Gospel Story Finder

Several months later, with my mother’s story crowded into the recesses of my mind by school and work, I received an assignment in one of my classes at Brigham Young University to find 8 to 10 primary documents containing the name of one of my ancestors.
My genealogical training to that point consisted of singing the Primary song “Family History—I Am Doing It,” but grades weren’t negotiable in my mind, so I began at the only place I could think to start—Orla’s family. I looked her up on a pedigree chart and traced her line back until I found her grandfather, Joseph Argyle Jr.
One afternoon, I made the trek across the BYU campus to the library and into the family history library. I explained to a worker who Joseph Argyle was and the little information I knew about him.
For the next two hours, that worker guided me through a treasure hunt, which took us all over the library. We searched records of Mormon passengers on emigrant vessels, discovering that Joseph and his family crossed the Atlantic on a ship. Later that year, he traveled to Salt Lake Valley with the Ellsworth handcart company, which we found in a record book of handcart companies. We looked through the Endowment House records (found where he received his temple ordinances), the Utah death index (he lived to 84), and old Church membership records (there he was).
In an online database of Utah newspaper archives, I found a front-page obituary for my great-great-great grandfather. Published in the Davis County Clipper in February 1927, every sentence contained an interesting fact, such as Joseph’s contribution to the building of the Salt Lake Temple.
“He has the credit of having hauled the largest stone put in that building which weighed 13,000 pounds,” the article read.
I began to get a glimpse of the impact we can have on future generations when I discovered he had 88 descendants at the time of his death, a number which increased exponentially in the past 79 years.
Every time I found another document with my ancestors’ names on it, I felt a little tingle of excitement run through my body. It was like a mystery novel, putting all the pieces together, little by little beginning to understand who this man was. I became so immersed in learning about my ancestor, I didn’t leave until late in the afternoon, almost missing work!
I completed the assignment and received an A, but even more importantly, I created a tangible connection with one of my relatives. Joseph Argyle left his home, sailed across the ocean, traveled to Utah and helped build the temple, all because he believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ, a legacy which I inherited and which gives me the strength to fight my own battles in the 21st century.

In yet another stake conference, a dear sister confined to a wheelchair testified of the strength that she had received from feeling the Lord’s love through reading the Book of Mormon. Earlier her devoted husband had been able to help her adjust to the crippling effects of her illness. Now he was bedridden, and she spoke of her gratitude that the Lord had empowered her with greater strength to be more self-reliant and better care for her own needs. She had even been given additional strength to minister to the many needs of her dear companion, who now tenderly cared for her and had done so for so many years. Loving family and Church associates had also been helpful so that the couple were able to remain in their own home with precious memories of earlier happy family associations.

Years later, I had a disagreement with a coworker. When he came by our house to apologize, he left a book titled Our Heritage: A Brief History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In it, I read about the martyrdom of the Prophet Joseph Smith. This story touched me deeply.
I also found a photo of two young men wearing white shirts, ties, and name tags. They shared the gospel of Jesus Christ throughout the world. I wondered if there were such missionaries in my town.
That evening I prayed and asked God to help me find His missionary church. The next day I looked for the missionaries. I checked with every person I saw who was wearing a white shirt, but I had no success.
Outside my home a few days later, I saw three people wearing white shirts, ties, and name tags! I ran inside, got the book, and hurried after them.
When I caught up with them, one of them asked, “Can we help you?”
“Is this book from your church?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s our book,” he replied enthusiastically. “We are the missionaries.”
After several weeks of learning about the restored gospel, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A year later my father was baptized.
Because I still wanted to serve the Lord—a desire that had remained with me since I was young—I began preparing to serve a full-time mission. What joy I felt the day I received my own call to be a full-time missionary!

I recall flying from San Francisco to Sydney, Australia. I noted a young man in a nearby seat reading the book Joseph Smith, an American Prophet. When opportunity presented itself, I spoke to him. I told him that I had read the book, that I had known the author, and asked him what his interest was. He said, among other things, that he had an interest in prophets and that this matter of a possible modern prophet had intrigued him. He had picked up the book at the library. We had a lengthy conversation in which I bore my witness that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet. Not only did he speak of things to come, but more important, he was a revealer of eternal truth and a testifier of the divine mission of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Even as I lay on my bed staring at the cobweb on the ceiling (my cobweb, because it was my turn to dust), I could think of two reasons why I should be happy. First, it was my birthday. At our house a birthday means a special dinner. The birthday celebrity picks the menu and sits at the head of the table. Dessert is a big homemade cake. Second, in just two and a half hours, my neighbor and good friend Scott would pick me up for the dance. It was my first date with him. For that matter, it was my first date with anybody. So why wasn’t I excited? So why wasn’t I jubilant? The reason was not a good one.
I turned my head and looked at the pictures on my wall. I call it my wall because my two sisters and I have shared the rest of the room in the attic for as long as I can remember. My bed is adjacent to the wall where the ceiling doesn’t slope. There, framed in velvet, are the pictures I have had copied of many of my relatives for generations back. I looked at my favorite, the picture of my grandmother Agatha Robertson, which was larger than the rest. I always like to look at Grandmother Agatha. She’s wearing a lace dress and her hair is piled high. Her eyes seem to be dark brown like mine, and although she isn’t smiling in the picture, I’m sure smiling is something she often did.
I had read her journal many times. Agatha Robertson, my mother’s great-great-grandmother, had been an only child and had been given beautiful things by her wealthy parents. Yet, she had grown lovely and serene and had done many benevolent acts in her lifetime, therefore disproving the theory that all only children of wealthy parents grow up to be selfish and spoiled. Later in life Agatha had married Captain Conrad Robertson, who adored her and brought her gifts from faraway lands. Unlike my pioneer grandmothers, unlike my grandmothers from Scotland and Holland, Agatha had lived a life of luxury. “I get to be Grandma Agatha!” I had often shouted when my sisters and I played dress-ups. Even then her picture had fascinated me.
Now, as I looked at her again, I envied the life she had led—so different from mine. I had to struggle just to buy the fabric to make a dress for myself. It was either sew or wear hand-me-downs, and I wasn’t much of a seamstress yet.
“Oh, Grandmother Agatha,” I said aloud, “you wouldn’t understand this because you always had the best before it wasn’t the best anymore. But, if I have to wear a hand-me-down to the dance tonight, I just won’t go. I won’t! It’s awful to be third girl!” Agatha Robertson’s expression didn’t change. But then, I hadn’t expected it to.
“Honestly, Janet, I wish you’d quit talking to your pictures.” The inside of me jumped. I hadn’t heard Joani climb the stairs, but there she was, standing in the doorway studying herself in the blue dress she was making. She turned sideways, then completely around, always keeping her eyes on the mirror.
“Well, it isn’t as bad as talking to yourself,” I said defending myself, “and I’ve heard you do that before. It’s pretty,” I added in a mumble, looking at her dress. It was beautiful. Joani was an expert. Maybe that was my trouble. I always tried to sew quickly and energetically like she did. Joani took some pins out of her mouth and smiled at me.
“Thanks,” she said, “I’m almost finished. You can have the machine back in just a few minutes.” She began hemming the sleeves with the pins. “Are you about finished with yours?”
“Uh-huh.” I didn’t tell her about the yellow dress because I knew what she would say. She would lecture me on beginning at the beginning and picking easier patterns. I was finished with the dress all right. It wasn’t a lie. It was hanging in my closet with at least four more hours of work to do on it. It didn’t fit right at all. The bodice was all wrong, and the sleeves were crooked. Now there wasn’t time to fix it, not with dinner and everything. That meant that tonight of all nights I’d have to wear a hand-me-down. And there was Joani—quick, clever little Joani—admiring herself in a beautiful creation she’d designed herself. I didn’t want to look at her, so I turned my head. Why should she care? She had her dress. Why should she care that I’d have to wear one of the ancient dresses in the basement? Why should anyone care? Erma, my oldest sister, obviously didn’t. She had taken all her bridesmaid dresses to college with her.
Joani headed back downstairs to the sewing room, a few pins still in her mouth, and I looked at Grandmother Agatha and sighed. Then I pulled myself off my bed and shuffled downstairs as if I were carrying a 300-pound pack on my back. Mother was bustling busily in the kitchen, preparing my birthday dinner. She smiled at me with an “Aren’t you elated it’s your birthday?” look on her face. “Your special dinner will be ready in about five minutes,” she said excitedly. “Go tell everyone.”
“Okay.” I began passing the word around. First, I called out back where Jack and Alex were playing. Then I called into the family-sewing room to Dad and Joani. In ten minutes we were all seated around the dining room table. Dad gave the prayer, and then Jack, Alex, and Joani each passed me a little gift. Alex gave me another bottle of “Forever Yours” cologne. He gave me that every year. Jack had made me a pencil holder out of a cutoff milk carton. Joani gave me a jeweled comb and brush set. I oohed and aahed and tried to act excited as I opened each of the gifts. Then Mom passed me the gift from her and Dad. Maybe I had hoped somewhere in the back of my mind that it would be a dress, a yellow dress, because I felt a tinge of disappointment when the package they sent me was too small. Besides, it rattled.
“Careful,” Mom said.
“Yes, careful,” Joani said. She was smiling widely.
“I wonder what this could be?”
“You might say it’s a hand-me-down from all of us.” Mom laughed.
“Oh?” I took off the yellow ribbon and opened the package carefully. Inside the box was … no, it couldn’t be … “Is this? It is! It’s Grandmother Agatha’s locket! But, Mom, I inherited this from Aunt Louise. She gave it to you!”
“Oh, I never wear falderal like lockets, and—”
“But, Erma’s the oldest. She should have it. Or Joani. I’m only third.” Joani smiled again.
“I asked them if it was all right and they insisted you have it,” Mother answered patiently. “Both said you knew Grandmother Robertson the best and deserved it.”
“But, …”
The phone rang and Alex jumped up. “I’ll get it! I hate mushy stuff like this.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you so much! I can’t wait to show Scott.” I laid the locket carefully by my plate on the tablecloth where I could look at it more closely. It was gold, with tiny roses, and inside, I knew, was the only picture we had of Captain Robertson. It was too small and faded to have it copied. On the back of the locket were the initials A.R.W.L. I guessed they stood for “Agatha Robertson, with love.”
Everyone had begun eating chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, and rolls, but I wasn’t hungry. I was too happy.
“It’s Erma,” Alex announced. “From Provo. She called to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Erma!” I jumped up and ran to the phone. “Erma, thanks. Thanks for the locket. I’m so excited! But, it should rightfully belong to you. You’re the oldest.”
“It’s yours,” Erma said. “You’re the one who deserves it. We all wanted you to have it. Besides, you can wear it tonight with your new yellow dress. How did it turn out?”
“I won’t be wearing the yellow dress. I didn’t get it finished, but I don’t mind. I’ll wear something from the basement. Anything will look beautiful with this locket.”
Erma was silent for a moment. “Oh, but it’s your first date. You just can’t. Why was I so stupid to take all my bridesmaid dresses with me? I just want to kick myself. If there was only time to drive home I would, I … hey! Wait! I did leave home my velvet skirt. Wear that. It’s in the sewing room and just needs the seam fixed. You’ll probably have to lengthen it, but it shouldn’t take you long. Find a pretty blouse, and you’ll look fantastic.”
“Hooray!” I said. “Thanks, Sis, thanks!”
After chocolate cake with lemon frosting and strawberry sherbet (all my favorites), I hurried to the sewing room and found the skirt in the closet. Joani followed me.
“What are you doing?”
“Erma said I could wear her skirt because I didn’t finish my yellow dress.”
Joani looked confused, then hurt. “You should have told me. Why didn’t you? I would have helped you finish it. We have to stick together, don’t we? It really upsets me you didn’t tell me.” Then she had an idea because her eyes grew wide and her lips parted into a smile. “Then the least you can do is wear my satin and lace blouse.”
I was stunned. “You’re kidding!” I knew the satin and lace blouse was her favorite, her best. She kept it in a special part of her drawer instead of the closet, wrapped in tissue paper. She only wore it on the most special occasions. “I couldn’t.”
“Please.”
“Joani, Joani, you don’t mean it, do you? Your satin and lace blouse? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Upstairs, Joani unwrapped her blouse with only the slightest hesitation and handed it to me. Then she went back downstairs.
I put the blouse on and stepped into the skirt even though I hadn’t fixed the seam yet. I wanted to get the effect first.
Even before I put the locket on, I knew the blouse was perfect to set it off. And it was. I looked up to see Grandmother Agatha looking at me with an earnest expression on her face. “Who would have guessed I’d be getting a hand-me-down from you for my birthday,” I said with a laugh. I think Agatha Robertson would have smiled in real life. Her eyes would have sparkled. But the picture’s expression didn’t change. Of course, I hadn’t expected it to.
I looked back at myself in Joani’s blouse and Erma’s skirt and the locket I had inherited because of their generosity and unselfishness, and yes, their love for me. I gulped.
I looked again at my perfectly groomed, elegant, great-great-grandmother who had had beautiful things, the finest clothes and jewels, but who had been an only child.
“Grandmother Agatha, you missed out. You really missed out. You just don’t know how wonderful … oh, you wouldn’t know what I mean.” But, even as I said the words, I guessed she knew what I was trying to say. With one last smile, I hurried downstairs. I had a lot to do before the dance.

I can’t think of a better example of helping someone gain understanding than the story of Helen Keller. She was blind and deaf and lived in a world that was dark and quiet. A teacher named Anne Sullivan came to help her. How would you teach a child who can’t even see or hear you?

For a long time, Anne struggled to connect with Helen. One day around noon, she took her out to the water pump. She put one of Helen’s hands under the waterspout and began to pump the water. Anne then spelled out the word W-A-T-E-R on Helen’s other hand. Nothing happened. So she tried again. W-A-T-E-R. Helen squeezed Anne’s hand because she began to understand. By nightfall, she had learned 30 words. Within a matter of months, she had learned 600 words and was able to read Braille. Helen Keller went on to earn a college degree and helped change the world for people who couldn’t see or hear. It was a miracle, and her teacher was the miracle worker, just like you will be, parents.

When young Gordon had a bout of whooping cough, his doctor suggested that he spend time in the country to recover, so his father purchased a thirty-acre fruit farm in the southeast part of Salt Lake City. The farm did more than help the boy regain his health—it helped him and his brothers learn to work. Each Saturday during the spring and fall, his father took them to the farm. The family lived there during the summer months and in town during the school year.
“I learned to live around animals and learned the lessons of nature—the beauty that is there and the penalties that come when nature is abused. We had large fruit orchards, and we learned how to prune trees,” President Hinckley later recalled. “In January, February, and March we pruned the trees, but we didn’t like it because it was hard work. We did learn something from it: You can determine the kind of fruit crop that you will have in September by the way you prune the trees in February. That was a great lesson, and it applies to people as well. You can pretty much determine the kind of adults you will have by the way you care for them as children.”

Taylor’s 18-year-old sister, Kirsten, says that living the gospel makes people curious about you.

“At the beginning of the year I decided to read my Book of Mormon during study hall,” she explains. “Pretty soon people were asking questions and borrowing the book to look at it. Some days the whole study hall would be talking about Mormons and what we believe. I gave a couple of people their own copy, and I think it helped them understand where I got my testimony.”

Amauri pushed the bicycle up the long hill. At the top was a small Catholic church with a little building behind where the padres lived. In back of this building was a little shack that Amauri’s family called home. “Mamãe (Mother)!” he called out when he neared his house, and his mother appeared at the door.
“Where have you been, Amauri?” she asked, her back still bent from the day’s work of cleaning in the tall office building downtown. Then she saw the bicycle. “What do you have there, Amauri?” she asked, and her eyes looked worried.
“A bicicleta (bicycle), Mamãe,” Amauri answered.
“Where did you get it?” his mother questioned again, and Amauri knew that she was afraid he had stolen it, because many of the poor people in their neighborhood sometimes stole things to get money to buy food. Amauri’s mother was grateful that her five children didn’t steal.
“A man gave it to me, Mother,” Amauri answered proudly. “I’m going to be a delivery boy! I’ll ride the bicycle from place to place, delivering lunches to the businessmen and groceries to the ladies in fine houses!”
“You mean you have a job?” And Amauri’s mother smiled with joy.
Amauri told her about how he had walked up to a man and said, “Do you need a boy to work for you?” The man had thought for a few moments and then invited him inside his store. They talked for a while, and he told Amauri that he would pay him fifty centavos an hour.
“How many hours will you work?” his mother asked.
“Eight hours every day,” Amauri answered. “That means I will get four cruzeiros a day or more than twenty cruzeiros a week. I can buy food for the family!”
Amauri hugged his mother and she hugged him back. “What a good nine-year-old son I have,” she said gratefully. “Now you are truly the man of the family. Ever since your father died I have been the only one earning money. Now you will help me buy beans and rice for our breakfast and dinner. Enough talking for now, son. Remember, the elders are coming tonight, and we must get the house ready.”
Amauri got water from the well, and his little sister Cecilia cooked the beans and rice for dinner. The other children made the two beds they all slept on, while Mother carefully swept the cold, hard-packed dirt floor.
When the missionaries came, they stood outside the door and clapped their hands together, because that is the way people announce themselves in Brazil. Cecilia ran to open the door.
“Boa noite, elderes (Good evening, elders),” she said. “Come in.”
The tall elders shook hands with everybody. Elder Samson was blond and showed many teeth when he smiled. Elder Bonner had red hair and freckles all over, even on his arms. Although they were Americans, they spoke Portuguese, but sometimes it was hard to understand them.
The elders and Amauri and his family sat on boxes around the table, and then the elders told them all about the commandments of God, including one that asked them to give the Church one-tenth of all the money they earned. Mother was thoughtful when the elders told her this, because she barely made enough money to feed the family. But then she smiled. “Of course,” she said. “That is why little Amauri got a job today. We can pay tithing to the Lord and still have enough to eat.”
Amauri felt very proud to tell the missionaries about his job. “Who knows?” Amauri said, “maybe someday I will deliver a lunch right to the building where my mother works.”
“But what about school?” asked Elder Samson.
“School is not for poor people,” said Amauri’s mother sadly. “We do not have the money to buy books.”
And then Amauri remembered something awful. His face turned white. “What’s wrong, Amauri?” the elders asked.
“I just remembered,” Amauri said. “I only have three days to learn how to ride the bicycle.”
“What?” asked Elder Bonner, surprised. “Nine years old and you don’t know how to ride a bicycle?”
Amauri shook his head. “We are too poor to have a bicycle. Now I will have to learn before Thursday. How can I learn that fast?”
Everyone looked worried now. Learning to ride a bicycle wasn’t easy.
Then Elder Bonner said he had an idea. “We will teach you how to ride!” he shouted, and Elder Samson nodded in agreement.
The next morning the missionaries came back. They could hardly wait to get Amauri out of bed and onto his bicycle.
It was harder than Amauri had thought it would be. He fell down again and again. Even on a grassy field it hurt to fall, but he kept thinking: The Lord got me this job so that my family can pay tithing. And I’m going to get back on that bicycle.
The next day Amauri rode for ten meters all by himself before the bicycle started to tip over, then he stopped it from falling by sticking out his foot. At the end of the riding lesson he told the elders, “It’s time for me to go home. And you’ll have to hurry—I’m going to ride this bicycle all the way back home. And I’m going to ride it very fast.”
Amauri got on the bicycle and pedaled as fast as his legs would go, the elders behind him shouting and cheering him on. When he arrived home, Cecilia and the other children ran out of the house laughing and clapping their hands.
“Como Deus me abencoe (How God is blessing me)!” he shouted to the elders when they came into the house. “First a job, and now you have helped me learn to ride a bicycle so I can do it well!”
The elders just laughed and shook his hand. And then the children hugged him in their excitement.
The next day was Thursday, and Amauri rode the bicycle all alone downtown to the store. He took the lunches and delivered them, and later took fresh meat to housewives and cabbages to restaurants. He was exhausted when nighttime came.
When he got home he tied the bicycle to a tree. Then he knelt beside it and said a prayer, thanking Heavenly Father for his help. When he was through he patted the bicycle seat.
“Oi, bicicleta (Hey, bicycle), que amigo você é (you and I are going to be good friends)!”

As a mission president in France, Belgium, and the Netherlands some years ago, I had the privilege and blessing of interviewing individuals for worthiness to be baptized. I will never forget the interview I had with one sister.
During our interview I asked her how she came to know that the Church was true. She reached in her handbag and brought out a worn and well-read paperback copy of the Book of Mormon. She opened the book to 3 Nephi 27 and explained that this was the first chapter the missionaries had invited her to read. She said that as she began to read, she was profoundly moved by what she read and the Spirit she felt. She was so overcome with the spirit of the Book of Mormon that she took a red pencil and began to underline the words that impressed her the most.
Then she showed me her copy of the Book of Mormon, open to 3 Nephi 27. Almost every word in that chapter was underlined in red.
“That is why I believe,” she said. “This book speaks to me in a way that I cannot deny. I know that it is true, and I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true.”
She was baptized and became a faithful member of the Church.

The same allegiance to tradition that makes missionary proselyting difficult also demands ingenuity in doing member-missionary work. About fourteen years ago, in Premia de Mar, a small suburb of Barcelona, Mari Carmen Clavet and Carol B. Rivero began holding home Relief Society. No branch existed in the town. The majority of the twenty-five women who attended were not members of the Church, but they still seemed to enjoy the prayerfully selected lessons prepared each week.

When four baptisms resulted from the Premia sisterhood, missionaries were sent to the small town and established the Premia de Mar Branch, although there were no priesthood holders at the time. For several years missionaries served as branch presidents, until a returned missionary, Javier Garriga—once a Primary student of Sister Rivero—moved to Premia de Mar. He now serves as branch president.

The Landróns, Héctor and Daisy, who are also in the Ponce First Branch, have found that obedience to the principle of tithing has blessed their lives, too. Twelve years ago Brother Landrón fell from a ladder and broke his leg in two places. Because he has diabetes, his leg has failed to heal properly. “I still have trouble with my leg,” he says, “and that has meant that our financial situation has remained a challenge. But we pay our tithing and always have what we need, much like in the parable of the loaves and fishes.”

When my mama had an operation on her back, I prayed hard that the operation would go well. When she came home from the hospital, I saw her crying, and I asked her why she was crying. She said she was in pain. I asked her if she wanted me to say a prayer and she said yes. I quickly knelt down and asked Heavenly Father for her pain to pass so she could stop crying. When I ended the prayer my mother was no longer crying. She was smiling and she hugged me and kissed me.

After my mission to Taiwan, I thought international law would be a good career choice. As Christy and I considered that possible future, we understood that five more years of expensive education lay ahead.

The U.S. economy was in a deep recession and our funds were limited, so we reasoned that joining the Air Force ROTC would be a wise choice to pay for my schooling. But as I took the required tests and filled out the paperwork, we just could not get comfortable making that commitment. No stupor of thought or dark feelings came—only an absence of peace.

That seemingly illogical financial decision was inspired, in part, because I would have been a horrible lawyer!

A few years ago I read an article in the Friend called “Primary Pianists” (April 2010). It was about some children my age learning to play the piano so they could play during their Primary sacrament meeting program. I said to myself, “I can do that!” I started playing prelude music for Primary, and by the end of the year, I was able to play a song during the Primary program! I really love using my talent to serve the Lord.

My mom was sick. If she was sick, she couldn’t lead the choir. I fasted for her to help her feel better. Fasting means not eating food during the day. This was the first day I ever fasted in my life. I didn’t know what it would feel like. I was hungry. It was really hard to fast, but I didn’t ask for food. I prayed for my mom, too. I wanted her to get better because I love her. After I fasted, my mom felt better. She was able to lead the choir. I think Heavenly Father hears my prayers, even when I whisper.

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Hey—let’s go spray some graffiti like the big guys.
No! That’s against the law, and it’s wrong. Let’s help Mrs. Gibbs clean her yard instead.
Ooooh, it’s wrong! Come on, guys, are you with me or with Chicken Boy here?
It’s not chicken to do the right thing!
Later
So I couldn’t convince one single person to do the right thing.
You’re wrong about that.
How do you know? You weren’t even there!
You convinced one very important person—yourself. And some of those boys might remember your example.
Plus, you set an example of courage for me.
So I’m kind of your hero?
Don’t get carried away!

“In the morning I went in secret before the Lord, and asked Him what was His will concerning me. The answer I received was that I should go to the south; for the Lord had a great work for me to perform there, as many souls were waiting for His word. On the 3rd of March, 1840, in fulfillment of the directions given me, I took coach and rode to Wolverhampton, twenty-six miles [away].
“I presented myself to [Mr. Benbow, a wealthy farmer, living in Ledbury, Herefordshire] as a missionary from America … He and his wife received me with glad hearts and thanksgiving, [and] rejoiced greatly at the glad tidings which I brought them.
“I also rejoiced greatly at the news Mr. Benbow gave me, that there was a company of men and women—over six hundred in number—who had broken off from the Wesleyan Methodists, and taken the name of United Brethren. They had forty-five preachers among them, and for religious services had chapels and many houses that were licensed according to the law of the land. This body of United Brethren were searching for light and truth. …
“I arose on the morning of the 5th, took breakfast, and told Mr. Benbow I would like to commence my Master’s business by preaching the gospel to the people. He had in his mansion a large hall which was licensed for preaching, and he sent word through the neighborhood that an American missionary would preach at his house that evening. As the neighbors came in … I preached my first gospel sermon in the house. The following evening [I] baptized six persons, including Mr. John Benbow, his wife, and four preachers of the United Brethren. I spent most of the following day in clearing out a pool of water and preparing it for baptizing … [and] afterwards baptized six hundred persons in that pool of water. …
“When I arose to speak [to a congregation of about a thousand] at Brother Benbow’s house, a man entered the door and informed me that he was a constable, and had been sent … with a warrant to arrest me … for preaching to the people. I told him that I had a license and that if he would take a chair I would wait upon him after meeting. He took my chair and sat beside me. For an hour and a quarter I preached the first principles of the everlasting gospel. The power of God rested upon me, the spirit filled the house, and the people were convinced. At the close of the meeting I opened the door for baptism, and seven offered themselves. Among the number were four preachers and the constable. …
“… The first thirty days after my arrival in Herefordshire, I had baptized forty-five preachers and one hundred and sixty members of the United Brethren, who put into my hands one chapel and forty-five houses, which were licensed according to law to preach in. This opened a wide field for labor, and enabled me to bring into the Church, through the blessings of God, over eighteen hundred souls, during eight months, including all of the six hundred United Brethren except one person. In this number there were also some two hundred preachers of various denominations.”—From the journals of Wilford Woodruff

In the George household, there are cherished memories about their ancestors that help strengthen the faith of family members. Elder George relates one beautiful story his grandfather told them:
“One man told my Grandpa about being in a stake conference when he was twelve years old, and he became nervous when Elder Kimball [then an Apostle] asked all of the twelveyear-old boys to come to the front. Elder Kimball lined them all up and gave each one of them a crisp, new one-dollar bill. He told them that that was the start of their missionary fund. The man never forgot that experience and he said that it helped give focus to his life.”

There is an urgency in this work that motivates us to extend the blessings of the temple to as many of our Heavenly Father’s children as possible. I was impressed with an experience of President Wilford Woodruff when he told of a visitation he received from the Prophet Joseph Smith some time after the Prophet was martyred. According to President Woodruff’s own account: “[Joseph Smith] came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.
“‘Now,’ said I, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry. I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’
“Joseph said: ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry to accomplish it.’
“Of course, that was satisfactory,” President Woodruff concluded, “but it was new doctrine to me.”