Gospel Story Finder

In the midst of all the suffering of the pioneer handcart companies are numerous examples of Saints who, through their actions, showed great love for the Savior. One of these was a young English girl named Emily Wall, who had come across the plains with her brother, Joseph. They had been promised that they would live to come to the Salt Lake Valley. That faith sustained them through all the terrible sufferings they endured. Their mother had given each of them extra pairs of shoes to wear during the journey, and they gave most of those away to Saints who had no shoes at all.
Partway across the plains, Joseph, who was then eighteen, fell sick. The leaders of the group felt that they would have to leave him behind—not because they were cruel but because they simply could not stop and wait for him to get better. To do so would endanger the lives of everyone in the group. They said that if Joseph got well, he could catch up to the company. Emily said, “I can’t leave him. We have both been promised that we will live to get across the plains, so I’ll put him in the handcart and I will push it myself.” So fifteen-year-old Emily, with the help of another girl, pulled the heavy handcart for three days while Joseph recovered. Soon he was able to get back on his feet, and the two of them proceeded as part of the Martin Company.
Emily later married a man she met at Devil’s Gate after the handcart company was rescued. The couple had twelve children who followed the example of their mother’s faith and obedience to the Lord’s commandments.

Elder Oaks faced a similar situation in 1984 following his call to the Twelve, as he again left a position and work that he loved as a supreme court justice in the state of Utah. However, this change was different.

In 1970, Elder Oaks reasonably might have thought he would return to his legal career following his service at BYU, which in fact he eventually did. But the call in 1984 was distinctive—a consecrated commitment of his whole soul and entire life to the Lord. The eternal importance and worldwide scope of his new responsibilities truly were overwhelming.

Elder Oaks described his innermost thoughts about this important transition:
“During this period of introspection, contemplating the way I would spend the rest of my life, I asked myself what kind of an apostle I would be. Would I be a lawyer who had been called to be an apostle, or would I be an apostle who used to be a lawyer? I concluded that the answer to this question depended upon whether I would try to shape my calling to my own personal qualifications and experience, or whether I would undertake the painful process of trying to shape myself to my calling.
“Would I try to perform my calling in the world’s ways, or would I try to determine and follow the Lord’s ways?
“I made up my mind that I would try to change myself to fit my calling, that I would try to measure up to the qualifications and spiritual stature of an apostle. That is a challenge for a lifetime.”1

As a young newly returned missionary from the Nigeria Enugu Mission, to a family where my faith is strange to everyone, there were many ideas and plans running through my mind. Where and how to start was the only question I had. After a few days, I was added to the institute class in my ward on WhatsApp, where assignments were given every week for us to study.
I must confess that though we live in a world of hardships, where we have to battle with a deadly virus called corona (COVID-19), the Lord is still hastening His work of salvation (D&C 88:73). Studying scriptures every day has really boosted my spirituality level. After submitting an assignment on the First Vision and after a heartfelt prayer, I felt the impression that I should approach my elder sister and her family, who I am living with, and introduce them to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and to His Church. I did it and I was so happy the many questions she had about the Church even before I left for mission were resolved by the help of the Holy Ghost. She has, for some time, stopped going to her church because of some misunderstandings. I used the opportunity to invite her to church and she promised to come after the crisis is calmed and controlled.
The institute class has really strengthened my faith and has shown me many means to invite others to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Despite the hardships and the oppositions, I know with all my heart that the work of the Lord will still move forward. Now, I have been able to create a plan to diligently assist the Lord in hastening His work. I know He is mindful of His children and I love Him with all my heart.

The first Sunday I attended church with the missionaries, I recognized people I had grown up with and knew from the community. I saw one of my best friends from school, the elementary and high school secretaries, a girl I had not been exceptionally nice to in the past, and even a young man I once had a crush on.
Each of these individuals had a lasting impact on me. My best friend was a young woman of great integrity, and because of her I chose to continue investigating the Church. The secretaries who remembered me from school helped me know that I am important. I learned about godly love and charity from the young woman who embraced me despite my less-than-kind behavior toward her in the past. My early teenage crush set such a good example, I recognized his light and wanted to be around him.
These experiences helped me learn that, even before my first exposure to the missionaries, Heavenly Father had prepared me to receive the gospel through the people He placed around me. From them I learned that the small things we do can have great effect. Most important, I have learned that missionary work starts with me.

When Panda Greene tried out for the girls’ one-mile run, she didn’t think she had a chance. She’d been running all her life, but never in formal competition. It had always been just for fun. The students and teachers at Andrews School had been buzzing about the race ever since she’d enrolled there in the sixth grade three months ago, and she knew that the very best runners would be competing. She could hardly believe it when she finished well ahead of her classmates. And when everyone at school suddenly knew who she was, and even the teachers stopped to chat with her in the halls, she couldn’t help but be pleased.
“Go, Panda! Go! Go!” the students cheered as she crossed the finish line ahead of the other runners during practices.
Andrews School’s biggest rival was Washington School. Every year for the past five years the winner of their meet had finally been determined by the winner of the one-mile race, and each time, Washington had walked away with the trophy. But enthusiasm was running high at Andrews this year. And their hopes were set on Panda. Winning had never seemed important to Panda before, but now she wanted very much to win—not for herself, but for her classmates, for her teachers, for Andrews School!
When Panda’s parents heard about the meet, they were just as excited as she was.
“We’ll be sure to be there,” her mother said, giving her a big hug. “We’re so proud of you!”
“When Grandpa Greene hears about it,” her father added, “I bet he’ll be here on the next plane.”
Billy, Panda’s eight-year-old brother, looked at her through squinted eyes. “Well, I hope you win, but I saw Washington’s team last Saturday. Their runner looks tough, and she runs like a cougar.”
Billy’s warning only increased Panda’s determination to win. Every afternoon, right after school, she hurried to the big track at the neighboring high school and practiced running until her brown hair was damp with perspiration and the muscles of her legs cried out for rest.
Panda felt good the morning of the race. She stood at the top of the bleachers in the warm sun and looked down at the track. “You’d better go sit with Mom and Dad and Grandpa now,” she said to Billy, who had been tagging after her all morning. “I have to go to the girls’ locker room and get ready for the race.”
As she spoke, Marianne Harper, her rival from Washington School, came over to her. Billy was right. Marianne looked strong and fast. She also looked unfriendly.
“I just wanted a closer look at you,” she said to Panda. “Everyone’s been telling me that you’re quite a runner. But you don’t look like much to me.”
Billy scrambled up the bleacher seats until he was at face level with Marianne. He stuck out his chin and glared at her. “Well, that’s OK, because you’re going to see nothing but her dust once the race starts!”
Marianne merely looked past Billy at Panda. “You don’t stand a chance of winning,” she said coolly as she walked away. “You don’t need it badly enough.”
Billy turned to Panda. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t have time to figure it out now,” she said as she headed down the bleachers. Turning to wave to Billy, Panda caught the toe of her sneaker on an uneven step and pitched forward. She quickly regained her balance, but a sharp pain bit angrily into her right ankle. After testing it gingerly, she decided it wasn’t anything serious, and she hurried off to the locker room.
The race was four laps around the school’s quarter-mile track. Six girls, each one from a local grade school, were lined up across the track in starting position. Panda was in the inside lane, Marianne Harper in the lane next to her. The gun went off, and Marianne instantly shot ahead of the group.
Panda paced herself, concentrating on her breathing. Relax, she told herself. Take deep, even breaths.
At the end of the second lap, two girls were ahead of her: Marianne Harper, and Sue Winton from Longfellow School. Panda continued her steady pace. The whole school was counting on her, and she wasn’t planning to let them down. By the third lap, only Marianne stood between Panda and victory. But the mishap in the bleachers had been more damaging than Panda had suspected, and the pounding of her feet against the hard surface was taking its toll on her ankle. Each step filled her leg with fiery pain. Gotta win! she thought. Forget the pain. Run! Run! Run!
Panda saw her chance for victory midway in the last lap. Marianne was showing signs of fatigue. Panda increased her speed, closing the gap until the two girls were running side by side. Marianne glanced at Panda, her eyes hard and cold. It was clear that she would not take losing lightly.
There were only fifty yards to go when a bolt of pain ripped through Panda’s leg; she felt her ankle twist beneath her body as she plunged toward the ground. Her hands plowed up the track, scraping them raw. Blood trickled from her knees, and gritty sand filled her mouth as she saw Marianne sprint across the finish line.
A party had been planned at the high school auditorium for all the contestants, winners and losers alike, immediately following the meet. Panda really wanted to attend it, so despite her injuries, her parents drove her there directly from the doctor’s office and helped her into a chair. She was immediately surrounded by concerned friends, determined to console her and cheer her up. Billy stood at her side, while her parents and grandfather talked with several other parents and some teachers.
“Does your leg hurt a lot?” Billy asked when her classmates temporarily drifted away.
“No, not too much,” Panda said. “The doctor says it’ll be fine in a week or so. I just have to let it rest.”
Billy was the first to see Marianne Harper heading their way. “Oh, oh. Here comes trouble!” he muttered.
Panda expected a sneer from Marianne, but her face was serious. “I’m sorry about your fall,” she said. “I wanted to win awfully bad, but not that way.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Panda said. “You beat me fair and square. You’re the winner.”
“Am I? Look around.” Marianne motioned to the many parents, teachers, and students in the room. “Your whole family’s here … and so many friends! They don’t care that you lost. They’re still cheering for you.” She shook her head sadly. “I thought it might be different if I won, but it isn’t. My classmates only came because we’re getting the trophy, and my parents didn’t show up at all.”
Marianne turned to walk away, and Panda reached out and grasped her arm. “Wait,” she said. “You’ll be going to Jefferson Junior High next year, won’t you?”
Marianne nodded.
“I will, too,” Panda said. “Maybe we can be on a relay team together. We’d make great partners.”
“You mean that?”
“Of course,” Panda said.
“Then you have yourself a partner!” Marianne smiled a half-smile as she left, but her eyes were wet with tears.
“I don’t get it,” Billy said. “She’s the winner. Winners don’t cry.”
“Sometimes they do, Billy,” Panda said thoughtfully. “I guess there are lots of things more important than winning.”
“Yeah,” Billy said. “Like having a brother.”
Panda put her arm around Billy’s shoulder. “Yes,” she agreed with a broad smile. “Like having a brother.”

From the time the tooth fairy left her first quarter under my pillow, my parents have been teaching me to be careful with my money. I always paid tithing first on everything I earned and put at least half into savings for college.
By the time I met my husband, I was pretty sure I had done everything right when it came to managing my money. I didn’t have a credit card or a car loan, and I had worked part time during college so I didn’t have to take out a student loan. I had followed my parents’ advice about money to the letter.
So I was shocked when my husband and I sat down to open a joint bank account and get our first credit card. The bank clerk came back and told us that our application for a credit card had been rejected. I couldn’t understand what I had done wrong.
As it turns out, there is a lot more to credit than I realized. I set out to learn the basics, and I now understand why our first credit card application was denied. What I learned will help you prepare to handle credit wisely in the future.
I knew that using credit usually ends up costing you money, so I avoided credit cards. But I didn’t understand that there are some times when using credit might be necessary and beneficial.
It turns out my credit card application was rejected because neither my husband nor I had a credit history. This is a record kept on any person who has ever used credit before (whether a car loan, a credit card, or even a store card). A credit report lists all the lines of credit you have, what the balances are, and whether you’ve made your payments on time. All of this information is combined to create a credit score—a number usually between 300 and 850 that tells lenders how likely you are to repay a loan. The higher your score, the more lenders will trust you to make your payments on time. Plus, you’ll get better interest rates and terms on loans.
Because my husband and I had never used credit before, lenders had to assume we weren’t a safe investment. When we bought our first car, we had to make a large down payment and pay a high interest rate until our credit score improved. It was an expensive mistake. By getting a credit card earlier and paying off the bill in full each month, we could have built a good credit history without ever paying interest. This would have allowed us to get better terms on our car loan and saved us money.

Forgive me for a personal conclusion, which does not represent the terrible burdens so many of you carry but it is meant to be encouraging. Thirty years ago last month, a little family set out to cross the United States to attend graduate school—no money, an old car, every earthly possession they owned packed into less than half the space of the smallest U-Haul trailer available. Bidding their apprehensive parents farewell, they drove exactly 34 miles up the highway, at which point their beleaguered car erupted.
Pulling off the freeway onto a frontage road, the young father surveyed the steam, matched it with his own, then left his trusting wife and two innocent children—the youngest just three months old—to wait in the car while he walked the three miles or so to the southern Utah metropolis of Kanarraville, population then, I suppose, 65. Some water was secured at the edge of town, and a very kind citizen offered a drive back to the stranded family. The car was attended to and slowly—very slowly—driven back to St. George for inspection—U-Haul trailer and all.
After more than two hours of checking and rechecking, no immediate problem could be detected, so once again the journey was begun. In exactly the same amount of elapsed time at exactly the same location on that highway with exactly the same pyrotechnics from under the hood, the car exploded again. It could not have been 15 feet from the earlier collapse, probably not 5 feet from it! Obviously the most precise laws of automotive physics were at work.
Now feeling more foolish than angry, the chagrined young father once more left his trusting loved ones and started the long walk for help once again. This time the man providing the water said, “Either you or that fellow who looks just like you ought to get a new radiator for that car.” For the second time a kind neighbor offered a lift back to the same automobile and its anxious little occupants. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the plight of this young family.
“How far have you come?” he said. “Thirty-four miles,” I answered. “How much farther do you have to go?” “Twenty-six hundred miles,” I said. “Well, you might make that trip, and your wife and those two little kiddies might make that trip, but none of you are going to make it in that car.” He proved to be prophetic on all counts.
Just two weeks ago this weekend, I drove by that exact spot where the freeway turnoff leads to a frontage road, just three miles or so west of Kanarraville, Utah. That same beautiful and loyal wife, my dearest friend and greatest supporter for all these years, was curled up asleep in the seat beside me. The two children in the story, and the little brother who later joined them, have long since grown up and served missions, married perfectly, and are now raising children of their own. The automobile we were driving this time was modest but very pleasant and very safe. In fact, except for me and my lovely Pat situated so peacefully at my side, nothing of that moment two weeks ago was even remotely like the distressing circumstances of three decades earlier.
Yet in my mind’s eye, for just an instant, I thought perhaps I saw on that side road an old car with a devoted young wife and two little children making the best of a bad situation there. Just ahead of them I imagined that I saw a young fellow walking toward Kanarraville, with plenty of distance still ahead of him. His shoulders seemed to be slumping a little, the weight of a young father’s fear evident in his pace. In the scriptural phrase his hands did seem to “hang down.” In that imaginary instant, I couldn’t help calling out to him: “Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it—30 years of it now, and still counting. You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”

Now, I want you all to remember the program of prospective elders, and I am going to tell you why. I was a prospective elder when I met my wife in Blackfoot, Idaho; and after I had courted her for some time and decided (and let her know) that she was the girl of my dreams, she let me know in no uncertain terms that I had to “shape up.” A temple marriage was the only marriage she was interested in.

After shaping up, I was ordained an elder and secured a temple recommend. We were sealed for time and eternity in the Salt Lake Temple April 23, 1924. I am very grateful for my eternal companion and for my family, including fourteen grandchildren. It was my wife’s birthday yesterday, the day that I was sustained as a General Authority.

I told the bishop he had the wrong person.
“I do not like other people’s children, I’ve never taught children, and I can’t sing,” I said.
“Sister Taylor,” he replied, “the Lord qualifies whomever He calls. You’ll be great.”
He asked me to think about the calling and let him know the next Sunday whether I would accept it.
“I’m trying to raise a six-year-old, a three-year-old, and a baby,” I said. “I can barely make it through the day with my own children, and now you want to put me with 40 more and have me teach them music?”
He responded, “Pray about it.”
That afternoon I tried to explain to my husband, Mark, why the calling was a bad idea. How could I work in Primary when I couldn’t even be the kind of mother to my own children I wanted to be? A fear had been plaguing me for months that I was failing as a mother.
The week went by in a blur, but my thoughts kept turning to the bishop’s parting words. Finally, Sunday morning in my bedroom, I fell to my knees in prayer. Tears started down my face, but a sweet peace filled my heart. Immediately I knew it was right to accept the calling. As I submitted to the Lord’s will, all the angst fled my heart.
When I entered the Primary room after sacrament meeting, the Primary president introduced me, and the children sang a welcome song. Looking into their hopeful eyes and seeing my six-year-old son beam, I resolved to be the best Primary chorister I could be.
From then on I spent a lot of time learning songs and preparing lessons. I played the Primary songs at home, in the car, and on walks. I researched different teaching methods and devoted hours each week to making posters and developing games.
As I prepared a lesson for singing time one afternoon at the kitchen table, I was humming the song “Scripture Power.” My six-year-old was sitting at the counter eating a sandwich, and my three-year-old was cutting pieces of paper next to me. As I hummed the chorus, suddenly both children burst out:
Scripture power keeps me safe from sin.
Scripture power is the power to win.
Scripture power! Ev’ry day I need
The power that I get each time I read.1
That’s when I knew that the calling was an answer to my prayers. I had been asking the Lord to show me how to be a better mother, and He gave me a calling that would teach me how as I taught music to my children.
I am so grateful for my bishop’s inspiration and his loving words: “Pray about it.”

Consider the experience of Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve. Some years ago, Elder Oaks was living in Chicago when one night he was confronted by a young robber with a gun. Elder Oaks had no money to give him, no watch, nothing of value except his car—and his wife was in the car. Both Elder Oaks and his wife were at great risk. During the encounter, Elder Oaks had an opportunity to grab the gun without the likelihood of being shot. “I was taller and heavier than this young man,” Elder Oaks explains, “and at that time of my life was somewhat athletic. I had no doubt that I could prevail in a quick wrestling match if I could get his gun out of the contest.
“Just as I was about to make my move, I had a unique experience. I did not see anything or hear anything, but I knew something. I knew what would happen if I grabbed that gun. We would struggle, and I would turn the gun into that young man’s chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also knew that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life.” (See New Era, Mar. 1994, 4.)
How should you react in a similar situation? Who knows? It would be a different time, a different robber, a different place. The point is that Elder Oaks had not conditioned himself to automatically react violently. But he had conditioned himself to listening to the still, small voice. So when the idea of grabbing the gun came to him, he was willing and able to be guided by the Spirit.
It’s also important to note that Elder Oaks had ended up in a dangerous area because he and his wife were taking another sister home from a Church activity. He certainly wasn’t looking for trouble. He had taken reasonable precautions, such as leaving Sister Oaks in a locked car and later making sure the street was clear before going back out to the car.

At age five, most children are learning to tie their shoes, ride a bicycle, and recite the alphabet. Stephen Beus was learning how to play the piano.
At age nine, Stephen made his first symphony appearance with the Oregon East Symphony. At age 11, he played in his first international competition and took fifth place. He returned to the same competition three years later and placed first.
The older Stephen got, the more piano became a major focus in his life. He won numerous state, regional, national, and international competitions. He appeared on stage with renowned conductors and famous orchestras. He performed and was interviewed on national radio. A television station from his home state of Washington produced and aired a documentary about him. He also gave benefit concerts and solo recitals. And through all of this, he was able to excel at school and keep his focus on living the gospel.
At age 18, most aspiring piano performers are practicing three to six hours a day and learning new pieces to help them gain prominence and earn entrance into prestigious music schools. Stephen is putting all that aside to serve a mission in Finland.
Although he loves piano performance, he realizes that the most important performance at this time in his life won’t be at a piano, but behind a badge engraved, “Elder Beus.”
“I won’t be learning new repertoire, and all the other pianists will be home practicing,” Stephen says. “But I think it’s more important for me to go on a mission right now.”
Although he will be putting a promising career on hold for two years, Stephen doesn’t believe that this is different from what all missionaries do. “Every missionary has to give up something to go on a mission. Some people leave girlfriends, careers, college, sports, and other things.”
Along with practicing daily, which Stephen has done for three to six hours a day except Sunday, he will also be giving up recitals and performances. “I may not be heard for two years, which is not usually ideal for pianists. I have just begun to receive invitations for recitals and performances, which is a long-awaited mark in my short career.”
But Stephen believes the blessings outweigh the sacrifice. “I’ve been greatly blessed in my life with a wonderful family and with a testimony of the gospel. The least I can do is to share the Book of Mormon and the gospel with other people so they can experience the joy that comes with knowing and living the truth.”
As Stephen prepares for his mission he muses about the possibilities of using his musical talent to share the gospel. “If it’s effective, I’d like to do it.” He says there have been numerous times he has felt the Spirit through music and hopes that he can help others have that feeling. There have been piano performances when Stephen felt his playing was like bearing his testimony.
Although his testimony isn’t based on music, he says that music has helped strengthen it. “I think music is a supplement to my testimony. It’s just one of the beautiful things that God has given for our enjoyment. ‘Men are, that they might have joy’ (2 Ne. 2:25), and I think good music is one thing that can help us have joy, because it brings the Spirit.”
Stephen has been practicing the piano for 13 years. He has studied under prestigious teachers and performed in numerous venues. He has earned respect for his talent and learned to touch audiences. But he says his learning is worth nothing if he doesn’t first try to live what he believes.
He quotes 2 Nephi 9:28–29: “When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, for they set it aside, supposing they know of themselves, wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not. … But to be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God.”
Stephen says that as much as he enjoys music, it would be selfish if he let that get in the way of his desire to serve a mission. “That scripture has had a powerful influence on me. Music is a beautiful gift from God, but if I were to let it interfere with the most essential things in my life, my music would then become foolishness.”
As much as Stephen loves music, his testimony and love of missionary work is stronger. “I know that serving the Lord for two years is more important than anything else I could do, even though it is hard to leave some things behind.”
After he returns from his mission, Stephen plans on restoring any piano skills he might lose during his mission. He says he will have to work extra hard to catch up with the competition. Then he would like to refine his skill even further by leaving his hometown of Othello and attending the Peabody Conservatory of Music in Maryland or Juilliard in New York.
Stephen says the standards he chooses to live by aren’t always accepted in the music community. He hopes that serving a mission will give him more strength to be a positive influence in that community. He also hopes that going on a mission will strengthen the confidence he needs to share the gospel when he returns.
Whatever he does, Stephen hopes that the talent he has will give him the opportunity to serve others and share the gospel. He believes that’s one of the reasons he has his talent. “I think God expects me to develop my talent and try to bless other people with it.”
So his love for the piano won’t keep him from serving a mission. “You have to make a sacrifice to do anything worthwhile.”

Until last year, Danny had a hard time communicating. Even those close to him had a hard time understanding his speech. But now Danny talks with his eyes—well, with a laser that’s attached to his glasses. Using the laser, Danny can activate keys on a small, talking computer. Now that he’s able to communicate more easily, collecting fast offerings becomes as easy as pushing a button.
“Hello. I’m from the Church. Do you have any fast offerings today?” When the envelope is returned to him, Danny pushes another button, and the electronic voice says, “Thank you!” He’s also used his new voice to give talks and bear his testimony.

I recently had the opportunity to visit with Sister Yazzie of the Chinle Arizona Stake in her hogan. When she welcomed me into her home, the first thing I noticed was the variety of framed family and missionary photos on her walls and tables. So I asked, “Sister Yazzie, how many grandchildren do you have?”

Surprised by my question, she shrugged her shoulders. Confused by her response, I looked at her daughter, Sister Yellowhair, who answered, “She doesn’t know how many grandchildren she has. We don’t count. All children call her Grandmother—she is Grandmother to everyone.”

Sister Yazzie doesn’t limit her love and influence to her biological family. She understands what it means to expand her sphere of influence as she goes about doing good, blessing, nurturing, and defending the family of God. She understands that “whenever a woman strengthens the faith of a child, she contributes to the strength of a family—now and in the future.”9

When I was in high school, my mom would place the New Era so that when I came home from school, I would be sure to see it. I usually glanced at the cover and that was it. My freshman year of college my mom started sending me the New Era every month. At first I would just put it on the coffee table hoping to impress someone. Now in my sophomore year, I anxiously await the arrival of the New Era. I really appreciate the uplifting articles and the inspirational musical numbers. Now I don’t have to use the New Era to impress anyone but myself.
Heidi SmithEllensburg, Washington

A small note on the keyboard read, “This computer is reserved for Samuel at 5:00 a.m.” In response to his stake president’s challenge for the stake to index one million names, 14-year-old Samuel B. of Utah started getting up at 5:00 a.m. so that he could index before school. With one computer in the home and seven siblings with homework to do, Samuel had to sacrifice some sleep in order to get time on the computer.
But Samuel’s enthusiasm spread to the rest of his family. Soon his brother Nathan sacrificed basketball time and his sister Ivyllyn sacrificed reading time in order to index. “I’ve never been challenged as much by my children,” Samuel’s father says. “Until they got involved, I thought indexing was hard. They taught me that it could be easy and fun.” The following New Year’s Eve, the children were rushing to finish their yearly indexing goals before midnight.
Thousands of miles away, the Lanuza family in Guatemala caught the same enthusiasm. This family of nine—five children, Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa—share one computer. With the children using the computer for homework, Mom finishing her studies at the university, and Dad working, the computer is always in high demand, and each family member takes turns indexing. Together, the family indexed more than 37,000 records in 2011.

President Hinckley tells of a time he learned about having the courage to make his own decisions.
The year we enrolled in junior high school, the building could not accommodate all the students, and so our class was sent back to the elementary school. We were furious. We’d spent six years in that building, and we felt we deserved something better. The boys of the class all met after school. We decided we’d go on strike.
The next day we did not show up. But we had no place to go. We couldn’t stay home, because our mothers would ask questions. We didn’t think of going downtown to a show. We had no money for that. We didn’t think of going to the park. We were afraid we might be seen. We just wandered about and wasted the day.
The next morning, the principal, Mr. Stearns, was at the front door of the school to greet us. He told us that we could not come back to school until we brought a note from our parents. Striking, he said, was not the way to settle a problem. If we had a complaint, we could come to the principal’s office and discuss it.
I remember walking sheepishly into the house. My mother asked what was wrong. I told her. She wrote a note. It was very brief. It was the most stinging rebuke she ever gave me. It read:
“Dear Mr. Stearns,
“Please excuse Gordon’s absence yesterday. His action was simply an impulse to follow the crowd.”
I have never forgotten my mother’s note. I resolved then and there that I would never do anything on the basis of simply following the crowd. I determined then and there that I would make my own decisions on the basis of my standards and not be pushed in one direction or another by those around me. That decision has blessed my life many times.

In my stake as I was growing up, fathers didn’t baptize their children; they assigned the priests to have that experience. So a young man baptized me. Afterward my father took me to a store, gave me some money, and told me that I could buy anything I wanted that would remind me of my baptism.
I remember looking and looking. Finally I found five wonderful pictures of the Savior and His life. One of them showed the star when He was born, and the rest showed other special scenes. I thought those pictures were the most wonderful things! I put them up on the wall in my bedroom. As I looked at those pictures every day, I had a peaceful, happy testimony that Jesus Christ was the Savior and that Heavenly Father loved me. It was a wonderful reminder of my baptism and of the promises that I made to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

How well I can recall a sweet, young patient whom I first saw years ago for a premarital examination. She had been born with one arm missing. Just a few small rudimentary fingers were apparent on the small stub of the missing arm. Noticing that she had identified herself as a stenographer on her medical history record, I asked, “You’re a secretary?”
“Are you surprised?” she chuckled in return. “I can type with one hand as fast as many girls can with two. As early as I could comprehend, my mother told me that I have been given a deformity so that it might strengthen me, and that I was to learn to do things as well with one hand as everyone else did with two. I have never found my limitation to be a real handicap.” I have watched this young patient. She has since had a heart operation and a child of her own for whom she cares with tender love. A beautiful response to affliction, and God is pleased, I am sure.

It was while I was on my first mission that I discovered the constant need for dependence on the Lord.

I was a young missionary in northern England in 1922. Opposition to the Church became very intense. It became so strong that the mission president asked that we discontinue all street meetings, and in some places tracting was also discontinued. The opposition started largely among the ministers, and it became very, very severe. They didn’t know anything about us to speak of. I remember tracting one day when a lovely lady came to the door. We were having a nice conversation and the name Mormon was mentioned by my companion. Her husband came to the door in a Navy uniform, and he said, “Oh, you can’t tell me anything about those old Mormons. I’ve been in the British Navy for twenty years. We sailed right into Salt Lake port, and they wouldn’t even let us land.” That was so typical of what they knew about us in those days.

My companion and I had been invited to travel over to South Shields, on the northwest coast, and speak in the sacrament meeting.

In the letter of invitation, we were promised there would be a number of nonmembers present. They said, “Many of our friends do not believe the lies that are printed about the Church.”

We fasted and prayed sincerely and went to the sacrament meeting. The hall was filled. My companion had planned to talk on the first principles, and I had studied hard in preparation for a talk on the Apostasy. There was a wonderful spirit in the meeting. My companion spoke first and gave an excellent inspirational message. I followed and talked with a freedom I had never before experienced in my life. When I sat down, I realized that I had not mentioned the Apostasy. I had talked about the Prophet Joseph Smith and had borne my witness of his divine mission and of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. I couldn’t hold back the tears.

After the meeting ended, many people came forward, several of whom were nonmembers, and said to us, “Tonight we received a witness that Mormonism is true. We are now ready to consider baptism.”

This was an answer to our prayers, for we had prayed to say only those things which would touch the hearts of the investigators.

Most of our missionaries come into the field because they love the Lord Jesus Christ and they desire to serve him and bring souls unto him. There are a few, however, who rationalize themselves out of a call or try to justify poor performance in the mission field—like the man who received his pay envelope and noticed that he had been shorted five dollars. He went to the paymaster and said, “You shorted me five dollars in my pay envelope this week.”
The paymaster responded, “Well, I have been expecting you. I noticed you didn’t come in complaining last week when I overpaid you five dollars.”
The fellow said, “Well, I can tolerate one mistake, but not two in a row.”