Gospel Story Finder

Elder Pratt’s two former companions traveled on to Tahiti, where their teaching met with far less success. After a few months, Elder Rogers traveled west to a small group of islands and Elder Grouard sailed to the island of Anaa in the Tuamotus. Elder Rogers again met with little success and much opposition. When rumors finally reached him of the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith, he began to fear for the safety of his family in Nauvoo, and he returned to America. He died during the exodus from Nauvoo.
The people of Anaa, on the other hand, came to greatly love Elder Grouard. He was the first white missionary of any religion to come to their island, and many of them accepted the truth he taught. He baptized over 600 people, organized five branches, and called local officers to serve. He wrote to Elder Pratt and asked him to come to Anaa, as there was too much work for him to do alone.
Elder Pratt responded to his companion’s invitation, and a conference of the Church was held on Anaa with more than 800 in attendance. At this time Addison Pratt decided to travel back to Church headquarters to request more missionaries to help in the work in the South Pacific. Leaving Elder Grouard behind, he traveled first to California, then to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving in September 1848, one week after his wife and four daughters had arrived there from Winter Quarters.
He shared his experiences with the Saints, taught Tahitian classes, and prepared to return to Polynesia. In 1850 he set out with a new companion, James S. Brown, and the promise that his own family and other missionary families would soon follow. They did follow, and despite growing problems with the French government in the islands, the missionaries and their families served until 1852, when they were forced to return to America.
Forty years passed before LDS missionaries were allowed back into French Polynesia. When they returned, the missionaries found that many members had remained faithful despite the lack of contact with Church headquarters, but many others had fallen away. The work began anew in 1892 and has continued with a few interruptions to this day. The gospel truth has shone in these islands for 150 years!
There are now four stakes in the Society Islands, and a beautiful temple stands in Papeete, on the island of Tahiti. The stories of the early missionaries are remembered and shared often by those who now send their own sons and daughters as missionaries to other countries and other islands.*

Last April, Sister Rasband and I had the honor of joining our beloved prophet and Sister Nelson for the rededication of the Manti Utah Temple.

President Nelson surprised everyone when he entered the room. Only a very few of us knew he was coming. In his presence, I immediately felt the light and prophetic mantle he carries. The look of joy on the faces of the people personally seeing the prophet will stay with me forever.

In the prayer of rededication, President Nelson petitioned the Lord that His holy house would essentially hold up all who entered the temple, “that they may receive sacred blessings and remain worthy and faithful to their covenants … that this may be a house of peace, a house of comfort, and a house of personal revelation for all who enter these doors worthily.”

Before the service, we stood outside in the sun with President and Sister Nelson to view the beautiful setting. President Nelson’s ancestral ties to the area run deep. His eight great-grandparents settled in the valleys surrounding the temple, as did some of mine. My great-grandfather Andrew Anderson served on the construction crew of early pioneers who labored 11 years to complete the Manti Temple, the third in the Rocky Mountains.

As we stood with President Nelson, we had the opportunity to hold up and support the prophet of God in celebration of the rededication of the Lord’s holy house. It was a day I will never forget.

“We build temples to honor the Lord,” President Nelson said that sacred day. “They are built for worship and not for show. We make sacred covenants of eternal significance inside these sacred walls.” We are gathering Israel.

More than 100 years ago, President Wilford Woodruff, then 91 years of age, delivered what may have been his last sermon from this pulpit. In the audience was 12-year-old LeGrand Richards. His father, George F. Richards (later ordained an Apostle), brought his boys to the Tabernacle to hear the Brethren. LeGrand never forgot that experience.
For more than 20 years, I was very close to Elder LeGrand Richards. When he was 96 years old, that message still lingered in his heart. He could not remember the words President Woodruff said, but he could never forget how he felt when they were said.

“My father isn’t a member and wouldn’t let me go to FSY or be baptized,” says Jesiana, 16. “But then branch members fasted for me, and my grandmother talked with my father. After that he said I could go!”
At FSY, she experienced many firsts, such as, “participating in the lessons and activities and bearing my testimony helped me understand what it is really like to feel the Holy Ghost. I had never felt the Spirit like that before, and I was so happy and excited. I bore my testimony for the first time.”

Mom hung up the phone slowly. “Ben,” she called quietly, so as not to waken the younger children. “I need your help.”
“Sure, Mom,” Ben said, closing his book. “What is it?”
“Dad is coming home from his business trip tonight,” Mom began, “but planes have had trouble landing at the airport because of the fog. I just called there. They expect Dad’s plane to land, but the bad weather has made it late—so late that Dad will miss his ride home from the airport. It’s a dangerous night for driving, but I’ll have to go and pick him up.”
“Do you want me to baby-sit?”
“No. I’ll ask Mrs. King to come over and sit while the little ones sleep. It’s awfully late, I know, Ben, but I’d like to have you come with me to the airport. I’d appreciate your company.”
“Sure, Mom!” Ben dashed to the closet. “I’ll get my coat.” It wasn’t often that Mom even allowed Ben to stay up late.
Once in the car, Ben realized how thick the fog was. It drifted past his window like clouds of pale cotton candy. He could scarcely see the white lines marking the lanes of the freeway, let alone the signs giving directions. “I sure hope you know the way to the airport, Mom. This is like trying to look through mashed potatoes.”
“Actually,” Mom replied hesitantly, “I’ve only driven to the airport once before, and that was in daylight. I know which signs to look for, but without those, I’m pretty lost. That’s one reason I asked you to come along. I hope that two pairs of eyes watching for the signs will be better than one.”
Ben stared into the milky whiteness outside his window, trying to see anything besides fog. The words of the prayer Mom had offered before they left the house meant more to him now: “Please bless us with safety and guide us to our destination.”
Mom seemed to be whispering. “Did you say something, Mom?” Ben asked.
“Yes, sweetheart, I did,” Mom answered with a smile, “but not to you. I was praying. The fog’s getting worse. I can hardly see the road at all now, and it’s too late to turn back. Please pray, too, Ben.”
Ben didn’t need to be asked. “Please, Heavenly Father,” he was saying silently, his eyes closed, “remember what Mom prayed for before. We need help to find our way through this fog.”
When Ben opened his eyes, in front of their car and a little to the right, he saw two small red lights glowing dimly through the fog. “Look, Mom,” he pointed. “Lights!”
“I see them,” Mom sighed. “They’re taillights. Another car must be in front of us. If we follow it, maybe it will help us stay on the road.”
They followed the taillights through thick fog and through thin fog. Once, when the fog cleared a bit, Ben saw that the other car was a rather ugly old green one. “It’s not a very pretty car,” he laughed, “but I don’t think I’ve ever liked one better.”
“Me, either,” Mom agreed. “Watch for signs now. We need to exit the freeway soon and take another road.”
Ben’s eyes searched for signs. In the thinner fog, he and Mom saw their exit sign at the same moment. But while they had been looking for it, they lost sight of the old green car.
“I feel as if I’ve lost a friend,” Mom said. “I wish I could thank whoever is in that car. They’ll never know how much they helped us. Without them, I don’t know if we would have made it through the first challenge of our trip.”
“The first challenge? That means there must be another one.”
“More than one, I’m afraid. It’ll be darker on this country road, and there’s only one little sign to mark the airport turn. If we miss it in the fog, we’ll really be lost. Keep praying, Ben.”
Usually when he was with Mom, Ben talked nonstop about everything he could think of. But now he was too scared. He felt that they were all alone in a big empty whiteness that was swirling in darkness. It was a lonesome and fearful feeling.
After a few minutes, Mom spoke again. “Do you know what this reminds me of, Ben?” Ben shook his head. “Remember Lehi’s dream that we talked about in family home evening a few weeks ago? Remember how all the people were striving toward the tree when thick mists of darkness surrounded them and many lost their way? Well, this is like being in a mist of darkness. We know where we’re trying to go, but we can’t see to get there. But some people made it through the mist. How did they, Ben?”
“They held on to the iron rod.”
“And what is the iron rod?”
“The word of God,” Ben answered.
“Well, I’m thinking of some of the words of God right now. I remember that He said, ‘Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.’* I think ‘whithersoever thou goest’ even includes through the fog to the airport, don’t you?”
Ben smiled a little into the darkness. His eyes strained for a glimpse of a sign out the window, and in his mind he kept praying, “Please help us find our way.”
Mom slowed down so suddenly that they came to a complete stop. “Do you see something out there?” she asked.
Ben’s eyes ached as he tried to see. He watched one tiny patch of fog clear just enough to reveal a sign: AIRPORT.
“Oh, Ben!” Mom’s voice trembled as she turned the car. “We’re not alone out here, are we? Only one more challenge now.”
“What’s that?”
“At the airport, there will be quite a bit of traffic, and since I don’t know my way around very well, I’ll have to go slowly and follow signs. I hope we don’t have an accident in the traffic and the fog.”
Mom was right about the traffic. As they neared the airport, cars and buses and all sorts of vehicles converged from all directions, some going much too fast for a foggy night. Mom was forced to keep up with them. “I can’t see the signs, Ben, can you?” Her voice was tense. “I’m not sure where to go from here.”
Ben didn’t know how to help. He was nervous about the speeding cars all around them. Then, just ahead, Ben spotted a familiar-looking ugly green car. He relaxed his clenched hand to point; then he and Mom glanced wordlessly at each other. Mom changed lanes and followed the green car right to the entrance of the parking lot. She parked the car, turned off the engine, leaned back weakly, and looked at Ben.
“Mom,” said Ben, after a quiet moment. “Do you think Heavenly Father answered our prayers with that ugly green car?”
Mom smiled. “What do you think, Ben?”
“Well, I think …” Ben swallowed. Then he grinned. “I think Heavenly Father can answer prayers any way He wants to. Let’s go find Dad.”

When I was a young man, I had decided not to go on a mission. After a year in college and a year in the army, I had a good job at a local hospital as an X-ray technician. Life seemed to be going well, and a mission didn’t seem necessary.
One day, Dr. James Pingree, a surgeon at the hospital, invited me to lunch. In the course of our conversation, he discovered that I was not planning on serving a mission, and he asked why. I told him I was a little older and it was probably too late. He told me that wasn’t a very good reason, saying that he had gone on his mission after he had finished medical school. Then he bore testimony of the importance of his mission.
His testimony had a significant impact on me. It caused me to pray as I’d never prayed before—with real intent. I could think of a lot of reasons not to go on a mission: I was shy. I had a job I liked. I had a scholarship possibility that wouldn’t be available after a mission. Most important, I had a girlfriend who waited for me while I was in the army, and I knew she wouldn’t wait another two years! I prayed to get confirmation that my reasons were valid and that I was right.
To my frustration, I couldn’t get the easy yes-or-no answer I was hoping for. Then the thought came to me: “What does the Lord want you to do?” I had to acknowledge that He wanted me to serve a mission, and this became a decisive moment in my life. Was I going to do what I wanted to do, or was I going to do the will of the Lord? That is a question we would all do well to ask ourselves often.
Gratefully, I chose to serve a mission and was assigned to labor in the Mexico North Mission.

“She hath done what she could”! What a succinct formula! A journalist once questioned Mother Teresa of Calcutta about her hopeless task of rescuing the destitute in that city. He said that, statistically speaking, she was accomplishing absolutely nothing. This remarkable little woman shot back that her work was about love, not statistics. Notwithstanding the staggering number beyond her reach, she said she could keep the commandment to love God and her neighbor by serving those within her reach with whatever resources she had. “What we do is nothing but a drop in the ocean,” she would say on another occasion. “But if we didn’t do it, the ocean would be one drop less [than it is].”9 Soberly, the journalist concluded that Christianity is obviously not a statistical endeavor. He reasoned that if there would be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over the ninety and nine who need no repentance, then apparently God is not overly preoccupied with percentages.10

As members of the Church today, some of us may find it easy to take these glorious eternal truths for granted. They have become second nature to us. Sometimes it is helpful when we see them through the eyes of those who learn about them for the very first time. This became evident to me through a recent experience.
Last year, just prior to the rededication of the Tokyo Japan Temple, many guests not of our faith toured that temple. One such tour included a thoughtful leader from another religion. We taught our guest about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, Jesus Christ’s redeeming role in that plan, and the doctrine that families can be united eternally through the sealing ordinance.
At the conclusion of the tour, I invited our friend to share his feelings. In reference to the uniting of families—past, present, and future—this good man asked in all sincerity, “Do the members of your faith truly understand just how profound this doctrine is?” He added, “This may well be one of the only teachings that can unite this world that is so divided.”
What a powerful observation. This man was not moved simply by the exquisite craftsmanship of the temple but rather by the stunning and profound doctrine that families are united and sealed to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ forever.

I was born with Duchenne muscular dystrophy. That means my muscles will get weaker as I get older. My wheelchair comes in handy when I play soccer. I play goalie, and my chair helps me block the ball.
Even though I know that one day I won’t be able to walk anymore, I know Heavenly Father will help me have courage. And I know that because of Jesus Christ, when I am resurrected my body will be perfect and I will be able to run and move again.

Tessa sat on her bed and wiggled her tooth as hard as she could. It just wouldn’t come out! She pushed. She pulled. But the tooth was still there, and it hurt!
She slid onto the floor with a thump! She tried to think of what else she could do. In Primary she learned how you could ask Heavenly Father for help when you have a problem. Tessa got an idea. Maybe she could pray and ask Heavenly Father to help her tooth fall out!
She knelt by her bed and started to pray.
“Heavenly Father, I need help. My tooth hurts, and I want it to come out. I will wiggle it right after this prayer. I know that You can make it fall out.” She finished her prayer and began wiggling her tooth. Nothing happened. Her tooth stayed in.
OK, she thought. Maybe I just need to try something different.
She remembered that her friend Amy lost a tooth once by biting an apple.
Tessa went to the kitchen. She smelled the chocolate-chip cookies Mom was baking. She could hardly wait to try one. But first she reached for a bright green apple.
Tessa sat down at the table and said another prayer. This time she asked, “Heavenly Father, please make my tooth come out when I bite the apple.”
One bite later, the tooth still hadn’t budged! Tessa sighed and put the apple down. Didn’t Heavenly Father hear her prayer? Didn’t He want to help her?
Beep! The timer for the cookies went off. Mom opened the oven and checked the cookies.
“It looks like they need to stay in for a little longer,” Mom said.
“Why can’t we take them out now?” Tessa asked.
“We could,” Mom said, “but they wouldn’t be crispy the way you like them.”
Tessa thought for a moment. Maybe just like she needed to be patient for the cookies, she needed to be patient for her tooth to come out on its own!
She felt peaceful. She knew Heavenly Father loved her and had heard her prayer.
Tessa ran upstairs to her room and knelt down. “Heavenly Father,” she said, “thank you for hearing my prayers. I understand. Sometimes the answer is to wait.”

Elder Cornish told about a time he was very tired and discouraged while learning to be a doctor. He started crying and wondered if he could ever be a good doctor. Just then, one of the senior doctors asked how he was doing. Elder Cornish told him how he was feeling. The doctor said that he was proud of him and believed he would be an excellent doctor one day. The doctor believed in him even when Elder Cornish didn’t believe in himself. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ always believe in us and don’t want us to give up!

Both Elder and Sister Cordón grew up in Guatemala and speak fondly of their early years there. Due to challenging circumstances, Sister Cordón was separated from her parents at the age of 13, first moving in with an aunt, and then later at the age of 16, moving in with the family of her best friend. In 1984, she was introduced to the Church by her uncle. This is when she felt the Spirit and was counseled to read the Book of Mormon regularly. Her friend’s family was also Christian and were very supportive of her beliefs. Over time, her testimony grew strong.

I love the account of the arrival to the Salt Lake Valley of a large number of converts from England and Wales in 1852. The group was met by the First Presidency at the mouth of Emigration Canyon, accompanied by Captain Pitt’s Band. The Deseret News described them as “a band of pilgrims [including] sisters and children, walking, sunburnt, and weather-beaten, but not forlorn; their hearts were light and buoyant, which was plainly manifest by their happy and joyful countenances.”

As they “passed the Temple Block, … thousands of men, women, and children, gathered, from various parts of the city, to unite in the glorious and joyful welcome.” President Brigham Young addressed them: “May the Lord God of Israel bless you. … We have prayed for you continually; thousands of prayers have been offered up for you, day by day, to Him who has commanded us to gather Israel, save the children of men by the preaching of the gospel, and prepare them for the coming of the Messiah.”

Ten cents is for capital. Put it somewhere where you cannot access it or use it. This could be for 10, 15, or more years. When I think of these ten cents, I am reminded of my mother. She would sift through very good ground nuts and maize and put some aside for seeds. She would fumigate them—or so we were made to believe, so that we would not be tempted to roast that maize and eat those groundnuts when we were hungry. Mother never used the seeds, even in dire situations. She would rather have us go without than to eat those seeds. They were to be planted in the following rainy season and have them multiply. She would do the same in each harvest. She was never dependent on government handouts.7

Some time after that 1991 Christmas journey, Brother Gutjahr again found himself in Budapest, Hungary. While riding the bus one day, he saw a young man on the bus reading a book, a sight not surprising in central and eastern European countries. The book was worn and showed signs of being well-used. But looking closer, Brother Gutjahr saw something that did surprise him. The tattered, blue cover bore the title Mormon Könyve, Hungarian for “The Book of Mormon.”
The joy of the Christmas season returned. The Christmas present Brother Gutjahr had delivered over a year earlier was still giving.

Although we planted the seed, we were totally dependent upon the Lord for the harvest. A young man whose wife was a member of this Church consented to listen to the discussions. He received the first few with great delight. Then, suddenly, before our next appointment, the world got to him and he sent word for us not to come again.

We prayed and felt that we should go back, but not just then. We continued to ask the Lord for direction, and three weeks later we felt the Spirit’s confirmation that we should go to him on the following Wednesday. We prayed to know the right time, and again felt the influence of the Spirit. We knew Wednesday morning wasn’t the right time. In the afternoon we prayed again, and the answer came with urgency, “NOW.”

We immediately left our apartment, but on the way I stopped at a store to drop off a roll of film. As I put that roll on the counter a feeling of force enveloped me and the Spirit seemed almost offended as the word was repeated in my mind, “NOW!” I felt propelled out of that store and into our car. Three minutes later we were at the door of our friend. He had been reading the Book of Mormon and was thinking about us. As we talked, he became willing to listen to the discussions again.

We loved our association with the splendid elders and sisters of our mission. We were touched when an elder who was being transferred from our district said, “I looked up my new district to see if there was a missionary couple there. I hoped there would be, but there isn’t.” He was genuinely disappointed.

We are thankful for President Kimball’s message and the impact it had on us. A mission for couples? Certainly! What is it like? It is filled with wonderful surprises.

Kristina sat on the milk stool in front of the fireplace, warming her hands.
“Remember, tonight is the night for our family hour,” Mama Brigham said as she stirred the stew in the big black kettle.
“Do we have to have it?” Kristina asked.
“Kristina Margaret Brigham!” Mama exclaimed. “You know what President Young has told us about having our family hour!”
“But with all of the little kids, it isn’t much fun,” Kristina complained.
Kristina, twelve, was the oldest of six girls, and it seemed to her that Papa always prepared the evening for the younger ones. It’s always the same old thing, Kristina thought as she got the plates out of the pie safe.
After dinner Kristina sat obediently in the big rocker. Lucky Carolyn, she thought, her father doesn’t make them have family hour!
“Tonight,” Papa began, “we’re going to talk about the Indians.”
Kristina sat back in the chair, trying to hide her boredom.
Father continued, “You know President Young has told us to share with the Indians. The missionaries have been teaching them our ways, but to show that we want to be their friends, we should also learn some of their ways. Tonight we’re going to learn some of their sign language.”
Kristina only half listened as Papa showed them the signs and explained what they meant. She wished President Young hadn’t told families to have an hour each week where important things could be discussed and everyone could grow and learn together. Kristina didn’t think Indian language was something she needed to know. The Indians came to Dover only when they were hungry or when there had been trouble. They hadn’t been near for over a year. And there were so many other things she’d like to be doing.
That night as Kristina was getting ready for bed, Mama stopped her. “Kristina,” she said, “remember, tomorrow is the day I want you to take the bread, butter, and cheese to Sister Adams. She is still sick.”
“I remember,” Kristina smiled. “I’m even glad. I wanted to go riding tomorrow anyway. I asked Carolyn to go with me.”
“It’s a long trip. I wish your father could go, but he’s too busy this time of year. Thank you for going.”
The next morning Kristina got up with the sun, as usual. The small room was cold, so she quickly threw on her clothes and ran downstairs to warm herself by the big fireplace.
“Your papa keeps promising a stove,” Mama said, as she stirred the mush in the big kettle. “I hope it comes soon.”
“It will, Mama,” Kristina said, as she kissed her mother on the cheek and started to set the table.
Kristina rode alone for nearly a mile on a narrow dirt path before she reached the Larson cabin, where she stopped for Carolyn.
It was a ten-mile ride through sagebrush-covered hills to the Adams’ cabin. The girls laughed, sang, and played games. Before they knew it, they saw Brother Adams chopping wood in front of his cabin.
They found Sister Adams sitting up in bed. “Well, hello!” she welcomed them. “It’s so good to see you.
“Stay for lunch,” Sister Adams insisted. “You’re the only visitors I’ve had since I took sick, and you must keep me company.”
“Well, only if you let us cook,” Kristina said.
Soon the girls had the fire going, and the sweet smell of beef stew filled the cabin. Brother and Sister Adams were so much fun that Kristina and Carolyn forgot all about the time.
Kristina was surprised to see the sun setting as she threw the dishwater out the door.
“We were enjoying you girls so much that I forgot to pay attention to the time,” Brother Adams said. “It’s so late, maybe I’d better ride back with you.”
“We know the way,” Kristina said. “We’ll be fine.”
Brother Adams glanced at his wife, and she nodded her head. Then he explained, “The people south of here have been having Indian trouble. I think I’d better go with you.”
“We’re going north,” Kristina answered, “and we’ll be just fine.”
Brother Adams still hesitated, but finally he let the girls go alone. They rode as fast as they could while there was still some daylight, but when darkness came, they had to slow down. “I can’t even see the path!” Carolyn admitted.
“I know where we are. Don’t worry,” Kristina said. “See that light way over there. That’s home.”
“Good!” Carolyn answered as she urged her horse into a trot.
The girls rode a little further and then came to a stream. “We didn’t cross a stream this morning,” Carolyn exclaimed.
“We are just going a different way,” Kristina explained. “What else could that light be?”
Soon they were close enough to see that what they had thought was a light of home turned out to be a campfire. No one was near so the girls looked around. Suddenly five Indians jumped from behind some bushes. Carolyn screamed as two of the Indians grabbed her.
Kristina kept outwardly clam, remembering Papa’s words, “They are our friends.” Her throat was dry and her hands and knees were shaking. Then she remembered something Papa had said at family hour. With shaking hands she carefully motioned to them in sign language, “I am your friend.”
The tall Indian said something to the others. The only word Kristina understood was Mormon. They put Carolyn down, and the tall one made the sign that said “friend.” Kristina nodded her head.
“Go!” he said in English. Kristina could not remember anything else from the family hour. Oh, I wish I had listened last night, she thought. All she could think to do was shrug her shoulders and nod her head, but somehow the Indians seemed to know what she meant.
The tall Indian got on his horse and signaled for the girls to follow him.
“Where is he taking us?” Carolyn’s voice shook.
“I don’t know. But they’re our friends,” Kristina said. “Let’s just follow him.”
Finally they reached the top of a hill. At the bottom the girls could see a cluster of cabins. The Indians stopped and pointed.
“Oh, thank you!” Kristina said. She could feel the tears starting down her cheeks as she spurred her horse on. Carolyn’s parents were waiting at the Brigham cabin with Kristina’s family.
“Oh, Kristina,” Mama Brigham cried as she hugged her daughter. “I’m so glad you’re home!”
Quickly the girls told their story. Father Brigham smiled. “We’ve always treated the Indians fairly. They know we wouldn’t burn their village. We’re friends, so they helped you.”
“How did they know we’re Mormons?” Carolyn asked.
“We’ve reached out to them as friends in many ways, one of which is by learning some of their language,” Papa answered. “That’s why we talked about it last night at our family hour.”
“You know,” Brother Larson said, “I haven’t been having my family hour, but we’re going to start it this very night.”

President James E. Faust (1920–2007), Second Counselor in the First Presidency, once told of applying for Officer’s Candidate School in the United States Army. He said:
“I was summoned before the board of inquiry. My qualifications were few, but I had had two years of college and had finished a mission for the Church in South America.
“The questions asked of me at the officers’ board of inquiry took a very surprising turn. Nearly all of them centered upon my beliefs. ‘Do you smoke?’ ‘Do you drink?’ ‘What do you think of others who smoke and drink?’ I had no trouble answering these questions.
“‘Do you pray?’ ‘Do you believe that an officer should pray?’ The officer asking these questions was a hard-bitten career soldier. He did not look like he prayed very often. … I wanted to be an officer very much. …
“I decided not to equivocate. I admitted that I did pray and that I felt that officers might seek divine guidance as some truly great generals had done. …
“More interesting questions came. ‘In times of war, should not the moral code be relaxed? Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?’
“… I suspected that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I had been taught. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could say that I had my own beliefs, but I did not wish to impose them on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. In the end I simply said, ‘I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.’
“I left the hearing resigned to the fact that these hard-bitten officers would … surely score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my astonishment I had passed. I was in the first group taken for Officer’s Candidate School!”
And then President Faust, realizing how small decisions can have large consequences, said, “This was one of the critical crossroads of my life.”4

Chandra’s little brother, Kendall, was a wiggle worm. He couldn’t sit still in church for five seconds. He crawled under the benches, and he dropped the hymnbook on the floor to listen to it thud. One Sunday he even escaped and went running down the aisle, laughing and giggling. That made Chandra want to crawl under the bench herself. “I don’t want to go to church next week,” she told her mother as they drove home in the car. “It’s too embarrassing when Kendall is such a wiggle worm.”
“It is embarrassing,” admitted mother, “but remember that it’s hard for a three-year-old to sit quietly for a long time. What could we do to help him?”
“I don’t know,” Chandra said crossly. “He’s just impossible.” When she got home, she changed her Sunday dress and went to the kitchen to set the table. There was Kendall doing puzzles. He was very quiet and seemed to be thinking intently. Chandra watched him for a minute. He can be quiet when he has something quiet to do, she thought. All of a sudden a great idea hit her. “I know how to de-wiggle this worm!” she exclaimed.
That afternoon while Kendall was napping, Chandra began. Her mother gave her some old magazines and Church manuals, and Chandra found pictures of things that Kendall liked—trucks, animals, and food. There were pictures of Jesus and of reverent children too. She glued them all to stiff paper, then cut them into puzzle pieces—but not very many, because she knew that three-year-olds need easy puzzles. She got some envelopes and carefully put each puzzle’s pieces into a separate envelope. She smiled as she looked at the puzzle of Captain Moroni. Kendall loved soldiers.
Now what? Chandra thought for a minute. Then she got out old coloring books, cut out pictures of animals, and glued light-colored flannel on the back of them. She made two of each animal by gluing plain paper to flannel and using the first animals as a pattern, then using a black marker for their outlines and simple details like eyes. She found some dark-colored flannel and cut out a large ark-looking boat. Putting all the pieces in a large manila envelope, she mused, Maybe Noah will help Kendall be quiet.
By this time Chandra was getting tired, but she had one more idea. She found an old sock that didn’t have a mate. She cut two eyes, a nose, and a mouth out of leftover bits of flannel and glued them onto the sock to make a puppet. She didn’t know how to put yarn on for hair, so she decided it could be bald. A bald bishop! That sounded good. She put her hand into the sock. The bald bishop looked very wise. “Thank you for your reverence during the sacrament,” he said.
After she put all the finished projects inside a book bag, she couldn’t wait any longer. “Mom!” she called. “Come see my Wiggle Worm Kit! It’s going to help Kendall be reverent in church.”
When Mother saw all the things Chandra had made, she was impressed. “I think this will really help,” she said. “Could I also put in a Bible storybook and some stickers? Maybe some drawing paper and a pencil would be good too.”
When everything was in the bag, Chandra heaved a sigh of relief. She was proud of her work. Thanks to the Wiggle Worm Kit, Kendall would be able to sit still longer and make less noise. “I wish Sunday was tomorrow!” she declared happily.

President Kimball’s visit to Australia was the second official visit of a president of the Church. The first was President David O. McKay in 1955. When President McKay was in Brisbane, Australia, the mission president one day took him out to see the city. During the course of the day they were looking across the Brisbane River into a new suburb which was known as Chermside. President McKay said to the mission president, “Do we have any missionaries in that area?” The mission president said, “No.” President McKay said, “Send the missionaries in, for the people are ready.” Missionaries were sent into the area and they enjoyed tremendous success. Today Chermside is part of the Brisbane Fourth Ward of the Brisbane Australia Stake.