Gospel Story Finder

When Mom read Grandma’s letter, my twin brother, Bryce, and I looked at each other with surprise. “How can Grandma take care of a garden?” I asked, reaching for my milk.
“Grandma has always had a garden, Peg,” Mom answered, smiling and pushing the plate of cookies toward us.
“But, before, Grandpa was there to do the hard work,” Bryce pointed out. “Since he died, Grandma’s been alone. She shouldn’t be out working in the garden.” “But Grandma loves having a garden,” Mom said. “I don’t think anybody could talk her out of it.”
“Then we ought to help her,” I said. “Bryce and I could help. We help Dad in the garden all the time.”
“She lives a long way from us—almost 700 miles. We can’t drive there every time she needs help.”
“So what are we going to do?” Bryce asked. “We can’t just let her do it alone.”
Mom thought for a long time. “You can remember her in your prayers. That’s probably all we can do right now. We’ll visit her this summer. You can help then.”
“But that will be after most of the hard work.”
Bryce and I couldn’t stop worrying about Grandma. The summer before, we had spent three weeks with her and Grandpa and had worked with him in the garden. We knew how hard it was to work in the sun hoeing weeds, keeping the ditches clean, and watering every week. When we said our prayers, we always remembered Grandma and her garden, but we still felt there was something else we ought to do.
The next Saturday, Mom sent us to the store for some milk. On our way home, we passed Mrs. Rogers working in her yard. She was on her hands and knees, digging in her flower bed. She greeted us with her usual big smile. “Out running errands?”
We nodded. “Isn’t it too hot for you to be out working, Mrs. Rogers?” Bryce asked.
“It is warm, but someone has to do the work. Since Mr. Rogers had his operation, he hasn’t been able to do much. In a month or so, he should be well enough to help some. But right now there’s work to do, and I’m the only one who can do it.”
Bryce and I started home. “She’s all alone doing that work,” Bryce muttered. “Maybe we should help her out.”
A few minutes later we were back at Mrs. Rogers’ place. “We came to help,” I announced. “What can we do?”
Mrs. Rogers was surprised. “I haven’t ever had young people stop by to help out. What would you like to do?”
“Anything you need. You tell us what to do, and we’ll get it done.”
“Usually, working in a garden or a yard is hard, boring work, but that Saturday Bryce and I had the best time. The sun was hot, the sweat ran down our faces, our backs ached from pulling weeds, and Bryce and I both got blisters. But we had fun working with Mrs. Rogers.
It was late afternoon when we finally quit. She tried to pay us. “No, thank you,” I told her. “We didn’t do this for money. Taking money would ruin everything. We just wanted to help you out.”
Before she let us go, though, she fixed a huge pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and put a pile of soft, chewy brownies on a plate for us. We rested and feasted on the goodies.
For the next three weeks, Bryce and I stopped by Mrs. Rogers’ place often. Sometimes the only thing Mrs. Rogers had for us to do was carry the trash can out to the curb, but we still checked on her. We kept her flower bed and garden weeded, mowed the lawn, and helped trim the shrubs along the front of the house.
“I don’t know what we would have done without your help this summer,” Mr. Rogers said one afternoon as we were getting ready to leave. He had hobbled out into the front yard and sat in a lawn chair. “After my operation, I told Mrs. Rogers that we ought to just forget the garden and yard this year.” He shook his head and smiled. “She wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Usually we’re not crazy about working in the yard and stuff,” Bryce admitted, shrugging, “but this reminds us of working for our grandma.”
That evening as we were finishing dinner, Morn announced, “A letter came from Grandma today.”
“What did she say?” I asked, excited.
“How’s her garden?” Bryce wanted to know.
Mom smiled. “I think your prayers have been answered.”
“How?” I questioned.
“A family down the street from her knew that she needed help, so they decided to make that a family project. At least once a week they go there and lend her a hand.”
Bryce looked across the table at me and grinned. “Maybe we prayed that family over to Grandma’s garden.”
“You could be right,” Mom said, nodding, “and I think that maybe someone someplace else has been praying for their Grandpa and Grandma Rogers. Maybe they prayed the two of you over to Mrs. Rogers’ garden.”
“Is that how Heavenly Father works?” I asked.
Mom smiled. “When he has work to do, he often sends people like the two of you to do it. Doesn’t it make you feel good to know that you could be an answer to a prayer?”
Bryce and I thought about that. “Well, Peg,” Bryce said with a grin, “we’d better get to bed early tonight so that maybe we can help someone else tomorrow.”

I have been flying many kinds of aircraft for the last 30 years, both in the United States and in Latin American countries. Not too long ago when I had returned to the States after an absence of some years, a very dear friend offered me the use of his new, twin-engine Cessna. It just happened to be one of my favorite aircraft. It not only had the special, powerful engines with turbo-superchargers that could take it up to very high altitudes, but it had all the radios, all the electronic navigational aids, the transponder, the distance-measuring equipment, full instruments for all-weather flight, oxygen, and so on, just like the commercial airliners. I couldn’t think of a more enjoyable plane to fly, but with so much equipment (this was a very expensive, sophisticated bird), I reluctantly passed up the chance, saying, “Someday we’ll go to Mexico together.”
A few months passed, and every time I saw my friend he offered his plane again, but I never felt I should accept, even though the offer was very sincere. Then one day my friend brought to my office a set of keys and a pilot’s manual as evidence that he really would be pleased if I would use his beautiful aircraft sometime. The keys in my hand generated an overwhelming desire to go down to Mexico to my favorite spot for deep-sea fishing. Unfortunately Jack couldn’t go the days I had free but assured me that I should go alone. We discussed my qualifications of being covered under his insurance policy, and it turned out that I needed a check ride with a qualified inspector as it had been some time since I had flown that particular type of plane.
The arrangements were made, and I met the inspector at the side of the airplane at the appointed hour with my licenses from the USA, Argentina, Paraguay, and Ecuador, and logbooks showing flights in Cessna 310s across jungles, mountains, deserts, international boundaries, etc. He smiled calmly but was unimpressed and said, “I’ve heard about you, and I have no doubt about how much flying you have done, but I have to assume that those flights were when nothing went wrong. Now let’s fire up this bird and see how well you fly it when everything goes wrong!”
For the next hour he made everything go wrong! He simulated every emergency he could think of. He turned things off that should have been on. He turned things on that should have been off. He tried to create disorientation or panic. He really wanted to know how well I could fly when everything did go wrong! In the end he climbed out, signed my logbook, and announced, “You’re okay. I’d let my wife and kids fly with you.” I took that as being a great compliment.

In 1901, he was called to open and preside over a mission in Japan, and he was given one year to prepare and put his affairs in order prior to his departure. At that time, Heber was still recovering from financial difficulties. After the meeting in which he was given the assignment, a fellow Apostle told him that the President of the Church would never have given him the assignment if he had known of his difficult financial situation. Elder Grant agreed. And at that moment, he put himself completely in the hands of the Lord. Every morning, he prayed: “Please help me today to do something to help me get out of debt.” Within the year’s time, all of his creditors had been paid. He was not only completely out of debt, but also had sufficient means to sustain himself in the mission field.

Ouch! Have you ever been attacked by a jumping cactus? Cholla cactus segments “jump” off to stick to clothes, skin, or whatever else they can hook their spines into.
The Latter-day Saint youth of New Mexico know how difficult it is to detach themselves from a prickly cactus. They got some extra practice, though, as they cleaned the site where the Albuquerque New Mexico Temple will be built. Armed with shovels, rakes, and gloves, youth from four stakes assembled on a hot Saturday morning to rid the property of sagebrush, garbage, and cholla, so the weeds could be mowed and the ground made safe to walk on for those attending the temple’s groundbreaking ceremony.
“It was hard work, but it will be totally worth it for the temple to come,” says Robyn Sampson, age 15.
Before the city of Albuquerque approved the plans for the temple, the youth fasted and prayed for a solution to the problems the temple’s project manager faced when he presented the plans to city officials. Now they say they are fasting and praying for the temple builders. But the prayers and the cleanup are only part of the work the young people of Albuquerque are doing to prepare for the temple. They are also working to make certain their own lives are clean.
Despite the burrs on their socks and an occasional scare from a snake or lizard, the Albuquerque youth succeeded in clearing the future temple site of every spiny cactus and broken bottle they could find. It might seem strange, but the youth actually enjoyed pulling cactuses and loading trucks with sagebrush.
“We’re so happy we will have a temple here. We thought it would never happen,” says Rosalie Campbell, age 12.
Amber Chee, age 17, looks forward to doing baptisms for the dead and someday getting married in the Albuquerque temple. “It was really fun coming here. I felt the Spirit,” she says.
Both Rosalie and Amber have done baptisms for the dead before, but opportunities for temple trips come only once a year for the Albuquerque youth, who have had to travel at least eight hours to get to a temple.
“Temples were always a faraway thing,” says Neil Peterson. As 16-year-old Neil wipes his brow, he says he enjoys helping out with something so important, even if it is hard work.
Besides concentrating on the cactus plants, Michelle Williams is thinking about what it will mean to have a temple in her area and about why she is cleaning up the temple site. “It’s very symbolic,” she says. “You have to be clean yourself to go to the temple.”
Logan King is waiting for his call as a full-time missionary. He won’t be able to go to the Albuquerque temple before his mission, but he realizes the importance of being worthy to attend the temple. “We need to clean all the cactuses out of our lives before we can go to the temple,” he says.
Researching family history is another way the Albuquerque youth are preparing for the temple. Many of them have become excited about doing family history, knowing they will soon have a temple in their area. Albuquerque’s family history center missionaries, Sister Wilcox and Sister Hatfield, say the temple will strengthen the youth. Among the large number of young people in the area, they have seen a “big push for genealogy.”
Sarah Sego, age 17, loves doing baptisms for the dead and can’t wait for the temple to be built so she can do baptisms more often. “I know it’s the right thing to do, because all those people are waiting,” she says.
Sarah is eager to tell others why she loves going to the temple. She talks to her friends about the temple and even tactfully shared her testimony of temple work with her high school class.
Sarah is not alone in her missionary efforts. Many Church members are enjoying the opportunity to explain the gospel to others because of the temple.
“I think the temple will make people notice us more,” says Lisa Willis, age 14. She’s also been telling her friends about the temple. “The best part of building a temple is having people ask about it,” she says.
Albuquerque’s full-time missionaries were also working hard at the cleanup. They say members in the area feel that the temple will bring many blessings to all the people of Albuquerque.
“While tracting, we stopped by a house and a woman opened the door and said, ‘Hey, I heard you are building one of those temples.’ That allowed us to get in the door and talk to her about the Church,” says Elder Moyer from California. Many missionaries have similar stories.
The temple will be built in a valley where it can be seen from far away. In fact, it’s the same valley the Mormon Battalion came through on its famous march from the Missouri River to California.
At the groundbreaking ceremony, many young people who had been at the cleanup also sang in the youth chorus. The strains of “High on the Mountain Top” (Hymns, number 5) rang out over the crowd of thousands that had gathered to see the temple ground dedicated.
“We all joined together to celebrate our temple,” says Tyler Lindsey, age 16. “I knew that it was right and the ground was holy. I don’t know how we sounded, but the Spirit was there.”
The Spirit is there. The spirit of service, of missionary work, and of love can be felt strongly in Albuquerque. Whether pulling cactuses or doing baptisms for the dead, the youth of Albuquerque are carrying out the Lord’s work with His Spirit to help them. The youth don’t know yet all the ways the temple will change their lives, but they are grateful to have been able to take a small part in the temple-building project. They are looking forward to the temple’s dedication in the year 2000 and to even greater blessings and opportunities to come.

Approximately 18 months ago, in the fall of 2017, my 64-year-old brother Mike informed me that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He also told me that he had received a priesthood blessing from his home teacher and that he had met with his bishop. He later texted me a picture of the Oakland California Temple taken from the hospital where he was receiving treatment, with the caption “Look what I can see from my hospital room.”
I was as surprised by his comments about home teachers, priesthood blessings, bishops, and temples as I was about the cancer. You see, Mike, a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, hadn’t regularly attended church for close to 50 years.
As a family, we were almost as intrigued with his spiritual progress as we were with his progress in fighting the cancer, largely because of his now frequent questions about the Book of Mormon, the sealing power, and life after death. As the months passed and the cancer spread, a need for additional and more specialized treatment eventually brought Mike to Utah and the Huntsman Cancer Institute.
Shortly after his arrival, Mike was visited by John Holbrook, the ward mission leader of the ward that served the care facility where he was now living. John commented that “it was obvious to me that Mike was a son of God” and that they quickly developed a bond and a friendship, which led to John becoming Mike’s de facto ministering brother. There was an immediate invitation to have the missionaries visit, which my brother politely declined, but a month into their friendship, John asked again, explaining to Mike, “I think you’d enjoy hearing the gospel message.” This time the invitation was accepted, leading to meetings with the missionaries, as well as visits with Bishop Jon Sharp, whose conversations eventually led to Mike receiving his patriarchal blessing, 57 years after his baptism.
In early December of last year, following months of procedures, Mike decided to stop the cancer treatments, which were causing severe side effects, and to just let nature take its course. We were informed by his doctor that Mike had approximately three months to live. In the meantime, the gospel questions continued—as did the visits and support of his local priesthood leaders. On our visits with Mike, we often saw an open copy of the Book of Mormon on the bedstand as we discussed the Restoration of the gospel, priesthood keys, temple ordinances, and the eternal nature of man.
By mid-December, with his patriarchal blessing in hand, Mike actually appeared to be gaining strength, and his prognosis of at least another three months seemed likely. We even made plans for him to join us for Christmas, for New Year’s, and beyond. On December 16, I received an unexpected call from Bishop Sharp, who informed me that he and the stake president had interviewed Mike, had found him worthy to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, and asked when I would be available to participate. The ordinance was scheduled for that Friday, December 21.
When the day arrived, my wife, Carol, and I arrived at the care facility and were immediately met in the hallway near his room and informed that Mike had no pulse. We entered the room to find the patriarch, his bishop, and his stake president already waiting—and then Mike opened his eyes. He recognized me and acknowledged that he could hear me and was ready to receive the priesthood. Fifty years after Mike had been ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, I had the privilege, assisted by his local leaders, to confer the Melchizedek Priesthood and ordain my brother to the office of elder. Five hours later, Mike passed away, crossing the veil to meet our parents as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood.
John, who was Mike’s friend, ministering brother, and a former mission president, used to tell his missionaries that “if someone is on a list that says ‘not interested,’ don’t give up. People change.” He then told us, “Mike changed mightily.” John was first a friend, providing frequent encouragement and support—but his ministering didn’t stop at friendly visits. John knew that a minister is more than a friend and that friendship is magnified as we minister.
Knowing that he would soon die, my brother Mike commented, “It’s amazing how pancreatic cancer can make you focus on what’s most important.” Thanks to wonderful men and women who saw a need, did not judge, and ministered like the Savior, it wasn’t too late for Mike. For some, change may come sooner; for others, perhaps beyond the veil. However, we must remember that it is never too late and no one has ever wandered so far from the path that he or she is beyond the reach of the infinite Atonement of Jesus Christ, which is limitless in its duration and scope.

I joined the Church when I was 17 years old. I had been introduced to it through Americans from a military base in my hometown in Germany. There was no German-speaking ward in my area, so I attended church with the Americans at the military base in the little multidenominational army chapel.
One Sunday not long after I was baptized, at the end of the services, the bishop stood up and asked, “Can all the parents with seminary students please remain behind?” He also asked me to join them.
Once these families, the bishop, and I were the only ones remaining in the chapel, the bishop explained that I was eligible to join their seminary class for the next school year. But I attended the local German school, which started over an hour earlier than the American school that all of the youth from the military base attended. In order for me to have enough time to race down the hill to get to my school on time, they would have to move their seminary class to 6:00 a.m., more than an hour earlier than they had been meeting.
The bishop then asked everyone to vote on whether they would be willing to make this sacrifice so that I could join the class. Immediately, all the parents and all the students raised their hands and said yes.
That was quite an impressive moment for me. It taught me a lesson about sacrifice. These young students were willing to personally sacrifice their own comfort—not only for a day or a week but for the whole school year—on behalf of a new convert who otherwise could not have participated in seminary.
I’m still grateful for their sacrifice, realizing how important that one year of seminary (studying the Doctrine and Covenants) was for my early life in the Church. Without seminary I wouldn’t have had much contact with the Church except on Sunday. Daily seminary was a great preparation for a mission. It taught me a lot about discipline, and, of course, it blessed me to no end in my knowledge of the gospel and the scriptures. Ask me all the Doctrine and Covenants scripture mastery verses from back then, and I will still know them. These experiences helped me to draw closer to Heavenly Father and also helped me to deal with the challenges of being the only German-speaking member of the Church in my town.

Let me begin by reading a letter which relates the tragic story of a young man who became entangled in a way of life which led him to violate the most sacred of God’s commandments:
“I know not why I write this letter. Perhaps I grasp at last straws before it’s over or whatever. I seek help, without hope of receiving it. Not because I doubt that the Church is true, but because of my sins. Let me say here, I love my parents and do what I am able to help them, but my strength is going, and what flicker of spiritual life there is left in me spends itself on writing this letter.
“At a very young age,” this young man continues, “I became convinced that my father didn’t love me. It stemmed from an encounter when one evening I went to kiss him good night and he brushed me away. I’m sure he doesn’t remember, and it had no significance to him, but I was devastated: my entire sense of security and my world crumbled into ashes as I stood there.
“Not knowing what else to do, I ran from this new stranger in a panic to my mother and whispered tones to her of my calamity, which she denied, but did not convince me. That night I watched my father as I stood in the shadows of my darkened bedroom. I swore to myself that I would close the door until he sought to open it. I would ignore him until he sought after me.
“He didn’t notice. If he did, he never asked me what was wrong. Well, needless to say, through the next years I went through the motions and rebelled to get his attention, which I got in the form of anger. At any rate, I developed into a homosexual, a vitiating disease, and was soon entrenched in my prison. I didn’t know myself. And I have felt for more years than I can remember that the Lord didn’t love me either. From age seventeen to about twenty-three I began using drugs. …”
Well, you can imagine where his life went from there. This young man closes his letter with these words: “Thank you for your time. Can you help me? Is there reason for me to help myself? Can you convince me? Can you spare the time? I’ve not much left.”
Yes, young man, there is help available to you.
We know that the Lord does love this young man, as he loves all of us. This individual has since been referred through the priesthood to an LDS Social Services agency. Hand in hand, his priesthood leader and his LDS Social Services caseworker will help this brother learn what he didn’t learn at his father’s knee—that the Lord loves him and that the gospel’s plan of repentance and forgiveness is available to all.

I would like to focus on the first trait that describes them: “valiant for courage.” To me, this describes the conviction of these young men to courageously do what is right, or as Alma describes, “to stand as witnesses of God at all times … and in all places.” The 2,000 stripling soldiers had countless moments to demonstrate their courage. Each of you will also have defining moments in your life requiring courage. A friend of mine, John, shared with me one of those moments in his life.
Some years ago, John was accepted at a prestigious Japanese university. He would be part of the international student program with many other top students from around the world. Some enrolled with a hope to deepen their understanding of the culture and language, others viewed it as a stepping-stone to an eventual profession and employment in Japan, but all had left home to study in a foreign country.
Soon after John’s arrival, word of a party to be held on the rooftop of a private residence spread among the foreign student population. That evening, John and two friends made their way to the advertised address.
Following an elevator ride to the top floor of the building, John and his friends navigated the single narrow stairway leading to the rooftop and began mingling with the others. As the night wore on, the atmosphere changed. The noise, music volume, and alcohol amplified, as did John’s uneasiness. Then suddenly someone began organizing the students into a large circle with the intent of sharing marijuana cigarettes. John grimaced and quickly informed his two friends that it was time to leave. Almost in ridicule, one of them replied, “John, this is easy—we’ll just stand in the circle, and when it is our turn, we’ll just pass it along rather than smoke it. That way we won’t have to embarrass ourselves in front of everyone by leaving.” This sounded easy to John, but it did not sound right. He knew he had to announce his intention and act. In a moment he mustered his courage and told them that they could do as they wished, but he was leaving. One friend decided to stay and joined the circle; the other reluctantly followed John down the stairs to board the elevator. Much to their surprise, when the elevator doors opened, Japanese police officers poured out and hurried to ascend the stairs to the rooftop. John and his friend boarded the elevator and departed.
When the police appeared at the top of the stairs, the students quickly threw the illegal drugs off the roof so they wouldn’t be caught. After securing the stairway, however, the officers lined up everyone on the roof and asked each student to extend both hands. The officers then walked down the line, carefully smelling each student’s thumbs and index fingers. All who had held the marijuana, whether they had smoked it or not, were presumed guilty, and there were huge consequences. Almost without exception, the students who had remained on the rooftop were expelled from their respective universities, and those convicted of a crime were likely deported from Japan. Dreams of an education, years of preparation, and the possibility of future employment in Japan were dashed in a moment.
Now let me tell you what happened to these three friends. The friend who stayed on the roof was expelled from the university in Japan to which he had worked so hard to be accepted and was required to return home. The friend who left the party that night with John finished school in Japan and went on to earn degrees from two top-tier universities in the United States. His career took him back to Asia, where he has enjoyed immense professional success. He remains grateful to this day for John’s courageous example. As for John, the consequences in his life have been immeasurable. His time in Japan that year led him to a happy marriage and the subsequent birth of two sons. He has been a very successful businessman and recently became a professor at a Japanese university. Imagine how different his life would have been had he not had the courage to leave the party on that important evening in Japan.

In 1835, Newel traveled to Ohio to help build the temple and to receive temple blessings. At Kirtland, he boarded with his good friends Hyrum and Jerusha Smith. There he met and fell in love with Lydia Goldthwaite Bailey, whose belief in Joseph Smith was equal to his.
A few years previous, Lydia’s husband had deserted her, and both of her children had died, so her family sent her to Canada for a change of scenery. In late 1833, while staying with the Nickerson family, she heard Joseph Smith preach and saw his face “become white and a shining glow seemed to beam from every feature.”3 This witness of the Spirit converted her. She then moved to Kirtland. On 24 November 1835, Joseph Smith performed Newel and Lydia’s wedding at Hyrum Smith’s home. The ceremony was the first marriage performed by the Prophet.4

One case, in particular, touched me. It was about a boy from Mexico who was dying. When my dad went to see the patient, he found the mother by the boy’s bedside, weeping.
“Hola, Señora Garcia,*“ said my father, who had served a Spanish-speaking mission. Startled to hear Spanish, the woman told my dad she had brought her son from Mexico to receive care. They continued to talk, and the woman told my father she was LDS. As the only LDS emergency room doctor at the hospital—and the only one who spoke Spanish—my dad was able to give the boy a blessing of comfort before he died and help the mother with funeral arrangements.

It was in a sacrament meeting that I came to better appreciate the power of a mother’s teaching. A young returned missionary, Clint Jordan, was telling us about his mission and of the variety of experiences he had had in sharing the gospel.
But then he said something that made me more than just a casual listener. “I really wouldn’t have had any of these experiences,” he said, “if my mother hadn’t taught me the real value of prayer.”
He continued, “I can still hear my mother’s voice telling me over and over again, ‘Clint, there’s no reason to be afraid. Whenever you are alone or you begin to feel afraid, remember that your Heavenly Father is always with you.’”
Gathering my children together after the meeting, I could still feel the power of that testimony. A mother’s example, and the example of her son, gave me greater resolve to instill that same understanding of prayer in the hearts of my small children.

Puao and Ataliga Ah Hoy met while they were both single teachers at Sauniatu. After they were married, they decided to go to BYU—Hawaii Campus and get additional schooling. Ataliga said she learned about being a good mother and teaching a family from watching the young people work on the various projects.
“I also learned that you need to check after a project is done. If it isn’t right, do it over,” she said.
Her husband, Puao, said that he learned leadership skills, and once he caught the vision of doing the impossible, he felt he could go away for additional schooling so he could become a better teacher. “I learned that sometimes when the work is very hard, if you make a joke and smile, it seems easier.”
Puao and Ataliga struggled at BYU—Hawaii because they didn’t have much money. “We had learned to sacrifice while at Sauniatu, and the Lord blessed us for it. When we needed money to do our washing, we would visit a pool near the temple. Every time we needed a quarter for the washing machine, it was waiting for us in the pool. Sometimes more was there, but we only took enough to do our washing. When we didn’t need money, we never saw money in the pool. This is one way the Lord helped us,” Puao said.

When I was nine years old, I was the only Mormon student in a very large private Catholic school in Ibadan, Nigeria. It was announced one day that the archbishop of the Ibadan Diocese would be coming to our school, and everyone was very excited. He is a very important person, and he makes such a visit only every four years. Great preparations were made—the school was repainted and decorated with flowers and balloons, the lawn was cut, and we were all reminded that we should look our very best on this special day. On the day of the visit, I woke up two hours earlier than usual just so I could get ready. I was very excited to wear my new school uniform, and I was eager to show it to my brothers and sisters before I left for school.
At eight o’clock, all the teachers and students were waiting when the honored guest arrived. After he greeted us and made a few remarks, he asked, “Who was Saint Martha?” The hall was quiet. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, he asked the question two more times. It was easy to see that the archbishop was disappointed because no one answered his question.
I felt very nervous. I was confused when he asked about Saint Martha, but I felt sure I knew the right answer. I had learned about Martha in Primary, but I was afraid to raise my hand—partly because I belonged to a different church and partly because I was so shy. I had not even talked much to my classmates, and answering this question would mean standing in front of a crowd of more than 1,000 people!
But I remembered how I always stood up in church to bear my testimony, and the Spirit gave me the courage I needed. The next thing I knew, my hand was in the air and I was being called on to answer. I then found myself standing beside the archbishop in front of the largest crowd of people I had ever seen. All eyes seemed to be glued to me. Everyone was waiting for my answer. My legs were shaking as I stated that Martha was the sister of Mary and Lazarus. There was another silence after I answered. Then the archbishop’s expression changed, and he asked me to explain further. I remembered the story from Primary, and I told about Jesus Christ’s visit to Mary and Martha and about how he raised Lazarus from the dead (see Luke 10:38–42 and John 11:20–45).
The archbishop seemed very impressed with my answer and asked for a round of applause for me. He then shook my hand, hugged me, and asked which Catholic church I attended. I explained that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that I learned these things in my church Primary class. He smiled and said, “Gbenga, you have made me very happy today. I am very proud of you, your church, and whoever taught you. Without you, nobody would have answered that question, and I would have been greatly disappointed.” He then rewarded me with a scholarship for my last year at the school. This made me feel very thankful for the Church, my Primary teacher, my family, and the Spirit of God, which directed me.
Since that day, I have been referred to as “scholarship boy.” Every time I hear that phrase, it brings back good memories and reminds me that I should always listen to the promptings of the Spirit.

Photographs courtesy of Sherry LaBoon
A troop of Latter-day Saint Boy Scouts from Georgia, USA, were on their way to a high-adventure campout when they came across a family in need of some extra muscle. A mother, father, and their five kids had been out on a hike when the mom had fallen and broken her leg only five minutes before the Scouts showed up.
The family was a mile and a half away from their car. They were also outside cell phone range. The only solution was to carry the mother back to the car. The Scouts immediately put their own plans on hold to help the family. One of the Scouts had a cot in his car, so two Scouts made the three-mile round-trip run to bring the cot back to the injured mother. The troop members took turns carrying the injured woman over rough terrain for an hour and a half.
The young men don’t believe it was merely chance that they showed up at the right place at the right time. “I know we were supposed to be there,” says Alex J., one of those involved in the rescue. “God put us in that place at that time so we could help her.”

There’s a story told in Argentina that goes something like this: A pack of dogs is standing on a street corner, telling each other the woes and troubles they suffer in their lives as dogs. There is a large number of them, and the conversation is very loud. Suddenly the most observant one lets out a cry: “It’s the dog catcher!” Immediately animals scatter in every direction, as fast as they can go. About two blocks away, one of them stops and says, “Why am I running? I’m a cat!”

One day, I turned to my father for advice. Because of his training as a psychiatrist, I knew he wouldn’t be too critical of his son-in-law. His first words were like a bucket of cold water over me: “Martha, if you continue like this, you could drive your husband away.”

My jaw dropped. “What do you mean by that?” I asked. This wasn’t going at all as I had expected.

He held up his hand to ward off my indignation. “Just let me explain. Not long ago, I counseled a Latter-day Saint woman who had left a basically good marriage. She felt her husband wasn’t living all the Church standards. Years of nagging and pleading hadn’t changed him. She thought that if she left him, he would change his ways in order to win her back. She never suspected that he would find someone else who loved and respected him as he was. He remarried happily after their divorce, and she was devastated.”

The Roberts Idaho Stake Young Women celebrated the 113th anniversary of the organization of the Young Women in an evening of old-fashioned fun with the theme “From Bonnets to Blue Jeans.”
Mothers and daughters were invited. Each one attending was given a bonnet to wear. Mother-and-daughter teams had contests churning butter, challenging each other in a spelling bee, and learning the Virginia Reel to the music of a fiddler.
Each girl had embroidered blocks which were then joined together and made into a quilt. The quilt was presented as a surprise to their recently released stake president as a gift of gratitude.

For a long time, I had not been interested in family history. Why did I need to learn about people who lived so long ago? Yes, they endured a lot, but they did not go through the same challenges that today’s world presents. How could I learn from people whom I simply could not relate to since they lived in an entirely different world?
Then my dad gave a family home evening lesson about one of our ancestors. I expected to be bored, but it was one of the most interesting and informative family nights that we’d had for a long time.
He told us about Edward Ashton, a grandfather several generations back. Edward grew up in England, where the missionaries taught his family the gospel. His father then wanted to move the family to America, so they sailed across the Atlantic to New Orleans. A few years later they moved to Iowa. When Edward grew to be an adult, he trekked to Utah as a member of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. Like the other pioneers in that group, he endured snowstorms and near-starvation on his way to the Salt Lake Valley, but he pressed on in spite of it. Once he got to Utah, he became a missionary himself.
While his hardships weren’t exactly like the things I experience today (since I don’t have to voyage across an ocean or pull a handcart through the snow), I realized that he and his family had to endure trials and challenges just as I do right now. Even though our trials came in different forms, I could see how the Lord helped Edward grow through these experiences. I realized the Lord helps me grow through my trials, too.

In spite of the many negative occurrences in life, there are those who seem to have the knack of seeing the positive side. A young businessman was opening a new branch office, and a friend sent a floral arrangement to help celebrate the occasion. When the friend arrived at the opening, he was appalled to find the wreath bore the inscription “Rest in Peace.” Angry, he later complained to the florist. After apologizing, the florist said, “Look at it this way. Somewhere today a man was buried under a wreath that said, ‘Good luck in your new location.’”

The first time I felt the appeal of family history occurred during the Christmas break of my freshman year at BYU. One evening, as the rest of the family boisterously played a board game in the living room, I found myself seated at the kitchen table with my mom and older sister. The conversation soon turned to relatives, particularly my mother’s dad and his parents.

My great-grandparents, Orla and Roger, died in their 20s, leaving my grandfather and his brother in the care of Roger’s family. After Orla’s death, her father, Robert, died of appendicitis. A short time later, her mother fell, cracked her skull, and suffered several strokes, becoming bedridden. Orla’s oldest sisters, Thelma and Ena, then carried the full burden of supporting the family—a difficult task for two young, unmarried women in the late 1920s.

It was all so fascinating to learn about people I felt connected to but had never met. I was amazed by the trials my family had faced. Hearing it all made my own problems seem so small in comparison.