Gospel Story Finder

Like a lot of kids in Ireland, Annie went to a Catholic school. She was the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in her class.
Annie had a nice teacher who taught about lots of things. She even taught about Jesus. Annie loved listening to stories about Jesus. They were the same stories she learned about in Primary and at home.
One day Annie’s teacher told her class about when Jesus walked on water. Annie smiled. That was her favourite story!
Annie had learned the song “The Miracle” in Primary. That song told about Jesus walking on the water. Annie always felt warm inside when she sang it. She thought about the words in the song.
“Jesus walked upon the water. He stilled the storm and calmed the angry sea.”
Annie wanted her class to know the song too! She raised her hand and said, “I know a song about that!”
Her teacher smiled. She asked Annie to share it the next day in class.
Annie was excited when she got home. Mummy helped her find the song on the computer so Annie’s teacher could play the song for her class.
The next day Annie and her whole class listened to the song. Annie felt the warm feeling she always felt in Primary. She was glad she shared this special song about Jesus.

Enduring Trials
“When [Kate] was 14, … one day her [seminary] teacher started to talk about trials and guaranteed that we all would face them. She said to herself, ‘I don’t want trials; I don’t want to hear this.’
“It was just a few weeks later that her father woke up … extremely ill. Kate said: ‘… Within 36 hours he had a massive stroke that shut down most of his body. … I remember seeing him and thinking, “Oh no, it’s happening. … I am having a trial.”’ Within a few days Kate’s father passed away.
“… Kate said: ‘It was so hard. … I knew I could make it a springboard for growth or allow it to be a roadblock. I didn’t want to let it ruin my life. … I tried to be as close to the Lord as possible. I read my scriptures a lot. … I prayed a lot. I wrote in my journal. … I kept my testimony vibrant by writing it down. I went to church and to Young Women every week. I surrounded myself with good friends. I kept close to caring relatives and especially to my mom. … I sought out priesthood blessings. …’
“These consistent choices, like those of the wise virgin, added oil to Kate’s lamp. … She wanted an eternal relationship with [her father], and she understood that staying on her covenant path would keep her life woven tightly with his. …
“Kate had this kind of faith because she understood the plan of salvation. She knew we lived before, that earth is a time of testing, and that we will live again.”
Mary N. Cook, former first counselor in the Young Women general presidency

Illustration by Ben Simonsen
At my school a lot of people have boyfriends and girlfriends. On my first day of school as an eighth grader, I met someone named Paul. We got along well together. Paul was a great friend.
The next day after school he asked me out on a date. I told him I couldn’t, and he asked why. I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that we’re not supposed to date until age 16. Paul asked why, and I realized that I didn’t actually know.
That night I went home and pondered Paul’s question. I did research on LDS.org and read my scriptures. I found a quote by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008): “The Lord has made us attractive one to another for a great purpose. But this very attraction becomes as a powder keg unless it is kept under control. … It is for this reason that the Church counsels against early dating.”1
I also looked in For the Strength of Youth. It says dating “can help you learn and practice social skills, develop friendships, have wholesome fun, and eventually find an eternal companion.”2
The next day I showed Paul the For the Strength of Youth booklet. Other people saw Paul reading it, and my LDS friends helped me answer my classmates’ questions. I was happy to have an answer to Paul’s question.
For the Strength of Youth says that dating before age 16 and forming serious relationships in our youth can lead to immorality and limit the number of people we meet.3 My mother also tells me that we shouldn’t date before 16 because it can distract us from studies and opportunities that can be vital to success in the future. I’ve seen friends of mine become depressed because of an emotional breakup at age 13.
I was glad I was able to find out for myself why we shouldn’t date before age 16 and then give Paul an answer without hurting his feelings. I’ve made a great friend, and I hope we will be friends for a long time. I am thankful the Lord has given us friends and the opportunity to date at the appropriate age so that we may all one day find faithful eternal companions.

As the Ellsworth company crossed the plains, it was closely followed by the McArthur company. The companies passed many homes and settlements that had recently been built as the prairie began to be settled.
One day when six-year-old Arthur Parker of the McArthur company sat down to rest, he was accidentally left behind, and members of the Ellsworth company, traveling close-by, delayed their travel to help search for the boy. When the boy wasn’t found, his father stayed behind to continue the search while the companies moved on.
Arthur’s mother gave her husband a bright shawl and told him that if the boy was dead to wrap his body in it. If the boy was alive, he was to use it as a signal to let her know. Arthur was found a few days later in the care of a kind couple, and his father happily waved the red shawl when he and the boy finally came within sight of the handcarts.
2
Men searched for lost Parker boy of McArthur company; camped by Nishnabotna River (10 miles)
5
Company washed clothes and rested; Brother Parker brought son into camp—camp rejoiced (no miles)

President Lee remembered his mother also as being influential in teaching him to listen to the promptings of the spirit.
“Once I was standing in the doorway of our little house watching a great thunderstorm raging in the nearby mountains. The thunder grew closer and closer. Suddenly, and without warning, my mother gave me a vigorous push that sent me sprawling out of the doorway. At that instant, a bolt of lightning came down the chimney of the kitchen stove, out through the open doorway, and split a huge gash from top to bottom in a large tree immediately in front of the house.
“My mother never could explain her split-second decision that saved my life, but it was one of many occasions when my mother followed the promptings of the Spirit.”

I scanned my planning sheet and wondered how my companion and I were ever going to do it. How could I have forgotten that we had missionary exchanges this week? Poland had been newly opened for missionary work, and most of the members were young in age and in their knowledge of the gospel. The members of this small branch were so excited to learn, and we, as missionaries, were doing our best to teach them.
Sunday meetings had just ended. Small groups socialized around the apartment where we met, as I reviewed our plans for the coming week. We had several discussions already scheduled—something rare at that time—and they all seemed to be set for one day. I had agreed we would take a member with us.
I remembered back to a month ago when Kasha, a member with cerebral palsy, approached me so hopefully. She wore a big grin as she walked over on her crutches.
“Sister McGregor, would you please take me out to do missionary work for a day?” she had asked.
I adored Kasha and would have done anything for her, but I wondered how we would get around. No missionaries or members had cars, so our main mode of transportation would be our feet or the bus. If walking was painful for her, wouldn’t climbing bus stairs all day be worse? But there she stood, waiting for a reply. I had picked a date out of the air. The day fell in our busy week, and I desperately wanted to change it.
I picked my way over to Kasha and showed her our schedule. Her eyes glowed with excitement. I explained to her how all these appointments were scattered throughout the city and asked her how we were going to get around. She looked at me as if I had forgotten something obvious and explained that the bus was usually a pretty good way. I quickly decided that if she wasn’t worried about it, then I shouldn’t be either—but I wasn’t entirely convinced.
We picked her up in the morning and practically hoisted her onto the bus while the driver glared at us for slowing him up. There were no seats, so on our way to our first appointment, we supported Kasha on the swaying bus. Getting off wasn’t much better, and walking was slow and tedious over broken sidewalks and cobblestones. As we sat through our first discussion, Kasha taught two young women with love, testimony, and the Spirit. She was an incredible missionary.
Obstacles other than cobblestones arose as the day continued. Bus drivers had agreed to strike that day, and around noon buses, parked end to end, began to fill the streets of the city. The bus drivers refused to move them.
We walked slowly from place to place, and Kasha did her best to be cheerful. We caught taxis on the edges of the city when we could, and my companion and I physically supported her as much as she would let us.
It was getting late as we inched up the walk to Kasha’s apartment after the long day. Our discussions had been wonderful, but I was looking forward to bed. Kasha suddenly stopped on the walk, forcing me to stop also.
“Oh no!” my mind raced. “I’m going to have to carry her!”
“I’m not tired, Sister McGregor,” Kasha said. “At the end of every single day I’m tired and hurting. I’m usually in bed by now. But today, walking all over the city doing the Lord’s work, I feel like I could keep going and going.” She continued her labored walk home.
I learned a great lesson walking to Kasha’s apartment that night. When we are doing the Lord’s work, He will assist us no matter our weaknesses or disabilities. My disabilities are not the same as Kasha’s, but when I worry that I’m not quite up to what the Lord wants me to do, I think about Kasha.
She had all she needed on her day of missionary work and a little more.

A convert to the Church, I grew up in Norwich, England, which is about 110 miles from London. During the Second World War, my father served in the British army and was stationed in Italy. In fact, I didn’t meet my father until I was five.
When I was about four years old, Mother would take my brother and me into the city every Saturday morning. At 10:30 we would be walking by a large clock that chimed. Mother would say, “Oh, it’s 10:30.” She would buy us a little something, not anything very significant, but something to try to brighten us up because Dad was away.
One particular Saturday morning when we were about to leave home, Mother said, “I don’t think we’ll go shopping today. I’m going to take you to the woods.”
After we arrived at the woods, we played in the grass and trees and enjoyed ourselves. Suddenly we heard an air raid siren. Planes were coming in overhead, so we hurried home. The next day, we discovered that at 10:30 A.M. bombs had been dropped, demolishing the whole area around the clock in the city.
That incident really had an impact on me. Mother often commented on the feelings she’d had that day. She wasn’t a member of the Church, but, not knowing why, she had had an impression, a prompting, to do something different. That was a great example in my life of parents being guided by the Lord to take care of their children beyond their normal understanding.

Let me give an example. Some years ago, a young couple we will call the Joneses visited with their bishop about a problem the wife had. The details are not important, but through the direction of the Spirit, the bishop’s decision was that, among other things, Sister Jones would not partake of the sacrament for a period of time while she worked out some attitudes and problems.

With lots of love and support, she continued to attend meetings with her family, and few but her husband and the bishop were aware of the situation or even noticed that week after week she did not partake of the sacrament. At first she didn’t feel much difference; but as time went on, she became more and more desirous to be worthy to partake of the sacrament. She thought she had repented before, but as the real soul-searching deepened and as her desire to worthily partake of the sacrament increased, true fundamental changes began to take place in her life and in her actions and in her thinking.

More time passed. Finally, during one sacrament meeting, the Spirit bore witness to the bishop and to Brother and Sister Jones that the time had come for her to again partake of the sacrament. “Next Sunday,” the bishop said.

Next Sunday came, and Sister Jones sat again with her family, nervous, yet excited and full of anticipation. “Am I really worthy? How I want to be!” she thought. The sacrament hymn was more meaningful than ever. She sang with such feeling that it was difficult to hold back the tears. And the sacrament prayers—how profound! She listened so intently that every word sank deep into her soul—to take his name, always remember him, keep his commandments, always have his Spirit. (See D&C 20:77, 79.) “Oh, how I desire this,” she thought.

The deacons began to move up and down the aisles, and the trays were passed from person to person across the rows. As one young deacon got closer and closer to her row, her heart began to pound harder and harder. Then the tray was coming down her very row. Now her husband was holding the tray in front of her! Tears streamed down her face. There was a barely audible sob of joy, “Oh!” as she reached for the emblem of the Lord’s love for her. The congregation did not hear the sob, but they did notice the tears in the bishop’s eyes.

Life and hope and forgiveness and spiritual strength had been given and received. No one could be more worthy. Sister Jones truly wanted to have his Spirit. She wanted to take his name upon her. With all her heart, she wanted to remember him and keep his commandments. She wanted to repent, to improve, and to follow the guidance of his Spirit.

Members in Accra, Ghana, participated in a day of service by painting schools, sweeping streets and gutters, and cleaning the grounds around hospitals and clinics.
Emma Owusu Ansah of the Accra Ghana Christiansborg Stake was involved in planning their day of service. “Coming together as members of the Church unifies us and makes a principle like service easier to obey,” she said. At the end of the project, members gathered to share their testimonies. Sister Ansah remarked, “After listening to the individual testimonies, I realized how much we are missing when not serving others.”

My husband’s great-grandfather Henry Clegg Jr. was a finisher. He joined the Church with his family when the first LDS missionaries went to Preston, England. Henry had a view of his destination in his mind as he and his wife, Hannah, and their two young boys immigrated to Utah. Henry left his older parents, who were too feeble to make such a long and arduous journey, knowing he would never see them again.
While crossing the plains, Hannah contracted cholera and died. She was laid to rest in an unmarked grave. The company then moved on, and at six in the evening, Henry’s youngest son also died. Henry retraced his steps to Hannah’s grave, placed his young son in his wife’s arms, and reburied the two of them together. Henry then had to return to the wagon train, now five miles away. Suffering from cholera himself, Henry described his condition as being at death’s door while realizing he still had a thousand miles to walk. Amazingly he continued forward, putting one foot in front of the other. He stopped writing in his journal for several weeks after losing his dear Hannah and little son. I was struck with the words he used when he did start writing again: “Still moving.”
When he finally reached the gathering place of the Saints, he began a new family. He kept the faith. He continued his story. Most remarkably, his heartache over the burial of his sweetheart and son gave birth to our family’s legacy of moving forward, of finishing.
Henry Clegg was still moving forward to live among the faithful Saints, to take his place, to raise a righteous family, to serve his neighbor. He had that picture in his mind even when his heart was breaking. I heard a Primary child from Ghana answer the question “What does it mean to choose the right every day?” with, “It means to follow the Lord and Savior every day and do your best even when it is hard.” This modern pioneer boy knew President Hinckley’s admonition. He knew about keeping commandments every day. He understood that his own story would unfold simply by putting one foot in front of the other, one day at a time.

His love of drawing has given him a chance to cheer others and has helped him gain some interesting friends as well. When Brad was 11, he was watching a car race on television. He was stunned to see a car crash and burn in the pits. One of the men severely injured was Derrick Walker, the manager of a racing team.
“I drew a race car and sent it to him in the hospital as a get-well card. After that, he sent me a thank-you letter. We’ve been friends ever since,” says Brad. That simple correspondence has blossomed into a special relationship. Since then, Walker and Roger Penske, another racing friend, have flown Brad and a guest to major races each year. Brad’s thoughtfulness as a young boy proved that caring and concern are not limited to the physically able.

Another friend served an outstanding mission, followed by rigorous academic training. He hoped to have a family. His trial of faith: feelings of same-sex attraction. He wrote me recently: “I am promised in my patriarchal blessing that I will have my own family someday. Whether that will occur in this life or the next, I do not know. But what I do know is that I don’t want to do anything that will jeopardize the blessings God has promised both me and my future posterity. … Living [the law of chastity] is a challenge, but did we not come to earth to confront challenges and to show God our love and respect for Him by keeping His commandments? I am blessed with good health, the gospel, a loving family, and loyal friends. I am grateful for my many blessings.”

I remember the night my father got the call. We were all sitting around the table of our North Carolina home playing UNO, and my father came downstairs with the news. He was going to be a mission president.
When we later found out we would be moving to Tegucigalpa, Honduras, we eagerly pulled out maps and the encyclopedia. In some ways, I was terrified to move to a foreign country right before my junior year of high school. Speaking Spanish was not a problem (I was born in Peru, and my family had lived in El Salvador for seven years). But we had lived in North Carolina for only two years. I finally felt like I belonged, and then this call came. I would have to start all over again. It was thrilling but intimidating at the same time.
Mission life in Honduras was great. I attended spiritual zone meetings, helped the fantastic sister missionaries teach the gospel, and served Christmas dinner to eager young elders. However, school was not going so well. I was doing fine academically and was even on the volleyball team, but I was one of only three North Americans in my grade—not to mention the only member of the Church in my whole school.
Making friends was hard. In a school with no orchestra, no choir, and no art program, I found few outlets for my interests. On top of that, with my LDS values, I did not belong in the dance clubs, where my classmates spent their weekends drinking alcohol. I made friends, but I spent my lunch periods in the library and my weekends at home. And as wonderful as missionaries are, they are not meant to be the best friends of the mission president’s daughter. I was lonely.
In the past, I wasn’t outspoken about being LDS, but people figured it out. If they asked, I would tell them. In Honduras, however, the fact that I was LDS was one of the first things people learned about me. I’d meet a new person and the conversation would go something like this:
“So, what does your dad do?”
“Well,” I’d explain, “he’s in charge of about 200 missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in this area.”
“Oh, cool,” they would reply, not really knowing what to say.
So everyone knew, and I didn’t mind. Then one day my teacher told me that someone had made a comment about Mormons while I was out of the classroom. Apparently, it wasn’t a very nice comment. I’m still not sure why she told me this.
My instinct told me to sulk about it or be offended, but something else in me spoke louder that day. Much to my surprise, I smiled and told her I would be happy to explain about the Church to the class. I knew they had never been taught anything about the Church by its members and that their comments were based on ignorance, not cruelty. My teacher was thrilled at my proposition and arranged an entire class period for me to talk about the Church.
I probably should have been nervous, but with the Spirit’s help, I eagerly arrived that day with temple pictures in hand. The Spirit whispered that this was my chance to stand as a witness of God, just as I had promised I would every Sunday since I was baptized.
We arranged the desks in a big circle, and I began. Even the school principal came to listen. I decided to start by having my classmates brainstorm what they knew about our Church. The list on the blackboard included items like John Smith, don’t drink soda pop, all live in Utah, and don’t date until 16. For the first time, I realized I was their only model of what a Latter-day Saint was. For instance, since I personally chose not to drink soda pop, they assumed that my decision had something to do with being LDS. I was their sole contact with the Church, so that left me with the responsibility of providing a good example for them.
As the discussion continued, we addressed polygamy, the gold plates, the First Vision, and other questions. I loved every minute of it. The Spirit gave me the words to speak, and I knew my classmates were being touched. They might not have been converted on the spot, but at least they were more educated about the Church—a seed was planted. I was filled with a spirit of conviction and testimony. No one was offended by what I had to say. In fact, I believe they respected me more after that for my beliefs and standards. It was “cool” that I was LDS.
Even as the mission president’s daughter, I had the chance to be a missionary. After this experience, I could no longer be passive about my values and beliefs; I needed to be an example of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ to everyone I met. I stood as a witness.

In April 1992 my family and I were living in Provo, Utah, where we had moved from Canada so I could complete a degree in engineering at Brigham Young University. My son Jase, who was 17, had become friends with a young woman named Krista.
On the Saturday evening of general conference weekend, Jase came into the living room and asked if he could borrow the car to take Krista out for a milk shake. I tossed him the keys, and he went into the kitchen to call her. I could hear one side of the conversation, which went like this:
“Hi, Krista, it’s me, Jase. I was wondering if you would like to go out for a milk shake.” Silence. “You mean after priesthood meeting? Well, OK, I’ll call you then. See ya.”
Jase hung up the phone and came back into the living room.
“So are you going out with her?” I asked.
“She said she would like to go,” he replied, “but she told me to call her back after I get home from the priesthood session.” With a dejected look on his face, he slunk off to his room.
Something hit me like a ton of bricks. I had grown up in southern Alberta, nearly 80 miles (130 km) from the stake center. No one had expected me or even my parents, who had leadership positions in our branch, to show up for conference sessions, let alone the priesthood session. Now someone was counting on it.
What would my response be to my son’s look of sadness as he went to his room? I knew that my decision would set a precedent for years to come.
I got up from my chair and called down the hall to Jase and my second son, a newly ordained deacon, “Change your clothes. We have 10 minutes to get to the priesthood session at the stake center.” I hurried to get ready, and when I came out of my bedroom, both boys were ready, and we headed for the car.
I don’t remember the talks very well, but I remember that we felt the Spirit. It felt good to be at the priesthood session with my sons. When we came home, Jase felt good about himself, which made me feel good. He called Krista, and they went to get milk shakes.
In the two decades that have passed since that day, the priesthood holders in our family have not missed a single priesthood session of general conference. Because a righteous young woman stood up for her beliefs, our family had the opportunity to change, and we continue to hear the words of latter-day prophets and feel the Spirit in the priesthood session of general conference.

One summer afternoon when I was 12 years old, my brother Jason and I began snooping around the garage looking for something to do. Jason got the brilliant idea of tying our old red wagon behind his bike so he could pull me up the street. I, being foolish, thought it was a good idea.
As we tied the two ends of a rope to the bike seat and the wagon handle, Dad saw us from the kitchen window and came out to stop us. “I don’t want you kids doing that. Somebody will fall and get hurt.” We made a show of slowly untying the knots, but as soon as he was back inside, we cinched them tight again.
As I thought of my dad’s warning, I said to Jason, “I’ll get in the wagon, but you have to swear that you won’t go fast.”
“I won’t go fast,” he said.
“Promise you won’t go fast.” He did, and I, being foolish, believed him.
As soon as I lay down on my stomach in the wagon, Jason took off like a rocket. I called out for him to slow down, but apparently he didn’t hear me. He rounded a corner to go down the alley, and my wagon went up on two wheels, dumping me onto the pavement amidst a mixture of gravel, dirt, crushed glass, and who-knows-what-else. I slid to a stop and lay for a moment to get my breath back. I winced as I picked myself up. The pavement had left a big scrape the size of a bacon strip on my left forearm.
My brother hadn’t noticed what happened, so I was left alone. I sniffled to myself as I walked carefully home, trying not to jostle my burning arm while I picked bits of gravel out of my wound. I knew I was going to have to clean it because it was so big and dirty. But my greatest fear was what my dad would say when he saw me because he had specifically told us not to do what we had just done.
When I got home, I quietly slipped past the kitchen where Dad was reading the paper. He called out to me and asked if everything was okay. He must have sensed my hesitancy. I said I was fine as I headed down the hall to the bathroom. There I ran some warm water over my arm, which felt good. I hoped a bandage would keep infection out so it could heal. However, there was no gauze or tape in the bathroom. I would have to go upstairs.
To do so, I quickly walked past the kitchen again, keeping my arm hidden from view. Upstairs in the fully equipped mom-and-dad bathroom, I tried to cut some gauze and tape it on my arm, but I couldn’t do it one-handed. I began to get frustrated because I was so helpless. I was on the verge of crying as I placed two very inadequate Band-Aids over my scrape.
About that time my dad came in. I’m sure he decided to investigate because he had that instinct and usually knew when something was up. I braced myself for a scolding, but instead he saw my arm and said, “Oh my gosh, that’s not going to do it. We need to put something on that.” I told him what happened. I remember feeling ashamed that I was in the very predicament he’d warned me of, and vaguely wondering why he didn’t bring up that fact.
Dad opened the cabinet to get out his arsenal. Out came the hydrogen peroxide. He squirted it all over my cut and I could see it foam up, fizzling like soda. Next he lathered on the ointment, which now felt nice and cool. Then he cut a strip of gauze the right size and taped it over my cut, leaving no loose edge to catch on things. I was silent the whole time because I was trying not to cry—but not because of my pain. When he was done, I gave him a hug that lingered longer than usual.

“Did you notice the Jacksons are driving another new car?” Jim asked his wife. “That’s their second new car in less than three years. I don’t know how that man does it, but he sure knows how to make money. He makes me feel like a failure. We haven’t had a new car for eight years.”

“Yes, but you spend much more time in church service,” Jim’s wife says “You just don’t have time to concentrate on making money.”

The year 1931 was an important one for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the British Isles. On 2 June 1931, James and Elizabeth Wallis arrived in the British Mission to strengthen the Church and fulfil a unique mission. For decades, the Saints in the British Isles had been without a patriarch. Now, having been ordained a patriarch after the previous general conference in April, James had returned to the British Isles to pronounce patriarchal blessings on British members, on what was now his fifth mission for the Church.
James and Elizabeth were British converts. He had been baptised on 20 May 1877 in Chester, Cheshire, and she on 15 May 1876 in London. They had first met when working in the British Mission headquarters in Liverpool. It was here that James learned the trade of printing and had the opportunity to meet and work alongside Apostles and other senior Church leaders.
Soon, James was ordained a teacher, priest, and then elder in the Liverpool Branch. In 1879, the first international Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Association was established in Liverpool, and James was called to be its president. He would later serve as a branch president in various congregations and as a full-time missionary in Manchester, England.
After his release in 1881, the couple swiftly emigrated to Utah. Two months later, on 9 June 1881, they were married in the Endowment House, as the Salt Lake Temple had not yet been completed. Now, after raising a family, the couple were back on their native land. Their fiftieth wedding anniversary was celebrated a week after they arrived in the mission, where their love had begun in Liverpool.1 On the voyage over, they were accompanied by John and Leah Widstoe. John was an Apostle and was about to commence a term of service as the European Mission president.
The call to James to become a patriarch had come at the close of the annual general conference of 1931.2 On the afternoon of 6 April 1931, President Heber J. Grant had requested James to visit the First Presidency office, where he was called to serve a mission in the British Isles with his wife and be ordained a patriarch to bless the Saints there.3 During their time in England, Elizabeth was to serve on the Relief Society board of the European Mission, along with Leah Widstoe and others.4
In addition to his responsibilities as a travelling patriarch, James also served as the publicity director in the European Mission, and as the associate editor of the Millennial Star.5 His background in publishing and printing ideally suited him for trying to correct some of the misconceptions and prejudice that existed in the British press against the Latter-day Saints.
Based in London, the couple resided in various apartments, including 2 Doughty Street, the same street in which Charles Dickens had lived and worked. It was here that they could be found when not travelling, which was rare. “It was more expensive than we anticipated, but we will have to make up for it on the eating end”, he noted. During their two-year mission, the Wallis’ attended more than 70 district conferences and travelled thousands of miles visiting branches and other events. It was during their mission that London became a preferred location for mission headquarters, after eighty years of being in Liverpool. “You see”, James said to a reporter, “we bring from Utah over 2,000 young missionaries to England every year. These serve abroad for two years. We find it will be cheaper and more convenient in every way to ship them to London.”6 In many ways, James was one of the key pioneers of public affairs in the British Isles during the twentieth century, largely on account of his experience in publishing in Utah and his British connections.
The Wallis’ were kept busy. The autumn and winter district conferences of 1931 had proven to be remarkably busy. Of the first few months of their mission James wrote the following:
“The interest in Patriarchal blessings at the conferences was unbounded. This is shown in the large number who applied for them. There were a great many who could not be accommodated, due to insufficient time and for physical reasons. As it was, nearly six hundred blessings were given, and it will be another month or six weeks before all blessings will have been transcribed from the shorthand notes and copied in original form and mailed out to those to whom they were given. Much patience has had to be exercised in this respect, which is deeply appreciated by the Patriarch.”7
In many cases, there wasn’t enough time in a conference weekend for all the patriarchal blessings to be given. Separate arrangements often had to be made to accommodate those who couldn’t be seen.8
Caption Wallis 3: 48 Doughty Street (London home of Charles Dickens), London, sketch, an almost identical frontage as 2 Doughty Street.9
The ability to receive a patriarchal blessing was a profound opportunity for the British Saints, to strengthen their testimonies and better understand what it was the Lord would have them do. At a London district conference in 1932, Samuel Bantock, a seventy-three-year-old member, was filled with excitement. With tears in his eyes and a glowing face, he rushed up to President John Widstoe and whispered, “The Patriarch told me that my life’s offering was acceptable to the Lord. Think of it. The Lord is pleased with my humble efforts! I would rather know that than… possess all the riches or honour of earth.”10
With hands clasped together, the two men stood facing each other with tears in their eyes. Samuel had truly learned how to measure the values of life. Recalling the event, President Widstoe stated, “How many of the hundreds who in this land have received their patriarchal blessings during the last six months, place the true value upon them, as did this veteran soldier in the army of the Lord?”
The patriarchal blessing was of profound value and importance to Samuel, and he was filled with gratitude that he had the opportunity to receive it. He was one of the almost 1,400 members who received patriarchal blessings during the Wallis’ two-year mission. However, the work grew heavy and in March 1933, John B Stagg, a Lincolnshire-born missionary, was assigned to be the patriarch’s recording secretary.11 This extra support enabled the Wallises to continue their monumental assignment.
Across the country, the Wallises strengthened the Saints’ faith. At one conference, their talks were described as keeping “the audience spellbound with their convincing and forceful testimonies of the divinity of the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ.”12 Regularly they would share their early Church experiences and the testimonies they had gained.13 The Wallises would serve in whatever way they could. On one occasion, James was asked to conduct funeral services for a sister in the North London Branch, which he did, offering consoling remarks to those gathered.14
In his responsibilities as chair of the publicity committee, James was tireless in confronting errors and falsehoods, often by directly speaking to editors.15 Of one occasion, James related the stubbornness of some of the agitators and his desires for them to be honest in their publications:
“We made a personal visit to this editor and spent considerable time in an effort … to clear away the prejudice he had toward our people; and to show him the untruthfulness of the statements made in his article, [which] we took with us [as] unimpeachable evidence for this purpose. He emphatically told us there was nothing we could do or say or adduce that would change his attitude; that his mind was made up and that he was against our religion on general principles. He defended what he insisted was his right to attack us in any way he wanted to, in order to protect his patrons and friends.”16
While it proved difficult to win over some of the editors and media outlets, it did not take much to win over the Saints. Small acts of service went a long way. During a conference in Manchester, James travelled to Leigh to visit Sister Rachel Bentham Jones who had been bedridden for twenty-seven years. He gave her a blessing and then returned to the meeting.17
When it came to their nearing departure, the Saints were terribly sad as they loved the Wallises and all they had done while in the British Isles. Farewell parties were held, but the Lord had another work for this blessed couple to perform.18 Shortly after their return to the United States of America, the Wallises were once again called on a mission, this time to Canada, their sixth mission for the Church.19 As in Britain, James was to travel the Canada mission delivering patriarchal blessings. In a letter to the British Saints, the Wallises remarked, “We feel that we never can render service commensurate with the blessings which the Gospel has brought us, and the testimony we have been given of its divinity. We feel we have indeed been honoured of the Lord in being called to labour in His vineyard.”20
A few years later, on 22 August 1940, James passed away in the Church Administration Building in Salt Lake City, Utah. His passing was observed with much sadness by the British Mission on account of his great services in the gospel.21 The 1931 mission of James and Elizabeth stands out as a key moment in the lives of many British Saints in the early twentieth century.

Some time ago I received a touching letter from Randy Spaulding, who lived in northern Utah. The letter explained the composition of his family and then the gradual onset of an illness that took his father from a healthy, strong individual to a weak and crippled middle-aged man. The father’s physical condition deteriorated until he could not work, could not walk, became confined to a wheelchair, and was almost helpless.
Randy told how the family and ward members have taken over the care of the farm and have provided much help to the family. Father can no longer speak; Mother is his constant provider of care—yet neither of them has uttered or written those words, “Why us?”
Let me return to Randy Spaulding’s actual words. He wrote: “One morning as I was thinking about the mundane things of life and hurrying out the door to begin the day, I happened to notice my father sitting in the corner of the room reading his scriptures. I stopped and went over to speak to him. I noticed the difficult circumstances he was under. With his right hand, he was trying to hold up his head enough to see me and read the Book of Mormon. I learned that at one of the most trying times, he still had enough faith to read about a God of love, a God of miracles who heals and makes us whole, and a God of life—eternal life. My father still believes. Oh, how I long to take him back in time to the Pool of Bethesda and to ask our Master if He would please have mercy on us, so that my father, also, could take up his bed and walk.”
His letter continued: “That day I returned to my bedroom and thanked my Heavenly Father for a father and mother second to none.”

Whenever he was in New England, Brigham was anxious to visit and teach his many relatives there. In October, after he had returned to Kirtland, his cousin Willard Richards, who had read the Book of Mormon, visited him:
“I invited him to make his home at my house, which he did, and investigated thoroughly the principles and doctrines set forth by the Prophet and Elders of the Church. Dec. 31st, he requested baptism at my hands, which ordinance I administered to him in the presence of Elder Heber C. Kimball and others, who had spent the afternoon in cutting the ice to prepare for the ceremony.”16

Paula says, “The standards I always saw my friend live were now mine. My friend’s testimony was now mine.” Not long after, Paula began to feel an intense desire to share with others what she had been given. When she had been a member for one year, she filled out her mission papers, met with her priesthood leaders, and received a call to serve in the Chile Santiago East Mission.
Valeria says, “As I watched my friend prepare to serve her mission, the Spirit touched my heart. I wanted to commit myself to serve God the way she was.”
“May I speak to you?” This time it was Valeria who had pulled Paula aside. “I’ve felt something special as you have been preparing to leave on your mission.”
Paula told her friend the same thing her friend had once told her: “It’s the Spirit telling you what you need to do.”
Valeria’s plans hadn’t included a full-time mission. She wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. “I can’t do it alone,” she told Paula.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” her friend assured.
Later, when Valeria opened her call, she was surprised to be going to the same mission as her friend. Paula began serving in October 2002; Valeria joined her in February 2003.