Gospel Story Finder

It’s a bright, sunny morning on June 26, 1999. The green grass at the Indiana State Capitol building is looking a little shabby. A trailer pulls up, and as 14-year-old Ryan Tripp unloads a lawn mower, it becomes obvious this is no ordinary lawn job.
There are green balloons on the lawn in the shape of a big ribbon—the symbol for organ donation—and Ryan is thronged by Indiana state officials and a large crowd. Flashing a smile, he talks from the podium about the importance of people becoming organ donors.
The idea for what turned out to be a two-year mission began on a spring day in 1997 when Ryan and his dad, Todd, were returning home after mowing church lawns around Parowan, Utah, his hometown. When their truck broke down, Ryan suggested they ride a lawn mower back to town. During the ride Ryan said, “Dad, why don’t we ride this lawn mower all the way to Salt Lake and mow the state capitol lawn?”
His dad replied, “Why don’t you ride it all the way to Washington, D.C., and mow the White House lawn!” Ryan began dreaming about his name appearing in the Guiness Book of World Records for the longest lawn mower ride in history.
But something was missing. Ryan and his family felt they needed a greater purpose for such an undertaking.
Shortly after, while Ryan’s father was getting his truck repaired, his mechanic, a neighbor, confided that their three-month-old daughter, Whitnie, had a rare disease requiring a liver transplant. The cost would be enormous, and the Penders had limited insurance and funds.
Ryan’s heart went out to the Penders. He wanted to help, but what could he do? Perhaps his goal to mow the White House lawn could work together with a fundraising project for Whitnie! Why not hand out cards to the people he met along the way asking for donations to be sent to a special fund? People could pledge money for each mile he drove.
The Tripp family members all wanted to help, and wheels were set in motion. They charted a course from Parowan to Washington, D.C.; they obtained local police permission for Ryan to drive the lawn mower along state and city roadways, and a large lawn mower manufacturer generously donated a machine. Ryan’s mom, Diane, his two sisters, Tiffany and Chantel, and his brother, Robbie, agreed to temporarily take over the lawn-mowing business.
On August 15, 1997, Ryan began his 3,116-mile cross-country lawn mower drive, with Grandpa and Grandma Meidlinger leading the procession by car and his dad following Ryan in their truck.
Sound like fun? Picture yourself driving a lawn mower at 10 mph, 10 to 12 hours a day, for 42 days through blistering heat, rain, and wind. For the first few weeks, Ryan had lots of fun. He signaled his dad on their walkie-talkies, waved to passing cars, listened to music on his CD player, looked at the scenery, and made all kinds of noises as he drove along.
Then he ran into a problem. One day he was particularly tired from their early morning starts and dozed off listening to his music. He awoke to the blasting horn of his father’s truck behind him, just as his lawn mower was careening off the side of the road. His CD days were over.
After that, the hours became long, and it seemed the cornfield-lined roads would never end. “Sometimes I got a little antsy and wanted to get off my lawn mower and go do things a normal boy would, especially when it rained. It got kind of hard to just sit there and drive along the road,” he recalls. The trek became a challenge to Ryan.
However, each challenge brings its own reward, and Ryan’s was time for serious thinking. He thought about his plans for the future; he thought about the importance of never giving up, of keeping promises and commitments; and he thought about how nice it was to have his dad so close. Reaching his father on his walkie-talkie at any time reminded him of talking to another Father: “It was kind of a lesson to me about how close my Heavenly Father is and how I can reach Him through prayer whenever I need something,” Ryan says.
Thinking about his own supportive family, Ryan’s thoughts often turned to little Whitnie. He understood her family’s love for her and knew he must do whatever was needed to help.
Ryan began to see a much greater purpose in this trip. Breaking records took a distant second to helping Whitnie. And as he thought about her, and others he learned about along the way, Ryan’s prayers took on new meaning. “My dad and I would pray every morning before we started and again when we got back to the hotel,” he says. They prayed for safety, for Whitnie, and for all the people needing transplants.
Finally, Ryan’s quest ended at the U.S. Capitol. Senator Orrin Hatch of Utah, other government officials, press members, and TV viewers watched as he mowed the Capitol Hill lawn. The trip was successful—Ryan broke the record and, more importantly, raised $15,000 for little Whitnie, who received her transplant that same year.
But Ryan didn’t see this as the end of his goal. Throughout his trip he had become increasingly concerned about the 63,500 people in America waiting for organ donors. So, even before he and his dad left Washington, D.C., they formulated a plan to further raise awareness for organ and tissue donation: they would mow every state capitol building lawn in the country, including those in Juneau, Alaska, and Honolulu, Hawaii.
Two summers later, on June 1, 1999, Ryan set out on his second mission. This time he had a lot more company—his mother, his sisters, his brother, his Grandpa and Grandma Tripp, and his Grandpa Meidlinger.
The next 72 days were a whirlwind of state capitol buildings, governors, news reporters, talk-show hosts, and families involved in organ donation. The stories they heard from the many recipients, donors, and donor-hopefuls, buoyed them up at each stop.
“One of the coolest stories was about a family in Kansas,” Ryan says. “I had been on local TV speaking about the importance of organ and tissue donation a few days before their daughter died. They told us because they were so touched by what I was doing, they decided to donate their daughter’s organs.”
Ryan encourages everyone he sees to set their goals high and work hard. “With Heavenly Father’s help, you can do anything,” he says, especially if it includes serving others. “It makes you feel so good inside, and you never know how many people you helped.”
Although Ryan met many good people and celebrities along the way, when asked who his hero is, Ryan replies, “There are a lot of role models out there, but my hero is my dad because he’s a good example to me, and he believes in my dreams. I’d like to be just like him when I grow up.”

One warm, sunny afternoon, Nathan and Angie decided to go into the field and chase Gard’s sheep. At the time they thought it was great fun, but they soon changed their minds after Dad had a serious talk with them. Nathan and Angie felt very sorry about being unkind to Gard’s sheep. They humbly went to Gard and apologized. He was kind and understanding, and thanked them for their honesty and courage to make it right with him. From that day on, Nathan and Angie became assistant shepherds and did all that they could to help Gard take care of his sheep.

“If only Dagmar weren’t so aggressive,” thought Lars. “Then I could relate to her better.” He and his wife had been feeling distant from each other, and Lars wanted to feel again the oneness he and Dagmar had felt when they were first married.
Lars felt that maintaining a close relationship with his wife would be possible only if Dagmar changed. But then it occurred to him that perhaps he needed to do some changing himself. “What could I do to be united with Dagmar?” he thought. That question led to another: “What manner of man ought I to be?” (see 3 Ne. 27:27).
The question would not leave his mind. He remembered, for instance, how concerned Dagmar had been last Saturday about preparing for a Primary meeting. He had been grumpy, thinking that she would make them late for their son’s soccer game. Throughout the afternoon, his tension had grown, and at the same time, he had been jealous of how many hours she was spending in preparation for the meeting.
But now, while he read the scriptures with the companionship of the Spirit, the event began to look different. What manner of man had he been? Had he been helpful, supportive, or willing to sustain her in her calling? The evidence was against him.
It was becoming clear to him that his accusations against his wife had been expressions of his own selfishness. He wondered how he could have been so blind. Her support and sacrifice for him condemned him even further. That same Saturday he had become upset, Dagmar had risen early to type a report for him for his office.
The scriptures describe Lars’s situation clearly: “If we say that we have fellowship with [Christ], and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth.” (1 Jn. 1:6.)
As Lars began to repent of fault-finding, and as he asked the Lord for help, he received further promptings from the Spirit. He saw what he had earlier refused to see: his own need for spiritual refinement. The Holy Ghost was showing him how to have fellowship with his wife rather than how to change her.
When we seek to be obedient to the Lord, the fellowship we seek with our marriage partners becomes easier to obtain. The spirit will teach us what manner of men and women we ought to be.
But what kind of answers, if any, can we expect to receive if we approach the Lord having already judged our spouse to be aggresive or unrighteous or insensitive? Is it possible to get clear answers when praying with such resentments? The truth is, so long as we retain jealousy or resentment or anger or any other un-Christlike feeling, we resist spiritual guidance.

LeAnn Coshman, director of the Santa Maria California Family History Center, writes: “Like most family historians, I have a few great stories of serendipitous experiences and of lost families found. But one stands out to me.
“We had a booth at our county fair, and a large banner proclaimed our purpose: ‘Family History Center, Families Are Forever.’ A disheveled cowboy quietly stood looking at the items on the display table. I approached him and asked if I could help him look for one of his ancestors. His shyness, combined with a significant speech impediment, made it a little difficult to communicate. He indicated he didn’t know anything about any of his ancestors and said, ‘I don’t even know if my mom and dad are alive.’ With that declaration, he gained my full attention. He told me he had left home under bad circumstances as a teenager. He had been ‘rodeoing’ ever since, but he had now ‘settled down some.’ He was married and had two children.
“I invited him to sit with me at one of the computers. I explained that we normally didn’t search for living people, but I offered to help him check the U.S. Social Security Death Index to see if his father had died. Since his father’s name was quite unusual, I felt it would be easy to identify him. When we didn’t find him, we were grateful because it meant he was probably still alive.
“After a bit of Internet sleuthing, I was able to obtain a little information about the cowboy’s father, including a current address and phone number. As he stared at the computer screen, he repeated several times, ‘I can’t believe this. That’s my dad.’ I tried to encourage him to call his father, but he said, ‘I can’t do that. My dad will never talk to me—maybe my mom, but not my dad.’ I printed out the information and handed it to him. I suggested that if he didn’t feel comfortable calling, he could write a letter. I offered the idea that regardless of the circumstances surrounding his leaving, he should ask for his parents’ forgiveness and tell them he missed them. I tried to encourage him by explaining that his parents would be anxious to learn about their grandchildren.
“As he walked away, I said a silent prayer for him. I had no expectation of ever learning the outcome; however, two days later the cowboy was back standing in the same spot. I hurried to him with my hand outstretched and said more than asked, ‘You called!’
“He said, ‘Yeah, and they showed up on my doorstep at 6:00 this morning!’
“He tried to express his gratitude but was having a hard time getting the words out. So I extended my hand once more and told him that he didn’t need to say a word, that I understood completely. He clung to my hand, not wanting to let go, and I moved forward to accept the hug I knew he wanted to give.
“I’m grateful to have played a part in helping this man find his parents. I have gained a fresh perspective of a familiar scripture: ‘He shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers’ (Mal. 4:6).”

A true story from Austria.
Are you excited for school to start?
Yeah, but I’m worried about math. What if I can’t do it?
It’s OK to be scared. School can be hard, but Heavenly Father can help you!
Would you like a priesthood blessing before you start school?
Sure!
Thanks, Dad!
What is five times seven?
Thirty-five.
Hmm …
Got it!
How was school?
Good. I was able to concentrate in math, just like Dad said in my blessing.
Heavenly Father is helping me focus. I can do math!

Let me tell you a story—a parable.
There once was a man who wanted something very much. It seemed more important than anything else in his life. In order for him to have his desire, he incurred [took on] a great debt.
He had been warned about going into that much debt and particularly about his creditor, the one who lent the money. But it seemed so important for him to have what he wanted right now. He was sure he could pay for it later.
So he signed a contract. He would pay it off some time along the way. He didn’t worry too much about it, for the due date seemed such a long time away. He had what he wanted now, and that was what seemed important.
The creditor was always somewhere in the back of his mind, and he made token [small] payments now and again, thinking somehow that the day of reckoning [the day he had to repay all the money] would never really come.
But as it always does, the day came and the contract fell due. The debt had not been fully paid. His creditor appeared and demanded payment in full.
Only then did he realize that his creditor had not only the power to repossess [take away] all that he owned but also the power to cast him into prison as well.
“I cannot pay you, for I have not the power to do so,” he confessed.
“Then,” said the creditor, “we will take your possessions, and you shall go to prison. You agreed to that. It was your choice. You signed the contract, and now it must be enforced.”
“Can you not extend the time or forgive the debt?” the debtor begged. “Arrange some way for me to keep what I have and not go to prison. Surely you believe in mercy? Will you not show mercy?”
The creditor replied, “Mercy is always so one-sided. It would serve only you. If I show mercy to you, it will leave me unpaid. It is justice I demand. Do you believe in justice?”
“I believed in justice when I signed the contract,” the debtor said. “It was on my side then, for I thought it would protect me. I did not need mercy then nor think I should need it ever.”
“It is justice that demands that you pay the contract or suffer the penalty,” the creditor replied. “That is the law. You have agreed to it, and that is the way it must be. Mercy cannot rob justice.”
There they were: One meting out justice, the other pleading for mercy. Neither could prevail [win] except at the expense of the other.
“If you do not forgive the debt, there will be no mercy,” the debtor pleaded.
“If I do, there will be no justice,” was the reply.
Both laws, it seemed, could not be served. They are two eternal ideals that appear to contradict one another. Is there no way for justice to be fully served and mercy also?
There is a way! The law of justice can be fully satisfied and mercy can be fully extended—but it takes someone else. And so it happened this time.
The debtor had a friend. He came to help. He knew the debtor well. He thought him foolish to have gotten himself into such a predicament. Nevertheless, he wanted to help because he loved him. He stepped between them, faced the creditor, and made this offer: “I will pay the debt if you will free the debtor from his contract so that he may keep his possessions and not go to prison.”
As the creditor was pondering the offer, the mediator added, “You demanded justice. Though he cannot pay you, I will do so. You will have been justly dealt with and can ask no more. It would not be just.”
And so the creditor agreed.
The mediator turned then to the debtor. “If I pay your debt, will you accept me as your creditor?”
“Oh yes, yes,” cried the debtor. “You save me from prison and show mercy to me.”
“Then,” said the benefactor [one who helps], “you will pay the debt to me, and I will set the terms. It will not be easy, but it will be possible. I will provide a way. You need not go to prison.”
And so it was that the creditor was paid in full. He had been justly dealt with. No contract had been broken. The debtor, in turn, had been extended mercy. Both laws stood fulfilled. Because there was a mediator, justice had claimed its full share and mercy was fully satisfied.

Jon Fuller is watching the horseshoeing demonstration when we catch up with him. He first heard about his Mormon Battalion ancestor in a general priesthood meeting talk. Jon was impressed with the story of a John Barnet Cole, who helped rescue a stranded handcart company and who had seen in a dream the woman he would marry. When he repeated the story to his mother, she told him that John Cole was his ancestor. Now, he is learning that his forefather was even more impressive than he had imagined. Jon sums it up: “He was pretty brave!”

Some years ago, President Romney and I were sitting in my office. The door opened and a fine young man came in with a troubled look on his face, and he said, “Brethren, I am going to the temple for the first time tomorrow. I have made some mistakes in the past, and I have gone to my bishop and my stake president, and I have made a clean disclosure of it all; and after a period of repentance and assurance that I have not returned again to those mistakes, they have now adjudged me ready to go to the temple. But, brethren, that is not enough. I want to know, and how can I know, that the Lord has forgiven me, also.”

What would you answer one who would come to you asking that question? As we pondered for a moment, we remembered King Benjamin’s address contained in the book of Mosiah. Here was a group of people who now were asking for baptism, and they said they viewed themselves in their carnal state:
“… And they all cried aloud with one voice, saying: O have mercy, and apply the atoning blood of Christ that we may receive forgiveness of our sins, and our hearts may be purified; …
“… after they had spoken these words the Spirit of the Lord came upon them, and they were filled with joy, having received a remission of their sins, and having peace of conscience. …” (Mosiah 4:2–3.)
There was the answer.
If the time comes when you have done all that you can to repent of your sins, whoever you are, wherever you are, and have made amends and restitution to the best of your ability; if it be something that will affect your standing in the Church and you have gone to the proper authorities, then you will want that confirming answer as to whether or not the Lord has accepted of you. In your soul-searching, if you seek for and you find that peace of conscience, by that token you may know that the Lord has accepted of your repentance. Satan would have you think otherwise and sometimes persuade you that now having made one mistake, you might go on and on with no turning back. That is one of the great falsehoods. The miracle of forgiveness is available to all of those who turn from their evil doings and return no more, because the Lord has said in a revelation to us in our day: “… go your ways and sin no more; but unto that soul who sinneth [meaning again] shall the former sins return, saith the Lord your God.” (D&C 82:7.) Have that in mind, all of you who may be troubled with a burden of sin.
And to you who are teachers, may you help to lift that great burden from those who are carrying it, and who have their conscience so seared that they are kept from activity, and they don’t know where to go to find the answers. You help them to that day of repentance and restitution, in order that they too may have that peace of conscience, the confirming of the Spirit of the Lord that he has accepted of their repentance.

—As a high school student from Ashton, Idaho, Ryan Gardner, now 18, participated in a student exchange program.
“I spent a year in Finland. While I was there, I was constantly noticing furniture. I was amazed at how beautiful a simple thing like a chair could be. I fell in love with their textiles—there were so many wonderful fabrics. And it seemed like in every home there was some kind of beautiful glassware. The more I saw, the more fascinated I became.
“One family I lived with had completely remodeled their home, from the plumbing on out. They redid everything themselves. It was a small home, and what they did wasn’t anything that cost millions of dollars. But there was a simple elegance in how they tied everything together, from the kitchen to the stairs to the furniture. The result was beautiful.”
When he returned to the U.S., Ryan, who had previously thought about being an orthodontist, decided to major in interior design.

Sister Ballard: Our seven children have been wonderful to raise, but we’ve had worries and concerns, and we’ve had to go through the normal anxieties and problems. This is why we needed family councils—and why we had lots of discussions and prayers. For example, when my husband was called to serve as mission president in Toronto, Canada, some of the children were not happy about moving there.
Elder Ballard: They cried all the way to Toronto. They cried for two months after we were there.
Sister Ballard: Yes, but they were good sports. It was harder for the ones in high school, but we discussed their feelings in many family councils. In time, they realized it was a wonderful opportunity.

Thirteen-year-old Sherrie underwent a 14-hour operation for a tumor on her spinal cord. As she regained consciousness in the intensive care unit, she said: “Daddy, Aunt Cheryl is here, … and … Grandpa Norman … and Grandma Brown … are here. And Daddy, who is that standing beside you? … He looks like you, only taller. … He says he’s your brother, Jimmy.” Her uncle Jimmy had died at age 13 of cystic fibrosis.

“For nearly an hour, Sherrie … described her visitors, all deceased family members. Exhausted, she then fell asleep.”

Later she told her father, “Daddy, all of the children here in the intensive care unit have angels helping them.”

I remember two friends from my high school and university years. He was a boy from a country town, plain in appearance, without money or apparent promise. He had grown up on a farm, and if he had any quality that was attractive it was the capacity to work. He carried sandwiches in a brown paper bag for his lunch and swept the school floors to pay for his education. But with all of his country appearance, he had a smile and a personality that seemed to sing of goodness. She was a city girl who had come out of a comfortable home. She would not have won a beauty contest. But she was wholesome in her decency and integrity and attractive in her good manners and dress.
Something wonderful took place between them. They fell in love. Some people whispered that there were far more promising boys for her, and a gossip or two noted that perhaps other girls might have interested him. But these two laughed and danced and studied together through their school years. They married when people wondered how they could ever earn enough to stay alive. He struggled through his professional school and came out well in his class. She saved and worked and prayed. She encouraged and sustained, and when things were really tough, she said quietly, “Somehow we can make it.” Buoyed by her faith in him, he kept going through these difficult years. Children came, and together they loved them and nourished them and gave them the security that came of their own love for and loyalty to one another. Now many years have passed. Their children are grown, a lasting credit to them, to the Church, and to the communities in which they live.
I remember seeing them on an airplane, as I returned from a Church assignment. I walked down the aisle in the semi-darkness of the aircraft cabin and saw a woman, white-haired, her head on her husband’s shoulder as she dozed. His hand was clasped warmly about hers. He was awake and recognized me. She awakened, and we talked. They were returning from a convention where he had delivered a paper before a learned society. He said little about it, but she proudly spoke of the honors accorded him.
I wish that I might have caught with a camera the look on her face as she talked of him. Forty-five years earlier people without understanding had asked what they saw in each other. I thought of that as I returned to my seat on the airplane. Their friends of those days saw only a farm boy from the country and a smiling girl with freckles on her nose. But these two found in each other love and loyalty, peace and faith in the future.
There was a flowering in them of something divine, planted there by that Father who is our God. In their school days they had lived worthy of that flowering of love. They had lived with virtue and faith, with appreciation and respect for self and one another. In the years of their difficult professional and economic struggles, they had found their greatest earthly strength in their companionship. Now in mature age, they were finding peace and quiet satisfaction together. Beyond all this, they were assured of an eternity of joyful association through priesthood covenants long since made and promises long since given in the House of the Lord.

Last week I received a faith-filled letter from Laurence M. Hilton. May I share with you the account of surviving personal tragedy with faith, nothing wavering.
In 1892, Thomas and Sarah Hilton, Laurence’s grandparents, went to Samoa, where Thomas was set apart as mission president after their arrival. They brought with them a baby daughter; two sons were born to them while they served there. Tragically, all three died in Samoa, and in 1895 the Hiltons returned from their mission childless.
David O. McKay was a friend of the family and was deeply touched by their loss. In 1921, as part of a world tour of visits to the members of the Church in many nations, Elder McKay stopped in Samoa, accompanied by Elder Hugh J. Cannon. Before leaving on his tour, he had promised the now-widowed Sister Hilton that he would personally visit the graves of her three children. I share with you the letter David O. McKay wrote to her from Samoa:
“Dear Sister Hilton:
“Just as the descending rays of the late afternoon sun touched the tops of the tall coconut trees, Wednesday, May 18th, 1921, a party of five stood with bowed heads in front of the little Fagali’i Cemetery. … We were there, as you will remember, in response to a promise I made you before I left home.
“The graves and headstones are in a good state of preservation. … I reproduce here a copy I made as I stood … outside the stone wall surrounding the spot.
Janette Hilton
Bn: Sept. 10, 1891
Died: June 4, 1892
“Rest, darling Jennie”
George Emmett Hilton
Bn: Oct. 12, 1894
Died: Oct. 19, 1894
“Peaceful be thy slumber”
Thomas Harold Hilton
Bn: Sept. 21, 1892
Died: March 17, 1894
“Rest on the hillside, rest”
“As I looked at those three little graves, I tried to imagine the scenes through which you passed during your young motherhood here in old Samoa. As I did so, the little headstones became monuments not only to the little babes sleeping beneath them, but also to a mother’s faith and devotion to the eternal principles of truth and life. Your three little ones, Sister Hilton, in silence most eloquent and effective, have continued to carry on your noble missionary work begun nearly 30 years ago, and they will continue as long as there are gentle hands to care for their last earthly resting place.
By loving hands their dying eyes were closed;
By loving hands their little limbs composed;
By foreign hands their humble graves adorned;
By strangers honored, and by strangers mourned.
“Tofa Soifua,
“David O. McKay”
This touching account conveys to the grieving heart “the peace … which passeth all understanding.” Our Heavenly Father lives. Jesus Christ the Lord is our Savior and Redeemer. He guided the Prophet Joseph. He guides His prophet today, even President Gordon B. Hinckley. Of a truth I bear this personal witness.

I went through a rough patch my senior year in high school when I wasn’t making great choices. I remember seeing my mom crying, and I wondered if I’d disappointed her. At the time, I worried that her tears meant she’d lost hope for me, and if she didn’t feel hope for me, maybe there wasn’t a way back.

But my dad was more practiced at zooming out and taking the long view. He’d learned from experience that worry feels a lot like love, but it’s not the same. He used the eye of faith to see that everything would work out, and his hopeful approach changed me.

When I graduated from high school and went to BYU, my dad sent letters reminding me of who I was. He became my cheerleader, and everybody needs a cheerleader—someone who isn’t telling you, “You’re not running fast enough”; they’re lovingly reminding you that you can.

Dad exemplified Lehi’s dream. Like Lehi, he knew that you don’t chase after your loved ones who feel lost. “You stay where you are and call them. You go to the tree, stay at the tree, keep eating the fruit and, with a smile on your face, continue to beckon to those you love and show by example that eating the fruit is a happy thing!”

This visual image has helped me during low moments when I find myself at the tree, eating the fruit and crying because I’m worried; and really, how helpful is that? Instead, let’s choose hope—hope in our Creator and in one another, fueling our ability to be better than we are right now.

After President Wilford Woodruff joined the Church he desired to serve a mission.
“I was but a Teacher,” he wrote, “and it is not a Teacher’s office to go abroad and preach. I dared not tell any of the authorities of the Church that I wanted to preach, lest they might think I was seeking for an office” (Leaves from My Journal, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1882, p. 8).
He prayed to the Lord, and without disclosing his desire to any others, he was ordained a priest and sent on a mission. They went to the Arkansas Territory.
He and his companion struggled through a hundred miles of alligator-infested swamps, wet, muddy, and tired. Brother Woodruff developed a sharp pain in his knee and could go no further. His companion left him sitting on a log and went home. Brother Woodruff knelt down in the mud and prayed for help. He was healed and continued his mission alone.
Three days later he arrived in Memphis, Tennessee, weary, hungry, and very muddy. He went to the largest inn and asked for something to eat and for a place to sleep, although he had no money to pay for either.
When the innkeeper found he was a preacher, he laughed and decided to have some fun with him. He offered Brother Woodruff a meal if he would preach to his friends.
A large audience of the rich and fashionable people of Memphis gathered and were quite amused by this mud-stained missionary.
None would sing or pray, so Brother Woodruff did both. He knelt before them and begged the Lord to give him His Spirit and to show him the hearts of the people. And the Spirit came! Brother Woodruff preached with great power. He was able to reveal the secret deeds of those who came to ridicule him.
When he was finished, no one laughed at this humble holder of the Aaronic Priesthood. Thereafter he was treated with kindness (see Leaves from My Journal, pp. 16–18).
He was under the guiding, protecting power of his Aaronic Priesthood. The same power can be with you as well.

In the early Church, Parley P. Pratt felt disgruntled with the Prophet Joseph Smith and chose to criticize him and the Church. When John Taylor, whom Parley taught the gospel, came to town, Parley took him aside and warned him not to follow Joseph. John Taylor said to Parley:
“Before you left Canada, you bore a strong testimony to Joseph Smith being a prophet of God, … and you said you knew these things by revelation and the gift of the Holy Ghost.
“… I now have the same testimony that you then rejoiced in. If the work was true six months ago, it is true today. If Joseph Smith was then a prophet, he is now a prophet.”

“A perfect chance to explain” is never lost on these girls. They even take advantage of local holidays to share the gospel. For example, April 23 is “Día de San Jorge,” which is very similar to Valentine’s Day in other countries. It also happens to fall on the anniversary of the death of Cervantes, the great Spanish writer. So the tradition in Catalonia, the part of Spain where Barcelona is located, is for men to give women a rose on this day—and for women to give men a book.

The LDS girls in Barcelona adapted the tradition. They made roses out of crepe paper, inserted them in copies of the Book of Mormon, and helped the missionaries give them away. No one turns down a book or a rose on April 23rd.

By the way people turn and stare, smile and wave when the Roth family drives down the streets of Station-Siggenthal, you might think that they were celebrities. Although they don’t know everyone in the village, everyone seems to know them.
In Switzerland, where most families have only one or two children, the Roth family is extraordinary because besides Hans and Valerie Roth, the parents, there are ten children. And when they all pile into their van for an outing, it is quite a sight. Being all together is something Samantha (7) wishes that they could do more often.
With all of their busy schedules, it is sometimes difficult to see each other every day. Samantha, for instance, goes to school from 8:00 A.M. until 11:00 or 12:00 o’clock. Then she goes home for lunch. School starts again at 1:20 P.M. and goes until 3:00 or 4:00 o’clock. On Saturday, school is from 8:00 A.M. to 11:00 or 12:00 o’clock. Each child in the Roth household leaves for and comes home after school at different times.
Because of all this coming and going, not to mention other activities, Samantha wants her family to be together for supper each evening. It is a special time with everyone helping to get dinner on the table, sharing what’s happened to them during the day, and cleaning up afterward. If someone is not home, Samantha asks if he or she will be there the next night, because she really misses him.
She is grateful for family home evening, too, because it gives her family another to chance to all be together. A favorite family activity is to go on picnics. Mom makes and packs some “snake bread dough,” then they take hot dogs to one of their favorite spots, wrap the dough around the hot dogs, and roast them over a fire.
With such a large family, there are always things around the house that need doing. Shoes, boots, and coats all need to be kept in their proper places. Sports equipment is organized so that it’s easy to find. And household chores must be done daily.
“When you ask Samantha to help,” her mother said, “she never says, ‘No, I don’t want to.’” Samantha likes to vacuum, and she loves to wash dishes by hand, even though the family owns a dishwasher.
“She’s a good girl, and she helps a lot with the smaller children,” her father said.
She is always happy, smiling, and singing. “Samantha’s a very good singer,” said Naëmi (15). Sarah and Jessica (17), who are twins, appreciate her being always willing to help and to listen when they want to talk about their joys or problems.
When they have time, she plays basketball with Jérôme (16) and Joël (12). Manuel (10) is teaching her to play table tennis. But her favorite sport is swimming. Every chance she gets, weather permitting, she heads out the back door and down a grassy path to the nearby community swimming pool. She sometimes wishes that she could be a dolphin, leaping through waves and playing in the water all day.
Tending Semjon (4), Moana (3), and Jeshua (1) also helps the family. Once she learned a lot about faith and prayer. Semjon had wandered off, and she frantically searched for him for half an hour but couldn’t find him. She turned to Heavenly Father for help. After praying, she went on searching and sang “I Am a Child of God.” She feels that singing Primary songs pleases Heavenly Father. Soon she felt that she should return home. When she got there, she found Semjon. She was very grateful that Heavenly Father had answered her prayers.
She thinks all children should remember that when you have problems, you can always turn to your Heavenly Father in prayer. Sometimes it takes patience. Her brother Jérôme had worked very hard and saved money to buy a bicycle. When it was stolen out of the Roth’s garage, he prayed every day that he would get his bike back. After three months of praying every day, he felt impressed to go play in an area where he’d never gone before. He found his bike there. Samantha knows that Heavenly Father helped her brother find his bike. She knows He helped her find her brother Semjon. And she knows that although He doesn’t always answer prayers the way we want Him to, He does listen and answer everyone’s prayers.

After some flooding earlier this year, the Mudgeeraba Showgrounds—a fairground and park in Mudgeeraba, Gold Coast, Australia—was covered with piles of debris. The Mudgeeraba Show Committee asked the wider community to help clean up, paint and repair.
On 27 February, the Mudgeeraba Rural Fire Brigade, community volunteers and 130 members of the Gold Coast Australia Stake worked together to restore the grounds.
Ella Parsons, the Mudgeeraba show president, said, “We are extremely grateful to everyone for their efforts. It was a massive accomplishment. We are grateful to have The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as part of our community. It’s been years since we have been able to get this much work done.”
“Because there were so many volunteers it made the work seem a lot lighter,” said Marina Taulepa, a Church member from Robina Ward. “We are glad to be able to contribute to our community.”

In a previous general conference, Elder Benjamín De Hoyos spoke of such an event. He said:
“Some years ago while serving in the office of public affairs of the Church in Mexico, [a companion and I] were invited to participate in a radio talk show. … [One of the program directors] asked [us], ‘Why does the Church have such a long name? …’
“My companion and I smiled at such a magnificent question and then proceeded to explain that the name of the Church was not chosen by man. It was given by the Savior. … The program director immediately and respectfully responded, ‘We will thus repeat it with great pleasure.’”13