Gospel Story Finder

“Wake up, partner,” Daddy whispered. “It’s time to get ready.” I looked out my window and saw stars twinkling in the dark sky. Inside, our house was as quiet as could be. Mom, Grandma, Robby, Paul, and Jonathan were all fast asleep.
“But, Daddy, it’s still nighttime,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“Not really,” he said, laying my clothes on the bed. “It’s just very early in the morning, and according to the fishing forecast, that’s when the fish are supposed to bite best today. So hurry and get dressed while I make our lunch.”
When I got to the kitchen, Daddy was putting our lunch into the cooler. “All ready, Lucille?” he asked, closing the cooler and grabbing his camera.
“All ready,” I said. “I’m going to catch the biggest fish in the ocean.”
Daddy laughed. “That’s what all the fishermen say.”
By the time we stopped for breakfast, I was starved. I had eggs, sausages, milk, and a yummy doughnut that dripped grape jelly all over my new white jacket.
“But, Daddy,” I said as he rubbed and rubbed the purple spots with a wet napkin, “aren’t you glad I ate all my breakfast?”
“Very glad,” he said. “You have to be strong to catch fish. Early, too, so let’s go.”
It was almost light when we got to the marina and carried our fishing rods, the cooler, and Daddy’s camera down the long wooden dock.
Our boat’s name is Fish Tales, and it’s printed on the side in bright blue letters. Fish Tales is seven years old, the same as me, and Daddy has taken our whole family for rides in it lots of times. But today he was just taking me.
Daddy unsnapped the canvas cover on Fish Tales and folded it neatly. Then he lifted me into the boat, tucked the fishing rods and camera inside a compartment, and put the cooler beside them. Finally he slipped the key into the ignition.
“Here we go,” he said as he turned the key. But nothing happened. Daddy tried and tried, but Fish Tales just wouldn’t start. Daddy lifted the engine cover and sighed a big sigh. I sat in the driver’s seat and pretended to steer. While Daddy worked on the engine, I pushed some buttons. Maybe I can get the boat to work, I thought.
“Don’t play with the controls, Lucille,” Daddy said. But there was a black box with knobs that I hadn’t tried, so I turned one of the knobs and heard crackling noises. I turned it some more and heard voices talking about the weather out on the ocean. I remembered what the black box was for and pushed the button next to the knob.
“Hello,” I said into the box. “This is Lucille, and my father’s real mad ’cause our boat’s broke.”
“LUCILLE! Please don’t help!”
I turned off the radio and didn’t push any more buttons or turn any more knobs.
“I’m hungry,” I said after a while, “and thirsty too.”
“Help yourself,” Daddy said. “But choose something nutritious. It’s still pretty early.”
I picked chocolate cookies and cream soda, and I really didn’t mean to spill the whole can of soda all over the boat.
“Lucille,” Daddy said when we finished wiping up the mess, “I’ll get out a blanket, and you can catch up on your sleep while I fix the boat.”
I didn’t want to sleep, but the blanket felt soft and Fish Tales rocked so gently. I dreamed I caught the biggest fish in the ocean.
A loud noise woke me. Fish Tales was fixed and ready to go.
“It’s almost nine o’clock,” Daddy said. “Let’s hurry before all the fish are gone.”
He unhooked the ropes that held us to the dock, and we went slowly past the other boats at the marina. Then we went fast. Then faster. I sat very still and watched the foamy path that Fish Tales left in the water. It was a wonderful, bouncy ride as we cut through the waves, looking for just the right place to fish.
Finally we slowed down and stopped where other boats had stopped too. But the waves didn’t stop, and it was hard to stand while the boat swayed from side to side.
“You’ll get used to it,” Daddy said. But I wasn’t at all sure of that. I looked up and tried to find the sun, but all I saw were big, dark clouds.
Daddy put a piece of slippery, white fish on the end of my line and dropped it over the side of the boat. Down, down it went until it hit the ocean’s bottom. Daddy handed me the rod and told me, “Hold on tight.”
“You’ll know when a fish is nibbling, Lucille,” he said. “You’ll feel a little tug on your line. Tell me when you do, and we’ll catch the first one together.” Then he put bait on his own line and fished from the other side of the boat.
I waited and waited and waited and waited.
Then I waited some more.
Not even a little fish tugged on my line. But raindrops sure dribbled on my head.
“Come on, Lucille,” Daddy said. “Let’s eat lunch. We’ll try again when the rain stops.”
I wasn’t too hungry, but it was dry inside Fish Tales’s cabin, so I sat and tore the crust off my bologna sandwich and tossed it through a porthole into the water. Then I pressed my sandwich flat and tried to eat it. But the boat rocked and rolled, and so did my stomach. Even the green grapes and cream soda didn’t taste too good.
“Daddy,” I said, “my stomach feels funny.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “The water is getting a bit choppy. Forget about lunch, partner. We’ll eat later.”
“Are you sure there’re fish in this ocean?” I asked.
“I’m sure,” he said. “Look. It’s only drizzling. Let’s fish again. If we don’t catch anything in ten minutes, we’ll go. Sometimes, Lucille, they just don’t bite.”
My stomach felt awful as I stood in the rain and lowered my line again. I yanked on it, but just a little, to get the fishes’ attention. Suddenly it felt heavy, so I pulled harder—and harder. Something really gigantic was on the end of my line. I just knew it was the biggest fish in the ocean.
“I got one!” I yelled, and Daddy dropped his rod and hurried over to help me. Together we reeled and pulled and reeled and pulled. I was glad I’d eaten such a good breakfast, because it took all our strength to land that rusty old kitchen chair.
“Can we keep it?” I asked.
“Well … Sure, why not?” Daddy muttered. “It’s the only thing we’ve caught all day.” He unhooked the old chair, and my line fell back into the water. “Let’s go home,” he said. “We’re both soaked. I guess today is just not our day. We’ll come back another time.”
I began to reel my line in, but I didn’t think I would ever want to go fishing again. And my stomach felt worse than ever.
Suddenly my line went taut, and my rod bent into an arch.
“I think I caught another chair,” I said.
When Daddy saw my rod bend almost in half, he scrambled over to help. “Something is definitely on there,” he said, “and it’s not a chair.”
“Oh, boy!” I said. “I’ve finally got a fish. Maybe the biggest—”
“I don’t know,” Daddy interrupted. “It’s not tugging on your line like a fish would. But I’ll tell you this, Lucille: It’s big!”
Slowly we reeled and pulled. I was so excited I could hardly wait.
The people on the boats around us stopped to watch Daddy and me reel in our catch.
I forgot the pouring rain.
I forgot the rocking and rolling of Fish Tales.
I almost forgot my terrible stomach.
I could think of only one thing: I had probably caught the biggest fish in the ocean.
Then I saw it. It wasn’t a chair. Or a fish. It looked like a dinosaur!
“Huh!” Daddy said. “Quick, Lucille. Get my camera.” He pulled the creature close to the surface. It was green and scaly, and it had dark eyes and a huge, round body.
“Hold the rod tightly, Lucille,” Daddy said, letting go. “It’s only snagged under its shell, and I want to take a picture before it breaks free.”
I held the rod steady. “It’s a dinosaur!” I called to the other boaters.
“It’s not a dinosaur,” Daddy said, and he laughed as he snapped an instant picture. “It’s a big sea turtle, and it came up to see who was on the other end of the line.”
The turtle must have seen my bologna sandwich crust floating on the water, because with one, quick move it was free, and, snatching that soggy crust, it dove back to the bottom of the ocean.
“You’re quite a fisherman, Lucille,” Daddy said, hugging me. “You’ve caught the biggest turtle that I’ve ever seen, and we have the picture to prove it. Let’s go home and tell everyone. They’ll be so surprised.”
Well, today I caught the biggest chair and the biggest turtle, and next time I’m going to catch the biggest fish in the ocean. But then, that’s what all the fisherman say.

I remember a touching testimony by a mother with three little children. Speaking at the pulpit, she carried her new baby. Another was tugging at her skirt. She said:

When I see on TV little children and mothers suffering, when I see their emaciated and starved little bodies, it’s like a knife in my heart and I cry out ‘what can I do, I am poor, far away, with three needy children of my own. I am helpless.’ But then it dawns on me that there are two things I can do. I can pray and I can cry and the Lord will consecrate my tears in their behalf.

Our journey in the everlasting gospel started as a family when we were baptized on March 8, 2009, into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Three of us were baptized: my mother, Epsheeba John Thomas (the most caring person I know), my lovable sister, Kiruba John Thomas, and I entered in the Lord’s vineyard. We lost our father to a fatal accident in November 2008.
Things were never the same after the death of my father, John Thomas. We later came to know the restored gospel through the missionaries. The gospel has changed our lives a lot. We have experienced many hardships and faced tough trials as a family.
Nonetheless, as we have observed to keep the Lord’s commandments, we’ve overcome every trial. Through the grace and mercy of our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ we stood strong. My sister Kiruba got married to Ranjith Kumar in 2010. My brother-in-law is also a member of the Church. Together, they were blessed with lovable twin boys, Janish and Jeevish, born on November 6.
It took many years of anticipation for us to enter the Lord’s house. We eagerly wanted to get sealed in the temple, so we started preparing spiritually as well as temporally. We knew that being in the temple to make covenants with the Lord would bring us added strength and fortify us for the times ahead.
We were also excited to experience all the beautiful things we had heard about the temple. It was truly all that we had hoped for and more. Nothing compares to being in the Lord’s house, where all our cares and burdens seemed to fade away. It was as Christ Himself has said, “My peace I give unto you. . . . Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27).
A lot of the difficulties and struggles we went through could have stopped us from receiving temple blessings. Regardless, we held on to the iron rod and to our faith. These became a light in our path and drew us closer to God.
We strove to be worthy through prayer and scripture study, both individually and as a family. The spirit influenced us through this preparation.
Our goal was to be sealed on the anniversary of my father’s passing, November 13. Lo and behold, our expectation was manifest. Finally, we were sealed on that date. The joy was overwhelming, our hearts were rejoicing. We have missed him so much but were comforted in knowing that he is waiting to be reunited with us on the other side. We have everything to be grateful for, especially for this gospel which reconciles us to Heavenly Father through Jesus Christ, and which binds families together for eternity.

It was while I was on my first mission that I discovered the constant need for dependence on the Lord.

I was a young missionary in northern England in 1922. Opposition to the Church became very intense. It became so strong that the mission president asked that we discontinue all street meetings, and in some places tracting was also discontinued. The opposition started largely among the ministers, and it became very, very severe. They didn’t know anything about us to speak of. I remember tracting one day when a lovely lady came to the door. We were having a nice conversation and the name Mormon was mentioned by my companion. Her husband came to the door in a Navy uniform, and he said, “Oh, you can’t tell me anything about those old Mormons. I’ve been in the British Navy for twenty years. We sailed right into Salt Lake port, and they wouldn’t even let us land.” That was so typical of what they knew about us in those days.

My companion and I had been invited to travel over to South Shields, on the northwest coast, and speak in the sacrament meeting.

In the letter of invitation, we were promised there would be a number of nonmembers present. They said, “Many of our friends do not believe the lies that are printed about the Church.”

We fasted and prayed sincerely and went to the sacrament meeting. The hall was filled. My companion had planned to talk on the first principles, and I had studied hard in preparation for a talk on the Apostasy. There was a wonderful spirit in the meeting. My companion spoke first and gave an excellent inspirational message. I followed and talked with a freedom I had never before experienced in my life. When I sat down, I realized that I had not mentioned the Apostasy. I had talked about the Prophet Joseph Smith and had borne my witness of his divine mission and of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. I couldn’t hold back the tears.

After the meeting ended, many people came forward, several of whom were nonmembers, and said to us, “Tonight we received a witness that Mormonism is true. We are now ready to consider baptism.”

This was an answer to our prayers, for we had prayed to say only those things which would touch the hearts of the investigators.

As it got late, everybody separated except Patrick and me. We left together in a jeepney. Still wondering why Patrick didn’t join in, I thought back to a day four years before, when we were 16. I remembered we were walking in the street near our school when I told him I wanted to be a priest someday.

“In our church you could already be a priest,” Patrick replied. “You just need to be ordained. Then when you turn 19, you can preach the gospel as a missionary.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said, thinking he didn’t know much about the gospel. “How can a 19-year-old preach to people? Priests take a lot of time to study so they can preach.”

Patrick insisted that 19-year-olds in his church could preach. He told me that his church also has another book of scripture, and he gave me a copy. I browsed through it at home, and I felt something mysterious in that book. But I didn’t really care about it; I just stuck it in a box, where it lay for the next four years.

Now, as we rode in the jeepney after the party, I asked Patrick where he was going. “I’m meeting some friends. They’re elders—missionaries.” I remembered having seen them around. I asked Patrick if he would take me to the elders so I could ask them some questions about their church.

We met up with the missionaries at a store near their subdivision, and they greeted us by shaking our hands. It was very formal. But after they introduced themselves to me, I realized they seemed like any other guys. They wanted to set up an appointment to answer my questions.

“OK, I’ll just get your number so if I’m available, I will text you,” I replied. I wasn’t really planning to text them.

When I got home, I got the book Patrick had given me four years before—something about it made me curious. The next morning I texted the missionaries to teach me. They started with the Restoration of the gospel. It sounded so different, and I told myself, “Why do people want to restore things when they know that older generations are different than our generation now?”

After two discussions I decided not to pursue them anymore. When asked why, I replied, “I’m just not interested anymore.” One week passed. I sat staring at the Book of Mormon, pondering the message I had been taught. I started to read what the missionaries told me to in 3 Nephi 11. I read that Jesus went to another nation to show that He was the Savior and Messiah. In 3 Nephi 15, I recognized one passage that I had read before in the Bible, in John 10:16. It was something the missionaries hadn’t even taught me yet.

Tears fell down my face, and I found myself weeping in my room. I realized the love Jesus Christ has for us. He loves us so much that He gave His own life to save us from our sins. I didn’t hesitate to pray, asking to know if the Book of Mormon I was holding is true. Praying in my room, all alone, I suddenly felt that somebody was there listening to me.

My heart was softened by the impressions I had received. I stood up and said, “This is the true Church. I know that this is the Church that Jesus Christ restored.”

The day before my baptism, I repeated the process of praying. Again what I had heard and felt sunk into my heart, and I knew the Holy Ghost had revealed the truth to me. I knew the truth that Jesus is the Christ. I felt in my heart and mind that I desired to be baptized, believing that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ I could be cleansed.

Jesus Christ atoned for our sins, and this is the very reason I was converted. I know that He was the only one who has the power and the authority to rebuild His Church in our dispensation. Now as a missionary serving in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission, I am doing the best I can to help people feel the great happiness I have now.

Three months after I arrived in Vietnam, just about dusk one evening, a radio call came in to the operations office requesting a patient pickup at an insecure landing zone (meaning our forces were still in contact with the enemy).
As our helicopter followed a river through the Tuy Hoa Valley into a mountain pass, we were enveloped in torrential rain. It was extremely difficult to locate the landing area. Soldiers on the ground directed us with a flashlight beam.
We wanted to land up the slope from the casualty to allow those transporting him more clearance from the rotor blade. Turbulent winds whipped across the uneven terrain, causing the chopper to fishtail wildly and aborting our first landing attempt. This also meant the enemy had seen our landing spot and would be preparing to fire on us. A lull in the wind allowed us to land, and enemy tracers ripped like fiery baseballs through the night.
Our friendly forces returned fire. We made a hasty pick-up of the wounded and asked for flares to be shot into the sky to illuminate the surrounding mountains as we departed through lightning, thunder, and heavy rain. A few bursts of enemy ground fire bid us farewell.
As a result of this action, I was recommended for a DFC. But the recommendation was reviewed and downgraded to an Air Medal with a “V” for valor. I was disappointed, but remembered my promise to the Lord and was satisfied that my life had been spared.

Life in the Latter-day Saint community of Safford, Arizona, in the early part of the twentieth century was hard. Water was scarce, money scarcer.
I was eleven years old. It was 1919, and my pa had died the year before of influenza. Taking care of us six children and keeping the farm going took most of Mama’s time. There was no money for extras. What money her milk and egg business brought in was put by to pay the property taxes.
When school let out for the summer, my thirteen-year-old sister, Florence, begged Mama to let her work for a family in town. Mama said no because she needed her at home to help care for the little ones.
Being the oldest boy, it was up to me to bring in the much-needed money for the family. I heard from our ward (home) teachers that Brother Miller needed help.
According to my Aunt Minnie, Brother Miller had not set foot inside church in more than thirty-five years. Aunt Minnie was my great-aunt and knew the history of every family in town. What she didn’t know, she was fond of saying, wasn’t worth knowing.
I found Brother Miller working in his garden. He looked up from his work to scowl at me. “What brings you this way, boy?” “I’m looking for a job. Sir,” I added, remembering my manners.
He wiped his forehead with the bandanna tucked in his pocket. “You’d be Donald McBride’s boy, is that right?”
I nodded. “Hyrum Andrew McBride.”
“Well, Hyrum Andrew, your pa had a reputation for being a hard worker.” He squinted against the glare of the sun as he took my measure. “Do you take after him?”
“I try, sir.”
“You have yourself a job.” He led the way to the back of the barn. “You chop this pile of wood and stack it neatly. You do a good job, and I’ll pay you $2.25.”
It seemed a huge sum of money. I gulped, thinking of what we could buy with it—a bit of sugar, maybe some material for Mama to make herself a new dress.
“Mind you, I don’t pay for a poor job or a job not done.”
I nodded once more.
“I need the wood cut by Sunday evening. If you don’t finish, there’ll be no money.”
Today was Wednesday. I figured I could complete the work by Saturday night.
Mama didn’t believe in working on the Sabbath. Animals had to be fed and the cows milked, but we didn’t work in the garden or the fields. We ate bread left over from Saturday’s baking, dipped in milk and butter and spread with some of Mama’s jam. Sundays belonged to the Lord and were treated with reverence.
The work was backbreaking, and I stumbled home at night too tired to do more than fall into bed. The thought of how much our family needed the money kept me going, even when the temperature climbed above a hundred degrees.
By Friday afternoon, I knew I had underestimated how long it would take to do the job. Even if I worked twelve hours the next day, I wouldn’t finish the work by nightfall.
Of course, Brother Miller had given me until Sunday evening. I could work on Sunday, complete the job, and collect my money, but the idea left a sour taste in my mouth.
On the way home, I reasoned with myself that working just this once on Sunday would be all right. No matter how hard I tried, though, I could not quiet the small voice that reminded me of the baptismal covenant I had made three years before.
When I explained to Mama about the money, how Brother Miller wouldn’t pay me for the job if I didn’t complete it on time, she continued kneading her bread dough. “Do you remember the promises you made at your baptism?”
I nodded and hung my head, shamed that, even for a moment, I had considered breaking the Sabbath.
I recalled the blessing my father had given me when he had confirmed me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Keep the commandments, Son. Use them as a compass to guide you.”
The following morning I told Brother Miller of my decision.
He fell silent. At last, he asked, “You in the habit of breaking a promise, boy?”
“No sir. That’s why I can’t work for you on Sunday.”
“How’s that?”
“I made a promise back when I was baptized that I would obey the commandments. That means I don’t work on Sunday. I can’t go back on that. Even for this.” I gestured to the pile of wood. The money I would have earned didn’t seem as important anymore.
“I told you I don’t pay for an unfinished job.” He paused and gave me a long look. “You still planning on working today, even if I don’t pay you?”
“Yes sir. I aim to keep my promise to you the best I can. But I won’t be working tomorrow.”
Brother Miller scratched his chin. “You do what you have to.” With that, he turned and left.
I was sure that I wouldn’t receive any pay, but I was determined to finish what work I could that day. By late afternoon, Brother Miller returned. After counting out two dollar bills and a pile of coins, he pressed them into my hand.
My fingers started to close around the money. Then, reluctantly, I opened my hand to give the money back to him. “I can’t finish until Monday, sir.”
“That’s fine.”
“But—”
“You made me think of some promises I made a long time ago,” he said, his voice gruffer than normal. “I expect you here first thing Monday morning.”
“Yes sir.”
Sweat and wood dust coated my arms and face when I returned home. My muscles screamed with fatigue, but I scarcely noticed. I handed the money to Mama and explained what had happened.
“The Lord takes care of His own,” she said. Her faith never wavered. I hoped my own faith would be as strong someday.
The next day, we saw Brother Miller in church, sitting right up front. Shyly I smiled at him. He didn’t smile back but nodded shortly. He continued attending church until he died twelve years later.
I never forgot that job. Or the promise I had made and kept.

I always wanted to retire young from my job and I did that in March 2018. I am a professional agronomist, and I loved my job. After retirement, I thought the fatigue caused by my work would be improved and I would be more relaxed, as my job was very demanding. After a few months of retirement, my fatigue got worse, and I only wanted to be in bed sleeping. Following the advice of my husband, I visited a doctor who helped me learn the reason for my exhaustion.
After undergoing different tests as advised by the doctor, they found the reason for my fatigue. I had a colonoscopy, and I was diagnosed with a malignant stage 3 colon tumor. I had cancer! When I received the news, I wasn’t scared at that moment, but I did become a bit anxious. I asked the doctor, “Am I going to die?” She replied with a smile, saying she didn’t think that would happen for now, but I needed to hurry to have the tumor removed.
I underwent an operation on September 24, 2018, and had many people by my side taking care of me. A few days after the operation and being discharged, while at home, I felt a lot of fever inside me. I visited the clinic again, and after several tests, they found that during the surgery to remove the colon tumor, they had left a small hole causing the fever. I developed sepsis because no hole was supposed to remain after the operation. I had to stay in the clinic for one more week.
On the third day of being hospitalized, I felt extremely sad. I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked many questions. After finishing my prayer and shedding many tears, there was a knock on the door of my room, and to my surprise, it was the two missionaries who were attending my ward at that time. Seeing me crying, they prayed with and encouraged me. I told them about the prayer I had made and how the Lord had sent these two messengers to me.
Thanks to my Heavenly Father, I overcame the sepsis and moved on to the next stage, which, although difficult, was a true miracle. I had to undergo chemotherapy, and when I received the first treatment, I suffered another health setback. A port was inserted to administer the chemotherapy, and the doctor who placed it put it in too high, causing me to have four embolisms and two pulmonary infarctions. My oncologist couldn’t explain how I had survived the embolisms and infarctions. I told her that I believed God was keeping me alive because I still had important work to do for Him.
During my chemotherapy, which was the most painful part of my treatment, I dedicated myself fully to my calling as the Young Women president of my ward, and that helped me a lot. I also did service, which kept negative thoughts about my health from my mind. I am extremely grateful to my Heavenly Father for everything He does in my life.
During a check-up in 2019, I was found to have a tumor the size of a softball in one of my ovaries. My oncologist thought the colon cancer had metastasized to the ovary. On November 14, 2020, I underwent a hysterectomy and, thankfully, the tumor in the ovary turned out to be benign.
I have been cancer-free for six years, and I hope to enjoy good health for many more years to come. I always had Heavenly Father by my side taking care of me, and I value life more. I enjoy many hobbies with my husband and have since accomplished some big educational and career goals. I also enjoy serving in my callings.
I no longer fear death because I know without a doubt that it is part of the plan of salvation that our Heavenly Father created for His children. If you ever find yourself in a situation like mine, never lose faith. Hold strong, and you will see that miracles do exist.

I was back in Omaha, Nebraska a few years ago on Church assignment to attend the groundbreaking exercises of the Mormon Memorial Bridge over Winter Quarters. I met a man there who was a district president in the mission area. He had lived in Salt Lake City, Utah for 17 years, and had worked in the Union Pacific Railroad office until it was transferred to Omaha. He did not join the Church in Salt Lake. When he moved to Omaha, he met the missionaries. I asked him, “Why didn’t you join the Church in Salt Lake?” He said, “No one ever invited me to.”

It was finally here. My favorite time of the summer: Young Women camp. I was super excited because I was bringing my best friend, who was of another faith.

A few weeks earlier I had started bringing my friend to Mutual. She enjoyed the first activity and wanted to keep coming back. The other girls and I talked a lot about Young Women camp, so when it was almost time for camp, she asked if she could come. I said yes, of course, but the problem was convincing her parents. They weren’t keen on the Mormon religion and had denied her going with me to church before.

I went over to their house to bring the papers for camp and talked to her parents about letting her come, but I wasn’t sure they would let her go. That night I prayed earnestly to Heavenly Father that her parents’ hearts would be softened. I called back the next day and they had agreed to let her go!

I was glad my friend was coming to camp but nervous at the same time. I was scared that she would feel out of place when we played gospel-oriented games or sang hymns around the campfire. I was also scared because I felt like my friend didn’t really care for religion. I spent a lot of time praying that things would all go well at camp.

It turned out that I hadn’t needed to worry. All of us, including my friend, had fun playing games, hiking, and laughing. It was the night hike and testimony meeting, however, that were my favorite parts of camp.

It was stake camp, and every ward had their own campsite. For the night hike, the girls were separated into several groups and then each group took turns going from one campsite to another, where they had different speakers talk on women who had “lived as they believed” (that year’s camp theme). As we sat around the campfires and listened to the different speakers talk about courageous women, we felt the Spirit so strongly.

I glanced from time to time at my friend but couldn’t read her expression and couldn’t tell if she was paying attention to anything the speakers said. As we neared the end of the night hike however, my friend turned to me and the first words out of her mouth touched me deeply.

“I’m going to camp every year.”

I smiled and silently thanked Heavenly Father that my friend had been able to feel the Spirit. She had enjoyed the games and having fun, but she had felt the Spirit, and it was what made her want to come back again.

The next night was our last night at camp and our testimony meeting. My friend was confused as to what a testimony was so I quickly explained as best I could. She didn’t look too excited. After the opening prayer, the bishop and several young women bore beautiful testimonies and the Spirit was very strong.

My friend, who never liked to talk in public, stood up to share her feelings. She explained that even though she was of a different religion, watching us girls read our scriptures and pray had touched her. She said that after being here at camp, she wanted to start being a better person and was going to try to be nicer to her family. She also said that coming to camp was probably the best decision she had ever made. She sat down and I glanced over at her and saw there were tears in her eyes. I had never seen her become emotional or cry, but the Spirit of the Lord touched her so deeply it moved her to tears.

This experience at camp taught me a lot about how the Spirit touches the lives of others and about the power of testimonies. The Spirit can speak to everyone regardless of who they are. I now better understand the importance of having a strong testimony and sharing it with others. The gospel can touch the lives of those you would never expect.

Lisa Griffiths, who plays the role of Kris Douglas, learned some valuable lessons when she had to put herself in her character’s shoes. When Lisa went to audition for the part, she had her confidence shaken. “I asked myself, What am I doing here? My application, where I was supposed to list my experience and training, was blank. I prayed very hard that if I needed to do the role because there was something I had to give to the character or that she had to give to me, I would know how to read the script.”
When Lisa got the part, she told her roommates, “I had the best acting coach—the Lord. That must have been it, because I certainly was not as experienced as the others.”
Lisa said that in some ways she is like Kris, but in others she isn’t. She knows a lot about her character and can anticipate what Kris might do in different situations. “Kris always seems to know how to phrase things or how to subtly get the message across. I can feel it, but verbalizing it is hard for me.
“She has incorporated the scriptures into her life. She really tries to apply what she is reading to what she is doing,” Lisa said when she described Kris, almost as if this fictional character were a close friend. “She does start to resent the fact that she is always the good one and her twin sister gets a lot of attention for the rebellious things she does. She focuses on herself for a little while until she straightens it out.”
Lisa applied the lesson she learned from playing the part of Kris to her own life. “I learned to check where my focus was. I was pulling on some natural feelings. I have a sister who is a performer. She’s fantastic, and I look up to her in so many ways. I have felt the role before of the younger sister that doesn’t get the attention sometimes. There have been times I have let that get to me, so I knew that what Kris was feeling really happens—that you really do get jealous. I can see when my focus was on myself, when I wasn’t applying things I had learned in church, things didn’t work out. I still have to do that kind of checking.”
Lisa is a little embarrassed to remember that she and her friends used to laugh a little at the filmstrips they watched in seminary. That made her want to perform so that her character was believable. “I wanted to make this character real so that at least one person who watched it would stop and say, What is she really saying? What is she really wondering about? The whole cast set that as a goal.
“I did make fun of the filmstrips when I was in seminary,” said Lisa. “We had little jokes about what they were wearing and their hairstyles. I can remember when the wardrobe lady was dressing me and doing my hair. I thought, Now I know why we laughed. I would laugh sometimes at myself while I was doing it. It was a humbling experience. There is a message behind what the characters are wearing and how their hair looks. There is a message or a mood behind it all.”
Kris talked about the most difficult part of the video for her. “The hardest scene for me,” said Lisa, “was when I was sitting on the porch with my grandfather and we are looking at the stars. He’s saying how lonely it feels when he looks up there. Kris sees it as the Lord saying He is there for people and that He loves you no matter what. That was a hard scene for me because I believed what I was saying, and I was very worried that it would come across sappy or trite to high school students watching it. There are times we do feel alone, but there are times when we’ve got to know that we really are not. The Lord is there for us.”
Learning that each of us has to rely on guidance from our Heavenly Father is the whole purpose of the “I Will Lead You” videotape. And that guidance is contained in the scriptures. Lisa said, “I learned to read my scriptures every day to get something out of them to hold onto. That was the idea of the films. Sometimes you can’t handle it all. You just don’t have the answers. It doesn’t make sense, and it doesn’t seem fair. You have to remember that even if you don’t feel the Lord, his hand is there and he is leading you.”

Who’s responsibility is it? Well, I’ve told and retold a little story about one of our sons, but I think it illustrates a point so I will tell it to you. Our youngest son has lived all of his life in one house. It isn’t a grand mansion, but it has been a good home. He never intends to leave it or live anywhere else. He always expected to go on a mission, but he said, “I’ll go and then I’ll come back.” He went around to the neighbors and said, “I don’t want you to move, and I don’t want you to move, and don’t you dare let them sell the house. I’m the youngest and if they move into a condominium, I’ll be devastated and have to come home.”

We said, “What if we’re called on a mission?”

He thought it over very seriously and replied, “I think we had better take turns. I’ll go and you take care of it and when I get back you can go.”

We said, “What if we’re still here when you bring a bride home?”

He said, “I’ve thought about that. I’m considering remodeling the garage into an apartment for you.”

Well, his father had had a heart attack and no one else was home but just Scott. One day, as things were looking pretty bad, I appealed to this next owner of the property and said, “You know we need to do the lawn, the shrubs, and a little painting.” And he couldn’t have been less interested in anything. I mean he had important things to do. I think right then he was recording the Beach Boys and Fresh Aire tapes.

Well, I thought it was time for one of those “reprove with sharpness and then show forth an increase of love lest they esteem thee to be thine enemy” (someone called them “woodshed”) talks. I daresay each of you has had a few of them. I said, “If you really do intend to live here the rest of your life, then you of all people should be concerned about the kind of repair it’s kept in, because, before you know it, it will be yours with all of its accumulated problems. Not ours, but yours.”

A little minor miracle happened. The shrubs were trimmed, the lawn was not only cut but crosscut. I didn’t know that it could look like green velvet if you went in two directions. He began to take great interest in calling it “the best yard on the block.” It became almost that. With his effort we even got a little painting done.

In September 1985, Julia received her endowment in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple. “When I first came into the temple,” she remembers, “I felt that I belonged. Before I joined the Church, when I would read the word Israel, I would throw the book aside and say, ‘It is for the whites. It is not for us. We are not chosen.’ Today, I know I belong to a royal family if I live righteously. I am an Israelite. When I was doing my ordinances in the temple, I captured the feeling that we are all on earth as one.

“Being sealed to my husband and my parents was one of the most touching experiences of my life. I feel that my parents are grateful that I have done their temple work for them. The Holy Spirit witnessed this to me.”

Julia continues to serve in the temple as often as she can. Within those walls she finds in joyful abundance the peace and love, the beauty and oneness of spirit she has cultivated in one corner or another of the Lord’s vineyard all of her life.*

Last July our family had the opportunity of attending Philmont Scout Camp in New Mexico where my dad was receiving training. During that week I celebrated my 10th birthday. Shortly after my family and new friends had sung “Happy Birthday” and I had blown out the candles, Sister Cheryl Lant, the Primary general president, who was also participating in the training, came in with her husband. Sister Lant said, “I heard that someone was having a birthday!” They stayed and enjoyed cake with us and visited. It was fun to have Sister Lant take time from her busy schedule to come and wish one of her Primary children a happy birthday.Katelyn B., age 10, Utah

When Daniel was cast into the lions’ den, a stone was placed over the den’s opening to prevent Daniel’s escape. Then, to ensure that possible coconspirators with Daniel would not remove the stone without detection, the king and his officers used their signets to seal the stone (see Daniel 6:17). Had the seals been broken during the night, the king and his officers could have claimed deception or trickery on the part of Daniel. But neither the rock nor the seals prevented the angel from entering the den and stopping the lions’ mouths. We note that the angel was not only empowered to save Daniel but that the angel himself was also immune from the lions’ destruction. Because of Daniel’s faith and righteousness, the angel saved him from a horrific death. Daniel would later testify, “My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions’ mouths, that they have not hurt me: forasmuch as before him innocency was found in me” (Daniel 6:22).

We live during a day of wars and rumors of wars. News organizations regularly report conflicts taking place in various parts of the world. However, we as Latter-day Saints should have a high degree of comfort in knowing the power of the Lord’s angels with regard to such conflicts. The Bible sets forth the following account of a powerful angel.
During the reign of King Hezekiah the Assyrian army was advancing toward Jerusalem with the intent of conquering it. With scores of thousands of enemy soldiers camped outside of Jerusalem’s gates, waiting to destroy the city’s inhabitants, Hezekiah petitioned the Lord through prayer in the temple. In response to Hezekiah’s humble prayer, the Lord sent his prophet Isaiah to the king, promising deliverance from the Assyrian army. Soon thereafter “the angel of the Lord went forth, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians a hundred and fourscore and five thousand” (Isaiah 37:36; see also Isaiah 37:33–35; 2 Chronicles 32:21). It is sometimes difficult to comprehend such extraordinary dominance: one angel versus some 185,000 disciplined soldiers—and the angel was victorious. Such an angelic operation is permitted only according to the Lord’s divine will.

In addition to these two examples of angels operating as agents of power during the Old Testament period, I will provide a modern example of a powerful heavenly messenger in the life of President Harold B. Lee. When President Lee was serving as the president of the Church, he shared an experience that occurred while he and his wife were traveling on an airplane. They had been visiting a mission, and both were impressed to return home earlier than they had planned. As President and Sister Lee were sitting in the airplane, homeward bound, President Lee received a blessing from an unseen person. He related:

As we approached a certain point en route, someone laid his hand upon my head. I looked up; I could see no one. That happened again before we arrived home, again with the same experience. Who it was, by what means or what medium, I may never know, except I knew that I was receiving a blessing that I came a few hours later to know I needed most desperately.
. . . Shortly [after we arrived home], there came massive hemorrhages which, had they occurred while we were in flight, I wouldn’t be here today talking about it.
I know that there are powers divine that reach out when all other help is not available. . . . Yes, I know that there are such powers.8

The unseen person who gave President Lee a blessing demonstrated extraordinary powers: he remained invisible, he knew where to find President Lee, he knew of President Lee’s physical condition and of his need for a blessing, and he blessed the prophet with priesthood power. Additionally, it is my opinion that this unseen person did not board the plane as did other passengers, obtaining a passport, ticket, and boarding pass; showing his photo ID; dealing with airport security; and so forth. It is entirely possible, knowing of the vast power of angels, that this unseen person entered the plane through miraculous means. Such is the way of heavenly beings.

The first winter in the Salt Lake Valley was hard for the Smith family. Food and shelter were scarce. When summer came and the family finally had a crop, Mary insisted that they pay a full and honest tithe. In those days, tithing was often paid in goods. Mary selected her best potatoes and headed for the tithing office. When William Thompson, a tithing clerk, saw her, he questioned her need to pay tithing, because she was so poor. Mary retorted, “William, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing I should expect the Lord to withhold His blessings from me; I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God but because I expect a blessing by doing it.”

Mary continued to pay her tithing, whatever her circumstances. She remained independent, raising chickens, sheep, and cattle. Her faithfulness impressed her children with the importance of tithing.

Sarah Ann Murdock, the eldest child of a large family, had gone with her parents in the 1850s to Carson Valley, Nevada, where her father was appointed to take care of the Church cattle and make butter and cheese for the tithing office. When they were returning to Utah across the Nevada deserts, her mother began her labor for the next child. The wagon was halted in the shelter of a large rock. Since it reminded him of Mount Sinai, the father, after delivering the baby girl, blessed her and named her Rocksinai. They eventually moved to Heber Valley. When one of their friends or neighbors got their rolls of wool prepared, they would invite other women and girls to bring their spinning wheels and help get the rolls spun into yarn.
“We would go early in the morning and spin all day, stopping only to eat dinner prepared by the hostess. One day I spun ten skeins, which ordinarily would have taken two or three days. … Four skeins was supposed to be a good day’s work.”

When I was 12, some of the girls in my new school invited me to a birthday party. It was the first party with these school friends I had been invited to. When I asked my parents if I could go, they said no because the party started too late.
A short time later, I got another invitation. I again asked my parents, but they again said no, and I got mad. Couldn’t I have any fun?
Then one of my closest friends planned a party. I was one of the first people she invited. The party started earlier than the others. It would be private and held near my home. I asked my parents for permission to go, and they said yes! I was excited.
The day arrived. As my parents drove me there, they said that they would pick me up at 10:00 p.m. When I got to the party, I found my girlfriends. Twenty minutes later, I still hadn’t seen the birthday girl.
A few minutes later, a young man came up to us and asked, “Have you brought money for the pisto?” He made a sign that let me know that “pisto” was beer. My girlfriends gave in at the request for money. I didn’t have any money with me, so I decided to go off with some other girls while these ones did their business.
Finally, the birthday girl arrived—an hour late. I congratulated her, and while we were talking, a big truck arrived. Five men got out and unloaded two crates of beer. Everyone crowded around and started handing out the beer. My girlfriends went off, and I was alone, watching those young people fighting to drink beer.
My girlfriends came over and offered me some. “No, thanks,” I told them. They again insisted. I again said no. My heart started beating fast, and I felt strange, like in a suspense movie where I was the main character and I was trapped in the middle of nowhere. Then I heard a car horn—it was my parents! I made my exit with a single good-bye and ran to the car.
I got in, breathing hard. I started thinking how heavy the environment felt where I had been. My mom asked if I was all right. “Yes,” I replied, “but something surprised me.”
“What surprised you?” asked my father.
“All my friends were drinking, and there I was, startled, waiting for something good to happen. How I wished for you both to get here, and now I’m here.” I looked at the car clock; it wasn’t yet 10:00.
My mom said, “That’s how parties are in the world. That was why we didn’t allow you to go to previous parties.”
That night when I prayed, I thanked my Heavenly Father that my parents had arrived early.
We members of the Church are in the world, but we are not like the world. I have learned that if I would have continued attending those parties, I might have fallen into breaking the Word of Wisdom and even the law of chastity. Many of my acquaintances have fallen into this, most of them outside of the Church, but even members of the Church themselves can reach the point of falling if they do not remain firm.
I feel happy with that decision I made to not drink. I thought that I would be made fun of afterwards, but my friends ended up with more respect for me because they know my standards. After that, I have not been afraid to say no to what I know will harm me.

While serving in the Europe Area, I was privileged to see these principles in action as a miracle unfolded in Sheffield, England. At the end of 2008, Bishop Mark Dundon of the Sheffield First Ward was pondering what he could do to help his ward grow. In leadership training, his stake president had asked the bishops, “What are you willing to sacrifice to be successful in missionary work?” From the teachings of his leaders, Bishop Dundon knew that a good ward mission leader is key, a functioning ward council is essential, and a willingness to listen to the promptings of the Spirit is crucial.
After much pondering and prayer, Bishop Dundon exercised his priesthood keys and followed the promptings of the Spirit to release his two counselors, Gregory Nettleship and Robert McEwen. Bishop Dundon then called Brother Nettleship to be the new ward mission leader and Brother McEwen to be the assistant ward mission leader. The members of the bishopric had been close, so this change was not easy for them. But Bishop Dundon knew that in this particular instance the decision was correct, and both counselors humbly accepted their new callings.
The bishop, with his new ward mission leaders and ward council, prayerfully made plans and set goals for growing the ward. As they implemented their plans, they began to see significant success. Convert baptisms increased substantially, and many people returned to activity in the Church. Little did the ward leadership know, however, that their faith and works were to be rewarded in ways they never thought possible.
In March 2011 a young missionary and his companion were contacting people in the streets of Sheffield. Elder Nicholas Pass saw a man and his wife walk by and had a strong feeling that he should talk to them. Elder Pass and his companion ran to catch up with the couple. Communication was difficult—the couple was from Slovakia and did not speak English—but an accompanying friend helped with interpretation. In the discussion on the street, the missionaries used pictures to introduce the First Vision and the message of the Restoration. The couple then accepted an appointment for the missionaries to begin teaching them.
Ludovit Kandrac, the father of the family, started to read the Book of Mormon. Soon he quit smoking. In the teaching process, the missionaries had to use multiple interpreters and even learn a little Slovak themselves. On May 14, 2011, Ludovit, one of his daughters, and two other relatives were baptized.
At his baptism, Brother Kandrac bore his testimony. Through an interpreter, he related his experience of meeting the missionaries. When he walked past Elder Pass and his companion in the Sheffield city center, he had a warm feeling in his chest. He disregarded the feeling and continued walking, but as he glanced at the missionaries again, he was moved by the love they exhibited as they spoke with people. Though he wanted to approach them, Brother Kandrac continued walking. He was startled a minute later when the missionaries approached him.
Along with another Slovak family who had joined the Church a year earlier, these baptisms marked the beginning of a modern conversion miracle among the Slovak population in Sheffield, England. These new members came to church every week, bringing other family members and friends. They opened their homes to the missionaries and invited others in their community to listen to the gospel.
Elder Pass and his new companion, Elder Joseph McKay, visited often with these families. They taught them, served them, ministered to them, and blessed them. It was a marvelous time of teaching, learning, and receiving gifts of the Spirit for investigators, converts, missionaries, stake and ward leaders, and members alike.
Throughout the summer and fall of 2011, more Slovaks joined the Church. The increasing numbers made it difficult for local members to continue to provide transportation to and from the meetinghouse. For several weeks the faithful Slovak Saints walked five miles (eight km) each way to attend Sunday services in a language they could not understand.
In September 2011 the Sheffield stake presidency was reorganized, with Bishop Dundon called as the new stake president. A month later a fireside was held for both English and Slovak Saints in which interpreters were present.
While sitting on the stand, President Dundon felt impressed that a Slovak group needed to be formed that would be attached to the Sheffield First Ward but would meet at a facility in the Slovak neighborhood. A suitable meeting place was soon found and rooms rented. On December 11, 2011, the first block of meetings was held in the new facility. Sheffield First Ward leaders optimistically hoped that 50 people would attend. Instead, 84 people—including 63 Slovaks—attended.
Following the reorganization of the Sheffield stake, Robert McEwen was called as bishop of the Sheffield First Ward. Brother Nettleship continued to serve as mission leader. Under both bishops, the ward mission leader and the ward council did a remarkable job of leading the ward to “be with and strengthen” the Slovak Saints (D&C 20:53).
The ward council addressed issues such as how to provide for the new members’ needs, how to help them fully participate in ward activities, how to nurture them in the gospel, and how to overcome language barriers. Council members fasted and prayed for divine help and then worked hard. They visited the new members and participated in teaching appointments with the full-time missionaries. They provided transportation. They ordered Church materials in Slovak. They took the newly baptized members to the temple to perform baptisms for the dead.
Ward leaders also organized a Christmas service project. Ward members donated funds and collected toys, clothes, and other gifts. Large Christmas gift bags that included food for a Christmas dinner were distributed on Christmas Eve to the Slovak Saints and other families within the ward boundaries.
Long-time members and new members understood little of each other’s spoken language, but they all felt the warmth of the language of genuine love. A remarkable feeling of joy, happiness, and excitement enveloped members and investigators.
Over the next year this little group developed into a solid Church unit, with whole families being baptized and uniting with the Church. Fathers were ordained to the Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthoods, sons were ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood, a Primary with more than 20 children was established, and Young Men and Young Women programs were organized with more than 25 youth attending weekly. The Lord provided a full-time missionary from the Czech Republic who could speak the language and add support to the group. At the same time, these families sent referrals to their homeland.
Why did this happen? Because God has not ceased to be a God of miracles. Because faithful missionaries diligently sought those who were prepared to receive the gospel. Because the stake president and bishops acted in faith and followed the guidance of the Holy Ghost. Because a ward council took responsibility and worked in unity. Because members learned the language of love and acted upon invitations from their leaders, having faith and confidence that God meant what He said: “I am a God of miracles; and I will show unto the world that I am the same yesterday, today, and forever” (2 Nephi 27:23).
The success in Sheffield does not need to be a singular event. It reminds us of the promises given through the prophets and can ignite our faith and our desire to become instruments in the hands of God by inviting people around us to come unto Christ. If we do so, we will place ourselves in a position where the Lord can bless us with opportunities to teach, activate, and nurture others. And we will see evidences that He continues to be a God of miracles.

Help with temporal tasks is also a form of ministering. At the October 1856 general conference, President Brigham Young announced that handcart pioneers were stranded in deep snow 270–370 miles (435–595 km) away. He called for the Latter-day Saints in Salt Lake City to rescue them and to “attend strictly to those things which we call temporal.”4
Lucy Meserve Smith recorded that the women took off their warm underskirts and stockings right there in the tabernacle and piled them into wagons to send to the freezing pioneers. Then they gathered bedding and clothing for those who would eventually come with few belongings. When the handcart companies arrived, a building in the town was “loaded with provisions for them.”5