Gospel Story Finder

As a witness of the Lord Jesus Christ, I bear witness of the Book of Mormon that led me to Him. I found the Lord Jesus Christ within the covers of the Book of Mormon as a 19-year-old missionary, walking through the rain and the mud of England, riding a bike with mud clear up the back of my coat and over the top of my head, tracting in cities that had never been opened, with baptisms that did not come for a long time. Those nights I went back to No. 3 Gilmore Road and read and read and wept. I knew that Jesus was the Christ, that the Book of Mormon was true, that the gospel had been restored. If the folks in England didn’t understand that, then I would just keep knocking on their doors until they did.

Why is a superactivity super? Earning the right to go is half the fun. The 17th Ward of the Las Vegas East Stake plans two superactivities for the Explorer-aged boys every year. One activity takes place in the winter and is usually a cross-country skiing adventure or a snowmobiling trip. In the summer, for the past few years, the superactivity has truly been super. It is a scuba-diving water-skiing campout trip to Catalina Island. Qualifying to go on this super outing involves more than just being the right age. During the year each boy fills several requirements before he is allowed to go: 100 percent attendance at MIA with no unexcused absences, and 75 percent attendance at all other Church meetings. Each boy must be dressed in his official Explorer uniform every week. Three nonmembers were included in the group this year, and although they were not required to attend priesthood meeting, they had to attend two sacrament meetings and two Sunday School meetings per month. They also had to have 100 percent attendance at MIA and wear their Explorer uniforms. In addition to these requirements, each boy had to earn five merit badges in the six-month period preceding the activity.
As difficult and rigid as these qualifications may seem, it is interesting to note that fifteen boys met the requirements for this summer’s superactivity trip to Catalina Island and that each boy actually looked forward to completing the necessary requirements.
Camping gear, scuba diving equipment, and plenty of food were packed for the trip to Catalina, and the group of Explorers along with six enthusiastic leaders headed for the California coast. The boats were launched in the early morning when the sea was calm. Proper compass settings were important in reaching their destination. Catalina is some twenty miles from the California coast, and the boat trip to the island is scenic and refreshing.
Instead of camping in or near Catalina’s one large city, Avalon, the group went to the other end of the island and pitched their tents on the large isthmus that protrudes north from the island. Camp was organized, and most important of all, a large cooking area with stoves and necessary kitchen gear was laid out in a central location.
The opportunity for activity seemed to be endless. The early morning hours were spent in the bay water skiing and swimming. This was an ideal time because the water was calm. During the afternoon when the water became rougher, the boats were loaded with skin-diving gear and the boys explored various interesting spots around the island. These diving expeditions were not only enjoyable and exciting experiences but also very practical. Around the island abalone and lobster can be found, and these delicacies made excellent eating for the entire group.
These activities, along with exploring the island, snorkeling, and body surfing, were just a few of the many and varied things that were going on all the time.
One day was spent exploring the tourist city of Avalon. The boys got cleaned up and toured the resort community and that evening saw a movie before returning to camp.
With waves rolling into the shore and the sun shining down on the group, they held a spiritually moving testimony meeting that was one of the highlights of the excursion.
At the end of the fifth day, twenty-one very good friends broke camp and prepared for the long trip back to Las Vegas.
Upon their arrival home, the tired but happy Explorer group was met by grateful parents who by nature seem to worry when their boys are away. Happily there was nothing more serious than a few bruises and sore muscles to report—only memories of a superactivity.

Peter stared at the Pinewood Derby kit he’d received at his Cub Scout meeting. It contained a block of wood, four nails, and four wheels, from which he was to make a car to race.
Peter wasn’t too excited about the derby. Last year, he and his dad worked hard to shape, sand, and paint his car. But even though they’d tried to make a good car, it hadn’t won a single race.
He remembered his dad telling him, “Peter, you did your best, and that’s what’s important. No one wins all the time.” That had made him feel a bit better.
This year Peter faced a more difficult problem. His dad was out of town on a business trip and wouldn’t be home until after the derby. How was he going to get a car ready all by himself?
That evening, Peter’s mom said that they could work on the car together. She gathered all the tools she could find: a hacksaw, a pocketknife, a screwdriver, a hammer, and a piece of sandpaper.
First, she tried to whittle away pieces of the block with the pocketknife. “I had no idea this wood was so hard!” she said through clenched teeth as she fought to chip a piece away. With a sigh, she put down the knife. “This isn’t going to work.”
Next they tried the wobbly hacksaw. Taking turns, they managed to saw a small piece off. However, once they started shaping the wood into Peter’s design—a triangle to make it have less wind resistance—the blade snapped in half partway through.
“I suppose our last chance is to use the hammer and screwdriver to chisel away some of the wood in the direction of the cut we started,” Mom said.
Peter and his mom struggled for almost an hour. Bit by bit, pieces of the wood broke away. Then, amazingly, the car he’d hoped for began to appear. Except it was covered by strange gouges made by the screwdriver blade. And there was a blob sticking out in front. Mom suggested it might be part of the engine sticking out, like on fancy race cars they’d seen on television.
Then disaster struck. Suddenly there was a loud CRACK! A chunk of wood snapped away from the rest. Gone was the triangular shape they’d worked for. Now a deep gash appeared on the car, making it look lopsided.
“Oh, Peter!” Mom exclaimed. “Look what I’ve done!” Peter could tell by her voice that she was close to tears.
He studied the sad little shape resting on the counter and smiled. “That’s OK, Mom. You did your best. I can paint this part,” he touched the mistake, “and it will look good. I bet it’ll even make it more aerodynamic.”
Over the next two days, Peter carefully sanded his funny-looking car, trying to smooth out the gouges left by the screwdriver, but they were too deep. So he painted it. And he painted it again. Instead of trying to hide the problems, he accented them to make the whole car look more interesting.
The time came to go to the church for the derby. When he got there, all the other boys had fancy cars. Some had racing wings, and others glistened like plastic models instead of painted wood blocks.
Peter’s friends came running to see his car. He held it out proudly. “My mom helped me with this car,” he said before anyone could say anything about its odd shape. “And we did our very best!”
Soon the races started. When Peter’s name was called, he handed the Cubmaster his car.
The Cubmaster took one look at it, then held it up for all to see. “Look at this unusual car. You can tell that a lot of hard work went into making it.”
Peter glanced over at his mom and smiled. The Cubmaster was right.
As the night went on, Peter won two races, but then lost the third and was out of the running for a trophy.
After it was over, the leaders passed out the awards. Each boy got a certificate and a badge for participating. Then the Cubmaster said, “Now I’d like to present a special trophy for the most unique car in the competition. It showed great effort and creativity in its design.”
Peter looked over at the cars, wondering who would receive the trophy with the golden car on it. It looked just like the first-place trophy.
“Congratulations to Peter Olds,” the Cubmaster announced.
Peter was stunned. “Me?” he asked.
His friend nudged him. “Go on,” he urged, “go get your trophy.”
Peter walked up to the stage and accepted the trophy. He looked at everyone who was clapping and cheering for him. His mom smiled up at him.
He felt warm all over. Suddenly he realized that it was great that he had received a trophy, but the real prize was his funny little car. He didn’t need a trophy to know its value. It was special because his mom had done her very best to help him, showing him how much she loved him. He couldn’t ask for more.

For the youth of the Allen Second Ward, located just north of Dallas in Texas, the most significant event of the year isn’t youth conference, camp, or high adventure activities. It’s a two-day mission experience in which the priests and Laurels are paired up with full-time missionaries.
The youth were challenged to set appointments with nonmember friends, and other members helped with referrals. After an MTC-type training experience in the chapel, the youth helped teach discussions, tracted, ate dinner with member families, and had a testimony meeting.
“It was awesome!” said Josh Hopewell. “We got a couple doors slammed in our faces, but that’s part of the job. It comes with the territory.”
Said recent convert Jason Mckenty, “I know this church is true. It’s just the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I learned so much in two days!”
Jeni Smith summed up most people’s feelings when she said, “I’m really glad I came. I think the missionaries do such a great job. You may be hot and sweaty, but when you get in that first house and leave them with a copy of the Book of Mormon it’s worth it. I’m really thankful to have been part of it. I’m so thankful for Jesus and what he has done for each of us. I love this church a lot.”
Now the younger kids in the ward can’t wait to be priests and Laurels, and the priests and Laurels can’t wait to serve missions of their own.

“Come in for prayer,” called Angela, summoning everyone in for our family’s nightly routine.
“This won’t take very long,” I thought as I rolled out from under the snug blanket where I had been reading.
I walked down the hall to my parents’ room, where everyone was gathering. While we were waiting for everyone to settle down, my mother reached behind her and grabbed a handful of pistachios from a bag sitting on the cedar chest.
“Wait a second!” cried Corinne. “Where’s some for the rest of us?”
“Don’t worry,” my mom assured her, “sharing is exactly what I plan to do.” And without hesitation, she proceeded to divvy out the handful of nuts. With a smile she exclaimed, “Call it a blessing for participating in family prayer!”
We liked the idea. We liked it even better when mom reached behind her a second time, returning now with more than just a handful of nuts. She plopped the whole bag down in the middle of the bed we were gathered around.
We spent several happy minutes breaking open salty pistachios and talking. Our conversation became boisterous and enthusiastic as we chatted and snacked away.
The nuts were soon gone but our conversation continued. We probably talked for half an hour. During this time, no one complained about family prayer taking so long. No one complained about being tired or wanting to go to bed. We were so happy to be together and content to continue talking.
At that moment, I realized that Heavenly Father had blessed us for participating in family prayer. The blessing wasn’t like the physical strength a bunch of pistachios could offer—it was more nourishing. The blessing was the opportunity to grow closer together as a family, and really, though I love pistachios, it was far more satisfying.
After we prayed together, I wandered back to my room to read a little more before calling it a night. I’d just opened my book when the sound of laughter wafted in from my parents’ room where two of my sisters continued to joke and tease my parents. I smiled and returned to my book. Who could have predicted the powerful impact of a simple mix of family prayer and pistachios?

There was once a situation where some members in our ward were misjudging my friend and me. He and I were together a lot, serving and participating in activities, and rumors began that we were dating and doing something wrong.
The rumors also claimed that my family was being rude to my friend. Although we knew it wasn’t true, I was upset because he was always treated well in my home. I didn’t want to go to church and see or talk with the people who were spreading the false rumors.
However, I remembered that we go to church because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, not just because of the people there. People sometimes criticize others without knowing what’s really going on, and I knew this moment would pass and that I could forgive them. I shared these thoughts with my friend. By looking to Jesus Christ, we found peace.

As I grew older, I learned not only the value of hard work but also about the blessings of doing things that at the time you don’t realize are important and good for you. During World War II, when I was very little, I came down with a lung disease, but no one knew it at the time. I knew I was easily out of breath when I rode the delivery bicycle. I thought it was because the cart was heavy. Later, when I joined the air force, I learned that because of that hard work, somehow my body had healed itself. I had built up endurance. I had built up immunity to disease. I had built up strength. When the doctors saw those spots on my lungs, they questioned me about them. They reported that the disease took care of itself, and they said I passed my physical. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to become a pilot. I have been a pilot for 35 years, and I was a chief pilot for Lufthansa German Airlines.

“Before I tracked the time I spent, I thought it was going to be really hard to take time out and read the scriptures—but after realizing how much time I spent on social media, taking 10 minutes out of that felt super easy! I could read at lunch or right before seminary started.
“After I had read the scriptures, I was a lot more aware of what I looked at on social media. If I stumbled across something bad, with bad language or a negative message, I noticed it and tried to avoid it way more than before. I also noticed that my prayers were a lot more sincere and that I was receiving more answers to them. This is definitely something that I hope to continue for a lot longer!”
Izzie J., age 16, California, USA

I was baptized when I was ten years old, but in my early teenage years, I became inactive in the Church. I had many problems and I didn’t think there were any solutions. But, because my mother was the Church magazine representative, we always had many copies of the Church magazine at home, and I never stopped reading the Liahona (Spanish).
Articles like President Spencer W. Kimball’s “Absolute Truth” and Elder Boyd K. Packer’s “Candle of the Lord” helped me decide to return to the Church and change my life to be more like Christ.
I am now serving a mission in my homeland of Mexico and my friend is preparing for a mission. None of this would have happened if I had not continued to read the Liahona while I was not active in the Church. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for the Church’s publications.

A reporter for the Washington Post visited one of our Church meetings in Nigeria. The reporter interviewed one new member and told of his conversion. The reporter states:
“[He] said … he jumped off a city bus and walked into the [LDS Church building]. … He immediately liked what he heard inside [the chapel], especially that no one preached that people of other faiths were going to hell.”28 This echoes the feeling of numerous converts to the Church since its organization.

Old as well as young have benefited from Chea’s desire to share his newfound knowledge. His neighbor, Sophon Heng, a mother of four, and her elderly mother Hong Heng were baptized as a result of Chea’s efforts. Sophon recalls, “Chea was so kind to us. He asked us if we would like to meet two men who would teach us and make us happy. When we said yes, Chea and the elders came to our home each week and taught us the gospel.”

I often asked my parents what it means to “feel the Holy Ghost.” I had heard them talk about it, but I was not sure what the feeling was like. Mom told me it was a very good feeling, but I still wasn’t sure what that meant.
One morning my one-year-old brother was running around and accidentally hit his head on a heater. He had a big cut on his head. He cried, and he was bleeding. I was very scared and worried. My mom took care of the cut and put a bandage on it. Then she took me to school.
At school I was still scared and worried about my brother. Then I remembered that I could pray. I went into the bathroom and sincerely prayed to Heavenly Father and asked Him to bless my brother. After the prayer I was no longer scared. I felt a very peaceful feeling, and I went back to my classroom.
On the way home that day, I told my mother what had happened. She joyfully told me that the warm, peaceful feeling I had was the Holy Ghost comforting me. She said that usually the Holy Ghost does not talk to us like other people talk to us. Instead He gives us a peaceful feeling.

One night, my friends and I piled into my minivan to go out to eat. All of us had a wonderful time hanging out. After a few hours, it was time to head home. When I put the key in the ignition, a thought popped into my head: “Let John drive.”
I thought that was weird, because I never let anyone else drive my van, so I ignored it. I started the van. The thought came again. “Let John drive.” I decided to listen. I stopped the van and gave the keys to my friend John.
A few minutes later, we hit a huge patch of water. Water shot up the sides of the van. I grabbed my seat. The van started to hydroplane. I was terrified. My friends shouted, “Hit the brakes, John! Hit the brakes!”
If I’d been driving, I would’ve listened to them. But John knew what to do. Instead of slamming on the brakes and making us spin out of control, John coasted through the water until we hit dry ground again. I’m so grateful that I listened to the quiet prompting of the Holy Ghost. Because I did, we all made it home safely.
Chantele S., Utah, USA

Some young people want to rebel against restraints. Some of you think it isn’t “cool” to be obedient to your parents or to follow the counsel of your bishop or quorum president. Bishop Richard C. Edgley shared an experience he had as a young boy about the consequences of being reckless and disobedient:
“When I was a young boy, our garage and the neighbor’s garage were about five feet apart. The neighbor’s garage was very old and dilapidated, and some of the boards were breaking. I, on occasion, would climb onto our garage and jump from one garage to the other and play on top of them. My father had told me, ‘Stay off the garages,’ but I didn’t. One time when I was playing on them, I jumped from our garage and fell through the roof of the neighbor’s garage, scraping my back and legs badly. Because I had been disobedient, I foolishly decided not to tell anyone that I had hurt myself. I went in the house and washed the scrapes and scratches as well as I could, but I couldn’t reach the ones on my back to put antiseptic on them or even wash them clean. I bore the burden of pain, worry over infection setting in, and guilt for several days while the healing process took place.”

Subject: Dan
Age: 17 years
Event: Laurel-Priest dating workshop
“Okay,” the Laurel adviser coached Dan and a girl, “you’ve just entered the restaurant. Pretend that the card table is where the hostess wants you to sit. Show me how you sit down.”
Dan sat down while the girl remained standing.
“Cut,” the adviser said. “That’s not right.”
“What’s wrong?” Dan asked.
“What about your date?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dan agreed. “Hey, sit down; rest your feet,” he said, pointing to the empty chair.
“No,” the adviser corrected, “help her be seated.”
“She can sit down by herself. I’ve seen her do it hundreds of times.”
“You are a gentleman,” the adviser said.
Wearily he stood up. “If you ask me, gentlemen go to plenty of extra work.”
“Do it!” the adviser ordered. “How?”
“Pull the chair out so she can sit down and then slide the chair in closer to the table.”
“Not that much!” the girl cried as he pushed her into the edge of the table.
“Okay,” the weary adviser continued, “now we come to ordering.”

Subject: Dan
Age: 17 years
Event: Laurel-Priest dating workshop
“Now that you’ve ordered,” the Laurel adviser continued, “it’s time for some pleasant conversation.”
“My sister had a nosebleed last night,” Dan said. “We must’ve packed a box of tissues before we got it stopped.”
“Cut!” the adviser shouted. Fighting to gain control, she quietly continued. “You don’t discuss that at a dinner table.”
“What am I supposed to say?” Dan asked.
“Find out more about her interests,” the adviser said.

Last year, while serving in the Asia North Area Presidency, I received a phone call from President Russell M. Nelson inviting me to serve as the Second Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric. He graciously invited my wife, Lori, to join the conversation. After the call was finished, we were still in a state of disbelief when my wife asked, “What does the Presiding Bishopric do anyway?” After a moment’s reflection, I responded, “I don’t know exactly!”
A year later—and after profound feelings of humility and gratitude—I can answer my wife’s question with greater understanding. Among many other things, the Presiding Bishopric oversees the welfare and humanitarian work of the Church. This work now spans the entire globe and blesses more of God’s children than ever before.

Tyler loved having visitors. His family had signed up to help feed the missionaries, and tonight they were coming to dinner. Mom had promised that he could sit next to them.
At the table, Tyler felt shy and didn’t know what to say. He wanted to be a missionary someday, so he listened and watched carefully. He wanted to remember how missionaries act. He looked at their shiny shoes, white shirts, and straight ties. Then he noticed something on their shirt pockets. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to Elder Snow’s pocket.
“My name tag,” Elder Snow replied, holding it up a little.
“‘Elder Snow,’” Tyler read. “‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ Do all the missionaries have name tags?”
“I think so,” the other missionary, Elder Millburn, replied. “We want everyone to know that we are missionaries for the Church.”
“I always make sure to put my name tag on,” Elder Snow added. “I want everybody to know that I believe in Jesus Christ.”
After the missionaries left, Tyler told Mom, “I’m going to make a name tag. I want to wear one so that people will know that I believe in Jesus Christ.”
Tyler cut a rectangle out of paper and carefully printed his name on it. Below his name, he wrote, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He taped a folded paper to the back of it to insert in his pocket to hold the name tag on. He went to the mirror to see how it looked.
First thing in the morning he thought about his name tag. Hurriedly he got dressed and put it on.
When Mom went grocery shopping, Tyler went too. He walked around, hoping that everyone saw his name tag. While they were going back to the car, it started to rain. He pushed the cart quickly and helped Mom load the car before they both got very wet. “Such a good helper!” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
At home he helped carry in the groceries. When he leaned over, he noticed that his name tag was torn and sagging. And rain had smeared the words. I need a better name tag, he told himself.
That afternoon, he cut a rectangle out of a plastic lid. He wrote his and the Church’s name on it with a marker so that the words wouldn’t wash away. He taped another piece of plastic to the back and stuck it in his pocket. He had a name tag again. Showing it to Dad, he said, “Just like the missionaries, I like to wear my name tag.”
Tyler went to show his big sister. She was studying at her desk and didn’t seem very happy.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, forgetting about the name tag.
“I have too much homework,” she moaned, “and it’s my turn to do the dishes.” She started writing again.
Tyler watched for a minute. “I’ll do the dishes.”
His sister looked surprised.
“My homework is all done,” he said. “I have time to do them.”
She gave him a hug and exclaimed, “You’re a great brother!”
Tyler did the dishes, but his shirt got wet and dirty. Pulling it off, he threw it in the laundry.
Getting dressed the next morning, he remembered his name tag and ran to the laundry room. His mother had already washed the shirt. She was putting it in the dryer. “Wait!” he yelled, pulling the shirt out of the pile. The name tag fell to the floor, twisted and warped. Tyler couldn’t make it lie flat. He threw it away. I’ll have to make something better, he told himself.
In the garage, Tyler searched for a thin wood scrap. Finding one just the right size, he went in the house to paint it. With a pointed brush he printed the letters. He made two holes in the wood with a hammer and nail, and put a piece of twine through them so that he could wear the name tag around his neck. When he took his shirt off, this name tag would stay put and wouldn’t get ruined. Tyler showed it to Mom and Dad. “Clever,” they told him.
Tyler wanted to show it to his best friend, Jason. He went outside and looked to see if Jason was in his yard next door. From the other direction, a boy on a tricycle whizzed by, laughing. His dog ran along beside him, barking in fun. It was little Jimmy from down the block.
Jimmy’s mother ran after him, calling frantically, “Stop! You’ve gone too far!” But Jimmy didn’t hear her, so Tyler raced to catch up with him. Grabbing the tricycle, Tyler gently pulled it to a stop and turned it around. He led Jimmy and his dog back to his mother.
“Thank you for stopping him,” she said. “He might have ridden into the street and been hurt. You’re a good neighbor!”
Tyler waved good-bye and headed back to find Jason. He reached for his name tag and stopped suddenly. It was gone! It must have fallen off while I was running, he realized. Searching, he finally found it, but the twine was broken and the name tag lay in pieces. It had been run over by the tricycle. Tyler walked home and laid the pieces on the table. “Jimmy ran over my name tag,” he told his mother, angrily. Then, with a big sigh, he said, “But I guess he didn’t mean to.”
A few minutes later, Tyler heard his father come home and ran out to tell him about the name tag.
“You know,” his father said, “not all missionaries wear name tags. When I was a missionary, we didn’t have name tags.”
Tyler was surprised. “How did people know you believed in Jesus Christ?”
“We told them,” Dad said. “And we tried to show them by the way we acted.”
That evening Tyler and his parents went to the stake center because one of his friends was getting baptized. During the meeting, a speaker talked about Jesus Christ. “If we try to live as He did,” the man said, “then people will know that we believe in Him.”
Tyler thought about that as they went home. Remembering what Dad had said, too, he suddenly knew what he could do.
“Mom! Dad!” he said excitedly. “There is a name tag I can wear that won’t get ruined or lost—an invisible one! If I try my hardest to live like Jesus Christ did, it’s like telling people I believe in Him. It’s like wearing an invisible name tag!”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, son.”
Mom hugged Tyler. “I’ve already seen your invisible name tag.”
“You have?” Tyler asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Yes, it’s been there,” replied his mother. “Each time you’ve been helpful and kind—like when you washed the dishes for your sister, and when you helped little Jimmy—your name tag was there.”
Tyler looked down again. He didn’t see the invisible name tag, but his mother had seen it. He hoped other people would see it, too, because he wanted everyone to know that he believed in Jesus Christ.

Keith K., 19, Arizona, USA
I’m Keith, and I am an aspiring rapper, music producer, and recording engineer. I have a testimony because I wanted one. I wanted to know that the Church I had spent my whole life in was true. So I studied the scriptures, prayed earnestly, and looked to others in my ward for guidance. And sure enough, through those things, I was able to gain a testimony of the truthfulness of this gospel.

President Eyring describes his wife as “a person who has always made me want to be the very best that I can be.” That trait manifested itself in the middle of a night in 1971 when she woke her husband and asked, “Are you sure you are doing the right thing with your life?” She then asked him whether he shouldn’t be working with Neal A. Maxwell, then Commissioner of the Church Educational System.

President Eyring enjoyed teaching at Stanford, being near his in-laws, and serving as bishop of the Stanford First Ward, but he began praying about his wife’s question. The Eyrings did not know Commissioner Maxwell, but within days he called and invited President Eyring to Salt Lake City, where he asked him to be president of Ricks College, now BYU–Idaho. President Eyring accepted the offer and soon moved his family—which today includes 4 sons, 2 daughters, and 25 grandchildren—to Rexburg, Idaho.

A few years ago, Sister Nelson and I visited Samoa, Tonga, Fiji, and Tahiti. Each of those island nations had heavy rains for days. Members prayed that their outdoor meetings would be protected from the rain.
In Samoa, Fiji, and Tahiti, just as the meetings began, the rain stopped. But in Tonga, the rain did not stop. Yet 13,000 faithful Saints came hours early to get a seat. They waited patiently through a steady downpour. They then sat through a very wet meeting.
We saw great faith at work among each of these islanders—faith to stop the rain and faith to keep going when the rain did not stop.