Gospel Story Finder

“What’s up, Coach?” DeLyle said.
“Come in,” Coach Gardener said. “Sit down.”
DeLyle Condie walked into his coach’s office and pulled up a chair. He held his red basketball jersey in his hands. It was almost time for practice.
“I hear you’re going on a mission,” Coach said. “Let me show you something.” He turned on the projector.
DeLyle blinked in surprise. Coach often showed films of other teams playing. But these were pictures of palm trees and beaches.
“This is Hawaii,” Coach said. “The team’s going there next year. You’re going to miss it.”
“I know. But I’ve already decided,” DeLyle said. “A mission is the right thing to do.”
“Suit yourself,” Coach said. “But if you go, I don’t think you’ll ever play basketball again.”
DeLyle looked at his jersey. “I love basketball,” he said, “but some things are more important.”
“Good luck, then.” Coach sighed. “Now get to practice. You’re not a missionary yet!”
A few months later, Elder DeLyle Condie got on a ship in San Francisco, California, USA. It was 1955, and missionaries often traveled by boat back then. Three weeks later the ship arrived in Sydney, Australia. There, Elder Condie took an overnight train to Melbourne. Two elders were waiting for him.
“Wow! You’re a tall one!” Elder Johnson said. “You’d have been a great Mormon Yankee!”
“What’s that?” Elder Condie asked.
“More like what was that,” Elder Johnson said. “Missionary teams used to play in local basketball leagues. It was a way to help people get to know about the Church. One of the teams was called the Yankees. But we don’t do it anymore.”
“That’s OK,” Elder Condie said. “That’s not why I came on a mission.”
“Well, let’s get to the office,” Elder Johnson said. “It’s time to meet President Bingham, our mission president.”
President Bingham assigned Elder Condie to Tasmania, an island near Australia’s southern coast. There weren’t many Latter-day Saints there. In fact, in all of Australia, there were only about 1,200 Church members.
Elder Condie soon met lots of friendly Australians. But most weren’t interested in discussing the gospel. What they did want to talk about was the Olympics.
“Why are so many people interested in the Olympics?” Elder Condie asked.
His companion grinned. “The games are coming to Melbourne next year,” he said. “It’s a chance to put Australia on the map. Besides, lots of people are sports crazy already. I think that’s why the Mormon Yankees were so popular. I wonder if they’ll ever do that again.”
At the same time, 200 miles away in Melbourne, two men were discussing exactly that.
The coach of the Australian Olympic basketball team sat across the desk from President Bingham. “We need your help,” he said. “I know you used to have teams called Mormon Yankees. Some of your missionaries were pretty good. With the Olympics coming, it’s a long shot that Australia will win any games. We need to practice against players with talent and experience. Some friendly practice games will help people know more about your church, and they will help us get ready for the Olympics. Can you put a Mormon Yankees team together one more time?”
After the meeting, President Bingham found one of his assistants. “Bring Elder Condie back to Melbourne,” he said. “Missionaries will still be missionaries. But we’re going to help Australia prepare for the Olympics. And I’ll need Elder Condie to help choose a team.”
To be continued …

I was feeding my baby one night at the beginning of autumn’s half-term holiday, and when scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed, I saw a post from a childhood friend who had started a community pantry box outside her house, full of kitchen cupboard basic foods from which anyone suffering from the loss of school meals during half-term could take what they needed to feed their families.
I often feel I can’t do much for others. I want to give. It’s not easy to find ways to volunteer in the community when you have young children to care for, but that Facebook post got my brain working. I could manage this small thing, couldn’t I? All it needed was a small box. I could manage that.
I searched my cupboard for the largest ‘small’ plastic box that I could find, and then I went through my small store cupboard, filling the box with tinned fruit, vegetables, rice, beans, pasta, sauces, and noodles.
When I ventured out the next morning for a day with my children, I posted a picture of the box on the village Facebook page, hoping it might be useful to someone. Nothing could have prepared me for what I found on my return.
My small box was joined by larger boxes and bags full to bursting with food. I was overwhelmed. Like the widow’s mite (See Mark 12:41-44), my small effort was joined tenfold, by the contributions of others, who have made this endeavour a real success.
It was only meant to last for half term but, at the end of the holiday, I saw a request on Facebook from another mother, saying only the word ‘pantry’, our discreet code word that told me that they had been using, and needed, the box. I knew then that it couldn’t stop now, not with another lockdown on the horizon.
Now, more than ever, we need to support each other. We now have two boxes and are starting a store of warm clothes and blankets. The children in the village school have even drawn posters for the pantry, calling everyone in sight to do a little something for their community by donating!
The donations haven’t stopped, and people have been regularly using the boxes both to give and to take. It’s warmed my heart to see our small village pull together with such love and support. The year 2020 has dealt a rough hand, but without all the hardships of this year, we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to pull together in glorious efforts of kindness and generosity, as I have witnessed with our humble village pantry. What I’ve learned, beyond all doubt, is that if anyone can help someone, then everyone will be ok.

As a young man I had an important decision to make. Congressman Milton H. Welling offered me an appointment to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland. This was an outstanding opportunity for a fine education and experience. After careful and prayerful consideration, I declined the appointment and accepted a call to go on a mission. This was a decision that required some sacrifice and greatly affected my life. However, while on my mission I wrote my parents from Boston, Massachusetts, “From my mission I have gained much. … I wouldn’t trade the last two years for anything. They have been wonderful in bringing a realization of life in its true sense.” Yes, my sacrifice, if it could be called that, was bringing forth the blessings of heaven.

My father has taught me what it means to have power in the priesthood. When the vacant house next to ours suddenly burst into flames, I remember my father placing himself between the burning house and ours with our garden hose. I recall that hose looked like it was shooting air rather than water. I was sure that the flames would engulf our home because it seemed to touch the eaves and walls. But my dad stood firm and sprayed the flames away. The fire department soon came and helped my dad. Dad later shared with our family that as the flames rose to their highest point, to the point of nearly igniting our house, he raised his hand to the square and in the name of the Savior and by the power and authority of the priesthood, commanded the flames not to touch our house. Those flames never touched our house, but it charred the banana trees right next to it. Through this experience I have learned joy in the power of the priesthood.

Some years ago I served on the Priesthood Home Teaching Committee and was assigned to attend stake conferences with the General Authorities to teach leadership principles relating to home teaching. During a Saturday night priesthood leadership meeting in the Raft River Stake in Idaho, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle of the First Quorum of the Seventy called on me to make my presentation. For about 15 minutes I talked about the subject of home teaching and presented what I thought was a very comprehensive outline of methods that might be used to improve the performance of the brethren of the stake. The audience was courteously attentive except for a few yawns on the back row. These I attempted to cure with some interesting stories and all the enthusiasm I could generate. When I ended the talk, I sat down feeling much like a football coach who had just given a rousing talk to his team before a big game.
Elder Tuttle had a very thoughtful look on his face as he arose to talk to the group. He began his presentation by saying something like this: “I tried to listen attentively to Brother Anderson’s presentation, but my mind kept wandering. I couldn’t help thinking about the home teaching families to which I am assigned at home. I have some real challenges in trying to reach and influence them, and they are a constant concern to me. Maybe I could just tell you a little about them, and you could help me with some suggestions.”
Elder Tuttle did not reveal any personal information that would betray a confidence, but he did proceed to illustrate some problems. Before long, hands were in the air; the priesthood members were offering suggestions and solutions, and everyone in the audience was involved in helping. Who were they helping? They were helping themselves learn how to solve home teaching problems.
And me? I was observing with awe the work of a great teacher who could really motivate people. He was busy leading, delegating, creating enthusiasm, and the receivers of the learning were hardly aware of their change in attitude. They were busily involved, they thought, in solving someone else’s problems.

After graduating from BYU, I took a job with the Boeing Company in Seattle, Washington. I was soon called as an assistant Scoutmaster in our ward. One year we spent the summer taking hikes, including a fifty-miler around Mount Rainier. The early hikes prepared us physically and helped us develop the skills needed for the ultimate hike. We learned how to use maps and the compass and also to set checkpoints along the trail to find where we were and how to get where we wanted to go. It was a wonderful time for us.

For the Scouts, a hike in the Cascades was an exciting adventure and an end in itself, but for us, as leaders, it was an opportunity to teach them the skills, character traits, and testimony needed for life’s journey.

After school I went to get my rain boots off the porch and put them on so I could play in the puddles. But I felt a warning from the Holy Ghost not to put them on because there was a spider in one of them. I went inside and told my grandma to get the spider out. She swished her fingers around inside the tops of the boots and told me to put them on—there wasn’t any spider. But I knew there was! I told her to turn my boots upside down and bang them on the cement. She did, and a black widow spider about the size of a nickel came out. Grandma showed me the bright-red hourglass shape on it and then smashed it. If I had put my foot inside, the spider might have bitten me. I’m thankful that the Holy Ghost warned me.

During our first holidays together as a married couple in 1973, my husband received a $40 Christmas bonus. Though we didn’t have much money for gifts, we decided to spend the bonus on a family who had recently lost their husband and father. We had so much fun shopping for presents and then leaving them on the family’s doorstep that we made the secret project a family tradition.
Over the years we were blessed with four children. As soon as each child grew tall enough, he or she would take a turn at Christmastime wearing a special coat that we used only once a year. Adult-sized, dark in color, and hooded, the coat made a perfect disguise for sneaking up to someone’s doorstep in the dark to leave gifts.
Every autumn we would vote on who our secret family would be that Christmas and on what gifts we would give them. The children would decide who would have the honor of wearing the Christmas coat and delivering the presents that year. On abundant years, we would give homemade quilts or clothing along with toys, books, and goodies; on leaner years, we would give stockings filled with smaller items.
When Christmas Eve finally arrived, the lucky child would don the coat and put on gloves and large boots to complete the disguise. With everyone in the car, we’d park a short distance from the chosen house, and our little elf would make his or her way to the front porch. The fear of being seen or suspected made it even more exciting!
Back in our cozy home we would sit together with hot cocoa and bread sticks and relive the evening’s adventure. With full tummies and warm hearts, we would read the Christmas story from the Bible and appreciate what the Savior’s life taught us about service.
Christmases were always wonderful, and we never missed a year of our tradition.

Alexis also has a talent for kindness. In her class at school she noticed a boy with autism who didn’t have any friends. He was having a hard time learning and behaving appropriately. Alexis and four other girls decided to befriend him. They started helping him with his schoolwork and playing with him at recess. Pretty soon, he started getting along better with others. He’s a really good friend now, Alexis says.

Crocodiles, sharks, and sea snakes are strange things to mention as memories from childhood. But when Domingos Liao was growing up in Darwin, Australia, they were an everyday part of his life.
Domingos and his friends would ride their bikes to the mouth of Rapid Creek, where fresh water and sea water mix. They would wade across, dodging jellyfish adrift in the current, watching for sharks that wandered in from the sea, crocodiles buried in the mud, poisonous sea snakes, and stonefish with their venomous spikes. Despite the perils, they crossed the river again and again, lured by what they knew was on the other side.
“It was a land of promise,” Domingos remembers. “We could catch buckets of fish. The beaches were untouched and clean. There were green fields where nobody had been before.”
Today a bridge crosses the river. The open spaces have become a park, crisscrossed with jogging paths and frequented by university students. Still, Domingos likes to visit the river, to remember and to think.
His young life is full of memories. They begin on the island of Timor, several hundred miles north of Australia. His Chinese parents were working in the Portuguese colony there (Domingos is a Portuguese name) when it was invaded by Indonesia. The men fled to Portugal. Women and children escaped to Darwin. “My mother, myself, and some other relatives came on one of two boats that got away,” Domingos explains. “We were lucky to survive.”
Domingos’s father later joined them in Darwin. Thanks to hard work, the family prospered. Two more boys were born. Domingos learned English. He discovered sports—cricket, karate, tennis, soccer, handball, volleyball. He excelled in school, in music, and in art. He worked in his uncle’s restaurant.
One day his aunt, a newly baptized Latter-day Saint, introduced his family to the missionaries. Soon the Liaos joined the Church. “We were active for about a year,” Domingos says. “Then my parents stopped going. I kept on for a while; then I started to play cricket on Sundays. But my conscience kept nagging me that I should be in church.”
It was at this time that Domingos’s grandfather, who lived in Melbourne, suffered a stroke. He wasn’t expected to live. Domingos, 16, felt compelled to pray. “I told Heavenly Father if he would give Grandfather a chance, I would devote my life to the Church. But I didn’t just wait for him to recover. When we returned home, I returned to church. I’ve been taught that if you say something, you should do it.”
Grandpa did get better. And by the time he did, Domingos was going to church, not just to keep a promise, but because he truly believed it was the right thing to do.
By the time Domingos turned 18, his church activity began to irritate his father.
“Dad thought seminary was getting in the way of my schoolwork, so he banned me from getting up early to go. I wanted to honor him, so I quit going. But I still did seminary at home. Then he didn’t want that either, so I put that away.
“Then he’d find me reading my scriptures and think I hadn’t done my homework, even though my grades were good. One time he grabbed my scriptures and threw them in the rubbish bin. I had spent the last two years reading them and marking them, and they are really precious to me. The next morning I was able to get them back, but I had to give them to the branch president for safekeeping.”
It wasn’t long before Domingos’s father banned him from everything related to church activity—scripture study, Mutual activities, home teaching, and, finally, Sunday meetings.
“Even though I was 18 and legally my own person, my first reaction was to obey. Really. You want to obey your father because he is your father. But I knew I couldn’t break my promise to Heavenly Father by not attending church.
“Dad said if I went that Sunday, not to worry about coming back. So I packed my bags. My prayers were very sincere that night. The next morning, when he saw me dressed up, he was furious.”
Domingos left, but his parents came to the chapel and found him. They reached an agreement that he could attend every other Sunday. “I wasn’t happy with it, but it was better than nothing,” he says.
Then the next time he got ready for church, his father again told him if he went, never to return. “The second time was just as bad, probably worse. I’d been waiting to receive my patriarchal blessing, and the patriarch, who can only come about once a year, had come from far away. I got there for the appointment, but my father came at the same time. I had to go home and missed my blessing.”
The third time that his father confronted him in a similar way, Domingos left home and moved in with his grandmother. “Eventually my mum came and said my father was all right and he wouldn’t get angry again. So I came back.”
But in the meantime, he’d developed a desire to serve a full-time mission. “I prayed, and the answer was very certain that I should go when I turned 19. From then on my mind was made up—I just needed to prepare.”
If he would complete his first year of study, the University of the Northern Territory would agree to give him two years off to serve. But he’d have to carry an even harder class load for a few months before he left. “My coordinator actually encouraged me and said the mission would be a good experience,” Domingos says. He continued something he’d done since high school—telling fellow students about the steps of repentance and the plan of salvation.
He intensified his scripture study, memorizing many passages. “The scriptures brought me peace,” he says. “They reminded me of the things I should be doing.”
He joined the full-time missionaries when they gave discussions. He often bore his testimony. He kept a journal, writing in it every day. His Church leaders interviewed him, found him worthy, and sent in his missionary application.
Then one day, this time when he returned from church, his father kicked him out for the fourth time. “It was pretty final,” Domingos says. “He was not pleased with my plans for a mission and said if I went I wouldn’t be his son anymore.”
His branch president, Michael Kuhn, invited Domingos to live in his home until the mission call arrived.
Finished with his schoolwork, Domingos filled his days with prayer, with uplifting music, with Church activities, missionary work, and study of the scriptures. Sometimes he would read the scriptures all day long.
And then the letter came: “You are called to labor in the Hong Kong Mission.” Domingos returned home for a short time to try to make peace with his family before he left. “Mainly because they knew they could not change my mind, they yielded,” he says. Before he left, the family went out to dinner together and took lots of farewell photos.
Letters written from the Missionary Training Center and from the mission field reflect the joy that quickly followed:
—“At the airport I was able to meet one of the missionaries who taught me, Elder (Hoyt) Skabelund, and his wife and baby and parents. I am slowly learning Cantonese. The people in the MTC are wonderful.”
—“I’ve received two letters from my mother. Everything is going well at home. They are being blessed greatly and they know it! My family and relatives are now happy that I am serving a mission. Surely God is a God of miracles!”
—“I have done my first street display, talking to everyone who goes by. I have taught the six discussions in Cantonese.”
—“Now I have been transferred to Macau, a Portuguese colony neighbouring the coast of China. I am pretty lucky because not many missionaries get to serve here. We are teaching an investigator, and he will be baptized. I know that God called me here to do a special work.”
—“Every inconvenience was worth overcoming to read the Book of Mormon. Every insult was worth swallowing to keep the Sabbath holy. Every moment was worth waiting for to kneel in private prayer, every pain worth enduring to attend church. Every blow was worth taking, every torment worth suffering, every tear worth shedding to come on this mission.”
Today in Macau, Elder Liao looks out the window of his missionary apartment and sees a promised land.
“When I decided to go on a mission,” he says, “I knew there would be strong currents against me. I didn’t really know the dangers lurking in the water, what might try to sting me or to swallow me up. I was only thinking about making it. Now here I am, and I know that it’s worth it.”
And he’s eager to build a bridge to help others, including his family, to cross over to the other side.

The classic example of how Key No. 2 works is to examine the life of Joseph Smith and the unfolding of the Restoration of the gospel. This dispensation commenced in the spring of 1820, when an untutored 14 year old boy, read the familiar Bible passage in the first chapter of James. The familiar passage read: "If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him."[14] Joseph's response to this scripture was to do exactly as James directed.

First - Joseph read the scriptures: He tells us: "I was one day reading the Epistle of James."

Second - Joseph felt the influence of the Spirit as he read: He writes: "Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine. It seemed to enter with great force into every feeling of my heart."

Third - Joseph pondered on the scripture: He said: "I reflected on it again and again"

Fourth - Joseph made the decision to ask: He declared: "At length I came to the conclusion that I . . . must do as James directs, that is, ask of God."

Fifth - Joseph prayed to God: He recorded: "So, in accordance with . . . my determination to ask of God, I retired to the woods to make the attempt."[15]

Is not this the same heavenly pattern that each of us can follow as we read the scriptures, feel the Spirit as it touches our hearts, ponder what we have studied, then pray to God for wisdom and knowledge each time we open the scriptures?

The result of Joseph Smith's reading, pondering and praying led him into the Sacred Grove where the heavens opened and he received a personal revelation from the Father and the Son. The events leading to the First Vision set the pattern for other visitations which followed.

I remember the first time I encountered the Americans. We came through a dense pine forest, and we had to go across the street. We opened the branches and all of a sudden a huge tank was right in front, and the gun was aimed at us.
I was scared. I had never seen an American tank or an American. The top of the tank opened, and an American came out. Russian prisoners who had been freed by the Americans were sitting on top. They saw that we were shaking. The American asked me where we came from and where we wanted to go. I told him we wanted to go home. “No way,” he said. “You just jump on here, and we’ll take you along. At the next stop we’ll put you on a truck that will take you to a camp.”

The Russian soldiers seated on the tank made me think of a possible solution to our dilemma. During the war the feeling of love I had learned all my life in church was in my heart. I didn’t hate anyone. I thought about being my brother’s keeper.

The Russian soldiers imprisoned in our camp weren’t treated well. They went without much to eat and we had plenty, so we asked them to clean our mess kits, and they consented. We left food in them all the time just to feed them.

My commanding officer noticed, and he called me in. “What do you do with your mess kits?”
“The Russians clean them for us,” I replied.
“I checked and there was food in them.”
“We cannot eat it all. That’s why we leave it in there.”
“You know that’s strictly forbidden. I could report you and you would be in trouble. Don’t do it again,” he said, and patted me on the shoulder.

One of the Russians to whom we had given the food wrote me a note. He told me that whenever we lost the war or I needed help from the Russians to show them this note.

I had put it in my pocket, and at the moment that we were confronted with that tank I remembered it. I pulled it out and gave it to the Russians. They read it and then all of a sudden said, “Friend! Friend!” in German and talked to the American, telling him that I had given food to the Russians. He said, “I hear you have been good to the Russians. Instead of us taking you along, just go ahead.”

A few years ago, I had a unique opportunity. In April of 2013, I got to run in the Boston Marathon. In order to run the Boston, you have to earn the right to run it by successfully completing a qualifying marathon in the year prior to the Boston. Qualifying times are adjusted based on your age and gender. My designated qualifying time was 3 hours and 45 minutes, which translates to an average pace of about 8-and-a-half-minute miles. I tried to qualify for the Boston in the Top of Utah Marathon in Logan, Utah, in 2011 but missed my qualifying time by 46 seconds. While I was disappointed, I continued to train throughout the winter. I changed one key strategy and then ran the Ogden Marathon in May 2012. This time I met my qualifying time with a few minutes to spare.
So what was the strategy that ultimately contributed to my qualification? I changed my pacing. In my first qualification attempt--the Top of Utah Marathon--my strategy was to go out and run as fast as I could.
My husband, Eric, who is a fast and accomplished runner in his own right, ran out in front of me, and I did my best to stay right behind him. It felt amazing for the first half of the race. We were flying down the mountain and passing people right and left, but unfortunately this strategy came with a price. By the halfway point, I had expended most of my energy and ended up having very little energy to complete the race, let alone meet my qualifying time.
Eight months later, in the Ogden Marathon, I changed my approach.
I promised myself that I would not allow myself to run faster than an eight-minute mile pace. There were several times during the race that I would look down at my GPS, and I was going too fast. I had to make myself slow down. This was really hard! It's hard to allow people to pass you when you know you are capable of running fast too. But the goal is not to just run fast; the goal is to endure to the end. By slowing down the pace just a little, I increased my endurance. My new strategy paid off, just like the classic fable about a tortoise and a hare. The hare runs in short, distracted bursts. The tortoise is slower but more consistent in pacing, and the consistency ends up winning the race.

I witnessed firsthand how these blessings—as promised by our dear prophet—changed the life of Brother Joseph Tembo* from the Copperbelt in Zambia. We visited this brother when I was assigned to preside over a district conference a few years ago. Upon entering his home, I noticed in his room a small table on the left with a pile of scriptures. I just marveled as I was informed that he had been inactive for the past seven years and had become somewhat disaffected. As we discussed with him, he said something profound, “I haven’t been going to Church for the past seven years because of some offense. I still know the gospel is true. Reading the Book of Mormon daily has kept me going.” The Book of Mormon had surely comforted, strengthened and consoled him during his greatest time of need. It was therefore easy to help him find his way back to Church again.

This also strengthened my own testimony that scripture study should have a daily set time, not leftover time! And as President Harold B. Lee cautioned, “If we are not reading the scriptures daily, our testimonies are growing thinner.”11

As we seek to increase our faith in Heavenly Father and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and His Atonement, we need to “press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end.”12 “The words of Christ will tell [us] all things what [we] should do.”13 The Book of Mormon is for our profit and learning. It testifies of Jesus Christ and answers the questions of the soul.

My companion elbowed me. “Why don’t you talk to the next person?”
Her words terrified me. Why would anyone want to hear what we had to say? These people were all on their way to work or out having fun for the day. I was positive that no one would appreciate being interrupted by a couple of women with a spiritual message. Central Square in Cambridge, Massachusetts, just didn’t seem to fit with a couple of Latter-day Saint missionaries.
The man I was to approach didn’t look particularly intimidating, just an everyday commuter. But at that moment, there couldn’t have been a more frightening sight. I’m used to listening and observing, not talking and being noticed. My companion, on the other hand, was a tall, beautiful, forthright woman. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t let me remain in my silent, comfortable world. After all, I was just on exchanges with her. I wasn’t a real missionary.
The man was standing on the train platform next to us now, so my companion gave me another healthy nudge. I walked slowly up to him and said, “Hello. My name is Sister Eagar, and this is Sister Hippolyte. We’re from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we were wondering if you had some time so that we could share a message with you.”
My face turned red, and I waited nervously for his reaction. To my great astonishment, he answered with a smile and said, “Yes, I have some time until my train comes.” Sister Hippolyte gave him some pamphlets and information. The man had questions for us, and I helped with the answers as best I could. His train came, and he left with a friendly good-bye.
Similar things happened throughout the day. People didn’t brush us off as I had expected them to. They were actually friendly. I had been sure we would make no contacts at all and come home with our backpacks as full as when we had left in the morning. But I was wrong!
It made me think of a scripture, “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2 Tim. 1:7). I had no reason to fear. We were preaching the truth, and the Lord was on our side. He loved those people and wanted them to hear the gospel and understand it. We may not have been able to hold the attention of even one individual if we had to rely on our own strength, but we were serving the Lord. He was our strength. I felt ashamed at my lack of faith and resolved to be fearless in our future tracting.
I now know that the Spirit guides the missionaries of this Church and leads them to those who are ready to accept the Savior, Jesus Christ. If we listen to the promptings of the Spirit and heed them with faith that the Lord will help us, we have no need to fear.

Even though I’m 12, I still love reading the Friend. If I am worried or feel unsafe, the Friend is always there. Not long after the December 2004 tsunami, my family and I were watching the news on television. There were pictures of children who lost their parents or who were lost themselves. I began to feel sick and shaky. I asked my brother to read the Friend to me. The Friend helped me stop shaking that night, and it has also helped me with other things. THANKS!Jessica C., age 12, Washington

To illustrate this principle of leadership and teaching I would like to share an email from a student who served on my Student Support Council. Her name is Kiersten and I received her permission to share her insight today. She said, "When I went to that first meeting, I was overwhelmed. I saw all of these men, in their black suits with briefcases. When I sat down, I felt like I was amongst giants. As we had the first of many prayers, I was struck by the fact that these men would bow their heads, and ask Heavenly Father for inspiration on how to guide the students at BYU-Idaho. I had always seen the administration building as a place away from the school, I had no idea that they cared about students to the extent they did. I was very pleasantly surprised and humbled. I haven't seen you in a while and there is something really interesting I'd like to tell you about. Do you remember a couple of months ago when we used to have one on one meetings in your office? In one of those meetings, you told me that the experiences that I would gain by sitting in those council meetings would prepare me for being a Relief Society President someday. I thought to myself Yeah, this will prepare me, but not for something like that. Well Brother Harris, as ironic as it is, I was called to be a Relief Society President and I was sustained this past Sunday. I was just thinking about how huge of a responsibility this is going to be for me, and I was thinking that I don't know where to start...but then I started thinking of the meetings that I was in, and how everything was brought up in that council. I guess that the Lord has ways of preparing people in ways that we will always be thankful for." Now I know that Kiersten needed to learn many things in order to serve, but she put forth the effort to make her experience all that it could be.

While we were at lunch, we sat with a man who is now a grandfather who said that his little four-year-old grandson came to him the other day and said, “Grandpa, why do the hummingbirds hum?” Grandpa said, “I don’t know. Why?” The little boy said, “Because they don’t know the words.”
It is unlikely that we will remember very many of the words that we’ve heard during the meetings of this conference. But I hope that we shall be able to “hum” the spirit of this conference and that we shall carry with us a great feeling of uplift because of our participation together. It has been a glorious time. The Spirit of the Lord has been with us. We have every reason to be grateful. We have been refreshed in our testimonies and strengthened in our faith.

I have learned so much. Sometimes it seems that I’m not even the same person I used to be. I used to be afraid of anyone who was different from me. I work at the Morris Center cafeteria, and it is one of my jobs to help people with a handicap carry their trays to the tables. But I used to be so afraid of them that when I saw someone with a handicap coming, I would go to the other end of the cafeteria. One of the other workers would have to help.
One day that didn’t work. There were people with handicaps at both ends of the cafeteria. I had to help a blind boy to his table! What do I say? I thought. Should I act as if there’s nothing wrong? Well, here goes. When he asked me my name, I just about died. I forgot it, and then when I remembered, I said it in a cracked voice.
That’s the way people acted, even close friends, when they found out I had cancer! What do I say? Will she start crying? Everyone either went the long way around, or they acted like nothing was wrong. They would forget that I am a person. Sometimes it was funny, especially if they thought my illness was contagious, but mostly it just hurt. I don’t want to be treated any differently from anyone else.
I began to understand how handicapped people must feel. There is a guy named Skip in my psychology class. He is blind. Everyone used to take the long way around him. One day I sat next to him. He said hello and put his hand out. I gave him mine and said, “Hi, I’m Karen.”
Now there are a lot of people who sit by Skip. He’s a great guy. He likes to tell blind jokes, like “Don’t leave me in the dark.” Or he will tell us about the blind date that he had over the weekend. I’ve missed out on so much because I’ve been afraid or because I didn’t take the time to understand.

President Cowley had an interesting story to tell about repentance.

There was a man by the name of Syd who lived in a little Maori village on the east coast of New Zealand. At that time there was a large branch of the Church there with about four hundred members. One Saturday afternoon, after a long, eight-hour drive, President Cowley arrived at this village and went directly to see his old friend, Syd.

As a young man, Syd had been an outstanding athlete. He had attended high school and college in the United States. He had become a well-known basketball player, and, as an all-star athlete, he had received a lot of publicity.

Syd had been ordained a seventy while he had lived in the United States, and when he arrived back in New Zealand, he had found that he was the only seventy in the whole area, and he didn’t have a quorum to belong to. He had become somewhat inactive, and he hadn’t been keeping the Word of Wisdom, but deep within his heart he still knew the gospel to be true.

As a mission president and a friend, President Cowley called on Syd, and found him sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch, smoking a big cigar. Syd didn’t stop chewing on his cigar as President Cowley sat down beside him to visit.

After they had talked and laughed for a while, President Cowley became serious and said, “Syd, I want you to come to church tomorrow. I’m going to release the branch president and put in a new one.”

Syd said, “I haven’t been there for a long time. Why don’t you just tell me who the new branch president will be, and then I won’t have to get myself cleaned up for church in the morning.”

President Cowley said, “Well, I’ll tell you who it is. It’s going to be you.”

Syd pulled that old cigar out of his mouth, looked at it, and said, “President, you mean me and my cigar?”

President Cowley said, “No, Syd—just you. We don’t need your cigar.”

Then Syd threw the cigar out on the ground in front of the porch. He thought for a minute, turned to President Cowley, and very humbly said, “President, I won’t break the Word of Wisdom any more. I’m a full-tithe payer. I’ll be the branch president, and I’ll be worthy. Tomorrow morning I’ll be there, and I promise you that I’ll be the best branch president in the whole country. You won’t have to worry about me and whether or not I’m living the gospel.”

For the next several years, Syd served as one of the strongest and finest leaders in the mission. His son became the first bishop in the ward when the stake was created. Just recently, his grandson was released from serving as a bishop. Syd’s whole family is strong and active in the Church today and is one of the great families in New Zealand. Why? Because old Syd knew how to repent. He repented on the spot. When he was called to repentance, he quit his worldly ways. He became and remained a faithful Saint until the day he died.

In most cases, that’s all there is to repentance. Do you see how really simple that was? President Cowley never did ask Syd to repent. He gave him an opportunity to be of service to the Church in a priesthood calling. Syd knew that if he accepted that calling, he could no longer sin, so he immediately quit. It was over—just like that! The Lord accepted his repentance, and Syd became a great leader.