Gospel Story Finder

Today, I’d like to tell you a story about a missionary. As I do so, I’d like you to consider what this Elder was thinking: “On a rainy summer afternoon, . . . [Elder Cracroft was] tracting along a gravel road on a hillside above Baden, Switzerland.” In his own words, he states,
As I walked from home to home, I was suddenly laid low by a speck of dust in my right eye. I learned, as one who had worn brand-new contact lenses for only five days, that a mote feels like a beam. I quickly extracted the lens, cleaned it, and prepared to reinsert it. As I held my finger at the ready, a gust of wind swept the lens from my fingertip. My lens was gone with the wind, and I was aghast -- and virtually blind, being plunged instantly into 20/600 vision in one eye, which had been miraculously corrected only a week earlier to 20/20.
Elder Neil Reading and I began to search on hands and knees in the wet gravel, sweeping an eight-foot radius about my point of loss; we searched unsuccessfully for twenty minutes. Half-blind and half-despairing, I suggested that while we were already in position, we should pray. I reasoned with the Lord, told him about my need to see; about our need to meet our three investigator families that evening; about my feeling that there was more to be gained by finding the lens than by my learning whatever I was to learn from the loss. As I concluded the prayer and stood up, I received one of those Joseph Smith ‘flashes of intelligence.’ It surprised me, but I reacted at once. Explaining the plan to my startled companion, I stood on my feet in the same place I had stood earlier, squeezed out my left contact lens, and was plunged into the distorted virtual blindness of 20/600 vision. I had begun my step into the dark.
Assured that my companion was on his knees and at the ready, I put my left lens in my mouth, extracted it, and, mounting it on my finger some six inches from my face, I waited - but not for long. A slight breeze caught my left lens, and it was gone: my step into the dark was now complete. I stood stock-still, heart in throat, until Elder Reading said, ‘I see it. It’s still in the air.’
‘Don’t lose it,’ I pled.
‘It’s still up,’ he whispered, now 10 feet away. Then, from even further away, he exclaimed, ‘It’s starting to fall!’
‘Keep your eye on it,’ I pled again.
‘I see it! I see it!’ he said. There was a long pause and then, ‘Oh my! Oh my!’ I braced.
‘You see the other lens?’ I shouted.
‘Yes, it’s right here!’ Unable to see a thing, I crawled over to him. Slowly, he planted in my palm, in order, my left and right lenses - my seer stones. I wet the lenses and, with my back to the wind and sheltered by my companion’s hovering frame, I implanted them: ‘And there was light, and it was good.’ And we knelt, and full of gratitude I thanked our God for tender mercies. We pressed on to the next house, filled with wonder at a God who knows each sparrow’s fall and the exact whereabouts in Switzerland of Elder Cracroft’s right contact lens.[1]

A personal experience illustrates that point. Sister Oaks and I are the parents of six, including four daughters. Our youngest daughter is still in her teens. As parents, we have learned a lot about teenage girls. I remember when one of our teenage daughters announced that she was in love with eight boys. She produced a list of their names. I made silent note of the fact that she had never even dated some of these boys, and one of them she had never even met. Within a few weeks she dropped several names off her list and added others. When I asked her how she could fall in love and out of love with so many boys so quickly, she wisely admitted, “I guess I’m not in love with those boys. I’m just in love with love.” Your parents and grandparents will remember the words of an old song, “Falling in love with love is falling for make believe” (Lorenz Hart, “Falling in Love with Love,” The Boys from Syracuse, n.p.: Chappell & Co., 1938).

A true story from the USA.
Max bopped his head in rhythm with the song playing on the car radio. He couldn’t wait! Today Mom was taking him to play with his cousin, Preston. But just as his favorite part of the song came on, Mom turned down the music. He was about to ask her to turn it back up when he saw her face in the rearview mirror. She looked a little sad.
“What’s wrong?” Max asked.
“I have something to talk to you about before we get to Preston’s house,” Mom said. “Preston’s family has decided to stop going to church.”
Max and Preston were baptized on the same day. He thought about all the times they had gone to church together. It made him sad to think that might not happen anymore.
“Why?” Max asked.
Mom sighed. “Well, his parents don’t believe the Church is true anymore. Aunt Abby got a little upset with me the other day when we talked about church.”
Max felt a knot in his stomach. “What if Preston gets upset with me about it too?” Max whispered.
Mom looked back at Max in the mirror. “If you’re not sure what to say, just listen. The Holy Ghost will help you know what to do. No matter what, they are our family, and we will always love them.”
Max was a little nervous when he got to Preston’s house, but they quickly started talking and playing like normal. After their front-flip contest on the trampoline, they went inside for a drink. Max realized that it was almost time for Mom to pick him up.
“I’ve got to go soon,” Max said. “I wish I could stay longer.”
“You should spend the night!” Preston handed Max a glass of water.
Max took a drink. “I can’t. I have to get up early tomorrow.”
“For church?” Preston laughed. It wasn’t a friendly laugh. Max didn’t like the way it sounded.
“You should skip church,” Preston said. “Stay here. We’ll sleep in and then play all day. If you go to church, you’ll have to comb your hair and sit still while people talk about boring stuff.” He closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep. Then he opened his eyes and laughed again. “Is it really worth it?”
Max was nervous. What should he say? He sipped his water, took a deep breath in, and silently prayed to know what to do. Then Max smiled and said simply, “Well … it’s worth it to me.”
Preston nodded slowly. “OK,” he said. “That’s cool. I just hope we can play again soon.”
“Me too,” Max smiled.
On the way home, Max told Mom what happened.
Mom listened quietly and smiled. “See? You listened to the Holy Ghost, and you knew just what to say.”
Max felt happy. He was glad that the Holy Ghost had helped him to be brave and stand up for what he knew was right.

I wish you could have been with us as Lee Grisham and I spent last Christmas in the Holy Land. Lee and I had been companions together in the mission field and had received permission to visit the Holy Land en route home. I was a typical Latter-day Saint who had read all my life about the Holy Land, and Lee was a Jewish convert of a few years. So together we shared a desire to visit the land of his forefathers.
We flew into Tel Aviv, where the climate was warm. Once there, we quickly learned how Israelis try to make the best of everything—on the bus ride into town we listened to excerpts from a Haydn symphony to help us forget the rough ride.
The next day we went by bus to Jerusalem, where instead of seeing our mental image of a 20,000-year-old town, we were shocked to find a very large and somewhat modern city, although it is divided into what are called the old and new sections. But the old city really doesn’t have too much to do with Jesus’ life, as much of it was built by the Crusaders and others. Rome destroyed the Jerusalem Jesus knew, leaving not “one stone upon another.” (Mark 13:2.)
After we had seen these sights and many more in Jerusalem, we spent several days in other parts of the Holy Land. One special thrill was conducting our own little sacrament meeting, having been previously authorized, on the shores of Lake Galilee, where our bread was broken from the Jewish bagel and the water came from the sea. A few days later, after having walked the hills, put our bare feet into the rough soil, tasted the water, felt the cold night air, and heard the bleat of the sheep, we found that the scriptures had become a living reality to us. But that wasn’t all. We had tried to follow in the actual footsteps of Jesus. Now our hearts tell us to follow the Savior in all the other paths of living that he has set for us. With the help of the Spirit, I know we can all do it.

By the autumn of 1838, the spirit of his missionary calling began to press so heavily on his mind that he longed to engage in its labors, though he had been ill through much of the summer. His strength was depleted, but he felt if he would make the effort to embark in the Lord’s service that God would supply the needed strength. Therefore, contrary to the advice and wishes of his parents, he set out to share the gospel. At first he could only walk a short distance before he was forced to sit down and rest, but gradually his strength returned and he was completely restored to health.

During this missionary journey he labored in four states. February found him in Kentucky, preparing for his return to Ohio, a journey of five hundred miles through deep snow. He had only $1.25 in his pocket, but he had a deep faith that the Lord would provide.

This return trip was a difficult one. During most of the trip his socks were wringing wet from mud, snow, and rains, and he was fortunate if he found lodging before a fire. The trip completely emaciated the young missionary, and when he returned to his friends in Ohio, he was not recognized. Under the care of his friends he collapsed and was seized with a violent fever, lying many days prostrate in bed.

Such were the missions in the early career of Lorenzo Snow—and the beginnings of many more. The following year he went to Great Britain. He was upon the sea forty-two stormy days. Writing to his aunt he described the storms:

“Just look at me in your lively imagination, in one of these terrific storms, seated to a large hogshead of water—holding on, with both hands, to ropes near by … the ship reeling and dashing from side to side—now and then a monster wave leaping over the bulwarks, treating all present with a shower bath—see, sitting near me, a man weeping bitterly with terror on his countenance—the next moment a wave shoots over the bulwarks, dashing him from his seat and landing him … on the opposite side, from which he arises with a broken arm and dripping wet.”

Below, boxes were broken loose and were tumbling about among the groaning and crying women and children. Yet, through it all, Elder Snow was filled with peace, for he was on the Lord’s errand. This scene was much like one described by Luke, involving the Apostle Paul. In fact, there was much in Lorenzo Snow that was like Paul in terms of missionary labors. Elder Snow’s mission to Britain was followed in coming years by missionary labors in Italy, Switzerland, Malta, Hawaii, and the Holy Land. Before his missions were completed, he had crossed the ocean eight times, traveled over one hundred and fifty thousand miles, and borne his own expenses through it all.

President Snow should be remembered for many things: for his gentlemanly manner, for his deep spiritual commitment to the Lord, for his great abilities as a colonizer, for his value as an educator; but among all his other virtues, he should be especially remembered as a missionary par excellence. One of the major thrusts of his administration was that of fostering missionary efforts worldwide. He even sent out MIA missionaries to serve in other stakes for a period of five or six months. He assigned Elder Heber J. Grant to open Japan to the teaching of the gospel. He spoke of carrying the gospel to Russia and Austria. And during the first year of his administration, he called over one thousand missionaries to labor throughout the world—a number that had never been sent out before in the history of the Church, and never was again for twenty years.

One is left to wonder what might have happened if Lorenzo Snow, as a busy young college student, had decided that religion was not for him. How many thousands of individuals might not have had the chance to accept the gospel!

This photograph, taken during Lorenzo Snow’s presidency, shows him as he is most often portrayed today.

While in Canada recently, I was happy to meet a young man serving as a missionary whom I had interviewed some years before. He had wanted so much to serve a mission, but his parents were against his doing so. He felt torn, knowing the prophet’s counsel that every worthy young man should serve a mission, yet also knowing the Lord’s commandment, “Honor thy father and thy mother.” He wanted to do what was right, and he wanted me to tell him what to do. I counseled him to go home and live worthily for a mission call and to honor his parents by abiding by their wishes. And that is what he did. I didn’t hear any more from this young man until I saw him on my visit to Canada. Now he was a missionary, serving with his parents’ approval and support. “Elder Pinegar is a prophet,” he said to the stake president. “He promised me my parents would some day consent to my coming on a mission if I would honor and obey them, and he was right.” Now I want to be quick to assure you that I make no claim of being a prophet; but I can promise you, as the prophets have promised, that the Lord’s words are true. His commandments are for our good. His promises are sure to those who love him and keep his commandments.

James carefully straightened his tie as he rode to the stake center. Today was his little sister Angie’s baptism, and he knew he needed to look as nice as he could. He looked over at Angie. She was sitting very quietly, looking out the window. He wondered if she was scared or excited.
James remembered his own baptism day. He had been so excited to finally step into the font. He remembered how warm the water felt, and especially how warm he felt inside. He was happy for Angie.
But he was also a little bit jealous.
Wouldn’t it be nice if people could be baptized more than once? What if he could ask his father to let him put on some white clothes too, go down into the water, and be washed clean?
James thought about the promises he had made when he was baptized. He knew that he hadn’t been as good as he had planned to be. Sometimes he was mean to Angie. He had told a few lies. Last week he even took his friend’s Frisbee without asking and hadn’t returned it yet.
James began to feel sad. If only he could get baptized again so that he could start over! He would do better this time; he knew it.
At the stake center, James sat next to his mother and watched his father help Angie into the water. She looked happy. James remembered that feeling. Maybe if he told his father about the things he had done wrong, he could get baptized again. But he didn’t dare ask.
After Angie’s baptism, the whole family had dinner together. Angie was beaming. Grandma and Grandpa were there too, looking proud of Angie. James thought about how sad they would feel if they knew the things he had done since his own baptism. He didn’t feel very hungry.
“What’s wrong, James?” Dad asked, putting his hand on James’s shoulder. His face was full of love. Would he understand and let James get baptized again? Or would he be disappointed in his son?
James leaned over so no one else could hear him. “Dad, can I get baptized again?”
Dad looked closely at James. “Well, that’s not exactly how things work, James. Is something bothering you?”
“Well, it’s just that sometimes I want a chance to start over again.”
“Ah, I see. Are you remembering your own baptism day?”
“Yes.”
“I understand that. Sometimes I wish I could get baptized again. But you see, James, I don’t have to.”
“Why? Because you haven’t done anything wrong?” James asked.
Dad smiled. “Like you, I wanted to keep all the commandments when I was baptized. But I have done many things wrong since then. Just yesterday I lost my patience when you didn’t do your chores right away, remember?”
“Yes.”
“I really wanted to erase my mistake as if it had never happened.”
“So you wanted to get baptized again?” James asked.
“Well, I did want to be clean again,” Dad said. “But I knew that there was another way to get clean again besides getting baptized. I could repent.”
“Is that all?” James asked. “I mean, is repenting the same as getting baptized again?”
“Yes, but there is another part too. Being baptized when you’re eight is something that you do to show obedience and make a covenant to keep the commandments. After that, when you sin, you need to repent and show you really mean to do better.”
James smiled. “You mean by taking the sacrament?”
Dad nodded. “When you take the sacrament you are showing Jesus that you have repented of the things you did wrong that week. And then, as you eat the bread and drink the water, you become clean, and you are ready to start over.”
James remembered the words of the sacrament prayer. Each week he promised to take Jesus Christ’s name upon him—just like when he was baptized. “So I am clean if I repent and then take the sacrament?” he asked.
“That’s exactly right,” Dad said.
“Wow.” James was quiet for a minute. Tomorrow was Sunday. He could take the sacrament then! But he had some work to do first. He wondered if Mom would let him take the Frisbee over to his friend Mark’s house after they got home.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Son?”
“I’m sorry for not doing my chores yesterday. Will you forgive me?”
Dad smiled and hugged James. “Of course I will.”

In those days, too, the Church did not have a family home evening program like we have today, but my family did have family nights. One of the fondest memories I have is of sitting on Dad’s lap during family night as he read us stories from the Book of Mormon. It was the beginning of my testimony of the Book of Mormon, and my love for my father and mother grew as well.
After we spent this time together, we played games like Hide the Thimble, and Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button. We played basketball too. In the winter we’d take a metal coat hanger, bend it into a circle, and wedge it above a door. We’d wad up some stockings for the ball. Of course, we couldn’t dribble the ball, but we could shoot it at the hanger-basket, and we could pass it to each other. We loved playing together.

Even if you’re nearing graduation and feel sure about the answers to those questions, it may be wise to think again. I say that from personal experience. As a senior in high school, I knew exactly the path I would take through college. My goal was to attend the Harvard Business School, just like my father. In answer to my questions about what that would require, he had informed me that the Harvard Business School admissions officers appreciate students with degrees in fields other than business, particularly science and engineering majors. That sounded good to me, because I love geology. For that I am indebted to Ricks College professors who taught me to appreciate the mountains and unique geologic features around Rexburg.

With this clear graduate school goal in mind, I declared geology as my major when I filled out my college application. Everything went according to plan. I enjoyed the geology classes and made rapid progress toward graduation. I also got a summer internship with a large oil company exploring the possibilities of geothermal energy. But I never went on any field trip that wasn’t required for a class, nor did I attempt to get to know my professors outside of the classroom. My grades were good, and I felt confident that the admissions officers at Harvard would be sufficiently impressed with me, notwithstanding my lack of practical experience or enthusiastically supportive faculty mentors.

In fact, I felt so confident that I didn’t apply to any other graduate school. I was thus completely unprepared to receive a “thin letter” from Harvard. For your future reference, acceptance letters often include not only the good news of application success, but also information and enticements designed to win your quick acceptance of the admission offer. These “thick letters” are fat and heavy. By contrast, a statement of rejection is relatively brief, making for a very thin letter. My Harvard thin letter, which weighed less than one ounce, crushed me, as it brought an end to a lifetime of dreaming.

In fairness, my thin letter encouraged me to reapply after gaining at least two years of full-time work experience, as nearly all successful Harvard Business School applicants do. But my devastation wasn’t just a matter of wanting to be admitted quickly. I seriously doubted my ability to get meaningful work experience. The price of oil had fallen by half during my time in college, on its way to falling by half again in the next two years. [2]

In other circumstances, I might have had the patience and optimism to take the Harvard counsel to get work experience and reapply. But experienced, graduate degree-holding professional geologists were being laid off in droves. The woeful joke at the time was that the best natural resource department in Denver, a leading energy hub, was also the shoe department at Sears, the Walmart of that time. Jobs in geology, especially for bachelor’s degree holders, were all but impossible to find.

Now, you may be wondering two things. One is how I could have been so foolish and unlucky in my educational plans. The other is why I am telling you this frightening story. The answer to the first question, about my foolishness and apparent bad luck, is that I can now look back and see that heaven was blessing me in spite of my vain ambitions and overconfidence. We’ll talk more about that later.

For now, let’s focus on the things you can learn from my scary story of bad college and career planning. In my defense, I did one important thing partly well. That thing was choosing a long-range goal to guide my choice of a college major. Rather than just picking a subject that I really liked, geology, I also picked it based on a post-graduation goal: getting into the Harvard Business School.

But I should have been looking past graduate school and on to the life’s work for which my degree would prepare me. I should have been making my best guess about what the life’s work would be. Was it to be a professor and academic administrator, like my father; a research scientist, like his father; or perhaps a real estate developer, like my maternal grandfather? Unfortunately, I wasn’t asking any of those questions.

Transfusion number two is entitled “Integrity.” Its donor is the little Indian patriot Mohandas Gandhi, who won the independence of India from England. When Gandhi was very young, he took a pledge to his mother that he would remain a vegetarian throughout his life. Many years after Gandhi’s mother had died, Gandhi became very ill, and the doctors tried to persuade him that if he would drink a little beef broth it might save his life. But Gandhi said, “Even for life itself, we may not do certain things. There is only one course open to me, to die, but never to break my pledge.” Now just think for a minute what kind of a world this would be if each one of us could manifest that kind of integrity before his family and among his friends and before the world generally.

Winter that year was the coldest it had been in that part of the country for many years. The snow fell and the temperature dropped lower as the days went on. Soon the ground froze hard, and ice began to form in the river.
I was a missionary in southern France and had come to the area expecting to find the normal weather conditions of warm winters and pleasant summers. Our apartment, like many in the area, was built for warm weather. The walls were not insulated, and neither were the water pipes that were attached to the outer walls of the building. It was economical and suited to the region.
As the days went on and the weather grew colder, the people’s attitudes seemed to become colder, and they were less receptive to us. Our contacts with them became more and more difficult.
We soon found that in the center of the city the water pipes were freezing, leaving people without water. The freeze spread like a plague, and we hoped that it would not reach our part of town. Anxiously we watched and waited, but it wasn’t long until we woke up one morning to a freezing cold apartment and no water. Many of the residents of our building had family or friends in neighboring cities or a well in their backyard. Of course, we were not that fortunate.
We did the best we could to survive this difficult time by buying expensive bottled water sold at the stores. We walked twenty minutes every morning to the chapel to wash up and cook. As time went on, we felt that we should get a bucket of water in our apartment to use for washing and for emergencies. We decided to take some time out of our Preparation Day to find someone who still had running water and would give us a bucketful.
We soon found that the cold attitudes that had met us during our regular tracting were repeated when it came to our earnest pleas for one bucket of water. The people responded to us with a coldness that was like the freezing wind. The typical response we received was, “If I give you my water, then what will I drink? The more I give away, the less I will have.” It was hard for us not to become discouraged. The time wore on with no success, so we decided we would try one more door and then start back for home.
We approached the door and knocked. It was interesting to compare this day’s work with the work we usually did. The people didn’t understand the significance of what we were trying to share with them. They didn’t really care about what we presented. They just knew that they were busy and didn’t want to be disturbed by two sister missionaries, strangers in a foreign land, wearing long overcoats and black name tags.
A woman opened the door and looked at us with sympathy as we introduced ourselves and explained our problem. Soon her answer came, and at first it sounded like all of the rest, “One bucket of water?” she asked. “One bucket of water—is that all? I will let you have two, or three, or ten, or more. Keep coming back, because if I give the water away the water pipes will never freeze. When the water is flowing, it doesn’t freeze. In a way, the more I give, the more I get in return.”
This one woman, in a country far from our homes, was living the way the Savior taught us when he said, “For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matt. 25:35).

Last night our home teachers came for a visit. They shook hands with all my family, even me.
After everyone sat down, Brother Sorensen blew up a red balloon and handed it to me.
He counted, “One, two, three,” and said, “let go!” The air rushed out of the balloon, and it flipped and flopped all over the room.
I laughed when it landed on my brother’s head.
“Some of us are like the red balloon,” Brother Sorensen said. “We get excited about something and just flip and flop around, not knowing where we will end up.”
Then he handed one end of a piece of string to my sister. He pulled the string tight and threaded his end through a straw.
Next he told Brother Brown to blow up his blue balloon. Then Brother Sorensen carefully put a piece of tape over the straw and fastened it to the balloon.
Brother Brown let go of the blue balloon. Swoosh! It went straight down the string to my sister’s hand.
“When we prepare and know where we want to go, we can be like the blue balloon and go straight to our goal,” Brother Sorensen said. Then he asked, “Do you have any goals?”
My brother said, “I want to go on a mission.” My sister said, “I want to earn my Gospel in Action award.” And I said, “I want to be baptized when I’m eight years old.” We all said that we would rather be like the blue balloon and prepare for our goals now.

The little boat had been tossed by storms for more than six weeks as it made its way slowly from England to South Africa. Aboard was Elder Franklin D. Price, a young Mormon missionary.
Each day Elder Price became more worried, for food and money were scarce. According to the law of the Union of South Africa, no one was permitted to enter that country unless he had at least twenty dollars with him. Elder Price did not have the required sum.
When the boat finally docked, the young elder decided that he would board a train and go as far as he possibly could. As he walked off the ship, he noticed a small folded piece of paper lying at the foot of the gang plank. Without thinking, he stooped over, picked it up, and automatically slipped the paper into his pocket.
In no time he was on a train, speeding down the tracks toward the Union of South Africa. At the border, immigration officials came aboard to check all entry papers. Elder Price was worried about what would happen to him when the officials discovered that he had no money. When the men approached, Elder Price felt a moment of panic. Then, without even knowing why, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that he had found earlier. Elder Price handed the paper to one of the officials. The man nodded his head and returned the paper to the astonished young elder. That paper was an endorsed check in the amount of twenty dollars with the stamp of the Union of South Africa affixed.
As Elder Price told his story at the mission home, tears of gratitude streamed down his cheeks. The mission president suggested that the check be locked in a trunk for safekeeping. A few days later when Elder Price unlocked the trunk to show the check to some of the other elders, it was not there! It had disappeared as mysteriously as it had come!

While serving a mission to the people of the Samoan Islands, I quickly learned about the importance of showing respect. The traditions of Samoa, locally known as “Fa`asamoa,” are very specific as to what is correct or not correct for a given situation.

For example, when walking through a village, it is common to be invited into a person’s home to rest and share a meal. A person will call to you from their home (and I do not mean on a telephone), and there is a special way that this is done. In return, the prospective guest knows the proper way to politely refuse or accept this invitation. If accepted, footwear is first removed before entering the person’s home or “fale.” Then, before casual conversation begins, formal speeches are exchanged. In each speech a person’s position within the community and also their appropriate rank or title within the Samoan system of chiefs are recognized. Each person present in the home and their status within the village is acknowledged, beginning with the highest chief and concluding with the children. There is a special way to do this. Every person must be knowledgeable of this procedure in order to function appropriately within the village. In addition, a special form of language is employed during these speeches-dev. Words are selected carefully. This “chief’s language” accords due respect to the recipients of the speech, and the knowledge thereof brings respect in turn to the person who articulates it correctly.

My legs felt shaky and there was an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach as we approached the door. I was sure that I was going to faint as my companion told me that this was “my” door.
No, I wasn’t a new missionary. I was a fifteen-year-old home teacher climbing the stairs to the apartment of Sister Rice, a widow living in our ward. Don Gabbott, my high priest companion, was to teach me a great lesson that night about caring for those too sick or too old to be engaged in Church activity.
Brother Gabbott had given me a topic to present to the five families assigned us. I was prepared with some notes on a paper, but I was frightened and inexperienced. I was not sure how a young priesthood holder behaved in the presence of a high priest.
We knocked on the door, but there was no immediate response. I was about to suggest that no one was home when the door slowly opened. From behind it appeared the frail figure of an aged sister, uncertain of what she’d find at her door. She smiled as she recognized Brother Gabbott. We were invited in and asked to take a seat.
After a short greeting, Brother Gabbott looked at me as if to say, “Okay, Robert, it’s time to give our message.” The feeling in my stomach got worse as I began to speak. I cannot recall what I said, but as I looked up from my notes, I saw the tear-stained cheeks of that sweet, sensitive sister. She expressed her gratitude for the presence of priesthood bearers in her home.
I was speechless. What had I done? What could I do? Fortunately, Brother Gabbott helped me by bearing his testimony and asking if there were any needs in the home. There were.
Sister Rice said that she had not been feeling well and asked that she be remembered as we offered our prayer before leaving. She then turned to me and asked if I would offer that prayer. By that time, I was so overcome by the spirit of the occasion that the request numbed me. I was surprised that I was asked to pray when someone older and more experienced and trusted was present. Automatically, I consented and offered a benediction upon that home teaching visit, asking that a special blessing of health and strength be given to that faithful sister whom I barely knew but quickly came to love and respect.
Twenty-five years have passed since my introduction to home teaching in Sister Rice’s home, and she has long since died. But I cannot pass that house without thinking about the experience provided by Brother Gabbott and a faithful sister who knew the appropriateness of calling upon an obedient high priest and an insecure, frightened teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.

When I turned in my missionary papers, my bishop challenged me to not listen to any music at all until my call came. After about a week, the music was gone, but the bad lyrics were still there. Needless to say, my taste in music has changed. I was also able to feel the Spirit more often without the music blaring all the time. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that you are immune to the traps of Satan.
Nicholas Uerkvitz, 19Hereford, Arizona

The loving example of Ghanaian members has a powerful effect on their friends and families.
Phillip Ohene, now serving as clerk of the Koforidua Second Branch, says his LDS employer “talked to me about the Church through his actions. He would tell me the thing, and I would see him doing it himself.” This example helped Phillip decide to investigate the gospel. In shaping people’s attitudes about the Church, he says, “What they hear is not so important. It is what they see.”

On the 23rd of December 2020, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints received an award from The Accra Metropolitan Assembly in recognition of its support in the fight against COVID-19. Those who attended the award ceremony on behalf of the Church were Emelia Ahadjie, director of communication; Samuel Appiah-Kubi, Publishing Services department manager; Spencer Myers, publishing assistant; and Andrews Nana Appiah Mensah, intern, Communication Department.
During the awards ceremony, the mayor of Accra, the Honorable Mohammed Adjei Sowah, introduced the security agencies who were present at the ceremony. He showed his appreciation to the fire service, the police service, and the military for their immense support to the assembly.
The mayor also showed his deep appreciation to the institutions who in one way or another contributed enormously to the metropolis through the assembly. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, GCB Bank, C. Woermann, and J.K Company Limited, were some of the institutions which were awarded by the assembly.
Mohammed Adjei Sowah recounting some of the great services the Church has contributed to the communities said, “History will not forget the great work that the Church has done for the people, and the good works of the Church will forever stand”. Some of the contributions he mentioned were the food items given to the communities that brought smiles to the faces of several families; COVID-19 protective gear such as face masks, face shields, sanitizers and other clinical items that were distributed to hospitals, polyclinics, market women, and the vulnerable through the assembly, all in the effort to help the fight against COVID-19. Receiving the award on behalf of the Church were Emelia Ahadjie and Samuel Appiah-Kubi.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the only church that was recognized and awarded by the Metropolitan Assembly. The representative from GCB thanked the assembly on behalf of all the award winners and after his speech, the representatives who received the awards on behalf of their respective institutions had a picture with the mayor in the forecourt of the assembly.

The Poole England Stake had the opportunity to host an event during National Interfaith Week in November 2023.
Stake members have been building a friendship with a Dorset-based charity named Unity in Vision, by hosting English Connect classes with refugees, and having international lunches monthly at Bournemouth chapel. Since the event was celebrating the charity’s chairperson, Rita El Gazi, it was the ideal venue.
Unity in Vision first launched through a female migrant group in Bournemouth in 2020. Now a social enterprise, and in partnership with Westbourne Rotary Club, the group helped feed people during the COVID-19 pandemic. One of their current projects is training people seeking asylum or refuge to prepare and serve meals, orchestrated through the vehicle of the international lunches, and named Unity International Catering.
Five days into a weeklong visit to Sudan in April 2023 to visit her ailing father, Rita found herself suddenly caught up in the armed conflict. The evening’s speakers revealed the depth of their friendship with Rita, heralded her achievements and reflected on her strength and faith. They also shared how their own faith gave them hope and guidance as they tried to do what they could, despite the distance, to get Rita and her family back to the UK. Rita showed photos and footage of her experiences, discussing the journey that she and a small group of family took to safety, and the miracles that they encountered along the way.
The mayor of Bournemouth, Councillor Anne Filer, ended the evening. Each of the three Abrahamic religions was represented at the event alongside multiple other friends. The Unity International Catering Project afterwards provided the refreshments.

My grandma was the best giver. Her gifts were thoughtful, and every gift she wrapped was covered in beautiful paper with a coordinating bow tied perfectly with ribbon. Going to her home on Christmas morning was like walking into Santa’s workshop. Her gift was the gift you couldn’t wait to receive on Christmas and on every birthday as well. Even so, I don’t remember all the gifts she gave me. What was special was the way she gave them.
Late in 2016, Grandma was diagnosed with cancer. This woman who gave so well at Christmas would be in the hospital for her favorite holiday of the year. I started to worry about how that would affect Grandma, so I felt that I should call my mom and ask her how I could help Grandma with her gifts. Knowing Grandma, she would have made her Christmas plans ages ago and would be so disappointed not to carry them out. And indeed, Mom said Grandma had already bought the presents.
My grandpa gave us the task of wrapping and preparing the gifts for each of the thirteen grandkids and spouses, along with the gifts for more than twenty-seven great-grandkids. I carefully chose the gift bags, tissue paper, and envelopes.
I scanned a card from a previous year to remember their annual message: “Love Eternally, Grandma and Grandpa.” With Grandpa and Grandma’s permission, I did my best to re-create their message. I tried to wrap like Grandma did. I wanted everything to be perfect—to do it as she would have done.
When I was about halfway through the bags, glitter, and cards, the Spirit whispered to me, “This is part of what it means to take someone’s name upon you. This is part of what it means to do things in someone’s name.” In trying to give like Grandma, I was drawing closer to her. I started to think more about what it means to take Jesus Christ’s name upon us.
At baptism, I covenanted to take Jesus’s name upon me and to “always remember [H]im” (Moroni 4:3). Each week during the sacrament, I renew that covenant and begin again. I take that invitation more personally now. I understand better how taking Christ’s name upon us involves living as He would.
I knew how Grandma gave because I had been the recipient of her love and thoughtfulness so many times. I know how Heavenly Father and Jesus love and give because I constantly witness Their blessings in my life.
I am a recipient of Christ’s grace. I want to do what He would do. I want the life I live, the service I give, and the love I share to bear a resemblance to His—to feel as though it came from Him. I am grateful I had the opportunity to serve Grandma and, in doing so, to come to understand more deeply the gifts the Savior has given me.