Gospel Story Finder

I was a missionary sent to France in 1949. Missionary work then was much different from missionary work now. There was no Missionary Training Center, so when I arrived in Paris, I had had no language training at all. There wasn’t a set of lessons to teach investigators. Different missionaries used different methods to teach the gospel.
I had been in Paris for just a few weeks when my companion received word that his mother was dying of cancer. Since his scheduled release date was only weeks away, the mission president allowed him to return home early to see his mother. If that had happened today, another elder would have been transferred to my area to be my companion. But in those days I was left to work by myself until transfers for the entire mission were made.
Before he left, my companion and I had scheduled a few lessons. I knew that I would have to take care of those appointments. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know the language, and there were no prepared discussions. I was nervous and frightened.
I began to read the Book of Mormon and to pray as hard as I could. I would pray, and then I would read, then I would pray again and read some more. This went on for several days.
Finally it was time to go to my first appointment—the Alvarez family. They were a lovely couple whom we had just begun teaching. When I went, I didn’t know what I was going to say. I had a testimony of the gospel and the restoration, but I did not know the language.
But when I went to see this family, the Lord took over. For two hours I taught them. I’m sure that it wasn’t in beautiful French, but I was able to communicate with them how I felt about the gospel. They understood the message and were touched by the Spirit.
That night when I returned to my apartment, I knew that there really was a Father in Heaven and that He had called me on a mission. I knew that Heavenly Father had watched over and helped me—had loosed my tongue—and that He watches over all His missionaries. It was the first spiritual testimony that I had received in my life of the truthfulness of this work. One of the greatest blessings that ever happened to me was serving a mission.

“Look at those clouds,” Mom said as she looked out the car window. “I hope that it doesn’t rain.”
“Look at those hills,” Dad said cheerfully. “They mean we are almost to the Missouri River.”
I sighed. We had been riding in the car for over two hours on our way to Omaha, Nebraska, from our home in the center of Iowa. My brother and I were crowded between packs of clothing and the food we were taking for our two-day stay. We were going to the cornerstone-laying and dedication of the Winter Quarters Temple. I could hardly wait to get my first glimpse of our new temple and to see our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley.
I thought about my ancestor, Sarah Anne Nixon, who was just about my age when she crossed Iowa on her way to Winter Quarters 155 years ago. What was it like for her?
September 23, 1846—on the western bank of the Mississippi RiverTremendous thundershower today. The rain came down in torrents, drenching everything. We have only a tent to shelter us. We left Nauvoo in haste a few days ago. Our carefully packed belongings were scattered by the mobs looking for firearms. We have little left. It was not hard to leave the deserted city, but it breaks my heart to see our beloved temple just across the river—so near, yet unreachable. Papa is still grieving. As Brother Joseph’s bodyguard, he feels he should have somehow prevented the martyrdom. If he would just make music again on his fife, I am sure my heart would not be so heavy.
“May I eat some of the crackers and cheese?” my brother asked. “I’m starving.”
“We’re almost there,” Dad assured him. “We’ll have a big lunch soon.”
We had been in the Chicago Illinois Temple district, and it took all day to drive there. I am glad we don’t have as far to go now. We had been praying for a new temple closer to us, and the Lord heard our prayers.
October 9, 1846—Sugar CreekA miracle in camp today. We have been living on parched and boiled corn, and drinking muddy river water. Many are ill and all are hungry, but today, flocks of quail suddenly flew into camp, falling on wagons and tables. My brothers were able to catch many in their hands! We had a feast. God has not forgotten us. Our rescuers taught us a new song written by Brother Clayton. The song reflects well how I feel today: “All is well!”
Mom started humming a hymn in the front seat of the car. I recognized the tune. It was “Now Let Us Rejoice.”
“Is that one of the hymns you memorized?” I asked her. She was singing in the choir at the cornerstone-laying ceremony. I knew she had to rely on her memory because the choir would not be using books.
“Yes. Memorizing the hymns wasn’t easy, but it has become a real blessing to me. It made me think more about the meaning of the words. I realized that these songs are about the promises given in the temple. So I am singing about my fondest hopes and dreams.”
I could see tears in the corner of her eye, and I felt my own heart grow warm. When I turned to look out the window, I saw a sign that said “Mormon Bridge.” We were nearly there.
November 15, 1846—Mama died todayWe buried her beside the trail on the plains of Iowa. We were unable to stop in Mt. Pisgah because they had no room, so our rescue company pressed on toward Winter Quarters. Now I must be mother to Thomas, Harriet, Margaret, and baby Rose. My oldest brother, John, says that we must not lose faith. Papa and Mama were sealed together in the Nauvoo Temple. This thought alone seems to comfort Papa. It comforts me as well.
While waiting for the ceremony, we visited the pioneer cemetery on the temple grounds. We read the names of hundreds of people who died here so long ago. But it is not really a sad place—it is a reverent place, like inside a church. We spoke softly about these pioneers and about what they endured for their beliefs. Because of them, we, their descendants, are now able to build temples and worship God freely. I am grateful.
December 1846—Winter QuartersWe have settled as best we can into a log hut. It is a rude dwelling, but we are better off than most. This is not our final home, but for now we are grateful for time to gather again as Saints. I wish Mama was here, but I feel she is watching over us. When the spring comes, I will finish the journey that my mother began, for her dream has now become my own.
The rain stopped while the choir sang, and we were able to put down our umbrellas. During the ceremony, I looked up at the windows in the temple. In the stained glass are pictures of rivers, trees, pioneers, and Native Americans. Looking at these windows is almost like looking at a beautiful vision of the past.
I saw the prophet today. He cried when he talked about the pioneers and the sacrifices they made in Nauvoo, in Iowa, and here in Winter Quarters. He said that he felt that they were here in spirit, watching us this day. Then he invited all the children to come up and put some cement onto the cornerstone after he was done. But I was content to watch. My heart was full.
I am glad I was here today. I feel happy inside. I believe that whatever happens to me in my life, I can be strong and faithful like the pioneers, just as long as I remember this place and this day.
“In a message about the pioneers who crossed the plains over a century ago, President J. Reuben Clark spoke words that apply to pioneers in every age. …
“‘They were pioneers in word and thought and act and faith. … God keep their memories ever fresh among us … to help us meet our duties even as they met theirs.’”Elder Dallin H. OaksOf the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles(Ensign, November 1989, page 64.)

Growing up, I saw many examples of meaningful relationships between married women and their mothers-in-law. I saw mothers-in-law who showed up at difficult times to ease their daughter-in-law’s burdens. I saw women acting as if they were lifelong family members. And I looked forward to having a relationship like that in my own life.
So when I did get married, I was surprised by how much harder it was to get along with my husband’s parents than I expected. I felt hopeless for any chance of a positive relationship with my in-laws. But as time has gone on, I’ve learned that it is still possible to cultivate a good relationship with my in-laws—I just needed to change my perspective and expectations.
My husband’s parents and I have very opposite personalities. And as a young adult trying to adjust to married life, work at a difficult job, and handle college classes, I craved validation. I yearned for encouragement. But what I got from my in-laws—especially my mother-in-law—was criticism.
Their family frequently pointed out each other’s perceived faults. To them it was normal, but it tore me apart when I was the target, especially when it came from my husband’s mother.
I did everything I could to impress her, but it never seemed to be enough. So I oscillated between trying to earn my in-laws’ approval and trying to distance myself from them altogether. As a result, I didn’t want my husband to tell them much about our lives.
Even while distancing myself, however, I still found that criticism seeped into my life. Without realizing it, I accepted the negative messages I was receiving and compounded them with my own. I constantly told myself that I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, thin enough—anything enough. This vicious cycle would have existed even without my in-laws, but all our interactions seemed to fuel the fire.
My husband could tell that I often felt hurt or angry by his parents’ words and behavior. He tried his best to balance his love for his parents and his love for me, but it was a difficult and sometimes sore spot in our relationship.
One day, as I was feeling only a shadow of hope, I decided to pray for my in-laws and our unhappy dynamic. And then the realization hit me hard: I would never have the relationship with my mother-in-law that I’d always wanted. I felt sorrow for a moment, but the Spirit came quickly with this gentle thought: “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a good relationship.”
Honestly, it had never entered my head that our relationship could be different from what I’d pictured and still be a positive one.
I’d also never thought that my expectations were part of the problem. I’d wanted my mother-in-law to fit my vision of who she should be, but it wasn’t fair to only accept her if she fulfilled my expectations.
How freeing it was to let go of the expectations I had for my mother-in-law and still believe a better relationship could develop, especially as I relied on the Savior.
As I gave the Savior my feelings of inadequacy and the pain of unmet expectations, I experienced what Sister Michelle D. Craig, First Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, once described: “Jesus’s miracles often begin with a recognition of want, need, failure, or inadequacy. … [The disciples] gave what they had to Jesus, and then He provided the miracle.”1
I’ve learned that I can focus on my mother-in-law’s strengths, and Christ can help me see her as He does. I have come to appreciate that she is a grandma who cares about her grandkids, that she serves faithfully in her callings, and that she loves the temple—all things I missed when I saw only her disapproval and hurtful words. I can strive to focus on these positive points and find common ground.
And instead of walking the same mental path and beating myself up over and over again, I can stop accepting judgments and unfair expectations from others and repent of shortcomings when I need to.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles reminded us that “we should not demean or vilify ourselves, as if beating up on ourselves is somehow going to make us the person God wants us to become.” Instead, we should remember that “the grace of Christ offers … salvation from our own persistent self-criticism.”2
When I work on feeling more peace within myself, it gives me a greater capacity to contribute to my relationship with my mother-in-law, including sending her pictures of her grandkids and acknowledging holidays and her birthday in fun ways.
My experience with my mother-in-law is just one piece of me realizing that I need to be at peace with who I am and not let others define me. I can depend on the Lord to heal my imperfections, because “his grace [is] sufficient for [me],” and by his grace I “may be perfect in Christ” (Moroni 10:32).
I hold on to the promise I felt from the Spirit that the Savior can help me continue to grow and that I can continually build a loving relationship with my in-laws by recognizing their personal goodness and enjoying our common ground without molding them to my ideal or trying to fit theirs.
I feel the promise also applies to the relationship I have with myself. When I am kinder to myself and focus on my divine identity (as well as everyone else’s) as a child of Heavenly Father, it positively affects how I interact with others, and vice versa. I can progress when I recognize the power of my Savior to help me overcome my imperfections and to help others do the same.

In 1922, a 17-year-old young lady enrolled at LDS Business College, then known as LDS High School. She was a farm girl from a small town in southwestern Utah, the eldest of seven children. Her mother suffered from ill health, and the family’s resources were meager. She boarded with her aunt that school year and successfully completed the 12th grade. Her classes included English, algebra, history, theology, physical training, and oral expression. Her grades were respectable. She was always quick to point out the campus of this institution and say, “That is where I went to school.”
The record shows she left LDS High School bound for the Dixie Normal School in St. George, Utah. Three years later she married and, in time, gave birth to and reared three children. She never became a school teacher, was never in the public eye, did not graduate from a great university. But her family adored her, and countless people acknowledge the profound influence for good she was in their lives. For Margaret Mary Savage, LDS High School became a launching pad for the betterment of others. My mother’s legacy became my blessing.

Todd stood up in testimony meeting that Sunday, the first time I’d ever seen him do it. He said, “The Savior gave His life for us, and I was thinking that He must have thought we were all worth it. He paid a high price, but I guess for anything worthwhile, we have to pay a price. I haven’t been looking forward to a mission because I thought the price was too high—I mean, I’d be leaving my car, my camping trips, my free time, my family. But I never thought about the people I might be teaching. Everyone says a mission is hard work, but I guess service is like that.” His voice fogged up. “I look at my little nursery kids. Every one of them is so great. I’m going to miss them a lot.”

He sat down, rubbing his eyes with his hand, and Mom smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

Another insight on building a marital relationship on the rock of Jesus Christ is found in Ephesians 4:26: “Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.” This particular verse has likely been the source of the advice often given to newlyweds, “Never go to bed angry.” My wife, Susan, and I were given this advice by a well-meaning relative when we were married. I joke that there was one time during our first year of marriage when we went nearly three days without sleep! Many married couples may realize, as we did early in our marriage, that late at night when they are tired is not always the best time to resolve conflicts. But undoubtedly the spirit of Paul’s counsel to the Ephesians would motivate us to resolve conflicts quickly so they do not persist and grow more intense over time. The Savior also admonished His disciples to resolve conflicts with dispatch so they could approach their God with pure hearts (see Matt. 5:23–24).

Recently our family visited with a dear friend, Sister Louise Lake, who has lived her gracious, sharing life in a wheelchair for more than a quarter of a century.
Perhaps because our 12-year-old son was with us, Sister Lake told us of another 12-year-old with whom she became acquainted in a rehabilitation center in New York where she was working. The boy had been blind and for most of his 12 years had lived a sad existence, thought to be uneducable, incapable of learning. Then he was given a chance, thank the Lord, and a marvelous spirit and fine mind were discovered. He told his friend that he had thought all his life that being blind was the worst thing that could happen to one—until he met Campy. Campy was Roy Campanella, great athlete, who at the height of his career was rendered physically helpless in an automobile accident. The blind boy said he had decided after meeting Campy that his condition was worse than not being able to see. “But there is something even worse than that,” he said. He talked of feeling his way down the hall at the hospital, hearing the scuff of feet as people passed him by. “There is something worse than being blind or crippled, and that is to have people not understand you,” he said. “I guess they think that because I am blind I can’t hear or speak either.”

Eight years after his baptism, Luciano was called as president of the Lingayen stake. Like most Philippine Church leaders, President de Guzmán has no car, no phone, and limited money for public transportation. He does have a bicycle. And at age fifty-nine, he rides it to his meetings and assignments—up to three hours round-trip. He carries a sack lunch with him because, he says, “I don’t want to impose on members for lunch.”

Pedaling on congested Philippine highways can be dangerous. But, says President de Guzmán, “As I am working in the Lord’s service, he protects me.” One time, a bus was overtaking a jeepney, and the president—on his bicycle—was caught in the middle. “Everyone thought I was going to be killed,” he says. “But then, it was as if a great wind lifted me up and swept me out of the way of the bus. The bicycle was not destroyed, and I was not hurt. The people were surprised when they saw me alive. I was surprised, too!”

Have you ever had opportunity to do something for which you felt unprepared or inadequate but that you were blessed for trying?
I have. Here’s one example.
Some years ago, Elder Richard G. Scott, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, kindly invited, “Gerrit, would you like to watercolor with me?”
Elder Scott said painting helped him observe and create. He has written: “Attempt to be creative, even if the results are modest. … Creativity can engender a spirit of gratitude for life and for what the Lord has woven into your being. … If you choose wisely, it doesn’t have to absorb a lot of time.”
And that brings us back to Elder Scott’s invitation.
“Elder Scott,” I replied, “I would like to become more observant and creative. I thrill to imagine Heavenly Father paints with billowing clouds and every hue of sky and water. But”—here was a long pause—“Elder Scott,” I said, “I have no skill to watercolor. I worry it may frustrate you to try and teach me.”
Elder Scott smiled and arranged for us to meet. On the appointed day, he prepared the paper, paints, and brushes. He sketched some outlines and helped wet the paper for me.
We used as a model his beautiful watercolor titled Campfire at Sunset. As we painted, we talked about faith—how as we face the light and warmth of a campfire, we leave the darkness and uncertainty behind us—how on sometimes long, lonely nights, our campfire of faith can give hope and assurance. And the dawn does come. Our campfire of faith—our memories, experiences, and heritage of faith in God’s goodness and tender mercies in our life—has strengthened us through the night.
As we began painting, Elder Scott encouraged, “Gerrit, even with one lesson you will paint something you will want to keep and remember.” Elder Scott was right. I treasure the watercolor of our campfire of faith Elder Scott helped me paint. My artistic ability was and remains limited, but the remembrance of our campfire of faith can encourage us in five ways.
First, our campfire of faith can encourage us to find joy in wholesome creativity.
There is joy in imagining, learning, doing worthwhile new things. This is especially true as we deepen faith and trust in Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. We cannot love ourselves enough to save ourselves. But Heavenly Father loves us more and knows us better than we love or know ourselves. We can trust the Lord and lean not unto our own understanding.
Have you ever been the only one not invited to someone’s birthday party?
Have you ever been chosen last, or not chosen, when teams were selected?
Have you prepared for a school test, a job interview, an opportunity you really wanted—and you felt you failed?
Have you prayed for a relationship that, for whatever reason, has not worked out?
Have you faced chronic illness, been abandoned by a spouse, agonized for family?
Our Savior knows our circumstances. As we exercise God-given agency and engage all our faculties in humility and faith, our Savior, Jesus Christ, can help us meet life’s challenges and joys. Faith includes a desire and choice to believe. Faith also comes from obeying God’s commandments, given to bless us, as we follow His covenant path.
When we have felt, or feel, uncertain, alone, frustrated, angry, let down, disappointed, or estranged from God and His restored Church, it may take an extra measure of effort and faith to enter again on His covenant path. But it is worth it! Please come, or come again, unto the Lord Jesus Christ! God’s love is stronger than the cords of death—temporal or spiritual. Our Savior’s Atonement is infinite and eternal. Each of us strays and falls short. We may, for a time, lose our way. God lovingly assures us, no matter where we are or what we have done, there is no point of no return. He waits ready to embrace us.
Second, our campfire of faith can encourage us to minister in new, higher, and holier Spirit-filled ways.
Such ministering brings miracles and the blessings of covenant belonging—where we feel God’s love and seek to minister to others in that spirit.
Not long ago, Sister Gong and I became acquainted with a father and family blessed by a faithful priesthood brother who came to their bishop and asked if he (the priesthood brother) could be a home teaching companion with the father. The father was not active and not interested in home teaching. But as the father’s heart changed, he and this loving priesthood brother began visiting “their” families. After one such visit, his wife—herself not then attending church—asked her husband how things had gone. The father admitted, “I may have felt something”—then he went to the kitchen to get a beer.
But one thing followed another: tender experiences, ministering service, changing hearts, temple preparation class, coming to church, being sealed as a family in the holy temple. Imagine how grateful the children and grandchildren are to their father and mother and to the ministering brother who came as a friend and companion with their father to minister to and love others.
A third campfire of faith encouragement: creative gospel joy and blessings come when we seek to love the Lord and others with all our hearts and souls.
The scriptures invite us to place all we are and are becoming on the altar of love and service. In the Old Testament, Deuteronomy enjoins us to “love the Lord thy God” with all our heart, soul, and might. Joshua exhorts, “Love the Lord your God, … walk in all his ways, … keep his commandments, … cleave unto him, and … serve him with all your heart and with all your soul.”
In the New Testament, our Savior states the two great commandments: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, … and thy neighbour as thyself.”
In the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ, King Benjamin labored “with all the might of his body and the faculty of his whole soul” and established peace in the land. In the Doctrine and Covenants, as every missionary knows, the Lord asks us to serve Him with all our “heart, might, mind and strength.” When the Saints entered Jackson County, the Lord commanded them to keep the Sabbath holy by loving “the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy might, mind, and strength; and in the name of Jesus Christ thou shalt serve him.”
We rejoice in the invitation to devote our whole souls to seeking higher and holier ways to love God and those around us and to strengthen our faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in our hearts and in our homes and at church.
Fourth, our campfire of faith encourages us to establish regular patterns of righteous living that deepen faith and spirituality.
These holy habits, righteous routines, or prayerful patterns may include prayer; scripture study; fasting; remembering our Savior and covenants through the ordinance of the sacrament; sharing gospel blessings through missionary, temple and family history, and other service; keeping a thoughtful personal journal; and so on.
When righteous patterns and spiritual yearnings join, time and eternity come together. Spiritual light and life come when regular religious observance draws us closer to our Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ. When we love the spirit and letter of the law, the things of eternity can distill upon our souls like the dews from heaven. With daily obedience and refreshing living water, we find answers, faith, and strength to meet everyday challenges and opportunities with gospel patience, perspective, and joy.
Fifth, as we keep the best of familiar patterns while seeking new and holier ways to love God and help us and others prepare to meet Him, our campfire of faith can encourage us to remember perfection is in Christ, not in ourselves or in the perfectionism of the world.
God’s invitations are full of love and possibility because Jesus Christ is “the way, the truth, and the life.” To those who feel burdened, He invites, “Come unto me,” and to those who come to Him, He promises, “I will give you rest.” “Come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, … love God with all thy might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ.”
In this assurance “by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ” is also the comfort, peace, and promise that we can continue forward with faith and confidence in the Lord even when things do not go as we hope, expect, or perhaps deserve, through no fault of our own, even after we have done our best.
In various times and ways, we all feel inadequate, uncertain, perhaps unworthy. Yet in our faithful efforts to love God and to minister to our neighbor, we may feel God’s love and needed inspiration for their and our lives in new and holier ways.
With compassion, our Savior encourages and promises we can “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men.” The doctrine of Christ, our Savior’s Atonement, and our whole-souled following of His covenant path can help us know His truths and make us free.
I testify the fulness of His gospel and His plan of happiness are restored and taught in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in holy scripture, and by prophets from the Prophet Joseph Smith to President Russell M. Nelson today. I testify His covenant path leads to the greatest gift our loving Heavenly Father promises: “Ye shall have eternal life.”
May His blessings and enduring joy be ours as we warm our hearts and hopes and commitment at our campfire of faith, I pray in the sacred and holy name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Sharing the gospel is about people, not numbers. So what happened in Immokalee, Florida, began just as it should have, when Junior Reyes invited one of his friends to come to church.
Little did he know what he was starting.
At the time, there were only two Aaronic Priesthood bearers in the Immokalee Branch: Junior and another young man named Jorge Caceres. Jorge was born in the Church but had become discouraged because for a long time he had been the only Aaronic Priesthood bearer in the branch. So Junior, a convert, was the only one who went to stake firesides.
“Every time I’d go, I’d see the other branches and all the youth in the stake, but from our branch, it would just be me,” Junior says. “Finally, I said, ‘Why am I the only one here from Immokalee? I’ve got to open my mouth.’
“The way I was raised, I was taught not to be scared,” he continues. “When I talk to my friends about Jesus Christ and the restored gospel, I’m not afraid; I’m happy. I know what I’m telling them can help them make their lives better.”
So Junior invited his friend Wedner Daly to come to church. “I said, ‘You learn a lot of things and you get a lot of blessings, and it’s worth it.’”
Wedner accepted.
“I didn’t think anything special about it at first,” Wedner says. “I thought it would be like other churches. But when I got there, it was the day that everybody shared their testimonies, so I got to feel the Spirit when I first came. That was different for me. I had never been to a church where people shared their testimonies and felt great about their church. That’s one of the reasons that I liked it.”
So Wedner invited his friend, Milsont Pierre. Milsont started coming to weeknight activities and then to Sunday meetings, and then the missionaries started teaching his family. He remembers vividly, “I felt the Spirit, over and over again, especially during the sacrament prayers. I knew this was the true Church.” Milsont and his three brothers were baptized and confirmed, as well as a cousin, a nephew, and four of Milsont’s friends.
From there, the Aaronic Priesthood in Immokalee just kept multiplying. “It was like a tree,” Junior says. “It just kept growing and growing.”
“One person invited another person, who invited another person, who invited another,” Milsont says.
Some of Junior’s friends from the football team came. Others invited relatives, fellow students, or long-time friends. The full-time missionaries received lots of referrals and taught and taught and taught—often accompanied by young men from the branch. Attendance at Wednesday night and Scouting activities averaged about 30, with almost as many in attendance on Sunday. Today there are 26 active young men in the branch—and one of them is Jorge Caceres, the one who had previously been discouraged about having no other young men with whom to associate.
“I became friends with Junior, too,” Jorge says, “Then when he started inviting his friends to church, I became friends with them. Every week new people kept coming.”
And Jorge noticed something. “Once they started getting to know the Church, they changed.” The gospel was changing them; getting to know Christ was changing them. “When I saw that, I started to take church more seriously. I worked on my own testimony, and now I know the Church is true.”
What has made the difference in Immokalee? Some things you would expect. “One thing that helped me a lot is reading my scriptures and thinking about it, asking questions and praying,” says Esperandieu Andfils. “When you do that and feel the Spirit, there is no denial.”
Wilnick Louis says witnessing his older brother Milsont’s baptism made a difference for him. The baptism was held on Sunday after regular meetings, so Wilnick decided to come to church first. “I’d been to activities, but that was the first time I’d come to church on Sunday,” he says. “During the meetings, and then at the baptism, I felt something good. When the missionaries asked me if I’d come again, I said, ‘Yeah, I’ll keep coming.’”
Sergio Andres says hearing the testimonies of the other young men his age made a big difference for him, and so did hearing the testimony of the full-time missionaries. “You have to share your testimony,” Sergio says, “because if people don’t know there’s a true Church, they won’t be able to find it.”
But one of the biggest factors in the growth of the Church in Immokalee appears to be the attitude the young men here have toward each other.
“We are always together,” Wedner says. “There’s a strong feeling that we’re all brothers, and I love my brothers.” Esperandieu echoes the same feeling: “I can count on them.”
That’s what Young Men leaders have noticed, too.
“They’re friends everywhere they go,” says Michael “Bo” Browne, newly sustained Immokalee Young Men president. “It’s not a situation where if they’re in school, they avoid eye contact. They’re friends and brothers outside of the Church as well as inside, and I think that’s the key.”
“They have taught me a lot of things,” says a previous Young Men president, Frank Fernandez. “But their love for each other is the best example I’ve received. That’s the kind of love we should have toward everybody. Because of that love, they are fearless. They’re not afraid to open their mouths and talk to their friends about the gospel.”
“We’re all counseled to bring our friends and relatives unto Christ,” says recently released Immokalee Young Men president and Scoutmaster Clark Robinson, “and we feel like we should do it because we’re hearing people tell us we should. But these young men do it because they found peace here, and they’re eager to have those they care about feel what they feel and know what they know. It reminds me of Lehi’s dream, when he partakes of the fruit of the tree and immediately wants to share his happiness.
“The Lord has asked everyone to take what we have and add to it. So do the math. A willing spirit plus the correct principles equals a happy, large quorum and a growing branch or ward in the Church,” Brother Robinson says.

Receiving gospel ordinances and keeping covenants had a dramatic influence on Diana’s family. Diana and her younger brother, Emmanuel, were the first to join the Church. Before that time, Diana says, her family argued a lot. She knew her parents wanted the best for her and her brothers, but they were strict.
“We felt more fear than love for my dad,” she says.
Several months after she was baptized, her father and older brother, Richard, joined the Church, followed more than a year later by her mother.
“My father changed,” Diana says of her father’s conversion. “When we did things wrong, he would talk to us about it. We had fewer arguments. There was more harmony in our home.”
Covenanting to follow Jesus Christ had drawn them closer to Him and to each other. They had a common purpose: to become an eternal family. A year after Diana’s mother was baptized, the family was sealed in the temple.
“It was a beautiful experience,” Diana says. “I can’t explain how I felt when we walked into the sealing room and saw my parents there. I didn’t want to leave.”

After the operation to fix my tongue so I’d be able to talk, Mama and I went across the street to buy some candy. The doctor had given me a nickel for being so brave. Imagine a whole nickel’s worth of candy! I could get the biggest stick of peppermint in the store. I wouldn’t even have to suck it to make it last a long time. There would be enough for me to chew.
I should have sucked it. That newly loosened tongue got between my teeth like it never had been free to do before, and I chewed it along with the peppermint until it was bleeding and sore. Oh, how it hurt! I learned to close my mouth very carefully after that.
Gradually the soreness healed enough so I could start eating again. But it was many months before I learned how to make my tongue behave. As for talking, that was going to require a great deal of practice. The words still did not come out crisp and clear. My mumbled efforts were laughed at and I decided I would rather practice in private. But there is no place for privacy in a covered wagon, especially our wagon, for it was the social center for all the children of the camp.
Our twelve-wagon train set out from Salt Lake City for Harmony, New Mexico, the day after I had my tongue cut. All the families gathered together in a big circle for prayer before we left. Then we sang as we loaded up: “Come, come ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear; But with joy wend your way …”
With joy we wended our way, south and east to a land that held the promise of a good new life for us. The Indian summer days were beautiful and crisp enough in the morning to make us anxious to start moving—golden and warm during the day, but not too hot.
Most of all, I remember the singing in the daytime and the dancing at night. From the place where we slept under the wagon, we could watch the grown-ups whirl in a fast polka or line up for the Virginia reel while Brother Lenstrom played his fiddle.
At the last minute before we left Salt Lake City I had grabbed my jump rope from the nail behind the door. Caroline forgot hers so I shared mine with her, and before long most of the other children wanted a turn too. As soon as the wagon stopped for evening, the girls came running to our place shouting, “My turn with the jump rope, Dora!” If the girl jumped past 21 without missing, we began to call out: “Mabel, Mabel set the table, And don’t forget the red-hot-pepper.”
At this signal the rope started whirring at double time. No one could last forever on red hot pepper. Should the lineup for the jump rope seem too long, those at the end would scratch a hopscotch in the dirt, number the squares, select their markers, and begin to play.
By this time the boys would be starting their third or fourth game of marbles. Each one carried his favorite taw for shooting in one pocket and in the other a handful of aggies that he didn’t mind losing in a game of keeps.
I played with the boys more than the girls because I didn’t need to talk with Ed around.
“Let’s break the record,” he’d shout, and they’d race off to the tailgate of our wagon to begin jumping. A line was marked where the jumper’s feet landed, and each succeeding boy tried to go past the farthest mark.
They couldn’t play break the record if Mama were baking though. She threatened to skin them alive if they caused her cake to fall or disturbed the light bread she made every few days. She had to be careful to keep the yeast going by saving enough of the start in a jar each time she baked and adding potato water and a little sugar. She covered the bottle with a cloth and wedged it in a tight spot by her seat so she could watch it as we rode along.
Mama mixed and kneaded the dough early in the morning before we started our day’s travel, punched it down two or three times along the way, and at night baked a big dripper pan full of biscuits and six loaves of bread. The smell of light bread cooking beats any smell in the world, and a thick slice or a biscuit became both plate and meal when served with a fried egg, a slice of meat, or a chunk of cheese. Our two cows walked along behind the wagon and provided us with milk.
When we could find one, we set up camp next to a stream. One time when we did, Ed and I took off with the fishing pole to look for a deep hole in the nearly dry creek. We found a beautiful spot out of sight of camp but close enough that we could still hear the cries of Annie-I-over. There was a strict rule that no one got so far away that he couldn’t see or hear the camp.
When we got off alone together like this Ed tried to show me how to talk, and I learned to say a few new words. “Look at that frog,” he shouted and bounded across the mossy stones to grab it.
“Frog,” I said. “Frog.”
“What a beauty! Look how big he is. I wonder how far he can jump.”
We stayed until nearly dark testing his ability. By the time we heard Papa coming to get us, the frog’s record was six feet, measured with Ed’s feet.
“Papa, look at my pet,” Ed called as he came closer. “Can I keep him? Can I?”
“That’s a fine frog all right,” Papa said. “But you’d better leave him here. He’d only die if we took him with us.”
“I can take him in a bucket of water. He won’t die.”
“A bucket of water is not the same as a stream. This is his home.”
“Please, Papa.”
“No, Ed. Now put him down, and I’ll tell you a story on the way back.”
“What about?” Ed asked.
“About a frog.”
“A true story?”
“Absolutely.”
Papa’s stories were always worth whatever we had to give up to hear them. Ed put his pet down carefully in a sheltered spot by the stream and took hold of Papa’s other hand. Then the three of us began to walk toward camp.
“What’s the story?” Ed asked.
“How butter was discovered.”
“You said it was about a frog.”
“So it is. You see, a long time ago, a frog jumped into a bowl of cream that was left by a dairymaid to keep cool at the edge of a stream. All night long he paddled around trying to get out, and when the girl came the next morning to get the cream, it had turned to butter.”
“Was the frog still alive?”
“I don’t remember that, but since there was no cream to spread on the bread, the dairymaid used the butter. She was afraid she’d be scolded for being careless enough to leave the lid off the cream, but everyone said the new spread was better. ‘Betty’s better spread’ they called it and wanted her to make more.”
When we got back to the wagon Mama had a good hot supper ready. Afterward we had a campfire program and evening prayer. Then the children were put to bed, and soon the fiddle began its tune and the grown-ups were moving their feet in time to the music. We happily watched them from the place where we slept beneath the wagon.
The next morning was washday, which meant the clothes were put into a half-full water barrel with a bar of homemade lye soap and jostled clean as we rode along. When we stopped, they’d be rinsed, wrung out, and hung on ropes stretched between trees. It wouldn’t take long to dry them if there were a little breeze.
Washdays were always planned between two stops where there was plenty of water so we wouldn’t run short. And since it was an extra busy day for Mama we had to help more than usual. Before camp broke up she assigned the chores.
“Caroline, you take care of the chickens,” she said. “Make sure they get fed and watered and don’t let any of them get lost when you turn them out to run.
“Dora, I’ll need you to watch Frank and Georgie while I do the washing. And Ed, you can churn the butter.”
Just then I saw the look come into Ed’s eyes that meant he had an idea, and I knew what it was because I had it too. Although he didn’t need to, he jerked his head at me in a way that said come on. Grabbing a bar of soap and a towel, we ran off in the direction of the stream.
“Where are you two going?” Mama called, and Ed shouted, “To wash our hands.”
“You told a lie,” I accused.
“No, I didn’t. We’ll wash our hands.”
The frog hadn’t got warmed up enough to move around yet so he was still where we had left him.
Ed started to lather him with the soap, and he slipped away. He picked up the slick frog again and said, “Have to get him clean enough.”
After he’d washed and dried the frog, he put him inside his shirt. We stayed by the stream cutting willows until the camp was ready to leave and then ran and jumped in the back of the wagon.
Mama was riding up front with Papa, holding Frank on her lap, and Georgie was asleep in his wash-basket bed. Caroline was walking with her friends.
Ed plopped the frog into the butter churn, and we settled into the back of the wagon for a leisurely ride. We reached over the tailgate, dragging our willows in the dust to make patterned trails behind us.
Several times we peeked into the churn where the frog was still swimming around, but there was no sign of butter. Ed started to work on teaching me some new words, and we forgot about everything else.
At lunchtime Mama asked, “Did the butter come yet?”
“Not yet,” Ed said.
“Well, it will pretty soon,” she encouraged. “Even the bouncing wagon helps it along.”
Then Papa told her the frog story. “Now don’t go giving these children any crazy ideas. It would be just like Ed and Dora to try that out.” She looked at us. “AND DON’T YOU DARE!” she warned.
We were glad she didn’t check out the butter churn before the wagons started up again. We decided that as soon as it was safe, we’d get the frog out of the cream and churn the way we were supposed to. When we lifted the lid, there sat the frog on an island of butter it had made. We laughed and laughed, and Ed put the frog inside his shirt to keep him safe until later. He wasn’t going to turn him loose here where there was no water.
As soon as we stopped, we took off for the stream to release the frog, and no one but us ever did know how the butter was churned that day.

Once while riding in a plane, I engaged in conversation with a young man who was seated beside me. We moved from one subject to another and then came to the matter of religion. He said that he had read considerably about the Latter-day Saints, that he had found much to admire in their practices, but that he had a definite prejudice concerning the story of the origin of the Church and particularly Joseph Smith. He was an active member of another organization, and when I asked where he had acquired his information, he indicated that it had come from publications of his church. I asked what company he worked for. He proudly replied that he was a sales representative for an international computer company. I then asked whether he would think it fair for his customers to learn of the qualities of its products from a representative of its leading competitor. He replied with a smile, “I think I get the point of what you’re trying to say.”
I took from my case a copy of the Doctrine and Covenants and read to him the words of the Lord expressed through Joseph Smith, words which are the source of those practices my friend had come to admire in us while disdaining the man through whom they had come. Before we parted, he agreed to read the literature I would send to him. I promised him that if he would do so prayerfully he would know the truth not only of these doctrines and practices which had interested him, but also of the man through whom they were introduced. I then gave him my testimony of my conviction concerning the prophetic calling of Joseph Smith. That baby boy born 200 years ago this month in humble circumstances in rural Vermont was foreordained to become a great leader in the fulfilling of our Father’s plan for His children on earth.

I was just a young boy when I sat in a stake conference in the Tooele Utah Stake, listening carefully to the visitor. He was LeGrand Richards, and he preached the gospel in his warm and spiritual way. That positive experience has stayed with me. I don’t remember what he said, but I do know how I felt as he spoke. I learned later that I felt that way because I was listening to a special witness of Jesus Christ. I knew he knew, and somehow my roots grew deeper that day as to truths of the gospel.

He slapped his chunky palms on the table again. “Make da win stop—now,” he yelled. His face turned beet red.
She hadn’t seen Scotty this disturbed before. She felt a little frightened and wondered what would happen if she couldn’t distract him or change his mind. But worse than the fear of what he might do, his stubbornness and anger grated still tender wounds. It felt too much like when Mom and Dad had separated. Six eternal months ago. Impasse. No solution. They had been stubborn. They still were.
When she let herself, she could still hear the echoes of the fights, the name calling, the doors slamming. As terrible as those were, they were better than the deafening silences that followed. Her world had tilted, and her order slid out of control.
She often wondered if Dad’s business failure was the real cause of the trouble. All she knew for sure was that it seemed to start when the money wasn’t there any more. No new clothes. Bill collectors on the phone and at the door. For a month after the separation she sulked, mad at the world, mad at her parents, and mad at Heavenly Father. Stubborn was the reason the family was apart now. Mom and Dad both demanding that something change, when it couldn’t. Stubborn—like Scotty, only worse. They knew better. They went to church, they used to pray, and the family used to work. Scotty was stubborn. They chose it. The anger was back. If she wasn’t careful, it would come pouring out, out of control like it sometimes did. It would land on Scotty and that wasn’t fair.
It was plain though that Scotty wasn’t going to eat lunch unless she made the wind stop. Maybe if she said a prayer. The divorce had taught her about prayer. When her parents first separated, she almost blamed Heavenly Father for the pain she was feeling. At night she muffled her sobs with a tear-soaked pillow until she fell asleep. In the morning she was never sure if it was anger, or loss, or confusion that greeted her first. Finally, though, when it was all more than she could bear, she had learned to ask for help, and the Savior’s healing hand would touch her heart for a moment while he retrieved from some lost corner of darkness, her peace—the peace that kept slipping away, but not so fast anymore.

Doesn’t he realize he’s making us late for an appointment with the best family I’ve ever taught? my mind screamed as I turned my bike around. I was a missionary in the Taiwan Taipei Mission, and my new companion, Elder Loo, was lagging behind as usual.
I found him talking to a woman who was angrily holding a thick stick in one hand and clenching the arm of a small, whimpering boy with the other. I listened as Elder Loo tried to talk her out of beating the boy. She left without the stick.
When we finally arrived at our destination, my companion taught the family about “the first and great commandment,” to love the Lord. “And the second is like unto it,” he read, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matt. 22:38–39).
I flinched. Although I had taught this discussion many times, it was as if I were hearing the scripture for the first time. I would have helped that little boy if we hadn’t been late, I rationalized. But I couldn’t convince myself.
Following a beautiful discussion on sacrifice and service, we made our way to our next appointment. But before we got far, I realized I was again alone. Elder Loo was helping a drunken man who had wrecked his motorcycle.
As we peddled slowly through the crowded market, my companion stopped again. I watched as he knelt by a crying child who appeared to be lost. The child’s eyes were red and puffy, and his face was streaked with tears. We didn’t leave until Elder Loo had assurances from people who said they would locate the boy’s parents.
I followed in silence, my mind racing. Why hadn’t I noticed the crying child? Or the motorcyclist? Why did he see things I missed?
Then it dawned on me. He saw opportunities to serve because he looked for them. He didn’t trail behind because he was just enjoying the scenery; he was looking for people in need.
I wondered what I would see if I really looked.
The next morning I didn’t race ahead of my companion. We rode side by side, looking, listening, and ready to serve.
Since then, whenever I think no one needs my help, I slow down and take another look. It’s amazing what I see.

Soon after Sabrina and Camila returned to church, they began reaching out themselves. When Ana Carolina Batista, age 14, began investigating the Church with her mother, the twins were there to help. The first time she attended church, Ana Carolina’s anxiety melted when the twins sat by her and showed her how to look up scriptures in the lesson. “This made me feel good, because I didn’t know what to do. I felt relieved to see there were people to help me,” she remembers.
Ana Carolina says the twins’ friendship made her decision to join the Church much easier. Sabrina and Camila were also happy; their little class was growing.

Tom had traded his bicycle for a rabbit, and that’s why he was walking the mile home from Primary. His younger brothers, Ivan and Brent, had ridden ahead on their own bikes. They didn’t think much of Tom’s trade.
Giant cottonwood trees were dropping bright yellow leaves on the country road, and the afternoon sunlight touched them so they glowed like candle flames. Walking isn’t so bad, he thought. And it was a magnificent rabbit, a New Zealand Red doe, half grown. Tom thought about the luxurious softness of her deep, reddish brown fur, her round alert eyes, and her gentleness when he held her. He pictured himself at the county fair next fall, standing proudly beside the rabbit’s pen with a blue or even a purple ribbon on it. He could breed her with Jones’s New Zealand buck and make enough money to buy another bike, a shiny new one. It was a good deal all right, he decided.
Tom unlatched the white picket gate to the yard and detoured around the house to where his rabbit hutches stood under the big willow tree out back. He was trying to think of a good name for the new doe, something elegant. Suddenly he stopped, and his heart seemed to drop into his stomach. The hutch door was open, and the red rabbit was gone!
Tom whirled toward the house when something else caught his eye. Leaning against the hutch was the green bicycle he had given Lester Simpson in exchange for the rabbit. Tom looked at the bike more closely. The frame was bent. He lifted it and turned the back wheel, but it was out of round and stuck. The seat suddenly fell off its post, hitting the ground by Tom’s foot. He dropped the bike and ran for the house.
As he burst into the bright living room, Brent and Ivan jumped up from the couch. Tom could see by their faces that they already knew. “What happened?” he demanded.
“Lester brought the bike back and took the rabbit,” Ivan said.
“I can see that!” Tom said angrily. “If you guys were here, why didn’t you stop him?”
“He’s almost twelve, Tom, and he’s big,” answered Brent, who was ten and small for his age. Ivan, a year younger, was bigger than Brent was.
“I tried to keep him from opening the door,” Ivan said, “but he pushed me against the hutch.” Then he pulled the neck of his striped shirt down and showed Tom the scrape on his shoulder.
Tom felt a little calmer. He knew Ivan would do his best in a situation like that. “What did he say?”
“He told us the bike was no good so he was taking the rabbit back,” Brent reported. “And he said if you try to get it back again, he’s got four guys waiting to beat you up.”
“Lester said he gave you a prize rabbit and got a crummy bike in return,” Ivan explained. “You’re going to fight him, aren’t you? We’ll help you. We can probably get the Jenkins kids to help too.”
At that moment their dad came through the front door. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking at the three serious faces.
Tom told his dad what had happened. “It was a good bike when I traded it to him,” he explained. “I think it was worth as much as the doe.”
“More,” Ivan put in.
“His dad probably ran over it with a tractor or something,” Brent said.
“So what are you going to do about it?” his father asked, sinking into the big rocker.
Mother stepped in from the kitchen. “I don’t want any fights,” she cautioned.
“What do you think I should do, Dad?” Tom asked.
“In a situation like this it’s best to ask yourself what the Savior would do.”
“Did people play dirty tricks on Him, Dad?”
“They were always trying to trip Him up or trick Him into saying something they could get Him for.”
“He didn’t fight them, did He?” Brent asked.
“Not with fists. He fought with His mind and always came up with the right answer.”
All three boys were silent. Tom tried to think of some way he could get back at Lester, but there didn’t seem to be anything he could do. Dad looked at him kindly and said, “Lester Simpson will be ordained a deacon next month. Usually he’s not such a bad kid. Maybe you can think of some way to make him realize what he’s done.” His father stood up and said, “Let’s eat; I’m starved.”
After dinner Tom went outside and sat in his thinking place in the willow tree, the huge branches spread out around him, warm and brown. The yellow leaves hadn’t fallen yet, and the light of the sunset filtered a red glow through them. Below him he could see the tops of his rabbit hutches.
All his rabbits were just regular white rabbits. They furnished his family with meat, and any extra he sold to the neighbors. I finally had a real purebred rabbit, he mused. Now it’s gone. Tom’s fingers could still feel the incredibly thick, soft fur and the sturdy little body beneath it. He thought of the warm, trusting way it snuggled against his stomach. Lester must have taken good care of it. Boy, how I wanted that rabbit!
Suddenly the solution seemed obvious and simple. He would just have to buy the rabbit. Most of the money he earned from his rabbits had to go for school clothes and other necessities, but he did have seven or eight dollars saved up. Dad will probably loan me the rest, he reasoned. After all, it is an investment.
Tom thought about Lester and his tough friends waiting there when he went to buy the rabbit. They’d probably call him “chicken” and “stupid” for not fighting, for buying a rabbit that had already been fairly traded. He guessed he could stand that. His brothers might think the same thing, though, especially Ivan, who was always ready to fight when necessary. Tom’s solution did not seem awfully clever or tricky but it seemed right, and he went to bed feeling fairly easy in his mind.
At breakfast the next morning, Tom told his family of his decision and asked Dad for the loan.
“I think you should fight him,” Ivan said.
“I don’t,” said Mother, “but you’ll have to be prepared for some ridicule.”
“I know,” Tom replied, stuffing toast into his mouth. “I can take it.” But inside he was not altogether sure.
“I think that’s a courageous decision,” Dad said, smiling. Tom felt a lot better.
“I’ll go over right after school,” Tom said, “so I’ll be a little late getting home.”
“Good luck,” Brent encouraged. Tom knew his little brother was relieved to get out of a fight.
Tom saw Lester around school that day, but he did not speak to him nor look at him.
After school, Tom and his brothers went in the direction of Lester’s house. Tom could see Lester up ahead with some friends. From time to time they looked back nervously. At the last corner, Tom told Ivan and Brent to go home. He watched with regret as they rode away on their bikes. The boys up ahead looked back and, seeing Tom alone, laughed and ran toward Lester’s house.
When Tom unlatched the gate, he could see Lester and his four companions standing by the rabbit hutches. Without looking at the others, Tom walked straight up to Lester. “I’ve come to buy that red rabbit,” he said.
Lester looked at his friends in surprise. “You got another broken-down bike to trade me?” He looked at his friends again, and they all laughed.
“No, I have the cash—fifteen dollars. I think that’s a fair price.” Tom looked directly into Lester’s eyes. Lester didn’t laugh this time, but looked down at the ground and scuffed his shoe around in the dirt. “Is it a deal?” Tom pressed.
“Well, Yeah … I guess so,” Lester finally replied.
Tom handed him the money, but Lester still wouldn’t look at him. His friends began to snigger quietly. “Boy, is he dumb!” one whispered.
Tom walked over to the hutch and opened it. He pulled out the New Zealand Red and tucked it up under his shirt. It snuggled deliciously against his skin, and Tom felt happy again. There was nothing they could say that would bother him.
Then they started in, “Guess he was afraid to fight.”
“He always was chicken. His dumb little brothers are too.”
“His daddy gave him the money so he wouldn’t have to fight.”
But now their laughter sounded forced. Lester said nothing, and he didn’t laugh. Tom walked out the gate and started up the road, feeling calm and happy, the rabbit held securely against him.
He was about halfway home when he heard someone running behind him. He turned around and saw Lester coming up the road. Tom stopped and waited and when Lester caught up, they walked along silently together. Finally, Lester spoke, “How come you didn’t fight? Your brothers would have helped you. You could have got some guys.”
Tom smiled at Lester. “I did fight, Les. I won. I got me this fine rabbit.” He patted his shirt. “What did you get?”
They walked in silence for a few more minutes. Then Lester reached into his pocket and pulled out the money. He handed it to Tom. “I guess I didn’t get anything. Here’s your money.” Tom stuffed it into his pants pocket. “My dad ran over the bike with his cattle truck,” Lester explained.
“Figured something like that. Sorry it happened,” Tom said.
“Yeah, well, that’s the way it goes sometimes.”
“This is a fine rabbit, Les. You must have taken good care of her. I’d like to get more rabbits from you when I can,” Tom said.
“Sure,” Lester smiled. “Anytime I’ve got something you want. Hey, I better get home. Mom’ll have dinner ready,” he slapped Tom lightly on the back, turned around, and started back to his house.
Tom tucked the rabbit up higher and walked home, smiling in the shadowy autumn afternoon.

“Whenever we fall, whenever we do less than we ought, in a very real way we forget mother,” declared President Thomas S. Monson. He added, “Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered.”1
President Monson’s message has been a strength to me, so much so that when I first read his words, they brought to mind my mother and the wise counsel she gave me years ago, shortly after I joined the Church.
My mother was a member of another Christian church, but she was kind to the missionaries who taught me the gospel. Once I decided to become a Latter-day Saint, she always supported me.
Everything had been going well in my new life as a member of the Church until I joined in Journalism Day observances in my home country of Peru. At a party I attended, talks and complimentary words filled the air. Toasts then followed. As the party grew, so did the temptation to drink with my friends.
The change that converts to the Church make when they accept the gospel often means that they must make new friends. In some circumstances, as I learned, former friends can be instruments of the adversary to tempt us to break the commandments and resume our old ways.
When my co-workers offered me a glass of beer, I took it, drank it, and kept on drinking. At the end of the party, my conscience convicted me. I had fallen. What would my mother say?
When I arrived home, I entered quietly and immediately went to bed. My mother said nothing, but I felt ashamed and decided to quit attending church. A week later, as we sat at the table eating lunch, she looked me straight in the eye and said, “Son, never forget that you are a Mormon.”
To go to and from work, I rode my bicycle by the Church meetinghouse. Every time I did so, my conscience bothered me. One evening I decided I could no longer live with my guilt. I parked my bicycle directly in front of the branch president’s office, went in, and requested an interview.
I told the branch president what I had done and asked for forgiveness, after which he counseled with me. From that moment on, I have never broken the Word of Wisdom.
My mother died more than 20 years ago, but I have always tried to remember what she told me never to forget: I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Certainly no one could write the life story of Jesus of Nazareth or Judas Iscariot without knowing what happened during their last hour. And I would like to tell you about some of the things that one man thought about during his last hour. This is the old legendary story of Faust. Dr. John Faust died in Wittenberg, Germany, in the year 1540. But twenty-four years before his death, he sold his soul to Satan. He said to Satan, “If you will aid me for twenty-four years, punishing my enemies and helping my friends, at the end of that time, I will forever deliver up my soul.”

Now at that time that seemed like a good idea to Faust. Twenty-four years was a long time. Twenty-four years may last forever. And anyway, what difference did it make what happened after twenty-four years? But Satan, with better perspective, said, “I will wait on Faustus while he lives and he shall buy my service with his soul.”

And then the twenty-four years began, and Faust had every experience of good and bad. But almost before he was aware, it was said to Faust as it must be said to everyone of us, “Thine hour is come.” Now this is the first time that he had ever thought about the consequences of what he was doing. Only now did he discover how badly he had cheated himself. Then he wanted to revoke the bargain, but that was impossible. And then he prayed and he said, “Oh God, if thou canst have no mercy on my soul, at least grant some end to my incessant pain. Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years or even an hundred thousand, but at last be saved!”

But he knew that, according to his own bargain, even this could never be. And then during his last hour he sat and watched the clock tick off the seconds and finally, just as the hour struck, the last words of Faust before he died were: “Faustus is gone to hell!”

Now if Faust had lived his last hour first, he never would have permitted himself to come to this unprofitable place. I have a relative who, when she reads a novel, always reads the last chapter first. She wants to know before she begins where she is going to be when she gets through. And that is a pretty good idea for life.