Gospel Story Finder

As a boy of fifteen I was called to preside over a quorum of teachers. Our adviser was interested in us, and we knew it. One day he said to me, “Tom, you enjoy raising pigeons, don’t you?”
I responded with a warm “Yes.”
Then he proposed, “How would you like me to give you a pair of purebred Birmingham Roller pigeons?”
This time I answered, “Yes, sir!” You see, the pigeons I had were just the common variety trapped on the roof of the Grant Elementary School.
He invited me to come to his home the next evening. The next day was one of the longest in my young life. I was awaiting my adviser’s return from work an hour before he arrived. He took me to his loft, which was in a small barn at the rear of his yard. As I looked at the most beautiful pigeons I had yet seen, he said, “Select any male, and I will give you a female which is different from any other pigeon in the world.” I made my selection. He then placed in my hand a tiny hen. I asked what made her so different. He responded, “Look carefully, and you’ll notice that she has but one eye.” Sure enough, one eye was missing, a cat having done the damage. “Take them home to your loft,” he counseled. “Keep them in for about ten days and then turn them out to see if they will remain at your place.”
I followed his instructions. Upon releasing them, the male pigeon strutted about the roof of the loft, then returned inside to eat. But the one-eyed female was gone in an instant. I called Harold, my adviser, and asked: “Did that one-eyed pigeon return to your loft?”
“Come on over,” said he, “and we’ll have a look.”
As we walked from his kitchen door to the loft, my adviser commented, “Tom, you are the president of the teachers quorum.” This I already knew. Then he added, “What are you going to do to activate Bob?”
I answered, “I’ll have him at quorum meeting this week.”
Then he reached up to a special nest and handed to me the one-eyed pigeon. “Keep her in a few days and try again.” This I did, and once more she disappeared. Again the experience, “Come on over and we’ll see if she returned here.” Came the comment as we walked to the loft, “Congratulations on getting Bob to priesthood meeting. Now what are you and Bob going to do to activate Bill?”
“We’ll have him there this week,” I volunteered.
This experience was repeated over and over again. I was a grown man before I fully realized that, indeed, Harold, my adviser, had given me a special pigeon; the only bird in his loft he knew would return every time she was released. It was his inspired way of having an ideal personal priesthood interview with the teachers quorum president every two weeks. I owe a lot to that one-eyed pigeon. I owe more to that quorum adviser. He had the patience to help me prepare for opportunities which lay ahead.

I joined the Church at age 16 and at 17, against all odds, left England for America to escape a life of poverty. I was completely alone and frightened, but I was determined. I had one plan: to become rich and famous. A few years before, I had seen a documentary about orphanages in Romania that deeply impacted my young, fierce heart. I was no stranger to childhood trauma, so I set a goal to get enough money to fund an orphanage and truly make a difference in the world.
I couldn’t have known then how different my life would turn out. I got married at age 25, and my husband soon joined the Church. By then I had managed to become quite successful, but I was still looking for true “success” (or at least what I thought was success at the time: fame and fortune). I longed to make a big difference. Strangely enough, I didn’t want to get pregnant, but I had a strong feeling that we shouldn’t do anything to prevent pregnancy. It turned out that my feeling was right because after about a year, nothing had happened.
Growing up, I always loved children, even though my plans didn’t include having more than one or two of my own in the far distant future. I didn’t think I’d be too disappointed if I couldn’t have children at all, but when suddenly faced with that very real possibility, I was devastated.
Over the next two years, I became angry, resentful, and desperate. Ironically, “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” came out around the time I got married, and that message increasingly affected me in a negative way because I felt like I couldn’t fulfill my duty to have children. When my husband and I visited doctors, they couldn’t find any reason for the infertility. It seemed so unfair. I wondered why God had done this to me. Little did I know, my heart was changing. I had always been hyper-focused on success, but now, for the first time in my life, my heart wanted a baby more than anything else.
As time marched on, I felt more and more forgotten, desperate, alone … abandoned by God. I pasted on a cheerful smile, but no one understood what my husband and I were really going through. One day, I spoke to my husband’s grandmother, who was very wise and spiritual. As I shared my feelings with her, she said, “You know, there are many other ways to be a mother.” I felt her words penetrate my heart to its core. I was humbled. I knew this was an answer from Heavenly Father. I had only been fixated on having a baby through my own body. A glimmer of hope emerged as we considered other options. We became foster parents.
Soon our first foster baby, Benjamin, came to us. My bond with him was overwhelming, but I felt faint promptings that he wouldn’t be with us forever. I was heartbroken at the thought of him leaving us. And I was desperate for a baby I could keep. The Church’s Family Services was helping couples with adoptions at the time, so I went to my bishop to get information. The next week I got a call from a social worker who was looking to place a baby in a foster/adoption home. This was music to my ears. Despite the possibility of the baby having developmental issues, we felt the Lord’s hand directing us and we had faith to go forward. I’m not going to lie—I was scared. But it felt right, and baby Daniel was delivered to our home that very night.
Within days he became gravely ill, was hospitalized, and given a 50 percent chance to live. I sat by his crib for 11 days alternately praying and crying over him. I never once left the hospital. When Daniel’s birth parents came to see him (the adoption wasn’t final yet), there I was, looking like a complete disaster! But they seemed disconnected and showed no emotion whatsoever when they saw him.
This was a huge “aha” moment for me. I realized then that I really was Daniel’s mother! It didn’t matter that I hadn’t given birth to him—he was meant to be mine. I learned a lot about motherhood in those 11 days. I would have done anything for him.
Daniel’s life was spared. Benjamin returned to his biological family. But the Lord stayed by our side. Since then, we have adopted six more children and have miraculously had two of our own. I could shout from the rooftops about the miracles I’ve witnessed in my life. I have such a testimony of Heavenly Father’s promise to us that we can have the blessings we desire, even in ways we might not have originally expected or when we expect them (see 2 Nephi 10:17; Alma 37:17).
Having nine kids is hard at times. It’s nonstop laundry, it’s different personalities, and each child comes with different issues. But I know they were all heaven-sent. Honestly, it feels like my dream of making a difference and owning my own orphanage has come true after all!
My trial of infertility led me to my greatest blessings. I feel like I had to be truly humbled so I could submit to God’s will instead of my own. I experienced that “mighty change of heart” (see Alma 5:13). And through this kind of submission, He has guided me. He has blessed me with dreams, visions, and miracles that have led me to each child. He always had a plan for me! Even when I felt forgotten, He was there.
Infertility can be very dark and lonely. I think back on those days when it was hard to go to church without children—when the family proclamation held a bitter sting. I couldn’t see then what I see now. The loving words in the proclamation always applied to me. Regardless of our circumstances, we do each have a place in Heavenly Father’s eternal plan.

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

As some of you know, I was raised on a cattle ranch in Utah. President Brigham Young sent my ancestors to the little town of Vernon, Utah about 150 years ago to help settle the area. Our house sits 3 miles west of our town of about 200 people and was home to me for many years. It is a lonely, windy, and quiet place that is too hot and dry in the summer and too cold and dry in the winter but it is a place that I love. Our kitchen faces the low Vernon Mountains that are about 4 miles directly west of us. The evenings are often very quiet and very dark. When you go outside at night, the Milky Way galaxy is spectacular in the heavens above. One evening when I was about 15 or 16 years old, my family was eating dinner around our big kitchen table. While enjoying one of my mother's wonderful dinners, the darkness on the other side of the kitchen window suddenly disappeared as a very bright light lit the Western sky. Within the light was another even brighter object that slowly ascended above the mountains. Obviously, the entire family sat riveted as we watched this bright light permeate the darkness and rise into the heavens. I'm not sure what the other members of my family were thinking, but I had two thoughts that immediately came into my mind. Number one: This is the Second Coming of Christ, and the second thought was, "I'm not ready, and I'm in trouble." I will never forget the feeling and the thoughts that went through my mind at that time as I quickly examined my life and found myself lacking in too many areas. Fortunately, it was not the Second Coming of the Savior, but a rocket that was launched into the sky from the Nevada testing site.

At the very beginning of my talk, I mentioned an evening around the dinner table when we saw that missile shoot up into the sky and I thought that perhaps it was the Second Coming. I knew at that moment, that whether or not I was ready to meet the Savior was entirely up to me. As much as my parents, brothers, and sisters would have wanted to help me rise up to meet the Savior it would have been impossible for them to do so. I had been taught the gospel. I could not plead ignorance and I felt that in some ways I had procrastinated the day of my repentance. I understood, perhaps for the first time, the parable of the 10 virgins. I always wondered why the five who were prepared would not share their oil with the five that were not prepared. It sounded kind of selfish to me. I understand now that preparedness is an individual opportunity that we cannot share.

For example, a few weeks ago I slipped away from my office to find something for lunch. As I approached the entrance of a local restaurant, I noticed what appeared to be a mother and her three children entering just ahead of me. One of the little girls stayed behind. Here was this cute little three- or four-year-old in pigtails using all of her strength to keep the door open for me. I was impressed with this act of kindness and self-sacrifice and thanked her appropriately. I quickly ordered my food and sat down at a table that happened to be next to this family. The mother brought a large drink to the table and returned to the counter to wait for her food. The same little girl who held the door open for me was seated at the table with her younger brother, who was in a booster seat. The little brother was becoming increasingly upset because he could not reach the drink. His big sister, however, had no trouble reaching the drink and took a long sip that seemed to aggravate the brother even more. His displeasure lasted until the mother finally returned with his food. I found it interesting that, within minutes, this endearing little girl acted so kindly to me but was completely oblivious to the needs of her little brother.
So it is with us. We may act in holiness one moment and struggle with it the next. However, displaying flashes of holiness means we are capable of so much more. Where there is a flicker of light there can be steady radiance.

“One of my most vivid memories is of the irrigation reservoir that my father built. During the week we used to play in the reservoir. I got a couple of railroad ties and made a raft on which I could sail. Frequently we went swimming in the reservoir. One time the reservoir sprung a leak in its bank along the outlet pipe. It started as a little trickle but soon became a large stream. Before we could stop the leak, the water had washed away part of the dike that served as the bank of the reservoir. Several men from around the neighborhood tried to help by shoveling in dirt, throwing in rocks, and stacking sandbags, but they were unable to control the escaping water, which did a great deal of damage by washing away the crops that were below it. Many times after that I had a kind of nightmare dream about our farm being washed away.
“When I was older, my father permitted me to have a little bit of land of my own to cultivate. I planted raspberries, blackberries, dewberries, and all kinds of garden produce to supplement our food supply. I used to get a seed catalog every year, and I loved to look at those beautiful pictures of radishes, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, strawberries, watermelons, cantaloupes, etc., and imagine what I could produce by putting a few seeds into the ground. I loved the soil, and I loved to see things grow.
“I think that I learned more on the farm that helped me to succeed in life than I did in any other place. It was while farming that I learned how to work consistently, joyfully, and to the best of my ability. I was motivated by my own enthusiasm, without any prompting from others.”
Elder Sill wishes to impart this message to the children of the world: “In our preexistence, we lived with God, who is our Teacher and our Eternal Heavenly Father. And by the quality of our lives there, we earned the right to be born and to live now.
“What a great time it is to grow up under the most favorable conditions that have ever been known upon our earth. Many of you will have all of the education you could possibly desire. The gospel has been restored in a fulness never before known so that the pathway to eternal life is now brilliantly lighted and perfectly marked. No one need get off that strait and narrow way leading to the celestial kingdom, except by his own choice. God, who is concerned about our destiny, will abundantly bless us if we will always remember to serve and to worship Him.
“The best success formula that I know of in the world is to keep the Lord’s commandments with no exceptions permitted. In the words of Dicken’s Tiny Tim, ‘God bless us, every one.’”

One family, the Leotas, arrived in Hawaii on New Year’s Day 1923. Seven-year-old Vailine Leota remembered, “Our first [view] of the temple … was the most beautiful sight.”3 Just two weeks later, Vailine’s parents, Aivao and Matala, received their endowments and were sealed as a couple, and their children were sealed to them. The Leotas served faithfully in the house of the Lord for 50 years and were buried “near the temple they loved so much.”4 Today, hundreds of their faithful descendants live throughout Hawaii.

Susan Madsen tells the story of Agnes Caldwell in the Willie Handcart Company. They were caught in heavy storms and suffered terrible hunger and cold. Relief wagons came to deliver food and blankets, but there were not enough wagons to carry all the people. Even after rescue, the majority of the people still had to trudge on many more miles to the safety of the valley.
Little nine-year-old Agnes was too weary to walk any farther. The driver took notice of her determination to keep up with the wagon and asked if she would like a ride. She tells in her own words what happened next:
“At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that … could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of. … Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped [and pulled me into the wagon]. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up … warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon” (in I Walked to Zion [1994], 59).
The driver of that relief wagon made the little girl run as far and as fast as she could to push blood back into her frozen feet and legs. He saved her legs, possibly her life, by letting her help herself.

When I was little, the doctors told my parents I had selective mutism. That is an anxiety disorder that makes it hard to speak to others. I could only speak to my close family members.
I felt anxious all the time, especially if someone spoke to me. Praying always made me feel better and calmed me down. I also saw a counselor at school for help. But I felt like I was not getting better at all. I almost felt like giving up, but I kept having faith.
My eighth birthday was coming up. My parents challenged me to read the Book of Mormon and pray to help me decide whether to be baptized. Every night I prayed to ask if I should get baptized. I always got the same answer—a warm, calm feeling in my heart. I knew the Holy Ghost was telling me that baptism was the right choice.
When I was given the gift of the Holy Ghost after my baptism, I heard words of hope, love, and encouragement. I knew that the Holy Ghost would comfort me and give me courage.
I decided to try to speak to my best friend, Charlie. I tried all week, but it was so hard. But one day Charlie and I were alone in the school garden. I said a silent prayer in my head. Heavenly Father, please help me say at least one word.
Then I opened my mouth and said, “Hey, Charlie!” He was really surprised. I was so happy!
After that day, it was easier to complete more goals. Soon I was talking to pretty much everyone! I am grateful the Holy Ghost gave me the courage to talk to Charlie.

The day I arrived in Hawai’i as a new BYU–Hawaii student was January 1, 2004. It was supposed to be a fresh start—something exciting and hopeful. But the moment I landed at the Honolulu airport, I called my parents to say I had arrived and learned that my grandmother had just passed away. I remember walking through the Honolulu airport in tears, completely overwhelmed—grieving, far from home, and unsure of what I had just stepped into. Moving forward into my new life at BYU–Hawaii, far away from home, felt impossible.

A dear friend I met while we both attended BYU–Idaho, Jihye Jean, was actually from Laie and picked me up from the airport that day. She and her childhood friend I did not know at the time, but now also call a dear friend, Caryn Lesuma, received me, my giant suitcase, and tear-stained face with such immediate and sincere kindness. I stayed with the Jean family for over a week until I could get into my student housing up on Naupaka Street—also known as the Point. I ate homemade Korean food her mother lovingly made, I watched Korean dramas with them, we took beach walks at night as she patiently let me cry up and down the shore, and slowly—very slowly—something began to shift. It wasn’t that everything was suddenly okay. But through their kindness, and through the kindness of so many students and faculty I would come to know, I began to feel that maybe things were possible again.

Looking back, I can see that I was not alone in that moment, even though I felt like I was. There were angels all around me. In the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord gives this promise:
“…I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” [1] At the time, I didn’t have the language for it—but I was being borne up. I didn’t fully recognize it then, but that experience taught me something I have come back to again and again: We are not meant to do hard things alone.

When I was young my parents were faced with changing the long-standing religious traditions of their families. My parents moved from rural Ohio to the city of Flint, Michigan, a new place. My father found a mechanic in the dealership where he worked who wasn’t rude and didn’t smoke, drink, or swear. He found him to be friendly and helpful, and he wondered why. This man told my father it was because of his church.

My life was forever changed by the gospel of Jesus Christ when my parents invited two young men to our home. I remember the day they drove up in their American Motors Rambler and walked up to our house. They sat on the couch and pulled out a large flannel board and proceeded to teach us the gospel. My brother and I sat on the floor and watched as the missionaries placed cutouts of people and other figures on the flannel board. We would watch these flannel-board cutout characters slowly curl down, and we snickered and laughed as they fell to the floor. My father had to nudge us with his foot to keep us quiet. I had no idea that that moment was the beginning of a change that would forever affect our beliefs, our way of life, and our previously held notions and traditions. Life changed for us. We began attending church a couple of days a week. New terminology entered into our life.

I went to something called Primary and attended classes called CTR, Targeteers, and Blazers. There were things called sacrament gems and two-and-a-half-minute talks. We went to progressive dinners, bazaars, and ice cream socials. There were road shows and gold and green balls. Some of these traditions of the Church have changed over time, but the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ remains a constant. My family had to rethink our priorities, rethink who we were, and change the way we did things. We made covenants with the Lord as we realigned our lives with this newfound gospel. My life was forever changed and set on a different trajectory, one other than where it could have headed.

My heart swelled with happiness and pride. Then, as if in a dream, my mind went back eight years to the time when the doctor told us that our newborn son, David, could not live. I had felt I was losing the fulfillment of my greatest desire, even before I had a chance to hold him in my arms. I rebelled against the cruelty of the situation. Not even my husband could soften my suffering.
Then I found a source of hope. I realized I could ask help from someone even more powerful than the doctors. I knew that God, who had sent us this child, could help us.
I began spending hours in prayer. Gradually, the impression came to me that our family’s lives were going to change. Two and a half months later, the doctors let us take David home, even though his condition was still serious. As Jose and I continued to pray, our feeling of imminent change grew stronger.
Two weeks after we took him home, David again required hospitalization, and the doctors began trying to prepare us for his death. At this low point, we finally experienced the change we were anticipating. Jose had mentioned our problems to one of his colleagues, who said that two young missionaries he knew claimed to have authority from God to give blessings that could heal people if they had faith.
“If what they say is true, tell them to come to our home. We need them,” my husband replied.
Several days later, the missionaries came to our home and began giving us the discussions. Within several weeks’ time, Jose and I had each received a testimony of the Book of Mormon and of the restored gospel, and we were baptized.
I will never forget placing our infant son in the hands of the brethren who anointed him with oil and gave him his first blessing. From the moment of that blessing, I felt certain that our son was under divine protection and that nothing would further threaten his life.
Several days after that blessing, I took David to the hospital for a checkup. When the pediatrician examined David’s X-rays, I knew by his amazed expression that my son had been healed.
“It’s unbelievable. His lungs are intact. There isn’t even a trace of disease … a veritable miracle,” the doctor exclaimed.
“Yes, a true miracle,” I murmured, blinking the tears from my eyes. From that time, David grew normally. His testimony grew, too, strengthened by his knowing the circumstances of his birth.

Suddenly, we find the summer is nearly gone, and all too fast Labor Day is here. The family gathers for one last fire of the season. The activities are the same as always, but our feelings are different. Each ritual is cherished and lengthened because it is the last one of the season. The children are allowed to stay out just a little longer.
As the night draws to a close, we all gather around the fire for the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Grandpa stands up and, with eager shouts of encouragement from the children, tosses this season’s straw cowboy hat into the fire. It is quiet as we watch the hat slowly curl up and disappear, knowing it is the end of summer, and it will be many more months until the next bonfire. We all stand quietly, reflecting on the summer and feeling that we are the luckiest people alive. We all appreciate our grandfather for making it possible for us to have these times together.
The last embers flicker out, and all that is left is a thin curling wisp of smoke that follows us as we reluctantly file into the house.

After I received the missionary lessons, I prayed to know whether the gospel was true. My beloved grandfather came to me in a dream and testified of its truth. At this point, I began to understand my divine obligation to my ancestors. President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, said it this way: “When you were baptized, your ancestors looked down on you with hope. Perhaps after centuries, they rejoiced to see one of their descendants make a covenant to find them and to offer them freedom. … Their hearts are bound to you. Their hope is in your hands.”1
Steven E. Nabor, baptized in Utah, USA, in 1979

May I add my testimony of this by illustrating an example I witnessed in Albania of this great principle? At each of our zone conferences it was our practice to have the district leaders stand a report on his districts’ service projects for the previous weeks. At one particular zone conference, a district leader came forward and then for his report he asked his entire district to stand, face the missionaries, and then show them their hands. As they did, we all quickly saw that they were all covered with blisters. Then he reported that their service project for the past month had been to dig a well for one of the poor member families in Elbasan who had no running water in their home. He then told of how the senior missionary couple there had seen their dilemma and found that they were hauling water each day from a neighbor a hundred yards or so away who had a well. After doing some investigation, he found out how deep the well was and he concluded that if they could dig down that far, they could dig a well for this family–and so they had begun.

When the district leader reported that day, they were down about 12 feet. Initially, when they had started digging the 6' feet in diameter well the digging was relatively easy. Two elders dug for a while and then traded off with two others. As the hole got deeper, they soon couldn’t throw the dirt up and over the edge. Then they devised a system to fill buckets tied to a rope that was thrown over a log. When the bucket was filled, they would hoist it up where the two elders on top would take it and haul the dirt away to dump. It was quite a project.

You know, when you get down 15' or so, that is a deep hole. At 16' they hit solid rock. That’s pretty discouraging when you have dug that long. How great is your faith at a time like this? The senior missionary was discouraged, but not dismayed. After some searching, he found the one man in the little city who had a jack hammer. However, after the man broke two bits while drilling, he refused to go any further. How does this affect your faith? With a home made sledge hammer they continued on chipping away using the sledge and old railroad spikes.

Brothers and Sisters, How is your faith when you get to 20' & you’re still in rock with no water? How about 25'? It was at about 26' when they came out one morning and found the rock in the bottom of the well was wet. They broke through the rock that day, went down another foot, and the next day at 27 feet, they came out to find a foot of water in their well.

Brothers and Sisters, true disciples of Christ must have faith to step into the darkness knowing the light will follow. They must be willing to dig down 27' knowing they’ll find water even when digging in solid rock. This Rock came from the depths of that well. It is my constant reminder of the well and the faith it took to dig it.

Priscila prepared for her temple trip by studying general conference talks about the temple with her mother, reading Church magazines, and studying the scriptures. She also gathered the names of four generations on her father’s side of the family so she could perform vicarious baptisms for them. Priscila’s mom compiled the family history information for four generations of her side of the family.
Once the 185 members departed Manaus by boat, Priscila and the five other young women in the caravan helped tend the Primary-age children and fixed meals. At night they slept in hammocks on the boat deck to try to stay cool in the hot jungle temperatures.
“Being on the caravan was so spiritual because everyone was so excited and anxious to go to the temple,” Priscila comments. “Most people had never been to the temple, so almost no one knew exactly what to expect. Everyone sang songs and read scriptures together. We were so united.”
The bus ride was the most difficult part of the journey because the buses traveled both day and night for three days, and the members were unable to move around much. As a result, many of the members had severe pain and swelling in their legs.
When they arrived at the temple, Priscila immediately went to the baptistry to do baptisms for the dead, while her mother went to a different part of the temple to receive her endowment. Priscila spent every day in São Paulo in the temple, even though it was the first time she had been to the large metropolis.
“I spent my 15th birthday in the temple. When the baptismal font coordinator discovered it was my birthday, he told me he had a present for me,” Priscila explains. “So many people come to the temple that most patrons can do the baptisms for only five people. He gave me a large stack of names of people who needed their baptismal work done for them. He couldn’t have given me a better present.”
Priscila’s mother comments about other changes that happened in Priscila’s life: “The caravan spiritually influenced her. She was a light for all of the other members. Everyone came back different. On the bus ride home, we felt that our appearances and faces had changed; we were all so happy.”

My daughter Emily is in kindergarten. Every day at recess she sees a little girl named Raye who is in a wheelchair. Raye can’t walk or talk. Emily told me that she doesn’t want Raye to feel sad because she can’t run and play with the other children. So whenever she sees Raye, Emily sits with her and holds her hand and tells her stories. One day last week Raye looked cold, so Emily took off her own coat and laid it across Raye’s shoulders. Emily loves Raye and wants her to be happy.

I knew a woman whose life paralleled Job’s. Her name was Joan Kinder. She was a deeply religious woman with a quick wit, a bright mind, and an engaging personality. Children and adults loved her, and she loved them. She was one of the most cheerful persons I have known. I had the privilege of teaching her the gospel as a British missionary in the mid-1950s. A decade earlier, at age 20, she had fallen in love and was engaged to be married. It was the mid-1940s, and World War II was still raging in Europe. Her fiancé was drafted into the British army and sent to the front. She became employed in a munitions factory and waited for his return. Near the close of the war the young man’s family received a letter telling of his death.
For a period of time Joan was at a loss. She joined the British equivalent of our Women’s Army Corps and was sent to the Far East. In Hong Kong she met another British soldier. They fell in love and were married. Eventually they returned to England and found a home to rent in her native town. He was posted a few miles away. It was not long before they were blessed with a son.
Two years later the husband was assigned to another post some distance from their home. It was decided that she would wait for him to be established before moving to the new area. A few months went by with him returning each weekend. Each time he would suggest they wait just a little longer before making the move. Then one weekend he failed to return. She visited the base the next week. He told her that an assignment had kept him. She was uneasy, feeling that something was happening to their marriage. Within a few weeks he told her about another woman and that he wanted a divorce. She was devastated. Her son was now three years old and would grow up without a father.
It was during this time that the missionaries knocked on her door. She invited them in, took a Book of Mormon, and promised to read it. Within a few days she completed reading the book. A special spirit accompanied the reading and, while praying about the predicament and challenges that confronted her, a feeling of peace came along with a witness of the sacred nature of the book. The missionaries were surprised upon their return to find a convert. But she insisted on waiting a few months before joining the Church. She felt time was needed to see if her husband would change his mind. More than anything, she hoped to save her family. Time passed, and the divorce became final. She then joined the Church.
From the beginning of her membership, she was a full-tithe payer in spite of the meager income available to support her son and herself. She worked in a small shop where her boy could be with her until he entered school. Then she became a seamstress in a factory with better pay. Her leadership abilities eventually resulted in her becoming part of the management staff. When her son was grown, she emigrated to this country and found employment with the Family History Department of the Church. She was a specialist in reading old English and old German manuscripts.
One day she received a call from the British Embassy in Washington, D.C. They asked for a meeting and sent a representative to see her. She was told in the meeting that her son had been killed while on business in a foreign country. For a period of time there was a sadness in her eyes and a heaviness in her heart. Then the cheerfulness returned. The twinkle in her eyes, her quick wit, and her love for people were irrepressible. My children loved to be in her presence. There was something special about this deeply faithful woman.
Not many years after her son’s death, Joan was crossing a street in Salt Lake City on her way to work. The morning sun had just topped the mountains in the east, and a woman driving east failed to see Joan in the crosswalk. Apparently Joan was not aware of the car coming at her. She may have been thinking about the wonderful blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ that had come into her life. Suddenly there was an impact. The car hit her with tremendous force. Her time in mortality was over. A short time later I received a call from a common friend informing me of the accident and her death. I have thought often about this wonderful, interesting woman. Her life was filled with tragedy. Most of the things she wanted in life never materialized. One did—the greatest one! She found the hope that comes with a testimony of the gospel. In the end, that satisfied her. She knew she would see her son again. Parents and friends were eternal. She found joy in the gospel here and knew that unspeakable joy would be hers on the other side of the veil.

Isabelle squinted up at the deep blue sky. There were no clouds in sight. She licked her dry lips.
Her parents were talking quietly with President Santiago, the stake president. The motor of the boat was so loud that she couldn’t hear them. But she knew what they were talking about. There was no more drinking water.
Isabelle tried to focus on the reason for their journey. They were going to the temple to be sealed as a family! She remembered hearing her parents talk about the beautiful temple in São Paulo ever since she was a little girl. Going there almost seemed like a fairy tale. After all, Isabelle’s family lived in Manaus, deep in the Amazon rainforest, and the temple was more than 2,000 miles (3,219 km) away.
Then President Santiago had planned a six-day trip to get there. More than 100 members had decided to go. “It will be a sacrifice,” Mamãe had told her. “But sacrifice brings blessings.”
At first the trip was exciting. They slept in hammocks on the deck of the boat, sang hymns, and read scriptures.
But then the drinking water had run out, and the river water was too dirty to drink.
Isabelle felt Mamãe touch her arm. “President Santiago is gathering us all together,” she said. “We’re going to pray for rain.”
Isabelle joined the group, and the prayer began. After the prayer ended, she felt cool air tickle her neck. She raced to the side of the boat and gasped. Gray storm clouds were moving toward them. Soon rain began to pour down! She opened her mouth to catch the raindrops on her tongue.
“Quick!” cried Mamãe. “Grab buckets, pans—anything!”
Isabelle grabbed a pan and held it out. She wanted to catch all the water she could. Everyone worked together, laughing and celebrating. Soon they were having a giant soaking party! The storm lasted for 15 minutes. It was long enough for them to get all the water they needed. It was a miracle.

Many years ago I boarded a plane in San Francisco en route to Los Angeles. As I sat down, the seat next to mine was empty. Soon, however, there occupied that seat a most lovely young lady. As the plane became airborne, I noticed that she was reading a book. I glanced at the title: A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. I mustered up my courage and said to her, “You must be a Mormon.”
She replied, “Oh no. Why would you ask?”
I said, “Well, you’re reading a book written by LeGrand Richards, a very prominent leader of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
She responded, “Is that right? A friend gave this book to me, but I don’t know much about it. However, it has aroused my curiosity.”
I wondered silently, Should I be forward and say more about the Church? The words of the Apostle Peter crossed my mind, “Be ready always to give an answer to every [one] that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you” (1 Pet. 3:15). I decided that now was the time for me to share my testimony with her. I told her that it had been my privilege years before to assist Elder Richards in printing this book. I mentioned the great missionary spirit of this man and told her of the many thousands of people who had embraced the truth after reading that which he had prepared. Then it was my privilege, during the remainder of the flight, to answer her questions relative to the Church—intelligent questions which came from her heart, which I perceived was seeking the truth. I asked if I might have the opportunity to have the missionaries call upon her. I asked if she would like to attend one of our wards in San Francisco, where she lived. Her answers were affirmative. She gave me her name—Yvonne Ramirez—and indicated that she was a flight attendant on her way to an assignment.
Upon returning home, I wrote to the mission president and the stake president, advising them of my conversation and that I had written to her and sent along some suggested reading.
Several months passed by. Then I received a telephone call from the stake president, who asked, “Brother Monson, do you remember sitting next to a flight attendant on a trip from San Francisco to Los Angeles early this fall?” I answered affirmatively. He continued, “I thought you would like to know that Yvonne Ramirez has just become the most recently baptized and confirmed member of the Church. She would like to speak with you.”
A sweet voice came on the line: “Brother Monson, thank you for sharing with me your testimony. I am the happiest person in all the world.”
As tears filled my eyes and gratitude to God enlarged my soul, I thanked her and commended her on her search for truth and, having found it, her decision to enter those waters which cleanse and purify and provide entrance to eternal life.
I sat silently for a few minutes after replacing the telephone receiver. The words of our Savior coursed through my mind: “And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88).
Such is the promise to all of us when we pursue our missionary opportunities and follow the counsel and obey the commandments of Jesus of Nazareth, our Savior and our King.