Gospel Story Finder

When I was an airline captain, I would sometimes fly my Boeing 747 from Germany to the West Coast of the United States. On those flights west, the daylight seemed to never end. We took off in Germany at 1:00 p.m., and 10 hours later we touched down in California—at 2:00 p.m. the same day! The sun never set on us.
The opposite happened when flying east. Sunset came more quickly than it normally would. Leaving at 1:00 p.m. meant that in just a few hours, we were engulfed in darkest night. Yet, because of our direction and speed, in a few more hours we found ourselves bathed in blazing and often blinding light.
Whether I traveled west or east, the sun never changed course. It held its position, steadfast in the heavens, providing warmth and light to the earth.
My access to that warmth and light depended on my location, direction, and speed.

“Go away! Go away!” Little Wolf shouted, looking back and racing over the carpet of pine needles as fast as his legs would carry him.
But the small bear cub kept making lonely little grunts as it followed him. The cub had lost its mother and was willing to accept anyone as a substitute—even a frightened Indian boy!
Little Wolf had been picking berries for his mother when he peeked through the bushes and saw the small bear standing awkwardly on its hind legs, stretching to nibble off the juicy berries that hung in clusters all along the branches.
The boy had stood quietly, grinning with delight as he watched the clumsiness of the small grizzly. He would have liked to pet him, but Little Wolf’s father, Chief Otoe, had taught him that it was very dangerous to bother the young of any wild animal.
There was nothing sweet and cuddly about a mother grizzly, especially if she felt one of her cubs was in danger. Certain that the cub’s mother would not be far away, Little Wolf had begun to slip backwards through the brush, away from the little bear. But he wasn’t able to glide silently through the forest as the braves could, and suddenly a small dry twig cracked like a whip under his moccasin.
The cub had seen the boy and eagerly loped toward him. All Little Wolf could think of was the cub’s mother. “Go away! Go back to your mother!” he kept shouting, as he ran toward his village.
Looking backward over his shoulder, the boy failed to see a big log lying in his path. He tripped over it and sailed through the air, then fell face down in the pine needles.
“My mother has always said they should have named me Clumsy Wolf,” Little Wolf grunted. “And she is right.” Sitting up, he tried to straighten the broken feather in his headband, which had flown off when he fell.
The cub caught up with the frightened boy. It pounced on him and pawed playfully at Little Wolf’s drawn-up knees; then it began to lap at his bare chest and nuzzle his chin. What would the braves think if they saw the Chief’s son being kissed by a bear!
Climbing over the logs, Little Wolf threw some sticks at the cub and limped into a clearing that surrounded a small cluster of tepees on the bank of a clear and sparkling brook.
No one laughed at the sight of the dusty, tired boy jogging into the village with a grizzly close behind. They were all afraid that an enraged bear might be close behind the pair. The mothers hurried small children inside the tepees. Several of the braves put arrows in their bows and stood waiting.
“I should have run the other way—away from the village,” Little Wolf panted. Now he had put everyone in danger! He always seemed to do everything wrong. Would he ever learn to be a real brave? Suddenly he snatched up the cub and, ignoring his mother’s cries, raced back into the forest as fast as he could go. If I can find the mother bear, he thought, I can return her cub. Then our village will be safe!
“Being little has some advantages,” he mumbled, beginning to tire. The little bear was heavy and kept turning its head to lap at Little Wolf’s chin, as if they were playing a game! The boy slowed and began to walk carefully when he approached the berry patch. Putting the cub down, he shoved it toward a branch hanging heavy with purple fruit. He sighed with relief as the little bear gave a grunt of pleasure and began eating. Now Little Wolf could sneak off.
A loud, sniffling grunt from the other side of the bushes made Little Wolf stiffen in sudden panic. Luckily he was close to a tall tree. There were no low branches he could leap to and grab, but climbing trees was one thing Little Wolf did well. Wrapping his arms and legs around the slender trunk, he shinnied his way up and into the thick foliage just as the mother bear appeared, accompanied by another cub.
Circling the cub, she sniffed suspiciously. Her eyes told her this was her cub, but her nose warned her that something was wrong. The cub smelled of man.
Breathlessly Little Wolf watched, his heart hammering in his throat. If the bear caught his scent and climbed the slender tree, it would snap under her weight, or bend until his hiding place hit the ground. Then he would have to leap out and run. He had seen bears run, and he knew that he would have little chance of making it to safety. Despite their lumbering walk, bears could run like the wind!
His father had taught him that the only way to escape a running bear was to go downhill. Because of their short front legs, they had to go slowly or they would become overbalanced and roll down the hill.
The little cub kept trying to approach his mother, but her fierce grunts kept him back. Bewildered, he stood quietly staring at her as she circled him warily, sniffling the ground. “Oh, no!” Little Wolf gasped as she came directly to his tree. Standing on her hind legs, she began to throw her massive head from side to side as she made angry sounds.
Little Wolf felt sick as he clung to the swaying branches and stared down at the huge teeth waiting for him. Seeing that she couldn’t dislodge him, the bear began slashing at the tree trunk with her claws. Tree bark flew in all directions as she tore at it. The boy knew that when the bear saw she could not knock the tree over, she would begin to climb.
Little Wolf had never heard a more welcome sound than the drumming of a tom-tom and the shouts of men who were running through the forest toward his hiding place. The shouting braves were led by his father, Chief Otoe. They had come to rescue him!
Concern for her cubs overruled the grizzly’s rage. Turning, she lumbered off, leading them away from the shouts.
“You were willing to sacrifice yourself for the tribe,” Chief Otoe said to his small son as they walked back toward the village. “It was a very brave thing to do, Gray Wolf.”
Little Wolf glowed with pride. His father had called him Gray Wolf, not Little Wolf. It was his first big step toward manhood!

I love meeting missionaries around the world. Recently while I was visiting the Australia Sydney Mission, do you know whom I found? Elder Sidney Going—the New Zealand rugby legend. Now age 67, he is once again a missionary, but this time with a companion of his own choosing: Sister Colleen Going. He told me of a family they were able to teach. The parents were members but had been less active in the Church for many, many years. Elder and Sister Going helped rekindle the family’s faith. Elder Going told me of the power he felt while standing at the baptismal font next to the father of the family as the oldest son, now holding the priesthood, baptized his younger brother and sister. He expressed the joy of witnessing a united family pursuing eternal life together.21

The Prophet Joseph Smith provides us with a wonderful example. He acted on the powerful feelings that came to him when he read James 1:5 in the New Testament. He recorded in his history how he felt and what he did about those feelings: "Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine. It seemed to enter with great force into every feeling of my heart. I reflected on it again and again, knowing that if any person needed wisdom from God, I did; for how to act I did not know, and unless I could get more wisdom than I then had, I would never know...
"At length I came to the conclusion that I must either remain in darkness and confusion, or else I must do as James directs, that is, ask of God. I at length came to the determination to 'ask of God,' concluding that if he gave wisdom to them that lacked wisdom, and would give liberally, and not upbraid, I might venture." [5]

Why do I say that? Here’s one reason: I knew a boy who faced an unexpected and challenging decision. He faced it at the end of the summer in the year he turned fifteen. He had just returned home after working all summer on his uncle’s farm in another part of the state.
It was the first sacrament meeting he had attended since returning home. For some reason, he was detained a few minutes after the meeting. When he found his friends, they were standing in a group just outside the church building. As he approached, he noticed that they were concluding some kind of agreement. When he joined them, he was met with a seemingly innocent question: “Are you going in with us on it or not?”
“On what?” was his reply.
“On a half gallon of beer.”
That answer really shook him. He was not ready for it. His group had always been good kids. This question was completely out of character, he thought. But things were not as he remembered them. He had spent his summer away from his pals, and this had kept him more or less as he was. Something, however, had happened to change his friends. They seemed more grown up and worldly. This surprise made him falter before answering their question. It’s strange how many things can go through your mind in a flash: These were his friends. They were not enemies. He knew each one well. He had sat in Primary and Sunday School classes with them. They had sung songs together. Some of them had been ordained deacons the same Sunday. They had passed the sacrament together scores of times. Their school activities had brought them close. With some of them he had built toy airplanes and scooters and played rubber guns. They had hiked and worked and played together. Why should this simple question threaten this choice association?
Pressure from friends and acquaintances our own age is tremendously powerful! There is a desire to want to be “one” with friends. Besides, who wants to be a sissy, afraid to join in the fun. What’s more, if he didn’t join them, he would be one against the crowd.
But even with all of these ideas running through his head, another idea impressed itself even harder on his mind. There was one reason that stood out against all that seemed so appealing: It was not right. From somewhere within him came the courage to say, “No, I don’t think I will.”
The group turned away and strode across the street toward the beer hall, intent on carrying out their plan. My friend was left standing—alone. I’m sure he did not think of the Lord’s statement, “It is not good for man to be alone,” but he certainly understood its meaning in a new and personal way. He came to understand the truth of that statement in the days that followed and to see why all of us need true and loyal friends who believe and live as they should.
Even though he was fifteen—going on sixteen—tears came to his eyes as he walked home. His mother, sensing that something was wrong, asked, “What has happened?”
He blurted out the short experience.
“You’ve done right, my son” she reassured him.
“I wish I were as sure as you are,” he answered.
“You made the right decision,” she repeated, “and you’ll see. You will be blessed.”
The days that followed this incident were not especially happy ones. It took readjustments to establish his equilibrium. There followed a process of establishing new friendships. There was the inevitable heartache at school when conversations would grind to a stop as he joined his former group. There were moments of loneliness as he walked between the high school and the adjacent industrial arts building. What was formerly spontaneous fun and youthful sport changed to a subdued good humor. There were some obvious moments in basketball practice, too, when he would be in the clear and call for the pass, only to be ignored while another person was sought out to receive the ball.
But that all passed as everyone knows it will. Time is the great eraser. It dulls the former sad moments. It smooths hurts and salves wounds.
It was not long until former friendships were reestablished, although on a different basis than before. In a little more than a year, this young man was elected seminary studentbody president. The next year he was elected high school studentbody president by his friends. Two years later he entered the mission field, the only one of his class to do so. One classmate went on a mission the following year, but his other friends never did.
This young man has since fulfilled many calls to service and responsibility in the Church. Other tests of his integrity and moral standards have come into his life—as they come into the lives of us all. But few such tests have been so well-remembered or have made so lasting an impression on his life.
In a rather undramatic situation, he chose the right. And his mother was right, as mothers generally are. Her promise was literally fulfilled: “You’ll see. You will be blessed.”

You see, when the Latter-day Saint missionaries first came to England in 1837, they began their labors in Preston. At that time the city was in the midst of a grand celebration of Queen Victoria’s reign. As the missionaries alighted from their coach, they saw a banner overhead proclaiming in bold gilt letters “Truth Will Prevail.”
It became a widely-used phrase in the Church and appeared in various publications. One elder, reporting on his mission to Indiana, wrote in a letter published in Nauvoo’s Times and Seasonsin 1841: “Although the Lord has chosen the weak things of this world to preach his gospel, truth will prevail, and will prosper.”1
Trusting the Lord, I turned in my mission papers. On my 21st birthday, along with my birthday post, came my call to serve in the England London South Mission. Due to my years of inactivity, I still felt weak and inadequate. Only later would I understand what that early missionary understood: the Lord may choose the weak things of this world to preach His gospel, but truth will prevail and will prosper.
I went in faith to the temple to be endowed. When I came out of the temple, I met two missionaries who had served in my home ward. As we talked, I described my experience out on the moors. One of the elders smiled broadly and explained that on a particular preparation day, he and his companion had hiked up on the moors and at a certain point felt impressed to place some rocks across the hillside spelling out the familiar phrase “Truth Will Prevail.”
Tears streamed down our faces as we realized what had happened. Those familiar with the area know there are miles and miles of trails amongst the moors. Yet I happened to choose the very spot where the missionaries had placed those rocks. I knew there and then that the Lord had answered my prayer in the hills that day.

My husband and I first met in the 4th grade and have been in love ever since. We were blessed with four beautiful daughters and have added incredible sons-in-law and grandbabies to our family. Our family is our world, including our exceptional parents and all of our beloved extended family. They say it takes a special man to be a dad of all girls. Let me tell you, my husband is a very special man who would do anything for our four daughters. Many years ago, I was out of town while my husband stayed home with our young girls. My preschool daughter wanted her hair to be curly for school and asked her dad for help. Not only did Brother Cluff tackle this request with gusto, he went way beyond and decided she should have a perm, which is a chemical process where her hair would remain permanently curly for months. Why have curly hair for just a day when she could have curly hair for months? And why stop with just her? He decided to give all the girls perms while I was out of town. Having never even touched a curling iron before, my undaunted husband went to a beauty supply store and learned all he could about the process of giving perms and left with a bag of perm rods and chemical solution. My daughters were a little skeptical that it would work, especially with their rookie dad at the helm, but Brother Cluff assured them to trust the process. If he followed the instructions correctly, they would have permanently curly hair, despite the awful smell, uncomfortable perm rods, and lots of hair tugging. I’ll never forget the beaming faces of my curly-haired daughters when I stepped off the plane, or my husband who was beaming the most. He had been right—by trusting the process, they had achieved the goal of curly hair.

For six months we visited a father who was the only member of the Church in his family. Despite our efforts and although we were always well received, we didn’t have success in activating him or baptizing his wife and three children. We were then inspired to involve the children by picking them up on Sundays to take them to church. This became my companion’s special responsibility.
Our efforts began to have an effect. The children loved being at church and were soon baptized. The whole ward worked to involve the parents, but it was still necessary for the Spirit of the Lord to touch their lives.
One time my companion, who had scarcely said a word during our monthly visits, spoke up and bore his testimony in a very emotional way. He had experienced great difficulty in his life, and now he shared how marvelous it was to be in the arms of the Lord. His testimony was so sincere and powerful and the Spirit was so strong that all of us were touched. That same week the wife decided to hear the missionary discussions and was finally baptized. The husband became active again.
Today the family remains active and totally integrated in the ward, and they have been sealed in the Lord’s temple. My companion continues to progress rapidly in the gospel. He married a wonderful young woman in the temple, and they now have two children. They are happy and contribute valuable service to our ward and to the Church.
Six people were converted to the gospel as a result of that experience. A collective miracle! I felt the joy described in the scriptures:
“And how great is his joy in the soul that repenteth!
“Wherefore, you are called to cry repentance unto this people.
“And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!
“And now, if your joy will be great with one soul that you have brought unto me into the kingdom of my Father, how great will be your joy if you should bring many souls unto me!” (D&C 18:13–16).

When Heber J. Grant was a young man, he took a grammar class.
Teacher: Your assignment is to listen to people speak. When they use incorrect grammar, write down what was said and correct it. Hand in four corrected sentences each week.
On Sunday, Heber attended church. The bishop stood to speak, and Heber took out a piece of paper to take notes. He quickly realized that he could do his homework.
Heber: His grammar is terrible! By the end of the meeting, I’ll have so many incorrect sentences I’ll never need another one.
Heber wrote down the first sentence, but that was all. The Spirit came upon him as the bishop bore testimony of Joseph Smith.
By the end of the meeting, Heber still had only one sentence written down. Tears of gratitude ran down his cheeks for the testimony that had been shared. He loved feeling the Spirit. It was the first time he had felt the Spirit this way.
Heber: I truly know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God.
The bishop’s talk made such an impression on Heber’s testimony that he didn’t use the one sentence he had written for homework. It was too sacred to mock.
Heber: I have never been annoyed by grammatical errors of those who preach the gospel. To judge a man’s spirit by the way he speaks is like judging a man by the clothes he wears. Some have never had the chance for education, and some have never had money for nice clothes. I have tried to judge men and women only by the spirit that they have.
As President of the Church, Heber used this experience to warn members to not harshly judge others.

I was a little stressed out. It was seventh period, and by the end of school I had to turn in my biography, which would be read to 500 of my classmates at a prom assembly. What did other people honestly want to hear about me? I wasn’t popular like everyone else selected for the honor of being on the prom court. Did anyone really care?
Suddenly, a girl named Sammy piped up, “Shelby, you’re a funny guy! Just be yourself.”
Then Derek chimed in, “You’re always talking about your church. Why don’t you say something about that?”
Jokingly I responded, “Why don’t I just offer everyone a free Book of Mormon? That would be a bit different.”
Everyone laughed and dared me into actually doing it.
I scribbled something down and read it to my classmates. They laughed and said they liked it. So, I turned it in.
The day of the assembly came, and I was a bit nervous. I didn’t exactly hang out with the “popular crowd” on the weekends. Most of the kids on stage had been royalty on multiple occasions, and they acted like it was routine. I sat back and casually tried to fit in.
Before I knew it my senior class began filing into the auditorium. The class president took care of some class business and then started introducing the prom court. I sat, nervous and excited, up on the stage and listened as the other biographies were read. The girls stood up one by one and were escorted by guys from the court. They walked into the aisles of the auditorium while someone continued to read their biographies as they made their way around the auditorium and back to the stage.
Then my turn came. I escorted a girl and headed for the aisle. I could hardly take the anticipation as I waited for them to get to the part about the Book of Mormon. How was everyone going to react? What would people say about me?
I finally heard the announcer read, “One of the most important things to him is his church. Speaking of which, if anyone would like a free copy of the Book of Mormon, feel free to call him or just ask him, and he’ll be more than happy to get you a copy.”
There was a slight snicker in the crowd. Some church members might have thought, “If only they knew he wasn’t joking!” or maybe, “Shelby’s gone a bit overboard this time.” Other kids may have groaned, thinking, “There he goes again. He’s always talking about his church.”
There were, however, a couple of students who took notice. Three friends came up to me during that next week and asked if they could have a copy of the Book of Mormon. I don’t know who was more surprised when I asked for three copies of the Book of Mormon—the missionaries or me. I made sure all three of my friends got a copy and offered to have the missionaries teach them. Only one of my friends, Joel, said yes.
Joel started coming over to my house a couple times a week to meet with the missionaries. It was really fun. The missionaries were such good teachers. The things they taught about—the Apostasy, the Restoration, and the Book of Mormon—just made so much sense. Joel seemed to agree.
One day the conversation moved to baptism. The missionaries turned and looked at Joel and said, “Joel, will you follow the example of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and be baptized by someone holding the proper priesthood authority?”
Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. My mind started racing. What in the world had I done? Missionaries were talking to my friend about baptism! What would he say or think? Would this affect our relationship forever? All I could do was sit and eagerly await his response.
Joel paused, looked at the missionaries, and said, “That’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot. Yes. I think it’s something I want to do.”
I really liked what I was hearing. Joel continued to take lessons at my house and was eventually baptized.
Looking back, I wish I had been a better missionary in high school. It’s so easy. All I did was randomly ask if anyone wanted a Book of Mormon. Three kids took me up on the offer, and one was baptized.
While sharing the gospel can be easy, it is also a skill. That skill will only come through prayer, scripture study, talking with more experienced members, and plain old practice. All the Lord expects of us is our best. It is His work. We need to pray for those experiences and then follow the Spirit and open our mouths when those opportunities come.
After seeing the excitement missionary work can cause, I want to to share the gospel with people for the rest of my life.

President Hinckley: … She has run the house all these years. When our children were growing up, I was away much of the time on Church assignments. In the early days, when I had responsibility for the work in Asia, which I had for a long time, I would be gone for as long as two months at a time. We couldn’t telephone back and forth all the time in those days. She took care of everything. She ran the home. She ran everything and took care of the children.

We had a garden in our backyard. When I came home from one of my long assignments, I found that it had all been planted to lawn. She and the children had spaded up that backyard, sown lawn seed, and there was a beautiful lawn! The garden didn’t suffer, because we could plant another garden to the south of us. But that whole backyard became a beautiful patch of lawn.

That’s typical of the way she did things. She was independent and had a great eye for beauty.

The day before my husband and I were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple we gave each other wedding gifts. To my complete surprise my gift was a state of the art fishing pole, complete with lures, reel, and all the tackle equipment a novice would need to get started into a lifetime of fishing the local lakes and streams. As someone who had never even looked at a fishing pole, let alone held one in my hands I hardly knew what to say, but as I glanced at Cal’s anxious and excited eyes I did manage a thank you.
I knew Cal loved to fish, but until this moment I didn’t know quite how much. As we dated he had alluded to his hopes to teach me how to fish and told me of his favorite and out of the way fishing holes. The fishing pole even went on our honeymoon. Now I know all the men in the audience are hoping my next sentence will be that over the forty plus years we have been married, Cal has been able to look down many a beautiful trout stream and see his beloved wife casting and reeling in gorgeous rainbow trout with expertise and artistry. But unfortunately, this tale has a different take.
Cal has been able to look down the stream and see his wife at his side, but with a book in her hands instead of a pole. The state of the art fishing pole has ended up in his collection, but how I treasure the memories of bright sunrises and spectacular sunsets with a man who has taught me much about the world God has given us to enjoy. Sunrises and sunsets are when the fish bite best, you know.
River banks are wonderful, quiet places to ponder and reflect about the things that matter most. You have the magnificent Teton River running close to this fine university. As it continuously runs over rocks and splashes and reflects the sun’s rays the sound of the water is mesmerizing. In the first few days of our marriage as Cal and I sat and listened to the water running and the birds’ melodies, we shared our dreams of the future. We imagined and hoped. We knelt in a lovely verdant green forest and thanked our Heavenly Father for the life we were beginning. We invoked His blessings on our righteous desires. The river spoke peace to our hearts about a life just beginning.
We didn’t know about the challenges ahead and we also didn’t know about the sweetness and peace and joy that can come in the morning after a difficult night with a very sick child, or a lost job, or so many other unexpected and unplanned events. But we were coming to know about the continuous love of the Lord, like a continuous river.

Several years later, when the teenage Joseph related to his family that he’d seen a vision, Hyrum—along with his mother and father—believed the report and began devotedly working to support Joseph in any way that he could. Some older brothers might have grown jealous at the Lord’s choosing a younger brother to lead. Not Hyrum. Never feeling or displaying envy, he continued to offer love and assistance to Joseph throughout his life. Perhaps one of the Lord’s most precious gifts to Joseph was his brother Hyrum.

On many evenings the family gathered near the hearth to be taught by the young prophet. They listened to what the Lord had revealed to Joseph, and to the fascinating tales that he told them about how the ancient Nephites and Lamanites dressed, what their buildings looked like, how they traveled, and what kinds of weapons they used. Hyrum and the other family members were anxious to learn and to assist Joseph in his calling.

Many years ago, when I was president of a company that specialized in factory automation, I was confronted with a situation that taught me the importance and the benefit of keeping promises no matter what the cost. This was the situation:

Our company was going through a phase of rapid growth. We were engineering, fabricating, and installing automated production lines in factories around the world. We were hiring personnel and building increased factory capacity as fast as we could.

We had accepted the order on a large project in Scotland for a multinational corporation. We had agreed to a specific delivery date on the project. As the promised delivery date approached, it became obvious that we would not be able to meet the schedule.

We met as an executive council and discussed the matter. After careful analysis, it looked like we would miss the delivery date by approximately three weeks. While studying the detailed schedule of the project, it was pointed out that the critical path included a shipment window of approximately three weeks. The production line equipment would be shipped from our California factory overland to New Orleans and then transported via cargo ship to Liverpool, England, then across land to Scotland.

It became obvious that the only way we would be able to keep our word and make the delivery date would be a very expensive option. It was decided that we would lease wide-bodied jets and ship all the equipment for the Scotland factory via air freight. This option cost hundreds of thousands of dollars and, as you might suspect, eliminated any positive contribution this project was expected to make to our bottom-line. The financial cost of keeping our word was high; however, you can't put a dollar figure on a good night's sleep.

Interestingly enough, the successful and timely installation of this project in Scotland wasn't the end of the story. Several months later, I was in Malaysia negotiating a similar project with a different company. We had reviewed with the customer all of the engineering drawings and the design concepts, as well as the financial aspects of the project. We were coming to the conclusion of our negotiation session when the highest-ranking executive representing the customer asked this question: "Will you be able to honor the delivery date?" My team huddled for a moment to review the time constraints and then we answered by stating that yes, we could make the date.

Much to my surprise, the executive responded by saying, "We know you will. We have heard all about what you did in Scotland to keep your word. The project is yours."

In the end, our company could never have spent enough money on advertising in the trade magazines to develop the goodwill that had been created throughout the world due to the simple act of being honest and keeping our word.

In the 1990s my employment with the Church took our family to Africa, where I was assigned to help with relief efforts in Burundi, Rwanda, and Somalia. This was during a devastating period of famine, brutality, and war, and the suffering was overwhelming.
Thousands were in refugee camps. Hundreds of orphaned children lived in rudimentary shelters they constructed themselves. Cholera, typhoid, and malnutrition were ever present. The stench of waste and death added to the hopelessness.
I felt driven to offer all the help I could. The Church worked with the International Committee of the Red Cross and other organizations, but I couldn’t help wondering sometimes if our efforts were making a difference in the face of such widespread atrocity and tragedy. It was hard to shake feelings of helplessness and discouragement, and often when I retired for the night, I cried.
It was during this discouraging time that a familiar passage took on a deeper dimension for me. Citing Isaiah, it tells us that the Savior was “anointed to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that were bound” (D&C 138:42).
I had seen and spoken with many people who were “brokenhearted” in the most striking ways. They had lost their loved ones, homes, and peaceful way of life. And yet many of them showed signs of having been “bound up.” For instance, often when we approached a makeshift home, its inhabitants would ask, “Will you pray with us?” The people seemed to find happiness and peace in making supplications to the Lord.
Of course, we cannot look for the impact of the Atonement only in this life. It also comes after. I know there is redemption for the dead and resurrection for all because of the Savior. The pain we experience in this life—however extreme—will be removed and healed through the Atonement.
Mormon and Moroni, who lived in times of great slaughter and death, wrote about having hope anchored in a loving God whose mercy and justice surpass all understanding (see, for instance, Moroni 7:41–42). Studying these prophets’ statements bolstered my own faith. When I wondered if our efforts were making a difference, I felt assurance that the Savior’s grace is the ultimate redemptive power. Our best efforts may be limited, but His are infinite and eternal.
There’s no doubt that the world’s conditions create many forms of despair, but none are beyond the reach of the Redeemer to heal. All of us can have the sure hope that through the Atonement of Christ our hearts can be bound up and made whole. With this knowledge, I could go on in my work, knowing that His efforts always succeed.

One day I was in the library of our high school viewing a filmstrip on a small projector. I was sitting in a booth, and nearby I observed a girl I knew slightly taking a makeup test for her French class. When I walked past her to take a filmstrip back to the audio-visual desk, I saw that she was looking up test words in a French dictionary. Shortly after, a student audio-visual assistant came by. When he saw that the girl was cheating, he questioned her and they talked for several minutes. The A-V assistant said he would not tell on her it she stopped cheating right then. After he had gone she continued using the French dictionary. What should I have done? What should I do now?
Many times during our youthful years we see the friends that we grow up with do wrong things, all the way from cheating on tests to immorality. And we seem to think it is none of our business. But in Ezekial 3:17–19 [Ezek. 3:17–19] it says that we have been made “watchmen unto the house of Israel: therefore hear the word at my mouth, and give them warning from me.
“When I say unto the wicked, Thou shalt surely die; and thou givest him not warning, nor speakest to warn the wicked from his wicked way, to save his life; the same wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood I will require at thine hand.
“Yet if thou warn the wicked, and he turn not from his wickedness, nor from his wicked way, he shall die in his iniquity; but thou hast delivered thy soul.”
So it really is our business. Now, if we tell them that what they are doing is wrong, we will probably have to put up with a lot of persecution. But we will also save some souls if we tell them that they are wrong and share the gospel with them. After all the persecution that Jesus Christ had to take to save us, shouldn’t we sacrifice a little pride or whatever in trying to save the souls of our fellowmen?
Stephen R. SchroederPayette, Idaho

After another busy week, Elder Hutchinson, from the Merthyr Tydfil Stake, reported “I spent ten hours doing a service project in my stake, for the charity Save The Children. This meant I helped collect, load and unload lots of food items on to and off of a van ready to put into food parcels for children that had free school meals over half term. My body ached after, but it was worth it. I was physically exhausted, but it is always good to do a service project like this and to learn a little about how the Saviour served.”

Question: What makes the missionary work go so well?
A: There are several factors. One is the dedication of the missionaries and their leaders. They are very willing to open their mouths and teach wherever they are. As an example, two of our young missionaries had a goal to teach seven discussions one day, and when they were headed home on their bicycles that night, they had completed only six. Then a young man rode by them on his bicycle. They looked at each other, then pulled up next to him, one on each side, and introduced him to the Church. Then they said, “Now what we have to teach you is so sacred we need to stop.” They stopped, taught him about Joseph Smith, bore witness of the Restoration, and today that young man is preparing to go on a mission.
Like that young man, people in our area are very ready to hear the gospel, very willing to listen to testimony and to act on the witness they feel. Our members are eager to share what they have. The Church is well respected, so it is not difficult to converse with people about it.
It is important that members in other parts of the world see the true picture of the Church in these countries. These are not third-world areas. We are able to use all the missionary tools and approaches used anywhere else. We have had some successes, for example, through public affairs media programs. The Church attracts people from all walks of life. We have many highly educated and professional people among our membership.

One special experience I remember was when I was going through a little rebellious period. It felt like I could see so many of my parents’ flaws, and I felt that they had no right to counsel me how to live my life. Although I lived worthy to go to the temple, I was questioning my father’s role as the head of our family. But when we went to the temple together to do baptisms and confirmations, I felt the presence of a sweet spirit. As my father laid his hands on my head to confirm me on behalf of people who had passed away, I felt the Spirit confirm to me that he was acting by the true authority of the priesthood. This made me realize that although my father was not perfect, he was still a good father and I was blessed to be his son. I felt I needed to repent of my rebelliousness and try to see the wisdom and love of his admonitions.

“Here we are, girls.” Mrs. Johnson stopped the car in front of a large, weathered cabin.
Teresa hopped out and dashed to the cabin ahead of the others. “Hey!” she shouted. “We have Jeanne for a counselor again.”
Laura picked up her suitcase and started up the path as Jeanne appeared in the doorway.
“Hi, Laura. I’m glad you and Teresa are in my cabin again.”
“I just hope I don’t get homesick this year.” Laura smiled at her counselor.
“You won’t. The first year is always the hardest,” Jeanne told her. “Have you girls decided which classes you’re going to take?”
“Yes,” answered Teresa, “but the only one we’ll have together is swimming.”
The girls quickly settled in and were eager to start the week’s activities. After breakfast the next morning, they went their separate ways, agreeing to meet at the pool for swimming class. The class was a routine swimming lesson until the last twenty minutes, when the girls worked in pairs to complete their badge requirements. The first one required each person to drop ten coins onto the bottom of the pool and then pick them up one at a time by diving for them from the surface.
“I’ll be first,” Teresa volunteered. She took the coins and dropped them into the water. Diving into the pool, she quickly came to the surface, triumphantly holding her first coin. After ten dives, she had retrieved all ten coins.
“I’ll bet you can’t do it in ten dives,” she challenged Laura.
Laura dropped the coins into the water. Taking a deep breath, she dove for the bottom of the pool. A few seconds later her head popped out of the water, and she grabbed the side of the pool. “Missed by an inch,” she gasped.
Teresa sighed, “You’ll have to do better than that, or we’ll be here all day.”
“I’ll get one this time.” Laura’s second dive was successful, but after twelve dives, she had only nine coins.
“Only one more,” she puffed as she rested her head against the edge of the pool. “I’ll get it this time.” Laura dove for the bottom but came up empty-handed.
“Did you miss again? If we don’t hurry, we’ll be the last ones in the lunch line.” Teresa turned abruptly, dove to the bottom of the pool, and picked up the tenth coin. “Here,” she said, “you were close enough. Nobody will know the difference anyway. Let’s go eat.”
“Teresa! Wait a minute. We can’t do that!”
Laura’s objection dissolved in the breeze, for Teresa was already approaching the swimming teacher.
“Laura and I finished our first badge requirement,” Teresa said as she handed the coins to the instructor.
Laura slowly climbed out of the pool and followed Teresa, keeping her eyes down as she passed the instructor. She grabbed her towel and ran out the gate but slowed to a walk as Teresa disappeared around a bend in the trail. Reaching the swinging bridge, Laura leaned over the wooden railing and stared down at the clear stream. Her unhappy reflection stared back.
“What’s taking you so long?” Teresa stood at the end of the bridge.
“I’m coming.”
Later that day Laura went to the pool to practice her swimming. After standing beside the pool for several minutes, she suddenly squared her shoulders and approached the lifeguard’s chair. “This morning Teresa helped me with my diving,” she said. “I want to do it over again.”
The lifeguard looked up. “OK,” she said. “The coins are on the table.”
Laura picked up the coins and walked slowly back to the pool. Teresa’s probably right, she thought. Nobody cares anyway. But she threw the coins into the pool and began diving. Finally all ten coins lay beside her on the edge of the pool. The lifeguard nodded briefly as Laura returned the coins to the table and ran out the gate. When she reached the cabin, Teresa was there.
“How was swimming?” she asked.
“Just fine,” Laura answered. Smiling to herself, she thought, Teresa was wrong. It does make a difference to somebody. It makes a difference to me.