Gospel Story Finder

This is a story my father, Emlyn Davies, used to tell about a moment in his childhood when he learned something powerful about faith and prayer.
“When I was about 10 or 11, I went to a school camp by the seaside for a week. During the first few days, we played football, cricket, rugby—mostly team sports. We were told that if we did our best, there was a chance we could win a prize.
As I knelt in prayer that night, I asked Heavenly Father to help me win a prize. Well, the next day there was boxing and swimming. I couldn’t swim and I couldn’t box as far as I knew. I certainly wasn’t going to win any prizes. The events that I felt I could do, I entered but I didn’t win anything. That second night I knelt in prayer and asked Heavenly Father, ‘Please help me to win a prize.’ I had every confidence that I would. We call it faith, I suppose. But I really felt if I offered my prayers I would win.
At that age, I was very slim and could run very fast—100 yards was my race. I’d usually win and even look back at the others as I crossed the finish line. I thought, ‘This will be the one.’ I got through the heats and into the final.
On the day of the final run, I raced and felt confident. I was in front and thought I’d go even faster. But in that spurt to go faster I stumbled and fell. In the 100 yards you haven’t got time to pick yourself up and win again. So of course I didn’t win. I thought, ‘Well I don’t know now what my chances are to win anything.’ But that night I offered my prayers again and I said, ‘Heavenly Father, please help me to win a prize.’ I entered the tug-of-war; we didn’t win. I had entered everything I thought I could possibly do, but I didn’t win anything.
On the Saturday night they said they’d give the prizes out to the youth who had won. As the names were called I felt really sad. I felt I’d offered my prayers and I’d done my best, but I hadn’t won. Then one of the teachers called, ‘Emlyn, they want you up to the front.’ So I went to the front and the teacher said, ‘Now we have a very special prize. This boy is the bravest boy in all the camp. He’s brave because he’s the only boy who knelt by his bed at night and offered prayers. There are no prizes for saying your prayers. But we teachers got together and bought a prize for the brave boy.’ It wasn’t much of a prize but for me it was a great prize to have. I thought, ‘Well my prayers are answered again.’”

The Young Women of the Lafayette Ward, Baton Rouge Louisiana Stake, completed a special quilting project. Each girl cross-stitched a colored square that displayed one of the Young Women values. The Young Women motto was added as well.
The quilt was made with the intent of presenting it to their Young Women president while she thought it was to be given to someone else. Prior to the presentation, Shannon Dunaway, the Laurel president, explained to the ward the meaning of the quilt and the love that had gone into each stitch.

Recently I stood with Sister Camilla Kimball while President Kimball greeted the little children at an area conference. A young mother-to-be rushed toward us and threw her arms around Sister Kimball, hugged her, and wept. Then as she gained her composure she said, “Oh Sister Kimball, you are so beautiful, so serene, and so supportive to your husband.” Fresh tears accompanied this outburst and then she said, “Oh, Sister Kimball, my husband says this is how I’m supposed to be.”

Sister Kimball, who is all that the woman said and more, spoke quietly to her, “It will come. We all have to learn through experience.”

The young mother-to-be went away comforted. The beginning wasn’t the end! She lifted her head in hope, as I believe we all must do, to move steadily forward in ultimate faith that the end can be better than the beginning, wherever we may start.

A true story from Canada.
Taylor helped Mom carry the supplies for the Primary activity toward the park. The sun was warm on her face, and the grass in the park was green again. It felt so good to be outside!
Spring was one thing that reminded her that Heavenly Father loved her. Taylor liked to look for God’s love in all things—like a blue sky or getting to see her friends at the Primary activity.
Taylor followed Mom to where the other Primary leaders were setting up games for the kids.
Sister Kingsley waved and said, “Jane is coming!”
“That’s great!” Mom said.
“Who’s Jane?” Taylor asked.
“She’s a new girl we invited. We hope you and the other kids can help her feel welcome,” Mom said.
Taylor felt a worried knot in her stomach. Talking to new people was hard for her. She wanted to be kind. But what if the new girl didn’t like her?
Soon, everyone arrived, including a girl Taylor didn’t know.
“Welcome to our Primary activity!” Sister Kingsley said. She put her hand on the new girl’s shoulder. “This is Jane. She’s joining us today. We hope everyone has fun playing together at the park.”
“Can we play grounders?” asked one of the Primary kids.
“Yes, please!” Taylor shouted.
She was so excited! Grounders was her favorite game. Taylor raced with the other kids to the playground. Then Taylor stopped when she saw Jane standing alone.
Heavenly Father had given her this beautiful and special day. She wanted to enjoy it, and she wanted Jane to enjoy it too. Taylor’s insides felt shaky, but she took a deep breath and walked back to Jane.
“Hi. I’m Taylor.”
“Hi.” Jane smiled a little, but she seemed nervous.
“Have you played grounders before?” Taylor asked.
Jane shook her head.
Taylor knew what it was like to be nervous about new things.
“It’s really fun!” Taylor said. “The person who is ‘it’ keeps their eyes closed while they try to tag someone on the playground equipment. Everyone else can run around. But if the person who is ‘it’ yells ‘grounders!’ then whoever’s feet are still on the ground is ‘it.’”
Jane still looked nervous.
“Do you want to stay by me for a little while?” Taylor asked.
Jane smiled. “Yes!”
Taylor and Jane walked to the playground. As they climbed to the top, other kids said hi to Jane. Jane stayed near Taylor at first, but soon the other kids were helping Jane too. For the rest of the Primary activity, Taylor and all the other kids talked to Jane. By the end, Taylor no longer felt nervous, and she was pretty sure Jane didn’t either.
“Does anyone want an ice pop?” Mom said as she opened a cooler.
After all the running and playing, Taylor felt happy to sit with her friends and cool off. When Jane went home, Taylor and the other kids said goodbye to her.
Soon it was just Taylor, her mom, and the other leaders. Taylor picked up ice pop wrappers and put them in a trash bag.
“I’m so proud of you,” Mom said. “You and your friends shared Heavenly Father’s love with Jane today.”
Taylor thought about that. Even though she usually looked for ways Heavenly Father showed His love for her, today was different. Today, she’d been the one showing His love.
How do you feel God’s love? How can you share His love with a friend?
Illustration by Hollie Hibbert

A visit by a Relief Society president to an inactive deaf sister revealed that it hurt the sister too much to go to meetings and never be able to join in the discussion. As the president left that home, she promised the sister that if she would attend her Relief Society meetings she would be included. The president and her entire board learned to sign. Gratitude, satisfaction, and personal enrichment came as the sisters employed this new skill to respond to the need of that one individual.

I love to read Latter-day Saint religious books. And because these books are not readily available in Nigeria, I borrow them from a friend. Desiring to return my friend’s books within a few days, I always carry them with me and use spare moments to read.
One Sunday I had a borrowed book with me as I attended sacrament meeting in the ward where I am assigned as high councilor. I read the book while I waited to give the bishop a message from the stake presidency. When the bishop arrived, he asked me to speak to his first counselor since he needed to greet some visitors. After passing the message to the first counselor, I took a seat on the stand.
No sooner had I sat down, however, than I realized my friend’s book was gone. With about five minutes before the meeting was to begin—and with the presiding authority seated on the stand—I thought I shouldn’t leave. Sick about disappointing my friend, I thus started my ordeal in the longest sacrament meeting I have ever attended.
I hoped that time would pass quickly, but every item on the meeting agenda took what seemed like a lifetime. I was restless, praying silently that God would keep the book safe. Truly, the talks were not long, but an unreasonable anxiety had taken over my mind. Five minutes before the end of the meeting, I could bear it no more. I passed a note to the first counselor asking if I had left the book by him. I wished he would nod his head yes. He shook it instead.
I did not close my eyes during the benediction but closely monitored the two remaining places where I thought the book might be. Meanwhile, I decided that, if necessary, I would go to the Sunday School classes to announce that I had lost a book.
Surprisingly, however, when sacrament meeting concluded, my feelings had changed radically, and I wasn’t worried about the book. The Holy Spirit showed me—in just a few short moments of spiritual enlightenment—that my concerns were misplaced. I learned that what truly mattered was whether or not I would protect those things that God had put into my care. My mind immediately listed what I could remember God entrusting to me: my soul, my family, those I home teach, those I should share the gospel with, ward members I serve, my departed ancestors who need temple work, and so on.
I did find the book after what became an important soul-searching experience. But at the end of the longest sacrament meeting, I also found areas of my life that needed improvement. And I found the commitment to work on the priorities Heavenly Father desires.

Van Johnson from Leoma, Tennessee, tells of a personal experience he had in high school.
“Mr. Garner Ezell, my high school football coach, insisted on commitment from his players. ‘I’m committed to you,’ he said in a booming voice, his bushy eyebrows raised as he paced the locker room. ‘If you need me, I’m here.’
“I proved myself on the field, winning the best blocker award in sophomore year. Just before junior year, I made a tackle that left me paralyzed from the shoulders down. What can Coach do for me now? I wondered in the hospital.
“Coach became a regular visitor. He stood by my bedside with my teammates, re-creating games they had played. ‘See you in a few days,’ he said as the team filed out.
“Sure enough, Coach came back. And before leaving, he always said, ‘See you in a few days.’ Coach Ezell made me feel cared about and important. But I wondered how long his concern would last.
“Recently, after a good visit, I listened to Mr. Ezell say from my doorway, ‘See you in a few days.’”
Now he has done that for more than 24 years.
I believe this coach saw clearly, too. He saw that Christlike love involves true commitment. He saw clearly the type of love that the Lord Jesus Christ and our Father in Heaven have for each of us.

But what of an existence beyond death? Is death the end of all? Robert Blatchford, in his book God and My Neighbor, attacked with vigor accepted Christian beliefs such as God, Christ, prayer, and particularly immortality. He boldly asserted that death was the end of our existence and that no one could prove otherwise. Then a surprising thing happened. His wall of skepticism suddenly crumbled to dust. He was left exposed and undefended. Slowly he began to feel his way back to the faith he had ridiculed and abandoned. What had caused this profound change in his outlook? His wife died. With a broken heart he went into the room where lay all that was mortal of her. He looked again at the face he loved so well. Coming out, he said to a friend: “It is she, and yet it is not she. Everything is changed. Something that was there before is taken away. She is not the same. What can be gone if it be not the soul?”

Later he wrote: “Death is not what some people imagine. It is only like going into another room. In that other room we shall find … the dear women and men and the sweet children we have loved and lost.”

All his life Matthew had known that his family expected him to go on a mission for the Church. He looked forward to being nineteen when he would be old enough for a mission call—which he felt sure would be to Hawaii. Yet when he was only seventeen, a call came for him to serve as a missionary in New Zealand.
It was a long way from home for such a young missionary. Matthew didn’t understand the language of the Maori people. He didn’t even know exactly how to teach the gospel.
Matthew had been in New Zealand only a short time when a native woman came to him and asked him to go home with her. “Come, please,” she begged. “My boy is hurt. You fix him up.”
One look at the boy lying on the floor told Matthew the boy was badly hurt. “You must get a doctor,” he told the mother.
“The doctor isn’t home. He’s not even in town. Anyhow we don’t need him. You pray and fix up my boy,” the woman insisted.
Her complete confidence amazed Matthew. He had never administered to anyone before, but he could not refuse.
The young missionary got down on his knees. Before offering a prayer for the injured boy, Matthew gave a silent but fervent prayer for himself, that he might be able to do and say whatever was expected of him. Then he administered to the woman’s son.
The boy recovered quickly. This almost miraculous healing through the power of faith and prayer was only the first of many experiences that Matthew Cowley had in the islands of the Pacific.

Jacquie Simonet of Nancy returned home one evening in 1969 and found his wife, Suzanne, weeping. A copy of L’Etoile, the Church’s French magazine, was in her lap. “I have been reading about eternal marriage,” she said softly to him. “We can never have these blessings unless you are baptized.”

Jacquie had attended church with his wife for four years and had listened to the missionary discussions twice. “I had not been baptized because I smoked,” he says. “My heart was touched as I talked to my wife that night, and I realized that I already knew the gospel was true. I love my wife, and I knew that I wanted to be with her for eternity. So I threw away my cigarettes and never smoked again.” Jacquie was baptized, and the following year the Simonets were sealed in the Swiss Temple. Today he serves as the president of the Bordeaux France Stake.

The Simonets reared five sons, a niece, and a nephew. Now grown, these children live in Paris, Thoiry, Bordeaux, and the United States, and nearly all are rearing a third generation in the gospel. The nephew, Christian Soulé, is a counselor in the Paris Stake presidency.

One of these experiences began a few years ago when I was assigned as a home teacher to a young man who had been raised in a faithful Latter-day Saint family. After he left home to attend school, he chose other paths. Month after month my home teaching companion and I visited him without success; it seemed he didn’t even hear what we said to him. But when the tempests came and he was confused, not knowing what to do to resolve his problems, it was his home teachers he sought out.
At the time I was his stake president. He told me he remembered something his mother had taught him: “The Lord hears the prayers of those who sincerely seek Him.” As he confided that he had returned to praying and reading the scriptures, I saw with joy that the Lord had touched him.
I decided to follow up with him more closely, so I asked that he be assigned as my home teaching companion. Each month he and I visited four homes, and each month I prepared four different messages in an effort to strengthen my friend and help him in his return to gospel activity. Eventually he made the decision to repent, to faithfully attend his meetings, and to sincerely partake of the sacrament. The Lord’s sacrifice was having an effect on his life.
Today the family remains active and totally integrated in the ward, and they have been sealed in the Lord’s temple. My companion continues to progress rapidly in the gospel. He married a wonderful young woman in the temple, and they now have two children. They are happy and contribute valuable service to our ward and to the Church.
Six people were converted to the gospel as a result of that experience. A collective miracle! I felt the joy described in the scriptures:
“And how great is his joy in the soul that repenteth!
“Wherefore, you are called to cry repentance unto this people.
“And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!
“And now, if your joy will be great with one soul that you have brought unto me into the kingdom of my Father, how great will be your joy if you should bring many souls unto me!” (D&C 18:13–16).

From one of our associates who is deeply involved in helping people we learn of what happens when the Church steps in to help.
About twelve years ago Roger walked through the side door at Welfare Square. It took him at least fifteen minutes to tell the supervisors who he was and where he came from. Although he was a young man of eighteen years, he had great difficulty expressing himself. Part of his young life had been spent in an institution in a neighboring state. Now at the age of eighteen he was on his own.
This young man lived for some time alone in the mountains. Finally, he got a ride into Salt Lake City. He could neither read nor write, and speech was nearly impossible.
The brethren at Welfare Square found Roger a place to stay. Soon he had a bishop, and he gradually became active in the Church. Fellow workers at Welfare Square helped him to learn to speak so that he could communicate. He still has great difficulty, but his friends and associates can, with a little patience, converse with him reasonably well. He worked in several different jobs at the storehouse, and today he is an active elder in the Church. Roger now has a job in a large commercial enterprise and at the present time is totally self-sufficient.

One cold winter morning he arose at 5:00 A.M. so that he could get in some early morning practice at the gym. Hearing him move about the house, I too arose.
While he showered, I cooked his breakfast. I put more slices of bacon in the frying pan than would have been allowed had his mother been there to supervise. Three eggs soon sizzled in the pan. Toast was in the toaster. I then blended some milk, ice cream, and protein powder (I had heard that such powder contained “rebounds”). He seemed most pleased when I placed such delicious food before him. As he ate, I sat and looked on.
Washing down the last piece of toast with the protein milkshake he said, “Got to go, pops.”
As we both stood, I said, “Could we just take a minute to kneel down and pray together?”
Without responding with words, he quickly knelt. Kneeling very near him, I spoke for the two of us. I thanked the Lord for such a son and expressed my gratitude for the love that bound the two of us together.
After many heartfelt words, we arose from our knees. Feeling so close to him, I embraced him. Then before he knew what was happening, I pulled his head down and gave him a kiss on the forehead.
He stepped back and grinned and said, “Gee, pops, I wonder how many other Provo High players got a kiss from their father this morning.”
I struck him on the arm and said, “Get out of here or there will be at least one Provo High player who will get a kick in the pants this morning.”
I stood at the window and watched him until he had disappeared across the snow-covered landscape.

It was a difficult six months. “When the missionaries were teaching him,” María says, “the Spirit was there. But when they left, the Spirit seemed to leave—and Carlos was left to himself. I fasted for him often.”

“A Uruguayan elder who taught me had a character just like mine,” says Carlos. “We had lots of discussions. I would ask hard questions, he would answer me, and I would try to refute him. I enjoyed discussing the gospel like that. I wanted the direct message, and he helped clarify lots of things.

“Then I decided to do my part and see what would happen,” he says. “I stopped smoking—I used to smoke two packs of cigarettes a day. I stopped drinking. I bought some Catholic books, studied them all, and talked with my uncle who was a Catholic priest. Then I got a book about LDS Church history.” He took some time off work, hoping to find a quiet place to study and meditate.

Then, as if on cue, a relative called and offered the Roigs the use of her house for two weeks—a quiet place in the country. It was just the retreat he needed. “I sat down and read and prayed,” says Carlos. “I read the history and the doctrine. By that time, I had already accepted the fact that this must be true. I just needed to make the decision.

“But there was something within me that was keeping me from it. I wondered what the problem was. One night in my bedroom, I had the Bible and Book of Mormon open. And I found a scripture that says that if we want to come to the Lord, we must ask forgiveness from those we’ve offended. (See 3 Ne. 12:23–24.) That scripture really made me think. Whom had I offended?”

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. “There was something in my life that I needed to confess and repent of. But because of my fear of losing my family and losing everything, I had kept it to myself. Now I knew that I would have to repent completely and sincerely. I believed in Christ, and at that moment I was illuminated with the truth that I hadn’t accepted before—that Joseph Smith was a prophet. And I was also illuminated with all that had to do with the gospel. At that moment, my heart broke.

“So I went to my wife and said, `You’re going to cry. And it’s going to be hard.’ I knew in my heart that I could lose everything, including my family. But I couldn’t keep quiet. It was hard, but María accepted my repentance.

“Her understanding, love, and faithfulness have changed everything in me,” he says. “I remembered Saul of Tarsus, who changed totally after the Lord came to him. That’s how it has been with me—a 180-degree change.”

Carlos was baptized soon afterwards, on 14 February 1984. A year later, he and María and their children were sealed in the São Paulo Temple. “My wife’s patriarchal blessing has been fulfilled,” he says.

I wanted to be a missionary ever since I was young. It started as a simple desire and continued to grow. But life in the Philippines was difficult. My father and brother didn’t have jobs, so I was the only one who could help my mother support our family. Because I was helping my family financially, my savings for my mission built up slowly.
I wasn’t sure how things would work out. One night I read Ether 12:12: “For if there be no faith among the children of men God can do no miracle among them; wherefore, he showed not himself until after their faith.” Then I read a message from President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) regarding faith: “It takes faith—unseeing faith—for young people to proceed immediately with their family responsibilities in the face of financial uncertainties. … It takes faith to fill full-time missions. But know this—that all these are of the planting, while faithful, devout families, spiritual security, peace, and eternal life are the harvest.”1
These teachings helped me understand that I needed more faith to submit my mission papers and to be a full-time missionary. I knew that even though it was hard, God would help me.
My branch president interviewed me and told me afterward that the last thing I needed to do was make the initial payment and then be interviewed by the mission president. I felt so happy and excited. I would get my paycheck that week, and I would be able to give the required amount. However, when I got home, I found out that my father was in the hospital. I felt overwhelmed when I realized we had to pay the hospital the exact amount I needed for my mission payment.
But Heavenly Father prepared a way. We got some help from relatives and members of the Church, including my branch president. Miraculously my father was out of the hospital after one week, and I was able to make my payment. Two weeks after I turned 22, I received my mission call to the Philippines Olongapo Mission.
I know that Heavenly Father made it possible for me to submit my mission papers. I know that if I continue to trust in Him and to act in faith, He will make impossible things possible. He will answer all our prayers, and He will continue to guide us as long as we continue to obey Him.

Let me illustrate with a situation that I’ve recently become aware of here at BYU–Hawaii.

A group of sisters in an off-campus apartment became close friends as they went to church together, often prayed together, and supported each other through the ups and downs of being young adults away from home. A few months ago, some of these sisters became concerned about one of their roommates, whom I’ll refer to as Kathy. Kathy and her boyfriend were seeing each other more and more, and she began to come home later and later. Her dear friends expressed their fear to her that maybe things were getting out of hand. But Kathy became defensive and assured them that all was well and that she could take care of herself.

Still her sisters feared for her. Then, they noted that the boy was staying in their apartment past curfew, and he had become casual about going in and out of her room. They lovingly reminded Kathy of the danger, but it seemed their dear sister was becoming blind to the fact that standards were being overlooked. Her friends feared for Kathy’s eternal welfare.

Soon Kathy's roommates decided that help was needed. Even though they knew their friendship might be at risk, they were not willing to watch Kathy slip any closer to losing everything. They went to their bishop and to the Office of Honor, believing that an immediate rescue was needed.

Kathy was deeply offended and, at first, was unwilling to cooperate with those at the university or with her bishop who wanted to help her. She was put on probation by her counselor at the Office of Honor and told that she would not be able to continue at BYU–Hawaii if she did not comply with the residential living standards in the Honor Code. The desire of her counselor was to gain her attention and demonstrate to her how dangerous her behavior was becoming. Her bishop also helped her see that she was playing with fire. Thankfully, Kathy humbled herself and put strict rules in place in her life. Before long, she was grateful to her roommates, to her Bishop, and even to the Office of Honor for loving her and helping her open her eyes to imminent danger.

All of us are blessed by these covenants, whatever our circumstances. There were in the central part of Africa people who could not accept the baptismal covenant because those authorized to administer that ordinance were not yet among them. But they studied the scriptures of the Restoration as well as of the Bible, learned all they could, lived what they understood, and waited. The opportunity to be baptized finally came. They had prepared.

It was like that for me on my first date with my husband. All evening we were surrounded by myriads of people, but I felt like it was just the two of us. First we went to a banquet and then to a gala Fine Arts Ball at BYU. I remember at the beginning we politely went around the dinner table and introduced everyone. Then just John and I talked to each other, non-stop, the rest of the evening.

I’ve heard it said that “Love is a long conversation.” I believe it. In fact I often joke with our children that if I ever run out of things to say to Dad, then the marriage will be over. I’m pretty safe at saying that, because we love to talk to one another about everything.

Most of my customers are great, but a couple of them give me nothing but headaches. The biggest skullbuster is—or rather was—Mr. Cory. He’s the kind of guy who would complain if you gave him a solid gold watch that wasn’t set to the right time.
Last Saturday, after putting it off as long as I could, I went to his house to collect. His tall wooden fence had signs all over it, saying “Keep Out” and “Beware of Dog.” I was a believer. The first time I went through that gate, Mr. Cory’s big doberman, Slash, had tried to use my leg for a chew bone. Anyway, on Saturday, I peeked through a knothole to make sure Slash wasn’t on duty.
Mr. Cory answered the door the third time I knocked. He kindly left the screen door latched so that Slash, who was pushing his nose against the mesh and snarling at me, couldn’t get to me.
Mr. Cory was a sour-faced, dried-up little man, stooped with age—but his faded blue eyes were sharp and suspicious beneath bushy eyebrows. “Is it that time again, Rosa? It seems like I just paid you.” He always said that.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “It’s been a month.”
“Well, if you’re sure … ,” he grumbled, tottering off to write a check, leaving Slash and me to glare at each other.
Mr. Cory opened the screen door a crack, slipped the check through, and took his receipt before he started complaining. “I wish you’d try to hit the porch once in a while. I don’t know why you kids don’t do your job like you’re supposed to, but I do know that I’m getting tired of chasing out in the damp grass in my slippers!”
“If I could get into the yard I’d put it right on your doorstep,” I told him. “It’s hard to throw over a six-foot fence and hit the porch.”
“And don’t throw it on the roof,” he continued as though I hadn’t even tried to explain. “I don’t want my roof covered with papers.”
“I only did that once, four months ago, Mr. Cory, and I gave you another paper.” I had even offered to climb up there and get the dumb paper, but he’d said, “No, leave it there. Maybe it’ll remind you not to be so careless.” It was still there, right by the upstairs bedroom window. I knew what window it was because if I even sneezed in the morning, that’s the one he hollered at me from.
“One more thing,” he growled. “I don’t feel well, and I’ll probably want to sleep late in the morning. Try not to disturb me!” He ended the conversation by slamming the door in my face.
The next day started out like a typical Sunday. The papers were fat with sale circulars and weighed in at a ton per copy. I reached the Cory house about seven and peeked through my favorite knothole. Slash was waiting there, all teeth and snarl.
I was getting ready to take a blind shot at the porch, when I noticed smoke pouring out of the back of the house. It didn’t seem likely that Mr. Cory, sick as he was, would be barbecuing in the backyard at that hour.
I backed off far enough to see the upstairs window and shouted at the top of my lungs, “Mr. Cory! Fire, Mr. Cory!” The only thing that happened was that Slash growled louder. I tried screaming once more, with the same result.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to wake someone in one of the other houses and have them call the fire department, but the smoke was getting thicker and blacker, and I thought I should rouse Mr. Cory before the fumes got to him.
I did the only thing I could think of. I ran a few steps, then flung that Sunday edition like a pro quarterback heaves a football.
It went just where I aimed, smashing through the upstairs window. A couple of seconds later Mr. Cory stuck his head out and started bellowing at me.
Lucky for me, the house was on fire.
The next day, the paper said, “Due to the fast thinking of Chronicle carrier Rosa Martinez, damage was slight and no one was injured.” I bought ten copies of that edition.
Mr. Cory was waiting for me Monday morning. He opened the gate, and I almost panicked when I saw there wasn’t anything between me and Slash. Then I saw that Mr. Cory had him on a tight leash.
The old man smiled at me for the first time. “Come in here a minute, Rosa. I want you and Slash to make friends. We’ll do this every day until he recognizes you as a pal. Then you’ll be the only person besides me who can come into this yard whenever you want to.”
It worked too. After a few days I had enough confidence to carry the paper right to the doorstep. Slash would just dance around, whimpering excitedly and wiggling his entire back end until I petted him.
The best thing, though, happened just a couple of days ago. The paper printed a letter to the editor from Mr. Cory saying that I was the smartest, most reliable, most courteous newspaper carrier he had ever had the pleasure to do business with. And the old guilt paper was gone from the roof.

On February 2nd this year, Sister Meurs and I visited Warrnambool, Australia, for the creation of the Warrnambool Branch from a Geelong Ward group. It was a joyful day to return to my birthplace and see the branch, recreated, I had attended as a boy.
Two weeks later, we spoke to missionaries at the Pacific Area missionary training centre in Auckland. We love meeting new missionaries and feeling their anticipation and faith as they begin their consecrated service. This occasion was particularly special because our grandson, Harrison Snow, had been called to the Australia Melbourne Mission and was one of those missionaries.
Adding to our joy, Elder Snow was assigned to Warrnambool as his first area. I decided to send him an account of how our family joined the Church there. Here is an excerpt of what I shared:
Your great-grandfather Frederick Michael Wilhelm Meurs was born in Holland in 1926. He was one of 12 children. His mother was a devout Catholic who took her children to mass each Sunday. Fred attended Catholic schools and developed deep faith in Jesus Christ and a love for the scriptures.
Your great-grandmother Lois Ellen Meurs was also born in 1926 in Warrnambool. She had two brothers, Ralph and David, and was raised in a faithful Methodist home. She admired her parents’ charitable service and developed a strong Christian faith.
Fred and Lois were married in Warrnambool in January 1954. Julie was born later that year, and Peter (me) in December 1956.
In their early marriage, Fred and Lois wanted unity in their faith. They attended both the Catholic and Methodist churches and studied the New Testament together. As they read, they wrote down many questions—about the nature of the Godhead, resurrection, priesthood authority, the Church’s structure, and baptism by immersion.
They sought answers from local religious leaders, but most said those matters were “mysteries” or struggled to respond. Their search for truth led them to visit several Christian churches in Warrnambool. Still unsatisfied, they turned to God in prayer, asking Him to send them answers.
At that time, Elder Jones (from Utah) and Elder Erickson (from Canada) had been sent by President Thomas S. Bingham to open missionary work in Warrnambool. Local ministers warned townsfolk not to speak with them, claiming they would “brainwash your children.”
Elder Jones and Elder Erickson faithfully knocked on doors for three months and experienced total rejection. They were discouraged and depressed. Their faith was wavering. They wrote to President Bingham and asked to be transferred out of Warrnambool.
Eventually, a letter arrived from President Bingham. After prayerful consideration, he wrote, he had the strongest impression that there were people in Warrnambool ready to receive the restored Church. He encouraged them to go back to work and to visit places they had not been before.
The elders received the letter around the same time that Fred and Lois were praying for answers. A few days later, they knocked on the Meurs family’s front door at 68 Jamieson Street, Warrnambool. Lois answered, and the elders said they had a special message about Jesus Christ and His Church to share.
Lois replied, “We have been praying for you to come—but you can’t come in just now. Our children (two-year-old Julie and six-month-old Peter) have chickenpox, and they might infect you.” She asked them to return in a week.
Lois told Fred about the visit, and they continued to pray that the missionaries wouldn’t forget to come back. They didn’t know who they were dealing with!
Elder Jones and Elder Erickson returned the following week and began teaching Lois and Fred. As they taught, they answered every question on Fred and Lois’s long list. They explained the nature of God, priesthood authority, the Resurrection and life after death, the purpose of life, developing faith, and the ordinances of baptism and the sacrament.
Fred and Lois opened their scriptures—already marked from their earlier study—and found confirmation for everything the missionaries were teaching.
Years later, when I was called as an Area Seventy, I spoke with Elder Bruce Jones about this experience. He told me that their time in Warrnambool, up to the point of meeting my parents, had been a great trial of his faith. But teaching Fred and Lois and having them respond with confirming scriptures from the New Testament rekindled his faith and became a turning point in his life.
Lois and Fred were baptized and confirmed on 5 July 1957—just three weeks after meeting the missionaries. Soon other families joined the Church, and the new branch began holding meetings in the Meurs home on Jamieson Street.
All of us can trace our faith to a story of conversion—either our own or that of family members who responded to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It reminds me of these words from the first chapter of Preach My Gospel: “You are surrounded by people . . . searching for purpose in life. . . . They desire ‘peace in this world, and eternal life in the world to come’ (Doctrine and Covenants 59:23).”
“Many … are only kept from the truth because they know not where to find it” (Doctrine and Covenants 123:12).
Today we know that simply inviting our friends to come to church with us provides the best experience they can have. They will learn more about Jesus Christ, find answers to their questions, and feel welcomed by members like you. They will feel a special spirit as they participate in the sacrament. Many will desire to learn more—and ultimately begin their journey on the covenant path through baptism and confirmation.
I will forever be grateful for Elder Jones and Elder Erickson—and for the delight my parents felt when they discovered the restored New Testament Church, even The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.