Gospel Story Finder

For example, Jessica Ocampo from Guatemala offered to watch her friend Lisbett’s son David while Lisbett served at Young Women camp. Jessica asked if there was anything she could do to help David during that time, and Lisbett said that David had never learned to ride a bike. Jessica invited her sons to help, and they taught David to ride a bike. They also knew that David was playing on the ward’s basketball team and preparing for a tournament, so they spent the day helping him prepare. David may not have gotten better at basketball in that one day, but, he said, “they showed me they really care.” He also added, “I still have the video on my phone when I learned to ride a bike.”

To attend Johns Hopkins University, the Renlunds moved to Baltimore, Maryland. In addition to being a busy doctor and a young husband and father, Dale was called to be the bishop of the Baltimore Ward.
A year after moving to Baltimore, the Renlunds faced a severe trial: Sister Renlund was diagnosed with cancer. She had to have two surgeries and nine months of chemotherapy. Struggling to take care of Ruth and their daughter, Elder Renlund recalled, “I was hurting, and it seemed as if my prayers wouldn’t go heavenward.”
One time when he brought Ruth home from the hospital, she was weak, but they wanted to pray together. He asked Sister Renlund if she would pray. “Her first words were, ‘Our Father in Heaven, we thank Thee for priesthood power that makes it so that no matter what happens, we can be together forever.’”
In that moment he felt a special closeness to his wife and to God. “What I’d previously understood about eternal families in my mind, I now understood in my heart,” he said. “Ruth’s illness changed the course of our lives.”

My wife’s great-uncle and great-aunt are two of the kindest, most spiritual people I know, but financially their life together has often been less than comfortable. He worked as a schoolteacher, and she stayed home with the four children. From a fairly young age, the great-aunt suffered from various medical problems, and medical expenses put an almost unmanageable strain on the family’s modest income. One of their few possessions was a beat-up, unreliable old car.
One day a woman unknown to the family arrived unannounced with the key to a new automobile, donated by an anonymous individual. To this day, this couple still does not know the identity of their benefactor.

A couple of years ago, as Sister Dickson and I arrived at the Missionary Training Center to speak with the missionaries, the MTC president asked if I would tie my tie for the missionaries to help them understand that they could handle the challenges that come with missionary service. I considered his request and adjusted my talk to cover some of what has been mentioned in this article. As I was about to conclude, I invited four missionaries in the front to come forward for a little race at tie-tying. One asked if they should just use their left hand, but I suggested they would need them both. As you can imagine, the missionaries were quite excited when I won.

This article, however, really has little to do with being the fastest tie-tier, the best quarterback, cheerleader, or hamburger-eating champion. It simply has to do with knowing who we are, that we truly matter to our Heavenly Father and that He loves us and wants us back. At the same time, He wants us to be clean and to learn and to grow from our experiences.

Over the years I have handled many challenges in my life, as you will in yours. During the time between those interesting adventures, life has been restful and easy, but any true personal growth has always come when I was working my way through one of life’s challenges. As challenges come, we must look at them as stepping-stones in our development rather than barriers to stop our progress. Come they will, and we must simply win and move on.

One winter day, I was walking the school grounds with my friends Alice and Trevor when we came across a sign that read: “Cups of tea now available.” Excitedly, Trevor offered to buy us each a cup of tea. “No, thank you,” I said.
Trevor offered me tea each day, and I continued to decline. Finally, he asked me why I wouldn’t drink the tea. I told him about the Word of Wisdom, hoping that he would understand. But he just turned it into a big joke. He tried to get me to break the Word of Wisdom.
“It’s not like you’re taking drugs,” he said. “A cup of tea is harmless!”
The next week, he and his friends started teasing me even worse. I tried to hold my head high, though it wasn’t easy.
Over time, they felt bad for their actions and stopped teasing me. One day, my teacher told me: “You have always been an example of your faith and religion. I am proud of you.”
I am proud of myself too. It isn’t always easy, but I know I’ll be blessed for standing up for my standards.
Nicolé M., West Midlands, United Kingdom

I grew up in an active, supportive family but never really believed in the things I was taught. It all just felt like something I had to check off my to-do list, like school or work.
I tried reading the scriptures and praying, but I never really
had a personal witness.
Early in my teenage years I made some bad choices and started to feel frustrated with the way my life was going. When I turned to God, I felt like He was silent. I figured if there really were a God in heaven, He probably had more important things to do than worry about me.
One evening, I went to pick up my little sister from her friend’s house. I texted her, but she didn’t come out right away. Slightly annoyed, I entertained myself by looking around outside while I was waiting. Suddenly, a duck acting strangely caught my attention. It was making weird noises and pacing all around, so I went to investigate. The duck was flapping its wings over a large metal grate in the road, and when I looked through the grate, I saw 13 ducklings stuck in the mucky water. I promptly lifted the grate out of the way and began scooping baby ducks out of the smelly drain one by one.
With 12 out of 13 ducklings out of the sewer, I reached down for the last one, but when I went to pick him up, he bit me! I pulled my hand back and dropped him back into the water—this little guy was not having it. He had seen me grab his brothers and sisters and was determined to avoid me.
I watched as this last little duck swam into a small tunnel, far enough away that I couldn’t reach him. Exasperated, I turned to leave, but glanced back at the mother duck and all the ducklings, waiting patiently for their little brother under a small tree. Concern hit me; I didn’t want him to be separated from his family.
It was at that moment I noticed a manhole about 10 feet away in the middle of the street. “There’s no way he could have swum that far,” I thought. Expecting nothing, I lifted the grate out of the way and, to my surprise, saw the duckling directly beneath me. But it was much deeper than I could reach. Even when I tried using a tree branch, it was just too far away.
A young man happened to be driving by right at that moment, and he noticed me rummaging around the sewers. He looked concerned and asked if I was OK. I explained the situation, and he agreed to hold my feet as I went headfirst into the manhole.
Reaching for the last duckling, I thought to myself how ridiculous this whole situation was. Here I am going out of my way to save this baby duck, and he stubbornly and ignorantly bites me and swims away. How could this creature be so blind to the literal saving hand that was reaching out to him?
Then, headfirst in a stinky manhole, it all hit me. I was just like that baby duck, and Heavenly Father, through His Son, Jesus Christ, was doing everything He could to save me! Finally, the duckling let me pick him up, and we managed to get both me and the duck safely out of the manhole.
My emotions whirred as I thought about all of the things Heavenly Father had done for me. He had blessed my life and my family; He had sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to perform an infinite Atonement so that I could return to Him; and He had arranged this little experience to help me understand His love and plan for me, in just the way I needed it. Heavenly Father had answered my prayers in a personal way, and at a time when I was ready for the answer. And in that moment, I knew He loved me.

“My husband’s family was very poor. His mother made rugs to sell at a store in a sparsely settled area, and his father tended sheep, cut firewood, and hauled water for the family,” explained the lovely young wife of this General Authority, while rocking a baby on her lap.
“There were ten in his family and they lived 24 kilometers from the nearest town in a remote desert area. There were no cars or running water. And the drinking water was often so bad that the people there would drink fruit juices and soda pop instead.
“When my husband was four years old, he became very ill and went into a coma. Everyone thought he had died. In fact, his body had been placed in a casket for burial. In a little while they heard a faint knocking on the inside of the casket. The child was alive! The casket was quickly reopened and the boy sat up. ‘I want a soda pop,’ he said.
Thereafter, he was known as the ‘soda pop child’. His parents have often said that after this experience he was a changed child. He was more responsible and would help tend the others in the family. He was concerned about others and seemed to be blessed with a special spirit.
“The main food for his family was fry bread made from biscuit dough, mutton stew, and often soda pop. Today, his favorite foods are anything hot and spicy that he can put pepper on.
“He herded sheep until the age of nine; then he was placed in boarding school. Since the people there could not pronounce his real name, they gave him an English one. The only problem was that they also gave three other children the same name. So there was a number one, two, three, and four with the same name.
“A Latter-day Saint missionary couple at the store baptized my husband when he was ten years old, and he attended Church services from that time on. He was selected to participate in the Church’s education program and was to be sent to Utah to live with a foster family and go to school. An hour before the bus was to leave, a friend, Brother Bloomfield, put a bowl on his head and gave him a quick haircut. All of his belongings were put into a shoe box—he had no shoes. There were more holes in the denim pants he was wearing than there was denim material. He was put on a bus at night, given two dollars by Brother Bloomfield, and told that he would arrive there by morning.”
At this point, I was thinking how difficult it must have been for that little boy to leave his family to go all alone on a bus to a place with a different culture where he knew no one. The only tie that he had with them was that he was a member of the Latter-day Saint Church.”
The General Authority’s wife continued: “On the first day at his new school in Utah the children all gathered around my husband. They had never seen an Indian before. ‘Where’s your war paint?’ they asked. ‘Where are your moccasins?’
“The new foster parents were concerned because their Indian son was so shy. In fact, the only words he spoke to them during the first three months were yes and no. At Christmastime they gave him some new clothes—two pairs of pants, four shirts, two pairs of socks, etc. The mother asked him to go upstairs and try them on. After quite a while he came downstairs with all of the shirts, pants, and socks on at the same time. It was difficult to get used to a new language and customs.
“Even though my husband is now very busy, he enjoys football and basketball. When he has spare time, which isn’t often, he loves to play the harmonica. Last Christmas he played for the General Authorities at their Christmas party.
“My husband believes that family home evening is a great time to train children to be leaders. He always has one of our children conduct. One of them will assign the prayers and choose the hymns. At the conclusion, the one conducting thanks all those who participated. Usually the person who gave the lesson is sincerely complimented. Then the closing song is announced and the name of the one to give the closing prayer.
“One morning the children’s father had to leave at 5 A.M. for an early meeting at the Church offices. Later he called when the children were just getting up and we all had family prayer with him on the telephone.”
His small children had these comments: “When Daddy comes home, he tells me that if I eat my dinner he’ll give me a ride on his back. Sometimes he’ll give my friend a ride too!”
“Dad is helping me to save money for my mission.”
“My daddy shows us how to clean. He always tells us to clean the counter after we wash the dishes.”
“He’s kind.”
“When he plays football with us, we all have to speak nicely.”
When asked about her husband’s favorite topic to speak on, she said, “He always says that we’re all God’s children, no matter what color we are, and that our church has no room for prejudice. When he speaks, he represents the whole Church, not just the Lamanite people.”

Another challenge to Craig’s humility might be the role he has played in the Hill Cumorah Pageant for the past several years. As Moroni, he is not on the stage very long. But when he is, there are just Craig and his father (playing Mormon) on that huge stage. And finally, there is just Craig/Moroni, carrying the gold plates upward from level to level and into the darkness beyond the spotlights. It’s an important moment.
“How do you like being in the pageant with your father?” I wanted to know.
“It’s super; it’s just great. I can’t often look him in the eye while we are on stage because I am supposed to be looking toward the audience. But when I do look him in the eye, the emotion is there and it’s hard to hold back. He’s saying that tomorrow will be the last battle of the Nephites and they’ll be destroyed. And when my father says that, I feel it. It’s like it’s real. And then I have to go and do my part as best I can.
“I wasn’t very confident with the part at first. I was very nervous. But after four rehearsals, and getting my lines and actions down, everything just worked out from there. Now it’s great. I can go up there and think about the audience and try my hardest to share my testimony—Moroni’s testimony—with them.”

I have witnessed and been greatly impressed by the sacrifices many members endure to get to the temple. Let me share one such story.
In 1976, when we were living in Costa Rica, the mission president asked my husband to help organize the first trip from the mission to a temple. The Central America Mission then included Costa Rica, Panama, Nicaragua, and Honduras. The closest temple was the Mesa Arizona Temple. The trip required us to travel five days each way, crossing six borders. The financial sacrifice for most of those who went was great. They sold their television sets, bikes, skates, and anything else they could sell. We traveled in two uncomfortable buses day and night. Some of the members had used all their money to pay for the bus fare and had taken only crackers and margarine to eat on the way.
Why do members of the Church so willingly and happily make such great sacrifices to go to the temple?
I have never forgotten the great outpouring of the Spirit we experienced during the three days we spent at the Mesa Temple. I was deeply touched as I watched family members embrace each other with tears streaming down their faces after being sealed for the eternities.
Twenty-four years later the temple in San José, Costa Rica, was dedicated. Among those present at the session I attended were many of the families who had gone on that first temple excursion. They had waited faithfully and worthily for this sacred moment. They all can now attend the temple often because a temple in Panama was recently dedicated, and a temple in Honduras has been announced.

The stage was aflame with the swirl of red and orange skirts, flared pant legs, and silky, shimmery blouses. Twelve feet stomped rapidly on the stage floor to the beat of the Bolivian folk music, and out in the Utah high school auditorium there were happy whistles, claps, and shouts of “ah-ree-va,” which the young Bolivians insisted on as audience participation. There were six performers: four young men and two young women. They had come to Utah as part of a “partner’s program” between Bolivia and Utah—they came as a cultural exchange group after winning the National Folk Music Contest from among thousands of Bolivian entries.
It didn’t just happen that they were all Mormons; it was because of the Church that they met and organized their group. They were all members of the La Paz Ninth Branch, La Paz Second District in the Bolivia La Paz Mission. As branch members they began singing and dancing together at youth activity night. As they began to stir interest in their performances, they called themselves Rama Nueve—Branch Nine.
It was in February of 1976 that they came to Salt Lake City to be the guests of Dave and Chris Boyd. The Boyds did not speak Spanish nor did the Bolivians speak English when they first arrived in Utah. Chris said, “It’s close to a miracle how we have been able to communicate. We’ve been able to work with the time schedules, solve medical problems, and enjoy each other’s company.
They learned English quickly and after only a few months could understand much of what was being said around them. When they played for school children throughout the Salt Lake Valley, they would ask them in English to clap or answer their musical questions in certain parts of the songs. They learned easily to say “Thank you,” “I’m very happy to be here,” and “My name is _____. What is yours?” They also learned to say “I’m hungry!”
They were most homesick for Bolivian food. Chris said that they would graciously eat anything she cooked for them. But they are used to food that has no chemical additives in it, and when they began eating American food, they had a hard time adjusting to it. In Bolivia they eat a lot of vegetables but insist on cooking them. Many Americans eat raw vegetables; Rama Nueve calls it rabbit food.
They make most of their own instruments. The flutist makes his flutes from cane stock. The bell tones he can make are pure and clear and seem even richer than those from flutes of silver. One of the instruments they use is the charango. It is made from an armadillo-type animal, a tatú. The shell is used as the back or sound part of the instrument.
All of the young Bolivians are exciting, accomplished musicians, but not one of them can read printed music. They began playing instruments by ear at a young age. “Many of the youth have a great desire to learn to read music but don’t have access to teachers who know the skills,” Chris said.
They brought seven different costumes with them from South America. They explained that there are 40 or 50 regional costumes in Bolivia. These costumes grew out of early uniforms worn by the Bolivians when they were required by European occupants to wear certain clothes as marks of identification.
When asked what it is like to have six Bolivian youths move in, Chris said: “It is like having brothers and sisters move into your home for a few months. I will really miss them when they’re gone. Their tempo of life has affected my way of living. I’ve had to learn to relax. But on the other hand, their tempo has changed too. They are so busy right now that they hardly have time to watch the sunset.”
During the time they weren’t singing at concerts or benefits of some kind, they were catching up on their sleep or writing letters home. One of the favorite things they learned while they were in Utah was how to roller skate. “It’s a sport we don’t have in La Paz.” It may well be introduced upon their return. They have also learned to swim and dive. Chris said that anything they enter into they do with their whole soul. They have taught others the Bolivian folk dances and want very much to learn how to dance in the American fashion.
From the first week they arrived in Utah they wanted to be involved in a family home evening at least once a week. So, on Monday nights they were invited into homes all over the Salt Lake Valley and enjoyed American family home evenings. But on Sunday nights they decided to get together and take turns giving the lesson to their own group. They made popcorn and usually ended the evening singing LDS hymns in Spanish.
They like Utah and its people. The thing they noticed most was the layout of the Utah communities where most of the streets run directly east and west or north and south. “In Bolivia,” Luis said, “the telephone books are full of street names—no numbers. A taxi driver knows how to get to any address. Some streets wind up into the mountains, and it’s really easy for a stranger to get lost. Here, you just figure out the numbering system, and you can find your way around. It’s so organized. I like that.”
On May 26, 1976, Rodolfo Villalba left Salt Lake City to return home to Bolivia as a full-time missionary for the Church. “My heart is full of beautiful things I want to share with my people,” he said. After his mission he wants to come back to Utah and Brigham Young University; then he will return again to Bolivia to become a productive member of his community.
Rodolfo Murilla also returned to Bolivia at the end of May—there was a rumor that he had someone special waiting for him. The other four, Raul, Luis, Elizabeth, and Lidia, stayed in the U.S. to attend Brigham Young University. They are serious about becoming good representatives of Bolivia. After their education, they all say they want to go back to help their homeland. Lidia wants to study sociology. Luis wants to go into some technical field. Raul feels that it is a great opportunity, “one in a lifetime, to study in another country. And to do it in the Church university is really something!” His father is not a member but wants the best opportunities for his son. Raul is the oldest of the children in his family, and his father wants him to set a good example for his younger brothers and sisters.
When asked what was the greatest experience they had while they were traveling, they immediately replied, “Meeting President Kimball.” On April 26 in the Church Office Building, the group was introduced to President Kimball. They spent time speaking with him through an interpreter. “It was the highlight of my life,” said Elizabeth. “I’ll remember that over everything else. It was a privilege and a humbling honor.”
Each of the youth has a vibrant testimony of the gospel and is aware every moment of the need to be a good example of Church membership. Every concert they gave while in Utah was closed by singing the simple song “I Am a Child of God.” They sang it first in Spanish and then in English. They said it was how they could bear their testimony so that everyone could understand.

Shortly after my mission, while a student at Brigham Young University, I received a phone call from my dad. He told me that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and that although his chances of survival were not good, he was determined to be healed and return to his normal life activities. That phone call was a sobering moment for me. My dad had been my bishop, my friend, and my adviser. As my mother, my siblings, and I contemplated the future, it appeared bleak. My younger brother, Dave, was serving a mission in New York and participated long-distance in these difficult family events.
The medical providers of the day suggested surgery to try and curtail the spread of the cancer. Our family earnestly fasted and prayed for a miracle. I felt that we had sufficient faith that my father could be healed. Just prior to the surgery, my older brother, Norm, and I gave my dad a blessing. With all the faith we could muster, we prayed that he would be healed.
The surgery was scheduled to last many hours, but after just a short time, the doctor came to the waiting room to meet with our family. He told us that as they began the surgery, they could see that the cancer had spread throughout my father’s body. Based upon what they observed, my father had just a few months to live. We were devastated.
As my father awakened from the surgery, he was anxious to learn if the procedure had been successful. We shared with him the grim news.
We continued to fast and pray for a miracle. As my father’s health quickly declined, we began to pray that he could be free of pain. Eventually, as his condition worsened, we asked the Lord to allow him to pass quickly. Just a few months after the surgery, as predicted by the surgeon, my father did pass away.
Much love and care were poured out upon our family by ward members and family friends. We had a beautiful funeral that honored the life of my father. As time passed, however, and we experienced the pain of my father’s absence, I began to wonder why my father had not been healed. I wondered if my faith was not strong enough. Why did some families receive a miracle, but our family did not? I had learned on my mission to turn to the scriptures for answers, so I began to search the scriptures.
But here is the greater lesson I learned. I had mistakenly believed that the Savior’s healing power had not worked for my family. As I now look back with more mature eyes and experience, I see that the Savior’s healing power was evident in the lives of each of my family members. I was so focused on a physical healing that I failed to see the miracles that had occurred. The Lord strengthened and lifted my mother beyond her capacity through this difficult trial, and she led a long and productive life. She had a remarkable positive influence on her children and grandchildren. The Lord blessed me and my siblings with love, unity, faith, and resilience that became an important part of our lives and continues today.
But what about my dad? As with all who will repent, he was spiritually healed as he sought and received the blessings available because of the Savior’s Atonement. He received a remission of his sins and now awaits the miracle of the Resurrection. The Apostle Paul taught, “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.” You see, I was saying to the Savior, “We brought my dad to You to be healed,” and it is now clear to me that the Savior did heal him. The balm of Gilead worked for the Nielson family—not in the way that we had supposed, but in an even more significant way that has blessed and continues to bless our lives.

Sitting on a bench in New York City’s Central Park, Lynda Gunther takes small stitches in a quilt block while her children climb and slide and swing and run. For nearly 20 years she has been bringing her children to the park and stitching memories and values into bits of fabric.
“When Paul and I first moved to the city we had three small children,” Lynda explains. “Very few members of the Church had attempted to rear families in this city, and most people advised us not to try it. I thought of the small town where I grew up, of the independent and self-reliant women and men, and I wondered if I could bring those values into this new environment. I also wanted my children to be able to spend lots of time outside running and playing—so I began to bring them to the park. Sewing became a way for me to keep busy when I wasn’t playing with the children and also to deal with my uncertainties about living in the city.”
Lynda tried to incorporate the values of the people she admired into her new life in creative ways. Preserving food became for her a symbol of self-sufficiency, so when she couldn’t get fresh fruits and vegetables in the city, she made a list of all the things she remembered her mother and grandmothers putting into bottles and made quilt blocks representing many of those things. As she stitched, Lynda created a tribute to her pioneer ancestors and a family history for her children to enjoy. She also taught her family independence, hard work, self-reliance, the law of the harvest, and self-confidence in a new environment.
When the bottle quilt was completed, Lynda began working on a quilt featuring family stories. Other quilts have followed, including a memory quilt for each of her children. The tradition began when Lynda’s oldest child, Janelle, was seven years old. Lynda and Janelle collected Janelle’s best childhood drawings, special notes, and even a math problem and transferred them to blocks of white fabric. Lynda then assembled the blocks and quilted them on her kitchen table. By the time Janelle was baptized, her childhood was preserved in a quilt. Six other quilts, each unique and reflective of the child who helped create it, have followed. Lynda and her youngest daughter, Jesse, are now assembling the artwork for the eighth quilt.
The Gunther family-tree quilt is truly a linking of generations. Paul and Lynda, pictured in the ovals, were married in the Salt Lake Temple (top right) in 1966. Their eight children’s names wrap around the trunk of the tree. The acorns contain the signatures of Lynda and Paul’s siblings and their spouses. The branches of the tree represent the Gunthers’ ancestors. Lynda quilted their ancestors’ signatures onto the quilt, or if signatures were not available, she printed their names. The houses bordering the tree are representations of the places Lynda and Paul have lived.
Lynda encouraged the children to include pictures they imagine their own children would like to see. They have included drawings of family homes; self-portraits; and pictures of family members, favorite classrooms, playgrounds, and even the bus stop. The quilts are displayed on special occasions such as birthdays and other holidays.
“I would like to be able to write,” Lynda muses, “but that requires a cloistered environment, and I certainly don’t have that living in an apartment with a husband and eight children! I can work on these quilts at the park and at home and still be with my family. I was not trained as an artist, so when I began, I didn’t know what I couldn’t do—I was free to experiment and make my own creations. Some have not been as successful as others, but I like fabrics, and I like to work with them and make beautiful things with them.”
Lynda, surrounded by the fabric, the family, and the city she loves, explains, “This is the way I have recorded my own personal history and the history of my family.”

“When I got married,” says Consolacion Pilobello of Pasay City, Philippines, “I didn’t know how to cook, and I was too superstitious to go to a doctor and get prenatal care. Our first baby died.”
She begins to cry. “If only I had been a member of the Church then, we could have saved that baby!”
After baptism, she learned in Relief Society about water purification, sanitation, nutrition, first aid, and immunizations. “I learned how to take care of my children, myself, and my family,” she says. Her next seven babies were healthy. She is now ward homemaking leader—teaching what she has learned. (See Tambuli, September 1991, pages 11–12.)

Soon after I graduated from Primary, the bishop called on me to bear my testimony during ward conference. In my talk, I mentioned that I liked the Book of Mormon stories that I knew. I also said that I wanted to read the Book of Mormon all the way through someday.
Someday came sooner than I expected. The day after ward conference, I didn’t feel well and was diagnosed with German measles. I had to lie in bed, so I decided to read the Book of Mormon. I read it from beginning to end in four days. That was a wonderful way to read the Book of Mormon because I gained a feeling for the entire book.

I remember when Dad asked my brother and me to help him build a corral. That afternoon we marked the soil where the posts were to be placed. A lot of hard work digging holes lay ahead of us.
To make it go faster and to give us some fun, Dad suggested we have a contest. “You two start and go one way, and I’ll go the other. Let’s see who can win—me or you two together.” We agreed and chose our side.
The next morning, after we had finished the morning chores and had breakfast, we took our shovels and crowbars and got ready for the race. Dad said “Go!” and the dirt started flying. We hardly looked up. I’ll always remember how hard the rocks were and how my hands stung each time I jabbed the crowbar into the soil to loosen them.
Soon Dad was gaining on us, and we stepped up the pace. It seemed, however, that no matter how hard we dug, Dad was still going faster than the two of us together. We couldn’t figure out how he was doing it.
After about half an hour, Dad called out, “Take a five-minute rest.” We were very willing and quickly sat down. While resting, we planned how we would work and beat him from then on.
When we started back to work, I took the crowbar and went ahead of my brother to loosen the rocks while he shoveled them out of the holes. It was then I discovered the reason for Dad’s speed. I came to one of the marked holes that Dad expected to dig, and when I stuck my bar in it, the bar went deep into soft ground.
I found out that the night before, Dad had quietly slipped outside and poured water into each of his marks. The water had softened the ground, and now all he had to do was scoop it out while we were breaking our backs and hands with the crowbar.
That experience taught me a valuable lesson: Thinking and planning ahead can make hard tasks easier. Dad could have told us to pour water in the marks of our post holes the night before, but because we learned our lesson the hard way, we have never forgotten it. Don’t be afraid of hard work, but be willing to take advantage of the great wisdom of those who have dug many post holes before you.

I had this principle vividly impressed upon me one day a long time ago. I was living back in Virginia at the time, and one beautiful fall day I drove out into the country to pick up some walnuts. There were sixteen Stop signs between my home and the very, very heavily wooded lane where I turned in to get those walnuts. I stopped fifteen times. The last Stop sign was way out in the country. I could see in both directions. There were no other cars in sight. I thought to myself: “Why should I stop? Stop signs are to protect people, but I am the only one around. So why stop?” So I didn’t! I wasn’t speeding. I just went through at the speed limit. When I reached the heavily wooded lane, I found I couldn’t see around the corner. It’s that way back there in Virginia. So I slowed down and turned in. Just as I did, there was another car coming out of the lane, and because we couldn’t see each other, we ran together at about five miles per hour. It wasn’t a hard impact and the cars weren’t severely damaged. As I recall, it only cost me $168 to replace my grill and headlights.
Now, that accident had to be perfectly timed. Of course, if I had stopped at the last Stop sign, it would never have happened. I said, “Lord, I get the message. You really didn’t have to go this far, but I do understand.” In fact, I stopped sixteen times on the way home with the front end of my car beat up.

As a young man preparing for my mission call, I understood that I would serve wherever I was called. Still, although I had not studied foreign languages in high school, I hoped that I would be called to Sweden where my Samuelson roots derive or to another country where I might learn a language. When I finally received my letter of call from President David O. McKay, who was the prophet of my youth and also in many ways the prophet of BYU-Hawaii, I was called to the North British Mission. Candidly, I was initially a little disappointed that I was going to serve in an English-speaking mission. At that time, I did not understand that "Utah English" is not the same as "Scottish English." Quickly, however, I realized that Scotland was part of that mission and was the homeland of my maternal grandfather. I also remembered that the then-young David O. McKay and my Grandfather Mitchell had served in Scotland together!

In the days before entering the Mission Home, as we called the MTC in those ancient times, I had the opportunity to read my grandfather's missionary journal and first became familiar with towns and cities where I myself served in the following two years. I also learned a great deal about my grandfather whom I had not really known since he died before my third birthday. As I read, he seemed to me to be a very remarkable man then and I'm even more impressed now that I am much older.

Did it take me very long to get over any disappointment? No! Was my assignment a mistake? Not at all! I didn't believe in coincidences then and I don't now. I also had the unique experience of seeing President McKay personally three times during my mission.

The first was while still in the Mission Home in Salt Lake City. I was able to introduce myself to the Prophet and tell him that I was Joseph Mitchell's grandson. He wrapped his arms around me and told me that my grandfather had taught him how to be a missionary. My grandfather was in his late 30s with an expectant wife and little boy when he was called on his mission and Elder McKay was closer to the usual missionary age. Nevertheless, they were not only missionary companions but became lifelong friends.

The second experience happened when I had been in Scotland for only a few weeks. Our group of missionaries was fairly small and President McKay spent an hour or two teaching us about missionary work. That was a day I'll never forget.

The third experience was when President McKay returned to Scotland in August of 1962 to organize the Glasgow Scotland Stake. I had been on my mission for 19 months but this was the first stake conference for me as a missionary because this was the first stake created in that country. Many interesting and spiritual things happened at that conference. One was an electric moment for me. While President McKay was speaking, he began to talk about his first mission of 65 years before. He then said something to the effect that all of his companions had now passed to the other side of the veil but he felt that some were in attendance at conference that day and of the three names he mentioned, Brother Mitchell, my grandfather, was one of them! (An account of this speech given 26 August 1962 can be found in the Church News a week or two later.)

Can you imagine the thrill I felt? Do you think that I would ever have wanted to serve in any other mission? Ever since, I have felt a close and special relationship with this grandfather who died when I was just a toddler. I have felt his influence and frequently reflect on his example, his goodness and my desire never to embarrass him. I have felt my heart turned to him and feel that I now understand better that his heart has also always been turned to me.

Through all of these experiences and some others, I also developed and have retained special feelings for President David O. McKay, the prophet of my youth just as President Gordon B. Hinckley is the prophet of your young adult years. You might now understand better my counsel that you gain all you can from the experience you recently had with him here on campus and that you learn all you can when you see him and listen to him. Through the miracles of technology, as well as when he personally visits, you can have special relationships with the Lord's prophet and he is speaking directly to you.

Recently I met a young medical doctor who was completing his medical training as an intern in a hospital. He told us of himself as he bore his testimony in a stake conference. He said that as a young athlete he had set his sights very high. At only thirteen years of age he had started swimming competitively, and during his teen years he spent thirty to forty hours a week training during the summer and twenty to thirty hours a week in the winter. He told us that his desire to become a champion swimmer was so great that he would have done anything to accomplish it. His grades were not what they should have been, and the coach cautioned him; whereon he applied himself and brought them to a satisfactory level. During this period of time he excluded himself from Church activity because, in his words, “Swimming would improve my self-image and give me confidence and the Church would not.”
He went on to become a national AAU champion, winner of a bronze medal in the 1968 Olympics, and an All-American in college for three years. Again in his words:
I did well in college and was able to go to medical school. I would tell myself, “You are an Olympian; you have a good mind; you will become a doctor and have ‘the good life.’” I would tell myself this as I was contemplating suicide. I was full of false and vain pride.
In medical school I dealt with an indigent population. The people were completely different from me; they frustrated me terribly. I dealt with these frustrations first by hating the people, then by pitying them. As a medical student I frequently thought of taking my own life.
A country doctor in southeastern Ohio, with whom I lived for six weeks, talked to me about my family, about returning to my religious heritage and honoring my mother and father. He asked that sometime before I left we pray together. We did, and we started reading the Bible together.
I went back to Cincinnati, feeling very sure I could understand any work of literature, and started reading the Bible by myself. I was halfway through Genesis and was learning very little when I said to myself, “There must be chapters written in a way that will be easier to understand.” I then turned to Numbers and found that I understood even less. I stopped reading and started praying.
He then went on to tell that he fell in love with a lovely young woman, and they were married. This improved the way he felt about himself and gave him time to think about a future family and how to maintain a good family life. Again in his own words: “I knew that the Church helped tremendously in keeping family ties close. I didn’t really want to have to spend the time required to be a good Latter-day Saint. I was hoping to find another church whose gospel was easier to live and didn’t ask so much.”
He further stated that as they were driving west to take up residence, they were discussing the subject of raising their children; and his wife, though not a member of the Church suggested that the children be raised in the Mormon Church. He had hoped that she would wait for a while, as he was going to start his internship and knew he would be extremely busy.
By chance they moved next door to an active Latter-day Saint family—and, I might say, they were in a non-LDS community. He then explained,
The first question they asked us was if we would like to go to church with them on Sunday. Not being able to think of a good excuse, we went. Through this experience my testimony started to grow, first by studying and praying and listening to the testimonies of our stake missionaries. But the fastest growth in my testimony came from the opportunities I had to serve other people.
About six months ago, he was ordained an elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood, and he told of an experience that happened shortly after his ordination. His elders quorum president called him at 5:30 a.m., just before he was to begin a thirty-six-hour call day at the hospital, and asked him if he would please go over to the hospital early to give a blessing to a women who was about to give birth to a child. His first reaction was, “Why me? I’ll lose an hour and a half of sleep.” But he got up and dressed. Realizing that he was not in the proper frame of mind to give a blessing, he knelt and prayed, searching for the proper spirit. Then he said that as he walked to the hospital “the sun was just coming up on a beautiful new day. When I got to the bedside I saw a beautiful mother about to give birth to a beautiful spirit. After the blessing I thanked the Lord for preparing me.”
Do you recognize the miraculous transformation that had taken place in this young man’s life? He had finally achieved a relationship with the Savior. His priorities and values had changed so as to turn his life completely around.

As with many young women in the Church, Sister Endang has faced the challenge of being single. “It’s not a challenge for me now,” she says. “You see, a few years ago, when I was about thirty, I was unhappy that I was not married. One day I said to my Heavenly Father, ‘Lord, I do everything I am supposed to do. Why am I not married to a good man, a priesthood holder?’ Deep in my heart I felt him say to me something like, ‘Endang, you have a lot of things to be thankful for.’ And then he reminded me of the many blessings that I have received, especially the knowledge of the gospel.

“In addition to that experience, I have been comforted by my patriarchal blessing, which tells me I will meet the man who will ask me to go to the temple to be married. I am sure that the Lord will give me that chance if I will always stay close to him. So I don’t worry about being single anymore.

“I just know the Lord will watch over me if I live according to the standards of the Church.”

We served a full-time mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo Mbuji-Mayi Mission from 2016 to 2019. The way to travel in the mission from one zone to another was by road. A phenomenon had arisen in that area with bandits armed with bladed weapons breaking onto the road and disturbing the movement of travelers.

Five missionaries traveling from one zone to another as part of the transfer were victims of these disturbances. Having been victims of this phenomenon ourselves sometimes before, we began to fear for the lives and safety of all of us, even hesitating to travel on these roads to visit the missionaries and hold zone conferences. We did not know how long it was going to last. I drew up a report, which I sent to the Area Presidency, and I expressed my feelings of fear about continuing to travel when the road was the only way to reach our missionaries.

In his reply, Elder Kevin Hamilton, who was our President of the Africa Southeast Area, wrote to me: “My counsel is to do the best you can. Be wise and be prayerful. Do not knowingly put yourselves or your missionaries in harm’s way, but at the same time go forward in faith. ‘For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind’ (2 Timothy 1:7).”

This exhortation greatly strengthened us and allowed us to continue to travel and serve with courage until the end of our mission, because we heard direction from our Father in Heaven through that scripture.