Gospel Story Finder

There can be certain perils whenever anyone provides a service. The occupational hazard for Jennifer Wang and Chen En Ger was changing diapers. “That wasn’t very much fun,” Jennifer said. Other than diaper duty, though, there were no other complaints from Jennifer, 17, and Chen, 18, who organized a small nursery inside their wardhouse where children could be dropped off while their parents went to the temple. “I felt really happy that I could learn more about service and also about little children,” said Chen (below). For Jennifer and Chen, both members of the Tao Yuan Second Branch of the Tao Yuan District in Taipei, Taiwan, the baby-sitting was a new experience—one they’re glad they had and that they hope becomes a tradition.
Church members in Taiwan have had a temple in their country since 1984. However, with work and family commitments in this island country, it’s not always easy for the members to attend. That’s where Jennifer and Chen came in. After getting other Church members to volunteer to baby-sit, the project was a go.
“As youth, we decided we would do baptisms for the dead in the morning, and then go next door to the ward and baby-sit members’ children while their parents went to the temple,” explained Jennifer, a Laurel and seminary class president.
Since children all the way to ten-year-olds were dropped off at the nursery, Jennifer and Chen decided to divide the children into groups by age. Instead of just letting them play with toys and goof off for the four-hour period, they decided to make their nursery a little more educational. Besides showing Church videos and having playtime, Jennifer, Chen, and the rest of the baby-sitters also told Book of Mormon stories and talked about the importance of the temple. Afterward, they had the older children draw pictures of the temple. In the process, they also gained an appreciation for the temple themselves.
“We wanted it to be a learning experience. We could have watched them for four hours and let them do what they wanted, but we wanted to do something more,” said Chen, who has been a member for about two-and-a-half years. “I knew a lot of the kids by face already, but when we baby-sat them it was the first time I had the chance to interact with them.
“I was impressed with the children,” he continued. “So many of the older children were such good examples toward the younger ones. They would take care of them and help us as we watched them. Two brothers really stood out to me. One was three and the other was two. They really had unique personalities, and it helped me realize that all these kids are special children from Heavenly Father.”
The chance to serve is what Jennifer remembered most about her experience. She realized that in a lot of cases, without their baby-sitting service, only one parent could go to the temple while the other would stay home with the children. “I saw a lot of parents who were very happy they didn’t have to be concerned about their children. They could go to the temple without worrying, and I think that was important to them,” she said. “Maybe when I get married and I want to go to the temple with my husband, young men and young women from my ward can baby-sit my kids.”
Could happen. Both Jennifer and Chen have proved it can work.

Youth are not the only ones who slip into crevasses.
A stake president recently told me that a respected member who had held Church leadership positions was enticed by some business friends to try the cocaine drug “crack.” The men were depressed. Their company was failing, and they succumbed to the evil enticement of illegal drugs.
He wasted $18,000 buying “crack,” lost his job, underwent a personality change, and finally was hospitalized. Through it all, his wife stayed by him. She found a job, and they began the struggle of putting his life back together. His Church friends helped him get another job.
His mind is seriously affected. He is still somewhat dependent on some drugs. The hope and prayer of his family is that he will be able to hold on to the lifeline.

When Dinah Boitumelo Rakwela received word that her brother was going to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, she felt confident in her opinion that the Church was false. Over the years she had visited many churches—where she received brochures about Joseph Smith—and she believed their negative information. Convinced of his error, she went to see her brother to talk him out of his decision.
With her brother, she discussed until midnight the “mistake” he was about to make. Finally, he said, “It is too late to discuss this anymore, but I need to tell you one thing.” He bore his testimony and said: “This is the Church of Jesus Christ and I do not want to join any other church.” She felt defeated; she knew that he had made up his mind. He gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon. She didn’t want anything to do with it and when she returned to her home, she put it on the highest shelf in her bedroom—a place where she could ignore it.
Dinah has always loved reading, and one day—a few years later—she needed a book. As she was searching her bookshelves, the Book of Mormon fell off its upper shelf and landed open at Chapter 10 of Moroni. She read the open page and was struck by Moroni’s words. This caused her to read the entire book of Moroni and then to start at the beginning in 1st Nephi. She read steadily for two days, and when she finished the book, she knew that it was the word of God.
By this time, her brother was serving as a missionary in the Cape Town South Africa Mission. She called his home ward bishop—whom she had met before his departure for his mission—and when she told the bishop that she wanted to join the Church, he insisted that she needed to be taught the lessons. But Dinah did not want the lessons; she just wanted to be baptized!
So following this bishop’s counsel to be properly taught by the missionaries, she and her mother—whom she had also convinced to read the Book of Mormon—traveled eight hours each weekend from their home in Serowa (Botswana) to Gabarone (Botswana). There they were taught by the missionaries and attended church services before returning home. In due course, both Dinah and her mother were baptized.
Despite having no organized branch or ward in their village, they met and studied with other members. Together they regularly fasted and prayed for a branch to be organized. Eventually, a member of the Church who held the Melchizedek Priesthood moved to their village and a branch was formed. She considers this a miracle, explaining, “Everything is possible with God.”
Today, Sister Rakwela is a member of the Mochudi Ward in Botswana and serves as a Sunday School teacher. And her brother—the one who joined the church despite her efforts to dissuade him—is Elder Clement Matswagothata, who currently serves as an Area Seventy in the Africa Southeast Area.

At a fast and testimony meeting, Emanuel felt impressed to bear his testimony. He thought, No, I can’t get up and do that. I’d be too frightened! Then he felt as if someone were speaking to him, telling him that he needed to bear his testimony. He walked to the front of the chapel. As he did so, he felt calm. When his turn came, he remembered everything he wanted to say and wasn’t at all nervous. It was the first time that he had borne his testimony, and it made him very happy.

Many years ago, on my first visit to the fabled village of Sauniatu in Samoa, so loved by President David O. McKay, my wife and I met with a large gathering of small children—nearly 200 in number. At the conclusion of our messages to these shy yet beautiful youngsters, I suggested to the native Samoan teacher that we go forward with the closing exercises. As he announced the final hymn, I suddenly felt compelled to greet personally each of these children. My watch revealed that the time was too short for such a privilege, for we were scheduled on a flight out of the country, so I discounted the impression. Before the benediction was to be spoken, I again felt that I should shake the hand of each child. I made the desire known to the instructor, who displayed a broad and beautiful Samoan smile. In Samoan, he announced this to the children. They beamed their approval.

The instructor then revealed to me the reason for his and their joy. He said, “When we learned that a member of the Council of the Twelve was to visit us here in Samoa, so far away from Church headquarters, I told the children if they would earnestly and sincerely pray and exert faith like the Bible accounts of old, that the Apostle would visit our tiny village at Sauniatu and through their faith he would be impressed to greet each child with a personal handclasp.” Tears could not be restrained as the precious boys and girls walked shyly by and whispered softly to us the sweet Samoan greeting “talofa lava.” A profound expression of faith had been evidenced.

Fifteen-year-old Daniel Hunt has a hard time hanging on to a hairbrush. A few years ago when his older brother Lamar went on a mission to Mexico, Lamar “borrowed” Daniel’s new brush—for two years. When he returned, Daniel happened to have a new brush again. This time Lamar “borrowed” it when he went away to college.
“Now it’s turned into a joke,” says Daniel. “When Lamar comes home he’ll say, ‘Oh look! Daniel got me a new brush.’ It’s pretty funny. Lamar can always make me laugh.”

As a teenager I went to visit my aunt in 1991. During my stay she introduced me to the full-time missionaries, and I met with them a few times in my aunt’s home. They asked me if I wanted to learn more about the gospel, but I told them I wasn’t interested.
I returned home to Costa Rica, only to have missionaries visit me there. (My aunt had given them my address.) I still didn’t have any interest in their message, so I asked them to leave.
Four years passed. I was dating a woman with whom I had been friends for many years, and our relationship progressed to engagement. As I thought about our future together, my heart turned to things of a spiritual nature, and I told my fiancée that I wanted to know God. We decided that I would attend church with her to learn about Him. In the meantime I prayed privately to God for opportunities to come to know Him.
During this period of searching, missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saint again knocked on my door. Frustrated that they had returned, I told them to go away, and then I shut the door. But at that very moment, a thought struck me: “You’ve been praying to know God. What if these men have some answers for you?”
I opened the door again and called after the elders. I invited them to come in and teach me.
I quickly discovered the power of the truths they taught, and I embraced the restored gospel. Three weeks later, on March 12, 1995, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
My girlfriend was not pleased with my decision. One night about three months later, she told me that I had to choose between her and the Church. What a painful decision! After a lot of pondering and deliberating, I chose the Church.
I felt that I had made the right decision, but the months following our breakup were a dark time in my life. Nevertheless, I found hope in living my newfound religion, especially in coming to know my Heavenly Father, as I had prayed to do.
A year after my baptism, I left for a full-time mission in Nicaragua. My service there brought me great joy, and my knowledge of and love for my Heavenly Father grew. Several months after I returned from Nicaragua, I met Lili, the woman who would later become my wife.
Making the gospel a priority in our lives isn’t always easy. The decisions I made were difficult ones. But I learned then—and have continued to learn since—that whenever we make sacrifices to know our Heavenly Father, He will reveal His will for us and our lives. The happiness that comes from following His plan and His commandments is always worth the effort.

Elder F. Burton Howard was born in Logan, Utah. His family later moved and lived in a number of different places in Utah, Arizona, and Wyoming. “I didn’t know then that moving around so much should have been a problem, so it wasn’t. My two grandmothers then lived in Malad, Idaho, and wherever we lived, we would make a long pilgrimage in the car to see them once a year.”
Elder Howard’s father worked for the Soil Conservation Service, and he would occasionally take his son on one of his work excursions into the desert. “One time when I was five years old, he took me out just so that I could see what a rattlesnake looked like,” Elder Howard said. “We found a big one, and that was very impressive to me.”
“My father was a very good basketball player. In a time when people weren’t as tall as they are now, he measured six feet four inches. In the 1930s he played what was called semipro ball. When I was small, Dad didn’t try to teach me to be a ball player. We never had a basketball standard or a ball; we couldn’t afford them, and neither could anybody else in our neighborhood. But we always had a softball and a baseball and played those sports a lot.
“My mother was an accomplished pianist and singer. During my childhood, she and my father sang in church, at funerals, and in the civic opera.
“I took piano and voice lessons, but I’m sure that I must have been a disappointment to my parents. I didn’t like practicing the piano, but I did learn to read music and sing. I used to play in a band, and I learned to play the piano well enough that I can still play all the hymns.”
Elder Howard is the oldest of three children; he has a younger brother and sister. “My brother and sister and I used to put off going to bed by asking Mother to read us a story. She had an old book of Book of Mormon stories that she’d read to us. Sometimes she’d slip in a story from the Bible. When I was young, I didn’t know the difference between the stories from the Bible and the Book of Mormon. I just knew that they were scripture stories and that I loved them all.
“I was a good reader, and we always had books. Dad made a special effort when we were quite young to buy an encyclopedia for our family. There was a time when I read almost everything that I could get my hands on, but there were still more books in our home than I could ever read.
“When I was in my first year of college at Logan, Utah, I bought an old car for a hundred dollars. I was eighteen and thought that I knew all about driving. It was Christmastime, and my parents were living on a ranch in Wyoming. I picked up my two grandmothers and took them to my parents’ home for Christmas. We had a grand time there. When it was time to return to school, the weather had changed and the roads were treacherous. That morning as we were ready to leave, we held a family prayer in the living room. My father prayed that we would have a safe journey. After we had loaded my car with suitcases, blankets, tuna fish sandwiches, and a thermos bottle full of Postum, Dad walked out to the car and said, ‘I want to talk to you.’ We went over and stood by the fence. ‘You have a very valuable cargo,’ he said, nodding at my grandmothers. ‘I want you to promise me that if the roads are bad and it’s snowing when you get down to Lander, you won’t go over South Pass. I want you to take the long way.’
“I promised him that I would. My parents kissed us good-bye, and we were on our way. We had nice weather until we got to Riverton; then it started to snow. By the time we got to Lander, it was snowing pretty hard. I remembered my promise, so when we came to the intersection where you turn to go up the mountain, I made a conscious turn to go the long way. I remember thinking then that it was going to take us five hours longer to get to Utah. I knew the road, and I was absolutely certain that I had made the right turn. As we drove along, we were joking and laughing, although the snow was getting thicker. Then I saw a sign that read, ‘Historic Old South Pass City,’ and I realized that I had somehow become confused in the snowstorm and had taken the wrong road! I thought, Dad will be angry with me! I don’t know how this happened—it wasn’t intentional. I had only two choices: I could keep on going, or I could turn around and go back. By this time, we were at the summit, so I decided that we might as well keep going and that I would apologize to Dad later. As we came down the mountain, the snow stopped and the roads were clear. We drove to Logan and then to Malad without any problems.
“On my way to school the next day I happened to see the front-page headline of a newspaper: WORST BLIZZARD OF THE YEAR STRANDS HUNDREDS IN CENTRAL WYOMING. I bought a paper, and it was full of stories about people who had been stranded, lost, or killed on the road that I had promised to take. I realized that the prayer our family had offered had been answered. I knew that the Lord had gotten us on the right road, and I realized how He had protected us. I was never the same after that.”
Elder Howard’s message to the children of the Church is this: “Be helpful in your home. Learn to do things well, and always do your best. Read more good books and watch less television. Be truthful and prayerful. Keep the commandments, follow the prophet, and always be proud that you are a Latter-day Saint.”

My father was a farmer. His farm was small, but he was a hard worker and very successful. Farmers are builders in every sense of the word: They build the soil. They build families. They build barns. They build granaries. They build, build, build. But building requires resources, such as lumber and nails. When Dad was just starting out at the end of the Great Depression, there was no money for such things. People then had learned to make do with what they had. Dad dismantled an old abandoned schoolhouse and used the lumber to build a farmstead on East River Road—the road on which I would later walk to school.
I remember that there were buckets and kegs of nails—rusty, crooked nails. When I was just a small boy, Dad put me to work straightening those nails with a hammer. Years later, at Dad’s funeral, I reflected on that experience. I realized that he had been teaching me not only how to work but also a basic principle of the gospel.
We have become a throwaway society. No one thinks about straightening nails these days. We throw away anything that is damaged, including human souls. I learned from those hours of straightening rusty nails that even things terribly bent can be saved for a good and wholesome purpose.
Perhaps that discovery was the beginning of my great desire to recover every human soul. I know that they can be recovered, and that lives can be improved, corrected, and renewed to fulfill the full measure of their creation. My father instilled that faith in me.

When fall came, Nese left to attend Brigham Young University. I returned to Berkeley. Loneliness encompassed me again. Nese’s letters arrived regularly, two or three times weekly. I asked her why she was Mormon. The next letter bulged the envelope. It was a detailed explanation of her struggle to remain active and maintain a firm testimony while living with her inactive family.
I decided I had to go to church. That was a difficult decision because no one pushed me to attend. I had been allowed to come to the conclusion on my own.
I nearly changed my mind when I opened the door. I entered the chapel by myself, spotted an empty seat on the back row, and quickly sat down. Not all alone here, too! I wondered inside.
Then suddenly Karen, who had appeared from nowhere, was shaking my hand. “Good morning, David,” she said, grinning. I wasn’t alone anymore. She introduced me to people, showed me which class to go to, and sat beside me the entire time.
I was impressed to find a class I could bring my questions to and get answers. To top it off, the teacher, Sister Booras, took time afterwards to thank me for coming. “You added a great deal to our class,” she said. I had never felt so at home before.
But I still didn’t have that spiritual testimony all the Church members kept telling me about. I liked the Church; I could believe in many of its teachings, but I didn’t know it was true. I kept attending the meetings anyway.
One month later, Nese urged me to come to BYU. I jumped at the chance and rushed to Provo for a whirlwind visit. She described her school as if it were part of her. As we walked around campus, all we talked about was religion. My mind was overflowing with questions again, as it had been in the high school library. I still didn’t see how everything fit together.
The stone in my path was the principle of eternal progression. “It’s no good,” I said. “How can man, who was created by God, ever hope to be a god?”
We were standing in front of the Joseph Smith Building. Nese paused for a moment.
“Dave,” she said, “before we were ever created physically, we were created spiritually as God’s sons and daughters. A part of us, our spirit, comes directly from him as our Father.”
It finally clicked! It all fell into place. My grin spread to a smile and erupted as a laugh. I couldn’t stop grinning. My mind jumped from doctrine to doctrine. “Yes, yes, it all fits!” I wanted to dance or sing or run.
There, on the steps of the Joseph Smith Building, the Spirit bore witness to me of the gospel plan. I knew in my heart I would join the Church.
I still had to read the Book of Mormon, learn to pray, and take the missionary discussions. But my life was changed from that moment on. I had found truth, purpose, and a life to fulfill. Five weeks later I was baptized.
Eighteen months later, my impression that I would one day enter the Oakland Temple came true, as I received my endowments one week before leaving on a mission. When I returned, Nese and I decided to continue the eternal journey we had begun with conversations at a table in a library. We were married in the Provo Temple.
Every time I look at my wife, I thank the Lord that there was a girl in my high school with enough faith to “just want to share her beliefs with someone who wouldn’t laugh at her.” She touched my head and changed my life.

Elder Kimball called on another occasion. “Bishop Monson,” he said, “I have learned that there are two Samoan boys living in a downtown hotel. They’re going to get in trouble. Will you make them members of your ward?”

I found these two boys at midnight sitting on the steps of the hotel playing ukuleles and singing. They became members of our ward. Eventually, each of them married in the temple and served valiantly. Their influence for good was widespread.

Once, for instance, I prayed through the night to know what I was to choose to do in the morning. I knew that no other choice could have had a greater effect on the lives of others and on my own. I knew what choice looked most comfortable to me. I knew what outcome I wanted. But I could not see the future. I could not see which choice would lead to which outcome. So the risk of being wrong seemed too great to me.
I prayed, but for hours there seemed to be no answer. Just before dawn, a feeling came over me. More than at any time since I had been a child, I felt like one. My heart and my mind seemed to grow very quiet. There was a peace in that inner stillness.
Somewhat to my surprise, I found myself praying, “Heavenly Father, it doesn’t matter what I want. I don’t care anymore what I want. I only want that Thy will be done. That is all that I want. Please tell me what to do.”
In that moment I felt as quiet inside as I had ever felt. And the message came, and I was sure who it was from. It was clear what I was to do. I received no promise of the outcome. There was only the assurance that I was a child who had been told what path led to whatever He wanted for me.
I learned from that experience and countless repetitions that the description of the Holy Ghost as a still, small voice is real. It is poetic, but it is not poetry. Only when my heart has been still and quiet, in submission like a little child, has the Spirit been clearly audible to my heart and mind.

Get in the habit of taking advantage of every opportunity to learn and remember. You can learn much from those who love and teach you best—your family. Let me share with you part of a letter I wrote to my grandchildren while on our mission:
“The one ‘pearl of wisdom’ that I might impart to you is how valuable every experience in life is. We have been amazed at how many times, since we have been here, that we have grasped onto some idea or skill we learned along the way. Mom’s ‘basic’ cooking lessons have helped me to creatively use what we have here—carrots, cabbage, onions, potatoes, eggs, rice, and mutton—to prepare nourishing meals.”
The Church also gives us many learning opportunities. Remember, starting in Primary, you learned step-by-step how to remain calm and repeat the words you had practiced. As you grew you learned how to organize your thoughts, illustrate them with personal experiences, and gain the confidence to speak in front of a group. These kinds of experiences can lead to practical things like doing presentations in your classes, getting better job opportunities, and most importantly, being able to teach and speak comfortably in Church.
Opportunities to learn are all around you. Join the choir and learn to read music. You’ll be glad your whole life that you have this skill. When I visited young women in Colombia and Ecuador, the young women were the ones who conducted the music, making it possible for all of us to worship the Lord through song.
Take advantage by learning the skills taught at camp and in Scouting—first aid, different methods of cooking, and recreational safety. These skills can bless your families now and in the future.
Look for opportunities to learn to care for and teach children. Now is the time to prepare for your future roles as fathers and mothers. You can literally make a world of difference in the life of a child right now, let alone being a well-prepared parent in the future.
Most people want to know how to be happy. King Benjamin helps us understand that service is the secret to happiness. In Mosiah 2:17 he teaches:
“And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
What can you do as a teenager to learn to serve others? Learn as many skills and gain as much education as you can. This knowledge will allow you to be “more fit for the kingdom, more used.” And by giving service, you will unlock the secret to happiness.
Let me finish telling you about the missionaries in Mongolia. Because all the elders were expected to teach English, I became something of a teaching supervisor to help them provide the best classes possible. I would visit them in class, observe their teaching, and then give suggestions.
I never expected to have to supervise teachers on a mission. But the Lord needed someone who could help these elders do the job they needed to do in order to introduce the gospel to Mongolia. From one class I had taken in college, I knew enough to talk about the positive things they had done instead of focusing on the negative. I knew I had to build their confidence. Having these young men do a good job was so important to introducing the gospel to the Mongolian people.
Much later, when we had returned from the mission field and the missionaries I helped were pursuing their own educations, one elder e-mailed me and thanked me for the day I came to their class to watch him and his companion. The first thing I had asked them that day was to list all the things they had done right. They made their list, but what he remembers is that I came up with a long list of things they had done well. It changed his attitude. It gave him confidence. He had not done well in school before his mission, but now, because he felt he was a good teacher of English, he thought he could return to school and succeed. It wasn’t until he had graduated from college that he wrote the e-mail to thank me. I had no idea that I was helping him. But the Lord knew how to use that bit of knowledge I had learned in college to help one of His missionaries while on his mission and afterwards in his own education.
That is the value of gaining and continuing to gain an education. Remember that being “more fit for the kingdom” will help you be a better mother or father, a better wife or husband, a better employee, a better servant of the Lord. Education of any and every type will help you become more useful to the Lord as we help each other return to live with Him.

The best solution to shortness: Don’t fret about being short. I quit worrying about my lack of height before I was ever graduated from high school. In my Latin class, three of the four boys registered were named Paul. One was so tall he had a perpetual cloud at his hairline, one was just a shade shorter than that, and then there was me. One day our wise old teacher sized us up as we left the room after class.
“When I see two of you three Pauls, it’s hard to believe,” she said, “that paulus means ‘little’ in Latin.” Then she dropped one of those little bombs that made her a memorable teacher. “As a matter of fact,” she went on, “a name doesn’t mean much in any language until or unless you make something of it.” She looked right at me as she spoke, and for a few minutes I thought I might bump my head on the ceiling.

“Come on,” Benjamin said to the other man on guard duty. “We can’t stop.” Benjamin Platt’s throat felt tight. Swallowing was difficult. He talked between clenched teeth to keep his throat from hurting. If he had felt this sick back in England, he would have gone to bed. As a member of the Martin handcart company, however, he couldn’t stop and wait to get well.
Blowing snow blocked the two men’s vision. The frozen ground was uneven, and they often stumbled.
“We have to keep moving.” Benjamin spoke with as much force as he could. “We need to check the other side of the camp.”
“Why?” his friend asked. “What are we guarding?”
“The camp’s provisions.”
The other man laughed quietly. “We have no provisions. We have nothing.”
Benjamin knew the man was right. The camp had very little. His stomach hurt with the pain of no food. His breath was shallow, his fatigue great. All he wanted to do was lie down on the frozen ground and sleep, but he knew that doing so meant sure death. So he urged himself and his companion on. They shuffled around the borders of the camp, waiting for light to ease the cold blackness.
Yesterday the handcart company had made little progress from the Platte River. Much of the snow had melted during the day, turning the trail to mud. Mud caked onto the travelers’ clothes. When the sun set behind the gloomy clouds, the heavy mud had frozen. No one was clean. Benjamin recognized most of the handcart company by their eyes and voices rather than their faces. What was not covered with rags was covered with mud and dirt.
“I can’t go anymore,” his partner said now. “I’ve done my best, and it isn’t enough.”
Benjamin looked at his tired companion. Dirt caked his face and was frozen into his hair. His hands were wrapped with rags. His pants were ripped and showed skin purple from the cold. Tears slid down his face as he grieved over not being strong enough.
Benjamin put his hand on the other man’s shoulder and helped him around the camp. “It’s OK, Brother. Just remember a poem my father used to tell me:
“For great and low,
There’s but one test.
’Tis that each man
Shall do his best.”
After one more painful tour of the camp, Benjamin’s companion crawled into a tent to rest. Benjamin began his rounds again. He heard the wind blow, and the branches of a few scattered cedar trees creaked with the weight of the snow and force of the wind. As the wind heaved one hearty blow, Benjamin saw that the large tent the man had just crawled into had collapsed.
Benjamin started forward. His wife, Mary, and at least 20 other people had been sleeping in that tent too. They were all now trapped beneath tent poles, tent fabric, and heavy snow. With numb hands, Benjamin struggled to pull up the icy fabric. The snow weighed the canvas down, smothering those underneath. The tent stakes had been pounded into muddy ground. Now the ground was frozen. Those on the inside of the tent could not pull the stakes out.
Straining every muscle, Benjamin pulled harder. A small girl was screaming under the tent. A woman started sobbing as she tried to free herself from the icy canvas that was suffocating her. Unseen hands punched upward at the tent. The group was trapped.
Scrambling frantically around the outside of the tent, Benjamin found the opening. Quickly scraping off snow, he forced himself into the opening and under the wet material. Slowly, a little at a time, he stood up with the tent on his shoulders.
Benjamin yelled, “This way. Crawl this way.” Few people heard the soft voice coming through his sore throat. Benjamin shouted louder. This time, two men understood and crawled toward his voice. When they got to where Benjamin had lifted the tent, they stood up and helped him support more of the wet material. Gradually all the people in the tent crawled out into the snowy night.
With frying pans and cooking pots, the awakened Saints scooped the snow off the downed tent. Dawn streaked the sky with soft light, so they rolled the tent up and prepared for a long day’s trek in the snow.
When the first three rescuers arrived from Salt Lake City seven days later, the Saints cheered. Benjamin didn’t join in the cheering. His throat was raw and tight. But he had yelled his best when it had mattered most.

The young women around the world have taught me so much about seeking Christ and gaining a daily, personal witness of Him. Let me share the wisdom of two of them:

Livvy has watched general conference her entire life. In fact, in her home they traditionally watch all five sessions as a family. In the past, conference for Livvy had meant doodling or drifting into the occasional unintended nap. But this past October general conference was different. It became personal.

This time, Livvy decided to be an active recipient. She silenced notifications on her phone and took notes of impressions from the Spirit. She was amazed as she felt specific things God wanted her to hear and do. This decision made a difference in her life almost immediately.

Just days later her friends invited her to an inappropriate movie. She reflected, “I felt the words and spirit of conference return into my heart, and I heard myself declining their invitation.” She also had the courage to share her testimony of the Savior in her ward.

After these events she stated, “The amazing thing is, when I heard myself testify that Jesus is the Christ, I felt the Holy Ghost confirm it again for me.”

Livvy did not skip like a stone over the surface of conference weekend; she dove in, mind and spirit, and found the Savior there.

In 1996 my wife and I had two sons, ages four and seven. We were a typical busy young family. Late one night my wife made time to write a letter to my nephew, Glen, who was then serving a mission in Finland.
For some reason, she felt she needed to write a long letter—one filled with details about what each family member was doing, where they were spiritually, what was happening in my Church calling and in her Church calling, the story of her conversion, her feelings about missionary work, and her testimony of the gospel.
It was a great letter, but I wondered if my nephew really needed that much information. Later she wrote him again.
Six years later, while I was serving as bishop and our boys were 10 and 13, my world suddenly changed. On January 2, 2002, my wife, only 42 years old, died of a heart attack.
At home I tried to continue following the principles in “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.”1 I found that I could preside and provide, but I fell short in giving my sons the nurturing they needed. Nevertheless, we moved on as best we could.
In June 2012 my younger son, Sam, then serving a full-time mission in the Colorado Denver South Mission, sent me an email. “Something really cool happened this week,” he wrote. “I got two letters from Mom.”
He explained that he had received a package from his cousin Glen that included the letters she had written to him while he was in Finland.
“He told me that these two letters Mom sent him on his mission were really written for me while on my mission,” Sam wrote. “So he sent them to me, and they were incredible!”
Learning of his mother’s conversion, testimony, and feelings toward missionary work was “a great moral support at this time,” Sam wrote. He said he planned to photocopy the letters and send the originals home.
“I had no idea that you had ever served as an elders quorum president or as the ward mission leader,” Sam wrote. He learned that when he was four years old, he “would jump on the bed after prayers and shout ‘I want to be a missionary.’”
Then he added something he had learned about his mother: “Mom must have known that I would become a wrestler because she said that I could charm the socks off a pro wrestler. :)”
I was moved to tears by Sam’s reaction to the letters. A few weeks later he mailed them home. They were powerful, personal, and poignant when written in 1996, but given the events of subsequent years, they had become even more so.
My wife’s letters had strengthened my nephew, but like “casting bread upon the water” (see Ecclesiastes 11:1), they returned years later to bless her missionary son and widowed husband.

What are you doing? That’s where I was going to put the tent!
But these are the best trees for the hammock.
Ugh! You always do everything wrong!
Clara’s so annoying. She never listens to me!
You might disagree with her, but that doesn’t mean you can’t work together.
Maybe Clara and I can try harder to get along.
Will you help me set up the tent over here? That way it won’t block the good view from the hammock!
Sure!

Women who received the gospel became pillars of strength in Sweden. One example is Britta Olsdotter Persson, the first person to embrace the gospel in Vingåker. In 1877, to help support her family, she traveled to Stockholm to sell her weaving. There she met the missionaries and realized that they were teaching the truth and was baptized, at age 50.
Her conversion and valiant labor to promote the Lord’s work eventually led to more baptisms, and a branch was established in Vingåker. Her descendants are still active in the Church. Sister Persson’s great-great-granddaughter Laila Krylborn remarked, “It is wonderful to see what has happened in our children’s and grandchildren’s generations. Now our families have several priesthood holders and missionaries.”

So when the high school football coach asked Jake to be the water boy for the team, Jake jumped at the chance. “I’ve always liked football. There was never any doubt that I would say yes. I was pretty excited,” says Jake.
Jake is happy to be part of the team, and his positive influence also lifts the spirits of those around him.
Riley Davis plays center on the football team and is one of Jake’s longtime friends. He says the players “were all sophomores coming into the school and didn’t have too many friends. But when Jake joined the team, everybody wanted to be his friend, and then we all started being friends together.”
Another player on the team, Sheen Beard, found Jake to be a tremendous help to him. Injured before the season began, Sheen was unable to play on the team and became a water boy alongside Jake. Jake helped him not only with water and equipment but also by easing the ache of being unable to play. Sheen says, “It turned out well; we worked as a team. He made it fun and had a really good attitude the whole time.”
“Jake has never allowed his problems to affect his life too much,” his mother says. “Of course, he couldn’t do it alone. Joining the football team has made it a lot easier for him and for us, as parents.”
Jake and his parents are especially grateful to Coach Mike Miller for giving Jake such a tremendous opportunity. “This new opportunity gave Jake something to look forward to at a time when he really needed it,” his mom says.
“Jake also receives help from his good friend Riley,” she says. “He has always been the one to go out of his way to do things with him.”