Gospel Story Finder

David loved serving at D.I., but his missionary efforts didn’t stop there. In the evenings, he team taught with full-time missionaries. These efforts resulted in several conversions, including one young woman who asked him to perform the baptism.
“I figured if she had enough faith to ask me to baptize her, I had enough faith to find a way to do it,” remembers Elder Eves. And so on 1 January 2000, Elder Eves sat in his shower chair in the font, said the baptismal prayer, and lowered Robin Rasmussen into the water. No one will ever forget the spirit present that day.

It was a celebration so special that I traveled more than six thousand kilometers to return to my Samoan village of Faletele.
The village was bustling with activity. Crowding in with the few hundred villagers were more than a hundred of my relatives from many parts of Samoa and many honored guests from other villages.
I started walking through the village, heading toward the big, domed roofed fale [house] when I saw my beloved cousin Sama. Suddenly I was filled with pride and sorrow and love as I remembered when we first came to know Sama—Sama the Thumb.
I was just five years old. Sama was ten. His parents had gone to New Zealand for the dedication of the temple, and Sama had come to stay with us.
I was watching the young men and boys play ball. A bus stopped on the road, and one of my aunts got out, followed by a boy who we learned was our cousin Sama. When they went to the Tuita’ua’s fale, I followed them.
Tuita’ua Ioane was the senior member and head of our family. Hundred of relatives—brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, aunts and uncles. Grandchildren and cousins—honored and obeyed him. Tuita’ua is one of the great titles in Samoa, and the Tuita’ua is respected by all Samoans.
In the days that followed, we enjoyed getting to know Sama with his stories and jokes and his sense of humor. We soon accepted him not only as a cousin but also as a good friend. When Sama was with us, whether we were working or playing, we laughed and had fun.
On Sunday morning I couldn’t find Sama. All day I asked the people of the village if they had seen him, but nobody knew where he was.
Finally, in the late afternoon, long after our church services and our afternoon meal were over Sama came walking through the village in his white shirt and white lavalava [native skirt or kilt]. Tuita’ua Ioane called him into the fale. “Where have you been, Sama?” he asked.
“In Fuapa’epa’e.”
“You walked the twelve kilometers to Fuapa’epa’e? And back?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Why?”
“Because that is the closest village where I can attend my church.”
Tuita’ua Ioane took off his wire-rimmed reading glasses and laid them on the Bible, which he’d been reading. “Sama, the village rule is that there will be only one church in Faletele and that all the people in Faletele will attend that church. Do you understand? You are part of my family, Sama, but you are also a guest in this village and you are under my protection. You know our rule.” He leaned forward and looked Sama in the eyes. “You do what you have to do.”
The following week none of the cousins mentioned Sama’s trip to Fuapa’epa’e. They continued to joke and laugh together as they worked and played together.
Trouble started on the second Sunday. I woke up to the sounds of arguing. Two of my cousins, Malini and Tofo, were chasing after Sama, who was dressed in his white shirt and lavalava.
“Sama, you know what the village rule is!” Tofo shouted.
Malini grabbed Sama’s arm. “How can you show such disrespect to Tuita’ua Ioane?”
Sama stood boldly in front of them. “Tuita’ua told me to do what I have to do. And this is what I have to do!”
As he started walking away again, Malini shouted after him, “Sama, don’t embarrass our family like this!”
At the end of the day when Sama came walking back into Faletele, some of the villagers made fun of Sama, calling him bad names. Some of them mocked him calling “Mamona” [Mormon] as he walked by. All the cousins were angry at Sama and wouldn’t talk to him—all of them, that is, except me. I had Sama all to myself the entire week. It was wonderful as we talked and sang and he told me stories.
“Maybe tomorrow you will remove our family shame and come with us to the village church,” Malini told Sama on Saturday night.
But on Sunday morning Sama was gone again. Next to each of our sleeping mats was a gift that Sama had made.
When Sama returned that evening, I ran out to greet him. He was eager to see the others, too, until he saw that his gifts had been broken and thrown away.
“The villagers made our cousins angry,” I explained. “But I kept my gifts. I like them very much. Thank you.”
Sama smiled at me, then went off my himself until it was time for the evening meal.
When he returned the cousins shouted, “You are a disgrace to our family!
“Find someplace else to sleep. You’re no longer welcome in the boys’ fale.”
They pushed Sama down, and raised their fists to hit Sama. “Because of you, our friends are calling us bad names!”
I was afraid that the cousins were going to hurt Sama, so I ran to get Tuita’ua Ioane. But he had heard the fight and had already come to the door of his fale. “You boys, stop it now!” He commanded. “All of you, come in here!”
At the sound of his voice, the boys immediately stopped. They walked meekly into the fale and sat down.
“Look at my hand!” Tuita’ua Ioane held out his hand. “See how these fingers are bunched here together? And how the thumb is out here all by itself?”
We all looked at his hand.
“We have a saying here in Samoa: ‘The thumb stands alone, but it is the strongest of the fingers.’”
Tuita’ua Ioane pointed at each of the cousins. “You boys are the fingers. But Sama is the thumb!”
Even though I was very young, I learned many things that night. Tuita’ua Ioane taught us about being true to yourself and valiant in your beliefs. His words and Sama’s example changed my life.
After thinking back to those days, I continued walking up the steps of the big fale and removed my shoes, as was the custom. Sama saw me immediately. And we hugged each other. Everyone was there for just one reason—to honor the Tuita’ua. Tuita’ua Sama.
But to me he would always be Sama the Thumb.

I remember two friends from my high school and university years. He was a boy from a country town, plain in appearance, without money or apparent promise. He had grown up on a farm, and if he had any quality that was attractive it was the capacity to work. He carried sandwiches in a brown paper bag for his lunch and swept the school floors to pay for his education. But with all of his country appearance, he had a smile and a personality that seemed to sing of goodness. She was a city girl who had come out of a comfortable home. She would not have won a beauty contest. But she was wholesome in her decency and integrity and attractive in her good manners and dress.
Something wonderful took place between them. They fell in love. Some people whispered that there were far more promising boys for her, and a gossip or two noted that perhaps other girls might have interested him. But these two laughed and danced and studied together through their school years. They married when people wondered how they could ever earn enough to stay alive. He struggled through his professional school and came out well in his class. She saved and worked and prayed. She encouraged and sustained, and when things were really tough, she said quietly, “Somehow we can make it.” Buoyed by her faith in him, he kept going through these difficult years. Children came, and together they loved them and nourished them and gave them the security that came of their own love for and loyalty to one another. Now many years have passed. Their children are grown, a lasting credit to them, to the Church, and to the communities in which they live.
I remember seeing them on an airplane, as I returned from a Church assignment. I walked down the aisle in the semi-darkness of the aircraft cabin and saw a woman, white-haired, her head on her husband’s shoulder as she dozed. His hand was clasped warmly about hers. He was awake and recognized me. She awakened, and we talked. They were returning from a convention where he had delivered a paper before a learned society. He said little about it, but she proudly spoke of the honors accorded him.
I wish that I might have caught with a camera the look on her face as she talked of him. Forty-five years earlier people without understanding had asked what they saw in each other. I thought of that as I returned to my seat on the airplane. Their friends of those days saw only a farm boy from the country and a smiling girl with freckles on her nose. But these two found in each other love and loyalty, peace and faith in the future.
There was a flowering in them of something divine, planted there by that Father who is our God. In their school days they had lived worthy of that flowering of love. They had lived with virtue and faith, with appreciation and respect for self and one another. In the years of their difficult professional and economic struggles, they had found their greatest earthly strength in their companionship. Now in mature age, they were finding peace and quiet satisfaction together. Beyond all this, they were assured of an eternity of joyful association through priesthood covenants long since made and promises long since given in the House of the Lord.

When I was about seven years old, my uncle built us a new house. After we moved in, he started building the home next to us. It was to be the home of my friend Johnny. One day after school, Johnny and I were walking home, and Johnny excitedly told me that they now had electricity in their house. He wanted to show me, so we anxiously ran to his new home that was nearing completion. There were no workers around, so Johnny plugged in a construction lamp in the living room and ran down the hall to the electrical circuit box where he turned on the electricity. Sure enough, the lamp turned on. We were excited, and I told Johnny that I wanted to try. He turned the electricity back off. and the plan was then for me to plug in the lamp, and he would turn the electricity back on. Johnny was down the hall out of site and waited a time for me to get the lamp plugged in. Then he turned the electricity back on. Unfortunately, I was still holding onto the plug, and the electricity shot up my arm and down the side of my body and out my right foot. When it did this, it caught my clothes on fire along with the new carpet.

I don’t remember much about the experience after that. I remember someone pushing me to the ground outside to put the fire out. I don’t remember the trip to the doctor, but I do remember lying in a tub of cold water and then laying on my bed with pillows all under my right side. I also know that I received a priesthood blessing that night from my dad. I don't remember the words that were spoken, but I know at that moment, my father was the Lord’s hands as he blessed me, and I was healed. Today, I do not have a single mark on my body to remind me of that experience, just a lasting impression on my heart of the power of the holy priesthood.

In the hall he saw Cathy and Jay talking in serious tones. Steve, pretending to examine the school’s trophy case several feet away, listened to them.
"Jay, I want you to stay here with me."
"You don’t trust me."
"I trust you, but I don’t trust those others you run around with."
"We’re just going for a walk to the end of this one-horse town and back, that’s all."
"If you really love me, like you say you do, you’ll stay here with me."
"And if you trust me, like you say you do, you won’t worry when I’m out of sight for five minutes."
"Jay," she pleaded, "if you mean it about us getting married in the temple after we graduate, you’re going to have to change your life."
"I will; I promise I will. You know I love you."
Jay kissed her and that ended the argument.
...
Outside, the wind cut through them and stung their faces. Most of the stores had closed early in the afternoon; the only one that hadn’t was in the next block, and its large red neon sign blinked erratically the word Bar.
It was a corner bar and they could look into a window away from the wind’s direction for some protection. Inside Jay and his two friends sat at a table playing cards. There was a big pitcher of beer on the table.
"I never should’ve let him come with those guys," Cathy said.
"Let’s go back. I’m cold."
"Don’t you care about him? He’s a member of the priests quorum."
"Sure I care."
"Then go in there and bring him out."
"It looks to me like he’s where he wants to be."
"He promised me he wouldn’t drink again."
"Look, Cathy, everybody knows the only reason he goes to church is because of you."
"But if I can get him away from his friends, he’ll change. I love him. He’s asked me to marry him after we graduate."
They watched as Jay poured himself another glass.
"If he goes to the bar after you’re married, then what?"
"He wouldn’t do that. Besides, I’d be with him."
"All the time?"
"He wouldn’t do it!"
"Okay."
"You don’t believe me, do you? I can help him be strong."
"Can you?"
"Yes, and I’m going in there to bring him out."
"Do you know what he’s going to say if you go in there?"
He wasn’t sure if she heard him, because she just looked down at nothing in particular for the longest time.
"Yes," she finally said, "I know what he’ll say. He’ll tell me that it’s just the music and the air hockey and the laughter and the cards that he likes, and he’ll ask me to just sit with him, and if I do, then all the way back he’ll tell me that he’s no good and that I deserve somebody better, and I’ll tell him it isn’t true but that he needs to change, and he’ll say he knows it, and he’ll ask me to help him to be good, and we’ll map out goals for him, and then things will be good for a while, but in a few weeks it’ll happen all over again."
She melted into his arms and cried, and he told her it was all right. A few minutes later they returned to the school.
"Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder," she said just after they were inside.
"It’s okay," he smiled, "the jacket’s waterproof."
...
About midnight, after the bar closed, Jay returned with his friends and some of the truckers. He stumbled around until he found Cathy, who was sleeping on the floor near the other girls in the band.
"Cathy, I’m back. I hope you’re not mad. We found a little cafe in town and we played cards there."
"Oh," Cathy said sitting up. Steve watched them as they talked.
"Anything exciting happen here while I was gone?"
"Jay, if you only knew."
"Knew? Knew what?"
Cathy looked at him carefully in the dim light. "Jay, Steve said he’d pick you up for priesthood meeting next Sunday. I hope you go. Good night."

Recently I heard the story of John Akhwari. John was a marathon runner who represented the country of Tanzania in the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City. After running for 20 miles, Akhwari suffered a leg cramp and fell down, dislocating his knee. His coach wrapped his leg and advised him to drop out of the race. He firmly refused and took off running again. The last portion of the race was terribly difficult. Limping, it took him more than an hour to run those last six miles. When he finally entered the stadium to cross the finish line, night was beginning to fall and the spectators had begun to leave. However, when those who remained saw him arrive, they gave him a standing ovation and loudly acclaimed his arrival. After he crossed the finish line, John passed out from exhaustion. Later, journalists went to the hospital and interviewed him. They asked him, "Why didn't you listen to your coach and stop running?" His answer was, "My country did not send me 5,000 miles to start the race; they sent me 5,000 miles to finish the race."

John Akhwari didn't win a medal that day. But he earned the respect and praises of the public and of his country. He was the true hero of the race. Very few people remember the name of the gold medalist, but many can remember the story of the young runner from Tanzania.

This morning I wish to speak of an even more personal aspect of ministering that isn’t by assignment, does not involve a calendared interview, and has no reporting line except to heaven. Let me share just one homespun example of that kind of ministering.
Grant Morrell Bowen was a hardworking, devoted husband and father who, like many who made their living on the land, had an economic downturn when the local potato crop was poor. He and his wife, Norma, took other employment, eventually moved to another city, and started their climb back to economic stability. However, in a terribly unfortunate incident, Brother Bowen was deeply hurt when, in a temple recommend interview, the bishop was a little skeptical regarding Morrell’s declaration that he was a full-tithe payer.
I don’t know which of these men had the more accurate facts that day, but I do know Sister Bowen walked out of that interview with her temple recommend renewed, while Brother Bowen walked out with an anger that would take him away from the Church for 15 years.
Regardless of who was right about the tithing, evidently both Morrell and the bishop forgot the Savior’s injunction to “agree with thine adversary quickly” and Paul’s counsel to “let not the sun go down upon your wrath.” The fact is they didn’t agree and the sun did go down on Brother Bowen’s wrath for days, then weeks, then years, proving the point made by one of the wisest of the ancient Romans, who said, “Anger, if not restrained, is frequently more [destructive] than the injury that provokes it.” But the miracle of reconciliation is always available to us, and out of love for his family and the Church he knew to be true, Morrell Bowen came back into full Church activity. Let me tell you briefly how that happened.
Brother Bowen’s son Brad is a good friend of ours and a devoted Area Seventy serving in southern Idaho. Brad was 11 years old at the time of this incident, and for 15 years he watched his father’s religious devotion decline, a witness to the terrible harvest being reaped where anger and misunderstanding had been sown. Something needed to be done. So as the Thanksgiving holiday approached in 1977, Brad, a 26-year-old student at Brigham Young University; his wife, Valerie; and new baby son, Mic, loaded into their student version of an automobile and, bad weather notwithstanding, drove to Billings, Montana. Not even a crash into a snowbank near West Yellowstone could keep this threesome from making their ministering contact with Brother Bowen Sr.
Upon arrival, Brad and his sister Pam asked for a private moment with their father. “You have been a wonderful dad,” Brad began with some emotion, “and we have always known how much you loved us. But something is wrong, and it has been for a long time. Because you were hurt once, this whole family has been hurting for years. We are broken, and you are the only one who can fix us. Please, please, after all this time, can you find it in your heart to lay aside that unfortunate incident with that bishop and again lead this family in the gospel as you once did?”
There was dead silence. Then Brother Bowen looked up at these two, his children, bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, and said very quietly, “Yes. Yes, I will.”
Thrilled but stunned by the unexpected answer, Brad Bowen and his family watched their husband and father go to his current bishop in a spirit of reconciliation to set things right in his life. In a perfect response to this courageous but totally unexpected visit, the bishop, who had extended repeated invitations to Brother Bowen to come back, threw his arms around Morrell and just held him—held him in a long, long, long embrace.
In a matter of only a few weeks—doesn’t take long—Brother Bowen was fully engaged in Church activity and had made himself worthy to return to the temple. Soon enough he accepted the call to preside over a struggling little branch of 25 and grew it into a thriving congregation of well over 100. All of this took place nearly half a century ago, but the consequence of a son and a daughter’s ministering plea to their own father and that father’s willingness to forgive and move forward in spite of the imperfections of others has brought blessings that are still coming—and will come forever—to the Bowen family.

After some time, my family moved from Maryland to Utah, where we lived on a farm in North Logan. We had some horses, some cows, some pigs, some chickens, two dogs, a few cats, and we even had a pet pig. Though it became necessary to sell the cows, my father kept one milk cow.
Each morning before school, I helped my older brother, Lou, milk the family cow. One morning, my brother was sick and I had to milk the cow alone. I was just eight years old. This was the first time I had ever had to milk the cow by myself. I set up my stool and bucket and started to milk. She kicked the bucket and walked away.
I picked up the bucket and stool, walked over to her, and again started to milk. Again, she kicked the bucket and walked away. I had to milk the cow before I went to school, so I picked up my stool and bucket and walked over to her and started to milk. A third time, she kicked the bucket and walked away.
I needed help! I knelt down in the morning sunlight and began to pray. I explained to Heavenly Father, “I can’t do this by myself. Please, please help me!” Without any hesitation, I picked up the bucket and my stool and walked over to the cow and began to milk. She did not move. She stood still until I finished milking. I quickly carried the bucket to the house, gave it to my mother, and was able to run to school and arrive on time, knowing that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.

Brethren, let me share with you a description of priesthood service pertaining to this work, as described by a priesthood leader. He wrote: “On Saturday afternoon our Aaronic Priesthood young men and their leaders assembled at the temple to perform the baptismal work for the fallen soldiers. What a marvelous sight it was to see these young Aaronic Priesthood brethren being baptized by their own priesthood leaders. In almost every case, when the young brother had finished his 14 or 15 names, he would turn and embrace his leader and shed a few tears of joy. What an example of true priesthood love and service! I had the experience of being a witness at the font and gained firsthand knowledge of this and, in a few cases, the undeniable witness of the Spirit that those young soldiers who had died had accepted the baptisms that were being performed in their behalf by our Aaronic Priesthood brethren.
“We wrote down the name of each soldier who was baptized that glorious day so that the young men could have a brief history of the soldiers for whom they were baptized. I have no doubt that this experience will have a lifelong effect for good for all those who participated.”

Last year in school, there was a new kid named Ricky. He had moved into our neighborhood and was starting school in America for the first time. Our teacher asked me and two other kids if we would help him learn English.
Every day the four of us would sit down and review words on flashcards and talk with him. At recess I invited Ricky to play with me and my friends. He liked playing kickball. After a while I asked Ricky if he wanted to play soccer too, and he said yes. So he started playing soccer with me and all my friends at recess.
We became good friends, and he came to my house after school a few times. Ricky is really good at math. He helped me with my math assignments. I have gotten better at math because of our friendship. Now after a year and a half, he speaks English very well. He’s able to help his mom communicate with others when she does her errands.
This year Ricky isn’t in my class, but we play together at recess every day. I really like being friends with Ricky. I learned that by helping others, I am serving Heavenly Father and am also blessed by serving others. Ricky has helped me in ways I didn’t know he could when I was asked to help him learn English.
I know that we need to be willing to do all we can to help our family members and friends. When we do this, we’re helping Heavenly Father and we will have good experiences. We are Heavenly Father’s hands on earth, and when we’re willing to help, we’ll be able to help those that Heavenly Father needs us to help.

A letter and an old ashtray came to the office of the Presiding Bishop in 1991. The letter reads: “Dear Sir, I stole the enclosed ashtray from your hotel in 1965. After these many years, I want to apologize to you and ask for your forgiveness for my wrongdoing. Sincerely, [signature]. P.S. I have enclosed a check that attempts to reimburse you for the ashtray.”

The check was in the amount of $26.00, one dollar for each year he had kept the ashtray. I can imagine that during those 26 years, each time he tapped his cigarette on the rim of that tray he suffered a twinge of conscience. I do not know that the hotel ever missed the ashtray, but the man who took it missed his peace of mind for more than a quarter of a century. Yes, honesty is the best policy.

My life was eternally blessed by one choice member who reached out more than 50 years ago. Some days after World War II, my grandmother was standing in line for food when an elderly single sister with no family of her own invited her to sacrament meeting in Zwickau, East Germany. My grandmother and my parents accepted the invitation. They went to church, felt the Spirit, were uplifted by the kindness of the members, and were edified by the hymns of the Restoration. My grandmother, my parents, and my three siblings were all baptized. I had to wait two years because I was only six. How grateful I am for a spiritually sensitive grandmother, teachable parents, and a wise, white-haired, elderly single sister who had the sweet boldness to reach out and follow the Savior’s example by inviting us to “come and see” (see John 1:39). Her name was Sister Ewig, which translates in English to “Sister Eternal.” I will be eternally grateful for her love and example.

When I read the article “Darrell, His Mission, and Me” (May 1993), it made me do a lot of thinking. My brother left to go on his mission to North Carolina on July 28. I’ve never really gotten along with him because we’re five years apart. But I started writing him letters, and I feel a lot better about our relationship because he knows a lot more about my feelings. I’m really grateful for the article.
Becky BeldenColumbia, Tennessee

Darrin lost his right leg to cancer in June of 1991. But he hasn’t let his loss hold him back. His only regret is having to interrupt his mission to Chile, where his condition was diagnosed.
“I never wanted to leave,” he says. “I enjoyed every single day.”
But it was decided that Darrin should go home for further tests. Within an hour or two after arriving in Salt Lake City, doctors told him he definitely had a cancerous tumor on his knee.
Surely he was worried, right?
“I was a little bit scared about cancer because I didn’t know what it was,” Darrin says. “When you hear cancer, you think something really scary.”
What helped Darrin’s outlook was a little scripture reading on his plane ride to the United States from Chile. He had been reading in Alma about the Anti-Nephi-Lehis, and how they didn’t fear for their lives when the Lamanites came to attack them.
“I looked at that and I said, ‘I’m not going to fear for my life.’ I told that to people on the plane.”
After getting home, Darrin decided to maintain a positive attitude. “We had some long discussions,” says Darrin’s dad, Ronald Shamo, “and Darrin said, ‘I can approach this one of two ways. I can accept it and make the most of it, or I can be bitter. People don’t like to be around people who are complaining and unhappy. But when you’re positive and can look forward to getting better, people enjoy helping you along the way. They enjoy being with you.’”
And that has made all the difference. Darrin admits chemotherapy sickness had him depressed at times, but he even managed to conquer that. “I made sure no matter what I was doing in the hospital, I was happy. I especially enjoyed going to the fourth floor from three to five in the morning and looking at the babies.”
But Darrin’s condition required more than chemotherapy. His knee had to be removed, and doctors let him choose between joint replacement surgery and amputation just above the knee. Joint replacement would let him keep his leg, but it might leave him with little or no control over that leg because the muscles running through the joint would be cut.
With amputation, however, Darrin could get an artificial leg and soon be back to his old hobbies, like basketball, volleyball, bowling, and rappeling. Yes, rappeling. Having fun with his friends was important to Darrin, so the decision to amputate was not overly difficult. His bowling scores are down since the operation, but he’s confident that will change with practice.
What made Darrin most happy was when he learned he would be able to complete his mission. He was sent to the California Sacramento Mission and returned home this fall.
“Whenever we have a trial, there’s always something we can learn if we’re looking for it. There’s always some blessing,” Darrin says. “Cancer just made me look harder for the blessings, but they’re still always there.”
Hmmm. Maybe I exaggerated about Darrin. Maybe he’s not so crazy after all.

News reports on May 25, 2008, predicted that the mile-wide tornado that had wiped out half of Parkersburg, Iowa, USA, would head north. But as Wes Godfrey videotaped the tornado from his home to the east in New Hartford, Iowa, the rotating funnel slowly started to fill up his camcorder’s screen.
Brother Godfrey rushed his 8-months-pregnant wife, Erin, and two children into their tornado shelter and huddled his family together to pray. As Brother Godfrey asked Heavenly Father to spare their lives and the lives of their neighbors, the Spirit touched his heart, and he immediately knew two things: (1) they would be OK, and (2) they were going to get hit.
After the prayer, an eerie silence fell. Moments later, rain and wind exploded against the steel door of the shelter. The commotion lasted only a few seconds before silence returned.
When the family decided it was safe to come out, their home was gone.
“I was devastated,” Sister Godfrey said. “I thought our house would still be there, but at the same time I was glad that we were alive. I realized how fragile life is.”
Winds of the tornado, rated as a low-end EF-5 on the Enhanced Fujita Scale,1 peaked at 205 miles per hour (330 kilometers per hour), completely destroying more than 240 homes and businesses and killing six people in Parkersburg. In New Hartford, the tornado destroyed an additional 30 homes and killed two people within a two-block radius of the Godfreys’ home.

One Sunday in October, I was assigned to give an important part in a program at church. But in October everyone in my family had to work hard to harvest the rice in my father’s rice fields. That included working on the Sabbath day.
I prayed to Heavenly Father, and the Spirit planted a thought in my mind: I could try to finish the harvest before Sunday. I would get up early and work every morning before school. Then every afternoon I would work after school until dark.
But by Saturday night only half of the harvest was done. I went to bed discouraged that I had not accomplished my goal. Sunday morning I awoke early to go to the fields. My father came to my room and, with a gentle smile, asked why I wasn’t going to church. My heart was full of joy. I could go to church and keep the Sabbath day holy!

Thomas Edison devoted ten years and all of his money to developing the nickel-alkaline storage battery at a time when he was almost penniless. Through that period of time, his record and film production was supporting the storage battery effort. Then one night the terrifying cry of fire echoed through the film plant. Spontaneous combustion had ignited some chemicals. Within moments all of the packing compounds, celluloid for records, film, and other flammable goods had gone up with a roar. Fire companies from eight towns arrived, but the fire and heat were so intense and the water pressure so low that the fire hoses had no effect. Edison was sixty-seven years old—no age to begin anew. His son Charles was frantic, wondering if he were safe, if his spirits were broken, and how he would handle a crisis such as this at his age. Charles saw his father running toward him. He spoke first.

He said, “Where’s your mother? Go get her. Tell her to get her friends. They’ll never see another fire like this as long as they live!”

At 5:30 the next morning, with the fire barely under control, he called his employees together and announced, “We’re rebuilding.” One man was told to lease all the machine shops in the area, another to obtain a wrecking crane from the Erie Railroad Company. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Oh, by the way. Anybody know where we can get some money?” (Paraphrased from Charles Edison, “My Most Unforgettable Character,” Reader’s Digest, December 1961, pp. 175–77.)

Virtually everything you now recognize as a Thomas Edison contribution to your life came after that disaster. Remember, “Trouble has no necessary connection with discouragement— discouragement has a germ of its own.”

I have done that. Once I had an experience that caused me immense anxiety. It had nothing to do with disobedience or transgression but with a vitally important human relationship. For some time I poured my heart out in urgent prayer. Yet try as I might, I could find no solution, no settling of the powerful stirring within me. I pled for help from that Eternal Father I have come to know and trust completely. I could see no path that would provide the calm that is my blessing generally to enjoy. Sleep overcame me. When I awoke, I was totally at peace. Again I knelt in solemn prayer and asked, “Lord, how is it done?” In my heart, I knew the answer was His love and His concern for me. Such is the power of sincere prayer to a compassionate Father.

BARBARA: I have a friend who was so mad every time we mentioned the Church. We walked to school together each day. It was about a 20-minute walk. One day I said, “Oh, I’m so busy. I have to read this story in Sunday School, and I don’t have time to practice. Would you mind if I read my part to you while we walk to school?” And it just happened to be about a nonmember who was converted. When I got through with the story, my friend said, “You know, that was really neat how that Mormon girl kept trying with the nonmember friend even though she had a lot of hate toward the Church. It was good that she never gave up.” And I thought, “Aha! She’s telling me something!”

This same diligence and attitude was needed for the Laie Hawaii Temple—that journey which started in 1864 when the impression came to build a temple in Laie, then progressed the dream to 1865 and the buying of the property that we know on the North Shore, on to 1900 when President George Q. Cannon of the First Presidency prophesied a temple, coming toward the ultimate destination of 1915 when President Joseph F. Smith actually dedicated a temple site. Of that dedicatory prayer Elder Reed Smoot, who was present on that occasion, said:

“I have heard President Smith pray hundreds of times. He has thrilled my soul many times with his wonderful spirit of prayer and his supplications to our [H]eavenly Father. But never in all my life did I hear such a prayer. The very ground seemed to be sacred, and he seemed as if he were talking face to face with the Father. I cannot and never will forget it if I live a thousand years.”[18]

Six months later, on January 16, 1916, crews began construction. In two years of incredible industry, the interior of our temple was complete. By November of that year, pneumonia took President Smith’s life, but President Heber J. Grant, new Prophet of the Church, continued the work without interruption.

Finally, on November 27, 1919, we are a month away from that centennial moment, President Grant dedicated the Laie Temple during a four-hour session on Thanksgiving Day. “Four additional dedicatory sessions were held [for the benefit of] more than 1,200 additional Saints who wanted to attend.”[19]