Gospel Story Finder

On that first Sunday of the member-missionary class, our teacher asked us to commit to the Lord to give away one copy of the Book of Mormon during the next week and each following week. Even though I was still fearful at the time, I did accept the challenge. By the middle of the week it was clear to me whom I should share a copy with.
We had hired an older man to do some work for us. From his very first day, I felt he was an honest man of good character. On the morning of his last day with us, I prayed to Heavenly Father and received a confirmation that this individual should receive a copy of the Book of Mormon. I also prayed for guidance from the Holy Ghost on how to approach the man—and for the confidence I needed to talk to him about the book. I prepared a Book of Mormon with my testimony and anxiously awaited our visit.
That evening, when he finished working, I invited the man to sit down, offered him a glass of water, and asked, “Has anyone ever told you why Mormons are called ‘Mormons’?” (This was an approach we had learned in the member-missionary class.)
When he said no, I asked, “Would you be offended if I offered to tell you?”
“No, go right ahead,” he answered.
After a friendly fifteen-minute talk about the Book of Mormon, I offered him my prepared copy and asked if he would read it. I promised him that if he read it prayerfully he would know, as I did, that it is true. He said he would do it. We then parted, still friends. He wasn’t offended, and I didn’t feel that I had been aggressive.

“Andy, don’t forget your umbrella.”
“Aw, Mom, it’s not going to rain,” Andy said. “I’ll look silly carrying an umbrella to school when the sun is shining.” But he took the umbrella and headed up the street.
“Why can’t this be the kind of umbrella that folds up small?” he grumbled as he neared the end of his block. “It’s too big to hide under my jacket!”
“Hi, Andy. Are you afraid it’s going to rain?” a group of friends greeted him as he entered the school playground.
“The weatherman said it would,” Andy defended himself.
“Oh, sure—but this kind of rain is called sunshine,” Kenny teased him with a big grin. The other children laughed.
At recess, the sky was still sunny, and Andy was glad when no one mentioned the umbrella. However, after lunch Kenny appeared on the playground with the umbrella in hand! He held it out to Andy. “I thought that you might want this,” he said. “There’s a cloud in the sky now!” Kenny broke out in a fit of laughter. Other classmates joined in.
Andy was angry, and he bit his lip to keep from saying anything.
But Kenny wouldn’t stop teasing him. He jumped up onto the steps of the school building. “Come on, everybody—see the one and only Andy and his famous umbrella,” he shouted. “Step right up. The show’s about to begin!”
Andy felt his face turn red as a large group of children turned and stared at him. “What’s so famous about it?” they asked.
Suddenly Andy remembered what Mom always said: “Try to make the best of things. Don’t let anyone or anything get you down.”
OK, he told himself. I’ll go along with them! He stood up and made a sweeping bow toward his audience. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “This may look like a common, ordinary umbrella, but it happens to be very special. Watch—I’ll show you.”
Andy held the closed umbrella by the handle, and with head held high, he strutted around the center of the circle made by the children. “It’s a fancy walking cane,” he explained. “Only very important people use them.”
Then he held the handle close to his face and pointed the tip end toward the sky. “Now it’s a telescope,” he announced. “I see Jupiter and Mars and all the stars, even in the daylight.”
“On guard!” he yelled as he bent his knees in a fencer’s stance. With his other arm held high, he slashed through the air with his “sword.”
The children began to clap. “More, More!” they called out.
With big dramatic motions, Andy opened the umbrella and held it over his head. He stepped along carefully as he pretended to be a circus tightrope walker.
As he neared one of his classmates, he closed the umbrella quickly and poked the pointed end through a piece of paper on the ground. “You see,” he said, “it’s also a good trash picker-upper.”
His classmates were laughing with him now, not at him. “That’s great, Andy,” they said. “What else can you do with it?”
Andy grabbed the middle of the closed umbrella and began to whistle a tune while he strutted around like a drum major waving a baton. When he stopped, he twirled it around and around in his hand.
Finally, he opened it and placed it handle-up on the ground and said, “It’s a TV satellite dish!” Then he turned it over and crawled underneath it. “It makes a good tent or fort too.”
Just then the bell rang. The children filed back into the classroom.
About fifteen minutes before school ended, the rain began. The light sprinkling had turned into a heavy downpour by the time Andy got outside. He opened his umbrella and smiled to himself. Mom was right, as usual, he thought.
He passed the cars that were lined up in front of the building. Up ahead Andy saw Kenny with his shoulders hunched forward and his head down. Knowing that Kenny always walked home, Andy hurried to catch up with his classmate. “I forgot to show you the most important thing this umbrella can do,” he told Kenny.
Andy held the umbrella so that it covered both their heads. “It’s also really good for keeping a friend from getting wet.”
Kenny stood up straight and smiled gratefully.
“Thanks, Andy,” he said.

The first real test of my young testimony came when I had to decide between going on a mission and playing basketball,” says Dean Reid Burgess. Brother Burgess had spent his freshman year playing basketball for the College of Southern Utah on scholarship.
It was 1965, the height of the war in Vietnam, and not every young man had the chance to serve a mission because of the United States military draft. But Brother Burgess had the chance and the choice. “It took a lot of prayer and a lot of fasting,” he says. “But I knew serving a mission was a real privilege, so I left school to serve.” While serving in the Brazilian Mission, Brother Burgess solidified his testimony of the restored gospel.
Upon returning home, he completed his education at Brigham Young University in business management and graduated in 1970. Some time later, he met Annette Christensen at a BYU student ward. “She was the Relief Society president, and I was the elders quorum president,” he says. “She was always busy serving in worthwhile and constructive ways.” They began dating and were later married in the Provo Utah Temple on 27 December 1973. They have five children and reside in Sandy, Utah.
Brother Burgess, 57, was born in Alpine, Utah, to Reid and Ethel King Burgess on 24 May 1946. He grew up working in the family-owned mercantile store and on their 20-acre (8-ha) farm. His parents taught him the value of family, hard work, and the principles of the gospel—the same values he has tried to teach his own children.
In 1997 Brother Burgess returned to Brazil, where he served as president of the Brazil Belo Horizonte East Mission. His other Church service includes counselor in stake presidencies, stake Young Men president, bishop, and high councilor; all told, he has served with the youth of the Church for more than 24 years.

Just past midnight on December 23, 1972, when she was nine years old, an earthquake struck Managua. “I was saved because there was a piece of furniture behind me, but my legs were trapped.” Hearing her and her mother’s screams, neighbors came to pull them from the destroyed adobe house. In the wreckage, they found the body of her older brother in the bed next to hers. “Material possessions are just so temporary, but the important thing is our family,” she said.

On one visit to their home, Elder Minor had another inspired idea. After we shared a scripture message, he pulled out his pocket-sized hymnbook and asked if we could sing with them. Though we had sung together with their family on previous occasions, I had never seen Mi-Jung join in the singing and just assumed that she did not like singing or was uncomfortable because the music was new to her. Elder Minor asked her if she had a favorite hymn, and to my astonishment, she got choked up and replied that she loved singing hymns and that ever since she was a little girl, her favorite hymn had been “I Need the Every Hour” (Hymns, no. 98). We asked if she would sing that hymn with us, and she tearfully agreed. Soon we were singing a four-part harmony, with Kuk-Won and his children singing the melody, Mi-Jung singing alto, Elder Minor singing tenor, and me singing bass.
The Spirit was as strong in the room as we had ever felt. As we sang the third verse, emotion overcame her, and her voice dropped out as we continued:
I need thee every hour,
In joy or pain.
Come quickly and abide,
Or life is vain.
I need thee, oh, I need thee;
Ev’ry hour I need thee!
Oh, bless me now, my Savior;
I come to thee!
As we completed the fourth and final verse, she was sobbing.
Illustration by Julia Yellow
As her husband tried to comfort her, she was eventually able to compose herself. She looked me right in the eyes and said, “I need to get baptized.”
The baptismal service for Kong Kuk-Won and Pak Mi-Jung that following Sunday afternoon was a truly joyous occasion! Their children, Sung-Gyun and Su-Jin, participated in the program, and numerous local members attended to show their support for the newest convert family in their ward. And Elder Minor and I provided a special musical number: “I Need Thee Every Hour.”

It was early when Tayson rolled out of bed and put on old work clothes. He and Dad hurried and ate breakfast, then pulled on boots and work gloves.
“Grab those shovels and put them in the car,” Dad told Tayson. “We’re going to need them.”
Last night Dad got a call from Brother Merkley in the ward. Some of the houses nearby had filled with mud from a big storm. The owners needed lots of help cleaning out their muddy basements.
“Can I go?” Tayson had asked.
“Sure,” Dad said. “It’s going to be hard work, but I think you can do it.”
Tayson grinned. He was excited to help Dad out.
When they got to the house, they saw other people from their stake. The stake president patted Tayson’s shoulder and said he was glad Tayson was there.
Tayson was glad too—until he looked down the basement stairs. Squishy, wet mud piled halfway up the stairway! How would they ever get down there? Dad grabbed his shovel and plunged right into the mud. Tayson followed. He tried to step in Dad’s footprints, but the mud sucked the prints away before he could step into them.
“Can you start shoveling?” Brother Merkley asked Tayson’s dad. “And Tayson, maybe you can join the bucket brigade with me.”
Tayson followed Brother Merkley to the far end of the basement. Tayson got in line and passed a bucket full of mud to the person next to him. The last person in line lifted the bucket through the open window to someone outside. Then another bucket came down the line.
Tayson had never seen so many buckets in his whole life. And every one of them was full of mud. The line of buckets never seemed to end! Soon Tayson’s shoulders and arms got tired.
After working for several hours, everyone took a break. Tayson stretched his aching shoulders.
“I think we’ve got it under control here,” Brother Merkley said. “But if anyone can stay longer, it would be great to help other neighbors.”
Tayson rubbed his arms. He wondered if he could ever lift another bucket. But still he climbed up the stairs and followed Dad across the muddy grass to a neighbor’s house. Once again Tayson passed dozens of heavy buckets filled with mud down the line and out the basement window. His arms and back felt sore and limp as spaghetti. But he didn’t quit.
When the basement was cleared of mud, the man who lived in the house shook everyone’s hands. “I can’t believe you folks turned out to help people you don’t even know. I can’t thank you enough.”
Tayson and Dad returned home covered in mud. Tayson felt like every muscle in his body was sore and tired. Even his eyelids!
“I’ve never been so dirty,” Tayson said. “Not even when we went camping last summer. Do you think Mom will let us into the house?”
Dad looked down at his muddy shoes and burst out laughing. “I hope so. I don’t think we can go to church tomorrow looking like this!”
Go to Family Night Fun for an activity to go with this story. And go to page 37 for an activity all about dads!
“I hurt all over, but I feel good at the same time,” Tayson said.
“That’s the good feeling that comes from helping someone else,” Dad said. “I’m proud of you.”
Tayson was wet and cold from the hard, damp work, but Dad’s words warmed him all the way down to his toes.

I ran the soup kitchen at the Food and Care Coalition in Provo, Utah, for 11 years. We encouraged our patrons to help us when they could. One man, Mike (name has been changed), had been living in his car for about four years. He always volunteered to help, and I appreciated everything he did for me.
It was the Christmas season, and I wanted to show my appreciation, so I gave him a Christmas card with a short message expressing my thanks and a book of tickets to the dollar-movie theater that was close by. Mike was overwhelmed. He thanked me several times and said he couldn’t remember the last time he had received a present from anyone.
This happened at about noon on Christmas Eve. After dinner that evening, Mike came to me and apologized for having given away two of the movie tickets. I told him they were his, and he could do whatever he wanted with them. He said, “Well, this lady was sitting across from me at dinner. I’d never seen her before, but she told me it was her birthday and she hadn’t received any presents. So I gave her one of the tickets.”
“Then, there was a man sitting by me,” Mike continued. “We got to talking. I found out he was leaving on the bus tonight, but it didn’t leave until 11:00 p.m., and he had nowhere to wait until it came. I gave him one of the tickets so he could go in where it was warm and watch a movie.”
I was so teary eyed and choked up that I could hardly tell him what a generous and Christlike thing he had done.

Later he served in the Ecuador Guayaquil Mission. Just three months into his mission, while serving as branch president in the town of Jipijapa, he mourned with branch members and others after an 11-year-old boy drowned while participating in a Church activity.
As he pleaded with Heavenly Father in the weeks and months that followed, he gained an unshakable testimony of the plan of salvation. He also witnessed the Lord’s compassion as others in the community embraced the gospel. Together they came to understand the sacred nature of life and the power of the Lord’s grace.

All morning the low black clouds hovered over the valley, and the air was hot and still. Up in the hayloft Sarah pitched the sweet-smelling hay over the oak beam and down to the barn floor, where her sister, Amy, scattered it around for fresh bedding when the cows came in for their evening milking. Sarah was twelve, and she and Amy, who was two years younger, did most of the barn chores. They also helped their father with the cows’ care and milking.
Each time Sarah pitched a forkful of hay she’d call, “Look out below!” Then she’d catch a glimpse of Amy’s freckled face grinning up at her.
And Amy would always shout back, “If I had a penny for every time I’ve heard you say that, I’d be rich by now!”
Sarah laughed and brushed at a trickle of sweat that ran down her cheek, then stopped to scoop up her long blond hair and tie it back with a piece of baling twine. She felt uneasy as she glanced out the open loft door and saw lightning flash on the distant horizon in the direction of the city where her parents had gone that morning to shop.
She leaned out the door, her gray eyes searching for her father’s familiar green truck. A dark mass of low-moving clouds was gathering over the valley, and a new sound filled the air. Sarah looked out at the heavy rain that had begun to fall. The once-quiet river had become a gushing torrent of muddy water. She busied herself by stacking the smaller bales of hay to save her father any extra work. As she stacked, she could hear the thunder overhead and the rain pounding on the tin roof. She pushed the last bale into place and sat down to wipe her sweaty face.
A sudden cry from Amy sent her scurrying down the ladder. There was a look of alarm on her sister’s face as she pointed at the river. The churning water was rapidly overrunning the riverbank. Sarah’s heart pounded with fear as she remembered another time when a flash flood had swamped the entire valley.
Sarah tried to be calm as she turned to Amy and said, “We’d better hurry to the house. Mom and Dad should be coming back soon.”
The sudden sharp ring of the telephone startled the girls a few minutes later. Sarah ran to answer it. Against the crackling sound of static, a faint voice asked, “Sarah, are you and Amy all right?”
Sarah clutched the receiver tightly and replied, “Dad! Where are you? We’re having a terrible storm!”
The calm, controlled voice of their father gave the frightened girl some assurance as he replied, “Sarah, we can’t make it home tonight. Everyone in town is moving to higher ground, and all the roads are underwater. In another hour it will hit the valley. You should have enough time to get over the bridge to open the lower pasture gate and herd the cows up to the barn. But hurry!” Another burst of static followed, and she barely heard the last fading words before the line went dead, “Sarah, don’t go near Sam. He’ll be wild and dangerous with fright. …”
For a moment Sarah stood still with fear as she uttered one word, “Sam!” She had forgotten about her father’s prize bull and how much she feared the huge animal. Only that morning her father had led Sam down to the edge of the river and had chained him to an iron stake.
Amy tugged at Sarah’s arm and looked at her sister’s frightened face. “What’s wrong, Sarah?”
The older girl tried to keep her voice from trembling. “Amy, we have to work fast. Mom and Dad can’t make it home tonight. The roads are underwater. We have to bring the cows up from the lower pasture before the bridge is washed away. I’ll run down to open the gate and herd them across. You stay ahead to lead them into the barn.”
Sarah had barely finished her instructions before Amy was running toward the barn to unlatch the big sliding doors. Sarah braced herself against the sharp wind and cutting rain as she ran across the bridge and opened the gate where the restless cows were jammed together. The animals pushed excitedly over the stone bridge as floating debris began to wash over the top. Sarah shooed and waved her arms wildly as the last drenched animal crossed over. She caught a glimpse of Amy running ahead, her little figure dwarfed by the frightened herd that followed her into the barn.
The breathless girls sank down onto a bale of hay, water rolling down their faces and their wet clothes clinging to them. The barn was filled with the sounds of the animals’ heavy breathing and the crunching of hay beneath their hooves as they began to settle down.
Amy brushed the hair off her forehead and said, “We made it! We got them all back safely.”
Sarah stood up and walked to the open door, shaking her head sadly. “No, Amy, not all of them.” She saw Sam’s huge black form struggling against the wild current of the river. And he was unable to free himself from the chain that kept him staked to the ground.
Amy walked over to her sister, and for a long moment she watched the river rising up to the frightened animal’s chest. As though reading Sarah’s thoughts, she protested, “You know Dad said not to go near him.”
The girls watched Sam finally stop struggling, bowing his great head as though he had resigned himself to his fate. Amy’s eyes filled with tears. “Poor Sam!” she whispered.
Desperate thoughts and her father’s warning combined in Sarah’s mind. Suddenly a glimmer of hope lit up her eyes. She cried out, “Look Amy! A big log has washed up against the bridge, and it goes clear over next to Sam! I could crawl along the top of it and open the lock on Sam’s chain. I know I can do it!”
Sarah turned toward Amy, took her gently by the shoulders, and looked into her tear-streaked face. “I have to try to free him, Amy, or at least give him a chance to save himself!”
Amy’s trembling lips uttered one word, “Yes.”
Sarah reached for the key that hung on a chain over Sam’s pen, put it around her neck, and ran out into the howling storm. “Open his pen, Amy!” she shouted. “Then go up to the loft and stay there till I get back!”
Sarah raced down the path toward the log and started to shinny across it, clinging desperately with both hands and feet. As the water pounded against her, Sarah was barely able to stay on the log. Slowly she inched across it until she reached Sam. The animal seemed numb with fear as she tried to turn the key in the lock. Each time she reached out, the fierce current almost swept her away. But at last, with a final tug, the lock sprung open and the chain dropped into the water.
Above the roar of the river she shouted, “Swim, Sam! Swim!”
Slowly the waterlogged animal turned his shaggy head and looked at the girl through half-closed eyes.
Sarah was making her way back across the bobbing log when suddenly something whammed into it and whirled it around until one end lodged on the shore not far from the gravel path. Sarah was pitched ashore, where she lay stunned. Then slowly she raised her head and looked around for Sam.
He was still standing in the same place, not realizing that he was free. “Sam! Come on, boy!” she shouted, scrambling to her feet. “Swim!”
Slowly the dazed animal turned his head and realized the restraining chain was gone. With a ponderous movement he swung his heavy body around and began making his way across the river. Floating debris slammed into his sides, and the waves lashed at him. But at each onslaught, he reared his powerful neck to meet the river’s torrent. Sam’s massive strength kept him plowing straight toward Sarah who was still gasping for breath.
She trembled anew at the sight of the huge animal rising up out of the water, his wild black eyes fixed on her. And when a loud clap of thunder struck close by, he let out a bellow that swelled his sides and shook the ground.
The frightened girl was surprised at her own calm voice as she called, “Steady, boy! We’ll make it now.”
The bull, unbelievably docile now, lowered his head and kept a steady pace beside her as she made a beeline for the barn. Quickly she swung the pen gate shut and pushed the bolt safely into place. Then she sank down weakly on the dry hay, every muscle and bone in her body aching. From the loft she heard Amy whisper, “Is it safe to come down, now?”
Sarah looked up at her sister and managed a smile. “Yes, Amy. We made it. We saved Sam.”
They watched the bull toss the hay around, picking out the tender stems. When he raised his head, a pile of hay was perched on top with some of it sticking out of his ears. He looked so comical that both girls burst out laughing.
With the busy sound of the munching animals settling around them, the girls slipped out of the barn and trudged up to the house.
Sarah lit the kerosene lamp, and a cheery glow filled the room. Silently, the girls struggled out of their wet clothes and wrapped themselves in warm robes. Curled up in the comforting armchairs, they were soon sound asleep.
Bright sunlight streamed through the window, and the sound of a blaring horn brought Sarah to her feet as Amy rubbed her sleepy eyes. The girls rushed to the window to see their father’s truck splashing across the bridge over the ebbing river. The storm had ended.
Their worried parents called out, “Sarah! Amy!”
Both girls rushed into their parents’ open arms. Sarah then noticed her father’s anxious look in the direction of where Sam had been tethered.
With a suppressed smile, she said, “Come out to the barn, Dad. We want to show you something.”
Amy danced ahead. “Yes, we have a surprise for you.”
When they slid the barn door open, their father stood speechless at the sight that greeted him. Sam was contentedly pacing back and forth in his pen. And the impatient cows, waiting to be milked, seemed relieved that their owner was here to look after them.
The look on her father’s face filled Sarah’s heart with an unequaled joy. “We’ll tell you the whole story,” she promised. “But we’re too hungry right now.”
Father put his arms around both of his daughters. And as they walked back to the house, he said, with a twinkle in his eye, “I’ll bet your mom is making a special breakfast for two hungry and very brave girls right now. I’ll race you to the kitchen!”

I would like to tell you an event in my life which I think typifies what is going through my mind and has gone through my mind the last few weeks. The event started with a phone call from a Mr. Marion T. Romney. My secretary came to me in a meeting, and she said, “A Marion T. Romney wants to talk to you.”
I said, “I think that’s Marion G. Romney.”
“He said you would leave this meeting if I told you that he was calling you.”
I said, “He’s right.”
I think my secretary would like to have told his secretary that I would call back. But I went to the phone, and Brother Romney asked me five questions. He asked me if I would go on a mission; he asked me if I was worthy; he was concerned about my 17-year-old son, my finances, and my health.
I will tell you this, something I learned long ago: It is a question of free agency. On any one of those five questions, had I had to give a no I would have lost my free agency. I was financially able, I was morally able, and I knew the law of consecration and what it meant; and I appreciated the opportunity.
I called my wife immediately afterward and then went home. I talked with my wife, as Elder L. Tom Perry talked with his wife. We have married similar spirits. She has followed me all over the world. We have moved 15 times. She has learned two languages, brought up our children, and has always supported me.
I remember one time after coming back from an international trip. I had been gone for some time. My wife sat down on the arm of the chair, and I put my head on her shoulder. It was near the end of the month, and she asked me if I had completed my home teaching. I will be honest; I had other things in mind. But I went and did my home teaching. That is her training. So it was; I was beginning to learn the law of consecration.
A few weeks later the phone rang again. This time it was a man whom I have greatly admired—Brother Arthur Haycock. I spoke to him briefly; and then, the prophet’s voice—distinctive, clear, the clarion call.
“Brother Hales, do you mind if we change your mission?”
I had thought I was going to the London England Mission. But I figured someone else would have that call, and I said, “I will be glad to go to whatever place you send me.”
He said, “Do you mind if we change it to Salt Lake City?”
And I said, “No, that will be fine, President.”
“Do you mind if it is little bit longer than three years?”
“However long you want it, President.”
“We would like a lifetime of service.”
The past 20 years swept before me. I felt like the man who had fallen off a precipice, who was grabbing on to a limb which was giving way slowly, and who cried fervently in a prayer, “Save me!” And as he looked down to the rocks far below, a voice came clear and strong: “Let go, and you will be protected.” At that, the man looked up in the air again and said, “Is somebody else up there?”
The call was clear. I had to let go of everything that I had known and what I had been striving for in my life to become an Assistant to the Twelve.
I have learned from Joseph Fielding Smith, and have talked to young people, about the law of consecration. It is not one particular event; it is a lifetime, day by day, in which we all strive to do our best that we might live honorable lives, that we might live the best we can in the service of others, as President Joseph Fielding Smith talked about—not as his grandfather, Hyrum Smith, gave his life when he was with the Prophet, but giving our lives each day.
With that, the prophet talked to my wife. We held each other in our arms and said nothing, and we knew that we had and that we would dedicate and consecrate our lives to that mission, whatever it might be, in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We asked our questions which Elder Ashton taught us: “Why me?” And that is past us.
I will say this: It is not in death or in one event that we give our lives, but in every day as we are asked to do it.
In the Regional Representative work, I have been able, over the past five years, to have the hardening of the steel—to watch and work with these men who have been called as special witnesses of God, that they might know and teach and train the priesthood holders with whom they deal.
Do you realize that these men have revelation every Sunday when a stake is formed? As a Regional Representative assisting and kneeling in prayer with them as they give voice through the Spirit, one is able to participate in knowing that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that we have a prophet of God who is here this day, and that we have special witnesses who will lead and guide us, if we will but listen to their voice.
I ask the Lord in prayer that I might be able to be an example to help lift others, as these men have been over the years. My 17-year-old son said to me, “Dad, do you think, really, you will ever be like them?”
He said it in a little nicer way, but I thought of my life which I dedicate and give and consecrate, that I might be an instrument in His hand, working under the direction of all the General Authorities and asking their help that we might work as one.
I dedicate my life and service, and as Paul declared in First Corinthians, “And my speech and preaching was not with enticing words of man’s wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power:
“That your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God.” (1 Cor. 2:4–5.)
I ask the Lord’s blessings upon all those who have made this day possible for me: my Primary and Sunday School teachers; a mother and father who are truly “goodly parents,” who have taught me and who have been an example for my whole life; my brother and sister have always been examples for me to follow with their faith and service in the Church; my wife and my boys—my son on a mission, Stephen, and David, who is here in Salt Lake with me now. They are a great strength to me.
I ask the Lord’s blessings, that I might be one in purpose with the Twelve and with all the General Authorities, and with you, my brothers and sisters; and I say to the priesthood holders that any one of you could be here this day. One cannot ask the question “Why me?” and dwell on it. But I will do as the prophet has said, to put behind me my past life and dedicate and consecrate all my time, talents, and efforts to His work. And I say this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

We sustain Gordon B. Hinckley as the President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and as the prophet, seer, and revelator of the Church in our time. A letter which I received from a proud father tells of an experience with his then five-year-old son and of the boy’s love for the President of the Church and desire to follow his example.
The father wrote: “When Christopher was five years old, he would get ready for church on Sundays mostly by himself. On one particular Sunday, he decided that he wanted to wear a suit and tie, which to that point he had never done. He scoured the closet on his own for a hand-me-down tie and produced a rather used clip-on one that he didn’t need to create a knot for. He attached the tie to his white shirt, then capped it off with the small navy jacket that had hung for years in his closet.
“On his own, he went into the bathroom and painstakingly combed his blond hair to perfection. About that time, I came into the bathroom to finish getting ready myself. I found Christopher beaming at himself in the mirror. Without taking his eyes off his reflection, he proclaimed proudly, ‘Look, Papa—Christopher B. Hinckley!’”
A boy had been watching a prophet of the Lord.

As I have thought of this October general conference and of the inspired talks we have heard and will hear, my mind has gone back to the events of this same first Sunday of October 135 years ago when a similar meeting was convened here on Temple Square.
We did not have this great Tabernacle at that time. Our people then met in the Old Tabernacle, which stood just to the south of us. It was Sunday, October 5, 1856. On Saturday, the day before, a small group of missionaries returning from England arrived in the valley. They had been able to make relatively good time because their teams were strong and their wagons light. Franklin D. Richards was their leader. They immediately sought out President Brigham Young. They told him that hundreds of men, women, and children were scattered along the trail that led from the Missouri River to the Salt Lake Valley. Most of them were pulling handcarts, two companies of these, with two smaller companies following behind with ox teams and wagons. The first group was probably at this time in the area of Scotts Bluff, more than four hundred miles from their destination, with the others behind them. It was October, and they would be trapped in the snows of winter and perish unless help was sent.
Brigham Young had known nothing of this. There was, of course, at that time no rapid means of communication—no radio, no telegraph, no fast mail. He was then fifty-five years of age. The next morning, the Sabbath, he stood before the people in the Tabernacle and said:
“I will now give this people the subject and the text for the Elders who may speak. … It is this. On the 5th day of October, 1856, many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. The text will be, ‘to get them here.’ …
“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess. It is to save the people. …
“I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor until the next day, for 60 good mule teams and 12 or 15 wagons. I do not want to send oxen. I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them. Also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams. …
“I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the Celestial Kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains” (quoted in LeRoy R. Hafen and Ann W. Hafen, Handcarts to Zion [Glendale, Calif.: Arthur H. Clark Co., 1960], pp. 120–21).
The next morning anvils were ringing in the blacksmith shops as horses were shod and wagons were repaired and loaded.
The following morning, Tuesday, October 7th, “sixteen good four-mule teams and twenty-seven hardy young men headed eastward with the first installment of provisions. The gathering of more to follow, was pushed vigorously” (Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 124).
“By the end of October, two hundred and fifty teams were on the road to give relief” (Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 125).
There have been many eloquent sermons preached from the pulpits on Temple Square, but none more eloquent than those spoken in that October conference of 135 years ago.

In the following months, Robert struggled to find and keep work due to uncertain economic conditions. He considered emigrating with his family. In January 1855, his mind was set: “I have been six weeks out of work, and we expect to emigrate this season for we are heartily sick of this land.” A month later, Robert was still out of work. The Hazen family, now resolved to emigrate and sold their furniture. They looked forward to “Gather with God’s people this year”. However, they still didn’t have enough money. Robert had been without work for over three months; what could they do to pay for passage to the United States of America?
The difference was made up by Robert’s elderly mother-in-law, also a member of the Church, who sold her house and joined them on the journey to Zion. On 25 March 1855, a small group of the Newcastle Saints set off for Liverpool on the first step of their journey. Ultimately, Robert and his family arrived safely in the United States of America and eventually made their way to join the Saints in Utah.

Elder Shumway, age 62, is the son of Wilford Jennings Shumway and Mabel Whiting Shumway. He was born on 8 May 1940 and grew up in Saint Johns, Arizona, where he first met Dixie Ann Jarvis. Their parents were close friends, and the two casually dated during high school. When Elder Shumway returned from a mission to Uruguay, her parents encouraged her to give the good family friend a chance. She did, and they were married in the Mesa Arizona Temple in 1963. They have 8 children and 20 grandchildren.

At church, Trent heard about some families that needed help for Christmas. They didn’t have money to buy presents. Trent wanted to help them have a happy Christmas! He wanted to help them, like Jesus would.
When they got home from church, Trent told Mom his idea. “I want to make a box. All of us can put a little money in it. Then we can give the money to people who need it.”
“I think that’s a great idea!” Mom said.
Trent wrapped an empty shoebox in bright paper. He cut a hole in the lid. Then he dropped in three coins. Plunk, plunk, plunk. It wasn’t very much, but it was all he had.
Then his brother and sister put in their coins too. Now they had more coins.
That night Trent prayed that Heavenly Father could help him buy presents for the other families. He wanted to help lots of people.
The next day, Trent’s aunt came to visit. He told her his plan. She wanted to help too! She dropped some coins in the Christmas box.
Soon friends and neighbors learned about Trent’s Christmas box. Each one said, “I can give a little too.” They handed Trent jars of coins they had saved up. Trent and his family were so happy. Trent loved adding the coins to the box.
Finally the box was full. It was heavy. Mom said there was enough money to help four families! Trent’s eyes got big. Heavenly Father had helped him. And now Trent could help lots of people. Together, everyone’s little coins made a big difference!

The original dedication of the Suva Fiji Temple on June 18, 2000, was also remarkable. As the temple neared completion, members of parliament were taken hostage by a group of rebels. Downtown Suva, Fiji, was looted and burned. The military declared martial law.
As the Area President, I went with the four stake presidents in Fiji and met the military leaders at the Queen Elizabeth barracks. After we explained the proposed dedication, they were supportive but concerned about the safety of President Gordon B. Hinckley. They recommended a small dedication with no events outside the temple, like the cornerstone ceremony. They emphasized that anyone outside the temple could be a potential target for violence.
President Hinckley approved one small dedicatory session with just the new temple presidency and a few local leaders; no others were invited because of the danger. However, he emphatically stated, “If we do dedicate the temple, we will have the cornerstone ceremony because Jesus Christ is the chief cornerstone, and this is His Church.”
When we actually went outside for the cornerstone ceremony, there were no nonmembers, children, media, or others present. But a faithful prophet demonstrated his courageous and unwavering commitment to the Savior.
Later President Hinckley, speaking of the Savior, said: “There is none to equal Him. There never has been. There never will be. Thanks be to God for the gift of His Beloved Son, who gave His life that we might live and who is the chief, immovable cornerstone of our faith and His Church.”

Tina and her family went back to Orem, Utah, to see the little house where she lived as a child. “When we moved into that little house, the yard was run-down and full of weeds. We had to clear all the weeds and the rocks before we could plant lawn. It was the nicest lawn, and everyone came to play there. When we went back, we found it had all gone to weeds again. I was so sad. I remember how hard I worked.”

A reporter for the Washington Post visited one of our Church meetings in Nigeria. The reporter interviewed one new member and told of his conversion. The reporter states:
“[He] said … he jumped off a city bus and walked into the [LDS Church building]. … He immediately liked what he heard inside [the chapel], especially that no one preached that people of other faiths were going to hell.”28 This echoes the feeling of numerous converts to the Church since its organization.

Romaine, 17, and his teammates on the top A-1 basketball team from the church college are well known nationally in New Zealand. The school had won the national schoolboy basketball championship five years in a row—until last year. Romaine doesn’t like to talk about it, but that year the team came in third. They had the painful experience of having to come back to school and explain the loss. They didn’t want to go through that again. The team was determined to regain the top spot. And they did.

The A-1 boys’ and the girls’ basketball teams both took first in the national basketball tournaments held last August.

“Playing in the tournaments,” says Romaine, “we really stood out because we were Mormons. Other teams used to think we were funny because we didn’t use foul language, but still we could make them laugh.” Because they are known as the team to beat, other teams are always up for their games against church college. “Everyone has their best games against us.”

Gaining a Testimony
Brad Barber, 14, Farragut Ward
It was about two years ago, and our family was driving home from Utah. I was talking to my mom. I had heard a bunch of people say that they had this burning feeling and they knew the Church was true. I told her that I had never felt anything like that. I asked her if I was too young to have something like that happen. She said I wasn’t too young. That night at the motel, when I was getting ready for bed, I prayed real hard about it. I asked the Lord if the Church was really true and if it was the right place for me to be. As soon as I was done, I felt that feeling that I had always heard about in sacrament meeting. I felt a warmness and happiness that said, “Everything’s okay.” It was peacefulness. I’ve heard it called a burning inside your chest. I guess that’s what it feels like. It makes you feel at ease with everything.