Gospel Story Finder

Lisa, you should take seminary,” Ashley mentioned casually. Before us were folders displaying lists of class choices for the next school year, when we were starting high school.
I looked vacantly at my friend, finally managing a smile. I hated to tell her, but seminary was the furthest thing from my mind. I was then a less-active member of the Church, as I had been for most of my life. Over the years, I had grown vaguely aware of the gospel but hadn’t received a strong testimony of its truthfulness.
As I went home after school that day, the prospect of seminary began to intrigue me. Ashley, as well as my other friends, all seemed very excited to become a part of it. I had a desire to do what my friends were doing, even if I didn’t understand what they were doing or why they were doing it. After discussing my plan with my parents and getting their permission, I decided to take seminary my first year of high school.
I didn’t know what a profound impact that simple act would have on my life. My first year of seminary changed my life as I began to see myself and others as children of God, loved and cherished. I began going to church on Sundays, despite my family’s inactivity.
I have now finished high school, but I will always be grateful for seminary. During that hour each day, I had my prayers answered and my testimony strengthened. Seminary helped me prepare for a temple marriage and encouraged me to strive to be a better person.
I know that God cares for each of us. I know that seminary is a blessing that helped me build on a firm foundation in Jesus Christ. I would encourage you to enroll in seminary. It will change your life too.

When Ron married his wife, Melanie, in the Salt Lake Temple on September 4, 1973, they decided to always put the Lord first in their marriage and family. That commitment was tested in 1996. Ron was in the middle of a successful career when he was called to return to New York—this time as president of the New York New York North Mission. Remembering the lesson he had learned as a young man, he immediately quit his job to accept the call.
“You want me to go serve,” he said to Heavenly Father, “then I’ll go serve.”
As a mission president, he remembered another lesson—one he had learned from his professional experience: “People are more important than anything else.”1

It was nearly three months later that Brother Hanson took us on a winter Scout camp. The entire object of the outing was for us to learn how to build a fire so we could cook and keep warm in sub-zero temperatures. We hiked for what seemed like miles, and even though Brother Hanson was close to seventy years old, we had a difficult time keeping up. Finally he brought us to a place where there was a frozen pond beside a clear spot in the trees, and there he turned us loose to build our fires.
It didn’t take long for us to discover that the frozen pond was much easier to clear off than the lumpy rock-strewn ground. In no time at all most of our fires were constructed on the thick, just-offshore ice, ready to go.
That’s when I noticed Brother Hanson. He was going to all the extra effort of clearing snow down to the bare dirt before laying out his wood. I stood and watched him for a minute, knowing him well enough to realize that he never did anything without a reason. Then I moved my pile of sticks over beside his and proceeded to do exactly as he was doing.
A while later, Brother Hanson and I were enjoying roasted hot dogs and warming our cold toes next to the crackling flames, while the rest of the troop ran frantically in circles as their fires flickered to death in pools of puddling ice.
“There’s a lesson to be learned here,” Brother Hanson stated matter-of-factly.
The boys practically howled.
Brother Hanson leaned back on his log and stretched his huge feet out lazily in front of him.
“You tell me what the lesson is,” he said, nodding at Bryan.
“Fire melts ice,” Bryan declared wisely.
Brother Hanson glanced toward Jonathan.
“That you should always build your fire on solid ground,” Jonathan concluded.
Brother Hanson looked directly at me. “Philip, what do you think?”
I quoted his own words, as if reading from a book, “‘If you build your house upon a rock, which is the gospel, and the rain descends and the floods come and the winds blow, which are the trials and temptations of life, your house will not fall.’”
What followed was a moment of surprised silence as Brother Hanson stared at me. Then, when I started to fear that he was angry and that I shouldn’t have been quite so cocky, I heard a deep rumbling sound, which I realized was actually Brother Hanson chuckling.
The chuckles soon turned into outright guffaws that made his face go red and caused his breath to come in ragged gasps. Pretty soon all the rest of us were laughing right along with him. After a few minutes he stopped, pulled himself up straight on his log, and wiped his face with his sleeve. “That’s what I like to see—a boy who learns his lesson right the first time!”

I am very happy to express my joy and gratitude for the fact that the last issue of L’Étoile (the former name of the Church’s French magazine) and the first issue of Le Liahona (the current name of the Church’s French magazine) helped put me on the path of the restored gospel, which I had been seeking for many years.
Disappointed by the false teachings that met me everywhere I turned in life, I had decided never to enter a church of any kind until Jesus Christ Himself returned and announced His gospel in person. The presentation and contents of the articles in the magazine, however, led me to the truth as restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I am again attending church, this time the true Church of Jesus Christ.Fidele Kituma-wa-Talanzambi, Mbuji Mayi Branch, Democratic Republic of Congo Kinshasa Mission

Often our Church assignments place us in ideal situations for developing charity toward others. My father had the same home teaching assignments and the same companion for many years. He and his companion grew to love deeply the families they served, and the families came to rely on their friendship. What had started as a priesthood assignment became a great bond of love.
In his old age, my father had severe arthritis and great difficulty walking. Yet he and his companion, who by then had trouble seeing and could no longer drive, still got together to visit their old friends. The companions would joke that the two of them combined made up a whole person. My father drove and made the phone calls; his companion helped everyone when a more steady step was required.
One evening they stopped the car at the house of a sister, but my father could not get out. He said to his companion, “Why don’t you walk up and have her come out to the door, and then I can wave to her.”
His companion slowly made his way up the steps and asked the sister to come to the door and wave to my father. Although she was disabled and could not walk easily, she said, “I should say not. After all the years you two have been visiting me, this time I will walk down to the car to visit with you.”
The two of them helped each other out the door and down the steps to the car to visit my father. My father opened the door, and the three of them talked together in the twilight until it was too dark to see.
That was the last time my father and his companion went home teaching. By the next month my father had died, followed shortly by his companion and then that sister.
As my father committed himself to serving others, befriending them, respecting them, and staying with them literally to the end, he provided me with a wonderful example of how charity develops through dedicated home teaching.

This is especially true for parents. When my wife and I were expecting our first child, I called my uncle for advice. He is the one who introduced me to the Church, and I love him dearly.

“What can I do?” I asked. “How can I teach my children to help them grow and be strong?”

I was struck by what my uncle said.

“Don’t worry about them,” he said. “It’s about you. They will be with you and see you all the time. Try your best to obey the commandments. Be honest and worthy in all you do, and they will follow your example.”

Christmas music filled the kitchen with a happy feeling. The cookies Marinda and Mom were baking for family home evening smelled sweet and spicy. And yet Marinda suddenly felt sad.
“You’re pretty quiet,” Mom said gently. “Is something wrong?”
Marinda sighed. “I know that I will always remember Nathan, but will Nathan remember me?”
Mom put the cookie sheet on the counter and looked into Marinda’s round blue eyes. “Nathan will always remember us. In fact, I’m sure that he is looking forward to being with us again.”
Marinda nibbled on a warm molasses cookie and thought carefully about Mom’s words. “I know that he is with Heavenly Father,” she said at last, “but I want him to be my little brother now.” The cookie slipped from her fingers as she laid her head on her folded arms, her eyes brimming with tears.
It had been six months since Nathan died—six hard months for Marinda and all her family. Now the Christmas tree and the holiday music seemed to make things harder. Mom wiped her hands on her apron and sat beside her daughter. “Do you really believe that Heavenly Father loves us, Marinda?”
Marinda lifted her head and nodded. “Of course I do, Mom. I just wish He hadn’t let Nathan die. I wish we could be together like a family should be.”
“If we really believe that Heavenly Father loves us, we have to also believe that He does what is best for us, even when it makes us sad. We can be sure that He did what was best for Nathan. He even sent His Son so that we can be together again for eternity.”
Marinda’s face clouded up, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “I want Nathan to be with us this Christmas. I want to teach him Christmas carols. I want to help him decorate cookies. How can I do that when he isn’t here?”
Mom had tears in her own eyes as she hugged Marinda close and brushed a curl off her forehead. “Marinda, I know just how you feel. I want to be able to share things with Nathan, too. I feel very sad that he can’t live with us now.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes before Mom gently pulled Marinda’s face up and said, “I have an idea that might help all of us. Come to my room, and I’ll show you.”
They hurried upstairs. Mom opened the cedar chest and took out a pretty white box. Snuggled in tissue paper was the small red Christmas stocking that Mom had made for Nathan before he was born. Marinda had forgotten about it.
Mom stroked the stocking tenderly. “I didn’t quite know what to do with this after Nathan died, but you’ve given me a wonderful idea. …”
Marinda’s eyes lit up with excitement as Mom explained her plan. They decided to share it with the rest of the family at family home evening.
That evening, as everyone sat comfortably on the couch, Marinda began, “I’m glad that I am part of this family. I’m happy that we can be together forever. I love all of you, but I really miss Nathan. I want to be able to do things for him every day, but especially now, at Christmas. So from now on, Mom and I want to hang Nathan’s stocking with all of ours. Only his will be filled with something better than candy and toys.”
“That’s right.” Mom explained, “On Christmas Eve, we’ll each give him a gift—a note telling what we plan to do during the coming year to become more worthy of living with him in the Celestial Kingdom. And instead of putting Nathan’s stocking away after Christmas, we want to leave it hanging on the mantel. It will remind us every day of our gifts to him. Also,” she added with a wink, “we can look at our notes any time to check our progress or add something new.”
For a few seconds it was very quiet. Marinda noticed that everyone had tears in their eyes. Dad finally broke the silence. “That is a great idea! It will help all of us not only to remember Nathan but also to do our best so that we can be with him again. It’s really a gift to all of us.”
Marinda looked at her family. She loved them so much that she couldn’t even imagine being without them. And now she really felt that they were giving Nathan a gift. And that he was giving them one, too—a reason to work harder at doing what’s right.

A sister who was unable to attend church because of some difficult health challenges came to know how sweetly personal God’s covenants are. Because of these unusual circumstances, Aaronic Priesthood holders, at the direction of the bishop, came to her home to administer the sacrament. She knew they would be coming, but she did not anticipate the outpouring of God’s love she would feel as they knelt and blessed the bread and water—just for her. “I’ll never forget when they held the sacrament tray with one piece of bread and then one small cup of water on it. As I took the sacred emblems, I felt such a personal connection with my Savior. I knew that His Atonement really was for me. I felt of His mercy and His love. In every way, I was renewed and strengthened to meet the challenges that were uniquely mine.”

Early in the spring of 1947, my dad took a week off from his job in the coal mines so he could plant the crops on our small farm. Generally we planted only enough potatoes to last us for a year. We used the rest of the ground to raise vegetables for our family—consisting of Dad, Mom, two brothers, and a sister at home. These crops also helped feed the cows, pigs, and chickens. Our land was plowed and ready to plant when the missionaries stopped at our house for their weekly meal and visit. Seeing our family, even though we were only partially active in the Church, cheered their spirits as well as ours.
When Dad mentioned his plan to plant the potatoes, the missionaries were eager to help. Dad was nervous about men without farming experience helping, but they were persistent, and he finally agreed. The next morning, the elders arrived just as we children were getting ready for school. We listened as Dad explained to them how to prepare the seed potatoes for planting. “It’s easy. This is the bud of the potato,” he said, pointing to a small, round bump. “Cut each potato into small pieces and make sure there is at least one bud in each piece. Understand?”
“Oh, yes,” the missionaries replied, and they enthusiastically started working.
Dad left to borrow a team of horses and a mechanical potato planter, and we went off to school.
At noon, we arrived home for lunch just in time to view the disaster—the expensive seed potatoes had been ruined! The elders, unaware that each bud needed some of the fleshy part of the potato to nourish its growth, had decided that they would help us by leaving less potato around the bud and more potato for our family to eat. So instead of cutting each potato into seedling cubes with a bud in each cube, they had peeled each potato into very thin circles with a bud in each circle. The rest of the potato was put into a tub so it could be cooked and fed to the family.
Dad was furious when he returned home and saw what had happened. But he did not want to offend the elders, so he dipped the peelings into a solution that protected them from disease and loaded them into the planter. The missionaries, feeling guilty for the serious mistake they had made, waited to help with the planting.
Just before we returned to school, we watched our dad drive the potato planter into the field with the elders riding on back. I knew it would be their job to make sure that only one seedling dropped into the ground at a time. This would be a difficult and time-consuming job since the planter was designed for a cube of potato and not a thin peeling.
The planting was nearly done when we came home from school. Unfortunately, because each peeling had only one bud, not the usual four or five, the potatoes had taken up nearly all of the plowed ground. Where would we plant the corn and wheat we needed? Seeing our dismay, one of the missionaries said, “Brother John, may we offer a blessing on your potato crop?” Dad shrugged his shoulders and said yes. I can still remember the promises of an abundant harvest and great blessings that the missionary pronounced upon our fields. Dad thanked the elders for helping him, and invited them inside to share our supper of fried potatoes.
Dad was discouraged as he returned to his job at the coal mine. He was sure we would have no crops that year. But to our surprise, all the potato plants came up! Our family was amazed, and the elders were elated.
A short time later, the elders were transferred and they never knew whether or not we had a potato crop. One summer day mom needed something to cook for supper, so I dug up one of the potato plants. We were amazed—the potatoes were nearly full size! Mom said that if the rest of the plants were like this one, we would be able to sell some of them. As we continued to dig up the potatoes, we found about 4.5 kilos per plant! When our neighbors and the local stores found out about our early crop, they bought our potatoes all through July, August, and September. Their purchases didn’t diminish our supply. Not only that, but the potatoes’ taste and quality were superior.
At harvest time, we dug up the rest of the potatoes. What potatoes! Some weighed 2.5 kilos each, and none of them were hollow or soft. I remember one that was twenty-seven centimeters long and ten centimeters in diameter. We harvested five times the normal amount, and since we had planted two hectares instead of the planned .4 hectares, our harvest was twenty-five times what we had originally planned. People heard about our potatoes and we sold all of our harvest. Dad had lost his job at the coal mine, but the money we earned from our potato harvest paid for school clothes and supplies, feed for the cows and chickens, and our food and fuel the following winter.
But the greatest blessing was to our spirits. To us, those potatoes were a miracle, a testimony that God hears and answers the pronouncements of his servants. Our family’s faith grew, and we became much more active in the Church.

Mar. 3, 1853 Says he, “If your father had stayed here, him and me would have owned all Kirtland now. I own the temple,” says he. It began to get dark. Says he to his wife and daughter, “Mother and Lilly, you did not ask Joseph if he had been to dinner.” Says he, “Where did you eat last?” Says I, “At Brother Nelson’s in Racine, Wisconsin.” Says he, “Three days ago? Why didn’t you tell us when you first came in?” Says I, “I had been without eating so long I forgot that I was hungry.”

He visited the temple, sorrowfully noting its deterioration from lack of care, and looked out over the city, where many homes that had been wrecked by a tornado were being left to decay. The town seemed to him to have declined much since the Saints had left.

What an uplift President Kimball’s August message on testimony was to me. I have been a member of the Church all my life but never have I enjoyed such an upliftment. I have spent the whole summer in the hospital, so I have not been able to attend my meetings like I always do. The meeting I have missed the most is testimony meeting. This meeting seems to do me the most good. I grow so much from others’ testimonies. However, as I lay in my bed one day, I had a strong urge to bear my testimony. I felt a strong feeling that my Heavenly Father was with me, so I poured out my heart to him. I shared my testimony with my best friend. I lay there and cried because I knew that my testimony had been heard. It needed to be shared, and my Heavenly Father knew it.
I am still in the hospital, but I know God lives and I know that we have living prophets guiding us today. The gospel is so marvelous, and this is a wonderful time to live. I have felt lonely at times in this hospital room, but I have learned many lessons, and the Lord has always been with me.
The power of the priesthood has also been an uplift in my life. My dad and my brother have brought the sacrament to me with my bishop’s approval.
The gospel is marvelous and has been such an inspiration in my life. Thank you, President Kimball, for your most beautiful article. It was one I needed right now in my life.
Jo HendricksApple Valley, California

During my second year of college, I worked at the university library as a student assistant. One day in December I was assigned to work with another student assistant. I had never met him before, so as we worked I tried to strike up a conversation. We talked about school, work, and our families.
Later in the afternoon he started to sing songs that mentioned God. I asked him about his religion. I hoped he would ask me the same thing so I could talk to him about the Church, and he did. I was so excited, because this was a great missionary opportunity. With a big smile, I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He looked surprised and, in a not-very-pleasant tone of voice, replied, “The Mormons? You’re a Mormon? Those people don’t believe in Jesus Christ.”
His words were hard for me to hear. Whatever I was expecting, it certainly wasn’t to hear that I didn’t believe in Jesus Christ. I had heard stories like this, but now it was happening to me. What should I say? How could I respond to such a remark? The only thing that came to mind was, “But it’s the Church of Jesus Christ!”
I knew I had to repeat in my mind the Young Women motto—“Stand for Truth and Righteousness”—and put it into action. But how?
I proceeded to tell the other assistant that our church is the Church of Jesus Christ, that we believed in Him as our Savior, and that I understood the love He has for God’s children. I expressed from the depths of my soul that I believed in Jesus Christ, that I was a member of His Church, and that I had been taught to love Him and to follow His example.
My coworker did not want to listen anymore. He responded reproachfully to the things I said even while I kept trying to explain. He also talked about the Book of Mormon in the same manner as he had spoken about the Church. I could tell he didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to listen to what he was saying either because he was trying to contend with me. I knew I shouldn’t go on explaining, so I bore my testimony. I told him that I knew everything I was saying was true. I could feel it in my heart.
As I left the library, I wondered how anyone could possibly talk about the Church that way. I thought about what I had felt as I testified to him and wondered if I should have allowed him to express himself the way he did. I felt anger and fear and thought of things I could have said. I felt frustrated and doubted my own level of spirituality because he had not changed his mind. Had I failed?
On the way home, I prayed. I wanted to get rid of my negative thoughts. I wanted to feel sure of what I had been taught my whole life, and I wanted to feel that Heavenly Father was pleased with me for what I had done. Prayer was the best tool I had. Prayer and the Holy Ghost had helped me know what to say and how to testify to my coworker, and they also helped me to know that my Heavenly Father was pleased with me.
This experience helped me to know with a greater certainty that this is the true Church of Jesus Christ and that, just as He was persecuted, so is His Church. I learned the importance of having a firm testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ and His Church.

“I began my career by chasing my sons,” she quips. And it’s literally true. Her two younger sons, she has six children, had taken up running and, concerned at age thirty-seven about her own fitness, she began jogging with them. In 1963 “the Big Walk became the rage in the Transvaal,” and Mavis found herself becoming “one of the top lady walkers in the country.” She liked it—the competition, the continually increasing endurance and discipline, and the self-discovery.

Mavis had never thought of herself as athletic. Her father, George Vaughn, was a runner and rugby player in Kimberly, site of “the biggest manmade hole on earth,” where he worked for a diamond-mining company. Yet Mavis, a nervous child, suffered from chorea (St. Vitus’s dance) in her early teens that left her bedridden for three months on three separate occasions. Running was an unexpected development in the life of Mrs. Ernest Hutchison of Johannesburg, the mother of six children, and now the grandmother of seven.

From walking, she branched out into cross-country running and worked hard to get the Republic of South Africa to recognize women’s cross-country as a legitimate sport. She was rewarded in the usual way by getting more work to do; she was appointed to manage the first women’s team to represent South Africa abroad, touring the United Kingdom in 1969.

By then she was working seriously on her running and signed up for “one of the most gruelling marathons in the world,” the Comrades’ Marathon which starts 760 meters above sea level at Pietermaritzburg and runs through “87 kilometers of breath-taking scenery to the coastal city of Durban.” This is “the down run.” The “up run,” held in alternate years, begins at Durban and climbs breathlessly to Pietermaritzburg.

By then, running had become a way of life. She challenged herself more, pushed herself harder, and then, in 1978, faced the two greatest challenges of her life. One challenge was to run completely across the United States. The other was to accept the message of the Mormon missionaries.

She met the missionaries just before she left for the United States and asked them to come back because “I was frantic with last-minute preparations.”

Standing on the steps of the Los Angeles City Hall on 12 March 1978 she knew she was facing “the greatest challenge of my life” both spiritually and physically. “It was my greatest ambition, but I felt so apprehensive. Would I really be able to do it? What lay ahead of me? Was I strong enough? Had I prepared properly? I wished I’d had enough sense to have stayed at home.”

Then the clock struck nine and she was off. Followed by two vans, Mavis ran fourteen hours a day, starting at 4 A.M. and stopping only for meals. She ran through thirteen states, through four time zones. She took six million footsteps, one at time. She wore twenty-five pairs of shoes in rotation, and had repairs made forty times.

The weather, almost systematically, hit her with every variation. For four weeks she slogged through intense heat. For the next four weeks, she struggled through gale-force winds—that literally blew her off her feet more than once—and bitter cold, staggering along under the weight of two tracksuits, a soft, flat cap with no visor, gloves, and a lightweight jacket the wind can’t blow through. Then it rained without stopping for seven days. One raincoat would keep her dry for exactly one hour; she wore two. Together, they kept her dry for four hours.

The weather was not her only challenge. “The traffic was frightening,” she exclaimed. At one dangerous stretch, cars were whizzing past every seven seconds. She stopped running only one day—the thirty-third—when shin splints made it impossible to continue. The next day, teeth gritted and literally dragging her right foot, she was back on the road.

“I prayed often for courage to bear the pain,” she remembers. “I didn’t ask God to take it away, but just to help me bear it.” She prayed often throughout the journey: “‘Please God, give me the stamina to fight the wind, the endurance to continue the distance I need to go, the willpower to keep going.’ At no time did I ever doubt that I would finish the distance, but I can assure you that there were times when I didn’t know how I could finish the day or even the next hour. And then I prayed, in the words of John Henry Newman’s beautiful hymn, ‘Please, God, I do not ask to see the distant scene. One step enough for me.’” (“Lead Kindly Light”, No. 112).

Finally the weather relented, and “the last two days were the most beautiful imaginable.” She trotted into New York and landed at the city hall just before noon on May 20, the only woman in history to have run from the Pacific Coast to the Atlantic Coast across the U.S.. Exhilarated from the run, after sixty-nine days, two hours, and forty minutes, she was surprised that it was over, “It came too suddenly,” she said.

Was it worth it? “Yes! I grew beyond my wildest dreams. I learned that nothing is impossible if you’re prepared to work hard enough. Age is irrelevant. There are no barriers and no handicaps. And you must do it yourself. No one can run for you. I also learned that failure is important. From it we learn discipline, patience, perseverance, and the ability to accept disappointments.”

In some real though not yet understood ways, that gruelling run had prepared her for the gospel. The open road “opened my mind and heart to the hidden reaches of a hidden existence. I was ready to discover myself.” Beyond the fear of failure and the pain of the hard work lay an unshakable sense of self, a self that honored the truth and despised sham. And the “purifying solitude” of long runs had given her an instinct for joy.

The chance to plunge into another layer of self-discovery came within a month of her return to Johannesburg. Two missionaries—different ones—called on her. She participated enthusiastically in the six discussions, “sure that they would keep coming indefinitely since I so greatly enjoyed their visits.” But when they asked her if she would be baptized on the next Saturday, “I was completely stunned, I made sure that I was lousy the next Saturday—and the next, and the next.”

But she knew too much about herself now to avoid this second great challenge. “I knew I was just making excuses. I also knew that if I choice not to join the Church I would lose my way again, for I knew there was light in my life that hadn’t been there before.”

The clarity of the decision she must make did not make it any easier. She would have to be baptized alone, the only member of her family to join the Church. She would be changing her life-style for a third time. These things would hurt. But she prayed and “felt the Spirit of Heavenly Father telling me that I must do the right thing.” The Spirit also whispered “that only I could make the choice.”

She made her decision. On 30 September 1978 at 4:30 P.M., she was waiting in Ramah Chapel for her turn to be baptized. It was emotionally a repeat of her experience in Los Angeles. “There were many people being baptized with me. They all looked so calm, so sure, and so radiantly happy. I was very nervous and very unsure and, at that moment, very unhappy. Had I prepared properly? Was I doing the fight thing? It was an enormous commitment—would I be able to keep it?”

And was joining the Church worth it? Again, yes! “I know that I made the right decision. I know there will be many times when I will pray for strength merely to take the next step, but I knew, after I was baptized, that I could get to the end of the road. This is the most important journey of my life.”

Since her baptism she has served as Sunday School secretary, Relief Society social relations leader and visiting teacher, and—naturally—as athletic adviser to the Activities Committee.

Eight-year-old Martin Wang raced upstairs to the third floor of his apartment building. He pressed the doorbell and waited impatiently.
“Ni hao (How are you)?” his mother greeted him cheerfully when she opened the door.
Martin didn’t answer. His mother continued talking in Mandarin, asking him what he had done in school that day and if he wanted sweet rice in bamboo leaves for a snack.
“No,” answered Martin in English, “I want a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, like all the other kids have.”
“Haole (All right),” said his mother, still talking in Mandarin. “But sweet rice tastes much better.”
“I don’t care,” said Martin. “I want what all the other kids have.”
That evening at supper, as Martin’s father and mother talked about getting ready for the Chinese New Year, which would begin in a few days, Martin burst out angrily, “Speak English!”
“Martin,” said his father. “Why are you so upset?”
“I want you to speak English like everyone else,” said Martin. “And I don’t want to go to the New Year’s festival anymore. I’m tired of being different.” Martin threw down his napkin and ran to his room, crying.
Martin’s mother followed him. “Did something happen in school today?” she asked, sitting next to Martin on his bed.
“Some of the kids said I have funny eyes,” Martin sobbed.
“They’re not funny,” said his mother. “They’re just different from your classmates’. Chinese people have almond-shaped eyes. Yours are especially handsome because you have an extra fold on each eyelid.”
“I don’t care,” said Martin. “I want to be just like everyone else.”
“No one is just like everyone else,” his mother told him. “Right now it seems hard, but someday you’ll be glad for your Chinese heritage.”
The next day at school Martin’s teacher asked him if his mother could come in and tell the class about the Chinese New Year. Martin blushed with embarrassment. He was afraid that the other kids would tease him even more. But Martin did ask his mother, and she said that she would be happy to talk to his class.
A few days later, when Martin woke up, he groaned, remembering that his mother was to accompany him to school. At breakfast he said, “I have a stomachache.”
“I’m sorry, Martin,” said his mother. “I’ll tell you what; if you still don’t feel well after I’ve told your class about the Chinese New Year, you can come home with me.”
Martin tried to think of another excuse to stay home, but his mother whisked him out the door and into the car before he could think of one.
In his classroom Martin sat with his head down, staring at the floor. He thought that the other children would make fun of his mother’s broken English. Instead, the children watched with great interest as she held up a bright red sheet of paper with gold characters painted on it and explained that the characters meant “Happy New Year.”
Then she showed the children how Chinese written characters are sometimes like pictures. She wrote: (mù), which means “tree.” Then she wrote (lin), which means “forest.” Then she held up some small red envelopes covered with gold characters.
“What do you think these are for?” she asked.
One of the children raised his hand and guessed that they were for sending letters.
“No,” said Martin’s mother with a smile, “but that’s a good guess. These are special envelopes that we put money into and give to the children as New Year’s presents—right Martin?”
Martin nodded his head reluctantly.
Out of a large plastic bag, his mother pulled a scary-looking dragon head with a long colorful sheet attached to it. The children all oohed and aahed.
Martin looked around in surprise. Everyone seemed excited and genuinely interested. And no one, he realized, had snickered at anything that his mom had said.
“This is a Chinese dragon,” said his mother. “We use it for the dragon dance during the New Year’s celebration. The person chosen for the dragon’s head has to practice for many months. If you would like me to, I will show you a little of the dance. Who would like to be part of the dragon today?”
All the children—even Billy, who had teased Martin about his eyes—eagerly waved their hands and begged to be part of the dragon.
After all the children had a chance to try the dragon dance, Martin’s mother said that she had one more thing to show them. “You must be very careful with these,” she continued. “Adults are the ones that usually light them for our celebrations.” From a sack she pulled a long string with small rolls of red paper attached to it.
“Firecrackers!” yelled one of the boys.
Everyone in the class pushed to the front of the room to have a closer look.
“Boy, you guys are lucky!” Billy told Martin. “You get to set off firecrackers for New Year’s.”
Martin looked at him and smiled. Maybe being Chinese wasn’t so bad after all.
When everyone had sat down, Martin’s mother asked him in Mandarin if his stomach still hurt. Without thinking, he answered her in Mandarin.
“You mean that you can speak Chinese, too?” asked Billy.
Martin nodded.
“Wow!” Billy exclaimed. “Maybe you can teach me some?”
Later, as they lined up together for recess, Martin smiled. “Pengyou,“ he said to Billy as they ran across the blacktop. “That means ‘friend.’”

My father died last year, and now he is getting more of the education that he always wanted when he was a little boy. And me? Well, my wife and I have children of our own in school. And when they say, “But I don’t want to go to school,” I say, “Then I’ll go in your place. Do you think the teacher would mind? I wonder if I can fit into the seat at your desk?” And when they say, “My teacher makes me work too hard,” I just smile and mess up their hair and say, “I doubt it.”

Richard is a good example of another approach. Born in the Church, Richard was not active until he was well into his teens. At that time a series of challenging events provided him with the opposition necessary to turn him toward the gospel. After a few weeks of reading and prayer, Richard had developed a testimony of Christ and the truth of the Book of Mormon. People remembered Richard because of his testimony and commitment to it.

In 1950 I married my dear wife Fidelia Njoku. She was born at Ibeku Okwuato in Aboh Mbaise Local Government Area in 1930, the daughter of Nkoku Ugonabo and his wife Ekeoma. Both parents died when she was very young, and as a result she was denied the opportunity of education. As an orphan with younger brothers and sisters to support, she was engaged in petty trading, covering many kilometers away from home to distant markets to earn a living. She had been converted to the Catholic religion and was appointed leader in many organizations. She told me that God was directing all her affairs because of the very strong faith she had in him, and that she did all she could to avoid the temptations of the devil.
During the early years of our marriage, we had a series of troubles as a result of miscarriages. All our hopes were placed in God’s protection and the advice from our doctors. Things were very difficult, so I became a trader, with my wife as the storekeeper. She was honest and deserved the honour and admiration of people around us, who regarded her as a worthy homemaker and example to other women. Her duty is ever to give sound advice to people in all walks of life whenever her attention is needed, and her family responsibilities are the first things in her life.
In 1952 I started teaching and struggled hard to further my education. My wife was patient enough to wait for me to go to teacher training college for four years. I had a marvelous teaching career. I did not know that God had a work for me to do, besides my small efforts in the teaching profession.
In November 1965, I was visited in a dream by a tall person carrying a walking stick in his right hand. He asked whether I had read about Christian and Christiana from A Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan. I told him that I had forgotten it and he told me to read it again. After a few months the same personage appeared to me again and took me to a most beautiful building and showed me everything in it. That personage appeared to me three times.
During the Nigerian civil war, when we were confined to the house, I picked up an old copy of the Reader’s Digest for September 1958. I opened it at page 34 and saw a picture of the same beautiful building I had been shown around in my dream, and I immediately recognized it. The heading was “The March of the Mormons.” I had never before heard the word Mormons. I started to read the story because of the picture of the building I had seen in my dream. I discovered that it was all about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
From the time I finished reading the story, I had no rest of mind any longer. My whole attention was focused on my new discovery. I rushed out immediately to tell my brothers, who were all amazed and astonished to hear the story.
By that time there was a blockade all over Nigeria, so I could not write any letter to the headquarters of the Church. At the removal of the blockade in 1971 I wrote a letter for instructions. Pamphlets, tracts, and a Book of Mormon were sent to me, including “Joseph Smith’s Testimony” about the restoration of the gospel. Brother LaMar S. Williams was in the Missionary Department at that time, and his instructions were that they had no authority to organize the Church in Nigeria then. I was totally disappointed, but the Holy Spirit moved me to continue writing. Many a time in dreams I saw some of the missionaries of the Church discussing matters about the Church.
Persecutions, name calling, and all kinds of abuses were rendered to me. I was persecuted in various ways but I kept deaf ears. I knew I had discovered the truth and men’s threats could not move me and my group. So we continued asking God to open the door for us.
Elder W. Grant Bangerter answered a letter I sent in the same way—that the Church could not be organized in Nigeria yet, but that the leadership had the desire to do so.
On 9 October 1976, I wrote to Elder Bangerter:
“I have received your letter of Sept. 24 with thanks. I have noted what you said therein. We are not discouraged anyhow but shall continue to pursue the practice of our faith which we have found to be true. …
“We are very optimistic that Our Lord Jesus Christ will make it possible in the future for the Church to take more direct action. We are well aware that our faith is being tried. We are doing everything we can to establish the truth among so many of Our Heavenly Father’s children in this part of the world.”
Brother Williams gave us a program to follow on Sundays. We continued praying always, until the 21st of November 1978, when the Church was officially opened for the black race (in Africa) with the authority to hold the priesthood and administer the ordinances thereof.
Nineteen members were baptized on the above date by Elders Rendell N. Mabey, Edwin Q. Cannon, Jr., and A. Bruce Knudsen. The Aboh Branch was organized, with Anthony Obinna as president, his brothers Francis and Raymond as his counselors, and his wife Fidelia as Relief Society president. When President Obinna expressed concern about the propriety of having his own family in these offices, Elder Mabey assured him that they had been chosen for their worthiness, not for their kinship. The new branch presidency promptly reported the event in a jubilant letter to the First Presidency:
“Dear Brethren,
“All the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in this part of Nigeria have the pleasure to thank you and the Latter-day Saints throughout the world for opening the door for the Gospel to come to our people in its fullness.
“We are happy for the many hours in the Upper Room of the Temple you spent praying to the Lord to bring us into the fold. We thank our Heavenly Father for hearing your prayers and ours and by revelation. He has confirmed the long promised day, and has granted the holy priesthood to us, with the power to exercise its divine authority and enjoy every blessing of the temple.
“There is no doubt that the Church here will grow and become a mighty center for the Saints and bring progress enough to the people of Nigeria as it is doing all over the world.”
I am blessed with a humble and loyal wife, with seven fine and beautiful children who are all members of the true church on earth. My children are all educated. My first daughter and my first son are certified teachers. Bonadventure has completed secondary class five, Angella is in secondary class four, Stella Ego is in secondary class two, and Anastasia is in secondary class one. The youngest boy in the family is entering college in September 1980.
The most important talk and love in my house is about “our church.” As Christ is guarding his true church, membership is increasing daily, and I testify that in the future, the membership of the Church will be as great as the sand on the seashore. God is great and performs wonders. No human power can withhold God’s work in this world.

Little finger puppets crafted by the young people of the Stillwater Oklahoma Stake take the sting out of a blood test for children at the local medical center. Over 50 young men and young women got together to make over 200 bunnies, snowmen, and chickens that just fit the fingers of small patients at the hospital.

Having a finger pricked for a blood test is a necessary but often traumatic experience for children. Gail Vest, the coordinator of the project, thought the finger puppets would help turn the tears into smiles. She went to the stake’s young people to see if they would like to make it a service project. The project was performed with enthusiasm, and the hospital is delighted with the results.

Amauri pushed the bicycle up the long hill. At the top was a small Catholic church with a little building behind where the padres lived. In back of this building was a little shack that Amauri’s family called home. “Mamãe (Mother)!” he called out when he neared his house, and his mother appeared at the door.
“Where have you been, Amauri?” she asked, her back still bent from the day’s work of cleaning in the tall office building downtown. Then she saw the bicycle. “What do you have there, Amauri?” she asked, and her eyes looked worried.
“A bicicleta (bicycle), Mamãe,” Amauri answered.
“Where did you get it?” his mother questioned again, and Amauri knew that she was afraid he had stolen it, because many of the poor people in their neighborhood sometimes stole things to get money to buy food. Amauri’s mother was grateful that her five children didn’t steal.
“A man gave it to me, Mother,” Amauri answered proudly. “I’m going to be a delivery boy! I’ll ride the bicycle from place to place, delivering lunches to the businessmen and groceries to the ladies in fine houses!”
“You mean you have a job?” And Amauri’s mother smiled with joy.
Amauri told her about how he had walked up to a man and said, “Do you need a boy to work for you?” The man had thought for a few moments and then invited him inside his store. They talked for a while, and he told Amauri that he would pay him fifty centavos an hour.
“How many hours will you work?” his mother asked.
“Eight hours every day,” Amauri answered. “That means I will get four cruzeiros a day or more than twenty cruzeiros a week. I can buy food for the family!”
Amauri hugged his mother and she hugged him back. “What a good nine-year-old son I have,” she said gratefully. “Now you are truly the man of the family. Ever since your father died I have been the only one earning money. Now you will help me buy beans and rice for our breakfast and dinner. Enough talking for now, son. Remember, the elders are coming tonight, and we must get the house ready.”
Amauri got water from the well, and his little sister Cecilia cooked the beans and rice for dinner. The other children made the two beds they all slept on, while Mother carefully swept the cold, hard-packed dirt floor.
When the missionaries came, they stood outside the door and clapped their hands together, because that is the way people announce themselves in Brazil. Cecilia ran to open the door.
“Boa noite, elderes (Good evening, elders),” she said. “Come in.”
The tall elders shook hands with everybody. Elder Samson was blond and showed many teeth when he smiled. Elder Bonner had red hair and freckles all over, even on his arms. Although they were Americans, they spoke Portuguese, but sometimes it was hard to understand them.
The elders and Amauri and his family sat on boxes around the table, and then the elders told them all about the commandments of God, including one that asked them to give the Church one-tenth of all the money they earned. Mother was thoughtful when the elders told her this, because she barely made enough money to feed the family. But then she smiled. “Of course,” she said. “That is why little Amauri got a job today. We can pay tithing to the Lord and still have enough to eat.”
Amauri felt very proud to tell the missionaries about his job. “Who knows?” Amauri said, “maybe someday I will deliver a lunch right to the building where my mother works.”
“But what about school?” asked Elder Samson.
“School is not for poor people,” said Amauri’s mother sadly. “We do not have the money to buy books.”
And then Amauri remembered something awful. His face turned white. “What’s wrong, Amauri?” the elders asked.
“I just remembered,” Amauri said. “I only have three days to learn how to ride the bicycle.”
“What?” asked Elder Bonner, surprised. “Nine years old and you don’t know how to ride a bicycle?”
Amauri shook his head. “We are too poor to have a bicycle. Now I will have to learn before Thursday. How can I learn that fast?”
Everyone looked worried now. Learning to ride a bicycle wasn’t easy.
Then Elder Bonner said he had an idea. “We will teach you how to ride!” he shouted, and Elder Samson nodded in agreement.
The next morning the missionaries came back. They could hardly wait to get Amauri out of bed and onto his bicycle.
It was harder than Amauri had thought it would be. He fell down again and again. Even on a grassy field it hurt to fall, but he kept thinking: The Lord got me this job so that my family can pay tithing. And I’m going to get back on that bicycle.
The next day Amauri rode for ten meters all by himself before the bicycle started to tip over, then he stopped it from falling by sticking out his foot. At the end of the riding lesson he told the elders, “It’s time for me to go home. And you’ll have to hurry—I’m going to ride this bicycle all the way back home. And I’m going to ride it very fast.”
Amauri got on the bicycle and pedaled as fast as his legs would go, the elders behind him shouting and cheering him on. When he arrived home, Cecilia and the other children ran out of the house laughing and clapping their hands.
“Como Deus me abencoe (How God is blessing me)!” he shouted to the elders when they came into the house. “First a job, and now you have helped me learn to ride a bicycle so I can do it well!”
The elders just laughed and shook his hand. And then the children hugged him in their excitement.
The next day was Thursday, and Amauri rode the bicycle all alone downtown to the store. He took the lunches and delivered them, and later took fresh meat to housewives and cabbages to restaurants. He was exhausted when nighttime came.
When he got home he tied the bicycle to a tree. Then he knelt beside it and said a prayer, thanking Heavenly Father for his help. When he was through he patted the bicycle seat.
“Oi, bicicleta (Hey, bicycle), que amigo você é (you and I are going to be good friends)!”

Ann’s parents chose to raise her without religion. Newel had a business mindset. But as they set up house in Kirtland, Ann sensed something missing in their lives. They began looking for a church that followed the gospel as taught by Jesus Christ in the New Testament. For a while they worshipped with Alexander Campbell’s Disciples of Christ.

“One night,” Ann recalled, “… as my husband and I, in our house at Kirtland, were praying to the Father to be shown the way, the Spirit rested upon us and a cloud overshadowed the house. … A solemn awe pervaded us. … We heard a voice … saying, ‘Prepare to receive the word of the Lord, for it is coming.’”

In New York, hundreds of miles away, the Lord told Joseph Smith to send missionaries to preach the gospel. When those missionaries—led by Oliver Cowdery and Parley P. Pratt—preached in Kirtland, Ann listened and later wrote, “I knew it to be the voice of the Good Shepherd.” The witness of the missionaries, other believers like Lucy and Isaac Morley, and most importantly, the Holy Ghost, led them to make sacred covenants. Ann and Newel were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in November 1830.

Arriving in Kirtland in 1831, Joseph Smith introduced himself to Newel, saying, “I am Joseph, the Prophet. … You have prayed me here.”

Another revelation told the Saints to “go to the Ohio,” where they would receive “a blessing such as is not known among the children of men” (Doctrine and Covenants 39:14–15; see also 37:1).

Joseph and Emma Smith arrived in Kirtland in February 1831, and Newel and Ann took them into their home for a month. Eighteen months later, they again provided a home for Joseph and Emma in their remodeled store.

The Whitneys began to see a clearer picture of their eternal identity. Later that year, the Lord revealed to the Prophet Joseph that Newel was to serve as the bishop in Kirtland. Newel said, “I cannot see a Bishop in myself, Brother Joseph; but if you say it’s the Lord’s will, I’ll try.”

Joseph replied, “You need not take my word alone. Go and ask Father for yourself.”

After praying, Newel heard a voice from heaven say, “Thy strength is in me.”

This was a period of growth for Newel and Ann as they worked together to keep their covenants. Ann wrote about one way they served others:
“According to our Savior’s pattern … , we determined to make a Feast for the Poor … ; the lame, the halt, the deaf, the blind, the aged and infirm.

“This feast lasted three days, during which time all in the vicinity of Kirtland who would come were invited. … To me it was “a feast of fat things” [Isaiah 25:6] indeed; a season of rejoicing never to be forgotten.”

Newel later served as a missionary with Joseph Smith and as a partner in the United Firm, a business cooperative for addressing the needs of the Saints. The proceeds from his store funded much of the Church’s growth in Kirtland and Missouri, and he served the Church in many other ways. Perhaps most importantly, Ann and Newel had 14 children and raised 10 to adulthood.

Others gathered to build the stakes of Zion. The Kimballs, Youngs, Crosbys, Tippets, and many more were trying to center their lives on the gospel of Jesus Christ. Each brought energy and specific talents. Early revelations guided, rebuked, and reassured them and directed the expanding Church.

For the early members of the Church, on a collective and an individual level, receiving the promised endowment of power was the center of their temporal and spiritual striving (see Doctrine and Covenants 38:32).

The Lord repeatedly commanded the building of temples in Kirtland and Missouri. In Kirtland, the Saints succeeded with heroic effort to raise a remarkable building. It was their best effort to build something worthy of the Lord Jesus Christ. The temple still stands today. Newel’s store, along with his nearby ashery, were essential parts of the economy in Kirtland that supported the temple project.

In 1836, the Savior appeared in the temple and accepted their efforts. He promised that His people “shall greatly rejoice in consequence of the blessings which shall be poured out, and the endowment with which my servants have been endowed in this house” (Doctrine and Covenants 110:9). Then Moses, Elias, and Elijah came and conferred keys critical to the last dispensation (see Doctrine and Covenants 110:11–16).

The coming days would try the Saints, including the Whitneys. In a nationwide economic downturn and banking panic, many turned against the Church and the Prophet. Commanded to move to Missouri, Newel hesitated. He had poured his life into his store in Kirtland. Much of the wealth it made sustained the Church. How could he just walk away?

The Lord chastised him for paying too much attention to worldly things and for “littleness of soul” (Doctrine and Covenants 117:11). Newel repented and obeyed. He settled in Nauvoo, Illinois, where he continued serving as bishop and later as Presiding Bishop.

In Nauvoo, the temple was again the center of temporal and spiritual activity. As the walls of the temple began to rise, the Lord organized the Relief Society through His prophet. Emma Smith was the first president, and Sarah Cleveland and Ann Whitney were her counselors. Emma delegated important duties to Ann and asked her to lead the organization when she was not there.

The Lord continued to reveal temple ordinances to the Prophet. In 1842, with the Nauvoo Temple still unfinished, Joseph Smith gathered Church leaders, including Newel, in the upper floor of his Red Brick Store and administered the endowment ordinance. When part of the temple—the attic—was dedicated, both Ann and Newel administered the endowment to other Saints before they left for the Salt Lake Valley.

Along the covenant path, Ann and Newel sought the Savior, repented, served wholeheartedly, consecrated, sacrificed, and rejoiced. They came to know Jesus Christ and see themselves as children of the covenant. Millions after them have followed the same pattern to make and live sacred covenants and build the Lord’s kingdom. The effort to know their stories helps us during our seasons of ease and trials.

Near the end of her life, Ann wrote: “To feel you have acquired a little insight into the purposes of God in your creation … can you realize that these things are worth living for, worth suffering for? Can any sacrifice be too great … if we would follow in our Master’s footprints?”