Gospel Story Finder

Youth and leaders witnessed an awesome spectacle in the morning sky of Arizona last February. Two high-powered, nine-foot-tall, fiberglass rockets launched into the sky with spectacular results.
Three months of design and construction culminated in a friendly competition between the young men and young women of the Pleasant Second Ward in Chandler, Arizona. Guided by Mia Maid Mara Egolf and her father—both members of the Arizona High Power Rocketry Association—the youth spent several Saturday mornings learning about rocket construction.
The youth each wrote down goals to help them arise and shine forth in the coming year. The young men put their goals in their red-and-gold “Sons of Helaman” rocket, and the young women put theirs in their purple-and-white “Integrity” rocket. Then both rockets were launched into the heavens.
As for the competition, there is some controversy over which rocket won. In a flight faithful to the name she bears, “Integrity” functioned flawlessly, and according to onboard readings reached an altitude of 11,619 feet before parachuting gracefully back to earth.
There’s a saying in model rocketry, Brother Egolf told the youth, “When things go according to plan, it’s cool. When things go bad, it’s way cool.” “Sons of Helaman” arced at just under 12,000 feet before a malfunction caused the rocket, traveling at nearly the speed of sound, to crash into the desert floor. At the impact crater the young men were able to salvage only two tail fins and a piece of the nosecone.

Three brothers walked away with first prize in the Grand Prix de la Chanson Eurovision 1984. The competition is an important one in Europe, receiving extensive television coverage and generating much interest since each of 19 countries sends one performing group to the competition.
Per, Richard, and Louis Herrey, originally of Sweden but now living in Los Angeles, California, returned to their native country and won the right to represent Sweden at the international competition. At the competition, which took place in Luxembourg, the Herrey brothers took first prize home for Sweden.
Prior to their victory, the boys had received other awards. Per, who served a mission in Chile, was selected to participate in an international song contest in Chile. He sang an original composition. Richard has danced in seven episodes of the television show Fame.
Following their victory, the brothers will tour Sweden and Europe and prepare the songs they want to use in cutting a record album.
The Herrey family is active in the Westwood Second Ward, Westwood California Stake.

Shortly before leaving on his mission, Zainu Deen was volunteering at the emergency resource center in Freetown, Sierra Leone when he saw Salamatu for the first time. He knew he wanted to get to know her but was hesitant to speak with her. Although a mutual friend tried to convince Salamatu to talk with Zainu, she refused. Instead, Zainu made efforts to get to know her brother and her mother, seeking excuses to pass by her home nearly daily. However, their first conversation consisted of Zainu telling Salamatu he was leaving to serve a mission and asking her to please remember him.
Zainu’s decision to serve was highly encouraged by his auntie, but, like many young adults, it was a decision made amidst opposition. Friends were questioning him about his future and said that by serving two years, Zainu would be left behind. Although he was already preparing for his mission, doubts began to enter his mind. Zainu prayed, “I don’t know much. I want You to tell me what am I going to do? Am I going to be left behind?”
Zainu’s answer came. “My ‘Yes’ was proud. My ‘Yes’ was strong because I believed in what I was going to do.”
While Zainu was serving in Nigeria and writing letters to Salamatu, she completed her education and passed her test. She began looking for a job, searching for a year with no success.
When Zainu returned from his mission, he talked to Salamatu about serving a mission herself. It was not an easy choice. She said, “One heart was telling me, ‘Oh, find a job,’ and the other heart was telling me, ‘Go on a mission.’”
When pressed by Zainu, Salamatu explained, “I will just find a job because if I leave here then, I go on a mission, maybe there will be an opportunity, especially where I was doing my voluntary job. Like they will just need workers there, and they would take me directly because I used to work with them.”
Zainu was insistent that he wanted Salamatu to serve a mission, so insistent that when she asked, “How will I serve a mission?” Zainu told her, “I will help you get your passport.” Not only did he help Salamatu get her passport, but he also helped her fill in her forms, buy some of the necessary clothing and, working with her family, helped pay her commitment fee.
The day Salamatu received her mission call, she was also offered a job. “I think God wants me to serve Him with all my heart. Now this is the time He wanted to try me that I can choose between Him and the job. I decided to drop the job.”
Besides incredible spiritual experiences and lessons learned on their missions, both Salamatu and Zainu learned lessons that would continue to help them in life. Salamatu overcame shyness and was much more able to speak in public, was more open to others, and was much more friendly and inviting. Zainu learned missionary budgeting, the importance of planning, how to be polite in his home and resolve problems quickly, and the importance of working side-by-side on all jobs with his spouse. Both Zainu and Salamatu said these are lessons they would not have learned except on their missions and they are lessons they continue to use every day.
Having overcome her shyness, upon returning from her mission, Salamatu decided to give Zainu a chance and agreed to date him. It did not take her long to realize that Zainu “really wants me in his life. He wants us to make a family. He wants us to be together forever, not only here but in the life to come. He is the man for me!”
When Zainu told Salamatu he wanted to get married, she said, “If you really mean it, you need to go to my people.”
Like many young people, the Deens faced some big obstacles when thinking about marriage. Zainu explained, “One thing that makes us in Africa find it difficult to get married is that young people think about the cost of living. No job, nothing that can bring in income. Some of us, some of the young people in the church, have the mentality, ‘How can I get married? How can I feed my family? Where can I get money? Where can I start?’”
Zainu said, “In Africa setting of marriage, people think that before getting married you have to acquire everything. That is the mentality. I must get money first. I must get a house. I must get a car. So those are some of the . . . [barriers] to getting married.”
By the time Salamatu returned from her mission, neither one of them had a job even though Zainu had been looking and volunteering the entire time she was on her mission. They both had taught the principles of marriage and family on their missions. They knew what was right. The obstacles seemed very large.
That is when Zainu took the action he knew from two years of practice on his mission. He told Salamatu, “I want us to pray that I can have a job, any kind of job. Then I think we can proceed.”
He said, “All of a sudden, God heard our cry, and I got a job, a security job!”
The way to marriage seemed to open, but there was still a lot of preparation. As soon as Zainu got a job, Salamatu said, “When they pay you, we must take a small amount of the money, $300,000 Sierra Leones, and we will save it. In fact, you will not save it in your own account. You will open a small account for me so that you won’t have access to take from that money.”
Zainu thought, “$300,000? What can $300,000 Sierra Leones do for marriage? It’s too small.” He continued, “Well, as time goes on, $300,000; $600,000; $900,000; $1,200,000. It is true! It is working! Now we can get married.”
Zainu said that Salamatu was his motivation. When he felt, “We don’t have much,” she told me again, “We do it little by little.”
When Zainu was paid, they worked their plan. They took out a set amount to put into Salamatu’s account. Then they would buy one thing necessary for their future or for their wedding. “We go buy material,” Zainu said. “We buy two yards. We do not have money to buy six yards at once. We go buy two, and we keep it. This is how we do it. Little. Little. Little. Little.”
Just as they both encountered opposition when deciding to serve their missions, so too, the Deens had people questioning their decision to marry, suggesting they should spend their money on things, or they should wait until they had a better job. But Zainu said, “I am obeying commandments. ‘If you love me, keep my commandments’ (John 14:15), and marriage is a commandment. Marriage is ordained of God.”
Salamatu quickly added, “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 Nephi 3:7).
She tells her young women that she wants them to go and serve the Lord and then get married. “The gospel blesses families so when you go out there and serve the Lord, the Lord will not only bless you, but even the families you leave behind, they will also receive the blessings.
“I also want to tell those who are struggling to marry that they should not struggle. They should not think about the worldly things that say ‘I have to do this; I have to get everything before I get married. Like me and my husband, we do not have plenty, but we have enough because the Lord is for us. The Lord always provides for us. The Lord always loves us. That is why we are so happy. We are so blessed. We have a handsome son. That is one of the blessings we have.”
Zainu added, “If we serve Him wholeheartedly, then there are blessings, which me and my wife, as a family are experiencing. People are coming now to us, wanting to know our way of living. These are the blessings. The Lord knows our hearts.”
“I want to testify that serving a mission is a good opportunity to serve the Lord with all our heart, might, mind and strength. Even when we return home, the things that we learn on a mission, we should not let them go away. If we apply them in our lives, we will receive a blessing, especially in our marriage. I always know that the Lord loves us. That is why He wants us to have a partner, not only here but even when we return to Him that we will always be happy. We should not be afraid of being married because the Lord, He stands for us wherever we are. If we are having any constraints, He will stand for us,” said Salamatu.
“I testify that marriage is ordained of God. As me and my wife have endeavored to follow the principles and the commandments of the Church, we are receiving the blessings,” finished Zainu.

Although Christ’s mercy produces transforming forgetfulness, his justice endows him with perfect remembrance. He told his followers gathered at Bountiful that even though their land had been torn apart by earthquakes, he would remain constant: “For the mountains shall depart and the hills be removed, but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed” (3 Nephi 22:10; see also Isaiah 40:4). Elsewhere, the Lord used a metaphor of writing to emphasize this constancy: “Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands” (Isaiah 49:16). In the ancient world one of the most common writing technologies was engraving. The engraver pressed the sharp point of a stylus into the soft surface of clay or metal sheets. Christ metaphorically transforms these implements of writing into the Roman nails and his tender hands. When we think of these two images of a writing Savior, once in sand and once in his own flesh, we begin to understand Paul’s description of Christ as “the author of eternal salvation unto all them that obey him” (Hebrews 5:9; emphasis added).

A few years ago I saw how these images of constancy and forgetfulness had come together in the life of a BYU student. He had grown up in Southeast Asia during years of unspeakable violence and cruelty. When he was a young boy, soldiers entered his town one day and carried away his father. He never saw him again. His playgrounds were not soccer fields but the killing fields and the squalid conditions of refugee camps. Eventually his mother managed to relocate the family in the United States, and here they accepted the gospel. I asked him how he coped with this burden of memories. Did he suffer from nightmares? Was he haunted by post-traumatic stress? His response was simple, yet powerful: the Atonement had cleansed his memory. The testimony he bore of the cleansing power of the Atonement remains perhaps the most moving witness of spiritual transformation I have ever heard. And his story reinforced the truth that the Atonement must restore both the sinner and those who suffer from the sinner’s actions. Christ’s perfect fairness requires that victims receive a share of his grace at least as bounteous as that offered to the fully repentant sinner. The Savior’s promise that he will remember us allows us to start the process of this intimate restoration of forgetting.

When I was a young missionary serving in Mexico, I was called to serve as branch president in a small town in the state of Veracruz. When my companion and I were reviewing the membership records of our little branch, we found the record of a brother who had been ordained a deacon but had not been attending the meetings.
We arranged to make a visit with him. While visiting him, we invited him to come to the meetings and serve in his priesthood responsibilities. The following Sunday he came but was not properly dressed and was unshaven. So we taught him about being clean and neat when he officiated in those sacred priesthood responsibilities, which included passing the sacrament. His life changed considerably as he served faithfully. That branch was my last assignment in the mission before returning home. When I was ready to leave the branch, this good brother came and put his arms around me, picked me up, and with a big hug swung me around. As he did, the tears rolled down his cheeks, and he said, “Thank you for coming and helping me.”

I arrived home from babysitting expecting to leave again within a few minutes. Some of my friends from school were in a band, and their concert was that night. Walking through the door, I saw my family seated on the couch, watching a movie and sharing a bowl of popcorn. Looking back, I realize it was a beautiful scene, but in that moment the only thought my mind recognized was of the concert that had already begun.
Anxious to leave, I reminded my parents, the only car-key bearing members of our family, of the time. They were not, however, to be moved. Dad said it was too late at night. Mom told me she still had to hem my brother’s pants before church the next day. They smiled and invited me to join the movie. I stared in disbelief.
I went to my room. I wanted to stand there and scream. I wanted to cry, write negative things in my journal, and listen to loud music. But then I realized that maybe not being able to go to the concert wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe being downstairs with my family and their popcorn was where I needed to be.
A scripture came to my mind, the scripture mastery verse from Joshua that talks about choosing whom we will serve (see Joshua 24:15). In that moment I realized the Lord has given us agency for a reason—that it’s not just about making good choices. Sometimes decisions are made for us, and when that happens, the choice we have is how we will handle them.
I knew how I would handle mine. I knew whom I would serve.
I turned off my music and ran downstairs, lacing my hand through my mom’s welcoming one.

Although they lived in town, where Henry’s father was a businessman, the family owned a fruit farm several miles from Provo. Elder Taylor recalls that “for several years we moved to the farm for the summer. Father would travel by bicycle or horse and buggy to his work at the Taylor Brothers Company. We learned to spray the fruit trees, to irrigate them, and to harvest the fruit. Night irrigating was a cold, unpleasant task, and it discouraged us from wanting to become farmers.
“Mother gloried in farm life. She had a beautiful garden and enjoyed picking the various kinds of vegetables and fruits when they were ripe. In the evening she delighted in walking along the brow of the hill and in admiring the magnificent sunsets. I suppose from her enthusiasm most of us children developed an appreciation for sunsets and other beauties of nature.”

Years later, when my daughter Hannah was about four, she picked up some crayons from the store. We did not notice that she had them until we were home. Hoping for the same kind of help in teaching the principal of honesty, my wife took her to see the manager of that store. The manager was a nice lady. She could see that Hannah was quite upset, so she said something like, “It is okay, sweetheart. I know you did not mean to do it.” It did not have the same effect as my meeting with Mr. Hayward, so we needed to be Mr. Hayward ourselves, so she could learn the lesson. She did, and she in turn had to teach it to her son Carson years later when he pilfered the fruit snacks. This shows to me how important it is for parents and others to teach correct principles. Four generations here were involved in teaching the lessons of honesty. You wonder what would have happened if my mother had done nothing?

A man came in to see me some time ago. He was in his 40s, I suppose, and he said, “Brother Dunn, I want to tell you a story.” As a child, he grew up in a poor family. He said he was eight before he knew what the taste of fresh milk was because his family was so poor they bought canned milk and mixed it with water to make it go further. He told of how he went down to the welfare agency with his sister one fall, and they issued two girls’ coats to them. All they had left were girls’ coats. As he got into his teenage years, he began to work very hard, and for a boy who didn’t have anything, the greatest desire of his life was a new car. He wanted a 1947 Chevrolet. It was a great obsession with him—he wanted that car. So he worked and sacrificed until he had enough for a down payment, and he got his car.

After sacrament meeting one Sunday, the bishop came up to him and his friend and said, “I’d like to see both of you for a few minutes in my office.” First, his friend went in, and the bishop said, “We’d like you to prepare to go into the mission field.” They talked about it for awhile, and finally the boy said, “Yes, Bishop, I’ll prepare myself to go.” And then this boy went in next, and the bishop asked him also to prepare for a mission. His answer was, “Bishop, I can’t go on a mission; I’m buying a car.” The car was the greatest thing in his life.

He then said, “You know, Brother Dunn, that’s not the end of the story. One thing or another came up, and I never did go. As the years went on, I used to go to elders’ quorum meetings, and I’d sit next to those returned missionaries. I don’t know if they knew any more than I did, but I thought they did. And I felt a little bit uncomfortable sitting with them in those meetings because I didn’t feel that I knew as much about the gospel as they did.” Whether he did or not, at least that’s how he felt. He said, “As time went on, I began to realize the bad decision I had made and how it stays with you. It got so that every time I’d see a 1947 Chevrolet it would give me a black feeling inside because it represented to me a decision I made that took me away from the Lord and, in the long run, hurt me. And to this day, I can’t see such a car without remembering that experience, and I ache inside because of it. The car didn’t last. The benefits of a mission go on forever.”

Wilford Woodruff was with Joseph before and after his death. He traveled thousands of miles with him and often acted as scribe for him—it was Brother Woodruff who wrote the revelation given through Joseph Smith concerning the Civil War. (See D&C 87.) In the Millennial Star he recounts the delightful and revealing first meeting with the Prophet Joseph:
“Before I saw Joseph I said I did not care how old he was, or how young he was; I did not care how he looked—whether his hair was long or short; the man that advanced that revelation was a Prophet of God. I knew it for myself. I first met Joseph in the streets of Kirtland. He had on an old hat, and a pistol in his hand. Said he, ‘Brother Woodruff, I’ve been out shooting at a mark, and I wanted to see if I could hit anything;’ and says he, ‘Have you any objection to it?’ ‘Not at all,’ says I; ‘there is no law against a man shooting at a mark, that I know of.’ He invited me to his house. He had a wolf skin, which he wanted me to help him to tan; he wanted it to sit on while driving his wagon team. Now, many might have said, ‘You are a pretty Prophet; shooting a pistol and tanning a wolf skin.’ Well, we tanned it, and used it while making a journey of a thousand miles. This was my first acquaintance with the Prophet Joseph. And from that day until the present, with all of the apostacies that we have had, and with all the difficulties and afflictions we have been called to pass through, I never saw a moment when I had any doubt with regard to this work. I have had no trial about this. While the people were apostatizing on the right hand and on the left, and while Apostles were urging me to turn against the Prophet Joseph, it was no temptation to me to doubt this work or to doubt that Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God.” (Millennial Star, vol. 53, pp. 627–28.)

A few years ago, I was struggling to feel the Spirit in my life. I wondered how Heavenly Father expected me to overcome challenges when I felt weak and insecure. I had so many doubts about my capacity to handle life.
I wondered if I just didn’t have it in me to do hard things.
One day when I was feeling lost, I traveled until I reached a quiet place where I could see the ocean and hear the birds singing. It was a place of solace—the perfect place to talk to Heavenly Father.
I poured out my heart in prayer, asking why I had to go through so many difficulties. I told Him I thought life was too hard and that I couldn’t keep going on my own. I told Him I didn’t know how I could handle the hard parts of life.
Suddenly, in that moment of vulnerability and desperation, I felt the warmth of the Spirit enveloping me—a gentle reassurance that I was not alone, that I’m never alone. And words of love and comfort entered my mind, reminding me of my divine identity, my potential, and my ability to do hard things with Jesus Christ.
After months of feeling alone and uncertain, I felt heavenly reassurance that I am capable—that I am a beloved daughter of Heavenly Father with a purpose. I’m endowed with spiritual gifts, and I’m bound to Him, the most loving and powerful being in the universe, because of my covenants. He reassured me that I can and am meant to face everything in life with the Savior on my side.
It wasn’t easy, but I took a leap of faith and decided to face things in life with reliance on Jesus Christ. I have been able to embrace so many opportunities and accomplish so much more than I ever thought I could.
I continue to face obstacles and challenges, and sometimes I feel that fear creeping in again, but when I reach for my faith in the Savior, I know that “perfect love casteth out fear” (1 John 4:18).

When Mother Teresa was 72 years old, a war started in Lebanon. Someone told her that there were some children who were stranded in a hospital there and needed help. Many of them couldn’t walk or talk. They didn’t have any food to eat. And they were afraid because of the war going on outside the hospital. The children needed help getting to a safe place.
Mother Teresa wanted to help these children. So she traveled to Lebanon. When she got there, she talked with some men to make a plan.
“We need to rescue the children in the hospital,” she said.
“That’s a good idea,” one of the men said. “But it’s too dangerous.”
Mother Teresa probably looked small standing next to the men. But her faith was great and strong. “I believe it is our duty,” she said.
“But do you hear the bombs?” another man asked.
“Yes, I hear them.”
“It’s absolutely impossible to go to the hospital now,” he said. “You simply cannot go unless the fighting stops.”
Mother Teresa smiled a kind smile. “I prayed,” she said. “I’m sure the fighting will stop long enough for us to help the children.”
The men were surprised by Mother Teresa’s faith. They agreed that if it was safe, they would take her to the hospital the next day.
When Mother Teresa woke early the next morning, everything was quiet. There were no bombs. The fighting had stopped. It was safe to rescue the children! She left right away.
Mother Teresa led a group of helpers to the hospital. When she walked inside, the children were huddled together in the middle of the room. They were scared. Some of them were crying.
Mother Teresa walked quietly toward them and gave hugs to the little ones. Even the children who were most afraid felt safe in her arms. She shook hands with the older children. Her hands were wrinkled, but gentle and warm.
She knew God loved these children. And she loved them too.
One by one, Mother Teresa and the helpers carried the children out of the hospital. They wrapped them in warm blankets. They put them gently into ambulances. Then they drove them to a safe place where more people could help them.
The next day, the bombs and fighting started again. But the children were safe! God had given Mother Teresa just enough time to rescue them.

When Jonathan K., 17, was helping to plan an upcoming high adventure activity with his Scout troop, he couldn’t get one young man out of his mind: his friend Mitchell F., a young man with spina bifida.
The group had some incredible—but physically challenging—country in mind they wanted to explore. They were planning on hiking through canyons and other wilderness areas around southern Utah.
Jonathan knew the rugged terrain they planned to visit could make it difficult for his friend to participate. However, he and the rest of his troop wanted to do all they could to allow Mitchell to join the adventure. “We wanted him to experience everything too,” Jonathan says.
As a solution, Jonathan used his Eagle Scout project to build a carrying device—the “Mitch Mobile,” as it came to be called—that would allow the young men to literally carry Mitchell throughout the journey.
There was no shortage of volunteers to help with building the Mitch Mobile. Friends and business owners from around town donated supplies to build the carrier and harness. Many people worked long hours to make sure the entire construction was safe, strong, and portable.
Of course, it was only after the carrier was completed that the true service began. After a few short trial runs around town, it was time to take the Mitch Mobile out on its true maiden voyage.
Ultimately, the high adventure outing was a huge success from start to finish. Jonathan and friends were able to carry Mitchell over every stretch of landscape and rough terrain they’d planned to see and explore. All of the young men gladly took turns wearing the harness. “I love taking him with us,” Jonathan says. They have since been on trips to many other backcountry locations.
“We’ve taken him everywhere,” Jonathan says. They’ve traversed slot canyons, cliffs, rivers, sand dunes, and steep hills. “He’s basically like a brother to me.”
As for Mitchell, he’s enjoyed the camaraderie with his friends every step of the way. He’s also enjoyed the amazing terrain they’ve visited together. One of his favorite activities was rappelling. “I’ve loved it,” Mitchell says.

It was fire drill day at a Logan, Utah, elementary school, and fire drill captain Joe Cook, a stalwart sixth-grade student leader, was determined to post a good time. He was pleased when, at the ringing of the alarm, students began to evacuate the building rapidly. “This will be record-setting time,” young Joe thought. “We’re going to go down in history.” Then just as fame seemed within his grasp, Joe heard the announcement: “Someone is still in the building. The building is not clear.”
As record-breaking time ebbed away, Joe Cook finally saw one lone first-grader emerge from the building. It was his little brother, Quentin! Joe had been denied his rightful place in Cache Valley history by his own flesh and blood!
Fuming, Joe barked, “What on earth were you doing?”
Quentin held up a pair of large, worn boots and said, “Joe, you know that [and he mentioned a friend’s name] sometimes has to wear hand-me-down shoes that are too big for him. When the fire drill rang, he took off running and ran right out of these. He didn’t want to ruin the drill, so he left them and ran outside barefoot. I went back to get his boots for him because I didn’t want his feet to be cold in the snow.”
Such a tender story reveals how committed Elder Quentin La Mar Cook has been from his youth onward to matters of the heart and to the principles taught by the Savior. “I have known Quentin all my life,” says childhood friend and future missionary companion Lee Burke, “and he has never done anything that would dishonor himself, his family, or his Church.” That the Lord knew the destiny of this young man was obvious to his beloved mother, Bernice, when her patriarchal blessing revealed that her sons “would bring honor” to the family and “be mighty in forwarding the work of the Lord.” So those sons have done, and so Elder Quentin L. Cook will continue to do in his call as an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Lala loved to watch ants. “Pelusa,” she would say to her cat, “see those two ants trying to carry a crumb of bread to their hill. One ant is going one way and the other is going a different way. They’ll never get anywhere if they keep that up!”
Pelusa sat in the shade licking himself. Though he never said anything, Lala knew that he always listened.
Lala and her family lived in a small adobe hut in the dry highlands of northern Mexico. It was perfect country for ants. Among the cacti and thorny bushes around Lala’s house there were hundreds of anthills. However, no one ever visited them except Lala and Pelusa.
In her pockets Lala always carried pieces of bread. Finding an anthill, she would crumble the bread several feet away, then sit and wait for the ants to discover their meal. Before long the ants would join into a long, straight line between the crumbled-up bread and their nest. Each ant would carry home a crumb.
Watching the ants work, Lala daydreamed about the ants’ world beneath the ground … Someplace in a big chamber the ant queen must be laying eggs. Somewhere else nurse ants must be taking care of baby ants. And worker ants must be digging new tunnels, while soldier ants guard the colony’s entrance.
“How I would love to go inside the ant’s tunnels,” Lala often said to her cat. But Pelusa would only stretch and yawn.
Late one hot afternoon, something small and white fluttered past the adobe hut’s open door. Pelusa streaked from the door, chasing it, and Lala called, “It’s just a turkey feather, Pelusa, being blown by a whirlwind. Come back!”
However, Pelusa was already far away, so Lala ran after him. Eventually, her pet’s tracks led Lala into Mulehead Valley. Never had Lala been so far from home alone. She was about to turn back when she heard a familiar meow. It was coming from an abandoned mine shaft beneath a big rock balanced at the base of Mulehead Hill.
“Pelusa, come out!” Lala called into the deep hole. But the cat did not come out. Then, even though Lala knew better, she entered the mine. Pelusa was only a little way inside. He was intently staring at a pile of rubble into which he had chased a mouse. “Silly cat.” Lala laughed, and gave him a hug.
And then it happened! Turning around, Lala’s shoulder knocked something loose, and the big rock over the mine’s entrance fell with a thud. Suddenly everything inside the mine shaft was dark and quiet. “Pelusa,” Lala whispered huskily, “I think we’re in trouble!”
When the dust settled and Lala’s eyes became used to the dark, she saw a tiny crack between the rock and the mine’s entrance. She put her eye next to the crack and looked across Mulehead Valley. “They’ll never find us here,” she said to Pelusa. “And if this is what it’s like being in an ant’s tunnel, I don’t like it!”
The next morning, Lala and Pelusa were very hungry. “Pelusa!” Lala cried. “I just remembered! I have some bread in my pocket.”
Lala ate enough to make her stomach feel better. However, Pelusa didn’t like bread.
“Well, I’ll just push a little bread through the crack,” Lala declared. “Maybe the ants will eat breakfast with me then.”
The long morning hours passed. Lala was about to give up hope when she heard an anxious voice calling, “Lala, are you in there?”
“Papa, is that you?” Lala cried. Pelusa meowed for the first time since the rock fell.
Before long the big rock was moved out of the way, and Lala was in her father’s arms outside in the fresh air and sunlight. “Oh, Papa!” Lala whooped. “How did you ever find us?”
“Well, I was walking across Mulehead Valley, looking for you,” he explained, “when I came across a long line of ants. Every ant carried a piece of bread. Now who but you feeds bread to ants? I followed the line right up to the mine entrance. I’m so grateful that you remembered to feed the ants this morning!”
“Papa!” Lala exclaimed. “Tonight we must make a sweet, sweet cake with plenty of icing on it, and it must be so big that we can leave a piece on every anthill for miles around!”
And that is exactly what they did.

Light spilled through the open door onto the cobblestone street outside. Behind the marble counter a 13-year-old boy slapped and pounded a fistful of dough into a flat circle and drizzled it with olive oil.
“Funghi o qualcos’altro? (Mushrooms or something else?),” he asked Casimiro.
“Funghi,” replied Casimiro, and Annalisa nodded her head in agreement. While on their way home from Mutual they had not been able to resist the yeasty, spicy aura hanging about the street near the neighborhood pizzeria and had stopped in for pizza.
The boy deftly smeared a ladleful of tomato sauce on the flattened dough and almost as quickly chopped up a fresh curd of mozzarella cheese, still dripping milk from the bowl it was snatched out of. He dashed coarse salt and pepper over the two pizzas and slipped a large wooden paddle under them one at a time. Taking a large straw broom from against the wall, he swept away the embers near the fire in the back of the oven. Without hesitation the wooden paddle soon deposited the pizzas on a fine layer of ash on the floor of the brick oven.
Near the door of the pizzeria, three of Casimiro’s neighbors were discussing in tones growing warmer every minute the merits of their favorite calcio (soccer) teams.
“The fire in the oven isn’t the only thing that’s cooking this evening,” chuckled Casimiro to Annalisa as they watched their pizzas roast and grow bubbly through the pizza oven’s open door.
Soon the mozzarella was running in milky rivers between crusty mountains of browned pizza dough, and the wooden paddle swished them from the fire. Still piping hot, the two pizzas were folded over, wrapped in paper, and held out to Casimiro and Annalisa. Each plunked 250 lira, about 50 cents, on the counter and turned to leave the pizzeria.
Outside the door the conversation had turned from soccer to the irresponsible driving habits of youth because a young girl crossing the street had just narrowly avoided being hit by a small motorbike. Casimiro and Annalisa dodged the discussion just as one of the participants began offering Casimiro the opinion that “in the old days, youth had more respect.”
Waving back at the men and laughing as they hurried down the cobblestones toward their homes, Casimiro and Annalisa finally bit into their steaming pizzas. Mutual had been over for about half an hour, and their parents would begin wondering where they were.

Some years ago my father, who was an attorney, was trying a lawsuit. For his authority, he cited only one case--an old California Supreme Court case, issued many years before. His opponent cited a number of lower court decisions of much more recent vintage. The judge finally said to my father: "Mr. Callister, don't you have a more recent case than this?" My father looked at the judge and replied: "Your honor, may I remind you that when the Supreme Court speaks on a matter, it only needs to speak once." The judge nodded with approval. He was reminded that the Supreme Court trumps all lower court decisions, however numerous or recent they may be. So it is with God our Father--He only needs to speak once on the issue of morality, and that one declaration trumps all the opinions of the "lower courts," whether uttered by psychologists, counselors, politicians, friends, parents or would-be moralists of the day.

During a visiting teaching visit, Martha, a member of our ward, told my wife and her companion never to come back again. She had decided to stop coming to church. One of the visiting teachers asked Martha if they could sing a hymn together this one last time, and she agreed. As they sang, something special happened. Little by little, the Spirit began to fill the room. Each of them felt it. Martha’s heart began to soften. With her eyes filled with tears, she expressed to her visiting teachers the feelings of her heart. At that moment, she realized that she knew that the gospel was true. She now thanked her visiting teachers and expressed a desire for them to return. From that day forward, she received them with joy.
Martha began to attend church with her young daughter. For years they attended regularly, with Martha never losing hope that her husband might eventually choose to join them. At last the day came when the Lord touched his heart, and he began to attend with them, as did their other daughter soon thereafter. This family began to feel the true joy that comes from having gospel blessings in their home. Martha has since served faithfully as our ward Relief Society president, and her husband has served well in several callings within the stake. All this began with the singing of a hymn, a small and simple thing that touched Martha’s heart.

The experience of a full-time mission changes those who serve. Many of you here are fully aware of what I mean. More of you will discover this to be true in the future, some in the very near future. As we devote our time, our focus, and our energy to the Lord’s purposes we can’t help but be changed. So it was with me while serving as a young missionary in the islands of Tonga, more than 40 years ago.
A few experiences are indelibly impressed upon our hearts and minds as we serve. One such for me began one early evening on what had been a rather typical day. My Tongan companion and I had been meeting all day with investigators and members on a small island in the Ha’apai Group called, Ha’ano. We lived on the island of Foa. A long and jagged reef connected the two islands.
This was not a particularly difficult crossing at low tide and when it was daylight, yet for us, on that day, the sun had already set and we could see the tide rushing in. These conditions made a crossing rather difficult, even dangerous.
I turned to my companion and suggested we might better wait to cross until the next day when it would be safer. He looked at me with a smile and as he ran into the water covering the reef, he said over his shoulder, “Where is your faith, Elder? We have work to do tonight. Let’s go!”
As I scanned the horizon with its fading light and gauged the ocean current passing over the reef, I could also see the water splashing with each step as my companion quickened his pace. With some real hesitation I stepped onto the reef with the thought of catching my companion, who was already a good 25-30 feet ahead.
In the beginning, the water was a few inches above our ankles. There was enough light and the ocean was clear enough that I could see where to place my feet, so as to avoid the countless, unevenly-shaped holes and the sharpest of the coral outcroppings.
My companion seemed to be almost running with barely a glance at the reef. He seemed to be concentrating on our island destination off in the distance.
His teasing challenge, “Where is your faith?” rushed into my mind. “If he can do this, I can do it!” I told myself.
I looked straight ahead at him and said a quick and silent, but fervent prayer, “Father, please give me faith like my companion’s faith!”
I felt a quiet calm come over me. I increased my speed. I didn’t look down. I merely trusted the Lord would place my feet precisely where they needed to be. The distance between my companion and me began to decrease. It was actually a wonderful feeling.
After some time, I’m not sure exactly how long it was, a sudden, hard, cold and ominous feeling struck me, the sky was growing darker, the ocean current growing stronger and deeper.
The calm reassurance I had felt as we set out disappeared in an instant. The reality of where we were and what we were trying to do hit at once both my heart and mind with a hammer blow, “Who do you think you are? Who are you trying to kid? You can’t do this! You’re crazy to even try!”
My eyes glanced down at my feet and the reef below. The current was now nearly to my knees. It was hard to see where it was safe to make a step. In that moment all faith evaporated and was replaced by a consuming fear.
My foot lost the safety of the path provided by faith-filled determination and I fell. I hit hard on the reef, which tore into my hands and my uncovered feet. The pain seared through me.
My companion seemed to know something was wrong. He stopped and turned. I stood and could somehow still see his face a distance away. His exclamation came loud and firm, “Have faith, Elder… have faith!” He turned and was off once again.
My lips uttered another prayer and a pleading, “Father, I’m sorry I let go of my faith! I’m sorry I allowed fear to take over! Please forgive me! Help me to have the faith to do what needs to be done this night!”
The spirit returned, as did the calmness I had felt before. Sure footed we moved through ocean current and across the jagged reef at an amazing speed, especially considering the conditions.
My eyes held fast to my faith-filled companion. We pressed forward. We continued this way for what seemed a long time. We were now about half-way across the reef.
The sky grew darker still. The ocean current grew ever stronger and the water ever deeper. It was now well above our knees and necessarily slowed our pace.
Then out of the darkness there came once again the rush of the same hard, cold, strangling fear, washing away my faith.
I was instantly crushed by the thought we were as far from our destination as we were from our starting point. I feared we couldn’t get to either island before, on this moonless night, we lost all light and all ability to see a safe pathway along the reef.
As fear gripped me my foot found another hole encased by razor-sharp coral. Down I went again with the coral tearing at my already bleeding hands and feet and legs. The pain was intense.
Again, my companion stopped and turned. As I found a place where I could stand I looked towards him. It was dark enough now that I couldn’t make out his face, but his voice came sure and true, “Faith, Elder. Faith!” He began once again his determined march through the rising current.
“Father” I pleaded, “Forgive me again, please, for my weakness! Give me the faith to overcome fear and doubt!”
And then I was off, following my ever faithful companion once again. I felt guided, directed, watched over, protected. We made good progress.
And then a third time I was struck by the same force that had consumed me the two previous times, doubt and fear, concern for the ever darker night and the ever increasing depth and strength of the surging tide.
In that very moment, I stepped into a hole I could not see. It literally gobbled me up. I went entirely under the water and inside the reef. More sharpened coral tore through my clothes and into my flesh. My forward motion had taken me under the surface of the reef. My hands searched for the way back out, while the tide slammed me into this coral encased cocoon inside the reef.
After what seemed like forever and with another pleading prayer for help I found a way out and surged to the surface, climbed back onto the top of the reef and looked for my companion. He was in the distance, barely visible. I heard his now familiar admonition over the noise of ocean waves and wind, “Faith, Elder. Faith!”
My head bowed in prayer once more, a supplication for strength, for courage, for faith. With the ocean current now waist-high and stronger than ever, and with the night’s darkness complete, I, none-the-less felt, thankfully, a surge of strength and the reassurance of Heaven’s watchful care. Through the struggle that remained there was no faltering, no second-guessing, no doubt, no fear, only the determination to reach the comforting sands of the island ahead.
After what was to me an eternity, I don’t know how long this adventure actually took, my companion and I knelt in prayer on the welcome sands of the beach at the end of the reef. We uttered a prayer of thanks, for protection, and for lessons learned, about faith, and about the power of Heaven. After cleaning up and patching up, we went forward with the appointments scheduled for that night.
Yet my thoughts and the tug of my heart remained, “How was it that my companion never faltered? What had he done to develop such great faith?”

I hope I can convey to you the humility with which I approach this calling. I’ve just recently been released as a second counselor. What does one say, when one day you are the second counselor of the Bountiful Thirteenth Ward bishopric, and the next day you’re the Second Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric. In the Regional Representatives’ seminar Friday morning, Elder Russell M. Nelson reminisced that last year he was sitting in the Regional Representatives’ seminar—sitting very inconspicuously in the back, and very comfortably. Later that day he received an interview which turned his life upside down.
Last Friday I was in the Regional Representatives’ seminar, but my ticket wasn’t stamped “Regional Representative”; it was stamped “Invited Guest.” By four o’clock that afternoon, I had received a letter signed by President Hinckley telling me I was to speak for thirteen minutes in the Sunday afternoon session of conference.
My first question to President Hinckley wasn’t “What should I say?” It was “How do I get in?”
As late as last Wednesday night, I was rehearsing for a ward play. (By the way, Sister Lalli, wherever you are, I’m sorry I wasn’t to play practice yesterday morning.) I was released from the bishopric in January after serving for four years. How I loved that calling, and the brethren with whom I served—Bishop Lee J. Lalli, and his able and dedicated first counselor, D. Ray Alexander—Lee J. and Ray, as I affectionately called them.
Since my release I’ve been traveling extensively, and therefore have been without a calling for two months. At that play practice Wednesday, I sent a signal to the new bishop, Russ Herscher, that I was ready to reenter the “job market.” I hope you won’t feel that I’m an aspiring person, but I told the Primary president, Susan Mabey, I wanted to teach Primary—ideally my seven-year-old daughter’s class. I know sanctification comes not with any particular calling, but with genuine acts of service, often for which there is no specific calling.
Now, despite the humility with which I approach this call, I have full confidence in my ability to perform. This, however, is not self-confidence, but confidence in the fact that the Lord makes every man and woman equal to the assignment that he or she is given. Therefore, I state clearly but humbly, “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.)
Brothers and sisters, I have never been a bishop. Since Friday afternoon I have felt puzzled, almost bewildered and overwhelmed, at how a man could be called to be a member of the Presiding Bishopric without having had the experience of being a bishop. I agonized for twenty-four hours until yesterday afternoon, when President Hinckley laid his hands upon my head and ordained me a bishop. I heard the voice of the Lord say in my heart, “No, Glenn, you have never been a bishop, but now you are a bishop, and always will be.”
Several years ago, I made a covenant with the Lord. I promised to give him anything he should require of me, and prayed this gesture might warrant forgiveness of my transgressions. Yesterday I gave the only thing I had left. It was something I cherished. I held on to it until the very last moment. I never thought of it as a selfish possession. That of which I speak flew out the window of my home when I turned on the television to watch the news and saw my picture on the television screen. I speak of my prized remaining possession—anonymity.
How I love not to be noticed! I don’t want to sit with the General Authorities in the “fishbowl” at the BYU football games in my dark blue suit! I want to sit in the stands with my father, wearing an obnoxious T-shirt which reads: “BYU #1. Enough said!” I have license and credentials to be obnoxious! I was born and raised in Provo, Utah. I attended school at Provo High School. I received my bachelor’s and master’s degrees from BYU. I’m a member of the Church, and I even work for the Church. My credentials are impeccable. I want to go berserk in the upper tier of the San Diego Stadium as I have the last four years at the Holiday Bowl—with the exception of Ohio State [which soundly beat BYU’s team in the bowl game], when I went into deep depression. I still have one faint hope—perhaps the Brethren will let me sit with Elder Perry at the ball games. Nevertheless, I give up my prized anonymity, just as I will give up my life if it is required of me.
I love the Lord Jesus Christ. I love the transformation his atonement has wrought in me. Earlier speakers have spoken of him with such eloquence. How I wish I had command of the language which would enable me to express my feelings on this Easter afternoon. May I add my simple testimony to those who have spoken articulately. I once was in darkness, and now see light. I once lost all of my confidence, and now know all things are possible in the Lord. I once felt shame and now am “filled with his love, even unto the consuming of my flesh.” (2 Ne. 4:21.) “I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love.” (2 Ne. 1:15.)
I express my deepest loyalty to Bishop Hales and his First Counselor, Bishop Eyring. I will not betray their trust. I express my love and loyalty to the First Presidency, the Council of the Twelve Apostles, the First Quorum of the Seventy, and those I love most—the rank-and-file members of the Church. I express my love to my wife; without her love and understanding, I literally would not be standing at this pulpit today. I love my children, who must also give up their anonymity, as well as some time with their father. How I wish I could embrace my oldest son, who is serving a mission in the Cook Islands!
I thank God I was born of goodly parents. I begged my mother not to stand and take my picture as I came to the stand for the first time yesterday morning! But what would I have done if, during my formative years, she had not demonstrated that same pride and enthusiasm for everything I accomplished, however small. My father, Bishop Kenneth L. Pace, was the bishop of the Bonneville Ward in the East Provo Stake during my teens. He remains uppermost in my mind as exemplifying the pure love of Christ throughout his life.
Finally, I share the prayer of my heart with you at this time. May I display in my service the courage of my convictions in a manner like unto that displayed by Bishop Victor L. Brown. May I acquire the inspired, objective judgment of Bishop H. Burke Peterson. And may I acquire the open, warm, Christlike personality of Bishop J. Richard Clarke. May I exhibit the love and loyalty to Bishop Hales taught to us so beautifully by Joseph’s beloved brother, Hyrum. And lastly, may we as a Bishopric acquire the same love, respect, and unity I felt in the bishopric of the Bountiful Thirteenth Ward with Bishop Lee J. Lalli and D. Ray Alexander, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.