Gospel Story Finder

The Robinsons, a Mormon family, had just moved into a small non-Mormon community. Rumors were flying as the eyebrows went up and the tongues wagged. Even the young people were speculating, and one stated, “They don’t smoke or drink; in fact, they don’t do anything normal people do!”

By the time the curtains closed at the end of the original musical production “An Example of Love,” written and produced by the Bountiful Utah Stake Young Men and Young Women, most of the attitudes in the fictional community were changed and two people were baptized. The audience thundered its approval.

The show was developed around President McKay’s statement “Every member a missionary” and was based on the scripture “But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light” (1 Pet. 2:9). The story depicted a Mormon family who moved into an area where little was known of the life-style of Church members. The reaction of the neighbors was amusing as they learned about food storage containers that doubled as furniture, about a son away on a mission (they suspected he was a spy), and about eight children in the family.

Now, as a reminder to members of our obligation to share the gospel I repeat an account from the history of the Church.
In the late 1850s many converts from Europe were struggling to reach the Great Salt Lake Valley. Many were too poor to afford the open and the covered wagons and had to walk, pushing their meager belongings in handcarts. Some of the most touching and tragic moments in the history of the Church accompanied these handcart pioneers.
One such company was commanded by a Brother McArthur. Archer Walters, an English convert who was with the company, recorded in his diary under July 2, 1856, this sentence:
“Brother Parker’s little boy, age six, was lost, and the father went back to hunt him.” (LeRoy R. Hafen and Ann W. Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, Pioneers Ed. Glendale, California, The Arthur H. Clark Co., 1960, p. 61.)
The boy, Arthur, was next youngest of four children of Robert and Ann Parker. Three days earlier the company had hurriedly made camp in the face of a sudden thunderstorm. It was then the boy was missed. The parents had thought him to be playing along the way with the other children.
Someone remembered earlier in the day, when they had stopped, that they had seen the little boy settle down to rest under the shade of some brush.
Now most of you have little children and you know how quickly a tired little six-year-old could fall asleep on a sultry summer day and how soundly he could sleep, so that even the noise of the camp moving on might not awaken him.
For two days the company remained, and all of the men searched for him. Then on July 2, with no alternative, the company was ordered west.
Robert Parker, as the diary records, went back alone to search once more for his little son. As he was leaving camp, his wife pinned a bright shawl about his shoulders with words such as these:
“If you find him dead, wrap him in the shawl to bury him. If you find him alive, you could use this as a flag to signal us.”
She, with the other little children, took the handcart and struggled along with the company.
Out on the trail each night Ann Parker kept watch. At sundown on July 5, as they were watching, they saw a figure approaching from the east! Then, in the rays of the setting sun, she saw the glimmer of the bright red shawl.
One of the diaries records: “Ann Parker fell in a pitiful heap upon the sand, and that night, for the first time in six nights, she slept.”
Under July 5, Brother Walters recorded:
“Brother Parker came into camp with a little boy that had been lost. Great joy through the camp. The mother’s joy I cannot describe.” (Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 61.)
We do not know all of the details. A nameless woodsman—I’ve often wondered how unlikely it was that a woodsman should be there—found the little boy and described him as being sick with illness and with terror, and he cared for him until his father found him.
So here a story, commonplace in its day, ends—except for a question. How would you, in Ann Parker’s place, feel toward the nameless woodsman had he saved your little son? Would there be any end to your gratitude?
To sense this is to feel something of the gratitude our Father must feel toward any of us who saves one of his children. Such gratitude is a prize dearly to be won, for the Lord has said, “If it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” (D&C 18:15.) Even so, I might add, if that soul should be our own.

Recently I lost my niece to cervical cancer during the pandemic. We were raised like siblings. She was a critical part of my life. In her last moments of earthly life, I had gone to lay down for a minute after having been up for most of two days with her. The family was gathered at her bedside in the living room, talking and laughing. I set my alarm for 1 hour to get some sleep but not be too far away to check on her. Someone, with words as clear as I am speaking to you now but with no physical body, told me to get up. My alarm still had ten minutes on it. I was so tired. I got up and went into the next room.

I walked out to see my family and friends telling me that it wouldn’t be long as they lovingly looked to her bed. I walked over to her and felt the need to place my hand on her shoulder. In that very moment, as I touched her, she passed. She needed me to come out and be with her body as she left it.

Sue was extremely quiet as the family drove home from fast and testimony meeting. So quiet, in fact, that her father sought an opportunity within the hour to talk with her alone. To make a long story short, Sue was laboring under the illusion that she really didn’t have a testimony of the gospel. Two or three members that day had expressed “sure knowledge” that the gospel was true, and in tears Sue said, “Daddy, I can’t say that I know it’s true, and that troubles me.”
Sue’s dad was patient and understanding, for his mind was remembering clearly his teenage years of developing testimony.
“Sue,” he asked, “why do you pay tithing?”
“Because I know it’s a commandment from the Lord,” she replied promptly.
Sue’s dad then led her mind through a quick rerun of some basic principles, including the Word of Wisdom, the law of the fast, partaking of the sacrament, high moral standards, and prayer. To each of these Sue was able to relate positively and promptly. Soon she smiled at her father and said, “Gee, Daddy, I guess I do have a testimony of sorts about everything you mentioned. I suppose I could bear my testimony about the things I understand.”
And that’s the way it is with all of us. Sue had certainly felt a lack of security in this Church, which she loved, but not after her father had proven to her that she was on schedule with a developing testimony about many truths. Real security comes with a developing testimony. Hopefully, we’ll be spending much of our time here in mortality developing our testimony, improving our testimony, and sensing the wonderful security that comes with each new truth riveted securely in its place. We all have an urgent need for security.

Some years ago while visiting in Australia, I accompanied the mission president on a flight to Darwin to break ground for that city’s first Latter-day Saint chapel. We stopped for refueling at the small mining community of Mt. Isa. There we were met at the terminal by a mother and her two children of Primary age. She introduced herself as Judith Louden and mentioned that she and her two children were the only members of the Church in the town. Her husband, Richard, was not a member. After four years as Church members, they had never lived where there was an organized branch of the Church. We held a brief meeting, where I discussed the importance of holding a home Primary session each week. I promised to send from Church headquarters the home Primary materials to assist them. There was a commitment to pray, to meet, to persevere in faith.
Upon returning to Salt Lake City, I not only sent the promised materials, but also a subscription to the Friend.
Years later, while attending the stake conference of the Brisbane Australia Stake, I mentioned in a priesthood session the plight of this faithful woman and her children. I said, “Someday I hope to learn how that home Primary succeeded and to meet the nonmember husband and father of that choice family.” One of the brethren in the meeting stood and said, “Brother Monson, I know Richard Louden, the husband of that good woman and father of those precious children. Prayer and Primary brought him into the Church.”

When my Young Women adviser suggested I do a Laurel value project about my family, I immediately knew we needed a family reunion.
I soon found out that planning a reunion takes time, persistence, and some hard work. It doesn’t hurt to have help from family members either. Here are some ideas that worked for me:
* Select a date. Choose a date well in advance for better attendance.
* Choose a meeting place. Use parks, pavilions, gymnasiums, or even backyards.
* Decide on a menu. Make food assignments or go potluck.
* Send out invitations. Make a list of all the relatives. Leave no one out.
* Plan activities that everyone will enjoy. Plan for swimming, board games, and art projects, just to name a few.
* Include a memento or souvenir of the reunion for each participant. Some families have screen-printed T-shirts. Others offer door prizes. The prizes can be as simple or ambitious as photos, scrapbooks, or recipe books.
* Don’t forget to send thank-you notes. Be sure to thank everyone who helped you with the planning and preparation or who donated their time or talents.
My reunion was hard work but so satisfying. I realize now what family reunions are all about.

Right after I was married, I was called as home teacher to four families. The father of one was active but not spiritually converted. The young husband in another wasn’t a member of the Church and wouldn’t attend with his new bride, who was a member. The third couple was inactive—even though the husband was formerly in a stake presidency and the wife had been a stake Primary president. The fourth family, the Smiths, was happily very active in the Church: the father was on the stake high council, and the mother was the ward Relief Society president.
The third couple, we learned, had become inactive because they had not felt a part of the ward. We convinced them that we were their friends and were interested in them. Then we helped the wife see that the Church needed her special talents of teaching children. She began attending Sunday School and later accepted a calling as a Sunday School teacher. When my wife was asked to bake cookies for the ward Christmas party, we asked this couple if they would make the cookies, and then we invited them to come to the party as our guests. When they moved to a new ward later, they didn’t become inactive again but remained active.

“And speaking of courting, I remember a night when my sister Jane had a date with a boy who had grown a fine beard (fine enough to win a recent beard contest). However, the boy was very nervous about coming to our home, and he didn’t know if Dad would approve of his beard. He finally became so concerned that he shaved it off and appeared at our front door that evening clean-shaven. You know, my father was very touched by that.”

One of my haunting childhood memories begins with the howl of distant air-raid sirens that awaken me from sleep. Before long, another sound, the rattle and hum of propellers, gradually increases until it shakes the very air. Trained well by our mother, we children each grab our bag and run up the hill to a bomb shelter. As we hurry through the pitch-dark night, green and white flares drop from the sky to mark the targets for the bombers. Strangely enough, everyone calls these flares Christmas trees.
I am four years old, and I am a witness to a world at war.
Not far from where my family lived was the city of Dresden. Those who lived there witnessed perhaps a thousand times what I had seen. Massive firestorms, caused by thousands of tons of explosives, swept through Dresden, destroying more than 90 percent of the city and leaving little but rubble and ash in their wake.
UniversalImagesGroup/Universal Images Group/Getty Images
In a very short time, the city once nicknamed the “Jewel Box” was no more. Erich Kästner, a German author, wrote of the destruction, “In a thousand years was her beauty built, in one night was it utterly destroyed.”1 During my childhood I could not imagine how the destruction of a war our own people had started could ever be overcome. The world around us appeared totally hopeless and without any future.
Last year I had the opportunity to return to Dresden. Seventy years after the war, it is, once again, a “Jewel Box” of a city. The ruins have been cleared, and the city is restored and even improved.
Bettmann/Bettmann/Getty Images
During my visit I saw the beautiful Lutheran church Frauenkirche, the Church of Our Lady. Originally built in the 1700s, it had been one of Dresden’s shining jewels, but the war reduced it to a pile of rubble. For many years it remained that way, until finally it was determined that the Frauenkirche would be rebuilt.

Stones from the destroyed church had been stored and cataloged and, when possible, were used in the reconstruction. Today you can see these fire-blackened stones pockmarking the outer walls. These “scars” are not only a reminder of the war history of this building but also a monument to hope—a magnificent symbol of man’s ability to create new life from ashes.

As I pondered the history of Dresden and marveled at the ingenuity and resolve of those who restored what had been so completely destroyed, I felt the sweet influence of the Holy Spirit. Surely, I thought, if man can take the ruins, rubble, and remains of a broken city and rebuild an awe-inspiring structure that rises toward the heavens, how much more capable is our Almighty Father to restore His children who have fallen, struggled, or become lost?
It matters not how completely ruined our lives may seem. It matters not how scarlet our sins, how deep our bitterness, how lonely, abandoned, or broken our hearts may be. Even those who are without hope, who live in despair, who have betrayed trust, surrendered their integrity, or turned away from God can be rebuilt. Save those rare sons of perdition, there is no life so shattered that it cannot be restored.
The joyous news of the gospel is this: because of the eternal plan of happiness provided by our loving Heavenly Father and through the infinite sacrifice of Jesus the Christ, we can not only be redeemed from our fallen state and restored to purity, but we can also transcend mortal imagination and become heirs of eternal life and partakers of God’s indescribable glory.
During the Savior’s ministry, the religious leaders of His day disapproved of Jesus spending time with people they had labeled “sinners.”
Perhaps to them it looked like He was tolerating or even condoning sinful behavior. Perhaps they believed that the best way to help sinners repent was by condemning, ridiculing, and shaming them.
When the Savior perceived what the Pharisees and scribes were thinking, He told a story:
“What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?
“And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.”2
Over the centuries, this parable has traditionally been interpreted as a call to action for us to bring back the lost sheep and to reach out to those who are lost. While this is certainly appropriate and good, I wonder if there is more to it.
Is it possible that Jesus’s purpose, first and foremost, was to teach about the work of the Good Shepherd?
Is it possible that He was testifying of God’s love for His wayward children?
Is it possible that the Savior’s message was that God is fully aware of those who are lost—and that He will find them, that He will reach out to them, and that He will rescue them?
If that is so, what must the sheep do to qualify for this divine help?
Does the sheep need to know how to use a complicated sextant to calculate its coordinates? Does it need to be able to use a GPS to define its position? Does it have to have the expertise to create an app that will call for help? Does the sheep need endorsements by a sponsor before the Good Shepherd will come to the rescue?
No. Certainly not! The sheep is worthy of divine rescue simply because it is loved by the Good Shepherd.
To me, the parable of the lost sheep is one of the most hopeful passages in all of scripture.
Our Savior, the Good Shepherd, knows and loves us. He knows and loves you.
He knows when you are lost, and He knows where you are. He knows your grief. Your silent pleadings. Your fears. Your tears.
It matters not how you became lost—whether because of your own poor choices or because of circumstances beyond your control.
What matters is that you are His child. And He loves you. He loves His children.
Because He loves you, He will find you. He will place you upon His shoulders, rejoicing. And when He brings you home, He will say to one and all, “Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.”3
But, you might be thinking, what is the catch? Surely I have to do more than simply wait to be rescued.
While our loving Father desires that all of His children return to Him, He will force no one to heaven.4 God will not rescue us against our will.
So what must we do?
His invitation is simple:
“Turn … to me.”5
“Come unto me.”6
“Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you.”7
This is how we show Him that we want to be rescued.
It requires a little faith. But do not despair. If you cannot muster faith right now, begin with hope.
If you cannot say you know God is there, you can hope that He is. You can desire to believe.8 That is enough to start.
Then, acting on that hope, reach out to Heavenly Father. God will extend His love toward you, and His work of rescue and transformation will begin.
Over time, you will recognize His hand in your life. You will feel His love. And the desire to walk in His light and follow His way will grow with every step of faith you take.
We call these steps of faith “obedience.”
That is not a popular word these days. But obedience is a cherished concept in the gospel of Jesus Christ because we know that “through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind may be saved, by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the Gospel.”9
As we increase in faith, we also must increase in faithfulness. Earlier I quoted a German author who lamented the destruction of Dresden. He also penned the phrase “Es gibt nichts Gutes, ausser: Man tut es.” For those who do not speak the celestial language, this is translated as “There is nothing good unless you do it.”10
You and I may speak most eloquently of spiritual things. We may impress people with our keen intellectual interpretation of religious topics. We may rhapsodize about religion and “dream of [our] mansion above.”11 But if our faith does not change the way we live—if our beliefs do not influence our daily decisions—our religion is vain, and our faith, if not dead, is certainly not well and is in danger of eventually flatlining.12
Obedience is the lifeblood of faith. It is by obedience that we gather light into our souls.
But sometimes I think we misunderstand obedience. We may see obedience as an end in itself, rather than a means to an end. Or we may pound the metaphorical hammer of obedience against the iron anvil of the commandments in an effort to shape those we love, through constant heating and repeated battering, into holier, heavenly matter.
No doubt about it, there are times when we need a stern call to repentance. Certainly, there are some who may be reached only in this manner.
But perhaps there is a different metaphor that can explain why we obey the commandments of God. Maybe obedience is not so much the process of bending, twisting, and pounding our souls into something we are not. Instead, it is the process by which we discover what we truly are made of.
We are created by the Almighty God. He is our Heavenly Father. We are literally His spirit children. We are made of supernal material most precious and highly refined, and thus we carry within ourselves the substance of divinity.
Here on earth, however, our thoughts and actions become encumbered with that which is corrupt, unholy, and impure. The dust and filth of the world stain our souls, making it difficult to recognize and remember our birthright and purpose.
But all this cannot change who we truly are. The fundamental divinity of our nature remains. And the moment we choose to incline our hearts to our beloved Savior and set foot upon the path of discipleship, something miraculous happens. The love of God fills our hearts, the light of truth fills our minds, we start to lose the desire to sin, and we do not want to walk any longer in darkness.13
We come to see obedience not as a punishment but as a liberating path to our divine destiny. And gradually, the corruption, dust, and limitations of this earth begin to fall away. Eventually, the priceless, eternal spirit of the heavenly being within us is revealed, and a radiance of goodness becomes our nature.
My dear brothers and sisters, my dear friends, I testify that God sees us as we truly are—and He sees us worthy of rescue.
You may feel that your life is in ruins. You may have sinned. You may be afraid, angry, grieving, or tortured by doubt. But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you.
He will rescue you.
He will lift you up and place you on His shoulders.
He will carry you home.
If mortal hands can transform rubble and ruins into a beautiful house of worship, then we can have confidence and trust that our loving Heavenly Father can and will rebuild us. His plan is to build us into something far greater than what we were—far greater than what we can ever imagine. With each step of faith on the path of discipleship, we grow into the beings of eternal glory and infinite joy we were designed to become.
This is my testimony, my blessing, and my humble prayer in the sacred name of our Master, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

We relocated our growing family to Australia and then, in September 2017, our family was sealed, for time and all eternity in the Melbourne Australia Temple. It was a powerful experience; one we will cherish forever.

With hearts bursting with love for our newly sealed family, how could we know Heavenly Father had yet another miracle surprise for us?

Imagine my shocked delight only three months later when we discovered I was pregnant. How could this be? We double checked the home pregnancy test—positive! We took two tests just to make sure. We both wept. I know the Lord was with me through every step of that pregnancy. I felt the love and strength of my parents, from the other side of the veil, assuring me that everything would be fine.

In the early hours of 12 August 2018, our precious little girl was born. My husband named her after his mother—Faaifomailelagi, which in Samoan means ‘sent from heaven’.

Motherhood is one of the most difficult things I have experienced, but it is by far the most fulfilling. To this day, our children continue to make us better people and better servants of the Lord. They teach us patience, forgiveness, humility and so much more.

I know that all my challenges have been for my good. When we endure our trials well and learn from them, we discover that it is never by chance that things happen, but by divine design and all in God’s timing.

Sam pedaled his bike as fast as he could up the hill. He leaned forward. The air whipped through his hair. His friend Liam pedaled next to him.
“Getting tired?” Liam said.
“No way!” Sam said.
Their friend Eric was already at the park at the top of the hill.
“Komm schon! Come on!” he yelled.
Sam and Liam reached the top of the hill. The boys parked their bikes and sat under a tree.
Liam picked up a rock and threw it. “I’m bored.” There weren’t many places to go in their small village in Switzerland.
“Me too,” Eric said. He scratched the dirt with a stick.
“We could keep biking,” Sam said.
Liam scrunched up his face. “That’s all we ever do.”
“Let’s do something funny!” Eric said. He hopped up and walked over to the bike rack, where lots of bikes were parked. Sam and Liam followed him.
Sam’s stomach felt tight. Sometimes what Eric and Liam thought was funny wasn’t funny to him. Eric and Liam liked to tease other kids and say rude things in class. But maybe this time would be different.
Besides, there weren’t many boys in Sam’s class. If he wasn’t friends with Eric and Liam, who would he be friends with?
“Let’s take the valve caps off all the tires,” Eric whispered. “We can hide them by the tree.” He knelt down by a shiny red bike and twisted a little plastic cap off one of the tires.
Liam laughed. “Yes! That will be so funny.”
Sam sighed. Nope. This time wasn’t different. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe we should just go.”
Eric shoved Sam’s arm. “Aw, come on!” he said. “No one is even looking.”
“They’re just little parts,” Liam said. “No one will even notice they’re gone.”
Sam tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. Taking the valve caps wouldn’t ruin the bikes. He shrugged and nodded.
The three boys quickly took all the valve caps off the bike tires and ran back to the tree. They hid all the caps under a rock and sat down to watch the bikes. Liam and Eric were giggling.
Soon a man walked up, unlocked his bike, and rode off.
“See? He didn’t even notice,” Liam said.
But I did, Sam thought.
The rest of the day, Sam couldn’t stop thinking about the valve caps. He wished he could give them back, but he had no way to find the bikes’ owners. He knelt down and told Heavenly Father about it.
“I feel awful,” Sam said. “I wish I had never done it. Please forgive me, Heavenly Father.”
The next day, Sam and his friends rode their bikes to the park again.
Once again, Eric said, “Let’s take the valve caps!”
Once again, Liam agreed.
Sam remembered his prayer. And this time, he felt a little braver.
“I don’t think we should,” he said.
“Why not?” Liam said, frowning. “No one even noticed yesterday.”
“I wouldn’t want someone messing with my bike,” Sam said. Before either boy could answer, he hopped on his bike. “Race you to the bakery!” he yelled. Then he started pedaling as fast as he could.
Eric and Liam grabbed their bikes too.
“No fair! You got a head start,” Liam called.
Sam grinned as his friends raced after him. He whispered a thank you to Heavenly Father. He felt much better.
This story took place in Switzerland.

Then one day I was shopping with my younger brother. As we were driving home, he said that every store we went in had posters and magazines with inappropriate images of women displayed everywhere. His voice was full of nervousness as he proceeded to tell me he had looked a little at pornography and later repented of it but felt so discouraged when everywhere he went he was bombarded with it. He mentioned that my other brothers had struggled with similar problems.
At first I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t believe that my brother had involved himself in something like that. But looking at his eyes filled with tears and pain made me realize how hard it is to stay clean in a world where we are confronted by inappropriate images every day.
I could tell that my little brother felt horrible, but I wanted him to know how pornography made me feel. I told him how hurt and how afraid I felt because of pornography and the power it had over those I cared about. He listened intently and said he hadn’t realized how awful it made girls feel. He apologized for hurting me.
My brother later told me that every time he saw women displayed inappropriately, he thought of not disappointing me and turned the other way. These images became less enticing as he realized that he was looking at someone’s mother, sister, wife, or daughter, that he was hurting people he loved, and that he could poison the way he would see his future wife.

The lady from Waukegan elbowed her way through the crowd up to the booth by the Kodak display.
“Can I buy film here?” she asked.
“No, ma’am, but we do have a film shop just across from the Mormon pavilion.”
It was July 24, Pioneer Festival Day at Expo ’74 in Spokane, Washington, and not only was the Book of Mormon Pavilion useful as a convenient focal point when giving directions, but the Church-sponsored activities and programs were the center of a week’s worth of excellent entertainment and testimony-inspiring experiences.
That week at the world’s fair there were jugglers and a carver of totem poles from Alberta, a metal-drum band from Latin America performing on the platform over the river, a comedy show starring Jack Benny, and many more professional acts and entertainers. But the real stars of “Mormon Week” were the 2,000-plus colorfully clad young dancers, singers, and performers from more than 21 stakes of the Church in the West and the Northwest.
They were stars not only as they whirled about in the spotlight or sang in chorus on stage, but their faces also shone with the happy light within them as they rehearsed for long, hot hours in the Spokane Coliseum, sat in friendly groups talking and resting, visited the international displays at the fair, and soaked weary feet in the river that runs through the fairgrounds. They sensed themselves being watched 24 hours a day and had long ago resolved to be the kind of representatives the Church would be proud of. They succeeded.
“We’re always being watched,” said a young man from the Lewiston Idaho Stake, “especially if we make it a point to tell people we’re Mormons. And we do. So we learn to always remember that to our friends, not only do we represent the Church, we are the Church.”
Representing the Church well is a habit they’ve formed over all the years of their lives, and it was superbly demonstrated during the months of preparation that went into the program they presented at Expo. Active young people—they hold jobs, serve the community, and are busy and well-liked at their high schools—they found that practices had to be scheduled at 6:30 in the morning or 9:30 at night in order not to conflict with their other responsibilities. Many cut down on their summer earnings because of their active support of the dance festival. But that didn’t seem to be too important to them.
Denise Crump of the Spokane Washington Stake summed up their feelings when she said, “Just get involved. Some kids say they don’t have time to do it. But they should just take the time. It’s worth it.” And a chorus of her friends voiced their agreement.
Some had to drive for hours to attend rehearsals, but when you agree with Pat Ream of the Coeur D’Alene Idaho Stake (“The Church is great! It’s just great!”), any sacrifice seems worth it. And Pat’s story is a special one.
“The dance festival had a lot to do with my conversion,” she said. “I was a dancer before I was a member. I was able to get a lot closer to the kids than I ever had before, and it really helped in my decision to join the Church. I’ve been a member for one year, four months, and 24 days!”
Practices went on for months in the individual stakes, with leaders traveling from one group to the other to make sure that all of them were doing the dances the same way. Months and months of man-hours were involved. And it all came together on Tuesday morning, July 23.
The 2,000 young people met with Johnny Whitaker, the D’s, the Grandland Singers, and the leaders, and they took a million pieces of puzzle and created a beautiful, finished product. They rehearsed all day.
“And it worked,” said Bruce Nelson of the Spokane Stake. “One of the greatest experiences happened when we performed for the first time on Tuesday evening. Everything came off like it was planned. It was really fantastic! The theme of the whole thing was ‘Catch a Happy Feeling!’ And we caught it!” And so did those who came to observe. Favorable comments were heard on every side, and the young performers’ enthusiasm grew as the 24th and their second performance approached.
They were jubilant over their success, but the next morning their cups ran over. President Spencer W. Kimball was attending the fair, and he called a special devotional for their benefit. They gathered in the coliseum as early as their dance-weary bodies allowed them. They sat on the floor, in the bleachers, and anywhere they could find a space, all straining to see the prophet. They listened. He counseled.
“Today make up your minds,” he said. “You don’t wait until next Sunday and say, shall I go to priesthood meeting? You decide today. You don’t wait until you get a call from the Brethren to go on a mission. You start to save money now; you start today. You don’t wait until marriage is facing you, and you have made your proposal and decided the date, to decide where you are going to be married. That is all present in your minds from the time you are little. … Wouldn’t it be a great loss of time if every Sunday you had to say, shall I or shall I not go to sacrament meeting today? Shall we or shall we not have home evening today? What a lot of wasted effort! Settle it once and for all. I am going to go on a mission; I am going to be worthy to go on a mission. I am going to get the degree that I desire. I am going to live the commandments of the Lord and live for the glorious light.”
“I think my greatest thrill in being here,” responded Brenda Barrus of the Coeur D’Alene Idaho Stake, “was being around President Kimball. He portrays the spirit of it all.” And Pat Ream chimed in: “I love him.”
After the devotional some of the young people had more rehearsing to do because they had been asked to present a special number at a program honoring the Mormons that was held in the amphitheatre on the fairgrounds. And then the afternoon was theirs to use for relaxing, visiting the fair, making friends, and talking to people about the Church.
And at some point in the day they all came, in small groups and large groups, singly or in couples, to the golden structure built out over the Spokane River. Here they met another group of young Mormons who were taking part in the activities at the fair. They were not there to dance or sing; as a matter of fact, they came when the fair was opened in May and will serve there until it concludes this month. They are the 24 elders of the Washington Mission who teach and testify two-by-two in four-hour shifts at the Book of Mormon Pavilion. Theirs is a more serious assignment, but it is carried out with all the joy that comes from serving the Lord full-time.
“There are three groups of elders, eight in each group,” explained Elder John Barlow of Visalia, California. “The morning shift goes from 10:00 to 2:00. Then another group of elders will work from 2:00 to 6:00, and then another from 6:00 to 10:00. After we’re through with our shift here at the pavilion, we go out and do regular missionary work. We all have areas and wards we are assigned to, but for part of each day we have been called by the Lord through our mission president to labor here.”
All of the people who go through the pavilion are given cards to fill out. On those cards is a place for questions and a box to check if they are interested in hearing more about the Church. The missionaries have been able to contact many interested people in the area this way and also send some referrals to other missions.
Some weeks the ratio of members to nonmembers who visit the pavilion is very high, and some weeks there are very few members in the lines of interested fair-goers. On July 24, Pioneer Festival Day, the elder waiting in front of the pavilion asked the crowd, “How many of you are Mormons? Raise your hands.” Many hands went up.
One of the members from North Dakota who was waiting at the front of the line said, “Elder, you should be asking who the non-Mormons are.”
“Okay,” said the agreeable young missionary. “How many of you are not Mormons?”
Again many hands were seen waving in the air.
“Go to it, elder,” encouraged the man who had made the suggestion.
And that’s exactly what the elders do. Many visitors are touched by the impressive Book of Mormon display and by what they hear. One of the elders told of an older man who visited the pavilion. Suffering from an ailment that was causing him to slowly lose his sight, he asked, after seeing the presentation, if he could buy a copy of the Book of Mormon so he could read it while he was still able.
Another day two young children bought a copy of the book to give to their parents because they felt that what they had heard was true.
One of the participants in the dance festival who went through the pavilion remarked, “I especially liked the way they handled the introduction to the Book of Mormon. Because they spoke about other records on metal plates that have been found by archaeologists, people in my group had much less difficulty accepting the truth of the Book of Mormon story.
“At the end, instead of asking the elders if they really believed all that, several wanted to know where the plates are now and if copies of the translation are available to nonmembers. The elders sure answered those questions, especially the second one, in a hurry!”
And then there are those who are less profoundly affected, but who are affected favorably nevertheless. Many people who visit the pavilion, say the missionaries, are surprised and pleased to learn that Mormons are Christians and that they believe in the Bible. “One of the important things we have accomplished here,” said Elder Barlow, “is to change people’s attitudes toward the Church. They leave here with a good feeling.
“The theme of the fair,” he added, “is more or less environmental cleanup (‘Progress without Pollution’), and you can’t clean up the environment unless you also clean up your people. I usually tell visitors that one of the interesting things about this fair is that after it’s over everything is going to be recycled. What we are trying to do at this pavilion is to recycle people.”
Later that evening many of the people who were impressed with the Book of Mormon presentation, and many who just wanted to be delightfully entertained for an evening, gathered in the Spokane Coliseum to see the young Mormons who had performed to such acclaim the night before. They started arriving early. The Grandland Singers were there, Johnny Whitaker was there, the D’s were there, and so were the dancers. “Catch a Happy Feeling” they encouraged, and smiles of pleasure and enjoyment certainly seemed to be a contagious virus throughout the audience as the young people danced, and sang, and joked, and cheered.
All too soon the finale arrived. All of the performers rushed out onto the floor of the coliseum. A rainbow of talented youth whirled, and waved small green and gold flags, and danced their hearts out. They were answered with an ovation from those in attendance, but they were not quite through with the evening’s program. There was one more thing they wanted to do.
And there, standing before the capacity audience, the 2,000 colorfully costumed young dancers stood and sang from their hearts, “We thank thee, O God, for a prophet To guide us in these latter days.” As the hymn continued, the lights in the house were lowered, and a single spot shone on an elderly, white-haired gentleman in the audience. He rose to his feet and smiled his acknowledgment.
Then, with whoops and cheers, the dancers ran from the floor. The evening was over, and after several minutes of applause, the appreciative audience stood and started filing out. One nonmember remarked to his wife as they stepped out into the cool evening air, “I wonder who that gentleman in the spotlight was? Those young kids certainly seem to love him.” A festival participant who had hurried into the departing crowd to listen for comments and answer questions heard the statement and replied with quiet conviction, “He’s a prophet of God, sir.”
That’s what Mormon youth participation at the fair was all about—testimony building and testimony sharing, remembering the past and building for the future.

When I turned 18 and had graduated high school, I had an experience that strengthened my testimony of the Lord guiding me with His hand. I had also just graduated from seminary and was a little excited that I didn’t have to wake up early in the morning anymore. My bishop called me to his office and extended a calling for me to be an early-morning seminary teacher. I remember telling the bishop that I was too young for such a calling, I would be teaching my church friends that were almost my age. I felt inadequate, but I accepted the calling to serve. That meant I would have to wake up at 4:30 in the morning, prepare my lesson, and pick up some youth for seminary because they lived far from the chapel.

During that same time, one of the airlines in Brazil was hiring, and I wanted to apply so I could have the benefits to travel the world. Again, I was 18 and I had never stepped foot on an airplane before. One of the requirements for the job was to speak fluent English, and my English was not that great; it was really bad. I had never taken any classes besides the basic English classes in high school. There was no Duolingo or EnglishConnect at that time, but someone gave me some cassette tapes for a course to learn English.

As I prepared for the job interview and English tests required for the job, I would listen to those tapes all day long on my headphones and even in my sleep. I was determined I could learn something in my sleep. I remember praying to Heavenly Father to help me to learn the language so I could pass the written and listening tests and the face-to-face interview in English.

I decided I wasn’t going to apply to be a flight attendant because of the difficult work schedule, but instead I applied for an eight-to-five job at the airline’s ticket office so I could continue teaching seminary and attending college to continue my studies. Somehow, by some amazing miracle, I passed the test after studying for only a couple of weeks, and I was able to answer all the questions and hold a conversation in English during my face-to-face interview.

I got the job at the airline and started working there immediately after high school. This job would later have a great impact on my life. I worked full time at the airline during the day and attended industrial design classes at night. But after one semester, I realized that waking at 4:30 a.m. to teach seminary and getting home after midnight by city bus after my university classes wasn’t sustainable. Financially, this arrangement was also very hard because what I made working full-time was barely enough to pay for my college tuition. I was burned out, and I had to make a decision.

I had to either stop teaching seminary or quit school. Again, I offered a sincere prayer and asked Heavenly Father for His help and guidance. Going to college was one of my dreams, but I had a strong impression that I had to quit school so I could continue teaching seminary and working full-time.

I have experienced these compensating blessings throughout my life, but especially while working for the airline. It gave me the opportunity to travel to many countries. Some of my favorite places to visit were Asia and the Pacific. These travels, that I normally did on my own, allowed me to meet amazing people. They also allowed me to learn about so many cultures and traditions, especially in the Polynesian Islands, and I developed a tremendous love for these places. One of the very first trips I took was coming to Hawaii. I was so impressed by the incredible people I met here, and I remember driving through the North Shore and seeing the beautiful Laie Hawaii Temple. I was so fascinated and remember thinking that one day I would like to get married in this temple. I went to the temple distribution center to buy some temple clothes, and the worker there was a very nice lady. She found out it was my first time in Hawaii, and she told me I must go visit the BYU–Hawaii campus and the Polynesian Cultural Center. I knew about BYU in Provo, but I had no idea there was such a thing as BYU–Hawaii, and I had never heard about the Polynesian Culture Center. She told me her son worked at PCC, and he would get me discounted employee tickets to go. I met the incredible students working at the PCC and saw the bright light they had in their eyes and smiles. I knew for sure that this was a special place.

Then I came to BYU–Hawaii and I felt something different. I felt such a special spirit on this campus. I had a strong impression that I needed to come back to attend school here.

I knew that my parents couldn’t help me financially to go to school at BYU–Hawaii, but I went back home and worked at the airlines for five years, saving up as much as I could with the hope I could come back someday and attend school here. I also continued to teaching seminary classes for those five years, and I have to say that I never felt as close to Heavenly Father and to my Savior as I felt during those years that I prayed and studied the scriptures in depth to teach my friends at seminary.

After five years of saving money to come to school at BYU–Hawaii, I quit my job at the airlines and used my last standby ticket to come to school here. I also brought my younger sister with me to school, and we worked together as tour guides at the PCC until she left for her mission.

On my way here, I went to Utah to prepare and to take the TOEFL English proficiency test, which was one of the things I was missing for my college application. It was there that I met my eternal companion, and he followed me here. After two years of dating, we were married in the Laie Hawaii temple. After I graduated, he started his studies and also graduated from BYU–Hawaii. Now my two older kids are also students at BYU–Hawaii. One is on his mission in Brazil at the moment, but he will be back this Fall.

When I look back, brothers and sisters, I recognize these miracles, I see the Lord's Hands in my life. I know He was blessing me by getting that job that would literally bring me here and would help finance my education, helping me to learn English, and preparing me spiritually by teaching seminary and strengthening my testimony of the gospel and of my dear Savior Jesus Christ.

When I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at age 35, one of the many things I quickly learned was that I needed to be willing to serve others. Whether it was to help someone move, offer lawn care, do repairs, or provide transportation, I tried as much as possible to respond to requests for service from my quorum or from individuals.
I felt that I was serving in a good way. In retrospect, however, I realize that I was serving out of a sense of duty and not out of a sense of love for those who needed help. I didn’t really view my service as trying to become the Lord’s hands.1
After I moved to central Missouri, USA, I had the opportunity to serve an older couple. Their small, old country home needed a lot of repairs, including its leaky roof. The couple, however, suffered from serious health challenges that prevented them from doing physical labor.
On a hot day in July, my good friend Dallas Martin and I were up on the roof putting down new shingles. We were uncomfortable and dripping with sweat. Suddenly, Dallas stopped nailing, stood up, and looked at me.
“Do you realize how blessed we are to be the ones capable of being up here doing this work and not the ones inside who can’t?” he asked.
His question hit me like a bolt of lightning. It was literally a life-changing moment. My whole perspective on service took on new meaning. I realized how blessed I was to be able to do all the things that I could do.
At that moment, I felt that Dallas and I were not simply helping because of a sense of duty but were helping with a sense of gratitude. The Lord had blessed us with the ability to truly be His hands. With that realization, it was easy for me to feel love for those we were helping.
Since that day, whenever I have helped with a service project, or whenever someone has needed assistance that I was capable of providing, I have tried to keep that perspective in mind. I have not always been successful, but that perspective has been a huge blessing in my life. It has truly helped me keep a positive attitude about service.
When I have problems or challenges, I try to think of people who face more serious trials than I do. Then I express my thanks to the Lord for all the blessings He has given me.

When I lived in Virginia, I served in the Young Women. We had an exceptional group of youth. One of them, Lucy, had moved with her family to the United States from Kenya.
Lucy had, on this one occasion, gathered up the youth in the ward and enough parents and leaders to provide rides to attend the monthly tri-stake dance. At the dance, as I was watching the youth, a high councilor from the host stake stopped by to visit. As we were visiting, he pointed to a young man, sitting on the side of the dance floor with his head in his hands. That priesthood leader was the home teacher of the young man and he shared his story with me. After he left, I was determined to help the young man, so I moved toward the youth from my ward to bring the young man to their attention. Before I could get there, out from the group emerged Lucy, and walking halfway across the cultural hall, she came up to the young man, tapped him on the shoulder, and asked him to dance. He seemed startled for a bit, but got to his feet and went to dance. I watched that young man all night and never again was he sitting by himself on the sidelines.
But let me tell you the rest of the story. His home teacher told me that he had been in a serious accident and had been in a coma for several months. He had only recently recovered, but was still struggling, in the words of the home teacher, to "come out of his cave" socially. The home teacher knew that his parents had forced him to come to the dance to try to help him in his recovery. And what did lovely Lucy do? She looked, saw someone isolated and not participating, and reached out across the distance to include him. Could I have imagined I would be in such a place to see this precious gift?
I wrote an email message to Lucy to ask her permission to use this story and to get her picture. She replied to me this morning and said she didn't know about this story. Of course she didn't know the story about the young man; she just asked from her heart because she has a compassionate heart. Lucy graduated last week from Southern Virginia University.

I learned this valuable lesson in 1973 while attending what was then called the Language Training Mission at BYU Provo in preparation for my mission to France and Belgium. We were expected to memorize sixty lines of the French discussions each day, in addition to our grammar lessons. As missionaries we carried with us a little card made by our District Leader which read, Avez-vous vecu votre vision? Have you lived your vision? My vision was to leave having learned the discussions in French but the task seemed too daunting. My head ached and frustration mounted as I fell short of what I expected of myself and what was expected of me. I had the work ethic but quickly came to the realization that I could not learn those 60 lines a day on my own. Oh, I had prayed for help but had not acknowledged my dependence upon God to succeed. I recall the pleading prayers I offered at the side of my bed; on some nights my knees ached as much as my head but the prayers were answered and the task became achievable. I testify that sincere prayer coupled with hard work greatly increases our rate of learning.

When the Young Women of the Merthyr Tydfil First Ward, Merthyr Tydfil Wales Stake, learned the chapel of another denomination nearby was in peril, they stepped in to help preserve it.
“The people who use it are mostly older, and they couldn’t afford to have it redone,” explained Natalie Davies, 17. “Unless we helped out, they would have to close it down, and it’s quite a piece of history in this area.”
So the LDS Young Women spent time scraping walls and painting the interior of the old stone building.
“We didn’t expect to enjoy the work,” Natalie said. “At first everyone groaned and said, ‘Oh, we’d rather be playing rounders’ (a British game similar to baseball). But when the older people started saying ’thank you for coming,’ we felt really good. They were so appreciative.”

The Bollbachs extended a special invitation to Church President Harold B. Lee to visit the gallery. Instead, President Lee invited the Bollbachs to visit him at his office. Brother Bollbach fondly recalls the visit. He had created a wood carving of a wild horse jumping over a log to give to President Lee.
“We stood in his office,” Brother Bollbach remembers, “and after a short visit, he shook our hands. As I was leaving, he said to me, ‘I give you my blessing. Peace will be with you.’ I have never lost the peace President Lee promised me. I have always felt it in my heart to this day.”

My mother, Margaret, moved from Switzerland to the United States as a young woman. Not long after that, she had an appointment to receive her patriarchal blessing. But when she went to meet with the patriarch, he wasn’t there. For whatever reason, my mother felt like that was confirmation the Lord didn’t have anything to tell her, and she never rescheduled her appointment.
From time to time over the years, I would suggest to my mother that she reconsider receiving her blessing. She was one of the most faithful women I ever knew. However, she was so humble that she replied that she didn’t merit anything special from the Lord. She didn’t need a blessing, she said, because she was just a simple girl. And she was OK with that.
Finally, when she was 90, we convinced her to schedule an appointment with her patriarch. Ironically, there was a miscommunication with this patriarch as well, and when Mother showed up, the patriarch was out of town. “See?” she said. “I told you the Lord has nothing special to tell me.”
Fortunately, she and the patriarch were able to meet the next week. When the blessing was given, it was filled with gifts, promises, and details about her life that were so personal they could have come only from the Lord’s knowledge of her.
“I guess the Lord did have something to say to me, after all,” she said.