Gospel Story Finder

Another awakening came when Heath was ten. He was already a great swimmer and he knew it. At one meet in particular, Heath had won several races and then proceeded to tell—even brag—to everybody about his accomplishments. “I had five or six blue ribbons and I was going around to everybody else saying, ‘I got these. What do you have?’ A friend of mine who was probably about 15 had been watching me and she just stopped me dead and said, ‘Why are you so arrogant? You’re the cockiest little boy. You need to grow up,’” Heath says, remembering the incident very well. “After she talked to me, I promised myself I would never do that anymore and I don’t think I have.”
Heath, much more humble now, still remembers the girl’s words: “You need to grow up.” Seven years later, anybody who knows Heath could pass along this message to that same girl: He has.

A man came to Temple Square one day and stood outside the office door, wanting to come in. I knew as I saw him that he had a desperate need, and I’ll confess, to my sorrow, that my first thought was that the need probably was economic. We have many occasions there to be blessed with such opportunities. Well, I looked at him just a little bit suspiciously, and then, going to the door, I invited him in and saw immediately in his face that the need he had had little to do with economics. He had a kind of glaze over his eyes that comes with a deep, shattering shock.

He was a nonmember of the Church married to a fine Primary president. This lady and he were the parents of a beautiful daughter aged 11. This man’s parents lived in the eastern part of the country, and the family had decided in a little council a sweet and fine thing, as he discussed it, that the best Christmas present they could give his parents was to send Daddy to see them, because it had been so long, and, it being Christmastime, the best gift they could receive was a visit from their only son. So he had, although reluctantly, accepted this commission and had gone to see his parents. While there he had received word from people at home that his wife had been in an automobile accident. The little girl had been killed. Through fire that followed, her body had been destroyed.

This was, of course, a terrible shock to him. He was on his way home and had several hours layover in Salt Lake and had come to Temple Square trying to find peace. He sat across the desk from me, and I tried to teach him. I have seldom been more frustrated, because I didn’t get by that shock at all. I talked of eternity; I talked of resurrection; I talked of the faith we need, of the strength and sustaining influence of the Lord; and nothing registered—nothing at all. I began to get desperate. He sat ill at ease and getting ready to move, and I began to pray. My prayer (and I have repeated it so many times under similar circumstances) was, “Lord, help me now. Lord, help me now.” For a reason I am sure of, and you will accept, I suppose, I opened this book—perhaps I should have done it much sooner without the stimulus of the inspiration, but I hadn’t—to these words out of the 11th chapter of the book of Alma:

The spirit and the body shall be reunited again in its perfect form; both limb and joint shall be restored to its proper frame. [Alma 11:43]

I turned to Alma 40 and read a little more of the Resurrection, that “even a hair of the head shall not be lost” (Alma 40:23). For the first time I saw the break come. I found as we talked that the thing that disturbed him most was about this beautiful little girl. I have little girls; I know about how a father would feel—at least I think I can imagine. The thing that bothered him most was that he could not even see her again, that the beauty and perfection of her little life was gone, and he had no real hope for anything more. But he sat and listened, and the simple therapy was repeated. We read it as the word of the Lord. He accepted it as such. He sat in one of those little alcoves near the door and read it over and over for a long time. When I took him to the airport, the glaze in his eyes was gone. He had wept, perhaps for the first time. He had talked and seemed reachable, and we had discussed the principles I had tried to talk of before.

A few months later I heard his voice at the counter. I hadn’t heard a thing from him since our first meeting. He was standing there with two rather rough-looking men. They turned out to be his wife’s brothers, born in the Church. He had a copy of the Book of Mormon opened to Alma 11 and was reading to them those wonderful words, testifying of their truth, telling them that in his search through the record he had found it to be the word of God. He bought a book for them and sent them home to read—these men who had been born into the faith.

Margaret was nervous because she did not know anyone at her new school.
Some girls teased her. One girl even pulled the ribbons in Margaret’s hair. Margaret didn’t think she would be happy at her new school.
After school Margaret called her grandmother and told her about the mean girls.
Margaret, you need to pray and ask Heavenly Father what to do. He will help you.
That night Margaret prayed to Heavenly Father. She told Him about her problem. Then she had an idea.
The next day at school the girls pulled her ribbons.
Can’t we be friends?
And the next day the girls started to tease her.
Can’t we be friends?
One week later Margaret was happy to tell her grandmother what had happened.
Heavenly Father gave me the idea to be nice to the girls. They don’t tease me anymore, and now they are my friends.

In 1995, since our stake youth conference focused on family history work, we decided to do baptisms for the dead, using family names gathered by members of the stake.
Because it was my first time going to the Salt Lake Temple, I was nervous entering the baptismal font room. As I sat on the bench waiting my turn, the Spirit prompted me to let some other youth go ahead of me. When my sister’s turn came, she was baptized for names that our grandpa had given us. It was wonderful to see her baptized for members of our family.
When my turn came, out of 1,400 names that the stake had submitted, I was also baptized for names my grandfather had gathered.
I felt like the Lord wanted me to wait so that I could do the baptisms for my family members. I have a firm testimony of family history work. I now work in the Salt Lake Temple and I see a lot of youth with family file cards every month. I think that’s amazing that people are doing their family history.

The courage of a military leader was recorded by a young infantryman wearing the gray uniform of the Confederacy during America’s Civil War. He describes the influence of General J.E.B. Stuart in these words: “At a critical point in the battle, he leaped his horse over the breastworks near my company, and when he had reached a point about opposite the center of the brigade, while the men were loudly cheering him, he waved his hand toward the enemy and shouted, ‘Forward men! Forward! Just follow me!’
“The men were wild with enthusiasm. The veriest coward on earth would have felt his blood thrill, and his heart leap with courage and resolution. The men poured over the breastworks after him like a wide raging torrent overcoming its barriers” (Emory M. Thomas, Bold Dragoon: The Life of J.E.B. Stuart [1986], 211–12).

Across the ocean in Clay County, Missouri, Michael Arthur, another great-great-great grandfather who was not a member of the Church, also had a choice: persecute the Mormons or help the Mormons. He chose to give jobs to Lyman Wright, Wilford Woodruff, and others and offered the use of a cabin on his farm where Joseph Smith disbanded Zion’s Camp and organized a stake. Michael Arthur also wrote to the newspapers and spoke passionately against the persecution of the Saints in Missouri.

One day a nameless Spanish deaf-mute girl found a priceless statue behind a wooden panel in a church she was cleaning. From then on she played with the marble baby each day, and each day she loved it more.
How the girl and the statue changed the lives of the people in the village, as well as those who came from outside the village to view the long-lost treasure, is a story that can bring deep and thoughtful pleasure to all who read it.
The story is beautifully, simply, and powerfully written to appeal to all ages, but especially to older readers of the Friend.

The next morning the Godfreys wanted to try to find some valuables, even though pieces of their home were spread over 3 miles (5 km) or more and pictures of the Godfrey children were later found 100 miles (160 km) away. Before they started searching, Brother Godfrey offered a prayer that they would be able to find some specific items, namely his and his wife’s wedding rings, their wallets, scriptures, a journal, and a diabetic blood tester.
After 30 minutes of searching, a counselor in the stake presidency found the Godreys’ rings under some insulation. Fifteen minutes later their wallets turned up, fully intact with licenses and contents inside. Then the blood tester, the journal, and the scriptures were found.
“All that stuff is replaceable, but I think the reason we found them was to build everyone’s testimony of prayer,” Brother Godfrey said.

Part 5: Conclusion (David O. Mckay Experience)
PETER: BYU–Hawaii is like a flagship of the Church in Asia and Pacific. It has a role in building the Kingdom of God. It is founded by a prophet who understood and appreciated the diversity and saw the opportunity for growth in the homeland of its student body:
The day was a Sunday in 1920, the background was a divisive China with warlords ceasing different regions of the country. The Manchurian dynasty has been overthrown for only 9 years, the imperial family was still residing in the Forbidden City. The Japanese has ceased the northeast region. The country of China has been losing every conflict with foreign powers in the last hundred years. For the next 50 years, it will continue to engage in world war, civil war, and devastating political movements. At that time, there were no united central government that people could pledge their allegiance to. Everyman was seemingly out for their own gain.
Unknown to the Chinese at this time, it was in such a backdrop that an Apostle of the Lord came to this ancient land. Upon arrival, he and his companion stroll aimlessly the next morning and reach the cypress garden of the Forbidden City. As they entered the garden, others started leaving and soon they found themselves alone in the garden. It was then the Spirit of the Lord impressed upon them to dedicate the country for the preaching of the gospel. The apostle comprised and gave a beautiful dedicatory prayer that pleaded with the Lord to bless the people that they may come of their superstition and the young men and young women...preach in their own tongue.

Two days later, they took the train from Beijing to bustling Shanghai and from there, they took a multiple-day voyage to Oahu. When they arrived in Laie, the Apostle witnessed a flag-raising ceremony that eventually inspired the building of this Holy institution. He is, of course, the same President David O. Mckay who later prophesized that "from this school, I will tell you, will go men and women whose influence will be felt towards the establishment for peace internationally." Such proclamation did not come from one who learned about the world from print or others' experience, but from a prophet of the Lord who have seen the world. What we have said about the Chinese can be presented in the same way about the Hawaiians, Samoans, Tongans, Japanese, Koreans, and many other people. Indeed, President Mckay has seen you. Indeed, he has seen us.

About 150 years ago, 402 Latter-day Saints left their homeland in Europe to come to America. A Sister Jackson recorded a spiritual experience in her journal. She wrote that one night during the voyage, when the ship was near the shores of Cuba, it was particularly pitch dark and no one could see anything. The captain was afraid that the ship might be wrecked as he knew that land was near. Suddenly, a heavenly light illuminated the surroundings for a few seconds, revealing to the captain that a large rock rose boldly out of the ocean right in front of the ship only a short distance away. The captain quickly turned the ship just in time to avoid hitting the rocks. A terrible disaster was avoided because of the Lord's help. All 402 Latter-day Saints arrived safely in New Orleans.

Trying to be a good example at all times is important to Aubrey, because “people are watching us all the time,” she says. “They notice that we have different standards from theirs. A boy in my biology class would always refer to me as ‘the Mormon.’ Then one time he said, ‘Aubrey, you’re always so happy all the time. It’s different.’ In band I’m nicknamed the ‘Mormon baritone’ because I’m the only Church member in my section. The others sometimes stop cussing when I’m with them, and sometimes they stop because I ask them to. But people are watching you all the time.”

One day, caught in an unexpected windstorm, they sliced over the corner of the state prison and made a panic landing just a little beyond, opening the rip panel just before touchdown. Tony says of that adventure, “We ripped before hitting and slid for 300 feet before the air emptied out. The basket was dragging along on its side. You just crouch down at times like that and pull the rip panel and try to get the thing open. You just close your eyes and hope it stops before you come to the barbed wire fence. Someone from the prison called the sheriff’s department, and they came and checked us out.”

When 21-year-old Gisela Silva moved with her family from Mendoza, Argentina, to the nation’s southernmost city of Ushuaia, she wondered whether she’d left behind her chances of marrying in the temple. Mendoza, after all, has a stake filled with wards of Latter-day Saints, while isolated Ushuaia—located on the island of Tierra del Fuego—has only about 600 members attending three small branches.
“My parents had married in the temple, and I wanted this blessing for myself—to marry a faithful member of the Church, someone with whom I could form an eternal family,” she recalls. “But when I arrived in Ushuaia, there were so few young adults here that I wondered whether that would happen.”
Lucas Romano had the same concerns as Gisela. During his mission to Uruguay, his family had moved to Ushuaia. When he joined them after completing his mission, he quickly noticed that young single adult men outnumbered young single adult women. He was determined, nevertheless, to obey the counsel of local leaders to date only members of the Church.
That counsel became easier to follow after Lucas met Gisela at church and she enrolled in English classes at a school where he teaches. He began walking her home after class, and they soon began dating. As they prayed individually about their growing relationship, they say that confirmation came “line upon line, precept upon precept” (2 Nephi 28:30; D&C 98:12).
In April 2005, Lucas and Gisela married civilly, as required by Argentine law, and then were sealed in the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple. Their sealing was significant for the young Church membership in Ushuaia: it was the first of 17 temple marriages in less than four years.

I knew that studying the Book of Mormon during my final year of seminary would also fortify my testimony. As I truly studied, I felt Heavenly Father’s love for me. The stories inspired me to the point that all I wanted to do was read the Book of Mormon. I began to take the Book of Mormon to school and would read it during my free time. I also began to discuss what I was reading with my father.
One day after a long conversation with my father about the gospel, I challenged him to read all of the Book of Mormon. I testified that, like me, he could receive a testimony.
I am happy to say that my father read the Book of Mormon. When he did, he knew the Church is true and was eventually baptized! My family is now preparing to be sealed in the temple. I know that attending seminary and reading the scriptures helped me develop my own testimony, and I know that they bless families.

However, I have had a personal witness that this doctrine works. Let me share it with you. Many years ago as I was starting my career as a school principal at the ripe old age of 27, the school superintendent took me to the elementary school where I was to be the principal and introduced me to my new faculty of 18 women teachers and 1 man teacher. I think the women teachers were shocked at my young age but at least in the meeting they were polite to me. However, the male teacher, Al, was not at all polite, he merely gave me a cold icy stare and refused to even shake my hand.

After we had left the meeting and had gotten into the superintendent’s car, I said to him, “What was Al’s problem?” He replied, “Al is old enough to be your father. He has been at this school over 20 years waiting for the previous principal to retire or die so he could get his job. Need I say more.” He continued, “Al doesn’t have a problem, you have a problem, it’s Al. Good luck.”

Time proved the superintendent correct. I did have a very difficult problem. Al obviously hated me. I had taken his job and it seemed that no matter what I did to be his friend, he threw up a road block to stop it. I really felt that someday we were going to have a major confrontation which I wanted to avoid if at all possible. I prayed that I might be wise and Christ-like in my dealings with Al. I knew all of the faculty knew I was a Latter Day Saint and a bishop and I didn’t want to do anything that would reflect negatively on the church and I sincerely wanted to be the kind of person the Savior would have me be. This problem with Al caused me to have nightmares. I remember one night I dreamed we were having a faculty meeting and Al and I got into a fight and were rolling around on the floor while the lady teachers all stood around screaming.

Fortunately that dream never came true but the confrontation did come. Toward the end of the school year it was time for teacher evaluation. It was my job as principal to evaluate each of the teachers. In each category I had to rate the teachers with one of three options. The highest option was “Above District Standards, middle option was “Meets District Standards” and the lowest category was Below District Standards. No one, of course, wanted to be evaluated “Below District Standards” but I had agonized over one category for Al. He was constantly in confrontations with all of the other teachers. He couldn’t get along with others and I’m sure that is one of the reasons why he was not made the principal.

The wording in the evaluation category I had struggled over said “Rate this individuals ability to relate well with fellow teachers.” To rate Al at any level but Below District Standards would have been a lie so I bit the bullet and rated him accordingly. When he came into my office and I handed him his evaluation sheet and he spotted the check mark in “Below District Standards” that lit the fuse and the explosion began.

He stood over me and began to shout obscenities. By the way, I need to tell you he had been a Navy Captain and his language reflected his acquaintance with obscene language.. He began by attacking the University I attended, BYU-Provo, my church, my family, my youthful age, my philosophy of teaching, etc. etc. etc. To be honest with you, I was amazed at how much he knew about me. For about 15 minutes he screamed every filthy, negative and cutting remark about everything he thought would be hurtful to me. I’m sure he had rehearsed in his mind that speech for months and had waited for the right time to launch it. Then he just stopped and the room was silent. For one thing, I think he was exhausted from screaming at the top of his voice for so long and for another thing, I think he now wanted me to give a response so he could give his rebuttal to whatever I might fire back at him.

I have to confess that there were many things that went through my mind that I would have liked to say in response, but none of them would have been appropriate in light of my knowledge of Matthew chapter 5:6 and 7. So for about two minutes I sat silently saying a mental prayer that I would be guided to give the appropriate response.

Finally I broke the long silence, and in a very quiet voice I said, “Al, “whatever I have done to you to make you hate me so badly, I apologize to you for offending you. I am very sorry. But I want you to know something, I love you as my brother and I would like to be your friend.” Then I said nothing more. The room was very quiet. I think Al was ready for almost any response I might have given except for “I’m sorry if I have offended you, I love you, and I want to be your friend.

We sat in silence for a few minutes and then Al did something I wasn’t prepared for. He began to cry. He finally gained his composure and said these few words. “No one has ever told me they loved me in my entire life. Not even my mother or father,” and with that he left the room.

In the months that followed Al and I became good friends and when I left that school to take another assignment, Al came up to me, put his arms around me and began to cry. Finally he said, “I don’t want you to leave, you are the best friend I have ever had.”

When he entered the hospital emergency room he was just another vagrant. His thin, hunched, and sore-ridden body slowly limped forward. His blind eyes stared blankly into a private world of darkness. The offensive smell from his poorly-clothed body was enough to discourage anyone from getting close to him. But, as a doctor, it was my job; so I invited him to come with me.
As I examined him he told me over and over that he was sick and needed help. After describing all of his symptoms he mumbled in rejection, “I don’t have a family or a home where I can sleep or eat.” I felt compassion for him—there were so many just like him. But what could I do?
As I treated him we talked about God. He understood the importance of the teachings of Jesus Christ and the need for them in our lives. However, he expressed difficulty understanding people who say they believe in God but neglect to show concern and compassion for their neighbor. He had acquaintances who claimed belief in God, but when he asked for food they wouldn’t give him any.
The one person who actually offered help was a woman almost as poor as he. She worked hard to help support her family by collecting and selling old clothing and rags. She had invited him to stay with them in her small tin-walled house. It was tiny, there were flies and rodents—but he would be welcome there.
We walked and talked together for three hours. Though his eyes were blinded his heart was not. Most of our conversation was about God. He asked, “Doctor, do you believe in God?” Quickly, I replied, “Yes I do, and you are my brother.” My reply came without thinking. But, as I said it, the words swelled in my heart and I realized that it was true!
As we talked, my love for him grew. I was in awe as I began to understand what it meant to be a brother. I experienced gratitude for the lesson I was learning from one whom, I thought, had nothing to give. I gave him of my time, and a little food, but he gave me understanding.

From our youth, many of us may remember the story of a very young boy who was abducted from his parents and his home and taken to a village situated far away. Under these conditions, the small boy grew to young manhood without a knowledge of his actual parents or earthly home.
But where was home to be found? Where were his mother and father to be discovered? Oh, if only he could remember even their names, his task would be less hopeless. Desperately he sought to recall even a glimpse of his childhood.
Like a flash of inspiration, he remembered the sound of a bell which from the tower atop the village church pealed its welcome each Sabbath morning. From village to village the young man wandered, ever listening for that familiar bell to chime. Some bells were similar, others far different from the sound he remembered.
At length the weary young man stood one Sunday morning before a church of a typical town. He listened carefully as the bell began to peal. The sound was familiar. It was unlike any other he had heard, save that bell which pealed in the memory of his childhood days. Yes, it was the same bell. Its ring was true. His eyes filled with tears. His heart rejoiced in gladness. His soul overflowed with gratitude. The young man dropped to his knees, looked upward beyond the bell tower—even toward heaven—and in a prayer of gratitude whispered, “Thanks be to God. I’m home.”

“Maddie! Come upstairs! Brother Eldredge is here to teach you how to find a name!”
I groaned. Ever since our ward made a goal for all of the youth to find a name to take to the temple, I was trying to stay under the radar. I trudged upstairs. Brother Eldredge helped me log in and showed me how FamilySearch worked. As he showed me how simple it was to search and find names, a thought came to me that maybe doing FamilySearch wasn’t all that bad. Brother Eldredge finished helping me and then left.
I kept going through the steps, and within 15 minutes I had found and reserved a family name. At that moment, a feeling of comfort washed over me, and I felt as though I had been given a big hug. But I didn’t stop there. I wanted to find more, so I did. Within the next hour, I had found 20 names. With every name I found, I felt the presence of someone new. That night, as I said my prayers, I knew that I was doing a great work.
The next day was a holiday from school, and I was bored. A little thought came into my mind that I should start using FamilySearch. With that thought in mind, I said a prayer and then searched for names for a good three hours. By the end of the day, I had 130 names. Over the course of the next few weeks, I took an hour here and there to find names. It became a habit. After about two months, I had a little over 400 names. It wasn’t something I wanted to make a big deal about. I did it because I felt like I was doing something good and something for my ancestors. Doing family history became a blessing. I think everyone should do it.

I’d like to introduce you to one of the greatest gifts of my life, my daughter McKeand. Every member of my family is a precious, unique, and wonderful gift—Johnna, Molly, and Noah. I’ll focus here on McKeand, though, because her gift is a bit more disguised.

When McKeand was born, she seemed like every other healthy baby. Within a week or so, however, we started having a few concerns. We didn’t realize that what we were actually seeing were seizures.

We took her to the pediatrician, who recognized what two dumb, young parents couldn’t, and suddenly we were sitting in a hospital room waiting for answers. We didn’t know it at the time but we would spend many, many days and weeks in hospitals during McKeand’s life, and the seizures would eventually number in the thousands. They were just a small manifestation of much larger issues.

Fortunately, the Lord had taken us to Connecticut, about an hour from Yale University Hospital. For most of her first decade, many of the preeminent medical brains in the country all up and down the east coast poked, prodded, and pondered for answers. But McKeand was always a mystery. When we moved to Idaho, Primary Children’s Hospital and the UofU became the new “home away from home.”

It would take hours for me to tell the whole story, so we’ll jump way ahead. Now, 28 years later, McKeand’s diagnosis and prognosis still have a lot of unanswered holes. Her disease is officially listed as “atypical methylmalonic acidemia” on medical forms. But that’s just a “close as we can get” description.

Fortunately, what the Light of Christ allows us to see is one of those “angels among us” that Brother Brett Cook referred to in the last devotional of spring semester last month.

You see, McKeand fulfilled her needed eternal progress when she received her body. She was a celestial spirit that didn’t need to prove anything. She didn’t need to be tested. She could have lived one minute and been well on her way through the eternities. But it is my testimony that McKeand chose to stay behind, to be our family’s teacher. And what an amazing teacher she has been.

You see, the concept of eternity is constantly front-and-center in our home. Because of McKeand’s disabilities, we are in a perpetual state of remembering that this life is a temporary condition. We have personal witnesses that the veil is thin, and that angelic ancestors administer to those on earth. I bear humble testimony that the doctrine of resurrection is true. The Holy Ghost has burned that knowledge into my heart many, many times. McKeand will one day shine forth in all of her glory. In the meantime, she is here teaching her dad. And while there are many, many things she has taught me, perhaps the most important thing is this: I know, with a knowledge that I’m incapable of putting into adequate words, that the gospel we are taught in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is more true than you can possibly comprehend.

Before he met the missionaries, Brother Dupont said, he had been like a wanderer in a drought-ravaged land. Then suddenly he stumbled into a lake of water. The gospel was rich and refreshing to him, and he could not drink his fill. In his exuberance to immerse himself in his new-found treasure, he could not understand why others did not want to savor the same message. This lack of communication spilled into his marriage. His wife didn’t understand what had changed her husband.
As we ate, she told us of the war years, when he was bedridden. She had managed to find food for both of them, even during shortages. She had nursed him daily. Even after the war, he had required her constant care for several years before he gained the strength to walk. Then he had spent more years training and rehabilitating himself while she supported the family. No sooner had he started working again than two Americans began talking religion with him. Then he joined their church—he was the only member in town, and they baptized him in the river—and more and more of his life belonged to his church, not to her. She felt deprived, then embarrassed when parishioners laughed at her, the wife of the town fanatic.
President Dupont repeated over and over again that the Church was true, that he knew it was true, and that he would do whatever he could to share it with his wife. “But,” he said, “she just won’t listen.”
“Can’t you see?” I said one night after they had been sharp with each other. “What you’re really saying is that you love each other. Sister Dupont, all these years you’ve been asking your husband to spend more time with you. That’s important and it’s right. And President Dupont, all you want to do is share with your wife the thing that’s most precious to you. Right?”
He nodded yes. I turned to Sister Dupont.
“Can’t you see that he wants to share the gospel with you because he loves you?”
She didn’t say anything, but you could tell she was thinking. We excused ourselves quietly and went home.
Elder Granville’s prayer that night was straightforward and concerned.
“Please, Heavenly Father, help the Duponts to understand each other. They’re both good people.”
“Amen,” I said. And it sounded so good that I said it again in a whisper.
We had teaching appointments elsewhere for the next two weeks, and then we had to go to Bordeaux for district conference. Although we stopped to see President Dupont on branch business a couple of times, it was almost a month before we were asked back to the Duponts’ home. President Dupont delivered the invitation.
“You won’t believe it,” he said. “My wife’s been reading Church books! And she’s asking questions—good, honest questions. I try to answer them, but I get too pushy. She really wants to talk to you again.”
If we hadn’t had another teaching appointment, we might have rushed over right then.
“C’est incroyable!” Sister Dupont said the next time we all sat in the kitchen. “It’s incredible. Or it’s stupid! A 14-year-old boy can’t talk to God. And the Bible. It’s complete. Why should we need any more scriptures than we already have? And the priesthood. My husband’s never been to divinity school. Why should he be able to hold the priesthood?”
Good questions, all right. How could we handle this? I could imagine Elder Granville thinking this was more like the Sister Dupont of old. Maybe the niceness had been too good to last.
“Sister Dupont,” Elder Granville’s calm voice interrupted my thoughts, “we can answer all those questions for you. But we can’t answer them all at the same time. We have a series of discussions that will answer them one at a time. Would you be interested in listening to those discussions?”
She said yes.
How about that! I said to myself. There’s hope for this junior companion yet!
I wouldn’t exactly say that Sister Dupont became a golden investigator. But she did become our friend. She listened intently to the first discussion. She even joined us as her husband kneeled in prayer. And she invited us to dinner again the following Sunday. It was while we were finishing a serving of the thin mashed potatoes the French call purée that Elder Granville told Sister Dupont a story.
“Did you ever hear about the missionary who was eating dinner and asked his companion to pass the butter? The butter was right in front of him, but he couldn’t see it because it was so close.”
“What?”
“Simple. It’s like you and the gospel. All these years your husband has had it right here in front of you, but you couldn’t see it because it was so close. You keep asking where the butter is when it’s right in front of your plate.”
It may not have been the strongest analogy, but Elder Granville was trying. When we got home that night, he brought me a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Why don’t you sign this with me?” he said, turning to a dedication on the flyleaf. “It’s for Sister Dupont.”
I looked at what he’d written.
“Voici le beurre,” it said. “Here is the butter.”
During the next two months Sister Dupont read the book—at least, she read more than half of it. And she had two more discussions, and prayed, and was talking to her husband more and more. And he was seeming happier and happier all the time. That’s when my transfer letter came.
I was moving north to Brittany where I would finish my mission. Elder Granville would be getting his third senior. The letter had been delayed by postal strikes. I would have to catch the first train in the morning.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to leave, Elder Granville,” I said. “We’ve been working so well here. The branch president’s happy and excited again, and the members are working with him. We’ve got some inactives coming out to church and a couple of solid investigators. The Marcellas family is getting ready for baptism. I guess I’ll just have to leave it up to you.”
A knock at the door.
“President Dupont!” Elder Granville greeted the visitor. “Come in, come in.”
President Dupont looked at me.
“I heard about the transfer,” he said. “I know you’re leaving tomorrow. My wife wants you to come say good-bye.”
There was a lot of packing and farewelling to take care of, but I knew I had to visit his wife.
“Of course we’ll be by,” I said.
The living room was dark, illuminated by a single bare bulb as many French living rooms are. The wallpaper, however, was a bright combination of browns, yellows, and tans. Sister Dupont was seated on the orange couch, a tray of cookies and hot chocolate before her.
“Hello, elders,” she said. “Have a seat. What’s this about Elder Romney leaving?”
“I’m afraid that’s right. Tomorrow morning.”
“That means there will be a new missionary here, too.”
“That’s right. Elder Taylor. He’s from New York.”
“I guess I’ll have to get to know him, too.”
I could see the smile on President Dupont’s face.
“I hope you will,” I said.
“Will you write to us?”
“Of course I’ll keep in touch,” I promised. “Trust me.”
“If you can’t trust the elders, who can you trust?” she said.
I thought I might cry.
I did keep in touch, especially five months later when I got home from my mission. It was hard, and President Dupont wrote to me more than I wrote to him. But we did exchange photos (I still have a nice picture of the Duponts with their grandchildren on vacation on the Spanish coast), and Christmas cards, and news of our families. Whatever I sent, even a postcard, I always got letters back, scrawled out in President Dupont’s longhand. He would let me know when he heard from one of the elders, especially from Elder Granville. He always included greetings from his wife, but I never received anything written personally by her. Other missionaries told me that she remained friendly and supported her husband, but she never joined the Church. Every once in a while I would write to her personally and bear my testimony to her through the mail.
I’ve been home for several years now, and this week I received an unusual letter from France. The address was strange, the handwriting unfamiliar. I opened it before I got to my desk.
“Dear Elder Romney,” it began, “I’ve wanted to write to you many times over the years, but I always figured my husband kept us in contact with you. Now my husband is gone. I wanted to let you know so that you could tell the other missionaries. He loved them all so much. Let them know the Church members held a funeral for him.
“I remember much of what you both told me about life after death. Perhaps my husband is there waiting for me, as you said he would be. I never did understand all you tried to tell me, all that he wanted to share with me, but I know you both believed it was true. I’m living with my daughter and her family now. Please write to me if you will.”
You know I will, Sister Dupont. You know I will.