Gospel Story Finder

In the midst of this heavy competition, I should like to audaciously announce that Dick Davis and I are the champions—that is in our field. We are not the fastest, the longest, nor the strongest runners in the land, but I contend we are the most versatile.
Five years ago we looked at our physiques. Dick has the more traditional, chunky-jogger look, while I have what you might call a war refugee’s build. We decided that something—anything—must be done. Since our work in the entertainment business demands much travel, we have had to jog in some unusual places. In an effort to help those who feel they don’t have the time nor the proper place to jog, may we submit a sample of our record.
We have jogged: through the wheat fields of Saskatchewan and the rain forest near Olympia, Washington; over the Snake River in Idaho and along the Skunk River in Iowa; up and down the Capitol Records tower in Hollywood, and up and down the George Washington Monument; above the grape vineyards of Napa Valley, California, and through new snow in Cache Valley, Utah; along the Atlantic at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, along the Pacific at Santa Barbara and Vancouver, B.C.; through the hardwood forests near Nashville and the sagebrush around Las Vegas; along the Los Angeles storm canal system and around the Atlanta Civic Auditorium parking lot; around the high school track at Roseville, California, and down the railroad track near Ritzville, Washington; in Houston when it was 98 degrees, and in Calgary when it was 38 degrees below zero; in, near, around, or through the Montana prairies, the granite boulders near Silver City, New Mexico, the Czechoslovakian Embassy in Washington, the old western movie sets near Prescott, Arizona, and more freeway rest areas and public parks than we want to remember.
From this vast reserve of experience, we would like to offer some pieces of free advice that are worth every penny of it.
Start your jogging program slowly and build up gradually. The first day out, never do as much as you think you would like to. If you are over thirty, check with your doctor first. Come to think of it, if you’re over thirty, what are you reading this for anyway? You should be reading the Ensign.
People sometimes ask us: How do I get started jogging? One good way is to lean forward until you begin to fall on your face. Take a step to correct your balance. Keep leaning for a mile or so. Then either straighten the body and stop, or lean a little more and collapse on the ground, whichever seems appropriate.
The basic jogging form is head up, rib cage lifted, medium arm action, feet pointed forward. Most new joggers prefer rolling from heel to ball of the foot as it is easier on the calf muscle. Jogging should be easy and rhythmical. If you find yourself gasping for breath, clutching at your throat, staggering, turning gray, or inching along on all fours, cut back a little on your jogging program.
The sprint form is head erect, mouth open in large smile, arms agitated, feet barely touching the ground. This is used by new joggers their first morning out for approximately 25 yards.
The shuffle form is a good steady ground gainer used at the end of a five-mile run. It will get you there, but it wears out the toes on your shoes.
The pacer form is a sort of prancing gait, not unlike a show ring pony. Keep your head erect, chin tucked in, chest thrust out, knees pumping high, toes slightly pointed, jaw firmly set, but facial muscles giving the appearance of quiet control. This form is used mostly for passing girls of your own age coming the other direction on bicycles. With practice it can be sustained for bursts of 10 to 15 feet.
1. Pain in the side. Some joggers complain of a pain in the side. This is especially common among joggers who planned to jog past their girl friend’s house, and their mother said they had to take their little brother along. No medical cure known.
2. The blind staggers. This is a dizziness experienced from jumping up off the couch too fast and jogging out the door when your mother says, “Jim, did you cut the lawn yet?” Cure—cut the lawn yet.
3. Proper breathing while jogging. While jogging be sure to alternate breathing in and out, as too much of one or the other will cause discomfort.
4. Charley Horses in your calf muscles. This is mostly a rural ailment and hardly ever experienced any more since most people live in the cities.
5. Jogging in inclement weather. Track coach Stretch Scrimshaw said, “It don’t hurt nothin’ to run in inclement weather, but, however, I wouldn’t run in the rain. It gets your shoes all muddy.”
6. Shin Splints and Chill Blains. These were two of the most famous joggers in American history. They set out to jog from Baja, California, to Miami, Florida. Unfortunately, they forgot to consider the Gulf of Mexico.
7. Dogs. Dogs along your jogging route should not be considered a hindrance. They are an opportunity to develop your speed and endurance. Admittedly, dogs do present certain dangers. Dick is in danger of being bitten. I am in danger of being buried.
8. Jogging attire. This is a good idea, especially if the tire is hanging over your belt.
9. Palpitations of the heart. (See #1, “Jogging past girlfriend’s house.” Also no medical cure known.)
Happy jogging, and as the great baseball pitcher Satchel Page once said, “Don’t look back, something might be gaining on you.”

When Heber J. Grant was a young man, he worked for an insurance agent, Mr. H. R. Mann. He treated Heber like a son.
Mr. Mann: Heber, why don’t you go to the baseball game this afternoon and then come tell me about it during supper?
Heber: Thanks, Mr. Mann!
Besides working for Mr. Mann, Heber earned money writing greeting cards and wedding invitations. He stayed at the office late into the evening, spreading his greeting cards on his large office desk to let the ink dry.
On New Year’s Eve, Mr. Mann’s partner, Mr. Wadsworth, found Heber still busy at the office writing greeting cards.
Mr. Wadsworth: Heber, what on earth are you doing?
Heber: Getting my cards ready to sell tomorrow.
Mr. Wadsworth: You are the only one I’m going to give a New Year’s present to. You seem to enjoy work while most of the other boys watch the clock to see how soon they can leave.
Heber: Wow! A hundred dollars?
Heber later said that knowing he had earned the confidence of his employer meant much more to him than the money. It inspired him to succeed in business and in the community.
As prophet, he taught young people to be hard workers, too.
Heber: Be inspired with a desire to labor and learn, and you will achieve success in the battle of life.

Once I heard a forceful appeal by a woman from the Mutual. … She gave a rousing talk on the reading of the scriptures and making them our own; then she stopped her dissertation to ask this mixed congregation, about a thousand of us, “How many of you have read the Bible through?”
I think I was about fourteen years old at the time. An accusing guilt complex spread over me. I had read many books by that time, the funny papers, and light books, but my accusing heart said to me, “You, Spencer Kimball, you have never read that holy book. Why?” I looked around me at the people in front and on both sides of the hall to see if I was alone in my failure to read the sacred book. Of the thousand people, there were perhaps a half dozen who proudly raised their hands. I slumped down in my seat. I had no thought for the others who had also failed, but only a deep accusing thought for myself. I don’t know what other people were doing and thinking, but I heard no more of the sermon. It had accomplished its work. When the meeting closed, I sought the large double exit door and rushed to my home a block east of the chapel; and I was gritting my teeth and saying to myself, “I will. I will. I will.”
Entering the back door of our family home, I went to the kitchen shelf where we kept the coal oil lamps, selected one that was full of oil and had a newly trimmed wick, and climbed the stairs to my attic room. There I opened my Bible and began on Genesis, first chapter and first verse, and I read well into the night with Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel, and Enoch and Noah and through the flood even to Abraham.
Note: Young Spencer went on to finish the Bible. Since then he has read it and all the scriptures many times.

While that companion has his or her agency, you also have your own agency to choose to be obedient. You should do everything you can to follow mission rules and schedules. Your good example will always work better than anger. For example, when I served my mission, we had one hour every preparation day for emailing. I had some companions who would go significantly over their allotted email time. I would use my time, pay the internet café, and then quietly sit next to my companion until she was done. I noticed that although I never got mad at my companions or told them they were going over our time limit, they would usually start using less time and trying to be more aware of the rules. It’s amazing how powerful a righteous example can be for a missionary who might be struggling.

The fourteen-month-old son of a doctor became very ill. During the course of his treatment many consultants were brought in, but their contributions resulted only in a symptomatic approach to the disease. The result was that the child’s condition steadily worsened. His temperature was 104 degrees and the family had entirely given up hope for his recovery; his death was expected momentarily. At this point, a number of miraculous things happened. On their own and without a previous appointment, the bishop and his counselors came to visit the family. At the request of the family, they administered to the child. Almost immediately following the blessing, an intern, who was a friend of the family, stepped into the room and said, “Why not give him a transfusion?” The intern was a universal blood donor, and blood was taken from him immediately and given to the child. The child’s temperature dropped from 104 degrees to normal and remained at normal throughout his hospital stay. This is a case where medical aid had essentially failed; and on the basis of what medicine could offer, the child’s life had been despaired. The priesthood came into the picture, and the administration was followed by additional medical steps that previously had not been projected. The child’s life was saved. Today he has matured and has a lovely wife and family.

Not all problems or unpleasant situations with nannies are the fault of the employers. Girls who do not treat their employment as a job or who do not live up to the moral and ethical codes that their employers expect are a cause of disappointment. One employer said that although she has had three nannies work for her, in only one case was it a good situation.
“When I talked to these nannies before I hired them, they were nice girls. They had good things going for them. But it doesn’t mean I can live with them or that they would be a good nanny. To have someone in your house is hard. There are too many things to measure to know if it would be a good situation.
“One nanny I had to fire genuinely liked kids. But she wasn’t ready to work. She didn’t see it as a job. She would sleep in until noon after being out the night before until two. She continued to do that even after we talked about it. She didn’t see clear responsibilities or put forth any worthwhile effort.”
This employer will not be hiring another nanny. She considers the one good experience her family had with a nanny as a fluke.

Four-year-old Micalah had just finished scripture study with her family. They had been reading from Alma in the Book of Mormon about the Zoramites. Micalah had asked a lot of questions about how the wicked Zoramites each said the very same prayer, never really thinking about Heavenly Father or what they might want to say to Him.
After scriptures and family prayer, Micalah knelt by her mom at the side of her bed to say her own prayer to Heavenly Father. “Heavenly Father, please bless our family to be well, and please bless us to do good things. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” It was the exact same prayer she said every night.
Mom didn’t get up right away. “Micalah,” she asked, “do you think that Heavenly Father listens to you when you pray?”
Micalah nodded her head earnestly.
“Do you think Heavenly Father wants to hear what you have in your heart? Or do you think He wants to hear you say the same prayer to Him every night without thinking about what you really want to tell Him?”
A small smile came over Micalah’s face, and her eyebrows went up. “You mean, like the Zoramites?”
Mom smiled back. “Only a little bit like them.”
Micalah thought hard, wrinkling her forehead. “I don’t want to pray like the Zoramites,” she said. “But how can I know what to say every time I pray?”
Mom put her arm around Micalah. “Well, before I start my prayer to Heavenly Father, I kneel down and I just think for a few minutes. I think about the things I did that day. I think about the things I’m thankful for. And I think about the problems I have that I need help with. Then I start my prayer.”
Micalah liked that idea. “I want to try again!” she announced.
Micalah and her mom knelt quietly beside each other for a few moments. Micalah thought about their trip to the park earlier that day to play and to feed the ducks. She thought of her grandma and her cousins who were visiting from out of town. She thought of celebrating Jesus’s Resurrection during Easter. She thought of many things, and then she began to pray. “Heavenly Father, thank Thee that we had fun at the park, and thank Thee for making such a beautiful earth. Thank Thee that Grandma Jolene and Julian and Lonnie are visiting. Thank Thee that Jesus died for us. Thank Thee that we were safe today, and please bless us always to be safe. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When she finished her prayer, Micalah felt warm and peaceful inside. Micalah knew what that feeling was—the Holy Ghost!
She kissed her mom good-night and snuggled down under her cozy blankets. She was smiling as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. She knew that Heavenly Father had heard her prayer and that He was happy she had spoken to Him from her heart.

In 1980 I was a missionary serving in the Philippines Cebu Mission when I was transferred to a city called Ormoc. This district had normally shown steady growth, but for several months there had been very few baptisms.
I arrived in Ormoc on 28 October and met my new companion, Elder Alexander. The first few weeks were extremely slow for us. We had few teaching appointments and almost no referrals. In spite of working long hours and praying to find people to teach, we met with very little success. I remember praying for guidance and receiving confirmation that the Lord was preparing people for us to teach.
On 15 November Elder Alexander and I were tracting in the Barrio Isla Verde, a community on a small island in the Ormoc River. To get there we had to cross the shallow river some 23 meters on stepping-stones, which proved to be a feat in itself. However, the local residents traveled the path with ease.
While there, we met Petronilo and Andrea Ygonia and their grandson Allan Sueto Sungahid. They accepted our invitation to hold a family home evening in their home. That evening was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. After playing some games, we introduced a gospel message and bore our testimonies.
Our visits continued with this family for the next two weeks. It was exciting to watch as their countenances began to shine. By the end of November all three had committed to be baptized the following month.
I will never forget the teaching experience we had in the Ygonias’ home on 2 December. Brother Loa, the ward mission leader, came with us to a neighborhood meeting at the Ygonias’. More than 30 neighbors had accepted the Ygonias’ invitation to listen to the first discussion. As we bore testimony, the Spirit became so strong I believe everyone present was touched.
We explained that the warm, peaceful feeling each person was experiencing was the presence of the Holy Ghost. Prompted by the Spirit, we invited each person in that room to continue investigating the Church and commit to baptism. All 30 neighbors accepted the invitation.
Brother and Sister Ygonia, their grandson, and seven others were baptized in December. The work in Ormoc had begun to prosper once again, due in large part to the faith of this good family. Shortly thereafter I was transferred from Ormoc. Although I had spent only six weeks there, these weeks were some of the best of my life. Never had I worked harder for such a worthy cause. Never had I felt closer to the Lord. During the six weeks I served there, the Lord had allowed us to teach and baptize 9 souls, and another 30 individuals were preparing for baptism.

As missionaries in Ghana, we washed our clothes by hand on preparation day. Elder Moss, my companion who had recently arrived from the United States, had not experienced this way of doing laundry. But being a native of Ghana, I was used to it.
Every Monday Elder Moss set out to scrub his clothes, but about halfway through the job, his hands and knuckles would start bleeding. I would then need to take over his work, in addition to finishing my own.
One Monday when washing time came around, Elder Moss seemed a bit worried. I had injured my hand the previous day, and he knew that I was not going to be able to help him with his laundry. I wouldn’t even be able to do my own. He started his washing, but as usual, he needed help halfway through.
Since I couldn’t help my companion with the actual washing, I encouraged him to endure—to let his hands rest and then keep trying. He stopped for a time and then continued. I told him he could find a way to finish. His hands and knuckles were still sore, but he pushed on. When the washing was completed, he said, “I am proud of myself. Elder Asante, are you proud of me?”
“Yes, of course I am proud of you,” I answered.
As I have thought about this incident, I realized that Heavenly Father knows our potential, but He tests us so we can develop diligence, patience, and faithfulness. He is pleased with us when we make righteous choices and prove that we can bear our afflictions.
When we work hard and endure the trials placed before us, we can say, “Heavenly Father, art Thou proud of me?” I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are pleased when we endure and that They will tell us so one day when They welcome us home.

While serving a mission in England, one morning I read Acts 11:28, which briefly mentions a prophet named Agabus who prophesied of a famine that eventually came to pass in the days of Claudius Caesar. At the time I didn’t give the seemingly insignificant verse much thought.
Two days later my district leader, Elder Gallafent, telephoned and said he wanted to do a companion exchange the next day. The next morning my companion and I took a bus to Southampton, where we met Elder Gallafent and his companion, Elder Langston. I set out contacting people door-to-door with Elder Langston while the other two drove back to Winchester.
Our morning had been uneventful until we knocked on a certain door just before lunch. The woman who answered the door was a neighbor visiting from the house next door. I soon learned that the woman who lived there was in the living room within reach of my voice.
When I announced we were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the woman in the living room yelled that she was of another faith and knew all about the “Mormons” and wasn’t interested in learning more. When I replied that everyone should be interested in a living prophet on the earth, she cried, “That’s not so! There are no prophets on the earth! Jesus Christ was the last prophet.”
Then something strange happened. A question came to my mind: “What about Agabus?”
I immediately called out, “What about Agabus?” There was a long pause. Then the woman responded, “Who’s Agabus?”
“A prophet who lived after Christ and who prophesied of a famine that came to pass,” I said.
She asked me, “Where did you read that—in your Mormon Bible?”
“No,” I replied, “in the book of Acts, chapter 11, verse 28.”
“Show me,” came the skeptical voice. The neighbor let us enter, and Elder Langston and I made our way down a small hallway into the living room, where a woman in her 40s was seated on the sofa.
I opened to the scripture and handed her the Bible. After she finished reading, she didn’t know what to say. I told her of the living prophet on the earth at that time, President David O. McKay (1873–1970). I testified of the Prophet Joseph Smith. The Spirit was so powerful that I knew she could feel it.
Elder Langston and I left two copies of the Book of Mormon—one for this woman and one for her neighbor. I walked away feeling like I was floating on air. I was sure she would be baptized. Why else would I have remembered Agabus?
The following Sunday at church, I rushed up to Elder Gallafent and Elder Langston and asked, “Did you go back? What happened? Tell me!”
They told me they had gone to her home to give her the first discussion but were turned away. She returned the Book of Mormon we had given her.
I couldn’t believe it. I sat through church wondering why I would receive such a wonderful prompting and then have it result like this. I was terribly discouraged, but I tried to put it out of my mind.
The next Sunday as I walked into the church foyer, Elder Langston ran up to me with an ear-to-ear grin.
“Remember that woman we left the Book of Mormon with?” he asked.
“Of course,” I replied.
He then reminded me that we had left two copies of the Book of Mormon—one with the woman and one with her neighbor. The neighbor had never taken her copy home. So, without the knowledge of the woman of the house, her daughter had begun to read that copy and wanted to know more about the Church.
The woman eventually took the missionary discussions with her daughter, and both were baptized.
As I look back more than 30 years and recall the question that came to me, “What about Agabus?” I am reminded of another scripture: “But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you” (John 14:26). I am grateful that as a missionary I was able to have the Spirit bring to my remembrance the significance of Agabus. The Holy Ghost truly was my teacher that day.

After sixty-six days at sea aboard the Mayflower, Ellen Howard is as excited as any of the ship’s passengers to see America for the first time. Her longing for her brother and sister, Roger and Sarah, still living in Holland, and her memory of the near-disastrous ocean voyage are temporarily forgotten as the travelers approach the New World—and a new life.
The long weary journey of the Pilgrims was almost ended. The vast ocean lay behind them, and beckoning ahead stretched a thin strip of land. The Mayflower, as though eager to reach harbor, skimmed along in the spanking breeze.
But as the land loomed larger, Captain Jones made the disappointing announcement, “We’ve sighted the clay highlands of Cape Cod. We’re a three weeks’ sail northeast of Jamestown.”
Ellen looked up at her father with troubled eyes. “Oh, Papa! Does that mean we have to sail on?”
“Perhaps, darling. Perhaps,” he replied.
Both strangers and Pilgrims debated and decided they should head south for the mouth of the Hudson River. But within a few hours the Mayflower tangled with the dangerous shoals and roaring breakers known as “Tucker’s Terrors,” and they were forced to turn back. Winds that had blown them off course and tumultuous waters had decided their destiny.
So, on a Saturday afternoon, November 21, the Mayflower dropped anchor in a Cape Cod harbor too far north to be governed by the laws of the Virginia colony.
“Aye, when we go ashore we’ll use our own liberty,” boasted one of the strangers. “King James’s patent is of no effect here.”
But the Pilgrims and strangers both realized that to keep their freedom they must have rules. Forty-one men aboard gathered in the ship’s cabin, drew up the Mayflower Compact, and signed it. John Carver was unanimously chosen to be governor of the new colony.
When the council meeting was over, several armed men went ashore, staying just long enough to look around quickly and to collect a load of firewood. The next day was Sunday, and everyone stayed on board in Sabbath worship.
On Monday the overjoyed passengers were rowed ashore.
Ellen knelt in the sand and, sifting it through her fingers, exclaimed, “Oh, sand, how good you feel!” Flinging her arms wide, she cried, “Oh, earth, I love you and wish I could hug you!”
Her feelings reflected those of all the passengers, for they fell upon their knees and blessed the God of heaven who had brought them over the vast and furious ocean. Nevertheless, each night was spent aboard ship for safety reasons.
While the men worked on a shallop (small open boat) from the ship, hauling it up onto the beach for repairs, the women went ashore to wash clothes. After the shallop was repaired, Miles Standish, the military captain of the colony, with Captain Jones and a group of men, most of them Pilgrims, set out to explore. Daily they prayed for guidance.
On December 21, the travelers stepped ashore at the site of a deserted Indian village. Old and weathered cornstalks rattled in the breeze where land had been cleared. A brook sparkled and babbled down a hillside. Nearby was an excellent harbor. In one field was a great hill that commanded a view of the sea and land roundabout. Why the place had been deserted was a mystery.
“We’ll build our new Plymouth here,” Captain Standish announced.
When they returned to the Mayflower, William White looked anxiously about the deck for his wife, Susanna. Then he saw her coming toward him. Placing a tiny bundle in his arms, she said, “My husband, our little son was born while you were gone.”
Tenderly, William uncovered the tiny pink face. “So our little traveler has arrived,” he said, beaming.
Standing by, Governor Carver exclaimed, “Aye, William, your little son is the first white child we know of to be born in New England. He should be called Peregrine (traveler).”
“Peregrine White,” William mused. “That is what he shall be called.” Then noticing Ellen’s eager upturned face, he asked, “Do you want to hold the baby?”
“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. Gently he laid the bundle in her arms, and Ellen smiled with pleasure.
The Mayflower sailed across the bay and cast anchor in Plymouth Harbor on December 26. Work on the new settlement was immediately begun. The lookout hill became Fort Hill, with the cannon mounted on its top. On the sunny side of the hill, they dug shelters and built pens for the chickens, goats, and pigs, which cackled, bleated, and grunted their appreciation. Timber was hewn from the forest, and a common house was built. Then came the bitter cold and snow. Since there was not sufficient shelter for all the families, they remained on the Mayflower, and the men rowed back and forth each day. Many times the stormy waters dashed over them, freezing upon them like coats of iron. Many caught colds that turned into pneumonia. Sickness spread like an epidemic, and almost half the people aboard the Mayflower died. Sailors who had sneered at the praying church folks, and strangers who had quarreled with them, now grew close in their mutual suffering and grief.
Warm weather came at last, and birds sang in the forest. A half dozen cabins were completed, and by the end of March the last of the Mayflower passengers went ashore.
Friendly Indians came—Samoset, Squanto, and Hobomack, all of whom knew some English. Chief Massasoit also came to make a peace treaty with the colonists.
Squanto and Hobomack remained in Plymouth. Squanto went to live with William Bradford, who was now governor. (John Carver had suddenly become ill and died.) Hobomack went to live with Miles Standish.
One day Squanto was visiting with Ellen and John Howland. “This was once my home,” he explained. “Plymouth, as you call it, was a Pawtuxet village. When I was a papoose like you, Ellen, I played in the meadows. When I was a young brave like you, John Howland, Captain Hunt invited me and some other braves to go aboard his trading ship. When we were at sea, strange sailors boarded our ship and tied us up. They took us to Spain and sold us as slaves. I later escaped to England and lived there a long time with good people. Finally, I became a seaman for Captain Dermar. He brought me back to America. At Pawtuxet Harbor, I ran swiftly to see my people, but they were gone—no braves, no women, no papooses! I was sad and alone; my eyes filled with tears. I went to the Sowams, and Chief Massasoit took me in. He said all my people died in a smallpox plague. You came, and my village has people once more. I will be your son. You will be my people. I will teach you Indian ways, and you will become strong.”
Squanto taught the people how to plant corn, and everyone helped with the planting. “If you want to get crops from these old grounds,” Squanto advised, “you must fertilize the fields with fish.” When the herring began their spring run, he showed the settlers how to trap them. Then the men spaded holes in the hillocks, and the boys dropped in three herring, spokewise, with their heads toward the center. Ellen and the other little girls put four kernels of corn into each hill, then covered them. Squanto told the settlers to guard the crops against animals. The children kept watch by day and the grownups by night.
Squanto also showed the villagers how to tap maple trees for the sweet sap, how to trap deer and other game, and where to find eels. Thanks to him, the colony began to thrive.
The six acres of wheat, barley, and peas the settlers had planted with seed brought from England scarcely produced seed enough for the next year. But with the pumpkin and corn from the Indians, the harvest was bounteous far beyond their expectations. And because of the peace treaty with the Indians, the children could gather wild plums, berries, and grapes in the woods as safely as they could have walked the sidewalks of Holland.
One autumn morning as Ellen and the other children had gone to the woods to gather nuts, they were startled by the booming of the cannon from the top of Fort Hill. Kathrine Howard came racing across the meadow, calling and beckoning to them.
“What is it, Mama?” cried Ellen, running to meet her.
“A tall white sail has been sighted off Cape Cod. It’s heading for Plymouth. Governor Bradford fears it may be a French vessel coming to raid us.”
“Where’s Papa?”
“Captain Standish has marshaled every man and boy who can handle a gun,” Kathrine panted.
The vessel, when she hove into sight, ran up a white flag bearing the red cross of the English. A cry of joy went up from the anxiously watching crowd, and everyone raced for the shore. When the first little boat with its passengers ran aground, Ellen rushed into the shallow water.
“Sarah! Roger!” she cried as her sister and brother alighted.
The tears, laughter, and hugging at this joyous reunion were quite a contrast to the sadness at the time of their parting.
The ship, Fortune, with the thirty-five men, women, and children who had come to live in Plymouth, dropped anchor in her harbor just a little less than a year after the Mayflower had anchored at Cape Cod. One of the first to come ashore was Deacon Robert Cushman, who brought with him formal legal rights to the land the settlers now occupied.
When the pumpkins and corn had been harvested, Governor Bradford declared, “We will hold a harvest feast of thanksgiving so we might all rejoice together!”
The colony bustled in preparation. An invitation was sent to the friendly Indians. Chief Massasoit and ninety braves came, bearing five deer to be barbecued. Hunters returned from the forest laden with wild turkeys, geese, and ducks. The women busied themselves with baking, while the children tended the roasts on the spits over open fires. Long tables were spread outdoors, and everyone sat down together. Besides the game from the forest, the table was spread with fish, clams and other shellfish, succulent eels, journeycake, corn bread with nuts, succotash, pumpkin stewed in maple sap, dried berries, plums, grapes, leeks, watercress, and various other herbs.
The celebration lasted three days. Elder Brewster gave a prayer of thanksgiving, and Captain Standish staged a military review. There were games of chance—the Pilgrims competing with flintlocks, the Indians with bows and arrows. There were songs and expressions of worship and praise. After the celebration, the Indians returned to the woods and the Pilgrims to their duties of enlarging the colony and making it snug for winter.
Contentedly, Ellen watched the dancing lights cast by the flickering fire upon the cabin walls. A steady wind whistled outside in the starlit darkness. Sighing softly, Ellen said, “The celebration is over now, but thanksgiving goes on and on. I’m thankful that I’m a Pilgrim and live in America and that Sarah and Roger came so we can all be together.”
Her father patted her hand. “The Lord is good. America is good. She is our sweet land of promise.”

Shortly after Sister Cook and I arrived in Mongolia, we were asked to accompany two young elders to a city called Muren. At the conclusion of our trip, our return was delayed by bad weather. Each day we went to the airport to see if our plane was going to arrive so we could fly out. We waited with other passengers until we received word whether we would depart that day or would be forced to return to the city for the evening.

Trying to take the same flight out was a group of foreign tourists. They told us they had been by horseback to some of the most remote, little-explored areas of Mongolia.

While we were waiting at the airport, one of these tourists approached one of our elders and said: “I know who you are! What are you doing here? These people don’t need you. They are an unspoiled people with a rich heritage. Why don’t you just go home and leave them alone?”

The elder came to me and was very upset, and we talked about the several responses he could have given. It wasn’t until about two weeks later, however, that I read a statement by President Benson that explained what would have been the perfect response. President Benson said:

“Some may ask why we as a people and church quietly and consistently seek to change individuals while there are such large problems about us. … But decaying cities are simply a delayed reflection of decaying individuals. … The commandments of God give emphasis to improvement of the individual as the only real way to bring about the real improvement [of] society” (A Plea for America [1975], 18).

“The Lord works from the inside out. The world works from the outside in. The world would take people out of the slums. Christ takes the slums out of the people, and then they take themselves out of the slums. … Christ changes men, who then change their environment. The world would shape human behavior, but Christ can change human nature” (“Born of God,” Ensign, Nov. 1985, 6).

My name is William Paul McCallister, but everyone calls me Willy. I’m ten years old, and last year my parents decided that our family would go to general conference in Salt Lake City.
We live in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, so it was a long drive for us. Then we had to stand in line a long time—more than two hours—so that we could sit in the Tabernacle for the Saturday morning session. But it was all worth it. When I saw President Benson, I got a swelling in my chest, and my eyes got all watery, and I knew that he really was a prophet of God. I knew, too, that I should listen and do what he said because he spoke for Heavenly Father.
President Benson looked all around, then started to speak. He said that it was time for the earth to be flooded with the Book of Mormon and that it was the responsibility of every member to help.
Later, as we were driving home, our family talked about what we could do to follow the prophet. Mom suggested that we give copies of the Book of Mormon to the missionaries, with our pictures and testimonies inside. We did that the year before, and it was fun, but we didn’t hear from any of the people that got them.
Dad suggested that we give copies of it to some of our friends so that we would know the people who got them.
I thought about it a lot. There are so many people in the world! If I gave a Book of Mormon to someone, it would be like adding one little drop in a whole ocean of people. But I decided that lots of drops added together could flood the earth.
When we got home, I told Mom that I wanted to give a Book of Mormon to someone. She got me one, and I put my picture and my testimony inside it. I wrote that I knew that the Book of Mormon was true because Joseph Smith was a real prophet of God. I said that anyone who read the Book of Mormon and really wanted to know if it was true could pray and ask God, and the Spirit would let him know that it is true. Finally I signed my name. After I finished, I felt kind of scared because I really didn’t know who I was going to give it to.
The next day I put the Book of Mormon in my backpack and took it to school. I guess I expected somebody to just come up and ask me for it, but nobody did.
When I got home, Mom knew that I was discouraged. She said that if I prayed about it, Heavenly Father would help me to know whom to give the Book of Mormon to. So I prayed really hard. I told Heavenly Father that I would do whatever He wanted me to if He would just show me what to do. After I finished, I still didn’t know who to give the Book of Mormon to, but I knew that Heavenly Father was going to help me. I sure didn’t expect things to turn out like they did, though!
In the morning I put the book in my backpack again. During recess, I took it out and set it on my knees. I looked at it for a while, then opened it to my favorite scripture: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” [1 Ne. 3:7]. Right then I surely needed the Lord to provide a way for me to give that Book of Mormon to someone.
Suddenly a shadow fell across my book, and I looked up at a kid standing there. I had seen him lots of times before, but I didn’t know his name.
“What’re you reading?” he asked.
“The Book of Mormon.”
“Oh. You must be a Mormon,” he said. “My mother says that Mormons are pretty OK people, although she doesn’t believe that any church is the true church.”
“Well”—I hesitated, hoping that the Holy Ghost would help me know what to say—“that’s just because she doesn’t know about our church. We have a real prophet, and Jesus Christ is the head of the Church. He tells the prophet what to say to us.”
“Really? My mother says that even if there is a God, no one can really know for sure, because He doesn’t talk to people anymore.”
I took a deep breath and prayed for more help. “Don’t you think that God would want you to know that He exists and to know what He wants you to do?”
“I guess so.”
“A prophet tells people what God wants them to do,” I said.
“So what does your prophet tell you?” he asked.
I could tell that he didn’t believe me. I prayed really hard for help. “He says that we should study the Book of Mormon because it’s an inspired book of scripture and that a person can get close to God by reading it.”
“Is that what you’re reading?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Do you want to see it?”
“Sure.”
I handed him my Book of Mormon.
“I have one question,” he said. “How do you know that someone isn’t just trying to fool you with all that stuff about God and real prophets, like my mother says?”
“I’ll show you.” I was getting really excited. I reached over and turned to Moroni 10:4. When I found it, I read out loud:
“‘And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.’ See,” I said, “you don’t have to take my word for it. If you pray about it, you can find out for yourself if it’s true, because God will tell you. But you have to read it first.”
The boy looked at the scripture again and read it himself. Then he looked at me. “I wonder what my mother would say about this.”
“Well,” I said, “maybe you could ask her. You can have this Book of Mormon. Then she can read it, too, and find out if it’s true.”
Just then the bell rang, and he left with my Book of Mormon under his arm. I was feeling pretty happy as I went back inside the school. Then I realized that I still didn’t know his name and that if they asked me, I would have to tell Mom and Dad that I didn’t know who had gotten my Book of Mormon.
Then a couple of weeks later, the boy found me during recess and said that his name was Chris Brown and that his mother wanted to know more about the Church. That was six weeks ago. Now we’re friends, and tomorrow he and his whole family are being baptized.
I have another Book of Mormon in my backpack now.

Gerard and Annie had met in college, when both were working toward degrees in civil engineering. They were married and had their first child while still in school. After graduation, Gerard needed to complete his military obligations, so Annie earned the living for the family.
“While Annie worked,” Gerard says, “our children were cared for by a nurse. Although the conditions were good, it was not like having Mom there. I had been home only one month from my military service when Annie decided she should no longer wait to apply the counsel of the prophet and stay home with our family. We will always remember the joy of our little ones when she announced her decision. Our little son collected as many stones as there were days from then until Mom would be home full-time. Each day he threw away one little stone until the time came to have his mother home.
“Annie has never regretted her decision. She has been a wonderful mother to our seven children and has been a great support to me. She has also served in the community, especially in the parents’ associations for our children’s schools.”

I challenged eight couples in my former home stake in California to set aside their comfortable lives of planned retirement and to bless the Scottish Saints with their gospel knowledge and service.

Arthur Thulin had been a bishop, his wife Myra a skilled teacher. Arthur anxiously wrote that he was nearing seventy and might die in Scotland. I replied, “Arthur, you are going to die somewhere; Scotland is a great place to die—but when you die, die with your boots on, not in a comfortable rocking chair.” The Thulins came, blessed the lives of many, and Arthur lived several years after their two-year mission.

England was a busy place in the early 1800s, but John Taylor liked the exciting atmosphere of this country where his family had their farm. John worked many hours on the farm, and he also learned the skill of wood turning.
When he was twenty-four years old, John had the opportunity to migrate to Canada to join his family, who had moved there two years before.
Before John’s ship left the English Channel, however, there was a horrible storm. Many people on the ship got sick as the storm tossed the ship from side to side.
Ships all around John’s were being destroyed by the storm, and the officers and crew of his ship prepared for the worst.
But John wasn’t worried. He even walked calmly around the deck at midnight during the raging storm! He knew that he had a work to do in Canada, and he trusted Heavenly Father to protect him so that he could do that work.
After John reached Toronto, Canada, he located the Methodist Church, where he became a member and a preacher. In May of 1836, Parley P. Pratt taught him about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and John was baptized into the Church.
John Taylor continued to trust in the Lord, and he became the third President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Stephanie Cole and Tiana Karren have been close friends since they were two years old. Even going to different schools hasn’t gotten in the way of their friendship. This year, the two Laurels from the Saratoga Ward, in the California Saratoga Stake, decided to turn that friendship into good works with a joint Personal Progress project.
One day last fall, Stephanie was talking about how much her younger cousins like to sing and how they wanted to be in a choir. Stephanie, who loves music and has played piano since kindergarten, suggested she might organize a children’s choir. When her mom casually mentioned the conversation to the ward Primary chorister, the chorister jumped at the opportunity and signed Stephanie on in short order.
The children’s choir seemed like the perfect Value Project—until Stephanie counted the children in the Primary. “I knew right away that this was a bigger task than I could handle on my own,” says Stephanie.
Knowing that her friend Tiana loved music, she enlisted her help. “Sometimes it was really challenging to get the children to even listen and pay attention,” says Tiana.
When the day finally arrived for the program, Stephanie accompanied the children on piano, and Tiana directed. The children sang beautifully!
“Our teamwork really paid off,” says Stephanie. “So many people came up after and told us how much they enjoyed the program.”
After 12 hours of work, the Primary program was done. The girls continued to hold practices with the children’s choir to finish the project’s needed hours—and for fun! But they didn’t stop there.
“Ashley, my younger sister, was always trying to talk me into coaching her basketball team,” says Stephanie. “I’ve been playing on a basketball team since fourth grade, and I love the game so I figured, why not?” Once again Tiana responded to Stephanie’s call for help. At first, it looked like another good opportunity for a Personal Progress project. In the end it became a labor of love in which they ended up working beyond their required hours.
“Not only did we get to be involved in something we both love,” says Tiana, “but it was even more fun when we found out that all but three of the girls on the team are members of our ward and the other girls are all their friends.”
Needless to say, coaching the young team has not been without challenges. For starters, Tiana and Stephanie had to make time in their busy schedules for three full months of weekly practices and Saturday games, not to mention time spent making phone calls to keep parents updated.
Tiana laughs when asked about the other challenges they faced, noting that “the players are the best of friends, and sometimes they love talking even more than they love basketball!”
Stephanie says the hardest part of coaching was teaching basketball skills that are second nature to her and Tiana but are new to the team and especially the younger girls who have never played before.
Tiana added that coaching this team has made her think about what it means to be a good example. “We had to be careful to treat each player fairly and impartially even though we both have younger sisters on the team,” she says.
Tiana and Stephanie taught the girls to work together as a unit, just as they had to learn to work together as coaches. On this team, no girl is a stranger, and no girl is left out.
When asked about her coaches, 11-year-old Leah Williams says, “I totally look up to them. Not only are they really good basketball players and my coaches, but they are also my best friends. I know that when they tell me what to do I can trust them.” She added that someday she would like to coach a team herself.
Eleven-year-old Abby Hulme, who had never played on a basketball team before, said she was more comfortable with Stephanie and Tiana than she would have been with a coach she didn’t know.
Linda Williams, the Saratoga Ward Young Women president (and Leah’s mom), commented that she was impressed that Stephanie and Tiana are so willing to share their talents and what they love with others.
A Primary choir. A girls’ basketball team. Who knows what’s next for these two Laurels? One thing is sure, though—they know that when they are in the service of others, they are in the service of their Heavenly Father. Understanding that principle helped them to see that Personal Progress doesn’t have to be an unwelcome chore or extra work.
“Find a way to do the things you are interested in anyway,” suggests Stephanie.
Of course, not all Personal Progress projects are meant to be done as a team. But as Tiana says, “Doing it with a friend makes it more fun.”

On 18 July 2023, I lost the most important person in my life. My mother was my strength, my pillar, but also my weakness. At that time, I was no longer attending church because I worked every day, including Sundays and public holidays, and my ward met at 8:00 a.m. I missed one time, then another … and it became a vicious cycle.
When I lost my mother, I realized I hadn’t made the most of my time with her. I began to regret not quitting my job to spend more time with her after her stroke in March 2020. She lived for three more years, but since I was often at work, I feel like I didn’t truly cherish her final moments. A sense of guilt overwhelmed me. In my mind, I was stuck in a routine: work, medical appointments, caring for my mom, sleep, on repeat. There was no room for anything else.
That’s when I understood the truth: I didn’t trust God enough. I had given more importance to my temporal needs than to my spiritual life.
Yet my mother’s passing brought me closer to the Lord again. He became my support. In Him, I found the peace and love I needed to cope with grief. I gave myself the challenge for 2024 to start attending sacrament meeting regularly again.

As the wedding day approached, every cedi and every pesewa had been spent for the ceremony. The Ofosu family had spent all their money to have the Ghanaian traditional marriage.
On the morning of the marriage, Samuel Ofosu did not have a car or money to get to the place the wedding was being held. His phone was broken, it was 3 a.m. and he had no idea what to do to get to his own marriage ceremony. With a prayer in his heart, he found someone and asked them if he could use their phone to make a phone call. Samuel had a thought to call a random friend. Thankfully, his friend picked the phone and Samuel told him about the situation. His friend told him not to worry, just wait for a short time. In less than 20 minutes there was a car there to take Brother Ofosu to the wedding free of charge, a pure miracle by God’s hand.
“We truly thank you for your prayers,” Brother and Sister Ofosu told Elder Olsen and Elder Linger. “It is only by your prayers that everything worked out fine. Everyone was safe. The marriage was wonderful. We don’t owe anyone anything, but our pockets are empty.”

I had a real problem with procrastination. One day, I went to a quiet place alone and reflected on how I felt about myself and how God felt about me. I thought about all the things I hadn’t done, and I felt totally discouraged.

Then I knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father, and I asked him to forgive me and give me the strength to do better. Little by little I have felt a change for good in my life. I have come to allow myself spiritual time to meditate on my responsibilities. Such time helps me to keep focused on what is important in my life and not worry about other things. I have developed faith in myself as I have come to know that I am a daughter of God and that he cares for me.

Maria Veronica V. Basilio, 16Tagig Ward, Pasig StakeManila, Philippines