Gospel Story Finder

John Bennett Hawkins was in the Old Tabernacle on that day and answered the call to help. He was one of the hundreds of individuals in relief parties that set out from Salt Lake City. On the evening of October 21, the rescuer wagons finally reached the Willie camp. They were greeted with joy and gratitude by the frozen and starving survivors. This was the first meeting of John Bennett Hawkins and Sarah Elizabeth Moulton, who would become my great-grandparents.
The company was greeted by hundreds of Salt Lake citizens anxiously awaiting their coming and ready to help with their care. Gratitude and appreciation toward one of the young heroes who had helped save the Moultons from the grasp of death soon blossomed into romance and love for Sarah Elizabeth.
On December 5, 1856, amidst the happy wishes of her loved ones, Sarah Elizabeth married John Bennett Hawkins, her rescuer. They were sealed for time and eternity the following July in the Endowment House. They made their home in Salt Lake City and were blessed with three sons and seven daughters. One of those daughters, Esther Emily, married my grandfather Charles Rasband in 1891.

As a young boy, I had great aspirations. One day after school, I asked, “Mom, what should I be when I grow up: a professional basketball player or a rock star?” Unfortunately, Clark “the toothless wonder” showed no signs of future athletic or musical glory. And despite multiple efforts, I was repeatedly denied admission to my school’s advanced academic program. My teachers finally suggested I should just stick to the standard classroom. Over time, I developed compensating study habits. But it wasn’t until my mission to Japan that I felt my intellectual and spiritual possibilities begin to emerge. I continued to work hard. But for the first time in my life, I systematically involved the Lord in my development, and it made all the difference.

Elder Woodhouse and I were called to serve in the Dominican Republic as humanitarian missionaries from April 2019–2021. It was a dream come true for me and a complete surprise. There are no coincidences, and as Elder Gavarret reminded us during an interview, God is in the details.
My mother was born of Puerto Rican parents working in the sugar industry in La Romana, Dominican Republic in 1913. Both of her parents died in 1916 within months of one another when she was almost three years old. Puerto Rican neighbors raised her until she married and moved to Puerto Rico with her little family in 1930. My mother never found any paperwork on the birth or death of her parents or where they were buried. I felt this was my chance to do some digging and find what my mother could not find.
One Sunday we decided to visit a ward in La Romana. It happened to be Mother’s Day. I shared my story with the sisters in Relief Society with hopes that someone could help. A kind sister who happened to work in the civil registry of the town said she would research the archives for me. A few weeks later she said she could not find anything. An official registry was not kept, by law, until the 1930s. Some records were destroyed by floods or fire or just stored under poor conditions causing them to deteriorate. I gave her my sisters’ names and birth dates and the towns in which they were born. No records found. I was devastated. What do I do now?
With nowhere to turn I immersed myself in FamilySearch. I had found documentation on my grandmother in Puerto Rico before she left to La Romana in a census. I found a ship manifest that listed my grandmother traveling with a newborn (my mother) to Puerto Rico twice. The last time was within the year she had passed. I now knew the town she was from, my mother’s real birthday and who they visited. This was a real treasure. My mother was an orphan with no real information, and now I had a place to start.
Although I had not found what I was looking for, we took the time to visit all the places my mother talked about. I was able to get a feel for what life must have been like in the early days of the twentieth century living in a sugar cane industry town. This gave me renewed faith in continuing my search for more information.
As I continued to search further back through my grandparents’ lines, I found many wonderful treasures. I found that my family line in Puerto Rico dates to early explorers in the Caribbean. Some had served as governors in the Dominican Republic. Some were sea captains, farmers, and businessmen. Some were maids, seamstresses, and some of nobility. I was able to do the temple work for many there in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple where we volunteered as ordinance workers once a week. I was beginning to feel a closeness to my ancestors that I thought I would never experience. My excitement and joy in the work I was doing carried me through times of disappointments. I knew that if I kept looking, I would be able to find many more, and I did.
My time in the Dominican Republic was cut short because of the pandemic, but not before finding my family and learning more about my rich Caribbean roots. The tapestry of my family lines is rich with stories of courage and faith. At one time, I thought I would not be able to complete my four generations with temple work, at least not in this life. But now I have gone well beyond four generations. Elder and Sister Soares said in the last RootsTech that one purpose of temple work was to unite the past with the present and the future. I have felt this each time as my grandchildren enter the temple to do the work for these sweet people I never knew existed. I can honestly say I now know them and love them. They are my family.

They’ll both tell you that the Church and its teachings have helped them in every phase of their lives. From the time they first became brothers, gospel teachings were evident. Brent was adopted as a baby, and Bill, along with his sister Karla, was adopted from Korea at the age of five. In preparing five-year-old Brent for his new brother and sister, their father, Roland Hiltscher, told him, “You know, your toys and things will be new to them when they first come. What will you do if they break them?”

“I’d tell them that’s all right, because sometimes I break them too,” responded Brent.
More recently, their church experience helped them with their election. Since they’d been brought up giving talks in church, they weren’t too nervous when they had to give speeches to the entire student body. And they say that leadership positions in the Church help them with leadership positions at school.
The brothers claim that seminary has also helped them. “Going to church just once a week wouldn’t cut it,” says Brent. “Around school, it’s not always easy thinking about church things. But if you go to seminary every day, it helps you keep your mind where it should be.”
With all that involvement, however, they don’t flaunt their religion. “I don’t run around saying, ‘Ho—I’m a Mormon, so I’m cool, and you’re not,’” Bill says. “But I don’t try to hide it from anyone. It’s just a fact of my life—like having dark hair. If other people accept it, fine. If they don’t, that’s fine too.”
People usually accept it. Mormonism is pretty widespread in southern California, and most people have at least a marginal knowledge of it. But there are some people in the community who are decidedly anti-Mormon. How do Brent and Bill handle that? “Some of our friends hear wild, terrible stories about the things we supposedly believe, but most of them realize that what they’ve been told is wrong,” says Brent. “They get a pretty good impression of what Mormons are about and what we do by the way we act.”
But there is also a lonely side to being known as LDS. As well liked as the Hiltschers are, there are some activities, particularly on the weekends, that the brothers are excluded from. “Sometimes we wish there wouldn’t be drinking at the parties so we would go,” Brent explained. “But it’s not like we wish we could drink. A lot of weekends, we just go our separate ways from our school friends.”
What do they do then? They found an answer one weekend when they decided to throw a party of their own. They had lots of games, lots of food, and lots of fun. That showed their school friends that you can have fun without drinking. The Hiltschers are also heavily involved in Church and school activities, homework, stake dances, service projects, part-time jobs (Bill tutors, Brent assists their father with his professional photography). They don’t have an awful lot of time to sit around and mope.
Now, just because these two brothers share the same standards and values doesn’t necessarily mean they’re clones of each other. “We both have a lot of strengths and weaknesses,” says Bill. “But it seems that my weaknesses are Brent’s strengths, and vice versa. I sometimes think that a better person would be made if you combined us both in one. For example, in academics, Brent seems to have this talent for English, history, and social science, while I have a talent for math and sciences.”
And the differences don’t stop there. They range from taste in food (Brent likes it plain and simple, Bill likes it hot and spicy) to basic personality types—Bill goes more with his mind, while Brent goes more with his heart. Bill leans more toward being intellectual, while Brent leans more toward being athletic, although they’ve both participated in sports and get good grades. Their differences show, though, that there is not one ideal way to be in order to be accepted.
Fitting in with your family is another important aspect of acceptance that the Hiltschers talk about. “Our parents are really supportive of the things we do, but we had to earn their trust,” Brent says. “Back in junior high, it seemed like they wouldn’t let us do anything we wanted to, but now they trust us.”
How did they earn that trust? “By hanging around with good people who have the same standards we do, for one thing,” says Bill. “Our parents know that we won’t go out looking for trouble with our friends. We also always try to be where we say we’ll be when we say we’ll be there, and we call if we’re going to be late. That helps,” he adds.
All this doesn’t mean these two are perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, and they’ll be the first to tell you that. Like any brothers, especially so close in age (they’re four months apart), they have their fights. And fears and pressures affect them as much as anyone else. Brent’s main fear in life is of unintentionally offending someone. Bill worries about the future and what it will hold for him.
The near future, however, they have mapped out already. Once they graduate from high school, they’ll attend college until they’re 19, and then serve missions. There will be more schooling when they return. Bill is thinking about becoming an engineer or architect, and Brent would like to maybe teach high school, or join in the family photography business.
Wherever they fit in the future, they’ve managed to fit in the present pretty well. Their secret lies in Bill’s advice to others: “Don’t try to change yourself to fit in with someone else. Know who you are. Then look around and find others who fit with you.”

When I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at age 35, one of the many things I quickly learned was that I needed to be willing to serve others. Whether it was to help someone move, offer lawn care, do repairs, or provide transportation, I tried as much as possible to respond to requests for service from my quorum or from individuals.
I felt that I was serving in a good way. In retrospect, however, I realize that I was serving out of a sense of duty and not out of a sense of love for those who needed help. I didn’t really view my service as trying to become the Lord’s hands.1
After I moved to central Missouri, USA, I had the opportunity to serve an older couple. Their small, old country home needed a lot of repairs, including its leaky roof. The couple, however, suffered from serious health challenges that prevented them from doing physical labor.
On a hot day in July, my good friend Dallas Martin and I were up on the roof putting down new shingles. We were uncomfortable and dripping with sweat. Suddenly, Dallas stopped nailing, stood up, and looked at me.
“Do you realize how blessed we are to be the ones capable of being up here doing this work and not the ones inside who can’t?” he asked.
His question hit me like a bolt of lightning. It was literally a life-changing moment. My whole perspective on service took on new meaning. I realized how blessed I was to be able to do all the things that I could do.
At that moment, I felt that Dallas and I were not simply helping because of a sense of duty but were helping with a sense of gratitude. The Lord had blessed us with the ability to truly be His hands. With that realization, it was easy for me to feel love for those we were helping.
Since that day, whenever I have helped with a service project, or whenever someone has needed assistance that I was capable of providing, I have tried to keep that perspective in mind. I have not always been successful, but that perspective has been a huge blessing in my life. It has truly helped me keep a positive attitude about service.
When I have problems or challenges, I try to think of people who face more serious trials than I do. Then I express my thanks to the Lord for all the blessings He has given me.

As Fia returned once again to England, she was befriended by a group of missionaries on their way to Europe. The missionaries took Fia to the mission home with them in Liverpool, England, where Elder Heber J. Grant of the Council of the Twelve presided with his wife and young daughters. Sister Grant found Fia sobbing in the hall as she waited with the elders, who were to be interviewed by their mission president. Through an interpreter, Sister Grant learned of Fia’s unsuccessful attempts to go to Zion. Also discovering that the young girl had no place to go and no money, Sister Grant felt compassion for Fia and asked if she would like to remain at the mission home to work as a maid. Fia gratefully accepted, though she had never had any experience as a domestic servant.
As they became better acquainted, Sister Grant realized that Fia had received a good education and possessed impressive musical talents. In spite of the fact that she had never done housework before, Fia knew how things should be done. She took pride in her work. Her disposition was so delightful that the whole family soon grew to love her. They marveled at her abilities, her patience, and her sweet spirit. They said she never spoke a cross word but always sang and gave praise to her Heavenly Father for the blessings she had received. Along with housekeeping duties, her first responsibility was the care of the two youngest Grant girls, Emily and Frances. Elder and Sister Grant traveled frequently on the continent, supervising the many areas of the European Mission, and they felt fortunate to know their daughters were under Fia’s care.
Fia believed in cold-water “Swedish” baths. Without a water heater in the bathroom, those who wanted a warm bath had to heat the water downstairs and carry it upstairs to the bathtub a bucket at a time, so Swedish baths were much more convenient. Each morning Fia filled the tub with cold water, tying a bag of rock salt to the faucet and letting the water run over it to simulate sea water. The squirming, protesting little girls were then given their morning “dip in the ocean.” After a quick bath, Fia rubbed them vigorously with a large fluffy towel. They said later that they hated their baths, but they loved Fia so dearly they were willing to endure them to please her.

A friend of mine told me this experience: A financially successful man came home from work one day and said, “Dear, there has got to be more to life than just getting up, going to work, making money, watching TV, eating and sleeping, and then doing it all over again! We have all the money we need. Why doesn’t this satisfy us? Somehow we are missing the purpose of life. What is our dilemma? Could it be possible that it is religion we are missing?” In the conversation that followed, his wife mentioned the Mormons. After serious investigation they soon found satisfying answers to their questions and joined the Church.

The Catspring Somersault Flying One-handed Flip-flop by SuAnn Kiser Willie practiced and practiced, and when she finally could really do a Catspring Somersault Flying One-handed Flip-flop, all her eleven brothers and sisters and her mom and dad were too busy to watch her do it. When she complained that no one would miss her if she ran away, their funny story about what would happen if she did, let her know how much they loved her. And they clapped and cheered loudly when they watched her do the Flip-flop—right there in the dining room!

I also had to make decisions about music beyond what I had in my own collection. One day when I was in school, a classmate started playing a bad song. I didn’t feel good about the song, so I asked him to change it, which he did. I know that each of us can have the same courage in those situations. And at times when people may not change the music for us, we still have another option: we can go somewhere else.

A returned missionary active in campus affairs found his life changed when he read and pondered the scriptures: “My reading in the scriptures was a fantastic experience—so much so that it will be only natural to continue. I can make a valid comparison of the changes it can bring about because I had a break during the quarter when I didn’t read every day (about two to three weeks). Before and since this period my daily reading was a longed-for thing—something that increased in interest each day. During those days my thoughts were clearer, my mind more at ease, my temperament with others more appealing and less offensive. But above all, my thoughts were cleaner and purer than ever before, and thus I was happier because my soul was in much better harmony with the Lord. During the period when I didn’t read daily, I did some regretful things, and my desires in prayer slipped. I believe meaningful prayer and scripture study go hand in hand.
“I thought I knew the Book of Mormon from my study while on my mission and especially after reading it several times in another language. But to ‘ponder in your heart’ is something special—something that can be done over and over. This is what I’m doing each morning now and am enjoying it immensely.”

My wife and I attended a sacrament meeting near Recife, Brazil. A young boy, possibly 9 or 10 years of age, wearing his new blue suit on a very hot day, went to the pulpit and in a very relaxed way looked at the congregation. He said, “Our family has been studying about moral agency.” He then read: “Wherefore, men are free according to the flesh. … And they are free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil.” The boy then said, “Some of my older friends are choosing to smoke and use drugs, but we all will have to accept the consequences of our actions.” He finished with his testimony, saying, “I can see that this is true.” This testimony from one so young was powerful and touched our hearts deeply.

The New Era is a great comfort to me. I am a convert to the Church, and I have learned many wonderful things this past year just by reading this great magazine! I go to a Catholic school, and I have to take a course in religion. In this class I was assigned to give an oral report from a magazine or book on “My Personal Happiness.” I chose the article “The Business of Being” in the July 1983 issue of the New Era. Elder Cuthbert really knows the meaning of maturity. When I gave that report, I know that the Spirit was with me. He helped me to touch the hearts of many in my class, and I am grateful for that. By the way, I got an A!
Linda VillaromanSan Francisco, California

My name is Christopher. My feet jump, jump, jump, and run, run, run, and hop, hop hop, so much that Mom calls me Chris-hopper.
On Sunday, Mom said, “Chris-hopper, it’s time to be Christopher. Tell your feet to slow down.
I told them, but they forgot.
On Monday, Mom and I went to the zoo. We saw giraffes, lions, elephants, and monkeys. Best of all, I liked to watch the kangaroos hop. I call them roo-hoppers. Then we saw a giant turtle moving oh … so … slow. I call it a no-hopper. It gave me an idea.
On the next Sunday, I put on my best clothes and my best shoes. Then I taped a little picture of a turtle on the toe of each shoe. “No-hoppers!” I exclaimed and ran to show Mom. She gave me the thumbs-up.
At church, I looked at the turtles on my shoes and said to my feet, “No-hoppers at church.” Now my feet remember to walk in the meetinghouse.
But when I go outside, I’m Chris-hopper again.

“One time when Papa was a little boy, he was herding cows and lost track of them. He was so afraid that he climbed down off his horse and prayed with all his might that he would find them. When he got up he noticed some hoof prints and followed them until he saw his lost cows down in a gully. He was happy to find them and has always remembered how the Lord truly does answer prayers in a very real way.”

My mother says we came from Dublin, Ireland, with a bundle of clothes, a well-read Bible, and each other. And in our hearts we brought love and hope.
When I was barely ten, we moved to a small cottage with a plot of land near the junction of the Susquehanna and Juniata canals. Father, who was tall and muscular, pulled our plow. And Mother, small but determined, guided the prong as it turned the soil. They sang as they worked, and I was happy to follow behind and shove potato eyes into the rich black earth. Sometimes we gathered berries by the river in pails.
“I watched the canal boats today, Father,” I said, smiling. “They were full of all manner of goods.”
“Aye, it’s a wondrous land we’ve come to, Michael,” Father agreed.
Although we sold the potatoes and berries in town, we never seemed to have enough money. When I was nearly twelve Father left for a time to look for work. Before he went, he kissed Mother and, smiling at me, led me to my cot where he raised the mattress and pinned a dollar to the ticking. “There,” he said quietly. “I’m off to find work. I don’t want to go, but a man must feed his family. Take care of your mother while I’m gone, and if there’s ever a need, remember the dollar.” Father patted the mattress and asked, “Do you understand what I mean, Michael?”
I swallowed hard and nodded. “I understand, Father.”
Mother and I stood near the fence and waved until father disappeared along Old Post Road. Then she wiped her eyes and turned back to the house. “While your father’s gone, Michael, we’ll plant potatoes and pick berries just as before.”
I nodded and went to the head of the plow, determined to do my part. But no matter how hard I tugged and pulled, the furrows never looked deep enough.
Time passed—mules pulled the canal boats, potatoes sprouted, I picked berries and chopped wood. But Mother no longer sang.
Then one afternoon I saw a canal boat loaded to the brim being slowly pulled along. The mule driver cursed and beat the lead mule, but the mule balked and brayed.
“You lazy mule!” the driver shouted, and he whipped the poor animal till it struggled forward. When they neared a bend, I saw the mule drop to its knees and move its head wearily from side to side. I thought of myself behind the plow and ran to where the driver was unfastening the mule’s harness.
“Lazy, no-good mule! You’ll be sold for glue now! That’s a fact!” the driver roared.
“Oh, no!” I pleaded. “Please don’t sell him for glue. He tried the best he could.”
“Go home, boy!” the driver growled. “I can’t leave a dead mule to block the path!”
“He’s not dead yet!” I cried, “Only tired.”
“He’ll be dead soon!” the driver barked as he reached for his gun.
“Please!” I begged, raising my hands.
“Out of my way, boy!”
“I’ll buy him,” I stammered quickly.
The driver threw back his head and laughed.
“I—I have a dollar.”
The driver stopped laughing and rubbed his chin. “A dollar, huh? I suppose that’s all I’d get from the glue factory. All right,” he nodded. “Done!”
I ran home and lifted my mattress, wondering if Father would think it a foolish waste. I glanced toward the canal and thought of the mule. Surely any life is worth a dollar! I decided.
The driver laughed as he grabbed the dollar, then waved me away as he guided the mule train along the path. “Mind,” he shouted over his shoulder, “he’s your problem now! It’s up to you to get him off the path!”
I watched the canal boat disappear around the bend, then knelt and coaxed, “Come on, boy, you’ve got to come home.”
The mule rolled its big brown eyes up at me and my own eyes clouded as he stood and tried to walk, then fell into the high grass. After dinner I put a few carrots in a gunnysack and hurried back to the weak animal. Looking at me sadly, he ate but one carrot.
“It’s all right,” I sobbed. “Rest, old mule; I’ll not beat you.” I tried to cover his bony back with the sack and hurried home.
A week passed and I tended the mule in secret, praying he wouldn’t die. Then one day as I turned to go home, the mule stood on wobbly legs and brayed. I turned in surprise. “Come on, boy,” I urged. “Come on home.”
The old mule pointed its ears, took a step forward, then stopped. I hugged its neck and whispered, “It’s all right, boy. Rest.”
I hurried home to plow a plot of land, and as I slipped my arms into the traces, Mother stood between the handles. Suddenly I heard the mule braying and looked up to see it coming straight across the field toward me! Gently it shoved me aside with its nose and took my place in front of the plow.
“Well, I never!” Mother said, taken aback. “Whose mule is that, Michael?”
“He’s ours, Mother!” I laughed. “I bought him for a dollar!”
The mule plowed all morning—one straight, deep furrow after another—and never got tired. Mother smiled from the cottage window as she baked bread while the mule and I plowed.
Then one evening as we sat down to supper, we heard a knock at the door. Mother opened it, and the mule driver stood scowling. “You have my mule!” he shouted, wagging a finger at me. “I’ve come to fetch him back!”
“I bought him for a dollar!”
“That’s when he was dying!” the driver growled. “Someone saw him well and plowing! Here’s your dollar!”
“Mother,” I pleaded through my tears.
“My son does not want his dollar back,” Mother declared. “A bargain made is a bargain kept!”
The driver’s face turned purple and he threw the dollar on the porch. “I’m takin’ my mule!” he shouted.
I raced to the shed and latched the door, but the driver shoved me aside and flung it open. He grabbed the mule’s halter and raised his whip, but the mule braced its feet and balked. Then from out of nowhere, I saw a tall shadow come round the house and a powerful hand twisted the whip from the driver’s grasp.
“Who threatens my family and home?” my father’s voice boomed angrily.
The driver looked at my father, then released the harness. “Ah,” the driver mumbled, “that ol’ mule never would work anyhow!”
Father stood with his arm about Mother’s waist as the driver stumbled toward the canal. “Is it a useless mule, Michael?” Father asked.
“No. He’ll work for me,” I explained.
“Then you’ve used the dollar well,” Father assured me. “I worked and have only two weeks’ pay in my pocket, but I sorely missed my little family. I’m home to stay. We’ll make it somehow,” he said, smiling hopefully.
“We’ll make it just fine,” Mother agreed, beaming happily. “The mule does most of the hard work, and the garden’s bigger so there will be more potatoes to sell. I can bake pies with the berries, and you can build a cart for the mule to carry our goods to town.”
“Hold on,” Father laughed. “First I want a hug from my family.”
There was still barely enough money, but we were together again. I knew for sure that all riches aren’t to be laid upon a table for counting, or carted to town for selling and trading. Some riches, like the love and honest work of my parents and the loyal, faithful work of my mule, are not for hire. They are precious gifts, freely given when earned. And if the riches of the heart could be counted, then all the world would know how very prosperous we were as my mother and father sang and as I grew to be a man.

Youth in the Boston Massachusetts Stake shared their testimonies with heart and voice when they presented the program “From Cumorah’s Hill,” a musical presentation about the Book of Mormon. The program was originally scheduled for two performances, but was extended to three to accommodate everyone who wanted to attend.
The program gave the youth the opportunity to become better friends with each other, but the best part, says Laurel Maureen Maskell, was the audience reaction. “It was great to see their faces and see the people who had been touched by the Spirit.”

Shortly after the death of Sister LeGrand Richards, I was assigned to be Elder Richards’ junior companion to assist him in creating the Atlanta Georgia Stake. As we were flying toward his beloved Southern States Mission, he said to me, “Brother Ballard, I am not afraid to die; the only thing I worry about is, will I be able to find Mommy over there.”
I was impressed to say to Elder Richards that in his case that could be a real problem. Immediately, I had his full attention. He looked me directly in the eye and said, “What do you mean by that?”
With my emotions near the surface, I answered this great missionary, “Elder Richards, when you die, so many people there will be anxious to greet you because you introduced the gospel to them that you might have difficulty finding Mommy in the crowd.” His response was, “Oh, you don’t mean that.”
We all might ask ourselves the question, Who will be there to greet us?
Oh, that I could have the power to touch your hearts that you would have the faith to take the simple steps that will bring the light of the gospel to many more of our Father’s children. The more I am involved in this work, the more I realize that Satan would have you and me believe that we cannot succeed in sharing the gospel. He lies to us. In fact, he is the father of all lies. Do not listen to him. Listen to the prompting of the Holy Ghost, and then act in faith in sharing the gospel.
I testify to you, my brothers and sisters, that I know the Lord lives. I know that when we are willing to seek his help and guidance, when we trust in him completely, he will bless us to understand what to do and how to proceed in the wonderful work of sharing this glorious message with others.
We do appreciate all you have done in the past. The leaders of the Church have great faith that, united together, the members and the missionaries of this Church can do much more in the future to build the kingdom of God.
May the Lord bless us all with increased faith to move his work forward, I humbly pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I had the privilege to serve as the secretary of my deacons quorum. I recall the many assignments we members of that quorum had the opportunity to fill. Passing the sacred sacrament, collecting the monthly fast offerings, and looking after one another come readily to mind. The most frightening one, however, happened at the leadership session of our ward conference. The member of our stake presidency who was presiding called on a number of the ward officers to speak. They did so. Then, without the slightest warning, he stood and said, “We will now call on one of our younger ward officers, Thomas S. Monson, secretary of the deacons quorum, to give us an accounting of his service and to bear his testimony.” I don’t remember a single thing I said, but I have never forgotten the experience or the lesson that it taught me. It was the Apostle Peter who said, “Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.”

I’ve shared with you previously an example of this philosophy. I believe it bears repeating. Many years ago, Arthur Gordon wrote in a national magazine, and I quote:
“When I was around thirteen and my brother ten, Father had promised to take us to the circus. But at lunchtime there was a phone call; some urgent business required his attention downtown. We braced ourselves for disappointment. Then we heard him say [into the phone], ‘No, I won’t be down. It’ll have to wait.’
“When he came back to the table, Mother smiled. ‘The circus keeps coming back, you know,’ [she said.]
“‘I know,’ said Father. ‘But childhood doesn’t.’”

When our children were young, we lived in the country of Kazakhstan. There were no missionaries there at that time. When friends or neighbors wanted to hear about the gospel, we got to be the missionaries!
Our daughter Marné shared the gospel with her friend Alyona. Alyona decided to be baptized with permission from her mother, who was later baptized with Alyona’s younger sister. Recently Alyona married a righteous young man in the Manhattan New York Temple, and Marné got to be there! She was so happy that she had helped her friend learn about Jesus Christ.