Gospel Story Finder

Elder Wright’s companion was Samuel Mulliner; they baptised many in central Scotland. He proselyted alone in the north of Scotland from 24 December 1839 to 28 January 1840, and from 7 August to 20 October the same year, and from 1 July 1841 to 7 September 1842.
On 7 August 1841 Alexander Wright first met Peter Farquhar, a 60-year-old farmer, at his home at Hill of Mennie, Belhelvie, a 10-mile walk from Aberdeen. Peter’s wife Mary Valentine had died age 59 on 10 April 1840. It was the second time he had become a widower.
On 3 December he again met Peter Farquhar at Belhelvie, and the next day set off to preach in many villages north of Aberdeen, sleeping under the stars when he could not find lodgings. He returned to Belhelvie on 10 December and met Peter Farquhar, and on 30 January 1842 baptised him there; Peter was the first person to join the Church in the north of Scotland.
Peter Farquhar’s last meeting with Elder Wright was on 6 September 1842.
No other baptisms in the north of Scotland were recorded by Elder Wright and records available for the Aberdeen Branch (Scotland) British Mission do not record any baptisms prior to Peter Farquhar.

It was hard to tell if Guillermo had dark brown or medium brown or tan skin, for he was covered from head to toes with dirt. His black hair, which hung in matted clumps over his ears, had been hacked off with a knife in uneven handfuls just above what used to be the collar of his shirt. There was little else left of the shirt except for a few buttons holding rags across his skinny chest. The rag shirt was stuffed into the waist of a pair of torn pants, two or three sizes too large, and all of it was held together by a piece of rope. No shoes. No coat. His black eyes darted back and forth suspiciously as he looked at us, yet he remained in the corner and listened as we talked.
Guillermo. That’s “William” in Spanish. He had chosen the name himself because, as far as he knew, no one else had ever named him. Guillermo was a gamin, a French term used to describe a street orphan. Sometime in his tender childhood, his parents had abandoned him to the street, probably because they were too poor to feed him. So, at age three or four, Guillermo found himself alone, huddling in cold doorways for shelter at night, covering himself with cardboard to keep out the cold night mist. During the day he raided garbage cans or stole apples from street vendors in order to eat. Probably the worst part of all was that he had plenty of competition for these meager luxuries, for many, many gamines roam the city streets. How they survive is a mystery, yet they do—or most of them do—living testaments to the human instinct for survival.
Guillermo ended up being one of the luckier ones, for at age twelve (his own estimate), he came under the protection of a kind store owner. The man let Guillermo sleep in his back room and even paid him a little each week, plus a meal a day, to clean up around the store. Guillermo was a nice boy who never used crude words and never betrayed the trust of the kind old man by stealing from him. He became the favorite of a number of the housewives around the neighborhood. Occasionally he would find an old pair of pants—worn, but not yet ragged—or an old shirt left for him on the back porch of the store. He was never really hungry, and not cold anymore.
Still, he was not like other children who had families and who found time to play. And, of course, he never went to school. The old man was kind to him, but their relationship was always that of employer and employee. So even though he was better off than most gamines, Guillermo was lonely, terribly lonely.
When we knocked on the back door of the little store and introduced ourselves to the old man as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Guillermo stood by. And when we sat with the store owner to teach him the gospel, Guillermo was permitted to crouch in the far corner and listen. He never asked any questions or made any comments. He just listened.
The old man liked our message and invited us back again and again until we had given all of the discussions. Then he told us he was too old to change and would not be baptized.
We were disappointed that cool evening as we walked down the dusty road away from the store. Suddenly, we heard the soft padding of bare feet come running up behind us. Startled by the sound, we turned to see a very agitated and excited Guillermo.
“Please, Senoritas, I would like to be baptized.” We were stunned and didn’t know what to say. How much did he really understand? Why did he want to be baptized? We told him we would meet with him the next day and would bring along two young men who would ask him some questions to determine if he was ready for baptism.
The next day, the four of us missionaries sat around the dirty street boy, amazed to hear him answer correctly every question put to him. He knew about Joseph Smith; he understood about the plan of salvation, baptism, the Word of Wisdom, the other commandments. We were further surprised, and thrilled, to find that he had borrowed the old man’s copy of the Book of Mormon and had taken it to a neighbor lady, who had read most of it to him in less than two weeks. He said he knew it was all true and wanted to be baptized.
The elders tested him further by insisting he go to church regularly for a month—which he did, coming every Sunday and every Tuesday night for Mutual. And again he surprised us all by coming bathed, with clean hair, and with the best, cleanest old clothes he owned. By the time a month was over, he was begging for baptism.
So one Saturday the elders baptized him in the cold water font of the branch. When he came up out of the water, a gigantic smile broke across his face. He ran to me and threw his dripping arms around my waist, and burst into great sobs.
I asked him why he was crying, and when he finally controlled himself, he looked at me with those black eyes and said, “Now that I have joined His Church, I am a true son of God, am I not?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Don’t you see,” he earnestly pled with me to understand, “I finally know that I have a Father!”
All those years of loneliness and not belonging to anyone had been washed away that day. The gospel of Jesus Christ had brought to a lonely gamin the knowledge of who he was.
We dried our tears and left Guillermo in the church with other members who welcomed him. Then we went down the street to talk to the lady who had read him the Book of Mormon.

A trickle of sweat ran down Jake’s crazy hair onto his forehead. “It’s getting hot,” Jake said as the sun beat in the windows of the doughnut shop.
I agreed as I rang up one last customer before my break. Jake agreed to cover the register so I could head to the break room for a cold soda. The manager was sitting quietly across from me.
“Say, Anita,” he said. “I know you’ve only been here a few weeks, but you’re the type I can trust, aren’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Money was taken from the register last week. This has happened several times in the last few months. I’ve talked to a few other employees, and they suspect Jake. He’s the type.”
I nodded. “If I were to guess who took the money, I’d guess him.”
“I think I’m going to fire him,” the manager said.
My break ended, and I was back to work. That evening Jake and I folded boxes. Jake tried talking to me as usual, but all I could think about was the stolen money. Every time I looked at his weird, dyed hair or tattered black clothes, two words kept coming to mind: punker and thief.
“Customer,” Jake said suddenly. He looked up at the clock. “This should be the last customer.”
“Thank goodness,” I mumbled.
I packed the woman’s doughnuts and rang up the order. “That will be $3.39,” I said.
The woman handed me a five. Then a sick feeling hit me. I had forgotten to ring up the special price we were having that day.
“My change?” the woman asked.
I instinctively handed her the change and tried to smile. As she drove away, I felt terrible. I should have given her the sale price.
I turned to find Jake standing behind me. “You didn’t ring up the special.”
“I know. I should have.”
Jake pushed back a strand of his hair, then picked up his jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. Then he paused a moment. “You can make it up to her. She comes in all the time.”
After Jake left, I thought about what he’d been called that day, and yet he had encouraged me to be honest. Could he have really taken the money?
The next day I couldn’t keep my mind on work. I knew I’d been wrong about Jake, and I had to set things right. I kept hearing in my mind the scripture “Judge not unrighteously, that ye be not judged: but judge righteous judgment” (JST, Matt. 7:1).
At break time, I went to talk to the manager.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“It’s about Jake,” I said.
“No time for that right now,” he said. “We’ve just about caught our thief. I’ve been on the phone with several angry customers and the police department this morning. It seems one of our employees has been altering checks as well.”
“And it’s not Jake?”
“Not unless he’s got blond hair and blue eyes. That’s the description everyone is giving. Now you’d better get back to work.”
When I got back to the counter, I was smiling. I said to myself, Remember this day every time you try to judge someone.
“What are you smiling about?” Jake asked.
“Oh, I guess I’m just glad to be working here.”
“Why would you be glad for that?”
“I’ve learned a lot so far.”
“What can you possibly learn in a doughnut shop?”
“You’d be surprised,” I answered.

“The area conference was truly wonderful,” a third letter said, “a wonderful experience to all the Filipino Mormons here. I cried when the President first entered the hall and the congregation started to sing ‘We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.’
“We live not far from Manila. We just planned traveling home every night after the conference. Well, last Monday the conference ended at almost 10:00 p.m. We were really flying to reach home before the curfew bell at 12:00. We were still having our journey when our back tire got flat, so we had to stop. Lucky we stopped, because a Filipino constabulary told us that we’re not supposed to travel any more tonight. So we stayed in the gasoline station until 4:00 a.m. till the curfew was off. We went back to Manila again the following day for the balance of the conference.”

One young woman found that attending home, family, and personal enrichment meeting greatly helped her with the transition to Relief Society. “When I was in Young Women, our Relief Society invited the Laurels to attend,” says Vicky Hacking of the Pleasant Hill Ward, Orlando Florida South Stake. “They regularly had a craft class that pertained to us. Sometimes we had a class for mothers and daughters. This helped me feel like I could fit in and made me want to attend Relief Society when I turned 18.”

Just before my family was ready to leave for sacrament meeting, I got my finger stuck inside the end of a baseball bat. I pulled and pulled, but it would not come out. When my mom tried to get it out, it began to hurt and swell. I did not want to pull anymore. We decided to say a prayer and ask for Heavenly Father’s help. Right after we prayed, my mom had an idea. She poured some cooking oil on my finger. Finally, after some effort it popped out, and we were able to make it to church on time. I know that Heavenly Father answers our prayers.

Laurie Baldwin wiped at the tears that stung her eyes during the long trip to Denver. Great-grandma, her mom’s grandma, had died yesterday after being sick a long time. The whole family—Laurie, Mom, Dad, and Laurie’s two older sisters—was going to the funeral.
When they arrived at Great-grandma’s house, Laurie met the cousins, aunts, and uncles who had gathered there.
“How are we going to put together a funeral in only two days?” Aunt Christy asked. “We don’t know anyone here.”
Mom didn’t look worried. “I know where we can find help,” she said, reaching for the phone book.
Laurie listened as Mom called the bishop of a Denver ward and explained the situation.
“Why did you call a bishop?” Laurie asked after Mom replaced the phone. “Great-grandma wasn’t a member of the Church.” Mom was the only member of her family who belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“Even though Grandma wasn’t a member of our Church, we can still ask for help in preparing for her funeral. That’s part of belonging to the Church—being able to go anywhere and know that there are people who are willing to help us.”
Laurie would always remember that.
Soon the phone started ringing. Her mother spent the next hour taking calls and making others. She was smiling after the last one.
“Everything’s taken care of,” she announced to the family. “The bishop called some people. The Relief Society president is going to arrange a meal for the family after the funeral. She’ll also find someone to play the organ and lead the music.”
“Why are they helping us?” Aunt Christy wanted to know. “We don’t live here. We don’t even know them.”
“In our church we call each other ‘Brother’ and ‘Sister.’ That’s because we’re all brothers and sisters in the gospel and help each other whenever we can.”
Laurie thought about that—brothers and sisters in the gospel. She liked the sound of it.
Mom spoke at the funeral and told some things about her grandmother’s life. A lady with a pretty voice sang “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86), which had been Great-grandma’s favorite song. Mom was crying and smiling at the same time.
After the funeral, Mom thanked the bishop and everyone who had helped with the music and food. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
The bishop took her hand. “We were happy to help. Your grandmother must have been a remarkable woman.”
Laurie heard the quiet sincerity in his voice. The family spent the rest of the afternoon and evening talking about Great-grandma.
“I want to find out more about your church,” Aunt Christy said.
Laurie listened as Mom began to explain. “We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. …”
“Bishops, home teachers, visiting teachers, and members of priesthood quorums and of Relief Societies … all stand ready to help. …
“Of course, your brothers and sisters in the Church are not to solve your problems for you. … But your brothers and sisters will be at your side to strengthen you, encourage you, and help you.”Elder Joseph B. WirthlinFrom an April 2000 general conference address.

I recently heard some experiences of families of suicide victims that give hope to others who are suffering. I must point out that individual spiritual experiences of Church members do not determine Church doctrine. Still, these experiences are compatible with the ideas we have been discussing. The first experience deals with a young woman whose father took his life when she was five years old. The father was not a member of the Church, nor was the daughter until many years later.
“As I was growing up,” she says, “I had the subtle feeling that there was something my father very much wanted me to do for him. I had been taught in my church that he had murdered himself and was in hell. But it seemed to me that even though he had been wrong to kill himself, he had thought he was doing the family a favor. (He was an alcoholic who couldn’t get rid of the habit.) I began to search the Bible to see what might have happened to him. As time went by, I came to know that he had somehow suffered through his problems—and that now he needed me to do something for him. I kept thinking, ‘But what can you do for someone who is already dead?’ And the answer would come, ‘Someday, if you keep searching, you will know.’
“Eventually I was baptized into the Church. When I first heard of baptism for the dead, I was overwhelmed. Now I knew what my father wanted me to do! I did the necessary work and sent his name to the Idaho Falls Temple, where I had the privilege of seeing a brother baptized by proxy for my father. His endowment work was done the same month. I have a strong feeling that he has accepted both ordinances and is greatly blessed by it.”

Our Young Women leaders decided that an overnight trip was just the thing to get us ready for camp. They chose the banks of the San Pedro River in southern Arizona, USA, to set up our practice camp.
After rolling out the sleeping bags, the other girls and I wanted to explore and get into the water. The leaders thought some discussions on safety and first aid should come first. So we all sat in a shady spot near the river for the lesson.
Paying attention wasn’t easy when we could see the river shining in the sun. The breeze was playing in the cottonwood trees as Sister Brown (names have been changed) talked. We had all heard the lesson before, and I just couldn’t understand why we needed it now. We knew all about putting pressure on a wound to stop the bleeding, but there she was telling us again.
Before they let us go, the leaders repeatedly told us not to go in the river without shoes. “You never know what’s in there, and you’ve got to protect your feet.”
As I got to the edge of the river, some of the other girls were already splashing in the water. The water was brown with mud. It was less than a foot deep all the way across, and I couldn’t believe that it was dangerous.
I decided to take off my shoes. I had brought only one pair, and I didn’t see the sense in getting them wet and having soggy shoes all day. My two best friends, Martha and Elizabeth, both reminded me of what the leaders had said. I took my shoes off anyway and explained my reasons. Martha took hers off too. Elizabeth was more hesitant. I waded out into the water and with a sarcastic tone said, “Keep them on if you want to.”
She sat down, took off her shoes, and ran into the water. After about five steps she stopped, turned pale, and calmly said, “Oh, no.” When she pulled her foot out of the water. I could see blood streaming out of a cut. She had stepped on a broken bottle.
The sight of blood made my brain go numb. Even though I had just been listening to a lesson on first aid, I had no idea what to do. I decided to run for help. Two others helped her out of the water.
I found Sister Brown and told her what had happened. She thought I was kidding. But when she saw Elizabeth sitting in the trail with blood gushing from her foot, she ran toward her shouting, “Put pressure on that cut!”
The lesson of 10 minutes before began to sink in. The girls, who had been standing around Elizabeth and watching her bleed, elevated her foot and put pressure on the wound.
Elizabeth was taken to the hospital, where she was told that she had almost cut her foot in half. It required numerous stitches and would take a long time to heal. The next time I saw her she was using crutches.
I never thought I could or would ever convince my best friend to do something that would hurt her that badly. I had never seen myself as a bad influence before.
Now I’m trying to be a better example to my friends, and I’m more willing to listen to my leaders. They know what they’re talking about.

Some time ago, my husband and I subscribed to A Liahona (Portuguese). After receiving several issues, I still hadn’t read a single one. It was hard to find time to read because I work away from home, and when I get home I have many chores to do.
I finally found a way to make time to read A Liahona. I carry it with me when I go to work and read it at the bus stop, on the bus, and when I have breaks at work.
I feel the Spirit of the Lord much closer to me now. This marvelous compass has done much good in my life.
Renilce A. C. L. de Moraes,Araucaria Ward, Curitiba Brazil Novo Mundo Stake

“Grandma, I’m so sorry, but I can’t go to church with you. I forgot to bring a dress and shoes,” I told her in my most regretful voice. Not wanting to go to a ward of strangers, I had purposely left my church clothes home when I visited Grandma. I hadn’t washed my hair nor put on any makeup, and I waited until a half hour before church to give Grandma the news. I was positive Grandma would agree I was not fit for church.
Smiling, Grandma quickly appraised my condition: “Rachelle, this isn’t a problem. We’re close to the same size, and I have the perfect outfit for you.” She opened her closet and pulled out a blue paisley grandma-skirt with a coordinating pink blouse. The sleeves were too long, and the skirt’s hem swished around my ankles. Not only was Grandma taller than me, but she also had long, narrow feet. After attempts with different shoes, she helped me stuff tissues in the toes of some colorful beaded loafers.
“You look beautiful,” Grandma beamed. I pasted on a smile, but I was aware I couldn’t look anything but ridiculous in an old-lady dress with flat, greasy hair. Grandma was optimistic, and with her sweet prodding, we headed out the door for church.
“Bishop,” Grandma said as we entered the foyer, “I’d like you to meet my granddaughter Rachelle. She’s come to visit me for a few days.” I shook hand after hand as Grandma proudly introduced me to practically everyone in her ward.
It was a relief when sacrament meeting began and we were seated quietly on the bench. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t concentrate on any of the announcements or songs. I kept my head down, hoping none of the young men had seen me. I was seriously wishing I were in my own dress, wearing makeup, with stylish hair.
The priests began to reverently bless the sacrament. It wasn’t until the priests began to bless the water that I finally started to listen and realized what I had done. I had been so worried about attending an unfamiliar ward that I had given no thought to remembering God, His Son Jesus Christ, and what They have done for us. I realized that I had even planned to break His commandment by not coming to church. I had also lied to my grandmother about forgetting my clothes. I felt ashamed.
As I thought of our Savior and His love for us, my heart lifted. I had planned to not come to church, but here I sat. This made me smile. I was grateful for Grandma, for the borrowed dress, and that Grandma loved me enough to bring me to church. She had helped me put God first and keep His commandments.
I never “forgot” my church clothes again.

One Sunday in July, I could feel the Spirit in the room as I passed the sacrament. After passing to the people in the back, I checked to make sure everyone had a chance to receive it. I then reverently walked over to the line of the other young men who had finished passing the sacrament.

As the other young men lined up, I looked around and saw a family on the far side of the chapel. I realized that they had not received the sacrament yet. It seemed too late, because the priests stood up and the line started to move. As the young men in front of me took the sacrament, all I could think about was that family and how they didn’t receive the sacrament.

I felt a great urge to break from the line and pass to that family. I knew it was the Holy Ghost telling me to do it, so I left the line and walked down the aisle toward the family near the back. As I grew closer, I felt warmth overcome me. I looked up and saw the family smiling at me. I could feel their appreciation for not forgetting them.

I passed the sacrament to the family even though I felt like everyone in the congregation was looking at me. I could almost sense the Holy Ghost whispering, “Good job.” You don’t need words to know that someone truly cares and appreciates your love and respect for them. All you need to do is a good deed.

Hannah sat on the train seat between her father and her sister, Bessie. Papa had let Bessie sit next to the window, but Hannah didn’t mind because that meant she could sit next to Papa. She snuggled up next to him, and he reached out to squeeze her hand.
“Today we’ll go inside the house of the Lord,” Papa said, his voice trembling a little.
“Yes, Papa,” Hannah said.
“Do you know why?”
Hannah nodded. “The Salt Lake Temple will be dedicated today. Then it will be a real temple.”
“Yes,” said Papa. “And why else do you want to go?”
“To see how beautiful it is inside,” Hannah answered.
Papa smiled. “Is that why we go to the temple?”
Hannah looked down at the pink ticket she was holding on her lap. It had President Wilford Woodruff’s own signature on it. She would show it at the door so she could go inside to see the temple dedication.
“To see President Woodruff?”
“We do love our prophet, but why else do you want to go?” Papa tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.
Hannah leaned back in her seat. What answer was Papa after?
“You think about that.” Papa patted her knee. “On the way home, you can answer again.”
The train ride went by quickly, and soon Hannah found herself staring at the Salt Lake Temple. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. Looking up at the spires made her delightfully dizzy. The angel Moroni sparkled in the morning sun. “Holiness to the Lord,” Hannah read from the inscription on the wall. She felt a powerful joy in her heart. She promised herself that someday she would be married right here in the temple.
Hannah whispered to her father, “I know why I want to go to the temple. It’s because of Charley and Grandfather Bird and the rest of our family. It’s for Holiness to the Lord and for me too.”
Papa nodded, tears pooling in his eyes. “That’s why I want to go too.”

I recently had an insightful conversation with a 15-year-old Aaronic Priesthood holder. He helped me understand how easy it is in this Internet age for young people to almost inadvertently be exposed to impure and even pornographic images. He pointed out that for most principles the Church teaches, there is at least some recognition in society at large that violating these principles can have devastating effects on health and well-being. He mentioned cigarette smoking, drug use, and alcohol consumption by young people. But he noted that there is no corresponding outcry or even a significant warning from society at large about pornography or immorality.

My dear brothers and sisters, this young man’s analysis is correct. What is the answer? For years, prophets and apostles have taught the importance of religious observance in the home.

Parents, the days are long past when regular, active participation in Church meetings and programs, though essential, can fulfill your sacred responsibility to teach your children to live moral, righteous lives and walk uprightly before the Lord. With President Monson’s announcement this morning, it is essential that this be faithfully accomplished in homes which are places of refuge where kindness, forgiveness, truth, and righteousness prevail. Parents must have the courage to filter or monitor Internet access, television, movies, and music. Parents must have the courage to say no, defend truth, and bear powerful testimony. Your children need to know that you have faith in the Savior, love your Heavenly Father, and sustain the leaders of the Church. Spiritual maturity must flourish in our homes. My hope is that no one will leave this conference without understanding that the moral issues of our day must be addressed in the family. Bishops and priesthood and auxiliary leaders need to support families and make sure that spiritual principles are taught. Home and visiting teachers can assist, especially with children of single parents.

The young man I mentioned earnestly asked if the Apostles knew how early in life teaching and protecting against pornography and impure thoughts should start. With emphasis, he stated that in some areas even before youth graduate from Primary is not too early.

Youth who have been exposed to immoral images at a very early age are terrified that they may have already disqualified themselves for missionary service and sacred covenants. As a result, their faith can be severely impaired. I want to assure you young people, as Alma taught, that through repentance you can qualify for all the blessings of heaven. That is what the Savior’s Atonement is all about. Please talk with your parents or a trusted adviser, and counsel with your bishop.

Perhaps just one example will suffice. One day just over a year ago, after taking care of matters at the office, I felt a strong impression to visit an aged widow who was a patient at St. Joseph Villa here in Salt Lake City. I drove there directly.
When I went to her room, I found it empty. I asked an attendant concerning her whereabouts and was directed to a lounge area. There I found this sweet widow visiting with her sister and another friend. We had a pleasant conversation together.
As we were talking, a man came to the door of the room to obtain a can of soda water from the vending machine. He glanced at me and said, “Why, you are Tom Monson.”
“Yes,” I replied. “And you look like a Hemingway.” He acknowledged that he was Stephen Hemingway, the son of Alfred Eugene Hemingway, who had served as my counselor when I was a bishop many years ago and whom I called Gene. Stephen told me that his father was there in the same facility and was near death. He had been calling my name, and the family had wanted to contact me but had been unable to find a telephone number for me.
I excused myself immediately and went with Stephen up to the room of my former counselor, where others of his children were also gathered, his wife having passed away some years previous. The family members regarded my meeting Stephen in the lounge area as a response by our Heavenly Father to their great desire that I would see their father before he died and answer his call. I, too, felt that this was the case, for if Stephen had not entered the room in which I was visiting at precisely the time he did, I would not have known that Gene was even in that facility.
We gave a blessing to him. A spirit of peace prevailed. We had a lovely visit, after which I left.
The following morning a phone call revealed that Gene Hemingway had passed away—just 20 minutes after he had received the blessing from his son and me.
I expressed a silent prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father for His guiding influence which prompted my visit to St. Joseph Villa and led me to my dear friend Alfred Eugene Hemingway.

Many years ago, I saw the meaning of love in a couple, Keith and Geneva, who demonstrated their love for each other for over 56 years of marriage. Marriage can bring many joys. In the deeply personal covenants of marriage, it can also provide a rich opportunity to provide support for each partner during times of illness or trial. For Keith and Geneva, their love for each other was tested after 27 years of marriage and six children.
At age 52, Geneva was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a degenerative nerve disease that took away Geneva’s ability to run, to dance, and eventually even to walk or stand. A talented sculptor and artist, she lost the ability to use her hands to sculpt. Due to the debilitating nature of the disease, the divorce rate is high among couples where one of the partners is diagnosed with MS. Geneva valiantly battled the disease for 29 years. One of the reasons Geneva was able to meet the illness with such courage was the constant, devoted care of her husband, Keith. Keith cherished his dear wife. He loved her with all his heart. He made changes in their home to make things easier for Geneva. He adjusted his own schedule to meet her needs. He stood by her during all her medical appointments and treatments. He lifted her literally and figuratively as the disease progressed in her body. He lived to make her life a joyful experience, regardless of the progression of the disease.
As I watched the love between Keith and Geneva flourish and deepen over many years and many trials, I eagerly anticipate seeing the great joy they will experience as they have resurrected bodies and continue in their life and marriage together throughout eternity, free of physical disease and pain. They loved each other with all their hearts.

A highlight for me was Interlochen, located on a lake in Michigan, one of the best music camps in the world for kids. I sent in my application for the eight weeks of intensive music training and couldn’t believe I got accepted.
The only problem was money. It cost thousands of dollars, and there was no way I’d have time to make that much before the deadline. So I prayed and prayed, and about a week before I had to send in the money, I was called into the office of a man who had a grant for someone with a handicap who was pursuing the arts. That, to me, was a miracle, and I’m really grateful for it. Someday, I’m going to help a musician like that.

As missionaries in the Argentina Buenos Aires South Mission, my companion, Elder Allred, and I received a referral card to contact a family from Russia. When we found the house, the woman recognized us as missionaries and invited us in to meet her family.
We quickly realized the Balva family understood very little Spanish, and it was difficult for us to understand them as well. From their broken Spanish, we gathered that they had been in Argentina only a short time but were eager to learn about the Church. We adapted the first lesson into simplified Spanish, and the family flipped through their two Russian-Spanish dictionaries as we slowly taught our message, but we weren’t sure how much of it they really understood.
After making an appointment to return, we walked home, discussing how difficult it had been to convey the meaning of our message. We wondered if the family would understand the other lessons any better or if they would get frustrated and ask us to stop coming.
We returned to visit the Balva family the following day to see how they were and if they had begun reading the Book of Mormon and praying to know of its truthfulness. To our surprise and joy, they excitedly showed us a paper on which they had written in Spanish the principles we had taught them. They also shared with us what they had read in 3 Nephi 11 regarding the Savior’s visit to the American continent, assuring us that they had understood all we had discussed the day before and that they were excited to learn more.
Over the next few weeks my testimony was strengthened as the Holy Ghost witnessed to the Balva family of the gospel’s truthfulness and enlightened their understanding in Spanish. Heavenly Father knew the desire of their hearts and recognized the sincerity of their prayers to find truth. Together, the Balva family, Elder Allred, and I experienced the joy described in D&C 50:22: “Wherefore, he that preacheth and he that receiveth, understand one another, and both are edified and rejoice together”—not because we spoke the same language but because of the universal language of the Spirit.
The Balva family introduced us to another Russian family, whom we were also privileged to teach. Both families made covenants with Heavenly Father by entering the waters of baptism not long after we met them.
I am a witness that the words of President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) are true: “The influence of the Spirit is the most important element in this work. If you will allow the Spirit to magnify your callings, you will be able to work miracles for the Lord” (new mission presidents’ seminar, June 25, 1986).

When he was eight years old, young Franklin became very ill with rheumatic fever. The doctor told his parents that he probably would not live to be eighteen. Later, when he was given his patriarchal blessing, he was promised that he would “live to a goodly age.” Elder Richards said, “I always had more faith in the patriarch than in the doctor.” Now, at the age of eighty-two, he feels that he has proven the patriarch right.

One day my mom asked me to go with her to the bishops’ storehouse. I didn’t want to go, but then I remembered a story I read in the November 2010 Friend called “Super-Fast Service.” In the story, Truman helped his mom gather food for a family in need. I also remembered that the Savior helped people who were hungry, feeding them from two fishes and five loaves of bread. I realized I should go, so I went and I enjoyed it a lot! When I got home, I felt very happy inside. This good feeling was the Spirit telling me I had made a good choice.