Gospel Story Finder

Such was my experience as pertains to President George H. Watson, who today serves as first counselor in the Naperville Illinois Stake presidency.
Brother Watson wrote a letter to me, never mailed, dated 3 October 1978, which tells of his conversion to the Church and of his baptism, which took place in the summer of 1959 in eastern Canada, where I served as the mission president at that time. I did not receive this letter until this past year, when it was carried to me by Elder John E. Fowler, who discovered its existence while visiting with the Watson family following a stake conference in Naperville. Both Brother Watson and I have some modest reluctance in sharing with you his private letter, but feeling the impression that the account would help to encourage many of you brethren participating in this worldwide priesthood meeting this evening, we shall do so.
I will conclude by reading President Watson’s own words. He wrote:
“Dear Elder Monson:
“This is a letter out of the blue. Its purpose is to thank you for the letters you wrote some twenty years ago—one to me and the other about me—and to let you know the effect they had on my life.
“My name is George Watson. In 1957, at the age of twenty-one, I emigrated from Ireland, where I had grown up, to Canada. The main purpose of going to Canada was to put together sufficient money to do postgraduate work at London University.
“The firm for which I worked was in Niagara Falls, and I found a room at the ridiculously inexpensive cost of $6.00 per week. The only drawback was that I had to drive the landlady—age seventy-three—to church each Sunday in St. Catharines, Ontario.
“I soon found this chore to be very annoying, as she used the twenty-five-minute drive to try to get me to see the missionaries from her church. I resisted this very effectively for better than a year, until one day she told me that there were two young ladies coming to supper, and would I care to join them. It is very difficult to be rude to lady missionaries!
“I did a great deal of thinking over the next few months and decided that although what eleven sets of missionaries were telling me felt right, I would have to give up too much, besides which I was fed up running my landlady to church. In order to stop her asking for the ride, I decided to take her half an hour late on the next Sunday and to go in and sit with her in an open-neck shirt, sneakers, and sports slacks. I thought this would embarrass her and she would not ask me again.
“My plan worked perfectly, except that she was not annoyed at being late, and I made as much impact as a damp squid. We arrived just as the Sunday School was splitting for class. I would not go into class and spent my time talking to a very fine man who was crippled and who ‘understood’ me. As I was to return to Ireland eight days later (July 1959), he suggested that I should join the Church on the Saturday before I left. He was to call and confirm this during the week, but I effectively countered this by not answering the phone all week. On Sunday, after a sleepless night, I phoned him to apologize and was baptized in Hamilton virtually on the way to the airport—knowing that I would never meet any Mormons in Ireland and that the Church would lose track of me.
“I have no idea, President Monson, where you found my address in Ireland, but on the Friday after I returned, I had a letter from you welcoming me into the Church, and on Sunday at 9:00 a.m. there was a knock on the door and a President Lynn stood on the doorstep saying he had had a letter from President Monson in Toronto asking him to watch over me.
“The next few months or years were traumatic. Three meetings on a Sunday were entirely unreasonable; no way would I speak in front of that group; they can’t expect more than 10 percent. Even more traumatic, my girlfriend set out to show me how ridiculous I was. She ended up being baptized.
“We now live in Illinois with three wonderful children. I often sit and ponder why the Lord has blessed us so greatly. We have all had reason to feel His sustaining hand in difficult times.
“Although it is unlikely that we will ever meet, I would like to very sincerely thank you for taking the trouble to write those two letters. They have completely changed the course of our lives. I am grateful for the knowledge of the Savior’s purpose in coming to earth, my relationship to Him, and what He expects of me. The courage and steadfastness of Joseph Smith, the Prophet, and the knowledge that he imparted to us will always be a source of inspiration to me. I am thrilled at the opportunity of serving in the Lord’s Church.
“May the Lord continue to bless you in His work, and thank you for the effect you have had on my life.”
“[signed] George Watson”
This past Christmas, when George Watson and his beloved Chloe came to Salt Lake City to visit two of their children and a son-in-law, they came to my office, that we might formally meet. They expressed their testimonies and again conveyed their thanks for all who had participated in this human drama, this miracle in our time. Tears flowed, prayers were offered, and gratitude conveyed.
It was an appropriate season of the year for our visit together, when all Christendom pauses for a brief moment and remembers Him—even Jesus Christ—who died that we might have eternal life. He who notes the fall of the sparrow surely orchestrated the search-and-rescue mission that brought the Watson family to His fold. May we ever be found in His service and on His errand is my humble prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

In 1972 we had a large family and a very small home. Seven of our nine children were then under the age of 12, and our five girls shared a single bedroom. We had only one bathroom. The opportunity came to move to a much larger and nicer home that was also closer to my work. It seemed like a simple, uncomplicated decision. It meant a change in ward, stake, and school, but that didn’t seem important in light of the advantages. I spent two frustrating months considering the move. I was learning about stupors of thought. I finally decided to take the problem to the Lord in a serious way. I determined I wouldn’t eat until I made a clear decision. For three long days the same frustrating ideas went through my mind. Finally I asked the right question: not about money and convenience but about family and Church. The next morning in the shower I knew we should stay where we were, and I made the decision. The calm peace “which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7) came over me, and I knew it was right. I didn’t know why, I just knew. I learned why two months later, when I was called to be the stake president. The Lord, of course, knew all along. I just had to ask the right question.

Dad had a busy life, but he still made time for his family. When I was a Boy Scout, our troop planned to go down the Rogue River in Oregon, USA, in kayaks we had built ourselves. Dad volunteered to go with us even though he was not the camping, sleeping-on-the-ground kind. We spent hours in the garage working together building our two-man kayak.
Before long, we were on the river. I took the pivot position in front, and Dad took the back. As we progressed down the river, we soon headed into particularly dangerous falls.
The nose of our kayak went deep into the water at the bottom of the falls and turned over, tossing us both through the splashguard into the river. I came up and looked for Dad but couldn’t see him. He eventually bobbed up, sputtering, and we managed to right the kayak and get back in. Before we could make it to shore to assess what happened, the river swept us into the next set of rapids. We didn’t have time to get the kayak lined up again when an eddy spun us around, and we shot through a long set of rapids backwards and out of control.
We eventually made it back to camp that evening along with the other Scouts. Dad told us in some detail the story of Job. From the day’s events and the account of Job, we learned that life is not always easy. The next morning, rather than return home, Dad climbed back into our little boat and off we went. This experience taught me what a great man does when he values his family.

During my freshmen year, I was required to take religion courses. The doctrine was all new to me. The family of Lehi, the Book of Mormon, Zion and calling others on campus Brothers and Sisters were new and different. I began to study and learn more about the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My family and I believed in God but it wasn’t something we practiced daily in life as a member of my religion. During the basketball season, I was receiving “the discussions” from the full-time missionaries and also struggling in my religion classes. I remembered that I was not only receiving a secular education, but also the teachings of God and if you loved him you will keep his commandments. One day before basketball practice in the locker room, I found a wallet on a wooden bench. I picked up the wallet and told my teammate Frank Buttel what I had found. I looked in the wallet to see who it belonged to and I noticed it had approximately a thousand dollars in cash. My teammate looked at me to see what I would do. I remembered the religion courses that I was taking and the discussions I was receiving from the full-time missionaries. There was no doubt, I was going to locate the owner and return the wallet. I found the owner and he was frantically looking for his lost wallet. He said he had cash in the wallet and it was to pay for his schooling. He took the wallet and thanked me when he noticed nothing was missing from his wallet. I felt good about myself because I applied what I learned about God. That weekend we had a basketball game and I was in the zone. I scored 65 points in the game. Later that week on December 16, 1977, I scored 57 points in another game. Did it have anything to do with finding and returning the wallet? Maybe. Maybe not.

First, my mom is a speech-langauge pathologist. Basically, she helps little kids talk better. That also means that as part of her job she works with a variety of kids with developmental and cognitive delays. She works in special educaiton classrooms. For most of her life in the church, she's been called to the Primary. And she's always given the class that no one else can control. Once she had a class of twelve kids, three of whom had ADHD. And she was their teacher for two years because no one else could handle them. When a boy with Down's syndrome arrived in the nursery, Mom was put in nursery. And when he moved to Sunbeams, so did she. That's happened to her so many times, she's lost track. But because of her degree, her training, she's better able to serve in the chruch.

I had an interesting experience many years ago as we returned from our mission in Brazil. We traveled on a ship with nine children, and the ship carried about forty passengers, so we almost formed a majority. It turned out that there were three other ministers on board, and within a few days each of those three approached me and inquired how we could get together and visit about what the Mormons believe. They didn’t seem to be unusually interested in what each other believed, but they all wanted to know what we believe.

With a little hesitation, because my experience had not been that of having contact with ministers of other faiths, we arranged an interview where all four of us sat down together. It turned out to be very congenial and consisted primarily of them asking questions and me giving the answers. I had supposed that they would come out with strong arguments supported by scriptures that would make it difficult for me to hold my own. But in their friendly, congenial way they just asked questions and it turned out that I knew the answer to each question. I didn’t realize beforehand that I was that well informed.

Within a few minutes, as we visited, they began to turn to each other and make comments like this: “Isn’t it interesting? He has an answer for any question you can ask.” They repeated that comment over and over again, and we ended our discussion on a very friendly basis. One of these men, however, two or three days later, engaged me in conversation and said, “I have been thinking of what you told us the other day and I wonder if it is right to know everything. I think maybe you know too much. I don’t believe the Lord wants us to know it all.” I could tell that he was offended. A day or two later he spoke to me again. He said, “I’ve been considering what you told me, and I have come to the conclusion that what you teach is a very dangerous heresy.”

I wasn’t prepared, as I ought to have been, for that kind of a comment, and with something of a hurt feeling I asked him why it was that other religions didn’t seem willing to place the Latter-day Saints in the same fellowship with themselves. He turned on me almost in anger and said, “Because I want you to know it is a two-way street.” Then I caught the point. We do not fellowship them. We do not recognize them as the true church of Jesus Christ, and therefore there is offense to them in some things we teach. I don’t think it should be otherwise, but he had reason for the feelings that he carried. I wasn’t in a position, being unprepared, to conciliate his feelings.

Tanna Island, in the Tafea Province of Vanuatu, is a 45-minute flight—or a very long boat ride—to Efate Island, where the mission office for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is located.
During the global pandemic, travel to Vanuatu was severely restricted, making it difficult for the Church in the area to send out or receive missionaries. Eventually, Tanna Island had no full-time missionaries and missionary work was forced to slow down.
In early 2022, as life began returning to normal, Vanuatu’s mission president, Mark Messick, was delighted to receive a request from Tanna’s district president: “Send missionaries as soon as possible!”
President Messick learned that while Tanna was without full-time missionaries, local members of the Church and returned missionaries on the island continued to teach the gospel to their friends and neighbours, and they had around 85 candidates ready to be interviewed and baptised. President Messick immediately arranged to send his assistants to Tanna.
The plan was postponed because Tanna’s live volcano started rumbling. Then, a small cyclone hit the island, causing widespread damage—further solidifying Vanuatu’s status as number one on the World Risk Index for the likelihood of natural disasters. Just as Tanna began to recover from the cyclone, a sudden outbreak of COVID-19 shut all of Vanuatu down, and once again, travel was restricted.
It wasn’t until the middle of August that President Messick was finally able to send his APs to Tanna to interview the baptismal candidates and prepare them to join the Church. By then, President Messick was worried that the long wait had deterred some of them, that their interest might have waned.
But when Elder Silas Toa and Elder Brian Moses Nalin arrived—armed with a stack of paperwork for the baptismal interviews—they found the opposite to be true. Not only were all 85 still eager to join the Church, but their numbers had increased by 29. Now, 114 candidates were faithfully waiting to be interviewed and baptised. The elders embarked on their tour of all eight of the Church’s branches in Tanna.
After they interviewed and baptised six people at the first branch, Elder Toa and Elder Nalin headed to Saetsiwi, an isolated area tucked high in the mountains. They had no way to contact the Saetsiwi Branch president but knew he was expecting them at some point, so the missionaries drove their truck as far as they could then continue on foot for the remaining 3-hour trek. When they finally arrived, the branch president was nowhere to be found. The elders had hiked all that way in vain.
Then the big rain fell. Everyone in Saetsiwi knows that when it starts to rain hard, getting off the mountain is treacherous. Elder Toa and Elder Nalin rushed back to their truck, knowing every second counted before the local rivers swelled and became impassable. They made it to the truck in time to drive through the first and second rivers, but they knew the third river would be a challenge.
Sure enough, their truck got stuck partway. They tried to push it—no luck. They called the district president, and soon help arrived, but the truck still wouldn’t move. The river rose and flowed so swiftly that the helpers had to get out and move to safety. Then, Elder Nalin spotted something else that worried him. He saw that the waters in next river over—which converged with this river—had become torrential and threatened to break through.
In his mind, it seemed to Elder Nalin that an invisible force was holding that third river back, as though buying time for them—but he knew it wouldn’t be for long. The torrent was racing.
Elder Toa and Elder Nalin are examples of the finest possible young men from Vanuatu—responsible and excellent in every way. To them, a truck is of almost incomprehensible expense, especially in a country where families can barely afford to educate their children, much less buy a vehicle. The elders were determined to preserve the Church’s truck at all costs, but now the water was up to its door handles. They called their mission president and asked, “What should we do?”
President Messick’s response was: “Thank you for calling. Now get out of the truck and save yourselves. I don’t care about the truck; I care about you.”
As they rushed out of the truck, Elder Toa climbed into the back seat to grab their scriptures and the 114 interview papers they needed for the baptisms. He couldn’t see them anywhere. Then a voice yelled, “The water is coming! Get out of the truck!” and Elder Toa slipped out of the back door just as the truck was swept downstream.
As soon as the elders realised that their scriptures and the 114 interview papers were still in the truck—which was now well out of sight—they used the power of the priesthood and commanded the truck to protect their precious documents. “That’s what you can do with the priesthood,” the young men said later, with absolute confidence. “You can command.”
Elder Toa and Elder Nalin managed to pull themselves out to safety, and there by the side of the river, they knelt and prayed. As they prayed that the truck would be safe and that their scriptures and interview papers would stay dry, the missionaries felt a peaceful assurance that all would be fine. Then they walked the rest of the way off the mountain.
The next day, the elders received a call from the district president. Saetsiwi’s branch president had found their truck, 250 meters downstream. When the Elders arrived to retrieve it, they discovered not a dent or a scratch on the body of the vehicle, despite its journey in the river, past trees, rocks, and debris.
The inside of the truck wasn’t so fortunate. It was drenched. The engine suffered electrical damage, and everything in the cab—pamphlets, manuals, books—was soaked beyond repair, except for the Elders’ scriptures and the 114 interview papers. These sat in plain sight above everything else, completely dry.
While the truck was being repaired, Elder Toa and Elder Nalin resumed their tour on foot. At their next stop, they interviewed and baptised 48 candidates before continuing right across Tanna Island. “When you get tired of walking,” one of them told a fellow missionary, “You walk with your heart.”
Their hearts and a priesthood miracle helped these faithful elders reach and bring all 114 candidates safely into the Church of Jesus Christ.

You take your place in line, rubbing the chalk deeper into your hands. You take a quick glance at your older sister. She is running, jumping, spinning—making difficult gymnastic moves into something beautiful.
“I can do it,” you say to the air.
Then you run at the vault. There is a low crack, a moment of uncertainty as the ground disappears and you begin twisting. I can do it, you repeat. The landing is perfect. You turn and your older sister is watching. You both smile. For a moment anything is possible.
If you’re not 13, try to remember what it was like. Standing in the shadow of an older brother or sister. Wondering who you are. Proving yourself in a big world.
Denice Pauga is 13. She is also one of the best gymnasts her age in Canada, but her sister Cassandra, 16, has always been that little bit better. It has taken a long time, but Denice is beginning to find her own way, in life and at the gym.
In Lethbridge, Alberta, the west wind always blows hard off the plains, twisting and dancing through town. The wind is persistent, like the girls have learned to be. In the quiet city of Lethbridge, Denice and Cassie have found anything is possible.
For Denice, persistence is not a natural quality. Oh, she has talent, lots of it. In fact, when Denice was only two she followed her sister into gymnastics—the routines, the moves, they all came easy to her and it was fun. But getting to a point where she could compete with the best was hard work. Cassie never objected to training long hours, skipping parties, missing her friends. But for Denice it was different.
She complained about having to practice every night. Her dad said she didn’t have to go and for six months Denice played with her friends, instead. No gymnastics.
In the end Denice missed the competition, the limelight, and asked to go back—this time for good. “I think one of the things Denice loves about gymnastics is showing a crowd what she can do,” says Cassie.
And that love of performance is apparent as soon as you meet her. So is her distaste for practice. In a way it is charming, that she cannot fake an attitude. Denice grumbles all the way up to the bars; then she grabs a hold and her eyes focus. She turns professional. She seems to relish each movement that defies physical law—to know that she can do something so wonderful, so fascinating for the people watching.
But even with that love of performance, there have been difficulties. “It’s hard because Cassie is always one step ahead of her,” says Robby, their mom. “What Denice doesn’t realize is that she is actually a better gymnast than Cassie was at her age. But Cassie always gets to move first.”
“I feel competition to do as well as Cassie, but I have realized that I can do some things as good as her,” says Denice. “Some things I can do even better. That makes me feel equal.”
And in time she has found something of her own that has helped—a relationship with her Heavenly Father. “It’s become important in my life. I always pray before a meet and I haven’t been hurt yet. And I know if I stick to the standards of the Church, if I don’t give them up, He will help me out when I need it.”
Cassie was the opposite of Denice. She never wanted to leave gymnastics. “You could put her in the gym at eight o’clock in the morning and come back for her at eight o’clock at night and she’d still be working hard,” says Robby. She loved the practice as much as competing—the thrill of nailing a move that only a handful of girls in the world could make.
But along the way Cassie had her own obstacles to overcome.
In December of ’89, Cassie was coming off a remarkable year. She had placed 13th in Canada her first year as a high performance senior (the highest class of amateur—Denice competes in the Open Class, 13- and 14-year-olds). But then, as she was performing a routine on bars, she slipped and tore ligaments in her back. For the next six months she was in pain, at first barely able to move. She rested, did all the right things, but Canadian nationals came and practice and competition were still painful.
She convinced her coaches and parents to let her compete anyway. The night before the meet, Cassie said a prayer that her back would be better. That morning, as she was warming up, her grandmother came up and said she had been fasting and praying for her, to help her through the competition.
“My back had hurt for all those months. It was hurting all the time. But at that moment it stopped.
“I’d always prayed before a competition, but that was the first time I realized Heavenly Father does answer our prayers, that he is there to help us get through the tough things in life.”
Although she missed most of the year due to her injury, she was able to place 13th again, one spot off the 12-person Canadian international traveling team.
From then on life and gymnastics were different. They meant even more. It was like the Lord was there, always, and it was through him that anything was possible.
Of course, there’s more than the gym in Cassie and Denice’s lives. Cassie attends seminary faithfully, and Denice starts this year. Both girls sing and play instruments. They enjoy attending Young Women. And there are friends and family.
Mom and Grandma take the girls to the gym and travel with them on trips. Little sister, Kirsten, is also in gymnastics, and the older girls enjoy helping her. And there’s Dad. Tony loves his family, but he has found he has his own obstacles. He’s a perfectionist—he admits it. Tony has always been a top athlete and he expects his children to win. So usually he stays away from the meets, not because he doesn’t care, but because he cares so much.
“I’m afraid that my presence will be too much—that they will perform to satisfy me, rather than themselves, and end up making a mistake.
“I’m a very hard person for them to have for a dad. I don’t actually know if they think I’m proud of them. I think Cassie knows.”
They know. Through time Dad has become less of a mystery. “I’m learning to deal with it,” says Denice. “It’s like other problems in life. You just take them one step at a time, just like learning a new move.”
You strive for excellence, but eventually you realize you can’t be perfect in everything you do, everything you try. You just have to do your best and accept that in others.
That includes accepting each other. In training they have put aside sisterly differences and offer encouragement.
“Believe it or not, they train together like friends, not sisters,” says their coach, Dan Niehaus, who supervises the girls’ 25 hours a week of training. “They transmit a good feeling to the younger girls in the gym. They make it a fun place to be.”
As for the future, it is rich with hope like the present, full of challenges and occasional victories. This year both girls are hoping to place well at nationals and realize a life-long dream, to make the Canadian traveling team.
“I think representing my country would be the best,” says Cassie. “Being at an international competition and having a Canada track suit on—the suits are really nice.”
All that seems so far from Lethbridge. But it started here on the southern Alberta plains—with the support of a family and a determination to do their best.
Outside, the prairies seem to stretch on forever. The persistent west wind always blows, twisting and dancing. Cassie and Denice know Lethbridge is a place, like any place, where anything is possible.

“I want to speak about the dead.”
Thousands of Latter-day Saints hushed as Lucy Mack Smith’s voice echoed through the large assembly hall on the first floor of the nearly completed Nauvoo temple.
It was the morning of October 8, 1845, the third and final day of the fall conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Knowing she would not have many more opportunities to speak to the Saints—especially now that they planned to leave Nauvoo for a new home far to the west—Lucy spoke with a power beyond her feeble seventy-year-old body.
“It was eighteen years ago last twenty-second of September that Joseph took the plates out of the earth,” she testified, “and it was eighteen years last Monday since Joseph Smith, the prophet of the Lord—”1
She paused, remembering Joseph, her martyred son. The Saints in the room already knew how an angel of the Lord had led him to a set of gold plates buried in a hill called Cumorah. They knew that Joseph had translated the plates by the gift and power of God and published the record as the Book of Mormon. Yet how many Saints in the assembly hall had truly known him?
Lucy could still remember when Joseph, then only twenty-one years old, had first told her that God had entrusted him with the plates. She had been anxious all morning, afraid he would return from the hill empty-handed, as he had the four previous years. But when he arrived, he had quickly calmed her nerves. “Do not be uneasy,” he had said. “All is right.” He had then handed her the interpreters the Lord had provided for the translation of the plates, wrapped in a handkerchief, as proof that he had succeeded in getting the record.
There had been only a handful of believers then, most of them members of the Smith family. Now more than eleven thousand Saints from North America and Europe lived in Nauvoo, Illinois, where the Church had gathered for the last six years. Some of them were new to the Church and had not had a chance to meet Joseph or his brother Hyrum before a mob shot and killed the two men in June 1844.2 That was why Lucy wanted to speak about the dead. She wanted to testify of Joseph’s prophetic call and her family’s role in the Restoration of the gospel before the Saints moved away.
Lucy knew the Saints would help her make this journey if she chose to go. Revelations had commanded the Saints to gather together in one place, and the Twelve were determined to carry out the Lord’s will. But Lucy was old and believed she would not live much longer. When she died, she wanted to be buried in Nauvoo near Joseph, Hyrum, and other family members who had passed on, including her husband, Joseph Smith Sr.
Furthermore, most of her living family members were staying in Nauvoo. Her only surviving son, William, had been a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, but he had rejected their leadership and refused to go west. Her three daughters—Sophronia, Katharine, and Lucy—were also staying behind. So too was her daughter-in-law Emma, the prophet’s widow.
As Lucy spoke to the congregation, she urged her listeners not to fret about the journey ahead. “Do not be discouraged and say that you can’t get wagons and things,” she said. Despite poverty and persecution, her own family had fulfilled the Lord’s commandment to publish the Book of Mormon. She encouraged them to listen to their leaders and treat each other well.
“As Brigham says, you must be all honest or you will not get there,” she said. “If you feel cross, you will have trouble.”
Lucy spoke more about her family, the terrible persecution they had suffered in Missouri and Illinois, and the trials that lay ahead for the Saints. “I pray that the Lord may bless the heads of the Church, Brother Brigham and all,” she said. “When I go to another world, I want to meet you all.”6

Last year during a trip to Europe, I visited my old place of employment, Lufthansa German Airlines at the Frankfurt Airport.
To train their pilots, they operate several sophisticated full-motion flight simulators that can re-create almost any normal and emergency flight condition. During my many years as an airline captain, I had to pass a check flight in the flight simulator every six months to keep my pilot license current. I remember well those intense moments of stress and anxiety but also the feeling of accomplishment after passing the test. I was young then and loved the challenge.
During my visit, one of the Lufthansa executives asked if I would like to give it a try again and fly the 747 simulator one more time.
Before I had time to fully process the question, I heard a voice—sounding astonishingly like my own—saying, “Yes, I would like that very much.”
As soon as I said the words, a tsunami of thoughts flooded my mind. It had been a long time since I flew a 747. Back then I was young and a confident captain. Now I had a reputation to live up to as a former chief pilot. Would I embarrass myself in front of these professionals?
But it was too late to back down, so I settled into the captain’s seat, placed my hands on the familiar and beloved controls, and felt, once again, the exhilaration of flight as the big jet roared down the runway and took off into the wild blue yonder.
I’m happy to say that the flight was successful, the aircraft remained intact, and so did my self-image.
Even so, the experience was humbling for me. When I was in my prime, flying had become almost second nature. Now it took all my concentration to do the basic things.
My experience in the flight simulator was an important reminder that getting good at anything—whether it be flying, rowing, sowing, or knowing—takes consistent self-discipline and practice.

Kirsten, our second child, was born about 30 years ago after a difficult pregnancy. Immediately after her birth the doctors discovered a serious cardiac defect. Kirsten was quickly transferred to the intensive care unit of the children’s hospital. Laying his hands on her tiny body in the incubator, my husband gave her the first priesthood blessing of her life—a welcome gift for her arrival on this earth.
During the following days I often stood in front of the glass window looking into intensive care and watched as this little girl struggled for her life. We were not even allowed to touch her, and we did not know what to wish for her.
When I was discharged from the hospital without my baby, my husband and I had the desire to go to the temple. We could do nothing physically for our little Kirsten. We had to trust the Lord and the physicians. At that time the nearest temple was in Switzerland, far from our home in Hamburg, but we felt we had to gather strength there for the unknown future. We applied all of our faith in behalf of our daughter.
In the meantime the doctors diagnosed a rare cardiac defect they were not able to operate on at that time. The life expectancy of patients with this condition was very limited. But five weeks later we were able to take our little Kirsten home. While her body may have been suffering, her spirit was cheerful and willing to learn, and we could tell that she enjoyed living in our family and loved her older brother very much.
When Kirsten was four her condition deteriorated, and she became weaker and weaker. After praying, fasting, and visiting the temple, we decided upon surgery in a cardiac center in Munich, where doctors had recently repaired a complicated condition like Kirsten’s. Doctors actually had to change everything in the heart—make the ventricles smaller, close holes, and repair both valves. It was a genuine work of art. We were very worried about Kirsten, and our whole ward joined us in praying for her.
The doctors operated on Kirsten on May 21, 1980, and when she had gotten over the worst and was transferred from intensive care to another unit, we were full of confidence. Then a terrible thing happened. A tiny blood clot loosened from a repaired heart valve, settled in the brain, and within a few minutes caused a complete paralysis of her right side and a loss of speech. Kirsten’s eyes were full of fear and sadness. This was very difficult for us. I still see my husband and me standing in a phone booth in Munich, desperately calling our bishop. Within the next few days we received comforting letters from many ward members. Fasting also gave us renewed strength to encourage Kirsten and accept this affliction.
The following years were filled with therapies, and we rejoiced in every little bit of progress. When it was time for Kirsten to start school, her health was sufficient for her to attend a regular elementary school. She developed fabulous coping strategies with her left, usable hand. Her right leg became stronger, and she learned how to swim, bike, and ride horses. She rejoiced in her life. If a child laughed at her somewhat peculiar walk, I simply showed him or her pictures of Kirsten’s life, and the laughter turned into admiration.
Kirsten received much love from her grandparents and other relatives, and the ward fellowshipped her. In turn, she showed her joy in the gospel to everyone she met and has been the one in our family who has brought the most friends into the Church.
After graduating from high school Kirsten diligently completed training to be an industry saleswoman and also obtained her driver’s license. With her slightly converted car she could be more self-reliant, and she was able to participate in young single adult conferences and fulfill stake callings. In 1999 she took a year off to serve a Church-service mission in the Frankfurt temple.
Kirsten loves children and finds a special closeness to them. Her niece, nephew, and Primary children love her very much. She is an example for us, showing that one does not have to become bitter because of severe adversity, but that one can radiate cheerfulness.
In 2003 a very loving young man came into Kirsten’s life and became more and more important to her. He is a returned missionary who grew up in a faithful Latter-day Saint family. In August 2004 he and Kirsten were sealed in the Frankfurt temple. They are now mastering life’s challenges together.
Two of our children have physical impairments. You do not wish it, but if it happens, you have to accept it wholeheartedly, learn, and fight through the difficulties. You develop a keen ear for the promptings of the Holy Spirit. Our Father in Heaven knows which afflictions we need here on earth if we are to grow. I have often comforted my children with the words, “You will have these physical impairments only while you live on this earth, and mortality is very short compared to eternity.”

Ever since her conversion, she has been an active member missionary, encouraging neighbors to attend church with her and handing out copies of the Book of Mormon to government leaders. Two of Julia’s daughters and several of her grandchildren have joined the Church.

One of Julia’s favorite missionary tools is gardening. She uses her love of the earth to expose her neighbors to the Lord’s love. Recently, she helped a grandmother with no pension who was trying to rear her grandchildren. One of the boys had finished school and, failing to find employment, was bored and getting into mischief. Julia donated some vegetable seeds to the family and taught them how to plant, weed, and tend a garden. As the garden grew stronger, so did the family relationships. And now one of the girls is attending sacrament meeting, where she is discovering the abundant fruits of the gospel.

Dalisey Brooks of Cape Town, South Africa is a Latter-day Saint, a Young Women president, online BYU student, and budding entrepreneur in the Church’s self-reliance program.
When she was 16, the Spirit guided her to talk to some missionaries she saw on the street which led to her conversion and baptism. Years later, this same Spirit has guided her to the Church’s Self-Reliance program to start her own business. With the help of her self-reliance group, she created an online store to sell her own line of handmade South African sandals and clothing.
Dalisey recalls that, “even as a little girl who owned only one red dress and no shoes, I loved fashion. Despite my shyness, I worked in the retail industry of South Africa to develop communication skills and self-esteem. By day, I design and sell quality sandals, accessories, and clothing. By night, I study for a bachelor of science in business management with a finance emphasis through BYU.”
In 2020, Dalisey was looking for help to start her business. At the same time, across the globe, a new self-reliance instructor in Idaho was looking for members to attend his first self-reliance group. “Because of the pandemic, I couldn’t get anyone to attend. So, I created an online group instead. I found one member from South Africa [Dalisey] to participate,” said Ben Davidson of the Pocatello Idaho East Stake. “Our weekly Zoom meetings eventually pulled in a class of BYU-I students working with Brother John Ward of the Rexburg Business Development Center.
“I always wanted to start my own business,” explained Dalisey, “but I didn’t have anyone to guide me.” Thanks to the Church’s self-reliance program, Dalisey is now a business owner. “I am grateful beyond words,” she says. Her unique line of sandals and accessories use colorful fabrics, soft ropes, and leather available in South Africa.
“Having firsthand experience with poverty, I believe in serving and giving back to the community. The products are handcrafted there in Cape Town. My brand, Chipantha, is named after my grandfather. He didn’t see me as a helpless little girl in a village. He saw who I might become. He gave me the ability to persevere,” explains Dalisey.
“Dalisey’s strength and testimony bless me each week we meet as part of the Church’s self-reliance program. I feel blessed to serve in a Church of brothers and sisters who are united in so many ways, including a self-reliance class that joins members from Cape Town, Pocatello, and Rexburg,” says Davidson.

Back in November of 2003, I was attending a professional conference in Philadelphia. Between sessions, I took a walk to revisit some of the places I knew from my childhood. During my walk, I was surprised to witness the completion of the Philadelphia Marathon that was being held that day. I was drawn to the final mile or so of the marathon route where I witnessed thousands and thousands of spectators lined up on both sides of the street loudly cheering every runner that went by. It takes a long time to finish up a marathon. From the time the first place runner finishes to the time the last place runner comes in can be many hours. I spent a little more than an hour observing what was going on during that final mile or so. During that time, I saw thousands of people festively cheering as every runner struggled down the last few blocks gasping for breath. Every runner was made to feel that he or she was a hero, a man or woman of worth, accomplishment, and value. And I am sure that hardly anybody knew anybody. They just cheered unconditionally.

Sometimes I think that we worry too much about questions concerning others that no one should worry about at all, or at the very worst, should only be addressed by their good bishop, stake president or in other sacred situations. You see, as the runners in the marathon were passing by, nobody in the cheering crowd asked if they were worthy enough to be appreciated.
Nobody asked if on their missions they were Assistants to the President.
Nobody inquired if they came from a large family or a small one.
Nobody asked if they bought their clothes at The Gap or at D. I.
Nobody worried if they came from an active family or an inactive one.
Nobody asked if they got their Eagle or their Young Woman’s Medallion.
Nobody posed any questions concerning the political affiliations of their parents.
Nobody inquired if they could have gotten into BYU-Provo or what their ACT was.
Nobody asked if they had been in the popular group in high school. Nobody asked. . . . Yet the cheering went on and on.

Those people were celebrated for one simple reason. They were celebrated because they are our fellow human beings, our brothers and sisters here on this earth. Like the rest of us, they struggle, they worry, they do good deeds and bad ones. They ponder, plead and pray. And right then as they were finishing the marathon, right then they were successful in at least one thing, at least one very difficult endeavor. At least one success in the midst of their many failures and insecurities. At least one. That’s why they were celebrated.

A valiant mother courageously fighting a debilitating illness spent untold hours laboriously completing a large, challenging needlepoint work of art. It was a gift to a couple experiencing trials. For the couple it is a priceless treasure, a constant reminder of the precious fruits of resolute effort in the face of adversity, an enduring message of hope bound in the bonds of pure love and willing sacrifice.

Let me share with you a personal experience that may be of some help to those who feel insignificant, forgotten, or alone.
Many years ago I attended pilot training in the United States Air Force. I was far away from my home, a young West German soldier, born in Czechoslovakia, who had grown up in East Germany and spoke English only with great difficulty. I clearly remember my journey to our training base in Texas. I was on a plane, sitting next to a passenger who spoke with a heavy Southern accent. I could scarcely understand a word he said. I actually wondered if I had been taught the wrong language all along. I was terrified by the thought that I had to compete for the coveted top spots in pilot training against students who were native English speakers.
When I arrived on the air base in the small town of Big Spring, Texas, I looked for and found the Latter-day Saint branch, which consisted of a handful of wonderful members who were meeting in rented rooms on the air base itself. The members were in the process of building a small meetinghouse that would serve as a permanent place for the Church. Back in those days members provided much of the labor on new buildings.
Day after day I attended my pilot training and studied as hard as I could and then spent most of my spare time working on the new meetinghouse. There I learned that a two-by-four is not a dance step but a piece of wood. I also learned the important survival skill of missing my thumb when pounding a nail.
I spent so much time working on the meetinghouse that the branch president—who also happened to be one of our flight instructors—expressed concern that I perhaps should spend more time studying.
My friends and fellow student pilots engaged themselves in free-time activities as well, although I think it’s safe to say that some of those activities would not have been in alignment with today’s For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. For my part, I enjoyed being an active part of this tiny west Texas branch, practicing my newly acquired carpentry skills, and improving my English as I fulfilled my callings to teach in the elders quorum and in Sunday School.
At the time, Big Spring, despite its name, was a small, insignificant, and unknown place. And I often felt exactly the same way about myself—insignificant, unknown, and quite alone. Even so, I never once wondered if the Lord had forgotten me or if He would ever be able to find me there. I knew that it didn’t matter to Heavenly Father where I was, where I ranked with others in my pilot training class, or what my calling in the Church was. What mattered to Him was that I was doing the best I could, that my heart was inclined toward Him, and that I was willing to help those around me. I knew if I did the best I could, all would be well.
And all was well.15

Frequently the need of the widow is not one of food or shelter but of feeling a part of ongoing events. Elder H. Bryan Richards of the Seventy once brought to my office a sweet widow whose husband had passed away during a full-time mission they were serving. Elder Richards explained that her financial resources were adequate and that she desired to contribute to the Church’s General Missionary Fund the proceeds of two insurance policies on the life of her departed husband. I could not restrain my tears when she meekly advised me, “This is what I wish to do. It is what my missionary-minded husband would like.”

The gift was received and entered as a most substantial donation to missionary service. I saw the receipt made in her name, but I believe in my heart it was also recorded in heaven. I invited her and Elder Richards to follow me to the unoccupied First Presidency council room in the Church Administration Building. The room is beautiful and peaceful. I asked this sweet widow to sit in the chair usually occupied by our Church President. I felt he would not mind, for I knew his heart.

As she sat ever so humbly in the large leather chair, she gripped each armrest with a hand and declared, “This is one of the happiest days of my life.” It was also such for Elder Richards and for me.

I never travel to work along busy Seventh East in Salt Lake City but what I see in my mind’s eye a thoughtful daughter, afflicted with arthritis and carrying in her hand a plate of warm food to her aged mother who lived across the busy thoroughfare. She has now gone home to that mother who preceded her in passing. But her lesson was not lost on her daughters, who delight their widowed father by cleaning his house each week, inviting him to dinners in their homes, and sharing with him the laughter of good times together, leaving in that widower’s heart a prayer of gratitude for his children, the light of his life. Fathers experience loneliness as well as mothers.

Moroni Rubio was only 16 when he earned the number one ranking among sprinters in Mexico, after breaking records in the 100- and 200-meter sprints. That same year, 2002, he took first place in the 100 meters at the Central American Junior Championships and was named athlete of the year in the state of Yucatán.
His dreams are pinned on his feet, which are expected to carry him all the way to the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing, China. But even if, for some reason, his feet don’t take him to the Olympics, they will have already accomplished a great work.
His feet have put his unique name in the spotlight, bringing him numerous missionary opportunities. Because of Moroni’s success, he’s been on television a number of times—each time with his name right there on the screen.
“I’m asked about my name a lot,” says Moroni, a priest in the Mérida México Lakín Stake. “It’s a great opportunity to talk about the gospel. And when I race, the members watching always know I’m a member too—by my name. I think it’s something they’re proud of.”
His coaches have always told him he has a beautiful stride. But for Moroni, having “beautiful feet” is just as important—remembering Isaiah’s words about missionaries: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings” (Isa. 52:7).

I was also informed concerning the aboriginal inhabitants of this country and shown who they were, and from whence they came; a brief sketch of their origin, progress, civilization, laws, governments, of their righteousness and iniquity, and the blessings of God being finally withdrawn from them as a people, was made known unto me; I was also told where were deposited some plates on which were engraven an abridgment of the records of the ancient Prophets that had existed on this continent. The angel appeared to me three times the same night and unfolded the same things. After having received many visits from the angels of God unfolding the majesty and glory of the events that should transpire in the last days, on the morning of the 22nd of September, A.D. 1827, the angel of the Lord delivered the records into my hands.

These records were engraven on plates which had the appearance of gold, each plate was six inches wide and eight inches long, and not quite so thick as common tin. They were filled with engravings, in Egyptian characters, and bound together in a volume as the leaves of a book, with three rings running through the whole. The volume was something near 15 cm. in thickness, a part of which was sealed. The characters on the unsealed part were small, and beautifully engraved. The whole book exhibited many marks of antiquity in its construction, and much skill in the art of engraving. With the records was found a curious instrument, which the ancients called “Urim and Thummim,” which consisted of two transparent stones set in the rim of a bow fastened to a breast plate. Through the medium of the Urim and Thummim, I translated the record by the gift and power of God.

In this important and interesting book, the history of ancient America is unfolded, from its first settlement by a colony that came from the Tower of Babel, at the confusion of languages to the beginning of the fifth century of the Christian Era. We are informed by these records that America in ancient times, has been inhabited by two distinct races of people. The first were called Jaredites, and came directly from the Tower of Babel. The second race came directly from the city of Jerusalem, about six hundred years before Christ. They were principally Israelites, of the descendants of Joseph. The Jaredites were destroyed about the time that the Israelites came from Jerusalem, who succeeded them in the inheritance of the country. The principal nation of the second race fell in battle towards the close of the fourth century. The remnant are the Indians that now inhabit this country. This book also tells us that our Savior made His appearance upon this continent after His resurrection; that He planted the Gospel here in all its fulness, and richness, and power, and blessing; that they had Apostles, Prophets, Pastors, Teachers, and Evangelists; the same order, the same priesthood, the same ordinances, gifts, powers, and blessings, as were enjoyed on the eastern continent, that the people were cut off in consequence of their transgressions, that the last of their prophets who existed among them was commanded to write an abridgment of their prophecies, history, etc., and to hide it up in the earth, and that it should come forth and be united with the Bible for the accomplishment of the purposes of God in the last days. For a more particular account, I would refer to the Book of Mormon, which can be purchased at Nauvoo, or from any of our Traveling Elders.

As soon as the news of this discovery was made known, false reports, misrepresentation and slander flew, as on the wings of the wind, in every direction; the house was frequently beset by mobs and evil designing persons. Several times, I was shot at, and very narrowly escaped, and every device was made use of to get the plates away from me; but the power and blessing of God attended me, and several began to believe my testimony.

President N. Eldon Tanner was known throughout much of his adult life as “Mister Integrity.” As minister in the government of Alberta, private businessman, and Church leader, he exemplified the highest ideals of honesty, honor, and superior character—“a man to match our mountains; tall, rugged, unyielding, immeasurable,” as President Kimball said of his beloved associate (“Civic, Business Leaders Honor President Tanner,” Church News, 1 April 1978, p. 6). On one occasion, while in government service in Canada, Brother Tanner stood to vote against his own party on a proposal he could not accept. Warned by colleagues that his vote could cost him his government post, Brother Tanner replied that he “would rather be out honorably than to be in voting against my principles” (G. Homer Durham, N. Eldon Tanner, His Life and Service [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1982], p. 106; emphasis in original).

When Brother Tanner retired from government service, a Calgary newspaper article of the time commented:
For the general good sense of the government’s oil policies, most of the credit must go to Hon. Nathan Tanner, whose impending resignation from the Cabinet will be received everywhere with genuine regret. . . . We have not always agreed with him, but we respect him; and now, on his departure, we sincerely wish him well. [Durham, Tanner, p. 107]
At a retirement banquet in his honor, in response to the tributes paid him, Brother Tanner spoke with characteristic modesty and simplicity of the philosophy that guided his life: “The service we give is the price we pay for the privilege of living in this world. The type of service we give will determine the kind of world we will live in” (Durham, Tanner, p. 108).