Gospel Story Finder

Elder McConkie and Elder Haight were assigned to the twelve-stake conference in Santa Barbara, California. We met to plan the conference in Elder Haight’s office. I was the junior member of the team. Elder McConkie’s only request was that we do what would be most convenient for the people of the twelve stakes. So we planned two four-hour leadership meetings on Saturday, one in Chatsworth and one in Santa Barbara, one hundred miles away. Sunday would find us doing two two-hour meetings on the University of California, Santa Barbara, campus. We would return the one hundred miles to Los Angeles and arrive home about midnight. Elder Haight, ever solicitous of Elder McConkie, protested, but bowed to the senior apostle.

I saw him that week in the General Authority dining room. “John, let’s go preach the gospel,” he said with obvious enthusiasm. He anticipated the chance to once more teach and exhort the Saints.

On the Friday night before the conference, Shirley and I met Bruce and Amelia McConkie and David Haight at the Burbank airport. Elder McConkie was completely exhausted. He had just had his chemotherapy shot. (Incidentally, Sister McConkie says that his doctor, who was not a member of the Church, did not quite know how to take Bruce. She said he would walk in on Friday for his shot, roll up his sleeve, and say, “Seven more days of life, Doc!”)

After we met at the airport that night, Elder McConkie went straight to bed without dinner. Over dinner, Amelia shared with us his cooperative disdain for the illness which was obviously consuming him. I think it was she that bore the brunt of his pending date with the Savior. For him, this is the way he would describe it, “It makes not a particle of difference whether I preach the gospel here or in the world to come. I will preach the gospel.”

Many felt he was never more powerful than he was at that conference, nor was there a finer regional conference than that on Saturday and Sunday in Chatsworth and Santa Barbara. He was back where his father Oscar McConkie had presided in such power, which I remember well because I was one of the young people who was greatly influenced by his father. The stake president in Santa Barbara, Gerald Haws, was one he had installed, and Jerry’s father had been a district president in the same area serving with Oscar McConkie.

Experiencing some difficulty with the sound on Sunday, he grasped the microphone on the podium and pulled it close to his mouth. “I didn’t come all this way not to be heard,” he announced. Everyone heard and everyone understood his message of salvation.

We drove back to Los Angeles and awaited the late arrival of our flight to Salt Lake City. In the airport many recognized him and Elder Haight and spoke to both of them. He could travel to no location in the world without being recognized. He and all of the rest of us were tired as we arrived in Salt Lake City at midnight.

On Tuesday following that exhausting weekend, I saw him at the office. “How are you feeling?” I asked. He jumped instantly into the air, clicked his heels, and exclaimed, “Great!”

You saw and heard him at general conference. You saw a man as close to having one foot on the earth and another in paradise as you are likely to see. Once more he raised his voice to proclaim his testimony of and allegiance to Jesus the Christ. Soon he would join his Savior, but he must endure to the end. This he did with courage and power beyond anything I have witnessed. He never returned to his ministry after that talk.

In July 1939 the Gestapo arrested four missionaries; they lived on bread and water for 40 days until President Toronto was able to negotiate their release. On 24 August, Church headquarters directed the few remaining missionaries to evacuate. President Toronto sent his family first, then stayed behind a few days to arrange the departure of the missionaries and conclude other mission affairs. He set apart 21-year-old Josef Roubícek to preside in his absence. In Denmark Elder Joseph Fielding Smith, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, assured Sister Toronto that the war would not start until her husband and the missionaries were all safely evacuated. President Toronto found passage on the last train to leave before war engulfed Europe.

From the pages of our missionary journal comes an event repeated often throughout the missions of the Church. John and Shirley Withers were successful advertising executives. They were on the fast track, indulging themselves in worldly pleasures. When contacted by our missionaries, they were impressed by their clean, sparkling countenances so unlike other young men they had known.
As the Spirit touched their hearts, the conversion miracle began. Their previous behavior became incompatible with gospel principles. A new set of priorities and values replaced worldly interests. Alcohol and tobacco habits became expendable, although with great effort. Modesty became the dress standard. Prayer, scripture study, and Relief Society and priesthood service became the focus. They were baptized and received the Holy Ghost.
As Sister Clarke and I, with some of our missionaries, assembled in the Salt Lake Temple, John and Shirley Withers, with their children, were sealed together as an eternal family. Their countenances reflected the resplendent beauty of the emancipation of the soul. We witnessed a spiritual rebirth as if from the grave.

While Parley never returned to South America, his grandson Rey L. Pratt played a pivotal role in establishing the Church there. He and Rulon S. Wells accompanied Elder Melvin J. Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to Argentina in 1925 to open a mission. A few years earlier, members from Germany had settled in the bustling city of Buenos Aires and started teaching their friends and neighbors.
Within a week of Elder Ballard and his companions’ arrival in the city, they baptized the first converts on the continent. Then, early on Christmas morning, they gathered under a grove of willow trees in a park. At the direction of Heber J. Grant, the President of the Church, and through the apostolic authority he held, Elder Ballard offered a prayer to dedicate South America for the preaching of the gospel.
“I turn the key, unlock and open the door for the preaching of the gospel in all these South American nations,” he prayed, “and rebuke, and command to be stayed, every power that would oppose the preaching of the gospel in these lands.”
Finding more people interested in their message, however, proved difficult. The missionaries spent countless hours contacting people in the streets and handing out thousands of tracts, hoping to attract attention to their meetings.
Having had only limited success, Elder Ballard uttered a remarkable prophecy about the future of the Church in South America shortly before he returned home. To a small handful of Saints he testified that “the work will grow slowly for a time, just as an oak grows slowly from an acorn.” But unlike a sunflower that shoots up in a day, “grows quickly and thus dies,” the gospel would spread gradually. “Thousands will join here,” he pronounced. “The work here is the smallest that it will ever be.” Elder Ballard further predicted that the mission “will be divided into more than one mission and will be one of the strongest in the Church.”
At the time, Elder Ballard’s declaration about the destiny of the Church in South America seemed almost as unbelievable as Joseph Smith’s prophecy uttered decades earlier. Nevertheless, as Elder Ballard prophesied 100 years ago, the Church through the decades has extended across the continent in the Lord’s time.

Caregiving has been one of the most difficult experiences we have ever had, but also one of the most rewarding. We have seen so many miracles. There were moments when the right resources and people seemed to come out of nowhere exactly when we needed them. Moments when certain medications suddenly became available. Moments when, after an unbearable day, unexpected peace would wash over us. And one of the most beautiful miracles I (Stephen) experienced was watching tender tears fall down Kay’s cheeks as she departed from this world, finally at peace, and seemingly recalling things she hadn’t remembered in years.

Bienvenida moved to New York from the Dominican Republic in 1974 and was baptized into the Church seven years later. Leury was born and raised in New York and joined the Church when he was 10 years old. At age 7 Leury started taking piano lessons and developed into a fine young pianist, winning several competitions. After serving a mission Leury hopes to attend college, where he plans to major in computer animation and programming and to minor in music.

What is the Perez family’s secret to keeping it all together? “Knowing the commandments helps us to stay focused on the important things in life,” says Bienvenida. “As a single mom with two jobs, I know that the Church is very important. Seeing Leury blossom in the faith gives me a sense of happiness that I cannot quantify.”

For excitement, challenge, and diversion, a friend of mine used to hunt mountain lions in the hilltop areas of southern Utah. Among other things, this sport requires personal patience, endurance, and skill, durable horses, and dependable, well-trained dogs. To be effective in locating, cornering, or “treeing” a mountain lion, dogs must be completely dependable from the moment the hunt starts until the capture is finished.
A few years ago when I was visiting with my friend at his place of business, I noticed he had a beautiful hunting dog tied to the outside of his office building. As came close to the dog, I was impressed with his stature, markings, and color. I commented to the owner, “Isn’t he a beauty? How long have you had him?”
“I’ve raised him from a pup. He’s been trained since he was a few months old to track mountain lions. But now he’s got to go. I’m going to get rid of him. He isn’t worth his keep anymore,” he said with a firm and final conviction.
“Why do you want to sell a dog as alert and strong as this one?” I inquired.
To this query the wise owner, a veteran of many mountain lion hunts, said with emphasis, “You know, when I have spent months and months training a hunting dog for these outings, I expect, and demand, one thing. When we’re tracking lions, we’re tracking lions, and that’s it. My dogs, and I usually take about four of them, know this, and if one lets me down, he’s had it. Last time we were out on a hunt, moving into the mountain areas where the lions hide out, this dog was distracted by a jack rabbit and ran after him for more than half an hour.
“Later on the same day he was gone for about an hour chasing a deer. Both of these incidents were indulged in by this disobedient dog despite many months of tedious training. I therefore resolved that when I returned to the city he was no longer to be a member of the hunting expedition. He isn’t worth his feed. He must be sold.”
As I traveled back to Salt Lake City alone by automobile later that day, my thoughts turned to this experience with a master’s comment and decision about one of his dogs. The dog had lost his usefulness because he had forgotten his training and the purpose of the hunt. He could be distracted, diverted, and led in wrong pursuits.
Similarly in our daily lives we sometimes forget our goals and purposes and let distractions, interferences, and temptations lead us away from the charted courses we have been trained to pursue. It is to be hoped that we will stay close to our Master, heeding His teachings and avoiding situations that tend to lead us away.
Lofty standards of behavior will always be based upon a love for the right and walking in paths of righteousness. Wickedness in any form will never lead to happiness. We must be aware of those who will deceive and have us believe there is no heaven, there is no hell, and that the only road to happiness is marked with compromise, convenience, and momentary pleasures or pursuits. Satan is real, and he is effective. He would throw men down by his cunning. He would have all mankind strangers to God. Let us not be deceived. God lives, and through him and with him we can accomplish all things. We must not permit ourselves to become entangled in the sin of compromising our standards, but rather we must learn to avoid all the ways of Satan. His paths lead to disappointment, frustration, and regret.
We compromise our blessings, we rationalize ourselves out of the sure and eternal ways when we do not ask our God to help us continue in his paths. Often a disciple of God can best be identified by the paths he travels.
“If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed;
“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” (John 8:31–32.)
The Lord has promised us that he will help us in our pursuit of happiness if we will continue the quest for righteousness and follow his paths. The abundant life will be ours if we walk with his strength. If we will remember and practice the Savior’s teachings every day, Satan can have no power over us. God’s strength makes it possible for us to walk uprightly. Ammon in his comments to his brother Aaron in the 26th chapter of Alma, verse 12 [Alma 26:12], points to paths of life that bring security and insulation from devilish desires.
“Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things; … for which we will praise his name forever.”
Our continuing pursuit of happiness will bring us our Heavenly Father’s strength and protection. In his paths we will find security. My constant prayer is that we will all have the desire in our hearts to earnestly seek the pathways of safety by honestly keeping all of his commandments.
Let us not forget the lessons learned from my friend who taught me well about what is necessary in worthy mountain lion hunting dogs and from a God who knows well his children. Let us not forget our goals and purposes, and let not distraction, interferences, or temptations lead us away from the charted courses we have been trained to pursue.

When Jacinta Mauafu left her office late one night after completing some urgent and important work, she rushed home to attend to her very sick husband, Maeli Maika Mauafu. Her manager at the time repeatedly counselled Jacinta to put the work of the Lord first, and then she would be blessed. Jacinta believed that if she was doing the Lord’s work, her husband would be okay. So, it came as a huge shock when Maeli died just half an hour after she arrived home.
Unable to reconcile this experience in her heart and in her mind, Jacinta spoke of the deep hurt she felt at the loss of Maeli, and to be frank, she felt betrayed because the Lord had not blessed her, even though she consistently worked many hours to accomplish the translation work for the Church by the deadline. Instead, the Lord took her husband.
Too sad and too angry at the unexpected outcome, Jacinta decided never to return to work—it had cost her dearly. After Maeli’s funeral, people kept calling Jacinta to find out when she would be back in the office. Jacinta’s help to proofread a curriculum manual on the teachings of President Joseph F. Smith (1838–1918) was urgently needed. Eventually, Jacinta told them she wasn’t coming back to work permanently. However, given the nature of that curriculum work, she agreed to return, but only to complete that one project. While editing the text, Jacinta learned of the heartbreak the prophet had experienced. His wife Julina had been desperately ill and although President Smith wanted to stay at her bedside and attend to her, she insisted he leave and go and do the Lord’s work. A short time after, while delivering a talk in a church meeting, someone came into the room and handed President Smith a note—it informed him that his wife had passed away.
Tears spilled down Jacinta’s cheeks as she realised the Lord had not abandoned her! He had given her 30 minutes to be with Maeli before he died. That was her blessing! She’d been given 30 minutes. As heartbreaking as her experience had been, Jacinta mourned for President Smith who didn’t get this same blessing of 30 minutes with his wife.
Today, Jacinta speaks humbly of her relationship with Heavenly Father. She feels He is always there for her—and looking back, she can identify the many ways He supported her and strengthened her.

Greg stared out his bedroom window at the snowflakes fluttering down past the Christmas lights shining from the neighbor’s house. He could hear Christmas carols coming from the radio, and he could smell cookies baking. In four more days it would be Christmas, and he was sad.
He knew that Christmas was supposed to be a happy time. And he did have happy memories. As long as he could remember, his family had spent Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Grandpa told funny stories. They sang carols and popped popcorn. And they read about the birth of Jesus from the Bible.
But this year Greg would not be seeing his grandparents at Christmas, because they were serving a mission. Why did they have to go away? What’s so important about a mission? he wondered.
The next morning Greg stayed in the house. When he heard the lid drop on the mailbox, he ran out to get the mail. His grandparents had promised to send him a Christmas card. Maybe it had come today.
Greg carried in all of the letters. Most of them were Christmas cards addressed to his parents. But when he sorted through the envelopes again, sure enough, there was one addressed to him in Grandpa’s big handwriting!
Greg also found a blue airmail letter with thin up-and-down writing, addressed to “Mr. Greg Peters,” Who could have sent it? he wondered. It had the same postmark as his grandparents’ card.
Greg hurried to his room and sat on his bed to open the envelopes. On a pretty Christmas card, his grandparents had written, “Merry Christmas! Only four more months until we see you again! We miss you, and Christmas will seem strange without you. But we’re grateful that we can celebrate Jesus’ birthday by teaching others about the gospel. It’s our gift to Him this year. Love, Grandma and Grandpa.”
Four months until his grandparents came home! That still seemed like a long time to Greg.
The second envelope had a letter in it that read:
“Dear Greg,
“I want to thank you for the best Christmas present my family has ever received—we are being baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We’re all being baptized—me, my wife, my children, and my parents. Then when we are ready, we will all go to the temple together.
“Your grandparents taught us the gospel. They say that you miss them very much and that they miss you too. They hope that you understand that they are on a mission so that they can teach families like mine how to be together forever.
“My family and I thank you for sharing your grandparents with us. Now my children can have their grandparents forever just like you can.
Sincerely,Gerald Hobbs”
Greg put the letter down and picked up his grandparents’ Christmas card. How about that! A whole family were being baptized because of Grandma and Grandpa.
Greg still missed Grandma and Grandpa, but maybe four months wouldn’t be so long after all. And maybe it wasn’t so bad to share them for one Christmas, especially for such a good reason.

As soon as the bell rang, Lincoln started walking to the parking lot as fast as he could. He couldn’t wait to get home from school!
He stood on his tiptoes, looking at all the buses and cars in the pickup lane. Classmates rushed by him, laughing and talking. But Lincoln didn’t feel like joining them. He prayed that his mom would get there soon. Finally he saw their blue minivan.
“Hi, buddy,” Mom said as the van door slid open. Lincoln climbed in and pulled the door shut. All the noise went quiet. It was like he had clicked the mute button on the TV remote.
Lincoln sighed with relief. The quiet felt so good.
“How was your day?” Mom asked.
Instead of answering, Lincoln started to cry.
Mom looked at him in the rearview mirror.
“Uh oh, what happened?” she asked. “Are you OK? Did you get hurt?”
Lincoln wanted to answer, but his throat felt tight. Even if he could talk, he didn’t know what to say.
“I don’t know,” he finally mumbled.
“You don’t know why you’re crying?” Mom asked.
Lincoln shrugged. “I feel worried and nervous and scared, and I don’t even know why!” He cried harder, glad that he didn’t have to hold it in anymore.
“It sounds like you are feeling anxious,” Mom said. “Sometimes I feel like that too. I actually feel that way a lot.”
“You do?” Lincoln asked, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.
“Yep. For me, it happens when I’m tired or I’ve been around a lot of people without a break.”
Lincoln nodded. That sounded like his day today! He was glad he wasn’t the only one who felt this way sometimes.
But there was still something he didn’t understand.
“At church I learned that when we choose the right, we feel good inside,” Lincoln said. “I don’t think I did anything bad today, but I still feel terrible!”
Mom looked at him with a smile. “Our feelings can be funny like that. Not all unhappy feelings are because of bad choices. There are lots of reasons we can feel unhappy or anxious. Sometimes we don’t even know why we feel the way we do.”
Lincoln thought about that during the rest of the drive. He was glad his anxious feelings weren’t because of something he did wrong. When they got home, they said a prayer together and asked Heavenly Father for help. Then Mom helped him figure out some things he could try to feel better.
First Lincoln got a snack. Then he played with his toys for a while. After that, he read a few chapters of a book he had gotten for his birthday.
Pretty soon, his body felt more relaxed. The nervous thoughts weren’t racing through his brain anymore.
Lincoln thanked Heavenly Father for helping him feel better and learn more about his feelings. He could use the ideas he’d learned next time he felt anxious too. Things were going to be OK!

Not long ago, a faithful sister in the Church shared with me a deep concern she had been praying about for some time. Her concern was for some of the sisters in her ward. She told me how it hurt her heart to observe that they sometimes spoke disrespectfully to their husbands and about their husbands, even in front of their children. She then told me how as a young woman she had earnestly desired and prayed to find and marry a worthy priesthood holder and build a happy home with him. She had grown up in a home where her mother had “ruled the roost” and her father had cowered to her mother’s demands in order to keep peace at home. She felt that there was a better way. She had not seen it modeled in the home she grew up in, but as she prayed fervently for guidance, the Lord blessed her to know how to create a home with her husband where the Spirit would be warmly welcomed. I have been in that home and can testify it is a holy place!

During this moment of unbridled job, Moises Marzan Mabunga, Sr., who first saw the light of day in Naguilian, La Union February 13, 1917, and Vicenta Mercado of Manila, silently shared with each other their testimony of finding the gospel of truth and live after many years of searching, radiantly recalling the day, 13 years before, when two missionary sisters (Sisters Garrison and Smithen) knocked on the door of their home at Molave Street, Project 3 in Quezon City, to bring the message of the restoration.
The events that followed after this meeting with the missionary sisters were as varied as they were interesting. At first, Bro. Mabunga was obstinate and unmoved by the assuring words of the missionary sisters. He had to rationalize for more than four months, and later to ask and pray in the presence of no one but God for divine guidance. On July 11, 1964, at Brother Grimm’s residence at Sta. Mesa, he was baptized with his wife and children.

Let me share one last example. Have you ever had a hard time adapting to a change in your life? Have you ever felt like the world came crashing down and it would be hard to continue breathing? Sometimes change can feel this way to me.

I remember feeling this way when I was single after painful changes in relationships. I have felt this way after graduating and not feeling like I had found my next steps forward. I felt this way after my dad died in a plane crash. I felt this way after my wife had a difficult miscarriage. In such times, it takes courage and faith to believe, You can live successfully here if you make Christ the center of your life.

After a particularly difficult change in my life, I was all ripped up inside. I decided I would go on a walk to try to sort things out and search for peace. I started by walking around the temple—this is always a good place to start. As I walked, I began praying. About a half hour into the walk, I had the idea that I needed to quit thinking and praying about the pain I was wrestling with and instead to think about Jesus Christ. To help me focus on Christ, I recited “The Living Christ,” the family proclamation, the Articles of Faith, Doctrine and Covenants 4, and some of my favorite verses from Alma 7. I recited them over and over as I walked for hours. I recited the words to several hymns and listened to many more. I listened to several chapters in the scriptures. I went through these passages trying to exercise faith to focus on Jesus Christ instead of the pain and confusion in my heart. President Nelson has taught, “It is mentally rigorous to strive to look unto [Jesus] in every thought. But when we do, our doubts and fears flee.” [23] I testify this is true!

Before dropping exhausted into bed that night, I prayed to find renewal, revelation, and a changed heart in the morning. Sometimes it takes many such walks and many such nights before that morning of hope and renewal. But I testify that if we exercise the mental rigor to make Christ the center of our lives, they come. [24]

The experience of a full-time mission changes those who serve. Many of you here are fully aware of what I mean. More of you will discover this to be true in the future, some in the very near future. As we devote our time, our focus, and our energy to the Lord’s purposes we can’t help but be changed. So it was with me while serving as a young missionary in the islands of Tonga, more than 40 years ago.
A few experiences are indelibly impressed upon our hearts and minds as we serve. One such for me began one early evening on what had been a rather typical day. My Tongan companion and I had been meeting all day with investigators and members on a small island in the Ha’apai Group called, Ha’ano. We lived on the island of Foa. A long and jagged reef connected the two islands.
This was not a particularly difficult crossing at low tide and when it was daylight, yet for us, on that day, the sun had already set and we could see the tide rushing in. These conditions made a crossing rather difficult, even dangerous.
I turned to my companion and suggested we might better wait to cross until the next day when it would be safer. He looked at me with a smile and as he ran into the water covering the reef, he said over his shoulder, “Where is your faith, Elder? We have work to do tonight. Let’s go!”
As I scanned the horizon with its fading light and gauged the ocean current passing over the reef, I could also see the water splashing with each step as my companion quickened his pace. With some real hesitation I stepped onto the reef with the thought of catching my companion, who was already a good 25-30 feet ahead.
In the beginning, the water was a few inches above our ankles. There was enough light and the ocean was clear enough that I could see where to place my feet, so as to avoid the countless, unevenly-shaped holes and the sharpest of the coral outcroppings.
My companion seemed to be almost running with barely a glance at the reef. He seemed to be concentrating on our island destination off in the distance.
His teasing challenge, “Where is your faith?” rushed into my mind. “If he can do this, I can do it!” I told myself.
I looked straight ahead at him and said a quick and silent, but fervent prayer, “Father, please give me faith like my companion’s faith!”
I felt a quiet calm come over me. I increased my speed. I didn’t look down. I merely trusted the Lord would place my feet precisely where they needed to be. The distance between my companion and me began to decrease. It was actually a wonderful feeling.
After some time, I’m not sure exactly how long it was, a sudden, hard, cold and ominous feeling struck me, the sky was growing darker, the ocean current growing stronger and deeper.
The calm reassurance I had felt as we set out disappeared in an instant. The reality of where we were and what we were trying to do hit at once both my heart and mind with a hammer blow, “Who do you think you are? Who are you trying to kid? You can’t do this! You’re crazy to even try!”
My eyes glanced down at my feet and the reef below. The current was now nearly to my knees. It was hard to see where it was safe to make a step. In that moment all faith evaporated and was replaced by a consuming fear.
My foot lost the safety of the path provided by faith-filled determination and I fell. I hit hard on the reef, which tore into my hands and my uncovered feet. The pain seared through me.
My companion seemed to know something was wrong. He stopped and turned. I stood and could somehow still see his face a distance away. His exclamation came loud and firm, “Have faith, Elder… have faith!” He turned and was off once again.
My lips uttered another prayer and a pleading, “Father, I’m sorry I let go of my faith! I’m sorry I allowed fear to take over! Please forgive me! Help me to have the faith to do what needs to be done this night!”
The spirit returned, as did the calmness I had felt before. Sure footed we moved through ocean current and across the jagged reef at an amazing speed, especially considering the conditions.
My eyes held fast to my faith-filled companion. We pressed forward. We continued this way for what seemed a long time. We were now about half-way across the reef.
The sky grew darker still. The ocean current grew ever stronger and the water ever deeper. It was now well above our knees and necessarily slowed our pace.
Then out of the darkness there came once again the rush of the same hard, cold, strangling fear, washing away my faith.
I was instantly crushed by the thought we were as far from our destination as we were from our starting point. I feared we couldn’t get to either island before, on this moonless night, we lost all light and all ability to see a safe pathway along the reef.
As fear gripped me my foot found another hole encased by razor-sharp coral. Down I went again with the coral tearing at my already bleeding hands and feet and legs. The pain was intense.
Again, my companion stopped and turned. As I found a place where I could stand I looked towards him. It was dark enough now that I couldn’t make out his face, but his voice came sure and true, “Faith, Elder. Faith!” He began once again his determined march through the rising current.
“Father” I pleaded, “Forgive me again, please, for my weakness! Give me the faith to overcome fear and doubt!”
And then I was off, following my ever faithful companion once again. I felt guided, directed, watched over, protected. We made good progress.
And then a third time I was struck by the same force that had consumed me the two previous times, doubt and fear, concern for the ever darker night and the ever increasing depth and strength of the surging tide.
In that very moment, I stepped into a hole I could not see. It literally gobbled me up. I went entirely under the water and inside the reef. More sharpened coral tore through my clothes and into my flesh. My forward motion had taken me under the surface of the reef. My hands searched for the way back out, while the tide slammed me into this coral encased cocoon inside the reef.
After what seemed like forever and with another pleading prayer for help I found a way out and surged to the surface, climbed back onto the top of the reef and looked for my companion. He was in the distance, barely visible. I heard his now familiar admonition over the noise of ocean waves and wind, “Faith, Elder. Faith!”
My head bowed in prayer once more, a supplication for strength, for courage, for faith. With the ocean current now waist-high and stronger than ever, and with the night’s darkness complete, I, none-the-less felt, thankfully, a surge of strength and the reassurance of Heaven’s watchful care. Through the struggle that remained there was no faltering, no second-guessing, no doubt, no fear, only the determination to reach the comforting sands of the island ahead.
After what was to me an eternity, I don’t know how long this adventure actually took, my companion and I knelt in prayer on the welcome sands of the beach at the end of the reef. We uttered a prayer of thanks, for protection, and for lessons learned, about faith, and about the power of Heaven. After cleaning up and patching up, we went forward with the appointments scheduled for that night.
Yet my thoughts and the tug of my heart remained, “How was it that my companion never faltered? What had he done to develop such great faith?”

Just like Rexburg, Bountiful was never on the list of recommended or even possible temple sites during the time I was doing the work for the Prophet of God. In the late 1980s, in fact, a brilliant man working for the Presiding Bishopric and for me prepared a list, using careful statistical analysis, of one hundred places deserving temples. I delivered it to the President. Based on the criteria we used to make that list, Bountiful, which is where my family and I then lived, would not have appeared in the second or third-hundred possibilities.

Not many weeks after I sent the list of one hundred sites to the President, our son John, the one born in the old Madison Memorial Hospital, came home from the Bountiful Seminary. He announced with some enthusiasm, "A Dad in seminary today told me that the Church has purchased a site for a temple on Bountiful Boulevard." I said to him with great emphasis, and some annoyance, "John, I am in charge of evaluating and buying sites for temples. If you look as if you even think that unfounded story might be true, people will believe it."

Within a day or two, my wife said that she had heard in Relief Society that the Church had purchased a future temple site in Bountiful. I told her, "Kathy, I am in charge. That is an unfounded rumor, and you mustn't even appear to believe it."

The next day in the media, the Church announced the purchase of a temple site in Bountiful. I called Clair Bankhead, who worked with me buying temple properties and sites. I asked, "Clair, why didn't you tell me?" He said, "President Benson told me to buy it and not to tell anyone. So I did what the Prophet asked."

When John came home that day after hearing the news, he said with a smile, "Now I know what it means for you to be in charge." So did I. And now so do you. The Prophet, who holds all the keys of the Kingdom, including the keys of the sealing power, is directly accountable to the Lord for temples. Others may help, but the Lord decides and tells His Prophet. It was a miracle that Bountiful, twenty minutes from Salt Lake and twenty-five from Ogden, received a temple.

Emily buttoned her coat as she hurried up a hill. On its crest she looked toward the east and saw a beautiful sunrise. Its pink glow lit the great empty prairie.
How far east is England now? wondered Emily. How many miles westward have we journeyed since we left the beloved green hills of home?
“Emily! We’re ready to leave,” called her father.
Slowly Emily went back down the hill. Her feet lifted puffs of dry brown dust as she walked past people whose handcarts were in the rear of the long line. Everyone in the company was ready for another day of travel.
She was glad she didn’t have to pull a handcart all day like most of the men. Some women helped too. Even children and old people helped push the heavy carts up the steep hills and clung to the rear of them to slow them going down steep slopes.
When Emily reached their own handcart, her father was fastening the ropes from the canvas top to the wooden sideboards.
“It’s a good thing you have that red coat,” Father said. “We can see you even from a long way off.”
“You shouldn’t wander so far away by yourself, though, Emily. You could get lost in this wild country,” Mother scolded.
“I’ll be more careful, Mother,” Emily promised.
As the handcarts fell into line, Emily wondered if her parents understood why she walked back every morning to look east. Maybe they aren’t as lonely for our cottage back in England as I am, she decided. Remembering their home in Dorchester with its roof of golden thatched straw and the lilac bush where robins chirped at dawn, made Emily’s throat ache.
The long line of handcarts moved forward away from the rising sun. Mother’s voice broke into Emily’s thoughts. “You better put your coat in the cart. It’s getting too hot to wear it.”
Emily hated to part with her coat even for a few hours. However, she slowly put it into the handcart. When she had it on, England didn’t seem quite so far away. Wearing it brought back all the treasured memories of home.
Emily thought about the morning Grandmother had given her the coat as she was leaving with her parents for America to join other Latter-day Saints in the faraway Rocky Mountains.
With tears in her eyes, Grandmother said to Emily’s father, “I still don’t understand why you must leave England for your new religion. I know I’ll never see you again.”
Then she took Emily’s hand. “My dear, I have a gift for you,” she said. “It’s a coat made from wool I spun and dyed myself. Wear it always to remind you of me and of your home.”
Slowly the long days went by. Each step took Emily further away from her grandmother and England. Each step took everyone in the handcart company closer to their unknown “Zion” in the mountains. Around the campfires at night they talked of a valley encircled by towering, snow-topped mountains. Emily wondered if anyone else felt as lonely and frightened as she did.
Wagon trains going to Oregon or California sometimes passed the handcart company. One day a man from a wagon train stopped and said to Emily, “My daughter could use a coat like that one you’re wearing. Would you like to sell it?”
Emily thought of what her family could buy with the money, but she shook her head. “No, thank you, sir,” she answered. She felt that selling the coat would not only be giving up something she loved very much but it would cut her last tie with her old home.
The trail the handcarts traveled became rougher. One night around the campfire Captain Ames asked everyone to listen to a special message. “I don’t need to tell you that the trail has become much more difficult and our carts are wearing out,” he announced. “Each family must discard every item that can be spared in order to lighten the loads.”
Many belongings were left beside the trail the next morning. Emily’s heart was heavy when Father said to her, “I think you should leave your heavy red coat behind.”
“Oh, please Father,” she pleaded, “please let me keep it. I’ll carry it or wear it all the time so it won’t take up any room or add any weight to the handcart. Grandmother made the coat especially for me.”
“The weather will grow colder soon,” Mother added. “Maybe we should let Emily keep her coat. I’ll help her carry it if it becomes too heavy.”
Father looked at Emily and her mother. He saw how much the coat meant to both of them. “If you’re willing to carry or wear it, then you may keep the coat,” he said, “but it’s not to go on the handcart. We must obey Captain Ames’ rule to lighten our loads.”
One morning as Emily was walking behind her father she looked up and saw white snow-topped peaks along the western horizon. A few days later the handcart company was making its way through the mountain passes. The wheels on the worn handcarts creaked loudly with each turn. Everyone was weak and tired but they still kept going.
Late one afternoon Emily felt she could not walk any further. Her red coat seemed unusually heavy. Emily thought she couldn’t take another step before resting for just a few minutes.
I’ll just climb up that little slope and rest under a bush for a few minutes, Emily decided.
While resting, Emily watched the line of carts and people toil up a winding, mountain path. She lay down to watch the clouds float by. How good the ground felt to her aching back and legs.
Suddenly Emily sat up. It was dark. She had fallen asleep! Her first thought was to run as fast as she could, calling for her mother and father. But it was too dark to see where she was going.
I must stay calm, Emily told herself. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “please keep me safe through the night and tomorrow guide my parents to me.”
Soon a peace flooded over Emily even though the black hours of night passed slowly, slowly. She put on her red coat. Feeling it close around her brought a warmth that was more than just protection against the chill of the night.
Memories of England and Grandmother and her old home were as precious as ever. But there alone on the hillside, Emily began to think more about her new home in a valley where she could be with her father and mother. Maybe Grandmother might come there someday, too, she thought.
As the morning sun lightened the sky, Emily’s sadness and loneliness seemed to leave. She climbed up on a rock to watch the sun come up as she had done so many times. Always before her thoughts had turned with a homesick feeling to the east. Now she looked toward the west. In that direction they would have a new home.
Far in the distance Emily saw several men. As they came closer one of them started waving and then she heard her father call, “It’s Emily. That red coat has brought us right to her!”
Emily ran down the hill. “Oh Father,” she sobbed, “I’m sorry I got lost but I’m glad you found me.”
“We might have not found you,” Father replied, “if it hadn’t been for that red coat. How grateful I am that you kept it and that you had it with you to keep you warm. We spotted it a long time before you saw us.”
“I’m grateful, too,” Emily answered. “It will always be something special to remind me of Grandmother and England. But now I know a home isn’t just a place, and that love is more than just a coat. I can hardly wait until we reach the Valley.”
Father smiled, “We found you,” he said, “but I guess during the night you found yourself, too.” He gave Emily a warm hug.
Without looking back, Emily put the coat over her arm. Then she and Father turned their feet and their eyes to the west.

Let us trust in our leaders. Trust in our leaders can be lost very easily. In fact, let me illustrate how easily it can be lost with another situation. There was a young man with whom I grew up in a Mormon community. He was active the same way I was. His parents were active and strong, but there was a situation that developed in that home. After every Church meeting on the way home and at home in that little farming community, the parents played one of their favorite indoor games:
He would say, “Honey, did you notice that the bishop made a mistake? He had to be corrected by his counselor in that announcement.”
And he would say, “Yes, and did you notice that the Sunday School superintendent made a mistake and announced the wrong hymn?”
And she would say, “Yes, and did you notice that the Sunday School teacher could have used better scriptures, and also got a little bit off the subject?”
Then she would say, “Did you notice so-and-so’s hat?”
In the process they diminished the efforts of the people who were there. It didn’t affect them. He went on to be called into the stake presidency. In fact, after that, I don’t think they commented very much about other people’s personal failings and weaknesses because they were then on the other side of the line. They later became temple workers. But that son—hearing the human frailties of the leaders—when he went into the service, when he continued his life, strayed far from the paths of the Church because he had not developed a full trust and respect for the leaders of the Church in spite of their human frailties.

I close with the example of a new friend, someone we met a few weeks ago while visiting the Zambia Lusaka Mission.
Elder Joseph Ssengooba is from Uganda. His father died when he was seven. At age nine, with his mother and relatives unable to care for him, he was on his own. At age 12, he met the missionaries and was baptized.
Joseph told me of his first day at church: “After sacrament meeting, I thought it was time to go home, but the missionaries introduced me to Joshua Walusimbi. Joshua told me that he was going to be my friend, and he handed me a Children’s Songbook so I wouldn’t have to go into Primary empty-handed. In Primary, Joshua put an extra chair right next to his. The Primary president invited me to the front and asked the whole Primary to sing for me ‘I Am a Child of God.’ I felt very special.”
The branch president took Joseph to the Pierre Mungoza family, and that became his home for the next four years.
Eight years later when Elder Joseph Ssengooba began his mission, to his great surprise his trainer was Elder Joshua Walusimbi, the boy who had made him feel so welcome on his first day in Primary. And his mission president? He is President Leif Erickson, the little boy who stayed away from Primary because he was terrified about giving a talk. God loves His children.

A few weeks after Michelle and John started their mission, a rocket carrying the Mars rover took off. Michelle didn’t get to watch it. She was doing other important things. She shared the gospel and helped the missionaries in their mission. Every day, she wore a black name tag that said “Sister Amos,” with the Savior’s name underneath.
After seven months, the rocket carrying the rover finally reached Mars—more than 100 million miles (160 million km) away. Sister Amos got permission to watch the landing online. She invited their missionaries to watch too.
Sister Amos was nervous. She and many others had worked so hard on this project! Would the rover land safely?
It did! All the missionaries cheered. Then Sister Amos shared her testimony. “Jesus Christ created worlds without end,” she said. “He made the stars, the planets, and the whole universe. He wants us to learn, grow, and use our talents for good.”
She smiled. She was grateful for the ways God led her during her life. And she was grateful to be a missionary—sharing His amazing love.

When I received my mission call, I immediately identified with the fearful prophet. The Alaska Anchorage Mission? They had to be kidding! The Assyrians I presumed I had to face went by different names: subfreezing temperatures, ice, half a year of darkness, and even bears. But an Assyrian by any other name is still an Assyrian.

Here I was with only a summer wardrobe, a ghastly phobia of walking on ice, and night blindness. And I was called to Alaska! Besides, an Alaskan mission costs far more money than my savings account contained. My mind could not comprehend the logic of it all. A few days later, as my fears multiplied, I stormed into the bishop’s office.

“They made a mistake,” I told my bewildered bishop. “I bet they do mission calls by computer now, and they input the wrong information on me.”

“What are you talking about, Betty?” he inquired, as a smile touched his lips.

“It’s illogical,” I protested. “I can’t afford the world’s most expensive mission. The Missionary Department must have input the wrong information on me.”

“You know better than that. Besides, I’ve already explained to you that the ward will help support you financially.” Ever-patient, Bishop Brotherston attempted to dispel my fears. “I believe the Lord wants you in Alaska, Betty.”

I was not pacified.

“But the Lord knows I cannot tract on all that ice!”

“If you wish, I’ll call Salt Lake to confirm it,” he offered.

“No, it’s okay,” I responded weakly. “Let me think about it.”

Fear clouded reason, and I walked out debating whether or not to accept the prophet’s call. Jonah’s solution to flee appeared to be an increasingly attractive alternative. So often disobedience seems to be the easier course, especially when we do not understand where the proper path will take us.

Trusting God gives you the strength to be obedient to his will. I had forgotten that as I faced the prospect of 18 months in Alaska. Unlike Jonah, I couldn’t escape my Assyrians by running to Tarshish. I’m thankful for that because I think being swallowed by a whale would be worse than an Alaskan winter. Confused and frightened, I chose an alternative prayer. As I pleaded for confirmation of the Lord’s will, Heavenly Father’s answer reminded me of the importance of trust.

That was my answer! I may not understand why I’ve been called to meet my Assyrians in Alaska, but if I trust in the Lord and do his will, he will lead me to the summit where I shall see the sunrise of his love.