Gospel Story Finder

A few days later Dr. Barnardo spoke at a meeting and told those who attended about the shameful condition of children in the city’s slum areas—children for whom no one cared.
The newspapers reported Dr. Barnardo’s words and many wealthy and important people accused him of making statements that were either untrue or greatly exaggerated. No one seemed interested in helping to change this sad situation. At a time when the doctor was most discouraged, the Earl of Shaftesbury, who was a great lover of children, came to his aid. Someone finally believed Dr. Barnardo!
The Earl organized a private dinner party and invited many of the people who had disputed Dr. Barnardo’s words. At the end of the meal the Earl arranged it so that Dr. Barnardo could take his critics by lantern light on a night tour of the lays and prove his claims.
At the very first lay visited, in Billingsgate Fish Market, were seventy-three homeless, hungry, and uncared-for boys huddled together under tarpaulins stretched over piles of fish boxes. Many more were sleeping in empty barrels. Long before the tour was over Dr. Barnardo had convinced the doubters.
Shortly after this experience, the Earl of Shaftesbury suggested that Dr. Barnardo give up the idea of becoming a medical missionary in China and help the slum children instead. It was a difficult decision for the doctor to make and he prayed for guidance.
Shortly afterward he received a letter from a wealthy Member of Parliament offering to provide £ 1,000 (about $2,000) toward a home for destitute children if, instead of going to China, Dr. Barnardo would remain in London to run it.
He believed this to be an answer to prayer, and opened his first home for boys in Stepney Causeway. Three years later he married and used a wedding gift of a large house to set up a home for girls. His work was blessed and other homes followed.
Today the Barnardo homes house the largest family in the world. At least 8,000 children are being cared for in 100 homes. During the past 100 years, more than 200,000 children have been given a temporary home.
One day, shortly after the first Barnardo Home was opened, a pale and ragged boy asked Dr. Barnardo to take him in. Regretfully, Barnardo had to refuse, for the house was already full. He gave the lad, known as Carrots, some money and asked him to come back later. Carrots never returned, for during that week he died from cold and hunger.
Barnardo vowed that he would never let such a thing happen again. Without delay he had erected over the door of the home a signboard that read, “No Destitute Child Ever Refused Admission.” From that day to this, no matter what the hour of day or night, that pledge has been honored.
Barnardo’s doors are always open and no deserving child is ever turned away.
“Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not …” (Luke 18:16.)

You’re going to say I should have arranged housing in advance. But if I had, where would I be now?
After filling out a mountain of forms at registration, I drove around Provo looking for a place to stay. Finally I picked out one of the new apartment units near the campus. The office girl told me they had a vacancy in number 33.
The apartment complex is in the shape of a big C, with a swimming pool and frisby field in the middle. I walked across the lawn to number 33 and knocked on the screen door. Nobody came, although I could hear voices inside. I knocked again.
...
We finished the dishes and sat down around the kitchen table. I took out a sheet of notebook paper and wrote at the top "Operation Engagement."
"We’ll make a list of the things a fellow looks for in an LDS girl. First: testimony. Second: a nice face, a good figure. Third: common interests. Fourth: sense of humor. Fifth: a supporting attitude."
"Let’s go down the list," Cher said. "Testimony. I’ve got one, Tony. I really do."
"Okay," I said. putting down a check on the paper.
"Face." She held out her hand, rotating it to the right and then to the left in a gesture familiar to Easterners. "I don’t know. What do you think?"
"It’s very good. Like a Greek goddess. Do you have many cavities?"
"Our water had fluoride—53% fewer cavities."
I put a check beside "Face."
"Wait," she said, "except for the glasses."
"You have to see."
"I’ll get contact lenses."
"I like you the way you are."
"It’s not you we’re trying to impress," she said coolly. Then, quickly, "I’m sorry, that wasn’t kind."
"No problem."
"Figure?"
I cleared my throat. "Fine."
"You don’t think I’m too skinny?"
"No, ma’am."
"Aren’t you going to say anything more about the figure?"
"No, ma’am."
"Do I dress modestly enough?"
"You dress like a lady."
"Maybe I should dress less modestly to get B.J.’s attention."
"If he noticed you that way, I’d punch him out."
"Okay. Common interests." she said.
"I think B.J.’s biggest interest is himself. So you have a common interest."
"You don’t know him very well. Be constructive."
"Okay," I replied. "Boys from the West are crazy about deer hunting. Do you know anything about deer hunting?"
"What’s there to know?" she asked.
"Do you know how to clean a deer?"
"Do they get dirty?"
"I will ignore that. Probably your biggest common interest is the Church. Maybe that’s enough. Let’s see, sense of humor."
"I don’t think B. J. has a sense of humor."
"If you marry him, you’re going to need one. A supporting attitude. That means you help him on his campaigns. Or you try to do nice things for him, like cooking his favorite food to show him that he’s special to you. You’re doing fine, Cher."
"Tony, there’s one other thing. I have some of that Eastern cynicism. I’m not like your average coed. Maybe I seem too cynical. I need to be more sincere." She wrote down another word at the bottom of the list, sincerity.
The next afternoon when I came in after my lab, she was already working on supper.
"Tony, look what I picked up in the bookstore today. You’re not going to believe this. It’s perfume in a time-release capsule. You just open this little pill and scatter the tiny beads on your hair with this little can. The beads are programmed. The aroma starts out kind of mild, but in about three hours it’s really something. I’m going to put some on."
She applied the contents of one of the small capsules.
"Do you want to smell?"
"In the interests of science," I said.
"Let’s see. It’s 4:30 now. We’ll eat at 6:00. So if I can get around B. J. by 7:00, I’ll give him the full dose."
She started peeling potatoes. I sat at the table and thumbed through a book I was supposed to be reading. The perfume did change aroma as time went on.
"I pick up my contact lenses on Monday, Tony. And I’ve really worked at being sincere. Look at me."
She was standing with her head up, looking at the ceiling.
"What are you looking at the ceiling for?"
"I’m looking at the clouds as the sun breaks through."
"We’re in a room. There are no clouds," I said.
"I know. But you’ve seen those movies where they close with someone looking at the clouds. Now that’s a sincere look, right? Well, I’ve got it, right?"
I stood up, grabbed a dish towel, and draped it over her sincere face.
...
"That’s really great, B.J.," Cher said as she leaned down by him, ostensibly to look at his appointment book but really to allow him a whiff of "T + Three Hours and Counting" perfume.
It was at that moment I realized I loved Cher and didn’t want her to be around B.J.
Monday when I came in, Cher had her contact lenses.
"So how do you like me now?"
"You can really see me?"
"Sure."
"But why are you crying?" I asked.
"My eyes are just watering a little. It’ll clear up once I get used to the lenses."
"I can’t even see them on you. Let me get a little closer." I moved very close to her and looked into her eyes.
"How’s that?" she asked.
"Fine."
"I mean, can you see them now?"
"I’ll have to get closer."
"That’s close enough," she said, moving away.
"Are they hard to take out?"
"Not at all. You just put your finger here on the corner of your eye and blink." She put her other hand below her eye, but the lens missed her hand and fell to the floor.
"Just stay there, Cher. I’ll look for it." I got down on my hands and knees and started looking for it. I soon found the small, green, plastic lens. "Cher, can you see anything?"
"No. Why?"
"Nothing." I put the lens in my shirt pocket.
"Cher, maybe if you get down and help look for it."
She got down on her hands and knees also. "I think we should both concentrate our efforts over here where you were when you dropped it." I moved over by her.
We looked and looked. Finally we decided to take it one tile at a time.
"Tony? You have your hand on top of my hand," she said, looking down at our hands.
"Oh, I do. Do you want me to move it, Cher?"
"I don’t know. I can’t decide."
"Cher, you are really good looking."
"With contacts, I’ll look better. Maybe that’s been my trouble all along."
"No, I mean with glasses, and without the time-release perfume, and without the forced sincere look. You are beautiful. You don’t need any improvement."
"No, I’m not beautiful."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I’m not," she insisted.
"Yes, you are."
"No, I’m not."
"Well, maybe not beautiful. But definitely pretty."
"So you don’t think I’m beautiful!"
"Yes, I do. But you wouldn’t accept it, so I figured I’d compromise. And Cher, you are sincere. In fact, you are just about the most sincere person I’ve ever met. Truly."
"Thank you. I try to be sincere. And Tony, you’re the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to without wondering what I’m supposed to say. With you I’m just myself."
"Cher, you have a nice hand."
"We shouldn’t be here alone like this."
"We’re not alone, Cher. Boris is on the couch, and Enrico is looking at the chalkboard."
"I know," she whispered, "but it’s like being alone."
"Cher, you are very special to me."
"I don’t want to hurt you, Tony."
"Who’s hurting? My knees are a little sore, that’s all."
"That’s not what I meant. I don’t want you to fall in love with me."
"It’s too late. I already have. I want to marry you, and I’m asking you."
She started crying.
"If you want to wait before you give me an answer, that’s okay."
I got up to get her a box of tissues. When I returned, she was sitting on the chair in the kitchen. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and sat there.
"Tony, I really like you, but I’ve been thinking about B. J. for so long there’s no more room for anyone else in my heart. Can we be good friends?"
The next day I paid a visit to B.J.’s office in the Wilkinson Center. "B.J., I want to talk to you."
I told him about Cher and the way she felt about him. "The poor girl," he said. "I had no idea she felt so strongly about me."
"What are you going to do about it?" I asked him.
"I guess I’ll have to take my shirts to the cleaners and tell her to buzz off."
I slammed my hand down on his desk, breaking his plastic, desk name plate. "No, B.J., that’s not what you’re going to do. You’re going to take that girl out and try to fall in love with her. You are going to treat her like a queen, or some morning you’re going to wake up with your head shaved."
"Perhaps I should go out with her," he said quietly.
For the next several weeks, I stayed clear of Cher. I spent my late afternoons watching the Foucault pendulum swing, or listening to music, or taking long walks. Then I would go home around 8:00 and eat whatever was left. Cher was cooking for B. J. now. She made homemade wheat bread, beef stew, meatloaf—the things that B. J. liked.
It was especially bad when I knew they were going out, and I stayed away from campus for fear I’d see them together. Every couple seen from a distance looked like them. Every time I saw a girl with her head on some boy’s shoulder, I got cold chills. I wished I had never met her.
One weekend B. J. took Cher home with him to meet the family. That was the Saturday I ran. I got up early and put on sweat pants and sweat shirt and drove out to a country road. After parking the car I started running. Soon there was just the road, the pain in my side, and the crunch of my feet against the gravel. But the pain in my mind diminished as the pain in my side increased. So I kept on. Finally I collapsed on the side of the road. It was a long time before I could make myself get up and walk back to the car.
A couple of weeks later B. J. had to go to a conference of student leaders in New Mexico. That Tuesday night I entered the apartment at 8:00 expecting to see the usual empty kitchen with a plate of food in the refrigerator.
Cher was in the kitchen cooking. "I thought you were never coming," she said. "Sit down and get started."
She sat down across from me, and we said the blessing.
We got through the salad in silence. Removing the salad plate, she replaced it with a plate of lasagna and garlic bread.
"Why are you cooking with B. J. gone?"
"I get paid to cook here, remember?"
"But why did you wait for me? I’m two hours late."
"Your name Tony Versalino? Of Italian ancestry? You like Italian food?"
"Yes."
"That’s what it means."
"Cher?"
"Item five, a supporting attitude. ‘Like cooking his favorite food.’"
I put down my fork and held her hand. "What about B.J.?"
"He was a dream in my mind for all those years, but a dream with no reality. Besides, it finally occurred to me that it wasn’t necessary for all members of the Church to walk and talk and live like they came from Panguitch, Provo, or Parowan. I can’t fit the Utah-Mormon mold. I like the East, and I want to go back and help the Church grow there."
"You mean, the West is a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there?" I caught the aroma of her perfume in the last stages of its time-release cycle. "Lady, what you need is a nice Mormon boy from Pennsylvania."
"I don’t want to push you, Tony."
"I’m your man."
"You know what Daddy is going to say?" Cher said. "‘Queens? He’s from Queens? I send you by plane across the country, you live in a desert for years, and you find a husband from Queens? For Queens, I could pay subway fare. Now you tell me you want to get married in a temple in Utah? We got plenty of temples in New York, and I know a rabbi …’"
For dessert we had a dish of Italian ice.

President Hinckley works hard. I got a telephone call from Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin early one Monday morning. I asked him where he was calling from. He said from his office. I asked, “Why are you calling from your office on a Monday, this is your day off, your Saturday. Besides, you were in Hong Kong yesterday helping to dedicate the temple there.” Elder Wirthlin said that he had returned to Salt Lake with the president late the night before, exhausted, but that he awoke with the thought, “President Hinckley will be at his office by 7!” So, he said, “I got up, dressed, and hurried to my office. I shouldn’t be outworked by President Hinckley!”

But the boys did their part too. “We recruited everybody to be in the troop,” said Brother Steurer’s son Rodney, 14. His brother Geoffrey, 13, and another Scout, Mark Choate, 15, said that soon their friends Michael Bradfield and Neil Hammock were part of the troop, and of course they asked lots of questions about the Church. Now both Mike and Neil are not only Scouts, but also members of the deacons and teachers quorums, both serving in leadership positions.

This story took place in the USA.
“Magnolia! Lily!” Dad called. “Time for scriptures and prayer!”
Magnolia flopped on the floor next to their dog, Raindrop. Lily snuggled in her favorite blanket.
Family scripture time was fun. Sometimes they acted out the scripture stories together. It helped Magnolia picture the stories. Plus, Raindrop always helped when there were animals in the stories!
Dad opened his scriptures and read a verse. Then he passed the big, heavy Bible to Magnolia. They each took turns reading.
“And be ye kind one to another,” Magnolia read.*
She frowned. People weren’t always kind to her at church.
“Mom, Dad, can I talk to you about something?” she asked.
“Of course,” said Mom. “What is it?”
“At Primary yesterday, some kids told me we aren’t a good family because Dad isn’t a member of our church.”
Magnolia’s dad belonged to a different church. He went to sacrament meeting with their family on Sundays. He gave talks about the Holy Ghost at Lily’s and Magnolia’s baptisms. Everyone said he did a great job. He was an amazing dad.
“What they said made me want to cry.” Magnolia sniffed. “Why do people have to be so mean?”
Mom and Dad looked at each other.
“I’m glad you told us what happened,” Dad said. “Mom and I love each other very much. And our family is very important to us.”
Mom nodded. “And our family is important to Heavenly Father too. He loves all His children.”
Raindrop snuggled up to Magnolia. She scratched his ears.
“Heavenly Father knows us, and He knows we love each other,” Dad said. “No family is perfect, but we can keep trying our best.”
“But it still hurts when people say mean things about our family,” Magnolia said. “Jesus taught us to be kind to everyone. Saying mean things doesn’t seem like following Jesus.”
“You’re right,” said Dad. “Maybe when you feel like saying something mean, you can remember how you felt when others were unkind to you. Then you can say something kind instead.”
Magnolia took a big breath. “OK.” She was glad she could talk to Mom and Dad.
“Time for a family sandwich!” Dad pulled Lily and Magnolia into a big hug and squeezed them tight. Mom wrapped her arms around all three of them. Raindrop ran circles around everyone.
“I can’t breathe!” joked Lily. Magnolia laughed.
“Now remind me—whose turn is it to read?” Dad asked. He let go of the girls and picked up his scriptures.
“My turn!” said Lily. “And it’s Dad’s turn for prayer.”
When they finished reading, everyone knelt to pray. Magnolia felt peaceful as she listened to Dad say the prayer. She knew Heavenly Father loved her family.
Illustrations by Constanza Basaluzzo

One day I met a young lady from Chile working as an usher during the open house. She was very excited and offered to help wherever she was needed. She told me she was in the United States sightseeing for only a few weeks, and she would soon be returning to her country. I asked her how long she had been a member of the Church and was astonished when she told me she hadn’t been baptized yet.
She must have noticed I was speechless, so she told me her story. On the second day of her vacation, she had seen an ad in the newspaper announcing the temple open house. She was curious and decided to visit. During the tour she felt so moved by the beauty and peace she felt that she could not hold back her tears. When the tour was over, she asked the missionaries to tell her more about the Church. After being taught, she made the decision to be baptized. She had come here on vacation, and the Lord prepared a way for her to hear the gospel. And even though she wasn’t a member yet, she had asked to work as an usher for the open house!

One experience that truly humbled me happened on my mission. I think most missionaries grapple with feelings of inadequacy while trying to bring people to Jesus Christ. On my mission, I spent hours a day just trying to find someone to teach and was rejected over and over. I didn’t feel successful. I didn’t feel that my efforts were enough. Eventually, I began to feel that I was not enough.
While it might not seem like humility was what I needed, when I explained my feelings to my mission president, he helped me see that part of my problem was thinking I was exempt from the problems that missionaries all over the world face. But I am not the first missionary to feel rejected, and I certainly won’t be the last.
Somehow I had convinced myself that my difficulties were entirely my own fault, despite the fact that some of the best missionaries in history—like the original Twelve Apostles, the sons of Mosiah, and Alma the Younger—have faced far worse rejection and persecution than I ever have.
Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I began to be able to feel that I was standing shoulder to shoulder with Jesus Christ in my struggles. And when I felt ashamed of my imperfect efforts, I remembered what President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, taught: “The Atonement [of Christ] will carry the missionaries perhaps even more importantly than it will carry the investigators. When you struggle, when you are rejected, … you are standing with the best life this world has ever known, the only pure and perfect life ever lived.”
I still look back on this experience when I need to remember to be humble and trust in the Lord.

3. Serve and Lift Others
Our talents are gifts given to us to bless the lives of others. Don’t hide your talents or play small. Struggling students and overachieving students often receive attention, but what about the ordinary ones in the middle? Are there invisible people around you that you should take notice of? Do we look for others that may be standing outside our circle and pull them in? I remember years ago coming out of Relief Society in time to see my daughter standing alone outside the circle of girls in her Young Women class. The sad look on her face will never be erased from my memory. In our Church, these things should never happen. I challenge you to look out for the ones that need to be loved and pulled into your circle. It is our opportunity to represent the Lord and share His love.

My wife, Harriet, and I love riding our bicycles. It is wonderful to get out and enjoy the beauties of nature. We have certain routes we like to bike, but we don’t pay too much attention to how far we go or how fast we travel in comparison with other riders.

However, occasionally I think we should be a bit more competitive. I even think we could get a better time or ride at a higher speed if only we pushed ourselves a little more. And then sometimes I even make the big mistake of mentioning this idea to my wonderful wife.

Her typical reaction to my suggestions of this nature is always very kind, very clear, and very direct. She smiles and says, “Dieter, it’s not a race; it’s a journey. Enjoy the moment.”

How right she is!

Sometimes in life we become so focused on the finish line that we fail to find joy in the journey. I don’t go cycling with my wife because I’m excited about finishing. I go because the experience of being with her is sweet and enjoyable.

Nearly 200 years ago, the American short story “Rip Van Winkle” became an instant classic. The main character, Rip, is an unambitious man who is very good at avoiding two things: work and his wife.
One day, while wandering in the mountains with his dog, he discovers a group of strangely dressed men drinking and playing games. After accepting some of their liquor, Rip becomes drowsy and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens his eyes again, he is surprised to find that his dog is gone, his rifle has rusted, and he now has a long beard.
Rip makes his way back to his village only to discover that everything has changed. His wife has died, his friends are gone, and the portrait of King George III in the tavern has been replaced by a portrait of someone he does not recognize—by General George Washington.
Rip Van Winkle had been sleeping for 20 years! And in the process, he had missed one of the most exciting periods in the history of his country—he had slept through the American Revolution.

When our youngest daughter was about four years of age, I came home from hospital duties quite late one evening. I found my dear wife to be very weary. I don’t know why. She only had nine children underfoot all day. So I offered to get our four-year-old ready for bed. I began to give the orders: “Take off your clothes; hang them up; put on your pajamas; brush your teeth; say your prayers” and so on, commanding in a manner befitting a tough sergeant in the army. Suddenly she cocked her head to one side, looked at me with a wistful eye, and said, “Daddy, do you own me?”

She taught me an important lesson. I was using coercive methods on this sweet soul. To rule children by force is the technique of Satan, not of the Savior. No, we don’t own our children. Our parental privilege is to love them, to lead them, and to let them go.

One day my father, who was bishop of our ward, left my brother and me to do some work. We thought he would be gone for a long time doing his church work. But he returned sooner than we had expected and found us riding calves.
When he called us over, I will never forget how he looked at me and said, “My boy, I thought I could depend on you!”
That was a great lesson, a severe punishment, to me. I decided then that neither he nor anyone else would ever have reason to say that again to me as long as I lived.

Each one of you may have had or will yet have your own day of personal commitment--your own scholastic Sacred Grove equivalent. I still remember my moment of resolution. Many years ago, as an untrained teenager, I secured temporary employment at Christmastime. The work was dull, repetitive, and monotonous. Each hour of the day passed slowly. I resolved then and there that I would obtain an education that would qualify me for more meaningful work in my life. I determined that I would become a doctor of medicine.

Many years later, when I was serving both as a medical doctor and a stake president, I chatted with many young people about their personal educational pursuits. Some asked me how long it took to become a doctor of medicine. I replied, "The general pattern would be four years at a university, followed by four years in medical school. And, should you choose to specialize, that could add another five years or more.

My words would often evoke a response like, "You mean . . . ? Why, that adds up to 13 years--and maybe more? That's too long for me!"

"That all depends," I would respond. "Preparation for your career is not too long if you know what you want to do with your life. How old will you be 13 years from now if you don't pursue your education? Just as old, whether or not you become what you want to be!"

My patriarchal blessing, received at age 13 from a beloved grandfather, includes this statement: “[Your Heavenly Father] sent you forth in this last and glorious dispensation that you might be born under the new and everlasting covenant by goodly, righteous parents.” With deepest appreciation I acknowledge that this has been the great foundational blessing of my life. I pay tribute to my parents and with love acknowledge my debt to them and to their parents and generations beyond. Not long after my call to the Seventy, I had occasion to be standing at the grave of one of those ancestors who had died years before I was born. As I contemplated the sacrifices entailed upon him and his family by their acceptance of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, a sense of gratitude flooded my heart and a resolve welled up in me to honor his sacrifice and that of those who came after by being faithful to God and the gospel covenants, as they were.

Christianity celebrates the life and ministry of Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God the Eternal Father. Christian churches with great variations of doctrine dot the land the world over. When 14-year-old Cortnee, a daughter of a mission president, entered a new high school as a freshman, she was asked by classmates if she was a Christian. They scoffed at her response that she was a Mormon, a common reference to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Upon arriving home, she asked her mother, “Mom, are we Christians?”
Cortnee asked, “Mom, are we Christians?” As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, you are a Christian, and I am too. I am a devout Christian who is exceedingly fortunate to have greater knowledge of the true “doctrine of Christ” since my conversion to the restored Church. These truths define this Church as having the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Like other members of the Church, I now understand the true nature of the Godhead, I have access to additional scripture and revelation, and I can partake of the blessings of priesthood authority. Yes, Cortnee, we are Christians, and I testify of these truths in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A few months ago, members of the Daveyton Third Branch, of the Benoni South Africa Stake, experienced firsthand the thrill of researching their own family histories and performing sacred ordinances for their ancestors in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
The project began in earnest last April as branch members became at first interested and then determined to discover the spirit of Elijah in their own lives and in the lives of their families. The Church’s family history tools—especially the new and easy-to-use Family Tree Lite website at lite.fs.org—enabled the branch members to research their ancestors’ names and key dates and then record those individuals as branches in their own family tree.
Branch members were aided by Elder Gordon and Sister Susan Foote, who are a senior missionary couple assigned to the Daveyton Third Branch. “We got behind this effort and supported the goal of the branch president (Edward Mtshali) for branch members to find at least one of their own family names and then perform baptismal ordinances in the Johannesburg Temple,” Sister Foote explained.
Elder Foote began by helping more than 40 branch members register online and obtain individual FamilySearch accounts. Then an Africa Southeast Area senior missionary couple, Elder Dennis and Sister Merrily Bird, who are area family history specialists, traveled to the branch several weeks in a row, helping complete registrations, teaching key concepts, and assisting members with their questions. They also taught branch members how to enter family history information themselves through the Family Tree Lite website on their personal cell phones.
Once members had properly entered the names and information of their ancestors, they scheduled a day trip for Saturday, April 21, 2018, to travel to the Johannesburg South Africa Temple to complete proxy baptism and confirmations. With the distance from Daveyton to the temple being about 50 kilometers—and with few members owning cars—transportation was a key issue. Branch members made and sold African greeting cards to pay for public transportation to and from the temple.
All their hard work and planning paid off and on that very special day, 25 branch members journeyed to the temple and completed baptisms and confirmation ordinances for 66 of their ancestors. The spirit of Elijah poured forth.
Back in Daveyton the next day, Sunday, April 22, 2018, President Mtshali invited all who desired to share their testimonies of the experience. Many in that meeting could not hold back tears as they listened to the testimonies that were shared about the preparation and research—but especially their experiences in the temple. Here are some of the comments:
“I saw angels in the temple. I felt my ancestors’ presence.”
“I told my mother of a dream I had the day before going to the temple, of being in the temple and seeing all the people in the temple, including my ancestors.”
“If I had any doubts about the Church before, they all left after I went in the temple.”
“During my confirmation, I felt my aunt and my sister-in-law were present.”
“I felt a presence in the temple I never felt before.”
“While going to the temple yesterday I felt a spirit and joy that was like I feel it will be like at His Second Coming.”
“I was baptized by my husband for his mother. I express genuine gratitude to him and his honorable use of his priesthood.”
“I had to be baptized seven times for one ancestor. She must have been troubled on the other side. It was worth it to know she has the gospel now. I was very scared to be baptized so many times, but now I am happy.”
“Yesterday I was baptized for my great-grandmother. I know she loves me and when we meet on the other side she will thank me.”
“I followed in the footsteps of Jesus Christ and used my priesthood to baptize and was baptized myself.”
“Having my young priest-aged brother baptize me was frightening, but I did it and we both were so very happy.”
“It was truly wonderful. I can’t even find words to express my joy.”
“The temple brings us joy and our ancestors joy.”

I knew of a girl in my high school many years ago who had a very poor reputation. How much was simply a vicious rumor and how much was truth I don’t know. But she did associate with a rebellious group who broke many of the rules. And even though she was a member of the Church, she was often seen smoking and drinking. After our school high graduation, I didn’t see her or give her any thought for years. If anyone had asked me what she was like, I could only have described the girl I vaguely knew in school.

But then, more than five years after high school, I was in the temple one night when I heard this girl’s name read from a list of brides who were about to be sealed to their husbands. What a delight it was to see that a great change had obviously taken place in her life. But I shouldn’t have been surprised, because the gospel is changing people all the time.

“When he was a boy, Grandpa had a red coaster wagon that his father had a blacksmith make. At first it was short, with room for only three people; but eventually it was extended so that more could ride. The front person steered and the back one used the brake. The riders would start between Ninth and Tenth avenues on “C” Street in Salt Lake and coast all the way down to South Temple Street, then push the wagon back up the hill and go down again.”

I read with great interest the article about President Walter Stover in the May 1987 issue. It brought back cherished memories of that beloved man, my conversion to the church in 1947, the Freud-Echo in Berlin in 1948, and, yes, the green Cadillac! I saw the Caddy late one evening in Zwickau, driving up the Bahnhofstrasse. It was quite a sight for us Germans. What a huge car!
At the Freud-Echo, President Stover awarded me a Book of Mormon with his signature for winning in writing a poem. My Book of Mormon is rather old and in bad repair by now. I think I’ll have it restored since it is very special to me.
I hope President Stover is happy and in good health. A lot of German Saints keep him in their hearts and prayers.
God bless President Stover always.

I remember while I was in the service a story circulating among the LDS service-men about the courage of a newly inducted serviceman who had just returned from his mission. The first night he was in a large barracks lined with beds of servicemen in bunks, top and bottom. He wanted to kneel down to offer his prayers because that was his practice. He looked at the long rows of beds and wondered if he had the courage to do it. He decided that he needed the protection of the Lord more then than he had at any other time in his life, so he would continue the practice. As the lights went out, he got out of his bunk and knelt in prayer. Soon there was a great uproar. A shoe was tossed at him, among other things. There were remarks ridiculing him for being in that position. Suddenly, the strongest, tallest, and largest man there jumped from his upper bunk into the middle of the barracks. He had been a football player, and muscles bulged from every part of his body. In a loud voice he cried, “The next one who causes any difficulty for this young man praying, I will personally see that he is thrown headfirst through the bulkhead wall.”
Suddenly, everything became quiet, and the young man concluded his prayer. Every night this football player would call down to the returned missionary, “Are you ready for your prayers?” Then the missionary would get out of his bed and onto his knees. The football player would stand in the middle of the aisle so that everyone would be quiet. It wasn’t long until the example of this young man was felt by many others in the barracks, and they, too, would kneel and offer their prayers.