Gospel Story Finder

In both of those visits to the Soviet Union, we met with the chairman of the Council of Religious Affairs and learned that recognition of a church was not given on a federal basis but was granted locally. A petition was required from a minimum of twenty adult members of the Church, all Soviet citizens residing in a given political district. Also, as in many of these countries, open preaching of the gospel was not allowed because that was deemed to be an infringement on the rights of others who chose not to believe in any religion. Thus, we were left with a real dilemma. Without missionaries, how could we get a congregation of twenty members in any district? And how could we teach the gospel without first having twenty members so that we could obtain legal recognition? But remember: “With God nothing shall be impossible.” Within a few months we had a congregation of twenty and more members in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg)!

The conversion of these pioneer members of the Church is truly marvelous study in the workings of the Lord. Our branch president and his wife found the Church and were baptized on 1 July 1989 while in Budapest, Hungary. Russian-speaking home teachers from Helsinki, Finland, were assigned to visit the new converts upon their return to Leningrad. Another woman temporarily left Leningrad to find the Church in a miraculous manner. This beautiful young mother named Svetlana had importuned the Lord in prayer to make it possible for her to obtain a Bible written in the Russian language. Such a Bible is rare, precious, and very expensive. In the fall of 1989, she and her husband and their young child went to Helsinki in quest for a Bible. While walking through a park in Helsinki, she stepped upon an object hidden beneath the ground cover of autumn leaves. She picked it up and found it to be the answer to her prayers. It was a Bible written in the Russian language. So excited was she that she joyfully recounted the story of this great discovery to another mother who was also in the park with her youngster. The second mother then replied to Svetlana, “Would you like to have another book about Jesus Christ, also written in the Russian language?” Svetlana, of course, answered in the affirmative. The other mother then provided Svetlana with a Russian copy of the Book of Mormon and invited her to church. This other mother was Raija Kemppainen, wife of Jussi Kemppainen, then president of the Baltic District of the Finland Helsinki Mission. Shortly thereafter, Svetlana joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and returned with her family to Leningrad.

These early converts invited choice friends into their homes to hear news of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and many of these gratefully responded to the message of the missionaries and were baptized.

On 26 April 1990, we met with governmental officials and subsequently submitted application papers for recognition of the Leningrad Branch. That very day, I offered a prayer of gratitude and rededication in the Summer Gardens adjacent to the Neva River, just beyond Mars Field, where Elder Francis M. Lyman of the Council of the Twelve had dedicated Russia for the preaching of the gospel on 6 August 1903.

Our request for formal recognition for our branch in Leningrad was granted on 13 September 1990. Thus, an important precedent was established that congregations in other cities would follow.

Edward Partridge was the first Presiding Bishop of the Restored Church. Born in 1793, he became dissatisfied with the religions of his day when he was in his twenties. And, in 1830, after investigating the Church, he was baptized by the Prophet Joseph Smith. The Prophet said of Edward, “he was a pattern of piety, and one of the Lord’s great men, known by his steadfastness and patient endurance to the end” (“History of Joseph Smith,” Times and Seasons, 15 Sept. 1843, vol. 4, 320).
Edward became the Presiding Bishop of the Church less than two months after his baptism, and he certainly needed the “patient endurance” mentioned by the Prophet Joseph. He and his family were harshly persecuted by the mobs in Missouri and then in Nauvoo. On one occasion he was dragged from his home and tarred and feathered by a mob of more than 200 men. But Bishop Partridge’s faith carried him through his trials.
The bishop died when he became very ill in Nauvoo. He was only 46. Of Edward Partridge, the Lord said, “his heart is pure before me, for he is like unto Nathanael of old, in whom there is no guile” (D&C 41:11). And in the Doctrine and Covenants we learn that the Lord received Edward Partridge unto himself (see D&C 124:19).

Do you like to work? When I was a boy growing up in Sandy, Utah, my three brothers and I learned to work hard. My family had a big garden, and my father always planted much more than our family could ever eat. He gave corn, tomatoes, and other vegetables to our neighbors. When they offered to come pick the vegetables, my father said, “Oh, no. My boys will pick them and have them ready for you.” My brothers and I learned to get up at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning to weed the garden and pick the vegetables while it was still cool. I still get up very early in the morning.

I grew up in a family where three generations—my grandparents, parents, two younger brothers, and one aunt—all lived together under the same roof. My grandmother took care of my aunt, who had both intellectual and emotional challenges. After my grandmother passed away, my mother took full responsibility for my aunt and cared for her in our home night and day.
My aunt eventually moved into a community center. Even though it was a long distance away, my mother visited her regularly. After my mother’s death, I became my aunt’s main source of family support. I came to understand how devoted my mother had been. I also became extremely grateful for the attentive people who watched over my aunt.
My own family experience has helped me to understand that caregivers face a variety of challenges. Cultural expectations, family relationships, availability of facilities—all may affect caregivers. But there’s one challenge just about every caregiver faces at some point: fatigue. This can be particularly true when one older person is taking care of another, usually one spouse taking care of the other. In fact, research indicates that caregivers ages 66–96 who are experiencing stress have a 63 percent higher risk of mortality than noncaregivers.1

I conclude with an experience Sister Bednar and I had with President and Sister Hinckley. We were eating dinner together at a banquet in Salt Lake City shortly after President Hinckley had returned from a demanding international trip. During the course of our conversation I asked President Hinckley this question, "President, given your travel schedule and the demands of your office, how do you keep up?" He smiled warmly and responded, "David, I do not keep up. I travel through so many time zones that when I am supposed to be wide awake, I am sleepy. When I am supposed to be sleepy, I am wide awake. The paperwork and other demands in the office are never ending." He then smiled and said something I will never forget: "But, David, I just keep going." Can you and I hear and recognize and feel the faith in that answer by the President of the Church. When he is tired, he just keeps going. When circumstances look difficult and even discouraging, he just keeps going. Regardless of the challenge, he just keeps going. In light of this episode with President Hinckley, please consider again the statement by the Prophet Joseph Smith: ". . . faith is . . . the principle of action in all intelligent beings."

Just over thirteen years ago, my wife at the time, through a series of choices that led her to question her testimony, ultimately decided to leave our marriage and our family and to move out of state. She said that I could have the house and our six children.

I found myself a divorced, single father trying to balance employment, my calling in the bishopric, fatherhood, and an attempt at being "mister mom." My four daughters were 15, 10, 9, and 7 years old at the time, and my two sons were 12 and 5. Boy did I ever need help. I prayed several times a day pleading with the Lord for guidance and direction.

A short time later, a good sister in my ward mailed a note to me which had a profound effect. It said that I should remember, "This is not life, but only an event in life. Pain and suffering are required; misery is optional." I realized that I could not change the situation, but I could control how I reacted. I concluded that I would have to exercise as much faith as I could and place my trust in the Lord to get through this ordeal, recognizing Christ as my rock and my foundation.

During my trial of being a single dad, I learned to do a lot of new things. I learned to cut my children's hair. I learned to use a curling iron on my girls' hair. I learned to take my daughters on those special shopping trips as they matured. My children survived my cooking and my girls' sometimes endured bangs that I often cut too short, but we learned to work together as a team. We placed our trust in the Lord and faithfully continued having daily family prayer and family scripture study, and weekly family home evenings. Through faith, obedience, and an increased trust in the Lord, my children and I were sustained through this difficult period.

A little over a year after the divorce, my parents were visiting and on the morning they were preparing to leave, I asked my dad for a father's blessing. I was promised that if I trusted in the Lord, I would find a new companion. With fear and trepidation, I jumped into the dating game. In a few months I met a wonderful woman. I could quickly tell that she loved the Lord. After a five-month courtship, we were married and together we began the process of blending our two families. I gained a beautiful new daughter and two more handsome sons. My wife and I have been blessed in this effort to blend our families. It has not always been easy, but as she and I work together in a three-way relationship with Jesus Christ and place our trust in Him, we are confident that we will succeed.

The organ music was playing softly as Johnny followed his dad, mom, and little sister into the chapel. He stuck his hands into his pockets, resisting the urge to give Kevin a friendly poke as he walked past. Johnny had learned from an earlier experience that this was not the time or place for greeting a friend that way.
His family quietly filed into the fifth row where they customarily sat. As Johnny sat there, he ran his fingers along the crease of his new pants. It was hard to pay attention to the man at the pulpit. He was just talking to the grown-ups, anyway.
Johnny began thinking about his birthday. Soon he would be eight years old. In three weeks he would be baptized. He had talked to Dad about it last night.
“When you have been baptized, Johnny,” Dad had told him, “all the things you do wrong will be your responsibility.” Dad talked to him about how the Holy Ghost would help him make good decisions so that he would do the right things.
Dad also talked to him about the importance of the sacrament and the reverent feelings he should have. “Now that you’re old enough to be a member of the Church, you’re also old enough to try to be more reverent at church and to know about the blessings of the sacrament. It’s important for your thoughts to be reverent too. The sacrament reminds us of the promises we make at baptism.”
Johnny didn’t understand how his thoughts could be reverent. His teacher had talked about being reverent during sacrament meeting, and she seemed to think that Johnny knew just how to do it. Maybe it means just being quiet, Johnny decided. I’ll try sitting here as quietly as I can and see if I feel different while the sacrament is being passed.
He sat there quietly for a while, his legs dangling over the seat of the pew. Then his toes started to feel funny. He began swinging his legs back and forth. He swung them harder and harder until he was making a kicking sound against the bottom of the bench.
“Shh!” his mom whispered. “Johnny, be reverent!”
Johnny thought he was being reverent—he hadn’t been talking. I guess being reverent means you don’t kick your feet—even if your toes feel funny, he decided.
Johnny sat very quietly. He was trying to feel reverent during the sacrament, but all he felt was tired from sitting on that big, hard pew. He saw Brother Willey sitting in front of him. He was an older man with large glasses. The glasses had thick lenses. If Johnny wiggled up onto the edge of his seat and Brother Willey held his head just right, Johnny could look right through his glasses. They made everything look funny. Ricky, Johnny’s friend, looked fuzzy, as if he were underwater. Johnny moved around so he could see how Brother Willey’s glasses made other things look.
“Stop wiggling, Johnny. Be reverent,” his mom whispered.
Johnny had forgotten about being reverent. He slid back against the hard bench. He tried to get comfortable so that he could sit quietly and be reverent.
Then he noticed a man with a mustache sitting next to his Primary teacher. As Johnny watched, the man fell asleep. Then the most remarkable thing happened. Each time the man breathed out, his mustache wiggled, just like the wind was blowing it. Johnny had never seen anything quite like it. The longer he watched, the funnier it looked to him. All of a sudden, the man made a long, soft, whistling noise. His whole mustache looked like it jumped. Johnny started to giggle.
“Shh! Don’t giggle, Johnny! Try to be reverent.”
Johnny turned the other way so that he couldn’t see the sleeping man. As he turned, he noticed the speaker standing at the microphone. It’s Brother Curtis, our home teacher, Johnny thought. He listened to Brother Curtis.
Brother Curtis was talking about when the Savior died. Johnny remembered the picture that his Primary teacher had shown the class of Jesus hanging on a cross. There were nails through his hands and feet, and blood—
Blood! That reminded Johnny of the day the previous week when he was trying to ride his new bike. He had fallen from it onto a sharp rock and cut his knee. Blood had streamed down his leg and onto his pants. Boy, it sure hurt! Johnny thought, pulling up his pant leg. His knee still looked pretty bad, even with a bandage on it.
Johnny sat there very quietly. He thought about how it would feel to have someone pound a nail through his hand. Why would Jesus let those men hurt Him like that? he wondered.
“I know the Savior suffered, bled, and died because He loves us so much,” Brother Curtis was saying. “And when we partake of the sacrament, we promise to always remember Him.”
Jesus really must have loved me to die for me, Johnny thought. When I ate the bread and drank the water during the sacrament, it was in remembrance of His body and blood. Suddenly it was almost as if Jesus was sitting there beside him on the pew. Is this the reverent feeling that Mom, Dad, and my teacher were talking about? Johnny remembered a song he liked to sing in Primary: “This is God’s house, and he is here today. He hears each song of praise and listens when we pray.”
When Sister Watene offered the closing prayer, Johnny folded his arms and bowed his head and listened carefully.
Next week, he promised himself, after adding his “Amen” with the other members’, I’m going to be reverent all during sacrament meeting. I won’t talk, or wiggle, or giggle, or kick my feet. And during the sacrament, I’ll think about Jesus and try to feel Him close to me again.

Just after my baptism on 31 October 1980, a friend invited me to a ward party. I said to myself, This Church is nice; they even throw a party for me. I later realized I wasn’t really the guest of honor. But at the party my friend introduced me to a young woman and told her to take good care of me. Annie Ortiz was indeed a good fellowshipper. At this time, she is still taking good care of me. We were married in 1985 and sealed in the Manila Philippines Temple.

A mission is a couple of years in the future, but it’s something 17-year-old Jeremy thinks a lot about now. Where will he be called? Will he have the opportunity to learn a language? What will a mission be like? What more can he do to get ready?
Jeremy Pownall lives in Sydney, Australia, a place known for its famous opera house, great climate, relaxed lifestyle, and surfing. Actually, body-boarding is his passion right now, although he pretty much only gets to go for a few hours early Saturday mornings. He is just getting his mind around the fact that when he goes on his mission he’ll be leaving the beach and the waves behind. After all, a lot of his surf mates have done it. In fact, those mates are the very ones who are the most effective in convincing him that he really can serve a mission and be more than happy about it.
“There’s nothing like an early-morning yarn going to the surf,” he says. “I go with the returned missionaries in the ward and my Young Men leaders. They are great advice givers. All of them say that there will be great experiences in your life, but a mission is the best experience for your life.”
What do a bunch of LDS surfers talk about at the beach? Jeremy smiles slightly and says, “We talk about the waves we’ve caught and the places we’re going to travel to, where we would like to go on a mission or where they’ve been on their missions. The older guys tell us to definitely marry in the temple. And they remind us that we are going to marry the girls we date.” Being surrounded by surf and sand seems to be the right spot for all this good advice to sink in.
Jeremy admits that he really is a listener. And he soaks in the good advice that comes from his mentors, the ones who are a few years ahead of him on the road of life. “They tell me that if I ever do something that I regret, to never feel uncomfortable about going to my bishop or talking to my parents.”
In another instance, at Young Men camp, he listened when someone got up and spoke about his patriarchal blessing. “I hadn’t thought too much about that,” he recalls. “A week later I went for my interview, and a month later I got my patriarchal blessing.”
In talking about his testimony, Jeremy mentions one of his mentors in particular. “He’s one of my dad’s friends from New Zealand. Whenever he comes here, he goes out of his way to take me surfing. It’s a perfect opportunity for us to talk. The talks I’ve had with him are a major part of my conversion story.”
Sometimes it is in the relaxing moments out in the water or on the drive to the beach when what is said is the easiest to listen to. For Jeremy, that’s where his own testimony came into focus.
The next step in his conversion was bearing that testimony. “I think my testimony grew exponentially when I started bearing it more often and more freely. I feel more confident.”
After all, he points out, he does live in the mission field every day. “A lot of people respect me for my morals, especially here in Australia. Here people at 14 will start going to parties, getting drunk, and trying smoking and drugs. They respect me for still being an interesting and outgoing sort of person, yet not doing any of that stuff.”
Jeremy has big plans for the future. His success in school and his interest in learning languages might lead to becoming an ambassador or diplomat. “Everyone complains about how world leaders are doing things at the moment. I think I could do a better job. Maybe they need the Spirit to guide them.”
Jeremy is sensitive to the impressions of the Spirit. He listens to those who have made good choices. He pays attention to his seminary teacher and his youth leaders. And he likes what he hears.
The bottom line is that he is happy. He had a friend tell him once that she envied people from his church because they all seemed to be happy. Jeremy agrees. He says he has always treasured that about the gospel. “I’m blessed to live in Australia. I’m blessed to have a good family and be brought up in the gospel. I don’t want to waste it.”

I had been feeling upset after getting into an argument with my mom. Dealing with the divorce of my LDS parents and my mom’s new husband really has hit me hard. One night while watching TV, I decided to read the magazine. Once I opened it to the first page, tears filled my eyes. Real stories and people fill this magazine. I can’t thank you enough for the knowledge, comfort, and the spirit it brought to me.
Name WithheldTexas

Sister Quashigah remembers hearing for the first time the Primary song, “I Know My Father Lives”. She felt empowered by the words “He sent me here to earth, by faith to live his plan. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me that I can.”1
When she is faced with a difficult task, she has learned that the Savior will give her the power and strength that she needs, and the Spirit will guide her steps. Upon receiving her first Come Follow Me book, Sister Quashigah was devastated that she could not read it, but through the gospel literacy program, she has learned to read and can now explain the doctrines and principles of the gospel to her family and friends.

I was serving as a missionary when I met Susie (name has been changed). She and her family had been taught the gospel by two missionaries who worked in the mission office with me. They had received all the lessons and had accepted the invitation to be baptized and confirmed. It was my privilege to interview this wonderful family of four: mother, father, younger brother, and Susie.
I had completed the baptismal interviews for the other three family members and had found them wonderfully prepared and excited to be part of the Lord’s kingdom. But when Susie walked in, she seemed quiet and somewhat hesitant to meet with me.
I began asking questions about what she had been taught. She knew the story of the Prophet Joseph Smith and believed it; she had read the Book of Mormon and knew it to be true; and she accepted the Church as the only true and living Church on the earth and wanted to be part of it. I asked Susie about her willingness to live the law of tithing, the Word of Wisdom, and other commandments. She said she understood these and was willing to live them for the rest of her life. Indeed, the interview was much like those I had had with the rest of her family.
Then I asked, “Can you tell me what the law of chastity is?” Her countenance immediately changed. I quickly recognized this must be why she seemed hesitant to meet with me. Before I could say anything, she covered her face with both hands, put her face and hands in her lap, and began to sob uncontrollably.
We sat without speaking for several minutes. I was unsure of what to say, and Susie could not stop sobbing. I prayed for the Lord’s help and asked Susie what was wrong. She finally lifted her face and told me that several weeks before meeting the missionaries she and her boyfriend had done things the missionaries had taught her were wrong according to the Lord’s law. She had already told her boyfriend what she had learned and had told him she would no longer be involved in such a relationship. She had even suggested to him that he meet with the missionaries and hear what she now knew was true. Still, the guilt for having engaged in these acts weighed down her soul.
My heart hurt with hers. I wanted so much to help her because I felt that her remorse and her desire to do right and be baptized were sincere. At that moment, the answer to my prayer came clearly. I asked her, “Susie, would you like to be free of the guilt and pain of this sin?” Once again her hands covered her face, and her head bowed. She uttered only one word: “Yes.” Her tears came even more freely, and I consoled her by talking about the Atonement and how she could apply it to her life. I explained that one purpose of baptism and confirmation is to heal the souls of those who are sincere in repentance, and without question I found her to be sincere.
We completed the interview with a prayer. The Spirit of the Lord was clearly present, more powerfully than I had ever before felt in an interview.
My companion and I arrived at the chapel shortly before the baptism. There was no time to speak to Susie or her family prior to the service. After the singing and the talks, they were baptized—first her mother, then her father, then her brother, and finally Susie. She walked down into the font, and her smile told the story—the healing balm of the Master was working in her heart. As she came out of the water, tears were in her eyes and mine. Her smile was even bigger than before, and her countenance was radiant. I understood at that moment why the Savior taught, “Come unto me, all ye that … are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
We spoke only briefly after the service. I welcomed the family as new members of the Lord’s kingdom. As I shook Susie’s hand, I wanted to tell her how much this experience had meant to me. I had repented in my life and felt the power of the Atonement, but I was grateful to have felt it more powerfully than ever before because of my association with her.
Joining the Church is a challenge in and of itself. Joining under such personally strained circumstances had to be an even greater challenge for Susie, as it is for many new members. But the Atonement of Jesus Christ made the challenge surmountable and led this wonderful daughter of God to conversion and a healing of the soul. It also taught an impressionable young missionary an important lesson about applying the Atonement in his own life.

“It’s hot!” Joseph complained to his little brother, Loren.
Yesterday a heat wave had blasted through town. Now they were trying to play marbles, but Joseph was so sweaty that his shooter marble stuck to his fingers.
“Let’s go for a swim!” Joseph said.
As the boys walked toward the Little Colorado River, they saw Sam and Frank, who ran to join them.
“Swimming’s just what we need to cool off!” Sam said, kicking a rock.
“Sure is,” Frank agreed. “Too bad we don’t have a sweet treat to take with us.” Then he looked at the field they were passing. The afternoon sun blazed off the smooth round watermelons in Farmer Davis’s patch. “Hey, Joseph,” Frank said, “I dare you to climb over that fence and get us a ripe watermelon.”
“I don’t know …” Joseph said. “Isn’t that stealing?”
Loren looked uncomfortable too. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Come on,” Frank said, pushing Joseph toward the fence. “No one will ever know.”
“What’s the matter?” Sam teased. “Are you chicken?”
“No,” Joseph said, squirming.
Frank started to climb the wooden fence rails. “Come on, don’t be a baby. I’ll go with you.”
Joseph frowned but scaled the fence and jumped with Frank into the watermelon patch.
“Don’t worry,” Frank said. “We’ll only take a small one. No one will even miss it.”
Joseph grabbed the closest melon and raced back to the fence. The other boys laughed and took turns carrying the heavy melon as they ran to the river. Finally they broke open the watermelon. The sticky sweet juice that trickled down their chins was delicious! But Joseph already wished he hadn’t taken the melon.
On the walk home, they finished off the last of the melon just as they passed the watermelon patch again. Joseph ducked when he saw Farmer Davis in the field. He glanced up and waved at the boys, who quickly tossed the melon rinds to the side of the road. Farmer Davis frowned, took off his hat, and scratched his head as the boys hurried by.
Joseph felt terrible. It had been wrong to take the watermelon. He knew he had to tell Farmer Davis what they had done and ask for forgiveness.
That evening Farmer Davis visited Joseph and Loren at their house. “One of my prize watermelons went missing,” he said. “I was wondering if you boys happened to see anyone in my field as you passed by today.”
Joseph looked at his shoes, a knot tightening in his stomach. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly. “We were with some other boys, and I took a melon from your field. We took it to the river, and all of us ate it together.”
Farmer Davis pressed his lips into a straight line. “Taking a melon that you didn’t grow is stealing.”
“I’m really sorry,” Joseph said. “I don’t have any money, but I could do some chores to repay you.”
“I ate some too,” Loren said. “I’ll help.”
Farmer Davis thought for a minute. “Tomorrow morning, when you’ve finished your chores at home, come by my field. I think I can find some work for you.”
That night Joseph asked Heavenly Father to forgive him for taking something that didn’t belong to him. He prayed that next time someone asked him to steal something, he’d have the courage to say no. The knot in Joseph’s stomach loosened. Tomorrow morning he would go to the Davis’s farm and do whatever chores the farmer asked him to do. And he wouldn’t complain about the extra work—or the heat.

This past September she spoke in the General Relief Society meeting for the women of the Church. She talked about the refining process in her life. She was in her mid thirties and had four young children when she received her patriartical blessing. The blessing the patriarch gave emphasized missionary work over and over again. She felt overwhelmed with the thought of being a missionary. She had barely read the Book of Mormon once herself and felt inadequate to teach others about the gospel. When her patriarchal blessing came, she tucked it away carefully in a drawer. Over the years that followed, she and her husband focused on preparing their children to serve missions. After sending her sons to many lands on missions, she believed she had completed her missionary duty.

Then her husband was called to be the Mission President in Nigeria. With this calling came many questions and concerns for her. She was worried about going over 10,000 miles away from home, leaving both her married and unmarried children and her aging father and mother-in-law behind. What would they eat while they were there? Would they be safe in a country that was politically unstable and dangerous? She felt inadequate on every level. It is interesting to note what she did to increase her faith in the Lord Jesus Christ

Her prayers became constant and fervent. She redoubled her efforts to attend the temple. She searched the scriptures, fasted and prayed, and all the while tried to live faithful to the covenants that she had made. The next thing she had to do was to step out into the darkness. In order to do this, she realized that she needed to rely completely on the Lord and seek for personal revelation. And finally, she had to submit her will to the Lord’s in order to receive His help, His guidance, and His protection.

As I listened to her speak, I was reminded of an earlier talk that she had given. She and her husband, while serving in Nigeria, had traveled to a remote location in their mission so he could conduct temple recommend interviews with the members in that area. Some of these members had been in the Church for less than two years. All of the members lived 3,000 miles away from the nearest temple in Johannesburg, South Africa. None had received their temple endowment.

The members all knew the appointed day that President and Sister Pingree would come, but no one knew the exact hour they would arrive. There was no way to call ahead since telephones were rare in that part of West Africa. So these committed Saints gathered early in the morning to wait all day, if necessary, for their temple recommend interviews. When the Pingree’s arrived, they noticed two Relief Society sisters waiting among the rest of the group.

After many hours, all of the temple recommend interviews were completed. The Pingree’s began the drive back along the sandy jungle trail and were stunned when they saw these two sisters still walking. They realized they had trekked from their village, a distance of 18 miles round trip, just to obtain a temple recommend they knew they would never have the privilege of using.

These Nigerian Sisters believed the counsel of President Howard W. Hunter who said, “It would please the Lord for every adult member to be worthy of and to carry a current temple recommend, even if proximity to a temple does not allow immediate or frequent use of it.” Sister Pingree concluded, “In her hand, carefully wrapped in a clean handkerchief, each sister carried her precious temple recommend. I carry their examples of faith carefully wrapped in my heart.” These sisters truly exhibited faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Surely this experience and many others like it strengthened Sister Pingree’s faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.

Again, it is a wonderful gift to know that we are children of God with a divine purpose. While in Hong Kong a number of years ago, my mother and I went on a tour of that beautiful city and surrounding area. The young woman tour guide became interested in us and asked about our homeland. We told her we were from the state of Utah. We also volunteered that we were Latter-day Saints and asked her if she had seen any Mormon missionaries there. She replied that she had heard of them, but she had no interest in religion or even in a Supreme Being. She then said: “I believe in only one thing, and that is myself—that is how the young generation feel in this city.” She went on to say: “We call it egoism. We believe in doing and accumulating all you can for yourself—no one else matters.”

Many people live their lives this way. It appears that all they care about is themselves. But I had never heard anyone admit to such a philosophy. I was surprised and realized that she was searching for a way to make her life meaningful. I thought of the scripture in Matthew 16:25–26:

For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.

For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?

The young lady did not understand who she is. She was not able to enjoy the gift of knowing that she is a daughter of a Heavenly Father and that her life has purpose beyond herself.

Lisa soaked in the coolness of the dewy morning air as she walked down the winding lane. She knew she should be exhausted. Yesterday she and her mother had left their home in Utah. They had flown to Chicago, then on to Manchester, England. The trip had taken 16 hours. Aunt Enid met them in Manchester and drove them the three hours to the old farm house at Bwlchycibau, Wales.
As they had neared the small village, her aunt had slowed the car down and said, “That’s the churchyard where your grandparents are buried, Lisa,” pointing to the left. Looking out the window, Lisa saw a church spire above a grey stone wall. As they rounded the corner she noticed a small wooden gate.
She hadn’t had time to think any more. There had been cases to unload, cousins to meet, a farm house to explore, and finally the bliss of lying in bed for much overdue sleep.
It wasn’t quite dawn when she awoke. She knew that she should still be asleep, but her body was on Utah time and no amount of mental persuasion could entice sleep back once it had fled. She heard voices and peeked out of the small dormer window to see her uncle and oldest cousin Wynn heading off towards a building that she assumed was where the cows were milked.
She lay back on her pillow. A picture of the churchyard flashed into her mind. All at once, she knew that more than anything, she wanted to be alone for her first visit to Bwlchycibau churchyard.
Lisa stopped at the small wooden gate in the wall that she had noticed the night before. She realized as she reached for the latch that she was nervous. She had held back her feelings for many years, and now in a strange churchyard, half a world away from home, she was going to confront them.
She walked slowly down the well-worn path. On either side of her were gravestones, some lichen covered, others leaning slightly. Some stones were well cared for with small flower arrangements at their bases; others were totally neglected. She could imagine other girls, perhaps her own ancestors, walking down this same footpath.
She began meandering between the stones, looking for a familiar name: Williams, Roberts, Davies, Jones. It took awhile, but suddenly she read: “Mabel Jones, beloved wife of Arthur Jones 1917–1994.” Beside the purple slate stone was another: “Arthur Jones, beloved husband of Mabel Jones 1911–1968.” There was a copper bowl of yellow roses at the base of each grave. Her Aunt Enid had been here.
Lisa turned, sat down on an old tree stump nearby, then faced her grandmother’s grave. She said aloud, “Oh, Granny, I wish I had known you. Why did it have to be this way?”
She looked down and whispered, “I wish you had known that I am a good person and that Mum is happy. I don’t understand why you were so bitter. How could you hate me without even knowing me?”
Once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop talking. “When you have a testimony of the gospel like Mum does, you just can’t deny it. Her decision to join the Church was not made carelessly. She fasted and prayed about it many times because she knew it would be hard on you so soon after losing Grandpa. Even though she went away, Mum never stopped loving you or feeling bad for hurting you, Granny.”
Lisa paused. Her eyes filled with tears. “Why couldn’t you have just once acknowledged me? I know that Mum wrote and told you when I was born. We never heard anything. Weren’t you even curious about me? It was hard hearing all my friends talk about their grandmas. You were just an empty ache inside. I didn’t even know you, but I missed you so much.”
Lisa looked at the new gravestone and asked, “Did you get my letter last year? I wrote and told you that I was going to come and see you. I came, Granny. I came, but you didn’t wait.”
With that, Lisa’s whispered words ceased, and she let the tears run down her cheeks without wiping them away. She didn’t hear the quiet approach of a short, aging man in black until his dark robes brushed against her leg. She gasped, startled.
“Can I help you, child?” His soft Welsh accent was like music. Lisa stood, feeling a little foolish.
“You were sitting here for so long that I became anxious about you,” the man said. “Early morning in the churchyard can be quite chilly you know.”
Lisa managed a watery smile. “Oh, I’m fine. Really I am. But thank you for your concern. Are you the rector here?”
The clergyman peered at her perceptively, noting her deep blue eyes, still filled with tears. “That’s right, dear. I’m Reverend Lloyd. Been here at Bwlchycibau for well on 35 years now. Yes, indeed, I’ve seen a lot of people come and go in my time.
“You take this lady here now,” he continued in a comfortable tone, and gestured towards Lisa’s grandmother’s grave. “She was a very special lady. She lived her life quietly giving service to others. Yes, indeed, Mabel Jones is sorely missed by us all.” He sighed, a little sadly.
“What did she do?” Lisa asked, trying to hide her feverish desire to know more.
“Well,” said Reverend Lloyd, “it may be easier for me just to show you. Come with me.” He turned and led the way slowly to the church.
The cool, dark interior of the church was a shock after the bright light of morning outside. Lisa gazed around with interest. The wooden pews were polished to a shine. The stone floor and walls were cold, and every footfall echoed. At the front of the aisle was the altar, draped in a white lace cloth. All around the chapel were tall narrow stained-glass windows. Beams of multicolored light danced on the floor as the sunlight hit the beautiful glass.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” exclaimed Lisa, instinctively lowering her voice to a whisper.
“I’m glad you think so, child,” Reverend Lloyd smiled briefly. Then he led Lisa to a pew halfway down the aisle.
“This is the Jones’s pew,” he said. “Mabel’s daughter Enid and her family still use this bench. A few years ago Mabel decided that her knees were getting too old to kneel on the stone floor, so she made herself a small cushion to kneel on.” He handed Lisa a rectangular pillow that was tucked under the pew. “It’s needlepoint, I believe.”
Lisa touched the delicate work. “It’s lovely,” she said quietly. She felt overwhelmed to be holding something her grandmother had made.
“Yes, that’s exactly what everyone in the congregation thought too. So during the next few winters, Mabel made one or two for every family at church. Each one is a little different, but all most beautiful.” Reverend Lloyd bent down and lifted another pillow from beneath the next bench and handed it to Lisa.
Lisa looked at the two works of art in her hands and wondered that aging hands could create such masterpieces. Reluctantly, she handed them back to the rector. He then guided Lisa towards a small door at the back of the chapel.
“When Reverend Price, my predecessor, first came here as a young rector, there was no village school for the children. A few of the wealthier families sent their children into Oswestry on the train to attend school, but most of the children went without formal instruction. Mabel married Arthur Jones about that time. She moved into Bwlch Farm and was soon involved in the community. It concerned her no end that all the young children here were illiterate. She approached Reverend Price to see if they could do something about it. This was what they came up with.”
Reverend Lloyd opened the thick wooden door into a small room containing one large wooden desk, a large old oak chair, and half a dozen small chairs and tables. On the wall were faded maps, pictures of wild animals, and the alphabet.
“For ten years this was the Bwlchycibau schoolroom. Mabel would come and teach the children of the village three mornings a week. She received no pay for it. She just did it because she saw a need. There are many farmers around here now who wouldn’t be reading if it weren’t for Mabel Jones.
“When the county finally built a school in the village and sent us a certified teacher, Mabel still stopped by once a week to read to the children. I think it was the highlight of the week for them all.”
Lisa let her eyes wander around the room as the rector spoke. She tried to imagine her grandmother reading to the young farm children. Suddenly, she realized that Reverend Lloyd had moved onto another subject.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” he was saying.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Lisa asked apologetically.
“Well, it’s like I was saying,” said the rector, “Mabel Jones did so much Christian service that nobody ever thought she’d done anything she really regretted. But there was something. I only found out about it a few days before her death.”
Reverend Lloyd took Lisa by the arm and led her out of the schoolroom, closing the door behind him. They walked outside, and he motioned for her to sit beside him on the bench beneath the church porch.
“Mabel became ill a few days before her death. I went to see her. She was very weak but wanted to talk to me. She told me about her daughter, not Enid who lives at the farm now, but Mary, an older daughter who went away to America as a young girl. She married an American out there, and they had a daughter.”
The rector didn’t pause in his story as Lisa looked up in surprise and recognition. “Mabel had never seen that granddaughter. I believe when Mary left, there were some bad feelings. Anyway, over the years, Mabel had come to regret the things she’d said to Mary and wanted more than anything to see her again and meet Mary’s husband and daughter. But she didn’t know how to approach her. Then last year, she received a letter from her granddaughter saying that she and her mother were going to come and see Mabel the next year. Mabel was so pleased. She wanted to apologize face to face. She talked of all the things that she wanted to show her granddaughter. Most of all, she wanted that young lady to know that she loved her.
“I think Mabel knew she was going to leave us when I sat with her that day. She drew me close and made me look into those deep blue eyes of hers. Then she said, ‘Reverend, you promise me that if I’m not here when that young girl comes, you’ll find her and tell her what a fool her Gran was not to tell her that she loved her long ago. You tell her that I kept her baby picture that Mary sent right next to my bed where I could see it every morning and every evening. You tell her to grow up to be as fine a woman as her mother is. But most of all, you ask her to forgive me.’”
Her grandmother loved her! In some ways, it made her death harder to bear, but where there had once been emptiness and heartache, Lisa felt a warm glow of gratitude as she began to cry.
Reverend Lloyd covered Lisa’s hand in his. “Now, now child. It’s all right.”
“But, rector,” Lisa said, practically whispering. “I’m Mabel Jones’s granddaughter.”
The rector looked into her face. “You don’t have to tell me that, dear. Mabel Jones’s blue eyes are looking right back at me.” Then with a smile tugging at his lips, he added, “And you don’t talk like a Bwlchycibau native either.”
Lisa smiled at the kindly old man and said, “Thank you,” as they both stood and walked down the path through the churchyard.

Not many teenagers get a chance to launch a small business with one of their parents. But when 15-year-old Blythe G. and her mom made a one-of-a-kind cloth doll for Blythe’s younger sister, they had so much fun that they decided to keep going. “We started selling them,” Blythe says. They also donate one doll a month to a sick child.
Blythe, an artist, loves her part of the process. “My main job is to paint the dolls’ faces,” she says. In addition, she’s acquired other talents along the way. “I’ve learned a lot about marketing,” Blythe says.
She’s also learned how to sew. “That’s been really fun,” she says. “Now I can make all sorts of things.” In fact, Blythe has already put those sewing skills to good use. As she and her mom sold more dolls, they added stuffed animals to their lineup. Blythe personally designed several of the stuffed animals they now sell.
Running this business has brought Blythe and her mom closer together. “I love doing it with my mom,” she says. “My mom is my best friend.”
To other youth thinking about starting a job, Blythe says, “Go for it! There are a lot of things you can’t learn in school that you can learn only from going out there and doing stuff.”

But the mob never returned. Len soon married a woman named Mary Pugh in 1920, and they moved to Birmingham, a large city in central Alabama. Mary’s uncle, a Baptist pastor, predicted that she would join the Church before the year was over.
Mary read the Book of Mormon and gained a testimony of its truth. It took a little longer than predicted, but after five years of marriage she decided to join the Church. On September 15, 1925, the Hopes went with two missionaries to a secluded spring near Birmingham. Mary was baptized without incident, finally becoming a Latter-day Saint, like her husband.4
“I couldn’t be anything better,” she told her uncle, “and I can see no better church.”

After I received my Masters in Educational Counseling working in the Seattle area where my husband and I resided, I was convinced by my uncle Junior to move back to Laie. I finally was able to get back to my counseling field at Kahuku High School and was well aware of the climb upwards towards administrative level. During the summer break we decided to go back to Samoa to visit my parents who unfortunately were divorced at the time, and I felt the need to visit and be with my mom. My husband, a 6’2” good looking Samoan boy born in Daly City, San Francisco area, did not want to return to Samoa. Ernie’s father passed away at 42 when Ernie was only 14 but since his widowed mom was still there, he agreed to go. I, on the other hand, actually wanted to move home and help my mom with the family business and living situation due to the divorce. Ernie, aware of my desire to move back, made the mistake of challenging me that if I was able to find a job that would pay for our airfares back home and that provided housing for our family, we would return. And I had ONE week to do all of that. Don’t you just hate it when someone challenges you to something they think you wouldn’t be able to do? I hustled to begin my search for a job. Imagine my husband’s surprise when I told him that I got a job as a rehabilitation counselor for the Department of Public Safety. They were looking for a second person to hire to assist with their rehabilitation efforts, and they had just hired a graduate from BYU-Hawaii and needed one more. After they offered me the job, I had to convince them to pay our airfares back, relocate my family and provide housing. Aren’t you from here? Don’t you have family to live with? I went through an investigative period over that but I was so determined to complete all the requirements my husband laid out for me. Besides, if they were to hire someone from outside to do the job, they’d have to pay their airfare, put them up in housing, etc. I got a one year contract, and after that I promised my husband that we would return to Hawaii.

Of course Ernie lost the bet. We came back and packed up our little family and moved to Samoa with airfares paid and a place to live. A year later, Star-Kist advertised for an Assistant Personnel Manager as a crucial response to their anti-union efforts. Brothers and sisters, we ended up living in Samoa for 10 more years after that and absolutely loved it! They were growing times for us as I witness the Lords hand in Ernie’s spiritual progression in the church. How he struggled with the culture and language and when he was called as a bishop. I can guarantee you that being a bishop in Samoa is not the same as being a bishop anywhere else in the world as the Saints rallied and helped him with all the proper cultural protocols.

President Thomas S. Monson lives this principle better than anyone I know. There is ever present in his heart a prayer that God will reveal needs and means for him to assist those around him in any given day or moment of the day. One example from his time as a bishop illustrates the fact that sometimes even a little effort may, with the workings of the Spirit, yield remarkable fruit.
“One to whom [President Monson] reached out was Harold Gallacher. His wife and children were active in the Church, but not Harold. His daughter Sharon had asked Bishop Monson if he would ‘do something’ to bring her father back into activity. As a bishop, he felt prompted one day to call on Harold. It was a hot summer’s day when he knocked on Harold’s screen door. The bishop could see Harold sitting in his chair, smoking a cigarette and reading the newspaper. ‘Who is it?’ Harold asked sullenly, without looking up.
“‘Your bishop,’ Tom replied. ‘I’ve come to get acquainted and to urge your attendance with your family at our meetings.’
“‘No, I’m too busy,’ came the disdainful response. He never looked up. Tom thanked him for listening and departed the doorstep. The family moved without Harold ever attending services.
“Years later … Brother Gallacher phoned the office of Elder Thomas S. Monson and asked to make an appointment to see him.
“… When the two met some time later, they embraced. Harold said, ‘I’ve come to apologize for not getting out of my chair and letting you in the door that summer day long years ago.’ Elder Monson asked him if he [was] active in the Church. With a wry smile, Harold replied: ‘I’m now second counselor in my ward bishopric. Your invitation to come out to church, and my negative response, so haunted me that I determined to do something about it.’”