Gospel Story Finder

For the past few years I have had the privilege of home teaching with an ordained teacher part of the time and a priest with whom I am teaching at the present time. They make the appointments and take their turn in presenting and leading the discussions. The other day my home teaching companion called me and said that the head of one of the families we visit was in the hospital and suggested that we go to see him. We did and blessed him.

Over 450 young men and women from four states gathered on the campus of the University of Wisconsin in Whitewater, Wisconsin, for a special youth conference. Three days of activities were planned to help young people and chaperons build friendships and testimonies.
Working with the theme “In His Steps,” the youth committee included both fun activities and workshops to help each participant have a positive experience. The careful preparation paid off. Attendance was good, and many testimonies were strengthened and shared. One girl from northern Michigan summed up her reaction: “It was the best conference I’ve ever attended. I’m the only Mormon in my high school, and it’s been great to be here with people you can talk to. I’m going back home a better person.”

What I mean when I say Jesus meant his presence to be felt in the intimate circle of each of our families may be depicted in the lives of two sisters, friends of ours, who live in two widely separated stakes. One sister married out of the Church. She had hoped to convert her husband and then be married and sealed in the temple. She had developed one of the most lovely and spiritual personalities. Her husband, however, has never caught the spirit nor acknowledged the truth of the gospel and has been a passive influence in the religious life of his family. Nevertheless, this sister set a beautiful example for her family and drew the children to accompany her in the performance of their church duties and responsibilities. She and the children, despite what could have been a ready excuse for neglect and indifference, exemplified the admonition of Jesus when he said, “Let your light so shine before men, that [others] may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” (Matt. 5:16.)

The second sister married a fine man who was a faithful Latter-day Saint. As the years sped by, they carelessly omitted what they had at first intended conscientiously to do—worship together in the name of Jesus that he might be in the midst of their family activities. Although always admiring the Church and its principles, they had forgotten that they were now in fact the salt of the earth that had “lost its savor.” (Matt. 5:13.)

In a conversation about their children, the second sister said to the first, “Why have your children turned out so well and why are they so active in the Church despite the fact that you married out of the Church?” The first sister replied, “I took my children with me to Sunday School and sacrament meeting.” Surprised, the second sister said, “I sent mine.” And the first sister answered with greater emphasis, “But I took mine!” Hers was a case, as Jesus said, of “where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them,” and this can be true for all of us wherever we may be, at home or elsewhere.

Many times we magnify our callings individually, quietly, without fanfare. I’m thinking of an elders quorum president, Kirk Barnett of Las Vegas. Visiting a hospital early one morning, he was impressed to ask if any other LDS were there. He was told of an elderly grandmother awaiting her first surgery for a brain hemorrhage. She had no family or friends present, no one to encourage her. She was terrified! President Barnett sat with her for two hours. His hand was white from her strong grip. She said she loved him at least twenty times.

This brief statement has been with me for many years. When I was 15 years old, I found it in the first issue of the Liahona to ever come into my hands. The name of the article was “Please Bless Kathy” (see Tambuli, September 1990, 44). I still remember that article well because of the role it played in my conversion to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
When I was in high school, three of my friends and I were expelled from school for a week. At that time I had a friend named Isabel, whom I had long considered one of my best friends. But now she had become my worst enemy and the person I held responsible for all the problems Mukuy, Janet, Juana, and I were having. It all started when Isabel spread some rumors behind our backs. She criticized us and made comments about me and my friends.
Because of her betrayal and our response to it, we were always arguing and fighting. The teachers in our school in Lerdo de Tejada, México, had to call us to order repeatedly. Things got so bad we were eventually punished with a five-day expulsion.
During those five days, I couldn’t stop thinking about how Isabel had treated us and how she had brought this upon us. As I thought about how much she had hurt me, I felt great anger and resentment against her.
One afternoon I decided to go to my friend Rosi’s house. Rosi had recently been baptized into a church I knew as the Mormon Church. For some time now, she had been inviting me over to talk about the things she believed in. She had even read to me out of a book she called the Book of Mormon.
This time Rosi invited me to attend church with her, and I felt a genuine interest in learning more. She gave me a copy of the Liahona (Spanish), and I promised her I would take time to read it.
But I didn’t read the magazine until some days later. My mind was too occupied with my resentment toward Isabel. When at last I began, I thumbed through the pages and found an article that caught my attention. The article was about a girl my own age who had gone through something similar to what I was going through with Isabel. She had experienced the same feelings of hatred and bitterness. The only difference between that girl and me was that I was sure I wouldn’t be able to do what she did. I believed I would never be able to stop feeling the way I felt toward Isabel. I believed I would never be able to forgive her. And there was no way I would ever be able to pray for my enemy as the author of that article had.
I kept thinking about the article in the Liahona. Finding a story about something so similar to my own experience seemed strange to me. It never entered my mind to put into practice the idea of praying for my enemy. It might have worked for that girl, but I was sure it wouldn’t work for me. My feelings wouldn’t change.
The next Sunday I went to church with Rosi. I had almost succeeded in not thinking about the article anymore. But as I listened to the sacrament meeting talks, I started to think about it more intensely. For the rest of the day I found it impossible to stop thinking about it. Pray for your enemies, echoed in my mind.
That Sunday night, without even thinking about it, I started to pray. I prayed just as the girl in the article had—just as Jesus taught in the Sermon on the Mount. I prayed for Isabel, and with each word I uttered, I felt my heart beat louder and I couldn’t stop the tears.
When I finished my prayer, I was surprised at what I had done. But I also felt sure that when I saw Isabel the next day, I would still hate her and wouldn’t be able to remember what I had prayed for that night. My feelings wouldn’t have changed.
When I went back to school on Monday, my friends were waiting for me at the front door so we could plan our revenge. We had to do something to hurt Isabel and make her feel as bad as she had made us feel. She had to be taught a lesson.
But when I saw Isabel that morning, I no longer saw an enemy. I no longer saw a person I hated. Instead I saw my old friend. And I saw myself praying the night before. With tears in my eyes I wondered, How can I think about hurting her when last night I was asking God to bless her? And then I realized I was the one who had been taught a lesson. I had learned for myself the wisdom of the counsel to pray for our enemies.
Isabel and I became friends again as we had been before. My Heavenly Father answered my prayer and helped me change the bitterness and hatred in my heart. He helped me transform those feelings into feelings of love.
This experience has always been very special to me; it is the way the gospel of Jesus Christ came into my life.

I started kindergarten at age four, which was a little bit early. I wanted to go because my friends were starting. I had one friend who was 11 months older than I was, and I had other friends who had birthdays throughout the year before me. My parents didn’t know if I should start that young or not, but I wanted to.
The people at the school didn’t know if I should start that early, either. At that time, I couldn’t even say my name correctly. I was pronouncing it “Wynn Gwant Wobbins.” When my mother took me to school, they said, “Well, he can’t even say his name correctly.” Then I said, “Lynn Grant Robbins,” as clearly as I should have, and they let me in.

Let me illustrate with a personal and treasured experience. For many years my assignments took me into that part of Germany which was behind what was called the Iron Curtain. Under Communist control, those who lived in that area of Germany had lost nearly all of their freedoms. Activities of youth were restricted; all actions were monitored.

Shortly after I assumed my responsibilities for that area, I attended a most uplifting conference held in that part of Germany. Following the inspirational songs and the spoken word, I felt the impression to meet briefly outside of the old building with the precious teenage youth. They were relatively few in number but listened to every word I spoke. They had hungered for the word and encouragement of an Apostle of the Lord.

Prior to attending the conference, before leaving the United States, I felt the prompting to buy three cartons of chewing gum. I purchased three flavors: Doublemint, Spearmint, and Juicy Fruit. Now, as the gathering of the youth was concluded, I distributed carefully to each youth two sticks of gum—something they had never before tasted. They received the gift with joy.

The years went by. I returned to Dresden—the site of our earlier conference. Now we had chapels; now the people had freedom. They had a temple. Germany was no longer separated by political boundaries but had become one nation. The youth were now adults with children of their own.

Following a large and inspirational conference, a mother and her daughter sought me out to speak to me. The daughter, who was about your age and who spoke some English, said to me, “President Monson, do you remember long ago holding a brief gathering of youth following a district conference, where you gave to each boy and each girl two sticks of chewing gum?”

I responded, “Oh, yes, I surely do remember.”

She continued, “My mother was one to whom you gave that gift. She told me that she rationed in little pieces one stick of gum. She mentioned how sweet to the taste it was and so precious to her.” Then, under the approving smile of her dear mother, she handed to me a small box. As I opened the lid of the box, there I beheld the other stick of gum, still with its wrapper after nearly 20 years. And then she said, “My mother and I want you to have this,” she said.

The tears flowed; embraces followed.

The mother then spoke to me: “Before you came to our conference so many years ago, I had prayed to my Heavenly Father to know that He indeed cared about me. I saved that gift so that I might remember and teach my daughter that Heavenly Father does hear our prayers.”

I hold before you tonight that gift—even a symbol of faith and assurance of the heavenly help our Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, will provide you.

Heeding the call to gather to Zion, he and Martha emigrated to Utah in 1926. Martha found employment sewing men’s dress shirts at $7.50 a week, and Walter worked in a mattress manufacturing plant at $20 a week. In 1929 they founded the Stover Bedding and Mattress Company.
As his business flourished, Walter became known for his generosity and compassion. He gave freely of his worldly goods and of himself. He does not like these acts of kindness to be spoken of, but many burdens were lifted and many lives brightened by his caring.

“How did I get stuck with such a duck!” San Fai muttered in frustration.
As usual, the duck was upside down in the rice pond. Wiggling above the water’s surface was the duck’s red-feathered rump. Underneath the water, his long neck and beak searched eagerly for a better minnow to swallow than the last one.
San Fai’s seventeen plain brown ducks had swum obediently to the edge of the rice paddies the moment he’d held up his pole topped with a few bits of colored cloth. Each afternoon hundreds of brown ducks had waddled out of the rice fields as farmers waved homemade flagpoles. Every duck knew its own flag.
Now the sun was sinking low over the green rice fields, and there was only one duck left in the middle of the paddies—the duck with the red rump was still bottom up in the muddy water! San Fai lowered his head in embarrassment as farmers carrying their poles filed down the dirt lane. Their ducks marched like little armies behind them. The boy looked at his own seventeen quacking ducks. San Fai’s family was poor; his “army” was small, indeed.
“It looks like Red Wiggle is still out there, as usual,” guffawed one farmer as he passed by. “I’ve never seen such a duck. You’d think he’d drown, with his head underwater all the time.”
“I guess I’d better go round him up,” mumbled San Fai.
“If I were you, I’d just leave him there,” the farmer twitted the boy. “He isn’t worth the bother. That bird doesn’t have a bit of sense.”
“I wouldn’t leave Red Wiggle even if I had as many ducks as he does,” San Fai murmured to himself as the farmer strode on, followed by nearly a hundred ducks.
San Fai shrunk down as another farmer, Chan Sou, marched toward him with a legion of ducks. Chan Sou was the richest of all the rice farmers. He was also a bully, and all the other farmers avoided him. As he came near, Chan Sou poked San Fai and chortled, “Why don’t you give up rice farming. All you do is chase that funny duck of yours. He doesn’t know which way is up and which way is down.” Chan Sou cackled with laughter, and he and his ducks strutted on down the lane.
San Fai sloshed down the muddy row of rice toward Red Wiggle. Sometimes he was tempted to let the duck stay in the rice field. Yet whenever he left his other, obedient, brown ducks in the lane to go after his unruly duck, San Fai felt like the shepherd in Jesus’ parable that his mother read to him from the book of Luke.* If that shepherd could leave ninety-nine sheep to search for one sheep, San Fai could not abandon one duck in the rice paddy.
The next day was the hottest in many weeks. Sweat poured down San Fai’s face as he leaned on a stick and weeded expertly between the rice stocks with his limber toes. Even the mud and water crawling up his legs didn’t alleviate the heat. And the ducks, which usually paddled tirelessly through the rice paddies, seemed listless today. Some farmers had umbrellas to shield themselves from the hot sun, but San Fai always let his mother use their family’s only umbrella.
San Fai was relieved when the sun began setting over the vast fields of rice. He waded to the edge of the rice paddy and pulled his homemade flag out of the ground to signal his ducks. Soon he was surrounded by quacking ducks. He counted them routinely under his breath. “… seventeen, eighteen—they’re all here!” Then he looked again. There was no red duck among all the brown ones. There were eighteen ducks, but Red Wiggle was not one of them. He wondered where the extra duck had come from.
As the boy squinted across the rice paddies into the orange sun, trying to spot his duck, he heard a gruff voice behind him. It was Chan Sou. “There’s no use looking for your red bird. You’re not going to find him. While I was plowing in the far field today, your duck was tail up, as usual, and my water buffalo kicked him. Now you’re rid of him for good.”
San Fai’s eyes bulged with anger. He gritted his teeth and wanted to hit Chan Sou. He tried to tell himself that it was just an accident, but he knew that Chan Sou could have done something to avoid it. He knew, too, that Chan Sou didn’t care if Red Wiggle was dead.
All the way home, with his flock of ducks parading behind him, San Fai wished that he could still see Red Wiggle upside down in the rice paddies. He would never complain again if only he could wade out to get the unruly duck each evening. …
When San Fai reached his family’s dusty yard, the mud-washed pig grunted in disgust as the noisy ducks waddled past him. One duck paused in confusion. San Fai looked down at it. He winced as he recognized whom this stray duck belonged to. Now he remembered counting eighteen all-brown ducks.
San Fai fiddled with the bowl of rice his mother set before him at dinner. She said, “I know that you’re sad about Red Wiggle, but you need your rice to keep healthy.”
San Fai gulped down a few mouthfuls of rice, then stood up. “I have to go to Chan Sou’s tonight. One of his ducks strayed home with ours, and I must take it back.” He hoped that his mother would say that he shouldn’t bother, that Chan Sou would never miss one duck. But his mother didn’t say a word.
When San Fai knocked on Chan Sou’s door, he nervously removed the wiggling duck from a bag. Chan Sou opened the door a few inches and peered out. “What do you want?” He growled.
San Fai stammered, “One—one of your ducks strayed home with mine. I brought it back.”
“Umpf,” grunted Chan Sou. “I thought that I didn’t have all my ducks when I came home tonight. Are you sure that you didn’t lure this duck home with you to replace that worthless duck of yours?”
“No, sir!” San Fai replied indignantly.
“Well, set him down. He’ll wander back in with the rest of my ducks. Just don’t let it happen again!” Chan Sou slammed the door.
San Fai walked dejectedly home in the moonlight. His mother was waiting at the door for him. San Fai cast his eyes down and neither said anything for a few minutes. They listened to the pig grunting and the chickens clucking in their sleep.
San Fai shuffled uneasily. “You know, Mother, as I was walking over there, I was secretly hoping that he would say that I might keep the duck, that he had more ducks than he knew what to do with. I thought that since I was doing the right thing, Heavenly Father would bless me for it that way.”
His mother smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad that you did the right thing and took the duck back. Eventually we are always blessed for everything that we do right. But we should never look for a reward. Think about Jesus’ parable of the lost sheep. Sometimes they don’t come back. But at least we know that we’ve done our best and that we’ve done what is right.”
She took his arm and pushed him toward the little pond by the shed. “Now, I want to show you something. You know that duck, Lily, that we’ve been wishing would lay eggs for so long. Well, she’s finally done it. Maybe some of them will hatch. And who knows,” she said with a wink,” maybe one of the ducklings will have red tail feathers.”

Jedediah M. Grant, who knew the Prophet well, underscored this point when he declared that Joseph Smith preached against the “superabundant stock of sanctimoniousness” that characterized contemporary religion. According to Elder Grant, a certain minister, out of curiosity, came to see the Prophet in Nauvoo, and carried this sanctimonious spirit so far that the Prophet finally suggested to the minister that they engage in a little wrestling. The minister was so shocked that he just stood there rigid and dumbfounded, whereupon the Prophet playfully acted as though to put him on the floor and help him get up, and then called attention to the so-called Christian “follies” of the time, the absurdity of the long, solemn, “donkeylike” tone of speaking and acting, and the dangers of excessive piety and fanaticism.5

“I’m going to take out my hearing aids and walk down the hall until I can’t hear you anymore. Let’s see how far I make it!” the Primary president exclaims, signaling me to start. I hit the opening chords of “The Church of Jesus Christ” (Children’s Songbook, 77) on the piano, and a chorus of young voices begins to sing.
When we’re not measuring how loud the Primary kids can sing, we’re singing songs at various speeds and incorporating actions. It’s my first time back in Primary since the day I turned 12, and I can’t believe how full of joy this place is.
A few years ago, I wouldn’t have guessed that playing Primary songs each week would be the main way I used my musical abilities. I’ve trained competitively on the piano and violin for most of my life and believed for a long time that I would always stay heavily involved in music.
But by my later college years, the reality of finishing a degree and holding down a full-time job set in. Rehearsing with orchestras for several hours a week and practicing diligently on my own fell to the bottom of my priority list. I still loved music and tried to sit down at a music stand often enough to retain most of my abilities, but I mostly stopped performing.
Recently, though, I’ve become OK with it. Using my talent for Primary is different from the competitions and stressful performances I used to work so hard for, but in some ways this is better for me. It’s one of the only times I’ve really felt like I’ve been able to use my talents for the good of others.
In the parable of the talents, the master expects his servants to do great things with the talents he gives them. While he doles out different amounts according to their abilities, each servant is ultimately expected to use the talents in a way that increases what they had before (see Matthew 25:15, 21).
I really took this parable to heart when I was young. Although the talents in the parable were sums of money, they can be likened to our personal skills and abilities, and I wanted to work hard to improve myself and multiply the talents that I had. So when life and responsibilities caught up with me as a college student, I often felt bad that I wasn’t doing more with all my music training. I wondered if I was like the fearful man who “hid [his] talent in the earth,” burying it for fear that he’d lose it (Matthew 25:25).
But as I started my new calling, I didn’t get that feeling at all. Although I wasn’t pushing myself the way I used to, I felt joy every time I sat down behind the piano in the corner of the Primary room because I knew I was serving the children.
When Jesus Christ described how the man with the five talents increased his talents, He said that the man “went and traded” (Matthew 25:16). In other words, the man had to share what he had with others in order to improve and increase.
I began to realize that spending my time playing the piano for many restless children every Sunday didn’t mean I wasn’t making the most of my abilities. Playing in Primary was a trade; I provided accompaniment, and I got to witness the wonderful testimonies of the children in my ward. The more time I spend in the corner of the Primary room, the more I truly feel that this opportunity is providing me with an “increase.”
I believe the calling was inspired. It came at a time in my life when I was wrestling with my faith and often felt overwhelmed with life. This calling was a reminder to strengthen my foundation in the gospel and to focus on the simplicity and beauty of eternal truths. I got to strengthen my testimony alongside the children I was serving, which is one of the real purposes of callings.
Callings can be hard; sometimes we’re called to do things that we don’t feel qualified for and that take up a lot of our time. Other times it’s the opposite—we might feel like our calling isn’t fully using our abilities and our efforts would be better directed somewhere else. But the Lord knows how to use our talents in a way that blesses not only the people we’re serving but also ourselves.
As I have learned from my own experience, any effort we make to serve the Lord brings an increase to our own lives. If we consecrate our time and talents to the Lord, He will always use them for our good.
Alison Wood is an editorial intern for the Church magazines. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s often practicing the violin or playing pickleball with her husband. She loves attending the temple and serving as the ward Primary pianist.

I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.
My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.
One moment that will always stand out in my mind was the day I came home from the hospital after I was diagnosed with leukemia. The young women and Relief Society sisters had moved my stuff from the basement into a room on the main floor so I would be closer to my parents and wouldn’t have to use the stairs. They had cleaned and decorated the room to make a great place for me to live while I was sick. My family was the recipient of many other service projects. In the beginning, it was hard for me to accept service. When people would do service for me, it would make me feel like I couldn’t do anything for myself. However, I soon learned that it was OK to ask for help. When I started feeling better, I began looking for opportunities to serve other people more. Now I try to serve as much as I can. I get a good feeling when I serve other people. I have come to realize that by letting other people serve me, I allow them the same good feelings.
I have learned to think more about the future and my choices because I was so close to death. At school, I heard girls complaining about how they were having a “bad hair day.” As I was sitting there in my hot pink wheelchair with a wig on my head, I would think, “Well at least you have hair!” Girls would also complain about their feet hurting from walking around in high heels. I would think to myself, “At least you can walk.” Now I try to focus more on the big picture instead of the small things I used to worry about.
Over the past few years I have learned many other things through the blessings of having leukemia and the complications from chemotherapy. I have become closer to my Heavenly Father. My testimony has grown. And I have learned what is truly important. I have learned to appreciate all of the small things that people do for me. I am now in remission, in less pain, and gradually getting back some of the use of my joints. As I continue to heal, the blessings and learning experiences keep coming.
So why me? Why now? I don’t ask those questions anymore because I grew spiritually during my trials. I have discovered who I really am because the Lord loved me enough to let me experience adversity and the blessings that can come with it.

Alana, 15, sat with her mother, Rachel, scanning a list of goals Alana could work on when Alana’s dad, Jeff, walked by. “Which of these should I do, Dad?” Alana asked.

Jeff looked at his watch, grimacing a little, and glanced at the list. “Um, this one looks easy. How about ‘Memorize a hymn’? You can get that one checked off fast. What else looks easy?”

Jeff paused. Something didn’t feel right, so he took the time to think about what it was.

I’m late, he thought. I just want to get this over with. I’m not very good at this parenting stuff. Hmmm. He looked at his daughter and then realized he felt other feelings too. Hope. Delight. This was not just about checking things off. This was about her growth. And this was a chance to connect with her. A smile spread across his face.

“Let’s stop and think about this,” he said. “What if we each write down what we have felt prompted to work on lately?”

“Um, OK,” said Alana. Rachel found pencils and paper, and they spent a few minutes thinking and writing.

“OK,” said Rachel. “Now what?”

Alana remembered, “I think we’re supposed to pray about it and then choose a goal and make a plan. But Dad, do you really think Heavenly Father cares about what goal I choose?”

Jeff reflected. “You have lots of good ideas, so maybe Heavenly Father just wants you to choose one to start with. But I am absolutely sure of one thing. Heavenly Father cares about you.”

“I know you want to use your gifts to make a difference,” added Rachel, “so if one of these is more important, I’m sure Heavenly Father will help you feel that.”

Alana smiled, then remembered, “President Nelson asked the youth to do a thorough assessment of our lives. Can I go get what I wrote?”

“Sure!” said Jeff, smiling. He looked at his watch again. “Oops, I’ve got to run. Find what you wrote and let’s talk at dinner, OK? I have some questions that might help.”

“Great!” said Alana, smiling. “And, Dad? Mom? Thanks.”

One bright Saturday morning, youth from the Cardiff Wales Stake, with lunches stuffed in backpacks and plenty of enthusiasm for the outing, set off for a special activity to commemorate the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood and to uncover the roots of the gospel in the British Isles.
Those roots run deep—back 160 years—to the time when Wilford Woodruff (1807–98) and Brigham Young (1801–77) walked the roads their bus is now traveling. Both Elder Young and Elder Woodruff, who were members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles at that time, became Presidents of the Church.
Since many teenagers are in one vehicle, the noise level is high as the bus crosses the border from Wales into England. Everyone is talking and having a great time. The youth love being together any chance they get. They love being around friends who share their beliefs.
Charlotte Forward, age 15, of the Cwmbran Ward enjoys being with her friends Kathryn Elliott of the Blackwood Ward and Rachel Griffiths of the Newport-Gwent Ward. They usually get to see each other only at stake activities, and spending all day together is a huge treat. Charlotte says, “Wales is a beautiful place to live. Everyone is so great to be with. We all get along in the stake. I’m something like the seventh generation in the Church. Some of my ancestors emigrated to Utah, but some stayed. Now I seem to have relatives everywhere here.”
The bus pulls into the village of Ledbury. It’s a fairly ordinary country town these days except for the charming old covered outdoor market on the main street. Andrew Dearden, the stake Young Men president, tells the youth that the first missionaries in this area preached in the market square. A few of the young men, who will be serving missions themselves in a few years, get out of the bus and walk under the old roof of the market. Would they have the nerve to stand in that spot and talk about the gospel to the townspeople? How would they react if the crowd did not listen?
Some of the people 160 years ago who heard Wilford Woodruff give a single sermon asked to be baptized. The youth are astounded that the missionaries had such success spreading the gospel. Clive Wilkinson, age 18, who is looking forward to his mission, is awed to think that back then hundreds of people in this area listened to the missionaries and believed.
“It’s amazing that people would be converted by listening to just one talk,” says Clive. “I’m a stake missionary, and when we go out with the missionaries now, it’s nothing like that. We’re lucky to get in the door. It’s amazing that the missionaries back then could come over here with this new religion that no one had heard about and people would have enough faith to believe them and be converted straightaway like that.”
The next two stops are different from each other, but both are mentioned often in Church history. The first stop is the Malvern Hills. This spot is where Wilford Woodruff dedicated the area for the teaching of the gospel. After eating lunch, the youth hike up a trail, leaving the roads and houses behind, to the grassy slopes at the summit. From there they look one direction and can see the county of Herefordshire, England, spread out at their feet. Then they turn toward their homes and can see into Wales.
The second stop is the John Benbow farm. Although the farm itself is privately owned now, the small pond where hundreds of converts were baptized has been purchased and is maintained by the Church. The youth relax on the freshly cut grass and try to imagine the impressive scene when Wilford Woodruff was a missionary here.
Although there isn’t a lot to see except the pond at the Benbow farm, the youth are quiet. The peaceful spirit of the place seems to penetrate every heart. “It feels really special,” says Suzy Taylor of the Blackwood Ward, “to think about those people who have been here before us. It is nice to see where our leaders were talking about.”
The final stop is at the remains of the Gadfield Elm chapel. At the time of their visit, just the rock walls are standing. The roof is gone, and nettles have grown up inside. The chapel was the first building owned by the Church outside the United States. It is easy to imagine what it must have been like 160 years ago, as people walked down the winding country road to the chapel. It is a little more difficult to imagine the power and spirit that must have been there when Wilford Woodruff preached. In one evening people learned the truth, and it changed the course of their lives.
The seeds that were planted then still bloom in the youth who come back to visit the places where such miracles took place. “It’s quite amazing, really,” says Joseph Parry of the Caerphilly Branch. “These places are around us. I’ve always thought of Church history as being in America. It was actually in Britain, too.”

When my family moved to Japan, it was scary moving to a new place and making new friends. On my first day of kindergarten we were doing an art project. We had to trace our hands on paper. I noticed that a boy at my table was having a hard time tracing his hand. I wanted to help him, but I was nervous. Then I remembered that in family scripture study we had been talking about how Jesus loved and served others. I helped the boy trace his hand. It made him happy, and I felt happy too. Heavenly Father blessed me to not be nervous and helped me make a new friend too!

For my English GCSE exam (a qualifying test in specific subjects), I was required to plan and deliver a five-minute presentation on a topic of my choice. I chose to outline the Young Women programme of the Church and some of the standards I keep. I prayed that I would know if this was the right choice, and I felt that this would be the perfect chance for me to share some of my beliefs.
During my presentation I used lots of visual materials and shared the blessings I have received. The class seemed to genuinely enjoy my talk. My teacher also found it interesting and asked questions afterward. Not only did I get the grade I had hoped for, but more importantly, I was able to share the gospel with my friends.

I have a friend who learned this truth in a very personal way. His son was raised in the gospel, but he seemed to be wandering spiritually. He frequently declined opportunities to exercise the priesthood. His parents were disappointed when he declared that he had decided not to serve a mission. My friend prayed earnestly for his son, hoping that he would have a change of heart. Those hopes were dashed when his son announced that he was engaged to be married. The father pleaded with his son to get his patriarchal blessing. The son finally agreed but insisted on visiting the patriarch alone.

When he returned after the blessing, he was very emotional. He took his girlfriend outside, where he could talk to her privately. The father peeked out the window to see the young couple wiping away each other’s tears.

Later the son shared with his father what had happened. With great emotion he explained that during the blessing, he had a glimpse of who he was in the premortal world. He saw how valiant and influential he was in persuading others to follow Christ. Knowing who he really was, how could he not serve a mission?

As a child living in the suburbs of Taipei, Taiwan, I never knew about the missionaries. So the first time I came in contact with them, I was curious about their message. It didn’t take long before I was eager to follow their teachings and put the gospel into practice in my life. I felt that this was a way for me to find out if there really is a God.
Within a month, I had been taught the gospel and the commandments that are taught before baptism. Peace came to me through prayer, I received personal revelation from studying the scriptures, and I never missed a Church meeting. I decided that I should be baptized.
The biggest challenge I faced at that time were problems that had emerged in my relationships with some of my friends because they opposed my involvement with the Church. I prayed a great deal about these problems, but our relationships seemed to only get worse.
I invited my friends to my baptism, but they completely disregarded my invitation. I really did not know what to do. Before my baptism, I sat alone on the sofa in the foyer of the chapel, praying that my friends would miraculously appear so I could tell them about the positive changes I had made in my life and prove to them that I was making the right decision by being baptized.
My friends never showed up, but while I poured my heart out to God, I felt an impression. At that point, I felt great love from my Heavenly Father. I knew that He was there and had truly listened to my prayer.
I originally wanted to be baptized simply because of all the wonderful things happening in my life, but at that moment, I came to understand the purpose of my baptism.
The impression I received was like the voice of the Lord speaking tenderly and directly to me, saying, “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. You just need to prove to me that you are willing to come unto me and stay true to my gospel for the rest of your life.”

In 1920, Brother Marion G. Romney attended a Fremont Stake conference in the Rexburg Tabernacle. My grandfather, Elder Melvin J. Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, was the presiding authority. Because Brother Romney was 23 years of age and the financial circumstances of his family were very difficult, he had not contemplated serving a full-time mission.
Years later, on 15 October 1963, Elder Romney, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, explained his experience: “At the time I graduated, I planned to go in the fall to the University of Idaho. It was my intention to play basketball and football and prepare to be a coach. In late August, I attended a stake conference [and] sat on the front row at the east end of the choir seats directly north of the pulpit. As I listened intently with my eyes fixed on [Elder Ballard’s] profile, there came to me by the power of the Spirit an irresistible urgency to go on a mission. There and then I abandoned my plans for a coaching career. In November I left for a mission to Australia” (address given at a Ricks College devotional, 15 October 1963).
Elder Romney, en route to Australia, came to Salt Lake City, where my grandfather set him apart as a missionary. Grandfather gave Elder Romney counsel and said, among other things, “One never gives a crust to the Lord without receiving a loaf in return” (quoted in F. Burton Howard, Marion G. Romney: His Life and Faith [1988], 66). Marion G. Romney never forgot that phrase.

Jenny Archer, Author When Jenny writes the story of her life for a school assignment, she tells about her birth on the banks of the Amazon. She exposes her great-grandfather as a bloodthirsty pirate. She reveals the dark secrets of Great-Great-Grandmother Buffalo Belle Archer, the notorious stagecoach robber and opera star. And she unmasks Horrible Hortense, her evil twin sister. It is clearly an A+ effort. So why does her teacher send a note home to her parents?