Gospel Story Finder

Frequently the heavenly virtue of patience is required. As a bishop I felt prompted one day to call on a man whose wife was somewhat active, as were the children. This man, however, had never responded. It was a hot summer’s day when I knocked on the screen door of Harold G. Gallacher. I could see Brother Gallacher sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. “Who is it?” he queried, without looking up.

“Your bishop,” I replied. “I’ve come to get acquainted and to urge your attendance with your family at our meetings.”

“No, I’m too busy,” came the disdainful response. He never looked up. I thanked him for listening and departed the doorstep.

The Gallacher family moved to California shortly thereafter. Many years went by. Then, as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I was working in my office one day when my secretary called, saying, “A Brother Gallacher who once lived in your ward is here in the office and would like to talk to you.”

I responded, “Ask him if his name is Harold G. Gallacher who, with his family, once lived at Vissing Place on West Temple and Fifth South.”

She said, “He is the man.”

I asked her to send him in. We had a pleasant conversation together concerning his family. He told me, “I’ve come to apologize for not getting out of my chair and letting you in the door that summer day long years ago.” I asked him if he was active in the Church. With a smile, he replied: “I’m a counselor in my ward bishopric. Your invitation to come out to church, and my negative response, so haunted me that I determined to do something about it.”

Harold and I visited together on numerous occasions before he passed away. The Gallachers and their children filled many callings in the Church.

For Caitlin Carr of Utah, some of the admonitions in her patriarchal blessing weren’t immediately clear, but later study of her blessing yielded new insights.
“When I received my patriarchal blessing, I was warned about people who would try and sway me from the truth with pleasing talk. I didn’t think much of it; I had a firm belief in the doctrines I’d been taught.
“However, the following year I was confronted with ideas and philosophies that, on the surface, seemed rooted in fairness and love but were not. These messages seemed to be coming from everywhere: the media, school, even close friends. Even though I knew these philosophies were contrary to God’s plan, I found myself wanting to support both these new worldly ideas and the Church. I soon realized that ‘no man can serve two masters’ (Matthew 6:24) and that I shouldn’t rely on the wisdom of men. Heavenly Father resolved my doubts through the scriptures and spoke peace to my mind and heart. As a result, my testimony has been strengthened and I have become more firm in defending that which I know to be true.”

Luisa closed her math book when the bell rang. She hadn’t been able to focus on the problems for the last hour anyway.
All the other students rushed out. It was the last class on Friday. Normally Luisa felt excited about the weekend too. But today she couldn’t feel anything but worried. Not since lunch. That was when her best friend, Carlotta, had asked her a question: “Can you keep a secret?”
At the time, Luisa had leaned in and nodded eagerly. She was good at keeping secrets. She thought for sure Carlotta was going to tell her about some cute boy she had a crush on.
But Carlotta’s secret wasn’t fun at all.
A voice interrupted Luisa’s thoughts. She blinked and looked up from her desk. “Did you have a question about your homework, Luisa?” her teacher asked. All the other students had already left the room.
“No,” Luisa answered. She met her teacher’s eyes. She just had to tell somebody! But Carlotta had made her promise not to.
“I’ve gotta catch the bus,” Luisa said quickly. She put on her coat and hurried out into the cold winter air.
The whole bus ride home, Luisa felt so nervous inside she could hardly stand it. Her chest felt tight, like it was hard to breathe.
Luisa couldn’t stop thinking about Carlotta’s secret. At lunch Carlotta said she had been doing something that was dangerous. Luisa could still hardly believe what she’d heard. She thought she knew her best friend! She couldn’t imagine Carlotta doing something scary like that. When lunch ended, Carlotta had made Luisa promise never to tell anyone.
But what if Carlotta got hurt?
Luisa tried to block out the laughing and talking around her in the bus as she closed her eyes and prayed in her heart.
Please, Heavenly Father, help me know what to do. I don’t want my friend to be mad at me. But I don’t want anything bad to happen to her either. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
The walk home from the bus stop felt longer than usual. Wouldn’t Mom be able to tell something was wrong when Luisa got home? What should she say?
Looking at the snow on the ground, Luisa remembered the snowball fight she and Carlotta had started with some other kids at the park last week. That was so much fun! She thought about the other things she and Carlotta loved doing together. Hanging out. Hiking. Doing homework. Playing sports.
What would it be like if Luisa told her secret and Carlotta didn’t want to be her friend anymore? The thought made Luisa’s stomach twist into an even tighter knot.
Then she had another thought. Right now the most important thing was what was best for Carlotta—not what Carlotta might think about her. Carlotta needed a true friend, a friend who would help her be safe. Luisa knew Jesus always did what was best for others, even if some people didn’t like Him.
Luisa knew what she needed to do. She had to talk to Mom about it. She would also call Carlotta and tell her how worried she was and that a grown-up needed to help. Maybe then Carlotta would talk to her mom too.
Luisa’s heart felt lighter as she walked up to her front door.
“Mom?” she called as she went inside. “Can we talk?”
Carlotta might end up being mad, but Luisa knew this was the right thing to do. She would be a true friend.
Some secrets are too important to keep.

The Spirit was in evidence on many other occasions. At one point, it was discovered that someone was stealing the taros that had taken so much labor to plant. No one at Sauniatu seemed to know anything about it, and Brother Kamauoha became very concerned. That night, he prayed for direction in solving this problem. His prayer was answered with a dream in which he saw two villagers stealing the taros from the plantation. He saw how they were digging them up, cutting the leaves off the roots, and sticking the leaves back into the ground. He saw where they were hiding the taro roots and how they would come back for them later in the night. The next day, he called the two men into his office and asked them why they had been stealing the taros. They were belligerent and asked, “What makes you think we are the ones?”
Brother Kamauoha replied, “I know you are stealing the taros because the Lord showed me in a dream.” Then he related step by step just how they had done it. “They cried, were very sorry, and learned a great lesson about lying: You can lie to another man, but you cannot lie to God.
“I have had many experiences that have made me realize that the Lord will help you to do the impossible. When you operate like this, you learn that keeping the Spirit is the most important thing.
“One day, we had a work crew organized, and we needed 13,000 fathoms of sennett (rope made from coconut husks) to tie the pieces of the roof on the McKay house together. I had received promises from many people that they would supply the rope, but when I went to pick it up, no one had it ready. After driving all over the island, I had collected only about 30 fathoms. I was discouraged, and so I complained to God. In my prayers, I said, ‘We are working hard, and yet I can’t get the help I need.’
“I had to stop at the mission home to confirm another appointment, and one of the supervising elders said, ‘Brother Kamauoha, I have some sennett you can use.’
“I thought, ‘How nice,’ but I was sure an elder’s little souvenir roll of sennett wouldn’t really help us. He went into his room and came out with this big roll. He handed it to me and said he had about 13,000 fathoms as he wanted to build a Samoan fale (house) with it when he got home to the U.S.
“You can bet I hurriedly went back to the Lord and retracted my complaining. I was truly sorry for ever being discouraged.”
When the various projects were well into their second year, Brother Kamauoha reported that the people really learned that a job is not done until it is complete. After building roads, bridges, and the steps to the waterfall, the people at Sauniatu had to put in a culinary water system. They wanted to pipe water from a spring. They had no money for pipe, so they dug up some old pipe that had been used years before and cleaned it in the river. Then they painted the usable pieces. They only had enough good pipe to make a straight line from the spring to the village. Seventy-five feet of lava bedrock lay in the path of their trench.
“I told them, ‘We have enough good pipe to make a straight pipeline. So if you want water and you want it badly enough, then you’ll have to cut through the bedrock to the spring!’ A big Samoan man named Faleow Itopi, who had worked extra hard on every project said, ‘Why, after what we have done, this little bedrock is nothing.’
“We worked into the nights with lanterns. Faleow’s hands were bleeding, but he set an example for the students and showed them how to work. He was that way in all of his projects. When he built roads, he always built them too long rather than too short. He never took a shortcut because his heart was in the right place.”
From Ed Kamauoha and Faleow Itopi and other leaders like them, the young people of Sauniatu learned that despite being poor and often scorned by other men, they are important to the Lord, and he will help them be “Number 1.” Wherever they have gone as they have left Sauniatu, they have established the reputation of working hard and being the best.
Most of the young men who worked on Sauniatu went on missions. Elder Pouono Lameka is now serving a mission in Western Samoa. He spent three years at Sauniatu. He worked on the farm and the waterfall besides going to school. When he talks about his experiences at Sauniatu, his eyes shine and his face looks happy.
“I expanded at Sauniatu,” he said. “Brother Kamauoha encouraged me in school so that I improved and graduated from high school. He was my teacher—now he is my friend.”
Most of the students said they are grateful that they learned how to work, and they feel that this experience has helped them to face almost any problem. Mati Fuifatu said, “Ed taught me how to do things and then made it my responsibility to get them done.”
While the projects were being finished, the Sauniatu students’ academic ratings rose. They gained feelings of independence and pride and in three years raised themselves from the bottom of the standard test to the top scores in all the Church schools.
Poao and Atalina Ahhow met while they were both single teachers at Sauniatu. After they were married, they decided to go to BYU—Hawaii Campus and get additional schooling. Atalina said she learned about being a good mother and teaching a family from watching the young people work on the various projects.
“I also learned that you need to check after a project is done. If it isn’t right, do it over,” she said.
Her husband, Poao, said that he learned leadership skills, and once he caught the vision of doing the impossible, he felt he could go away for additional schooling so he could become a better teacher. “I learned that sometimes when the work is very hard, if you make a joke and smile, it seems easier.”
Poao and Atalina struggled at BYU—Hawaii because they didn’t have much money. “We had learned to sacrifice while at Sauniatu, and the Lord blessed us for it. When we needed money to do our washing, we would visit a pool near the temple. Every time we needed a quarter for the washing machine, it was waiting for us in the pool. Sometimes more was there, but we only took enough to do our washing. When we didn’t need money, we never saw money in the pool. This is one way the Lord helped us,” Poao said.
Brother Folau Neria and his wife, Leute, think of Sauniatu as a place of blessings because they have seen the Lord’s hand there. They were dorm parents while most of the work was being done, and Sister Neria worked with the girls who made one of the roads.
Brother Neria explained his feelings about Sauniatu. “I love that place. That’s where I met my sweetheart in 1942. Some of the first schoolteachers there taught me. I learned to take care of the work of the Lord there.
“We built that place with our hands and made it beautiful, then the Lord blessed it for us. Taros, bananas, everything grows better there than in any other place in Samoa.
“We learned how to work together and to teach each other to work. I was serving as bishop, and I learned that if we show people how to work and start first, they will soon follow.”
The spirit of Sauniatu seems to affect everyone who goes there. Brother Isamaeli, who works on maintenance at the school, said that he didn’t want to come at first. “But,” he said, “after I had been at Sauniatu for a while, I felt the Spirit of the Lord upon my family. I knew it was a blessing to be here. When my family is sick, I administer to them and they get better. Before we came here, my wife and I quarreled many times, and sometimes I lost patience with her. But I’m glad to say that now we have a very happy family.
“It is nice to live in a place that is far away from town and other big villages. It is very quiet, and we are free from drunkards, robbers, and other people who cause trouble.”
Today Losa Lane aptly fits President McKay’s description of Sauniatu as “the most beautiful place on earth.” The young people walking beneath the palms and orchids are beautiful. They love the Lord and work hard to improve themselves and live the gospel. And every year, a few of them are prepared to go forth into the world. They take the lessons of Sauniatu with them. And there is a great principle of leadership training that was used to teach all the lessons of Sauniatu: “We loved them,” said Brother Neria. “That is the way to make them work.”

I was tired. Desiree, Jenny, and I were worn out from a day of teaching a disease prevention program in Uganda, Africa. Our hosts, the Mayeku family, had a lively bunch of five lovable children. We came home to their warm welcome after walking home from the taxi stop.
We started right away with the nightly chores of peeling potatoes, rolling out dough, squeezing passion fruit for juice, and setting the table. Everything there seemed to take a long time, and dinner was no exception. The charcoal stove, dull knives, and manual labor all contributed to the four hours it took before dinner was on the table.
After dinner we washed the dishes, and by then it was 11 o’clock. I was exhausted and ready for bed. But it was Monday, and Rebecca, the oldest child, had prepared a lesson for family home evening. I watched this beautiful family gather around their humble kitchen table to listen. I knew that the Mayeku family was even more drained than I was. They worked so hard to be an obedient, educated, and loving family, and it reminded me of how blessed I was to stay with a family who did so much with the little they had. The Spirit changed my unthankful heart as we all sang “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2). I was overwhelmed by the family’s desire to serve and love the Lord. Rebecca’s lesson was on God’s creations and how He blesses us with what we need, but the greatest lesson I learned that night was the lesson of gratitude.

While in an airport several years ago in São Paulo, Brazil, I saw in a bookstore showcase a book titled “The Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ.” I doubted that our decaying and directionless world would accept another testament of Jesus Christ, and I spent the weekend thinking about the book.
Finally, I could no longer endure my curiosity, and I returned to the bookstore to buy it. When I arrived, however, I couldn’t find it. I described the book to the store attendant, but he said he had never seen it. Nor could he find a record of it, even though all books displayed in the showcase were cataloged.
Sometime later while in a pharmacy, I noticed an open book on a counter. As I began to read it, I learned about a man named Korihor who insisted on doubting the power of God and was eventually struck dumb. When I reflected on the words I read, I recognized them as being from God.
During this time I had been looking for divine direction. One day I knelt and fervently prayed asking God to show me the true path that would bring me to Him. A few days later our son became ill, so I returned to the pharmacy. When I was about to leave, three young Americans wearing name tags entered. I immediately felt a warmth in my breast, which prompted me to speak with them.
They told me they were in Brazil to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. I asked if they could teach me, and we scheduled an appointment.
When I heard about the Prophet Joseph Smith for the first time, I knew my prayer had been answered. Then the missionaries gave me a book. To my astonishment, it was a Book of Mormon—just like the one I had seen in the showcase. I again felt a sweet warmth and became so happy that I was barely able to speak.
The missionaries explained the origin of the book and then asked me to pray and ask God if it was true. I already had an absolute certainty of the divinity of the book, for the Lord had shown it to me—twice. Nevertheless, I examined it in great detail. Upon reading chapter 17 in 3 Nephi, I knew it contained a divine story because it contained the words of Jesus Christ.
The foundation of my testimony is in knowing that the Book of Mormon contains the word of God. It has changed me and continues to change me.

I thank God for the streams, clear and pure, that have influenced my life: for the goodly parents who taught me the goodness of life—honor and virtue—and who taught me to love the Lord; for the small towns where we made our own fun and adventure; for my widowed mother, who always taught correct principles; for the priesthood and the scouting program; for the chance to go away to college and for the blessing of finding a girl I knew should be my companion. I saw her first at a dance at the Old Mill in a canyon east of Salt Lake. I remember the dress she was wearing. I remember how much fun she was having with her date. I was sitting there with someone else. As I watched this girl dancing by, I asked my date, “Do you know her?”
She said, “Yes.”
I recall saying, “Why don’t you introduce me to her?” Now that isn’t the way you win friends and influence people!
I remember how hard I worked to get a date with her. I would phone her. She would have a date, and I would say, “What time is he coming?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“How about seeing me at six?” I was determined, because I had a deep impression that this was the girl I should marry. I wanted to marry the right person in the right place. I remind all of you who are here that the most important decision you will make in your life is who you marry and where you marry that person. Never forget it. Never deemphasize it.

I was reminded of the transforming power of paying tithing many years ago when I was helping missionaries teach the gospel to a young family. After the missionaries explained the principle of tithing and told the family that once they were baptized, they would give 10 percent of their income to the Church, the husband said resolutely: "It's not fair." I was startled and saddened by his answer. Then he continued. "It's not fair. God gives us everything we have. We give him a meager 10 percent in return, and then what does he do? He blesses us more. We can never pay God back for what he has done for us. It's not fair." Those words were evidence of a giving heart that comes from embracing the blessing of paying tithing.

An area president and I were in a land where, to our knowledge, not one member of the Church lived among the millions of that nation. We met a man who had been a longtime student of the Bible. He belonged to a Christian church but was not satisfied with it. He thought that he should belong to a church that carried the name of the Savior. In an old encyclopedia, he had found listed The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He wrote a letter to Salt Lake City and received an answer with a Book of Mormon. Other literature followed as he requested it.
By the time that we met him, he had read the Book of Mormon again and again and knew that it was true. He knew that the priesthood had been restored with all its gifts and powers. He knew of various Church ordinances and the procedures of our meetings. Did he believe Joseph Smith to be a prophet of God? Most assuredly.
Our friend asked for baptism and hoped to receive the priesthood so that he could teach and act with proper authority.
“But,” we said, “if we baptize you and then leave, you will be left alone. There will be no one to teach you and help you.”
He responded, “God will teach me and help me, and He will be my friend and support.”
I looked into the eyes of that good man and saw the light of faith and testimony. We baptized him, confirmed him a member of the Church, and bestowed upon him the gift of the Holy Ghost. We baptized his wife. We conferred upon him the Aaronic Priesthood and ordained him to the office of priest so that he and his wife could have the sacrament.
We held a sacrament and testimony meeting with them. When we said good-bye to one another, we embraced them. I shall never forget him. I know little of his circumstances now, but this I know: When we talked with him, the fire of faith burned in his heart, and our own faith was quickened also.

Forty-six years ago I was called as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, and for the first time, I came to this pulpit. I was 37 years old. I found myself standing among the venerable and wise prophets and apostles, “whose names,” as the song proclaims, “we all revere” (“Oh, Holy Words of Truth and Love,” Hymns, no. 271). I felt how keenly inadequate I was.
About that time here in the Tabernacle I had a defining experience. It gave me assurance and courage.
In those days Primary conference was held here before the April conference. I came through a south door as the opening song was being sung by a large choir of Primary children. Sister Lue S. Groesbeck, a member of the Primary general board, was leading them. They sang:
Rev’rently, quietly, lovingly we think of thee;
Rev’rently, quietly, softly sing our melody.
Rev’rently, quietly, humbly now we pray,
Let thy Holy Spirit dwell in our hearts today.
(“Reverently, Quietly,” Children’s Songbook, 26)
As the children sang quietly, the organist, who understood that excellence does not call attention to itself, did not play a solo while they sang. He skillfully, almost invisibly blended the young voices into a melody of inspiration, of revelation. That was the defining moment. It fixed deeply and permanently in my soul that which I most needed to sustain me in the years to follow.
I felt perhaps that which Elijah the prophet had felt. He sealed the heavens against the wicked king Ahab and fled to a cave to seek the Lord:
“A great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks … ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire [came] a still small voice.
“And it was so,” the record says, “when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave” to speak to the Lord (1 Kings 19:11–13).
I felt something of what the Nephites must have felt when the Lord appeared to them: “They heard a voice as if it came out of heaven; and they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard; and it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Nephi 11:3).
It is this still, small voice which Elijah and the Nephites heard that the Prophet Joseph Smith understood when he wrote, “Thus saith the still small voice, which whispereth through and pierceth all things” (D&C 85:6).
In that defining moment, I understood that the still, small voice is felt more than heard. If I hearkened to it, I would be all right in my ministry.
After that, I had the assurance that the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, is there for everyone who will respond to the invitation to ask, to seek, and to knock (see Matthew 7:7–8; Luke 11:9–10; 3 Nephi 14:7–8; D&C 88:63). I knew I would be all right. As the years have unfolded, so it has been.

I grew up in a dry country. It seemed to me that hardly ever was there enough rain to spread over the crop-growing period to carry us through the season—not enough water to distribute between the many hungry canals and the tens of thousands of thirsty acres, not enough to irrigate all the crops.

We learned to pray for rain—we always prayed for rain.

When I was still very small, I knew that plants could not survive in dry country more than about two or three weeks without water. I knew how to harness up the old mare to a lizard (a forked log on which a barrel was placed) and I drove the animal to the “big ditch,” the Union Canal, which was a block below our home. With a bucket I scooped up water from the small stream or the puddles and filled the barrel, and the horse dragged it back so I could pour bucketsful of precious liquid on the roses, the violets, and other flowers, and the small shrubs and hedges and new trees. Water was like liquid gold, so reservoirs became the warp and woof of the fabric of my life.

In another case, a young brother was reactivated as the result of the establishment of the outreach initiative to bring into activity young single adults ages 18 to 30. On the first night of activities in one of our Church buildings, this brother was the only nonmissionary attending, but within a few weeks, he had brought about 30 people to family home evening and other activities.
This brother is a Web site designer—he and a partner started their own Web design business. He currently lives with two nonmembers, both of whom work at his Web design company. He is very bold about sharing his testimony. One of his coworkers previously had studied Christian theology, and this brother referred him to the missionaries working in the young single adult program. Now his coworker is a regular attendee of the activities, and this reactivated brother assists the missionaries as they teach him, by adding his testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel to theirs.

When serving in Peru as the Area President five years ago, I came to know General Vidal.

General Vidal had just been promoted to be the youngest general in the Peruvian National Police Force, and I had the chance to go to lunch with him. While we were having lunch, he told me an interesting story.

He said that about two years before, while he was still a colonel, he walked into his superior's office, the general in charge of all Peruvian police. There was another general sitting there, who said to him: "Colonel Vidal, you're a Mormon, aren't you? He replied, "Yes, I am." This other general said: "Well, I am Catolico, Apostolico, Romano (meaning I am a Catholic through and through), but I know about you, Colonel Vidal."

Turning to the general in charge of the police force, he said: "I need Colonel Vidal to go to this place and solve a corruption problem that I have there." "I am sorry", the superior replied, "but he can't go because he is straightening out a corruption problem where he is right now."

The other general then turned to Colonel Vidal and said: "Give me the name of another Mormon colonel". And Colonel Vidal did so. "Then I want that colonel to go to this place and solve the corruption problem." "I am sorry", once again the superior said, "but that colonel is also straightening out a corruption problem where he is right now."

Once again the general demanded of Colonel Vidal: "Give me the name of another Mormon colonel." "I am sorry, sir, said Colonel Vidal, "there are no other Mormon colonels."

Now, of course it is true, that there are people in every religion who are people of integrity. But I thought it was interesting that this general, "Catolico Apostolico Romano", had apparently formed such a favorable opinion of Mormons, that he wanted a Mormon colonel to solve his corruption problem. Because those two members of the Church were known to be honest and incorruptible.

Laura slid her feet daintily into Mother’s out-of-fashion high heels—her glass slippers—straightened the cardboard crown on her head, and twirled past the mirror to see if the old chiffon gown made her look like Cinderella.
“I’m just not sure about the shoes.” She frowned into the mirror. “They’re so clunky and so … so purple!”
“This is Halloween, not a grand ball,” Mother laughed. “Besides, if your shoes fall off while you’re trick-or-treating tonight, you’ll be even more like Cinderella. Now get a move on. Tammy insisted on going early tonight, so she’ll be here to pick you up at any minute.”
As Laura dabbed some of Mother’s makeup on her face—wearing lipstick and eye shadow was the best thing about Halloween—she thought of her new friend.
Tammy had recently moved to town. Everyone in school knew that she lived in the run-down duplexes on Horne Street, and though she was always clean and neat, her clothes looked worn and plain.
Sister Kerby, Laura’s Valiant teacher, had challenged the girls in her class to do missionary work. After prayerfully considering the names of several friends at school, Laura was impressed to get to know Tammy better, in hopes of introducing the gospel to her. She seems nice enough, thought Laura. Even though her family is poor, it won’t hurt me to be her friend.
Laura’s exuberance and Tammy’s gentleness proved a winning combination. Every day the two girls rode bikes, climbed trees, or baked their all-time favorite—chocolate chip cookies. Laura’s attic was their retreat. There they munched countless cookies, solved world problems, and shared innermost dreams.
But sharing a cookie is sure easier than sharing the gospel, Laura thought to herself now as she whisked a little blush across her cheeks. She wondered if she would ever have the courage to talk to Tammy about her beliefs.
“The gospel of Jesus Christ is the greatest gift you can give,” Sister Kerby had said. “You must listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost so that you will know when the time is right to invite Tammy to church. Be a good example, and she will want to hear about the gospel.” Laura wondered if the “right time” would ever come!
The doorbell rang. That has to be Tammy. Laura quickly brushed her thoughts aside and sprinkled a pinch of glitter in her hair.
Scurrying down the hall to open the door for her friend, Laura could feel the soft flutter of chiffon around her ankles. She wondered what Tammy would be wearing. Her family probably doesn’t have money for costumes and makeup.
“Wow—you look gorgeous!” Tammy squealed when she saw Laura.
“And you look … crazy,” Laura laughed, poking at Tammy’s homemade paper-bag pumpkin costume. “We’re a real pair! I guess I’m Cinderella and you’re my coach.”
“Got your treat bags?” Mom asked.
“Here’s mine!” Tammy grinned, holding it high.
“That’s huge!” Laura exclaimed, a little embarrassed by the size. “It looks like a pillowcase.”
“It is,” giggled Tammy. “And I plan to fill it right to the top. I love Halloween!”
Laura smiled weakly, relieved that her parents had bought the pretty plastic trick-or-treat bag she held.
“Off with you then,” Mother said, giving them a wink and shooing them out the door.
After an hour of running from house to house, Laura’s patience with her clumsy “glass slippers” wore thin.
“Let’s quit, Tammy,” she panted, as they rounded yet another corner. “Honestly, I can hardly keep up with you. And just look at all this candy!”
Tammy stopped. Her usually serene eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief. “The real fun is just beginning,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Yeah, now we get to eat our loot!”
“Oh no!” Tammy smiled. “The fun starts when you give your treats away.”
Laura looked at Tammy in amazement.
“You mean, you give all your candy away?”
“Sure,” Tammy shrugged. “It’s still early. If I hurry home, I can be there to give out my treats to all the neighbor children who come trick-or-treating to my house. It’s fun!”
Laura’s heart swelled with love for Tammy, who stood without guile before her in the homemade pumpkin costume. Laura wondered how she could ever have thought that money made one person richer or “better” than another. All these weeks she’d thought that she was preparing Tammy to receive the gospel—doing Tammy a favor by being her friend. She hadn’t taken time to notice that Tammy was ready and waiting for the gift; a gift she suddenly felt almost unworthy to give.
“Can I come and help you hand out the Halloween treats?” Laura asked softly.
“Sure!” Tammy smiled, slipping her arm through Laura’s as they walked toward Horne Street.
“And while we’re giving out the candy,” Laura said with new resolve, “I have something precious to share with you, Tammy.”

President Smith then married Jessie Evans, former contralto and soloist with the Salt Lake Tabernacle Choir, on April 12, 1938. A born entertainer with a vivacious and cheerful nature, she was at the president’s side for thirty-three years, buoying him up and caring for him with a love and devotion that was truly beautiful. She lived to see him become president of the Church and traveled extensively with him on his many Church assignments, sharing not only his rigorous schedule but also the loving reception of the Saints of many lands. When she succumbed to a heart ailment on August 3, 1971, millions shared President Smith’s loneliness and sorrow. On seeing the compassion and concern extended to him at this time by President Harold B. Lee, President Smith assured his counselor that the Lord would give him strength to continue in his duties. “I’ve been through this before, you know,” he said.

How I pray that all who have loved then lost might know the reality of the Resurrection and have the unshakable knowledge that families can be forever. One such was a Major Sullivan Ballou, who, during the time of the American Civil War, wrote a touching letter to his wife—just one week before he was killed in the Battle of Bull Run. With me, feel the love of his soul, his trust in God, his courage, his faith.

“July 14, 1861
“Camp Clark, Washington
“My very dear Sarah:
“The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.
“I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. … I am … perfectly willing … to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government. …
“Sarah, my love for you is deathless; it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.
“The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive [me] my … faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness. …
“But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and the unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights … always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.”

Some time ago a couple came to my office with very heavy hearts. They had a priest-age son who was an Eagle Scout, a Duty to God Award winner, a good student who had been conscientious in school and on his part-time job. Then one night he just walked away from home and didn’t return. He had been gone for several weeks, and they were heartsick.
I asked them if they had pleaded with the Lord to know where their son was. They assured me they had. “Have you pleaded with all your strength?” “Yes, we have.” “Have you pleaded with every particle of your being?” “Well,” they said, “maybe not every particle.” I said, “You go home and pray again—this time with every particle of energy and strength of your being.” They said they would.
That afternoon the couple knelt down and pleaded with the Lord. At six o’clock the phone rang. It was their son, calling from Banff, Alberta, Canada. After talking to him for a few minutes and finding that he was safe and in no danger, they asked why he had called at that particular time. He replied, “The bishop this evening had the strongest impression to have me call home. He came over to my apartment and said he would not leave until I called home.”

My dad taught me the other most memorable lesson of my youth. This one came when I was struggling to choose which college I wanted to attend and play golf for. I had several offers but didn’t know where to go. Eventually I narrowed my search to three schools. Yet when the time came to sign with a school, I sat at my kitchen table staring at three National Letters of Intent with no idea who to sign with.

At the time my dad was a successful golfer on the Senior PGA Tour. But he didn’t try to influence my decision. Instead he allowed me to make my own choice about college.

Finally I reached out to my dad and asked him, “Where should I go?”

He responded with a question: “Well, what do you want?”

I was confused. “What do you mean, what do I want?”

He asked another question: “What do you want out of life?”

After thinking about it, I told him what I wanted.

He replied, “Then choose the school that will give you that.”

In order to get what you want in life, you have to first know what you want. It is hard to think and act for yourself when you don’t know what to think and act upon.

In 1959 he left the University of Utah and went into private practice. There he was, thirty-five years old and with a family of six children, in training all those years after medical school, going deeper and deeper into debt in order to properly prepare himself for his chosen profession.
Nevertheless, he was called to the demanding work of a stake president. Prior to his setting apart, Brother Nelson had mentioned that one of the serious challenges facing him as a surgeon was the difficulty of aortic valve replacement. In the blessing, Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Quorum of the Twelve, promised him that the quality of his work as a surgeon would increase so that he would have the time to serve as stake president without jeopardizing his patients. Elder Kimball himself was to benefit later from this blessing, for in 1972 the open-heart operation that Dr. Nelson performed on Spencer W. Kimball included aortic valve replacement.
The operation was performed on President Kimball the following year on April 12. It was flawless—thousands of intricate manipulations performed without error, according to a blessing he had received under the hands of President Harold B. Lee and President N. Eldon Tanner. Even more special to Dr. Nelson was an overpowering feeling that came upon him at the conclusion of the operation: “The Spirit told me that I had just operated on a man who would become president of the Church,” he said.

Mozambique. The name, for some, conjures images of exotic wildlife, lush green vegetation, or white-sand beaches. More likely, it will send the average person scrambling for a map to discover its location in southeast Africa. But for Maria da Conceição, it means home. And thanks to the efforts of members in the Inhamízua Branch and a few missionaries, Maria now has a place in Mozambique to call her own.
Maria is a tiny woman with a gigantic spirit. Abandoned by her husband and oldest daughter, she was left to rear two small children on her own. Crippled by a debilitating disease she has had since birth, Maria struggled to pay the rent each month. In a country that has high unemployment, work and money are nearly impossible to come by. Yet Maria managed to make a meager living and do the best she could.
I was a full-time missionary in Mozambique. When I first met Maria, I was impressed by her positive attitude and zest for life. She worked relentlessly in her machamba (large garden) to provide for two children and herself and to pay rent on a small mud house.
Church members helped by providing food and medical care. Tragically, Maria’s two children died within three weeks of each other due to disease and no access to the right medical facilities. Death and suffering are common in Mozambique.
Serving as the branch president for our tiny branch, I was extremely concerned for Maria. Both the youth and adult members of our isolated branch did everything they could to help Maria. Some worked in the machamba, others offered food, and a few even helped pay the rent; but she needed a permanent answer.
Late one night, while I was pondering and searching for an answer, inspiration came to me in the form of an idea for an ambitious youth project: building a home for Maria. My companion, Elder Bis-Neto, and I proposed our idea to the younger members of the branch, and they jumped at the chance to help build Maria a house. There was little money and a great deal of work to be done, but with many willing hands and a vision of a traditional African mud-and-stick house, a plan took shape, and the youth went to work.
Everyone got down to business immediately. First job: get wood.
A trip into the African jungle to gather wood for building a home is not a job for the fainthearted. The youth and missionaries made many two-hour trips through thick, swampy savannas, endless rice fields, dense overgrown jungles, and waist-deep mud to find the perfect trees with which to build Maria’s house. Using machetes, we hacked down the slender trees and then organized them into bundles for the journey back. Some of the youth used tall wild grass to quickly weave hats to help protect their heads from the rough logs.
The most difficult leg of the journey now began. Carrying a heavy load on our heads, scratching our way through the dense undergrowth, and battling the scorching African sun, we hauled our loads back. As we walked, the youth sang hymns of Zion, with smiles on their faces.
Alves Elídio Eguimane Razão, 18, says, “It was a lot of hard work, and we loved every minute of it!”
The wooden frame went up stick by stick, with care given to ensure a sturdy and lasting structure. Many generous hands constructed the roof by laying down strips of plastic, which were secured with mats of woven weeds. This roof would need to repel the violent storms of the annual rainy season.
From mud walls to mud floors to mud pies, mud was the menu for most building days. Barrel after barrel of rich brown dirt was hauled in and then drenched in water. Dozens of youth and other branch members turned out to help hand mix the mud and cover the frame house. The exterior was done first, followed by the interior walls and partition. After we had packed the walls with several inches of strong, dried mud, the house started to take shape. To jazz up the interior, a special layer of mud was carefully applied to create the floor and solid water-resistant surfaces.
These days were full of hard work, but the atmosphere abounded in good humor and many smiles, not to mention the surprised eyes of the neighbors as they watched missionaries and youth carrying large bundles of sticks and gallons upon gallons of water and slinging handfuls of mud.
Finally the door was hung, a lock installed, and the house was done. After more than 1,000 service hours, given by more than 40 members and a number of missionaries, Maria da Conceição had a beautiful home of her own.
On a tiny plot of land, in a remote village of Mozambique, Maria da Conceição’s home stands as a testament of love and obedience to the principles of the gospel. Maria and the members of the Inhamízua Branch have learned that, amid the harsh trials of life, there is hope to be found when Church members work together to make good things happen.