Gospel Story Finder

Others, like Holly Mattison, 16, talked about living the gospel in a high school where, as a Latter-day Saint, she’s outnumbered. “It’s not always easy,” she said. “There are lots of challenges.” But she said a talk at one of the devotional reminded her that the Savior loves her, that he know her by name and will help her to be strong.

In our squadron I had a dear friend who was an outstanding football player. Years before, his team played in a New Year’s Day bowl game. Before a sold-out stadium and a large television audience, his team lost by a huge score. It turned out he and a few other members of his team had not kept the training rules. They paid a dear price. They had to live with knowing they were not prepared to play the big game; they had to live with the final score for the rest of their lives.
Years passed. Two members of this same football team were in my flight training unit. One was an exemplary, well-disciplined student and a model pilot who had learned his lesson well from the football game.
However, the other had not learned to listen to those with more knowledge and experience. When his turn would come to learn emergency procedures and to precondition his mental and physical responses so they would be automatic, even instantaneous, my friend would put his arm around the airman instructor and say, “Check me off for three hours of emergency procedure.” Then, instead of training, he would go to the pistol range or play golf or go to the officers’ club. But he never learned the emergency procedures.
On one occasion he was asked what he would do in an emergency. His answer: “I am never going to bail out; I am never going to have an emergency.”
On an evening mission a few months later, fire erupted in his plane, and it dropped below 1,500 meters, spinning in flames. Noting the fire warning light, the younger pilot who was with him said, “Let’s get out of here.” And with the centrifugal force pulling against him, the younger man, who had taken his training seriously, bailed out. His parachute opened at once and he slammed to the ground, receiving serious injuries. But he survived.
On the other hand, my friend stayed with the airplane and died in the crash. He paid the price for not having learned the lessons that could have saved his life.

Every year, my husband and I and both our extended families go on a camping trip to celebrate the end-of-year holiday season. We choose a site that can accommodate our numbers and then camp from Christmas Eve until just after New Year’s Day.
These camps are a wonderful time for us to strengthen our family bonds. Because most of us are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, these camps also strengthen our testimony of Christ and of His Church as we celebrate His birth.
At the end of 2020, we found a site in Bikenibeu Village, Tarawa, which has a large mwaneaba (a traditional meetinghouse) that our whole family could sleep under. As always, my dear sister-in-law, Meteta, joined us in the camping festivities.
Meteta lived with my husband and me and, at 71 years old, she was more like a mother to us. She was still quite healthy and active, except that she walked on crutches as a result of a surgery she had 20 years earlier. Meteta loved our Christmas camping trips and eagerly participated in our family games and activities.
On the 31st of December, a few hours before our New Year’s celebration, Meteta was so excited. She took an early shower, got dressed and then sat down in the mwaneaba, ready to enjoy the night. Everyone else was rushing around, getting ready, too.
Then, in the midst of all the preparations, Meteta quietly said to me, “I have a burning pain in my chest.” I dropped everything I was doing, called my husband and another sister-in-law over, and soon several of us were trying to help her.
It all happened so fast. About fifteen minutes later, Meteta started to gasp for air. My husband and son gave her a priesthood blessing while we waited for the ambulance. Sadly, the doctors couldn’t do much more for her. Soon after we arrived at the hospital, our Meteta was gone.
That evening, the world stopped for us. As we slowly made our way back to the campsite—to share the tragic news and inform everyone that we had to break camp—my husband and I reflected on Meteta’s final moments. The doctors had done their best to revive her, and those around us tried to give us hope, but we felt a strange kind of peace that told us it was Meteta’s time to go.
Our faith in Jesus Christ and our testimony of His gospel also helped the rest of our family accept what happened. We had just spent a week in both worldly and spiritual celebration, but as our holiday camp transitioned into a funeral, we tuned the world out completely.
We mourned the loss of our dear Meteta—she had been a great source of stability in our home, and we would have to make many adjustments without her—but in the wake of her passing, we talked more about the meaning of our own lives.
We focused on our Saviour and on His divine gift of exaltation. We expressed deep gratitude for His atoning sacrifice and His victory over the grave. It was a time of spiritual renewal for all of us. As we worked together to organise and prepare for Meteta’s earthly farewell, our thoughts were on Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation, and on His Son, who has made it possible for us to reunite with Meteta again, one day.
Our family holiday camps are always boisterous events, full of music and dance, talent shows, laughter and fun, but this particular Christmas, the happiness of our festivities seemed to dim in the light of true joy—the joy that our Saviour Jesus Christ brought when He was born into this world to give us life.
Our understanding of His gospel is what brought our family peace after Meteta’s passing. It helped us to remember the real meaning of Christmas.

Sometimes I feel this way when life gets routine and boring. I find ways to make a difference in my life and the lives of others by doing things like volunteering for school or city programs. Remember, only you can make yourself bored, so stay busy.
Vanessa Lambson, 14Richfield, Utah

I wonder in this age if it is enough to just have the courage to say no, or do we have a further responsibility to be of service to others in helping them overcome the great curse that is now plaguing our society? There was one time in my life that I wished that I had exerted a little more influence in preventing a friend from partaking of a harmful substance. We were on a Scout outing in Yellowstone. Late one evening we went to see Old Faithful erupt. Walking back to our tents, my friend stopped me in a dark, secluded spot and took out a can of beer. I don’t know where he managed to get it. He said, “I have a treat for us”; then he offered to share the can of beer with me. Of course, my home training and teachings of great leaders in the auxiliaries and priesthood had been such that this was no temptation for me and that I was not to accept his offer. He drank the whole can, and I made no effort to dissuade or stop him. It had a harmful effect on our friendship. I really don’t know why. Maybe it was because I had a sense of guilt for not being more aggressive in preventing him from partaking of the beverage. And maybe on his part, he was afraid that I would reveal what occurred in a way that it would get back to his parents. Over the years I have been saddened by the loss of that friendship.

Nearby, the panes of a small hardware store reflect their own version of the Finnish sun and symbolize a miracle.
The miracle is that a foreign visitor could walk into the hardware store thinking it was the Design Center and leave still wondering, because the tools and utensils on the shelves of everyday Finnish shops are almost as beautiful as the treasures at the Center. Natural woods and simplicity of design make the most common tool as basic and appealing as the music of Sibelius, Finland’s beloved composer.

My parents always felt that it was important for me to get an education. When I was a junior in high school, I wanted to buy a car. It was the prettiest car I’d ever seen, a white 1950 Oldsmobile convertible, and its price was four hundred dollars. I had just four hundred dollars in my bank account. This is going to work out great, I thought.

When I told my mom about my plan, she asked, “How will you get to college?” Then she said, “I believe that if you will save your money and go to college, you will be able to buy an even nicer car.” I thought and prayed about it and decided that she was right. I saved my money and went on to college. Then, when I had finished the “twenty-second grade” and had my bachelor’s, master’s, and doctoral degrees, I bought an old classic convertible. I still drive this car. It reminds me that if you are patient, follow good counsel, and follow the Spirit’s guidance to do what’s right, there will be all kinds of rewards.

Buying and acquiring things when you are young is unwise. Invest in yourself with education. And the kind of education we will need most through the eternities is spiritual.

One such Ivorian was Phillipe Assard. Phillipe left for Köln, Germany, in 1971 to attend engineering school. While earning his degree, he met Annelies Margitta at a dance in her hometown of Remscheid. Before long, they married, Phillipe found employment, and the couple started a family.
In 1980 two full-time missionaries knocked on their door and presented the message of the Restoration, and the Assards quickly embraced the gospel. They were soon baptized and, in Brother Assard’s words, “overwhelmed with blessings.” Phillipe and Annelies were sealed in the Swiss Temple, and Phillipe found a new job that allowed him to better meet the needs of his growing family, by then consisting of a son, Alexandre Joseph, and a daughter, Dorothée Anne.
Despite the family’s improved economic conditions and increasingly comfortable life in Germany, Brother Assard began to feel drawn to his native Ivory Coast. He realized the development his country needed most would come only through the gospel of Jesus Christ, and he was determined to play a part in introducing the gospel to his country. An application to a company looking for engineers in Ivory Coast was turned down, but in 1984 Brother Assard decided to return to his homeland for a vacation and assess employment opportunities personally. He was disappointed to learn the company he had applied to was having financial problems. No other work opportunities materialized.
“I returned to Köln, but I had total faith in the Lord because I had this dream that the gospel must be established in Ivory Coast,” Brother Assard recalls. “So in 1986 after praying and fasting with my wife, I decided to return to Ivory Coast to give what I had received, to improve the lot of my family and my people.”
Before leaving Germany, the Assards received their patriarchal blessings, returned to the Swiss Temple, and traveled to Frankfurt, where they met with members of the Europe Area Presidency—Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin, now of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and Elder Russell C. Taylor, now an emeritus member of the Seventy. After explaining their desires to go to Ivory Coast, the family “received blessings and encouragement from them,” Brother Assard says, “and Elder Wirthlin gave me a list of all known members in the country, which was only a handful.”
Brother Assard quit his job, and the family sold their house and belongings. On 10 April 1986 the Assards left for Ivory Coast. They moved in with his parents in a small village near Abidjan—the nation’s largest city and its industrial center. Neither Sister Assard nor her children could speak any French. Nevertheless, Alexandre and Dorothée enrolled in school, while Sister Assard learned French from her in-laws and Brother Assard looked for work.
For an entire year Brother Assard fruitlessly sought employment. The strain of providing for his family weighed heavily upon him. He did not, however, let the difficulty of finding a job prevent him from moving the work of the Lord forward. He and Sister Assard sent letters to members on the list they had received in Germany. The Lucien Affoué family of Abidjan was the first to respond. Both families rejoiced to know they were not alone. Other members in Ivory Coast also responded but were too remote to meet with them.
Brother Assard directed the growing branch until Elder Marvin J. Ashton of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and Elder Alexander B. Morrison of the Seventy visited the country in 1987. At that time, United States embassy worker Terry Broadhead was set apart as the first branch president, with Brother Assard as his counselor. When Elder Ashton dedicated the land for the preaching of the gospel in September 1987, the country had 16 Church members.
Brother Assard later became the first native branch president in Ivory Coast. He also served as a district president. Sister Assard has been branch Relief Society and Young Women president and district Relief Society president. Her musical talent has proven invaluable in helping people learn Church hymns.
Temporal blessings soon followed the spiritual blessings. After being unemployed for a year, Brother Assard was hired by a European automobile manufacturer in Abidjan. His knowledge of French and German, along with his engineering degree, made a perfect match. Today he serves as assistant technical director for the company.
The Assards are eternally grateful for their blessings and for the guiding influence that directed them to Ivory Coast. Thanks to that influence, President Assard has seen the fulfillment of his dream that the gospel would be established among his people. Part of the fulfillment came on 17 August 1997 when the Abidjan Ivory Coast Stake was created, with Phillipe Assard as president. Through tears and smiles, Sister Assard says of the creation of this first stake in her adopted country, “We have worked and prayed for this day for 11 years.”
The Church’s first chapel in Ivory Coast was dedicated in April 1997, a decade after the country was dedicated for the preaching of the gospel and shortly before the creation of the country’s first stake. A chapel of their own represents a milestone for Ivorian Latter-day Saints, including the Affoués and the Assards, who have longed for a chapel in their native land since the two families first met under a tree in their home village 11 years ago.

I wanted to write and tell you how much I enjoy reading the New Era each month. Reading it is one of my favorite Sunday activities. I especially am thankful for the article “The Sabbath: A Personal Priority” in the March 2009 issue. I enjoy playing sports and quite a few times I have been asked to play or practice on Sundays. Most of the time I have said no, and I am more happy when I don’t play on Sundays than when I do. This was a very good article that was very easy for me to relate to. Thanks for putting it in your issue.
Mitch S., Montana

That achievement began in the Honduran jungle on a hot, steamy November day in 1839 when John Stephens and his two native helpers dug up a statue from the forest floor. “Francisco found the feet and legs, and Bruno a part of the body,” wrote Stephens, “and the effect was electric.” Victor W. Von Hagen wrote that on that date, “a new world, a new science—American archaeology—came into existence.” John Lloyd Stephens was its founder.

Youth in the Melrose Ward, Roseburg Oregon Stake, spent a day as “pioneers” to help polish their leadership skills. The youth were assigned to a family, as either parents or children, and given callings. All families also received a “baby” which was really a 10-pound sack of flour.

The night before the trek, “mothers” fixed dinner and the youth had a fireside about leadership and the possible challenges they might face on their journey. To make the trek more realistic, a few members of the group were assigned to have injuries or illnesses which would require help and support from the rest of the participants.

Although the trek was tiring and the youth were glad to rest when it was over, they all agreed that it was a good experience.

“All of the trials provided opportunities to serve others, to be a leader or learn from one, and gave us a real understanding of what the pioneers went through,” says Kristel Lander, who participated as a “mother” on the trek.

“We’re finally here. There is the stone house by the wharf,” Hilda’s father called.
“At last,” her mother sighed. “How good it will be to set foot on dry land again.”
Slowly the ship moved toward the shore. How many days, wondered Hilda, have we traveled up the river from New Orleans?
Soon many people were bustling up and down the gangplank that the sailors had lowered as a bridge between the ship and the wharf.
“Look, Mother,” Hilda called. “There goes Father. He’s carrying our rocking chair down the gangplank.”
When all their belongings had been unloaded, Hilda and her mother walked off the ship and onto land. Father had their belongings piled on a wagon. He helped Hilda and Mother climb onto the wagon seat, and then the three of them rode down the main street of Nauvoo. They rode slowly past the brick homes already completed and other homes being built.
Soon the Larson family reached the outskirts of Nauvoo. Halfway down a narrow lane where weeds grew, Father stopped the horse. They were in front of a small log cabin.
“Is this the home Brother Cox said we could use?” Mother asked as if she could not believe it.
Father stepped from the wagon and reached up to help Hilda down. “Yes,” he answered. “Brother Cox will be in England on his mission through the winter. By next summer we’ll have a home of our own.”
Hilda slowly followed her mother across a dirt yard to the cabin. They stepped through the doorway.
The room was small, about twenty steps in each direction. There was a fireplace on one wall, and two walls had single windows.
Hilda wrinkled up her nose at the smell of the damp earth floor mingled with the odor of old rags used to stuff the cracks.
“Well,” Mother sighed as she took off her shawl, “we must get busy and move our things inside. At least it will be good to have a roof over our heads.”
But sometimes during the winter that followed Hilda thought they would be almost as well off without a roof at all. On wet days it leaked, and icy drops of water often fell on Hilda’s face while she lay sleeping. When she sat before the fireplace, drops sometimes trickled down her neck. The cabin was seldom warm. There were no cupboards; a wooden chest was their table. Hilda’s bed was made on a board placed on the floor.
Father found work in the stone quarry, but on every tenth day he helped build the temple.
Hilda and her mother twisted cotton in wicks to sell to a local candle factory, and Mother sometimes helped a milliner make hats. So the Larsons kept busy throughout the long winter.
Finally spring came. Birds sang in the locust trees. Hilda saw lilac bushes begin to bloom, and bright yellow daffodils dotted the fields.
One morning Hilda’s mother said, “We’ve finished a bundle of wicks. Will you please take it to the factory?”
Hilda was glad for a walk in the warm spring sunshine.
Mother gave her the bundle of wicks and another package pinned tightly together. “Give this package to Mr. Lindgren, the shoemaker, after you deliver the wicks,” Mother told Hilda. “His shop is on the corner of Mulholland Street.”
Hilda asked what was in the package. Mother only smiled. “Mr. Lindgren will know,” she said.
When Hilda reached the candle factory, a plump lady took the wicks and counted them. “You and your mother have earned seventy-four cents,” she said.
Hilda left the factory and walked to Mr. Lindgren’s shop. Inside the long narrow building Hilda could smell new lumber. On a board plank near the door were finished shoes, heavy boots for men, and sturdy shoes for children. A beautiful pair of soft kid shoes caught Hilda’s attention. What girl in Nauvoo will be lucky enough to own those beautiful shoes? she wondered.
“Is that package for me?” Mr. Lindgren asked.
Hilda nodded. “I have one for your mother too,” he said. Mr. Lindgren handed Hilda a plain square box. “Be careful with it,” he cautioned.
Mother was waiting when Hilda reached the cabin. Hilda gave her the money she had received for the wicks, and then she held out the box. But Mother shook her head and told Hilda to keep it.
“I made a hat for Mr. Lindgren’s wife,” she explained, “and in exchange he made me something to give to you, Hilda, because you’ve been such a great help to me.”
Quickly Hilda opened the box. Inside was a pair of beautiful kid shoes just like the ones she had seen in Mr. Lindgren’s shop!
Hilda carefully took the shoes from the box. She could hardly believe they were for her.
“Oh, thank you, Mother!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright with love and happiness.
Hilda knew that she would have other shoes in her life, but she was sure that she would never again have shoes that could make her as happy as this beautiful pair!

Just before my twentieth birthday, I was called on a mission to Finland, where I used both the Finnish and Russian languages. I loved teaching the gospel, particularly in a foreign language. Consequently, when I returned home, I continued my study of Russian. I liked the language, and I wanted to teach it. I also hoped that someday I would be able to teach the gospel in countries where missionaries were not yet allowed to preach the gospel.
After I graduated from the university, I worked in the Family History Department of the Church and was assigned to the countries in Eastern Europe. Whenever I traveled to Poland, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, Hungary, and other countries, I felt that the time was not far off when the Church would be able to send missionaries to them. There was a special feeling among the people. They desired the freedom they knew others in the world enjoyed. More and more they could see and hear about freedom on TV and on the radio. The people were tired of not being able to solve their problems or become what they wanted to be. In many countries the people also wanted to know about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. These important changes in the people, and other changes in their governments, led to the introduction of the gospel into their countries.
In 1987 I was called as president of the Austria Vienna East Mission, which was created to work with the countries in Eastern Europe. The mission began with just a very few missionaries, and the number of baptisms was small. Now many missionaries are serving in countries like Russia, Bulgaria, Poland, Hungary, and Greece, where people only a few years ago could not worship Heavenly Father as they wanted. Many people are listening to the missionaries and are accepting the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I recall attending the funeral of an older man who had taken his life. His wife had died years earlier, and as his health declined, he felt he had less and less of a reason to live. Gradually he found himself confined to the four walls of his home. A semi-invalid, he was unable to visit friends or go grocery shopping. His food was delivered to his door. He missed going to church, missed regular fellowship with other members of his priesthood quorum.
Although he wasn’t able to get about, the doctor assured him he could live many more years. “You neither smoke nor drink,” the doctor said. “You’ve taken good care of yourself. Other than the fact that you’re confined to your house and wheelchair, I give you a clean bill of health.”
While the doctor was trying to be encouraging, the man felt discouraged. This good brother felt his earthly life no longer had any value, and he wanted to join his beloved wife in the spirit world. The more he thought about death, the more appealing it became to him. He had been a faithful member of the Church all his life; he had served two missions and had been diligent in several leadership positions at different times in his life. But as he thought about the release he would find through death, his mind became confused. He obviously concluded that taking his own life would solve his problems.
I visited with the family after the funeral. As you might expect, they were greatly disturbed by what their father and grandfather had done. Their feelings ranged from grief to anger to guilt. “I should have noticed how depressed he was,” one daughter said. “Then I could have helped him and prevented this.”
One son spoke rather harshly. “I never thought my father was a stupid man. But what can you say about this? If he loved us, he would never have done such a thing!”
A comment by the youngest son captured the despair they all felt: “There is no hope for dad now, is there,” he said. It was more a statement than a question. “All the good things he did throughout his life don’t matter anymore. Now that he’s taken his life, he will be in the telestial kingdom throughout eternity.” Then he wept.

This past month, one of the missionaries who served with Sister Ballard and me in Canada shared the details of how small things can compound into near destruction unless the course is corrected. He wrote:
“When I returned from my mission, I married and went to work in the construction industry. Over the next few years we had three children, and during this time I remained active in the Church. The demands of my business became much greater, and I became more determined to do whatever it would take to succeed financially. The effects of this were felt immediately at home; but with the support of an understanding wife, we felt we could endure until things ‘picked up.’”
He went on to say that because of financial strains, his wife began working. He began working long hours and neglected his family and Church duties. His demanding work schedule left him emotionally drained and physically exhausted. He became critical of others, including his family members and Church leaders.
His letter continues:
“As my debt continued to mount, the destruction of my peace and happiness increased. The love and tenderness we once knew as husband and wife had diminished to only memories. We found character flaws in each other and began to focus on them, wounding each other over the smallest incident. I began to blame everyone but myself, taking no responsibility for failures. A great feeling of hopelessness began to fill my heart, and I felt a cloud of darkness envelop me in my desperation.
“We knew our marriage could not endure under such conditions and began to talk in terms of divorce. I decided to get some financial counseling; and after reviewing my finances, it became the joke that I was worth more dead than alive, which seemed funny and rather innocent at the time. After continuing for a few more weeks, the threat of divorce as well as the very real threat of complete financial collapse seemed only a matter of time. The innocent joke of being worth more dead than alive developed into the appearance of a very real solution. I found myself alone at home, facing the crossroads of my decision. The thought came to me to reach out to the Lord one last time. Kneeling, I wept uncontrollably as I cried to the Lord for his mercy and help in my desperate hour.
“A few minutes later, word came that my mission president was in town and wanted to see me in an hour. As I sat with you, I wanted to hide my problems as I had done from everyone else. But your questions came, asking:
“‘How are you?’
“‘Fine.’
“‘How is your wife?’
“‘Doing good.’
“‘How are the children?’
“‘Great.’
“Then came the pause, and you looked into my eyes and asked, ‘How is your business?’ I began to weep as I told you my story.
“During the course of our meeting, you asked me to make you a promise: that I would read the Book of Mormon. After committing to you that I would, you blessed me, telling me to rivet myself to the gospel and to keep the commandments. I left you knowing the Lord had heard my plea for help.”
I am grateful that the Lord answered the prayers of this young man by prompting me to do the seemingly small thing of asking to see him. I did not know of any of his problems at the time but was able to help him to once again take hold of the iron rod of the gospel to guide his life. We must never ignore or pass by the prompting of the Spirit to render service to one another.

A family night activity at a swimming pool could have ended in tragedy except for the quick action of 12-year-old Mike Kinder.
The Kinder family was visiting some friends who had access to a pool. Four-year-old Kyle was holding onto the edge, watching his older brothers and sisters play in the deeper section of the pool. The youngster tried to swim for a short distance and couldn’t make it. Mike found his brother floating face down and pulled him to the edge of the pool and yelled for his dad. Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation revived little Kyle, who was taken to the hospital and later released.
Mike attributes his fast thinking to things he has learned in church and Scouting. He said that his leaders “teach you to use your head and to make decisions so that when the time comes to use what you’ve learned, your mind is already made up.”
Mike is a deacon in the Baytown Ward, Houston Texas East Stake.

About this same time, Elder Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, visited Japan and encouraged the youth of the Church to achieve four goals: (1) receive as much higher education as possible, (2) serve a full-time mission, especially the young men, (3) marry in the temple, and (4) gain skills to support a family. Until that point I had never planned to accomplish these four things. But I later knelt and prayed: “Heavenly Father, I want to accomplish those four goals. Please help me.”
I knew that in order to stay on the path of the chosen, I needed to follow the counsel of the Lord’s servants. I committed to do all I could to follow Elder Kimball’s advice and to work hard to build up the Church.
For the next several years I continued to work toward my four goals. I served as a construction missionary for two years, helping build two chapels in my home country. Then I was called to serve a full-time proselytizing mission. Soon after returning home, I married in the temple the woman from the Matsumoto Branch who wrote me the letter. Later I landed my dream job in a foreign trading company. As I followed the word of the Lord and the counsel of the prophets, I felt that again I was on the path of the chosen. And I am striving to stay on that path today.

Another sister wrote:
“It’s all over now! What? The area conference! I wish they could stay longer here,” she said. “Believe it or not it has been raining cats and dogs, but the sun shone brightly just before the prophet’s plane landed at the airport. There was a typhoon forecast, but it didn’t come until after the Brethren had left the country. I walked with Sister Kimball. I told her I could hardly believe I was walking with her. Know what she said? Well, she told me she is no different than I am. That she washed clothes, washed the dishes, and cooks food, plants vegetables, and does all the same things that I do.”

Elder Henry B. Eyring of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “Kneel together in humble prayer as a family, each having the opportunity to be voice. There may be times when the prayer seems rote and when those not praying let their minds wander. But there will be other priceless moments when someone will petition in faith for real needs and the Holy Ghost will touch hearts with testimony. I don’t remember as much of my mother’s teaching as I do her prayers for us. I could feel her love, and the Spirit confirmed in my heart that she loved Heavenly Father and the Savior and that her prayers would be answered. She brought blessings down on our heads then, and the memory of her prayers still does” (“A Legacy of Testimony,” Ensign, May 1996, 63).

In West Africa, where we are currently serving, we feel His Spirit being poured out in rich abundance upon the faithful Saints. In 1989 a storm hit Ghana—not a storm of wind or rain, but a storm of persecution, slander, and misunderstandings. It was a trying time; the Church was new there. All of our non-African missionaries were required to leave the country. Our meetinghouses were locked and guarded so that they could not be used by the members. The Saints could not gather together, so they worshiped as families in their own homes. Some members were arrested and even imprisoned. This period of time is referred to as “the freeze.” Members had little contact or support from the outside Church, but they were not left on their own to weather the storm. They had the scriptures and the words of the prophets; they put their trust and faith in the Lord, and He poured out His Spirit upon them. One member of the Church said: “We had the Spirit of the Lord with us; we could feel Him guiding and directing us. We drew closer to one another, and we drew nearer to the Savior.”
For 18 months the Saints fasted and prayed for the day when the freeze would end. In November of 1990, the ban was lifted. The worst of the storm had passed, but it had taken its toll. There were those who had fallen away. Their roots had been shallow and their foundation weak. The foundation of the Church in Ghana today is built on the faith of those who weathered the storm. They were deeply rooted in the gospel of Jesus Christ.