Gospel Story Finder

Before becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the age of 25, I had stopped attending my former church on Sundays. I had spent my teenage years visiting various churches in the towns where I grew up, where I was invited to play the guitar and sing. I accepted invitations from different churches each week, and I promised myself that when I found the “right” church—where they knew who God is and where I felt at home—I would stay. Depending on how many churches were in a town, I simply repeated the cycle after a few months.
Then one cold winter’s day, two missionaries knocked on my door. By then, I was married with two young children and living in a very small town. I seemed to be their only prospect, and the Elders came around to teach me on a daily basis. On the Friday, they invited me to attend church with them that Sunday. PANIC! In our discussions, they had mentioned the importance of the Sabbath: that members refrained from shopping and time-wasting frivolities and spent the day attending church (THREE hours?!?) and engaging in various activities that would build the family and bring them nearer to God. They had also discussed reverence and showing respect through our clothing choices—the expression ‘Sunday best’ was mentioned. Why the PANIC? I didn’t own a dress or a skirt!
There was only one dress shop in the town and I didn’t rate my chances of finding anything suitable too high. Sadly, I was right. The only option was a cream-coloured pleated skirt that my grandmother would have loved! I shuddered . . . and to add insult to injury, the price was exorbitant! But, I couldn’t walk away from the church that not only knew that Jesus Christ is the Son of the Father and a separate personage, but also showed reverence by dressing and behaving in an appropriate way. So I bought the hideous cream-coloured skirt—thinking I would at least blend in. The reality was that there were only three members in the branch and 12 missionaries—so I stood out anyway!
Decades later, I still remember the feeling that choice inspired: the opportunity to show my love and reverence for my Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, by choosing my ‘best’ clothes and going to learn more of Them. Of course it’s not actually about the clothes—Heavenly Father loves us every day, barefoot and wearing jeans. It’s about honouring Them and showing respect.

Have we studied his counsel and identified the things we need to avoid or to do differently? I know a 17-year-old who, just prior to the prophet’s talk, had pierced her ears a second time. She came home from the fireside, took off the second set of earrings, and simply said to her parents, “If President Hinckley says we should only wear one set of earrings, that’s good enough for me.”

Wearing two pair of earrings may or may not have eternal consequences for this young woman, but her willingness to obey the prophet will. And if she will obey him now, on something relatively simple, how much easier it will be to follow him when greater issues are at stake.

In that paper Carl wrote about his grandfather’s many miracles as he preached the gospel in Samoa. One of those places that he was sent to was Manu’a. Carl wrote, his grandfather had a dream, and in his dream he saw two palagi faifeau (Caucasian missionaries) foreign missionaries came to his village and walked right into his house and sat down. That was the end of his dream. But later on, when two Mormon missionaries entered into their village and came up to their house and walked in, he not only recognized the two as the men in his dream, but by his own account the spirit told him that the gospel message was true. It was then the stage was set for this simple man to do great work for the church.

Carl continued,
Opapo Fonoimoana and his longtime friend Elisala and two white missionaries were sent to Manu’a. When they arrived, they found that their arrival has been forewarned and that the king Tuimanu’a had given strict instructions forbidding anyone from receiving, housing, feeding, clothing or assisting the Mormon missionaries in any way. It was a difficult situation for all concerned. Even though some people may have wanted to accept the missionaries and care for them, as is the normal custom to care and assist the ministers, the fear of reprisals from this dominant king his harsh edit was too much for anyone to go against.

The consequence of accepting these missionaries would be an immediate stoning of that individual or individuals. The prospects of any conversion was hopeless. Nevertheless, the missionaries were very determined and stayed two months on Manu’a. Without other food to eat, they relied heavily on fallen coconuts on the beaches and small staples. Without a fale or house for shelter and sleeping, they had to dig holes on the beach. They would enter the deep holes and the last one would cover their heads with leaves as to protect them from mosquitos, each one taking a turn nightly to help the others arrange their leaves and then unassisted himself, suffering from mosquitos bites the rest of the night.

After several weeks of this grueling ordeal, Opapo was awakened by the smell of some freshly baked food in a nearby basket. The missionaries did not know whether through human or divine source; but after weeks of coconuts, they were profoundly grateful. Near the end of their stay the incident was repeated when an elderly woman brought them some food, saying that if she had to die for her kindness, she would, but she did not fear Tuimanu’a. A few weeks later, after exhausting every possible avenue, the missionaries prepared to depart. Ceremonially, Opapo and Elisala spoke directly to tuimanu’a and his people, warning them that they would feel the wrath and power of God if they did not repent. As his last act before boarding the longboat, Opapo paused at the edge of the village and dusted off his feet as a witness against the island. A couple of weeks later a devastating hurricane struck the island, killing many, destroying all of the crops above ground, and leveling every house except one-the fale (hut) in which lived the elderly lady who had helped the missionaries. It is true that miracles strengthen the faith of believers but do not necessarily give faith to the unbelieving.

Four LDS Scout troops in the Memphis Tennessee Stake took advantage of a week at Scout camp to do some missionary work.
At summer camp, Camp Yocono, in the Chickasaw area of north Mississippi, the LDS troops came dressed in gold T-shirts, designed by Scoutmaster John Larsen of the Booneville Ward, which helped spread the word to the largely nonmember boys at the camp. The shirts declared, “Mormon Scouting—Seventy Years of Honor.”
The LDS troops agreed that, at the end of the week, they would select the staff members who had most contributed to the spirit, fun, and education of the camp while showing good moral character. During the week, copies of the Book of Mormon were given out and gospel discussions were encouraged. Before the Friday night bonfire, members of the camp staff were chosen for recognition and presented with a green T-shirt and a Book of Mormon.
The four LDS troops participating were all from the Memphis Tennessee Stake.

Many years ago I boarded a plane in San Francisco en route to Los Angeles. As I sat down, the seat next to mine was empty. Soon, however, there occupied that seat a most lovely young lady. As the plane became airborne, I noticed that she was reading a book. As one is wont to do, I glanced at the title: A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. I mustered up my courage and said to her, “Excuse me. You must be a Mormon.”
She replied, “Oh, no. Why do you ask?”
I said, “Well, you’re reading a book written by LeGrand Richards, a very prominent leader of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
She responded, “Is that right? A friend gave this book to me, but I don’t know much about it. However, it has aroused my curiosity.”
I wondered silently, Should I be forward and say more about the Church? The words of the Apostle Peter crossed my mind: “Be ready always to give an answer to every [one] that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.” I decided that now was the time for me to share my testimony with her. I told her that it had been my privilege years before to assist Elder Richards in printing that book. I mentioned the great missionary spirit of this man and told her of the many thousands of people who had embraced the truth after reading that which he had prepared. Then it was my privilege, during the remainder of the flight, to answer her questions relative to the Church—intelligent questions which came from the heart, which I perceived was a heart seeking truth. I asked if I might have an opportunity to have the missionaries call upon her. I asked if she would like to attend one of our wards in San Francisco, where she lived. Her answers were affirmative. She gave me her name—Yvonne Ramirez—and indicated that she was a flight attendant on her way to an assignment.
Upon returning home I wrote to the mission president and the stake president, advising them of my conversation and that I had written to her and sent along some suggested reading. Incidentally, young men, I recommended that rather than sending two elders to this pretty off-duty flight attendant and her pretty roommate, two lady missionaries be assigned to call.
Several months passed by. Then I received a telephone call from the stake president, who asked, “Brother Monson, do you remember sitting next to a flight attendant on a trip from San Francisco to Los Angeles earlier this fall?” I answered affirmatively. He continued, “I thought you would like to know that Yvonne Ramirez has just become the most recently baptized and confirmed member of the Church. She would like to speak with you.”
A sweet voice came on the line: “Brother Monson, thank you for sharing with me your testimony. I am the happiest person in all the world.”
As tears filled my eyes and gratitude to God enlarged my soul, I thanked her and commended her on her search for truth and, having found it, her decision to enter those waters which cleanse and purify and provide entrance to eternal life.
I sat silently for a few minutes after replacing the telephone receiver. The words of our Savior coursed through my mind: “And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”

At the far side of Oslo, Norway, a tall, fair-haired Otto Monson could see his destination, a stately mansion. The day was pleasantly warm, and it felt good to be out.
After half an hour Otto decided the walk to the mansion would take longer than he had expected. Not wanting to be late, he turned off the main road and cut through a maze of narrow back streets. The streets were tortuous, twisting through the poorer part of the city. The area was known for its high crime rate, and Otto, dressed in a clean, pressed suit and a white shirt, felt uneasy walking alone there. A short distance from the mansion he came to a lone row of rotting, chicken-coop houses.
It was a rule in the mission that missionaries were to speak Norwegian, and it had been over a year since Otto had heard a word of spoken English. He was passing close to one of the small chicken-coop houses when he heard a commanding voice in English:
“Go into that house,” it demanded.
Otto stopped, his face a little pale. He looked around; there was no one in sight. The streets were vacant. Why go in there? he thought. He seriously doubted if anyone could live in that rotting shack. The cow sheds back home were more fit to live in than that. Looking around he continued walking. As he walked, the voice, now small but strong, repeated the command.
“Go into that house.”
I have another appointment, he thought. Besides, what in that rotting pile of rags and filth could be important, more important than an appointment with the wealthiest man in Oslo, an educated man, a man of importance, a man of influence?
Two days before, the man had contacted President Christopherson, the president of the Norwegian Mission, and asked if someone could come and explain the principles of the LDS doctrine to him. Otto, a clerk in the mission offices, had felt a sense of pride when President Christopherson asked him to go. How could he stop now? He couldn’t be late.
“Go into that house,” the voice repeated.
Otto could see the gate of the mansion when he stopped and turned back. I must be crazy, he thought. I’ll bet no one even lives there.
He knocked on the door of the shack.
From inside the building he heard the sound of shuffling feet and the creak of boards. His skin shivered. The door swung inward on leather hinges, and the sallow face of an old, old woman appeared. She looked as old as time itself, he thought. She smelled of sickness and old age, and he knew from her appearance that she was near death, but she looked up and smiled at him, a little painfully. He could sense a terrible loneliness in her. A loneliness that pricked at his conscience so deeply and painfully that he wanted to turn and run, to get away from her sight, from the warm, brown eyes.
“Yes?” she said; her voice was weak but pleasant sounding.
Otto wondered what he should say or do.
“I’m from America,” he said. It was all he could think of.
“I once knew a boy who went to America,” she said.
“What was his name?” Otto asked politely, wondering what he was doing here when he was late for another appointment, an important appointment. He wanted to tell her he had made a mistake, that he had knocked on the wrong door.
“His name,” she said, with a warm, faraway look in her eyes, “was Christian, Christian Monson, but that was a long time ago, nearly 50 years.”
Otto felt a burning, humbling excitement flood unexpectedly over his body at the sound of the name. Breathless, he asked what her name was. It couldn’t be, he thought, not after all these years!
“I am Mrs. Hotvedtvien,” she answered.
Otto felt an indescribable pleasure deep inside, and he felt warm tears on his cheeks.
“I am Otto Monson; Christian Monson is my father, and I know you well, Ann Hotvedtvien, very well.”
The street was quiet. It seemed to Otto that time stood still. Then, suddenly, he felt the boney arms of the old woman embrace him, heard her crying softly, and felt the terrible loneliness leave her.
Later Otto learned from her that not long after Christian left for America, the Hotvedtviens moved from Drammen to Oslo. The letters Christian sent from America never found them. Five years after the move, Moen Hotvedtvien became ill and died. Since then his wife had been alone, and for the last few years she had been sick and unable to earn a living. There was no one to help. She said she had been afraid she would die alone and had prayed for help.
Otto visited the old woman often, saw that she was cared for, arranged for her to have a good house to live in, good food, and medicine. Several months later she died, but she didn’t die alone or without love.

When the McCanns first saw it set amongst acres of pine trees on idyllic Kangaroo Island, they knew they had to secure the holiday home. Evonne and David Sandelin McCann envisioned retreats here with their five children and youth camps for their stake in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In the years since, all their dreams became reality. The McCanns generously opened their home to friends and the Church’s youth groups, who have wonderful memories of staying there—experiencing dusk surrounded by kangaroos, wallabies, possums, and spotting koalas snuggled in the boughs of the eucalyptus trees.
Then tragedy struck. On the 31st of December 2019, fires engulfed two thirds of Kangaroo Island, taking lives, and destroying homes, including the McCanns’.
David and Evonne were devastated. In a matter of minutes, their sanctuary—a refuge for family and friends—burned to the ground.
It was now a twisted pile of rubble. Their water tank completely melted, and saddest of all, they lost their grandmother’s baby grand piano, which all the McCann children had learned to play on.
As the family came to grips with their loss, David prayed to Heavenly Father: “Where to from here? What is the purpose behind this? Whatever you want us to do we will do.”
Miraculously, their shearing shed was still standing! It housed their tractor, which David would need to clear the site. To their great relief, the neighbouring property—where David’s parents live—was somehow also spared, even though it had been surrounded by fire.
Another little miracle occurred two months earlier, when Evonne received a strong impression that they needed to insure their property. This troubled David, as none of the 15 providers he had contacted would insure them. He prayed, “Heavenly Father, if we are meant to insure the house, please help me find an insurer.” The very next company he called agreed to insure the property for a portion of its value.
After the fires, a great outpouring of love for residents of Kangaroo Island came in. People sent tools, clothing and bedding, and members of the McCann’s Gulfview Heights Ward helped the family replenish their one-year supply of food.
Kangaroo Island began a journey of recovery, which included a heartbreaking clean-up of debris and efforts to rescue wildlife. But then, the land burst into bloom.
A sea of yellow daisies blanketed the McCann property, along with red poppies and other flowers which they hadn’t seen there before. It seemed to signal a new beginning, and the McCanns decided that—although they still couldn’t afford to—they would rebuild.
The blessings continued. David learned of a man who was giving away the entire second floor of his house—the framework, windows, doors, and cables—to anyone who would remove it and build a new floor for him. With a happy band of helpful brethren, David went to work and, after a week, secured the building materials for his own home.
He sourced additional materials on auction for a fraction of their retail prices and there was plenty of sand and ironstone on the land to make concrete for his foundations.
A generous architect on Kangaroo Island gave his time freely to design new homes for the McCanns and others who had lost theirs in the fire. Then, with the expert help of a retired builder, Brother John Ween, plus three of his builder friends, the family began to rebuild.
They worked tirelessly through three weeks of their summer holiday, recruited extended family to help during Easter, and now their house is at lock up stage.
On reflection, Evonne says, “Everything happens for a reason. We don’t see it when we are going through the hard times.”
“Trust God even when you don’t see why,” David adds. “It’s helped me understand the grief in a different way, and to have empathy for others . . . how bad things happen, and if we are faithful, good will always come from it.”
It won’t be long before their family and friends will once again experience the tranquility of their home on Kangaroo Island.

Genuine gratitude was expressed by the writer of a letter received some time ago at Church headquarters. No return address was shown, no name, but the postmark was from Portland, Oregon:
“To the Office of the First Presidency:
“Salt Lake City showed me Christian hospitality once during my wandering years.
“On a cross-country journey by bus to California, I stepped down in the terminal in Salt Lake City, sick and trembling from aggravated loss of sleep caused by a lack of necessary medication. In my headlong flight from a bad situation in Boston, I had completely forgotten my supply.
“In the Temple Square Hotel restaurant, I sat dejectedly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a couple approach my table. ‘Are you all right, young man?’ the woman asked. I raised up, crying and a bit shaken, related my story and the predicament I was in then. They listened carefully and patiently to my nearly incoherent ramblings, and then they took charge. They spoke with the restaurant manager, then told me I could have all I wanted to eat there for five days. They took me next door to the hotel desk and got me a room for five days. Then they drove me to a clinic and saw that I was provided with the medications I needed—truly my basic lifeline to sanity and comfort.
“While I was recuperating and building my strength, I made it a point to attend the daily Tabernacle organ recitals. The celestial voicing of that instrument from the faintest intonation to the mighty full organ is the most sublime sonority of my acquaintance. I have acquired albums and tapes of the Tabernacle organ and the choir which I can rely upon anytime to soothe and buttress a sagging spirit.
“On my last day at the hotel, before I resumed my journey, I turned in my key; and there was a message for me from that couple: ‘Repay us by showing gentle kindness to some other troubled soul along your road.’ That was my habit, but I determined to be more keenly on the lookout for someone who needed a lift in life.
“I wish you well. I don’t know if these are indeed the ‘latter days’ spoken of in the scriptures, but I do know that two members of your church were saints to me in my desperate hours of need. I just thought you might like to know.”
What an example of caring compassion.

It was New Year’s Day, and a snowstorm had just blanketed the small mountain town of Estes Park, Colorado, where I lived. Filled with the excitement of the holiday season, my older brother, Roger, and I had gone outside to play in a field near our home. A little lake where we had played on the ice many times before now lay underneath a fresh mantle of snow, flat and absolutely flawless.
No one worried about the lake being unsafe at that time of year—we lived at such a high altitude that the cold weather generally insured that small lakes would be frozen. But as we were playing, Roger suddenly fell through a soft spot in the ice. I was only six years old, and I didn’t know what to do. I could see no sticks around to pull him out with; everything was covered by snow. His heavy clothing soon pulled him under the water.
I ran all the way home through the deep snow, over a mile, to get my father. We drove back to the lake, and he dove through the ice and somehow found my brother. He tried to revive him, but by that time Roger had drowned.
That experience left me with several feelings. First, I saw the strength of the gospel in my parents’ lives. We were the only members of the Church in our community. Everyone rallied around my parents to give them support and comfort, but I think that the whole community gained more comfort and understanding by watching how a knowledge of the gospel helped my family handle that very difficult situation.
Years later, after I had a family of my own, my wife’s mother heard a caller in a radio talk show describe how he had watched a young family that had lost a son in a drowning accident. He didn’t mention the names of my parents, but the accident had occurred in Estes Park. It was obvious of whom he was speaking. He said it had taught him a great lesson about the strength of that family and the principles that guided their lives. Even then, about twenty-five years after the accident, my parents’ conduct continued to influence others.
Second, I learned about the purpose of this mortal experience. We come to earth to gain a body. Some of us are going to live on the earth a shorter time than others. When you’re literally side by side with your brother, and he goes through the ice and drowns and you don’t, it gives you a whole different way of thinking about life. It could have just as easily been me that drowned. But I’ve always felt that my brother’s mission here on earth had been completed and that he was just “called home” at an earlier age than most of us. But being the one who was allowed to remain, it was important to live as well as I could so that not only Heavenly Father but also my brother would be pleased with my actions.
Third, I learned a great deal from the courage exhibited by my father. He risked his life to break through that ice and dive underneath it to try to rescue his ten-year-old son. It was an immediate response; he did what he felt he needed to do. He showed great love, courage, and strength of character.
Mortality is significant, but it is a very small part of our eternal existence, I learned that lesson then too. I also learned to appreciate that through the ordinances and covenants of the temple our family relationships truly can be eternal.
There’s always another side to tragedy, and that side is one of greater understanding of the purpose of life. I know that Heavenly Father provides special comfort to family and friends who go through painful experiences, as He did with my family. It was a time when Heavenly Father was particularly close to us. And He will be close to you in times of difficulty if you call on Him in prayer.

Paola Fava has been a member of the Church for 10 years. Her home is in Genoa, a beautiful port city on the northwestern shore of Italy that is famous for being the birthplace of Christopher Columbus and of a traditional Italian food called pesto. Her husband passed away in 2009. She has a little dog, Bak, and she stays busy serving in the Church and doing family history. Here is her conversion story.
A number of years ago, I knew a girl who worked at the London branch of the same company I worked for. She was brilliant in her job and delightful as a friend. I didn’t know she was a Mormon. For many years we kept in touch by letter, and every time she said that she had a lot of work to do for her church, I never understood what sort of work it might be. Then one day she wrote that she was doing “baptisms for the dead,” and this made me curious.
Some years passed, and I went to see her in England. One day during my visit, we sat on the grass and she asked me if we could talk a little bit about God. “How strange,” I thought, but I told her yes. She said to me, “Did you know that a boy in America found plates of gold that told the story of ancient Americans to whom Jesus Christ appeared?” She told me that the boy was also given the message to restore on the earth the ancient Church of Jesus Christ, and he did this despite many difficulties.
This message struck me profoundly. I felt it was indeed true, and that night at her house, I found a copy of the Book of Mormon on the nightstand. But I didn’t want to involve myself with a different church at that time, even though I didn’t feel spiritually well.
One day in another letter she told me that her husband had become a member of her church and things had never been better. “OK, I really must get to know this church!” I said to myself. I called the mission office and arranged to meet with the sister missionaries.
After I received the lessons, I entered the waters of baptism. I shed many tears and felt immense joy, and I experienced innumerable blessings, which continue to this day. My conversion was the fruit of the patience and perseverance of a special friend. She had conviction that her message would deeply impress my heart. I experienced a great change in my life, and I am finally happy in the faith, truly knowing who I am, where I come from, and especially where I want to go.

Down on the tip of England’s toe, 18-year-old Joanne Crocker of Helston Ward, tells of her teacher, Hugh Dunbar. “The day before one monthly meeting, his car wouldn’t go. He had the engine in pieces until 3:00 A.M. Then he snatched two hours of sleep and finished the job by 11:30 Saturday morning in time to begin picking up his class of seven by 12 noon. Then we drove 70 miles to the Plymouth stake centre. And this was only six months after open heart surgery.”

James Lee, 18, and his younger brother Christopher sat near the front of the chapel furiously taking notes. They live in Spokane, Washington, and though they knew they were living in an area of high employment, both of them needed summer jobs.
Luckily for the Lees and hundreds of other young Latter-day Saints like them, the local stake leaders with the help of Brother Ronald Buchanan, manager of the Church’s Spokane Employment Center, had organized a one-day career fair for all of the young people in the Spokane area.
The career fair started with talks from some of the local leaders about general gospel principles and how they relate to the work ethic. As the day progressed the information became much more specific, and the participants learned about developing careers, preparing resumes, creative job searching, and interviewing.
“A good resume is probably the most effective job hunting tool for a young person,” said Bill Steen, a professional teacher and consultant on preparing resumes. “Of course a resume is needed for professional, career-oriented job seekers, but very few young people use them. So when you do, it really sets you apart from the rest of the job-hunting crowd.
“Do not depend on an application and then wait at home by the phone for someone to call,” he continued, “because it rarely happens. Few people understand what most job application forms are really designed to accomplish. They are designed by an employer to reveal as many weaknesses as possible and eliminate you from the competition for that job. And this is the tool that most of us use to try to get a job—a tool that is designed to screen us out.”
The young people learned some fascinating ways to find job openings and even to create them if they are not there to begin with. John Munson, 14, is working on the details for his own summer business. He is gong to specialize in selling fresh hot sausages (either on a bun or a stick) to the vacationers at Lake Coeur d’ Alene. John is going to hire two kids to operate other stands which he also owns. He is working on the forms for his health department clearance and business license and has bids from suppliers for his sausages.
A Washington State employment placement specialist, Sister Carole Hankal gave a delightful workshop on the creative job search. “Once you have prepared a good resume, you might feel it’s the best resume in the world. You should remember that for every person hired there are 1,470 resumes sent out. So the resume isn’t going to get the job for you. It is important, but it works better if it is combined with a personal contact. It is just like missionary work: when a person is referred to the missionaries by a close friend or relative, the chances of his being baptized are much greater than if he was tracted out by the missionaries. If you have a family friend or relative that has a business and hires people, don’t abuse the situation. Don’t go up to Uncle Harry and say, ‘Hey, do you know of any job openings?’ This is not what you want to do. However, if your Uncle Dan works in the bank personnel department and you would like a job in a bank you might say, ‘Hello, Uncle Dan, this is Karen. I just graduated from high school, got straight A’s in mathematics and A’s in English, and I type 60 words a minute with very few errors. I would really love to work in the banking institution. Do you know of any openings or anyone who might be aware of some openings and would you mind introducing me to some of your associates?’”
After Sister Hankal gave the above example, she explained that a good percentage of jobs are filled by those who have some kind of personal contact with the employer. She added, “Don’t be discouraged if you feel you have done everything right and still don’t get a job. Be prepared for up to ten interviews. It often takes ten or more in order for you to be successful in getting that job that is just right for you.”
It was now late afternoon, and the young people had sat about as long as they could absorbing the career information. When their appetites for food began to overshadow their appetites for summer work, dozens of Relief Society sisters and their husbands appeared out of nowhere and promptly began serving hundreds of delicious box lunches that had been prepared earlier for the entire group.
The high point of the career fair for most of the young people was the next two-hour block when they were able to talk to individual career specialists. Seventy-eight specialists had set up booths in the cultural hall while the young people were eating. There were representatives from education, health services, community services, government and military, construction, communications, retailing, sales, business, engineering, and a host of other fields of employment. Each representative had handouts giving specific information about the educational requirements, the expected salary ranges, and pros and cons of the job.
There were also 11 colleges and universities represented in classrooms near the cultural hall. Each representative was delighted to talk to the young people about entrance requirements, costs, and financial aids.
The fair was carefully organized to accomplish several different objectives. “We wanted to (1) prepare our youth so they would be the best prepared to enter both the summer and permanent job markets and be the first to apply when an opportunity arises; (2) help them to identify career areas they would like to work in and to match their summer employment with their career goals; (3) create the opportunity for them to visit with more than 75 career specialists; and (4) give them the chance to talk to representatives from local colleges as well as BYU and Ricks,” said Brother Buchanan.
“It took us six months to plan and develop the fair. One hundred and fifty people helped put all the details together. I know that Sister Carole Krohn, chairman of the career specialists, made 300 telephone calls herself. But we wanted the youth to be taught about self-reliance and self-sufficiency. What these young people have learned here today should improve their income potential, job satisfaction, self-esteem, and their ability to serve in the Church,” he added.
James and Christopher left the career fair with new confidence in themselves and determination to use the knowledge they had gained to get their summer jobs.
James got the job he wanted working at a grocery store in Deer Park, Washington. He first talked to the manager, and then he followed up by submitting an application. The manager noted that James would not work on Sunday and so he did not hire him. Yet James kept in touch with the store, and after a few days he was asked to work for two days on a trial basis. The owner of the store interviewed James and asked him why he would not work on Sunday. James told him it was part of the teachings of his church and he had made a personal commitment to try to keep the Sabbath holy. The owner was impressed, and James was hired—to work every day but Sunday.
Christopher found his job using another technique he learned in the workshops at the fair. He applied for a job, but at the time there were no openings. When he followed up a few days later he said, “I know that it costs you something to train new employees. I will volunteer to come in and learn whatever you would like me to learn on my own time and then if you think I can do the job to your satisfaction I will be trained and ready to go to work when you have an opening.” This initiative impressed his employer enough that he interviewed him and hired him on the spot. Although the restaurant is open on Sunday, Christopher’s employer respects his beliefs and has not required that he come in and work on that day.
Both of the Lee boys felt they got the jobs they wanted because of what they learned at the career fair, including proper dress for a job interview, cultivating qualities that an employer would look for like grammar and manners, what to expect in applying for a job, and the kinds of questions an employer would hope a job applicant would ask to show that he is really interested in working for him.
James and Christopher Lee are only two out of hundreds of success stories from those who attended the career fair. More than half of the 850 young people who attended got jobs after the fair. Others who couldn’t get work or didn’t want to work for someone else have started their own businesses, and still others actually are involved in their long-range careers, thanks to the stake leaders and the Church Employment System, who sponsored the 1984 Spokane Career Fair.

When my sixth-grade class talks about movies, they usually talk about PG-13 or R-rated movies. They ask me, “Have you seen them?” I answer, “No, I can’t watch PG-13 movies. I’m not allowed to watch R-rated movies either.” They laugh at me and say, “You can only watch baby shows.” It hurts me, but I get over it because I know I’m doing what Heavenly Father wants me to do. So even if people tease me, I will still keep my spirit high because I love the Lord. I will follow His teachings and always keep Him in my heart.

My family and I were on our way to attend my dad’s high school class reunion in Park City, Montana, when the accident happened.
Halfway to Park City, my parents decided to stop and camp for the night. My dad asked my two older brothers, Bob and Dan, to gather wood and start a fire. He gave each of them a couple of matches. When Dan scraped his match against a stone, the flaming tip broke off and hit his eye, burning it badly before bouncing away. He cried out in terrible pain. My dad tried to comfort him, and my mom held ice on his eye to stop the burning.
When my brother had calmed down, my parents looked at his eye. Their worst fears were confirmed when they saw that the color of Dan’s eye was no longer brown, but completely white. They covered his eye and made him as comfortable as possible.
We climbed into the car and headed for Helena, the nearest town, where my brother was immediately taken to an eye specialist. After the exam, the specialist told my parents that Dan was blind in the damaged eye.
He gave Dan some medicine to put in his eye and a patch to keep the eye clean and protected. He told my parents to go to the class reunion and then bring Dan in for another exam on the way home.
After we received the bad news, my dad gathered us together and announced that our family would fast the next 24 hours for Dan’s full recovery. The day went by quickly as we concentrated on Dan and his need for comfort and healing. I believed that whatever the outcome, the Lord loved Dan and would help him.
My dad had tears streaming down his face when he gave Dan a priesthood blessing. It was the most beautiful blessing of healing I have ever heard. My dad told Dan that the Lord loved him and had many things for him to do in this life. He also told him he would need both of his eyes to complete his mission on earth, that his eye would heal, and that his vision would be fully restored. During the blessing, we all felt the Spirit and knew that God was mindful of us, especially of my brother during this trial.
When we returned to Helena, the eye specialist invited us into his examination room, where he again looked at Dan’s injured eye. He asked my parents if they were sure that this eye was the injured one. He said the eye he examined had to be the wrong eye because it was perfectly normal. Perplexed, he then checked Dan’s other eye. It, too, was normal. The specialist told my parents that it was impossible for an eye to heal like that. He had no explanation for it.
But we knew what had happened. The power of the priesthood, coupled with fervent prayer, faith, fasting, and an acceptance of the Lord’s will, had brought down the blessings of heaven.

One of the projects that the students at Mount Si really had to work hard to complete was the painting of the school halls. It was a huge job, but Sue and other student government officers decided it could be done. They needed more than 200 students to come and help with each step of the project—preparing the walls, applying an undercoat of paint, then the main coat of paint, and finally, the colored trim.

The assistant principal, said, “I walked into the first meeting, and I knew right then that they were going to succeed because Sue was organized and ready to begin. In a notebook she had inspirational sayings and a list of what needed to be done and a schedule for each step. And she had invited all the right people to the meeting. She had invited some students that she saw as leaders. She had invited someone from the school’s maintenance staff. She got me there. She understands organizational skills.”

The big painting project was successful, but not before Sue managed some last-minute crises. The first day of the four-day project was bright and sunny. For that time of year, a sunny day was rare. “Suddenly I panicked,” said Sue. “Who would want to come paint the school on a nice day like that?”

But people did show up—in time for the second crisis. After the walls were prepared for painting, it was time to apply the undercoat of paint. Just as more than one hundred students were ready to start painting, the school custodian rushed up to Sue and showed her the label on one of the cans. The flammable undercoat was supposed to be used only in well ventilated areas. They opened every window and door, turned off the electricity to avoid sparks, and covered all the electrical outlets. In the meantime, Sue had retreated to ask for some additional help. “I found an empty room, and got down on my knees.” Everything went smoothly. The danger was avoided. And the group had a great time. It was hard work but really a lot of fun too.

After giving the school halls a new coat of pale gray paint with maroon trim, the students under Sue’s leadership took new pride in their school. Now, if anyone even thinks about defacing or vandalizing the walls, they are warned by other students, “Don’t do it. I painted this wall, and nobody is going to write on it.”

“It’s dark in here,” whispered Tracy, reaching for her sister’s hand.
“Your eyes will adjust,” answered Alice in her most cheerful, grown-up voice. “Sister Knight’s room is down there. Come on.”
“This place smells funny. I wish Mom was with us.”
Alice had been wishing the same thing. Everything about the nursing home seemed to press against her skin. She wanted to run down the dark corridor, through the heavy glass doors, and into the bright sunlight.
“Think about Honeysuckle,” Alice suggested. “She’s the most adorable kitten in the world, and she was a gift from Sister Knight. Now she needs something from us.”
“What?” Tracy asked her big sister.
“I guess we’ll find out. Listen, Tracy, I’m nervous too. Eleven-year-olds don’t know everything.”
“Are you here to see Mrs. Knight?” a nurse asked as she came toward the girls. When Alice nodded solemnly, the nurse boomed, “Good—you’ll be better for her than anything the doctor could order!”
Before Alice realized what had happened, the nurse had ushered them into the room and they were standing beside Sister Knight’s bed.
“Alice and Tracy.” Sister Knight spoke very softly, but her smile was as radiant as ever.
Alice told Sister Knight about the Primary quarterly activity that they had attended the previous week. After telling about all the booths and contests, she gave a happy sigh and said, “It was a really fun carnival.” Then there was an awkward silence. Should we leave? she wondered.
Suddenly Tracy said, “Want to hear the song I learned at school?” She began singing, “‘I’ve been working on the railroad …’”
Uh-oh, thought Alice. Maybe we’re not allowed to make this much noise. But Sister Knight loved it! Her eyes sparkled, and she began nodding in time with the tune. So Alice and Tracy sang more school songs, then some from Primary. Sister Knight even tried to sing along with them. By the third Primary song, she was smiling with her eyes closed. She was sound asleep.
“We’ll come back Friday,” Alice said softly to Tracy as they tiptoed from the room. She didn’t think that the hall was so gloomy now, and she noticed that Tracy wasn’t holding her hand anymore. “I’m going to tell Mom what a terrific idea you had about singing,” said Alice.
“Tattletale!” Tracy said, laughing.
“Will you come back with me Friday?”
“Sure. Sister Knight is still fun, even if she is in bed.”
Alice set up a schedule. Every Tuesday and Friday she and Tracy biked to the nursing home.
Alice took snapshots of Honeysuckle. She showed them to Sister Knight and told her about the kitten’s silly antics.
Tracy made her a dandelion chain, and she planted a bean in a paper cup. When she placed it on Sister Knight’s window-sill, she said, “I thought that maybe you’d like to have a tree in your room.”
Then slowly the visits started to change. Sister Knight seemed to be shrinking. Her body seemed to disappear beneath her bedclothes. There were days when Alice wondered if she even recognized them. It spooked Alice when Sister Knight sometimes looked right at her without seeming to see her.
One thing didn’t change: They always sang. Singing had broken the ice during their first visit, and singing was a part of each visit thereafter.
When summer ended, things got harder. “I don’t know how I can keep going to the nursing home with all my schoolwork,” Alice said. Tracy nodded, and Alice knew that deep down they both were beginning to dread the visits. They weren’t fun anymore, and Sister Knight recognized them less and less, although she always relaxed and looked peaceful when they sang.
In mid-October, Alice had an important science project due. She wanted to skip the visit to Mrs. Knight so that she could go to the library and find reference books on fossils. She was picking up her things to leave for the library when Honeysuckle rubbed against her leg. Alice reached down and scratched the top of the kitten’s head. It jumped onto her lap and purred contentedly. “OK, Honeysuckle,” Alice said. “We’ll go to the nursing home one more time.”
When Alice and Tracy walked into Sister Knight’s room, Alice thought, Oh no! She’s not here. Then her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she saw the tiny woman huddled in the middle of the white hospital bed. Her thin hair stuck out in a strange, wild way. Her mouth was open, and she was moaning softly. The nurse entered the room, and put her arms around the girls. “Mrs. Knight is very weak and has been asleep for three days,” she explained, then left quietly.
Maybe she’s dying, Alice thought sadly. She tiptoed toward the bed, and, on an impulse, began to hum. Tracy joined in. Soon they were standing close by Sister Knight’s bed, singing:
“‘I am a child of God, And he has sent me here, Has given me an earthly home With parents kind and dear. Lead me, guide me, walk beside me, Help me find the way. Teach me all that I must do To live with him someday.’”
As they sang, Alice looked at their old friend, wanting, but afraid, to smooth her hair and kiss her cheek. Suddenly a flicker of a smile crossed Sister Knight’s lips.
“The hymn!” Tracy whispered. “I think that she heard our hymn!”
Alice’s heart filled with joy. We may not know for sure if Sister Knight hears us, thought Alice, but we can sing, anyway. It was the one gift that they could give her. “I’ll be back next Friday, Sister Knight,” she whispered.
“Me, too,” Tracy called back softly as they left the room.

Several weeks after the experience with the apples, I set out to join my friends in the wooded area close to home, anticipating that we would devise some activity or game to play. As I approached them, they were huddled together. I saw smoke rising in the air above them and recognized the aroma of burning tobacco. One of them had obtained a packet of cigarettes, and they were smoking. They invited me to join them, but I declined. They persisted, suggesting that my reluctance to participate was a sign of weakness. Their taunts turned to ridicule, combined with condescending remarks. But nothing they could say or do could persuade me to change my mind. I had not been raised with a knowledge of the restored gospel and knew nothing of the Word of Wisdom, but I was restrained by a feeling within that I should not participate with them.
As I walked home reflecting on the decision I had made, I felt good inside. Although my expectations for the day had not materialized and I would have to find a way to occupy my time without my friends, I had discovered something about myself—about the source of real happiness and the invigoration that results from making the right decision, whatever the circumstances or outcome may be.

The key to having a nice test in the waiting is to be an active waiter instead of passively enduring. Active waiting invites cheer; passive waiting is gloom and doom. We are active waiters when we do the things Christ did, even in the most trying moments. The early Saints, at the end of their time in Nauvoo, found themselves once again waiting and wondering when they would live in Zion, when they would actually get to not only finish building a house of the Lord, but also worship in it regularly.

The sisters of Nauvoo were active waiters as they packed only a few of their belongings, did a final sweep of their floors, closed their doors, and headed west. [21] They swept the floors!? They knew their homes would be overrun by mobs taking advantage of their hard work, yet they paused to sweep the floors. The early Saints are a marvel to me, especially when I think that I live five minutes from what will soon be two of the Lord’s houses—on the same street. The early Saints set an example of active waiting. What is the Spirit prompting you to do in your waiting?

It’s 8:30 on a brisk Monday morning at the Harvard Business School. A wind that blows in off the Charles River hustles red, orange, and yellow leaves as they chase each other around the ivy-laden brick buildings. Students of all colors and sizes hurry to their classes, the difficulty of the material they studied the night before imprinted on their faces.
Once inside the classroom they place their name cards in front of them, arrange their notes, and chatter nervously. Who will be called on to open class, they wonder, hoping against hope that it won’t be them.
“Mr. Fullmer,” barks the teacher. “I believe it is your lucky day. You will open, please.”
Greg Fullmer leans forward, fingers his notes and begins. He is prepared. He should be. He was up until 2:00 A.M. poring over the text. Greg has to stay up studying a little later than most students because he has so many additional responsibilities. Last year he was elected to serve as the Harvard Business School’s student body president—the first Latter-day Saint to hold that position. School officials and students alike say he is one of the best they’ve ever had—that he did more in the first two months he was in office than most presidents ever do in an entire year. The six-foot-two, broad-shouldered former BYU student body president finishes his statement, and a number of hands shoot up. The discussion has begun.
Fifteen years ago, if you had told that 12-year-old farm boy from Rexburg, Idaho, that he would someday be a student body president of one of the most prestigious schools in the country, he probably would have smiled. Not laughed, mind you, because he always did believe that if your desires are righteous and if you’re willing to pay the price, you can accomplish what you want to. No, he would have smiled because you had just given him a new goal to work toward.
But then again, at that point in Greg’s life, you probably would have laughed right out loud when you tried to picture him as the handsome Harvard student who has a number of major corporations trying to recruit him. Greg was short, overweight, asthmatic, and not exactly what you’d call an academic standout. And although he was good-natured and had a positive disposition, he was no angel either.
“He was always teasing his sister and doing something to get you aggravated,” his grandmother, Loah Anderson will tell you. “I laugh with him now about it though, and tell him that if I had ever caught him, he wouldn’t be where he is today.”
His grade school bus driver would agree. Not long ago, he stopped Greg in church and said “You know, Greg, you’ve restored my faith in the youth of today.”
“How’s that?” asked Greg, flattered but slightly puzzled.
“You used to be the rottenest kid I knew,” the bus driver replied. “I just hated to see you get on that bus. But now I know that if you can make it, anyone can.”
Greg really wasn’t a troublemaker. He just liked to interact with people, and he was naturally curious. “We’d take him to a cafe,” his grandmother says, “and the kid would be up and out in a second. He wouldn’t sit at the table. He’d be over with the hostess, talking to the waitresses; then he’d go back into the kitchen to see what was cooking.”
Through most of Greg’s teenage years, he was six to eight inches shorter than his sister—his younger sister. She is 14 months his junior. In junior high school, he got along well with the other kids, but no one took him that seriously. “I ran for student body president in junior high and suffered a miserable defeat,” he said. “I didn’t even make it into the primaries, and that really hurt.”
So what motivated Greg to keep trying? How did he finally end up in the top student leadership position at Harvard Business School?
Well, you could say it was faith. Faith in the Lord, faith in himself, and the faith that his family showed in him.
Greg didn’t come from what most people would call the ideal, stereotypical family background. But he’ll tell you it was ideal for him. His parents were divorced before he was two, and he, along with his mother and his sister, moved in with his grandparents. Instead of lamenting the fact that he comes from a “broken home,” Greg makes the best of it. “I always felt like I had to excel to make up for not having a dad, so actually, it was kind of good for me,” he says. Besides, “it was like having the love and support of three parents, not just two.” His mother had to work during the day but made sure that when she came home she spent plenty of quality time with her children.
From his mother, Greg learned to listen to people, to understand their needs, and to try to help them. This became one of his greatest assets as he served in various student-government positions. From his grandmother he learned that you can achieve almost anything you want in life if you’re willing to work hard. He attributes his greatest achievements to that conviction, including funding his mission with the money he earned by opening a number of weight control centers in various parts of the country. From his grandfather, Greg learned patience and wisdom. “He didn’t have a formal education, so he’d get up early every morning and read books,” Greg relates. “He’s one of the most intelligent people I know.” Under that inspiration, Greg went from being an average student in junior high to being class valedictorian at BYU.
When Greg was 12, his family went through another change. After much deliberation, his mother decided to remarry, and although there was occasional strain, Greg adapted quite well to his new father, brothers, and sisters.
While other boys were out playing little league baseball, Greg spent a lot of time working on the family farm, milking and feeding cows, cleaning out the milk tank, you name it. He doesn’t regret the time spent—it taught him to work hard. But he won’t tell you he loved it either, although he did have a number of ways to make the long, tedious hours go by faster. He took great pride in trying to do the best job he possibly could. If he was working with others, he would talk to them, laugh with them, joke with them, and get to know them better. And then, when he had a spare second, he would dream about what he would try to accomplish in the future.
“I wasn’t the most athletic kid in the school, I wasn’t the most intelligent, and I certainly wasn’t the best looking, so I decided I’d try to be the friendliest,” he said. “One way to feel good about yourself is to make other people feel good about themselves.”
Included in his dreams was a desire to be a student body president. He got over his miserable junior high defeat and decided that he would run when he got to high school. But just a short time before he was to announce his candidacy, his best friend told him he’d decided to run and asked Greg to be his campaign manager. Greg complied and helped him win, deciding that he could run for the office when he got to Ricks College.
But when Greg got to Ricks, he decided to sacrifice his political ambitions in favor of serving a mission in Indonesia. “I had a lot of misconceptions about the mission field,” he admits. “When you hear missionaries come back and say those were the best two years of their lives, you think it’s going to be all roses, but it’s not. It’s the hardest thing you could possibly do, and that’s what makes it great. I really learned to appreciate things I had to work for and sacrifice for. I learned to accept, appreciate, and love people who were different from me.”
When Greg returned from his mission, he finished up at Ricks, then went on to BYU. He never had satisfied his dream of becoming a student body president, but the thought of presiding over BYU’s 27,000 students seemed overly ambitious to him. His sister Kristie was convinced he could do it though. She helped him find a running mate, served as his campaign manager, and after a lot of hard work, Greg was elected by one of the biggest margins in BYU history.
“That really helped prepare me for where I am now,” Greg says. And actually, he is quite surprised to be in this position at Harvard. He’d already satisfied his goal of serving as a student body president, and knowing how many hours he’d put into the position at BYU, he didn’t think he could handle it at graduate school. After much prayer and a lot of requests from fellow students, however, Greg decided to give it a try. A lot of hard work went into that election too, and it paid off.
Even though Greg has won a multitude of other awards and titles, he feels that some of his greatest satisfaction comes when his accomplishments put him in a position to answer questions about the Church. “I’m constantly being questioned about our beliefs,” he says with a smile. “And I’m always happy to talk with anyone.”
And they’re usually happy to listen. Fellow students scrutinize Greg a little closer than they do other classmates. Not only is he their president, but he’s also one of a handful of LDS people they might know.
Tomorrow he’ll probably be walking Wall Street, but today, on the brisk Monday afternoon, his class discussions are finished and he walks over to one of the numerous meetings he has each week. Many students call out to him, greeting him by name. Some glance at him with a mischievous look in their eyes and call out, “Hi, LARRY!” That’s Greg’s first name, but he hates to be called that and they know it. On the first day of class this year, the student body gave him a standing ovation and shouted out, “Larry! Larry! Larry!” It’s impossible to take yourself too seriously with classmates like that.
Still, many of them ask him how he’s accomplished what he has. “My theory of success,” he tells them, “requires two things—that you work hard, and that you pray hard.” Greg slides into his seat at the head of a large conference table, and the other student body officers begin to file in. He is prepared. He should be. He was up until 2 A.M. making use of his theory of success.

There was Ted, for instance, who had been the great guilt-inflicter during those Halloween nights when we used to smash pumpkins just because we didn’t have anything better to do. “Sure, go ahead and destroy some kid’s pride and joy,” he’d object, as my braver friends and I left to tromp through the dark neighborhoods, hot on the trail of Mr. Jack-o’lantern. Ted’s unusual sensibility had always puzzled me. After all, I was nearly four months his senior, and I thought that kind of judgment belonged to older people who were married and had children of their own.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Bryce, the bold one, let out a scream and jumped off the cliff. It wasn’t a graceful takeoff, but it got the job done. I watched him flip like a fish as he fell through the sky, and I heard the distant splash when he hit the water. “You’ve got to try it!” he yelled as he pulled himself into the boat. It was a direct challenge.
I looked around and found my three buddies smiling at me. My stomach went sour. It was then I realized that jumping from a 90-foot cliff wasn’t such a hot idea. But how could I pull out now? They’d never let me live it down.
Just when I was about to jump, I was interrupted by Kelly, who barked out an obscenity and took off. We never saw him hit the water, but heard him crying as the others pulled him into the boat.’ His knees had slammed together upon impact, and he would be in a cast for the rest of the summer, following surgery on both knees.
The three of us who remained were now scared to death, but we wouldn’t admit it. I remember thinking about my acceptance to BYU, and about my plans to serve a mission after my freshman year. For the first time that day, I began to think of the consequences of making the jump. What if I became seriously injured? Was impressing my friends really that important?
“Fifty percent chance you make it and fifty percent chance you get hurt,” Bryce impatiently yelled at me from below. That was comforting.
I slowly walked back from the edge, then raced toward it, lifting my body off the ground as I soared into the warm sky. I looked immediately down and found the water racing toward me. I waved my arms to maintain balance.
My entry into the water was like an explosion, and I heard my back snap. As I sank through the water, I became aware that I couldn’t move my body. I felt as though my lungs would explode as I slowly floated to the surface, only to hear my friends laughing at the expression on my face.
Ted was the first to realize I was in pain, and he told the others to stop laughing as I was pulled into the boat. I mentioned something about the pain in my back as they laid me down next to the already-injured Kelly, and I was soon whimpering right along with him.
Kelly and I watched in bewilderment as the remaining two contemplated their own jumps. Despite unfavorable odds, each of them made the leap—successfully.
Since no doctors were within 100 miles of us, I decided to finish the trip with my friends. I lay in a tent for two days, shocked at my stupidity. I was only 18, yet I had risked my life for the sake of “entertainment.”
The doctor who examined my back said I had a compression-fracture which would cause arthritis throughout my life, but I still considered myself very lucky.
For nearly four years I had wandered carelessly through a world of smashed pumpkins and crazy dives. I hadn’t stopped to consider what effect my actions were having on other people, or on myself. I had been a thrill seeker who never had to face the consequences until that fateful day when I’d almost given my life just to impress my friends. It took a crash through Lake Powell’s waters to plunge me from my fantasy world into a world of reality and responsibility.