Gospel Story Finder

When I had left Hawaii, some friends saw us off. One of them happened to be an inactive Mormon, and when he said goodbye, he added, “If you ever get in a bind and need help, call my church. They’ll help you.”
I knew absolutely nothing of Mormons except that they had a fine Tabernacle Choir. I did not like the idea of begging for help, least of all help from some strange church that I’d never even visited; but I was desperate, and there seemed no other choice. In searching the telephone book, I found an endless number of Mormon churches and listings, so I picked one that was called a mission home. I thought that a mission home would be more apt to be compassionate. A young elder answered the phone, and I told him pretty much the same thing I had told the three ministers: that I did not need money, but I was in desperate need of advice. His reply was that he was quite new to the area and he himself could not help me, but if I would give him my name and phone number, he would have someone else call me. I hung up, half-suspecting never to hear from them again.
To my surprise, within ten minutes I received a call from a lovely lady who listened to my story and then agreed that I could use some assistance. She told me to get all my luggage together, call a taxi, and meet her in thirty minutes at the Berkeley bus terminal. After she described her car and what she would be wearing, she added, “By the way, are you a member of the Church?”
“Here it comes again,” I thought cynically, but into the phone I simply said, “No, I’m not.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, “I just wondered. See you in half an hour.”
I hurried my things together, cleaned up the children, checked out of the hotel, and headed for Berkeley. I was surprised, and a bit suspicious, at the woman’s willingness to help a total stranger, but at this point I was willing to take advantage of any offer.
Her first move was to treat us to lunch. Then I learned that she was the wife of a man named O. Leslie Stone, a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy who was then the stake president there. She got us settled into a boarding house and promised to get me the names of some potential babysitters. All this, in spite of the fact that I emphasized to her my strong bitterness toward churches of any kind, and my intention to stay that way. I couldn’t get over it!
She didn’t seem to care that I was so antagonistic, nor did she try to convert me or criticize me. She even seemed to act as though I was doing her a favor by letting her help me. A Bible verse kept echoing through my mind: “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” (John 13:35.)
Over the next few days, Sister Stone came every day. She did, indeed, find me a babysitter, a woman from her church. Also she helped me find and get moved into a small, furnished apartment, and she gave me the name of a man to see about a temporary job. Still she didn’t preach to me. It amazed me; and still that same scripture kept flitting in and out of my thoughts, “if ye have love one to another.”
In the apartment I rented, I found a small Mormon book entitled, Articles of Faith, by James E. Talmage. I never knew if Sister Stone secretly placed it there, or if it had been left by the former tenant. At any rate, I began reading it after the children were in bed at night; not because I was interested, but because there was nothing else to do.
During those first few weeks, not a Saturday went by that Sister Stone didn’t stop and ask if we would like to go to church with her on Sunday. When I would politely refuse, she never pushed the issue; but still she regularly asked. At the same time, I became more and more engrossed in the book. I had never heard of such things as I found in that book, though I had studied the Bible faithfully most of my life. Much of what I read I either wondered about or outright disagreed with, so I started jotting down notes of such items as I came across it.
One Saturday when Sister Stone came by, I still refused to go to church with her, but I did tell her that I had some questions about it, and that if she would send her pastor to talk to me I’d discuss them with him. In just a few days I was visited by a man named Marvin Turner and his wife, who said they were stake missionaries and had come to answer my questions. Almost defiantly I brought out my written questions, seven pages in all, and told them that if they could answer them I would listen to whatever they wanted to teach me. Brother Turner’s response was that he did not have all the answers, but he knew that through the Church he could find me logical, reasonable answers. Through the patience and tenderness of the Turners, I finally reached the time when I was willing to pray about the truthfulness of those things that they taught me. I consented to go to church with them. Some time later, I was baptized. However, when I moved to southern California, I lost track of my new friends. I remarried and had other children.
That was many years ago. Now I sit in sacrament meeting and watch while one of my sons passes the sacrament and another one blesses it; I watch the faith and testimonies of each of the children grow; and my thoughts turn toward people who have joined the church as a result of different ones spreading the gospel; and I think too of our kindred dead who have had their baptisms and endowments and sealings done through our genealogy work.
Ultimately my thoughts turn toward a gracious Sister Stone and a sharing, loving Turner family somewhere among the vast number of Saints who, I have no doubt, are still serving the Lord through loving and caring. I ask myself how I can ever repay those people who cared so much for someone so rebellious long ago. And the answer comes to me loud and clear: “Go, and do thou likewise.” (Luke 10:37.)

The bed felt soft and warm. Melissa hoped her sister Shelly wasn’t asleep yet in her bed. As Melissa watched the shadows made by the moonlight streaming through the window and across the dressers and beds, they made curious gray shapes on the wall.
“I wonder what the sharpest thing in the world is,” Melissa said.
“Who cares?” responded Shelly, who thought Melissa was a nuisance when she asked so many questions.
“Well, it couldn’t be shadows,” Melissa said. “Even though they have corners, they’re very soft.”
“Oh, really?” Shelly declared sarcastically.
Melissa lay quietly for a moment, but she kept thinking. Soon she said, “If I wanted to find out what the sharpest thing in the world is, I’d start by letting every single horse bite me.”
“Oh, brother,” moaned Shelly.
“Then I’d let every dog bite me.”
“What a dumb idea,” said Shelly. “You couldn’t do that.”
“Pins are pretty sharp,” Melissa continued, undeterred. “They can go through most anything. Or Mama’s best scissors might be the sharpest thing in the world. Remember how easily they cut my hair?”
“Go to sleep!” Shelly said crossly.
“Our sharpest knife cuts through a loaf of homemade bread in a second. But Daddy’s nails go through wood. Oh!” Melissa cried excitedly, “I bet I know what the sharpest thing in the world is. Great-great-grandpa Johnson’s sword! If you got poked with that it would really hurt.”
“Will you please be quiet, Melissa, so I can get some sleep!”
“If I could try all the horses and dogs and pins and scissors and knives and nails and swords, then I’d know what the sharpest thing in the world is.”
Shelly suddenly sat up in bed. “Melissa,” she shouted, “if you don’t be quiet, I’m going to tell Dad. I wish I had a bedroom of my own. I wish I didn’t have to share a bedroom with a sister who talks all night!” Then she flopped back down, turned her back to Melissa, and pulled the covers over her shoulder.
Melissa was quiet for a long time. Finally, out of the darkness came a wistful voice. “I know what the sharpest thing in the world is.”
“I don’t believe this,” said Shelly.
“It’s words,” Melissa said quietly. “They hurt the most.”
Shelly turned over and looked at Melissa with a mixture of surprise and affection. “Oh, Missy,” she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean those things I said. I like sharing my bedroom with you. And I like having you for a sister.”
The girls were both silent for a few minutes thinking. Suddenly Melissa whispered, “Shelly.”
“Now what?” Shelly asked laughingly.
“I know what the softest thing in the world is,” Melissa declared thoughtfully. “Softer than shadows and darkness and pillows and marshmallows and teddy bears and blankets and moonlight.”
“OK,” said Shelly good-naturedly. “Tell me. What’s the softest thing in the world?”
“It’s words,” said Melissa.
Through the darkness she could almost see her sister smiling. And then she felt soft arms around her and Shelly whispered, “Oh, Melissa, I love you.”

Transfusion number six is entitled “Perseverance” and comes from a Polish girl, Marie Sklodowska, who married the French physicist Pierre Curie. For many years they worked together in an old abandoned leaky shed without funds and without outside encouragement or help, trying to isolate radium from a low-grade uranium ore called pitchblende. And after their 487th experiment had failed, Pierre threw up his hands in despair and said, “It will never be done. Maybe in a hundred years, but never in my day.” Marie confronted him with a resolute face and said, “If it takes a hundred years, it will be a pity, but I will not cease to work for it as long as I live.”

“What do these scriptures teach us?” asked Daddy as he closed his Book of Mormon.
Four-year-old Tyler piped up, “Jesus said we should always pray.”
“That’s right, Tyler,” Daddy said. “Do you think that you can have a prayer in your heart all day today? Besides just praying for yourself, look for others who need blessings and pray for them. We’ll pray again for them when we have family prayer tonight.”
Mommy stood up. “It’s time to get the breakfast dishes done and for Daddy to go to his office.”
As Daddy walked to the front door, Tyler followed and grabbed his hand. “Daddy, I promise to find someone today who needs my prayer.”
Daddy picked up Tyler and gave him a hug. “Good! I knew that I could count on you.”
Later that morning, Tyler went with Mommy to take books back to the library. He looked for people who might need his prayer. He saw a lady holding a baby. The baby wouldn’t stop crying, no matter how the lady tried to soothe him. Tyler prayed quietly, “Please, Heavenly Father, bless the baby to be quiet and happy.”
After lunch, Tyler went outside to ride his tricycle. The people who lived next door were getting into their car. They waved to him. Tyler saw Mr. Radcliffe helping his wife climb out of her wheelchair and into the car. “Heavenly Father,” Tyler began to pray, “I like the Radcliffes. Please bless Mrs. Radcliffe to get well.”
That afternoon the doorbell rang. The piano tuner had come. Tyler loved to watch him use his tools on the piano. Tyler asked Heavenly Father to bless the piano man to do a good job.
Before Tyler’s bedtime, his family gathered again for family prayer. “Did you find anyone in need of blessings today?” Daddy asked Tyler.
“I found three people who needed my prayers—a baby, Mrs. Radcliffe, and the piano man.”
Mommy said, “That’s wonderful, Tyler! You followed the words of Jesus. You prayed for others. Heavenly Father heard your prayers, and He will answer them.”
Daddy said, “Tyler, will you say the family prayer now, please?”
As Tyler prayed, he remembered to ask another blessing on the people who had needed his prayers that day.

Let me illustrate this. One day when I was working on the standard plan temple, and it was about 4:00 in the afternoon; the manager of the Architecture and Engineering division came into my room and said to me: "Oh, by the way, I need the art glass design, for the temple windows, because I will be presenting it to members of the first presidency and the presiding bishopric at 11 a.m. tomorrow." He wished me good luck and left for the day. Can you imagine how, I felt as he walked away. Have you ever dealt with individuals like this? Interesting thing, I had no idea this was needed until just at that moment.

I worked about three or four hours on the design, but I could not come up with what, I felt, would be deserving of the Lord's Temple. I was in a panic and came to a point where I dropped to my knees and pleaded to my Heavenly Father that I needed his help, and that I had reached a limit on what I could do in such a short time. Now I debated about sharing this today because of the sacredness to me of this moment; however, I felt within my heart that I should share this.

As I was pouring my heart out to him, my mind was opened up and it was if the dews of Heaven came down upon me and pure thought poured into my mind and soul. I knew what the glass panels would look like and what the meaning would be. I closed my prayer and immediately began drawing what I had seen in my mind's eye. I spent a few hours putting together the presentation and placed the design on the manager's desk and left for home.

In the afternoon, the manager came in my office and said that they wanted to go ahead with the Art Glass Design. I indicated I was glad and if I had any doubt as I was thinking to myself what had happened the night before. Brothers and Sisters, I am not brilliant and I am not gifted, but the Lord, in such a short time, brought me up to the level I needed to be and at that moment.

May I conclude by telling you of two people who I feel have become true disciples of Christ–one an Albanian member and the other a missionary:

Brother Arben Vogli is a young man with a pure heart and a great testimony. He gained his testimony through his extraordinary study of the Book of Mormon. When he joined the church in the early 1990's, there were few things translated in the Albanian language, but the Spirit bore witness to him that what the missionaries were teaching him from the Book of Mormon was true. He had such a great desire to read the Book of Mormon that he begged the missionaries to give him a copy, even if it were in English, so that he could study it. Arben spoke no English, but when he received the book he obtained an Albanian/English Dictionary and set out to read the book on his own. Imagine starting with the first word “I” and looking it up; then the next word “Nephi” and not finding it and then finally figuring it out that it was “I’s” name. And then looking up “having” and not finding it. . . But word by word he proceeded, writing the translated words in Albanian above English text.

When do you get tired of that and quit? A true disciple doesn’t and neither did Arben. It took months to get through 1st and 2nd Nephi, but by then he knew many of the words and it started to go a little faster. By the mid point of the book, he was able to understand much of what he was reading and when he finished the book, not only did he have a testimony of it, but he could speak English–not necessarily the King’s English–in fact, it was a Book of Mormon English, but nonetheless he could speak and understand English. Arben is a sculptor. I submit that with his faith and his testimony, he is disciple of Christ whose trip to the temple to be sealed to his family was like a trip to heaven for him.

The Prophet Joseph was truly blessed with the ability to inspire faith. One bright morning Joseph walked up to John E. Page and said, “Brother John, the Lord is calling you on a mission to Canada.”
John E. Page was rather astonished and said, “Why, Brother Joseph, I can’t go on a mission to Canada. I don’t even have a coat to wear.”
The Prophet Joseph took his own coat from his back, handed it to John Page, and said, “Here, John, wear this, and the Lord will bless you.” Brother Page took the coat, went to Canada, and in two years walked 5,000 miles and baptized 600 souls, because he trusted in the words of a prophet of God.3

It’s sometimes tough to be a teenager in Iceland for the same reasons that it’s hard in other countries. It’s the time when you have to make lots of decisions about how you want to live your life. Ulfar explains, “This is a hard age. Everyone is saying, ‘Hey, come get a drink. Have a cigarette.’ Everybody, even your friends, are going out drinking. They asked two or three times, but I just kept saying no and changed the subject. They leave me alone about it now.”

I was born and raised on my father’s cattle ranch in Roy, Utah, with very few neighbors nearby. I was the youngest of six children, and as a boy I was shy around people who were not in my family. On my first day at school, my brother Lowell, just two years older than I, took me to my first-grade classroom. Surrounded by children I did not know, I felt lonesome and the day seemed long until I could return home with my brother.
Soon I made friends at school and looked forward to seeing them each day. One friend, Larry Dawson, lived about a mile from my home. Larry invited me to his house for a birthday party. I had never been to a birthday party before. It was so much fun! I still remember some of the special toys Larry received—especially his new toy fire engine.
Larry and I rode the bus to school because we lived too far from school to walk. Larry got off the bus at the bus stop on the main highway just before I got off. He then had to cross the highway and walk half a mile (about 1 km) to his home. At that time cars did not stop when a school bus was loading or unloading students.
One day as we were returning home from school, a car speeding by the bus hit and killed my friend. I felt very sad. I missed being with Larry at school and on the bus. My mother and father comforted me by explaining that even though I wouldn’t see Larry anymore in this life, his spirit continued to live in the spirit world. Larry was so kind and good that I knew he would be worthy to live with our Heavenly Father. As I grew, I learned more about our Father’s plan for His children.
My brother Darrell, who was five years older than I, was a special friend to me. Darrell let me ride on his bike with him from our home on the ranch to the barn where he often worked. I rode the bike back to the house, then returned to the barn at the end of the day to accompany him on his ride home. I loved Darrell very much.
One day Darrell was coming home in our family car from driving my sister to her piano lesson. He stopped at the railroad tracks to wait while a long freight train passed. He did not see another train coming from the other direction. When Darrell started over the tracks, the train struck the car and my brother was killed. I was sweeping our driveway when my father pulled up in his pickup truck shortly after it happened, and I still remember the sadness we felt when he told my mother and our family of the accident.
President David O. McKay and Elder Spencer W. Kimball came to speak at my brother’s funeral. President McKay, then President of the Church, was related to my father. Elder Kimball, who later became President of the Church, had recently visited our stake conference and had stayed in our home because my father was the stake president. President McKay and Elder Kimball taught us about our Heavenly Father’s plan and said that we would be together again as a family. They said that we should not be afraid of death, and they taught us about the resurrection. They promised that my brother would live again and that our family could live together for the one thousand years of peace called the Millennium.
I was grateful to know that my friend Larry and my brother Darrell had kept the commandments so they could enjoy every blessing from our Heavenly Father. We do not know when we are going to die, so we should live every day so we will not be sorry if our time comes to return home. We need to speak in kind ways to our brothers and sisters and friends. We should not argue or treat others unkindly. We should follow the example of Jesus Christ. One of my favorite Primary songs reminds me of the things we need to do.
I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.
I’m trying to love as he did, in all that I do and say.
At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice,
But I try to listen as the still small voice whispers,
“Love one another as Jesus loves you.
Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought,
For these are the things Jesus taught.”
(Children’s Songbook, 78–79)
When we keep all of our Heavenly Father’s commandments, we will be happy now and in the life to come. It also takes away our fear of dying because we know that if we are good, we will one day go home to live with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ forever.

When his Scout leader asked Jonathan Conger, a priest in the Lundstrom Park First Ward, Logan Utah East Stake, if he wanted to plant and harvest a wheat field for his Eagle Scout project, Jonathan said, “Sure.” Little did he know the immensity of the project before him. Only later did he realize how much he would have to rely on Heavenly Father and the community to help him achieve his goal.
Jonathan’s Scoutmaster at the time, Edward Redd, first got the idea for the project while visiting the Cache Community Food Pantry. During his visit, Brother Redd asked what the pantry needed most, and they told him flour was always a much needed commodity.
When he first started thinking about Eagle project ideas, Jonathan had been planning to paint some benches at his local meetinghouse. Then Brother Redd told him about 10 acres of land he owned that hadn’t been planted yet. He suggested to Jonathan that they should plant wheat on the land, have it milled, and donate the flour to the pantry as his Eagle Scout project.
“I didn’t really think about how big a project it would be, but it sounded good,” said Jonathan. Planting and harvesting a 10-acre field is not an easy job. Jonathan and Brother Redd discussed how to grow the wheat, take care of the field, harvest the wheat, and find a mill to grind it.
First on the list was finding seed. This was where the first of many people came to Jonathan’s aid. A member of Jonathan’s ward had planted wheat the previous year and had a silo filled with seed. He offered to give Jonathan the seed for planting the field.
Now that he had seed, Jonathan had to wait until April for the field to dry out enough to be ready for planting. Looking ahead to the harvest, they searched for a mill that would handle the grinding of the wheat, and they eventually found a local mill that agreed to help. Jonathan told them that sometime around September they would bring the wheat to be ground into flour.
To prepare for planting, Jonathan first had to arrange for the field to be leveled so the seed would fall on even ground. They were given permission to use a tractor to level the field and pull the seed drill (used to plant the seeds). But the tractor broke. Luckily Brother Redd knew someone who could fix it.
“He took it home, fixed it, and brought it back to us,” said Jonathan. “He didn’t even hesitate. I told him what I was doing and asked him for help. He said, ‘Sure. Anytime.’”
The next step was for Jonathan to organize for the field to be fertilized and then, in July, to be irrigated. This became a challenge when Jonathan realized the irrigating was not automated. The pipes had to be laid and moved by hand. Watering the field took three days.
“It was kind of troublesome,” Jonathan said. “You set the pipes on the ground, and it was really muddy and gross because irrigating for a few days turns the field into a swamp.” Even though it was hard work, Jonathan has fond memories of the fun he had irrigating. Fortunately the natural weather took care of the rest of the irrigation needs as it was one of the wettest springs the area had seen in a long time.
“We were really lucky when we planted. It rained right afterwards, and if we had waited any longer, the ground would have been too wet again. Everything fit in just right.”
Another set of challenges arrived with harvest time, but Jonathan found that when you’re in service to a good cause, others are always willing to help. A week before harvest, Jonathan checked in with the flour mill and found that the person he had made all the arrangements with was on vacation for the next week and had not told anyone of the agreement. Now the mill did not have room to take his wheat until a later date. Also, they faced the task of harvesting the wheat with a small combine that would take them many hours.
The mill made the effort to clear a space for the coming wheat, and the farmer who had donated the seed just happened to be passing by in his combine harvester when they were about to begin harvesting. He had been on his way to harvest his own field and decided to help out again, harvesting the field in under three hours. In the tradition of helping hands, another farmer lent a trailer to the project to store the wheat for a few days until the mill could receive it. Yet another person helped to store the flour after it had been packaged and set on pallets at the mill.
The 10-acre field produced 23,000 pounds of wheat, 20,000 of which was given to the mill to grind. The mill kept some of the flour as payment for processing the wheat, but finally Jonathan was given 5,400 pounds of flour, enough to bake approximately 5,400 loaves of bread, all of which was donated to the food pantry. The rest of the wheat was kept, cleaned, and sold to cover the costs of fertilizer and herbicides. More people donated time and resources to again store the wheat and then help in loading the flour at the Cache Community Food Pantry, which opened its doors after hours specifically to receive it.
Jonathan is happy with the service he provided, and the flour’s delivery signified the end of his project. But visiting the pantry made him realize what he had achieved. He knew that what he had done was going to benefit a lot of people.
“It felt good to help those people, and I was just glad I could help in the little way I did,” Jonathan said. The Eagle Scout project left a good feeling, and Jonathan knows that it couldn’t have been done without a lot of help from family, fellow Scouts, and other people who donated time and energy. Jonathan feels that Heavenly Father’s help in particular was important.
“Obviously God played a big part in guiding us while we were doing this, because at times things didn’t work out very well, but then they came together all of a sudden,” Jonathan said. “It may just seem like luck, but I think God was watching, and He knew this was a good project and He wanted to help me.”
Jonathan Conger isn’t planning to grow more wheat in the future. He’s more likely to be found playing the piano, thinking about medical school, and preparing for a mission. But he will always remember his Eagle project and what it taught him about the law of the harvest.

“They’re only making him a deacon!” I exclaimed. “But why? I thought when men were baptized, they just automatically became priests!”
“It’s never automatic, Sister. It’s between the branch president and …”
“Well, I didn’t exactly mean automatic. But, he’s such a fine man. Can’t the branch president see how good and humble and sincere and …” I was out of adjectives and out of breath when Sister Bullen replied.
“As I was saying,” she cocked her eyebrows for emphasis, “it’s between the branch president and the Lord. I think they can handle it. Don’t you?” She smiled sweetly, almost daring me to disagree.
I looked at my companion, not knowing if I should be angry or if I should laugh with her. I would have gone off to sulk, but our apartment was about as big as a shoe box. It’s hard to go off somewhere when you eat, sleep, and study in one room! It takes all the fun out of pouting.
I sat on my bed and pretended to study. I wished I had the faith Sister Bullen had. She’d been in the mission field for more than a year, and she was so calm about everything.
“Sister. Sister Johnson! Hey! You’re sure a long ways away! Are you still worrying about Brother Manzo?” Sister Bullen asked.
“I, well, yes I am. How did you know?”
“Because you’ve been studying that page for about 15 minutes,” she said with a smile. “Why are you so upset?”
“I just don’t think that someone who is as good as Brother Manzo should have to start out as a deacon. It’s like they don’t think he will stay with it, so they don’t trust him with anything else.”
Sister Bullen liked to joke around, and she kidded me a lot, but she was really serious when she asked, “Do you think that Brother Manzo is too proud to be a deacon?”
“No, he’s not too proud. But he’s a grown man, and he’s so dignified and kind of shy. I don’t want him to be embarrassed to be passing the sacrament with all those little boys. After all he has been through, I think he deserves to be a priest.
She smiled at me. “I think he’ll be okay.”
Sitting in the chapel on Sunday, I felt a little nervous again. The deacons were standing around the table, waiting to pick up their trays. Brother Manzo towered over the rest of the deacons. I noticed he was wearing a new white shirt and a tie. He was watching carefully to make sure he did the right things.
As he turned and reverently carried his tray of bread toward us, I could see that his face was shining. He caught my eye and smiled warmly. I looked down at my scriptures. They were open to the 26th chapter of Matthew, and I read verse 26: “And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat …”
I couldn’t see the words through the tears in my eyes. It had been me, not Brother Manzo, who needed to learn about the priesthood! I felt a squeeze on my arm, and Sister Bullen smiled at me and winked.
I guess there’s no such thing as being “only” a deacon.

I have thought about that, and I thank God repeatedly for such an individual in my life. He was a 78-year-old man who was assigned to be a priests adviser to six of us who were in our struggling teens and challenged with the future. His name was Charles B. Stewart. His son is here today as president of the great Tabernacle Choir.
I don’t know what you thought about a 78-year-old man when you were 16, but some of us questioned the wisdom of our bishop, for we thought he had literally brought Moses back.
I remember the first day I reported to my class in that rickety old upper room of the Hollywood Ward. There was that kind, gentle man to greet me. He took me by the hand as he had the other boys and said, “You’re Harold Dunn’s son, aren’t you?”
I said, “Yes, sir.”
He talked a little bit about me, my family, and showed a great personal interest. And then he said, “Paul, one of the requirements for being a member of this class is to think a new thought every day.” He said, “Do you have one this morning?”
Well now, I hadn’t had a new thought in years, and he could see my plight, and he said, “All right, I will teach you one. Listen carefully. ‘Attention is the mother of memory.’ Now can you repeat it back?” And I tried and finally gave it back to him. He permitted me to enter.
We had a wonderful class. It ended; as I went to leave he said, “I forgot to tell you—before you go home you’ve got to give me another new idea.” I thought, I won’t go home. I didn’t have one, and so he said, “Now listen very carefully and I will teach you one that you’ll always remember.” He said, “‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive.’” I’ve never forgotten it.
Another week passed, and we went through a similar experience. I still didn’t have a new thought. He said, “Listen very carefully. ‘There’s an odd little voice ever speaking within that prompts us to duty and warns us from sin. And what is most strange, it makes itself heard, though it gives not a sound and says never a word.’” And I’ve never forgotten that one.
I started to go home and found he wouldn’t let me go until I cited another. When I couldn’t he said, “Listen carefully. ‘There was a wise old owl who sat in an oak, and the longer he sat the less he spoke. The less he spoke, the more he heard. Oh, Paul, why can’t you be like that wise old bird?’”
I’ve thought a lot about that since. Still another week and another great thought. He said, “‘Remember, young man, example sheds a genial ray which men are apt to borrow. So first improve yourself today and then your friends tomorrow.’” And I haven’t forgotten that concept either.
Time won’t permit a number of others. Two years later I found myself in the fighting forces of our country. I was on the island of Okinawa. I received a letter from Mrs. Stewart, and it told me of the sad news that my kind friend and adviser had passed away. In it she had attached a half-written letter from Brother Stewart to me, and he said: “Dear Paul, I’ve been thinking about you in that far-off country, discouraged, I’m sure, and somewhat depressed; and in order to build your spirits, I have included some additional gem thoughts.” There were twenty-five new ideas, and I have never forgotten them.

I will forever remember a missionary who was sent to our mission to be a great trial to his mission president and help me learn patience. He was nearly 27 years of age and came to the mission with much of the wrong kind of experiences in life and I am convinced that he was sent on a mission by wonderful priesthood leaders as a 'last hope strategy' to save his soul. He did not like North Americans, His President, Mission Rules, nor talks in Zone Conference about obedience. The Chile Area Presidency had challenged us as Mission Presidents to help our Latin missionaries learn English. You can only image .. (no you probably can't) how he felt about that. He challenged every bit of counsel I gave. Though in our many many interviews, he promised to try to be better and more compliant to do things the LORD'S WAY, within a few weeks he failed in his resolve and returned to his OWN WAY. After many visits with him and invitations to 'have a mighty change in his heart' -- (or any kind of change for the better). In time, I received permission and advice from the Area Presidency to send him home at anytime the Spirit dictated that I should. I counseled with his Stake President (in one of those 'other kind' of telephone calls) and we agreed that this missionary was likely only a 'telephone call away' from going home at some point in the future.

However our LOVE for him, The Lords Love for him, and I am sure that the answers to the prayers of his aging and faithful parents prevented me from doing so four or five times during the first 15 months of his mission.

However, one day while LOVE was still in my heart, PATIENCE ran out!!! After learning from his zone leader of something he had done, I turned to the missionary serving as my secretary and with some emotion (I confess) I asked him to purchase an airline ticket, that the moment had arrived this missionary would be going home. I instructed that I had already conducted all the interviews with this missionary that I intended to have, that I had warned him of the consequences of his actions so many times, that I had done all I could. I requested that he return home, without honor, on the next plane.

To my Assistants I turned and instructed them to go find him (if they could), inform him, help him get packed, and make sure he was at the airport on time to meet his flight. As the office staff left my office, there was a "still" and a profound silence in the office corridor as they moved around shuffling papers and doing what was necessary to do what I had asked. Few words were spoken among them and a kind of 'thick' silence prevailed.

A few long quiet minutes passed and then one of my assistants (who had just recently been called to serve as my assistant and would normally continue in that assignment for two to four more months), meekly and humbly approached the door of my office asking me if he could talk to me alone for a minute.

Certainly I said.

He stood quiet for a few precious moments not knowing how to say what he wanted to say and then reverently said "Presidente, por favor -- Please don't send him home!" With a tear now in his eye he once again begged, "please don't send him home. We just can't let him go home like this. Going home like this will ruin his life. You know what will happen if he goes home like this. Presidente, I will do anything you tell me to do but I am respectfully asking you to release me as your assistant (remember he's just begun his time as service as my assistant). Please release me and let me be his companion and let us try again, and again, and even again, if necessary.

No, I shall never forget the image of this humble latin missionary standing one day in a mission office in Santiago Chile (at about noon) with the LOVE of CHRIST in his brown eyes pleading for the chance to LIFT and serve his undeserving and six years older associate. I just will never forget that image -- nor the feelings I felt that day.

After a kneeling prayer together, followed by continued personal soul searching, and seeking the advice of the Area Presidency -- a few hours later the will of the Lord dictated that I release my assistant and continue on with an effort to LIFT our confused associate. The process of his going home was aborted. We made the necessary changes, and Elder Ramirez went out to serve his new companion.

In the days, weeks, then months that followed the missionary CHANGED. I can't tell you for sure how -- but His younger companion, the Spirit, and love changed and lifted him. It was one of those miracles you always hope for. He changed. In time he was trusted enough to become a trainer. He finished his mission. He expressed almost weekly, verbally and in writing, his love and gratitude for me and my companion Sister Christensen. He spoke of Jesus Christ and the atonement in his interviews. Our love for him changed and expanded too. And this missionary who once had an extreme dislike for North Americans. Stood to share his final testimony with nearly one hundred missionaries (75% North American) by expressing his love for them. He thanked them for their patience and expressed his love for the Lord and his mission. It was simple and undiluted and he gave it in English). A few weeks after his return home, I was in attendance at area meetings, where his stake president sought me out to inform me that this "Several-times-almost-sent-home-without-honor-and-then- finally-Honorably-Released-Returned-Missionary" had been called to the High Council in his stake in Southern Chile and was serving excellently and enthusiastically. He has since been married and sealed in the temple.

I am thankful for LIFTERS!

All the years I was in Primary, I dreamed of receiving the priesthood. But by the time I was about to turn 12, I had become a bit anxious about it. I wasn’t nervous about priesthood service; what seemed challenging was setting an example.
As time went on, I especially felt a responsibility to be an example for my younger brother. When my brother was preparing to receive the Aaronic Priesthood, I had a hard time accepting the fact that I had to set an example for him. Why didn’t I have an older brother who could be an example for me? Then it dawned on me. I do have an Older Brother who is a perfect example—Jesus Christ. I could follow His example!
When I turned 16, I was ordained a priest. Then my brother turned 12, and I was asked to ordain him a deacon. I was nervous, especially about giving him a blessing as part of the ordination. But the words came to me, and I knew exactly what to say: “I bless you to be able to follow the example of your Older Brother, Jesus Christ.”
Yves P., Cergy, France

I can remember a time period in my teenage life, when 14 and 15 years old that I had the thought, "I'm now the age that Joseph Smith was when he received the First Vision. I wonder if, as I pray in faith, I might be visited by angels, too." I prayed each morning and night in my bedroom closet -- taking the Sermon on the Mount admonition literally -- and sometimes I would peak my eyes open to see if I was still alone. I really thought it would be amazing to be visited by an angel; I still do, but during that time I thought about it and hoped for it often. It never happened, and I have to admit that, although I was content with the Lord's will, I was a little disappointed.

During that generally same timeframe, I went on splits with the missionaries for my first time. I will never forget this experience. We taught an investigator what was then called the 4th Discussion, on the Plan of Salvation. I remember joining in to help explain and to testify about what I believed to be true. I remember rejoicing and being edified together along with this earnest investigator hearing these truths for her first time. With her, I remember feeling absolutely filled with joy. Her face said it all! After the appointment, as we walked to the street corner where my mother was to pick me up at an appointed time, I remember thinking, "I hope she's running late! I don't want this to end!"

Since then I've served as a home teacher, a missionary, a friend, and in many other callings in the church through which I've begun to formulate an idea. There could be at least the following two reasons why God didn't send an angel to visit me as a youth. The first one you may already be guessing: he had already given me an angel father and an angel mother, both of whom love the Lord and who regularly taught me from the same scriptures that a visiting angel would quote from; the Lord had provided me a patriarchal blessing through an inspired stake patriarch; and provided countless others, including righteous siblings, seminary teachers, Sunday School teachers, quorum presidents and advisors, and friends. I was constantly surrounded by inspired messengers.

The second reason could be that God had something better in store for me -- something better in store for each one of us -- than to only receive. I ask you, which do you consider greater, to receive a temporary visit from an angel, or to be able to regularly minister as and speak with the tongue of an angel yourself? Which is more lastingly transformative? In terms of my experience, I can honestly say that being with the missionaries that day, teaching the plan of salvation to that earnest investigator was at least as impactful as an angelic visit would have been, if not more so. I got to be an angel, not just see one!

As our sons grew up, I was able to fulfill my dream to do home teaching with each of them. What an experience that was. One day, when Mahonri was about 17 years old, he came to me and asked my opinion about the Branch President's interview with him and the call that he would receive as Young Men's President. I told him that that was not a common practice in the Church to call a young man to be a Young Men's President. However, the Branch President is entitled to revelation for his members. He finally was called as Young Men's President. We continued to be home teaching companions.

We visited an inactive family for many years. There were two inactive young men in the family. When we made our visit, Mahonri came with two roles, a home teacher and a Young Men's President. As Young Men's President he told his inactive friend that he would come to his house and pick him up on his motor bike for Church. I saw one Sunday he and his friend on his motor bike coming to Church for the first time. It didn't take long until his friend decided to come by himself because actually our house and his are quite distant. Now this young man has completed his mission, almost at the same time Mahonri completed his.

I had come to my office the other night a beautiful mother and seven children. I think I am far enough away, and probably no one would guess of whom I am speaking. She is a very talented young woman, but she said, “I have come to a time where I believe that I must think of divorcing my husband.” So I began to ask about her husband. In answer to my questions, she said he was kind to her. He was a good provider, but somehow the luster of the romance of marriage, now that their children were pretty well grown, had now brought her to a point where she had begun to think that maybe if she were footloose she could do better than she was able to do with the husband who was the father of her children. We had quite a talk about it; but the other morning, after the first session of the conference, this lovely young woman met me and she said, with tears rolling down her cheeks, “I have had the answer to every problem. This session has changed my life. I am a woman different now, because I have understanding that I never had before. I am going back. I am going to take care of my family. I am going to love my husband, and I am going to correct the mistakes that are in me, where I think most of the problem lies.”

For a group of young men in Nevada, a journey of 195 miles started with service. It ended with goals accomplished, lessons learned, and bonds formed.
The idea for running the 195-mile relay race came when the young men, as a Scout troop, volunteered to set up and man some stations at the race the previous year.
“We thought it was pretty cool that people were running just for fun,” says Carter M., 17. “Our group thought we wouldn’t mind doing something like that.”
A few months later, their Young Men president, Jon Wayne Nielsen, got serious about the idea and asked the boys if they really wanted to run the race. “He thought that would be something fun for us to do and something that would be a good experience,” Andrew B., 18, says. The young men agreed and decided to participate in the race.
Many of the young men had never run long distances before, so they began training a couple of months before the race. They would train most days of the week.
“Starting out we would do 25 minutes, 30 minutes, or an hour,” says Michael W., 13. “Then we started running 3 to 8 miles. Two weeks before the race, we did a qualifying run that was 10 miles, which we had to complete in order to run the race.”
Some of the Scouts did the training on their own, and others ran together. “Having other people helped a lot,” says Carson M., 15. “A lot of us thought that when we were running by ourselves, we were doing this all on our own, and it didn’t really matter. Having your team running with you is more of a motivation, because you know you’re going to be running with them in the race.”
Finally, the day of the race came, and Carter started off their two-day run at 7:30 a.m. on a Friday morning. Their team of 12 included 10 members of their Scout troop and 2 of their leaders. Each runner completed three legs of the race, ranging between 3 and 12 miles. They all ran in their Scout uniforms. They traveled in two vans when they weren’t running.
After 34 hours of running day and night, the Scouts finished the race on Saturday afternoon. The young men say the race was hard, but they enjoyed it. They were especially impressed by all the support they got from the other teams in the race.
“We were the youngest group to ever do one of these races,” Andrew says. “So it was cool to see all these people who are good runners and do this all the time come up to us and say, ‘It’s cool that you guys are doing this.’ It felt really good.”
The other thing that felt good was the sense of accomplishment the young men had from training for and completing this race.
“I think the race helped me learn that I can set a goal and actually do it,” Michael says. “It really helped me learn that I can do hard things instead of sitting around playing video games.”
The race also helped the young men get closer to the other members of their troop and their priesthood quorums.
“It’s just cool to have fun with people who are members of the Church,” Andrew says. “We all got a lot closer as a quorum, as a priesthood body. That was a bonding experience for us. We all hold the same priesthood, and we all felt our struggles together.”
Along with getting to know one another better, the young men also learned to help and support each other. “We were always there supporting each other,” Carson says. “Everything we did there, we worked as a team. We cheered on everybody as a team.”
“The most important thing I learned from that race would be to care for others around you,” Carter says. “If others need help, you help them out, because you’re going to run into people who want to hear the Lord’s gospel, and how you care for them and others will affect them.”
It may have seemed like just a long race, but these young men learned valuable lessons and skills that will help them in a more important race—the race of life.

I’d like to tell you about the circumstances of Koen’s birth. On Father’s day last year, in Sharlie’s 31st week of a very healthy and uneventful pregnancy, her water broke. They then went to the hospital, and Sharlie was immediately admitted and told she would remain there until the baby was delivered. This is not as routine as it sounds. It is best for the baby to remain and develop inside the womb as long as possible; but, once the water breaks, the risk of infection also increases with time, so it’s a bit of a balancing act.
Of course this was totally unexpected, and the timing could not have been worse (is there ever good timing for such a thing?). Sharlie was working full-time, and Joshua was in his last semester of an accelerated master’s program in architecture, finishing up his final projects. In addition, Joshua was applying for architecture jobs.
The doctors determined that Sharlie would be induced July 5, the beginning of the 34th week. However, the night before, she developed a fever of 104 and began having contractions. Obviously, this was a very scary time for all of us. To quicken the labor and decrease the chances of the infection transferring to the baby, she was immediately induced. Koen was born at 12:07 a.m., July 5, and immediately placed in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). Koen weighed 3 lbs 14 oz at birth – he was tiny. The doctors said Koen would likely remain in NICU for 2 months, but he made good progress and was released after only 16 days.
What are the lessons here? 1) We all have trials. Count on it. 2) What is important is how we respond to our trials. I never heard Joshua or Sharlie ask, “Why is this happening to me?” or anything similar to that. Their attitude was more in line with, 1) many others have much more difficult trials, 2) we are in a good hospital with great people and equipment, so everything will work out, and 3) what can we learn from this?

My name is Joshua Kioko. My wife is Penina Mueni. We are the parents of three children: Joseph (16), Angel (7), and Mercy (5). My family and I had a wonderful experience which I will share with you.
First, when the prophet stood to speak, he was speaking in a small voice—like a whisper—yet it was clear in my ears and I could easily understand his words. I felt like the Nephites when Heavenly Father was introducing His Beloved Son to them in a small voice, which pierced into their bodies (see 3 Nephi 11:3). Brothers and sisters, I don’t need more witness to know that President Russell M. Nelson is the Lord’s prophet on earth and His spokesman—for he spoke like Him. In Doctrine and Covenants 1:38 we learn that whether it is Heavenly Father’s voice or the voice of His servants, it is the same.
The prophet talked about problems facing Kenya—and Africa as whole—and gave us solutions to solve them. I will share a few:
We will get out of poverty if we pay tithing.
Paying dowry or lobola is not the Lord’s way.
The Lord’s way is to get married in the temple.
We should not be beating our children or giving corporal punishment to them.
Since then my lovely wife Penina and I vowed never to beat our children and to look for other means of disciplining our children—and to afterwards show love toward them.
We also vowed that when our two daughters grow up, we will not ask for dowry from those blessed young men. We will give our daughters freely. The only sacrifice they have to pay in order to earn that blessing is to be temple worthy in order to marry our daughters in the Lord’s temple.
After we left the venue, I could see the love and joy my daughter, Angel, had towards President Nelson—and she asked me what the prophet had said to me. I told her, “The prophet loves you children. He said we, your parents, should love you and not give corporal punishment. But you also need to be obedient so we, your parents, will be able to obey the prophet!”