Gospel Story Finder

When I was a little girl growing up in Perú, I dreamed of traveling through time. But it wasn’t until I was older that I found a way to do so. I don’t have a spectacular machine with flashing lights and strange sounds, and I don’t have to wear a special suit. All I have to do is open a book. But it is not just any book—it is my book of memories, where I keep things that have special meaning to me.
One of my favorite trips through time begins with the cover of a card. On it are beautiful flowers in a vase. Whenever I see this card I am taken back, and it seems like yesterday I held it in my hands for the very first time.
Sister Nancy Pace was one of my Primary teachers; we called her Sister Nancy. We Primary children loved her very much for teaching us new songs and telling us about Jesus Christ. Sister Nancy and the other Primary leaders worked for many months to help prepare the CTR class for their baptisms. Knowing we would be baptized like Jesus Christ was exciting for us, but we still felt nervous.
One day Sister Nancy told us the story of Nicodemus and the Savior, and we read John 3:5: “Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.” Sister Nancy told us that once we were born of water through baptism, we would be born of the Spirit through receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands. She said that baptism was a commandment from the Lord and that by being obedient to this commandment, we could show our love for Him.
As the day of my baptism approached, Sister Nancy told me and the other children who were going to be baptized that she was very sorry but she was not going to be able to attend our baptism. But she said her heart would be with us.
The day before I was baptized, I began feeling very nervous. I repeated again and again to myself, All you have to do is go down a few steps and take Daddy’s hand. But when I thought about going down under all that water, I was afraid I would never come back up. As I worried about this, someone delivered to me a white envelope from Sister Nancy. When I opened it and read the message in the beautiful flowered card, my fears disappeared.
Romy,
I want to send you special greetings. I know that tomorrow you are going to be baptized. It is such a special day, and I wanted to be there, but I am not going to be able to. You are a good girl, and I know that Father in Heaven is very happy with you and that you are going to have a very special day. I am very happy for you and grateful for your strong desire to obey the Lord. I hope everything goes well.
With love,
Sister Nancy
Reading these words strengthened my desire to be obedient to the commandment to be baptized. At that moment I was more sure than ever that the Church is true.
The following day I was nervous, but the words of my teacher echoed in my heart: “I am very happy for you and grateful for your strong desire to obey the Lord.” Again, my fears vanished, and I felt confident as I was baptized.
Remembering my baptism is one of my favorite trips through time—a trip that begins with the cover of a card and ends with a special feeling—the testimony my dear teacher planted in my heart.

“Okay, class, we have just about five minutes left for journal writing,” says Mr. Haupt, our sophomore English teacher. “And since Christmas is next week, I want you to write about the one thing you want more than anything else. I’m not terribly concerned about structure at the moment. I do, however, want details. Lots and lots of concrete details. As I’ve said before, well-chosen details make the difference between lifeless writing and writing that …” Mr. Haupt startles us all by taking in a sudden rush of air through his nostrils, “… that breathes.”
Writing that breathes. Only an English teacher, even if he is good-looking in a ’70s kind of way, could say something so truly undecipherable.
I can hear the rustle of paper all around me as kids fish for their class journals. “I hate it when he makes us write in these dumb things,” grumbles the girl behind me.
Usually I feel the same. Only today I know exactly what I’m going to write about. In fact, I can practically feel the words surging through my pen, getting ready to
“Wanted: a guy for Christmas. Should be very tall and slim like Jed Campbell. Should have green eyes like Jed Campbell and also light brown hair with streaks of sun like Jed Campbell. Should look really great in a pair of stone-washed jeans like Jed Campbell. Should adore pizza and Hires root beer like Jed Campbell. Should walk and talk like Jed Campbell. Should, in fact, be Jed Campbell.”
As you may have guessed by now, I have a major crush on Jed Campbell, who happens to sit on the back row of English class. My three older sisters (one’s married, one’s on a mission, one’s away at college) always tease me about my crushes, saying that I fall in and out of love more often than some people (namely me) clean up their bedrooms. But it’s different this time. This is it. The real thing. I’ve felt this way since November.
Here’s the best part. I think maybe he likes me too. Sometimes he waits for me after class, and he always smiles at me in the hall. Yesterday at lunch he and his friend even sat down by me and my friends. I think that’s a good sign.
The bell rings. I slam my journal shut and stuff it in my backpack, then get up to leave.
“Cynthia?”
Did you just hear that loud pounding noise? Well, it’s my heart.
“Oh, hi, Jed.”
He falls into step next to me as we walk out of the classroom and into the hall.
“Hey,” he says, “I was wondering if you wanted to do something tonight. Maybe we could go to a movie.” Jed smiles, and I can’t help but notice what white teeth he has. That would be another good detail to add to my paragraph.
“A movie would be great,” I say.
“So I’ll pick you up around 6:00. Okay?”
“That would also be great.”
“Great.”
We both laugh before splitting up and going to our separate classes. I practically float through the door. Sometimes life is just so fine, don’t you know.
When I get home from school, I can hardly wait to tell Mom my big news about Jed. She’s tending my five-year-old nephew, Travis, on the couch next to our Christmas tree, reading The Cat in the Hat. Travis is the son of my big sister Emily and her husband, Gary.
“Cynthia! Thank goodness you’re home!” Mom looks pretty frazzled. I’m dying to tell her about tonight, but I can tell she’s really stressed, so I do the mature thing and ask her what’s going on in her life first.
“What isn’t ‘going on in my life?’” Mom replies, standing up and brushing back a strand of hair. “Your father is still out of town. I’m supposed to be at a meeting as we speak, both Gary and Emily have to work late tonight, and Travis’s baby-sitter canceled on them at the last minute. I’ve been staying with him until you could get home.” She looks at me, expectantly.
“Oh, no. Not tonight. I definitely have plans.”
“Cynthia, honey, please. This is an emergency.”
I have to admit she does look like someone getting ready to appear on an episode of Rescue 911.
“But, Mom …”
“But, Cynthia …”
I fold my arms across my chest and tap my foot. “Okay, fine.” I really hope she can tell how happy I am not.
Mom puts an arm around my shoulder. “You’re the best, Cynthia. You have no idea how much this helps.”
Then she turns to Travis, who is still sitting on the couch pretending to read. He’s doing his Cat in the Hat voice right now: “Give me all your hats, you guys, or I’m gonna bite your legs off.”
“Travis, Cynthia will take care of you for the next little while. Okay?”
He looks up for a second and flashes me a smile. Then Mom unloads the rest of the bad news. “Gary gets off at 9:00, and Emily doesn’t finish closing out until 10:00. I’m not sure when I’ll be home, but I have a feeling it will be late.”
Of course. Naturally. I didn’t have something else I really wanted to do tonight. Sometimes life is just so not fine.
Mom flies out the door, pulling her coat on as she goes, and I go to the telephone to call Jed. I’m both relieved and disappointed when I get the answering machine.
“Jed, it’s me, Cynthia. Hey, things are kind of desperate here. It turns out I have to baby-sit my nephew, Travis, so I can’t go out tonight. I’m really sorry.” I pause, “So anyway, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There. I’ve just ruined my one and only chance for true happiness in this life and possibly in the next.
“Hey, Cynthia,” says Travis, joining me. “Wanna play G.I. Joes with me?”
I sigh. “Sure, Travis. Go get your guys.”
Before I know it, he’s got everything set up in the middle of the living room floor. He gets to be the good guys. I get to be the bad guys.
“Heh, heh, heh,” I say, using my best bad guy voice, “Let’s go wipe out the Joes.”
Travis gives me a withering look. “That’s not how they talk, Cynthia.”
Don’t you just love it when a five-year-old starts giving you instructions? He tells me what I have to say and where I get to move my guys. In other words, I’m just the furniture mover.
Travis and I play G.I. Joes for about half an hour, which I think is pretty nice of me. Enough, however, is definitely enough.
“Hey, Travis, I’m getting tired. Why don’t you watch cartoons for a little while?” Actually, I want some time to think about not going out with Jed tonight. I’m in the mood to suffer.
Travis grumbles, but in the end he trudges into the family room by himself where he flips on the television. Naturally he leaves his stuff all over the floor for me to pick up, which I do. Then I collapse in a chair by the living room window and watch the snow fall. It’s five o’clock. Just another hour from now I might have been going to a movie.
“Cynthia?”
It’s Travis already.
“Will you play Old Maid with me?” he asks.
What I want to say is, Thanks to you, Travis, I am an old maid. But instead I give him a weak smile and say, “Maybe later.”
It’s not that I don’t think Travis is a real cute kid. He’s got a killer grin and these huge brown eyes that usually knock my socks off. I don’t even mind baby-sitting him most of the time. But tonight, I have to be honest, Travis is getting on my nerves in a big way.
“Go get your coloring book and color for a little while,” I tell him.
“Will you color with me, Cynthia?”
“Not right now.”
“Please. Pl-e-e-e-e-a-a-a-s-e.”
“No!” I snap. “I want to be alone right now, Travis. Okay?”
He doesn’t say a thing, just looks at me for a long time, then turns around and walks back to the family room.
So what do you think? Don’t you agree that I’m entitled to have a little time to myself, especially after my big sacrifice and everything?
Then why do I feel like such an incredible jerk?
I try to shake off the feeling by watching the snow some more. It’s really coming down hard, and the flakes are so huge they almost look like those old-fashioned doilies you see draped on the backs of overstuffed chairs. When I was a kid, I absolutely loved storms like this. I’d bundle up and run outside and try to catch snowflakes on the tip of my tongue. Maybe you did the same thing too.
Something pricks at me. My conscience maybe? Sometimes I really hate my conscience. I heave a sigh and walk into the family room where Travis is busy pretending to be a ninja.
“Hey there, Travis.”
He totally ignores me and gives the air a deadly kick.
“Do you want to go outside and play in the snow with me?” I ask.
Travis drops the ninja routine and turns with a full-court smile. “YES!”
So the two of us stuff ourselves like sausages into winter clothes and run outside where we make angels and throw snow into each other’s face. Pretty soon the neighbor’s big black Newfoundland dog, Rudy, joins us, his tail swishing behind him like a flag. I know from past experience that this dog definitely has a special talent.
“Hey, watch this, Travis.” I lightly pack a snowball and throw it in Rudy’s general direction. He bellows out a bark and lunges, catching up the snowball in his mouth.
Travis laughs, then throws Rudy another snowball. Sure enough, Rudy snags that one too, just like he’s playing shortstop for the Yankees.
We keep this up until our arms are tired.
“No more, Rudy,” I say. Rudy, who looks pretty disappointed for a dog, lumbers back to his front porch and resumes residence.
Travis drops backwards in the snow and makes another angel, but this time, instead of getting up, he just stares at the night sky, full of stars. “I wonder if that star is still up there somewhere.”
“Which star?”
“You know, Cynthia. The one over the barn where Baby Jesus was born.”
“The Star of Bethlehem,” I say, smiling. “I don’t know where it is now.”
“I know what!” Travis springs to his feet. “Let’s go find it!”
I start laughing until I realize I’ve made Travis feel stupid. I used to hate it when grown-ups did that to me, even though I realize now they didn’t mean to.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go look for it.”
So Travis and I start walking around the block, looking for the Star of Bethlehem. When he’s not throwing his head back to search the sky, Travis is running ahead, singing Christmas carols at the top of his lungs. He doesn’t know most of the words, but that’s okay. He’d rather make up his own. All I know is that I suddenly love the sound of his high-pitched voice ringing across the evening snow.
And then the most amazing thing happens.
Travis stands beneath a street lamp and looks up to the sky again, but this time his whole face is shining, filled with light. The forgotten words of an old Primary “Jesus once was a little child, a little child like me.”
I almost stop breathing, and it’s suddenly as though the winter air around me is warm and full of the smell of the sea and the sound of gulls laughing and that the boy in front of me is another little boy from long ago, standing on the shore, his hair and face blazing with sun.
The moment passes, and it’s just me and Travis again, looking for stars. We finish our trip around the block, Travis still blasting through a billion songs and kicking snow with his feet, me bringing up the rear more slowly.
“Who’s that on the porch, Cynthia?” Travis wants to know as we round the corner. I squint to see through the night.
You’re really not going to believe this. It’s Jed.
“Hey, you guys,” he says, walking toward us with that loping step I just love. In fact, he looks so adorable right now I could just faint dead in the snow. “I wanted to know if you want to go to 7-Eleven and buy some hot chocolate with me.”
Travis whoops, and I smile. Sometimes life is just so fine.
Later when I’m in bed, I’m still thinking about how fine life can be but also about how it can take you so totally by surprise. Let me give you an example of what I mean, since Mr. Haupt, our English teacher, always says that specific examples make your writing stronger.
I got the guy I wanted for Christmas all right, and he’s even more wonderful than I imagined he would be. It just turns out there was something I wanted even more, only I didn’t even know it.
What I really wanted was to feel the presence of the Savior in my life, and thanks to a five-year-old kid, I did.
So, Travis, even though I know you’re home asleep right now, surrounded by the zoo of stuffed animals you take to bed with you every night even though it drives your mother crazy because there’s no room left for you, I have something I want to say.
I love you, Travis. Merry Christmas.

Joseph’s baby son caught a bad cold the night the mob attacked Joseph. A few days later, the baby died. But Joseph and Emma continued to have faith in Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation.

The mailman came about an hour ago and left the March New Era. Because I live with three teenagers, I try to look at the magazine as soon as it comes or I might not see it again for months! I’d had a busy morning, and it seemed like a good time for a lunch break. So I sat down and began to read. When I came to “Nobody Ever Remembers His Sunbeam Teacher,” I thought it would be a good article to recommend to my twin daughters who have been taking turns teaching the Sunbeam class and caring for the Primary nursery. After reading it I knew the message was for me also, a recently released Relief Society president. I think the New Era often says things to young people that they don’t hear if said by a parent. Thanks for the help the New Era gives me as a parent and a person.
Mrs. Charles W. SingTinker A.F.B., Oklahoma

When we “put on Christ,” it becomes possible either to resolve or to lay aside differences, disagreements, and disputes. A rather dramatic example of overcoming division is found in our Church history. Elder Brigham Henry Roberts (commonly known as B. H. Roberts), born in England in 1857, served as a member of the First Council of the Seventy—what we refer to today as the Presidency of the Seventy. Elder Roberts was an able and tireless defender of the restored gospel and of the Church in some of its most difficult times.

In 1895, however, Elder Roberts’s service in the Church was put in jeopardy by contention. B. H. had been appointed as a delegate to the convention that drafted a constitution for Utah when it became a state. Afterward, he decided to become a candidate for the United States Congress but did not notify or seek permission from the First Presidency. President Joseph F. Smith, a counselor in the First Presidency, censured B. H. for that failure in a general priesthood meeting. Elder Roberts lost the election and felt his defeat was due in large part to President Smith’s statements. He was critical of Church leaders in some political speeches and interviews. He withdrew from active Church service. In a lengthy meeting in the Salt Lake Temple with members of the First Presidency and Council of the Twelve, B. H. remained adamant in justifying himself. Later, “President [Wilford] Woodruff gave [Elder Roberts] three weeks to reconsider his position. If he remained unrepentant, they would release him from the Seventy.”

In a subsequent private meeting with Apostles Heber J. Grant and Francis Lyman, B. H. was initially unyielding, but love and the Holy Spirit ultimately prevailed. Tears came to his eyes. The two Apostles were able to respond to certain perceived slights and offenses that troubled B. H., and they left with a heartfelt plea for reconciliation. The next morning, after lengthy prayer, Elder Roberts sent a note to Elders Grant and Lyman that he was prepared to reunite with his brethren.

When he later met with the First Presidency, Elder Roberts said, “I went to the Lord and received light and instruction through His Spirit to submit to the authority of God.” Motivated by his love of God, B. H. Roberts remained a faithful and an able Church leader to the end of his life.

“I remember as a young father hearing Elder Richard L. Evans (1906–71) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles say, ‘Hobbies none, just my sons.’ That was a lesson to me that I needed to first pay attention to my family.”

On a typical Super Saturday, about 60 young Latter-day Saints gather in Frankfurt. After the lesson, the activity may include a visit to a castle or museum, some form of athletic competition, or maybe a talent show and dance. This time, however, the group headed downtown, and that meant a ride on the subway.
In most large European cities, subways, buses, and trains combine to form a mass transit system capable of delivering passengers within a few blocks of any given destination. At a kiosk, the seminary group queued up to buy tickets, boarded a train, changed to the subway, and got off near Romerburg, a square named for the building, Zum Romer, in which the coronation banquets of Holy Roman emperors used to be held.
Today it was fair time, and the square was crowded with people, vendors, tourists, even firemen in old-fashioned costumes and gypsies with their wagons. The seminary students walked past Gothic churches, looked at ruins of the foundations of the original city, savored the aromas of fresh waffles and sausages, and pointed at bright-colored balloons. They crossed the bridge over the Main river and watched boats drift on the shimmering ripples, carrying loads of ore, or cars, or people to their rendezvous. In the distance the skyscrapers of the new Frankfurt towered over the medieval turrets and churches that dot the city.
Back in Frankfurt, clouds have moved in to obscure the sun. The Super Saturday fair group decides to retreat to the shelter of the subway before rain falls again. The drops begin to splatter just as the group reaches the entrance to the underground tunnels. Within minutes they’re back on an aboveground trolley headed to the Platz near the chapel. It’s been a full Saturday, even though it’s still only the afternoon.
As the group leaves the train, the sun breaks through the clouds again and scatters over the city. Everything seems alive and fresh and new. Cars pass on the silvered streets. Pedestrians pause to fold umbrellas and breathe deeply of the just-washed air. Shopkeepers smile and uncover their sidewalk wares. Even the traffic cop grins at passers-by. People are glad once again for the sun.
Few of them, however, realize that there’s another kind of sunshine, one infinitely more precious, scattering through their city as the seminary students return home. It’s the sunshine of the gospel, and as young Latter-day Saints live the teachings of Christ, it will radiate throughout the land.

“I took the ideas from the brainstorming sessions and spent about a month incorporating them into a script,” Kristen Ellis recalls, explaining that the story is about 16-year-old Sharon, played by Melanie Valentine, who falls in love with a high school athlete, Kevin (Ed Simons). He is a member of the Church but inactive. Their friendship causes Sharon to doubt God and constantly fight with her parents about late dates and her changing attitude.

A complexity of personalities thicken the plot. Sharon’s brother, Mark (Alan Newbold) is preparing for a mission and tries to make his sister his first convert. Her friend, Diane (Sandi Schroader), is successful in activating a new nonmember friend (Terry Pond), but has a difficult time influencing Sharon away from her new life-style.

“Everyone can relate to at least one of the characters,” Kristen says, “and each of them is a little bit of me—strong, weak, confident, doubting, but like all teenagers, searching for a place in the world.”

Like the teenagers who did the work, those in the story came out triumphant. With love of God and a growing love for each other, the actors acted, the singers sang, the orchestra played, and the dancers danced; and when they were through and the lights were lowered on the last strains of “Oh, my child, this is Saturday. Blessings are in store, blessings are in store,” there was scarcely a dry eye in the audience or on stage.

When I became a priest in the Windsor Ward, London Ontario Canada Stake, our Young Men president, Brother Sandor, encouraged us to bless and pass the sacrament and perform baptisms as a way to exercise our priesthood. In one Sunday lesson, he also taught us about giving blessings during Aaronic Priesthood ordinations. He said, “You must be bold enough to say what the Spirit prompts you to say but be humble enough not to make up your own words!”
Not long after that lesson, a young convert in our ward was sustained as a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, and Brother Sandor asked me to be the “voice” in the ordination. I was scared. I had never laid my hands on anybody’s head before, and I felt inadequate. But then the Spirit reassured me that it would be fine for me to do it, and I was reminded of what my Young Men president had taught us.
The young man to be ordained sat down in the chair, and I stood directly behind him. When we were all ready, Brother Sandor guided me through the ordinance prayer, and I repeated every word he said. After we had finished the ordination by saying, “… and we wish to pronounce a blessing on your head at this time,” Brother Sandor looked at me and indicated that I was on my own.
At that point, the priesthood entirely changed its meaning for me. It was no longer just a title, but the actual authority to act in God’s name—and I was giving that authority to someone else. I paused and waited for the Spirit to whisper to me what I was to say. It is difficult for me to describe the feelings I had during the blessing, but I can say that I now have a stronger testimony that the power of the priesthood is real.

When N. Eldon Tanner was born in Salt Lake City on May 9, 1898, the West was still a little bit wild. His mother had come to Utah from a one-room dugout on a farm near Aetna, Alberta, Canada, for the birth. When she returned home with her infant son six weeks later, highwaymen stopped the train and robbed the passengers.

My life has changed thanks to the Liahona (Spanish) magazine. During 1991 there were articles that helped me turn my life around, progress in the gospel, and encourage me to share the gospel message with others.
Keep publishing beautiful and meaningful articles that will soften hearts and change lives for the better just as mine was.
Magaly Mercado MartínezAugust 15 Ward, Arequipa Perú Manuel Prado Stake

A mother wrote, “After October conference, in family council, we decided to earn some money not to spend it for Christmas, but to send it to missionaries. The boys, ages five and six, gathered cans for refunds, stacked wood, raked leaves, vacuumed the car, and swept the garage. Two-year-old Becky stacked wood and set the table. Mom gave piano lessons. Daddy cracked his piggy bank of eight years. One boy lost a tooth, and Daddy paid him a quarter for it. He promptly loosened and removed two more for an additional fifty cents! We are sending our total earnings ($81.85). It’s been a pleasure.”

I was blessed with that same feeling of fellowship by a priesthood leader when I was in the Aaronic Priesthood. He understood how to build priesthood fellowship that can last. He arranged with the owner of a woodlot for us to spend an afternoon chopping wood and putting it in bundles. The bundles were for widows so that they could have a fire in the cold of winter. I still remember the warmth of fellowship I felt with my priesthood brethren. But even more I remember feeling that I was doing what the Savior would do. And so I felt fellowship with Him. We can build that precious fellowship in our quorums in this life and then we can have it forever, in glory and in families, if we live according to the covenants.

While in New York City, the choir performed a musical fireside in the newly dedicated Latter-day Saint meetinghouse in Harlem.
“Performing at Carnegie is such an accomplishment and a great feather to put in the hat of our music department,” said Justin Smith, the coordinator for the university’s performance tours. “But when we did the Harlem fireside with the newly formed BYU–Hawaii Alumni Chapter of New York, that became my tour highlight.”
Brother Smith continued: “Before the tour, the fireside seemed like just another ‘appointment’ on the itinerary—it kind of flew under the radar. That’s probably why it was so incredible, because it was an unexpected moment on the tour that really struck a chord. Carnegie was commendable. Harlem was the highlight.”

To encourage my ward to study the latest apostolic teachings on this topic, we dedicated one of our combined fifth Sunday lessons to discuss how we could better follow the guidelines. That lesson turned out to be a deeply useful, poignant, and edifying experience.

Liking the school was one thing, but getting accepted was another thing altogether.

“I had to audition in front of the teacher,” Kamila said. “It was really hectic, because I had to create two storyboards [outlines of her film ideas] to present. I wasn’t prepared on the first day like everyone else, so I had to go on the second day. On the way there we got a little lost, and I was late. My mom told me not to worry and to call my dad. I did, and he said a prayer with me over the phone. It was nice.”

Kamila calmed down and presented her storyboards. The result? She was accepted into the program, and she just started her third year there.

I have one other thought I should like to express. Brigham Young was a great defender of the Prophet Joseph Smith. There were Judases in the ranks in that day, just as there were in the Savior’s day, and just as we have today, some who are members of the Church who are undercutting us, who are betraying their trusts. We are shocked when we see the places from which some of these things come.
Brigham Young was invited by some of these men who were trying to depose the Prophet Joseph from his position as President of the Church; but they made a mistake by inviting President Brigham Young into their circle. And after he had listened to what their motives were, he said something to this effect: “I want to say something to you men. You cannot destroy the appointment of a prophet of God, but you can cut the thread that binds you to the prophet of God, and sink yourselves to hell.”
There was a pugilist there by the name of Jacob Bump, so the story goes, who doubled up his fists and started toward President Young, who replied to this man’s threats: “I would like to lay hands on a man like you in defense of the Prophet Joseph Smith.”
Remember that, brethren. You cannot destroy the appointments of the prophets of God. The Lord knows whom he wants to preside in his church, and sometimes it takes a lot of practicing, guiding, testing, before he may know whether or not one of us is prepared for the present assignment.

After the people recovered, they continued to build the beautiful city on a bend in the Mississippi River and to settle many other outlying cities. Soon Nauvoo had many shops and factories. Professional associations and schools, including a university, were established. The people also put on plays and held dances and parties. Church meetings were held in a grove of trees where thousands of people would gather to hear the Prophet and others speak.
Once Chief Keokuk and about 100 chiefs and braves and their families of the Sac and Fox Indian tribes called on the Prophet. Joseph escorted them, while a marching band played, to the grove. There he preached to them about the Book of Mormon and its promises.
After the Prophet spoke, Chief Keokuk said: “I believe you are a great and good man. … We intend to stop fighting, and follow the good talk you have given us.”*

Jeff Blanchard, Dave’s older brother, carried items from a tag (yard) sale back into a man’s garage and stacked the boxes against the wall. “The guy asked for my phone number so he could call me anytime he wanted me to do some work for him,” said Jeff.

All these experiences were a fulfillment of a blessing I had received before leaving on my mission that said I would bring many people into the Church who would become great leaders. But now I was facing a transfer that I was not excited about, completely unaware of what was in store for me in my new area. The transfer was to Agoura Hills, California. I believed my mission president was an inspired man, but why Agoura Hills? The area was very affluent but very low in baptisms. You could count on one hand the baptisms in that area for the past several years. I had been one of the top baptizers in the mission for several months, but now all that would probably change. Then I remembered the words from a song that was sung at my farewell: “I will go where you want me to go, dear Lord.” So I went.
It is every convert’s dream to find the missionaries who baptized him and let them know about the change they brought to his life with the gospel. I also had that dream, especially because so many members of my family had been baptized after the elders left our area. I was now serving a successful mission. I had a sister attending Ricks College, another sister on a scholarship at BYU, and a brother and a sister both preparing to go on missions. I had lost track of the elders who had converted me. I wanted to find them and let them know how many lives they had touched.
My second Sunday in Agoura Hills, just before sacrament meeting started, a man in the ward came up to me and asked me about myself. I told him I was from Wyoming, and he said they had sent a son on a mission to Wyoming. A sensation of electricity ran through my body, but I knew it was not likely that this was one of the elders that I knew. So I asked, “What mission? The Colorado, Utah, or Montana mission?”
He said his son had served in the Billings Montana Mission, and when I asked him if he had ever been in Lander, Wyoming, where I was converted, the man answered yes again. I asked him a few dates and names and soon discovered that the man I was talking with was the father of one of the elders who had converted me. I said, “Your son is one of the elders responsible for bringing me and my family into the Church.” The man immediately introduced his wife, and tears filled her eyes as she realized that she was seeing a direct result of the sacrifices she and her family had made to send their son on a mission. Brother Miller introduced me to other members of the ward, and every time he told them who I was he choked up. I sat in sacrament meeting with tears streaming down my face as I thought of the mysterious ways the Lord had worked in my life. Who could have predicted that Elder Miller would come to my home and I would go to his almost nine years later?
I was able to see Elder Miller again, and he looked the same except for the three little daughters clinging to his leg. I finally had the chance to tell him thank you. He too was overcome with emotion as he told me what a feeling of satisfaction he had, seeing someone he had taught having as much success in the gospel as my family and I were.