Gospel Story Finder

Seek for Inspiration. Our prayers and faith help us open our hearts to let God change us. One woman I know felt concern about the TV shows her adult children let their children watch. She felt the shows modeled disrespect and quarreling, even though they were considered age-appropriate. Not wanting to intrude, she prayed and fasted repeatedly about what to do or say. One morning her daughter-in-law called to ask for advice about how to manage disrespect and quarreling among her children. My friend shared her observation about the TV shows, an influence her daughter-in-law had never noticed. The young parents addressed the issue with their children. Changes were agreed upon, and the atmosphere in the home improved.

When I moved to Mexico with my family, I made friends with a group of kids who played together but left some people out. One day I decided to go play with a girl named Eli, who was sitting by herself in a corner. We started sitting together at lunchtime, and we played basketball and soccer and made things together.
At first my group of friends said, “If you want to be her friend, then we can’t be your friend.” But I kept spending time with Eli. Eventually my group of friends joined us, and we all became friends.
I told Eli about the Church and what I liked about it. She decided to come to my baptism and started coming to church with us quite often. Now we live in different cities, but we still keep in touch through video chat and email. She is still in my heart.

For Prince Henry Omondi’s family, learning to keep the Word of Wisdom did not only mean learning to live without tea, coffee, alcohol and tobacco. It also meant an extra monthly expense for the family’s already tight budget.
“We really suffered temporally after my mother’s death,” says Prince. His father had to support nine children, ranging between 16 years and two months of age, on one income. During these tough times, “I had questions in my mind and I sometimes would doubt if God loved me,” he says. But when his family met the missionaries, the teachings they shared went “deep into my heart.
“As the missionaries taught us, I felt God’s love for me and felt God had a purpose for me,” he says.
Many of his family members felt the same. Except for two of Prince’s older brothers, the entire family was baptized.
Prince says that one way to know his purpose was to keep the commandments with exactness.
“One of the commandments which was new to me was the Word of Wisdom,” he said.
“Not taking alcohol, tobacco or any harmful drugs was not an issue, but tea and coffee was a challenge. I remember my Father telling the missionaries that drinking chocolate was too expensive, and we could not afford it. But the missionaries encouraged us, and my dad had the faith and courage to squeeze money to be able to buy drinking chocolate instead of tea or coffee.”
A year later, Prince was ready to serve as a full-time missionary in the Kenya Nairobi mission.
“I can say missions change lives,” he says. During the time he served, there was a lot of persecution of the Church in Kenya, with anti-Church sentiments frequently being printed as newspaper headlines.
“As I walked the streets of Nairobi, I was many times accused of joining the Church for the sake of money”. A particularly difficult confrontation with a detractor became his turning point. That evening, he says, “I realized I had to pack my bag and go home or know for myself.”
Prince received his answer.
“For the first time, like the Prophet Joseph Smith, I could say I knew it, the Lord knew it and I could not deny that I was in the true Church.”
After the completion of his mission, “life was not easy,” says Prince.
“We were still struggling as a family to put meals on the table, but that did not affect my faith in Jesus Christ.”
A former mission friend suggested that he try to move to America to study.
But in order to do that, he needed to secure a study visa. “When I went to apply for my visa the first time it was rejected because I did not have strong enough family ties to prove I would come back to Kenya after my schooling,” he says. “I was determined. I felt this was my opportunity to excel in life and somehow improve life for my family. So, I tried a second time. Again, my application was rejected.”
Undeterred, Prince decided to give it one more go.
On the way to the embassy to submit a third application, he stopped in at his older brother’s office, who had agreed to provide a bank statement to bolster his case.
His older brother asked someone to prepare a drink for Prince, and after a few minutes he was presented with a cup of tea.
“I told my brother, who was not a member, ‘you know I do not take tea.’
“He apologized and laughed and asked the lady to prepare drinking chocolate for me. I responded, ‘Do not worry, just give me the documents and I will rush to the embassy.’
“But,” says Prince, “he insisted.”
Prince waited while the hot chocolate was prepared, drank it, got the document, and left.
He was walking past the Kenya Cinema—only a few meters away from the American embassy—when he heard a blast.
That blast was the sound of gunshots.
“If I had left only three minutes earlier, I would have been caught in the middle of the August 1998 terrorist attack on the US embassy,” says Prince.
“Those extra three minutes waiting for the hot chocolate to be prepared saved my life.”
More than 200 people died in terrorist attacks in East Africa that day, “but I feel I was protected personally because I lived the Word of Wisdom,” says Prince.
“I can testify that if I had thought that drinking tea was a small commandment, I am not sure I would be alive today.”
Prince saw the very real promises contained in section 89 of the Doctrine and Covenants come into play: “And I, the Lord, give unto them a promise, that the destroying angels shall pass by them . . . and not slay them” (verse 21).
In the end, Prince never went to America. He discovered that “the Lord had great plans for me here in Kenya,” he says.
“The gospel changes lives,” Prince testifies. As the Lord’s children, all we need to do is “hear Him and do what is right.”
Prince Henry Omondi is the first counsellor in the Kenya Nairobi West Stake. He is the faculty leader in Seminaries and Institutes for the Nairobi Kenya and Kampala Uganda missions.

Brad’s leg has never been a source of embarrassment to himself or his family, so it has never been a source of embarrassment to others. There is something about Brad that makes it easier to envy him than to pity him. He was always expected to do his share of the work at home and to accomplish just as much outside the home as the other children. He was also allowed to take part in the rough and tumble play of the neighborhood boys the same as everyone else. His “handicap was simply never treated as a limiting factor.

In fact, it gave him a rather novel way of having fun. Throughout school he delighted in playing tricks on substitute teachers by such little devices as calmly turning his leg around backwards in class, or kicking it off entirely in the middle of a spirited game of playground ball. One little classmate was so impressed with the possibilities that he went home and tearfully demanded “a leg like Brad’s.”

An incident that took place one summer typifies Brad’s attitude. “I was at the swimming pool and had on my fishing leg, of course. A little boy saw it, and of course he pointed and said right out loud, ‘Look, Mommy! That guy’s leg!’ His mom was embarrassed. I walked over to her and said, ‘Don’t worry; you’ve got a good boy there; he’s observant. Don’t try to cover it up. I’m not.’”

Elder Stolt’s grandfather was Vernon Carl Poulter II, who served a three-year, Mandarin-speaking mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1957. Elder Poulter’s first assignment in the Far East Asia Mission was in Taipei, Taiwan. It had only been open to missionaries for a few months, and because none of the Church’s Latter-day revelations had been translated into Chinese yet, teaching the gospel required an extensive 17 lessons before baptism and another 20 after.
Many of Elder Poulter’s contacts showed great potential, but he was always transferred to a new area before they progressed in their conversion. After one transfer, he and his junior companion decided to put their prayers to the test. Elder Poulter suggested: “Let’s pray specifically to be led to someone prepared to hear the gospel, then stay on our bikes until we receive the Spirit’s direction.”
An hour later, at a busy intersection in congested Taipei traffic, Elder Poulter had the distinct impression to turn right. When he caught up with his companion, the impression returned—stronger this time—that they should turn around.
Elder Poulter recorded: “We plunged back into traffic, made a ‘U-Turn’ across four lanes . . . back to the intersection, and turned left through another eight lanes of traffic.”
The elders eventually found themselves on a street that was too narrow even for bicycles. “As we continued on foot, I saw a man a few feet away watching us very intently through an open window. Our eyes met and I knew he was the person to whom we had been led.”
Mr. Hu invited the missionaries in and accepted, without question, their first lesson about the need for latter-day prophets. “Since Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ and is the most important person of our time,” Mr. Hu wondered aloud, “how should I honour him?”
At his request, the missionaries returned the next day to continue teaching Mr. Hu and his family. During the lesson, Elder Poulter recalls that a ‘pure white light’ emanated through the window, but from no apparent source. He writes: “It was clear to my mind that we were in the presence of the Holy Ghost, whose radiance could actually be seen as well as felt.”
After the elders repeated the story of Joseph Smith for his wife and children, Mr. Hu bore his testimony and gave his own lesson to his family based on his reading of a pamphlet the missionaries had left him the day before. “His understanding and sincerity were most impressive,” Elder Poulter recalled. Mr. Hu closed by stating that these elders were bearers of the truth, then asked for permission to translate the pamphlet so he could share it with his friends and neighbours.
“Not knowing better, I said OK . . . we were pleased to see Mr. and Mrs. Hu with their two girls at church the next Sunday.” Then, Elder Poulter was transferred again. Prepared to leave the area, he started to pack a set of books his father had given him for the mission. Along with the standard works, they included, Articles of Faith, Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story, and James E. Talmage’s, The Great Apostasy. “I had the strong impression to take them all to Mr. Hu the next day . . . the [books] were received with joy and gratitude. That was the last I heard of the Hu family on my mission.”

When my wife, Rosana, and I married two years after my mission, we were sealed in the temple with a vision of raising our own eternal family. To do so, we worked together to create family traditions like the ones our parents had taught us, all focused on the Savior, His teachings, and the teachings of His modern-day prophets.
Today our children are raising their children with the same gospel principles of happiness. For us, family is everything because we understand the centrality of the family in God’s plan.
As a General Authority, I had the blessing of sealing my three children to their spouses in the temple. Looking into their eyes the moment they knelt at the altar in the temple was a beautiful experience. I could see my posterity being blessed by the same gospel principles my parents had taught me and that Rosana and I had taught them. I could see those blessings continuing in future generations. And I was reminded of who makes it all possible.

Illustration by Allen Garns
My father suffered all his life from low self-esteem and feelings of worthlessness. He was raised by an alcoholic father who often told him how worthless he thought he was. Thankfully, my father never became an alcoholic himself, but he never told me and my siblings that he was proud of us or praised us for things we had done well. Growing up, I tried to please him, but I always felt I couldn’t quite make the mark. This caused us to have a strained relationship.
One year, I mentioned this to my wise bishop. He counseled me to write my father a letter telling him all the reasons I was thankful for him. This would be no small feat for me. My wounds were deep, and I didn’t want my letter of gratitude to become one of resentment. So I prayed. With the Spirit guiding me, the reasons that I was grateful for my father began to flow. It took time, but when I finished, I had filled two full pages.
I delivered my letter, not knowing how my father would respond. But I knew that I didn’t get to choose his response. I just needed to look into my own heart and remember why I had written the letter.
The next morning, I received a phone call from my stepmother. She was crying. She told me my father had read the letter over and over and over. She said he couldn’t talk to me because he was crying too hard.
“Thank you!” she said. “Your father needed this.”
Later that day, my father called to thank me. He called me every day for several days to express how much the letter meant to him.
I wish I could say that our relationship was miraculously healed, but we still had much work to do. Over time, my heart began to heal, and our relationship improved. Eventually, I was able to forgive him.
A few years later, after a tremendous battle with cancer, my father died. I am sure he is now experiencing great joy as the Savior helps him heal from years of abuse. I know that I have experienced healing through the power of Jesus Christ’s Atonement. The Savior understands our needs and can help us remove the poison of hurt and resentment from our souls. I know that gratitude, forgiveness, and love are powerful cures.

Third, I will never forget my consternation as I watched the workmen using new nails as they built the walls back up and completed remodeling our home. The pile of nails that I had straightened and put in the green bucket grew and grew and was never used. I went to my father and said, “Wouldn’t it be better to save the new nails and use the ones I have straightened?” I was proud of the work I had accomplished.
My father showed me something very important. He took a new nail and, using an odd angle, drove it into a board. He was able to drive it straight and true. Then he took one of the nails I had straightened so carefully, and, using the same odd angle, hit it again and again. It soon bent and was impossible to drive into the board. So I learned that a used or bent nail is never as strong as a new one. But then why had my father asked me to straighten those nails?
As a boy, I never remembered receiving a satisfactory answer. It was not until I had a son of my own that I started to understand. When my son was about three years old, I took him out to the garden to help me weed. I assumed that he, being low to the ground at the time, would have a real advantage at weeding. Unfortunately for my garden, he had a difficult time distinguishing between the weeds and the young plants.
I then tried Lee at milking a cow we owned together with a neighbor. He quickly developed the hand action of a fine milker, but, sadly, his aim was not very good. Whenever I checked on him, he was always surrounded by a white puddle, and the milk bucket was nearly empty. He would look up at me and smile proudly, and my initial inclination to be angry would quickly dissipate—but I was frustrated. I expected him to help me, but he only seemed to create more work.
It was in such moments of frustration that I remembered straightening the nails for my father, and I began to understand. Work is something more than the final end result. It is a discipline. We must learn to do, and do well, before we can expect to receive tangible rewards for our labors. My father must have known that if he focused on the outcome of my labors, he would only become frustrated with how inadequately I did things then. So he found tasks that were difficult and would challenge me, to teach me the discipline of hard work. He was using the straightened nails not to rebuild our home but to build my character.

Years ago an elderly brother came to his bishop. For 57 years this man—active and faithful in every other way—had carried a burden of sin and guilt for a transgression committed in his youth, never quite able to confess it to his bishop.
Hearing the brother’s confession, the bishop felt a wave of compassion and love for the old gentleman—also a great sadness that this wonderful man had not received the miracle of forgiveness years ago.
“You’ve carried this terrible burden for over 50 years,” said the bishop. “When you walk out of this office, I want you to leave it behind. Tonight, for the first time in 57 years, you don’t have to carry it anymore.”
The brother was wracked with great sobs of relief and joy. “Oh, bishop,” he said, “if only I’d had the courage to confess this years ago. I’ve wasted my whole life carrying a burden the Lord didn’t want me to carry.”
As he walked out of the bishop’s office, he seemed somehow to be about six inches taller.

Whether we accept the fact or not, we are different from the world if we are living what we believe. Let me tell you about two of our missionaries.
It was the dinner hour, and it was raining without any sign of stopping. In spite of the rain, these two missionaries continued tracting. But let the father in one of these homes tell what happened that night:
“I had come home from work tired and hungry and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I might also add that I dislike ‘door knockers’ and salesmen.
“I had just sat down to my dinner when the knock on the door came. I don’t know what I expected to find at the door, but I didn’t intend to be very pleasant about the disturbances at this particular hour.
“Perhaps I was too stunned at first to be angry, but for some reason or other I did not slam the door in their faces. There in the doorway stood two young men, smiling from ear to ear and literally beaming as they told me that they had a special message for me and my family. I still don’t know what prompted me to invite them to come in, except that there was something very special about them. There was a certain quality about them that I had never experienced before.
“I can tell you that when I invited them to come into our home. I also invited the greatest blessings that have ever come into my life and the life of my family. Yes, we were all baptized into the LDS church.”

But the tests did not stop there. For the next year and a half I worked hard to prepare myself to receive the priesthood. My desire for restitution had returned in full. I was glad to be a member once again, but I longed for full fellowship. My struggle finally ended when I received a call from a General Authority asking me to bring my family and meet with him. With great anticipation, fears, and joy, my family and I drove to that memorable meeting. The children were excited because they were going to see an apostle of the Lord. I was thrilled at the thought of being able to bless the child my wife was expecting.
After a thorough and loving interview, this kind man of God asked my wife to join us, and then he placed his hands on my head and made me a whole man. He “restored me wholly as I was before with all the rights and powers of the priesthood.” My wife and I wept.
Then the Apostle turned to my wife and asked her if she would like a blessing. After she said yes, he turned to me and told me that the only way I would know that my priesthood was restored would be for me to use it. He asked me to bless my wife and offered to stand with me. During the next few minutes, I learned more about the priesthood than I could ever have learned from reading volumes of books.
The battle is not over. Some of my most severe challenges have raised their heads since that day, and many more will come, but I now can call upon the Holy Ghost to guide me.
I have been able to bless my second daughter and have exercised my priesthood in many other ways. My wife and I are now preparing for one of the most important days of our lives—the day we take our children dressed in white into the holy room of the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity.
My greatest regret is that I rejected these blessings years ago; the price I have paid to regain them has been a terrible one. I am so grateful to be back, but oh! how much wiser I would have been never to have strayed.

Sometimes the tables are reversed. A dear and cherished young friend, Wendy Bennion of Salt Lake City, was such an example. Almost seven years ago, she quietly departed mortality and returned “to that God who gave [her] life.” She had struggled for over five long years in her battle with cancer. Ever cheerful, always reaching out to help others, never losing faith, her contagious smile attracted others to her as a magnet attracts metal shavings. While ill and in pain, a friend of hers, feeling downcast with her own situation, visited Wendy. Nancy, Wendy’s mother, knowing Wendy was in extreme pain, felt that perhaps the friend had stayed too long. She asked Wendy, after the friend had left, why she had allowed her to stay so long when she herself was in so much pain. Wendy’s response: “What I was doing for my friend was a lot more important than the pain I was having. If I can help her, then the pain is worth it.”

One day, I was playing at a friend’s house. He took me to the next-door neighbor’s, and we destroyed some of his flowers.
The next day, my mom found out from the neighbor, an elderly man who lives alone after his wife died, what we had done. She told us that it was very wrong to do that. She told me that I had to make things better. She called it repentance.
She helped me write a letter to the man, apologizing for destroying his flowers. We also made him some banana bread. Then she told me that I had to take it to him. I was very scared, so my mom came with me.
When the man answered the door, I said that I was sorry and gave him the letter and banana bread. He was very surprised and happy that I had come. I felt very good after that.
My mom taught me a good lesson about how I must repent, no matter how hard it is, when I do something wrong.
Kye Heimonen, age 5Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, Canada

A young boy and his parents are on the Brooklyn with other Latter-day Saints going to California in 1846. First a raging storm, the worst the captain had ever experienced, then the Doldrums, a part of the ocean so calm that the ship was motionless under a blazing sun, threatened their lives. Finally a wind came up and blew them toward Cape Horn, expected to be the most dangerous part of their journey.
Since leaving New York, we voyagers aboard the Brooklyn had seen nothing but ocean and sky day after day, week after week, month after month.
We were running out of food, and what we had was stale and wormy. We had to inspect every bite we ate for cooked or crawling insects or larvae. Rats multiplied faster than the cats could catch them. They nibbled away at the little food we had. Cockroaches and weevils devoured more of it.
The drinking water tasted terrible and was full of stringy slime. Each person was allowed only two cups a day.
As the calendar flipped from April to May, the Brooklyn came closer and closer to Cape Horn. In the Southern Hemisphere, it was nearly winter, the season of the most hazardous weather. Could the ship successfully round the corner and head north into the “peaceful Pacific”? Or would it be dashed to pieces and buried forever in the “graveyard of the oceans”? I wondered and worried.
The days were getting shorter and shorter. We hardly saw the sun at all and never got a glimpse of land.
Finally a wind came along from the east that carried the ship far enough west to clear the Cape. The date was May 4, 1846, exactly three months after the voyage began.
Everyone rejoiced that the most dangerous part of the trip had been so easy. Children romped and played on the deck, and the women celebrated by making bread, pies, cakes, and doughnuts. They weren’t worried about using up the last of the flour and sugar—we planned to stop in Valparaiso, Chile, to get more supplies. It couldn’t happen too soon to suit me!
The Brooklyn moved north, parallel to the coast of Chile. Still no land was visible, and one man wondered aloud if the captain really knew where we were. To prove that he did, he maneuvered the ship closer to the coast and pointed to a peak barely visible in the distance. He said it was Aconcagua, the highest mountain in the Andes and not far from our landing place.
At last, after more than three months, we had actually seen some land. What a welcome sight! How I longed to step on solid ground again. I watched eagerly as we moved closer and closer to the steep mountain range and the city below.
But we never reached Valparaiso!
As we neared the port, the temperature suddenly dropped and a frigid wind whipped the sails. A raging gale blew us back toward the cape—so far south that we could see icebergs! Seamen fought for control of the ship as the fierce storm continued. Ice froze on the sails and the rigging. The masts were almost impossible to manage. A sailor was washed overboard and nearly drowned before he was rescued. Passengers were hatched below again.
Captain Richardson tried several times to land on the west coast of Chile. After three difficult days, he gave up going to Valparaiso and headed for some islands 360 miles out in the Pacific.
“The Juan Fernández islands,” Papa said. “One of them is called Robinson Crusoe’s island.”
“You mean the place where he was shipwrecked and lived all alone until he found his man Friday?”
“Well, that was a make-believe place, just as Robinson Crusoe was an imaginary man. The Juan Fernández are real islands where a real sailor, Alexander Selkirk, was put ashore after he had an argument with the captain of his ship. He lived alone for four years, waiting to be rescued. His experiences there gave Daniel Defoe the idea for his book.”
It might not have been Robinson Crusoe’s island, but a real island where an actual man was marooned sounded like an exciting place to visit!
The first thing we saw as we approached was a tall, green hump on the horizon. What a pleasant sight to see a color we’d almost forgotten. As we came closer, we could see rocky mountains covered with heavy forests. Wispy clouds wound around the tops of the peaks like ladies’ scarves blowing in the wind.
As we neared the shore, we had a closer view of the beautiful island. It looked like the Garden of Eden to me! All kinds of trees, shrubbery, ferns, and flowers were growing everywhere. Ripe fruit hung on some of the trees—peaches! How my mouth watered! Several natives stood on the beach, waving a welcome as we approached.
Even though we didn’t understand their words, their actions made it clear that we were welcome to anything we needed. Fruits and vegetables grew everywhere. We filled up on peaches, figs, and potatoes. The ocean and streams teemed with fish. Great spotted eels were caught and cooked. Some people refused to eat them because they looked too much like snakes. They didn’t go hungry, though. Goats, hares, and pigs provided other kinds of meat.
We splashed and bathed in the fresh water. Papa fished and gathered firewood; Mama washed the clothes and hung them on the bushes to dry. My friends and I rambled around the island, exploring tunnels and caves in the porous rock.
After five wonderful days, the Saints helped the crew load the Brooklyn with vegetables, fruit, meat, freshly salted fish, 18,000 gallons of fresh water, and plenty of firewood for cooking.
As we sailed away, Papa remarked, “God works in mysterious ways.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He knew that we didn’t have enough money to buy the supplies we needed in Valparaiso, so He sent a storm to keep us from landing. Then He led us to this beautiful island where we could get food, water, and fuel at no cost.”
“It’s strange,” I said, “that something that seems terrible at the time can turn out to be a good thing.”
“That’s quite often the case,” Papa assured me.
When we left the Juan Fernández islands on May 9, I wondered what other surprises the “peaceful Pacific” might have in store for us.

A spiritual highlight of Elder and Sister Kearon’s Cebu sojourn was when the couple climbed up a mountain to visit the Secuya family of Busay 2nd Ward, Cebu Stake. From their highland farm, the Secuyas traverse through rocky paths and streams just to reach public transportation that will take them to Church every Sunday.

“We were so happy to see Elder Kearon, he reminded us of Jesus Christ and His love,” said Mitzi Secuya, who with her family heartily welcomed the apostle and his wife. As the Kearons ministered to the family, son Ryle felt strengthened in his commitment to stay active: “We will continue to go to Church, for we know that the Lord loves us.”

“This is a beautiful memory we will have forever,” Elder Kearon imparted to the family at the conclusion of the visit. “You are beautiful, each of you,” Sister Kearon lovingly reassured the Secuya children, who had faced bullying for their situation.

With so much to see and do at The Ranch, it’s hard to say what was the most memorable part of this youth conference. Perhaps it was Thursday evening’s spiritual activity. It began with an invitation after dinner to take a hayride to a meadow for homemade peach cobbler and whipped cream. It was a perfect day: billowy clouds in a beautiful blue sky. When the young men and women arrived at the meadow, they enjoyed running around in the knee-high grass. And the tall pine trees on the hills that circled the meadow were surpassed only by the spirit of togetherness shared by the youth and adult leaders. When they finished eating, everyone sang songs. Suddenly, three men dressed in white came walking down the hill. As previously planned by the adults, but unknown to the youth, these three men represented the Three Nephites (see 3 Ne. 28).

“It was breathtaking, watching those white figures walk down from the hill,” said Sharon Frazier. “At first, we were all quiet, not knowing what to think. And then we started to sing, ‘I am a Child of God’ as they came closer. They told us that we are a choice generation, and very special spirits reserved especially for this time period.”

The youth were split up in groups, each accompanied by one of the three guests. Each group discussed a beatitude from the Sermon on the Mount (see Matt. 5), then discussed a particular question. One of the questions was, “If you could change something, what would it be?” Norma Nerdin, 15, said, “I’m going to make my Church habits more steady. You know, things like prayer and scripture study. And I need to talk about my problems more. Everybody has difficulties. It’s important that we let others know when we are having a hard time.” Norma said that it was a moment she would remember forever.

Heather Baxter, 16, was in another group. Her question was, “What would make you happy?” “I would want to have a pure testimony,” she said. “If someone asked me if I knew the Church was true, I would be able to know for sure and answer them without having any doubts.

And that’s what it was all about at The Ranch: doing rather than just talking. The results were service rendered and lots of smiles, and a feeling that the high point of Idaho is really at a small ranch outside of Freedom.

Unfortunately, all such carefree adventures soon came to an end when our paying passengers arrived from the United States for the scheduled raft trip. We had to disappoint them because a serious drought had made the raft expedition impossible. Instead, we decided to motor up the Cuyuni (Ku-you-knee) and Chicunan (chee-kuu-non) rivers in a 30-foot dugout canoe, hike over a mountain range, and then float down the Carrao River past Angel Falls, the highest falls in the world.
As we motored up into the jungle, dragging the heavy canoe bodily upstream over rocky rapids, I prayed for protection from rocks, electric eels, and piranhas. The river got lower and lower. Soon we had to get out and push, pull, and dig for clearance in the sand as we waded through the dark, infested waters from deep pool to deep pool. The going was so slow that we began to wonder if we would make it. The scenery, however, was beautiful, and we saw an incredible array of wildlife—everything from capuchino monkeys to caimens (a kind of crocodile) to orange-breasted falcons to giant click beetles—and a whole army of other jungle citizens of the feathered, furry, and scaly kinds.
All the hard going put us two days behind schedule. Worse, in the process of pulling, pushing, and straining the canoe up the almost dry river, I tore a major muscle in my back. The pain was almost unbearable. We finally made it to the crossing, a mountain range covered with jungle. Everyone had his own load to carry, so I had to carry my own 80- to 90-pound load. I couldn’t take any pain killers or I could never have gotten over the range. So I hung in the back of the group and cried with pain the first day. The next morning I got up earlier than anyone else and had Terry help me on with my pack. All alone I marched up the small creek bed we were using as a trail. The pain was the worst I’ve ever experienced. I sang hymns to myself and prayed the whole way up. I was in such pain that I couldn’t stop to take my pack off or bend over or anything. So I trudged on. Shortly my prayers were answered. My back became numb. My leg stopped bleeding, and before I knew it I was over the mountain, lying on the river beach. I know that my Heavenly Father eased the pain and lifted me with energy to march up over that hot, steep, 2,000-foot mountain with seeming ease and comfort. The rest of the trip the passengers, all non-Mormon, called me Moses as I hobbled around with the help of a large wooden staff. They asked why I didn’t drink coffee or rum, and that gave me a chance to tell them about the Church.

About this time, President Joseph F. Smith and his counselors in the First Presidency suggested to members of the Church that they hold a family home evening once each week. Accordingly, my father would gather us around a little table after supper to read the Book of Mormon. We read it from cover to cover that year. Because Mother had taught me to read, I was privileged to take my turn in reading aloud. What excitement I experienced as we approached the Third book of Nephi and the coming of the Savior! With feelings of sadness we continued through the books of Mormon, Ether, and Moroni. These feelings were strongly reinforced by my father.

Father told me the story of Grandfather Durham, who had been inspired to compose a melody called “The Nephite Lamentation.” Thomas Durham had been promised in a patriarchal blessing that he would hear music as it was sung in the heavens. My father related how one night my grandfather had a dream. In it he saw twenty-four men by a stream. They looked very sad. Their leader arose and addressed them. Then he heard a melody played on what sounded like a trumpet. The impression came to him that it was a dream concerning Moroni and the last twenty-four Nephites. He awoke. In the late hours of the night he went to his little organ and played the tune he had heard and wrote it down. Later, a choir in the Parowan Ward in southern Utah sang the tune to the words of “O My Father.” It was published in modified form in the old Primary songbook as arranged by Henry E. Giles.

Hearing this music and reading the Book of Mormon in these early years with my parents made a forceful impression upon my mind as to the reality and truth of the Book of Mormon.

I hope that each of you will watch and listen carefully to what your parents say and do. I pray they will teach you well. I also hope that the music you hear in your home will be uplifting and inspiring, because we believe that “if there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” (A of F 1:13.) The place to begin with good things is at home with your family.

Finally, let us all remember the commandment: “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” (Ex. 20:12.)

My newfound computing skills proved critical for the next leg of my career. In the early 1990s, I set up another first computer lab, this time at Aorere College in Papatoetoe, Auckland, New Zealand. My husband and I then spent our final working years running a small, Samoan-language newspaper in Auckland, where my job was to type up and lay out our publication for printing. Everything I did was on the computer, and every task relied on my ability to type.

I may be small, but Mommy says that I’m a big help. I help her every day.
Sometimes I help her with the dishes. She gives them to me, and I put them in the cupboard. One day while we were doing the dishes, Mommy said, “Samuel, a new baby is coming to live in our house. You will have a new sister or brother.”
I looked at the cupboard. It was full of dishes. I said, “We can’t have a new baby. There’s no room for baby dishes.”
Mommy laughed. “We’ll find room,” she said.
Sometimes I help Mommy clean our three bedrooms. One is for her and Daddy. One is for Peter and Daniel. One is for Dawn and me. One day while we were cleaning the bedrooms, I said, “We can’t have a new baby. There’s no room for a baby bed.”
Mommy ruffled my hair. “We’ll find room,” she said.
Sometimes I help Mommy set the table. I set placemats and cups. Mommy sets the rest. We have six placemats and six chairs. One day while we were setting the table, I said, “We can’t have a new baby. There’s no room for a baby chair.”
Mommy gave me a hug. “We’ll find room,” she said.
On Sunday we go to church. I put on my pants and shoes. Daddy ties my shoes and buttons my shirt. We all get into the car and drive to church. Mommy and Daddy and I sit in the front seat. Dawn and Peter and Daniel sit in the backseat. One Sunday while we were driving to church, I said, “We can’t have another baby. There’s no room for a baby seat.”
Mommy put her arm around me. “We’ll find room,” she said.
At church I sit on Daddy’s lap. I try to be quiet. I fold my arms at prayer time and during the sacrament. Then I watch the people.
One Sunday while I was sitting on Daddy’s lap at church, I looked around the chapel. It was full of people. I whispered, “We can’t have a new baby. There’s no room in the chapel.”
Daddy smiled and whispered back, “Don’t worry, Samuel. We’ll find room.”
Yesterday the new baby came. She’s a girl. She’s tiny and not very pretty, and she cries. Mommy put her on my lap. She grabbed my finger and held on tight. I’m her big brother. Mommy looked at me and said, “Samuel, this is Eleanor. She has come to live in our family.”
“I know,” I said. “We’ll find room.”