Gospel Story Finder

When I was almost eleven, Papa was badly hurt in a mowing machine accident. He had been hurrying to put up his last cutting of hay so he could take a bricklaying job on the new library building. Papa was pleased when they offered him the job. He knew the extra money would come in handy, especially around Christmastime.
Now here he was in traction, one leg suspended from a pulley. But at least he was alive. Whenever he started feeling sad about losing the library job, we’d remind him of how glad we were to have him home.
“Harry, Francis!” he said to Mama. (Harry was papa’s favorite word for emphasis) “I had such wonderful plans on what I was going to do with that extra money.”
“Now, George, there’s no need to worry,” Mama consoled. “You’re alive and getting well, and we’re mighty glad for that. We got along without anything extra last year and the year before that and all those other years. Things are going to be all right.”
“But, Francis, I’d planned to put in those new kitchen cupboards you’ve been wanting for so long. This will put a crimp in Christmas.”
Mama silently regarded Papa’s leg hanging from that ridiculous contraption above his bed. He was a real Christmasy man, and he and Mama always went shopping together. When Mama realized that he wouldn’t be able to go this year, she said, “I’ll tell you what, George. This year we’ll do our Christmas buying right here in this room.”
“Harry, Francis!” Papa shouted. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Mama went to the book cupboard and got out the mail-order catalog. “This will be a mail-order Christmas, and you, George, will be the shopping supervisor.”
We weren’t the kind of folks who got lots of presents, but what we did get, we really enjoyed. After supper that night, we drew names for gifts, and Mama told us how much each one of us could spend.
Teena, who was only four, held up her slip of paper and asked, “Whose name did I get, Mama?”
Mama looked at the paper and then whispered something in Teena’s ear. Teena giggled.
This was in mid-November. For the next week or so the mail-order catalog was pored over every minute that we were out of school. When our minds were finally made up, we went, one at a time, to the chair beside Papa’s bed. With a clipboard propped up in front of him, he made out the order, then told Mama the total amount so that she could make out a check. Only Papa knew what the order contained.
The envelope was sealed and mailed just before Thanksgiving. When nothing arrived within two weeks, we became anxious. Days came and went, but still no package.
The week before Christmas Papa had his cast removed, and he was able to hobble about on crutches. Uncle Ed brought us a tree, and we decorated it. The day before Christmas we received a notice from the mail-order company saying that our letter had been missent and that they had just received it. They were sorry about the delay but assured us our order would arrive within a few days.
What a disappointment! My sisters and I felt like sitting down and bawling. We knew now that there would be no presents on Christmas morning. Mama and Papa felt just as bad as we did, so there was no use making a scene. Instead of just moping around, we decided to decorate the house extra special with evergreen boughs sprinkled with glitter.
As we prepared to leave the house to climb the hill after the boughs, Teena begged to go with us.
“You’re too little,” I said.
Her face crumpled like she was going to cry, so Francene said, “Ah, let her come. She’ll be all right.”
Later as we were returning down the steep trail with our arms full of boughs, Teena skidded on a pebble. She couldn’t stop, and fell over the embankment onto a pile of rocks. Francene, Mary Ellen, Doris, and I scrambled down to where she lay, limp and lifeless. Blood from a small cut was already matting the curls on her forehead.
“Oh, Teena! Teena!” Francene sobbed as she pressed her mitten against the cut. Tenderly she lifted her into her arms.
Mary Ellen tied her scarf around Teena’s forehead, and we sorrowfully picked our way down the last little pitch of the hill to the house. None of us spoke, because we were all silently praying.
Mama met us at the door. As Francene laid Teena on the bed, Papa and Mama bent over her.
“Her breathing is shallow,” Papa said.
“We’d better call the doctor,” Mama’s voice quavered.
The doctor said to bring Teena to the emergency room at the hospital. Papa stayed with us, and Mama and Francene took Teena to the hospital. After what seemed hours, Francene came home alone. Mama and Teena would be staying at the hospital overnight.
What a Christmas Eve! I sat in front of the fireplace with my chin cupped in my hands and a lump in my throat. I was certain that in all the world no one had so many things go wrong as we did. Then Papa sat down in his reclining chair, and Mary Ellen, Doris, and Francene pulled their chairs up beside mine. Quietly, Papa began to tell us again about a Christmas Eve almost two thousand years ago when a little baby was born in a stable, because there was no room at the inn.
As Papa talked, I thought about how differently we lived. We had never had to sleep in a stable. The lump in my throat began to go away, and as Papa told about the wicked king who wanted to destroy Baby Jesus, our troubles grew smaller and smaller. A peaceful feeling filled the room. Then Mary Ellen played the organ and we sang until bedtime. After kissing Papa goodnight, we snuggled down in our beds to sleep.
Christmas morning, Francene and I went after Mama and Teena, while Mary Ellen and Doris fixed dinner. Never could there have been a more uncluttered Christmas day—no wrappings and no litter. It was just a beautiful, relaxed, and happy time because all of us were together. Teena was a bit woozy, but the doctor said she would be just fine. And we discovered that day that the very greatest gift of all was love. Oh, how much we enjoyed each other! Papa even clowned around on his crutches to make Teena laugh. We felt more than ever before the love of our Savior and gratitude for His gift of everlasting life.
The mail-order package? It arrived four days after Christmas. But even the excitement of opening those long-awaited gifts couldn’t compare with the memory of our unforgettable Christmas just a few days before.

Even when our faith is weak, the Lord’s hand will always be stretched out. Years ago I received the assignment to reorganize a stake in Nigeria. At the last minute, there was a change in the date. There was a man in the stake who had decided to skip town for the first conference date. He did not want to risk being called as the stake president.
While he was away, he was in a terrible accident, but he was unharmed. This caused him to consider why his life had been spared. He revisited the decision he had made. He repented and humbly attended the new conference date. And yes, he was called to be the new stake president.

In another instance, a Laurel class president determined that she was going to fulfill her responsibility to activate a girl even though her leaders felt the situation was almost hopeless. Her bishop told her that because of some problems in the home and for other reasons, there was very little chance this girl would ever come to church. The other class members laughed when they learned helping this girl come back to church was to be one of the goals of their class president.
Nevertheless, she was determined to become friends with this girl and asked for and got the help of a neighbor girl as well. They began by saying “Hi” whenever they saw her and always stopping to talk to her for a minute. Then they started finding reasons to visit her. She was selected to be a member of the Booster Club (an organization whose purpose is to boost the morale of the team) for her high school wrestling team. The Laurel class president took her a flower and a note expressing congratulations. This process went on for three or four months. Finally, one Sunday the girl accepted an invitation to come to Sunday School. The next week she was there again, and that week she also attended Mutual. Because of her courage and faith, a young Laurel influenced a girl of her own age to take the first step toward activity in the Church.

My mom was very gifted, creative, and talented. She was a strong leader in her callings and gave of herself to many.

Sadly, she spent most of her life battling some type of illness. In her later years, she suffered from seizures which sapped all her energy, leaving her unable to do what she used to. However, throughout the many struggles in her life, I always knew she loved God, the gospel, and had an unwavering testimony.

The last few years she struggled with dementia, which made her very forgetful and unable to remember; it was a hard time for all of us. She passed away a year and a half ago.

At her funeral, the speaker said that he went to the temple to help him prepare his talk. As he was there, he was trying to listen so he might know what my mom would want to say to us, her family and friends. He was filled with the Spirit as he heard the words, “come home.”

When he shared this with us, those words told me that my mom was telling us that Heavenly Father’s plan was real, that her unwavering testimony was still strong and right: there is an afterlife with our Father in Heaven. I knew she was whole again, and more than anything she wanted us to come home—home to her and other family but most of all home to the presence of our Heavenly Father.

Her words were another gift of hope that we can do this mortal life and that there is a Heavenly Father who loves us, and He too wants us to come home. I will never forget her beckoning, which has made me more desirous to fulfill His beckoning. Come home!

Let me tell you about Alice. She is trained as a pediatrician. She is happily married and the mother of six children. She has served in many ways in the Church, including serving in a Relief Society presidency, and now she is the Cub Scout leader. She sews Halloween costumes and volunteers at the elementary school in the science lab.

Right now Alice is a full-time mother. Undoubtedly she will return to her medical practice when her children are raised, but that doesn’t mean that she isn’t using her medical education. Teenagers from the neighborhood have been known to appear on her porch with all kinds of symptoms.

One dramatic event occurred when a vacationing mother telephoned Alice. Her daughter’s baby-sitter had reported that the little girl was coughing and seemed sick. After apologizing for bothering her, the mother asked Alice for a favor. Could she please find time during the afternoon to check on her little girl, who appeared to have croup? For some reason, Alice immediately put aside what she was doing and went right down. She found the girl not breathing and in full cardiac arrest. She applied CPR. By the time the paramedics arrived, the little girl was breathing again. Alice’s education and her skills saved the child’s life.

I thought other youth would be interested in hearing about the Punta Arenas Branch, southernmost branch of the Church in the world, I believe. When Isaiah said, “… utter it even to the end of the earth,” he must have been referring to Punta Arenas, Chile! We’re on the Straights of Magellan, facing Tierra del Fuego. The wildlife and beauty of the Patagonia is outstanding: sharp green mountains, grazed by guanacos; blue waters filled with trout and salmon; and birdlife ranging from parrots to ostriches, ducks, swans, flamingos, and an occasional penguin.
Our branch is at the tender age of four years and has a membership of two hundred Saints. Jaime, our MIA president, and Carlos, an MIA officer, both youth, have been working all year to save enough money to cover their traveling expenses to the international youth conference to be held in Arica, Chile, at the northern end of the country. It’s been a long, hard job, involving window cleaning, cakes sales, and cleaning houses, but they have finally made it. That’s what it means to be a Latter-day Saint down here.
Elder Gary WeldChile Mission

A good example of this kind of misrepresentation took place when the subject of the Latter-day Saint pioneers came up in my daughter Sarah’s school classroom a few years ago. One of her classmates said, “My daddy says Mormons are people who live in Utah and worship idols.” Sarah quickly answered back, “Well, I’m a Mormon, and we don’t worship idols.” But many of her classmates never did believe her, largely because they had already accepted the misrepresentation.

When I was in first grade, nobody was playing with Jack,* so I decided to play with him. The first time we played together, we played firemen, because that’s what he wants to be when he grows up. I want to be an inventor—Jack’s going to help me, of course. The next time we played together, Jack brought his football to school and we played with it at recess. Ever since then, we’ve played together at recess and after school. We are still good friends, even though other kids don’t play with him. They laugh at him when he talks, and some don’t want to sit by him at lunch. But Jack is a good friend and a very smart boy. I’m glad I can be his friend.

“Grandpa,” Joey said, “I can only stay for a while this morning. I promised Brother Hurdy I’d help him tap some trees this afternoon. He’s trying to help out a friend who’s in the hospital. Brother Hurdy hasn’t done it for a long time, and I thought maybe you could give me some tips while I help you.”
Grandpa was glad Joey wanted to help him in his sugar bush, a woods consisting of sugar maples. He could use a good strong boy, and Joey was a good worker.
Joey followed Grandma into the kitchen to get the spouts and the pails that she had already washed and stacked for carrying. He made several trips from the kitchen to Grandpa’s stoneboat.
A stoneboat, which looks like a small raft, ordinarily is used to haul stones from fields so that crops can be planted there. When Joey saw Grandpa hitch his horse to the stoneboat, he asked, “How come you don’t use your tractor?”
“Well, Joey,” Grandpa answered, “Dolly is just right for this job. She doesn’t get mired in spring mud like my tractor. Besides, she needs the exercise.”
The day was getting warm fast as the sun rose higher, and the snow was melting on the dirt trail that led to the sugar bush. Joey walked beside Grandpa. He liked to be with him because Grandpa knew so many things. Whenever Joey asked questions, Grandpa would explain things so that Joey could understand them.
“How many years have you been tapping maple trees?” Joey asked.
“I started to help my father when I was about your age,” Grandpa said, “and I’m eighty-one now. But tapping trees was a lot different when I was a boy. For one thing, we didn’t have metal spouts and pails.”
“You didn’t? What did you use?”
“Sumac twigs for spouts and hollowed-out butternut logs to catch the sap,” Grandpa answered. “We made the spouts by pounding short twigs, about three-quarters of an inch thick, into bored holes. Then we sliced off the top third of the twig’s bark and took out the core. We hollowed out logs with an adz to make the pails. An adz is a hand tool with a sharp, curved blade,” he explained.
“How big were the log pails?” asked Joey.
“Oh, big enough to hold ten to twelve quarts of sap. We emptied them into wooden barrels on a stoneboat.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Joey. “Hollowing out logs must have been a lot of work.”
“It was,” agreed Grandpa. “Buying pails sure beats making them.”
“You must have bought new pails,” said Joey, pointing to the stacks of shiny pails on the stoneboat.
“No,” Grandpa said, “I’ve had them a long time.”
“How come they don’t have rusty spots like Brother Hurdy’s?” Joey asked. “He has to get new ones.”
Grandpa chuckled. “Your grandma gets credit for that. When the maple-tapping season is over, she always washes them and oils them before storing them away.”
When they reached the sugar bush, Grandpa asked Joey which he’d rather do—drill holes or pound in spouts. Joey said he wanted to learn to drill holes.
Handing him the drill, Grandpa said, “Be sure the trees you drill are at least a foot in diameter. Find the side with the most branches and roots, then bore a hole straight in an inch and a half deep about two feet above the ground. But don’t bore into any of last year’s tapholes.”
Joey found a tree that looked large enough, and he saw last year’s taphole on the side with the most branches and roots. Placing his drill bit a few inches away from the previous taphole, he asked, “How deep did you say?”
“An inch and a half.”
“Is that all?” Joey asked. “Brother Hurdy said he thought we were supposed to bore them four to five inches deep.”
“Sap travels just under the bark, so an inch and a half or so is deep enough,” Grandpa explained.
After a while Joey said, “This is great! It would have been a lot harder to bore deeper holes. I’ll have to tell Brother Hurdy.”
“It’s a lot easier on trees, too,” Grandpa said. “Deep tapholes leave brown scars in lumber. But when holes are shallow, scars tend to disappear as the tree grows.”
When Joey came to a large tree, he turned to Grandpa and asked, “Where should I bore in this tree?”
Glancing over at the tree, Grandpa answered, “Same place, on the side with the most branches and roots.”
“It’s so big, don’t you want to hang another pail on it?”
“No,” Grandpa said. “Just one. Trees need sap for their own use. They need it to stay healthy and to help them grow and mature.”
“Don’t you ever put more than one pail on a tree?” Joey asked.
“Only if it’s a lot larger tree than that one,” Grandpa answered, “and then only two.” Seeing Joey’s questioning face, he continued, “Oh, it may not hurt a tree to have two or even three pails for a season—or maybe even for three or four seasons. But you can spot a sugar bush that’s been overtapped if you see that the tops of the trees are dying.”
When Joey had to leave, he discovered that the stoneboat had no more empty pails in it. As Grandpa turned Dolly and the stoneboat around and started home, he said, “Thank you, Joey. You have been good help. You listen and you follow instructions well. I hope that what you’ve learned will help Brother Hurdy too.”
A pleased Joey looked up at Grandpa and said, “Thank you, Grandpa. I’m sure it will.”

“Visit Sister Jones” is what was written down for 1:00 P.M. Sister Jones was a member of the ward who we had visited a few times in the California Arcadia Mission, but she had not been to church for a long while. She had a good husband and three adorable little daughters. Every time we saw her, we asked her to come to church, but she had not come yet.
I had often thought and prayed about how we could encourage her to come back to church and was beginning to doubt if we would ever succeed. I suggested to my companion that we go tracting instead. He agreed that tracting was important, but he seemed inspired in his suggestion to follow through with our plan. I swallowed my pride and said a silent prayer. The Spirit whispered to me that following our plan was what God wanted us to do.
We biked to Sister Jones’s place, and as we pulled up she was taking out the trash. When she looked at us she seemed discouraged. She did not seem particularly thrilled to see us.
“Hello, Sister Jones,” I said cheerfully. “How are you doing?”
“Okay,” she responded halfheartedly. I knew something was not quite right. The last time we visited she had commented how hard it was to keep up on her housework because of an illness she had contracted. I wondered if this was the cause of her unhappy countenance. The Spirit whispered again to me. Without leaving room for argument we announced, “We’re here to do your dishes.”
She was taken aback and a little reluctant to let us help. I could see she was longing for some relief. She led us inside, and immediately I went to a sink full of almost every dish in the house. Meanwhile my companion started vacuuming. All Sister Jones could manage to do was sit down on the couch, exhausted, watching us gratefully. We finished the vacuuming, my companion dried the dishes, and soon the house was sparkling. Sister Jones expressed her appreciation with a teary smile.
“Thank you, Elders. I really needed that today.”
“No problem, Sister Jones. We’re always glad to help. You know that,” my companion said. She smiled, and we let ourselves out.
The following Sunday I was surprised to see her in the congregation at church. It warmed my heart. It was fast and testimony meeting, but what added to my surprise was Sister Jones getting up to bear her testimony.
After bearing her testimony of the truthfulness of the Church, she added, “This week I was having a really hard time. I’ve been sick and not able to do everything. One day when it was particularly difficult, I began to pray. ‘Lord help me, I don’t know if I can handle this! Please, please send an angel, or something. Please.’ And right then, two of his angels pulled up on their bicycles and asked if they could help. I was so touched. It was exactly what I needed.”
I began to cry. For one thing, I had never been called an angel before. I am just me—a simple missionary. But for one short afternoon, we were someone’s angels. Still, I cannot take credit for it. In that fast and testimony meeting, the Holy Spirit once again whispered to me with the sweet comfort that comes from following God’s will. It is not always what we want to do. It is not always what we think is best. But God’s way is always right. We may not have reached our goal for tracting hours that week, but we reached a much higher standard—the standard of doing what our all-wise Father above wanted us to do.

Fifty-one years ago I heard William J. Critchlow Jr., then president of the South Ogden Stake, retell a story concerning trust, honor, and duty.
“[Young] Rupert stood by the side of the road watching an unusual number of people hurry past. At length he recognized a friend. ‘Where are all of you going in such a hurry?’ he asked.
“The friend paused. … ‘The King has lost his royal emerald! … Everyone is searching, for the King has offered a reward … to the one who finds it. Come, we must hurry.’
“ ‘But I cannot go without asking Grandmother,’ faltered Rupert.
“ ‘Then I cannot wait. I want to find the emerald,’ replied his friend.
“Rupert hurried back to the cabin at the edge of the woods to seek his grandmother’s permission. …
“But his grandmother shook her head. ‘What would the sheep do?’ she asked. ‘Already they are restless in the pen, waiting to be taken to the pasture, and please do not forget to take them to water when the sun shines high in the heavens.’
“Sorrowfully, Rupert took the sheep to the pasture, and at noon he led them to the brook in the woods. There he sat on a large stone by the stream. ‘If I could only have had a chance to look for the King’s emerald!’ he thought. Turning his head to gaze down at the sandy bottom of the brook, suddenly he stared into the water. What was it? It could not be! He leaped into the water. … ‘The King’s emerald!’ he shouted.
“With shining eyes Rupert ran to his grandmother’s hut to tell her of his great find. ‘Bless you, my boy,’ she said, ‘but you never would have found it if you had not been doing your duty, herding the sheep.’ And Rupert knew that this was the truth.”1

I wish I could go back to my youth and there have another chance to reach out to those who, at the time, didn’t attract my compassionate attention. We are so vulnerable in our youth. We want to feel included, to have the feeling we matter to others. For example, in 1979 we held in St. George, Utah, our 20-year class reunion for Dixie High School. An effort was made to find current addresses and get everyone to the reunion. In the midst of all that fun, I remember the terribly painful letter written by one very bright—but in her childhood, somewhat overweight and less than popular—young woman, who wrote: “Congratulations to all of us for having survived long enough to have a 20-year class reunion. I hope everyone has a wonderful time. But don’t reserve a place for me. I have, in fact, spent most of those 20 years trying to forget the painful moments of our school days together. Now that I am nearly over those feelings of loneliness and shattered self-esteem, I cannot bring myself to see all of the class and run the risk of remembering all of that again. Have a good time and forgive me. It is my problem not yours. Maybe I can come at the 30-year mark.”

But she was terribly wrong about one thing—it was our problem, and we knew it. I have wept for her and other friends like her in our youth. We simply were not the Savior’s agents or disciples that he intended a group of young people to be. I cannot help but wonder what I might have done to watch out a little more for the ones not included, to make sure the gesture of a friendly word or a listening ear or a little casual talk and shared time might have reached far enough to include those hanging on the outer edge of the social circle, and in some cases barely hanging on at all.

Just a few years later, though, Bishop Hales suffered the first of multiple heart attacks that would sap his strength. In addition, there were problems with his lungs. As an avid golfer, however, he couldn’t resist a friend’s invitation to play a round of golf at St. Andrews, where the game was created, in Scotland. It wasn’t until the final hole that he sensed a heart attack coming on. Asking his colleagues to call an ambulance, he took a knee to rest. Then he confidently finished the round by making a long putt.

“I hated this challenge and didn’t want to do it. I thought of several people, but I got so nervous that I talked myself out of each one. Yesterday morning I knew I’d better get moving. Then something funny happened.
“I go to ballet on Saturday. As we trudged into the dressing room after class, sweaty and tired, I mustered all my courage, took a deep breath, and said to no one in particular, ‘What do you know about Mormons?’
“Tanya, who’s never serious about anything, replied, ‘Are Mormons those guys who ride bikes wearing white shirts and name tags?’ She smacked her forehead, giggling. ‘The guys wear the shirts, of course, not the bikes!’
“‘Some Mormons do that,’ I eagerly explained, ignoring her joke. ‘The ones who are full-time missionaries.’
“‘I see them every so often.’ Tanya giggled again and rolled her eyes. ‘So you’re one of them. Weird.’
“I flopped down on the nearest bench, my face beet red, and pulled off my slippers. I wished I’d never said a word! Then someone tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Virginia?’
“I jerked about in surprise. It was Eva, the best student in the class. I didn’t think she knew I existed.
“‘Are you a Mormon?’
“‘Y—Yes,’ I stammered, not sure what to expect.
“‘Good! I’ve seen those missionaries, too, but they never stop at our house. I’ve always wanted to talk to them.’
“My heart thumped wildly. ‘I can arrange it for you,’ I said enthusiastically. ‘Wednesday evening, say, at my house?’
“Eva smiled. ‘Sounds good. I’ll bring my mother, too, if that’s all right.’
“So they’re coming to our house this Wednesday for dinner and the first discussion!”
“Sometimes people we’d never think of as potential investigators turn out to be interested,” Sister Searle said.
“As a continuing class challenge,” Virginia proposed, “can everyone help friendship Eva and her mother?”
“That’s a great idea!” Sister Searle exclaimed, and the other girls nodded enthusiastically.

When you really believe in something, when you know with all your heart that it’s right and that you will defend it and live by it, how do you express that feeling? If you live in Trinidad and feel that way about your culture, they say you are “Trini to de bone.”
A similar expression could apply to young Latter-day Saints in Trinidad. Because they know the Church is true and that they will stand up for it and live by its standards no matter what, you could say that they are Latter-day Saints “to the bone.” They don’t just live the gospel on the surface; it’s in every thought and action.
Here are some of the things youth in the Arima Branch, Port of Spain Trinidad District, recommend that you should do to build your own spiritual “bones.”
Stay morally clean. On billboards and TV, in videos and magazines, even in conversations with some friends, unclean thoughts seem to jump in anywhere you’ll permit them. The best way to beat them is to fill your mind with worthy thoughts instead. “My favorite scripture is D&C 121:45,” says Curfew Sherazade Ali, 17. “If we learn now to have clean thoughts, then we will want to be around others who think the same way. And at the last day, when we meet the Savior, we won’t be ashamed. We will have the confidence to face Him because we will be worthy to stand in His presence.”
Choose good music. “Music is an issue here,” says Curfew. “Dancing, too.” Every weekend in Trinidad, clubs blast loud beats into the streets, and people waiting to dance mill around outside in less-than-modest clothing. On the other hand, Curfew says, “Good music doesn’t degrade you or anyone else. It doesn’t use foul language or drive the Spirit away. Good music can help you feel calm, cheer you up, or help you get closer to your Heavenly Father.” So if you want to feel better, club hopping isn’t the answer. Instead, surround yourself with songs that are uplifting and inspirational, and go to—or organize—dances where standards are observed.
Make good friends. Peer pressure is another challenge for youth in Trinidad, according to Mark Christian Mangray, 17. “No matter what wrong things some of your peers might try to influence you to do, you need to choose the right. Good friends with high standards make that a lot easier. Be a good example yourself, and look for friends who will be a good example to you.” Peaches Clarke, 16, says that once you establish a reputation for being good, it gets easier and easier. “People know me, and they know I won’t do things that are wrong,” Peaches says. Though some will tease or make fun, most will respect your beliefs if you stand strong.
Get an education, but also become wise. Curfew dreams of working as a marine biologist, and Mark talks about becoming an environmentalist, surveyor, or maybe even a pilot. But they both agree that there is a difference between learning and wisdom. “We can study many things,” Mark explains. “But unless we also learn the gospel, we may have knowledge without understanding.”
Build strength daily. One of the best ways to build spiritual bones is through scripture study. “The stories in the scriptures help me know I’m not the only one who faces challenges and trials,” Mark says. “I love the story of Alma. He was one of the high priests of wicked King Noah, but he listened to Abinadi and knew he must repent. The scriptures show me that it’s happened before and these people found a way to learn from their mistakes.” In Trinidad such scripture study takes place daily through home-study seminary. Then on Saturdays, all of the students get together and discuss what they have learned.
“What helps me be strong every day,” Curfew says, “is thinking about the promises the Lord made to the prophets of old, like Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I have faith in those promises. Each day, I think about what the Lord would have me do in each circumstance I am facing. I try to act as if He is right beside me, and I try to be a good example to those around me, because they may want to come unto Christ, too.”
Two other Arima Branch members who were influenced by that kind of example are Jenelle and Kimberly Phillip, who were recently baptized and confirmed along with their mother.
“I saw all the good things they are doing in the Church, and I wanted to be a part of it too,” says Jenelle, 12. The other youth, she adds, have really made her feel welcome.
Kimberly, 17, says a turning point came when their mother heard them talking about baptism. “She said that she liked the Church and that she wanted to be baptized, too! I really like it that she was baptized and confirmed at the same time and place that we were.”
All of the youth came for the baptismal service, and Kimberly says that means a lot to her, too. “It feels nice being a part of the Church and learning about Heavenly Father and how He wants us to live,” she says. “We know that in the Church the living prophets teach everyone the word of God. When I learned about that I said, ‘This is right for me.’”
With belief like that, both Kimberly and Jenelle are well on their way to becoming Latter-day Saints to the bone. It’s a feeling well known to all of the LDS youth in Trinidad, a feeling Peaches sums up when she says, “I feel blessed. Before I understood the gospel, I didn’t really have any idea of who I am. But now, I feel like I have purpose. I am a child of God, and He put me here for a reason, so I had better fulfill it.” And she feels it, all the way to her bones.

In the early years of our marriage, Sister Meha and I were not blessed with children. We desired to start a family soon after our sealing in the Laie Hawaii Temple. We lived in Temple View Apartments, where most of our neighbors were expecting children. Naturally, as students we were both busy with classes, working at the Polynesian Cultural Center and fulfilling church callings. When would we ever find time to have children? We waited and waited. A year before graduation an offer came from Bro. Barney Wihongi, principal of the Church College of New Zealand to join the faculty in January 1983.

Leaving TVA we felt that the expectation to have children would be lifted because we were living in a different community far removed from Laie. But Temple View is a smaller version of Laie. There is a temple and a Church school and most of the people living there knew me as I had graduated from CCNZ, and they soon got to know Sis. Meha. We continued to serve and in fact, those years were some of the most rewarding for us as a newly married couple.

We served in a student ward at CCNZ. When Sister Meha was the Mia Maid Advisor, I was the Teachers Quorum Advisor. Later, she served as the Laurel Advisor and I served as Priest's Quorum Advisor. In a student ward with about one hundred and fifty students it was not unusual to have a quorum of twenty five teachers and a quorum of twenty five priests. I can still see the faces of those bright, energetic, young men, many of whom served honorable proselyting missions and have become good husbands and fathers.

We did not have two-deep leadership in the Young Mens' program in those days, so I was the scout leader on weeknights and the quorum advisor on Sundays. In addition to my teaching assignment, I was expected to support student clubs and organizations and give additional time to support school activities on weekends. It soon became a challenge to find the kind of time together that we longed for while living in TVA and clearly did not have at CCNZ. At least once a month, the priests would come to our small home for a fireside—all twenty five of them. On occasion, the Laurels would join them for an activity usually involving lots of food. I'm sure those activities were well attended because of the chance for students to mingle and have fun.

In some of her spare time, Sister Meha taught in the Religion Department, a first experience for her as she had not enjoyed the experience of early morning seminary classes as a youth. Her introduction to gospel study was in the religion classes taken on this campus as an undergraduate. Our lives were very busy yet we longed for a child. We would have to wait five years before our eldest child was born while we lived in Temple View. During that period of waiting we were being prepared for Jayson's arrival and the blessings that soon followed. Our hearts were mellowed and accepting of Heavenly Father's plan for our family. We prayed fervently to be blessed with each of our children. Our prayers were answered, but we needed to learn that He has a purpose and timetable for us and that He will bless us as we are patient and wait upon Him.

One interview taught me more than I expected—not so much about business but about how the Lord works in the details of our lives. One day I sat down for what I thought was my big break: an interview with a large multinational company visiting this campus. I was confident and prepared. I really wanted the job. About 10 minutes in, I had started answering a standard interview question when I noticed the interviewer’s head starting to bob—as if he were listening to slow jazz. Then his eyes closed. He had fallen asleep! He was out cold!

I paused and looked around, almost hoping that someone would jump out with a camera and tell me I was on a prank show. But no such luck. I just sat there in a long, awkward silence, not knowing what to think. After what felt like an eternity, his eyes suddenly popped open. He looked straight at me and said, “Thank you for that response.” Then the interview ended. That was it. Done. No follow-ups. No second round. Just my hopes dying a slow, quiet death in a small room in the Tanner Building.

Feeling deflated, I wandered into the BYU career center and noticed a stack of résumés for Shell Oil Company. At this point I figured, “Well, why not?”—and dropped mine on top. The next morning I got a call asking if I could meet within the hour for an interview. Another door had opened!

I said a quick prayer, knowing only divine intervention could help me, and rushed to campus. The interview began with a question I was not prepared to answer: “What do you know about Shell?” My mind raced. My first thought was “not much!” Then inspiration—or maybe desperation—struck.

I grabbed the calculator from my backpack and said, “Well, the first thing I learned about Shell was in second grade.” I typed the numbers 71077345, flipped the calculator upside down, and nervously awaited his response. (You can see it spells Shell Oil.)

For the record, I do not recommend this approach in any professional setting! But somehow it worked. The ice was broken; the interviewer laughed and began a genuine conversation. Of all the things we discussed, he was most interested in my missionary service in Brazil, and at the end of our conversation he invited me for three more rounds of interviews in Houston. Those interviews led to what became a nearly 30-year career with Shell.

It’s interesting how life unfolds when we remain persistent and resilient, put forth effort, and trust the Lord. Looking back, I can see that even in my insecurities, with the résumés, the interviews, and even the calculator tricks, the Lord was guiding me toward something deeper—understanding a question He had eloquently asked both John the Beloved and Nephi: “What desirest thou?”3

We met Prince on what seemed to be a normal hot and stagnant Sunday. We couldn’t miss the guy who walked into Church early and sat alone in the back, wearing a bright pink collared shirt. Immediately after sacrament meeting was finished, my companion, Elder Hutchason, and I rushed to his side to enthusiastically greet him.
We asked him his background and how he heard about our Church. His response filled our hearts to the brim with amazement and joy. In a very open and honest way, Prince shared the details of his life.
In a nutshell, he has lived in the great and spacious building, as described in the Book of Mormon in Lehi’s dream (See 1 Nephi 8, 11). Prince told us he was eating, drinking, and living a destructive life. One day he found an online pamphlet about the Word of Wisdom. Prince shared that his lifestyle had clearly already been taking a toll on his spirit and he wasn’t happy and felt like he needed to make some changes.
The moment Prince began to read the online pamphlet about the Word of Wisdom, he felt something touch his heart. Prince immediately wished for a way to change and sought out more teachings from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As he did so, he found joy and understanding, in such a way he saw the puzzle pieces connecting in his mind.
As we visited with Prince that Sunday afternoon, my companion and I were so delighted to share how the message of the gospel brings great hope. We promised him that he would find true joy and understanding through learning more about Jesus Christ. We testified that by this small exercise of his faith to come to church on his own, God would see these efforts and bless him more than he could imagine. I felt in that moment that my Father in Heaven opened my eyes to see the potential of my new friend.
Prince began to soak up the doctrine taught in the discussions that Elder Hutchason and I began to share with him. I remember after almost an hour of straight questions and wide eyes, Elder Hutchason had to slow Prince down just a little bit. Elder Hutchason asked Prince to take time to ponder on some of the previous teachings. He taught Prince, “we strongly believe that we learn things line upon line and precept upon precept; a sponge is not capable of emptying a bucket of water in just one squeeze.”
Prince embraced the gospel quickly. He kept and made commitments to better his life and came to church every week. Not long after, the first counselor of the Cantonments Ward, Brother Luke, was raising this wonderful young man out of the chilled waters of the baptismal font. Both Elder Hutchason and I witnessed firsthand Jesus Christ’s infinite Atonement work for our new brother, Prince.

One of the first three Latter-day Saint missionaries to the African continent was Elder William H. Walker. He arrived in Cape Town, South Africa, in April 1853 after a seven-month journey. And now his great-great-granddaughter, Sister Lori Humbert, is serving a mission in the same place, along with her husband, Elder George Humbert.
The Humberts didn’t ever think they would travel so far from their Layton, Utah home. But they started reading Elder Walker’s journal when they got their mission call: “We just feel like this is where we need to be now,” Sister Humbert said.
Fast forward 170 years, and the Humberts’ mission involves different kinds of challenges. They serve in the communication department at the Area Office and help to train communication directors in 13 different countries. They moderate the local Church Facebook page and send referrals to the individual missions. They also write and coordinate articles for the inserts in the Liahona magazine from Africa South and Central Area, which are translated into five different languages.
Sister Humbert said her great-great-grandfather’s story helps her today.
“It just impressed me that they left their loved ones behind and went for that long, and they were doing that because they were following what the prophet asked them to do,” she said.
“From him I learned perseverance. Just like his quote, he wouldn’t allow Satan or anyone else to discourage him or stand in their way. Through the troubles he just kept trudging on. The way he lived the gospel principles and loved the people here just helps me understand that I can do hard things and look at things with more of an eternal perspective.”

Some months went by, and the family moved to a different town. The following December, Greg came into the house carrying an envelope. “We got a letter from Sister Fuhriman,” he called. He tore it open and read:
“I will miss your family this Christmas. I don’t believe I ever told you how much I enjoyed Christmas Eve in your home. I must tell you now what I did not tell you then.
“Some years before you moved into the house across the road from me, I had a dream. I could see your house, all lit up and glowing. When I awoke from that dream, I had the most wonderful, happy, peaceful feeling—something I had not experienced very often since my husband’s death.
“Months went by, and I forgot all about my dream. Then came your invitation for Christmas Eve. I had such a wonderful time sharing in your family celebration.
“After the boys walked me back home, I stood on my porch to make sure they returned home safely. Just then I noticed your house all aglow. It was the same picture I had seen in my dream years ago, and I had the very same feeling of peace. I just wanted you to know how I appreciated you.”
As Greg read Sister Fuhriman’s words, he remembered the warmth he had felt that night. He was grateful his family had shared their celebration with Sister Fuhriman, bringing her Christmas comfort and joy.