Gospel Story Finder

Tasmania, the “Treasure Island” of Australia, lies 150 miles south of the southeastern tip of the mainland. Although it is Australia’s smallest state, its 425,000 inhabitants live in an area slightly larger than West Virginia. Regarded as a vacation land for people from the mainland, the scenic and bountiful land is a source of pride for Tasmanians. Their rich history goes back 300 years to Abel Tasman’s discovery in 1642. The first settlement was established in 1803, only 15 years after the original fleet arrived in Sydney.
Maria Island, the site of this year’s camp, rests a few miles off the east coast of Tasmania. This island harbors a fascinating history as an early penal colony and is now a national park and wildlife sanctuary. Both its historical setting and the abundance of wildlife make it a wonderful place to camp and explore.
Stake President John D. Jury explained that the camp was established, “because of the need for the young men of our widespread stake to come together for a major camping and hiking experience—to feel the strength of numbers greater than the usual minority status they have in so many of their other associations. I also wanted to allow them to appreciate the beautiful creations that Heavenly Father has blessed us with here in Tasmania. I wanted them to gain an appreciation of the hardships encountered by our forefathers who settled this area and also to practice the skills learnt in Scouting.”
“Our preliminary work involved sending two of the brethren to the island to examine the campsite, the facilities, sea and land transport, and to make recommendations. Then leaders in the stake met at a central location and worked out the details of the basic plan.”
Sixty-eight excited Tasmanians climbed off of the ferry for their adventure on Maria Island. Many had never seen or met the people from the other wards. They also brought many of their nonmember and non-Scout friends. And they had many good leaders, including their stake president and several bishops and fathers, in addition to their Scoutmasters and other priesthood leaders.
The wind was whistling in from Darlington Bay as the boys tried to put up their tents. They struggled alone and in pairs until they quickly learned that it required more help and cooperation than pairs could muster. With many hands and backs bent to the task the tents came up, one by one, and now they stayed up. Pegged tight against the Tasmanian soil, they withstood the stiff sea breezes that are not all that far from Antarctica.
As they were laying out camp and putting up their tents, the boys noticed their wild animal hosts, who quickly established themselves as wonderful combinations of curiosity and nuisance. The emus, wallabies, and kangaroos were everywhere.
Emu watching became one of the full-time chores because they were big and hungry and were not very fussy about what they ate. They quickly earned the moniker, “walking vacuum cleaners.” And then the reason for all of the extra gear became clear: if it wasn’t sealed in a box, tin, billy, or barrel it would be eaten by an emu.
Cries like “There’s an emu in your drum (barrel) eating all your tucker,” “Hey boys, an emu has his head in your grub box,” or “An emu has someone’s bread,” (a whole loaf), or “Watch that wallaby” were a constant part of camp life, especially at mealtime.
From the beginning brushes with emus, the boys were ecstatic about the wildlife on Maria Island. Most of them had never seen kangaroos in the bush, and the emus, wallabies, and all the bird life made every outing and every meal an adventure. One hundred and twenty-nine species of birds live on the island, including some rare birds endemic to Tasmania. Emus, Cape Baron geese, native hens, flame and scarlet robins, white-backed magpies, sea eagles, parrots, and the raucous-sounding kookaburra, which delighted everyone with unbelievable vocal techniques, were pure pleasure to observe and classify.
Listening to the birds was even more fun than watching them. Every morning the camp awoke to a special symphony provided by the local aviary company. Native hens began the first movement by setting up a racket of calls, clucks, and cries. Song birds of all sorts warbled and trilled their beautiful melodies from antiphonal perches in the trees around the camp. Cape Baron geese squawking and chuckling in their cello-like voices added a baritone harmonic presence to the symphony. Arias were freely added with the crescendoing, hyena-like cries of Tasmania’s laughing jackass, the kookaburra. This almost perfect, but loud, symphony suddenly became complete as the deep bass tom tom tom drumming tones of the emu joined in. The emus seemed to sense when the symphony needed their strong rhythmic accompaniment. The same orchestra seemed to go all out to give a wonderful hour-long concert every morning just after daybreak.
Besides the wallabies and kangaroos, other marsupials living near the Scout camp included the potoroo, ring-tailed possums, echidnas, and wombats. The famous Tasmanian devils have never been sighted on Maria Island.
This information alone allowed the boys to sleep easier at night, although many still felt sleeping was the biggest problem at the camp.
“The nights were really bad. The possums were out in force raiding tents and rubbish bins all night. In the whole camp the worst thing was trying to get to sleep. There was one rock that seemed to follow me all night, and between that and the wind and the cold I didn’t sleep much,” said Stephen Szekely, of Launceston.
“The possums through the night gave me the willies because we had to keep bashing them out of our food box and a possum got in our tent and climbed up our tent pole. We broke our torch (flashlight) trying to get him out of there. Then the emus got in our tent and dunged all over Heath’s, Andrew’s, and my sleeping gear. But the kangaroos were great; they weren’t pests like the emus,” said Geoffrey Jones, a nonmember from Glen Huon.
Skinks, frogs, and snakes were also part of the environment. Blue-tongued lizards and white-lipped whip snakes seemed to be created just for the Scouts to observe.
After camp was organized many of the boys walked the few yards to the woodlot for firewood. Captain Scott, the island ranger and caretaker, hauled in large trailer loads of wood, which the boys attacked with zeal and a wide assortment of hatchets and axes. It sounded as if they were chopping stone. The axes actually rang as they glanced off the tough wood. There was never the dull “thunk” sound one hears when chopping a pine log. Australian gum trees make a wonderful fire, but they are very tough and stringy. The wood is hard and dense and easily wears out axes and choppers alike. Most of the trees on the island are varieties of the eucalyptus and include blue gums, stringy bark gums, and white gums.
The boys helped plan and cook their own meals and spent the most amount of time and creative energy on “tea,” the evening meal. Peas, carrots, parsnips, onions, potatoes fried, bully (corned beef), skim milk, and pudding started the week’s teas, and the same kind of robust fare continued every night.
The meals were cooked over open fires in blackened pots and long-handled frying pans. After tea was over and the dishes were cleaned up and put away, the various patrol fires were ringed with boys and leaders. They sat on logs with their arms clasped around their knees, “yarning” about the gospel, cricket, the bad drought in Tasmania, and whether or not any of the political parties would accept Dick Smith’s offer of a one-million-dollar donation to stop the building of the Franklin Dam. American sports also interested them. “What about you, Brother Kelly? Do you like to play gridiron?” they would ask.
Of course this much talk made for more hunger, and so before it was bedtime a spot of cocoa or a cup of hot Milo was welcome. A few went in for more exotic treats.
“We’re having chocolate banners. They’re beautiful. You take a Cadbury’s block and put it in a split banana and then put it in foil and set it in the fire,” said Matthew Sayers.
The young men also enjoyed singing songs around the campfires at night. They sang many folksongs familiar to other English-speaking Scouts, but their favorites seemed to be those with a particular Australian flavor, like “Advance Australia Fair,” “Botany Bay,” and “Gundagai”:
There’s a track winding back
To an old-fashioned shack,
Along the road to Gundagai;
Where the blue gums are growing
The Murrumbidgee’s flowing,
Beneath that sunny sky;
Where my daddy and mother
Are waiting for me,
And the pals of my childhood
Once more I will see,
Then no more will I roam
When I’m heading right for home,
Along the road to Gundagai.
Two taxing bush walks or hikes climaxed the boys’ stay on the island. The first was a long hike east from camp on a track that runs across a narrow part of the island, around the old convict cement works, and up along Fossil Cliffs above Fossil Bay. Here the trail climbs inland through forests of gum trees and across rocky scree slopes. Most of the boys reached the summit, the twin peaks of Bishop and Clerk. Perched on the rocky summit 630 meters above the sea they ate their boiled eggs, sandwiches, biscuits (cookies), and oranges while they drank in the magnificent vistas of Freycinet Peninsula to the north and Cape Bernier to the south.
Wednesday’s 26-kilometer walk to Chinaman’s Bay and back was tougher than the hike up Bishop and Clerk. Everyone brought their bathers (swimming trunks) and a towel, plus lunch. It took several hours slogging along the soft sandy road that followed the shoreline to reach the white beaches of Chinaman’s Bay. The boys showed amazing stamina as they not only kept up but often overtook their leaders.
As four young Scouts passed him, Brother Pash described the feelings of many of the adults when he said, “It’s disgusting, it is, to see little blokes catching us up that way.”
After some very icy swimming (the Tasman Sea carries too much of the Antarctic chill for the less hardy souls), everyone began the long walk back to camp in time to hike down to the ferry dock, meet the afternoon boat, and buy a fizzy (soda pop).
Thursday’s activities included a treasure hunt that lasted several hours and figured as the high point of the trip for many of the boys. Patrols used clues provided by leaders to guide them from point to point around the island. Because the clues were written very subtly the boys’ powers of observation were sharpened, and whether they had to identify the bleached bones of a beached whale or an old cabin used by one of the early penal officers, they gained a new appreciation for the island and its inhabitants.
Wide games (for getting acquainted), softball, cricket, chess, and fishing took up their share of time as did some service projects for the ranger. Most agreed that it was a wonderful camp, but by Friday men and boys alike were ready to go home.
Geoffrey Swanton, 13, summed up the feelings for many when he said, “The camp was a good experience for me. I think the hikes to Bishop and Clerk and Chinaman’s Bay did me good. I’m glad came. The food was good, but there was not enough of it. I reckon the wildlife here is some of the best in Australia. You could pat the wallabies and observe other animals quite close up. The historic value of the island is good and there was always something to do. I wouldn’t mind staying a little longer, but I need a good shower, a good feed-up, and some sleep at home.”
Though everyone had his favorite activities, most agreed that the most successful part of the whole camp was the wonderful associations that were forged in the warm glow of campfire conversations, in the hot dust of the island’s trails, and in the friendly warmth of patrol and tent group prayers.
“At first the camp appeared boring, but by the second day things became all right. I hardly knew anybody from the other patrols at first, but by the end of the camp I had made many new friends,” said David Scott, from Launceston.
“The camp drew us all a lot closer to our leaders, and it made us all work as a group in order to eat or have activities. The camp succeeded. It brought the young men and leaders together and helped to unify the stake Scout force,” said Matthew Parsons, from Glenorchy.
Every leader enjoyed his associations with the young men of the camp. They seemed pleased when the boys wanted to tell them about their troubles and hopes for life.
“I’ve enjoyed getting to really know the boys I’ve been called to watch over. It has helped me to know their strengths, and this camp really opened up the lines of communication between us,” said Bishop Triffith, Devonport.
The young men left the camp with new friends, better associations with their priesthood leaders, and in many cases stronger interests in the gospel of Jesus Christ and the Scouting program. The first all-Tasmanian LDS Scout camp on Maria Island was over, and everyone agreed that it had been a smashing success.

When I was a teenager, my Young Men president invited the young men in our ward to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year.
I didn’t accept that invitation. I’ve usually been someone who is ready to take on any challenge, but I was at a really low point spiritually.
Interestingly, during this time, I was “preparing” to serve a mission, but I was only going through the motions. My testimony was weak, and I told myself I would serve just to make my parents happy. I had decided that after my mission, I would figure things out for myself. I would believe what I wanted to and do my own thing.
Although I was exerting myself in my schoolwork at the time, I had fallen into a pit of spiritual idleness. I felt so distant from God that I started questioning His existence. I had doubts concerning the authenticity of the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith’s call to be a prophet. I struggled with self-esteem and self-hate, and I had no strong conviction regarding the purpose of life.
“I was in the darkest abyss” (Mosiah 27:29), so I had little desire to read the Book of Mormon.
One night, I was reading a novel when an impression came to me that I believe and know with all my heart was from the Spirit. I found myself getting deeply wrapped up in the plot of this book, and then the thought came to me that I had never studied the Book of Mormon seriously—at least not as seriously as I was reading and pondering this particular book.
I had casually studied the Book of Mormon, taken notes, and prayed about it multiple times before, but I’d been missing a crucial part of Moroni’s admonition in the last chapter of the Book of Mormon: to ask “with a sincere heart, with real intent” (Moroni 10:4). I knew that it was the perfect time for me to ask my Father in Heaven again for answers. I felt spiritually hungry, and this time the answer actually mattered to me. Without realizing it, I had arrived at a spiritual crossroads, where my faith in the gospel hinged on knowing whether or not the Book of Mormon was true.
The same night I received that impression, I began to read the Book of Mormon—but this time with purpose.
Now eager to accept my Young Men leader’s invitation and finish reading by the end of the year, I read my pocket-size copy at every opportunity possible: on the train, during bus rides to school, in between classes, in between chores, before and after meals, and before bed. At every possible opportunity, I read. And every time I read, I kept praying: “I need to know. I need to know.”
One day my family and I went to the Manila Philippines Temple, but I forgot to bring my temple recommend. I did have my tiny copy of the Book of Mormon with me, though, so I sat in a waiting area and continued to read. Occasionally, I would stop to admire the beauty of the temple—the chandelier, the staircase, the stained-glass windows, and the people coming and going ever so reverently with great love for the Lord in their hearts.
At some point while I was reading, I received a very distinct impression from the Spirit in my mind. When it came, it spoke to me on many different levels. I was actually so shocked when it hit me that I sat up a little straighter. I felt such a powerful feeling that I could not dismiss it as a passing thought or a fleeting emotion.
“Totoo ‘to,” is what I heard in my mind.
A simple yet profound statement in my native tongue, Tagalog, that means, “This is true.”
I had received a confirmation that the Book of Mormon was true—that it was the word of God. I finally knew it with all my heart because I knew that impression had come from heaven.
But that’s not all that I learned.
Growing up, I had read the Book of Mormon and learned about the gospel in English. As a matter of fact, during the first few years of my life, I had a better grasp of English than Tagalog. But receiving this spiritual impression out of nowhere in Tagalog—the language native to my country—spoke truth to my heart.
I knew in that moment that God knows me in a very real and personal way.
I knew that He really is there. I knew that He speaks my language, that He loves me, and that He is aware of my struggles and weaknesses. I had that confirmation, but there was something else I needed to know for sure, so I sought out the answer immediately: “Heavenly Father, is Joseph Smith really a true prophet?” The feeling came again, this time more powerfully into my heart: “Totoo ‘to!”
I knew then that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. He saw both the Father and the Son. Through Joseph Smith, the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored in its fulness.
What peace and comfort and knowledge did I receive! At that moment, I wanted to rush out on the temple grounds, waving my small copy of the Book of Mormon in the air and exclaiming, “Totoo ‘to! Totoo ‘to!” I felt like Alma when he exclaimed, “Oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold” (Alma 36:20).
After this experience, my reason for going on a mission immediately changed. Soon my papers were in, and I got my call to serve in Colorado, USA. I was so excited. I knew that someone out there was experiencing what I had gone through—crying out for help and longing for happiness and truth. And I knew that through the gospel of Jesus Christ, they would find that help and happiness, just as I had.
I hope that we may all come to know: “Totoo ‘to!”

Winters in Europe can feel even colder than usual when you’re riding a bike. One day right after Christmas while I was serving in the Belgium Brussels Mission, my companion and I rode our bikes past a lady also on a bicycle.
I immediately noticed she wore no gloves. On impulse, I asked her if she would like my gloves because I had received a new pair for Christmas. She hesitated and then talked about other things.
Finally, I took off my gloves, put them in her hands, and said, “Merry Christmas.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she hugged me. At that moment I felt a portion of the love Heavenly Father has for her, and I told her God loved her very much. She said her husband was sick and she had left the house to run some errands. I asked if we could come and see her, but she declined because of her husband’s illness.
I will never forget what I felt as I watched her ride off. I felt the sting of cold on my hands, but my heart was warm with the love of God.

After my brother passed away, I made up my mind to quit basketball entirely. There was nothing temporal worth holding on to anymore. We were getting a new Coach, and I rehearsed how to tell him I was done. I was happy I didn’t have to face Coach Hess, who recruited me. I didn’t want him to think he wasted his efforts. Little did I know that the new coach, Ken Wagner, was a conman! When I finally met him, he talked me out of quitting. I will be eternally grateful that he convinced me not to quit. He was an excellent coach and perhaps even a more excellent mentor and father figure. Even these days, he loves to tease me that I was older than him when he coached me, and in return, I tell him he is the best grandpa I could ever ask for! God bless you, Coach, and God bless all the good people I met here.

Almost twenty years ago I had the opportunity to serve as a bishop. We had several young married couples in our ward. I recall one summer in particular when two young couples moved in. They had both been recently married in the temple, they were both working and going to school, and they were both poor as church mice. They accepted callings to serve and strengthened our ward.

During tithing settlement that year, the first of these young couples came to see me. When I asked, “Are you full tithe payers?” the couple responded, “Well, this has been a difficult year. Between rent, food, gasoline for the car, and tuition for school—we are sorry, but it just wasn’t possible to pay our tithing this year.”

Oh, how my heart broke for them. Earlier in the year they had knelt at the altar in the temple. They had entered into sacred covenants and had been promised all the blessings of eternity. Now, just eight months later, they were lacking the faith to live worthy of those promised blessings. What a tragedy! We made plans to meet again after the first of the year.

A week or so later, the second couple came in for tithing settlement. Again I asked the question “Are you full tithe payers?”

Oh, how my heart swelled with joy at their response: “Yes, Bishop, we are full tithe payers.”

I looked at them and smiled. There they were, seated together, hand in hand, worthy of all the blessings that had been promised to them in the house of the Lord eight months previously.

Then I thought, how did they do it? This couple also had to pay rent, buy food, buy gasoline, and pay tuition. They were still poor as church mice. When I examined their annual donation sheet, I saw that they had paid tithing nearly every week. The amounts were usually quite small, but they were consistent. I was impressed with how their humble donations added up to a magnificent miracle as the Lord provided for their family and they remained worthy of their temple blessings. Even now, many years later, I am in awe of their faith.

Years ago I served with a group of inner-city youth in Boston, Massachusetts, who were largely new to the gospel and to the expectations of the Church. It was tempting to confuse my empathy and concern for their situation with a desire to lower God’s standards. I eventually realized that the most powerful way to show my love was to never lower my expectations. With everything I knew to do, we focused together on their potential, and each of them began to elevate their slopes. Their growth in the gospel was gradual but steady. Today they have served missions, have graduated from college, have been married in the temple, and are leading remarkable personal and professional lives.

Heavenly Father, I need $20 to buy a Web pet. It would take forever to earn that much. Please help me!
I found twenty dollars! The answer to my prayer!
Is it OK to keep this money if it’s an answer to prayer?
But what if somebody’s praying to get it back and I’m part of the answer to that prayer?
Wait! I’m just looking for an excuse to do the wrong thing. Heavenly Father would never want me to steal. It’s not my money, and I won’t take it!
You’re an honest girl, Mandy. A lot of people would have been tempted to keep this.
I know. I’m one of them, but I wanted to be honest.

When I was in college, a classmate once told me they didn’t need to study the night before a big test; they went out to the movies instead! That caught my attention. I asked how they did it, and their answer wasn’t a secret—they simply studied a little each day. [5]
That idea lit a fire in me. In college, I was a crammer, and I didn’t like it. As a freshman, I scheduled all my classes back-to-back like I was in high school. Afterward, I went home and crashed—so much for my good intentions to study. But by my junior year, I had learned to schedule my classes in a way that worked better for me: class, break, class, break. After each class, I used the next hour to study what I had just learned and all the material from earlier in the semester.
When test day came, I didn’t have to cram. I went to the movies instead—and the test was easy. You can be that person, too.

Hazel Price, a longstanding member of Aylesbury Ward, has always enjoyed singing, including singing in ward and stake choirs. It was in a rehearsal in her home ward where her ward music leader, Jill Neenan, became her singing tutor.
As Hazel began to develop her talent during her singing lessons, she was invited to join a newly formed community choir with Jill as the musical director. With over 100 members, The Wing Singers, allowed Hazel’s talent to thrive as she joined in as many public performances as possible—both within the main choir and in small ensembles.
During a lesson with Jill, Hazel shared that her lifelong dream was to be able to sing solo. Jill introduced ‘soirees’ after some of the regular choir evenings. These allowed Hazel and others to try something different in a safe environment and led to Jill encouraging Hazel to study for her grade 5 music theatre exam. This brought together two of her loves in life, singing and costume making!
Being a member of the Church had given Hazel the opportunity to develop her skills over the years when making costumes for various roadshows in the Watford Stake; with her support, Aylesbury Ward had won the best costumes award many times.
Solo-singing opportunities began to appear, on a few occasions at a local care home in 2016. Then she stepped on to the stage as a solo singer for the first time in January 2017. She helped raise funds for the Stoke Mandeville Hospital Scan Appeal at the Wing Musicathon. She performed “With One Look” from Sunset Boulevard in front of about 100 people, most of whom she didn’t know! The year of 2017 also saw Hazel taking her grade 5 musical theatre singing exam, which she passed with merit.
Having accepted the challenge in February 2018 to enter her first competition—the Milton Keynes Festival of the Arts and Drama—she performed two songs within two categories: musical theatre and operetta. She was accompanied by her tutor and performed in front of about 30 people, most of whom were also there to compete.
Jill persuaded Hazel to perform in her costumes and with the props she had made and used for her exam. Hazel recalled, “Being the only one in costumes, I stood out like a sore thumb! I admit I felt rather unnerved, but I ploughed on. I got excellent feedback and an award for my rendition of ‘I’m Called Little Buttercup’, the adjudicator enjoying the fun that was portrayed, which was in keeping with it being from HMS Pinafore.”
In 2021, despite not being able to meet up in person with her choir or her mentor, Hazel decided to again enter the Milton Keynes Festival of the Arts and Drama competition again. COVID-19 lockdown regulations demanded video entries. Hazel rose to the challenge, practising while being recorded by her teenage son to ensure she could submit her best possible video. She and her son had to overcome obstacles, hunting around the house for the optimum lighting and sound.
Hazel was especially concerned when she discovered that the videos would be put online so everyone could watch them. Hazel said, “This threw me. It was not as bad as when I did my first public solo for charity, but I admit I didn’t do so well then. However, I was determined I would send in my entry, so I submitted it despite knowing the errors I had made and the cooker alarm going off in the background. However, I did ask them not to put my video online if it was just too embarrassing.”
She continued, “I was convinced I did not have a chance to win a place at all. I had not been able to have lessons for many months, so I resigned myself to not participating in the competition. I also wondered if it was likely to go ahead due to the current global situation. In addition, I was stepping right out of my comfort zone by singing ‘a cappella’ (i.e., unaccompanied by music). This was something I had to do because I had no suitable accompaniment or backing track.”
She explained that while some might say when singing a cappella that it allowed them to sing in their way (any errors being intended), it is not so. Each entrant was required to send in a copy of the sheet music for this competition, so the adjudicators knew exactly what singing was intended. Furthermore, without a backing track, there is nothing to hide any errors. Hazel informed the adjudicators that she did not wait out the musical interludes but allowed the song to flow, which was approved of in their feedback.
Hazel waited anxiously for the results. She shared, “I like this competition for amateur singers, on a comparable basis to why I love being a member of The Wing Singers—it is open to all ages and all abilities. From what I can tell, you do not have to live locally to enter. The competition covers music, dance, drama; and the website is already showing details of 2022 competition.”
She confided that joining The Wing Singers choir and entering this competition twice is all part of a journey. The entry for 2021 was very different from her entry in 2018. This time she had no encouragement, not even her singing tutor. Hazel did not even tell her tutor until after she had sent in her submission. This journey was part of her need to support herself and celebrate her attempting hard things, for managing her reaction to obstacles, and overcoming her deep-rooted negativity and self-doubt.
“Encouragement and praise were not something experienced in my home life as a child, quite the contrary—it was full of abuse, shame and negativity in many forms, most of which I blocked out for about half of my life. For the other half of my life, I have been learning about the abuse, the effects on me, my character, confidence, and self-worth.
“In the short time between the competition deadline and my 60th birthday, I happened to see a video on social media that helped me understand me more than anything else has done in my life, especially when dealing with putting up barriers and not achieving all that I hope to. It also, briefly, left me with the feeling that I cannot change; that I could never succeed.
“So, as I look back at this now, knowing all the mistakes and everything else surrounding my entry, I feel I have done some good in starting to break down another barrier and push against Satan and all the negativity I can be bombarded with.”
Finally, Hazel had news of the competition results. When the envelope arrived, she was happy to see the positive feedback. From experience, she knew that awards are always genuine, as is the feedback.
“I was delighted … but not as delighted as I was when I went to return the feedback page in the envelope and realised on the other side was a certificate! I was extremely excited to see I had been awarded 2nd place, with commendation, in my chosen category.”
So, what next for Hazel? She adds, “In 2019 my singing tutor talked with me and a few other students about setting up a troupe to go into care homes, hospitals and possibly schools. The idea is to perform with costumes and props and make it as entertaining and engaging as possible. … I would love to see this happen. For me, it would be another step in the right direction. I look forward to getting back on track with my next singing exam, and yes, I will compete again next year—with an accompanist.
“My accomplishments in life may not seem very grand compared to others, but I know Heavenly Father is aware of me, all I have been through and all the lessons and learning I have had during the COVID-19 pandemic. As I look back on my life, I realise I have lived in fear for almost everything. However, I also know that as long as I stay close to Heavenly Father and make the most of any opportunities I may get, He will continue to help me change, to heal and become all that He would like me to be.”

When I was president of TransCanada Pipelines, we had an office boy who did only what we asked him to do. He would wait until called to run an errand, or stand around waiting for instructions, never offering to be helpful. As the company grew and the job became more than he could handle, we hired another lad, even younger, who was alert and always looking for extra things to do to be helpful. He would finish an errand and then see or ask for something else to do. In just a few months one of the departments wanted him for a position of greater responsibility, and within two years he had three advancements, salary increases, and more responsibilities. The other lad remained an errand boy.

A few months ago we took our grandchildren on an escorted tour of the Church printing facilities. There, all of us saw the missionary edition of the Book of Mormon coming off the delivery line—printed, bound, and trimmed, ready for reading. I said to a young grandson, “The operator says that you can remove one copy of the Book of Mormon to be your very own. You select the copy, and it will then be yours.”

Removing one finished copy of the book, he clutched it to his breast and said with sincerity, “I love the Book of Mormon. This is my book.”

I really don’t remember other events of that day, but none of us who was there will ever forget the honest expression from the heart of a child.

Our missionaries serving throughout the world are beautiful examples of those who are truly ambitious for Christ. A few years ago, Sister Yamashita and I served in the Japan Nagoya Mission. Our missionaries were so ambitious for Christ. One of those missionaries was a young man named Elder Cowan.

Elder Cowan did not have a right leg because of a bicycle accident as a youth. A few weeks after he entered the mission, I received a phone call from his companion. Elder Cowan’s prosthetic leg had broken while he was riding his bike. We took him to a good repair facility, and there in a private room, I saw his leg for the first time. I realized how much pain he had been suffering. His prosthetic leg was repaired, and he returned to his area.

However, as the weeks went by, the prosthesis continued to break again and again. The area medical adviser recommended that Elder Cowan return home for a possible mission reassignment. I resisted this advice because Elder Cowan was a great missionary and he had a strong desire to remain in Japan. Gradually, though, Elder Cowan began to approach his physical limit. In spite of this, he did not murmur or complain.

Again, I was advised that Elder Cowan be allowed to serve in a place that did not require him to ride a bike. I pondered this situation. I thought about Elder Cowan and his future, and I prayed about the matter. I felt impressed that, yes, Elder Cowan should return home and await reassignment. I phoned him and expressed my love and concern and told him of my decision. He did not say anything in reply. I could only hear him weeping on the other end of the phone. I said, “Elder Cowan, you don’t have to answer me right now. I will call you tomorrow. Please consider my recommendation with sincere prayer.”

When I called him the next morning, he humbly said he would follow my counsel.

During my final interview with him, I asked him this question: “Elder Cowan, did you request on your missionary application to be sent to a mission where you would not have to ride a bike?”

He said, “Yes, President, I did.”

I responded, “Elder Cowan, you were called to the Japan Nagoya Mission, where you would have to ride a bike. Did you tell this to your stake president?”

I was surprised by his answer. He said, “No, I didn’t. I determined that if that is where the Lord called me, I would go to the gym and train my body to be able to ride a bike.”

At the conclusion of our interview, he asked me this question with tears in his eyes: “President Yamashita, why did I come to Japan? Why am I here?”

I answered him without hesitation: “Elder Cowan, I know one reason you came here. You came here for my benefit. I have come to understand what a great young man I have been serving with. I am blessed to know you.”

I am happy to report that Elder Cowan returned to his loving home and was reassigned to serve in a mission where he could use a car for his travel. I am proud not only of Elder Cowan but also of all the missionaries throughout the world who serve willingly without murmuring or complaining. Thank you, elders and sisters, for your faith, your focus, and your strong ambition for Christ.

Now, in closing, I want to share with you a personal experience I had with my grandfather, Harold B. Lee, an Idaho boy like some of you and a past president of the Church, wherein he taught me about developing and giving our gifts. When I was a senior in college, I took my patriarchal blessing to Grandfather. My request to him was that he read my blessing with me, and counsel me as to how I might recognize, develop, and give my gifts, using the patriarch's inspiration as context. Grandfather read my blessing and then said: "Well, Alan, that's a fine blessing." He paused, and continued: "My impression is that you worry too much about the future, Alan." This was not what I had come to hear. Though I would not have admitted it at the time, in my heart of hearts I hoped he would look into the crystal ball and tell me about a career. In fact, I would have been even more delighted if he had told me my future wife's name, and how to find her.

Grandfather went on to recount briefly, his own personal history. He said, "You know as a boy growing up in Clifton, Idaho, we prayed for the 'pillars of the Church.' We meant the Brethren, the General Authorities. I could no more have thought of becoming one of them than fly to the moon, which in those days also seemed an impossibility." He came home from a mission and thought he would be a farmer, but things weren't going well there so he decided to attend a university. At the University of Utah he met a young woman who was willing to walk home with him the five miles after a date, because he didn't have the five cents to pay the trolley. Friendship ripened into love, and they were married. Upon graduation, Grandfather found a job as a high school principal. After a few years, his wife suggested maybe he could be doing something else and he got into distributing books throughout the Western United States. Then, one of the city commissioners died in the middle of his term, and Grandfather, because of contacts he had made as a book distributor, was asked to fill the rest of that man's term. He was then elected to a term of his own.

During this same time, Grandfather had been called as a Stake President. Then the 1930 depression hit. He and other leaders in his stake dusted off the revelations, and tried to find a way to help the almost 70% of their stake members who were out of work. They established a Bishop's Storehouse and found ways to have those who were out of work harvest wheat that was going unharvested because the price for wheat was so low it didn't pay to harvest it. Then the Brethren called him to set up a welfare program for the entire church. Several years later he was called as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, and at the time we were talking he was in the First Presidency. His question to me was: "Alan, do you think I could have taken thought, and prepared myself to be where I am now? The only counsel that I have ever felt comfortable giving to young people is that they get up each day and regain their testimony. And then in the light of the inspiration of the Lord, 'in the moment thereof,' that they do what the Lord asks of them. Don't live too far into the future," was his counsel. "Live for today. You don't have tomorrow; all you have is today. You don't have yesterday. All you can do is repent or feel good, depending on your yesterdays. So make your yesterdays days to feel good about by living fully for today."

I stopped at the bottom of Sanford’s huge sycamore tree and looked up the ladder of wooden slats that led to the door of our clubhouse. I avoided looking at the sign that read, “FOR BOYS ONLY” nailed to the tree trunk.
I glanced back uneasily at Meg and Michelle, the two sisters who had moved in next door to us the day before.
“The clubhouse is way up there,” I muttered, nodding toward our hideout overhead. “It’s pretty high up—kind of scary too. There’s not much to see. Are you sure you want to go up?”
Meg, the older of the two, gazed up into the branches. “Looks like a pretty neat place. I’m not afraid of heights, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Who put that up?” Michelle asked, pointing to the sign.
“We did.”
“Well, it’s kind of dumb, if you ask me,” she muttered. “Why aren’t girls allowed?”
“We like it that way.”
“Your mom said you’d take us up,” Michelle reminded me. “I’d like to see what it’s like.”
When Mom asked me to show Meg and Michelle around the neighborhood, I told her that I wouldn’t. She just shrugged and said something about my not getting to do something the next time I wanted to. Well, I knew what she was thinking about: Garett Hadfield’s family was going to Disneyland in two weeks, and Garett had asked me to go with them.
Slowly I turned back to the ladder, grabbed the first slat, and started up. When I reached the trapdoor in the middle of the clubhouse floor, I could hear voices inside. I gulped and knocked softly.
“Who’s there?” a voice growled.
“Me, Jared,” I answered meekly.
The trapdoor opened. I pulled myself up through the opening and sat there with my legs dangling down. “Hi,” I greeted them sickly. I looked around. Sanford was there. Garett too. Then I saw Will, Andrew, and Mark in the dim light. The whole club was there, except Paul. “I brought some … uh … some visitors,” I explained. “They’re our new neighbors.”
“Let’s have a look,” Sanford said.
I gulped again, pulled my feet up, and slid across the floor to sit against the wall. Then Meg’s head poked up through the trapdoor. She looked around and grinned. “Hi. I’m Meg.”
“A girl!” all the guys gasped, jumping to their feet. They stared at Meg as she climbed into the clubhouse, then glared at me.
Before the guys had a chance to get over their shock, Michelle poked her head up through the hole.
“Another girl!” the guys groaned.
“What’s wrong with girls?” Michelle challenged them.
“You brought girls into the clubhouse?” Andrew asked, pointing at me. He turned to the girls. “Didn’t you read the sign?”
“Sure,” Michelle retorted before I had a chance to open my mouth. “But we figured anybody dumb enough to put up a sign like that didn’t know what he was doing anyway.”
“It’s just for today,” I put in. “I’m just showing them around. Mom made me.”
“I haven’t even let my mom come up here,” Sanford protested. He glowered at the girls. “I say they leave right now.”
I looked at Garett. He looked back at me and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “They look all right.”
Well, as long as Garett was with me, I still had a shot at Disneyland, so I didn’t much care what the others thought. “I say they stay,” I said, standing up. “The clubhouse is part mine.”
“My dad built it!” Sanford shouted.
“He couldn’t have built it without my dad’s lumber,” I reminded him. “I say they stay.”
For a few minutes we all just sat there glaring at each other. Then Mark spluttered, “Listen, guys, we have a bigger problem than these girls to worry about—remember? Today’s the day we’re supposed to play the Highland Heights team.”
Then all of us boys groaned. We had been bragging to the Highland Heights team that we could beat them. All that they had to do was name the time and place. Well, they’d named the city park as the place, and this morning as the time. But our best pitcher had the chicken pox!
“We just can’t play them today,” Will croaked. “We don’t stand a chance without Paul pitching.”
“I can pitch,” Sanford volunteered.
“And we can help out,” Meg said.
“We let you come into our clubhouse just this once,” Sanford growled, “but that doesn’t mean we’re going to let you play baseball with us. Those guys would laugh us clear out of the park.”
“We’re going to need all the help we can get,” Garett said uneasily.
“Are you saying that we should let girls play ball with us?” Sanford yelped.
Garett shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe they can fall down in front of a ball. At least we can cover the field that way.”
“I say girls don’t play on our team,” Sanford insisted, folding his arms across his chest defiantly. “If they want to come, they can cheer for us.”
“We’re not cheerleaders,” Michelle protested. “We know how to play ball. Meg and I were in a league where we used to live.”
“I say we let them play,” I said, starting for the door. “If we lose, we’ll just say it was the girls’ fault.”
Michelle grabbed my arm and turned me around. “We don’t play on a losing team. We play to win.”
When we reached the city park, the Highland Heights team was there waiting for us. “We thought you got scared and decided not to show up,” TJ Blake called out as we walked up. TJ was the leader of his team and their best player. He could hit a home run almost every time. He started to grin. “No wonder you’re late. You had to find some girls to help you out. That’s OK with us—you’ll need all the help you can get.”
Well, the Highland Heights team batted first. We put Meg and Michelle in the outfield, where there’s a little less action. Sanford pitched, but he pitched everything that the other team wanted. The first three batters got hits and loaded the bases. Then TJ came to bat, grinning.
“I thought you said you could pitch,” I shouted at Sanford as I covered first base. “Now they’ll have four runs and no outs.”
“Well, you haven’t done anything to help,” he growled back at me. “The only thing you’ve done is drag those two girls along.”
“Michelle can pitch,” Meg called from center field. “She’s a good pitcher. She pitched for our old team.”
I looked at Garett, who was playing second. He shrugged. “She can’t be much worse than Sanford,” he muttered.
TJ laughed as Michelle came in to pitch. “Oh, I love it! I get to bat against a girl.” Then he frowned. “Just make sure you get it this far,” he grumbled at Michelle.
Michelle ignored him. She turned to me. “Meg plays shortstop better than any guy I know.”
I looked over at Mark, who was playing shortstop. “Mark, why don’t you trade places with Meg?”
“With a girl?” he protested.
“It’s just for a little while,” Garett explained. “Besides, we’re going to need three good outfielders while TJ bats.”
“Come on, little girl, throw it here,” TJ taunted when Michelle was ready to pitch.
Michelle just glared at TJ, then wound up and let the ball fly. It zoomed right across the plate, and TJ swung hard enough to knock it clear over Mark’s head. But he missed the ball! Instead, he spun around and fell on the ground. Everybody on our team laughed as TJ stood up, brushed himself off, and got ready to bat again.
“Don’t let a little girl strike you out!” chortled Jason, who was catching.
TJ glared at him, then turned back to Michelle, who was already winding up. Again she let the ball fly across the plate. TJ swung and got just a piece of it. Foul ball. The next time, Michelle wound up and looked like she was going to throw that ball clear into next week. But it was a slow one. TJ swung and missed the ball completely.
We all cheered as TJ stomped away from the plate. Clay Barnes came up to bat next. He missed the first two pitches, but on the third pitch, he hit a line drive—straight for Meg! I thought for sure that it was going to knock her right off her feet, but she snagged the ball and burned it over to me for a double play.
TJ pitched for his team. Boy, was he mad! And the first one to go to bat was Michelle. The fielders came in, since it was just a girl batting, and on the first pitch Michelle got a piece of that ball and knocked it over Clay Barnes’s head into right field.
We beat the Highland Heights team that afternoon ten to eight. And we were sure glad that Meg and Michelle had refused to cheerlead for us.
When we got back to Sanford’s backyard, his mom called from the back porch, “Sanford, there are some cookies and punch in your clubhouse.”
“How’d they get up there?” Sanford asked, surprised.
“You’ve never invited me up, so I decided I’d use the cookies and punch as an excuse to take a look around.”
“You went into our clubhouse?” Sanford gasped. “But it’s just for boys!”
“Don’t worry about it, Sister Nichols,” I called to Sanford’s mom. “You’re not the first girl that’s ever been there.”
“And you won’t be the last,” Michelle added, grinning.
As we were about to climb the tree, I looked at the FOR BOYS ONLY sign. I shook my head and turned to Garett. “There’s a pencil up in the clubhouse. Would you go get it?”
When Garett came back down with the pencil, I grabbed it and scribbled on the sign, “(AND A FEW GOOD GIRLS).”
We all looked at the sign and grinned, then climbed up for cookies and punch.

“It was the first time I’d performed in public in four years,” said Gretchen Williams, from Newport News, when talking about her performance the night before in the opening program. She danced a ballet solo while a friend sang a song. What most people didn’t know is the she’d given up her beloved ballet several years earlier because she was afflicted by painful arthritis.
When Gretchen arrived at the encampment, she discovered that the stage would be much smaller and shaped differently than the one she’d rehearsed on. It would have been easy to back out, using her physical pain or the unfamiliar stage as an excuse. After all, under the given circumstances, there was no way she could perform her best, and hundreds of people would be watching. But Gretchen wouldn’t think of pulling out.
She realized, as the program she performed in said, “Integrity is doing what you know you should do, even it it’s inconvenient or difficult.”
And with that she adds a deep, rich purple to the rainbow.

On April 3, 2016, President Thomas S. Monson announced the building of a temple in Harare, Zimbabwe.

Before the Harare Zimbabwe Temple was even announced, Roselinda had created a vision board. A vision board is a collage of images and words representing a person's wishes or goals, intended to serve as inspiration or motivation. Roselinda’s vision board could be seen the moment someone walked into her home. One of the things she had put on her vision board was, “I’m going to serve in the Harare Zimbabwe Temple.”

Then, during an interview for the Church Newsroom, a missionary couple serving in Harare asked Roselinda what gave her the idea that they were going to have a temple in Zimbabwe. Her answer was, “I have a feeling that Heavenly Father is going to give us one for ourselves because He knows we desire it.”

During a visit to Harare, Zimbabwe, in 2018, President Russell M. Nelson spoke to a group of more than 4,000 gathered Latter-day Saints and said, “This is a sight that I shall always remember . . . You deserve a temple here in Harare because that’s where we get the highest of all the blessings that God can give to His faithful children.”

My husband’s great-grandfather Henry Clegg Jr. was a finisher. He joined the Church with his family when the first LDS missionaries went to Preston, England. Henry had a view of his destination in his mind as he and his wife, Hannah, and their two young boys immigrated to Utah. Henry left his older parents, who were too feeble to make such a long and arduous journey, knowing he would never see them again.
While crossing the plains, Hannah contracted cholera and died. She was laid to rest in an unmarked grave. The company then moved on, and at six in the evening, Henry’s youngest son also died. Henry retraced his steps to Hannah’s grave, placed his young son in his wife’s arms, and reburied the two of them together. Henry then had to return to the wagon train, now five miles away. Suffering from cholera himself, Henry described his condition as being at death’s door while realizing he still had a thousand miles to walk. Amazingly he continued forward, putting one foot in front of the other. He stopped writing in his journal for several weeks after losing his dear Hannah and little son. I was struck with the words he used when he did start writing again: “Still moving.”
When he finally reached the gathering place of the Saints, he began a new family. He kept the faith. He continued his story. Most remarkably, his heartache over the burial of his sweetheart and son gave birth to our family’s legacy of moving forward, of finishing.
Henry Clegg was still moving forward to live among the faithful Saints, to take his place, to raise a righteous family, to serve his neighbor. He had that picture in his mind even when his heart was breaking. I heard a Primary child from Ghana answer the question “What does it mean to choose the right every day?” with, “It means to follow the Lord and Savior every day and do your best even when it is hard.” This modern pioneer boy knew President Hinckley’s admonition. He knew about keeping commandments every day. He understood that his own story would unfold simply by putting one foot in front of the other, one day at a time.

In 1972 my husband, Giuseppe, and I—both originally from Italy—decided to immigrate with our young family to Australia. At that time we knew nothing of the difficult but wonderful spiritual journey still ahead.
As our three children began to grow up, I became concerned about their religious education. I had been reared in Italy’s dominant religion, and I was familiar with a number of others. But I didn’t feel any of them were right for my children.
One sunny day in 1980, I took the children to the park. As I sat under a tree watching them play, I began to think once again about which religion to teach them. I looked up into the sky and uttered a brief, sincere prayer. “Father in Heaven,” I said, “I am so confused about all these religions. I want to teach my children the truth. If the true Church is on this earth, I ask Thee to help me find it.”
Two days later I was talking to a neighbor when I saw two young missionaries walking down the street. My heart beat hard, and I heard a voice inside me say, Call those missionaries. My neighbor tried to dissuade me, but the voice was insistent: Talk to them. So I did.
I discovered that they belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Something about them impressed me, and although I didn’t speak English well and they didn’t speak Italian, I invited them to my home.
The missionaries told us that the true Church had been restored and that it had a prophet and apostles, just as in Christ’s Church anciently. They told us about the Prophet Joseph Smith, about how he saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and organized the Church under divine authority. It all made perfect sense to me, and a wonderful spirit enveloped us. I felt that Heavenly Father was answering my prayer.
The missionaries began visiting us. When they had finished the discussions, they asked if we wanted to be baptized. I was excited about being baptized, but Giuseppe was not as sure. Nevertheless, he and I and the two oldest children became members of the Church.
One week later some of my husband’s friends had a long talk with him. They got him to drink alcohol, and they said a lot of negative things against the Church. He came home angry and told me he didn’t want to have anything to do with the Church. He said the children could not go to services, and if I went by myself, he would not let me in when I came home.
I felt very confused. I went into the bedroom and curled up on the bed. I thought about everything my husband had said. Then I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help me.
I soon fell asleep and had a beautiful dream. In my dream, I was with a large group of people. Half were on the left, and half were on the right. In the middle was a figure in white with two missionaries. The missionaries were wearing name tags that read, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They began walking toward me, and I knew that I was not to worry, that I had made the right decision.
I woke up crying, but I felt great peace and joy. I tried to tell my husband about the dream, but he didn’t want to hear anything about it. I was more convinced than ever that I had found the true Church.
I also knew the Lord would not forsake me. So when Sunday came, I gathered my courage and went to church with the children. When we returned home, we found the house locked and all our belongings outside. I was worried for the children’s sake, but I also felt we were being protected. I checked all the windows and found one that wasn’t locked. My son Luciano crawled in and opened the front door, and we took our belongings back in. From that day on, my husband and I had many arguments about the Church. In spite of this difficulty, my children and I continued to be fully active.
Two decades have now passed since we joined the Church, and we have been blessed in many ways. Two more children were born into our family. The year 1996 was especially wonderful. Luciano went on a mission to Italy, and our eldest grandson was baptized. And if that was not enough, Heavenly Father touched my husband’s heart concerning the Church. In December 1999 our family was sealed in the Sydney Australia Temple.
I have learned that Heavenly Father does hear our prayers. I also know that if we have faith in Christ and are determined to grow spiritually, we will, in time, receive all the righteous desires of our hearts, whether in this life or the next.

When an LDS member is the host and needs to offer a toast, the problem is more conspicuous. I solved the problem successfully for the first time in Paraguay, and used that formula from then on. At a major banquet in which I had to offer a toast to the president of the country, to his cabinet ministers, and to Paraguay as our host country, I decided to use water. In Paraguay one of the bank’s clients was the new municipal water system, which for the first time in that country’s history produced a pure, fine-tasting uncontaminated water. At the appropriate time, I lifted my champagne glass full of water and announced to the assembled important people, “I don’t know what you have in your glasses, but in mine I have the purest of liquids—water from the municipal water system of Asuncion—and I lift my glass in a cordial toast to his Excellency, the President,” etc., etc. The compliment was sincere, and it worked very well. They laughed, and no one ever forgot that “Mormon Toast.”

One of the biggest blessings during my time of service has been learning the importance of acting on promptings when they are received. When the Spirit tells me to do something, I try to do it, no matter how small it may seem. For instance, I felt prompted to pray for rain while teaching a family for the first time. The little ranchero where I am serving has been in drought for several years and rarely sees rain, but the Spirit prompted me to ask for rain. That night, it rained. This made such a strong impression that the family asked us to return to continue to teach the gospel.