Gospel Story Finder

Recently, while driving in a city unknown to us, I inadvertently took a wrong turn, which led my wife and me onto an express highway for endless miles without being able to turn around again. We had received a kind invitation to a friend’s home and worried that we would now arrive much later than we were expected to.
While on this highway and desperately looking for a way out again, I blamed myself for not paying better attention to the navigation system. This experience caused me to think about how in our lives we sometimes make wrong decisions and how we must live with the consequences humbly and patiently until we are able to change our course again.

1. Truman was racing around the dining room table when he saw Mom place an empty box on the kitchen counter and start to fill it with food.
What are you doing, Mom?
Thanksgiving is coming. I thought we could do service for another family by giving them food for a Thanksgiving dinner. Do you want to help?
Sure.
2. Truman ran to the pantry and found a box of stuffing mix.
Do you think they would want this?
Yes, I think they would be thankful for it. Go ahead and put it in.
3. Truman raced to the box and put the stuffing mix inside. Then he ran back to the pantry.
I’m going to be your super-fast helper, Mom.
That sounds great. Can you find some corn?
4. Truman quickly looked through the pantry and grabbed two cans of corn. He rushed back to the box and placed them inside. He was having fun helping as fast as he could. He put a lot of food in the box. Later, he even helped put a frozen turkey inside.
5. Now what are we going to do?
When it gets dark, Dad will take you to deliver the box.
Can we do it super fast?
Yes. Super fast.
6. When it got dark, Dad, Truman, and his older brother, Ethan, carried the box to the car. They drove for a couple of minutes until Dad parked down the street from the family’s house.
OK, guys. We’re going to put the box on the doorstep, knock on the door, and run.
Truman was excited about the running part.
7. Dad carried the box as Truman and Ethan walked quietly behind him. When Dad put the box down on the doorstep and knocked on the door, all three of them ran back to the car as fast as they could. Truman ran faster than ever.
8. As they drove away, Truman looked out the back window. He saw someone open the door, look around, and smile. He felt good about helping a family have a Thanksgiving dinner.
Do you think anybody saw us?
No way, Dad! We were super fast!

It was difficult, and it took me nearly two years. As I read in 3 Nephi about the Savior’s visit to the Nephites after His Resurrection, where He blesses their children and angels descend from heaven and encircle them, it was as though I stood among the Nephites and saw with my own eyes that miraculous event. The Holy Ghost bore witness of that great moment.

I could not read any more, as my eyes blurred with tears. When I regained my composure, I continued reading. A few more weeks passed, and I finished the book, knelt, and prayed to know if it was true. But I got no answer.

Days passed with me kneeling regularly and pleading to know if the book was true, if the Church was true, but still I got no answer. Despairing, weeks after I’d finished reading, I knelt one more time and asked, “Heavenly Father, is the Book of Mormon true?” The answer that came was not what I expected: “I have already told you. You know it is.”

I had gained my testimony weeks before, when I read about Christ blessing the children. I knew that this Church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, is the kingdom of God on earth, restored by a prophet and led by a prophet, as in days of old.

I was named the winner of the speech contest, and the gift I received for winning the speech contest was a copy of Jesus the Christ by James E. Talmage. I took it home and read it. It was written by an Apostle and was full of the words of the scriptures. My feelings for the Savior, which had been tender before, became profound. I was drawn to Him and found that the words of the scriptures helped me to know Him and taste of His love. What began as a goal to read the Book of Mormon to know of its truth became a lifelong hunger and thirst to know Him and His word—a thirst that is satisfied fully and deliciously by reading, pondering, living, and sharing the truths of the Book of Mormon.

“Thank you, President, I’ll be there tomorrow.”
What a great man, I thought to myself as I hung up the telephone. The president of the Mississippi Jackson Mission had just called me to serve a two-week mission in the Bossier City, Louisiana, area. What a way to find out what true missionary work is like, I said to myself over and over.
I spent the next twenty-four hours packing, praying, and preparing myself for everything I could possibly come in contact with during the next two weeks. I prayed that I would be helpful to the missionaries, Elders Abbott and Watkins, with whom I would serve.
Saturday came quickly. My family drove me to Bossier, where we ate lunch before I telephoned the elders to let them know I was ready. After what seemed like an eternity but was only ten or fifteen minutes, the two young men, only a few years older than myself, arrived in their mission car. I didn’t know what to do or how to act, but I timidly introduced myself to Elder Abbott. What a spiritual giant, I thought; I can’t possibly be of any help to him. And I wondered why I was there.
After meeting Elder Watkins, I had nearly convinced myself that I couldn’t be of help to either of them.
I said good-bye to my family, and before I knew it the elders and I were out on the streets knocking on doors. I was amazed at how eloquently the elders approached the people. After an hour of tracting, Elder Abbott turned to me and said, “You can introduce us at the next house, Brother McWhorter.”
“I can’t,” I said embarrassed.
“Yes you can,” he said. “You’ve got to think positively. There may be a potential convert to the Church living here.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” I answered.
I knocked at the door.
As the door opened I could feel my heart sink within me. The room was filled with drunken teenagers—I was only a teenager myself. As I introduced myself and my companions, they began mocking and tempting us. Why me, Lord? I silently asked.
I didn’t knock on another door the rest of the evening. Later that night I began thinking about my day as a “full-time” missionary. Why did I have such feelings? Why was I scared to talk to people about the gospel? How would I be able to serve a two-year mission if I couldn’t even stand up to people and share the truths of the gospel for two weeks? I decided that there was only one way to get help.
As I knelt down in humble prayer and poured out the desires of my heart to Heavenly Father, a peaceful, comforting feeling came over me. A still, small voice told me to search the scriptures. I began going through the pages of my Bible when I saw a verse outlined in red. It was a scripture I had marked in seminary class. As I read it, I knew my prayer had been answered. A warm feeling of insight and understanding came over me as I read: “For it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth” (Rom. 1:16).
Never before had this scripture meant so much to me as it did now. “The power of God unto salvation,” I said aloud. I need not be ashamed of the gospel because it is the very key to salvation. Without it, not one soul will ever progress after this life.
The next morning I awoke with a strong desire and determination to spread the gospel.
Today, already five of the people I helped teach in those two weeks have joined the Church. What a strength we can receive through listening to the promptings of the Spirit!
I vividly remember the feeling I had as the Holy Ghost bore witness to me of that important scriptural message found in Romans. And to this day when I am confronted with an opportunity to share the gospel, that same still, small voice whispers in my ear, “the power of … salvation, the power of … salvation.”

Sitting in a hastily dug defensive position, I looked out over the sand toward the north—toward Iraq. It was December 24 during Desert Shield, and I had drawn guard duty starting at midnight.
I was the only Latter-day Saint in my battalion, so the holiday was even lonelier. We had been in the desert of Saudi Arabia since August, and now Christmas was here with a cold, star-lit night. The camp was asleep, and I had a few hours with the bluish-grey dunes and my thoughts.
I thought of my wife and son in Georgia, USA, and how I would miss the festivities back home—the tree, the presents, a real Christmas dinner. Then I began to ponder the Christmas story.
I wondered about the night that Christ was born. I wondered how dark it was and if there was a moon to cast its brightness over the landscape or if there was only starlight. Since there were no electric lights at His birth, the night must have been something like the one I was witnessing. There would have been no festivities—just dark, quiet night.
Then a wonderful thought struck me. The Bible states that Wise Men later came from the East, guided by a star that appeared in the night sky. As I looked into the dark sky, I realized I was to the east of Bethlehem and that one of the centers of knowledge at that time was Baghdad. Could the Wise Men have come from a location not far from where I was? What star shone? Was it still in the sky? Could I see it?
I gazed skyward in wonder at God’s creations and felt a warmth that came from within. It did not matter if I was in the same location or if the same star was in the sky. What mattered is that I shared the same knowledge as the Wise Men of an infant born in Bethlehem who is the King of kings.
I was not alone that Christmas; rather, I was united with all those who seek Him, whether they be Wise Men, prophets, or just lonely soldiers in a hole in the desert. That night my testimony of the birth of the Savior was strengthened, and the next morning the Holy Spirit was still with me.
Instead of being a sad Christmas that year, it became one of my most prized Christmases.

Luke looked out his bedroom window and thought about Dad. Dad was in the army and had been gone for months. Luke missed him every day. He wondered when Dad would be able to come home.
Then he remembered the talk he was supposed to give in Primary on Sunday. His stomach did a gigantic flip-flop, and it felt like he had swallowed a bag of rocks. He didn’t want to be nervous, but he was. If Dad were here, he could help.
At bedtime, Mom came in his room to say good night. “Love you forever,” she said.
“Mom,” Luke said, “I wish Dad could help me with my talk, but he’s too far away. I wish I could be brave like him.”
Mom sat next to Luke and pulled the covers around him. “I know,” she said. “I wish he could be here with us too, but he has a really important job to do right now, and when he’s done, he’ll come home. He loves us very much. Do you remember what he always tells us?”
“‘With a prayer, Heavenly Father is always there,’” Luke said.
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“Can we say a prayer?” Luke asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Would you like to say it?”
Luke got out of bed and knelt down. He thanked Heavenly Father for prayer and asked Him to protect Dad. Then he asked Heavenly Father to help him with his Primary talk and to help him be brave enough to give it.
When he got back in bed, Luke felt better. He knew he didn’t have to be nervous anymore. He was glad he knew how to pray to Heavenly Father. He gave Mom a big hug.
“I know Heavenly Father will help me be brave when I give my talk on Sunday,” Luke said.
“Brave like Dad?” Mom asked.
“Brave enough.” Luke smiled, and Mom smiled back.

My family and I have been members of the Church since I was four years old, and it wasn’t until I was 17 that I discovered the New Era. I saw a few issues before that, but never sat down to read them. I had the mistaken impression that they weren’t very exciting. As seminary class president, I worked closely with my seminary teacher, Sister Reynolds, and found that she read the New Era from cover to cover every month. She was such a fantastic lady that knew there had to be something more to the New Era than I first thought, so I subscribed. I now read the New Era from cover to cover every month, and I enjoy it more than I can express! Thank you, Sister Reynolds, for helping me discover all the wonderful things in the New Era, and thank you, New Era, for being such an uplifting magazine!
Kim GardnerIndianapolis, Indiana

We had invited a special guest to join us for the home evening just prior to Christmas. We sat in our living room and I told her why she was there: “Marie, we have watched your actions and as a family have observed that you are one who loves the Savior. Since we could not invite him to join us in person as we celebrate his birth, we decided to invite someone who is striving to be like him. Marie, we chose you.”
Marie is a lovely single woman who, in spite of problems of her own, goes about quietly doing good for others. Tears welled up in her eyes as each of our children told her of the Christlike behavior he or she had observed in her.
But when it was our eight-year-old son’s turn his heart was so full he couldn’t speak. Earlier in the year he had needed extra tutoring in reading, and Marie had worked with him through the summer upgrading his reading skills—and she refused any payment for it. Now, several months later, he was finally achieving success in school.
Everyone in the room sensed the deep feelings our son was trying to communicate. So sacred was this moment that it seemed as though Jesus had come to be with us after all.
The spiritual feeling we all experienced that Christmas helped us determine that each year thereafter we would invite a Christlike person or family into our home to honor the Savior at Christmastime. By so doing we have been inspired to strive more diligently to be like him every day of our lives.

One day I decided to visit my granny who lives far away in the country. She invited me over for lunch and to ride her horses. We had a wonderful afternoon together and enjoyed each other’s company. After we talked for a couple of hours, it was time for me to go. I started up my motorcycle and began my long journey home.
After two hours of driving I was in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly my motorbike ran out of gasoline. I couldn’t believe it! And my grandmother was too far away to help. I put my hand in my pocket to look for my cell phone, but it wasn’t there. I was terrified. Where could it be? I must have dropped it in the road.
I thought I had no way out of this situation. I had no idea what to do. Then suddenly I felt a voice that said: “Pray always, that you may come off conqueror” (D&C 10:5). So I decided to pray. In that moment two of my friends appeared and rescued me.

A reporter from a leading Brazilian magazine studied the Church in preparation for a major news article.1 He examined our doctrine and visited the missionary training and humanitarian centers. He spoke with friends of the Church and with others who were not so friendly. In the interview with me, the reporter seemed honestly puzzled as he asked, “How could someone not consider you Christian?” I knew he was referring to the Church, but my mind somehow framed the question personally, and I found myself silently asking, “Does my life reflect the love and devotion I feel for the Savior?”
Jesus asked the Pharisees, “What think ye of Christ?”2 In the final assessment, our personal discipleship will not be judged by friends or foes. Rather, as Paul said, “We shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.”3 At that day the important question for each of us will be, “What thinks Christ of me?”
Even with His love for all mankind, Jesus reprovingly referred to some around Him as hypocrites,4 fools,5 and workers of iniquity.6 He approvingly called others children of the kingdom7 and the light of the world.8 He disapprovingly referred to some as blinded9 and unfruitful.10 He commended others as pure in heart11 and hungering after righteousness.12 He lamented that some were faithless13 and of the world,14 but others He esteemed as chosen,15 disciples,16 friends.17 And so we each ask, “What thinks Christ of me?”
President Thomas S. Monson has described our day as moving away “from that which is spiritual … [with] the winds of change [swirling] around us and the moral fiber of society [continuing] to disintegrate before our very eyes.”18 It is a time of growing disbelief in and disregard for Christ and His teachings.
In this turbulent environment, we rejoice in being disciples of Jesus Christ. We see the Lord’s hand all around us. Our destination is beautifully set before us. “This is life eternal,” Jesus prayed, “that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”19 Being a disciple in these days of destiny will be a badge of honor throughout the eternities.
The messages we have heard during this conference are guideposts from the Lord on our journey of discipleship. As we have listened during the past two days, praying for spiritual guidance, and as we study and pray about these messages in the days ahead, the Lord blesses us with customized direction through the gift of the Holy Ghost. These feelings turn us even more toward God, repenting, obeying, believing, and trusting. The Savior responds to our acts of faith. “If a man [or woman] love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.”20
Jesus’s call “Come, follow me”21 is not only for those prepared to compete in a spiritual Olympics. In fact, discipleship is not a competition at all but an invitation to all. Our journey of discipleship is not a dash around the track, nor is it fully comparable to a lengthy marathon. In truth, it is a lifelong migration toward a more celestial world.
His invitation is a call to daily duty. Jesus said: “If ye love me, keep my commandments.”22 “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.”23 We may not be at our very best every day, but if we are trying, Jesus’s bidding is full of encouragement and hope: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”24
Wherever you now find yourself on the road of discipleship, you are on the right road, the road toward eternal life. Together we can lift and strengthen one another in the great and important days ahead. Whatever the difficulties confronting us, the weaknesses confining us, or the impossibilities surrounding us, let us have faith in the Son of God, who declared, “All things are possible to him that believeth.”25
Let me share two examples of discipleship in action. The first is from the life of President Thomas S. Monson, demonstrating the power of simple kindness and Jesus’s teaching, “He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”26
Nearly 20 years ago, President Monson spoke in general conference about a 12-year-old young woman suffering from cancer. He told of her courage and the kindness of her friends to carry her up Mount Timpanogos in central Utah.
A few years ago I met Jami Palmer Brinton and heard the story from a different perspective—the perspective of what President Monson had done for her.
Jami met President Monson in March 1993, a day after being told that a mass above her right knee was a fast-growing bone cancer. With her father assisting, President Monson administered a priesthood blessing, promising, “Jesus will be on your right side and on your left side to buoy you up.”
“Upon leaving his office that day,” Jami said, “I unfastened a balloon tied to my wheelchair and gave it to him. ‘You’re the Best!’ it announced in bright letters.”
Through her chemotherapy treatments and limb-saving surgery, President Monson did not forget her. Jami said, “President Monson exemplified what it means to be a true disciple of Christ. [He] lifted me from sorrow to great and abiding hope.” Three years after their first meeting, Jami again sat in President Monson’s office. At the end of the meeting, he did something that Jami will never forget. So typical of President Monson’s thoughtfulness, he surprised her with the very same balloon that she had given to him three years before. “You’re the Best!” the balloon proclaimed. He had saved it, knowing she would return to his office when she was cured of cancer. Fourteen years after first meeting Jami, President Monson performed her marriage to Jason Brinton in the Salt Lake Temple.27
We can learn so much from the discipleship of President Monson. He often reminds the General Authorities to remember this simple question: “What would Jesus do?”
Jesus told the leader of the synagogue, “Be not afraid, only believe.”28 Discipleship is believing Him in seasons of peace and believing Him in seasons of difficulty, when our pain and fear are calmed only by the conviction that He loves us and keeps His promises.
I recently met a family who is a beautiful example of how we believe Him. Olgan and Soline Saintelus, from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, told me their story.
On January 12, 2010, Olgan was at work and Soline was at the church when a devastating earthquake struck Haiti. Their three children—Gancci, age five, Angie, age three, and Gansly, age one—were at home in their apartment with a friend.
Massive devastation was everywhere. As you will remember, tens of thousands lost their lives that January in Haiti. Olgan and Soline ran as fast as they could to their apartment to find the children. The three-story apartment building where the Saintelus family lived had collapsed.
The children had not escaped. No rescue efforts would be devoted to a building that was so completely destroyed.
Olgan and Soline Saintelus had both served full-time missions and had been married in the temple. They believed in the Savior and in His promises to them. Yet their hearts were broken. They wept uncontrollably.
Olgan told me that in his darkest hour he began to pray. “Heavenly Father, if it be thy will, if there could be just one of my children alive, please, please help us.” Over and over he walked around the building, praying for inspiration. The neighbors tried to comfort him and help him accept the loss of his children. Olgan continued to walk around the rubble of the collapsed building, hoping, praying. Then something quite miraculous happened. Olgan heard the almost inaudible cry of a baby. It was the cry of his baby.
For hours the neighbors frantically dug into the rubble, risking their own lives. In the dark of the night, through the piercing sounds of hammers and chisels, the rescue workers heard another sound. They stopped their pounding and listened. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It was the sound of a little child—and he was singing. Five-year-old Gancci later said that he knew his father would hear him if he sang. Under the weight of crushing concrete that would later result in the amputation of his arm, Gancci was singing his favorite song, “I Am a Child of God.”29
As the hours passed amid the darkness, death, and despair of so many other precious sons and daughters of God in Haiti, the Saintelus family had a miracle. Gancci, Angie, and Gansly were discovered alive under the flattened building.30
Miracles are not always so immediate. At times we thoughtfully wonder why the miracle we have so earnestly prayed for does not happen here and now. But as we trust in the Savior, promised miracles will occur. Whether in this life or the next, all will be made right. The Savior declares: “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”31 “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”32
I testify that as you love Him, trust Him, believe Him, and follow Him, you will feel His love and approval. As you ask, “What thinks Christ of me?” you will know that you are His disciple; you are His friend. By His grace He will do for you what you cannot do for yourself.
We eagerly await the concluding remarks of our beloved prophet. President Thomas S. Monson was ordained an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ when I was 12 years old. For more than 48 years we have been blessed to hear him bear witness of Jesus Christ. I testify that he now stands as the Savior’s senior Apostle upon the earth.
With great love and admiration for the many disciples of Jesus Christ who are not members of this Church, we humbly declare that angels have returned to the earth in our day. The Church of Jesus Christ as He established it anciently has been restored, with the power, ordinances, and blessings of heaven. The Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ.
I witness that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. He suffered and died for our sins and rose the third day. He is resurrected. In a future day, every knee will bow and every tongue confess that He is the Christ.33 On that day, our concern will not be, “Do others consider me Christian?” At that time, our eyes will be fixed on Him, and our souls will be riveted on the question, “What thinks Christ of me?” He lives. I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Youth all over the world are drawn to temples. In Lima, Peru, I met a father and three of his daughters outside the entrance of the temple. I saw the light in their faces. Two of the daughters were severely disabled and sitting in wheelchairs. The third daughter, while attending to her sisters’ needs, explained she had two more sisters at home. They too were in wheelchairs. They were unable to travel the 14 hours to the temple. The temple meant so much to this father and his daughters that four of them had come to the temple that day—two of them simply to observe the one who could be baptized for the dead and perform that sacred ordinance. Like Nephi, they “[delighted] in the covenants of the Lord.”

Upholding the standards of the Church is a daily goal for Sister Hermin of the Djakarta Selatan Branch, who has had to support her three boys alone. She was an inactive member of a Protestant church when a Latter-day Saint relative asked her if she would like to hear the gospel message.

“Her question reminded me of something that had happened ten years earlier when I was twenty years old,” says Sister Hermin. “I had asked my mother then where I could learn of the gospel of Jesus Christ. My mother had told me to be patient because the day would come, she said, when one or two people would come to my home to teach me the gospel.

“I was baptized a member of the Church in December 1985, three months after I first met the missionaries. I was married by then and had one son, Mindo. He and my husband later joined the Church.”

Eventually, a second son, Nando, was born, who joined the Church when he was old enough. Their third child, a daughter, died when she was a year old.

Losing a struggle with alcohol, Sister Hermin’s husband was unable to support his family and fell away from the Church. Sister Hermin became the family provider by selling watermelon from a street cart—something she still does. Her husband died in 1989, while she was expecting their third son, Martin.

With her three boys, she lives in a small, two-room shack sandwiched between some dilapidated shops at the edge of a busy road. She supplements her income by renting out her small home in another part of the neighborhood.

Striving to make the shack livable and a haven from the noisy world outside is a challenge. Once, a section of the shack collapsed, but her branch president helped her make repairs.

“The branch members are always available to help me if I need it,” she says. “But my greatest help comes from being active in the Church. I enjoy the lesson material, and I appreciate the spiritual education that the boys receive. My boys have been through some hard times, but their attitude toward life is good because of our activity in the Church. And family home evening isn’t just one day a week with us. We get together almost every night and read the scriptures and sing together.

“I know from experience that whenever I feel sad or troubled, if I read the scriptures and sing some hymns, my burden will be lifted, and I will be happy again.”

While the formal classroom may be intimidating at times, some of the most effective teaching takes place other than in the chapel or the classroom. Well do I remember that about this season, some years ago, members holding the Aaronic Priesthood would eagerly look forward to an annual outing commemorating the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. By the busload the young men of our stake journeyed ninety miles north to the Clarkston Cemetery, where we viewed the grave of Martin Harris, one of the three witnesses of the Book of Mormon. While we surrounded the beautiful granite shaft which marks his grave, Elder Glen L. Rudd, then a high councilor, presented the background of the life of Martin Harris, read from the Book of Mormon his testimony, and then bore his own witness to the truth. The young men listened with rapt attention, touched the granite marker, and pondered the words they had heard and the feelings they had felt.

At a park in Logan, lunch was enjoyed. The group of young men then lay down on the lawn at the Logan Temple and gazed upward at its lofty spires. Beautiful white clouds hurried by the spires, moved along by a gentle breeze. The purpose of temples was taught. Covenants and promises became much more than words. The desire to be worthy to enter those temple doors entered those youthful hearts. Heaven was very close that day. Learning what we should learn was assured.

A beautiful night in the desert, the sound of camp songs in the air, and the smell of … camels? This isn’t just any camp. It’s girls’ camp in Bahrain, an island in the Middle East where the Church is legally recognized.
The girls are from the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, the Philippines, and South Africa, but since their families are all far from their native countries, and since they all love the gospel, they have a lot in common. Many of them are the only Latter-day Saints in their schools, and they have few opportunities to get together with other LDS youth. And those opportunities only come when the youth are willing to sacrifice. All the girls belong to the Arabian Peninsula Stake, which covers seven countries, so they traveled long distances to come to Bahrain.
“When we get together with everybody else, it makes me realize that I am not alone. There are others in the same situation,” says Anne Wellington, a young woman from England.
The three days of camp were filled with activities and spiritual experiences. The girls made fast friends while they swam and toured ancient ruins. They also provided service for a school for disabled children by bringing needed supplies to the Hope Institute. Margaret Tueller says, “We had warm feelings. It was as good to give as it was to receive.”
Beth Chapman said her favorite part of girls’ camp was “the way everyone had a bright and cheerful spirit.”
Although living in the Middle East might sound exotic, these girls face the same challenges of Latter-day Saint youth all over the world. Emilie Shurtliff, a Mia Maid from the United States, tries to stand for clean language and set an example. “When I am around people who swear, I feel uncomfortable and out of place. I am the only LDS member in my school, so for a long time I just ignored the language around me. After a while I asked the people closest to me not to use bad language.” She says she tried not to condemn others and to be very careful about her own language as well. “Eventually, I noticed that I didn’t hear swearing very often, and when I did, I often received an apology without having to say a word.”
Many of these young women are the only contact with the Church some people in the Middle East will ever have. They are allowed to teach the gospel only through the way they live their lives. Liz Taylor, a Laurel, said she was questioned in science class one day during a discussion about the effects of illegal drugs. “One student blurted out that Mormons don’t even drink coffee. My teacher asked if anyone was Mormon, and I timidly raised my hand. The rest of the class was spent asking me questions—genuinely interested questions.”
Although the girls know they are growing from their experiences in the Middle East, they still get lonely sometimes. “We are like pioneers,” Anne says. “It’s hard because there are so few of us.”
The young women of this remote stake are seeking the blessings of the gospel in their lives through their personal righteousness as they learn to trust in the Lord. The young women each confirmed that reading the scriptures, praying, and participating in their branch or ward family helped them meet their everyday challenges. Despite the political restrictions they face, they are seeking to be good and to do good in their homes, their schools, and their communities.
“Brothers and sisters, the Lord expects us to do something. I believe we are expected to increase our own faith, shake off any possible feelings of apathy, and by the power of the Holy Ghost reaffirm our commitment and intensify our service to the Lord. Then, when we seek to clarify someone’s understanding of the Church, our lives—well and faithfully lived—can serve as a magnifying glass through which others can examine the impact of gospel living. Under the light of our good example, the Spirit can enlarge understanding of the Church and its mission to all with whom we have contact” (Ensign, May 2000, 33).—Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve

The incident made news headlines around the world. A Latter-day Saint missionary had fallen off a 230-foot (70-m) cliff in Australia—and lived! That’s like falling from the top of a 23-story building.
Sometimes a miracle can be told in a single sentence. But for Elder Matthew Weirich—the missionary who fell—every detail of his story testifies to him that the Lord has a plan for his life that he has not yet completed.
Elder Weirich, from Fredricksburg, Texas, had just three months left of his missionary service in the Australia Sydney South Mission. On a preparation day in June 2004, Elder Weirich and three other missionaries got permission to visit a local park to see some of the animals unique to Australia. On the way back from the park they saw a sign pointing to the Grand Canyon lookout. It was close by, so they decided to stop and see what the Grand Canyon looked like in Australia. It is at this point that Elder Weirich’s memory of the day ends. Days later, in the hospital, he had to ask his companions what happened next.
The group had walked to the lookout and then followed marked paths below the lookout to some caves. The path had some crude rock steps back up to the lookout, and one of the missionaries lost a shoe that had been loosely tied. The shoe rolled partway down an incline. From his position Elder Weirich could see that the shoe was caught in a bush just a few steps from the path. It seemed easy to retrieve, and he offered to get it. His companions said that Elder Weirich called out that he had the shoe. Then they heard the noise of sliding rocks. Since they couldn’t see Elder Weirich, they didn’t know what had happened. But when he no longer answered their calls, they were afraid he had fallen.
The three missionaries looked as far over the cliff edges as they dared, then prayed and went looking for a cell phone to call the police. They heard a car door slam in the parking lot and ran to ask the man who had just arrived if he had a phone they could borrow. He did, and they called 000, the emergency number.
An hour later a rescue squad arrived just as darkness was falling. It was turning cold, and the heat-seeking helicopter flying overhead could find no sign of Elder Weirich. Everyone was afraid there was no longer a survivor to rescue.
But they were wrong.
At dawn the next day searchers made their way to the bottom of the cliff. They found Elder Weirich, alive but semiconscious. They carefully loaded him into a stretcher and flew him out by helicopter. He was taken to the hospital, where the medical staff expected to work on someone with many broken bones and other serious injuries. It turned out Elder Weirich had some swelling in his brain, but the only broken bones were his nose and two small fractures above his eye, all of which were left alone to heal.
Looking back, Matt lists the miracles that helped him survive.
Before his mission, Matt had been a pole-vaulter. In fact, he was a national champion in high school and was planning on going to college on a track scholarship. Perhaps—although Matt can’t remember exactly what he did while falling—his training took over and helped him adjust as he fell so he landed in a way that reduced his injuries.
At the top part of the cliff he hit several ledges that slowed him down, evidenced by the scrapes and cuts on his arms, before he took the final 90-foot (27-m) free fall.
The weather had been below freezing every night. But on the night he spent at the bottom of the cliff, the temperature was 10 degrees warmer than usual and did not dip below freezing.
He crawled a few feet after he landed, his head ending up downhill, which may have helped maintain good circulation to his injuries.
He was rescued by experts and given excellent medical care.
His survival story created great interest throughout Australia. Suddenly people everywhere wanted to talk to missionaries. Doors were opened. Many people wondered why this apparent miracle had happened and were asking searching questions about God and the Church this missionary represented.
Matt found other blessings from this experience. He says, “This whole event has brought me closer to my family and has helped me understand the value of life. It is more than just living day-to-day or thinking that you’ll be able to make up for mistakes later.
“I have stopped asking why. I’m now asking, ‘What can I learn from this?’ All I know is that I was an instrument in the Lord’s hands. I have seen some of the effects on other people. I’ve come to the conclusion that the Lord has things for me to accomplish. When temptations come my way, I realize that I wasn’t saved to fall into sin. I have to remember that the Lord has a plan for us all.”
Matt Weirich has returned from his mission. He has recovered and is a pole-vaulter on the track team at Brigham Young University, where he continues his studies.

The funeral was held on Tuesday morning. I didn’t go. I couldn’t stand to see them put her into the cold earth. Besides, I had been to LDS funerals before. Always they were so cheerful and positive, telling us to have faith in God and that things would be fine with the departed loved one. I wasn’t sure I even believed in God anymore. I went fishing in an effort to forget the pain I was feeling.
I arrived home as the sun was sinking in the evening sky. My fishing expedition had been a failure, and I badly wanted to speak to my father. Jason and Bronwyn were solemnly seated in the living room, but Dad was nowhere to be found. I went to look for him in the yard.
When I was a little boy, I had a pet dog called Bunyip. He was my best friend. We were inseparable. But one day Bunyip was bitten by a snake and died. I was shattered, and there was nothing my parents could do to console me. So my father went into one of the fields and painted a huge smiling face on a large granite boulder. He called it the Happy Rock. After that, whenever I felt sad, I would go to the Happy Rock, and my sorrows seemed to magically vanish.
It was here that I found my father, perched atop the boulder, its great, smiling face showing the strains of time. He looked pathetically vulnerable as he sat, gazing sadly at the retreating sunset. I quietly announced my presence. For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then a wistful smile briefly crossed his sun-browned face.
“I guess the old rock has lost its magic,” he said. Then, for the first time in my life, I saw my father cry. Again I felt bitterness within. How could the Lord give us a Christmas gift like this?
Weeks passed and I quit going to church. There was nothing there for me. A few people visited, encouraging me to go back, but I wouldn’t listen. How could I ever feel comfortable in church again?
One day I got a call from Sister Robinson, the Relief Society president. “Oh Brad, I’m so glad you’re home,” she said. I immediately felt my defences go up. If this was something to do with church, she could forget it.
“Yes, Sister Robinson, what can I do for you?”
“Well, it’s like this,” she began. “I’m supposed to be at the hospital tomorrow to read to some of the children, but I won’t be able to make it. I was wondering if maybe you could go in my place.”
“Gee, I don’t know,” I started to object.
Sister Robinson cut in: “Brad, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I don’t know who else to ask.”
I finally agreed to go because I didn’t know how to refuse her. Putting down the phone, I wandered into the living room. With four days left before Christmas, it looked as if the Christmas spirit had passed right over our place. There were no decorations, no trees, no Christmas cards. Instead we had sympathy cards lined up along the mantelpiece. If my Christmas was to be miserable, at least I could try to take some of the Yuletide cheer to some little kids in hospital.
At the hospital the next day, I was assigned to a frail little girl named Marcie. They told me she was nine years old. She looked about four. She was hooked up to some kind of machine which kept her alive, yet she smiled as if she hadn’t a care in the world. I felt awkward, dressed in my robes of self-pity, while she lay upon her deathbed as cheerful as spring sunshine. We visited for a while. As we talked, I marvelled at her wisdom and perspective. I didn’t know what was wrong with her—I didn’t have the heart to ask. She knew that she probably wouldn’t see her tenth birthday, yet she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t bitter.
I surveyed the pile of books at her bedside. There were many to choose from. “What would you like me to read to you?” I asked.
She pointed to a worn copy of the Easter story. “That one,” she said.
I picked it up. “Honey, you don’t want to hear this. It’s Christmas,” I told her.
“No,” she repeated, “I want to hear that one. It’s my favorite.”
So, during the hot Christmas season, I read of the sufferings of Christ to a little girl who loved God. When I finished, she was staring into my eyes with a look that pierced my soul. Placing her tiny hand into mine, she said, “I have lots of pain, but never as much as Jesus had. When I’m really hurting and I’m all alone, I speak to the Lord because he knows how I feel. He loves me.”
I hurried home that afternoon because there was someone I wanted to speak to. When I got back to the farm, the first place I headed for was the Happy Rock. It was out of sight of the house and was an ideal spot for what I was about to do. Dropping to my knees, I opened my mouth to pray, but nothing came out. My heart was thumping. Finally, in desperation, I cried out, “Oh God, where are you?”
From a million miles away, deep within my own mind, I heard the glorious tones of an orchestra. The music grew louder, until it crashed over my being like a wave from the ocean. Then, as clearly as any spoken voice, I heard the words of a favorite carol: “Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead, nor doth he sleep . …’”

Sister Tanner: It was true for me in seventh grade. I was honest, going against what a popular group of girls wanted me to do. Because of that, I didn’t have friends and I was sad, but I had confidence that what I had done was right. And I’m sure that’s what sustained me through a period of time. I knew I could face whom I really needed to face—my Heavenly Father and my family. But even that knowledge doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Tyler watched as some of his Primary friends went to the front of the chapel. It was fast and testimony meeting. Every month, his friends shared their testimonies in front of the whole ward. Even little Sunbeams and CTR five-year-olds did it. Tyler squirmed in his seat. He wanted to share his testimony, too, but he was afraid that everyone would make fun of him.
Tyler had been in speech therapy since he was four years old. At first, he had worked on sounds that he’d never been able to make. Slowly he became really good at them. But now that Tyler was seven, he had a different speech problem. It seemed that when he talked, no one listened. He wanted everyone to hear what he had to say, so he kept starting over. His speech teacher called it “stuttering.” Some of the older kids on the school bus called him “stupid.” Tyler knew that he could not talk as well as the other kids his age. He also knew that he wasn’t stupid. Still, being called names hurt his feelings.
“Why don’t you say your testimony?” Tyler’s little sister, Michelle, asked loudly as he sat hunched over on the bench with his family.
Tyler knew that his face was turning red. “Don’t worry about me,” he hissed at her.
Mom leaned over and whispered to Michelle, “Tyler will share his testimony when he’s ready.”
After church, Tyler found his mother studying her Primary lesson at the kitchen table. He had waited until he could talk to her alone. “I can’t say my testimony because I stutter,” he blurted out to her.
She looked up from her lesson manual and smiled at him. “Everyone has challenges in their lives to work on. This one is just for you.”
Tyler looked down. Tiny tears were starting to form in the corners of his eyes. “But, Mom, no one else stutters.”
His mother was very quiet. Tyler looked up at her and thought he saw tears in her eyes, too. Finally she said, “No one else in our family stutters, but even some grown men have speech problems. Even some of the Lord’s prophets were afraid to share their testimonies because of their speech problems. We don’t know what we would call their problem today; the scriptures describe it as being ‘slow of speech.’”*
“Grown men? Even prophets had trouble talking?”
His mother smiled at Tyler’s excitement and nodded. “In the scriptures, there are two prophets that I can think of who were worried about sharing the gospel because of their speech. They both learned to follow the counsel of the Lord and overcame their fear of speaking. They did great things for the Lord.”
Tyler’s eyes twinkled with joy. “Who were they?”
“Well, one of them was Moses.”
“Moses!” Tyler exclaimed. “He was a great prophet. He led the children of Israel to the promised land. But I thought his brother, Aaron, did all the talking.”
“Very good,” Mom said. “I can tell that you were listening in family home evening. That’s right—Aaron did talk at first. But Moses gradually overcame his fear and did a lot of the talking himself.”
“I didn’t know that,” Tyler said. “Who was the other prophet?”
“You might not have heard of him,” Mom told him. “His name was Enoch. He lived before Noah and the flood.”
“No, I haven’t heard of him. What did he do?”
“He taught his people the gospel.”
“What’s so special about that?” Tyler wanted to know. “All the prophets do that.”
Mom nodded. “Yes, but with Enoch, the difference was that his people listened.”
“To a prophet who couldn’t talk very well?”
“Absolutely. They listened to him so well that their city of Zion was translated, or taken up to heaven to be with Heavenly Father. The scriptures say that they were so righteous that the Lord couldn’t keep them from His presence, and He took them to Himself.”
“The people really didn’t laugh at Enoch, did they?”
Mom closed her manual and folded her arms on top of it. “Tyler, when people listen with the Spirit of the Lord, they listen to what you say, not how you say it.”
Tyler traced the pattern on the tablecloth with his finger as he thought about what Mom had said.
“You know, Tyler,” she continued, “there are General Authorities today who come from different parts of the world. Often they don’t speak English as well as they would like to when they speak at general conference. But every time I listen to them, I have a warm feeling inside. I know that what they’re saying is true.”
“I bet some people would make fun of them, too.” Tyler frowned.
Mom nodded. “I think you’re right. Some people probably do. But if they do, they’re only hurting themselves. They’re missing out on a wonderful spiritual experience.”
Tyler was quiet as this new thought went through his mind. “Thanks, Mom. That helps a lot.”
When the next fast and testimony meeting came, Tyler was ready. He didn’t care if some of the other children laughed. He was going to bear his testimony. He had wanted to do it for a long time, and now he wasn’t going to let other people’s rudeness stop him.
To his surprise, no one laughed. No one even snickered or pointed. Tyler spoke to the whole ward about what was in his heart, what he had felt the Spirit testify was true. It wasn’t a long testimony like adults sometimes give, but it was his testimony.
When Tyler returned to his seat, Mom leaned over. “That was one of the most beautiful testimonies I’ve ever heard. Thanks, Tyler.”
The warm feeling inside of Tyler grew. He knew that it was the Spirit of the Lord making him feel good. All he could think of to answer his mom was, “Thank you, too, Mom.”

Few residents knew or even noticed the Smiths. But when anti-Mormon writers in the 1830s wanted to smear the peculiar new faith, they came up with affidavits from Palmyrans that called Joseph Smith and his family ne’er-do-wells. But the neighbors who knew the Smiths best held better opinions. One such, Orlando Saunders, went on record to vouch for the persecuted family’s character:
“I knew all the Smith family well … the old man was a cooper; they all worked for me many a day; they were very good people; Young Joe (as we called him then), he worked for me, and he was a very good worker; they all were. … They were the best family in the neighborhood in case of sickness; one was at my house nearly all the time when my father died; I always thought them honest; they were owing me some money when they left here. …
“One of them came back in about a year and paid me.”1