Gospel Story Finder

This story happened in New Zealand.
Hi, Emily! It’s nice out, isn’t it?
Yeah! Can I try? I want to help!
The spade might be too big for you. Why don’t you help me weed the garden?
OK!
Let’s be careful not to pull out any flowers. I’ll show you which ones are weeds.
Do we have to pull all the weeds out? There are so many!
We do if we want the garden to look nice.
Looking after a garden is hard.
You’re right. But the work still needs to be done.
Why did we plant so many flowers? That’s just more work!
Why do you think Heavenly Father made roses so pretty?
I don’t know.
Because He wants us to have joy when we see them.
It’s like that song! “I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heavenly Father created for me.”*
That’s why I don’t mind the hard work. The flowers make me happy.
They remind us of Heavenly Father’s love!
“We should care for the earth, be wise stewards over it, and preserve it for future generations.”
President Russell M. Nelson, “The Creation,” Liahona, July 2000, 84.
Illustrations by Alyssa M. Gonzalez

Among those who were in dire circumstances on the plains was my wife’s great-grandmother. She was part of the Hunt wagon company.
Today, my wife’s gravesite in the Salt Lake City Cemetery looks down at the gravesite of her great-grandmother, Mary Penfold Goble, who died in the arms of her daughter as she was entering this valley on December 11, 1856. She was buried the next day. She had lost three of her children on that long journey. The feet of a surviving daughter were terribly frozen.

That is a question that a lot of us would like to know the answer to. Scientists also are searching for the answer to such a strange phenomenon. To find out what they are learning, two of my sons and I took a trip to Scripps Institution of Oceanography last March. While visiting the aquarium there, we picked up a pamphlet that listed the times of high and low tides for the area around San Diego. Sandwiched in the center of the booklet was an article called “The Grunion Story.” It described the strange habits of a small silvery fish called the grunion that beaches itself upon the sand in very large numbers about twice each month at certain times of the year. These “runs,” as they are called, can be predicted fairly accurately from a knowledge of the tides. The booklet indicated that a grunion run was expected to begin about one o’clock the following morning. Well, you can probably guess what happened when my boys read that!

In the dead of night, Keith’s wristwatch alarm rang to wake us up. We got dressed and headed outside, where we were greeted by a fog so thick that we could only see a few feet in front of us. Undaunted, we climbed into our car and inched our way down the winding street to the ocean’s edge.

Except for us and a couple of sleepy-looking birds, the beach was deserted. Where is everyone? we wondered. We watched wave after wave roll in and break upon the sand and then recede, but no grunion appeared. I stood watch on a rock a little farther out, where a large wave broke over my feet and filled my shoes with water. But still no grunion. After an hour of fruitless waiting, we gave up and wended our way through the heavy fog back to the motel, where we lapsed into sleep.

Suddenly Keith’s alarm rang again, and we saw that it was light outside. It was almost time for the aquarium to open, so we hustled off without eating breakfast. When we got there, however, the aquarium was still closed. Puzzled, we peered through the glass door to see a large clock on the wall with its big hand on six and its little hand between seven and eight. Keith’s watch also had its big hand on six, but its little hand was between eight and nine. Then we realized the reason for the absence of people and grunion at the beach that night. Keith’s watch was an hour fast. We had arrived an hour early and left just before the grunion run was supposed to start!

It has been 400 years since the publication of the King James Bible, with significant contributions from William Tyndale, a great hero in my eyes.
The clergy did not want the Bible published in common English. They hounded Tyndale from place to place. He said to them, “If God spare my life, ere many years I will cause a boy that driveth the plough shall know more of the Scripture than thou.”
Tyndale was betrayed and confined to a dark, freezing prison in Brussels for over a year. His clothing was in rags. He begged his captors for his coat and cap and a candle, saying, “It is indeed wearisome sitting alone in the dark.” These were denied him. Eventually, he was taken from prison and before a large crowd was strangled and burned at the stake. But William Tyndale’s work and martyr’s death were not in vain.
Since Latter-day Saint children are taught from their youth to know the scriptures, they in a measure fulfill the prophecy made four centuries earlier by William Tyndale.

When I started my doctoral program, I felt discouraged. The program accepted only four students that year, and the other students were brilliant. They had higher test scores and more work experience at senior management positions, and they exuded confidence in their abilities. After my first two weeks in the program, feelings of discouragement and doubt began to take hold, almost overwhelming me.
I decided that if I were going to complete this four-year program, I would finish reading the Book of Mormon each semester. Each day as I read, I recognized the Savior’s declaration that the Holy Ghost would teach me all things and would bring all things to my remembrance. It reaffirmed who I am as a son of God, reminded me not to compare myself with the others, and gave me the confidence in my divine role to succeed.

Elder Darrell and Sister Maylene Call from Texas are serving as humanitarian missionaries in the Dominican Republic. Unbeknownst to them, they were a part of one of those waves of righteous energy. Elder Call needed a root canal and was directed to the G3 Foundation for the procedure. This foundation is also a form of that positive energy and was established in 2004 by Dr. Len Aste and Dr. Ganon Rowan with the purpose of bringing dental students to the Dominican Republic to provide much needed dental care to those in need.
Brother Call’s appointment was scheduled with the foundation for a month later. A couple of weeks before the appointment they were given the assignment to help in the Church’s warehouse conducting an inventory of items being stored there. They discovered a surplus of items leftover from previous projects that, with approval, could be immediately distributed to those in need. Among these items were boxes of reading glasses and the Calls weren’t sure what they should do with them.
Surgery day for Elder Call finally arrived. While on site, Elder and Sister Call were given a tour of the services offered by the clinic, which not only included dental procedures such as cleanings, extractions, and fillings, but also included vision and medical care. It was a wonderful experience to see the nearly 60 volunteers giving of their time and talents. It was indeed one of those waves of energy to bless the people in the Dominican Republic.
During the tour of the G3 Foundation, Elder and Sister Call were introduced to those providing vision care and learned of the need for additional reading glasses. Sister Allison Mumford from Emmett, Idaho worked with the vison care services and helped fit reader glasses for those who needed them. She recalled, “We worked two long clinic days and distributed many more glasses than I expected. We ended up running out of supplies. Then, according to the Lord’s timing, the Calls visited again and offered us glasses from the Church warehouse. It was a direct blessing from a loving Heavenly Father, who knows today what our needs will be tomorrow.”

Sometimes the tables are reversed. A dear and cherished young friend, Wendy Bennion of Salt Lake City, was such an example. Just the day before yesterday, she quietly departed mortality and returned “to that God who gave [her] life” (Alma 40:11). She had struggled for over five long years in her battle with cancer. Ever cheerful, always reaching out to help others, never losing faith, she had a contagious smile that attracted others to her as a magnet attracts metal shavings. While Wendy was ill and in pain, a friend of hers, feeling downcast with her own situation, visited her. Nancy, Wendy’s mother, knowing Wendy was in extreme pain, felt that perhaps the friend had stayed too long. She asked Wendy, after the friend had left, why she had allowed her to stay so long when she herself was in so much pain. Wendy’s response: “What I was doing for my friend was a lot more important than the pain I was having. If I can help her, then the pain is worth it.” Wendy’s attitude was reminiscent of Him who bore the sorrows of the world, who patiently suffered excruciating pain and disappointment, but who, with silent step of His sandaled feet, passed by a man who was blind from birth, restoring his sight. He approached the grieving widow of Nain and raised her son from the dead. He trudged up Calvary’s steep slope, carrying His own cruel cross, undistracted by the constant jeers and taunting that accompanied His every step. For He had an appointment with divine destiny. In a very real way He visits us, each one, with His teachings. He brings cheer and inspires goodness. He gave His precious life that the grave would be deprived of its victory, that death would lose its sting, that life eternal would be our gift.

But life will never be the same. Some people, particularly children, who see her for the first time are frightened. For a friendly little girl who remains the same inside despite the changes on the outside, the rejection can be devastating.
Sage was playing outside one day when a child came upon her. Unprepared for the experience, he ran away screaming, “Monster! Monster!” It hurt, but Sage understood. “The kids used to laugh at me,” she says. Do they now? “Not at school. Sometimes people stare when we go to the store.”

“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat” (Matthew 25:35).
The Yellowmans say that the dinners are an extension of a family tradition of providing food to others. Tom explains: “It started one night when we took our children out for hamburgers. We didn’t have a lot of money, so it was a special treat. When we got there, we saw some homeless people in the parking lot. We bought a couple of extra meals and let the kids hand them the food.”
After that, each Christmas season the family prepared small bags of food to give to people without a home. Extended family members joined in, so did friends, and soon they were distributing 75 to 100 bags in Farmington and Shiprock.
“When my kids and their cousins hand out these bags,” Tom says, “they tell people how grateful they are to be able to give them food.”
“One man even asked us to pray with him,” says Toma, Tom and Gina’s 22-year-old son. “That made the experience particularly meaningful to me.”

It was left to Primary teachers, Young Women leaders, and priesthood leaders to provide me with gospel instruction. When I was seven years old, my junior Sunday School teacher taught us about prayer, and I wanted to pray. She taught us about tithing, and I wanted to pay tithing. She taught us about fasting, and, well, I was only seven years old, so I didn’t want to fast. But when she taught us about baptism, I wanted to be baptized. I am grateful for my goodly parents, who supported me in my decision and who later also became members of the Church.

As an 18-year-old high school senior, I felt like everything was going my way. I had many good friends, I was participating in sports, and anticipating nothing but success the next year at the University of California at Berkeley. The college had already sent me a letter of acceptance.
I anticipated success when I entered a Lion’s Club speaking contest that spring too. The topic was “Are the Differences (Misunderstanding) Between Parents and Children Real or Imaginary!” My talk was especially written for the judges’ preferences, and I won the contest by defeating a girl named Karen, a Mormon.
I won because I had said what the judges wanted to hear. But in my mind, Karen’s talk, based on her church’s doctrines, was far more thought-provoking. Her delivery enveloped me in its sincere conviction. We became friends.
As we got to know each other, our conversations sometimes evolved into debates, with Karen defending religion while I argued for science. Our discussions served mostly to frustrate her.
But Karen had a friend named Nese. Nese never said more than “Hi” to me in the halls at school, but she had listened closely to my conversations with Karen.
Nese never told me directly that she was a Latter-day Saint. She strolled up to my table in the library one day during study hall. “May I sit down?” she asked. At some point during the conversation, she said she was a member of the house of Israel. I assumed she meant she was Jewish.
We had classes all at the same hour, and during the remaining months of our senior year, Nese and I sorted through the many religious questions flooding my mind. She told me later she “just wanted to share her opinion with someone who wouldn’t laugh at her.” I would tell my ideas on a subject like life after death, and then she would explain her beliefs. Her confidence amazed me. It wasn’t until later that I found out she was a Latter-day Saint.
By then our talks were so enjoyable I began spending lunch hours with Nese and her Mormon friends. They were refreshing to be around. No smoking, no swearing, no improper jokes. Best of all, they never seemed to ridicule anybody—they respected each other’s feelings. It was different being with them, and I enjoyed it.
Towards the end of the school year, Karen invited me to a Gold and Green Ball, I had no idea what that was. I had never been to a dance in a church, and I had to dress in a suit! I was amazed to see a gymnasium in a church building.
But what went on in the gym surprised me even more. Adults and teenagers were talking, laughing, and even dancing together. My friends had always thought it was childish to like your parents. All over the nation there was an uproar about communication breakdown between parents and their children. But these people all seemed to be friends, regardless of age.
I asked Karen about it. She said it was because of the Church. As she took me on a tour of the building, I pondered what she had said. By the time I went home that night, I felt these people were unique, they were choice in some way I didn’t fully understand. They had a lot to be proud of.
After graduation my summer job took me away from my new-found group of friends. I was employed at a gas station, where I was unhappy because of my co-workers’ lack of concern. I was depressed, unhappy, and alone.
One afternoon in July, Nese and a friend drove up to the station. Just seeing them boosted my morale. They were planning to sing in the Oakland Temple Pageant and invited me to attend.
I’ll always remember that special evening. It was the first time I heard the story of Joseph Smith and learned the history of the Latter-day Saints I had grown to admire. At the end of the pageant, the audience rose and sang “The Spirit of God Like a Fire Is Burning.” (Hymns No. 213) How I wanted to know the words of the song so I could join the chorus! I felt completely full of respect and love.
The crowd left slowly. Standing in the parking lot, I looked up at the temple. A voice in the back of my mind told me that some day I would enter that building.
When fall came, Nese left to attend Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. I returned to Berkeley, California. Loneliness encompassed me again. Nese’s letters arrived regularly, two or three times weekly. I asked her why she was Mormon. The next letter bulged the envelope. It was a detailed explanation of her struggle to remain active and maintain a firm testimony while living with her inactive family.
I decided I had to go to church. That was a difficult decision because no one pushed me to attend. I had been allowed to come to the conclusion by myself.
I nearly changed my mind when I opened the door. I entered the chapel by myself, spotted an empty seat on the back row, and quickly sat down. Was I going to be all alone here, too? I wondered inside.
Then suddenly Karen, who had appeared from nowhere, was shaking my hand. “Good morning, David,” she said, grinning. I wasn’t alone anymore. She introduced me to people, showed me which class to go to, and sat beside me the entire time.
I was impressed to find a class I could bring my questions to and get answers. Furthermore, the teacher, Sister Booras, took time afterwards to thank me for coming. “You added a great deal to our class,” she said. I had never felt so at home before.
But I still didn’t have that spiritual testimony of the Church; I could believe in many of its teachings, but I didn’t know it was true. I kept attending the meetings anyway.
One month later, Nese urged me to come to Brigham Young University. I jumped at the chance and rushed to Provo for a whirlwind visit. She described her school as if it were part of her. As we walked around campus, all we talked about was religion. My mind was overflowing with questions again, as it had been in the high school library. I still didn’t see how everything fit together.
The thing that held me back was the principle of eternal progression. “It just can’t be right.” I said, “How can man, who was created by God, ever hope to be a god?”
We were standing in front of the Joseph Smith Building. Nese paused for a moment.
“Dave,” she said, “before we were ever created physically, we were created spiritually as God’s sons and daughters. A part of us, our spirit, comes directly from him as our Father.”
I finally understood! It all fell into place. My grin spread to a smile and erupted as a laugh. I couldn’t stop grinning. My mind jumped from doctrine to doctrine. “Yes, yes, it all fits!” I wanted to dance or sing or run.
There, on the steps of the Joseph Smith Building, the Spirit bore witness to me of the gospel plan. I knew in my heart I would join the Church.
I still had to read the Book of Mormon, learn to pray, and take the missionary discussions. But my life was changed from that moment on. I had found truth, purpose, and a life to fulfill. Five weeks later I was baptized.
Eighteen months later, my impression that I would one day enter the Oakland Temple came true, as I received my endowments one week before leaving on a mission. When I returned, Nese and I decided to continue the eternal journey we had begun with conversations at a table in a library. We were married in the Provo Temple.
Every time I look at my wife, I thank the Lord that there was a girl in my high school with enough faith to “just want to share her beliefs with someone who wouldn’t laugh at her.” She touched my heart and changed my life.

Last August we took some of our grandchildren to Timpanogos Cave National Monument, one of Utah’s most popular destinations. It is a rather strenuous one-and-a-half-mile (2.4 km) hike to reach the cave but well worth the effort to witness the cave’s beautiful, spiraling formations. I was certain that nine-year-old Ruthie would have little difficulty, but I wondered whether six-year-old Caroline would have the strength and stamina to make it all the way.
We were all very excited to begin the hike, and at first we moved rapidly along the paved trail. One-fourth of the way came quickly, but it took longer to reach the halfway point. Caroline started to get discouraged. Ruthie was doing well and encouraged Caroline to continue. We slowed down so Caroline could keep up. Then it seemed that everything went wrong. Strong winds came up, and the dust from the winds made it difficult to see. It was a little scary, and as if that weren’t enough, we came across a signpost that read, "Rattlesnake Habitat. Stay on the Trail. Stay Safe."
Slowly we trudged along, three-fourths of the way to our goal, but we still had the steepest part of the mountain to climb. Tired, scared, and doubting her abilities, Caroline sat down and tearfully declared, "I give up! I can’t go any farther!"
We sat down, and we talked about what we should do. We made a plan. We decided to count our steps and see how we felt after 100 steps. Ruthie and I assured Caroline that we would help her. We were to look for something that made us happy along the way and share our discoveries. We even sang some Primary songs.
Things changed. Caroline made the choice to follow the plan. One hundred steps made an impossible task seem doable. Caroline knew we would help her, and as we looked for the good things around us and sang songs, we felt happier.
Finally, live to be worthy of the companionship of the Holy Ghost. When we helped Caroline, looked for the good around us, and even sang Primary songs, we invited the Spirit. We felt love, joy, and peace, which are fruits of the Spirit (see Galatians 5:22). You will need that peace and assurance when Satan tries to confuse you with winds of doubt, when you are tempted to take another path, or when others are unkind or mock you for your beliefs.

About the time I was baptized into the Church, Elder Melvin J. Ballard visited our stake conference. He told the story of his recent visit to South America where he, in company with Rulon S. Wells and Rey L. Pratt, had begun missionary work. I didn’t know then that thirteen years later I would sit in Elder Ballard’s office and that he, as an apostle of the Lord, would set me apart to be a missionary in South America. Much less did I then realize that many years of my life would be spent in that great land and that I would see the Church there grow from just a few hundred members to hundreds of thousands of members.
Elder Melvin J. Ballard

A few years ago when we were presiding over the Sydney Mission, I was earnestly seeking a blessing from the Lord. The mission had done well but was pausing on a plateau, and we needed to move ahead once again.
On one particular day I was fasting and praying that the Lord would lead us to a new level of achievement. In the midst of my prayers came the clear impression to seek out my son and give him a blessing. I followed the prompting and found my son, whom I am close to, in another part of the house, attending to his high school studies.
I said, “How are things going?”
He answered, in typical teenage fashion, “Why?”
Not knowing what else to say, I asked, “Do you want a blessing?”
He looked at me in stunned silence for a few seconds and then said, “Yes.”
The inspiration that followed from that blessing proved to be of great importance to both my son and me. It was an experience that neither of us will forget.
Yet this would have been lost had I stopped to question why the Lord was turning me to my first responsibility, my family, when I was seeking a blessing for the mission.

Last fall Sister Rasband and I were on our way to Goshen, Utah, for a worldwide Face to Face event being broadcast to over 600,000 people in 16 different languages. The program was to focus on the events of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, with questions submitted by young adults from around the world. Sister Rasband and I had personally reviewed the questions; they gave us the opportunity to testify of Joseph Smith as a prophet of God, the power of revelation in our lives, the ongoing Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and the truths and commandments that we treasure. Many listening today were part of that miraculous event.

Initially the broadcast was to originate in the Sacred Grove in upstate New York, where, as Joseph Smith testified: “I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” That, brothers and sisters, was a miracle.

The worldwide pandemic forced us to relocate the broadcast to Goshen, Utah, where The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has re-created, for filming, a section of old Jerusalem. Sister Rasband and I were within a few miles of Goshen that Sunday evening when we saw thick smoke coming from the direction of our destination. Wildfires were blazing in the area, and we worried the broadcast might be at risk. Sure enough, at 20 minutes to 6:00, our broadcast time, the power in the entire complex went out. No power! No broadcast. There was one generator that some thought we might be able to power up, but there was no assurance it could sustain the sophisticated equipment at hand.

All of us on the program, including narrators, musicians, and technicians—even 20 young adults from our own extended family—were fully invested in what was to take place. I stepped away from their tears and confusion and pleaded with the Lord for a miracle. “Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I have rarely asked for a miracle, but I am asking for one now. This meeting must happen for all our young adults around the world. We need the power to go on if it be Thy will.”

Seven minutes after 6:00, as quickly as the power had gone out, it came back on. Everything started working, from the music and microphones to the videos and all the transmission equipment. We were off and running. We had experienced a miracle.

As Sister Rasband and I were in the car returning home later that evening, President and Sister Nelson texted us with this message: “Ron, we want you to know that as soon as we heard the power was out, we prayed for a miracle.”

In latter-day scripture it is written, “For I, the Lord, have put forth my hand to exert the powers of heaven; ye cannot see it now, yet a little while and ye shall see it, and know that I am, and that I will come and reign with my people.”

That is exactly what happened. The Lord had put forth His hand, and the power came on.

Almost two decades ago, the Madrid Spain Temple was dedicated and began its service as a sacred house of the Lord. Harriet and I remember it well because I was serving in the Europe Area Presidency at the time. Along with many others, we spent countless hours attending to the details of planning and organizing the events leading up to the dedication.
As the date of the dedication approached, I noticed that I had not yet received an invitation to attend. This was a bit unexpected. After all, in my responsibility as the Area President, I had been greatly involved in this temple project and felt a small amount of ownership for it.
I asked Harriet if she had seen an invitation. She had not.
Days passed and my anxiety increased. I wondered if our invitation had gotten lost—perhaps it was buried between the cushions of our sofa. Maybe it had been mixed up with junk mail and thrown away. The neighbors had an inquisitive cat, and I even began to look suspiciously at him.
Finally I was forced to accept the fact: I had not been invited.
But how was that possible? Had I done something to offend? Did someone just assume it was too far for us to travel? Had I been forgotten?
Eventually, I realized that this line of thinking led to a place in which I did not wish to take up residence.
Harriet and I reminded ourselves that the temple dedication was not about us. It wasn’t about who deserved to be invited or who did not. And it wasn’t about our feelings or our sense of entitlement.
It was about dedicating a holy edifice, a temple of the Most High God. It was a day of rejoicing for the members of the Church in Spain.
Had I been invited to attend, I would have done so gladly. But if I were not invited, my joy would not be any less profound. Harriet and I would rejoice with our friends, our beloved brothers and sisters, from afar. We would praise God for this wonderful blessing just as enthusiastically from our home in Frankfurt as we would from Madrid.

Many leaders on the ward or branch and the stake or district level plan events that bring young women and Relief Society sisters together. Diana Gardner of the Harrogate Ward, York England Stake, says that Laurels were invited to go to the temple to do baptisms on a night when their ward Relief Society sisters were performing endowments. “The Laurels and Relief Society sisters were eating dinner at the cafeteria together and walking around the temple grounds together. Their discussions have had a major impact on the young women,” says Sister Gardner.

My dad was what I’d call an urban farmer. No, we didn’t raise crops in a metropolis. We built swimming pools.
The problem with the swimming pool business in Philadelphia is that it’s impossible to build a pool in a Pennsylvania winter. That meant Dad would do all the work he could between April and October, and then hope he had enough money to last us through the winter. Dad would pick up odd jobs to make ends meet.
I think I was about 14 or 15 when I helped Dad deliver salt. During breakfast one snowy day after early-morning seminary, Dad asked me if I would help him after school. Since basketball season hadn’t started yet, I said I would.
That day we put on our coats and boots and climbed into the truck that was normally used only in the summertime. We drove to the docks on the Delaware River in downtown Philadelphia where Dad pulled over and went into the office. Soon he came out and we drove through the gate and into the yard. Before long, we were loading several bags of road salt onto the back of the truck as snow began to fall.
Off we went, with Dad doing the driving and me doing the navigating. With the addresses and a street map, I tried to plot out the most efficient route for us to take.
We began near the historic area of the city. We drove by the Liberty Bell and into the business district. There wasn’t a place to park, so Dad just stopped the truck in the middle of the road and put on the flashers. We jumped out and carried three bags of salt into a small clock shop.
One of our next stops was a men’s clothing store. Dad made the owner laugh with one of his jokes as we carried the salt through the falling snow. After a few more deliveries, we went into a poorer neighborhood and delivered a single bag of salt to a small deli. The man there spoke with an Italian accent. I carried the salt as Dad talked with the man and had him sign the delivery papers.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in the low-income areas of Philadelphia. There were small grocery stores, laundromats, pawn shops, and hardware stores. And at each of the stops, Dad treated each person with dignity and respect—and often made them laugh.
Several weeks went by, and each afternoon delivery brought new insights, new observations, and new talks with Dad. We talked about all kinds of things—world events, Church doctrine, sports. Once Dad tried to talk about what kinds of girls I liked, but I wouldn’t let him. So he changed the subject.
There were lots of things I learned the winter I delivered salt. I learned that Dad was willing to “dig a few ditches,” as he would say, to provide for our family. I learned you can actually talk to your dad about things that really matter—things like testimony, friends, and relationships.
But looking back, one of the most important lessons I learned is that we truly are the “salt of the earth.” Dad made everyone smile despite the weather or their life’s status. It didn’t matter if we were delivering to a woman managing a laundromat in the slums, or a man who owned a tailor shop in uptown Philly. Dad cheered all of them with his jokes, his attitude, and the respect he showed them. At least for that winter, Dad was the salt of Philadelphia in more ways than one.

For Bill and Linda Hamm of Anchorage, Alaska, USA, the work presented a personal challenge: they were called to serve as humanitarian service missionaries to oversee tsunami relief efforts in Indonesia. “We were exhilarated by the challenges and overwhelmed by the opportunity,” Brother Hamm said.
The Church focused on helping Indonesia and its people take a simple step forward, a step away from tragedy and pain, a step toward reestablishing life. While these efforts played just a small part among the many individuals and organizations that offered aid to the tsunami victims, the missionaries were able to share their love, the love of the members, and the pure love of Christ.
“We were not permitted to proselyte, but we were representing the Lord and tried to share our testimonies through our work by being kind, polite, or simply by smiling,” Sister Hamm said. “Sometimes we had the opportunity to explain where the funds came from, and we told about our prophet and how he called for a 24-hour fast, with the money that would otherwise be spent on food to be donated to a special fund. I think the Spirit bore witness and they understood that there were individuals around the world who loved them.”

“Every summer, for many years, Dad would drive us to Utah as soon as school was out. The trip would take two or three days, and we would usually stop in Scipio where my Grandma and Grandpa Peterson lived. Then we’d come up to Taylorsville to visit my cousins, whom we were very fond of. Dad would go back to Phoenix, and at the end of summer he’d come back to get us for school. While we were away, Dad wrote letters to us regularly.”