Gospel Story Finder

In Norway, right by the town of Drammen, there is a mountain called the Spiralen. From the outside it looks like a normal mountain, but inside it is hollow. The mountain hides an old quarry where rock was dug, forming a spiral tunnel. Now the tunnel has been converted to a roadway that takes cars to the top for a panoramic view of the town and the ocean.
Not long ago, 43 priests and Laurels from the Norway Oslo Stake climbed the Spiralen as part of a priests and Laurels conference. This was not a regular youth conference; the stake sponsors one of those each year. But the stake also has a long tradition of holding a special conference at which all the priests and Laurels gather for two days of fun and serious discussions.
On the first evening of the conference, local Church leaders joined the youth for a panel discussion and answered gospel questions posed by the priests and Laurels. “All the questions were interesting,” said Jaren Rosaker, Oslo Third Ward. His friend, Christian Tarjei Gylseth, agreed. “They gave good answers as well.” Afterward the youth gathered for dinner and a dance.
The next morning they climbed the Spiralen. It was soon clear that this hike was going to be more than just a fun activity. They should have known. The hike was going to be an object lesson.
First the priests and Laurels divided into family groups using surnames from Church history, such as Smith, Young, and Kimball. The family groups were sent on their way up the path in intervals. The first rest stop was for water. Everything seemed normal. The second stop was for juice. Gradually, the hike’s meaning started to become clear—traveling in family groups, the rewards becoming better and better.
John Gundersen of the Fredrickstad Branch said he caught on to the symbolism of the hike at the first stop. “I started to understand when they told us to hold to the iron rod.” The first stop could be telestial glory. The second stop could be the terrestrial. When the families emerged from the woods at the parking lot near the top, they were expecting the end of the journey and their celestial reward. But it was not over yet.
Each family was given a wheelbarrow loaded with five large stones. They were told to continue up the path. Everyone was laughing and joking, and no one thought this last stretch would be hard at all. One strong boy could easily handle the loaded wheelbarrow, they thought—until they saw the last pull to the summit. It was so steep and slick that they would have a hard time just getting themselves up the hill. But their wheelbarrows and those loads of rocks would make it really hard work.
Each family figured out their own method for getting up the hill. ElRay Gene Hendricksen from the Hokksund Branch said, “We decided to share the burdens. Everyone took a stone out of the wheelbarrow. Two other guys took the empty wheelbarrow. We made it. We were the only family group who did it that way.”
No one complained. They all just pitched in and figured out how to get their rocks to the top. Then came their reward. Hot and tired, they rested and looked out at the beautiful country below them. They were pleased that everyone made it to the top, where they were able to drop their burdens, represented by the stones. They piled the rocks together into an impromptu memorial. Then they were served lunch—food for the body—and listened to a speaker who talked of heavenly things—food for the soul.
Bishop Aabo of the Drammen Ward explained that at times the climb was more challenging for some than for others. For a while a few carried the burdens while the others just walked along and didn’t need to help. But even though the challenges were uneven, eventually they all had to work together to make sure everyone made it to the top. Bishop Aabo pointed out that Jesus Christ promised he would help make our burdens light. Gaining our own testimonies gives us strength to reach the pinnacle.
The hike was the perfect conclusion to the conference. On a social level, it was great fun. Cathrine Opdahl of the Oslo Second Ward said, “The most fun is meeting people of your same age from different parts of Norway, getting to know them in a new way.”
“Yes,” said Kathinka Svendsen, also of the Oslo Second Ward. “We have problems in common, especially at school where people are not accepting that you’re a Latter-day Saint with high morals.”
“Here,” said Kjetil Pedersen of the Drammen Ward, “it’s people with your same attitude and outlook about religion. It’s good to do something together.”
Some of the most profound things these young people had to say came in quiet moments when asked about answers to prayers or about their testimonies. Then they spoke about the calm, quiet feeling of peace that could only come from the Lord. Jaran said, “I read Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4]. That says if you ask God if what is written in the Book of Mormon is true, he will answer. I tried it out. I got the feeling that it was true. It is kind of a warm, good feeling inside.”
Hanne Akselsen of the Oslo Second Ward also felt something intense when she read the Book of Mormon. “I had taken the first discussion from the missionaries, but I hadn’t felt anything special when they told me I had to study and pray. I tried. I prayed and studied. What happened was amazing. It felt like the Book of Mormon was written to me. I just recognized it. It was so familiar and right.”
Coming to the priests and Laurels conference “helps build Zion here in Norway,” said Ida Podhorny of the Moss Ward. “We learn to be in the world, not of the world. I’m thankful for my good friends.”
Désireé Bjerkoe, the stake Young Women president, said, “Our purpose is to strengthen the youth and get them to strengthen each other. Actually that’s what they do. They stay up late and talk. That time is golden. If they don’t have friendships in the Church, then they turn to their friends outside the Church.”
Soon it was time to leave the mountaintop and go back down to the real day-to-day world. But as these friends made their way back down, they knew that in that high place they had built a monument more significant than one of simple stones. ElRay Hendricksen explained: “It is a monument that symbolized that we had all done the same things and made it to the top by helping each other. But we are not finished yet. We will have to develop ourselves and stay together and stay true.”
On a mountaintop in Norway, one group of teens found some answers.

“Here are all the sego lily bulbs I could find today,” Shaquana said, carefully untying a pouch to reveal seventeen of the small roots. “They’re getting mighty scarce.”
“You did fine, dear,” her mother replied. “I’ll take them inside and get supper started. You go on out and help your pa with the watering.”
As Shaquana turned to go, her mother stopped her. “I don’t know what we’d do without you, Quana.”
“Thanks, Ma,” Shaquana said, walking toward the field. When she saw that her mother had gone inside, her steps slowed and her shoulders drooped in weariness. She was hungry. Her bare feet were cracked and bleeding. Her dress was so threadbare that it wouldn’t take another washing.
Haven’t we suffered enough, Heavenly Father? she prayed silently. We’ve been mobbed. We crossed the country in a wagon. Ma lost two babies. We’ve done all that was asked of us, and yet now we’re facing a drought and everyone is so hungry. Please help us!
Seeing her father, Shaquana straightened her shoulder and tried to look strong.
“There you are,” her father said. “What kept you?”
“I had to go much farther for segos today, Pa.” She took a dipperful of water from the barrel and gently poured it on one of the plants. Each one had to be watered by hand so that not a single drop of precious water would be wasted. No one knew how bad the drought would be this spring of 1848.
“If this keeps up, are we going to make it?” she asked.
“God will provide, Shaquana,” Pa said. “We must have faith.”
“You, Ma, and the Elders all keep saying that, but things just get worse.”
Shaquana’s father patted her shoulder. “Yes, it is hard right now. Everyone is hungry, and clothes are wearing thin. We all need to muster as much faith as we can. Heavenly Father loves each of us. We’ve obeyed His commandments, and He will take care of us.”
Shaquana had always loved these talks with her father. He had such solid faith, no matter what trials came their way. Lately Shaquana’s faith had clashed head-on with her hunger and exhaustion.
As she was watering the last plant, she looked toward the foothills. The darkest cloud she’d ever seen was coming their way. “Look, Pa, rain’s on its way!”
Her father’s face paled as he looked at the dark mass moving quickly toward them. “That’s not rain! Go get your mother and some gunnysacks. Hurry!”
As Shaquana began to run, crickets descended from the sky in droves. She felt them squish under her feet.
“Ma, come quick!” she yelled when she was near enough to be heard over the deafening sound of the crickets. Grabbing some gunnysacks and sticks, she followed her mother back to the field, where they tried to beat the crickets off the crops.
Hour after hour they flailed at the insects, praying all the while for deliverance from them.
“How can we win?” Shaquana cried. “We kill some, and more take their place! It’s hopeless.”
“You go get something to eat and some rest, Quana,” Pa said. “You’ve worked long into the night. We can fight them again in the morning.”
Shaquana nodded and obeyed. “Oh, Heavenly Father,” she prayed before falling into exhausted slumber, “why aren’t we getting any help?”
Each day was the same. They beat back the crickets and prayed. Shaquana was so tired that at night she’d sob herself to sleep. I wish we’d never left our nice home back east and come here, she thought constantly.
They heard from the Elders that the crickets were infesting the entire Salt Lake Valley.
Sunday morning Shaquana slowly got out of bed. She dressed and picked up her gunnysack.
“Not today,” said Pa, “It’s the Sabbath. We’re going to church and hear Brother Charles C. Rich speak.”
“Church? Oh, Pa, I just can’t go sit in church as if all is well. I’m sorry—I just can’t.” Shaquana ran to her bed, flung herself across it, and sobbed.
Pa sat on the edge of her bed and patted her back. “That’s it, Quana, let it out. Maybe you should stay home today and sleep. I like the family in church together, but this once you stay and rest.”
After her parents left, she lay on her bed and prayed aloud, “Heavenly Father, why hast Thou forsaken us? I don’t understand anymore. I’m so hungry and tired, I just don’t …” Before she could finish, she was sound asleep.
She awoke with a start. A strange new cry had joined the whir of the crickets. She ran to the door. Everywhere she looked, there were seagulls!
“Now what?” she cried. Grabbing a gunnysack, she went out to meet this new menace, then stopped in mid-stride and stared. The seagulls were eating the crickets! They weren’t hurting the crops at all.
She quickly dropped to her knees. “Thank you, Heavenly Father!” she said over and over.
When her parents came home, she yelled, “Pa, Ma, look what happened! Heavenly Father sent the seagulls to eat the crickets. They gorge themselves, fly away, then come back for more!”
With tears of gratitude, she confessed, “Oh, Pa, I was so close to losing my faith! I was angry. I thought God had forsaken us. Now I feel ashamed.”
“A lot of folks felt the same as you,” Pa said. “The same things were being said by some at church. And now this miracle! You should write down what you’ve been through. It will help you in other times of trial. Everyone gets discouraged now and again. Sometimes our faith isn’t as strong as we’d like. Remembering the crickets and seagulls may help you get through other rough times that will surely come.”
Shaquana threw herself into her father’s arms. “I’m so glad you understand, Pa!”
He hugged her tight. “And I’m glad you found your faith again. If you water and nurture it as carefully as you have these crops, it will grow strong.”
“I will, Pa. I will.”

Soon after my 18th birthday I felt the weight of my father’s hands upon my head as he gave me a special blessing. This was occasioned by my entrance into the military during World War II. My father anticipated my apprehensions about leaving home and becoming involved in the business of fighting. So in the blessing he gave me reassurance. He also admonished me to rely upon the Lord and to keep the commandments. Specifically, he told me to live the Word of Wisdom (avoid the use of tobacco and alcohol) and to maintain the moral standards of the Church. Then he promised me that if I would do all of these things, I would return home safe, whole, and unstained by the world.
Throughout my stint in the army, the words of my father remained vivid in my mind and heart. Many times I was enticed to live less than the Latter-day Saint kind of life. But, each time temptation presented itself, the promise of returning home safe and well resounded in my ears. I wanted to draw claim upon the blessings cited by my father. In due time the pronounced blessings and more were mine; I had written my own blessing.

Religious observance in the home blesses our families. Example is particularly important. What we are speaks so loudly that our children may not hear what we say. When I was nearly five years old, my mother received word that her younger brother had been killed when the battleship on which he was serving was bombed off the coast of Japan near the end of World War II.16 This news was devastating to her. She was very emotional and went into the bedroom. After a while I peeked into the room to see if she was OK. She was kneeling by the bed in prayer. A great peace came over me because she had taught me to pray and love the Savior. This was typical of the example she always set for me. Mothers and fathers praying with children may be more important than any other example.

There is a story of a wealthy king that had a reputation for being irksome and vexatious. One day, he ordered a massive boulder be placed in the middle of one of the most travelled roads in the kingdom. The king knew it was going to get in people’s way, but he ordered his servants to place it there anyway.
The first group of people who bumped into it reacted with utter annoyance.
“Doesn’t the King have anything better to do than find entertainment in annoying others?” they would say.
Because they thought it was an act that only called for attention, they ignored the boulder in the middle of the road. They walked around it, irritated, and never looked back. Several more groups of people were bothered by the king’s incessant ploys to get attention. And the rest showed apathy and continued walking their path. Years passed without changes to people’s reactions towards the sight of a boulder in the middle of the road.
One day, a peasant carrying loads of vegetables stopped to notice this boulder. Rather than walk past it, he tried to move it to the side of the road. His agenda was to move it from the center of the road in order to get it out of people’s way. Because it was a heavy boulder, it took ingenuity and hours to move. It also took much of his energy, so he sat down to rest before continuing his journey.
But as he was resting, his eye noticed something shiny. It was under the boulder’s original location. He was curious. And so, he went near it. He then discovered it was a purse made of gold. When he opened it, he found a note from the king: “Congratulations! Go to my kingdom and present this note. A pot of gold—your reward—is waiting for you.”
The lesson the king wanted to impart is not all roadblocks are useless. If a person invests time and effort into overcoming them, it won’t be long until they notice these roadblocks can also be blessings in disguise.

When Hugo bears his testimony, he always thanks his mother and the teachers who have taught him to come to church, where he can learn. And he tells of a special prayer in his heart that his father will someday listen to the missionaries and come to church, where he can feel the love of all the ward members. Hugo feels very sad that his father and his brother are not interested in learning about the Church right now. He says: “My brother thinks that coming to church is a waste of time. But it’s not a waste of time—it is gaining eternal life!”
Hugo tries to set a good example at home, as well as at school. “I have a good relationship with my Dad. I know he has very sensitive feelings, and I try not to do anything to make him feel left out,” he says. “We sometimes go on walks together and just talk—these are our special times together.”

One day Julia met two young men. Julia was surprised because White people rarely came to her neighborhood. They said they were missionaries. She invited them to share a message in her home.
When Julia’s son heard they were coming, he was shocked. “Why did you invite them?” he said. “They are White. It’s not safe.”
But Julia trusted the missionaries. “These men are different,” Julia said. “They are preaching peace.”
When the missionaries came, Julia welcomed them in. One of them noticed a photo on the mantle. It was from Julia’s wedding.
“Who is that?” the missionary asked, pointing to the photo.
“My husband, John.” Julia looked down. “He died in a car crash.”
The missionary nodded. “We believe families can be together forever, even after they die.”
A feeling of peace washed over Julia. She felt happy to learn about God’s plan and kept meeting with the missionaries. Love for the gospel grew in Julia’s heart, just like the plants in her garden. Soon she decided to be baptized.
At church, Julia met lots of new people. Some were Black. Some were White. But they all served and learned together.
Julia showed the children at church how to help in her garden. “We must be soft in our hearts, like this soil,” she said. “We must make a place for the gospel within us. We must make a place for love.”

Her question didn’t exactly startle me, but it was unexpected. While waiting for others to join us to perform temple sealings, we spoke of this and that—about the snow, the chandelier—and then, after a moment, the young woman turned to me and asked, “How long have you been a sealing officiator?”
“I’m beginning my 19th year,” I said.
“And what have you learned?” she asked.
I had no reply at first. I’d never thought that question through.
I searched my mind for possible answers. I thought of saying, “I’ve learned how perfect people can seem here in the temple.”
I thought of answering, “I have learned to appreciate the ordinances themselves—their simplicity, their antiquity, their profundity.”
But I knew she was asking for the essence of my experience. And suddenly I found the words to express what I knew.
“I’ve learned that the basis of eternity is the family,” I said. “The essential purpose of the Church and all that we do is to make it possible for families to be together forever.”
She sat motionless, her eyes meeting mine.
“The ordinances performed in the temple empower people,” I said. “They make eternal family relationships possible. In the temple, I find that family and love are synonymous. That’s what I’ve learned.”
Sensing a need, I turned the question back to her. “What have you learned?” I asked.
Her lip trembled for a moment. “I’ve learned that what you are saying is true,” she said finally. “Family is what the Church—and the temple—are all about. That’s why I’m here—for my family.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“My father was good to me, but my mother died when I was tiny,” she said. “They were never married. When I was 13, my father died. And then I found the gospel—or it found me.”
Her face brightened. “A few months ago I got back from my mission and began the temple work for my father and mother. I was sealed to them for eternity. For the first time, I am whole. Knowing I am sealed to my family gives me a place to be. The day I was sealed to my parents was, for me, the beginning of eternity. I feel so happy when I am here in the temple.”
I looked into her smiling face. Through my tears, I could see hers. Now each time I go to the temple, I think of that sister’s face and of the eternal blessing it is to be sealed to our families forever.

Once, when my parents were out front working in the garden, Michael and Abbie picked some cattails outside. Cattails are plants with long stems and a hot dog–looking “flower” on top. When you blow on a cattail, the hot dog part turns into white fluff, and it gets everywhere. So guess what Michael and Abbie decided to do? They waved the cattails all around the living room and covered all the furniture with fuzz.
When I saw what they’d done, I was horrified. I went outside right away to tell Mom and Dad about the mess, hoping I wouldn’t get in trouble for it. But they just made Michael and Abbie help clean it up. They didn’t even really get punished.

Illustrations by Katie McDee
Grandma, how old are you?
186!
What?! You can’t be that old.
I’m only joking! But I’m still old. And do you know how I’ve lived this long?
How?
Because I always eat my vegetables!
Does eating vegetables really make you live longer?
It helps! When we take care of our bodies, God blesses us with strength and energy.
I think the stew is done! It smells good.
Time for a taste test!
Did we pass?
Yes! It’s delicious! And healthy too.
Maybe one day I’ll live to be 186.
Then you better eat your vegetables!

President Smith, in the same Tabernacle talk, also honored a little-known non-LDS woman who likewise helped the Church. Evidently when General Lucas, out of fear of General Doniphan, sent Joseph Smith to jail rather than execute him, he delivered Joseph into the charge of a General Moses Wilson. General Wilson, on the way to Liberty Jail, housed Joseph at his own home, in chains, where Mrs. Wilson developed deep sympathy for the unfairly treated Mormon leader. When the Wilsons moved to Texas, the general one day planned to raise a mob to punish Mormon elders preaching in the area. When Mrs. Wilson heard this, although an aged lady, she mounted her horse and rode 30 miles to warn the elders. Years later one of her sons told President George A. Smith that his mother “deeply deprecated the difficulties with the Mormons, and did all she could to prevent them.”13

It’s easy to survive the loss of some things—pencils, telephone numbers, even umbrellas—but when a name is accidentally left off a guest list, there’s only one thing to do—hurry over and make amends.
That’s why Lee Ann and Gloria were standing in front of Brother and Sister Facer’s doorway, knocking on the door. When the Facers answered, the two young women eagerly explained why they had come. “Our stake Mutual is having a Thanksgiving dinner for all the senior citizens in our stake, and we hope you will be able to come!”
“We’d love to!” exclaimed the older couple. “We haven’t had our children with us during the holidays in such a long time. What a special treat to be remembered by you young people. We’ll be there!”
As the two girls from the Taylorsville Utah First Ward, Taylorsville Utah Stake, walked back toward their homes, they breathed sighs of relief, knowing that at last all details were being taken care of.

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.

The spiritual richness of our meetings seems to have little to do with the buildings or country in which we meet. Many years ago we went to Manaus, Brazil, a city far upstream on the Amazon River, surrounded by jungle, to meet with the missionaries and the handful of Saints who were then in that area. We met in a very humble home with no glass panes in the windows. The weather was excessively hot. The children sat on the floor. The mission president, President Helio da Rocha Camargo, conducted the meeting and called on a faithful brother to give the opening prayer. The humble man responded, “I will be happy to pray, but may I also bear my testimony?” A sister was asked to lead the singing. She responded, “I would love to lead the singing, but please let me also bear my testimony.”

And so it was all through the meeting with those who participated in any way. All felt impelled to bear their profound witness of the Savior and his mission and of the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. All who were there reached deep down in their souls to their spiritual taproots, remembering the Savior’s words that “where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” This they did more as heirs to the kingdom of God than as Brazilian members of the Church.

Sister Sheldon is the greatest Primary president ever! She is energetic and funny. When she stands up to do sharing time, we all chant, “It’s Sheldon sharing time” with jazz hands and smiles. She loves it!
Early in 2015 Sister Sheldon discovered that she had cancer again, for the fifth time! She explained to all of us what cancer is and what it does. She told us that she might miss church sometimes and she would probably lose her hair. She asked us to fast and pray to help make the cancer go away.
During this time, our Primary did the helping hands challenge, where we cut out paper hands and wrote on them an act of service we did. Sister Ashby, in the Primary presidency, had the idea to make a helping hands quilt for Sister Sheldon. We all wanted her to know that we love her, so the whole Primary traced hands and hearts, and the activity day girls used them to make a quilt. We sewed, ironed, and poured all of our love into it. Some of us even tied strings on our fingers to remember Sister Sheldon.
We gave the quilt to Sister Sheldon. She took it to her chemotherapy sessions and felt our love.
The best part was when Sister Sheldon bore her testimony to the entire Primary. She told us how special we were to her and that she loved us. She knew we were a big part of why she made it through chemo again. Even though I was scared that she might not make it, I just knew she would. Today Sister Sheldon is cancer free!

Just before dusk on September 12, a party of missionaries returning from the British Mission arrived in camp. They were led by Elder Franklin D. Richards (1821–99) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, my wife’s great-great-grandfather. When Elder Richards and the others saw the difficulties of the handcart company, they promised to hurry on to the Salt Lake Valley and send back help as soon as possible.
When the Franklin D. Richards party reached Salt Lake City, they immediately reported to President Young the precarious condition of the immigrants. The Saints in the valley had not expected more immigrants until the following year, and news of their plight spread like wildfire.
Two days later, October 6, 1856, general conference was held in the Old Tabernacle. From the pulpit, President Young made the call for men, food, and supplies in mule- or horse-drawn wagons to leave the following day to render assistance.2

Let me tell you about the saints of the Punta Arenas Chile Stake. Punta Arenas is located on the Straits of Magellan near the very southern tip of South America. It is 2,200 km from the Santiago Chile Temple. That's like living in Los Angeles and traveling to the temple in Kansas City, Missouri. In spite of the distance, every summer the stake sends at least one, and sometimes two, buses to the temple. It takes them three days to get to Santiago. They cross the Argentina/Chile border twice. They spend three days in the temple and make the three day trip back. They are grateful the temple is not further away.

Where’s José Luis?
That’s what I wanted to know. I’d heard so much about the energetic 18-year-old, and I only had a few minutes to interview him on that hot Sunday in Seville, Spain.
“I think he’s in Sunday School with one of our investigators,” said a tall, North American missionary as he hurried his way through the crowd in the halls of the Nervion meetinghouse.
“He’s always with our investigators,” said the missionary’s shorter companion, trotting to keep up. “That guy is one sharp mission leader. He keeps all the full-time missionaries on the ball. He just goes crazy over missionary work.”
Before I could ask which class José Luis might be in, the missionaries had disappeared into the colorful throng. The church was packed, and everyone seemed excited to be there.
Across the foyer I spotted Marcos Camacho. Marcos is José Luis’s home teaching companion. “Marcos, where’s José Luis?” I called.
“He might be preparing our home teaching lesson,” Marcos told me as he threaded his way through the large group of people between us. “He’s very good about it. We always get our home teaching done, and the people we visit really like him. Oh look—here comes his mother. Maybe she knows where he is. Ask her,” he said as he ran off to teach the Young Men.
His mother? What was she doing here? I’d heard she was against his church activity and had prohibited him from coming to the chapel. Now here was this lady, all smiles, soft curls, and a perky pink dress, coming toward me.
“Hi there,” I said as she approached me. “I’m looking for your son, but I’m really happy to see you. I’d heard you were not excited about your son’s coming to church. It looks like your attitude has changed?”
“Of course,” she told me, kissing me on both cheeks, which is the Spanish custom. “You know, the first time I came to this church, I came to tell them that they couldn’t baptize José Luis. I wasn’t about to let them make a Mormon of him. But once I got here and talked to the people,” she said, waving a hand at all the smiling, laughing people milling about us, “I thought maybe it wasn’t so bad that he come after all.”
“And now you’re coming as well?” I asked. “How did that happen?”
“One night, very late, about one in the morning, my friend came running to me. Her son was very sick. José Luis and I went to help, but he called the elders to come and give a blessing first. I was very impressed that two young boys would get up at that hour to help us. So later, when José Luis introduced me to the missionaries, I was willing to listen to them. I was baptized three months after he was.”
“But it wasn’t quite that easy, Mom,” said José Luis, popping up behind her, seemingly out of nowhere and putting his arm around her shoulder.
So finally I got to meet this legendary guy. He’s taller than his mother, medium height, with thick, straight dark hair and a perpetual smile. You can tell he’s from southern Spain, Andalucia, by his accent and his vocabulary. Even though he’s famous here for being a gospel dynamo, there is absolutely nothing intimidating about him. He’s about as humble as you can get.
“I started coming to church when I was 16,” he explained. “I met the missionaries on the street. I thought they were lawyers or executives by the way they were dressed. Then I realized they were foreigners. I was curious about them, so I started hanging around them, asking questions.
“In my first discussion, they told me about the Book of Mormon and about Joseph Smith, and I thought, What a great experience to have. I believed it all.”
“Mom didn’t like that and didn’t want me to come to church at first, but she finally said it was all right. Still, when I asked her if I could get baptized, she said no way. So I continued going to church for about seven months, not being a member.”
“What finally changed her mind?” I asked.
“Well, I fasted and prayed, of course, and my birthday was coming up, so I told her that the best gift she could give me would be permission to be baptized. I guess I bugged her so much about it, she finally said to go ahead. You know the rest of the story.”
“But the story isn’t finished yet,” I said. “How would you write the rest?”
The foyer had cleared out by this time. Most of the people had gone into their classes. I was alone with José Luis and his mother, who was gazing at her son with admiration.
“I’ll go on a mission for sure, just as soon as I’m 19; then I’ll have to serve in the mili.” Every healthy Spanish male, when he turns 19, serves an obligatory nine months of military service. “After that, I’d like to study to be a teacher.”
“You already are,” I replied, thinking how much his enthusiasm, his faith, his warmth, his friendliness, had already taught me—how much it could teach New Era readers—how much it had taught his mother, the missionaries, and other members of the ward.
“I know that Christ lives and that Heavenly Father always listens to us and loves us,” José Luis said, simply and sincerely. “I want everyone else to know that too. Will you excuse me for just a minute? I’m supposed to be helping a friend with a lesson,” he said, and he was off.
So for all of about five minutes, I could have answered the question, “Where’s José Luis?” But if you asked me right now, I could probably make an educated guess.
“Where’s José Luis?”
He’s out doing what he can to build the kingdom. And that’s a great place to be.

“My, but this boat is slow!” Sarah Thomas complained as the paddle steamer inched its way up the Mississippi River. She was sure the boat was standing still and that the trees were floating past! Even time seemed to stand still that warm day.
Sarah’s mind began to wander. She thought about the day in England a few years before, when a neighbor came knocking at their door. “There be a new preacher in town,” he announced. “Come and listen to him. Everyone’s meeting at the tithing barn.”
“I have a harness to mend,” her father answered without looking up. “It won’t mend itself.”
“His name is Heber Kimball, and he be from the Americas!” the neighbor added excitedly. “They say that he be a great preacher. He preaches about a new religion! The people of Preston really liked him.”
“Well, now,” Sarah’s father said thoughtfully. “An American preacher. I wonder if American preachers have a better tale to tell than British ones. Not a one that I’ve ever listened to preached the truth.” He stitched the leather absentmindedly. A new religion, he thought. I guess I’ll give him a chance.
As the neighbor hurried on his way to spread the word, the Thomas family prepared for the meeting. They didn’t have any other clothes to change into, but they washed themselves and brushed the clothes that they were wearing. Sarah brushed and rebraided her hair.
When they got to the busy town, some of their neighbors were hurrying to the tithing barn. Some of those who had already arrived at the meeting place were caring for their horses; others stood around talking and laughing. They were all eager for the American preacher to arrive.
The people of Chatburn liked to listen to preachers. But after the preachers moved on, it was as though the towns-people were still hungry for something that they didn’t have—the truth. No one in Chatburn had ever joined any of the churches that sent missionaries to their town.
When the American preacher walked into the town square, the people eagerly surrounded him. After they had crowded into the barn, there were so many of them that the preacher had to stand on top of a barrel to speak.
Sarah, who was used to hearing preachers, listened only halfheartedly when he began to talk. They all preach the same thing, she thought. But soon Elder Kimball’s message began to pierce her mind. He was preaching of a Savior who not only came to earth and was crucified but lived still. Elder Kimball bore such a powerful testimony of the living Savior that Sarah began to feel a warm glow, and she could tell that people around her were feeling the same thing. She strained to catch every word. Elder Kimball taught them that everyone must first have faith in Jesus Christ. Then they must repent and be baptized.
“This is it!” Sarah said to herself. “He speaks the truth!”
After the meeting, the people surged around Elder Kimball. Mrs. Partinton tugged on his sleeve. “Please, I want to be baptized!” Soon others were also asking to be baptized.
Sarah wanted desperately to add her own request for baptism, but she couldn’t be heard from the back. As she waited for her chance, the crowd flowed out the doors and down to the river. Following them, she watched as Elder Kimball baptized several people.
Her father found her in the crowd. “Come, Sarah,” he said. “It’s time to get the wee ones home.” Baby Josiah was asleep in her mother’s arms, and Timothy was crying softly as he leaned against her father. Sarah knew that she must obey, so she followed them. As they walked, she became very sleepy. It was a struggle to walk and to listen to her parents.
“I want to be baptized, Joshua,” her mother said softly. “He’s brought Christ’s true church to us.”
She heard her father chuckle softly. “Yes, he has.”
“What’s funny?” Mother asked.
“I was just thinking of all those other preachers who have come to Chatburn,” her father answered. “Not a one of us would join with them. They think that we are wild and hard-hearted. If they could only see us now! This one man has changed everything.”
“Father,” Sarah said sleepily, “I want to be baptized. May I?”
“Yes. Brother Kimball is leaving for Clitheroe tonight, but he’ll be back. We’ll be baptized when he comes again.”
The next few days were very long for Sarah. She did everything that she could think of to make the time go faster. One morning, when she was returning from taking a basket of scones to Mrs. Root, who was sick, she saw Elder Kimball on the path to town. She ran the rest of the way home to tell her family. In a short time, they were back in town, ready for a meeting. This time so many people had gathered that they met outside. Elder Kimball stood on a stone wall and preached to the people, and it was just as before. Sarah felt the Holy Ghost tell her that he spoke the truth.
Sarah and her parents were baptized that night. What a good feeling it was to know that they were all members of Christ’s true church. She felt clean and right.
Things changed in Chatburn after that. Parents began to teach their children what Elder Kimball had taught them. The children listened to their parents and obeyed Christ’s commandments. A new happiness and peace filled the village.
A few weeks later the man they now called Brother Kimball returned to their village. The children saw him on the path and, singing the songs of Zion, raced to meet him. They grabbed his arms and held on to his coat. Their parents stood in the doors of their homes as the group passed; they called out blessings on the man who had changed their lives.
What a wonderful time it was for Sarah! Brother Kimball continued to teach them. She learned more about the Prophet Joseph Smith, through whom the Lord restored the true church, and she felt a strong desire to see a living prophet.
Soon the word was spread throughout England: “The Saints are gathering in Nauvoo. Come to Nauvoo!”
“Nauvoo!” The cry jerked Sarah back to the present. The boat was rounding a curve, and now she could see people and buildings.
The Saints pressed eagerly against the rail of the boat as they searched for a glimpse of their new home. Sarah was searching, too, searching for someone very special. She wanted to see the Prophet. She had heard that sometimes he met new arrivals at the dock. Will I know him when I see him? she wondered.
As the boat neared the dock, she could distinguish faces. Her eyes stopped on a tall man who stood out above the rest. He had light brown hair and piercing blue eyes that had a twinkle in them. She knew without anyone telling her. He was the Prophet. Her wish had been answered. She was a member of Christ’s true church, and now she had seen His Prophet. Bless Brother Kimball!

You will very likely hear these words in your lifetime: “Are you a Mormon?” Perhaps it will be when your friends see that your drink of choice is root beer. Or maybe it will be when you decide to turn down a date to the school dance because you’re not yet 16 years old. Whatever the situation, you most likely won’t be asked at gunpoint. And your answer won’t determine whether you live or die. But that was the way it was for 19-year-old Joseph F. Smith.
After serving a four-year mission in the Hawaiian Islands, from 1854 to 1857, young Joseph F. Smith began his long journey home to Utah. He boated across the Pacific Ocean to San Francisco, then slowly began his journey by foot with a small company of Latter-day Saints.
One day when the company had stopped to camp and rest, a group of troublemakers came storming through. Most of the men ran and hid, but Joseph decided he had nothing to be afraid of, so he continued the task of piling firewood in the camp. As he did so, one of the men approached him with a pistol, declaring that it was his duty to exterminate every Mormon he came in contact with. As he pointed his pistol at Joseph, he demanded, “Are you a Mormon?”
Without fear or hesitation, Joseph answered, “Yes siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.”
The man was so startled by the courage of young Joseph F. Smith that he dropped his pistol and said, “Well, you are the [expletive deleted] pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow, I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions.” The man rode off, with the others following behind (Joseph Fielding Smith, Life of Joseph F. Smith, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1938, 189).