Gospel Story Finder

The Resurrection and the Atonement of the Savior can be a constant fortifying influence in our lives as illustrated by the account of Elizabeth Jackson, a pioneer in the Martin Handcart Company. She tells of the death of her husband, Aaron, on the Wyoming plains in 1856 in these moving words:
“About nine o’clock I retired. Bedding had become very scarce so I did not disrobe. I slept until, as it appeared to me, about midnight. I was extremely cold. The weather was bitter. I listened to hear if my husband breathed, he lay so still. I could not hear him. I became alarmed. I put my hand on his body, when to my horror I discovered that my worst fears were confirmed. My husband was dead. I called for help to the other inmates of the tent. They could render me no aid; and there was no alternative but to remain alone by the side of the corpse till morning. Oh, how the dreary hours drew their tedious length along. When daylight came, some of the male part of the company prepared the body for burial. And oh, such a burial and funeral service. They did not remove his clothing—he had but little. They wrapped him in a blanket and placed him in a pile with thirteen others who had died, and then covered him up with snow. The ground was frozen so hard that they could not dig a grave. He was left there to sleep in peace until the trump of God shall sound, and the dead in Christ shall awake and come forth in the morning of the first resurrection. We shall then again unite our hearts and lives, and eternity will furnish us with life forever more.”

My Grandfather Rose was very ill with heart problems. To help my grandmother with his care, our family decided that we would take turns sleeping at my grandparents’ house to help out. My mother and my aunts went over most often, but one weekend I asked if I could spend the night.
I was reclining in a chair next to my grandfather’s bed. He was sleeping well that night, which was unusual. I was just falling asleep myself when my granddad rolled over and said, “Carl, shape up.” Then he rolled back over and went back to sleep.
I didn’t know what he meant. I wasn’t a bad kid. But I wasn’t able to fall asleep the rest of the night. I stayed up thinking about what my granddad meant by telling me to “shape up.”
I thought about his words for the next few days, trying to figure out what I needed to shape up in my life. A few days later, I went again to my grandparents’ home to rub my grandfather’s back. I finished that and sat down to talk to my grandma. She said, “Carl, Granddad prays that you will gain the desire to serve a mission for the Lord.”
Later that night I was working at my gymnastics exercises. I heard my coach yelling at me to concentrate. I was so caught up thinking about the conversation that I had with my grandma and the decision I had to make that it was hard for me to work out. I was torn between a college scholarship for gymnastics and a mission.
As I was lying in bed later that night, I thought back to my granddad saying, “Carl, shape up.” I thought about whether my priorities were where they should be. They weren’t. I realized that my number-one priority was gymnastics, not the Lord and his work. I finally figured out what my granddad meant. He meant that I needed to shape up my soul and my mind. The only way to do that was to start going to seminary and church.
Not long after I began to “shape up,” I read the Book of Mormon for the first time in my life. As I did, I took the prophet Moroni’s advice and prayed about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith. Through these exercises, I not only gained the desire to serve a mission, but I also found the light and life of the world, Jesus Christ.

I still have a small set of scriptures that my mom and dad gave me when I turned seventeen. I will always remember one time as a young woman when I read the Book of Mormon. I had read it before, but this time it was different. Perhaps I was more in tune with the Spirit, or maybe I had studied more diligently or prayed more fervently. This time I wanted to know for myself if the Book of Mormon was true.
As I finished Alma chapter thirty-two, with that wonderful passage about faith, I had a feeling that I recognized as a witness from the Holy Ghost. I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I wanted to tell the whole world how I felt, but I was alone. So with tears of joy streaming down my face, I wrote a big red star at the top of the page and wrote, “May 31, 7:30 A.M. This I know, as if written to me.” Then in the margin on one side, “I have received a confirmation. I know the Book of Mormon is true!” In the other margin I wrote, “One month ago I began fasting each Tuesday for a more sure knowledge. This I know.”

In the fall of 1994, Lamont and Janice McDowell Gingerich bid good-bye to their children, left their home in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and headed for the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. There they spent two weeks involved in “the most delightful, spiritually uplifting, and yet physically tiring training and activities sessions,” Sister Gingerich reports.
On 15 September, the Gingeriches headed for Guam. After a brief orientation, they continued on to Ebeye, a small island in the Kwajalein atoll. The island is about one kilometer long and about 110 meters wide. It is home to approximately 13,000 people.
“As a missionary couple, we helped with as many of the administrative and other duties as possible, thereby allowing the younger missionaries maximum time for proselyting activities,” Elder Gingerich says.
But the Gingeriches did more than that. Twice a week, they volunteered at the island hospital. Their work did not go unnoticed. In fact, after the members had waited almost a year, the mayor of the community finally granted permission for a meetinghouse to be built—primarily because of the Gingeriches’ community service work. Initially the community leader had been concerned about the perception that the only thing Church members wanted was to baptize people, but when he saw the missionaries volunteer their time, he realized that they truly cared about the community and local people.
“Couple missionaries also enjoy great success in helping less-active members come back to church,” Elder Gingerich observes. “The only problem this mission has with missionary couples is that there aren’t nearly enough of them to go around!”

I was baptized on April 26, 2009, by Zach’s dad, Brother Simons. I had the support of the entire ward, my family, and my friends. I have never felt so beautiful in my life as I did in my white dress and as I made that wonderful covenant with my Heavenly Father. Afterward, I was given the gift of the Holy Ghost by Brother Davis, whose entire family was especially supportive of me while I was investigating the Church. I was so touched, and I knew that the words he said were from Heavenly Father.

When members of one family began to feel unusual contention invading their home, they called a family council to discuss the situation. The father and mother explained to their children what they had observed and asked how each felt about it. The mother and father learned that since their two oldest children had left home—one to be married and one to go to college—an unfair burden of responsibility had been shifted to the two oldest children remaining at home, and they were becoming resentful. By counseling together and listening, the children shared what they were feeling, and a more equitable distribution of responsibility was made, resolving much of the frustration and tension in the home.3

My wife, Harriet, and I love riding our bicycles. It is wonderful to get out and enjoy the beauties of nature. We have certain routes we like to bike, but we don’t pay too much attention to how far we go or how fast we travel in comparison with other riders.

However, occasionally I think we should be a bit more competitive. I even think we could get a better time or ride at a higher speed if only we pushed ourselves a little more. And then sometimes I even make the big mistake of mentioning this idea to my wonderful wife.

Her typical reaction to my suggestions of this nature is always very kind, very clear, and very direct. She smiles and says, “Dieter, it’s not a race; it’s a journey. Enjoy the moment.”

How right she is!

Sometimes in life we become so focused on the finish line that we fail to find joy in the journey. I don’t go cycling with my wife because I’m excited about finishing. I go because the experience of being with her is sweet and enjoyable.

Sitting on the steps of the weathered frame house, Pualani added a seashell to the strand she was stringing. She spoke to the dog stretched out in the shade of the trumpet vine that climbed over the porch. “This will be the most beautiful collar I’ve ever made, Kulolo.” Measuring the collar around his neck, Pualani murmured, “It fits.”
“Lani,” her father appeared in the doorway—“I’m taking a load of pineapples to the cannery.” He stopped and frowned, then grumbled, “Always wasting time on that no-good mongrel.”
“I don’t care if he’s a mongrel, Papa.” Pualani gently scratched the back of her pet’s ear.
Swinging his long tail back and forth, the dog looked up into the girl’s face.
“See, Papa!” exclaimed Pualani with delight. “His eyes talk to me, and his tail is smiling.”
Her father shrugged his strong, broad shoulders. “Once a tramp dog, always a tramp dog.”
That’s what Mama said the day I brought Kulolo home, thought Pualani. She remembered how Mama had stared at the scruffy dog.
“This is the ilio (dog) you want to keep, Lani?”
Mama’s dark eyes had narrowed as she took stock of the dog—floppy ears, long tail, spindly legs that buckled at the knobby joints when the trembling creature shifted his weight. “Auwe (oh, dear)! So skinny!”
“I want to keep him, Mama,” Pualani had pleaded, her words tumbling out. “I want him for my own. I’ll call him Kulolo, and I’ll get him a collar—leather, maybe.”
“Leather collars cost money,” her mother had declared firmly. “Papa’s wages must be spent on food and clothing. But a few scraps of food we can spare if it means so much to you. But don’t get all huhu (upset) when he wanders away. And he will, as sure as he’s a tramp dog.”
That was months ago, thought Pualani, and Kulolo has never strayed far from our house. She tied the seashells around the dog’s neck.
For a moment her father studied her in silence. “Lani”—he paused to clear his throat the way he always did when broaching an unpleasant subject—“yesterday the mayor said that there are too many stray dogs on the island. From now on every dog must have a license. Licenses cost money, Lani.”
“I’ll earn it,” Pualani said. “Everyone trusts me with their children, Papa.”
“Plantation workers can’t afford to pay you.”
“A job at the cannery, then.”
“You’re too young.” Papa’s shoulders slumped. “Try to understand, Lani.”
Pualani felt a cold numbness creeping through her body, but she forced herself to ask, “What will become of him?”
Again her father cleared his throat. “If nobody pays his fee, they’ll destroy him. Painlessly,” he added quickly.
The following morning, news of the threat to Kulolo traveled among the neighbor children. Keoni, Manuela, Satoshi, Ana, and little Joe all came, determined to save Kulolo.
Manuela said, “My father told me that a license costs five dollars. Maybe if we put our money together, we’ll have enough to buy one.”
Manuela counted their money, then shook his head glumly. “Three dollars and twenty-eight cents.”
Keoni broke the silence that settled over the group. “Maybe we could keep Kulolo from running loose until we can earn enough money. But where could we keep him?”
Ana piped up, “At the end of the island there are some caves in the cliff above the tide line. We could build a fence across the entrance to one of them and keep him there.”
Pualani nodded. “I’ve been there with Kulolo. He likes to run out on the reef and sniff the coral heads.”
“There’s no school tomorrow,” little Joe reminded them. “Let’s take Kulolo then.”
“All right,” everyone agreed, “tomorrow.”
Manuela planned aloud: “Everybody should bring something—some food for Kulolo and old pineapple crates, tools, and nails for building the fence.”
Late the following morning they started out. When they reached the seashore, they cooled their hot, tired feet in the white ruffled edges of the waves. Soon they reached the far end of the island. Trudging along the winding seaside road, little Joe pointed to the wind-lashed trees. “Why is it so blowy and so noisy?”
“There’s always a wind whistling through the trees here, and it makes the sea rough and noisy.”
Soon the children could communicate only by shouts and gestures. Clambering up the craggy rise, they followed Pualani into one of the caves.
Soon the cave echoed with the staccato beat of hammers. The children were so busy that they failed to notice Kulolo’s running back and forth between them and the edge of the cliff. Finally, when he nuzzled Pualani’s hand, looked up into her face, and whimpered, Pualani called to the others. “Kulolo’s bored. I’ll take him for a run on the reef now.”
Outside the cave Kulolo leaped down the craggy cliff and bounded toward the shore road. Then he raced back and leaped against Pualani. Turning, he again bounded toward the road. Near the shore he stopped and barked frantically. Never had Kulolo acted so strangely. As Pualani picked her way over the jagged rocks toward him, he ran along the shore road, then stopped and waited for her to follow.
When she reached the road, Pualani heard it—the tsunami (tidal wave) siren! A terrible fear gripped her. Her fear turned to horror as she remembered that the other children couldn’t hear the tsunami warning.
“Kulolo!” she cried. “Go home!”
Kulolo hesitated only an instant. Then he took off. He was still picking up speed as he rounded the bend in the road.
Stumbling, slipping, Pualani made her way back over the rough terrain and flung herself into the cave. “Tsunami!” she cried.
The children had heard tales of monstrous tidal waves that could travel over four hundred miles an hour, rise fifty feet into the air, and suck everything into the sea. Paralyzed with fear, they stared at Pualani.
Frantically Pualani roused them to action. “Manuela, you’re strong enough to carry little Joe when he tires. Come on. Let’s go.”
Too frightened to cry, the children scrambled down the cliff and made their way toward the road. Half-carrying Ana, and tugging Satoshi by the hand, Pualani urged them on. Suddenly Satoshi clutched her arm. “Why is it so spooky, Lani?”
A dead calm had settled over everything. The frothing white foam had disappeared from the lifeless sea. Only the distant wailing of the siren broke the silence.
“There’s no high ground around here,” Keoni spluttered, “and we don’t know how long the siren has been sounding.”
“We have to stay on the shore road,” Pualani said. “That’s where the searchers will look for us first.”
Pualani urged the weary band along the twisting road. Slowly she became aware of a pounding, pulsating sound. Is it the tsunami? she wondered, knowing they could not escape if it was. The noise grew closer and louder. Then the plantation truck labored into view! In front of it ran Kulolo, panting heavily.
Papa slammed on the brakes and leaped from the cab to hoist the children—and Kulolo—into the truck. Within seconds they were headed back down the road.
Pualani’s father was grimly silent as he swerved to avoid the deep ruts in the tortuous road.
Ana’s voice rose above the clatter of the truck. “Where’s the sea going?”
The sea, now dark and murky, was drawing away from the land.
Pualani’s father took one glance at the awesome sight and jammed the accelerator to the floor as he shouted, “Hang on!”
The shore road lay perilously close to the beach. They had to reach—and climb—the dirt road that wound through the pineapple fields up to the plantation.
“Almost to the dirt road!” Father shouted.
Two minutes more. One minute. With a screech the truck swung sharply from the shore road and started its climb toward safety.
A cry of relief rose from the islanders who had flocked to the plantation. While parents rushed to their children, a murmur rippled through the crowd. Trembling fingers pointed toward the horizon, where a dark strip approached. It grew into a towering, raging, thundering wall of water rushing at them.
When it struck, a shudder shook the whole island. Fierce white foam licked at the lower slopes of the plantation. With a great roar, the wave receded, carrying with it trees, shelters, boats, and docks. Again and again it struck, but with less strength each time. As the wave slowly sank into the sea, it left behind huge mounds of dredged-up sand, and torn-up plants and buildings and boats.
For a long time no one spoke. Then Pualani’s father broke the silence. “Let us thank Heavenly Father that there has been no loss of life.”
That evening Papa told Pualani, “Our neighbors have given us the money for a license for Kulolo. He isn’t a tramp dog anymore. You must make him a sturdy collar, Lani, so that he will never lose it.”
Pualani smiled. “I will, Papa,” she said.

I too was afraid to let my friends down. But I thought to myself that if I did give in, whom else would I let down? What worked best for me was to make the decision long before the situation came up. I made the commitment to myself that I would say no to drugs and alcohol. After I said no a couple of times, I was more respected for the decision I made. After a while, when someone would ask me again if I wanted a drink, one of my friends would say, “No, Calder doesn’t drink.” It made it easier for me once my friends realized that I wasn’t going to drink.
Elder Calder, 20, Idaho Pocatello Mission

When President Thomas S. Monson was young, his parents taught him the principle of work by their examples. His father, a printer, worked long and hard practically every day of his life. When he was home, he did not stop working in order to take a well-deserved rest. He continued to work by providing service to family and neighbors alike.3 His mother was always working to provide some needed service to a family member or friend. President Monson’s parents often asked him to accompany them or to do some service for them, allowing him to learn firsthand about working to serve others.

President Monson learned from his father how to work in business and began his first part-time job when he was 14, working in the printing shop that his father managed. President Monson relates that after age 14, there have not been many days in his life—other than Sundays—when he didn’t work. “When you learn to work while you’re young, the habit stays with you,” he says.4

How blessed we are to have a living prophet in these last days. What a life-stirring compass is the First Presidency Message by President Gordon B. Hinckley in the May 1999 Liahona (English). This message, “Life’s Obligations,” is so rich and touching. It has strengthened my testimony of the living prophet of God. I spend time every day reading portions of this message.
On one occasion, I went to a restaurant and took this message with me. One of my clients asked to read it. After reading it, he asked for a copy of it. This man confessed that the message is “inspired and really applies to present-day life.”
Attah Frederick,Bauchi Branch, Jos Nigeria District

Illustration by G. Bjorn Thorkelson
Cara put down her pencil and stared at the piece of paper on her desk. It was blank except for her name and a big eraser smudge. What should I write? she thought.
Across the aisle her friend Lily was writing busily. Cara put her head down and rested it on her arm.
Cara really liked her new school. It was in a church building of another religion, and her new class was small enough that her teacher, Mrs. Schmidt, had time to help her with math. Every day after math, Mrs. Schmidt taught a lesson from the Bible. Usually the Bible lessons were a lot like what Cara had learned at home and in Primary.
But a few weeks ago, during a lesson about baptism, Mrs. Schmidt had told the class that babies who died before they were baptized couldn’t go to heaven. Then she said that one of her own children died right after he was born. When she said that, Mrs. Schmidt looked like she was going to cry.
“But babies who die do go to heaven,” Cara wanted to say. If only Mrs. Schmidt knew that, maybe she wouldn’t be so sad anymore. But Cara felt too shy to say anything.
After school Cara told Mom about what Mrs. Schmidt said. “Knowing that babies go to heaven is one of the blessings we have because of the Book of Mormon,” Mom said. Cara hoped that Mrs. Schmidt would read the Book of Mormon someday. She wished she had the courage to tell her about it.
Now in today’s lesson, Mrs. Schmidt had told the class that God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost are all one person. Cara thought about how Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove. She knew that They were two separate people and that each of Them had a body. She was glad she knew that for sure, even before talking to Mom or Dad about it.
But then Mrs. Schmidt had said, “Class, please take out a piece of paper and write about what we have been talking about.”
That’s when Cara got a worried feeling in her stomach. She wanted to do the assignment the way her teacher wanted her to. Could she be brave enough to write what she knew was true?
With her head down on her desk, Cara began to say a silent prayer. Please, dear Heavenly Father, what should I do?
Almost at once Cara began to feel calm and peaceful inside. The Holy Ghost whispered that if she wrote what was in her heart, everything would be OK.
Cara lifted her head, picked up her pencil, and began to write:
Heavenly Father and Jesus are two separate people. They have bodies of flesh and bone like we do. The Holy Ghost is a Spirit who can speak to us in our hearts.
After writing a few more sentences, Cara put her pencil down. She didn’t know what Mrs. Schmidt would think of what she had written, but she felt happy that she had been able to tell her teacher something important and true.

I have a friend named Doug whom I must tell you about. He went through school with an unexciting C+ average, and his current earning power is about in the same class—comfortable but not lavish. He has his share of aches and pains, and life has dealt him a full crop of the tougher problems that seem to accompany just about every family. Yet Doug is a man with a gift that is worth more than money can buy. He is a tremendously happy man, and there is no doubt that his happiness comes primarily from his one polished and perfected talent. Perhaps it might be called a knack rather than a gift or a talent. At any rate, it works.

Doug has the knack of absorbing real enjoyment out of the simple and ordinary happenings of each day. I suppose it could be called the knack of enjoyment—and he utilizes it in a fantastic fashion. A normal dinner at night with his wife and kids is a memorable thing for this fellow because he knows how to reap an unusual amount of enjoyment from the carefully set table, the taste of the food, and the conversation of each person, no matter how trivial. It’s as though he had been looking forward to this particular occasion for weeks. A day on the job to Doug seems a challenge, with new decisions and opportunities, while others doing the same thing may feel they’re in a repetitive rut. He can go to church and find a half-dozen worthwhile pearls in a sermon and make plans for adopting them in his own habits, while others sitting in the same service may grumble to themselves about how boring and empty the spoken word has been. When Doug’s golf game is sour, with a score that soars to 105, and his pant cuffs are filled with sand from the traps and prickly weeds from the rough, this guy can actually smile and talk about how great it was out there in the beautiful out-of-doors.

You see, Doug discovered many years ago that most people expected and anticipated a great wad of happiness to come to them when certain events or accomplishments just over the horizon of the future would materialize. Such events could be graduation, or marriage, or the birth of children, or the betterment of a job, or the acquiring of a home or a car. Anyway, Doug has always felt that life is now, and it should be enjoyed now. He taught himself how to enjoy the simple and ordinary things of each day that so often are taken very much for granted.

I once asked Doug to tell me the secret of this unusual gift that he possesses. He told me there were three things that he accentuates every day of his life. First, he tries to slow down in his path through life. He stops to listen to the laughter of children playing in the neighborhood. He takes time to notice flowers, gardens, and homes as he walks along a street. He enjoys each day and wants it to last. Secondly, he reminds himself many times each day that he is going to find happiness on that day! He always seems to be alert in the search. And third, he emphasizes how necessary it is to develop the ability to genuinely appreciate the many things in life for which we should be grateful. Appreciation!

Doug taught me that anybody can acquire his gift if they will strive diligently for it. It doesn’t take great intellectual ability, great physical strength, great heritage, great wealth, or great accomplishment. It’s open to anyone who is looking for a talent. Try it. It works.

Meanwhile, Gabin’s return ticket to Libreville remained undetermined. Fortunately, the kind-hearted Havrenne family, members of the Charleroi Ward, invited Gabin to live at their home in Erquelines, a small town near Charleroi, while his situation in Gabon was being resolved. After several weeks, his hosts insisted that he stay and proposed to have him help with the gardening around the house. “It was a difficult time in my life,” Gabin recalls. “Here I was, a trained electronics engineer with no money and no job—stranded in Belgium, pruning bushes and pulling weeds. But through it all I learned humility and this experience was one of the best lessons in my life.”
By 2005, Gabin still worked for his room and board as a gardener—and he was still struggling with the government of Gabon to organize his return. His Belgian student visa had long-since expired. In limited correspondence with his older brother in Libreville, Gabin learned that his family was very discouraged by the situation and desperately wanted him to return home.
By this time, he had received the Melchizedek Priesthood and had been ordained an elder. He also received his patriarchal blessing. In separate interviews, his bishop and stake president asked if he might be interested in serving a full-time mission. Gabin responded, “Yes, I would.” A missionary application was completed and submitted—and a few weeks later Gabin received his mission call from Salt Lake City. He was instructed to enter the missionary training centre on 20 June 2006—and then report to the Brussels Belgium Mission—a mere 60 kilometers from where he was then living.
Missionary preparation began in earnest and Gabin went to The Hague Netherlands Temple where he received his endowment. He was anxious to serve the next two years as a full-time missionary, but after having informed his family in Libreville of his plans, they became angry with him. They could not understand why he was interested in running off on a mission. “You must return home”, he was told. “After all, we supported you and it is selfish not to return home to help out the family.” Gabin became conflicted and during this personal struggle, he met with President Kevin S. Hamilton, who at the time was President of the Brussels Belgium Mission and who was to become his mission president. He asked for advice and counsel. President Hamilton, told him, “Trust in God—things happen for a reason. Everything will turn out all right, but in unexpected ways”.
A few days before his departure—and in a twist of fate that can only be understood by going forward in time to several years later—Gabin received two official letters in the mail. One, from the government of Belgium, indicated it had recently discovered that he was living in Belgium on an expired student visa and ordered him to be immediately deported back to Gabon. The second letter was from Libreville—and included his return airline ticket.
The stake president recommended that Gabin fly home and then he would work with the missionary department in Salt Lake City to get things sorted out. So, in the spring of 2006—nine years after first having left his family in Libreville—Gabin was finally going home. He packed a suitcase, and among his personal possessions were two copies of the Book of Mormon, his mission call, DVDs of both 2004 general conferences, his patriarchal blessing, a few tithing slips, and some temple garments.
Over the next few weeks, the stake president in Charleroi worked with the missionary department in Salt Lake City to resolve this unusual situation. Things became even more complicated because in 2006 the Church was not officially recognized by the government of Gabon and no ward or stake was organized in the country. Gabin, now living in Gabon, had no local priesthood leader. The Belgian government was not prepared to issue a missionary visa due to the expiration of the student visa. Finally, a decision was made to cancel his mission call. Gabin was home to stay.
He moved in with his older brother, and during that year, found a job as an electronics technician in a local business. The dreams of his higher education were beginning to come true.
With no organized Church unit in Libreville, Gabin held unofficial meetings on Sundays and family home evenings on Mondays at his home. Some friends and a few family members attended with interest. Gabin would teach from the Book of Mormon and they would watch 2004 general conference sessions.
Throughout this time, Internet services inside Gabon were unreliable and costly—and accessing websites outside the country was almost impossible. From time to time, Gabin was able to access Church websites and download a general conference talk or two. These he would print out and add to his Sunday “lesson plans”.
In 2008, he met Fleur and fell deeply in love. Gabin remembers, “I found a girl!” Fleur had a daughter, Eve, and he fell in love with her, too. Fleur and Eve usually attended a local Protestant congregation, but throughout their courtship, he taught them missionary lessons. They started attending his Sunday meetings and family home evenings on Mondays. Gabin and Fleur were married in 2013 in a civil ceremony.
At the beginning of 2014, Gabin found an article online reporting that Elder David A. Bednar, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, had a few months earlier been in Libreville. It was just after the Gabonese government had officially recognized the Church and had permitted the beginning of missionary activities. Elder Bednar had dedicated the country of Gabon for the preaching of the gospel and he had organized the Libreville Branch. Gabin was stunned. For more than eight years he had likely been the only endowed member of the Church living in Gabon and suddenly there was a branch organized in his home city.
Using an email address found in the article, Gabin wrote to the Africa Southeast Area office, asking questions about the Church situation in Libreville. Elie Monga, president of the Brazzaville mission in the Republic of Congo, was informed and a few days later, while at work, Gabin received a visit from Elder Michael Moody, the first senior missionary to serve in Gabon.
After their initial greeting, Gabin said to Elder Moody, “I have a few questions. First, where can I pay my tithing?” For more than eight years, Gabin had carefully kept his tithing money in a small box.
“Second,” he asked, “Where can I buy new temple garments? Eight years ago, I brought a few to Libreville, and every night since I have been carefully hand washing them.” Elder Moody went to the car, opened his suitcase, and gave Gabin a brand-new pair of garments that he had been prompted to pack in his travel case that morning.
The next Sunday, Gabin, Fleur, Eve, Gabin’s nephew Yann, plus Annaïck and Pauline, Fleur’s nieces were six of the ten people sitting in the Libreville Branch sacrament meeting. Fleur was taught the missionary lessons and shortly afterward was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. And so were Eve, Yann, Annaïck, and Pauline.
In 2015, Gabin adopted Eve. And later that year the three of them—Gabin, Fleur, and Eve—flew to Johannesburg, South Africa, where this unlikely story concludes with significant eternal consequences. Fleur received her endowment, she and Gabin were sealed together, and Eve was sealed to them both in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
In 2016, Elie Monga, president of the Republic of Congo Brazzaville Mission, travelled to Libreville to preside over a division of the Libreville Branch. Gabin Mendene was called to serve as president of the Libreville 2nd Branch. Shortly afterward, while attending district conference, Elder Kevin S. Hamilton—former Brussels Belgium mission president and now a General Authority Seventy and president of the Africa Southeast Area—looked out from his seat on the rostrum. And sitting there in the middle of the congregation was someone he had not seen in ten years—a patient man with an extraordinary conversion story and a church pioneer in Africa—Gabin from Gabon.

One Saturday evening after returning from an FSY conference, I decided to go check out a job opportunity in the outskirts of town—a long distance from where I live. As I was trying to get back home afterwards, I stood by the roadside waiting for a bus, but none going in my direction came.
As I waited, I noticed a man nearby who also seemed to be looking for transportation. Just then, a cab driver slowed down in front of me. At first, I was hesitant. From the way he approached, it seemed he was offering a “drop,” which is what we call a private ride—and I wasn’t prepared to pay that much. So I told him I wasn’t looking for a drop, just a ride to the next bus stop. To my surprise, he agreed as though that was fine. Feeling it was OK, I got into the car. At that moment, I thought I was the only passenger in the car.
The man I had seen earlier then walked quickly toward the cab. He got into the back seat in a way that made it seem like we were friends traveling together, even though we were complete strangers. Still, I thought it was just him at the back seat and me in the front with the driver.
As we started driving, I began to feel pressure on my back—someone’s knee was pushing against my seat. At first, I ignored it. But when it happened again and again, I grew uncomfortable, so I turned around to see who it was. To my shock, there was another man sitting directly behind me—someone I had not realized was in the car at all. This startled me deeply, because when I got into the car earlier on, it looked completely empty.
This realization quickly gave way to deeper concern. Why had the driver stopped for me and acted as though the car was empty if someone was already inside? And why was the unknown man sitting directly behind me—hidden from my view as I entered—instead of behind the driver where I would have easily seen that someone was already in the cab? To keep me unsuspecting, the second man who joined after did not enter through the back door behind me—which would have revealed the hidden passenger—but quickly went around to the other side and entered behind the driver, making it appear as though he was the only passenger in the back seat. This meant there were two people in the back, not one, and the situation immediately felt wrong.
At that point, an overwhelming sense of fear came over me. The driver’s expression and the suspicious seating arrangement made me feel strongly that the three men were working together and possibly planning something bad. I could almost see it on the driver’s face that there was something sinister about their intentions.
Despite my fear, I remained calm and firmly told the driver to stop the car, and then he pulled over. I quickly got out, paid the fare, and walked away. He drove off without saying anything.
Reflecting on the situation, it became clearer to me that I had narrowly escaped danger. Whether it was kidnapping or robbery, I believe their plan was to lure me into a false sense of security. I realized that the hidden passenger, who kept pressing his knee against my seat, was in a way testing me—checking to see whether I was alert and attentive enough to notice. If I had not reacted, they might have assumed I was distracted and moved forward with their plan to attack me.
That day, I learned an important lesson: always be alert and attentive to your surroundings, no matter how ordinary the situation seems. I also learned that God, who loves us more than we can comprehend, often gives us clues or signs when danger is ahead. If we remain alert and sensitive to the Spirit, we can discern these warnings that will help us escape the dangers ahead and be safe.

Some years ago I went for the first time to the Salt Lake City Tabernacle for a general conference of the Church. I was awed by the size of the building, but even more by the inspiring presence of the General Authorities who were gathered there.
During my childhood, many of the Brethren had visited our small branch in Montana. We had no television, nor could we receive conference on the radio. So we looked forward to each General Authority visit as a special blessing. They had, it seemed to me, a power and faith above other men.
Then on that April day many years ago, I discovered one source of a General Authority’s strength.
I was attending conference with the six children of Elder Ezra Taft Benson, one of whom was my college roommate. My interest increased when President David O. McKay announced that the next speaker would be Elder Benson. I watched respectfully as Elder Benson, whom I had not yet met, walked toward the microphone. He was a big man, well over 1.8 meters tall. He was a man internationally known as the United States Secretary of Agriculture and a special witness of the Lord, a man who seemed calm and sure, one who had addressed audiences throughout the world. Suddenly a hand touched my arm. One of Elder Benson’s young daughters leaned toward me and whispered urgently, “Pray for dad.”
Somewhat startled, I thought, “This message is being passed down the row and I am to pass it on. Shall I say, ‘Pray for Elder Benson’? Shall I say, ‘You’re supposed to say a prayer for your father’? Sensing the immediate need to act, I leaned over and whispered simply, “Pray for dad.”
I watched that whisper move along the row to where Sister Benson sat, her head already bowed in prayer.

After serving in the temple one evening, Elder Hammond stopped at a fast-food restaurant. He began visiting with a worker who was cleaning tables. The worker asked Elder Hammond why he was wearing a suit. “I told him about the temple,” Elder Hammond says. “We talked for more than 30 minutes. I don’t know if he’ll find out more about the Church, but he knows there is someone who doesn’t just see him as kitchen help.”

One of the reasons we must trust God is that we are presently only able to know what is happening now but He can see into the future. This personal experience may be illustrative.

In May of 1945 as a frightened, not-too-effective young infantryman in the U.S. Army in combat on Okinawa, I had several soul-stretching, faith-promoting experiences, including a dramatic answer to my prayers that came during an artillery shelling of our company’s mortar position. It demonstrated to me, again, that the Lord heard and answered my prayers. In one of those selfish, honest prayers that we offer when we are in real trouble, I promised the Lord that if he would spare me on that occasion, I would seek to serve him all my life. The prayer was answered at once. I foolishly thought then that I could repay the Lord. Since then I am more deeply in his debt than ever.

On a stopover on Okinawa in 1973, I found the same spot, now overgrown by sugarcane, where my foxhole was during that shelling. Just a few hills away, I was privileged to speak in a chapel full of Okinawan Saints and servicemen—not very far from where I and others spent those grim nights so many years before. Soon there will even be a stake of the Church on Okinawa!

I wonder if I had been told in the spring of 1945 that these things would happen later if my mind and heart could have been able to accept and understand it? The Lord foresaw, but I did not.

Timothy stares down into the warm muddy water of the plastic bucket.
“What did we get?” Dad asks across the small fishing boat.
Timothy gives it a little swirl. “It looks like some more dragonfly nymphs, not much else.” He passes the bucket to Christopher, who, after a quick glance, passes it to Dad.
Dad takes the bucket and pours the water, mud, and nymphs into a plastic bag and places it in a big cooler. The cooler is the kind you might expect to be filled with sandwiches, fresh fruit, and soda pop, but this one is filled with samples of the insect life in the farm ponds of North Carolina.
Timothy (11) and Christopher (7) live with their family in the Raleigh First Ward, Raleigh North Carolina Stake. Today they are helping their father, a scientist who studies the insects that live in farm ponds.
“Insects in ponds? Underwater?” Both boys were surprised to learn that many animals that live on land also live underwater. There are insects and spiders that spend much of their life underwater. Some, such as the dragonfly, live part of their lives underwater as nymphs with gills before they become winged adults.
It’s hard work to help Dad take samples from the mud and plants of a pond. Timothy and Christopher start the day early. After family prayer, they and Dad load the pickup truck with a net, some special scientific equipment that will help them tell something about the water in which these insects live, and other supplies. When all is ready, the boys hop into the truck and wave good-bye to Mom and their two younger brothers, Jaron and Nathan.
On the way to the pond, the boys and their dad talk about the wonderful plants and animals that they are able to study and enjoy. Timothy wonders, however, why there are mosquitoes. “They only bite and hurt us—what good are they?”
“Do you remember the big bluegill fish you caught when we were fishing?” Dad asks.
“Yes, but what does that have to do with mosquitoes?”
“Well, when that fish was little, guess what it ate.”
“Mosquitoes?”
“Yes. If you look hard enough, you’ll find a reason all creatures were put on the earth, even the ones that annoy and bother us.”
Soon they arrive at the pond, which is about as big as a football field and is surrounded on one side by pines and on the other by fields of hay. Even though it is still early in the morning, it is already getting hot. Timothy and Christopher unload the truck and put everything into the boat that has already been put partially into the water. Then they get into the boat. Dad pushes it the rest of the way into the warm pond water and jumps inside.
“Timothy, please get the hummingbird out and tell us how deep the water is,” Dad requests.
The “hummingbird” isn’t really a bird at all. It’s a tool in a little box that tells them how deep the water is; it can also tell where fish are located. Timothy plugs its wires into the battery pack, then lowers a small black knob about the size of an apple into the water. He watches the screen and excitedly yells, “Nine feet!”
Dad rows the boat near the shore where there are thick patches of water plants. He gets out a sampling net and starts collecting the insects in the water. After he sweeps the net through the vegetation, he dumps whatever has been caught into a big bucket.
“What are you going to do with all these insects?” Christopher asks.
“They’ll help us know how healthy this pond is.”
“Healthy? Ponds can be healthy?”
“Yes, ponds can be healthy—or unhealthy.” When a pond is unhealthy—if it’s polluted for example—then certain kinds of insects die. By looking at the insects in it, you can tell if the pond is healthy or not.”
Dad stops the boat at several places along the shore to take more samples. Each time, one of the boys transfers the insects, water, and mud in the bucket to a plastic bag and places it in the cooler. Then it’s time to head for home.
On the way, Dad says, “We’ve just tested that pond to see if it was healthy. What if someone wanted to find out if our family were healthy? Just as I look at insects to get an idea about the health of a pond, what do you think someone might look for to see if our family was a healthy one?”
“You mean, if we are all sick or not?” Timothy asks.
“Not exactly. You see, the pond is healthy when all the plants and animals live in the balance that Jesus Christ created them to live in—there is enough food to eat and oxygen to breathe. In the same way, our family is healthy when it’s living the way Heavenly Father and Jesus want it to live.”
“Oh, I see—like if we all love each other?”
“Yes, that’s the most important sign of a healthy family. What else?”
Christopher puts in thoughtfully, “If we are doing the things the Lord has asked us to do.”
“Like what?” Dad raises his eyebrows encouragingly.
“Like having family prayer, family home evening, and personal prayer.”
Timothy adds, “Well, we read the Book of Mormon, and we try to follow the prophet.”
“So if a ‘spiritual scientist’ came to our house and saw that we were doing all these things, then he or she would decide we have a healthy family?”
Timothy and Christopher both nod.
“Do you think we have a healthy family?” Dad asks.
“Yup,” Timothy asserts.
“I think so, too,” Christopher agrees.
Dad gives them both a quick pat on the shoulder. “I think you’re right.”

When I was eight I invited a friend in my class at school to a Cub Scouts activity. He is still coming now that we’re in Boy Scouts. He has been to church a few times now too. When I invited him, I didn’t know that his grandparents are members of the Church and in our ward. They had been praying a lot that he would be able to have some connection to the Church, and my invitation came as an answer to their prayer.
Michael M., age 12, California, USA