Gospel Story Finder

Families are the backbone of the Church. They also are important in “Project Hope.” Lynn Curtis of Torrance, California, originated the idea of doing a benefit project for Orthopedic Hospital of Los Angeles, California, when he was studentbody president of Torrance High four years ago. Younger brother Dean has come along to be studentbody president too and has spearheaded the project, which recently netted $15,000. More than 100,000 people attended the super-festival. The entire Torrance High campus was turned into model regional sections of the United States. The state flags were on display, and special features of the areas were erected in miniature, such as a Coney Island hot dog stand, a hula hut, a lighthouse, and a huge mountain range for the Rockies. The carnival drew students together in a great cause, and the townspeople are glad there are Mormon boys to stir up involvement.

You can also be an influence for good, so that the gospel message will shine through your countenance. I recently heard of a young woman who invited a group of her friends to bring their dates to her home after a dance. One couple stopped on the way to pick up a videotape to watch.

As they played it, the group realized it was an R-rated movie. This young woman became disturbed and excused herself to talk to her parents. They reminded her that R-rated movies are not shown in their home and suggested that someone should turn it off. The young woman said she would do it, and she did. Everyone seemed relieved.

This is a simple incident, but it illustrates a point. A young woman who wanted to be good acted on her desires, and a whole group of young people were spared a little bit of evil. Repeated many times over, until it becomes a pattern, such actions can be an influence that will spread through the Church and through society.

Clara and her family had just been baptized. Clara liked going to church together on Sunday.
One Sunday the Primary president said there would be a Primary program soon.
“Can you read a scripture and bear your testimony in the Primary program?” she asked.
Clara nodded. She was excited! But she was nervous too. What if she made a mistake?
Clara practiced her part every night. She didn’t know all the words in the scripture yet.
“You’ll do great,” Mama said.
Clara wasn’t so sure. This was her first Primary program. All the other kids had done this before.
“Remember, if you do your best, Heavenly Father will do the rest,” Papa told her.
The night before the program, Clara prayed for help. She stayed on her knees and thought about her part. She felt good about it.
On Sunday morning Clara prayed that she wouldn’t be scared.
When it was her turn, Clara walked to the front. She messed up one of the words in the scripture. But then she remembered how good she felt after her prayer. She smiled and bore her testimony. She talked about how much she loved Jesus.
Clara smiled as she sat back down. She knew Heavenly Father didn’t care that she didn’t say her part perfectly. He cared what was in her heart.

It was the time of the Korean conflict. A recently returned missionary, I was serving with the Army Signal Corps in Georgia at Camp Gordon. Suffering through basic training with me were fifty other Latter-day Saints, including nine returned missionaries. We promptly requested permission to use the company dayroom for sacrament meeting services; and the captain, once he got over his initial astonishment, not only gave us permission but had the room cleaned and arranged and let us use cups and bread from the army cafeteria for the sacrament.
Between the sand fleas, lack of sleep, assisting with kitchen work, guard duty, and stream of orders, the hour of serenity and spirituality each Sunday was a real pleasure. One Sunday, though, that calm was disturbed a little by the presence of a gruff, non-member sergeant. He had marched a group of LDS recruits over from his barracks and sat down in a chair to wait till the end of the meeting. I can’t say that he paid much attention to the speakers, but he sat stoically through the meeting until he could gather his trainees again. The recruits came by themselves after that.
Soon most of us had forgotten the incident, as within a few weeks we were facing our “graduation” test—three days of field duty and war games. On the second day, the “enemy” attacked our company and captured some of the men. The sergeant who had attended our meeting was reported missing but not captured.
That night, as we were sitting around a small campfire eating our rations, a faint noise alerted us. We dropped the food, grabbed our rifles, and prepared to defend ourselves.
Suddenly a voice beyond the perimeter called, “Do any of you guys know who Joseph Smith was?” We all exchanged looks: the Latter-day Saints didn’t know whether it was a trick or not. The nonmembers didn’t even know what it was. Finally one courageous man yelled back, “we sure do. He was a prophet of God!”
The voice beyond the perimeter yelled exuberantly, “I’m home!” and the sergeant walked out of the darkness to rejoin his outfit.

The view from the top of the mountain should have been breathtaking. But in a whiteout at 12,000 feet (3,600 m) above sea level, the only thing we saw was the faint silhouette of our disoriented guide catching his breath a few feet away. The blizzard winds had obscured our path down the mountainside, while all around us sheer cliffs dropped down to unknown depths. The stinging snow whipped our frozen faces, and the roaring storm muted the question escaping from my friend’s chapped lips: “Which way down?”

Lured by an advertisement placed in the student center at Brigham Young University, my friends and I had signed up for the Mt. Nebo expedition months earlier. The photograph, which featured climbers with crampons and ice picks, promised awe-inspiring scenery and unparalleled adventure. But upon reaching the summit of one of Utah’s tallest mountains, our picturesque fantasy gave way to a terrifying reality. A blind step in the wrong direction could be fatal.

Although the weather forecast had been favorable, the weather was getting worse. Beginning our descent a few yards at a time, neither we nor our guide knew the direction we should take. We trudged through waist-deep snow, searching frantically for some sign of familiarity. The thick whiteness had erased our landmarks, and our tracks made hiking up the slope had vanished. Our hopes of getting off that peak safely were disappearing. It was time to ask the Lord for help.

No vocal prayer could have been heard by mortal ears above the menacing winds that day. With strength expiring and morale turning cold, I offered my silent plea to God: “Please help us down this mountain. Please help us see the way.”

As I opened my eyes on that snowy slope, an unusual calmness filled the frosty air. The sky swirled above us. The clouds had lifted! I gazed heavenward in gratitude to an omnipotent Creator who knows and hears His children.

For 30 seconds, the storm clouds parted. A patch of blue appeared through the thinning mists, and the sun illuminated a fantastic landscape below and the path that would lead us home. Too exhausted to speak, we stood in stunned silence when we saw our location. The slope we had mistakenly descended led to an abrupt dropoff on three sides. We had barely corrected our course when the sky clouded over again.

When Spence McArthur was three years old, his foot and lower leg were mangled in a lawn mower accident. After Spence barely survived the 90-mile drive from his hometown of Lovell, Wyoming, to the hospital in Billings, Montana, Spence’s parents, Susan and Steven, over a period of two years, fasted and prayed often and authorized six surgeries in an effort to save his foot and ankle. But the lower part of Spence’s leg had to be removed.
Missing a foot and ankle, their five-year-old son would have some major obstacles to overcome. They wondered what his future would be. Would he have a normal life? Would he be teased? Would he be able to run? Would he ever walk without crutches? Would he play sports? Would losing his leg ruin his life?
Fast forward. Right now, somewhere in the Argentina Buenos Aires West Mission, Elder McArthur is keeping appointments with investigators, teaching discussions in Spanish, playing basketball with his companions on preparation day, and walking the streets with no sign of a limp, nothing to indicate that one leg is really bright blue fiberglass with stickers all over it.
However, for Spence, serving a mission is only the latest accomplishment in a lifetime of defying the odds and being able to do virtually anything he has tried to do. Before he left on his mission, we talked with Spence.
We talked to Spence’s best friends from high school, his cousin who is the same age and has grown up with him, and his younger sister, Shalane. What are the things Spence cannot do?
Together they tried to create a list. You could see it in their faces. They really were thinking hard. Is there anything Spence cannot do with a prosthetic leg? Finally, Shalane answered for the group. “No,” she said with absolute finality.
In high school Spence excelled at academics. He was valedictorian of his high school graduating class. He never had a B. He was popular with other students and was elected senior class vice president and prom king. He played all the usual sports, plus he was an all-state linebacker on the football team. He was captain of the basketball team, a team that won its first state championship in 10 years.
How about some recreational activities? What about swimming?
“He actually beats me,” said Jake Walker, one of his friends. “He’s fast. And he’s a really good snow skier. Physically he can do anything we can.”
Ashlee Mickelsen, Spence’s cousin and good friend, said, “I can remember when someone once said that Spence was handicapped. I was so shocked. That word just doesn’t apply to Spence.”
Since his friends can’t think of anything he cannot do, we asked Spence and his parents. They also had a hard time thinking of things. After all, this is the guy who danced with his school’s swing choir, worked construction as a summer job, and helped a family move after their home was flooded. Finally, his mother, Susan, remembers that years ago, while in grade school, Spence didn’t jump rope quite as well as the other children. And Spence mentions that he’s not that great on ice skates. Oh, he can skate, but he might need a little more practice.
It’s obvious that no one, not his friends, not his family, not his teachers, not his opponents on sports teams, thinks of Spence as handicapped.
Spence learned determination as a child, racing first on crutches, then on his prosthetic leg, to keep up with his three older brothers and older sister. But, as he grew, he had to face a time when he didn’t want to be different. He didn’t want anyone to know about his leg. He wanted to keep it hidden.
His friends tell a story about something that happened during that time. Jake said, “He lost his leg in a basketball game.”
Steven Hultgren and Stephen Anderson started smiling and began to fill in the details. “Spence used to wear these long socks when we were on the freshman basketball team. We started playing teams from other high schools. No one on the other teams knew he had a prosthetic leg. When Spence was going up for a shot, some kid stepped on his foot right when Spence jumped. He jumped right out of his leg. You should have seen the expression on the other kid’s face. The ref was so surprised he didn’t even blow his whistle.”
Spence continued the story: “Everyone was staring at me. I slipped it back on, and since the referee hadn’t blown his whistle, I took off running down the court. Everyone on my team was rolling with laughter. I was laughing. The kid who was guarding me stepped back, and his eyes were huge. He didn’t know what to think.”
After that, Spence became much less self-conscious. The next time he was fitted for a new leg, his doctor offered him a green one. As Spence explained, “The doctor said that I’ve got something special. I’m like nobody else and I might as well show it off. I don’t think I’ll ever have a skin-colored leg again. Now I like the other colors. I have stickers and everything else on it.”
Even though he seems to have conquered every obstacle in his life, at one time Spence felt his leg would stop him from serving a mission. “I was about 16. I was struggling. I didn’t know if I was going on a mission. I have a fake leg, and I was scared. I thought I’d just rather not go. And I was having trouble with sports. My prosthetic legs were breaking a lot, and things were not good.

“One night, after family home evening, I got a feeling that I needed to read something. I didn’t know what. We have a bunch of Church books up on our shelf. I’d never looked at them before. I pulled out a book by Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone. I started reading it. I got to one story when Elder Featherstone was talking to a kid who didn’t have a leg. He wasn’t going on a mission, but then Elder Featherstone talked to him about it. I put myself into what was happening. The kid came back and told Elder Featherstone that he had a mission call and he was going to go. I just stopped. I realized, ‘That’s me. He’s talking straight to me.’ I set the book down. I had found my answer.”
But that moment was just the beginning of the changes in Spence’s life. For the first time in his life, he started praying on his own. He’d been taught to pray, but up until then, he had only prayed when called on in Sunday School or in his family. “Now I pray all the time in everything, in every sporting event, before every test. I pray for help,” says Spence. “My whole life turned around. Church hadn’t been my main priority, sports were. Now the gospel is the main thing. I have gained even more of a testimony of the Atonement. What Jesus Christ did for me is unbelievable.

“These past couple of years, I’ve been a lot happier. Even people at school can see that I’m a lot happier, a lot friendlier. I talk to everybody. If they say hi to me, I’ll talk to them. I hardly ever get mad anymore. That’s what I try to explain to my friends who aren’t members of the Church. It’s not that we’re out to convert you just to have another member of the Church. We want to make you happier.”
In the end, Spence learned what everyone has to learn for themselves—it doesn’t matter what you have to deal with in this life; if you turn to the Lord, He will listen and guide you in your decisions. And that’s why Spence packed his extra leg and made the commitment to serve the Lord for two years on a mission.
Oh, yes, he finally thought of something he can’t do. Being from Wyoming, it’s a little bit bigger deal to Spence than if he were from somewhere else.
He can’t wear cowboy boots.

An early-morning seminary student, Cameron K. was used to starting his day in a spiritual way. “Seminary gives me that spiritual boost for the day. I wanted to get that boost,” Cameron says. And summer vacation was no exception. When the temple baptistry opened each summer morning at 6:30 a.m., Cameron was there.
Every morning, Tuesday through Saturday, Cameron left his home before 6:00 a.m., his bike lights flashing in the dark as he pedaled the five-mile route to the temple. “The streets were quiet. It felt peaceful,” Cameron says. Since he was riding a single-speed bike, enduring the initial uphill climb was his biggest challenge. “Whenever I would crest the top of the hill, I would start looking to see where the temple was. I was able to see a glimpse of the angel Moroni,” he says. “It helped me focus on the temple.”
While doing baptisms for the dead, Cameron tried to focus on the people. “Sometimes I’d think about a person as I was doing an ordinance for him, trying to feel better connected with him. There were a few times when a certain name would be read for the baptism and I kind of knew that person was happy his work was being done.”
“One time when I was leaving the temple,” says Cameron, “the temple president was at the front door. He reached out to me and said, ‘Thank you for coming.’ It made me really want to come back. It made me realize that it really is a huge work that we do in the temple. It made me want to be even more a part of it.”
By summer’s end, Cameron had made over 40 round trips to the temple, biking over 400 miles.

When President Nelson was asked to perform heart surgery on Elder Spencer W. Kimball, who was then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, he had to exercise faith. The surgery was very risky; Elder Kimball’s heart was weak, and he was old. But President Nelson placed his trust in God and received a blessing from the First Presidency that promised him “that all would go well, and that [he] need not fear for [his] own inadequacies, for [he] had been raised up by the Lord to perform this operation.” The surgery went flawlessly, and President Nelson received a special witness that the person he had just operated on would become the prophet one day—which, about a year later, he did.4
President Nelson performed heart surgery on Elder Spencer W. Kimball.

I own a T-shirt that, for a long time, I never wore. It was one of my favorite shirts, but it lay folded in my dresser drawer. The shirt fit all right, but it was what was written on it that scared me. Just three letters—BYU.
There’s absolutely no reason for me to fear those letters. They stand for Brigham Young University, and I love Brigham Young University. Few people in Florida where I lived had ever heard of BYU. But I felt that if I wore my BYU T-shirt, I’d bump into someone who happened to know what it stood for. “BYU. Oh, that’s a Mormon school. She must be Mormon.” And they’d watch me. “So that’s how Mormons behave.”
That’s when I would panic. I could imagine the thoughts that would arise if I were wearing that shirt and I cut in front of another car. What if I acted rude to a sales clerk or seemed snobby to someone I didn’t know? What would they think?
“Those Mormons. They think they own the world. They’re so stuck up.” Sure, it would be unfair. Just because I’m not on my best behavior doesn’t mean all members of my church are bad. The fact that one LDS person makes headlines for doing something bad doesn’t mean all LDS people are bad, but the people who read the paper don’t stop to think about that. If I’m the only Latter-day Saint the sales clerk ever meets, I’m the standard she’ll use to judge the rest.
The idea was entirely too scary. I didn’t want to be the one who kept another person from investigating the truth because I had provided a poor example. This fear kept my Cougar-blue BYU shirt unworn for a long time.
During that time I tried to muster my courage. I knew the impression I gave while wearing my BYU shirt didn’t have to be a bad one. I could help someone have a favorable impression just as easily as an unfavorable one. Why not try it?
One day I pulled the shirt with the blue and white insignia from my drawer. As I stretched it over my head, a transformation took place. I no longer felt like one more stranger at the mall. I felt like a missionary. I was a different person that day. I waited politely and let others pull in front of me. I smiled and acted friendly to everyone, whether I knew them or not.
I was paying for a dress when a sample of the blessings that come to missionaries came to me. “You went to BYU?” the cashier asked. Before I could answer, she continued, “Me too, but that was four years ago. I married out of the Church when I came home on Christmas break, and I haven’t been back to church since.” We exchanged phone numbers. I wrote down the address of the church and the meeting times, and she promised to look for me on Sunday.
At home that afternoon, I washed my shirt, dried and folded it, and placed it in my drawer on top of the stack. I knew I would wear it again soon.

Bob:
The mission president called me and said, “Hey, I want you to be the second counselor in a branch.” A year and a half later, I was in the sealing room of the Hong Kong China Temple with the branch president I served with. He was going through the temple for the first time! He and his family had saved money and tried seven times to get to the temple, but there would be an accident, or someone would get sick. Something always came up. After seven years, they had saved only 40 dollars.
Three times on our mission, we were able to help Latter-day Saints in Cambodia attend the temple. We took lots of branch presidents who had been doing interviews for temple recommends but had never been to the temple themselves. At least in Cambodia, a senior couple would assist these families on their way to the temple. They need to have someone with them because they don’t know how to fly on a plane. Many haven’t even ridden on a bus! And now they’ve got to fly to Hong Kong and make their way to the temple. It was difficult for them to do that on their own. We are grateful for the Temple Patron Assistance Fund that helped take care of them.
Lori:
Being a member of the Church in Cambodia can be challenging. As a country, Cambodia doesn’t have a Sabbath mentality. Everybody who comes to church has to make sacrifices to be there.
Also, Cambodia is six percent Muslim and only two percent Christian—the rest are Buddhists. Shifting from a Buddhist lifestyle to a Christian lifestyle is very difficult. Some people still lose their jobs, and a lot of times they are shunned by others in the neighborhood.
Tithing is also a big deal. Buddhist monks will come around every morning and ask for rice or some money, and people are used to that. But to take your paycheck and take a slice of that for tithing is a big deal.
Many have had real trauma in their lives. Because of the Khmer Rouge, a communist regime that ruled Cambodia in the late ’70s, everyone over 40 has a personal horror story. I didn’t meet anyone who hadn’t been affected by it. Everyone had family members who were murdered. Even though they’ve been through so much, I couldn’t believe how resilient they were, how willing to try they were. But behind their resilience, many still have low self-esteem. Many don’t feel like they’re important or worth anything.
It was amazing to see how the gospel of Jesus Christ helped them bloom. When they’d find out that they are not only wonderful but also a child of God, they’d say, “You’re kidding? Now I have something to contribute.”
The Church is really going to blossom in Cambodia. Incredible people have been led to the Church. The Saints there are pioneers, and those who really embrace the gospel are blessed in so many ways because they get to know the Savior. It is really amazing.
We have a lot of members and very strong wards around a place called “Trash Mountain,” which is an open dump where people live. Members there are pickers and collectors. They make their money off of recycling plastic and aluminum that they get out of the dump. They live in teeny little houses that we have been to dozens of times.
Bob:
One day we could hear music blaring, and we noticed a tent was being set up. In Cambodia, that either means somebody is getting married or somebody has died.
Lori:
We found out that a mother of five or six kids had just died. There was no husband to speak of. The children just woke up and realized their mom was dead.
One daughter was just sobbing. Through a translator, she said, “I’m the oldest. I’ve got all these siblings. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
I just scooped her up in my arms. How could I not? This girl just lost her mother. I spoke to her in English and said, “I know you don’t understand me, but I promise you will see your mother again. You are going to be OK. You are not going to be left alone.”
So many experiences like this have given us a special connection with the people of Cambodia.
We felt that love back. The people in Cambodia showed us great kindness. We love them because they are children of God. They are our brothers and sisters.
With some people, I remember thinking, “I can’t wait until I see you in the next life, then I’ll really be able to tell you all the things I feel for you and the love I have for you, and what I admire about you, because I can’t say it now.”
Our mission has blessed us in so many ways. Some people say, “I don’t know if I can serve a mission. I can’t leave my grandkids.” We had five little grandsons when we left, ages five, four, three, two, one. Two granddaughters were born while we were gone. I’m going to save two of my Cambodian missionary name tags and give them to my baby girls so they will know that Grandma wasn’t there because Grandma was doing what the Lord needed her to do.
Bob:
There are many ways to serve the Lord as missionaries. We take to heart what Elder Jeffrey R. Holland said about senior missionary service. He said, “I promise you will do things for [your family] in the service of the Lord that, worlds without end, you could never do if you stayed home to hover over them. What greater gift could grandparents give their posterity than to say by deed as well as word, “In this family we serve missions!’ [“We Are All Enlisted,” Liahona, Nov. 2011, 46.]”
“When we found out we were called to serve in the Cambodia Phnom Penh Mission, we wept. We were excited!” Brother Bob Thurston says. “We wouldn’t have picked Cambodia, but what a gift! What a blessing!” Sister Thurston says.
The Thurstons feel a special connection to the people of Cambodia. “We love them, and we have felt that love back,” Sister Thurston says. “People in Cambodia have shown us great kindness.”
Of all the responsibilities the Thurstons had on their mission, they treasure most the opportunity to visit members in their homes.
Sister Thurston remembers looking at those she served in Cambodia and thinking, “I can’t wait until I see you in the next life, then I’ll really be able to tell you all the things I feel for you and the love I have for you.”

“I was excited about going on the Hole-in-the-Rock trip with our stake so I could see for myself the places that have been talked about,” said Cheyenne Johnson. “Walter Joshua and Elizabeth Kinney Stevens, my great-great-grandparents on my father’s side, were newlyweds. That trip was their honeymoon, and I think it must have been more honeymoon than they wanted since it was supposed to last six weeks and it lasted six months.
“Grandpa Stevens drove the first wagon down through the Hole. Also on my mother’s side of the family, great-great-grandparents Benjamin and Sarah Perkins were on that trip. Grandpa Perkins and his brother Hyrum had been miners in Wales and they were responsible for blasting out some of the places where they needed to build roadways down through the Hole. One place known as ‘Uncle Ben’s Dugway,’ was named after Grandpa Perkins. Platte D. Lyman, another great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side, was also on the trip. His wife Adelia stayed in Fillmore to have a baby who was born while the group was at the top of the Hole. He was carried through the Hole-in-the-Rock a few months later. That baby was my great-grandfather, Albert R. Lyman, who later married Mary Ellen Perkins, and they were the first settlers in what is now Blanding. They had 15 children, my grandmother being the 15th. Grandpa always kept a journal and wrote many stories and books. I was anxious to see the country where he had been a cowpuncher and to see his name carved in the rock at Lake Canyon. I felt a special closeness to him there.”

The sheriff began to roll up his whip while he talked. “You know, Bobby, dads are pretty good fellows. They take you on camp-outs, teach you how to play ball, fix your bike tires when they’re flat, tell you stories, and somehow are always around when you need a friend. Most of all, they’re there to set you straight when you get off the right track. If the world’s a good place to live in, it’s because there are lots of good dads.”

The sheriff stopped talking, and I figured he was done. But he wasn’t. He took a deep breath and started tapping his fingers on the desk. “Do you know why your dad and I are such good friends?”

I shook my head.

“My dad died before I was even born. When I was growing up, your dad was the one who fixed my bike, showed me how to play ball, and was around when I needed a friend. He was a dad to me.”

I looked up at the sheriff, and I could see that his eyes were moist and shining. He wasn’t bawling or anything, but shoot, the sheriff’s about the toughest guy around!

Born with a complex congenital heart defect, Jacob is the veteran of three heart surgeries and numerous medical tests, with many more surgeries anticipated. His doctor frequently comes to Idaho, but for Jacob’s surgeries and some tests, we must travel to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City. These trips are often filled with anxiety and worry about Jacob’s health, and we have found that a trip to Temple Square helps calm our nerves and reminds us of Heavenly Father’s plan and of our need to trust in Him.
The night before Jacob’s most recent and most complicated surgery, we took him to the Temple Square visitors’ center, where we sat together looking at that glorious statue of the Savior—the Christus. Peaceful, warm, and safe in a parent’s lap and not wanting to leave, Jacob sat uncharacteristically still and kept asking to stay for “just five more minutes,” until our time there stretched past an hour. When at long last we needed to leave, we all felt at peace and ready to cope with whatever the surgery would bring.

“One cow in our team was very intelligent. In fact, she was so bright that she used to hide in the willows to keep from being yoked up but when father found her and yoked her she was a good worker and a good milker. She got very lame at one time and could scarcely travel. My parents were very much worried, having already lost one. They were afraid they could not keep up with the company, and so Mother said she would make a poultice and put it on as soon as the cow laid down for the night. She made a very large one that covered all over the lame hip. Well, the next morning, when father went to get the cows up he called out, ‘Why, Mother, you have poulticed the wrong hip.’ Mother said, ‘Never mind. It’s all right. It has gone clear through.’ And sure enough she [the cow] limped very little that day, and was soon as well as ever. I know there was a great deal of faith mixed up with that poultice.”

My heart leapt on 7 November 1981 as I received my mission call to serve in the Chile Concepción Mission. When I opened that letter, my world froze in place, and all I could think of was my mission.
I had almost everything ready. Again and again I reviewed the list of things I needed. I made a little mark on the list as I put each item in my suitcase. But even with my careful planning, I completely forgot one essential thing.
It wasn’t until two hours before I was to depart that I realized I needed some money to travel from my home in Quilpué to the Missionary Training Center in Santiago, Chile, which was about two hours away. I had already used all my savings and the funds my parents had given me.
My bishop wasn’t home when I ran to see if he could lend me the money. I didn’t need very much, but at that moment it seemed like a fortune.
I knelt down in my room in anguish and told my Heavenly Father what was happening, although I knew He already knew. When I got up from my knees, I was confident that He was going to help me solve my problem. I was a faithful tithe payer, and I knew the Lord would open the windows of heaven and pour out blessings upon me until there was no room to receive them (see Mal. 3:10).
My mother called to me and asked me to go through my closet and decide which things I wanted to leave there and which my sister could use. While I was sorting my clothes, I found a little purse so small it fit in the palm of my hand. I remembered that I had received it many years ago and that in it I had hidden my first savings.
I opened it and—what a blessing! Tucked neatly inside was some money I had put there many years earlier. It would be enough to pay for two fares to Santiago. I invited my father, who is not a member of the Church, to accompany me to the Missionary Training Center.
The years have passed, but I still remember this answer to my prayer. It has helped me remember how great are the power and mercy of our Father in Heaven.

Joseph’s arms felt as heavy as the scythe he swung through the ripened grain. But within, the awful weight of waiting and wondering if the Lord were displeased with him had lifted. Joseph’s prayers had been answered! At the memory of the angel Moroni’s visit the night before, Joseph’s whole being was filled with joy. The dazzling splendor surrounding Moroni had been brighter than the first blinding rays of the sun gilding Joseph’s father and brothers mowing alongside him in the fields.
As they reached the end of a clean-cut fencerow, Joseph lagged behind. Light-headed from a night without sleep, he struggled against an overwhelming weariness. But nothing, he realized, can dim the glory of the message Moroni brought me. Only—and the thick fan of his eyelashes swept his cheeks—only I am so … tired. For just a moment he rested against his scythe.
Always the watchful big brother, Alvin was quick to observe Joseph’s unusual behavior. He glanced at him anxiously, but without interrupting his own measured stroke. Then his words spurred Joseph on. “If we slacken our hands, Joseph, we won’t finish our work.”
Determined as always to carry his load, Joseph pushed forward through his exhaustion. He cut a few more swaths of grain. Then an overpowering dizziness brought him to a swaying halt.
Father Smith stopped abruptly, letting the sheaf he was binding fall in disarray to the ground. His tone was concerned as he said, “Son, you’d best go back to the house and let your mother doctor you.”
The father watched Joseph make his way slowly toward the wormwood fence and patch of green surrounding their log home. Then he returned to the deft twist and tuck of the binder’s knot.
The sky reflected the sun’s high glare before Joseph retraced his steps and sought out his father. Father Smith finished up the sheaf he was binding, straightened out his lean, long frame, and wiped the sweat from his brow with a homespun sleeve. “Feeling better, Joseph?”
Joseph looked squarely at his father, and when he spoke there was a compelling urgency in his voice. “I have something to tell you, Father. I haven’t been home. I tried to climb over the fence by the apple tree, but I was so weak I fell helpless to the ground. I don’t know how long I lay there, but after a time I heard a voice that pierced my very center, calling, ‘Joseph, Joseph.’” For a moment Joseph seemed unable to continue. Then his voice deepened. “It was an angel surrounded by heavenly light—the same angel Moroni who appeared to me three times last night in my room.” Joseph’s face was luminous, but it was his eyes, blazing blue as the noonday sky, that most reflected the astonishing events he was about to share.
So there in the fields of waving grain, Joseph the son lifted his face to Joseph the father and unfolded all that had happened. The radiant light. The awe-inspiring message. Prophecy fulfilled and yet to come. Gold plates couched in a stone box buried in a nearby hill. Instructions. Warnings. All this thrice impressed and forever emblazoned on his mind and heart. Given yet once more and once more imprinted.
Father Smith listened intently, scarcely breathing. Every word Joseph spoke was carved almost as deeply on the father’s soul as on the son’s. He studied the earnest face of the lad who had once walked bravely on crutches.
Joseph’s gaze swept beyond their log home to the autumn hillside, the newly significant hill of Cumorah. “The angel said to meet him there,” he explained, pointing. “But first I was to come and tell you.”
Joseph had told it all. Now he waited, obedient, on his father, the tall, granite-firm yet gentle man he so loved and respected.
His father’s voice broke a little as he began to speak, but the words were sure and strong. “This is of God, Joseph. You must go and do as the angel commanded.” Father Smith’s fingers tightened on Joseph’s shoulders and a look of love and trust passed between them.
Without a backward glance, Joseph strode southeast toward the hill of Cumorah. He climbed the thickly wooded hill flaunting its autumn finery of scarlet and orange. Near the top he sped like a homing pigeon to the exact place Moroni had shown him in his vision. It seemed as familiar to him as his own dooryard.
With pounding heart, Joseph knelt among the tufted grass, for there lay the large rounded stone. It’s exactly like the one the angel Moroni showed me, he exulted, while his hands pushed the black dirt away from the stone. His eyes searched for a lever. Then he spied a hefty stick with a somewhat flattened end that he inserted under the stone’s edge. Exerting his strength he pried it up, revealing a box made of stones cemented together.
Joseph caught his breath as he saw the glitter of gold plates inside and a strange instrument called the Urim and Thummim and the breastplate. It was just as the angel had said! He was filled with a burning wonder as he looked at the curious markings on the ancient records. He had known they would be there because the angel had told him, but to actually witness them with his own eyes was a stunning and miraculous experience!
As Joseph reached in to lift out the plates, the angel Moroni appeared and reminded him that it was not yet time, nor would it be for four more years. However, he went on to reassure Joseph that in exactly one year he was to meet him here and receive further instructions, and that Joseph was to return each year until the time came to translate the record.
That was not all. As they talked there on the hillside, the heavens were opened to Joseph, and the glory of the Lord shone round about him and rested on him. While he stood gazing, enthralled, the angel said, “Look!” and Joseph beheld a vision of Satan and his followers. He was permitted to see the great contrast between the power of God and the power of Satan, the consequences of both obedience and disobedience to the commandments of God. This was shown him with such clarity and in such a striking manner that it would remain vivid in his memory until the end of his days. Forever after he would be anxious to keep the commandments of God.
Joseph walked away from the hill with a flaming determination to carry out the Lord’s great purposes, to obey implicitly every instruction given by the angel Moroni. And as he looked at the slowly darkening sky he thought, It’s not going to be easy.
After supper that evening Father Smith leaned toward Joseph and speaking gently said, “Can you tell all the family about it, son?”
Joseph looked into the eager, upturned faces and his heart swelled with gratitude. These were his dearest and best friends. They would stand by him with love and loyalty. For them Joseph once more rehearsed all he had told his father in the field that morning, of his finding the golden plates on the Hill Cumorah and of his visit with the angel Moroni.
The deep exultation that moved Joseph called forth an answering joy in each of his loved ones. Tears burned along the edge of Sam’s eyelids and Sophronia saw that many cheeks were wet as she wiped her own. They knew Joseph had spoken the truth without doubt or hesitation or holding back.
Like the rest, Alvin had sat spellbound at the sound of every word from his younger brother’s lips. But sensing that by now Joseph must be totally exhausted, Alvin laid his hand on Joseph’s arm. “Now, brother,” he suggested, “let’s go to bed so we can rise early in the morning and finish our work before sunset.” Alvin nodded in Lucy’s direction. “And if Mother will get our supper early tomorrow, we’ll have a fine long evening while you tell us more of the great things God has revealed to you.”
On the following evening the slanted rays of the setting sun pushed the boys to finish their nightly tasks; while inside Lucy and Sophronia moved skillfully about the big room, setting it to rights after supper.
It was just twilight when the cheery bustle ceased and the entire family—father, mother, and all the children from Alvin down to Baby Lucy—formed a circle around Joseph. It was to be the first of many such evenings.
All were hushed as Joseph began to speak. First he admonished them to keep his experiences within the family circle for the time being. As he went on to recall the astonishing events of the past two days, his eyes glowed with an intense light and his voice rang with sincerity. Even baby Lucy, cuddled on Hyrum’s lap, stared up at her brother Joseph in wide-eyed awe.
So clearly had Moroni shown Joseph what the golden records contained that he was able to describe many exciting and amusing details about the ancient people who had lived in America. The family listened, fascinated, as Joseph told about the strange clothes they wore, how they traveled from place to place, and the animals upon which they rode.
“Did they have horses then?” piped up Catherine. Joseph assured her that they did, and Catherine’s eyes sparkled as Joseph added that these long-ago people owned cows and sheep and even elephants. Joseph then pictured their great cities and the design of their buildings. He knew about their religion and how they worshipped, their forms of government, and how the Nephites and Lamanites fought in fierce battles.
Outside the moon hung high and inside the fire was only a flicker, yet no one wanted to leave the circle. They were all savoring the sweet happiness that warmed them through and through and spilled over to fill every corner of their little home.
Lucy surveyed her brood, gathering them in with one glance. These are my treasures, she mused tenderly, cherishing each one. Then her heart swelled with the thought, God is about to bring to light something to give us a more perfect knowledge of the plan of salvation and redemption of the human family.
And Joseph, her son, had been chosen by the Lord to bring it to pass! (To be continued.)

It seemed the year 1987 would never arrive. This was the year I would turn 18 and be able to serve in the Brazilian Air Force. When I could, I enlisted and dedicated myself entirely to serving my country.
After a Church leader challenged us to share the gospel, I decided to seek out someone who might be interested in the Church. After many frustrating attempts and feeling somewhat discouraged, I was reading the scriptures in my bunk when I noticed another serviceman kneeling in reverent prayer.
I decided to inquire about his religious affiliation. His response was like a ray of sunshine. He told me he had observed my lack of inhibition in praying at mealtime and before bed. He had always had the desire to pray but had never found the courage. Finally, he resolved to do it, even though he didn’t know exactly what he would say in his prayer.
I asked him, “Would you like to learn how to say a prayer?” His response was a very definite yes. That night I taught him in essence the six missionary discussions and bore my testimony. The Spirit testified clearly to the two of us that it was all true.
The weeks passed, and he accepted my invitation to go to church. He began hearing the discussions from the missionaries and participating in ward activities.
One day during lunch, after saying a prayer, he looked into my eyes and said, “I have decided. I want to be baptized.” His words were like the resounding of a cannon in my heart. I was surprised and happy, and he added to that when he said, “And I want you to baptize me.” Then it was too much. Unable to contain my tears, I embraced him, and he said to me, “Thank you, my friend.”
With the passing of time, we sent in our missionary applications, and he actually ended up leaving on a mission before I did. Today we are far from one another, but we have a strong link that will unite us beyond this mortal life. He married in the temple and has a beautiful family.
I am thankful for the inspired leader who challenged me to share the gospel with those around me and to be an example for others.

Benjamin lay back on his bed and put his feet up on the wall. He always did that when he had to think. Today’s problem was the essay Miss Hardgrave had assigned in language arts. He was supposed to write about why his parents had named him Benjamin and share it with the class.
He knew, of course. There was the picture hanging right above his feet: King Benjamin on top of the tower with everyone in tents looking up at him. Benjamin nudged the frame with his toe, and the picture tilted to one side. Usually he liked knowing he was named for a righteous king in the Book of Mormon. But nobody in his school class was going to know who King Benjamin was. Or what the Book of Mormon was, for that matter. One more thing to have to explain.
Lately it seemed like he was always explaining things: why he didn’t play in soccer games on Sunday, why he wouldn’t watch some of the most popular movies, why he hadn’t joined the same Cub Scout den everyone at school belonged to. He kicked the wall, and his door rattled.
Dad opened the door a crack and peeked in. “Aren’t you asleep yet?” he asked.
“Still doing homework.”
Dad came in and sat on the edge of the bed. “Anything I can help you with?”
“What do you know about Benjamin Franklin?”
“Hmm. United States patriot, flew a kite in a thunderstorm, and he was bald.” Dad rubbed his own bald head and smiled. “How’s that? Are you writing a report on him?”
“Well, not exactly,” Benjamin admitted. He looked down and twisted one of the quilt’s yarn ties around his finger. “I have to write about my name.” Benjamin wasn’t looking at Dad, but he felt his steady gaze.
Dad cleared his throat. “I admire Benjamin Franklin, but that’s not who we named you for.” He leaned over and straightened the picture of King Benjamin until the tower was standing straight again. “We named you after King Benjamin because we hoped you’d be like him—bold and fearless and righteous.”
“But, Dad,” Benjamin protested, “I can’t just stand up in front of my class and say I’m named after a Book of Mormon prophet.”
Dad looked surprised. “Why not?”
“This is for school. You’re not supposed to talk about religion in school. It’s illegal.”
Dad smiled. “Maybe it would be illegal for your teacher to preach to you in class, but we’re talking about answering the question she asked. There’s nothing illegal about that.”
“I bet nobody else even goes to church,” Benjamin said.
“You’d be surprised, I think. Besides, remember what King Benjamin said?” Dad pointed to the words printed below the painting. “Mosiah 5:15. ‘Be steadfast and immovable.’ That means you shouldn’t let other people decide who you are. Even at school.”
Dad stood up and kissed Benjamin on the forehead. “You’d better go to sleep soon. It’s late.”
Benjamin went to his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. Above his bed, King Benjamin looked calm and confident. His arm was raised in a grand gesture, and the people were peering out of their tents, all their eyes fastened on him. Benjamin thought about what a hard time his teacher had getting everyone to pay attention sometimes. “I bet even King Benjamin would’ve been nervous in front of my class,” he muttered.
The paper on the desk seemed to stare up at him, still blank. Benjamin could hear his clock ticking. Finally, too tired to think anymore, he started to write. “My name is Benjamin. You’ve all heard of Benjamin Franklin. …” He didn’t have to actually say he was named for Benjamin Franklin. He’d let them draw their own conclusions.
The next morning, Benjamin yawned as he waited with Yusuf and Max for the bell to ring.
“That language arts assignment,” Max complained. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Why?” Yusuf asked.
“My mom got my name from a TV show!” Max leaned against the wall of the school and groaned. “She thought this character named Maximilian was really handsome. She watched the show every day, and when I was born that was the first name that popped into her head.”
“Are you going to tell everyone your name is from a TV show?” Benjamin asked. Explaining you were named for a TV star would be much harder than explaining you were named for someone in the scriptures.
“No.” Max pulled his essay out of the front pocket of his backpack and smoothed out the wrinkles. “I wrote that my mom had heard the name somewhere and liked it. Where did you guys get your names?”
Benjamin leaned over and fidgeted with the zipper on his backpack. He felt uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell his two best friends that he was named for Benjamin Franklin.
Yusuf said, “My name comes from the Koran.”
“What’s the Koran?” Max wanted to know.
“It’s my book of scripture. Like your Bible. There’s a person named Yusuf in it. My parents were going to name me for my grandfather, but he told them to name me Yusuf instead.”
“You’re lucky,” Max said as the bell rang.
Right after taking roll, Miss Hardgrave called on Patricia to read her essay. Her parents had found her name in a name book and liked it because it meant “noble.” Then Maria said that her name was Spanish for Mary, the mother of Jesus, and that her mother had the same name. Yong’s name meant “courageous,” and Jasmine’s parents had liked the way her name sounded.
Now it was Benjamin’s turn. He carried his essay to the front of the room. He was always nervous when he had to speak in front of the class, but today his hands seemed extra sweaty. He leaned against the chalkboard tray and read the first line of his essay to the class: “My name is Benjamin. You’ve all heard of Benjamin Franklin. …” He looked at the rest of what he had written and then looked up at the class. Max was looking at him. Yusuf smiled and nodded. Benjamin wondered if King Benjamin’s hands had gotten sweaty up there on that tower.
He took a deep breath and folded up his paper. “But I’m not really named for Benjamin Franklin. I’m named for a king in the Book of Mormon, one of my books of scripture.” He imagined his friends peering out of tents at him, and he talked a little louder. “Let me tell you about him.”

In the last area of my mission, my companion and I served in two villages located in the interior of the state of São Paulo, Brazil. Between the two villages was a shortcut through the forest we had never taken because we felt it was dangerous and that we weren’t likely to meet anyone there.
One afternoon as we approached the shortcut, the Holy Ghost touched my heart, telling me that we should enter the forest. I looked at Elder Andrade and told him about the impression I had just received. He told me he had felt the same thing.
Shortly after we had started down the unfamiliar trail, we saw a woman walking toward us. The trail was narrow, and as we passed her, we couldn’t help but notice that she was crying.
When she looked up, she invited us to follow her to her home, where we met her husband. Immediately we began teaching the receptive couple the gospel. After a few weeks we invited them to be baptized. We were excited when they readily accepted because it had been a year since the ward’s last baptism. We were grateful we had acted on the prompting to enter the trail that day.
A short time before their baptism, however, the wife said she needed to talk to us. She said that for years she had had a recurring dream. In her dream she found herself waiting in the center of São Paulo. An older man approached her and said two young men were coming to change her life. She would then see two young men approaching, but her dream always ended at that point.
One day a few weeks earlier, she was sweeping the floor in her house when a voice told her that two young men were approaching and that she needed to go at that moment to the shortcut trail, where we had first seen her. Not understanding the prompting but wanting to know the answer to her dream, she dropped her broom and walked to the trail.
As she walked, the images of her dream came to her mind as if in a movie that ended with her finally seeing the faces of the two young men. She also saw that each wore a black name badge. Moments later, she said, Elder Andrade and I appeared before her on the trail. Emotion overtook her, and she could not help but weep.
Today, remembering that sacred experience, I feel the Spirit and again see in my mind the tear-streaked face of that sister who embraced the gospel. Gratefully, my companion and I had the sensitivity and the courage to follow the path the Lord wanted us to take that day.

I always thought we had a strong family. Our three boys and two girls were normal children, and we had normal problems with them. Sometimes when they would act up, I would get angry. Later I would think to myself, “Why did you get so mad at them?”
I didn’t know then that perestroika—a period of political and economic change—was beginning in Russia. I didn’t know that goods would disappear from the shelves of all the stores, that for months and later for years, we would not receive paychecks. Life became very difficult. We had struggles, and my husband and I were on the brink of divorce. There came an epidemic of drug use, and one of our sons got involved. It seemed that the sun didn’t shine in our windows anymore. I didn’t know whom to pray to, but still I asked God for help. We fought with all our strength, and little by little we pulled out of this bog.
In the summer of 1998, missionaries found us. Our lives changed 180 degrees as we headed in a new direction. Within five years we had attended the temple and had been sealed as a family for eternity.
When our middle son served a full-time mission in the Czech Republic, he wrote to us in every letter, “Stay firm and faithful. Together we are the happiest family.” Even my friends would tell me I must be the happiest woman in the world to have so many children and grandchildren and to know I will never be plagued with loneliness.
Looking back, I realize that like the people who heard King Benjamin, our family experienced a mighty change in our hearts, becoming children of Christ (see Mosiah 5:7). It was a huge transformation for me. Before becoming a Latter-day Saint, when I thought about death, an unbearable grief gripped my heart and soul. It took every bit of strength I had to repel those thoughts from me. Now I have peace in my soul.