Gospel Story Finder

The high standards of these LDS youth have not gone unnoticed. Soccer buffs in the area still talk about the time a referee whistled Holly for swearing. Sister Hales recalls, “The other girls just gathered around the referee and said, ‘That couldn’t be. Holly’s a Mormon. She’s never sworn in her life. She wouldn’t even know a swear word!’ It was all spontaneous, and they were so convincing that the referee actually changed his call!” He was right too, because Holly was innocent.

When Elder L. Tom Perry was 11, his Primary teacher helped the boys in his class get ready to receive the priesthood and graduate from Primary.
As a reward for memorizing all 13 Articles of Faith, she let them choose a place for a special outing. The boys and their teacher hiked to the top of a rocky hill to cook hot dogs and roast marshmallows. Their teacher told the boys that she was proud of them for memorizing the Articles of Faith. She also said that they should learn more than just the words. Then she taught them a lesson about what the Articles of Faith mean.
This experience inspired Elder Perry to study the gospel as he grew up. (See “The Doctrines and Principles Contained in the Articles of Faith” from the priesthood session.)

Lorenzo Snow wrote of such an experience:

Some two or three weeks after I was baptized . . . I began to reflect upon the fact that I had not obtained a knowledge of the truth of the work . . . , and I began to feel very uneasy. I laid aside my books, left the house, and wandered around through the fields under the oppressive influence of a gloomy, disconsolate spirit, while an indescribable cloud of darkness seemed to envelop me. I had been accustomed, at the close of the day, to retire for secret prayer, to a grove a short distance from my lodgings, but at this time I felt no inclination to do so. The spirit of prayer had departed and the heavens seemed like brass over my head. At length, realizing that the usual time had come for secret prayer, I concluded I would not forego my evening service, and, as a matter of formality, knelt as I was in the habit of doing, and in my accustomed retired place, but not feeling as I was wont to feel.

I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray, than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O, the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge, as it was at that time imparted to my understanding. I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. . . .

. . . That night, as I retired to rest, the same wonderful manifestations were repeated, and continued to be for several successive nights. The sweet remembrance of those glorious experiences, from that time to the present, bring them fresh before me, imparting an inspiring influence which pervades my whole being, and I trust will to the close of my earthly existence. [In Eliza R. Snow, Biography and Family Record of Lorenzo Snow (Salt Lake City: Deseret News Company, 1884; reprint, 1975), 7–9; emphasis in original]

The simple meetinghouse on Manila’s Buendia Avenue seems a little out of place next to its not-so-simple neighbors. Doubling as the Makati Philippines Stake center, it is surrounded by some of Manila’s highest skyscrapers, built on what was once considered worthless swampland.
But on its basketball court, ordinary activities like the stake youth sports festival can become extraordinary. For example, watch the Mandaluyong Third Ward basketball team. Suddenly your eyes focus on a young man wobbling and limping his way down the hard court.
A knee injury, perhaps?
A sprained wrist?
Not so, you find out. The young man is partially paralyzed.
For Alvin Martinez, rising against the odds is just like turning swampland into skyscrapers. Alvin was born healthy, and like other newborn Filipino babies he was given polio shots. But somehow, the vaccine attacked his nerves. His right leg and arm started turning immobile. The polio vaccine rendered his entire right side paralyzed.
Alvin was often the subject of jokes in school when classmates would see him limping his way to class.
“Hey, it’s Alvin,” somebody would shout.
“The way is straight,” another would jeer, “so how come you walk crooked?”
“Alvin, Alvin pilay!” Pilay means “cripple.” It was a jeer his straight-walking classmates loved to bestow on him.
But teasing wasn’t Alvin’s only trial. His father suddenly died of a stroke. Struggling with his family’s loss and his classmates’ snide comments, Alvin drifted from school and church activity and found another barkada, or group of buddies.
In Manila, a barkada can consist either of friends who build you up or of those who let you down. Alvin’s barkada was of the negative variety. Still, Alvin tried to maintain his LDS standards. “My friends would invite me to smoke,” he remembers, “but I told them I was a Mormon.”
Finally, Alvin resolved to rise up despite his limitations and, like David of old, conquer his personal Goliaths. He made a firm resolve to continue his schooling. His widowed mother, who now works as a seamstress, was delighted. She had patiently reminded him that his future would be brighter if he had a good education.
At school, Alvin found a new barkada, classmates who treated him with respect. “All my classmates are so kind and friendly,” he beams.
A little bit shy at first, but actually fun-loving and witty, Alvin also began to find church to be a home away from home. “I enjoyed being in church,” Alvin says, “and I liked being with my fellow young men.” Because of the influence of good Church friends and priesthood quorum members, Alvin’s testimony was strengthened and he found himself, with the help of his youth leaders, back in church. In visiting Alvin, they would often tell him not to be ashamed of his disability. “We wanted him to know that he was valued,” one youth leader recalls, “and he did feel appreciated eventually.” Alvin is grateful for the missionaries who taught his family, and he’s even more grateful for the youth leaders who helped him come back to church after going through some real struggles.
Today, Alvin is one of the most active young men in his ward. Being with his church friends is something he relishes. “They are not ashamed to be with me,” he says happily. “They don’t even joke about me.” Instead, it’s Alvin who cracks jokes with them.
And his dedication is exemplary. One Sunday, he was in a lively conversation with other young men.
“We’ve been asked to clean up the meetinghouse grounds this Saturday,” said one.
“But we have a better activity than that,” another replied.
“But let’s do what we’ve been told to do first,” Alvin said.
Well, Saturday came, and while the other young men were yet to arrive, Alvin was already there in his work clothes. And he brought his nonmember cousin, too.
Seeing this, you can’t help but make the connection between Alvin and his favorite scripture: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Ne. 3:7).
Recently Alvin received a special award for perfect attendance at seminary. Seminary for Manila’s LDS youth is usually held during the afternoon or early evening when Manila’s heavy traffic congestion is at its peak. But Alvin comes right on time. “When it comes to actual application of the lesson, Alvin tries his best,” remarks Brother Nolan Caceres, his seminary teacher.
That same attitude spills into his other activities. The ward basketball team he plays on garnered second place in the stake sports festival. And in activity nights at the meetinghouse, “he doesn’t fail us,” Brother Caceres says. “He’ll be there.”
Just like the towers hovering over the stake center, Alvin’s hopes are high. He dreams of having his own business. But his number-one goal right now is to serve a mission. In school, Alvin has already, in his own unique way, attracted others to the Church because of his simple yet dedicated example.
When asked who his favorite scripture personality is, Alvin thinks for a moment, then answers, “I think Moses.” It seems to be an appropriate choice. Before Moses accepted the Lord’s call, he felt he couldn’t do it because he was “slow of speech.” (See Ex. 4:10.) But despite personal inadequacies, he did what the Lord expected of him, an example Alvin is following.
Many Filipinos with disabilities end up in institutions; some become social outcasts. Alvin is an exception. “He has learned to do useful things, even though other people thought he couldn’t,” Brother Caceres adds.
Yes, useful things like playing basketball, going to school, and sharing the gospel. Alvin Martinez knows you can rise up and, like the tall buildings in Manila, touch the sky.

When Australian Latter-day Saints Bob Love and Maggie Henry were married in 1929, they had the ceremony performed by the local Presbyterian minister in his church. Then the bridal party traveled to the Enmore Latter-day Saint branch chapel, where Mission President Clarence H. Tingey held what was called, in the mission’s year-end report, a “confirmation service” to bless their marriage.
Brother and Sister Love did what circumstances forced many young Latter-day Saints to do. The nearest temple was almost 10,000 kilometers away in Hawaii, and the round trip passage for two was the equivalent of several years’ wages. The state government of New South Wales would not license Latter-day Saints to officiate at marriages, so the Loves and others like them had to have a civil marriage, in another church or at a government registry office. It was not until 1952 that the Loves were able to take their five children to the Salt Lake Temple to be sealed.

Recently I learned of a fearless young Laurel. She was invited to participate in a statewide competition for her high school on the same evening she had committed to participate in a stake Relief Society meeting. When she realized the conflict and explained to competition officials that she would need to leave the competition early to attend an important meeting, she was told she would be disqualified if she did so.

What did this latter-day Laurel do? She kept her commitment to participate in the Relief Society meeting. As promised, she was disqualified from the statewide competition. When asked about her decision, she replied simply, “Well, the Church is more important, isn’t it?”

I was so angry when I left school, I could hardly see straight! I couldn’t get out of that place fast enough. I stormed down the street toward Aunt Lydia’s house simply raging inside with every step.
Aunt Lydia saw me coming and was holding the door open for me as I fumed past her into the house. I flopped down in her big easy chair with a thud, dropping books everywhere.
Aunt Lydia is a comfortable, elderly lady with gray, wispy hair pulled straight back and pinned into a little, twisted bun. She has more wrinkles than I’ve ever seen on any other real person.
Discovering that I liked her was quite a surprise to me because I didn’t know you could be good friends and share so many ideas and feelings with a person that old.
I’ve often wondered what makes her so fascinating. It might have something to do with her china-blue eyes that you just can’t stop looking at, or maybe it’s her fun, easy laugh that makes you trust her.
Maybe I like her because she always lets me express whatever feelings I have and doesn’t tell me not to feel that way.
The story just poured out of me, while she pulled her chair up close to mine and listened. I was draped across the big chair with my legs dangling over one arm as I told her how much I hated Doreen!
Doreen had told Scott all sorts of lies about me and was trying to get him to like her instead of me. He was actually going to take her out! (Katy had told me all about it.)
How I hated Doreen! I’d never forgive her—ever! My gravestone will say, “Here lies the girl that hates Doreen!” She had turned on me for the last time, and I’d see to it that she never betrayed me again. I’d get even with her if it was the last thing I ever did. A plan was already starting to form in my mind on how to fix her so she’d never forget it. I wouldn’t rest until I saw to it that she got hers!
Aunt Lydia said she understood exactly how I felt, and then she went to the other room and returned carrying a box.
I sat up curiously as she reached into the box and handed me a big hunk of clay. I hadn’t handled a blob like that since kindergarten, and I asked her what I was supposed to do with it. She said she wanted me to make something that would express how I was feeling inside. (I felt like a pile of rotten garbage had exploded all over me!)
I dug into that mass and demolished it with a vengeance. I squeezed it, pounded it, and pinched it with all the fury inside of me. Boy, it’s a good thing you can’t kill clay because I was in the mood!
I didn’t know what I would end up with, and I didn’t much care, as long as it was ugly.
Later, when I had finished, Aunt Lydia told me to look at my thing and tell her what I was holding.
I described it as a ghastly mutation that had suction cup tentacles for arms and a vacuum-hose mouth that slurped up guys when they weren’t looking. It had a whooping doozy of a beak, big hairy feet, bulbous toes, and ears so long that they were tied up in knots. A couple of the bulgy eyes were a lot lower than the others (so it could cover more territory in looking for victims, I’m sure). The enormous body was covered with shaggy gorilla-hair except for the bald head, which sprouted only three, kinky hairs. Finishing off the masterpiece was a fine juicy wart right on the end of its crooked beak. “There,” I said, “let’s see how Scott likes that!”
I was really getting into this thing and feeling a little better. (In fact, I was enjoying it immensely!) I heaved a great sigh of relief and then sat silently reveling in my creation.
I had forgotten all about Aunt Lydia until she broke the silence by saying, “My dear, you described it perfectly, and what you’re holding is a ‘Grudge.’”
I snapped to attention, listening hard to get her meaning.
She warned me to beware of grudges for they can be the most vicious and destructive forces in life. She explained that this one, in my hand, was the only safe grudge that I would ever hold. She knew that I’d be tempted many times during my lifetime to pick up other grudges and hold them, but she cautioned me against it.
“Other grudges will eventually destroy you if you hold them very long,” she continued. “They begin by ruining your peace of mind and then your relationship with both God and man.
“They have voracious appetites and will consume the whole of your thought and being if you let them stay around,” she said. “They keep you so busy being miserable and thinking up ways to get revenge that you can’t get on with making your own happiness.”
She didn’t say any more. She just looked at me lovingly as I stared at my “Grudge” and pondered her words.
It all made so much sense, and I understood exactly what she was trying to tell me. I felt a sudden burst of peace and contentment take over the whole of me. No wonder I love Aunt Lydia and our visits so much.
She’s so smart. I jumped up and bounced over to hug her good-bye.
Jogging home, holding my new little clay friend, I knew that I could solve the whole mess, and I laughed right out loud.
I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my mom about my visit with Aunt Lydia. I couldn’t wait to share the whole story with her and tell her that if she ever wants to “hold a grudge” I have one she can hold—a safe one!
Then I wanted to call Doreen and see what really happened at school today!

Emmeline gave birth to a son, Eugene, on September 1, 1844. But after six weeks, he died of fever. Her husband James went down the river to the city of St. Louis, Missouri, for work. There he began working as a merchant seaman and sailed for the East Indies. She never heard from him again.
To earn money, Emmeline started teaching again. She instructed the younger children of Newel K. and Elizabeth Ann Whitney. Sister Whitney, who had been a counselor to Emma Smith in the Female Relief Society of Nauvoo, taught her much about the gospel. Newel explained the promises of the priesthood and of temple ordinances. Emmeline was sealed to Newel as a plural wife. She joined the large Whitney family for the trek west with the Saints.
Emmeline and Newel had two daughters, Isabel and Melvina, before Newel died suddenly in Salt Lake City, Utah Territory, in September 1850. Emmeline was only 22 and again needed to support herself as a teacher. Though feeling lost, she cherished a prophecy Newel made about her life: “He said I should have nothing to do but to devote my whole time to writing and to literary pursuits, and that I should sit and eat and drink and converse with the nobles of the earth and tell them of the Gospel.”4
In 1852, Emmeline married Daniel H. Wells as a plural wife. They had three daughters together, Emeline, Elizabeth Ann, and Louisa. In the 1870s, Emmeline accepted callings in her ward Relief Society as assistant secretary and then as a visiting teaching leader.5 These callings built her confidence as she furthered her writing and speaking skills.
In 1872, a new semimonthly periodical called the Woman’s Exponent started in Salt Lake City “for Latter-day Saint women to help them learn about their work, their lives, and their history.”6 Emmeline submitted articles. Eliza R. Snow, a member of the Exponent committee, noticed her talent and asked her to write an editorial. Emmeline wrote in her diary, “I love this kind of work.”7 She began helping in the Woman’s Exponent office and in 1875 was named associate editor. In 1876, President Brigham Young asked Emmeline to lead the women’s grain storage program as well. In August 1877, Emmeline became the editor of the Woman’s Exponent.
Emmeline was also a strong advocate for the rights of women and of the Saints. She later became president of the Utah Woman’s Suffrage Association, where she educated women and urged lawmakers to confirm women’s right to vote in the state constitution. She acknowledged the demands on her time and energy. But she wrote that it was her way to “work for the elevation and uplifting of humanity.”8
In her lifetime, Emmeline met and talked with six presidents of the United States. She spoke with two of these presidents in the White House on behalf of the Church. She hoped to lighten legislation against Latter-day Saints.
In January 1879, Emmeline and Zina Young Williams presented a message to members of Congress and to President Rutherford B. Hayes and his wife. Emmeline and Zina spoke against bills aimed to punish Church members in the Utah Territory for their religious beliefs. They also asked for consideration of wives and children who would be harmed by measures to send men to prison for participating in plural marriage.9 Emmeline wrote, “I thank God I was the first to represent our women in the Halls of Congress.”10
Seven years later, Emmeline traveled to Washington, DC, USA, with a similar purpose. She met with congressmen and senators. She talked with Rose Cleveland (the president’s sister and Acting First Lady) and then spoke with President Grover Cleveland himself. Emmeline and Dr. Ellen Ferguson represented the Latter-day Saint women of the Utah Territory and presented him a memorial plea urging fairness for the Saints in political matters.11
In these efforts, Emmeline was supported by leaders of the National Woman Suffrage Association, particularly by Susan B. Anthony, who greeted her warmly whenever they met and emphasized their common interest in improving the lives of women.12
Emmeline served 22 years as corresponding and general secretary of the Relief Society under Presidents Zina D. H. Young and Bathsheba W. Smith.13 She edited the Woman’s Exponent for 37 years. She led the grain storage movement for 42 years. She had a keen memory and was a fount of information for those who counseled with her. When President Joseph F. Smith called her to be the Relief Society General President in 1910, she served for ten and a half years, until shortly before her death in 1921. She was the last Relief Society General President to have known Joseph Smith personally, and she bore witness that when he spoke, she “saw his magnificent presence,” felt his influence, and knew “that he was in very deed a Prophet of God.”14
As Emmeline fulfilled roles of homemaker, editor, and leader of women, she felt “very grateful to God for all His mercies and blessings in giving me powers and faculties that are a constant source of wealth to my mind; my spirit is usually invigorated and buoyed up, and I am able to bear all that devolves upon me.”15

When I was about 11 years old, a man came to our little town to teach at the Church academy. He played the violin a little, and we hadn’t had anyone there for a long time that had played the violin. My mother was impressed and picked up a little violin, I guess at some little rummage sale somewhere, and decided that I should learn to play the violin.
Even though I had never seen anyone play the violin in public, he came to our house and started giving me some little simple lessons on playing the violin. I was coming along fairly well by the time we graduated from the eighth grade in grammar school, and for the graduation exercises held in the high school I was asked to play a violin solo.
I’d carefully practiced the little number “Traumerei,” as I remember the name. My sister who was four years older than I and was then one of the popular girls in high school was my pianist. At the graduation exercises, Connie McMurray was the valedictorian. Girls are always smarter in school than boys. As she was giving the valedictory address, there was a little pedestal with a pitcher of water and a glass on it for the school board. The school board was on the stand, plus a little handful of us who were graduating from the eighth grade.
As Connie McMurray was giving her famous valedictory address, near the end of it we noticed the little doily under the pitcher of water on the pedestal was moving over a little bit towards the edge, and over it fell with the pitcher and glass of water! Connie McMurray fell in a dead faint.
In the scurrying around of cleaning the water off the stage and rearranging the chairs, they announced that we would now have the violin solo from David Haight. I walked over to the little old piano, and my sister came up from the audience. I took that little simple violin out of that wooden case as my sister sat down at the piano and sounded an A. I said, “Go ahead and play.”
She said, “David, you’d better tune it.”
I said, “No, no, I tuned it at our piano at home.” We had an old Kimball piano at home. You know, homes in those days—if you had a piano and books, that’s all you needed for the family. I had carefully tuned the strings by twisting those ebony pegs of that violin, but I didn’t know that all pianos weren’t the same. So as my sister said, “You’d better tune it,” I said, “No, no, it’s all tuned. I tuned it at home.”
So she went ahead and played the introduction, and then I came down on the first note. We were off about two notes.
As she slowed down, I said, “Keep playing,” because I couldn’t imagine anyone would take the time of a famous audience like I was playing to—you know, 100 people in that little high school auditorium. You wouldn’t hold up Carnegie Hall while you tuned your violin! That would be shop work. You would do that in the back room so that when you would start to play, why, you’d be all ready to play.
She slowed down. I said, “Keep playing.” We finished it, and she didn’t speak to me for days following that show.

Thursday evening Joel and I were going over to Jill’s place with a bunch of other kids to make campaign banners. Joel picked me up and we were talking campaign strategy when we zipped past Christy Hudson’s small house. When I saw her little red car in the driveway I recalled Dad’s home teaching challenge.

“Hey, Joel. Want to play home teacher again?”

“Home teaching! It’s the 31st today. I’d be embarrassed to go home teaching on the last day of the month. Besides, we have a …”

“It’ll just take a second. I could use a story from seminary for the lesson.”

“Who do you home teach?”

“This lady in my ward and her three kids. We’ll be in and out of there in ten minutes and I’ll have 100 percent home teaching. It will shock my dad right out of his mind. He won’t believe I actually did my home teaching on my own.”

“On your own? I’m the one that’s done it for you.”

A moment later we were knocking on Sister Hudson’s door. As soon as I knocked I wished Joel had talked me out of coming. I could hear a kid bawling and a couple of others talking really loud. Then I heard Sister Hudson telling everybody to quiet down. When she came to the door, I could tell she was embarrassed. I felt horribly awkward.

“Hi there,” I stammered. “I know it’s a bit late but we haven’t done our home teaching for the month so I was wondering if we could come in for a second and give you a short message.” Even while I was saying it, I knew how dumb and empty it must have sounded to her.

“Well, I was just …” She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at two of her children wrestling on the floor and then heaving a defeated sigh, stepped aside, and motioned with her hand for us to come inside. It wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, but what could I expect on May 31st?

The place was a bit of a mess—not dirty, just disorderly. Sister Hudson swept toys off the sofa and asked us to sit down while she gathered her kids.

“Sorry for coming so late this month,” I remarked haltingly. I know you’re busy so we won’t take long. Is everything okay?”

“Sure.” She looked about her chaotic living room. “Everything’s fine.”

There was a strained silence. “Do you need anything?” I ventured, not really thinking about what I was asking. I was just making talk to ward off the silence.

After a long pause, Sister Hudson commented plaintively, “I was going to register for a night class, but they close in a few minutes and my baby-sitter fell through.”

“Shoot, we can watch your kids,” Joel said.

She looked up, genuinely surprised.

“Sure,” I added, “we’ve watched kids before. That’s what home teachers are for.”

Sister Hudson shook her head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to. We just offered. It’s part of our end-of-the-month home teaching bonus deal. You know, if we don’t get here before the first of the month, then we throw in a little extra service. It’s a special home teaching incentive plan.”

“But you two have things to do and …”

I began taking Jenny, the three-year-old, from Sister Hudson’s arms. “I’ve got a little sister about Jenny’s age. I know what to do. Now you better hurry before the place closes.”

Five minutes later Joel and I were alone with the kids. “Hey, what do you say we straighten this place up,” Joel said to the two boys, Blake and Tyler. “We’ll really shock your mom if the place is clean when she gets back.”

All of us pitched in and did a quick clean up, and the kids didn’t seem to mind. We even washed the dishes in the sink.

Sister Hudson took a little longer than any of us had anticipated, but Joel and I did fine. We were playing a board game with the children when Sister Hudson burst through the front door, gasping embarrassed apologies. “I had no idea it would take this long. I tried to get here as …”

“You should have stayed longer, Mom,” Blake groaned. “We’re just getting into our game.”

Sister Hudson reached for her purse. “I want to pay you for this. I know you had other things to do.”

Joel and I laughed as we walked toward the door, ruffling the kids’ hair as we went. “Home teachers don’t get paid. Especially the last day of the month. Like I said before, this is a special home teaching bonus deal.”

I felt good as Joel and I walked to the car. I was glad we had stopped. Just then the front door opened and Sister Hudson came charging out of the house with a five-dollar bill in her hand. “You’ve got to take this. I didn’t realize you’d cleaned the house.”

I smiled and held up my hands. “It’s all part of the end-of-the-month home teaching package. You ought to see what we do when we come at the first of the month.”

“You sure are lucky you’ve got such a good back-up home teaching companion,” Joel said with a wry grin as he got in the car. “I expect you to include me in your report to your bishop.”

The importance of performing your role is illustrated by the experience of President David O. McKay.
While serving as a missionary in Scotland, David O. McKay's experience gave him the motto he used for the rest of his life...
While he and his companion returned home from visiting Stirling Castle, they passed a building where, above the door was a curious stone sculpture with the carved inscription:
"What-e'er thou art, act well thy part."
This message struck young Elder McKay so forcefully, that he decided to devote himself completely to always doing his best in whatever responsibility he had. The stone itself was designed by an architect named John Allen. Along with the inscription he included a design known as 'a magic square'. Each shape within the square represents a numerical value, and when you add the numbers in any direction it will always equal 18.One theory as to why the magic square was included with the phrase What E'er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part is that if any of the shapes are rearranged or their values were changed, then the square will cease to be magic as it won't equal 18 in every direction. So in life, as we have different roles and responsibilities, if we don't do our part or give 100% then it will affect the outcome, be it family, church, or work and the whole organization will not function as intended. In other words What E'er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part and the "Whole"  will function perfectly.

As a 17-year-old, I enlisted in the United States Navy and attended boot camp in San Diego, California. For the first three weeks, one felt as though the navy were trying to kill rather than train him on how to stay alive.

I shall ever remember the first Sunday at San Diego. The chief petty officer said to us, “Today everybody goes to church.” We then lined up in formation on the drill ground. The petty officer shouted, “All of you who are Catholics—you meet in Camp Decatur. Forward, march! And don’t come back until three!” A large number marched out. He then said, “All of you who are of the Jewish faith—you meet in Camp Henry. Forward, march! And don’t come back until three!” A smaller contingent moved out. Then he said, “The rest of you Protestants meet in the theaters in Camp Farragut. Forward, march! And don’t come back until three o’clock!”

There flashed through my mind the thought, Monson, you’re not Catholic. You’re not Jewish. You’re not a Protestant. I elected to stand fast. It seemed as though hundreds of men marched by me. Then I heard the sweetest words which the petty officer ever uttered in my presence. He said, “And what do you men call yourselves?” He used the plural—men. This was the first time I knew that anyone else was standing behind me on that drill ground. In unison we said, “We’re Mormons.” He scratched his head, an expression of puzzlement on his face, and said, “Well, go and find somewhere to meet—and don’t come back until three o’clock.” We marched away. One could almost count cadence to the rhyme learned in Primary:
Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone.
Dare to have a purpose firm,
And dare to make it known.

There is nothing my toddler loves more than trying on my clothes. I’ll often find her rifling through my drawers, stumbling about in high heels, or tripping over dresses that are much too long for her tiny legs.
Recently, she added a new accessory to her wardrobe—my bright blue scripture case. She sauntered into the living room with it dangling from her shoulder, clearly struggling a bit with its weight. As I applauded her entrance and asked her to spin around, I realised that this was the first time I had seen my scriptures in months.
I’d received my own set of scriptures on my eighth birthday, and I had treated them with utmost respect. By that, I mean I had completely dogeared them and filled the margins with notes (and a few drawings—even I’ll admit that’s too far). They were well used, wrinkled and bashed about from years of enthusiastic study. Over time, my studies transitioned over to my phone and the gospel library app. As much as I preferred flipping through the actual pages of a book, convenience won, and my beloved quad began to gather dust.
I decided to open the case and show my daughter what was inside. As well as the scriptures themselves, dozens of lesson handouts and various other bits of paper tumbled out. I found my old Personal Progress journal, a lanyard from a weeklong youth conference in 2012, and a photo of the Saviour. To my daughter these were all exciting new treasures; to me, an equally exciting time capsule. I couldn’t believe that I had neglected to look inside after so long—I probably hadn’t unzipped the case since before my daughter was born. We had a lovely time going through each item, before finally reaching the set of scriptures. Despite one mishap with a ripped page (toddlers aren’t very delicate), it was a wonderful activity.
I thought back to my own childhood, when my mum’s big set of scriptures always sat open somewhere in the living room. Those same scriptures would be passed around as we studied them together, even when I was so small that I could barely read. I wanted my daughter to experience that—to always have a set of scriptures open and close by, ready to leaf through. Now, there is nothing more precious to me than those little moments where I spy my little girl toddle over to the scriptures and flip through. I can only hope that as she becomes familiar with those pages, that she will also grow to cherish the message inside.

My friend Tammy stopped attending church when she was just 15 years old. Around the corner from Tammy lived a young man who also decided in his mid-teens that he didn’t want to be part of the Church. They both developed habits that took them further away from Church activity. Eventually, they married and began to raise a family.
Tammy loved her husband and her two daughters very much, but deep in her heart bubbled a longing to go back to the life she had known as a child. She faintly remembered feeling her Heavenly Father’s Spirit and influence with her, and she missed Him. Reluctant to share these thoughts with her husband for fear he would not approve, she kept them hidden. She wanted to come back, but she just didn’t know how to begin. Let’s listen to her own words as she tells the ripple effect of two wonderful visiting teachers who “[drew] water [from] the wells of salvation” and shared it with Tammy.
[Video transcript of Tammy Clayton]
I’m grateful to this day for my visiting teachers because they loved me and they didn’t judge me. They really made me feel as though I really was important and that I did have a place in the Church.
They’d come over to my home and we would sit and we’d visit. After a while, they’d ask me if I wanted a lesson, and they would leave me a message each month.
And when they came every month, it made me feel as if I really did matter and as though they really did care about me and as though they really loved me and appreciated me.
Through their visiting and coming to see us, I decided that it was time for me to go back to church. I guess I just really didn’t know how to come back, and by their coming and reaching out to me, they provided a way that I could return.
We need to realize that the Lord loves us no matter who we are, and my visiting teachers helped me see that this was right.
Now my husband and I have been sealed in the temple.
Thank heaven for faithful visiting teachers. Yes, sisters, the actions of righteous women do ripple on and on through space and time and generations. Certainly there could be no more enduring ripple than to have a family sealed in the temple for eternity. Let us be like the faithful sisters who have come before us. Let us drink deeply of the “water out of the wells of salvation.”

In 1976 my wife, Diane, and I, along with our two small children, traveled to Iran, where I had a contract through an American company to teach English to Iranian air force pilots. These pilots were in flight school being taught in English by American instructors to fly modern military aircraft. American-Iranian relations were very different then than they are today.
While in Iran we lived in Isfahan, an ancient city with beautiful mosques, bridges, fountains, and parks. We witnessed some of the amazing workmanship from the glory days of ancient Persia. These centuries-old treasures were obviously built on solid foundations.
During our stay in Isfahan we rented a house in a new, rapidly spreading area on the outskirts of the city called “the flats.” Many of the houses there were being built quickly for rental to foreigners, particularly Americans, who were coming in large numbers to work on various projects going on in Iran at the time. The house we rented was brand new. It lacked some of the comforts and conveniences we were used to, but it had other luxuries that were new to us, such as beautiful chandeliers and marble floors.
One day while we were out walking in our neighborhood, we observed preparations being made to build a new house—workers were clearing the ground, moving rocks and piles of dirt. A day or two later we saw chalk lines on the ground showing where the walls were to be located, both exterior and interior. Within days, piles of mud adobe bricks appeared, and the walls began to rise on the bare ground where the chalk lines indicated. My wife and I asked each other, “Where is the foundation?”
Ironically, about this very same time, we began experiencing problems in our house. We could hear what sounded like water running in the house even when all of the faucets were turned off. One day as my wife was eating lunch with the children in the kitchen, she heard a strange, loud noise. She turned and watched, in shock, as the floor in the large entry room adjacent to the kitchen caved in. Later, as I returned home to the scene, I also found that the wall of the garage had begun to disintegrate into oozing mud. A leak in the water pipe located in the dirt directly beneath the house was literally washing away the foundation of our house. We were experiencing firsthand the problems of a house built on a sandy foundation. Though our house had many ornate features and fancy materials, its foundation was weak. We moved out, and, unfortunately, the landlord was left with a total disaster.

For William Wood the hike home across the foggy November English countryside was hard work—emotionally. The teenage butcher’s apprentice had just lost his job. And at a time when good jobs were hard to find! Inside he hurt—or maybe it was anger. Hadn’t he done a good job for Mr. Biaxall? Still, William was fired simply because he had become a Latter-day Saint. And as he trudged along he worried about his parents’ reaction to his changed circumstances.

Mr. Blaxall, whose family had shared their church pew with William on many Sundays, likewise tried to reconvert his young apprentice. Deep discussions, however, changed neither person. Finally, fearing loss of such important customers as the local parson, Mr. Blaxall gave William two choices: “Either quit Mormonism or find another job.”

“Sir,” answered the youth, “I will never give up my faith but will leave your service.”

Jobless, the disappointed new convert now had to explain his new situation to his parents, who had recently moved to Queensborough on the Isle of Sheppey in the mouth of the Thames River. His greatest desire now was to immigrate to Zion like many British converts had done, and along the way he tried to think of ways to earn enough money to reach Utah. While he waited for a ferry to take him across the mouth of the Thames, a verse from the Doctrine and Covenants suddenly burned itself into his mind, promising him that the Lord is bound when His children do what He says. William reflected upon that promise and decided then and there to place full trust in it. He “prayed to the Lord in my humble way, and told Him I would never recant, praying that I should succeed in obtaining employment and better wages to enable me to reach Zion.”

Minutes after his ferry docked at Sheerness on the Isle of Sheppey, William was warmly welcomed by his parents to their new dwelling. But upon learning how he lost his job, they pleaded with him to quit Mormonism and to return to Mr. Blaxall’s employment. “My dear mother was broken-hearted,” William said. They fretted about his loss of wages and found no comfort in his religious optimism. “I told them I was in the hands of God and inasmuch as I had obeyed His commands I had faith that I would obtain employment.”

Putting faith to work, William job-hunted around the island with his father’s help. He discovered that the Sheerness docks were extremely busy due to the war then raging in the Crimea (across the Black Sea from Turkey) where British, French, and Turkish forces battled Russian troops. “Everything was in excitement,” he recalled. “Merchants were making lots of money. The English navy was seeking men by offering bounties, and nearly all the naval ports were full of business.”

A butcher named Fillmore, with a contract to supply meat to British military units, thought William too young and inexperienced to employ. But after watching the teenager demonstrate his meat-cutting skills, the butcher hired him. The wages? More than double the amount paid by Mr. Blaxall! “I believe to this day,” William wrote 60 years later, “that the increases of wages … was a blessing from the Lord because I would not recant Mormonism and in answer to my prayers and for a fixed determination to gather to the valleys of the mountains.”

When disaster struck in Oklahoma City last April, rescue workers were on the scene almost immediately. Many workers, who gave up regard for personal safety, made one request. They wanted some candy—it helped to keep their energy up while they were working.
Laurels in the Choctaw Ward, Oklahoma South Stake, went to work, stringing candy “leis” together for the workers to wear around their necks. Other leis were given to bomb victim’s families as a symbol of the love and prayers the Laurels were sending to all the people involved.
“We took the leis to the hospital and met a man whose wife and two sons had been hurt in the bombing. Our leis let them know they were loved and we were behind them,” says Laurel Rebecca Nevin.

Changing habits of nineteen or twenty years’ standing requires a careful persuasion of spirit, a restructured schedule of activities, and a conviction that the new habits will prove more valuable and effective than the old ones. A missionary, newly called, faces the necessity of revising his more worldly tendencies and arranging his life on a spiritual plane. His spirit is willing, and he knows that the main thing is to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ; but how does he make daily preparation to accomplish that goal?
The answers are provided in a five-day program of transition at the Missionary Home in Salt Lake City, Utah. Under the supervision of President and Sister J. Murray Rawson, elders and sisters exchange their individual touches of hesitance, reluctance, and fear, for conviction and confidence. They begin on
Registration is from 9:00 A.M. to 12:00 noon. A sister missionary walks bravely into the room marked “Missionaries—Register Here.” She reports her name, pays a fee to cover meals, and is given a short briefing by a member of the mission presidency as well as written instructions relative to her future for the next eighteen months and instructions to attend her first meeting at 2:00 P.M. Now she somehow wrestles her suitcases upstairs—“Missionaries Only” territory. In her room are seven bunk beds with pink bedspreads, several closets, some mirrors, and another sister lying on one of the beds. She sits up.
“Is that all you brought? Oh no! I’ve overpacked!”
Downstairs two mothers wait, watching missionaries form small groups, shake hands, and ask, “Where are you going?”
Both mothers are smiling; they’re also keeping score.
“Look! There’s another lady missionary there.”
“That’s two we’ve seen.”
By the wall map of mission divisions a father points for his two children.
“Do you want to see where Richard is going?”
Then it’s two o’clock and time for the first meeting and the first rule of missionary life: Missionary time is five minutes early.
The hunt for assigned seats causes some confusion, but soon the missionaries get themselves properly distributed. Seated in front of the sisters are the missionary couples going into the field. One woman confides to the sister next to her, “Look at these clean looking kids. I call them kids. My husband says I will have to get used to calling them elders. You know, it’s exciting to watch them change.”
The meeting begins. “Elders and sisters …” Each meeting is opened and concluded with a song and a prayer. Today’s meeting begins with a welcome from the mission presidency. The group learns that the present group of missionaries represents twenty-seven states of the United States plus Australia and Canada.
Next, Sister Rawson speaks on housekeeping, personal habits, and grooming. Little-known facts of ministerial grooming emerge. The missionaries learn that they can remove grass stains with rubbing alcohol and ballpoint pen marks with hair spray. Then there are talks from the counselors in the mission presidency, President Rees and President Broberg.
After dinner the group is introduced to the missionary discussions, and then President Rawson talks to them about spirituality.
The missionaries then spend a half hour in temple preparation. A more serious mood settles upon them with a deeper realization of their relationship as missionaries to the plan of salvation.
Next comes an introduction to discussion memorization by the teaching director. A few mumbles follow his announcement of the “easy way” to do it.
“I think I have a congenital memorization inadequacy.”
“How about me? I almost failed Primary because I couldn’t memorize the Articles of Faith.”
But then the teaching director concludes his remarks with the fact that sixty percent of the previous group memorized all discussions while still in the Missionary Home and adds his testimony.
“Looks like it’s not impossible after all, doesn’t it?”
Ten-thirty is bedtime. There is a long line of sinks in the women’s dormitory, each equipped with a sister missionary.
“… because the Lord wants me here, that’s why.”
“My goal is to go through every temple in the world.”
“Everyone told me I’d probably be called to some place close, and now just think, Southern Italy. Wow!”
“If someone could just take my make-up case, it would take care of my six excess pounds of luggage.”
“My boyfriend said he’d wait for me, but …”
Back in their bedrooms the sisters kneel together in prayer and know the comfort of feeling their spirits united in a mutual goal: to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ. An exchange of good-nights closes the day, except for a whispered, “The top bunk? I’ve never slept in a bunk bed before.” The light goes out, because in a shorter time than could be possible it’s
“Elders and sisters, it’s 6:15. All hands on deck!” President Rawson’s voice comes through the intercom, and missionaries in various stages of alertness arise and turn to make their beds.
Breakfast is at 6:30 in the new Church Office Building, where all meals are served during the five-day stay in the Missionary Home. The elders extend the sisters the courtesy of allowing them to be first in line at the cafeteria.
“I’m glad the Church doesn’t practice women’s lib!”
“Is there a rule against perfume?”
During breakfast the sisters make the acquaintance of a sister missionary whose family is all grown and married and whose husband is dead. She has been called to the Alabama-Florida Mission and speaks proudly of her children, all of whom graduated from college and were married in the temple.
“The Lord has been so good to me; I could not possibly refuse this call.”
Following breakfast the missionaries meet in the Visitor’s Center for a tour. The Tabernacle Choir broadcast then provides a half hour of enjoyment and relaxation prior to the first classes.
At 10:15 the sisters meet with the wives of the mission presidency for orientation and a question and answer session. The rest of the morning is spent discussing goals, self-improvement, and how to get organized.
After lunch it’s discussion study again. All the teachers are returned missionaries who have been called and set apart to this position. Each has completed a three-month training course.
Sunday morning the teaching staff for the sister missionaries gathers in the dormitory study area for a meeting to review the results of the previous week, check weak points, and assign study groups of six to ten sisters. The supervisor encourages her staff to maintain their enthusiasm and love for the sisters and to stimulate them to strive to reach the goals they have set. A member of the teaching staff reflects on her appreciation for this special calling with the comment:
“Sunday is the best day of the week!”
Sacrament meeting concludes with the testimonies of recent converts and Lamanite missionaries. A convert of one year bears his testimony to a congregation quiet in contemplation and reverence.
There are a few minutes between dinner and the evening classes, so the sisters use the dormitory to discuss mission rules, passports, bicycles, the language, hometowns, and expected conduct.
“We should exercise for a few minutes every day.”
“Let’s run in place; it’s good for your heart.”
“You mean all that walking isn’t going to do anything for our hearts?”
Then it’s back to the discussions again. The sisters approach memorization of the discussions with a concept of key-wording to establish a broad outline of thought patterns and content rather than the mechanical memorization of words, phrases, and sentences.
The legendary Mr. Brown becomes Sister Brown as the sisters pair off to tackle the first discussion.
“I think I make a better Mr. Brown than Elder Jones.” They memorize the first two discussions on Sunday.
Then, after straining their memories for two hours on the discussions, the missionaries strain them again with a class on how to remember names. Finally, it’s time for family prayer, and the day closes in the same peace of spirit with which the missionaries plan to meet
The temple session begins at 6:45, so the sisters get up at 6:15. The automatic protests at the early hour are brief and overshadowed by a low-voiced exchange of reasons for wanting to be part of this aspect of the Lord’s work.
“Every time I open my eyes it hurts.”
“… share something beautiful …”
“… an overwhelming desire to serve the Lord.”
“… feeling of peace as I signed the final papers in the bishop’s office.”
Between the two temple sessions that they attend, the missionaries meet with President Lee in the temple, where he answers any questions they may have about the endowment ceremony and the temple.
A late lunch is followed by a return to the classrooms, where the elders and sisters learn about door approaches and the use of the Book of Mormon in proselyting.
After dinner they memorize discussions three and four.
Two and a half days after their first apprehensive and impatient hours in the Missionary Home, the missionaries begin to feel a sense of purpose and belonging caused by tangible actions as well as their strong desires and aspirations. With this positive assurance they face
The day begins for the sisters with a morning prayer and song, and then a trip to the mailbox. A disconsolate elder stares at his empty box.
“I guess nobody loves me.”
“Sure they do. They were just glad to get rid of you.”
“Yeah! My brother was wearing my clothes even before I left.”
Most of the day Tuesday is spent learning about some important practical matters such as companion relationships, investigator relationships, health problems, auto safety, mission organization, and the daily work schedule.
Sandwiched in between these subjects is a unique little class taught by a member of the mission presidency. It is called “Listening.” In it the missionaries are taught how to listen perceptively and compassionately to others.
After dinner the missionaries memorize discussions five, six, and seven. Actually they have spent every spare minute all day long in concentrated study of the discussions. The time is only a few minutes snatched here and there, but it’s enough for most to get the job done.
It’s been a long day, but time seems to go faster each day. Lights out at 10:30, and more quickly than ever it’s
Today is the last day in the Missionary Home. This evening many of the elders and sisters will leave in buses for the language training missions at Ricks College and BYU. Others will leave on Thursday morning flights for their mission fields.
Everyone looks forward to Wednesday morning, not because it’s their last but because that’s the day the General Authorities speak to them. These leaders bear moving witness of the divine mission of Joseph Smith, of the importance of modern apostles and prophets, of the truth of the gospel, and of the divinity of Christ. They also explain the order of Church government in priesthood correlation, and advise the missionaries regarding their personal conduct. The morning passes far too quickly.
After lunch there is a testimony meeting. It ends with the elders and sisters singing “God Be with You” with some tears but mostly a sense of hope and enthusiasm and minds and hearts filled with words to remember.
“Smile, elders and sisters! These are glad tidings!”
“If you want to have a certain quality, act as if you already had that quality.”
“I told the brethren that the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts than by any other book.”—Joseph Smith
“The gospel makes bad men good and good men better; it changes human nature.”—David O. McKay
Each missionary takes from the Missionary Home his suitcases, packages, “mission library,” and two special gifts: the gospel and the chance to share it, and the knowledge that he is prepared to succeed.

Jack McConnell grew up in the hills of southwest Virginia in the United States as one of seven children of a Methodist minister and a stay-at-home mother. Their circumstances were very humble. He recounted that during his childhood, every day as the family sat around the dinner table, his father would ask each one in turn, “And what did you do for someone today?”1 The children were determined to do a good turn every day so they could report to their father that they had helped someone. Dr. McConnell calls this exercise his father’s most valuable legacy, for that expectation and those words inspired him and his siblings to help others throughout their lives. As they grew and matured, their motivation for providing service changed to an inner desire to help others.
Besides Dr. McConnell’s distinguished medical career—where he directed the development of the tuberculosis tine test, participated in the early development of the polio vaccine, supervised the development of Tylenol, and was instrumental in developing the magnetic resonance imaging procedure, or MRI—he created an organization he calls Volunteers in Medicine, which gives retired medical personnel a chance to volunteer at free clinics serving the working uninsured. Dr. McConnell said his leisure time since he retired has “evaporated into 60-hour weeks of unpaid work, but [his] energy level has increased and there is a satisfaction in [his] life that wasn’t there before.” He made this statement: “In one of those paradoxes of life, I have benefited more from Volunteers in Medicine than my patients have.”2 There are now over 90 such clinics across the United States.

“Choose your friends wisely, for you will tend to be like them.” I had seen this little sign a million times and never thought anything of it. It was only one of many strategically placed thoughts and quotes that dotted the walls of our home. This one happened to be in the best location of all—right above the kitchen table.
When friends came over, we naturally congregated in the kitchen. Dates, late night movies, and quick lunches almost all involved the kitchen. Mom knew this and planned her attack accordingly. Years later I realized what a direct hit Mom had scored.
I was blessed with a lot of friends who are also members of the Church. We went to church and school together, and most of us went on missions at about the same time. However, there was one who was not exactly like the rest of us. His parents were divorced, and he was shuffled between their homes and the homes of friends. As a result, I think he always felt a little isolated and alone. He wore his hair long and always had at least one earring. Regardless, we loved him, and he was one of us.
During high school we witnessed him change; it was great. A short time after his 19th birthday he submitted his mission papers and received a call. A couple of months later we really understood the significance of this event.
The realization came on a cold, crisp Sunday in January. My friends and I had gathered to hear this young man speak in sacrament meeting. I had been invited to perform a musical number, so I sat on the stand. As I gazed over the crowd, I saw all of our friends, as well as my family; it was a wonderful sight. As my friend ventured to the pulpit, his eyes were a little red.
His talk opened with a question: “Do any of you know why I am here? Well, it is really very simple. I am here because of the many meals eaten at a friend’s table, a table with a sign above it that reads, ‘Choose your friends wisely, for you will tend to be like them.’ I want my friends to know that without their influence and love I wouldn’t be here today.”
As I looked down into the crowd, I saw my mother with teary eyes and a smile.
From that day on, I have also thought about the effects my friends have had on my life. I don’t know if I would have served a mission without their example. I don’t know what kind of a person I would be today if it hadn’t been for the strength and love I received from such wonderful people. For that, I will be forever grateful, both to them and to my Heavenly Father.
I know that no one has forgotten the message shared from that pulpit. I also know that that sign, to this day, still hangs above our kitchen table.