Gospel Story Finder

How do we develop desires? Few will have the kind of crisis that motivated Aron Ralston,3 but his experience provides a valuable lesson about developing desires. While Ralston was hiking in a remote canyon in southern Utah, an 800-pound (360 kg) rock shifted suddenly and trapped his right arm. For five lonely days he struggled to free himself. When he was about to give up and accept death, he had a vision of a three-year-old boy running toward him and being scooped up with his left arm. Understanding this as a vision of his future son and an assurance that he could still live, Ralston summoned the courage and took drastic action to save his life before his strength ran out. He broke the two bones in his trapped right arm and then used the knife in his multitool to cut off that arm. He then summoned the strength to hike five miles (8 km) for help.4 What an example of the power of an overwhelming desire! When we have a vision of what we can become, our desire and our power to act increase enormously.

I was baptized halfway through my senior year of high school, while preparing to attend Georgetown University. Shortly after I got baptized, some members in my home ward and even the missionaries serving in the area asked if I had thought about serving a mission. I always responded with an emphatic no. How could I teach people about a religion and lifestyle that I was just beginning to adopt myself?
I received my patriarchal blessing a few weeks before moving to Georgetown, and that experience offered a lot of perspective about my future. Prior to joining the Church, I felt that my life always seemed to go as planned, and suddenly that pattern was dramatically disrupted. The content of my patriarchal blessing did not reflect how I had always pictured my life. One of the most immediate truths I took away was the undeniable counsel that I should serve a mission.
Soon I found myself considering, although reluctantly, starting my mission papers.
I understood that it was common for members to receive their temple endowment before entering the mission field, so I started preparing to enter. I knew that one of the changes that would occur in my life would be committing to wear the temple garment. I hadn’t thought much about garments before I started to prepare for the temple, so I didn’t have any preconceived notions about wearing them.
After moving to college, I worked with my bishop and went to institute every week. My institute instructor was kind enough to offer tailored temple preparation instruction for several weeks up until my endowment date. This was a tender mercy, considering that I was away from my home ward and didn’t have any family in the Church to guide me. Eventually I received my mission call to Paraguay, and I was ready to go to the temple for the first time.
Going to the temple felt like returning home. Even putting on garments for the first time felt like the missing piece to a puzzle I was trying to solve. I understood that my covenant to wear the garment was an important step in my spiritual progression, and although this decision is sacred and personal, I made it happily because I knew that the knowledge I would gain about my divinity as a daughter of God was above anything the world could offer me.
After I received my endowment, the biggest adjustment was not in how I felt when wearing garments but in the new wardrobe I had to build up thereafter. I purged a lot of clothes in my closet that wouldn’t cover my garments.
However, making those changes in my life felt right. Because I put in the time to prepare for the temple, the adjustment to my wardrobe was a happy, easy experience. And as I strived to learn more, I deepened my testimony that committing to wear the temple garment is more than just an adjustment in wardrobe—it is a symbol of my devotion to my Savior, Jesus Christ, and my choice to follow Him. It is also a gift—a tangible reminder of my temple covenants and the power, protection, and blessings available to me through the Savior’s atoning sacrifice.
My only expectation going into the temple the day of my endowment was to feel God’s love for me. I was able to feel that in the temple more abundantly than ever, and I was determined to keep my covenants and wear my garments because I never wanted that feeling to go away.
During the loneliest and most treacherous times of my life, my testimony of simple, bedrock gospel principles has nudged me to wear my garments always and intentionally while striving to keep the covenants I made in the temple.
I find great comfort in these words from President Russell M. Nelson:
“Whenever any kind of upheaval occurs in your life, the safest place to be spiritually is living inside your temple covenants!
“Please believe me when I say that when your spiritual foundation is built solidly upon Jesus Christ, you have no need to fear. As you are true to your covenants made in the temple, you will be strengthened by His power. Then, when spiritual earthquakes occur, you will be able to stand strong because your spiritual foundation is solid and immovable.”1
My life has not become easier since joining the Church. In fact, the most trying times of my life occurred after my baptism. However, I know that my knowledge of the restored gospel and the strength from the covenants I made in the temple have made these challenges bearable, and the outcomes would have been drastically different without my faith in Jesus Christ.
It’s challenging to live intentionally as a disciple of Christ when the world seems to be at odds with the standards that I strive to keep. But as President Nelson stated, the best refuge for me is living within my temple covenants, including wearing my garments the way I promised to. And as I continue to do so and stay on the covenant path, I know I will experience joy.

Second, I believe we have not prepared ourselves to be good messengers. The general membership of the Church seems to be in the same position I found myself in as a full-time missionary many years ago. At that time we were given little training to fulfill our responsibilities. As I arrived in the mission field, I was assigned a companion who was also new in the field. He was anxious to be about the work that he had been assigned and called to perform. He encouraged me almost immediately to go door-to-door tracting with him. I will never forget our first door approach. As we started toward the house, I turned to him and asked, “What do I do?” His reply astonished me. He said, “I don’t know. I have never tried this before.” How different is the training of our full-time missionaries we have serving today! We need to be more on a par with them if we are to fulfill our responsibilities as member missionaries.

“Turn on your lights”—Sister Sharon Eubank’s message for October 2017—was the theme of our stake Relief Society activity for this year 2018.
The purpose was to unite sisters, increase their self-­worth, and enlighten their minds toward ministering and temple preparation.
All were excited. The preparations from the stake activity committee began. They started planning, organizing, and assigning sisters for the activity.
We were five wards and one branch, which was a big number to coordinate. Each ward’s sisters were assigned with a topic to present on the day of activity with a skit or presentation.
And these were the topics covered:
Being righteous
Being articulate/different/distinct
Being happy
Preparing for the temple
Being self-reliant
Ministering/the worth of souls
Each ward started preparing for their presentation on the activity day. The long wait came to an end.
?It was a beautiful morning. When the activity began, there were not as many sisters as was expected. However, they began with an opening hymn and prayer. And slowly more sisters started coming in. There was a message from the stake Relief Society president. She displayed different kinds of lights and explained about each light, comparing it with the qualities of the sisters. It was a beautiful message.
Then the actual part of the sisters came. It was time for them to showcase or present their topics.
Each group of sisters came forward and presented their topics in the form of skits. Every one of them had put in a lot of effort to convey the message in a spiritual way and with a little bit of humor.
We all laughed and enjoyed ourselves, but in the end of each presentation, we were touched by the Spirit for the messages they carried about how to be happy always, how to be articulate and different, how to be self-reliant, and how to prepare for the temple.
It was amazing to see how the sisters joined hands together, both young and old, in acting it out. Lastly it was concluded by the testimonies of a few sisters who strengthened ours for their commitment to the gospel.

A boy in my class at school lost his home in a fire. His family was left with nothing and had to live in a hotel room. I felt terrible when I heard about it, so I gathered some of my books and dolls to give to the boy’s four-year-old sister. My mom bought crayons, paper, stickers, and other things for the children. When they saw the gifts, they were very happy, and I never felt happier myself than I did right then. I am so glad to be able to help others as Jesus did, because making others happy makes me even happier.

When I was a newly called counselor in our stake presidency, one of my assignments were the youth. One of the first major activities I helped organize and execute was the Stake Youth Camp. It was held in a campground in Mt. Makiling Los Baños, Laguna in October 2012.
At that time, I have only been a member of the Church for 4 years. Prior to the activity, I never had any experience in camping much more lead a 3-day youth camping activity. On day 1, we were welcomed by unexpected heavy rains.
I was the only member of the stake presidency present that morning. All youth were drenched in rain while setting up their tents. Their lips were purple from the cold when we started our opening exercise. The bishops and youth leaders approached me and with a deep sense of concern for the welfare of the youth asked me what we were to do. I did not have an answer.
I tried my best to call the other members of the stake presidency to counsel with them, but the spotty signal and the heavy rains made it difficult for me to reach them. I was afraid of being judged as an inconsiderate church leader.
I felt the need to seek guidance from the Lord Jesus Christ through prayer. As I was walking around and thinking of possible solutions, I turned my thoughts to Him and asked for guidance and inspiration. I also pleaded for strength for myself and for all the participants of the Youth Camp so we won’t get sick from the rain.
I was impressed to seek the assistance of the campground officer. He said he completely understood our situation and he would allow us to transfer to a covered hall with minimal additional charges. It was an answered prayer.
But challenges were not yet over. All day one plans were scrapped. The entire day was spent moving all of our camping gear from under the rain into the hall. We tried our best to dry all the wet items.
Now, the next question was what were we going to do the following day if the rain did not stop? That evening, all members of the stake presidency were already there. Our stake president decided that if the rain continues, we will cancel the camp and just go back to our homes.
Despite all the difficulty in day one, which we consider as character building experiences, most of the young men and young women still had a lot of fun and wanted to continue the camp. This desire prompted them to kneel down in groups and pray for better weather the following day.
Next day, everyone rose to a very beautiful sunny morning in Mt. Makiling. We were astonished by the power of faithful prayer. We were excited to continue with the activities!
The day two activity for young men was river trekking. They were asked to wear white shirts and neckerchiefs. Since there was a very recent downpour, the river was filled with ankle to knee-high deep water. Young Men leaders were situated in front, in the middle, and at the back of the pack. We were having a great time appreciating the Lord’s creation in the company of fellow priesthood holders.
We began feeling the heat of the sun as proceeded with the trek. Most young men took their neckerchiefs off. Many of them dropped their neckerchiefs just about anywhere. I was prompted to pick up every neckerchief I saw along the riverbank.
After about two hours of trekking, our stake president instructed the leaders in front to start our way out of the riverbanks. Thirty minutes have passed, and we still could not find a safe exit.
Finally, the leaders found an opening, but the climb was quite steep. We tried the suggested route but found out that it was too slippery and that it was almost impossible for us to climb up and out of the riverbank. We figured we needed to hold on to something to pull ourselves up the hill and out. Going back or finding another route was too tedious and was going to take longer. We each said a prayer in our hearts for a miracle to happen.
I was reminded of the neckerchiefs I collected. We tied each end together until we were able to create a strong enough rope where the young men could hold on to and pull themselves out. With everyone helping each other, we were all able to get out safely. That was the miracle of the neckerchief!
In Doctrine and Covenants 6:36, Jesus said, “look unto me in every thought, doubt not, fear not.” I learned in our experiences that doubts and fears are replaced by trust and faith when we look unto our Savior Jesus Christ. Looking unto Christ brings blessings of guidance and peace in our lives. In our pursuit to be lifelong disciples of Jesus Christ, my invitation to everyone, especially to our Rising Generation, is to look unto Christ.
As you perform the work that Jesus has prepared for you to do, He will strengthen and guide you. As you choose to do what is right, He will bless you with the spirit of discernment that will let you know right from wrong. As you prepare to serve full-time missions, He will help you better understand the gospel and develop love and compassion towards others. As you covenant with Him in the Temple, He will open great mysteries unto you. As you deepen your conversion in the gospel of Jesus Christ, He will help you gain your personal testimony of Him and His Atonement and how you can apply its blessings in your life. I testify of the divinity of our Savior Jesus Christ and of His love for us. I love Him and I love serving Him. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

I was very grateful to see the photograph on the cover of the September 1998 issue. With the Liahona (Spanish) in my hand, I went to where my husband was and showed it to him. “What do you see?” I asked.
He looked at it and replied, “A dad fixing a sink.” “Look closer,” I said. And then he realized it was the home teachers making a visit and they had arrived at just the right moment to help a sister in need.
I wanted to let you know that this issue helped my husband a lot. He’s the elders quorum president in our ward. He took a sheet of paper and started writing down what he needed to do to set up new assignments for his home teaching companionships. I also saw him meet with his counselors to plan visits. But most important of all, he made time to fulfill his own calling as a home teacher.

Priscila prepared for her temple trip by studying general conference talks about the temple with her mother, reading Church magazines, and studying the scriptures. She also gathered the names of four generations on her father’s side of the family so she could perform vicarious baptisms for them. Priscila’s mom compiled the family history information for four generations of her side of the family.
Once the 185 members departed Manaus by boat, Priscila and the five other young women in the caravan helped tend the Primary-age children and fixed meals. At night they slept in hammocks on the boat deck to try to stay cool in the hot jungle temperatures.
“Being on the caravan was so spiritual because everyone was so excited and anxious to go to the temple,” Priscila comments. “Most people had never been to the temple, so almost no one knew exactly what to expect. Everyone sang songs and read scriptures together. We were so united.”
The bus ride was the most difficult part of the journey because the buses traveled both day and night for three days, and the members were unable to move around much. As a result, many of the members had severe pain and swelling in their legs.
When they arrived at the temple, Priscila immediately went to the baptistry to do baptisms for the dead, while her mother went to a different part of the temple to receive her endowment. Priscila spent every day in São Paulo in the temple, even though it was the first time she had been to the large metropolis.
“I spent my 15th birthday in the temple. When the baptismal font coordinator discovered it was my birthday, he told me he had a present for me,” Priscila explains. “So many people come to the temple that most patrons can do the baptisms for only five people. He gave me a large stack of names of people who needed their baptismal work done for them. He couldn’t have given me a better present.”
Priscila’s mother comments about other changes that happened in Priscila’s life: “The caravan spiritually influenced her. She was a light for all of the other members. Everyone came back different. On the bus ride home, we felt that our appearances and faces had changed; we were all so happy.”

Close to the home where I lived as a child was a large house. It was located on beautiful grounds, enclosed by what was to me a towering fence made of wood paneling, probably six feet in height. I recall peeping through holes in the panels where knots of wood had dropped out. It was like looking through a telescope into a different world. The beautifully manicured lawns, the well-kept flower gardens, and a small orchard provided an idyllic setting for the distinctive dwelling. Unfortunately, the opportunity to enjoy the view was always brief due to the vigilant British bulldog that patrolled the gardens and was immediately attracted to anyone standing close to the exterior of the fencing. Even though the fierce dog was confined in the garden, the sound of his sniffing as he approached the fence caused me to retreat in fear as my vivid imagination conjured up a variety of possibilities.
Mr. and Mrs. Lyons, who lived in the home, were schoolteachers. They had a dignified demeanor and seemed to enjoy the privacy that the house setting afforded them. To add to the intrigue, Mr. Lyons had no right hand, using instead a steel hook that protruded below the cuff of his jacket. In my boyish mind, I could imagine Mr. Lyons pursuing me, catching me by the collar with the hook, and taking me captive.
I recall an August morning when I was 10 or 11 years old, following a night of unusually strong winds, being greeted by friends as I left my home. They were obviously excited by something and inquired, “Did you hear the wind last night?”
When I said that I had, they proceeded to tell me what they had discovered—that the wind had blown down sections of the fencing surrounding the Lyonses’ home. I could not understand why this would cause so much excitement and asked them to explain the significance.
They responded with even greater enthusiasm: “We have access to the apple trees!”
I was still very cautious and asked, “But what about Mr. Lyons?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Lyons are not at home; they are away visiting relatives.”
“Where is the dog?” I probed.
“The family has placed him in boarding kennels,” came the reply.
My friends had certainly carried out detailed research. So, reassured by their words, we headed for our target with all haste. Entering the grounds, we climbed trees and hurriedly plucked fruit, filling our pockets and also the space between our shirts and our bodies. My heart was pounding and my pulse racing since I feared that any moment the dog or Mr. Lyons, or both, would appear in the garden and apprehend us. We ran from the scene of our trespass to a secluded place in a nearby wooded area and, after regaining our composure, began to consume the apples.
It was August, and the apples were not yet ripe enough to eat. In fact, they had a very bitter taste, but the tartness of these green apples did not deter us as we enthusiastically consumed our spoils, acting out of a compulsion I cannot now explain. After devouring a significant number, I contented myself with taking a bite out of each remaining apple and throwing the remnants of the fruit into the nearby bushes. The frivolity diminished as our bodies began to gradually react to the invasion they had experienced. The chemical reaction between my gastric juices and the unripe apples caused me to experience stomach cramps and to feel nauseated. As I sat regretting what I had done, I realized that a feeling within me was producing even more discomfort than the unripe apples.
The greater discomfort resulted from the realization that what I had done was wrong.
When my friends had proposed that we invade the garden, I had felt uncomfortable but lacked the courage to say no and so suppressed my feelings. Now, after the deed had been accomplished, I was filled with remorse. To my regret, I had ignored the promptings warning me of the error of my actions.

The apartment room was cluttered with memories—autographed photos of famous musicians, Russian paintings, programs from concerts whose music had long ago evaporated into the air. By the window a slender young woman stood playing the violin, tossing off difficult runs like so many spring flowers. Her teacher, an older gentleman, was hammering out the accompaniment on a grand piano, listening intently to her every note, calling out instructions in a heavy Russian accent. The music seemed to burst from the room into a thousand fragrant blossoms.
Her teacher stopped abruptly. “No! No! Go a little deeper into your soul!” he pleaded. “That’s the German style you’re playing. In Russia and America we do it this way.” He picked up his violin from the piano and demonstrated. “Put more of nature’s tranquility into your playing. And don’t slide to the note.”
She started playing again, bow moving effortlessly across the strings, eyes carefully measuring the page of notes and lines before her that she somehow magically translated into music. Too soon the piece was finished, and she turned to her teacher.
“Generally speaking,” he said, “I would say that was excellent. You have a cool head and a warm heart, which make you a fine violinist. You have talent.”
On that sweet note, Lois Watkins finished her lesson with Raphael Bronstein, one of Russia’s finest violinists who now teaches talented young musicians at the Manhattan School of Music in New York City. So she packed up her violin, said thank you and good-bye, and started threading the busy west side streets of Manhattan leading back to her apartment.
Whether taking or teaching lessons, conducting, performing with the National Orchestra, or playing jobs around the New York City area, Lois Watkins is up to her violin in music, and she loves it. To her, music is a way of sharing—and just as important, a road to excellence.
“When I perform, I just want people to enjoy the music, and forget about their problems. I try to keep in mind what the composer wanted and also to incorporate what I think the music conveys,” said Lois. “In order to do this well, I have to be the best musician I can—and that takes work. But the results are worth it. When you know you’ve played well, there’s nothing like it. It gives you confidence, makes you respect yourself, and you enjoy giving your music to other people. It’s creating something, and that’s very satisfying.”
Lois grew up in a home where making music was almost as popular as talking or eating. All ten of the Watkins family are excellent musicians, and often enjoy musical sessions together. Lois’s musical philosophy was shaped in that home environment.
“A good musician will create a feeling in the listener,” said Lois. “If you go to a concert and hear a lot of fast notes and nice music, you are not necessarily touched. If it doesn’t make you thoughtful, or angry, or make you feel love or compassion or somehow more sensitive to life, I don’t think the performer has been successful.
“Because so many feelings are generated by music, we need to be choosy about what we listen to. Some music is definitely not good for us. I feel that if it puts you in a train of thought that is not conducive to gospel standards, then it’s wrong for you,” she added.
Lois rents a room on the west side of Manhattan from two elderly sisters. The apartment is close to the Manhattan School of Music where she takes classes, so she can easily walk to school. Her mother attended school in that same building years before when it housed the Julliard School of Music. Lois’s parents met and married in New York City and now live in Pelham, New York, about an hour away from New York City by train. Each Wednesday Lois takes the train to Bronxville, not far from home, where she teaches violin to aspiring musicians in the fourth and sixth grades.
“It’s fun to teach when the students practice and really enjoy the lessons. I have some good students. And when you teach, it helps your own playing because you learn to analyze problems and overcome them. I’ll probably always teach a little, but mostly I want to perform and conduct. That’s what I’ve put most of my efforts into,” Lois added.
“Conducting is my main interest, not just being a violinist. For two summers I attended a conducting school in Hancock, Maine. I was the youngest person there. I’ve conducted a lot of major orchestral works and have done some conducting here in New York City. It’s difficult to break into, though, and not many major music schools have conducting as a major, so I’ve decided to concentrate mostly on my violin while I’m here taking classes. One of the best ways to learn to be a good conductor is to play in various orchestras and observe conductors. I’ve played under some of the finest conductors, like Aaron Copland, Seiji Ozawa, and Zubin Mehta.”
She’s also spent summer at outstanding schools and music camps like Tanglewood (where she received the award for the outstanding chamber music musician), Saratoga (where young musicians are taught by the members of the Philadelphia Orchestra), and the Meadowmount School of Strings, taught by many members of the Julliard faculty. Competition for participating in these schools is very tough. “I’ve been very lucky,” said Lois.
But it wasn’t simply luck that put Lois where she is now in the world of music. A lot of hard work was part of her formula for excelling.
“I started playing the piano at age four and the violin at seven,” said Lois. “I also picked up trumpet and French horn, which I still play occasionally. At the beginning I didn’t like the violin because it didn’t sound very good when I played it. The violin is a hard instrument to coordinate, because your left hand is in an awkward position, and you have to vibrate it. Even the bow is awkward to hold at first. It takes time to develop your muscles for playing. It’s easy to sound bad on the violin at first.
“But you have to have patience and plug away until you can start making it sound half decent. Sticking with something you don’t like at first teaches you self-discipline. You’re not going to enjoy every teacher you get in school, every assignment you have, every job you get in life, but there are benefits to sticking things out.
“I started out practicing for half an hour at the beginning, then 45 minutes, then an hour, and eventually an hour and a half. My parents really encouraged me. By high school I was practicing two hours a day, which really isn’t a lot. I practiced regularly, though, and if I wanted to go out and play with friends, I had to practice first to make sure it would get done.
“It was tough when I was younger to learn that self-discipline. But then I got to the point where I made practicing high priority and did it on my own. It was good for me because it helped me to regulate my time and learn how to get things done,” she said.
Today Lois usually plays the violin about eight hours a day, divided between practicing, lessons, orchestras, and playing odd jobs like weddings and musicals. And she thoroughly enjoys that schedule.
One of the highlights of her week is practicing with the National Orchestra, whose purpose is to prepare musicians for professional orchestras. Young musicians from around the world compete for acceptance by the orchestra. If you survive the string of intensive auditions and are accepted, you’re given the opportunity to work in a professional kind of situation.
“You sign a three-year contract with the orchestra and receive a salary,” said Lois. “We practice three times a week and give four concerts each year at Carnegie Hall with guest conductors and soloists. We go through a lot of orchestral music, which is great preparation for eventually joining another symphony.”
In addition to the enjoyment she receives from daily participation in the music world, one of her most rewarding experiences is sharing her music in church meetings. It puts her talent in perspective, she said.
“You can almost bear your testimony through music. I’m asked to play a lot in Church meetings, and that’s a very satisfying aspect of music. Church members really appreciate music because it’s such a spiritual part of the meeting. People are really touched by music. I dedicate what I play to my Heavenly Father, because it’s not really my music that touches people, it’s a gift from him.
“When I play for church, I always try to create a setting that’s conducive to worship. I never pick fast, showy pieces. I think the piece should be melodious, not too long (about three or four minutes), and not boring. I try to play pieces that will put the listeners in a worshipful mood and try to choose something that’s not too far from their musical experience.
“Music plays such an important part in the quality of our services that we need to give our very best. It’s important for people in the Church to develop really excellent musical talent. No musician should take performing in church lightly, whether he or she’s an accompanist, director, choir member, or soloist,” she said.
Lois started to gather the books and music she needs for her National Orchestra rehearsal downtown at Lincoln Center, where the New York City Opera, Metropolitan Opera, and New York City Ballet perform, along with many of the world’s finest musicians. She’s going to do some studying at the music library at the center, too, so plans to get there about two hours before rehearsal time. Just across the street from the center is the Church’s visitors’ center and the chapel for the Manhattan Wards.
“I love the excitement of being in New York City, which is an excellent training ground for musicians. It’s a terrific place for me to be learning more about my profession—I’m getting good training and experience. I can’t help but improve my music!”
And she ran off to catch her bus.

Gose and Arouma decided to serve a senior mission for the Church of Jesus Christ after President Russell M. Nelson visited Australia and spoke about missionary service. They were called to serve in 2020 as welfare and self-reliance missionaries in the Australia Sydney Mission.
Although COVID affected the world during that time, they were able to continue their mission in Sydney. They learned to teach via video calls and taught English Connect as a pilot program.

I was trying to prove him stone wrong,” said Diahann Piper, remembering the first time she accepted a challenge from an instructor to attend the small LDS branch on the Caribbean island of St. Thomas.
“Brother Gerald Cox told me, ‘You ask some tough questions. Just go. Nobody will force you to join the Church.’”
Diahann took him up on his challenge. She attended church expecting the worst, but the worst never happened. “Some of my friends were so down on the Church. They told me all kinds of terrible things. When I went I kept waiting to see those things happen, but all I was seeing was love and more love.” Now Diahann is a member of the St. Thomas Branch.
For Diahann, joining the Church has brought some big changes in her life. “I had to change my attitude,” she said, “my style, my friends. I liked to go to the beach on Sundays, and I swore a lot. I had to change. Now I follow the prophet.”

I chose another hero in that little branch of the Church. He was a United States Marine who came to our meetings wearing his green marine uniform. It was wartime, so that alone made him my hero. He had been sent to Princeton University by the marines to further his education. But far more than admiring his military uniform, I watched him play in Palmer Stadium as captain of the Princeton University football team. I saw him play on the university basketball team and also watched him play as the star catcher on their baseball team.
But even more, he came to my home during the week to show me how to shoot a basketball with both my left and my right hand. He told me that I would need that skill because I would someday play basketball on good teams. I did not realize it then, but for years he was, for me, a model of a true priesthood man.
The same is true for the marine who was my childhood hero. He never spoke to me of his priesthood service or of his accomplishments. He just gave service. I learned about his faithfulness from others. If he even saw the characteristics in himself that I admired, I could not tell.

One of the most exciting experiences of my life was the first time I shared my testimony with a friend. Jan (pronounced like yawn) was an exchange student from Germany. Jan wasn’t a religious person and told me that he didn’t believe in God or any supreme being. He said he believed that after this life, there was nothing; death was the end.
I, of course, had a much different view of life. During our many conversations about religion, Jan was receptive and interested in my ideas. But Jan was adamant. He didn’t believe in God. His convictions were just as firm as mine.
I gave him a Book of Mormon with my testimony written inside. He started to read 1 Nephi, but after two weeks he said he lost interest.
My excitement turned to disappointment and concern that I had done something wrong. I talked to my seminary teacher about it. He told me that I was taking the first step in the process of bringing Jan home, and sometimes the person who introduces someone to the gospel isn’t the person who sees them accept it. He assured me that I hadn’t done anything wrong; Jan just wasn’t ready yet.
This experience taught me a lot. I am beginning to understand why bringing even one soul to Christ (see D&C 18:15) is so important. Heavenly Father loves all His children and He wants us to return to Him.
What I had initially thought of as a failure actually turned out to be one of the greatest blessings of my life. Sharing the gospel with Jan made me realize how much the gospel is worth to me. Knowledge of the gospel plan is something I wouldn’t trade for anything.
Sometimes I wonder if I could have said or done something that would have brought Jan into the Church. I pray for him, that someone can touch his heart in a way that will help him know that the gospel is true. But no matter what Jan does, he has touched my heart in a way that I will always remember.

But computers lack inspiration, and so the Lord has prepared many individual translators for the work. For example, in 1980, a Division supervisor had the assignment of getting Church materials translated into Bengali, a language of India and Bangladesh. Unable at the time to find Church members who knew the language, he turned for help to two non-member teachers. When their translation was completed, the supervisor then hoped to find a member to review the translation for doctrinal and grammatical accuracy.
As if in answer to his need, he read an article about Towhid-ul Alam, a recent convert from Bangladesh who was studying at Brigham Young University—Hawaii. Thanks to the help of Brother Alam, the Bengali Selections from the Book of Mormon was printed in New Delhi, India, in 1985.

For instance, James Moyle was a stonecutter in Plymouth, England, when he was baptized at the age of 17. Of that occasion he wrote: “I then covenanted with the Lord that I would serve Him through good and evil report. It was the turning point in my life, as it kept me from evil company” (in Gordon B. Hinckley, James Henry Moyle [1951], 18).

Notwithstanding his skill as a mason, he had little money. He borrowed from the Perpetual Emigration Fund and left England in 1854, sailed to America, crossed the plains, and almost immediately secured employment as a stonemason on the Lion House at $3 a day. He saved his money, and when he had $70, the amount of his indebtedness, he promptly repaid the Emigration Fund. He said, “I then considered that I was a free man” (Moyle, 24).

Claire was a sad hippopotamus, for today was the day of the jungle talent show. All of Claire’s jungle friends were going to be in it—but not Claire. Claire had no special talent. She didn’t dance. She didn’t sing. She didn’t juggle fruits, do somersaults, or play the drums. And she didn’t know any funny stories to tell. She was just a plain, ordinary hippopotamus.
“Oh, coconuts,” Claire sighed. “There must be something I can do.”
Then Claire had an idea. She went to visit Madame Gazelle’s Dancing School. “Will you teach me to dance?” Claire asked.
“I’ll try,” replied Madame Gazelle.
Claire put on a pair of pink dancing shoes. She learned to turn and curtsey. She leaped gracefully into the air. But when Claire landed, the jungle shook. Monkeys and bananas rained from the trees, mice bounced high into the sky, and everyone complained about the shaking jungle.
Claire did not want to make her friends angry, so she gave up dancing. She went to see Hester Elephant, who was famous for her singing. “Can you teach me to sing?” Claire asked.
“Of course I can,” Hester answered.
“Listen.” She raised her trunk and sang “Mary had a little elephant …” She had a lovely voice. “Now it’s your turn,” said Hester.
Claire roared, “Mary had a little hippopotamus …” as loud as she could. Her jungle friends had to cover their ears. She scared Lonnie Python right out of his tree house.
“This will never do!” Hester cried.
So Claire went to see the Great Chimpanzees. They had the best trapeze act in the jungle. “Please teach me to swing from tree to tree,” begged Claire.
“Sure,” agreed Bimbo Chimpanzee.
“But first you must climb a tree like this.” He scurried to the top of a tall tree and waved to Claire. Claire struggled up the tree after Bimbo. The tree began to bend.
“TIMBER!” shouted the Great Chimpanzees who were on the ground. The tree and Claire and Bimbo fell with a crash. The Great Chimpanzees were happy that Claire did not fall on them. But Claire was not happy at all.
“I’ll never be a part of the show,” she cried.
“I’ll teach you to catch rings on your nose,” offered Walter Rhinoceros.
“But I don’t have a horn like you do,” Claire protested.
“Oh,” said Walter, “I forgot.”
“I’ll teach you to juggle rocks,” suggested Randy Baboon.
“Wonderful!” said Claire. She tossed two rocks into the air.
“Ouch!” They hit Randy on top of his head. He went home to have it mended.
“I know a funny joke,” laughed Smiley Hyena, “but I need it for the show. I wish I had another one for you, Claire.”
Tara Tiger tried to teach Claire to play a harmonica. But Claire swallowed it by mistake.
“Who needs a talent show anyway?” she said crossly. “I’m going swimming.” All afternoon Claire swam around the lake. When she was tired, she took a long, long nap in the water. Voices woke her up.
“Claire! Claire!” the voices called.
Claire opened her eyes. Her jungle friends stood on the shore. They were wearing their talent show costumes.
“Claire!” called Madame Gazelle. “We need you.”
“Me?” said Claire. She swam to shore.
“We have a terrible problem,” said Hester. “You are the only one who can help.”
“What can I do?” sighed Claire.
“Because we’re all in the show,” Bimbo explained, “there’s no one to watch us. So we have no judge to choose the winner.”
“Oh, I can do that!” cried Claire. So Claire sat in the very first row. She clapped as loud as she could. She cheered. She whistled and stamped her feet. “Hooray! Bravo! Encore!” she shouted. “More! More! More!”
When the show was over, Claire clapped so long that everyone took ten bows. “You were all so good,” said Claire, “I can’t decide who the winner is—”
“The winner,” announced Tara Tiger, “is Claire Hippopotamus.”
“Me!” exclaimed Claire. “I wasn’t part of the show.”
“Yes, you were,” said Lonnie Python.
“You were the best audience a talent show ever had.”
Everyone clapped for Claire. She made a curtsey. Then she took her prize, a basket of fruit and went home—a happy hippopotamus.

Mob persecution forced the Snow family to move often, leaving homes and friends. On one occasion, during the move to Far West, all the family’s food froze. So they soaked thinly sliced frozen bread in fresh warm milk from the cow for their meals. Eliza met hardships bravely and without complaint, and she helped to shelter and care for her elderly parents, who would later die on the journey to Winter Quarters.

With a start, I awoke and listened. It was still dark so I knew it wasn’t the breakfast call that had awakened me. I nudged my older brother. “Ben, wake up. Something strange is happening.”
Ben pushed a sleep-fogged head out of the covers and listened. “I don’t hear anything, Shrimp. Go back to sleep.”
“That’s just it,” I insisted. “There aren’t any sounds!”
Ben listened again and then he smiled. “It’s probably snowing. It’s sure cold enough for it.” His blond head disappeared under the comforter.
The first real snow this year, I thought. Maybe there’s enough for sledding on the hill. As soon as I heard Mama lighting the kitchen stove, I threw on my clothes to keep the bed warmth in and ran downstairs to the heat below.
“What brings you down without a third call and a few threats thrown in?” asked Mama.
“It snowed!” I almost shouted the news.
“It certainly did—almost two feet,” Mama said. Then Ben and the little ones came clattering in, and the kitchen became a cheery waking-up place with the smell of bacon frying and everyone talking about what to do in the snow.
“Whoa,” said Mama, moving Wyn by the shoulders to his seat at the table. “This is a school day. You’d better eat and get out of here. It will take you longer to get to the bus stop in these drifts.”
“Oh, please, let us stay home,” we chorused.
“Sorry, fellows. Only Libby stays, since she has a cold.”
Outdoors I flopped on my back in the glistening snow. “Look, I’m an angel,” I called, flapping my arms and legs to leave an angel print.
“That’s about as close as you’ll ever come to being an angel,” yelled Ben, as he pelted me with snowballs. Seeing me down, Wyn and Jon joined in. I was laughing and trying to get up when the school bus horn blared. “We’ll be skinned for sure if we miss it. Run!” cried Ben.
All day at school the class was noisy. At two o’clock our teacher announced that school would be dismissed early. She laughed as we all plunged for the coatroom.
“Let’s not wait for the bus, Ben,” I suggested. “We’re out a whole hour early so let’s walk.”
“Can’t. We’d be late and then we’d catch it.”
“Not if we cut cross-country.” Turning to Jon and Wyn I called, “Last one over the fence is a scrungy turtle.” Over they climbed and then Ben followed, just like I knew he would.
“Good thing Libby’s not with us,” Jon said, knee-deep in the snow. “She couldn’t keep up in these drifts.”
“That gives me an idea. Poor Libby’s been in all day with her cold. Why don’t we roll a couple of balls and surprise her with a gigantic snowman?” I suggested. Ben thought it would take too long, but Wyn and Jon wanted to.
It was fun racing two and two, pushing the snowballs. But soon Ben and Jon got ahead as our snowballs grew bigger and harder to push. “It must be getting late,” said Ben, looking at the lowering sky.
“Maybe it’s just darker because it’s started to snow again,” I ventured.
“Either way, we’d better leave one ball. We’ll make good time with the four of us on one.”
It was really dark when we reached our lane. Ahead we could see headlights and from the sound we guessed it was Papa’s truck. Around the corner it came and caught the four of us and our giant snowball full in the headlights. The truck skidded to a stop. Papa came flying out of the cab. “Your mother has called half the county, trying to locate you!” he shouted. “As a last resort I was on my way to town to round up a search party. We figured you’d freeze if you stayed out in this all night. Now here I find you, playing with a snowball!” He waved an arm at the back of the truck and we piled in, leaving the giant snowball behind.
When we reached home, Papa said, “You get into the house fast and think of something nice to say to your mother, to make up for all the worry you’ve caused. If you’re lucky, she may heat up some supper for you.”
When we went into the kitchen, she seemed more glad to see us than anything else. After supper Papa ordered us up to bed. I was thinking we were getting off easy when he boomed, “All except Ben.” As usual, the ideas from my shrimpy-red head got us into trouble, but it was Ben who got the blame. He’s the oldest and Papa always says he’s responsible.
I went straight to bed, but I meant to stay awake until Ben came up. Next thing I knew Mama was calling, “Breakfast!”
Ben stirred. “Gosh, Ben. I’m sorry,” I began. “What happened after we came to bed?”
“It wasn’t too bad, Shrimp. Wait and see.”
Nothing was said at breakfast. Then we all piled into the truck to ride to the bus stop. Libby was going, too, and Papa said he didn’t want her starting the day all wet.
Before we reached the end of the lane the truck stopped. From the cab we could hear Libby squealing and Papa’s deep laugh. We all hung out the back to see. By the side of the road stood the gigantic snowman we had planned for Libby!
I looked at Ben. He grinned and then explained. “When I told Papa why we were late, he said it had been a dumb thing to do. He left me squirming for a few minutes and then said, ‘Well, get some warm clothes on. If we’re going to finish that snowman, we’d better get started now that it’s stopped snowing.’”
By the truck lights they had finished him off to be a giant, taller even than Papa. He was a proper snowman, too, with rock eyes, a carrot nose, and a hat borrowed from our old horse.
“The snowman won’t mind that his hat has slits for ears,” said Libby, her eyes shining with pleasure.
“I’m sure he won’t,” Papa said. And we looked at each other and winked.

I will always be grateful I had the opportunity of growing up with the welfare plan. My father was a bishop at the time of its beginning. He had a remarkable way of involving his family with him in his Church assignments. At an early, impressionable age I was taught the blessings of Church service.
I will always remember the dignity and patience he exhibited towards those in need. I particularly remember a little old man who had lost his wife and some of the soundness of his mind. My father not only filled the role of his bishop, but also that of his friend. To the family, however, this little old man was considered to be somewhat of a pest. When he would become lonely he would make his way to see my father. It didn’t matter whether it was ten o’clock at night or five-thirty in the morning, Father would always welcome him into our home, give him some nourishment, and then he would drive him back to his place of residence.
I remember at his passing seeing Father reading a letter addressed to “My friend, Bishop Perry,” as a final thank-you for taking an interest in his life when he was an old man. I saw the tears roll down my father’s cheeks as he read the letter. It was then I think I recognized for the first time an understanding of the rewards of gospel service.