Gospel Story Finder

We have found Shulin’s family on both the 1910 and 1920 censuses. In 1910, Schaindle and Morris and their two children were living with Shulin and Pesse in a group of 13 people in a Yiddish neighborhood in Chicago. The census records that Shulin was a peddler, and his product was listed as “rags.” He and Pesse spoke only Yiddish. He could read and write, but Pesse could not.

Two of the older children, Max and Ida, were listed as working in a tailor shop. Max could neither read nor write, but Ida could. They all labored to support the extended family. Ten years later, on January 7, 1920, the family was enumerated on the next census. The household had shrunk to nine. Max was dead, having never married. He died in 1919 at age 24 or 25. Golda and her husband were living with Shulin and Pesse. They had a two-month-old baby named Max.

As I studied the census record, I pieced together a probable story. I suspect that Max probably died in the influenza epidemic that ravaged America from 1918 to 1919. Living in close quarters spread the disease quickly. I imagine how many other members of the family were fevered and near death. I imagine Golda, pregnant and cramped in a small tenement, fearful for her coming baby and for her family. In January 1920 the baby was two months old, and they named him Max. It is typical of Yiddish families to name children after a dead relative who was beloved. Mordche, called Max, was the big brother, the 10-year-old helper from across the ocean, the presser in a tailor shop who never married whose wages were contributed to supplement the earnings of a father who spoke only Yiddish and peddled rags for a living. Mordche, who never learned to read or write, who never enjoyed the blessings of education but who cared for the family, had died in 1919, and Golda, six years younger, delivered her baby safely and named him Max as a memorial to her beloved older brother who had sacrificed so much to care for his father’s family.

Schaindle and Mordche sacrificed for the sake of liberty. Look at how far-reaching have been the benefits of their sacrifices. For example, while my ancestors toiled under very limited education, I have been blessed by their sacrifices and have received an excellent education and serve as a faculty member at a precious university. I am grateful.

My best friend Brad had just found out that his parents were getting a divorce, and we had spent the last several hours talking about the problems he was facing.
Then I looked at my watch. It was past 1:00 A.M. “Oh no,” I said, “I was supposed to be home long ago. My dad’s going to be angry with me.” I wished Brad luck in the coming days, said good-bye, and ran home.
The front porch light was still on—a bad sign. It meant Dad was waiting for me.
I opened the front door cautiously and stepped inside.
“Do you know what time it is?” he shouted. “It’s after one o’clock. Didn’t I tell you to be home earlier than this?”
“Yes, but …”
“There are no ‘buts’ about it. I’ve told you before about coming home late.” He shook with anger. “You won’t be going out visiting your friends again for a long time, young man.”
I felt like I was being convicted without a trial. I didn’t like it. “That’s not fair. At least give me a chance to explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” he said. “You’re late. That’s all there is to it. Now get to bed.”
“Dad,” I argued, “that’s not fair.”
Our conversation got worse from there as Dad and I argued and made accusations against each other. He never listened, I said. I had no respect, he said.
By the time I finally did go to bed, I was too upset to sleep. I was worried about Brad, and I was frustrated that I couldn’t talk to my dad about Brad’s problems. I wished things were different, that I could have come home and told him about Brad’s parents. But instead of talking, we only argued about my coming home late—for the hundredth time it seemed.
I really wanted to be able to communicate with my dad, and sometimes I sensed that he felt the same way, but for some reason, we were never able to get together.
I wish now that I had handled that incident with my dad regarding my being out late a little differently. He was so angry at the time that it would have been useless for me to argue with him that night. But I could have approached him later, when we were both feeling less emotional, and tried to explain my feelings to him.

One evening after the United States Navy destroyer on which I served left Pearl Harbor for the North Pacific, I was the officer of the watch for the night shift. I retired to my bunk after supper to get some sleep before going on duty. I felt the roll of the ship as I was dropping off to sleep. Later when I relieved the watch, the roll was more pronounced, and as I stepped out into the blackness of the open bridge, I felt the bite of the wind.
During the winter the North Pacific can be quite rough, and that night the waves were large enough that the wind was starting to catch their crests and cause a white streaking of foam.
“I am ready to relieve you, sir,” I said.
The officer on duty’s face reflected the soft glow of the compass, and he reported the ship’s course and speed. He added that the captain had turned in for the evening, then said, “The barometer has dropped three-hundredths in the past hour.” This meant stormy weather.
“Does the captain know this?” I asked.
“Yes, but he did not leave any special orders.”
He closed the door to the pilothouse behind him, and I found myself alone looking out at a menacing sea.
When ships encounter heavy weather, officers are to keep the ship’s bow heading into the wind with just enough speed to maintain steering. If waves strike the ship broadside, heavy rolling occurs, which can cause injury to the crew or even capsize the ship.
After an hour the waves had become mountainous. The wind was howling, and sheets of water were being blown through the air from huge cresting waves. The ship would climb the front side of the approaching wave, reach the crest, hang momentarily, then glide swiftly down the back side of the wave, plunging into the trough and resurfacing with water running over the deck, all the while pitching and shuddering. To steady the ship I had to reduce speed.
As the storm increased, I learned that the barometer had dropped another five-hundredths. I called the captain to report the worsening conditions. He simply replied, “Very well,” and hung up.
Soon the helmsman called out to me, “I am having trouble, sir. She is falling off to starboard!” I quickly checked the compass and discovered that the bow was inching toward the trough. If that continued, we could end up in a dangerous position broadside to the waves. I ordered the helmsman to make the necessary adjustment, but before long the needle started drifting back. The helmsman tried to correct the drift again, but the ship was slow to respond.
Conditions were worsening. The wind was now shrieking at about 100 miles (160 km) per hour, the waves were 50 feet (15 m) high, and the ship’s bow kept moving toward the trough. Fear rose inside me because I knew if one of these waves hit us broadside, the ship could quite possibly capsize. I called the captain, who was awake because the violent motion of the ship made it impossible to sleep. He was worried too. He did not have any advice but told me to do the best I could.
The helmsman informed me with a frightened voice that he had done all he could, but the bow was still drifting to starboard. I was utterly desperate and fear was turning to panic as I continued my frantic mental search for a solution. The most nightmarish thoughts flooded my mind. I felt helpless and entirely humbled.
In my childlike state, I cried out to the only one who could help me—my Heavenly Father. The answer to my impassioned plea was immediate and clear. A voice in my mind said, “Use your engines. Use your engines in opposition.” I instantly understood.
I ordered, “Starboard engine ahead two-thirds. Port engine ahead one-third.” Slowly the ship’s bow responded by moving out of the impending trough. As the ship headed back into the waves, a great feeling of gratitude engulfed me. The storm continued, but I was able to maintain the ship’s direction by adding to one engine and subtracting from the other.
A skeptic might say the solution was in my mind all the time, but I know better. It came in answer to prayer.

As a boy and a young man, I prepared to serve a full-time proselytizing mission for the Church. Like Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled us, I wanted to be a missionary, not just to go on a mission. But because of my medical challenges, the Missionary Department informed me that it was not in my best interest to face the stress of a full-time mission. Although it would have been easy to become bitter, I had prepared to serve my Savior, and I was prepared to accept His will for me.
What happened to me is called being honorably excused. That means that Church leaders saw my worthiness and my desire to serve but encouraged me to serve in other ways. Like many others who cannot serve a full-time mission, I felt prompted to do more than just “get on with my life.” I wanted to serve, so I did—as a local Church-service missionary. With help from my bishop and stake president, I found a way to serve the Lord while living at home.
There was a need at the Church’s Audiovisual Department, and since I live near the Church Office Building in Salt Lake City, I could help. My stake president extended a call, set me apart, and developed special rules for me during my year of service. Though the rules seemed strict to me, I learned that I was blessed when I followed them. While other service missionaries with different stake presidents may have different rules, these were the ones I followed:
Stick to a daily schedule: arise at 6:30 a.m.; study the scriptures and Preach My Gospel for two hours each day; exercise for 30 minutes each day; go to bed at 10:30 p.m.
Follow the Church’s dress code.
Listen to classical or Church music only.
Limit computer use to e-mail; limited television viewing; no video games.
Participate only in group activities—no dating.
Have monthly interviews with my bishop.
Sometimes when I was down in a crawl space under a building in 100-degree heat (38ºC) winding up cable all day, I found myself wondering what it had to do with bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of man (see Moses 1:39). Was I really part of the team sharing the gospel around the world? I knew that Mosiah 2:17 says that when we are in the service of our fellow beings we are in the service of God, but it took me a while to believe that was true.
I learned that just like a proselytizing mission, a service mission isn’t about you. It is about learning to do what the Lord needs done. During my service, I helped set up and take down lights, run sound for meetings, and transport equipment. It was hard, dirty work, and I will never take general conference for granted. In fact, now when I watch any broadcast, my whole body aches because I know the intense work involved.
During my Church-service mission, I learned the importance of punctuality, responsibility, doing the job right, and giving my best effort. While my parents had tried to teach me these things, I didn’t understand until I saw how wasting time and effort can directly affect the work of others. Before my mission, it was easy to focus on just having fun. But once you are on your mission, you realize it will not be fun to be the companion who doesn’t know how to work. Part of preparing to serve is learning how to work.
I also learned to appreciate those who work behind the scenes. I saw how hard Church leaders work without drawing attention to themselves or expecting special treatment. I saw others serving who had greater challenges than I did, teaching me that everyone can serve in some way.
I realized that I have been blessed with strengths and abilities and that through hard work I could do more than I had been doing. I learned that as I respect other people, I like myself better. It’s easy to get in the habit of looking down on people in order to try to feel better about ourselves. But respect works both ways, and those who represent Jesus Christ must be respectful.
The most important lesson I learned, however, was that the Lord will help you do difficult things. It was hard to stay home, hard to do menial chores, hard not to be the center of attention, hard to obey mission rules, and hard to hear people tell me I wasn’t on a “real” mission. But the Lord helped me. I know He will help you do the things you need to do to be happy, to feel good about yourself, to grow, and to be a better person. Get down on your knees, bow your head, and be honest with yourself as you pray. Then get ready to serve wherever and whenever you are called.

When I was 10, I was introduced to the gospel by my friend Stephen Bulleigh when we played together on the same little league baseball team. My parents were divorced, and my kind and wonderful mother was left to raise three children. Realizing the need for male role models in my life, my mother insisted that I participate in sports. There I made friends and grew particularly close to an LDS family, the Bulleighs.
I sometimes spent the night at my friend’s house. There I met Stephen’s family: his father, Roger; mother, Juli; and their eight other children. I saw the happiness and love that they had, and I wanted the same in my own life.
I was raised in a nondenominational church and learned a lot of misinformation about the LDS Church. Believing what I was told, I was convinced that Latter-day Saints were wrong. I often told my school buddies that they shouldn’t listen to the Mormons. I even convinced some of my friends who had an interest in the Church not to listen. I spent six years of my life as an enemy to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I often had the opportunity to discuss religion with the Bulleighs. From them, I learned that Mormons believe in Christ. Point by point, and precept by precept, I began to see that the teachings of the gospel made sense. How could God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit be the same person? Are we saved by faith alone or is there more? What must I do to live with God? Questions such as these and many more began to prick at my heart as I considered the things the Bulleigh family taught me.
My LDS friends invited me, at age 16, to attend a youth conference held at a Church-owned ranch in northern Oklahoma. The Church leaders asked all the youth to read 3 Nephi in preparation for the youth conference. I decided I would read it. I remember reading the last page of 3 Nephi and then going to the Bible to read. I picked up where I had left off in Acts 9. I remember the words of the Savior as he chastised Paul (Saul). “Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? And he said, who art thou, Lord? And the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks” (Acts 9:4–5).
I had persecuted the Lord as Paul had. I had kicked against the pricks of the Holy Spirit for nearly seven years. I decided at that moment that I would join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I went to the youth conference. Near the end, a time was allotted for testimonies. I stood in front of more than 1,000 people and bore testimony of this gospel and of this Church. In front of the very people whom I had persecuted for nearly seven years, I expressed my desire to join the Church.
I returned from youth conference and informed my mother (who by this time had remarried) and my stepfather of my desire to be baptized. They did not like the idea and grounded me indefinitely. The tables were turned, and I spent the next two years of my life being the one persecuted. For two years I was not allowed to date any LDS girls, go to Church activities, or even have a Book of Mormon in my possession. I tried to share the beauty of the Book of Mormon with my mother and stepfather, but my stepfather threw it across the room and demanded I return it immediately.
With tears in my eyes I rang the doorbell of the Bulleigh home. Joel, one of their sons, answered, and I returned the borrowed Book of Mormon he had given me. Would my testimony of the Book of Mormon be strong enough to support me until I turned 18 and could join the Church? Sure it was.
At 8:00 A.M. on my 18th birthday, my mother and stepfather asked me to leave their home, and I joined the Church one week later. I moved in with the Bulleigh family and used the $9,000 I had saved by working between the ages of 16 and 18 to support myself until I graduated from high school seven months later. I read the entire Book of Mormon after being baptized and learned of a prophet named Alma who had also persecuted the Church of God. He spent the rest of his life preaching the gospel to amend for his past transgressions. I decided also to serve a mission.
After graduating from high school, I continued to work and save money so I could pay for my mission. I recently finished serving in the Bolivia Cochabamba Mission. Choosing to be a missionary cost me my family, my home, and a lot of money.
I am thankful that at the age of 10, God sent a Latter-day Saint to play baseball on my team. That event has changed my life forever and enabled me to help change the lives of many others with whom I labored on my mission.

“Sometimes you have to find peace within yourself,” said Rieko Ishikawa, 18, of the Tokyo Eighth Ward. “I live in downtown Tokyo. Whenever I go to stations or anywhere in the heart of the city, I find it very noisy. But where I live, we are close to the high buildings, so it is relatively quiet. You learn to enjoy the parks. You learn to enjoy friendly people. And with the gospel you know that you always have something good to share.
“For example, at school I know my friends would love the Church if they only understood it. So when we had a play at the ward, I took flyers and handed them out to my friends. They wanted to know where to come to see the plays. So I got to tell them where our chapel is, and that let me tell them a little about the Church.
“When I meet others at church, I find so many fine brothers and sisters, including our bishop, who show their love toward people around them. I am really happy to be among such exemplary people.”

“One woman wanted more than anything else to marry a righteous priesthood holder in the temple and be a mother and a wife. She had dreamed about this all her life, and oh, what a wonderful mother and loving wife she would be. Her home would be filled with loving-kindness. Never a bitter word would be spoken. The food would never burn. And her children, instead of hanging out with their friends, would prefer to spend their evenings and weekends with Mom and Dad.
“This was her golden ticket. It was the one thing upon which she felt her whole existence depended. It was the one thing in all the world for which she most desperately yearned.
“But it never happened. And, as the years went on, she became more and more withdrawn, bitter, and even angry. She could not understand why God would not grant her this righteous desire.
“She worked as an elementary school teacher, and being around children all day long simply reminded her that her golden ticket had never appeared. As the years passed she became more disappointed and withdrawn. People didn’t like being around her and avoided her whenever they could. She even took her frustration out on the children at school. …
“The tragedy of this story is that this dear woman, in all her disappointment about her golden ticket, failed to notice the blessings she did have. She did not have children in her home, but she was surrounded by them in her classroom. She was not blessed with a family, but the Lord had given her an opportunity few people have—the chance to influence for good the lives of hundreds of children and families as a teacher.
“The lesson here is that if we spend our days waiting for fabulous roses, we could miss the beauty and wonder of the tiny forget-me-nots that are all around us.”

Our camp near the ice caves at Banff, Alberta, was the scene of my first effort at getting along with guys who couldn’t cook, who argued over who got to light the fire, and who complained more than I did after a long hike. It wasn’t quite like home, but we set up camp and decided on rules to make things run smoothly.
The first night my feet were freezing, and I wanted to climb into my sleeping bag to warm up and go to sleep. I learned a lesson when the patrol leader suggested that a better way would be to do what the group wanted and warm my feet by sitting near the fire for a while instead of going to bed. Another time a fellow hurt his ankle. This meant he had to be carried down to camp. Some of the boys had to stay with him until everyone else finished exploring the caves. We solved the problem of who was to stay, and other similar problems that came up, by the discussion/vote method. “Choose a number from one to one hundred,” the patrol leader would say, and then if you chose the wrong number, you smiled, stayed, and cleaned camp or buried garbage.
Scout camps help fellows become real friends. We learned to help each other, to serve, to give in sometimes, and to abide by the rules of the camp for the benefit of all. If casual friends can get along and have a great time living together by the common consent method, I guess real families ought to be able to, too.

This story happened in the USA.
“Hey, come watch this,” Darren said to Henry. “It’s hilarious!”
Henry’s stomach sank. Not another video.
He sat next to Darren and Drake on the couch. They laughed at the video, but Henry wanted to shrink into the cushions so he couldn’t hear the bad words.
As soon as the video ended, Henry jumped up. “Let’s go outside and ride bikes.”
“Later,” Drake said. Darren kept scrolling on his phone.
Henry sighed and sat back down as Darren pushed play.
When Henry biked home later, he thought about all the other times he felt uncomfortable with Darren and Drake. Like when they told mean jokes at school. Or stole apples from Mr. Garcia’s tree.
Maybe I should talk to Mom, Henry thought. But what if she said he couldn’t hang out with Darren and Drake anymore? Then he’d be alone. Again.
Mom was setting the table when Henry walked inside. “Hey, how was your day?” she asked.
Henry shrugged. They sat down for dinner, and Mom said a prayer. Henry stirred his soup without eating a bite.
“Did something happen at Darren’s house today?” Mom asked.
Henry felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t want to tell her everything about Darren and Drake. But maybe he’d tell her a little. “All we do is watch videos. I want to ride bikes, but Darren and Drake always say no.”
“Is anything wrong with the videos?” she asked.
Henry’s heart raced. Should he tell her? He couldn’t say anything about the bad words. He couldn’t be alone again. “I don’t feel like talking right now.”
Mom took a deep breath. “I know that moving here has been hard. You were so happy when you became friends with Darren and Drake. But I hope they never pressure you to do or watch something bad. True friends help you do what’s right.”
Henry looked down. “Darren and Drake are my true friends.”
“Well, if they are, they’ll respect your decisions. Even when you say no.”
At Darren’s house the next day, the words “true friends” stuck in Henry’s mind.
“Check out this new video,” Darren said.
“No,” Henry said.
Darren and Drake stared at him.
“I’m not watching anymore,” he said, a little louder this time. “I don’t like how they make me feel.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Drake said.
Darren and Drake laughed. They started teasing Henry about how his face always got red when they showed him videos or when they told jokes at school.
Is this what true friends would do? Henry thought.
He stood up from the couch. “I’m riding my bike. You guys can come if you want.”
“Nope,” Darren said. “We’re staying here.”
Henry walked outside alone. As soon as the door shut behind him, he realized the sick feeling in his stomach was gone. He felt light and calm instead.
Then he realized something else. He wasn’t alone. The Holy Ghost was with him. Henry was still sad about Darren and Drake. But the Holy Ghost was telling him he made the right choice. Smiling, he got on his bike and rode for home.
Illustrations by Matt Smith

Of course, informal, friendly visits are often the most effective. “Three Sundays ago, my wife and I visited a family,” says Milton F. Marin president of the San Jose Costa Rica Stake. “‘I’ve known you for years,’ I said. ‘You’re special to me. I want you to return, and the Lord wants you to return. He loves you.’ I challenged them to come the next Sunday. They did, and have come every Sunday since. They’re coming to our home for a picnic!”

I would like to introduce you to a friend of mine named Ekaette, my neighbor for two and a half years. She lives in a tropical rain forest in Nigeria, the most densely populated country in Africa. During the rainy season, Ekaette’s home is surrounded by lush green undergrowth. Palm trees decorate the horizons, and the sun shining through the clouds creates gorgeous sunsets. During the hot, dry season, winds from the Sahara desert bring a haze of fine dust that filters the harsh rays of the sun.
Ekaette is two years older than I. She was a young schoolgirl when her marriage to Akpan, ten years her senior, was arranged. Their first child was born when Ekaette was only fourteen or fifteen years old. Ekaette has had eight children. Five have survived. Her family joined the Church a few years ago.
Akpan is unemployed, but he works at miscellaneous jobs and repairs things for other people. He is a proud and industrious man, a good husband and father.
Ekaette has a nice home made of reddish clay packed between bamboo poles. A thatch roof protects her family from the heavy tropical storms. Inside, the home has a hardpacked earth floor and is divided into four rooms. A covered cooking area is separate from the house.
As with many other places in the world, there is no electricity in Ekaette’s area of the country. Ekaette cooks over a fire, washes clothes in the stream, and irons them with an iron filled with hot coals.
Ekaette’s day begins very early. She and her children must carry all the water they will need for the day from a stream not far from their home. Several times a week they must make a trip into the forest to cut the firewood they need. They carry the wood home in bundles on their heads.
Most of the food for Ekaette’s family comes from several small farm plots outside their village. Ekaette grows cassava, yams, bananas, plantain, pineapple, hot red peppers, and several kinds of greens used in different soups.
Ekaette and her family are happy. They have a good life.
I met Ekaette while I was directing a village health program for the Thrasher Research Fund, which sponsors research projects on child health in third-world countries. My colleagues and I organized health classes and trained volunteer teachers in dozens of villages to teach basic health principles like nutrition, sanitation, personal hygiene, and home health care. The teachers then taught similar classes in their own language in homes, schools, churches, and village council halls.
I remember one hot, sultry evening sitting under a generator-operated ceiling fan looking through some of the latest editions of a newspaper which I had just received. I paused at a page filled with suggestions of practical things to do in our homes to save money. Ideas included turning off lights and water when they are not being used, buying food in bulk and then freezing it in small containers, using cloth diapers instead of disposable ones, sending letters to cut down on long-distance telephone bills, and not shopping for food when you are hungry. These suggestions are certainly practical, but they belonged in a world other than the one I was in at the time.
But in spite of the differences between my world and Ekaette’s, there was something that united us: the gospel of Jesus Christ—Christianity.
Christianity is absolute. It should not be affected by our environment or circumstances, even though they determine how we practice our beliefs. Christianity should not be affected by skin color or race, by how we earn a living, or by what we buy at the market. It should not be determined by climate or geographical location.
I returned from Africa with a simpler definition of Christianity than I once had. To me, Christianity is love, or charity—the highest, noblest, strongest kind of love—the pure love of Christ. It may prompt alms or benevolent deeds, but it is not the same thing as charitable works.
In other words, Christianity is not so much what I do, but how I love; it’s the process of learning to love as Christ loves. Churches are institutions where we can learn about Christ and practice being Christians. But attending church will not make me a Christian any more than sitting in a library will make me a scholar. It simply gives me the means and opportunity of learning to become a Christian. Christianity teaches me about my relationship to God and to those around me. Understanding that relationship helps my heart change, increasing my capacity to love.
Principles such as love, sacrifice, faith, repentance, self-reliance, and consecration are universal. Working in Africa taught me how much more important principles like these are than programs. The Western world provides many programs for third-world countries. Schools are built, clinics are established, medicine is dispensed, tractors are imported, and food is distributed. The programs help meet immediate needs, but often, the principles behind the practices are overlooked. I don’t think I could do much good for Ekaette if I concentrated on programs like food storage or family history, worthy though they are. But Ekaette and I share a broad basis of belief in such eternal principles as faith, love, and self-reliance. In practicing these principles, we learned from each other.
I realized the importance of teaching principles after I attended a Relief Society lesson at the local branch. The lesson, taken from the manual, was on keeping our homes neat and clean. An illustration in the lesson manual showed an American home that was neatly arranged and obviously well kept. Our instructor was so unfamiliar with Western-style homes that she held the picture upside down when she showed it to the class.
Later that week, I went to Ekaette’s house and found her covered from head to toe with mud. She was beaming. Inspired by the lesson, Ekaette was cleaning her home. She had taken every single item out of the house (there wasn’t much), and she was smearing new clay mud on the walls and floor. She excitedly showed me how she had decorated the front of the house by using a darker mud along the bottom for a nice trim. It looked beautiful. Ekaette had learned the principle, then implemented it in a way that was practical for her.
Her example prompted me to think about my own efforts to apply the principles of Christianity. It occurred to me that perhaps the first and most important principle to practice is self-examination. For example, many times I think, “That’s a good idea, but I don’t have the means to do anything about it.” Money and material things become issues that prevent Christian service. But what things does it take to be a Christian—a rug to kneel on, or a warm loaf of bread to share with a neighbor? Must I be financially established before I can share my means? Must I go to Africa to find children who need help? I believe the Lord is pleased when we serve with whatever resources we have available to us.
A second principle I learned is that it is important that I serve wherever I am. My experiences in Africa was very special to me, but I do not feel that it is better to love someone far away than those near at hand. The Savior showed by example whom I should love. He didn’t leave his own country and travel far away to another place and people. He went among his own people, and he associated with a variety of people—the wealthy and the poor; the politicians; the sick, the lame, and the blind; tax collectors; the hungry, the tired, and the lonely; and even those considered unworthy.
When I was in Africa, it was clear to me that Africa was the best place for me to practice being a Christian. Now that I am home, the most practical place for me to be a Christian is here, among my own people. This is challenging for me. It often seems easier to send some money to a “save-the-world” organization than make room in my busy schedule to take time with a brother, sister, neighbor, or friend.
A third lesson I have learned is that I should prepare myself to serve in a wide variety of settings. I had many experience that helped me understand Ekaette and her family better. But because I could not understand all she had experienced, it was hard for me to know how to help in the best and most practical ways. I don’t know how it feels to have three of my own children die in my arms because no medical help is available. I don’t know how it feels to wonder where my next meal is coming from. I don’t know how it feels to mold the walls of my home into shape with my own hands. I don’t know what has brought Ekaette her greatest joys. As hard as I try, I am not able to relate to many of her problems and challenges.
And yet, I’ve learned that the more variety I can experience, the more people I will understand. Choosing to associate only with a select group of individuals who think and act the same way I do will seriously limit my opportunities for Christian service. I can choose to increase the variety of my experience and my capacity to love. The more people I understand, the more like Christ I can become.
As I have tried to practice being a Christian, I’ve discovered that many of my motives are often reflected in the actions of the people around me. As my colleagues in Africa and I associated with hundreds of people from dozens of villages, we observed many reasons for their participation in our program. Some came because they believed that white health workers would provide free services, medicine, or employment. Others were curious about the novelty of white faces in their villages. Some came because they were concerned with their family’s health; they were frightened of illness and feared that a child might die. Others wanted to learn more about health for their families’ sake. Some came because their neighbors came. Still others came because there was love in their hearts and a desire to know how to improve their lives and the lives of those around them.
It was fascinating to see the different responses to our project. The people who came hoping to get something free dropped out very quickly. The curious got used to our white faces and also left. Those who needed to solve family health problems usually did well; they not only received some answers to meet their current needs, but they also stored up information against future needs. Those who were motivated by love not only stayed, but went a step further in offering what they had learned to those around them.
Ekaette was one of these people. She told me once, “If you had given me money—no matter how much or how little—it would all be gone now. But you have given me knowledge, and no one can ever take it away from me!” In the last year or so, Ekaette, on her own with very little help from us, trained teachers to instruct several groups of women in different villages.
In Ekaette’s life, I have seen Christianity—or love—at work. Guided by gospel principles, she has found practical solutions to her daily challenges. And so can we. I am convinced that the gospel of Jesus Christ has the answers to all of the world’s problems.
I have spent nearly half of the last decade living outside of my homeland. During this time, I have seen and experienced much contrast, and I have looked into the eyes of many who have great challenges in their lives. I believe what President Spencer W. Kimball said to be true—that in the gospel of love taught and exemplified by the Savior, we can find the answers to all our problems. With that kind of love in my heart, I can be a practical Christian, whether here or in Ekaette’s world.

When we went to the Conference Center and found our seats, I was very nervous. I was seated on the back row, right in front of the tallest, widest, loudest, hugest organ pipes. Everyone around me kept saying things like, “Oh no, it’s going to blow out our eardrums.” I have very sensitive ears, and I was really scared. I felt like I was going to cry, so I pleaded with Heavenly Father that I wouldn’t be afraid. Before we started singing, a woman said a prayer. She asked that if anyone was nervous, they would be comforted. Then the organ played. Now I felt like crying happy tears! The organ was not too loud at all. I thanked Heavenly Father and sang my testimony.
Emma C., age 11

It is good to be an answer to someone’s prayer. And this is what we found three weeks before Christmas as we approached our friends, the Holy Family Sisters of the Needy of St. Mary’s Cathedral, to see what the Church could do to help with feeding some of the homeless in Aberdeen.
They said they had been praying for food to make meals for at least 70 people on Dec 22, 2020. After they received an email from our stake director of communication offering help, we were soon working together to make it happen, with food, clothes, toiletries, and bags of groceries. The week before Christmas we collected and delivered all they needed. On the day some missionaries and some members went to the convent and cooked and cleaned.
Sister Mary Joseph said that she would never stop thanking the Church for their love and generosity.
Bishop Sean Goldie of the Aberdeen Ward also attended and met with Father Keith Herrera of St. Mary’s Cathedral, and Pastor NJ (Njabulo King Ndlovu) from the Seventh day Adventists in Aberdeen. Many long-lasting friendships were made that day.
It is good to just serve together.

My experiences on this campus started many years before my employment here. Let me explain. My parents came to this part of Idaho in 1962 with the oldest two of their six children. My father was a recent graduate of BYU in Provo and took an opportunity to move to Southeast Idaho to work as a seminary teacher. With guidance from a loving Heavenly Father, my father was given an opportunity to work at what was then Ricks College. He worked for over thirty years in the Austin Building as a professor in Construction Management.

Dad was a skilled carpenter and woodworker; he loved working with his hands and creating all kinds of things out of wood. He especially loved working on the lathe and created some very unique and beautiful pieces of art. I recall spending many hours as a youth in the wood shop of the Austin building, where I watched, admired, and learned so many things by watching him.

Dad had an eye for potential, I was always amazed at what he could see in a piece of wood that may not have been noticed by an untrained eye. He had a vast knowledge of what species or grade of wood could potentially produce the most durable product or the most eye-catching grain pattern.

As I returned from my mission and experimented with my first college classes, some of them, of course, being taught by my dad, I thoroughly enjoyed once again being mentored by him in the wood shop and attempted to learn some woodworking skills.

At that point in my life, I had my eyes opened to see other qualities that my dad possessed: he saw the potential and beauty within people, students and co-workers alike; Dad loved people. It became more obvious to me that the time my father had spent working on this campus had helped him become a better disciple of Jesus Christ.

As I watched my father eventually finish his career on this campus and also his earthly mission, I reflected on the words of King Benjamin in Mosiah 2:17: ”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.” [1]

Dad loved building things out of wood, and Dad loved building people. He served many students over the years and gained lifelong friendships with them and the other people he was blessed to work with. More importantly, my father set a lifelong example of the importance of always building upon good things, with discipleship of Christ as the goal. My dad understood the mission statement of BYU-Idaho “to develop disciples of Jesus Christ who are leaders in their homes, the church, and their communities.” [2]

I listened to President Harold Wright, recently released as president of the Mesa Temple in Arizona. He served over the years as stake president and Regional Representative, and has had many contacts with nonmembers and their religious associations in his city. He said that for years he would go to general conference and notice those people outside Temple Square passing out anti-Mormon literature. What do you do when you see that literature? Do you shut your eyes and wave them by and make sure they know you are not going to take it? Or do you accept it? President Wright noticed one man in particular who seemed to be there every time. He began to visit with him and found that he was a minister from Los Angeles. They began to be friends and President Wright talked to him every time he came to conference. One day he said to this man, “Have you ever attended a session of general conference here?”

The man said, “No, I haven’t.”

President Wright asked, “Would you like to go in?”

The man answered, “I would very much like to go in.”

So he took the minister in and they sat through the session. President Wright said his friend felt an influence that he had never felt before in his life, and he commented on it repeatedly. As far as I know, he didn’t join the Church, but what a beautiful approach to talk to someone with a difference of opinion.

We please Heavenly Father when we look for ways to serve others. When I was Young Men president in a ward in San Antonio, Texas, the bishop suggested that the priests quorum help a woman whose husband was on military deployment. She lived in a trailer home with her small children. The steps to her trailer were rotted and damaged. She needed help replacing them.
We met at her home and got to work. Shortly after we started, it began to rain. The priests decided to work through the rain. Soon new steps were in place. They were high quality when we were done! Some years later I had an occasion to talk to one of those priests. I asked him what he remembered from our time in the priests quorum. He remembered that service project. He said he was sure that what the service did for him was much more important than what it did for this dear sister and her family.

by Barbara Balli
On January 11, 1975, at 1:35 P.M., I was on my way to the store near my home. I was walking on the sidewalk when a car traveling about 40 miles per hour went out of control and pinned me against a telephone pole. There just happened to be a policeman at the scene, and he immediately radioed for help. He then tried to help me, but my leg was so badly damaged that where he needed to apply the tourniquet there wasn’t any leg.
By the time I arrived at the hospital, I was listed as dead on arrival, but the doctors, working feverishly, managed to revive me. After a beautiful blessing by my bishop, I went into surgery. The doctor said my leg would probably have to be amputated, but an investigating officer at the scene of the accident found a four-inch piece of femur bone and rushed it to the hospital. When it was taken into the operating room, the decision to try to save my leg was made. Although I later lost my leg, I have a six-to-seven-inch stump that I wouldn’t have had if they had taken my leg right away.
After my accident many friends and relatives did many things for me and my family. People in the ward were so nice that they made it possible for my parents to be with me during the many months I was in the hospital. They brought meals and tended and cared and showed great love and concern for us.
The first thing I remember about Mutual was when the young people invited to the closing social the girls and boys who would be old enough to attend Mutual the next year. When they asked me, I was so surprised because I was still spending most of my time in the hospital, with only a few days at home between surgeries, and I was in a wheelchair. They said this wouldn’t matter, so all the kids helped me, and I went. It was really neat!
When it was time for me to start Mutual, I was called to be the second counselor of our first-year Beehive class, even though I was going to be in the hospital much of the time. That year my class really did a lot for me. I especially remember the time they taped a meeting they held at our bishop’s cabin because I was unable to attend. They also recorded the New Beginnings program and brought it up to the hospital where we all listened together.
I was out of the hospital and on crutches when the stake Beehive adviser asked me to take a part in the play “Apple Seeds.” That really made me feel like I was wanted and loved.
After nine months of pain and suffering and 34 surgeries trying to save my leg, the doctor recommended that my leg be amputated. With the help of my parents and my Heavenly Father, I decided to have it done. The date was September 24, 1975, and I was 12. When my class found out, they were wonderful. They said, “Oh, it won’t make any difference!”
While I was in the hospital for my 35th and final operation, my class would often bring lessons and cheery faces to make me happier. They would call me and include me in all their planning when I was unable to attend meetings. This way I knew all the fun things I was missing and really felt as if I wanted to hurry and get back in the swing of things.
About five months later our ward held a Bicentennial Spring Sing, and our class was asked to participate. I was included, of course! I had my prosthesis by then. The class really helped so I would look good on stage, and when we went off stage, down the front stairs, they all took them one at a time so I wouldn’t lag behind and be noticed. It looked like that was the way it should have been. They let me know I didn’t have to hesitate when asked to do things, and I learned that if I will try, I can do anything anyone else can do.
During the summer I asked one of my girl friends in the class if she would teach me how to ride a bike again, and she did. After falling down about six times and laughing each time, I finally got the hang of it. We still go on bike rides together, and it is really fun.
The closing social last year was a swimming party. I really didn’t want to go, but my mom and friends persuaded me to at least attend. When I got there, everyone was having so much fun, I couldn’t resist their coaxing; so I called my mom to bring my suit. After I removed my leg and got into my suit, the girls carried me to the pool. I had a great time, and everyone was so understanding and made me feel that I had nothing to be ashamed about.
This year I was called to be president of the second-year Beehive class. I only hope I can do a good job and help other people the way I have been helped.

Although I was baptized as an infant in one church and attended another on and off during my childhood, religion was never a huge part of my life. As I grew older, my family moved a lot, and we stopped attending worship services. I believed in God, but I did not think about Him or religion very often.
That all changed in 2006, when I was 14. My uncle Billy died; he was only in his mid-30s. His premature death made me realize how much I loved him and caused me to start asking questions internally. Where did he go when he died? Did he continue to live and have a future? What would become of his children and other family members left behind? What did his life mean? What did my life mean?
These thoughts ran through my mind for the next several months. One evening in September 2007, my mother, my three younger siblings, and I were leaving a deli in my hometown of Haverhill, Massachusetts, USA, and stopped to sit on a bench. Two young men in black suits, white shirts, and ties approached us. One of them said, “I know it may seem a little bit awkward to talk to two people you don’t know, but could we share a message with you?”
We agreed. I knew they were going to talk to us about religion, and I was impressed that they didn’t just thrust a card or pamphlet at us and walk off. Rather, these young men genuinely seemed interested in us and excited about their message. At the conclusion of their message, they asked if they could visit our family. My mother agreed and set up a time, so I have her to thank for what became a great change for good in my life.
We started learning the gospel. After a while Mom became busy with different things and didn’t continue to meet with the missionaries, but I did.
I connected easily with Elder Kelsey and Elder Hancock. Perhaps part of the reason was that they weren’t that much older than I was. I felt great love from them and for them. Soon I felt that same love from ward members and from other youth in my stake.
The missionaries taught me the plan of salvation, which answered the questions I had about my uncle and about my own purpose in life. The elders also introduced me to the Book of Mormon. I remember reading in Alma 32 about the seed of faith developing and tasting good (see verse 28). That description was exactly how the Book of Mormon seemed to me. What I was reading and what the missionaries were teaching me rang true, felt right, and tasted good.
My mom teased me about what she called my “hermit crab stage” because I would retreat to my bedroom and spend several hours reading the Book of Mormon. Although I didn’t recognize my feelings as the Holy Ghost at that time, I felt that this path was right.
When the missionaries asked me to be baptized, they encouraged me to pray about the decision. When I prayed to know if joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was what I was supposed to do, I received a very direct answer, to the point that it shocked me. The direction was clear: go forward with baptism.
I remember vividly the day I was baptized—December 15, 2007. As I stood in the cold water with Elder Kelsey and he raised his hand to the square, the Spirit just filled me up; it seemed to take over my whole frame. I could say that I was also grinning from ear to ear, but that description doesn’t even come close to describing what I felt.
After my baptism I continued to feel the Spirit. I felt sanctified. I knew that my sins had been remitted. I felt the approval of Heavenly Father that this was, indeed, the path I was supposed to take.
Occasionally, when little doubts pop up, I go back to that experience and remember how I felt that day. Remembering what I felt then helps me dispel any doubt I may encounter.
Even though we don’t reenter the waters of baptism to have those powerful feelings again, we can remember that feeling when we renew our covenants through repentance and the sacrament. Each time I repent, I can find that feeling again—one of being cleansed and of being loved.
Feeling that love helps me identify with what Joseph Smith taught: “A man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.”1 Knowing the worth of a soul helps me be excited about opportunities to go teaching with the missionaries in my area. I also look forward to the day when I can serve a full-time mission and share how happy the gospel of Jesus Christ has made me.

After more than five years in Bahrain, my wife and I felt I had accomplished all I could at the falcon breeding center I had established there. We were thinking of returning to the United States when a similar position opened up in Dubai, one of the United Arab Emirates farther down the Arabian Peninsula. My employer wished me well and told me warmly, “We will consider you a Bahraini export and send you to Dubai.”

The position at the Dubai Wildlife Research Centre, as wildlife consultant to His Highness Sheikh Mohamad bin Rashid Al Maktoum, has given me the professional opportunity to do research on a much broader range of animals.

Unlike Bahrain, Dubai has only recently grown rich on oil, and in amounts of money difficult to imagine. Streets that were not even paved in 1968 are now lined with palaces and bordered with miles of shrubs and flowers grown with water distilled from the sea.

But the old ways are not forgotten; the sheikhs are still in touch with the people. Several times a week, my employer hosts a luncheon for anywhere from twenty to fifty men who have need to see him. We sit on the floor and eat with our hands. Some of the guests are bedouin herdsmen; others are merchants owning millions. All dress alike, and all are shown the same great courtesy. The sheikh’s guests may come to ask for help with their problems, to ask a favor, or simply to express their loyalty.

In 1982, when we arrived in Dubai, no Latter-day Saint services were being held. We found three Latter-day Saints there: a sister from the United States and two Filipino brethren. Sacrament meetings began in our living room. Our children used to say that for a year they didn’t go to church—church came to us!

Within eighteen months, however, new move-ins helped our branch membership grow to twenty-four; and by 1985, the small branch had grown to thirty-six. We rent space in the American school for meetings. Our branch offers the full program of the Church for our age groups, including early morning seminary.

Leaders of the Arab countries in which we have lived recognize the need of workers from other nations to worship in their own way. But proselyting was not tolerated. There are occasional converts, however—nonmember spouses from western workers’ part-member families. The waters of the Persian Gulf, which welcomed the ships of Alexander the Great and other ancient mariners, are the baptismal font for these people and for the children in our branch.

Our two oldest children, Catharine and Andrew, moved with us to Bahrain in 1976 when they were small. We have since added to our family Eric Alkhalifa, born in Bahrain, and Sarah Elisabeth, born in the United Arab Emirates.

Socially, life on this peninsula has both drawbacks and advantages for our family. Women from other cultures feel fewer restrictions in Dubai than in some other countries on the peninsula, but, true to Muslim tradition, most native-born women do not mingle freely in mixed company. While this might seem restrictive in some western societies, it is not seen so by these women. The traditional Muslim family system is strong. It works very well for them, but it also limits the opportunity for foreigners to know Arab families well.

Members of the Church generally make friends with the many other foreign families in these Arab countries. (Only a small percentage of the workers in technical jobs are natives.) The ten children who attended our son Andrew’s last birthday party, for example, were citizens of eight different nations.

There are challenges to Church members here. Because of the six-day work week, for example, those who enjoy recreational opportunities—like diving in the gulf—must decide whether to give up their pleasures on our Sabbath.

For our children (and for us), there is the challenge of affluence among their associates. Catharine was one of eighty girls chosen to attend, at no cost, a private school on the palace grounds. It was built by the crown prince, who wanted his daughters to have a western education. It is staffed by teachers from England, and it operates much like any other private school—except for the month-long field trip to Europe by private jet.

In some ways, however, members here are sheltered from many evils of the world. Leaders of these Arab countries will not accept any activity that threatens Islam or the faith of its believers. For example, drug and alcohol abuse, pornography, and immodesty are strictly controlled because they are offensive to Muslim beliefs. While laws forbidding these things may seem restrictive to some, we enjoy the freedoms they provide. We adults do not have to contend with ugly influences, and we can feel confident that our children are not coming in contact with them in their schools.

Latter-day Saints and other foreign workers living in the countries of the Arabian Peninsula find their lives affected daily by the teachings of Islam. Television and other activities are interrupted during the afternoons and evenings for the call to prayers. Public gatherings begin with readings from the Koran. This book, believed by Muslims to be revelation given to the Prophet Muhammad, is the basis for all the laws in the countries of this region and contains specific guidelines for daily life.

Hospitality is one of the fundamental principles of Islam. In social or business contacts, an Arab will express sincere concern for his guests and expect them to share his proffered coffee or tea. This courtesy has allowed me to explain the Word of Wisdom to Arab men—from the king of Saudi Arabia in his palace to camel herdsmen around their camp fires. They accept my belief without offense because it is similar to their health code, which requires abstinence from pork and alcohol. Strict Muslims also do not smoke.

Once, at the request of my employer, I accompanied him on a visit to the ruler of another Muslim country. We were part of a small group of sheikhs and government officials. We dined at the palace and were flown to the ruler’s private retreat. During one of the meals, several of the Muslims ordered wine. When I declined, someone joked about my becoming a Muslim, so I explained that I don’t drink because of my religious beliefs. Their consciences pricked, two of the men urged me to join with them. His Highness, the crown prince of Bahrain—my employer at the time—silenced them, and, turning to me, said, “Joe, don’t ever change.” I have always been thankful for my employer’s appreciation of my faith.

Church members who find themselves living as guests in a foreign culture—a small minority of the population, far from the familiar things of home—might easily feel lost and alone. But the Church is almost always there. With or without a family, it will be comforting to remember that the love of our Father in Heaven, the effectiveness of gospel principles, and the ministrations of the Holy Ghost are not limited by the size of the group at worship or by the design of its surroundings. When you strive to make a chapel of your home, the Spirit will be there.

My great-grandfather Henry Jacob Faust was born in a small village called Heddesheim in Rheinland, Prussia. The family went to the United States, and Grandfather Faust went through Salt Lake City on his way west to find his fortune in the goldfields of California. As he was going southward through Utah, he stopped at a well in a little town called Fillmore. There he met a young lady named Elsie Ann Akerley. Grandfather was not a member of our church. This young girl he met was a member. She had crossed the plains with the pioneers. Soon they fell in love. Grandfather went to California and stayed only long enough to get enough gold for a wedding band and then came back to Fillmore, where they were married.
Grandfather was not converted to the Church by the missionaries. I believe he was converted in the main by the testimony of this young girl he met by the well in Fillmore. Grandfather was later appointed by President Brigham Young to be the first bishop of Corinne, Utah. At that time Grandfather was helping bring the railroad to Utah. I am grateful to my grandmother Elsie Ann Akerley, who as a young girl bore her testimony to this strange young man, Henry Jacob Faust from Germany, and helped convert him to the Church.