Gospel Story Finder

When Raimundo Carvalho was 18, his father died. His father had earned a living washing clothes for other families. Now that meager income was gone.
“I was the oldest child, the only son, with four younger sisters. So, I needed to help my mother provide for the family,” he remembers. “We faced a lot of challenges and we were really poor.”
Raimundo learned to make shoes. Soon, however, it became apparent that he couldn’t keep up on his studies and work enough to provide the help his mother needed. “Taking care of the family came first,” he says. “I was able to finish my classes that year and that was it.”
In his heart, he knew he would come back to school again. But when and how?
He continued to work, and the family survived.
“Then I met and married this beautiful woman,” he says, smiling at his wife, Eréroythe. “And we built a family of our own. Today we have three children and three grandchildren.”
Eró, as his wife is known, encouraged Raimundo to go back to school. “But because of my responsibilities as a husband and a father,” Raimundo says, “I knew I couldn’t pursue the education I wanted at that time. I didn’t abandon my dream—I just put it on pause. It became something I would do in the future.”
What he could do, he found, was to encourage his wife and children in their education.
“The scriptures teach us that the glory of God is intelligence,1” he says. “They also say we should bring up our children in light and truth2 and that we should seek learning by study and faith.3 These principles became standards for our family.”
Today, Raimundo is 62. And that dream he put on pause? It’s finally coming true. He recently graduated from high school. What’s more, he’s preparing to enter college. “I have to take a challenging test to get in,” he says. “But I want people, old and young, to see that they can set a goal and achieve it.”
Raimundo’s wife and children are also pursuing education.
“When I started college a few years ago,” says Eró, who is 57, “no one in the family had done any type of superior education. But I believed that when this wall was broken, education would fill our home. It would make things better going forward. I am a cook by profession, and I cook because I love to cook. But I thought I could learn more, and my daughter Dielle wanted to learn more too.”
They joined a Church self-reliance group, and the facilitator suggested that they apply for Perpetual Education Fund loans. “The loans were approved,” Eró says. “So, we enrolled at the university to study gastronomy. We did the same major, and we were daughter and mother in school together at the same time. We would work all day cooking food, then go to college at night.” Some days Eró started work at 5:00 a.m., worked all day, then had classes starting at 8:00 in the evening.
She admits to falling asleep sometimes. “Sure, it’s tough,” she says. “But you just trust that the Lord will help you, and you keep on going.”
Raimundo and Eró Carvalho on the day she received her degree in gastronomy.
Photographs courtesy of the Carvalho family
Now both mother and daughter have graduated. Eró no longer works at a restaurant. She is self-employed and works from home. “We’re both still cooking, but we’re more qualified and have more opportunities to advance. We’re earning enough to pay back our loans, and Dielle is working on a master’s degree in event management!”
Dielle is now working on a master’s degree.
Eró also explains, “Our son Odirlei, although incarcerated, is completing an online degree in accounting and has been accepted in a competitive federal university agronomy program. He is awaiting a judge’s decision that may allow him to attend classes in person. We encourage him to use his time to study, to become qualified, so that when he gets out permanently, he will be able to have a better life. He has learned that education gives you the opportunity to create a new reality, and he knows that God knows what he can become.”
Eró declares, “Education has made a great difference for our family. It’s not only knowledge; it’s an anchor in our lives.” And Raimundo notes that his mother, who was illiterate most of her life, as an elderly woman learned to read and write.
“Study and faith became standards for our family,” Raimundo says.
Raimundo and Eró also know about another type of education—spiritual knowledge.
“About 30 years ago,” Raimundo says, “we weren’t active in the Church. But our bishop asked Eró and me for an interview. He invited us to take a class about eternal marriage, and because of that class, we came back to the Church and together we studied and learned and built our testimonies. A year later, we were sealed to our family in the São Paulo Brazil Temple.”
Now they have given decades of service in their ward and stake, “and we’re still studying the gospel, still learning more truth,” Raimundo says.
“Even if we’re older,” Eró says, “we need to keep learning. We especially need to keep gaining spiritual knowledge. It’s all part of an eternal plan.”
Raimundo says he loves this quote from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles:
“As a people, we rightfully place high priority on secular learning and vocational development. We want and we must excel in scholarship and craftsmanship. I commend you for striving diligently to gain an education and become an expert in your field. I invite you to also become experts in the doctrines of the gospel.”4
And Raimundo also loves this scripture:
“Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection.
“And if a person gains more knowledge and intelligence in this life through his diligence and obedience than another, he will have so much the advantage in the world to come.”5
“That scripture motivates me,” he says. “It brings me happiness to know that there is more to come. I wake up early in the morning and I study the scriptures. Then I go to work satisfied because I was able to learn something early in the morning.”
Not long ago, Raimundo and Eró were called to advise their region’s young single adults.
“It’s wonderful!” Eró says. “We receive their positive energy, and we give them back wisdom. It is like a perfect connection. Age doesn’t separate us. The desire to improve brings us together. We have found that they can teach us skills we haven’t learned yet. And in exchange, we can give them life experience and help them understand how education can further their ability to be self-reliant. We’re here to support each other and learn from each other.”
“What a marvelous opportunity we have now,” Raimundo says, “to help young people see how education can help them to become self-reliant. But I hope we can also help them to understand that the glory of God is intelligence. I think we all have a desire to learn. I believe we will always keep learning.”

As I was going to the park with my friend Emma and her mom, I saw the temple and started to sing “I Love to See the Temple.” When we got to the park, Emma’s mom told my mom that she wanted to start going to church again. My mom was surprised because Emma’s mom hadn’t been to church for a long time. She told my mom, “Natalie was singing Primary songs, and Emma doesn’t even know any.” Now Emma is a Sunbeam. I’m glad I could be an example.

I met a young military wife named Jackie. She had three little children, and her husband was frequently deployed. She often found herself alone, overwhelmed, anxious, and trying desperately to make everything perfect. She finally hit a breaking point… and one day she began repeating a simple mantra to herself, over and over again: “I give myself grace.”
His grace. That is the power of the Atonement at work in our lives.
Perfectionism is not a virtue; it is a burden. The Savior does not ask us to be flawless. He asks us to come unto Him—weary, wounded, imperfect—and to let Him make us whole. Our only hope for true perfection is receiving it as a gift from heaven—we can’t “earn” it. [12]
But we can accept His gift—of grace—every moment of every day. For we know that it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do. [13]

In the 1929 Rose Bowl football game a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field in the wrong direction toward the opposing team's goal line. He was ultimately tackled and brought down by one of his own team, preventing his making a touchdown for the other team. Somehow Roy Riegels had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team the victory. Roy Riegels was a great football player. He lived to be eighty-four, but after his one Rose Bowl mistake he was ever afterward remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

Stake President John D. Jury explained that the camp was established, “because of the need for the young men of our widespread stake to come together for a major camping and hiking experience—to feel the strength of numbers greater than the usual minority status they have in so many of their other associations. I also wanted to allow them to appreciate the beautiful creations that Heavenly Father has blessed us with here in Tasmania. I wanted them to gain an appreciation of the hardships encountered by our forefathers who settled this area and also to practice the skills learnt in Scouting.”
“Our preliminary work involved sending two of the brethren to the island to examine the campsite, the facilities, sea and land transport, and to make recommendations. Then leaders in the stake met at a central location and worked out the details of the basic plan.”
Sixty-eight excited Tasmanians climbed off of the ferry for their adventure on Maria Island. Many had never seen or met the people from the other wards. They also brought many of their nonmember and non-Scout friends. And they had many good leaders, including their stake president and several bishops and fathers, in addition to their Scoutmasters and other priesthood leaders.
The wind was whistling in from Darlington Bay as the boys tried to put up their tents. They struggled alone and in pairs until they quickly learned that it required more help and cooperation than pairs could muster. With many hands and backs bent to the task the tents came up, one by one, and now they stayed up. Pegged tight against the Tasmanian soil, they withstood the stiff sea breezes that are not all that far from Antarctica.
As they were laying out camp and putting up their tents, the boys noticed their wild animal hosts, who quickly established themselves as wonderful combinations of curiosity and nuisance. The emus, wallabies, and kangaroos were everywhere.
Emu watching became one of the full-time chores because they were big and hungry and were not very fussy about what they ate. They quickly earned the moniker, “walking vacuum cleaners.” And then the reason for all of the extra gear became clear: if it wasn’t sealed in a box, tin, billy, or barrel it would be eaten by an emu.
Cries like “There’s an emu in your drum (barrel) eating all your tucker,” “Hey boys, an emu has his head in your grub box,” or “An emu has someone’s bread,” (a whole loaf), or “Watch that wallaby” were a constant part of camp life, especially at mealtime.
From the beginning brushes with emus, the boys were ecstatic about the wildlife on Maria Island. Most of them had never seen kangaroos in the bush, and the emus, wallabies, and all the bird life made every outing and every meal an adventure. One hundred and twenty-nine species of birds live on the island, including some rare birds endemic to Tasmania. Emus, Cape Baron geese, native hens, flame and scarlet robins, white-backed magpies, sea eagles, parrots, and the raucous-sounding kookaburra, which delighted everyone with unbelievable vocal techniques, were pure pleasure to observe and classify.
Listening to the birds was even more fun than watching them. Every morning the camp awoke to a special symphony provided by the local aviary company. Native hens began the first movement by setting up a racket of calls, clucks, and cries. Song birds of all sorts warbled and trilled their beautiful melodies from antiphonal perches in the trees around the camp. Cape Baron geese squawking and chuckling in their cello-like voices added a baritone harmonic presence to the symphony. Arias were freely added with the crescendoing, hyena-like cries of Tasmania’s laughing jackass, the kookaburra. This almost perfect, but loud, symphony suddenly became complete as the deep bass tom tom tom drumming tones of the emu joined in. The emus seemed to sense when the symphony needed their strong rhythmic accompaniment. The same orchestra seemed to go all out to give a wonderful hour-long concert every morning just after daybreak.
Besides the wallabies and kangaroos, other marsupials living near the Scout camp included the potoroo, ring-tailed possums, echidnas, and wombats. The famous Tasmanian devils have never been sighted on Maria Island.
This information alone allowed the boys to sleep easier at night, although many still felt sleeping was the biggest problem at the camp.
“The nights were really bad. The possums were out in force raiding tents and rubbish bins all night. In the whole camp the worst thing was trying to get to sleep. There was one rock that seemed to follow me all night, and between that and the wind and the cold I didn’t sleep much,” said Stephen Szekely, of Launceston.
“The possums through the night gave me the willies because we had to keep bashing them out of our food box and a possum got in our tent and climbed up our tent pole. We broke our torch (flashlight) trying to get him out of there. Then the emus got in our tent and dunged all over Heath’s, Andrew’s, and my sleeping gear. But the kangaroos were great; they weren’t pests like the emus,” said Geoffrey Jones, a nonmember from Glen Huon.
Skinks, frogs, and snakes were also part of the environment. Blue-tongued lizards and white-lipped whip snakes seemed to be created just for the Scouts to observe.
After camp was organized many of the boys walked the few yards to the woodlot for firewood. Captain Scott, the island ranger and caretaker, hauled in large trailer loads of wood, which the boys attacked with zeal and a wide assortment of hatchets and axes. It sounded as if they were chopping stone. The axes actually rang as they glanced off the tough wood. There was never the dull “thunk” sound one hears when chopping a pine log. Australian gum trees make a wonderful fire, but they are very tough and stringy. The wood is hard and dense and easily wears out axes and choppers alike. Most of the trees on the island are varieties of the eucalyptus and include blue gums, stringy bark gums, and white gums.
The boys helped plan and cook their own meals and spent the most amount of time and creative energy on “tea,” the evening meal. Peas, carrots, parsnips, onions, potatoes fried, bully (corned beef), skim milk, and pudding started the week’s teas, and the same kind of robust fare continued every night.
The meals were cooked over open fires in blackened pots and long-handled frying pans. After tea was over and the dishes were cleaned up and put away, the various patrol fires were ringed with boys and leaders. They sat on logs with their arms clasped around their knees, “yarning” about the gospel, cricket, the bad drought in Tasmania, and whether or not any of the political parties would accept Dick Smith’s offer of a one-million-dollar donation to stop the building of the Franklin Dam. American sports also interested them. “What about you, Brother Kelly? Do you like to play gridiron?” they would ask.
Of course this much talk made for more hunger, and so before it was bedtime a spot of cocoa or a cup of hot Milo was welcome. A few went in for more exotic treats.
“We’re having chocolate banners. They’re beautiful. You take a Cadbury’s block and put it in a split banana and then put it in foil and set it in the fire,” said Matthew Sayers.
The young men also enjoyed singing songs around the campfires at night. They sang many folksongs familiar to other English-speaking Scouts, but their favorites seemed to be those with a particular Australian flavor, like “Advance Australia Fair,” “Botany Bay,” and “Gundagai”:
There’s a track winding back
To an old-fashioned shack,
Along the road to Gundagai;
Where the blue gums are growing
The Murrumbidgee’s flowing,
Beneath that sunny sky;
Where my daddy and mother
Are waiting for me,
And the pals of my childhood
Once more I will see,
Then no more will I roam
When I’m heading right for home,
Along the road to Gundagai.
Two taxing bush walks or hikes climaxed the boys’ stay on the island. The first was a long hike east from camp on a track that runs across a narrow part of the island, around the old convict cement works, and up along Fossil Cliffs above Fossil Bay. Here the trail climbs inland through forests of gum trees and across rocky scree slopes. Most of the boys reached the summit, the twin peaks of Bishop and Clerk. Perched on the rocky summit 630 meters above the sea they ate their boiled eggs, sandwiches, biscuits (cookies), and oranges while they drank in the magnificent vistas of Freycinet Peninsula to the north and Cape Bernier to the south.
Wednesday’s 26-kilometer walk to Chinaman’s Bay and back was tougher than the hike up Bishop and Clerk. Everyone brought their bathers (swimming trunks) and a towel, plus lunch. It took several hours slogging along the soft sandy road that followed the shoreline to reach the white beaches of Chinaman’s Bay. The boys showed amazing stamina as they not only kept up but often overtook their leaders.
As four young Scouts passed him, Brother Pash described the feelings of many of the adults when he said, “It’s disgusting, it is, to see little blokes catching us up that way.”
After some very icy swimming (the Tasman Sea carries too much of the Antarctic chill for the less hardy souls), everyone began the long walk back to camp in time to hike down to the ferry dock, meet the afternoon boat, and buy a fizzy (soda pop).
Thursday’s activities included a treasure hunt that lasted several hours and figured as the high point of the trip for many of the boys. Patrols used clues provided by leaders to guide them from point to point around the island. Because the clues were written very subtly the boys’ powers of observation were sharpened, and whether they had to identify the bleached bones of a beached whale or an old cabin used by one of the early penal officers, they gained a new appreciation for the island and its inhabitants.
Wide games (for getting acquainted), softball, cricket, chess, and fishing took up their share of time as did some service projects for the ranger. Most agreed that it was a wonderful camp, but by Friday men and boys alike were ready to go home.
Geoffrey Swanton, 13, summed up the feelings for many when he said, “The camp was a good experience for me. I think the hikes to Bishop and Clerk and Chinaman’s Bay did me good. I’m glad came. The food was good, but there was not enough of it. I reckon the wildlife here is some of the best in Australia. You could pat the wallabies and observe other animals quite close up. The historic value of the island is good and there was always something to do. I wouldn’t mind staying a little longer, but I need a good shower, a good feed-up, and some sleep at home.”
Though everyone had his favorite activities, most agreed that the most successful part of the whole camp was the wonderful associations that were forged in the warm glow of campfire conversations, in the hot dust of the island’s trails, and in the friendly warmth of patrol and tent group prayers.
“At first the camp appeared boring, but by the second day things became all right. I hardly knew anybody from the other patrols at first, but by the end of the camp I had made many new friends,” said David Scott, from Launceston.
“The camp drew us all a lot closer to our leaders, and it made us all work as a group in order to eat or have activities. The camp succeeded. It brought the young men and leaders together and helped to unify the stake Scout force,” said Matthew Parsons, from Glenorchy.
Every leader enjoyed his associations with the young men of the camp. They seemed pleased when the boys wanted to tell them about their troubles and hopes for life.
“I’ve enjoyed getting to really know the boys I’ve been called to watch over. It has helped me to know their strengths, and this camp really opened up the lines of communication between us,” said Bishop Triffith, Devonport.
The young men left the camp with new friends, better associations with their priesthood leaders, and in many cases stronger interests in the gospel of Jesus Christ and the Scouting program. The first all-Tasmanian LDS Scout camp on Maria Island was over, and everyone agreed that it had been a smashing success.

On another occasion, Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, and a man named Brother Barnard were traveling to Far West, Missouri. The journey was difficult. The ground was frozen. After crossing a small stream, they found that the axle on their carriage had become bent.
Brother Barnard, a blacksmith, felt that they could not continue traveling with the axle bent so badly. He said that if they tried to straighten it, it would break.
Joseph inspected the axle and suggested that they try to spring it back into shape, anyway.
Again, Brother Barnard warned that it would break.
Joseph told him that he could straighten it, and it would be fine. He found a pry and, with the help of the brethren, bent the axle back into place. It gave them no further trouble, and the brethren arrived safely in Far West. Brother Barnard turned to Brigham Young and said that he would never say again that a thing could not be done when a prophet said that it could.2

As briefly mentioned in my introduction, I am ethnic Chinese and born in Vietnam during the Vietnam War. My mother and I escaped Vietnam as boat people in 1979 when I was six years old, four years after the Fall of Saigon where Communist North Vietnam took over South Vietnam.

We lived in former Saigon, currently Ho Chi Minh City, which is in South Vietnam. When Saigon actually fell to communist rule, the whole city turned upside-down. Those who worked for the South Vietnamese government or connected to the U.S. Embassy were among the first to be taken out and so many people were running to the U.S. Embassy. Many of those fortunate enough to leave with the US Military fled by helicopter and planes. Those of us who were left behind were not so lucky for we had to escape by boat.

My grandpa at the time had a gold business and a fish sauce company. He was ultimately arrested and had almost all his possessions confiscated except for the small amount of gold he hid in various places. Many of my family members including my two close uncles were taken to a re-education camp.

For those of us who stayed behind after the war, the decision to either continue to stay under communist rule or risk our lives by escaping was a serious question. When my mother was asked if she was afraid to leave on a small boat to travel across the sea to another country, she replied, “Truly I was not afraid because freedom is more valuable in my life, so I rather live free.”

With these words echoing in her mind, my mother and I tried to escape two times. On the first time, we were cheated by dishonest boat captains who took what little gold and other precious things we had for passage.

My mother tells the story this way:

“We were disguised like farmers and took a bus out to the countryside by the ocean as if we were going to work. The boat captains would call you when the boats were ready and the children would all be given sleeping medicine to eat. Usually this would take place on a moonless night.
So they took us to walk towards the beach. And they said, okay, now you will stay behind these rocks and you wait for us. So supposedly they would put us into these smaller boats and row us out to the bigger boats. But there weren't any bigger boats.
So we got arrested by the Communist soldiers. At first they shines their flashlights and said don't move or you'll be shot. So we all got rounded up to this large open area.After we were taken to the camp, the men and women were separated.
Females were housed indoors in an old cement warehouse structure and the men were locked up inside of these metal containers, (similar to today's shipping containers) without any air. It was absolutely horrible. The females and children slept on the cement floors."

Now, I was with my mother at this time. I was 5 years old. I got sick with an eye infection and it was all swollen up. Due to my sickness, my mother and I were eventually released. We were in the middle of nowhere in rural Vietnam and no doctor, nothing. And so we were taken to a place where we could get a bus and told to leave.The second attempt to escape occurred a little over a year after this incident.

First, we could not carry anything with us because these fishing boats couldn't carry anything but people. The capacity of these boats was a hundred, but they would try to cram more than 200 people in each one because they wanted to make more profit since the passengers needed to pay some kind of passage fee (usually with precious metals, like gold and silver). Our particular boat had 200 plus passengers, so we were crammed in like sardines with no place to move.

Here is the actual picture of our boat in 1979 before the passengers got on-board. My mom had heard that there was going to be a couple more boats going about the same time as ours. But as it turned out, our boat was the only one who made it. The other ones all sunk. There were simply too many people. So before they even set sail, they all drowned.

Since our boat only had a capacity for one hundred and they stuffed more than 200 people, it was extremely heavily loaded. We were also forbidden to bring anything with us, only the clothes that we could wear. So my mother and I and others wore three or four pairs of clothing. We were on this boat for 96 hours or 4 days.

The boat had a top deck and a lower deck. The females and the kids were in the lower deck and the men were on top. Where we were on the lower deck, the smell of vomit filled the air in the tight space as we all sat crammed next to each other because there literally was no room to even sit up. The only food my mom remembers eating was jicama, which is a vegetable, because jicama has a lot of water and it can make you feel full.

Since there was no bathroom, we used metal cans with a little hole in them. So the men upstairs would us so the men upstairs would use a rope of string, tie this can and hand it down to us, and we would use it and then they would carry up the waste to discard.

On one particular night, the captain announced that we were going to be facing a big storm with large waves with heavy rain and wind. And certainly that night the ocean was angry with waves, rain, and wind rocking our small boat for hours on end. Everybody was terrified, but we were very lucky because the captain of our boat, being a very good sailor, navigated the boat in between two islands. Then he dropped the anchor.

When we woke up the next morning, the storm was over and we saw land for the first time. It was very early in the morning and it was low tide. So the younger men swam to the land and made contact once they arrived. We discovered that we had landed in Indonesia.

The police took no notice of us and they already knew we were refugees because by that time news of the Vietnamese boat people had made headlines around the world. We stayed in a refugee camp with thousands of other Vietnamese boat people for over 5 months.

Eventually, we were sponsored by my uncle who lived in California and my mother and I, along with my 3 cousins, my uncles and aunties who were all on that same boat with me ended up in Long Beach, California and eventually settling in Westminster, California—which has one of the largest Vietnamese populations outside of Vietnam. If you go visit Westminster today, it is nicknamed “Little Saigon.”

In hindsight, we were very lucky. I have other family members, one of whom lives right here in Honolulu and is actually sitting in this audience today, who were not as fortunate and their loved ones drowned in the open ocean.

The Lord directs our lives so that we can achieve our fullest potential. In the midst of these great experiences and spiritual growth, we received a very good lesson in humility.

That night we had another concert, and Dr. Woodward looked a little tired. As we began the first number, perspiration began to bead on his brow, then roll down the sides of his face. He kept directing but his hands soon started to waver and the lines in his face grew taut. The entire choir was straining, ready at any moment to leap forward and catch him if he fell.

Finally, Sister Woodward got him to sit down and drink some water and Gordon Johnston, our assistant conductor, directed the next number. Then Dr. Woodward got up again and directed two more numbers before intermission when they carried him out. (Dr. Woodward later joked, “It was a funny feeling. I couldn’t really hear, but all I could think of was, the show must go on!”)

Many prayers were offered during that intermission, and then we returned to finish the concert. After the reception, as we were going to our rooms, we saw an ambulance take Dr. Woodward to the hospital, where he would remain for the next two days. Here, at the end of our tour, as we were on the eve of entering Jerusalem, our conductor and spiritual guide was gone from us. The challenge was now to go forward and apply all the principles we had been taught, to continue our mission to sing to the Jewish people and help them feel the spirit of the gospel.

While teaching at BYU in 1978, Brother Dennis Rasmussen applied and was selected to study at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. In the opening session, as he gave his name and university, Rabbi Muffs boomed, “You’re the Mormon! … Do you pay your tithing?” “Yes,” he answered. “Do you pay it with a joyful heart?” “I believe,” the rabbi said, “that joy is the essence of religion. There is nothing more fundamental to religious living than joy. … I am working on a book about joy.” Brother Rasmussen responded, “There’s a passage in the Book of Mormon that you might like. It says, ‘Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy.’” Rabbi Muffs was profoundly touched and exclaimed, “I’ve found the text I’ve searched for all my life … in the Book of Mormon.” Turning to Brother Rasmussen he said, “Say it again, but not so fast.” As he repeated the familiar words, the rabbi’s eyes glowed in appreciation of this great truth he understood but had not heard so succinctly expressed.

Last Sunday, Ruby and I attended a sacrament meeting of a ward here in central Salt Lake. The meeting was most interesting because in that ward there is some affluence as well as people who are living in halfway houses. Just before the testimony meeting, a young lady walked up to the bishop on the stand, holding a little baby in her arms, wanting the baby to receive a blessing. The bishop stepped down and took the little baby, and the baby was blessed.
Later on during the testimony meeting, a little seven-year-old boy, with his five-year-old sister by the hand, walked up to the pulpit. He helped fix a little stool there for her to stand on, his five-year-old sister, and he helped her as she bore her testimony. And as she would falter just a little, he would lean over and whisper in her ear, this little loving seven-year-old brother.
After she finished, he stood on the stool, and she stood watching him, and he bore his testimony. She had that sweet expression on her face as she watched him. He was her older brother, but you could see that family love and relationship with those two little children. He stepped down from the stool, took her by the hand, and they walked back down to take their seat.
Near the end of the testimony meeting, when there were a few moments for me to speak, I asked the young lady who had brought her child up to be blessed if she would come up and stand by me, which she did. In the meantime, while the testimony meeting was going on, I asked the bishop, whispering into his ear, “Where is her husband?”
The bishop said, “He’s in jail.”
I asked, “What is her name?” and he told me her name.
She came up and stood by my side, carrying the little baby. As we were standing at the pulpit, I looked down at this little precious baby, only a few days old, and this mother—the mother of that little daughter, who had brought her to receive a blessing at the hands of the priesthood. As I looked at the mother and looked at that precious little child, I wondered what she might become or what she could be. I spoke to the audience and to this young mother about the proclamation that was issued five years ago by the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve—a proclamation on the family—and of our responsibility to our children, and the children’s responsibility to their parents, and the parents’ responsibility to each other. That marvelous document brings together the scriptural direction that we have received that has guided the lives of God’s children from the time of Adam and Eve and will continue to guide us until the final winding-up scene.
As we talked about it and as I looked at that beautiful little baby, I thought of last summer. Ruby and I were up in Idaho for a short visit, and we met some people from Mountain Home, Idaho—the Goodrich family. Sister Goodrich had come to see us and had brought her daughter Chelsea with her. In part of the conversation that we were having, Sister Goodrich said Chelsea had memorized the proclamation on the family.
To Chelsea, who is now 15 years old, I said, “Chelsea, is that right?”
She said, “Yes.”
I said, “How long did it take you to do that?”
She said, “When we were young, my mother started a program in our house to help us memorize. We would memorize scripture passages and sacrament meeting songs and other types of things that would be helpful to us. So we learned how to memorize, and it became easier for us.”
I said, “Then you can give it all?”
She said, “Yes, I can give it all.”
I said, “You learned that when you were 12 years old; you’re now 15. Pretty soon you’ll start dating. Tell me about it. What has it done for you?”
Chelsea said, “As I think of the statements in that proclamation, and as I understand more of our responsibility as a family and our responsibility for the way we live and the way we should conduct our lives, the proclamation becomes a new guideline for me. As I associate with other people and when I start dating, I can think of those phrases and those sentences in the proclamation on the family. It will give me a yardstick which will help guide me. It will give me the strength that I need.”

On one occasion, Elder Richard G. Scott described his visit to and fascination with an artist who happened to be the husband of his wife’s friend. He was impressed with the work he saw and wondered if it would be possible for him to create similar paintings. With some trepidation, Elder Scott bought an art book, read it, bought some paints, and painted a watercolor. He stated, “The results, even viewed charitably, were not very good.”19

Elder Scott experienced the temptation to quit or give up. However, he decided to pursue his ambition. He purchased better materials, received instruction, and was introduced to a number of master artists. He was rewarded by having one of his paintings juried into an art competition and having another one purchased. Regarding his experience, Elder Scott wrote:

Search for feelings that prompt you to try something new. . . . Otherwise you may never . . . enter the doors it opens to insight, enjoyment, and wonder.
Every individual has creative capacity. The satisfaction and growth creativity generates is intended for each of us, . . . [but trying] takes courage. . . . Believe in yourself. Doubt destroys creativity, while faith strengthens it.
. . . As you experiment with new things you will discover a great deal about yourself that likely won’t be revealed any other way.20

My life hasn’t always been easy. I started experiencing symptoms of social anxiety and depression as a teen and was diagnosed with ADHD in high school. When I was about 15 months into serving my full-time mission, I started experiencing suicidal thoughts. Soon after, I was diagnosed with bipolar II disorder.
I found myself facing a difficult decision. My mission president and I talked about me going home where I could get the help I needed. But I couldn’t help but feel frustrated with the Lord. I felt like my desire to stay and continue serving the people I had come to love was a righteous desire.
Eventually, I learned that there were people the Lord needed me to meet at home and that there were opportunities for my broken heart to be healed. And I’ve come to know that my missionary service was accepted by Him.

Now of President McKay. An unusual experience with President McKay comes to mind in which you may be interested. One day I received a wire from President John F. Kennedy, inviting me to attend a meeting at the White House the following week, to which the presidents of women’s organizations of the United States, having membership of 100,000 or more, were invited. I didn’t wish to attend. I was of the opinion the matter to be discussed was controversial legislation. I felt I might be called upon to speak, and I preferred not to be involved. I knew, however, that I should refer the matter to President McKay before sending my regrets. I took the wire to the President, who read it, and then, to my surprise, he repeated the twelfth Article of Faith: “We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.” Concluding this, he said, “In view of this belief, I don’t see how you can refuse to honor the request of the president of the United States, if it is at all possible for you to go.” Of course I agreed to attend the meeting. I then explained my reason for hesitating, saying what I thought would be the nature of the meeting, and inquired if the President had counsel for me. To this he replied, “Indeed I have. Remember, you do not speak for the Church. This is my role. You speak only for Relief Society.” Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he said, “We would expect, of course, that what you say would be in harmony with Church views, insofar as you know them.”

With the interview closed, I rose to leave the room. The President, as was his custom, walked with me toward the door. In leaving, I once again said, “President McKay, are you sure you have no further counsel for me?”

With great understanding for my feelings he replied, “Yes, I do have further counsel. Go in peace and learn to trust in the Lord.”

I went in peace, and I trusted in the Lord, and I was called on to speak, as I expected. And I attest that I was guided in my actions and directed in my speech during that meeting.

The state of New Mexico has a dot-to-dot line called Highway 66. This line comes across the state boundary near the northeastern corner and connects dots Gallup, Bluewater, Grants, and Albuquerque. Although Bluewater is the smallest of these dots, to me it is the most important. Here I was born and raised. It was my world. Here I learned many lessons, not the least of which was one taught by the episode of the “gentile cow.”
In Bluewater, nature is not a soft, sweet, green Mother who gives of her bounty. Here she is a rugged individual who demands the utmost of man’s endeavor for the yield she lets him have. She does have a strong beauty here, however. Mt. Taylor stands to the east and the range of Rocky Mountains to the west. North, toward Gallup, are red sandstone bluffs and black jagged malpais (volcanic ridges). Much of the level valley floor is covered with red soil. When it is dry, which is nearly always, this sandy loam is sifted around fence posts in miniature mountains by the ever-present wind. It used to be a delightful experience to walk barefooted through the sand, but the Russian thistles that thrive here made walking pleasant only for the wary. It was a status symbol to have feet tough enough to walk barefoot over thistles.
An arroya (deep gully) begins from the northwest hills and zig-zags diagonally across the valley. This arroya is usually dry, but in rainy seasons it holds a red, raging torrent. Near the head of the arroya where there is a runoff from the hills, some cottonwood trees have managed to send their roots down deep enough to be sustained by underground water. They are so firmly situated that they are not affected by wind or drought. As a child I had hoped my testimony of the gospel would become as deep-rooted and as unbendable as those cottonwood trees.
Bluewater was really a community divided between the Mormons and the gentiles. Northward lived the rich (we thought) gentiles. They owned the General Merchandise Store and the garage with a gas pump. There also was a small Union Pacific Depot and the United States Post Office. Southward, the Mormons had a little concrete church house and a red brick, four-room schoolhouse. There was not much socializing between the groups. The Mormons went up to the store to get produce and to fill their gas tanks at the garage and get their mail at the Post Office. Few trains ever stopped at the depot, so few people went there. The gentile children came down to school, and the gentile adults came occasionally to Church socials or dances.
During the depression of the 1930s, we lived mostly on potatoes and pinto beans. The ultimatum was, “If you don’t raise it, you don’t eat it.” Momma could make potatoes and beans taste like gourmet food, but she couldn’t make them into milk for the children. In this little town there were no telephones, sidewalks, electric lights, or paved streets—and no dairies. There wasn’t even any money to buy canned milk. A milking cow was a necessity for a family. Our cows were all dry. My parents worried about their eight children. As the oldest child, I worried too.
One day as I helped Momma with the dishes, I asked, “Are we going to starve?” She countered, “We haven’t starved yet, have we?” I knew we hadn’t starved, but we had hungered for variety, and now we needed milk. She continued as much for herself as for me: “So long as we pay our tithing, I can’t think the Lord will let us starve. He has always looked after us.” I knew this was true, and I knew that my parents always paid an honest and cheerful tithe on every cent they received. Every tenth calf went for tithing. I saw Momma write on the calendar each night the number of eggs she had gathered that day, and each month a tenth went to the Lord. I was reassured. Besides, it was spring and new crops were being planted.
One day not long after this, I hurried home from the school bus. As I came up the path to the house, I saw my two little brothers and my sister looking at something by the gate. It was a smoldering cigar butt. I could not think how a fat cigar butt could have gotten inside our gate. The only smoking Mormon I knew smoked thin cigarettes.
“Where did it come from?” I asked.
The answer could only make more questions. “Mr. Thigpen threw it there.” Mr. Thigpen was the arch-gentile. He owned the General Merchandise Store.
“Why was he here?”
Their next answer did nothing to solve the mystery: “He’s going to give Daddy a cow.”
My sister reached out her foot and kicked the cigar butt. We stood aghast. But lightning didn’t strike, and the earth didn’t swallow her up, so my brother took the shovel and covered the remains with sand.
Daddy came out of the house and put a bridle on the horse that was in the corral. Momma came out and said, “Are you going now?”
“Yes. Mr. Thigpen said to come get a cow. He’ll change his mind when he sobers up, but we’ll milk her tonight anyway.”
He threw the saddle on the horse’s back and fastened the cinch. “I’ll be back in a little while.” He got on the horse and trotted off to the north. I was too mystified to ask if I could go too.
While Momma got supper, I worked on my lessons. I had to get them done before dark because we were out of coal oil for the lamp. Momma put wood in the stove. She stirred the food in the kettles, then pushed the kettles to the back of the stove where they would keep warm but not burn. She took the bread from the oven and turned it out of the pans onto the sideboard by the stove. Then she set the table.
By this time the children who had been watching at the gate came running through the house. “Daddy’s home! The cow’s here!” They ran out of the kitchen door. I ran out too. Momma followed with a milk pail. My brother quickly opened the corral gate. We all watched as the beautiful little Jersey cow with the big milk bag stepped daintily inside. She stood waiting to be milked. No prima donna ever had a more appreciative audience.
Daddy milked the cow. We stood there listening to the sharp zing of the stream of milk as it hit the pail, beating itself into a standing foam that soon muffled the zing to a mellow swish. We all filed into the house behind Daddy who carried the milk pail. He opened the stove door to light the darkened room. He strained the milk and set the pitcher on the table. Momma broke a warm loaf of bread and set the beans, potatoes, and bread on the table. We all sat down, and Daddy said the blessing on the food and thanked the Lord for his kindness to us that day.
Mr. Thigpen did come back a few days later. He was a bit chagrined by his generous offer. However, he saved face by offering Daddy a job to pay for the cow and also to draw “store pay.”
“Well,” said Momma, “we don’t know in what way the Lord will help us. I never thought a drunk gentile could answer a prayer.” The roots of my testimony anchored about ten feet deep.
It has been many years since we sat around that table eating our supper by firelight, but the scene is as bright to me as an unshaded light bulb. I have traveled many fine lines on the map and eaten many remarkable meals. I have sampled milk that has been pasteurized, homogenized, pulverized, refined, and vitalized, but no milk has ever surpassed, or even equaled, the soul-satisfying milk that the Lord sent to us by that gentle “gentile cow.”

On the positive side, President Hinckley told of what can happen when just one person chooses to remain active in the Church. He shared this story: Years ago, President Charles A. Callis, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, but who previously was president of the Southern States Mission for twenty-five years, told me this story. He said that he had a missionary in the southern states who came in to get his release at the conclusion of his mission. His mission president said to him, 'Have you had a good mission?'
He said, "No."
"How is that?"
"Well, I haven't had any results from my work. I have wasted my time and my father's money. It's been a waste of time."
Brother Callis said, "Haven't you baptized anyone?"
He said, "I baptized only one person during the two years that I have been here. That was a twelve-year-old boy up in the back hollows of Tennessee."
He went home with a sense of failure. Brother Callis said, "I decided to follow that boy who had been baptized. I wanted to know what became of him. The next time I went up into that area I looked him up. He had put on shoes (he'd never worn shoes before), he'd put on a shirt (he'd never had a shirt before), he was the clerk of the little branch Sunday School."
Brother Callis said, "I followed him through the years. He became the Sunday School Superintendent, and he eventually became the branch president. He married. He moved off the little tenant farm on which he and his parents before him had lived and got a piece of ground of his own and made it fruitful. He became the district president. He sold that piece of ground in Tennessee and moved to Idaho and bought a farm along the Snake River and prospered there. His children grew. They went on missions. They came home. They had children of their own who went on missions."
Brother Callis continued, "I've just spent a week up in Idaho looking up every member of that family that I could find and talking to them about their missionary service. I discovered that, as the result of the baptism of that one little boy in the back hollows of Tennessee by a missionary who thought he had failed, more than 1,100 people have come into the Church."

One Saturday morning in February 1996, I traveled 80 miles from our home to Fargo, North Dakota. Stake training was being held, and I carpooled with two sisters from my ward.

As we entered the parking lot, a man ran out to meet us. He said to return home immediately as a severe blizzard was on its way.

We were about 10 miles outside of town when the snow and wind began to rage. It was as if white paper had been taped on every window of the vehicle. We could see neither road nor signs directing the way, only swirling snow. Our situation was precarious, and my nerves were raw.

After hours of white-knuckle driving, we saw faint taillights of a vehicle ahead. We could barely make out the lights, but seeing them gave us hope.

Creeping along for an additional four hours, we trusted if we followed the light ahead, it would guide us safely home.

Last summer, our youngest son returned home from his mission to Warsaw, Poland. We missed him so much, but he learned things Sister Hobbs and I could not teach him at home. On the day he reported his mission, I could see how much he had matured. I was so glad he was home. I felt a little like our Heavenly Father must feel about us. He wants us to come home. Our salvation is His work and His glory. And Brothers and Sisters, we can trust Him for He knows how to do His work. (2 Nephi 27:21)

While President David O. McKay served as prophet, seer, and revelator of the Church, he traveled over a million miles throughout the world. He enjoyed meeting with Saints in other countries, and he made friends for the Church among many government leaders.
On one trip in 1952, President McKay and his wife, Emma, were invited to visit with Queen Juliana of the Netherlands in the Soestdijk Palace. During that visit, the McKays showed how they were able to make friends without sacrificing their religious beliefs.
The queen had scheduled half an hour for the visit with President and Sister McKay. The President carefully watched the time. When the half hour was up, he politely thanked the queen and began to leave. “Mr. McKay,” she said, “sit down! I have enjoyed this thirty minutes more than I have enjoyed any thirty minutes in a long time. I just wish you would extend your visit a little longer.”
After more persuasion from her, he sat down again. At that point, a coffee table was wheeled in, and the queen poured three cups of tea, pushing one each to President and Sister McKay. When neither of the McKays began to stir their tea, the queen asked, “Won’t you have a little tea with the queen?”
President McKay politely explained that Latter-day Saints did not believe in drinking stimulants and that they believed tea to be a stimulant.
The queen was very surprised! “I am the queen of the Netherlands,” she said. “Do you mean to tell me you won’t have a little drink of tea, even with the queen of the Netherlands?”
To this, President McKay politely asked, “Would the queen of the Netherlands ask the leader of one million, three hundred thousand people* to do something that he teaches his people not to do?”
The queen smiled and sat back in her chair. “You are a great man, President McKay,” she told him. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

Elizabeth kicked an empty coconut shell down the dirt road. She frowned as it rolled away. Today had not been a good day.
Not at all!
Lagi said something mean to her at school. Later, the other kids laughed when she did a math problem wrong in front of the class. And then her art project got ruined.
“It’s not fair!” Elizabeth said. Who invented bad days anyway?
Elizabeth plucked a pretty hibiscus flower. At least that was one good thing today. Even on a bad day in Samoa she could find beautiful flowers all over.
She twisted the pink flower into her hair and walked home.
“Talofa!” Dad said. “How was your day?”
Elizabeth looked down. “Not good.” She walked past the noisy pigs in their yard and sat next to Dad on the porch.
Dad sat and listened as she told him all about her hard day.
“I’m so sorry,” Dad said, hugging her. “I’ve had days like those. Want to know something that helps me?”
She nodded. “Yes, please!”
He started singing a song that Elizabeth knew well. Dad sang this beautiful love song to Mom all the time.
She laughed and pushed on his shoulder. “Daa–aad!”
He grinned. “I’m serious! Good music helps me feel better. And, speaking of music …”
Elizabeth knew what he was going to say. It was time to practice piano.
More than anything, Elizabeth wanted to learn piano so she could play songs in church. She already loved singing with her family. Especially with Dad. But playing piano was harder. Her fingers had to work to find the notes.
“I don’t know if I feel like practicing today,” she said.
Dad stood. “Try to think about what you’re playing. Hymns can help us feel closer to God.”
Then he took off his sandals and went inside to help with dinner.
Elizabeth took off her sandals and went inside too. Dad chopped vegetables while Mom stirred the stew.
The sheet music for “Fa‘afetai i Le Atua” sat on the keyboard. Elizabeth loved this Samoan hymn. It was all about giving thanks to God.
Elizabeth turned on the electric keyboard and started playing. “Think about what you’re playing,” Dad had said.
So she did. She thought about all the things she was thankful for. Her family. Her house. Music. Beautiful Samoa.
Her fingers started to find the notes more easily. After a while, her feelings began to change. She felt peace. Elizabeth smiled. She was feeling the Holy Ghost!
The sound of chopping stopped. Dad started humming. He stood next to her and began to sing.
She kept playing, and Mom joined in too. Elizabeth kept thinking about all the ways God blessed her and her family.
At the end, Dad leaned down and asked, “Feeling any better?”
“Yes!” she said. “You were right. Good music did make my day better!”
What helps you feel better on hard days?

Sitting in the assembly hall with the rest of the sixth-graders, Patty Barnes fixed her eyes on Miss Fletcher as she mounted the platform, paper in hand.
Today was the day when the pupils from Alma Heights School would hear the complete program for drama night. Not only would there be a play, but the choir would sing and there would be instrumental numbers.
Patty fidgeted impatiently and twisted a lock of hair that curled around her right ear. She was sure she would be asked to play the sonatina she had been practicing for months.
“In addition to the play,” Miss Fletcher glanced around the auditorium, “the choir will sing ‘On Wings of Song.’ The boys’ glee club will do three sea chanteys, Ron Bateman will play a violin solo, and Deedee Bates will play a piano solo.”
Patty gasped so loudly that her friend, Rosalie, who was sitting next to her, gave her a sharp nudge in the ribs. It seemed that Miss Fletcher also heard the gasp of dismay, because, as she concluded her remarks, she looked right at Patty.
“It isn’t fair,” argued Rosalie loyally, as the boys and girls were dismissed and began to make their way toward the lunchroom.
Patty could not answer. There was a choking feeling in her throat and she was afraid that if she blinked, the tears would start.
“Thanks, Rosalie. You go ahead and save a place at the table. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
As she went back into the classroom to talk with Miss Fletcher, bitter disappointment gave place to anger. She couldn’t believe their teacher was capable of such an injustice.
“Was there something you wanted to say to me, Patty?” Miss Fletcher asked, looking up from her desk.
Still smarting from the hurt, Patty answered, “The last time I played in an assembly you were almost sure I would be playing on the program. I don’t see why Deedee was chosen. After all, she hasn’t been—”
“I know just what you’re going to say, Patty—Deedee hasn’t been going to our school very long, and she has pushed you out of your place.”
Up until now Patty had never thought of Deedee as a rival. They had even played duets together down in the music room after they had finished lunch.
But now, thought Patty, I’ll never play another duet with Deedee as long as I live!
Miss Fletcher was waiting for Patty to say something. “It isn’t fair!” Patty finally declared, “I don’t think it’s fair at all.”
Miss Fletcher sighed, and then she got up from her desk and motioned to Patty to sit down with her on a little bench by the door while she explained, “When we were planning the drama night, Mr. Lawson said, ‘We want to have the very best program possible.’ That’s why all of the teachers and I decided to have Deedee. Those who have parts in the play were chosen the same way. I know you’re disappointed, Patty, but we all must learn to recognize and appreciate talent, regardless of who has it.”
“But does Deedee really play better than I do?” Patty questioned, still unwilling to believe the right decision had been made.
“You play very well, Patty, but Deedee is a remarkable little girl,” said Miss Fletcher. “Someday she will have something wonderful to offer the world, and we must all help her. Do you remember when you were playing the ‘Turkish March’ together that Deedee played the music through only once and that she didn’t need to look at the notes again? But she’s terribly nervous about playing in front of people. That’s where we can all help her. At our drama night she’ll be playing in front of a very sympathetic audience and that should give her confidence.”
Patty’s heart went down, down, down. She knew within herself that what Miss Fletcher said was true. She hated to admit it, but there was something special about Deedee. Her fingers flew over the keys with scarcely a ripple, and she could make up little tunes right in her head.
Trying to be a good sport about Deedee’s good fortune, Patty moved toward the door and said, “I guess you’re right. I’ll try to help her.” She wanted to smile at Miss Fletcher, but somehow she couldn’t, so she turned and hurried down the hall.
It’s funny, she thought, but sometimes when people show you that you’re wrong, you still want to believe that you’re right.
During the afternoon Patty tried not to resent the fact that all her work on the sonatina had been in vain. She congratulated Deedee, and even felt sorry for her when she saw how frightened she was about the idea of playing in front of an audience.
Walking home with Rosalie, Patty tried to think of a way to break the news to Mother and Dad, but she didn’t find it nearly as hard as she had expected. She even managed to make a little joke about it.
Dad gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “You mean we’re not going to have to go through another week of having you pound out that sonatina?” he teased. Then he put his arm around her shoulder and said lovingly, “Don’t feel badly, Patty. You’re the best pianist in our family.”
Finally, the drama night came. Patty sat in the audience with her parents and thoroughly enjoyed the choir and the play.
Then during the intermission, Patty saw Miss Fletcher slowly walking down the aisle and peering along the rows as though she were looking for someone. When she saw Patty, she motioned to her.
“Oh, Patty, I’m so glad I found you!” Miss Fletcher said when they reached the back of the room. “I need your help. Deedee has gone completely to pieces. I know it’s short notice, but could you play your sonatina for us in her place?”
“I’ll be glad to,” Patty said without a moment’s hesitation.
As she followed Miss Fletcher backstage a feeling of triumph swept over her. What a surprise it would be for Mother and Dad when they heard her play.
Then Patty saw Deedee, white and shaking, standing in the wings. All Patty’s happiness ebbed away. Deedee was something special and Miss Fletcher’s words came back to her, “We must all help her.”
If Deedee doesn’t learn to play in front of an audience now, she may never be able to do it, Patty thought.
She walked over to Deedee and put a steady, warm hand over Deedee’s cold one. “Remember the fun we had playing the ‘Turkish March’ together?” she asked. “That’s what we’re going to do, both of us together.”
For a moment Deedee hesitated, and then she smiled and walked out onto the stage with Patty.
In a few minutes the audience heard the best piano duetists in the whole school!