Gospel Story Finder

Haroon sat under the lone acacia tree that spread out like a huge umbrella shielding him from the hot sun. He looked across the dreary Somali nomad settlement that was now his home.
Those round huts look a lot like the piles of grass I used to see donkeys bringing to market in Mogadishu, Somalia, he thought. His eyes held a faraway look. What’s Dad doing? he wondered. I wish I could be sitting with him at home, enjoying the sea breezes and eating Mom’s tasty bariis iyo maraq (rice with meat stew). Our house is big enough to live in. Here I must stoop to enter the aqal (huts). They’re just big enough for several of us to sleep in.
The land reaching to the horizon in every direction was as flat as the shallow winnowing basket he had watched Amina weave with strips of bark. Nearby there were a few low bushes around which the goats gathered like baby chicks around a mother hen. Farther away he could see the large herd of camels belonging to the settlement.
Everything was quite still as Haroon continued to think of home 800 kilometers to the south. Then he recalled the words of President Mohammed Siyad Barre. He had told the students before they were sent out to participate in this campaign to teach the people to read and write, “Haddaad taqaan bar, haddaadan aqoon baro (If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn).”
Haroon had been sure he had much to teach the nomads. He was eager to take the skills of reading and writing the Somali language to the nomads who made up over 70 percent of the Somali people.
In August of 1974 the literacy campaign was taken to the nomads in the bush country. All schools, except technical schools and the senior classes, were closed for the year. Students fourteen years and older were sent into the bush to teach the nomads to read and write Somali.
Thousands of students were assigned to various sections of the nation. Haroon was one of these. He had stepped up to the official handing out the supplies. “Nabad miyaa,” he greeted.
“Haah waa nabad weeya,” came the cheerful answer. “Here is what you’ll need, Haroon: a blanket for cold bush nights; a folding blackboard that is used as box for the eraser, pens, pencils; a textbook; and a class register. Nabad gelyo. Llaah ha ku barakadeya (Go in peace with God’s blessing).”
Haroon began with great confidence, but he found the nomad chief was not interested in learning anything from a city youth who knew nothing about camels. Only the children and some women attended classes—sometimes.
Haroon longed for the comforts of his father’s house, especially plenty of water for showers. He longed for a chance to talk with friends, for most of the men here ignore him.
Just when he felt especially low in spirit, he met Osman, a former schoolmate, traveling with another group of nomads. Osman was bubbling with enthusiasm about the literacy campaign and all that he was learning from the nomads. “I even helped load the camels for this move,” he said with a grin. “I’d never touched a camel before. And do you know what?” Osman continued, stroking the flank of the animal near him. “This animal actually obeyed my command to get up after we had put on its load.”
After they parted, Haroon thought about Osman’s words and obvious enjoyment of his experience. I guess I’ve just been thinking of one part of the president’s challenge. I think I know so much the nomads should learn that I haven’t thought about learning anything from them. He softly repeated the president’s words, “Haddaad taqaan bar, haddaadan aquoon baro.” (If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn.)
That night he moved closer to the men around the campfire. He was captivated by the stories Chief Abdi told of Somali heroes of the past. Just before he fell asleep, he thought, I ought to write those stories in Somali. But the next day there was no time for classes nor for story writing, for the clan had to move to find more pasture.
Haroon tried to be helpful. By the time they got settled in their new location, he was feeling as though he were almost a part of the group. However, he was also feeling sick with a fever. He did not complain, but when Chief Abdi heard about his sickness, he was concerned. He sent a young man to find a special plant that was used for a fever medicine. To Haroon he said, “Perhaps you want to return to your father. Life in the bush is hard.”
But Haroon was determined to remain, now as eager to learn as to teach. After his recovery, when the chief observed Haroon’s genuine desire to learn of the nomadic way of life, he became more friendly. He ordered his people to attend classes.
Sometimes in the afternoon when the youths gathered under the spreading branches of an acacia tree, the camels shared the shade. It was very different from the classroom in the city where Haroon had studied English. Here the blackboard hung on a tree. And the strong, acrid odor of camels hung on the dusty air.
Some of the nomads were keen students and helped others. Little children chanted the alphabet as they herded goats. They wrote the letters in the dust while goats nibbled whatever they could find.
One evening when the full moon shone over the settlement, Haroon read to the group a story the chief had told some weeks earlier. The men sat enthralled, realizing in a way for the first time that these marks could tell a familiar story.
Chief Abdi was thoughtful as Haroon finished. “That is good, Haroon,” he said. “If we write our history, our children will not forget. I must learn this writing also.”
Chief Abdi became an earnest pupil, and with his constant encouragement, others came more regularly.
Later in Mogadishu, there was a big celebration when Haroon and thousands of other boys and girls returned to the capital after eight months among the nomads. Crowds lined the streets to welcome them and to celebrate the completion of one more phase in the fight against illiteracy.
The schools opened and these youths returned to being students again. But there was a difference. The experiences in the bush had changed them and increased their appreciation and understanding about some of the problems their country was facing. Many now had a growing respect for the skills of the nomads who could survive in the harsh desert. They also had a greater appreciation for the Somali nomadic culture of their ancestors.
Six months later Haroon was walking home from school one day through the noisy city streets when he suddenly caught the strong, unmistakable scent of a herd of camels. Memories rushed into his mind. Then he saw the herd come around the corner at the end of the block. They jostled each other as cars and taxis honked their horns. A bushman was bringing a herd to the slaughterhouse. Haroon went to talk to the nomad and found he knew Chief Abdi’s clan very well.
The man handed Haroon a letter showing signs of being carried many days in the folds of the man’s skirt. Haroon opened it and read greetings from many in the clan. It was written by the hand of Chief Abdi himself. He thanked Haroon for teaching him and his people.
Haroon was happy to know that Abdi was also following the president’s words: “If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn.”

Even before class started the next day, Rhett was cracking jokes and cutting other students down. Jarom leaned over, smiled wryly, and whispered, “This isn’t the day that’s going to make a difference.” He put his head down.
“It’d make a difference if you did something too. That’s why your mom made you promise,” I retorted warmly.
That day the class was a disaster. Rhett and Randy both sang loudly off key during the devotional hymn. Rhett muttered wisecracks through Cindy Mason’s spiritual thought while Randy snickered his approval. They even laughed in the prayer. It didn’t matter how Sister Batson pleaded and reasoned with them; they wouldn’t cooperate. Halfway through the lesson the two of them started laughing out loud after making a rude comment. I wanted to walk over and slap them both.
“Torbett,” a voice barked, “shut up or get out.” Startled, I turned to see Jarom glowering at Rhett.
Rhett’s laughter faded. “What’s it to you, Wade?” he sneered. “Did we wake you up from your morning nap?”
Slowly Jarom pushed up from his desk and strolled stiffly to where Rhett sat. Rhett stood up, prepared for the challenge while Sister Batson and the rest of us held our breath. “If you don’t want to listen,” Jarom said in a low, cold, cutting voice, “get out so somebody else can.”
“All you do is sleep, Wade. Isn’t that rude? Have you been listening?”
Jarom considered the accusation. “All right, I won’t sleep and you shut up.” They glared at each other. Jarom returned to his desk, sitting up in his chair. The rest of the period was quiet.
“Thanks for what you did back there,” I ventured as we left the church. I bit down on my lower lip. “I’m sorry what I said about your promise.”
He shrugged. “It was true. Rhett was right too.” He grinned. “Now I’ve promised Rhett I’ll stay awake.” He looked at me. “Why do you Mormons have to do this seminary thing so early in the morning?”
“You Mormons?” I asked. “You’re Mormon but don’t know it yet.”
“Fat chance.”
Seminary changed after that. A few days later Rhett started to get out of hand. Jarom grumbled from the back, “I’m still awake, Torbett.”

In 1938 Hitler had his armies invade western Czechoslovakia, and he soon ruled it. All Americans were warned to leave the country. Before the mission president, Wallace Toronto, left, he set apart Josef Roubícek, a Czech and a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, as the acting mission president. For the next five and a half years, Church headquarters received no word from the Saints in Czechoslovakia.

During that time President Roubícek held regular meetings. For a few months the government outlawed public meetings. When that happened, President Roubícek kept in touch with members by mail. In his letters, he encouraged them to study the Book of Mormon with their families.

When the war ended in 1945, an American soldier took a letter from President Roubícek and mailed it to President Toronto. “I wish to inform you,” President Roubícek wrote in the letter, “that after six years of war all members of the Church have remained well and alive. It has been a terrible time. … The [Saints’] … testimonies of the truthfulness of the gospel have not wavered even in the worst moments of this great conflict.”*

After crying for a few minutes, Thomas began to get frightened. He’d never been at home by himself before. He tried to think about another time when he’d felt frightened and about what he’d done then. A few nights earlier he had had a scary dream. When his mother came into his bedroom to comfort him, she had helped him offer a prayer to Heavenly Father. “You can ask Heavenly Father to give you a feeling of peace any time you are frightened,” she had told him.
He knelt down now by the couch and wiped the tears from his eyes. He folded his arms, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he began, “I’m sorry I didn’t put on my shoes and socks when I was told to. Please help Dad come back to get me, and help me to not be afraid. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
He still felt a little nervous as he sat on the couch and looked around the living room. Then he saw the photograph on the piano. He quickly climbed onto the piano bench and picked up the photograph. He sat on the couch and studied it carefully. Then he hugged it close to him. Peace filled his heart.
A few minutes later he heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. He knelt on the couch and looked out the big window. It was Dad! His father ran up the steps, unlocked the door, and called out, “Thomas? Where are you, Buddy!”
“I’m right here, Dad.”
“I’m so sorry we left you!” Dad gave him a big hug. “Were you scared?”
“At first,” Thomas admitted. “Then I said a prayer. And then I saw this.” He showed Dad the picture of the family dressed in white, standing in front of the Logan Temple. “I remembered that our family is forever, so I knew you’d be back for me.”
“You weren’t the only one praying, Son,” Dad said with tears in his eyes. “I had a prayer in my heart that Heavenly Father would comfort you until I could get home. And now I see how He did.”
“You put the picture back, and I’ll put on my shoes,” Thomas suggested. “Then we can go to church together.”
“Together forever,” Dad said with a wink.

“Brother Jacobs told us about the actual people the play was based on. They left their family behind in Armenia because they knew the Church was true. They decided to come to Utah. After they left, their family was killed. It makes you realize how important this play is. It gives you an appreciation for what people went through,” says 16-year-old Shae Dunkley.
Armenia of the 1890s may seem an unlikely place to find a missionary story, but the play “And They Shall Be Gathered,” written by Martin Kelly, is exactly that. Based on the true conversion story of husband and wife Arzuman and Akaby Tavoian, the play explores not only gospel principles but the love of a family as well.
Arzuman and Akaby (named Sarkis and Arick in the play) learn about the gospel individually, and each decides to be baptized—without telling the other person. (Because of their common last name, the missionaries are unaware that they are married.) When they discover they are both members of this new religion, they realize they must leave the country and go to Utah in order to fully live and practice their faith.
Just as they are preparing to leave, another young family member is killed in an accident. The family is severely saddened by the death and doesn’t understand why he was taken so young. Sarkis and Arick are able to leave with their family the gospel message of hope and the knowledge of life after death.
They then bid their family a fond but teary farewell and set out for Utah.
Sadly, Sarkis and Arick never hear from their family again. It is assumed that they were killed by invading Turks just after Sarkis and Arick left the country.

Ben Harrott from the Oldham Ward, Ashton Stake, was singled out from more than 4,000 entries to claim the title of RSPCA Young Photographer of the Year in this annual and prestigious competition which has been running for 32 years.
The event was held at the Tower of London, where Ben, along with his father, were invited to receive his award from one of the judges, Chris Packham of television fame.
Ben entered the 16–18 age group, where he won both the runners-up and winner’s certificate for his pictures. His picture of a shy mountain hare was awarded overall winner.
The judges said they chose Ben’s shot because they were impressed by his ability to capture this rare encounter with such a shy animal, as well as the “bravery of the near abstract composition”.
Chris Packham added “Ben Harrott’s stunning picture of a mountain hare really stood out. Ben is a really worthy winner.”
News of his award was printed alongside the winning picture in national and local newspapers, various magazines and was announced on local TV news.

Sixteen-year-old Tawnya Cazier, who lives in northern Idaho, has a best friend like that, and she doesn’t even mind the face-licking part. Her friend’s name is Nephi, and he’s a 75-pound malamute, the leader of her dogsled team. Nephi has saved Tawnya more than once, and he came into her life at a time when she was in desperate need of a good friend.
At 13, Tawnya was diagnosed as having a severe case of diabetes. Her blood-sugar levels were so erratic she had to stay out of school for a year. Many times her parents took her for special treatment in a clinic more than a thousand miles away from their home near Spirit Lake. All this took its toll on Tawnya. “I complained a lot, and I became very lazy,” she said.
It hurt Tawnya’s father to see his daughter’s suffering. He’d been diagnosed with diabetes when he was younger too and knew what she was going through. He decided Tawnya needed something to perk up her spirits. He’d always had an interest in dogsledding, but had never been able to pursue it. He noticed that Tawnya followed closely Susan Butcher’s progress in the Iditarod, the world’s most famous dogsled race, and thought dogsledding might be a good hobby for Tawnya. Since they were living in a sparsely populated, wooded area known as “Frazier’s Icebox,” where snow lasts into June, he asked, “Why not?”
Tawnya loved the idea, so they began putting together a homemade sled with skis for runners. They also began acquiring dogs from friends and from newspaper ads that said, “Free to good home.” Nephi was the first and the best. He was a natural leader, loved to run and work, and had the strength of three dogs. He would prove this many times as they took him all over the Northwest for weight-pulling competitions, which he often won.
Although Tawnya loves competition, the weight pulls are the only contests Tawnya has entered. What she’d really like to do is enter her team in the 150-mile Junior Iditarod, held each year in Alaska.
“I thought that would be the most awesome thing in the whole world, since I can’t compete in the real Iditarod until I’m 18,” she says. “So I wrote for the information on it, and they sent me a packet. I was so disappointed when I learned it was held over a weekend, on Saturday and Sunday. I asked them if they could change it, but they wouldn’t.
“That was a big hang-up. I wanted to run it so bad. I really had to fight with myself. But I finally got to the point where I realized that this would go against everything I’d ever been taught. It wasn’t worth it.”
So instead of training for the big races, Tawnya is content spending a couple of hours each day after school with her dogs. In the summer, when there’s no snow on the ground and her sled is useless, she hitches the dogs to a three-wheel cart. On Saturdays she cleans the dog runs, but Sundays she reserves for church.
“I like to go to church, read the scriptures, nap, write letters to missionaries, and spend time with my family,” she says. “It’s the one day of the week we can be together and just relax and talk. Most of the other days we’re all going in different directions.” Tawnya is the oldest of nine children, and they live together with their parents in a large mountain cabin.
The dogs have been good for the whole family. The younger children enjoy helping Tawnya feed and care for them, and, of course, they love rides on the sled. The dogs, in turn, love the children, and are extremely gentle.
“They have been bred through the years not to bite,” Tawnya explains. “The Eskimos couldn’t afford to have a vicious dog that would attack other dogs or people. Many times the dogs lived inside with the families. These dogs have been bred to love being around people and to love pulling a sled.”
The enthusiasm the dogs have for pulling is obvious the minute Tawnya walks outside with harnesses in hand. The dogs prick up their ears and begin barking and jumping. They’re eager.
“I learn lots of things from these dogs,” Tawnya says. “Enthusiasm for what you’re doing is one of them. Another is obedience. You don’t use reins with them, just voice commands. If they didn’t listen to what I told them, I could have had some really bad accidents. Once, if the dogs had followed their instincts and kept running, rather than stopping right when I told them to, we would have gone right between a mother bear and her cub. I don’t think any of us would have survived that.”
Tawnya has also learned that physical handicaps, like diabetes, don’t have to keep you down. Although she gives herself blood tests and shots three times a day and constantly has to be aware of how the food she eats and her physical activity will affect her insulin level, Tawnya doesn’t let that limit her. She’s back in school now, achieves straight A’s, and goes to seminary early each morning. She also finds time to spend with her friends, who love her dogs as well.
One of Tawnya’s favorite Mutual activities involves taking the youth in the ward on a dogsled ride out to a spot where a large bonfire has been built. They sit around toasting marshmallows and singing. The dogs, who love it as much as Tawnya does, sometimes join in on the chorus. Tawnya’s hobby has become well-known in the ward. Even the bishop has been for a ride on her sled. “He loved it!” she says. The missionaries have enjoyed it too.
It would be hard for anyone to resist such an offer, especially coming from this girl. Tawnya is as warm and down-to-earth as they come. Unless she told you, you’d never guess she suffers from a life-threatening disorder.
“I used to ask, Why me?” she says. “I used to wonder why I have to go through all this—be sick, give myself shots and blood tests, watch what I eat, and all that. But then I realized that the Lord knew I could handle it. It’s a comfort to know that the Lord has confidence in me. It gives me the strength to go on.”
Tawnya says she’s grateful for the strength she also derives from the support of her friends, family, and of course, her dogs.
“My dogs teach me so much,” she says. “I learn how to treat people by watching how they treat me. At first I thought I had to have patience with my dogs, but then I realized they have to have patience with me. Nephi shows me so much love, even when I’m not at my best. I want to be able to show that to other people. Nephi really is my best friend.”

This story happened in Germany.
Emma put the last sleeping bag into the camper van. Her family was driving to Italy for a holiday weekend. They were all so excited!
She got into her seat with a blanket and some snacks. Her brother, Max, sat next to her.
“Everyone ready?” Dad asked.
“Yes!” Emma and Max said.
They drove past buildings and trees. The roads were very busy. After a few hours, it was so crowded that all the cars stopped.
Emma looked out the window at the people in the cars next to them. Some looked bored. Others looked upset.
A man behind them got out of his car. He walked over and knocked on Dad’s window.
Dad rolled down his window. “Hi. Can I help you?”
The man pointed to their van. “One of your tires is flat.”
“Oh no!” Dad said. He got out to look and talk to the man.
Dad got back in the van. “We have two choices. We can stop at the next rest area. Or we can drive carefully to the closest camper site. Let’s pray about it.”
Mom said the prayer. She asked Heavenly Father to help them know what they should do.
They were all quiet. Emma listened closely to hear the Holy Ghost. “I think we should drive to the campsite,” she said.
“Me too,” said Dad.
When they got there, Mom and Dad called someone for help. A few hours later, a worker came to look at the tire.
“It’ll be hard to find a tire that fits,” he said. “We’ll order a new one, but all the shops are closed for the holiday. We can’t get the tire until Tuesday.”
Emma frowned. Tuesday was far away—and what if the tire was late? She was excited to go to Italy. But now they might not get there!
“Let’s pray again,” Emma said.
“Great idea,” Mom said. “Just remember that even if we’re not blessed with a tire, Heavenly Father always hears our prayers. We can still have a great trip.”
Emma nodded. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “thank Thee for keeping us safe on our trip. If possible, please help us find the right tire for our camper.”
The next morning, the worker came back. He was rolling a big tire toward them.
“Looks like we’ll make it to Italy after all!” Dad said. Emma and Max cheered.
“How did you find a new tire so fast?” Max asked the worker.
“I asked some other people here if they had a spare tire that would fit,” the worker said. “And someone did!”
The worker put the new tire on. They were ready to go! Emma said a silent prayer of thanks. Their family trip hadn’t gone the way they planned, but Heavenly Father had heard their prayers.
How did Heavenly Father answer Emma’s prayer?
Illustrations by Greg Paprocki

Many years ago John Orth worked in a foundry in Australia, and in a terrible accident, hot molten lead splashed onto his face and body. He was administered to, and some of the vision was restored to his right eye, but he was completely blind in his left. Because he couldn’t see well, he lost his job. He tried to get employment with his wife’s family, but their business failed due to the depression. He was forced to go door-to-door seeking odd jobs and handouts to pay for food and rent.

One year he did not pay any tithing and went to talk to the branch president. The branch president understood the situation but asked John to make it a matter of prayer and fasting so that he could find a way to pay his tithing. John and his wife, Alice, fasted and prayed and determined that the only thing of value they owned was her engagement ring—a beautiful ring bought in happier times. After much anguish they decided to take the ring to a pawnbroker and learned it was worth enough to pay their tithing and some other outstanding bills. That Sunday he went in to the branch president and paid his tithing. As he left the office, he happened to meet the mission president, who noticed his damaged eyes.

Brother Orth’s son, now serving as a bishop in Adelaide, later wrote: “We believe that [the mission president] was an eye doctor, for he was commonly called President Dr. Rees. He spoke to Dad and was able to examine him and offer suggestions to help his eyesight. Dad followed his advice, … and in due course sight was restored—15 percent sight to his left eye and 95 percent sight to his right eye—and with the help of glasses he could see again.” With his vision restored, John was never unemployed again; redeemed the ring, which is now a family heirloom; and paid a full tithing for the rest of his life. The Lord knew John Orth, and He knew who could help him.

“President Dr. Rees” was my mother’s father, and he probably never knew of the miracle that was wrought that day. Generations were blessed because a family decided they would pay their tithing regardless of the difficulty—and then met a man who “happened by” and “happened” to be an eye surgeon who was able to make a great difference in their life. While some may be tempted to believe these are just coincidences, I have confidence that even a sparrow cannot fall to the ground but He knows it.

Our family didn’t know this story until two years ago, but we know this about our grandfather: he loved the Lord and tried to serve Him all his life. And we know this about the Lord: He knows who we are and where we are, and He knows who needs our help.

As a volunteer for my local council in the Community Learning and Development department, I help people become self-sufficient by teaching them computer skills and helping them with their CVs.
Through this work, I was asked to spearhead genealogy classes at local libraries. Wonderfully, this opportunity coincided with the opening of a family history centre at the Greenock Branch meetinghouse.
The genealogy classes are well attended, and my first objective was to have everyone register at familysearch.org. I walk through the site processes with participants and help them start their own research for ancestors. I informed attendees that the free website was the largest database for records, and that FamilySearch belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
During breaks between courses the participants would bring in refreshments and I heard them discussing what to give me to drink. I knew they knew I was a member of the Church.
After each course, participants receive a copy of the My Family: Stories That Bring Us Together pamphlet, with the details for the Greenock Branch Family History Centre.
In 2019, we opened the meetinghouse as a community centre to promote family research, self-reliance courses, and Bible studies. I built a Facebook page to build relationships with our neighbours in the community. As of now, we have 400 members and counting.
We networked the page with local organisations, including local governments. Through this, we received visits from the local council leaders, and were approached and asked if we could hold ESOL language classes.
With the permission of the branch president, we invited the leaders of the Community Learning and Development department and gave them a tour of our chapel building. A further tour was set up for Ukranian and Afghan refugees, and thereafter, the ESOL language course began. Local council leaders still stop by occasionally to see how the ESOL classes are progressing.
In early 2023, a branch of the Scottish government gave us a visit to review how the Ukrainians and Afghans were doing, and we gave them a tour. This was a positive step in bringing the Church into a good light with the government. From this, we have built positive relationships with our local councils.
https://www.facebook.com/GREENOCKcommunityresourcecentre

From the time she was a young child, Sister Lifferth has had a testimony of prayer, reinforced by simple experiences. Once, for example, her parents had gone to the temple, and young Margaret lay in bed, worried about their safety because of the bad weather. A cold had left her coughing and even more resistant to sleep. “I remember crawling out of bed, kneeling down, and praying that I would stop coughing and that my parents would get home safely,” she says. Her coughing did stop, and she was able to sleep peacefully. The next morning she found that her parents had indeed arrived safely at home.

“Another thing that I enjoyed as I was growing up was playing the piano. I studied it and played it in Church. In fact, my first calling was ward organist. I earned a music merit badge from Alvin A. Beesley, who ran a music store. He was the son of Ebeneezer Beesley, an early Church composer. Alvin Beesley was absolutely the most enthusiastic man that I have ever known. Before he signed my music merit badge, he said, ‘All right, George, I will pass you on the condition that you come and play in the Sunday School orchestra.’ I said that I would. Playing in that orchestra was a horrible experience because I didn’t know how to follow an orchestra leader. But Brother Beesley was so encouraging and so enthusiastic and so understanding with us that I suffered through it happily.”

As a thirteen-year-old deacon's quorum president, one fast Sunday I encouraged the entire deacons' quorum to go up as a group to bear our testimonies. Part of my motive was quite deaconish as I suggested, "Let's make the bishop faint." All of us went to the stand together, and each of us bore his testimony, even the rascal of the group. When my turn came, I stood to bear my testimony. I said only a few words and was surprised to find myself in tears. Something happened that I had not expected. I had shared a Primary testimony many times before, but this was different. I was concerned about the health of a grandfather figure in my life. A powerful feeling came into my heart, an assurance of God's eternal plan. The fire of testimony burned in my soul, and I knew that the Church was true. I have never forgotten that event or those feelings.

The cultural celebration was held in a grand old Soviet Union-era theatre. The diversity of cultures in the temple district was well represented with not only Ukrainian songs and dances, but also interwoven into the script were musical numbers from youth groups in Belarus, Georgia, Estonia, Lithuania, Kazakhstan, Romania, and Russia. President Monson's opening remarks prior to the commencement of the program fired up the youth and they danced their hearts out for him. He said that he was very much in favor of these types of activities for the youth and that they would make friends for life among their fellow performers.

Next came the Laie Hawaii Temple rededication. President Monson has a tender affinity for Hawaii and its people. He was the last apostle called by President David O. McKay and it did not go unnoticed that President McKay's imprint is still felt in the islands, especially in Laie. This was a historic renovation of the beautiful Laie temple, which had been closed for nearly two years. President Monson paid tribute to the construction team for their successful achievement. President Henry B. Eyring, who accompanied him, noted that they had achieved a balance of "enhancing the original temple without detracting from it," which is something, he indicated, was not easy to do.

In his opening remarks the evening of the cultural celebration, President Monson commented again that he was very much in favor of these types of activities, where boys and girls can come together and have some wholesome fun together. "Now," he said, "some may say they don't need these types of activities and they're fine at home. They don't want to be at home with their parents!" he said. "They want to be part of something truly fun and memorable with young people their own age."

The history of the Hawaiian Islands is intertwined with the outbreak of World War II, and President Monson particularly loved the segment depicting the growth of the Church during that era. The Cannon Center exploded into hearty cheers and applause when a young Tom Monson's picture from his Navy career flashed on the screen.

The stakes in the temple district had made an effort to involve children and youth who were perhaps physically impaired, but whose spirit brightened the hearts of all those in attendance. The hula dance segment was beautiful, as a young girl in a wheelchair, Briana Garrido, caught the attention of not only the whole arena, but also the president of the Church. As the most important part of hula dancing is done with the hands, this beautiful girl was among the best dancers there that night. Afterward, President Monson singled her out and went over and gave her a kiss, a sweet and tender scene.

Some decisions are choices between doing something or doing nothing. I heard an example of this kind of choice at a stake conference in the United States many years ago.
The setting was a beautiful college campus. A crowd of young students was seated on the grass. The speaker who described this circumstance said they were watching a handsome tree squirrel with a large, bushy tail playing around the base of a beautiful hardwood tree. Sometimes it was on the ground, sometimes up and down and around the trunk. But why would that familiar sight attract a crowd of students?
Stretched out prone on the grass nearby was an Irish setter. He was the object of the students’ interest, and the squirrel was the object of his. Each time the squirrel was momentarily out of sight circling the tree, the setter would quietly creep forward a few inches and then resume his apparently indifferent posture. This was what held the students’ interest. Silent and immobile, their eyes were riveted on the event whose outcome was increasingly obvious.
Finally, the setter was close enough to bound at the squirrel and catch it in his mouth. A gasp of horror arose, and the crowd of students surged forward and wrested the little animal away from the dog, but it was too late. The squirrel was dead.
Anyone in that crowd could have warned the squirrel at any time by waving his or her arms or crying out, but none did. They just watched while the inevitable outcome got closer and closer. No one asked, “Where will this lead?” When the predictable occurred, all rushed to prevent the outcome, but it was too late. Tearful regret was all they could offer.
That true story is a parable of sorts. It applies to things we see in our own lives and in lives and circumstances around us. As we see threats creeping up on persons or things we love, we have the choice of speaking or acting or remaining silent. It is well to ask ourselves, “Where will this lead?” Where the consequences are immediate and serious, we cannot afford to do nothing. We must sound appropriate warnings or support appropriate preventive efforts while there is still time.

It all started as an effort by the youth of the Grand Junction Colorado Stake to earn money to send to the Church refugee fund. Richard Lindsay, a talented singer, helped the youth organize a choir to produce and record a tape. The effort was a success, but the group didn’t stop there. The choir has continued to perform together and has increased in size to 18 performers.
The choir performs at stake functions and has expanded to include entertaining at community group gatherings. The choir is finding that its efforts are becoming an effective missionary tool.

Willian M., age 15, shared: “The missionaries were the first to bring me to church. Then what kept me going was everyone’s reception. I thought that coming to this Church would be just to hear something about the gospel and then go back home, but I realized that it wasn’t just that—it was something very welcoming. When Bishop Gil Santos was called as our bishop, he invited young people to work, with the aim of bringing more young people to the Church. He knew that young people are the future of the Church. That’s why I’m here!”

Let me take you to my native Finland, known for her countless blue lakes and white snow; a beautiful land of light in the summer and darkness in the winter. With endless white summer nights and long dark winter days, coming home for supper, when the sun went down, was not a particularly useful rule for my mother to give us children. If we had followed that advice, we would have stayed home all day in the winter and outside all night during the summer. My mother was a chemist and her explanations had a scientific foundation. She taught us how to read different shades of light and darkness to tell time. She explained how to observe nature to know what time dinner was ready, or when we had to return home to sleep. Before we were given watches, we could tell time based on the sights and sounds of nature surrounding us.

We also learned to work while the days were light and get ready for the long period of darkness that always followed the pleasant summer days. Our storage of food and supplies, a safe home, and fun memories, gave us faith and peace. We knew that it didn't matter if the sun was behind clouds, because eventually, there would be a break. Moments of glorious sunlight made the darkness of winter bearable and kept hope alive that spring would surely come, followed by another summer with its long days of light.

Today Finns have a saying: "There is no cold weather, just poor clothing." However, when I was born, Finland was still paying war reparations to Russia and was rebuilding the country after three devastating wars. I can't remember lacking anything as a child, but there were times when I was cold, even though I had the very best and the prettiest clothing available. My mother will turn 86 years in two days, but when she was younger, she walked fast, held her head high, and scanned the sky above the treetops. She was always aware of her surroundings. She recently told me that she was looking for possible air attacks and other dangers. Fear of war was ever present in the minds of her generation, but she never showed that fear to me.

I only remember the beauty of the Northern Lights above trees, the sound of cold, crunchy snow under my feet, and joyful laughter as we watched nature's display of colors and movement. Running to imitate the dancing Northern Lights on the black sky soon left my body warm and my heart filled with delight. I learned to take "heart photographs" - to capture images and memories so vividly in my mind that when the dark days of life came with trials and disappointments later on, I could just close my eyes for a second and happiness filled my heart instantaneously.

Standing and waiting for a bus was a different story. If there were any signs that I was cold, Mother's instructions were short: "Turn Your Face and Feet to the Light."I obeyed and tried to find the sun. In the process, I turned my back to the bitter north wind to feel the sun's warm rays. Soon this behavior became automatic. I just watched adults who stood towards the light, moved to keep the circulation going, and I was never cold again.

Two or three weeks after his baptism, Lorenzo received the certainty he desired. During the time he had sought his initial testimony of the gospel, he had retired each night to a grove near his home and sought the Lord in prayer. One evening he felt no inclination to pray. The heavens, he said, seemed like brass over his head. But though he did not feel in the mood for prayer, he went, as he was accustomed to do, to his place of prayer.
“I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray,” he later said, “than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O, the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge, as it was at that time imparted to my understanding. I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. It was a complete baptism—a tangible immersion … even more real and physical in its effects upon every part of my system than the immersion by water.”
This knowledge was of far greater value to him than all the wealth and honors the world could bestow. In faith, he had made his decision to join the Saints, and in response to his faith, the Lord had given him the peace of mind he had desired.

During my tour aboard the USS West Virginia, a call came for an officer who spoke Portuguese to go on a three-week exchange with the Brazilian Navy. I was the only one in the submarine force who spoke Portuguese.
My initial feeling was not to go. I had just finished a three-month patrol and was looking forward to seeing my family, but the exchange would not leave my mind. I turned to Heavenly Father in prayer, received a strong answer that I should go, and accepted the assignment.
The arrangements proved fraught with hurdles. At one point I felt like giving up. I thought, “How important could this be?” The Holy Ghost, however, prompted me to push ahead.
Illustration by Allen Garns
Finally, after several delays, I arrived on a Brazilian ship. When I was escorted to the officers’ dining room, the ship’s captain was yelling and pointing his finger at a young officer. The captain saw me, stopped, and said in broken English, “Ah, my American friend has arrived. Welcome. May I offer you something to drink?”
I responded in Portuguese that I would love a popular Brazilian soft drink I hadn’t tasted since my mission. He told me the ship had all kinds of liquor on board, but I stated I did not drink alcohol.
Later a knock came at my cabin. When I opened the door, there stood the young officer from the dining room.
“You are an American,” he said. “You do not drink alcohol. You speak Portuguese. Could it be that you are a Mormon?”
“Yes, I am,” I responded.
He threw his arms around me and broke down sobbing.
This officer, Lt. Mendes, was a fairly new convert and a recent graduate of the Brazilian Naval Academy. On board the ship, he quickly learned that the captain expected him to share in the wild lifestyle of the officers when visiting ports. Instead, Lt. Mendes constantly volunteered for “in-port duty” and otherwise skipped port-of-call activities. The captain grew weary of this. When I entered the dining hall, he was yelling at Lt. Mendes for not joining in.
“You will go out with the officers during our next port of call,” he had ordered the lieutenant. “You will show the visiting American officer what it is like to have a good time. He will expect that of us.”
For months, Lt. Mendes had been praying that his captain would understand and accept his principles. With my arrival, discussion of the gospel became the center of most conversations in the dining room. We talked with the other officers about Joseph Smith, the Restoration, the Word of Wisdom, and the law of chastity. Feelings toward Lt. Mendes soon changed. The officers removed the openly displayed pornography, and at the next port we all enjoyed a meal together at a restaurant instead of going to a club.
Near the end of my three weeks onboard, and after many discussions with the captain and officers about our beliefs, the men softened their hearts. “Now I understand,” the captain told Lt. Mendes before I left, adding that he would no longer ask him to go against his principles.
I will never forget this experience. Lt. Mendes and I learned that our Father in Heaven knows us individually, loves us, and is concerned with our personal lives.