Gospel Story Finder

I would like to share with you a leadership principle I have come to call the parable of the crosswalk. As I approached an elementary school on a walk one morning, I watched three children move toward a crosswalk. As they got closer, a car drew near. The driver, noticing the children, stopped and let the children cross. The two boys ran quickly across the street, but the younger girl was much slower. As she tried to speed up, she went off balance and fell off her scooter. During this time a driver had pulled up behind the car in front and, seeing the boys run off, started honking his horn obnoxiously at the driver in front of him. When the first driver didn’t move, the driver behind rolled down his window and began yelling at the front car to go.

The driver in front gave the driver behind no heed but instead waited for the young girl to get back on her scooter and scoot across the street. By this time I had walked close enough to see the expressions on the faces of both drivers. The expression on the second driver’s face as he realized his mistake—for if the cars had gone forward, the girl could have been killed—was unforgettable. In doing what he did, the driver in front saved the life of this girl. At that moment a simple phrase came to my mind: “Your perspective changes depending on where you are sitting.”

When I was in grade school or Jr. High I had a Snoopy poster in my bedroom that depicted Snoopy and Woodstock beating on drums. Snoopy was in the lead and the caption read, "I march to the beat of a different drummer". That phrase seemed a rather accurate depiction of how I felt as a young adolescent. I struggled, like many do at that age. I grew up in Helena, Montana and while there was a good sized group of strong LDS youth, I struggled to fit the mold. Or perhaps, I fought against fitting the mold. This led me to act out in ways that was quickly noticed by my dear parents.
My father approached his concerns to me through a handwritten letter. I honestly don't recall much of the letter now except for one specific piece of counsel that has dwelled in my heart and mind ever since. My dad wrote, "Sara, don't ever let the beat of the drums drown out the still small voice of the Holy Ghost." As you know, the voice of the Lord is not in the thunder, or in lighting, or in any spectacular display, it comes as it did to Elijah, in a "still small voice."[20][21] My father could see what I could not see, likely because I lost my moxie. I lost my capacity to believe in myself and above all, I lost sight of my potential.

Rosina Howells died on April 27, 1970, aged 83. She was born in Abertillery, Monmouthshire in 1886. Her parents, James and Jane Douglas, were members of the Church. She was baptised at the age of eight and was active in the Church throughout her life. It is believed that Sister Howells was the oldest serving member of the Church in Britain when she passed away.
When she was a little girl, she had to travel to church with her mother from Abertillery to Talywain—a distance of 20 miles each way by road, or eight miles each way over the rough mountain track. When they arrived at Talywain they would hold a cottage meeting at the home of Brother Biggs, and the grandmother of the Forward family, who are also long-serving members. Every week, Sister Howells would have to walk from Brother Biggs’ home back over the mountain to Abertillery.
Sister Howells married Thomas Howells, a nonmember, and resided in Abertillery for a while, and then moved to Pontypool. She had ten children, and throughout each pregnancy she continued to walk miles each way to the Parteg Branch, quite often carrying one or two small children in her arms.
In 1945, her husband joined the Church, at age 69, and was the organist for the Pontypool Branch until he died in 1967.
When the Church meetinghouse was opened at Cwmbran, Sister Howells was wheeled in in a chair, and sent a note to President Pulman, the presiding officer, asking that she should have the opportunity of bearing her testimony.
This request was granted, but when called upon to do so she did not have the strength to stand.
President Pulman lifted her up and held her in his arms. In a clear voice she declared to all present her knowledge of the truthfulness of the gospel.
Her example will live on in the hearts of all those who had acquaintance with her.

Mom has been gone for quite a while now. We still miss her, and we think of her a lot. When we feel lonely, we get out the special book and read the little testimonies she left for us. I can just “hear” her saying something about an answer to prayers, or what wonderful blessings we receive. I’m glad we have those special memories.
Dad got each of us a journal so that we can write down all our own little testimonies. I have written a lot about the times I remember with Mom, but I am writing new little testimonies too.

In 1950 I married my dear wife Fidelia Njoku. She was born at Ibeku Okwuato in Aboh Mbaise Local Government Area in 1930, the daughter of Nkoku Ugonabo and his wife Ekeoma. Both parents died when she was very young, and as a result she was denied the opportunity of education. As an orphan with younger brothers and sisters to support, she was engaged in petty trading, covering many kilometers away from home to distant markets to earn a living. She had been converted to the Catholic religion and was appointed leader in many organizations. She told me that God was directing all her affairs because of the very strong faith she had in him, and that she did all she could to avoid the temptations of the devil.
During the early years of our marriage, we had a series of troubles as a result of miscarriages. All our hopes were placed in God’s protection and the advice from our doctors. Things were very difficult, so I became a trader, with my wife as the storekeeper. She was honest and deserved the honour and admiration of people around us, who regarded her as a worthy homemaker and example to other women. Her duty is ever to give sound advice to people in all walks of life whenever her attention is needed, and her family responsibilities are the first things in her life.
In 1952 I started teaching and struggled hard to further my education. My wife was patient enough to wait for me to go to teacher training college for four years. I had a marvelous teaching career. I did not know that God had a work for me to do, besides my small efforts in the teaching profession.
In November 1965, I was visited in a dream by a tall person carrying a walking stick in his right hand. He asked whether I had read about Christian and Christiana from A Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan. I told him that I had forgotten it and he told me to read it again. After a few months the same personage appeared to me again and took me to a most beautiful building and showed me everything in it. That personage appeared to me three times.
During the Nigerian civil war, when we were confined to the house, I picked up an old copy of the Reader’s Digest for September 1958. I opened it at page 34 and saw a picture of the same beautiful building I had been shown around in my dream, and I immediately recognized it. The heading was “The March of the Mormons.” I had never before heard the word Mormons. I started to read the story because of the picture of the building I had seen in my dream. I discovered that it was all about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
From the time I finished reading the story, I had no rest of mind any longer. My whole attention was focused on my new discovery. I rushed out immediately to tell my brothers, who were all amazed and astonished to hear the story.
By that time there was a blockade all over Nigeria, so I could not write any letter to the headquarters of the Church. At the removal of the blockade in 1971 I wrote a letter for instructions. Pamphlets, tracts, and a Book of Mormon were sent to me, including “Joseph Smith’s Testimony” about the restoration of the gospel. Brother LaMar S. Williams was in the Missionary Department at that time, and his instructions were that they had no authority to organize the Church in Nigeria then. I was totally disappointed, but the Holy Spirit moved me to continue writing. Many a time in dreams I saw some of the missionaries of the Church discussing matters about the Church.
Persecutions, name calling, and all kinds of abuses were rendered to me. I was persecuted in various ways but I kept deaf ears. I knew I had discovered the truth and men’s threats could not move me and my group. So we continued asking God to open the door for us.
Elder W. Grant Bangerter answered a letter I sent in the same way—that the Church could not be organized in Nigeria yet, but that the leadership had the desire to do so.
On 9 October 1976, I wrote to Elder Bangerter:
“I have received your letter of Sept. 24 with thanks. I have noted what you said therein. We are not discouraged anyhow but shall continue to pursue the practice of our faith which we have found to be true. …
“We are very optimistic that Our Lord Jesus Christ will make it possible in the future for the Church to take more direct action. We are well aware that our faith is being tried. We are doing everything we can to establish the truth among so many of Our Heavenly Father’s children in this part of the world.”
Brother Williams gave us a program to follow on Sundays. We continued praying always, until the 21st of November 1978, when the Church was officially opened for the black race (in Africa) with the authority to hold the priesthood and administer the ordinances thereof.
Nineteen members were baptized on the above date by Elders Rendell N. Mabey, Edwin Q. Cannon, Jr., and A. Bruce Knudsen. The Aboh Branch was organized, with Anthony Obinna as president, his brothers Francis and Raymond as his counselors, and his wife Fidelia as Relief Society president. When President Obinna expressed concern about the propriety of having his own family in these offices, Elder Mabey assured him that they had been chosen for their worthiness, not for their kinship. The new branch presidency promptly reported the event in a jubilant letter to the First Presidency:
“Dear Brethren,
“All the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in this part of Nigeria have the pleasure to thank you and the Latter-day Saints throughout the world for opening the door for the Gospel to come to our people in its fullness.
“We are happy for the many hours in the Upper Room of the Temple you spent praying to the Lord to bring us into the fold. We thank our Heavenly Father for hearing your prayers and ours and by revelation. He has confirmed the long promised day, and has granted the holy priesthood to us, with the power to exercise its divine authority and enjoy every blessing of the temple.
“There is no doubt that the Church here will grow and become a mighty center for the Saints and bring progress enough to the people of Nigeria as it is doing all over the world.”
I am blessed with a humble and loyal wife, with seven fine and beautiful children who are all members of the true church on earth. My children are all educated. My first daughter and my first son are certified teachers. Bonadventure has completed secondary class five, Angella is in secondary class four, Stella Ego is in secondary class two, and Anastasia is in secondary class one. The youngest boy in the family is entering college in September 1980.
The most important talk and love in my house is about “our church.” As Christ is guarding his true church, membership is increasing daily, and I testify that in the future, the membership of the Church will be as great as the sand on the seashore. God is great and performs wonders. No human power can withhold God’s work in this world.

Recently a missionary was injured during a preparation-day sports activity and was sent home to recover. He had high goals for getting the physical help he needed and then returning to his mission. However, too much unstructured time alone soon led to a relapse of old habits.

He indulged in sin that he thought he had repented of and left behind him before his mission. He was discouraged and upset about his lack of self-control. The more depressed he became, the more he sought escape in those bad habits. It was a downward cycle that was getting him nowhere fast.

“I feel like I’ve let Heavenly Father down,” the young man told his priesthood leader. “I repented of this before, and God forgave me. I promised never to do it again, and yet here I am as if I had never repented in the first place. I don’t deserve God’s forgiveness or help. Not now. Not ever.”

His priesthood leader said, “Then aren’t you glad to know grace is a gift? You don’t have to earn or deserve it. You simply need to choose to receive it by being willing to keep trying and not give up.”8 The leader then shared these words of Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “We may slip back at times, but let us quickly and humbly return to our knees and move again in the right direction.”9

Once more, the young man turned toward heaven, and the Savior was there to help. Not only did the young man’s injury heal, but so did his heart. One small goal at a time, and with the grace made possible by Jesus Christ, he began to improve. Soon he returned to his mission full of gratitude, self-worth, a sense of meaning, satisfaction with life, and optimism. That is the difference Christ’s grace can make.

May I share with you this afternoon an experience that happened to a young couple who were members of the Church in Japan. They wished to be married, and as is the custom in Japan, they sought permission from their nonmember parents for the marriage to be performed. The boy’s parents refused to give permission. With concern and disappointment, the young couple prayerfully sought ways to fill their lives with meaningful Church activities and trusted that permission would be forthcoming later.
At this time Church members were planning a trip to the Hawaii Temple, and much emphasis was made and was being placed on the importance of genealogical research. So the couple joined with others in seeking out their ancestors and in planning to have the temple work done for them. The girl searched diligently through shrines, cemeteries, and government record offices, and was able to gather seventy-seven names. The boy’s uncle, who was a respected and influential member of the family, heard of this and was deeply impressed with and interested in her work. He noted the intense devotion of the girl to honoring her ancestors and suggested that such a young lady would be a good wife for his nephew. Permission was granted for the young people to be married, and the marriage was performed. Later they were sealed in the Hawaii Temple.
It is a Japanese tradition that families gather together for special holidays in January and August. As this young couple joined their family members on these special occasions, they displayed their book of remembrance, and much interest was generated in their work and in the reasons for it. They discussed with those relatives assembled their ancestral lines and the importance of completing the genealogical research. It was difficult for their nonmember families to understand the reasons for a Christian church teaching principles such as “ancestral worship,” for this was a Buddhist teaching and tradition.
Today many young men and women are completing their family group sheets and are teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ to their parents and their relatives by this method. Through genealogical research and through doing temple work for their progenitors, and especially with a temple now becoming available in Tokyo, members can so live that the gospel will yet be embraced by many more in the Orient. This great work has just begun.

The shrill cry of a car’s horn broke into my thoughts. I had been sitting in my car at the stop sign for several minutes crying. I slowly pulled to the side of the road. The car behind me drove by, and I was again by myself as tears blurred my vision.
The process of repentance had never been more real to me. An hour had passed since I had gone to see the bishop. I had cried as I listened to his counsel and came to realize that I had offended the Lord and was not worthy to bless or pass the sacrament or attend the temple.
This scared me. What would the people in the ward think when they did not see me blessing the sacrament? At that moment, it did not really seem to matter. I was ready to fall at the Lord’s feet. Or so I thought.
I crept in the front door more than an hour after I should have been home from the interview. I tried to decide how to tell my parents why I was late. As I sat in the dark, I tried to hold in my tears. Then I felt an arm on my shoulder. I looked through the haze of tears and saw my mom’s gentle eyes. She said, “Have you been gone this entire time?”
“Yes,” I said, as I told her the bishop and I had a lot to talk about. I hid my face.
She wrapped her arm around me in a gentle embrace. “No matter what you have done, your father and I will always love you,” she said.
The tears rained into my hands. She left, and for the first time I think I truly prayed from my heart.
For the next few days, I felt like I could do no wrong. The bishop’s words seemed easy to follow, and the road back didn’t seem hard. But then I started to hang out with my old friends again, and slowly Satan’s wedge began to pry at me. I started to wonder why things were so hard. I was angry with the Lord and questioned why things couldn’t be easier.
I was feeling guilty and haunted by the things I had done, and I wasn’t going to let myself forget them. I started to fall into the same traps again. I thought I had cast my troubles upon the Lord, and He was to take care of the rest. But things didn’t seem any better, and I was ready to give up. I hadn’t realized yet that I had not really thrown myself at the Lord’s feet. I was being stubborn. I was a lost sheep, unwilling to cry for help. I was still trying to free myself from Satan’s snare all alone.
That all began to change a few weeks later when my family and I moved. I was forced to do what I should have done in the first place. I left my old friends and life behind. In my new home no one knew me, and they saw me for what I could be.
As I made new friends with high standards, I tried to convince them that I was a lost cause and that they should give up on me. But they wouldn’t. They showed the same love my parents had shown. Their love finally led me to believe that, someday perhaps, I could love myself too.
I turned to the scriptures and to prayer. I prayed every night with tears in my eyes and with pain in my heart. Often I felt hopeless, but my prayers and my scripture reading uplifted me. Slowly, I began to regain my self-respect. It was a long and difficult process. Along the way I even discovered the joy of writing in a journal, which helped me focus my thoughts and say more sincere prayers.
One night while reading the scriptures, I felt something no words can describe. I found the peace that I had longed for as forgiveness came. The Lord healed my soul. I felt His love wrap around me. I felt free from my sins. I felt forgiven.
Days later I read Doctrine and Covenants 6:22–23: “If you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?”
The feeling of peace I had truly was from the Lord. He left the “ninety and nine” to rescue me (Matt. 18:12).

An experience which remains vivid in my mind when I felt the Savior yoked up with me, was during the October 2010 general conference. A missionary who had struggled for over six months with homesickness and wanting to go home was really weighing me down. As we approached general conference, I asked for inspiration on how to deal with this challenge. I also asked the missionaries to identify personal issues they were struggling with, then to listen carefully for what would be said in the general conference. Missionaries were asked to listen to both spoken and unspoken words.

We had just watched the Saturday afternoon session, and we were waiting for the priesthood session. Since we were watching the sessions live, it was past midnight in Harare. Some of us were outside, and this missionary who had been struggling with homesickness came and stood next to me. He simply said, “President, I have decided to stay.”

I could hardly believe what he had said. I asked him, “Why have you decided to stay and serve your mission?”

He said that he felt it was the right thing to do. Then he added, “I decided to stay not for myself, but for my children and grandchildren.”

We embraced and rejoiced together.

This missionary became one of our strongest elders. He inspired other missionaries to look to the Lord and to serve with humility, faith, and power.

Now he and his sweetheart have been sealed in the temple, and they are noble, righteous parents. His decision to stay on his mission surely has brought blessings to his family and it will continue to do so forever.

I felt the Lord’s love in taking upon me his yoke as we listened to general conference and sensed this missionary felt the same way. As I now reflect on what transpired, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s words come to mind: “If we teach by the Spirit and you listen by the Spirit, some one of us will touch on your circumstance, sending a personal prophetic epistle just to you.”1

One of the greatest blessings of my life was being able to serve a full-time mission. It was a wonderful event for the whole family, since I was the oldest of three brothers. My parents were converts to the Church and had been baptized when I was four years old, thanks to two fine missionaries who knocked on the door of their home in Bernal, a suburb south of Buenos Aires, Argentina. As a result, my parents always hoped their children would likewise help people find the religion that had made them so happy.
Things were going wonderfully as the first year of my mission went by. Then, when I was serving in Córdoba, Argentina, I received some sad news from home: my father was very ill. He had recently undergone surgery, and the doctors had found that his illness was much advanced, in the terminal stage.
The mission president decided that I should go home, visit my father, and return to the mission field the next day. So I went home and found my father on the verge of death, most of the time unconscious and immobile. I spent most of my time at his bedside. Those were hours of sorrow, of peace, and of the abundant companionship of the Spirit. All my thoughts were centered on the Lord and His great plan.
At some point my father regained consciousness. He looked at me but did not recognize me. However, as I began to express how much I loved him and how grateful I was to be his son, he realized he was listening to his eldest child, the missionary. Tears started to roll down his cheeks, and making great effort to communicate, he said, “Your mother is a saintly woman; she is our example.” Then I clearly heard these words from his lips: “Even if you don’t have anything to eat, always pay your tithing.”
He did not say much more. I wrote down his words in my journal, left the house, and returned to the mission field. A few hours later my father passed away.
With the passage of time, as I began my own family and watched my children grow up, this experience with my father came to my mind. As I pondered the significance of life and death, I thought, “What last words of counsel would I leave my children if I knew the time had come to leave this world?” I could not think of anything better than the counsel I had received from my father: “Even if you don’t have anything to eat, always pay your tithing.”
The law of tithing is a great blessing to our family. I have learned that the Lord does not need my tithing; rather, I am the one who needs the blessings that come from obeying this law.
I have also learned that it does not matter if our donation envelope is bulging or if it contains just a few coins. We have met our obligation to the Lord if our tithing is 10 percent of our income. As we pay our tithing we become partners with the Lord. We take a stand in favor of building temples, in which all the ordinances of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ are made available to families. We take a stand in favor of building meetinghouses, where we can attend each Sunday with our families and partake of the sacrament if worthy. We take a stand in favor of helping missionary work reach the ends of the earth. And finally, we take a stand in favor of having the Church “stand independent above all other creatures beneath the celestial world” (D&C 78:14).
I consider the law of tithing a law of protection for my home and the most important principle in the sound financial management of our family’s resources.
Church members who understand the principle of tithing know that it is not primarily about money; it is about faith. Let us have faith in the promises of the Lord, who declared, “Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Malachi 3:10).

I witnessed firsthand how these blessings—as promised by our dear prophet—changed the life of Brother Joseph Tembo* from the Copperbelt in Zambia. We visited this brother when I was assigned to preside over a district conference a few years ago. Upon entering his home, I noticed in his room a small table on the left with a pile of scriptures. I just marveled as I was informed that he had been inactive for the past seven years and had become somewhat disaffected. As we discussed with him, he said something profound, “I haven’t been going to Church for the past seven years because of some offense. I still know the gospel is true. Reading the Book of Mormon daily has kept me going.” The Book of Mormon had surely comforted, strengthened and consoled him during his greatest time of need. It was therefore easy to help him find his way back to Church again.

This also strengthened my own testimony that scripture study should have a daily set time, not leftover time! And as President Harold B. Lee cautioned, “If we are not reading the scriptures daily, our testimonies are growing thinner.”11

As we seek to increase our faith in Heavenly Father and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and His Atonement, we need to “press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end.”12 “The words of Christ will tell [us] all things what [we] should do.”13 The Book of Mormon is for our profit and learning. It testifies of Jesus Christ and answers the questions of the soul.

Then I thought of my niece Ashley. She too knows of the love her Father in Heaven has for her, yet her experience was quite the opposite of Jocelyn’s.
About a year ago Ashley was walking with her father and mother across seaside boulders near their home in northern California. Her dad was photographing beautiful scenes for watercolors he would paint. Out of nowhere and with no forewarning, a rogue wave engulfed the shore, carrying her father out to sea and dragging her mother along the boulders. Ashley was inland far enough that the killer wave missed her. Terrorized by what she had just witnessed, she ran for help.
Within minutes, a man with a cell phone called emergency numbers, and a rescue began. Her mother had landed in a precarious spot where she could be reached only by helicopter. She was in excruciating pain with a broken back and arm and with numerous cuts and gashes due to the vicious rocks and fierce ocean. Ashley’s father was nowhere to be found. As Ashley’s mother lay on the edge of the sea waiting for rescue, she felt her husband’s presence, and she knew without a doubt that he was gone. His body never was recovered.
Heavenly Father didn’t save Ashley’s dad. Yet Ashley still knows that He loves her. She says: “During that time I felt comfort from the Holy Ghost. I knew I would see my dad again. And I felt the Lord’s love through the kind care of others.”

Our experiences in mortality are like the little boy and his father flying a kite on a windy day. As the kite rose higher, the winds caused it to tug on the connecting string in the little boy’s hand. Inexperienced with the force of mortal winds, he proposed to cut the string so the kite could rise higher. His wise father counseled no, explaining that the string is what holds the kite in place against mortal winds. If we lose our hold on the string, the kite will not rise higher. It will be carried about by these winds and inevitably crash to the earth.

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

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

On one occasion Sister Shumway and I were at the beautiful temple of Cochabamba, Bolivia. Elder and Sister Dallas Jones, from Silver City, New Mexico were the managers of the temple patron housing. A young family had traveled numerous hours to be in the temple. Shortly after showing the family to their room, Brother Jones returned to see how they were. The father was boiling some water.
"Are you preparing some soup?" Brother Jones asked.
"No," was the response. "We have spent all of our money on transportation and lodging and have none left for food, and we thought hot water would be more nourishing for the children than cold water."
Brother and Sister Jones quickly prepared tuna sandwiches. The family was fed, they rested through the night, and the next morning entered into a house of glory where covenants were made and blessings promised through continued faithfulness.

“Wow, the dirt is orange!” My sister pointed to the crusty ground by the boardwalk we were standing on. A few feet away, an oval pool seemed to glow yellow and blue.
“Where do the colors come from?” I asked Dad as he stopped to take a picture. He handed me a pamphlet from the ranger station. “I think it talks about it in there.”
The pamphlet told about the history of Yellowstone National Park. It also had a map of where we were. Then I saw a section about geothermal pools.
“Whoa! The colors are caused by bacteria!” I told Dad. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
I started imagining what the bacteria looked like. I wished I could take some water to look at under a microscope, or at least touch it to see if it felt weird. I guess my sister had a similar idea, because pretty soon she tugged on Mom’s shirt.
“Mama, I want to touch it! Pleeeeeease?”
Mom and Dad gave each other a look—one of those “talk without saying anything” looks—and pulled my sisters and me to the side of the boardwalk.
“Remember what we talked about before we got out of the car?” Mom said. She didn’t even wait for us to answer. “Don’t touch anything off the boardwalk.”
“But why?” The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Instead of just saying “Because I said so” like he sometimes does, Dad paused for a second and pointed to a sign nearby. It said, “Dangerous Ground.”
“The water might look nice and cool. But it’s actually very, very hot. If you touched it, you’d get badly burned. There’s even super-hot water just under the orange dirt there. But we can enjoy it all safely from the path.”
Dad pointed out that the sign was written in lots of different languages. “The warning is so important that they wanted to make sure everyone could understand it. They want everyone to stay on safe ground.”
I nodded, and even my little sisters seemed to understand. We kept walking along the boardwalk, listening to the steam hiss around us. Before, I had mostly been thinking about how awesome the scenery was. Now I was also watching my sisters and making sure they were safe.
After a while, we saw a geyser shoot into the air! I loved watching the wind blow the water droplets across the colorful ground.
Finally it was time to head back to the car. Mom walked up beside me and put her arm around my shoulders. “You know, the boardwalk is kind of like the commandments.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well,” said Mom, “Heavenly Father gave us a beautiful world to live in. And He gave us commandments to help us make safe and happy choices. He really loves us, and He wants us to have a wonderful experience here on earth.”
I thought about that for a bit as we passed the blue-and-yellow pool of water again.
“So I guess wanting to touch the water is kind of like temptation?”
Following the prophet helps us stay on a good path. Read a message from him here!
Mom nodded. “I think so. It’s easy to think that the pools of water won’t hurt us—that we’ll have more fun if we leave the gospel path—but that’s just not true. Listening to the prophets and following the commandments is like staying on the boardwalk. It helps us make good choices and enjoy our lives.”
Before I climbed into our van, I took one last look back at the boardwalk and made myself a promise: I was going to stay on safe ground, no matter what!

As my wife indicated, I’m a convert to the Church. I’ll begin by relating my conversion story.
I had just finished my first year at college and was home for the summer. One day the elders were tracting on our street and came to our house. Generally when the elders came through the neighborhood, the neighbors called one another and everyone would close their curtains, lock their doors, and pretend they weren’t home. One year of college had helped me to be somewhat open minded, so I visited with the elders. I was the only one home at the time. We mostly spoke about their missions – that they were paying for them, what they did most of the time, etc. We didn’t speak much about the Church, which was great because I wasn’t sure there was a God, and I really wasn’t interested in religion. However, I was very impressed that they felt strong enough about their religion to serve (at their own expense) two-year missions.
Sometime later they left, and I thought that was the end of that; in other words, I didn’t expect to see them again. A few days later, to my great surprise, they stopped by the house again. As before we just visited and didn’t speak much about religion. This went on for a few weeks, and we became friends. At that point, and I don’t remember how it happened, they started teaching me the missionary discussions. Most of what they said, particularly the plan of salvation, made a lot of sense to me. Also, whenever they taught, I felt something that I hadn’t felt prior to meeting them, and it felt really, really good.
At some point the elders told me I had to do three things in order to determine the truthfulness of their message – I had to read the Book of Mormon, pray, and come to church. Reading wasn’t a problem, I was already reading the Pearl of Great Price, as well as assigned sections in the Book of Mormon. I didn’t know much about prayer, but I was willing to try it. Coming to Church was another story – I didn’t want to go because I just couldn’t see myself as a “Church goer.” But the Elders persisted so I went to church and actually enjoyed it.
About prayer – at some point I decided to try it, so I went to my room, kneeled down, and asked God if everything I had been taught, especially the Book of Mormon, was true. I did not receive any kind of answer – I felt nothing. However, the next day or so I tried again, and this time I just had a feeling – in my head and in my heart – that the Book of Mormon was true, and furthermore, that I should act on this feeling. I then decided it was time to be baptized. When I told my mother, I was shocked by her response – she was very disappointed. I had the feeling that she felt that I was somehow rejecting her, which didn’t make any sense to me. She wasn’t angry, just hurt and disappointed. My older brother said I was a jerk. However I had my witness (actually many witnesses), so I went ahead and was baptized July 31, 1976. I’ve never regretted my decision. Looking back, I know it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

Christmas was a very exciting time for my brothers and me! Our parents would take us to see the decorative lights in Cape Town, which were always very impressive; there was always a Primary party celebrating Christmas and the birth of the Saviour—and our schools closed over the “Festive Season,” YEAH!
For weeks we would construct a letter to Father Christmas. We would write and rewrite the letter every time we saw something in the shops that we wanted. We would each state that we had been good boys and really needed the item we had put down for him to bring. We would give Dad the letter to mail, addressed to “Father Christmas, North Pole.” My dad worked in the post office, so we thought that if he posted it, it would get there much sooner.
We were chased to bed early on Christmas Eve as ‘Father Christmas will not visit us with presents,’ Mom said, if we were still awake. But first, we had to put out something for him to drink and eat. It was amazing to me how there were no presents under the tree when we went to bed but when we awoke, the presents had magically appeared and of course, Mom and Dad knew nothing about it.

Mindy liked to help her mother. After her sisters and brothers left for school, Mindy and Mother made their beds.
First they made Mindy’s bed. They pulled the sheet and blankets back and put the pillow on a chair. Then they billowed the sheet and blankets over the bed.
Mindy patted the places where ripples appeared. And she helped pull the covers tight. She punched and plumped her pillow into a marshmallow shape. Then she plunked it over the folded-down sheet and bedspread.
Quickly Mindy and Mother slid the bedspread over the pillow and ironed any wrinkles flat with their hands.
Then they made Mother and Dad’s bed the way they had made Mindy’s bed. It was so big and bouncy that Mindy wished she could jump on the bed.
One morning just after they had lifted Mindy’s bedcovers into place, Mother hurried into the kitchen to answer the telephone. When she came back, she couldn’t see Mindy. But she did see an enormous mountainy wrinkle in the covers.
“Oh, oh,” said Mother, pretending to be surprised. “I see a great big wrinkle. I’d better smooth it out.” So she patted the wrinkle, and it twitched.
“My, my,” said Mother, “this wrinkle is hard to get out. I’ll have to poke it a little bit.” So she poked the big wrinkle with her finger, and it began to giggle and wriggle.
“Goodness, gracious,” said Mother playfully, “this wrinkle giggles and wriggles. I guess I’ll have to see what’s under the blankets.” So she threw the covers back. There was Mindy, laughing and kicking her legs and flapping her arms in the middle of the bed.
“Oh, Mommy, I fooled you,” laughed Mindy.
“So you were the wrinkle in the blankets!” exclaimed Mother in mock surprise.
“Now, Mommy, I’ll help you make my bed without a single wrinkle,” said Mindy, scrambling out of bed.

Elder David Antonio Parada and Elder Sergio Saavedra turn the corner and start up the next street in a busy neighborhood in San Salvador. Children are chasing each other. A dog is barking. Women and girls pass by with loads of food or laundry on their heads. Radios tuned to various stations are blaring from open windows, each playing music with energetic Latin rhythms.
Just as the elders reach the red house, the novios (an engaged couple) arrive from the other direction for their appointment. They invite the missionaries into their house and arrange the chairs into a circle. After prayer, the girl disappears into another room and comes back with the copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Have you been praying?” Elder Parada asks. The girl nods. “Have you been reading the Book of Mormon?” Yes, they read their assignment in 3 Nephi 11 [3 Ne. 11]. “Wonderful! Keep reading and praying about it, and you’ll know by the power of the Holy Ghost that it is true.”
The lesson is on the plan of salvation. Elder Parada takes his ball-point pen apart. “Our bodies are like this pen’s outer shell,” he says, “and our spirit are like this inner part with the ink.” Using this simple visual aid, he explains death and resurrection. When the girl asks a question, Elder Parada answers with verses from his well-marked scriptures.
Then Elder Saavedra takes his turn teaching. Both missionaries seem completely at home here; neither is hampered by language or cultural distractions. The girl’s mother, who has been outside washing clothes, comes in and overhears part of the discussion. A rooster outside starts crowing, and a couple of chickens walk past the open door. A breeze blows lightly through the open window and rustles the curtain that serves as a door into the back room. The discussion proceeds smoothly. As the missionaries prepare to leave, the mother smiles and comes over to shake their hands. She says she might come to church with the novios tomorrow.
Elder Parada and Elder Saavedra say good-bye to the novios and walk back down the street. “It’s beautiful to see that pair of elders working together,” their mission president later comments. Elder Parada comes from an extremely humble background, the son of a field worker; his junior companion, Elder Saavedra, is the son of the Mexican consul to El Salvador. One worked for years in the fields to save money for his mission; the other left cars and stereos behind. Now they’re a team—humble, confident, articulate.
They cross a ravine on a swinging footbridge. Then, turning the corner, they start up the next street in another neighborhood of San Salvador.