump seemed to have forgotten about the whole thing. But not Malcolm Tent. Oh no. In fact, during the next two weeks, Mr. Gump made Malcolm angry several more times, and Malcolm decided he’d better get a rock for each time so he could keep better track of these things.
And so it was that Malcolm Tent’s trousers began to look baggy and strange. But at least he remembered not to forgive Mr. Gump or be friendly or anything like that.
Maybe if Malcolm had only collected rocks when he got angry at Mr. Gump, this thing might have died out and been forgotten. But there was the taxi driver who drove right by and left Malcolm standing in the rain. Into his pocket went a shiny, rain-slick pebble from the gutter. (Of course, Malcolm had no idea of the taxi driver’s name, but it didn’t matter.) Then there was the grocery clerk who shortchanged him. And the newspaper delivery boy who threw his paper into a rain puddle. And the neighbor whose dog barked late at night. And … well, Malcolm discovered that there were all kinds of people and things in the world that can bother you.
Speaking of discoveries, Malcolm also discovered that when all of your pockets are full of rocks, a belt won’t hold up your pants. (He discovered that fact while his arms were full of grocery sacks.) So he made himself a sturdy pair of leather suspenders to help hold up his pants.
But soon the time came when he didn’t have enough pockets in his pants, so he had to wear a jacket everywhere he went—the kind of jacket with lots of pockets. And it wasn’t long before the jacket looked as funny as his trousers. And smelled just as dusty. And got even heavier because it had more pockets.
Anyone else might have given up at this point, but not Malcolm. He bought one of those big sturdy briefcases like salesmen use. After all, when you start to look for them, there are all kinds of things in life that can bother you. And when you are always tired from carrying so many rocks around, you get angry even easier.
Years went by, and Malcolm’s collection of reminder rocks spilled out of his pockets and briefcase and all over his house. He had rocks on the kitchen sink, and in his closets, and all over the floors. A few times he even put a rock in his bed so he could remember to be angry during the night. Let’s face it. Malcolm had become a strange, unpleasant man. And most people avoided him when they could, which made him even touchier. Rocks are not very good company. They are hard and dusty, and in the winter they are very cold.
Now, Malcolm might have gone on to become a mean old man completely buried in rocks. But one day he received a telephone call from a geology professor at the university. Dr. Igneous had heard of Malcolm’s large rock collection (who hadn’t?), and he wanted to bring his geology class on a visit to see it.
“Well,” thought Malcolm, “at last here is someone who appreciates my rocks. Wait until they see all of these reminders of how often people have wronged me.” An appointment was made for the next Saturday, and Malcolm spent the next few evenings dusting and arranging.
At last Saturday came, and at two o’clock in the afternoon the doorbell rang. There, on the porch, stood Professor Igneous and seven of his best students, all dressed in their best outdoor clothing. Several had rock hammers dangling from their belts, and one or two carried cameras. And everyone carried a notebook and pencil.
Professor Igneous himself looked rather ordinary. But he had a ready smile. And his face was deeply tanned from spending years out of doors. As a matter of fact, there was something about his eyes, too. They looked deep and dark, but they had a sparkle that said he enjoyed life. And when he looked at you, it was the same look he gave mountains and rock formations—as though he were trying to peer inside. This was a scientist who liked people at least as much as he liked rocks.
As the professor and students stepped into the rock-filled living room, Malcolm expected to hear oohs and aahs. You know, like you hear at a fireworks show. Instead, there was an uncomfortable silence. The group just stood there looking around, nudging a few of the rocks with their toes. Then the students looked at their professor, waiting for him to say something. After all, this was not the collection of beautiful gems and minerals they had expected. These were ordinary hunks of limestone and sandstone and quartzite. Why, there were even chunks of broken asphalt and concrete!
Finally, Professor Igneous spoke: “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would be so good as to explain your collection to us, Mr. Tent. I can honestly say we’ve never seen another collection quite like it.” In the background, his students nodded in agreement.
“Well,” Malcolm began nervously, “I, uh, well … that is . …” It had been a long time since he had said much of anything to anyone.
Professor Igneous could see how nervous Malcolm was. The poor man kept swallowing so hard his Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down. (Some of the students thought he was trying to swallow one of his rocks.)
Trying to help, the professor said, “Why not begin by telling us why you chose these rocks.” He picked up an ordinary gray rock that looked like most of the others. “Why did you choose this particular piece of limestone for your collection?”
“Oh, is that what it is? Well, I think that’s the one I picked up when the laundry didn’t have my shirts ready on time. Wait! No, I think that’s for the time my favorite television show got canceled. Or was it the time I ran inside to answer the phone, and the caller had the wrong number? Or … “Here he paused to search his memory. There were so many rocks! And they were so much alike—gray, hard, cold, dusty. Suddenly, Malcolm realized that that was all Professor Igneous and his students could see. To everyone else these were just plain old everyday rocks. Malcolm had to explain, to make them see.
“There’s more to these rocks than you might think. Every one of these rocks represents a time somebody made me mad, or wasn’t very nice to me, or hurt my feelings. I picked up these rocks as reminders.”
Now the professor and his students were really amazed. They all began to speak at once: “I never heard of such a thing.” “How long have you been doing this?” “Can I take a picture of you with your rocks?” “Some field trip!”
Professor Igneous spoke again, and everyone became quiet. “Well, Mr. Tent,” he began slowly, “I must admit you’re the first person I ever met who collected rocks for that reason.” He paused and looked around. “You’ve been very kind to invite us into your home. And we don’t want to take up too much of your time. But do you suppose that while we are here we might see your other collection?”
A blank look came over Malcolm’s face. “I don’t have any other collection.”
“Oh, I see. I just thought you might have collected something to remind you of the nice things people have done and said. But, well, never mind. Perhaps we ought to be going now. Thank you so much for allowing us to come into your home. I think my students have learned something important.”
He gathered his students around him, and they moved toward the door. Then, turning to Malcolm once more, the professor said, “We still have some time left this afternoon. Could you perhaps direct us to some of the other people with similar collections?”
Once more Malcolm was unready with an answer. “I don’t know of any other collections like mine.”
“Oh. I just thought that perhaps some of the people you know would have collected something when you … I mean … if you ever … uh … annoyed them.” Then, quickly, he added, “Yes, well, good-bye, and thanks again.”
Without waiting, the professor and his students turned and marched off down the sidewalk.
Long after they were gone, Malcolm stood there, looking just like one of his rocks—cold and gray and very still. Within him, the professor’s words echoed. Around him, the house was silent. Too silent. He suddenly realized how pleasant the students’ friendly chatter had been. How long since he had had a friendly talk with anyone? Come to think of it, did he even have any friends anymore?
Then, before he could stop it, the thought came into his mind: “I’m becoming just like my rocks.” As Malcolm sat alone in the dark, he finally realized what unpleasant companions rocks are. And how unpleasant he … Well, some thoughts are hard enough to think without actually saying them.
For several days, for hours at a time, Malcolm sat still as a rock, thinking rock-hard thoughts. You might have thought he had finally become petrified. But deep inside him, something was waking up and beginning to grow, like a seed in the spring soil.
If you think it’s hard to find a home for extra kittens or such, you should try finding someone who wants a bunch of very ordinary, dusty, gray rocks. In fact, just try gathering them up when they are scattered all over. Malcolm tried to hire cleaning ladies. They all told him the same thing: “I don’t do windows, and I don’t pick up rocks!” A “Free Rocks” sign in his window brought no results. Finally he realized that this was something he would have to do himself.
The neighbors still talk about the time Malcolm backed a rented trailer up to his front porch, and about the tremendous cloud of dust that rose as the rocks were shoveled out into the trailer. They also talk about how much better Malcolm looks, how his clothes fit so much better (has he lost weight?), and how he actually smiles now.
Malcolm’s neighbors also point with pride to his attractive yard, with trees and flowers and bushes planted everywhere. They don’t have any explanation for his sudden interest in gardening. But one neighbor, Mrs. Kratz, did notice that after she had taken a piece of cake to him, Malcolm went out to the flower bed and planted a single seed.

It was a special mission conference: our president was being released, and he was sharing his testimony with us for the last time.
We felt a little sad in bidding this man good-bye. He had worked arduously to do the will of the Lord, and the years weighed upon him; but in spite of his weariness, he spoke with great assurance and enthusiasm.
In his talk, he shared a story with us that has since caused me to reflect many times on my service in the Church. He said that while returning from a conference in the city of Salto, Uruguay, he began wondering whether he had done all that the Lord had desired of him.
As he was meditating, he suddenly felt as if the Lord had placed a hand upon his shoulder and said to him: “My son, you have done all that I have commanded you to do. Return to your home in peace; you have been faithful, and I am pleased with your labors.” This brought him great relief and joy, for he had worried about his standing before God.
After a pause, he said, “The best missionaries are not the ones who have had the greatest number of baptisms, or who have given the most discussions, or who know the most doctrine; the best missionaries are those who, when they have finished their missions, feel as though the Lord could put his hand on their shoulders and say, ‘My son, you have done all that I have commanded you. I am pleased with your labors.’”

About two months before I concluded my mission in February 1980, my mission president allowed my companion and me to travel overnight with stake members from Rio de Janeiro to the temple in São Paulo so I could be endowed and sealed to my parents. Like my parents, I had waited years for the promised blessings of temple ordinances and covenants.
That experience changed my vision of the future and gave me my first glimpse of the truthfulness of President Russell M. Nelson’s recent words: “Time in the temple will help you to think celestial and to catch a vision of who you really are, who you can become, and the kind of life you can have forever.”
My brief time in the temple on that occasion deeply influenced the remainder of my missionary service. With that new vision, testifying of the temple and the importance of God’s plan for families also had a lasting impact on my life.

Our second son lived much of his youth apart from the Church. When he turned 20, he had an experience that made him want to change his life. With love, prayers, and help from his family and members of the Church, and ultimately through the compassion and grace of the Lord, he returned to the Church.

He was later called to serve in the Washington Seattle Mission. He initially suffered great discouragement. Every night for the first three months, he would go into the bathroom and cry. Like Elder Cowan, he sought to understand “Why am I here?”

After he served for a year, we received an email that was an answer to our prayers. He wrote: “Right now I can really feel the love of God and of Jesus. I will work hard to become like the prophets of old. Though I am also experiencing a lot of difficulties, I am truly happy. Serving Jesus really is the best thing ever. There is nothing as wonderful as this. I am so happy.”

He felt as Alma did: “And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!”5

Soon after the Nagas joined the Church, their branch president encouraged the family to prepare to go to the temple. “Every time he spoke of the temple, he had tears in his eyes,” remembers Brother Naga. “And every time I saw that, I said to myself, It must be true. His testimony penetrates to my soul.”
Maryann and Inosi accepted the challenge. But they had no savings. How could they manage the trip financially? The couple decided that their family could quit eating beef and stop drinking cocoa and milo (a cereal drink). Instead, they would eat bele (a vegetable similar to spinach) and tinned fish and drink lemon-leaf tea; they would put away the money they saved on food and use it to travel to the temple. When they told their four young daughters of their plan, “they loved the idea,” remembers Brother Naga. “And they reminded us of our goal continually.”
About that time, Inosi and Maryann moved their family to Suva. They had lived in furnished quarters in Nausori, so they had no furniture for their new home; they spread mats on the floor on which they slept and ate. Some friends and family members ridiculed them. “They thought that since I was a civil servant, I should be able to afford nice things,” says Brother Naga. “But we wanted to save our money for the temple trip.”
In October 1976, directors of the Church Educational System offered Inosi a job as coordinator of the seminary program in Fiji. He hesitated to accept the position until Joseph Sokia, director of the Church Educational System in Fiji, told him, “If you accept the seminary job, you will have the chance to change the lives of our young people.”
That touched Inosi. He remembered that his district president had asked him once in an interview whether he would be willing to work full-time for the Church if he was needed. Inosi had said he would. Now was the time to keep that commitment.
Leaving government employment after twelve years was hard; Inosi lost his pension, his government benefits, and his opportunities for overseas travel. “But I knew I needed to go,” he says. Some of Inosi’s extended family and some people of his village were frustrated with his decision. They were proud of Inosi’s government position and told him he was making a mistake. But Maryann supported him, telling him, “Wherever you take us, we will follow.”
When Inosi resigned from his job, he asked to be paid for the leave that was due to him rather than taking the days off. Because her husband would have to travel frequently in his new assignment, Maryann also resigned from her job and asked to be paid for the leave that she had earned. When the couple added that money to what they had already saved, they found it was enough to take them and their daughters to the temple.
“When we got on the plane,” Brother Naga says, “I had 102 New Zealand dollars in my pocket. That was all our money. We didn’t know how we were going to pay our living expenses for the two weeks we would be in New Zealand.”
But Church members met the Nagas at the airport, arranged for lodging in a member’s home, and provided food and transportation.
“After we came back from the temple, the Lord blessed us,” Brother Naga says. “Not only were we able to buy furniture, we were able to extend our house.”
On 12 June 1983, Elder Howard W. Hunter created the Suva Fiji Stake and called Inosi as its first president. “I didn’t know what to say, because I think there were men who were more capable of fulfilling the calling,” he remembers. “But I am grateful to have been able to serve my brothers and sisters on this island. It has been a great privilege and opportunity.”
Shortly afterward, President Naga was interviewed to be associate area director of the Church Educational System. When he declined because he did not feel he had the proper education or qualifications to serve well in that position, his supervisor, Robert Perrington, disagreed. “I’ve been sitting up all night thinking about this,” he said. “At four o’clock this morning your name came clearly to me.”
President Naga went home to consult his wife. After the couple prayed for some time, Maryann said, “You go back and tell Brother Perrington that if the Brethren want you to do it, you will do it.”
President Naga has been blessed as he carries out his responsibilities. “When the Lord calls you to a position,” he says, “he provides a way for you to fulfill it.”
Now, nine years later, Inosi Naga oversees the Church Educational System in Fiji, New Caledonia, Vanuatu, and Tuvalu. He was recently released as stake president, and now serves as the Church’s Fiji Public Affairs director. Maryann is ward Primary president, and the six Naga children—Ana, twenty-two; Emily, twenty; Keresi, eighteen; Vilimaina, fifteen; Leua, thirteen; and Inosi, nine—are growing up knowing the strength that the gospel can bring to a family.
In the few short years since Inosi Naga received that book from the missionaries, his life and those of his family have been changed eternally. The elders were right—the book was golden.

I dropped the phone onto the wall cradle and slumped dejectedly into an easy chair. I looked up at the ceiling.
The phone call had come as a complete surprise. I tried to recall the last time that I had been assigned to give any kind of a talk in church. A missionary farewell was to be held in our ward next week, and our first counselor wanted to know if I would be willing to speak in church. It would have been very difficult to say no, but the topic I was assigned certainly tempted me to do so.
Testimonies had never been an easy thing for me to discuss, and recently, it had become even more difficult. Not too long ago, I had decided to re-read the Book of Mormon. When I came to the end, I decided that finally I would test Moroni’s promise. After much prayer, I had received no miraculous witness, no flash of light, and now the bishopric wanted me to speak in front of the ward on the subject of testimonies. I felt that I could hardly attempt to teach others how to gain and strengthen a testimony when I could hardly gain one myself.
The remainder of the week, I went through the motions of preparing a talk on testimonies. I looked up several stories and scriptures to use as examples, and I reviewed several other Church books on the subject. By Sunday, I had a talk prepared, but I felt far from ready to give it.
I paid little attention to the bright, clear weather of that morning as I walked the few blocks to church. I kept thinking that despite my research, I wasn’t prepared for this talk. In fact, I felt that I didn’t have the right to tell my fellow ward members how to gain a testimony when I didn’t have one myself. Somehow, I managed to drag myself up the stairs and into a seat behind the podium. I had trouble looking at the bishop when he shook my hand.
After church finally let out and the agony was over, I left for home as soon as I could. I was still thinking of the talk that I had given. I had talked too fast. Because of my nervousness, I had squeezed a full five-minute talk into about 30 seconds. I could still see the desperate look on the missionary’s face when he saw how much time he would have to use up.
I threw open the front door and went straight to my room. I dropped my scriptures on the desk, flopped down on the bed, and loosened my tie. Then I removed my note cards from my jacket pocket so that I could review them one more time before I shredded and trashed them for good. During my review I re-read one scripture in particular that I had used in my talk. Doctrine and Covenants 76:78–79 talks about bodies terrestrial: “they who are not valiant in the testimony of Jesus; wherefore, they obtain not the crown over the kingdom of our God.” [D&C 76:78–79]
At this point I decided to take a good look at the scriptures. For some reason, I opened to Alma, chapter 18, verse 35 [Alma 18:35]. Here I found this scripture: “And a portion of that Spirit dwelleth in me, which giveth me knowledge, and also power according to my faith and desires which are in God.”
It was a small scripture, not one that is often quoted. In fact, it didn’t even deal directly with testimonies. But it made sense to me. This short scripture pointed me in the direction I had to search for my testimony—inside of me! The gift of the Spirit, which gives us knowledge, was inside of me!
I began to recollect the times that I had read the Book of Mormon in the past. The main question on my mind had never been, “Is this true?” Instead, I had wondered how to apply a certain bit of knowledge to everyday life. I recalled discussions with friends about Church doctrine. I remembered the good feeling I got from helping others.
Slowly, I began to realize that I had within myself a testimony that had been growing for some time. That one little scripture had helped me to realize my real strength. I felt like running to the bishop and asking if I could give my talk over. I had found my testimony. It had been hidden there all along. I still have the note cards from that talk, and written on the front is the Alma scripture reference.

Lidia trudged up the long farm lane, not even turning to wave to her friends still on the school bus. Her mind was too busy with her problem: What can I possibly find between now and tomorrow morning to take to the class auction? The auction, with its proceeds going to the Junior Red Cross, was an annual affair in the country school, but it was a new experience for Lidia.
Oh dear. As if I haven’t got enough to worry about learning a new language in a new land, and trying to make new friends in a new school.
Her problem was instantly forgotten, however, when she opened the cottage door and saw a letter on the floor. It bore an official-looking return address, and it had a Red Cross emblem in the upper left-hand corner.
She knew that she would have to be patient until her parents came home for supper; then she would read it to them. Without the advantage of school, which Lidia had in this new country, her parents’ knowledge of English was very limited.
If only the letter contained some good news about her uncle! Lidia placed the envelope against the only ornament on the shelf, a little blue glass pony. As her fingers touched the figurine, she prayed fervently that it would soon be reunited with its mate, the one that used to sit by its side in their house in Poland. When they had made plans to emigrate to America, not knowing when—or even if—they might meet again, the two Jelinek brothers had each taken one of the glass ponies, praying that they would be together again one day.
Mr. Williams, who owned the farm where Lidia and her parents lived, admired the pony one day and was told the story of the two brothers. He had written to the Red Cross, asking for information. Surely this letter would tell them that the younger Jelinek was now in the United States too!
Remembering that she had promised to start preparing supper, Lidia went into the kitchen and got out pots for the vegetables. As she set the table, she looked on all the cupboard shelves. There was nothing that she could take to the auction sale tomorrow! Not a trinket, not a spare dish, nothing. There were only the bare necessities that the Williamses had kindly provided for them. She dreaded being the only one in her class not to add some object to the collection on her teacher’s desk.
The door suddenly opened, and Lidia rushed with the letter to greet her parents. And while they waited apprehensively, she stumbled through the unfamiliar phrases as she read the letter to them. Then, as she came to the closing sentence, she slowly read these discouraging words: “We are sorry that we have found no trace of your brother. However, be assured that we will keep trying …”
Silence hung in the room. Then Father said quietly, “I’ll wash. Then we’ll eat supper.”
After the usual prayer of thanks for food and shelter, the family avoided speaking of the letter. Father told of a sick cow that was now getting well; Mother had helped Mrs. Williams clean the attic of the rambling old farmhouse.
“And how was school, Lidia?” Father asked.
The girl kept her eyes on her plate as she answered, “Fine, Father. Fine.”
“But you are very quiet,” Father pursued. “You have trouble at school?”
“No, no trouble.”
“So?”
“It’s just this auction at school tomorrow, and I should take something.”
“Auction?” Mother asked. “What is that?”
“Oh, everybody takes something, then the teacher asks for bids, and the one who bids the highest buys the book or ornament or whatever. The money goes to the Red Cross.”
“That is good,” Father said, nodding. “The Red Cross helped us many times. Here, take this.” Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a few coins.
“No thanks, Father,” Lidia said, pushing it away. “I have money of my own I earned from weeding the garden for Mrs. Williams. But we are supposed to take something that can be sold.”
Father looked around the room. “There is so little here.”
Lidia’s face fell. “I know,” she cried. “There’s nothing I can take—nothing in this place!” She hung her head to hide her tears and wished that she had kept her words in check.
The girl waited for her father to scold her; instead, he got up slowly and went over to the shelf. He stood a minute, then he came back with the glass pony in his hand. “Take this,” he said quietly.
Lidia’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean … the pony?”
Father nodded.
Lidia felt the smooth blue glass and touched the black eyes. Nobody spoke. She knew how much the pony meant to her father, and she sensed that her parents were thinking back to happier days when there were two little ponies standing together on the top of a piano.
In the morning the glass ornament sparkled on her teacher’s desk, and it brought the highest bid in the auction. Nancy Crane, its new owner, wrapped it carefully in tissue paper and put it in a box. Lidia could not help feeling sad as she watched.
At supper that night, Lidia described the sale and told her parents that Nancy said that she would take very good care of the pony.
“It’s good,” Father said, smiling, “that the pony helps the Red Cross in a very small way.”
While Lidia was wiping the dishes after supper, a knock on the door startled them. Looking past her father at the open door, Lidia saw her schoolmate Nancy. A tall man was with her.
“Hi, Lidia,” the girl called. “This is my father, and we’ve come to see you about the glass pony.”
As they sat around the table, Nancy’s father took the glass pony out of his pocket, set it on the table, and began explaining: “I couldn’t believe it when Nancy brought this home. Your Lidia had told her that it was but one of a pair and that you left the other in Poland.”
“Yah,” Mr. Jelinek replied, “with my brother.”
“Well,” the other man paused dramatically. “I’ve seen the mate to this pony.”
Lidia saw Father’s hands clench tightly, and Mother’s hand cover her mouth. “You are sure of this?” Father whispered.
“As sure as my name’s Walt Crane. I saw it only a few months ago.”
“How, Mr. Crane?” Lidia asked. “I mean, who had it?”
“A young man came asking for work. I didn’t need any extra help, but I knew that my cousin in Grand Falls did, so I drove him there. I saw the mate to this pony when I helped him move in.”
“This place, is it far?” Lidia asked.
“About 190 kilometers. Listen, everyone, come home with me, and I’ll telephone my cousin. As best as I can recollect, that young man did look like you, Mr. Jelinek. He must be your brother.”
As the Jelineks grabbed their jackets, Nancy gently placed the glass pony on the shelf. “Keep it, Lidia,” she said. “Soon they’ll be a pair again.”
As they were driving up the lane to the Crane farm, Lidia said to Nancy, “It’s really funny. Just yesterday a letter from the Red Cross said that they had not found my dad’s brother yet but that they’d keep trying. And it was actually through the Red Cross auction today that we have found him!”
She felt a hand on her sleeve, and Nancy said, “My grandma always says, ‘God often works in mysterious ways.’ And I guess that it must be true.”

Alma Richards stands in the Stockholm stadium at the 1912 Olympic Games.
Alma Richards’s eyes hurt as he peered at the high jump bar. It was the third day of the 1912 Olympics. The sun over Stockholm’s new brown-brick stadium was unbearably bright, irritating an eye infection that had plagued Alma for weeks. When he was not jumping, he wore an old, droopy hat to shade his eyes. But now that his turn had come again, he stepped to the side of the field and tossed his hat into the grass.4
As Alma prepared to jump, his mind raced. There he was, representing his country at the greatest athletic competition in the world. Yet he felt weak, as if the whole world were resting on his shoulders. He thought of Utah, his family, and his hometown. He thought of BYU and the Saints. Bowing his head, he silently asked God to give him strength. “If it is right that I should win,” he prayed, “I will do my best to set a good example all the days of my life.”5
Raising his head, he felt his weakness slip away. He threw his shoulders back, walked up to the starting line, and crouched into position. He then skipped forward in a burst of energy and leapt into the air, tucking his knees beneath his chin. His body barreled forward and sailed over the bar with inches to spare.
After returning from the 1912 Olympic Games in Stockholm, Sweden, Alma Richards was honored in a parade.
On the sidelines, Hans Liesche suddenly looked nervous as he warmed up for his jump. Alma ran in circles to keep his legs limber. If Hans cleared the bar, as Alma was sure he would, the bar would be raised even higher, and Alma would have to jump again.
When Hans launched into his first jump, he fell on the bar and sent it crashing to the ground. Frustrated, he returned to the field and made a second jump. Once again, he knocked the bar off its pegs.
Alma could see that his competitor was losing composure. Just as Hans squared up for his final attempt, a pistol fired nearby, signaling the start of a race. Hans waited for the runners to cross the finish line and then prepared to jump. Before he could, though, a band began playing, and he refused to start. Finally, after nine minutes, an official prodded him to hurry along. With nothing left to do but jump, Hans bounded forward and threw himself into the air.
Once again, he failed to clear the bar.6
Joy washed over Alma. The competition was over. He had won the gold medal and set an Olympic record. Hans came over and heartily congratulated him. Others soon joined in the praise. “You have put Utah on the map,” one man said.
James Sullivan, an official on the American Olympic team, was especially impressed with Alma’s coolness under pressure and wholesome lifestyle. “I wish we had a hundred clean fellows like you on our team,” he said.7
Within days, newspapers across the United States praised Alma’s victory, crediting his success in part to his religion. “They call the winner of the great jump ‘the Mormon giant,’ and he deserves the title,” one reporter wrote. “He is a self-made athlete, and his winning of world renown comes after years of endeavor and a determination inherited from the men who established the Mormon religion and made the desert blossom.”8
One of Alma’s friends, meanwhile, teased him about praying before his winning jump. “I wish you wouldn’t laugh,” Alma quietly responded. “I prayed to the Lord to give me strength to go over that bar, and I went over.”9

In 1921 Elder David O. McKay (1873–1970), who later became the ninth President of the Church, made a world tour of the missions of the Church. While aboard a ship nearing Apia, Samoa, he had a beautiful experience that teaches a double lesson. First, it shows us the kind of thoughts we might entertain when we don’t really have to think about anything. Second, it shows us the rewards our Heavenly Father reserves for those who come unto Christ and overcome the world. President McKay wrote:

“Towards evening, the reflection of the afterglow of a beautiful sunset was most splendid! The sky was tinged with pink, and the clouds lingering around the horizon were fringed with various hues of crimson and orange, while the heavy cloud farther to the west was sombre purple and black. These various colors cast varying shadows on the peaceful surface of the water. Those from the cloud were long and dark, those from the crimson-tinged sky, clear but rose-tinted and fading into a faint pink that merged into the clear blue of the ocean. Gradually, the shadows became deeper and heavier, and then all merged into a beautiful calm twilight that made the sea look like a great mirror upon which fell the faint light of the crescent moon!

“Pondering still upon this beautiful scene, I lay in my berth at ten o’clock that night, and thought to myself: Charming as it is, it doesn’t stir my soul with emotion as do the innocent lives of children, and the sublime characters of loved ones and friends. Their beauty, unselfishness, and heroism are after all the most glorious!

“I then fell asleep, and beheld in vision something infinitely sublime. In the distance I beheld a beautiful white city. Though far away, yet I seemed to realize that trees with luscious fruit, shrubbery with gorgeously-tinted leaves, and flowers in perfect bloom abounded everywhere. The clear sky above seemed to reflect these beautiful shades of color. I then saw a great concourse of people approaching the city. Each one wore a white flowing robe. … Instantly my attention seemed centered upon their Leader, and though I could see only the profile of his features and his body, I recognized him at once as my Savior! The tint and radiance of his countenance were glorious to behold! There was a peace about him which seemed sublime—it was divine!

“The city, I understood, was his. It was the City Eternal; and the people following him were to abide there in peace and eternal happiness.

“But who were they?

“As if the Savior read my thoughts, he answered by pointing to a semicircle that then appeared above them, and on which were written in gold the words:

‘These Are They Who Have Overcome The World—
Who Have Truly Been Born Again!’

“When I awoke, it was breaking day over Apia harbor” (Cherished Experiences from the Writings of President David O. McKay, compiled by Clare Middlemiss [1955], 101–2).

Blindness can’t stop 12-year-old Rhett Jones from doing just about anything else his fellow deacons do. On Sundays you’ll find him in the Riverdale Second Ward, Ogden Utah Riverdale Stake, passing the sacrament and collecting fast offerings with the rest of his quorum.
In the summer you’ll find him at Scout camp, where he earned seven merit badges last year. His target shooting was incredible. He was able to hit a tin can target 23 of 25 times by having a leader ring a bell in the area of the target, then shooting toward the sound.
Rhett realizes it is especially important to set an example for his younger brother Josh, who is also blind.

Rodrigo Fontt of Osorno, Chile, has experienced the fulfillment of prophecy. His life has been changed just the way President Gordon B. Hinckley said lives would be changed when he announced the Perpetual Education Fund (PEF) to the Church three years ago.
While serving in the Chile Santiago West Mission, Brother Fontt worked in the mission office, where he learned what it was like to work in an administrative position. He enjoyed it, but in 2000, a year before the announcement of the Perpetual Education Fund, Brother Fontt returned home where he faced limited prospects for the future. Many returned missionaries around the world find themselves in similar situations. They have the desire but not the skills needed to rise above the poverty they and their progenitors have experienced.
Applicants to the program take a course called “Planning for Success.” In the course, many of them discover that they can achieve their goals without needing a loan. After hearing about the program and taking the course, Brother Fontt qualified and applied for a PEF loan and began working toward a degree in finance and administration. Though he now has a wife and young child and is working full-time to support them, he is currently in the third year of his educational program. He has become a leader in the Church, serving as bishop of the Antillanca Ward, Osorno Chile Stake.
Bishop Fontt is just one of many working hard to improve their lives. With his education, he and his wife feel that they are progressing not only temporally but also spiritually. They are achieving goals they would not have otherwise been able to reach.

Nine-year-old Carrie hurried around the corner of the grocery store aisle, trying to keep the cart out of the reach of her six-year-old brother, Andy.
“No fair!” he cried. “You’ve pushed it the whole time we’ve been here.” He tried to grab the cart, but Carrie twisted it away, accidentally hitting a row of ketchup bottles lined up neatly on a shelf. Two of the bottles crashed to the floor and shattered, spraying their bright red contents everywhere. The two children stared in horror at the broken glass and scarlet ketchup.
Mom came around the corner just then, saying, “I want you two to stay with me …” Her words trailed off as she saw the mess on the floor and the misery on Carrie’s and Andy’s faces.
“It looks like there’s been an accident,” she said. “It’s all right. Sometimes things break and have to be cleaned up.”
Mom found a clerk, who cleaned up the ketchup and glass without getting mad at Carrie or Andy. Carrie still felt terrible. She knew it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been swinging the cart to keep it away from Andy. Before they left the store, she quietly told Mom how the bottles had been broken. Mom listened solemnly while Andy stood with a scared expression on his face.
“Are we in trouble?” Andy asked, struggling to keep from crying.
Mom hugged Andy. “No, I think you feel bad enough about what happened that you’ll be more careful in the grocery store from now on. But, Carrie, what do you think you need to do to make up for the store losing those two bottles of ketchup?”
“I think I need to pay for them. I didn’t mean to break them, but it was still my fault,” Carrie replied.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Mom said. “I can lend you the money for now, and you can pay me back at home.”
At the cash register, Mom explained that Carrie had been playing with the cart when the bottles broke, so she wanted to pay for the ketchup. The clerk thanked Carrie for being honest, and Carrie felt much better.
At home, Carrie didn’t feel quite as good when she gave Mom part of the money she had been saving for a tape player, but she was glad she didn’t have that sick feeling she had experienced after the bottles exploded on the floor. She remembered how red everything looked. She had been afraid the ketchup would stain the floor, forever reminding her of her mistake. But it had come clean with a wet mop.
A few months later, Carrie finished Sunday dinner and flopped down on the couch with a big sigh.
“What’s the matter?” Mom asked. “That’s a pretty heavy sigh for a Sunday afternoon.”
“Mom, I have to give a talk in Primary next Sunday on Jesus’ Atonement. I’m not even sure I know what the Atonement is.”
“This sounds like a good Sunday activity,” Mom said, sitting on the couch next to Carrie. “Tell me what you do know.”
Carrie was quiet for a moment. Then she replied, “I think it’s when Jesus suffered for our sins. If we repent, we don’t have to suffer any more for them because He already did. Then we can be forgiven.”
“Good!” Mom said, squeezing Carrie’s arm warmly. “You understand a lot. Tell me about being forgiven. What does that mean?”
“Well, I guess it means that we’re not in trouble anymore.” Carrie thought some more. “I mean, Heavenly Father forgives us, and we can forget about what happened.”
“Do we forget completely?” Mom asked quickly.
“Well, no—we have to remember never to do that wrong thing again. And we have to try to make up for what we did, like me apologizing to Andy if I yell at him or something. But once we’re forgiven, we don’t have to keep feeling bad. But, Mom,” Carrie asked, “how do I explain this to the kids in Primary? The three-year-olds are going to be totally lost!”
Mom was excited, her eyes twinkling. “Do you think they’d like a flannel-board story?”
“Sure. But how can I do that for the Atonement?”
“Think ketchup,” Mom said mysteriously.
Carrie looked at her in confusion, then cried, “Perfect!” as she bounced off the couch and hurried into the kitchen for paper, pencils, and construction paper. Carrie worked on her talk all afternoon, cutting out figures and thinking about her story.
The next week even the Sunbeams forgot to wiggle in their chairs as Carrie gave her talk. She put up a cut-out shape of a ketchup bottle, then the broken container with a big pool of red below it. The children were shocked by the thought of breaking two whole bottles of bright red ketchup.
Carrie explained, “We can make mistakes that seem too horrible to be forgiven. But if we repent, we can become clean from sin, just as ketchup can be mopped up off a floor.” She took down the picture of the broken bottle and replaced it with a picture of a sparkling clean floor.
“Jesus helps us ‘clean up’ when we commit a sin if we feel truly sorry and try to repair the damage we’ve done. He has suffered for our sins, so we don’t have to feel guilty forever. He helps us feel good again after we repent.”
She ended her talk with a scripture from the Bible, explaining that even if our sins are like scarlet, we can become white as snow through repentance, because of the Atonement (see Isa. 1:18).
As Carrie sat down, she looked at Mom sitting on the back row of the Primary room. Mom winked, and Carrie smiled back. This was the best talk she’d ever given. Maybe the rest of the family would like a repeat for family home evening!

The operations that followed, the plaster casts, and the awkward crutches are but a few of the memories of that tragic experience. However, the greater memory is not one of pain and hardship, but rather one of gratitude to the young men in an LDS priests quorum whose service in a moment of misfortune was remarkable.
Recognizing that I wouldn’t be able to return to my carpentry job of building a house, the priests quorum, whom I serve with as an adviser in the Mendon (Utah) Ward, responded with the ambition of youth, determined that they could provide the manpower to complete the house-building project if someone with experience would offer the direction.
“It didn’t matter how big the job was,” commented Michael Anderson, one of the organizers of the project, “we knew we could do just about anything if we had the cooperation of the quorum.”
And so, with some help from Bishop Stanton Barrett, who is also a building contractor, a spirited quorum of priests, armed with hammers and saws, undertook to finish the framing of a 1,200-square-foot home.
“As fast as the bishop laid it out, we’d nail it together,” Michael stated in explaining afterwards how the group succeeded in framing the complete house, from foundation to roof trusses, in only two days.
“Of course it took some organizing,” he added, “We called each quorum member, told him our plans, and got a commitment from him. The commitment was important.”
The owners of the home in progress, Mr. and Mrs. Bob Findlay, helped out too. “Bob was in there working with the rest of us, and his wife brought us lunch. That kept a hungry crew going,” Michael said. “Sure, there were a few bruises and some thumbnails got whacked, but there was just a special spirit there despite the hard work. The guys planned it and came out because they wanted to help, and that made it fun,” he added. “It was something I’ll remember all my life.”
Bishop Barrett suggested one reason for the success of the undertaking when he said, “The young men were working not because their adviser had planned a service project for them but because they had planned one for him … and that made all the difference.”
As the last nail went into the roof late Saturday, the physical work was done, but the surprise in announcing their accomplishment was still to come.
An unusually quiet quorum of teenage boys greeted me as I met with them the first Sunday after being released from the hospital. A shy and somewhat out-of-character member of the quorum stepped forward and said, “We’ve got something for you … because we wanted to help.” He handed me a homemade, booklike get-well card consisting of a set of photographs that documented their construction work. The room was silent as they anxiously watched me thumb through the pictures.
In the powerful moments of silence that followed, my mind went back to the many times before, when, in the same classroom, I had unconvincingly talked from the lesson manual on the subject of service. Suddenly we were experiencing that joy which before was only a subject of discussion. The lesson that day wasn’t expressed in words.
Finally, I broke the silence by saying, “Now you know the real joys of service—but let’s leave the hay baler out of the next project!”
What began as a tragedy was suddenly forgotten. Long after the plaster casts and crutches are gone, the memory will live of the young men who wanted to help and did.

I love talking to my parents and grandparents and learning stories about my ancestors. I’ve even learned how to enter their stories into FamilySearch.org. I also love searching online for my ancestors. I was so excited when my dad and I found a ship record on Ancestry.com with some of their names. I also got to visit a cemetery with my dad and grandpa to look for my relatives’ graves. I was so happy when we found the tombstone of my great-great-grandfather!

When Dinah Boitumelo Rakwela received word that her brother was going to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, she felt confident in her opinion that the Church was false. Over the years she had visited many churches—where she received brochures about Joseph Smith—and she believed their negative information. Convinced of his error, she went to see her brother to talk him out of his decision.
With her brother, she discussed until midnight the “mistake” he was about to make. Finally, he said, “It is too late to discuss this anymore, but I need to tell you one thing.” He bore his testimony and said: “This is the Church of Jesus Christ and I do not want to join any other church.” She felt defeated; she knew that he had made up his mind. He gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon. She didn’t want anything to do with it and when she returned to her home, she put it on the highest shelf in her bedroom—a place where she could ignore it.
Dinah has always loved reading, and one day—a few years later—she needed a book. As she was searching her bookshelves, the Book of Mormon fell off its upper shelf and landed open at Chapter 10 of Moroni. She read the open page and was struck by Moroni’s words. This caused her to read the entire book of Moroni and then to start at the beginning in 1st Nephi. She read steadily for two days, and when she finished the book, she knew that it was the word of God.
By this time, her brother was serving as a missionary in the Cape Town South Africa Mission. She called his home ward bishop—whom she had met before his departure for his mission—and when she told the bishop that she wanted to join the Church, he insisted that she needed to be taught the lessons. But Dinah did not want the lessons; she just wanted to be baptized!
So following this bishop’s counsel to be properly taught by the missionaries, she and her mother—whom she had also convinced to read the Book of Mormon—traveled eight hours each weekend from their home in Serowa (Botswana) to Gabarone (Botswana). There they were taught by the missionaries and attended church services before returning home. In due course, both Dinah and her mother were baptized.
Despite having no organized branch or ward in their village, they met and studied with other members. Together they regularly fasted and prayed for a branch to be organized. Eventually, a member of the Church who held the Melchizedek Priesthood moved to their village and a branch was formed. She considers this a miracle, explaining, “Everything is possible with God.”
Today, Sister Rakwela is a member of the Mochudi Ward in Botswana and serves as a Sunday School teacher. And her brother—the one who joined the church despite her efforts to dissuade him—is Elder Clement Matswagothata, who currently serves as an Area Seventy in the Africa Southeast Area.

Some years ago I was invited to speak to a group of faculty and students at Harvard University. I, of course, hoped that the gospel message would be accepted and that our meeting would end in a harmony of views. As I prayed that this might result, there came to me a strong impression that this petition would not be granted.

I determined that, however preposterous the talk about angels and golden plates and restoration might be to my audience, I would teach the truth with quiet confidence, for I have a testimony of the truth. If some must come from the meeting unsettled and disturbed, it would not be me. Let them be disturbed, if they would.

It was as the Spirit foretold. Some in the group shook their heads in amazement that anyone could believe such things. But I was at peace. I had taught the truth, and they could accept it or reject it as they pleased.

Five years ago, I was thumbing through a copy of this BYU Studies booklet a friend had given me. My friend gave me this issue because the family of a former missionary to Tonga in the 1930’s, named Thomas Whitley, published Elder Whitley’s missionary photos. Among them was this picture.

This is the only photograph that exists of my grandparents Iki Tupou Fulivai and his wife Leva’itai, who appears to be wearing a silk dress that Iki probably bought in China. It was both exciting and haunting to look into my great grandparents’ eyes for the first time. You can imagine the stir I created when I had this photo distributed to my father's family. It was if they had been raised from the dead. We still haven't been able to identify the child, but no matter, these are my great grandparents. If this photo was taken in 1937, Iki would’ve been in his 80s because he died in 1951 at the age of 101. And look at what he’s wearing: a graduation robe and motor board. It’s so fitting that Elder Whitley caught this moment on film because it perfectly captures what I grew up hearing about my great-grandfather and his insatiable thirst for learning. The missionaries came to his home because he wanted his children educated. He saw things and met people in his world travels that must’ve compelled him to yearn for his children to be literate. Keep in mind, this wasn't his undergraduate degree or his MBA. This was his graduation from grammar school! He led by example, sitting with his children and grandchildren, in his 80s, in the same classroom as they all learned math and science.