Gospel Story Finder

Monte Schofield had always planned to serve a mission but when the time came in 1971, it was a difficult decision. “It was the time of the Viet Nam War and that had to be a factor in the life of a young man from the US,” he recalls. Learning he would not be drafted for military service unlike other young adults he knew, Brother Schofield heeded the prophet’s call for every young man to serve a mission.
Brother Schofield was called to serve in the Philippines Mission from 1971 to 1973, which then covered the entire archipelago. He was assigned to Quezon City (Cubao area), Angeles, Bacolod, Los Ba?os/Calamba, Caloocan (Malabon and Navotas area), and Davao City. “I developed a great love of the gospel, my Savior, and the Filipino people,” recalls Elder Schofield of his pioneer proselyting days.
The Schofields were married in the Idaho Falls Temple in 1974 and raised a family of two boys and three girls. After retiring from working in the retail clothing business, Brother Schofield responded positively to the invitation to serve the Lord again full-time.
“I have always told my wife I wanted to come back to the Philippines and serve as a senior couple,” Elder Schofield reveals, “I love this country, and most of all the kind hearted people.” Together, the Schofields served in the Cebu City Philippines Temple (2015–2017), Philippines Olongapo Mission (2019), and lastly in the Manila Philippines Temple (2024–2025).
All in all, Elder Schofield wants the rising generation to know that serving a mission will change their lives, just as it changed his: “I cannot imagine how much different my life would have been had I chosen not to serve.”

“Grandma, I’m so sorry, but I can’t go to church with you. I forgot to bring a dress and shoes,” I told her in my most regretful voice. Not wanting to go to a ward of strangers, I had purposely left my church clothes home when I visited Grandma. I hadn’t washed my hair nor put on any makeup, and I waited until a half hour before church to give Grandma the news. I was positive Grandma would agree I was not fit for church.
Smiling, Grandma quickly appraised my condition: “Rachelle, this isn’t a problem. We’re close to the same size, and I have the perfect outfit for you.” She opened her closet and pulled out a blue paisley grandma-skirt with a coordinating pink blouse. The sleeves were too long, and the skirt’s hem swished around my ankles. Not only was Grandma taller than me, but she also had long, narrow feet. After attempts with different shoes, she helped me stuff tissues in the toes of some colorful beaded loafers.
“You look beautiful,” Grandma beamed. I pasted on a smile, but I was aware I couldn’t look anything but ridiculous in an old-lady dress with flat, greasy hair. Grandma was optimistic, and with her sweet prodding, we headed out the door for church.
“Bishop,” Grandma said as we entered the foyer, “I’d like you to meet my granddaughter Rachelle. She’s come to visit me for a few days.” I shook hand after hand as Grandma proudly introduced me to practically everyone in her ward.
It was a relief when sacrament meeting began and we were seated quietly on the bench. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t concentrate on any of the announcements or songs. I kept my head down, hoping none of the young men had seen me. I was seriously wishing I were in my own dress, wearing makeup, with stylish hair.
The priests began to reverently bless the sacrament. It wasn’t until the priests began to bless the water that I finally started to listen and realized what I had done. I had been so worried about attending an unfamiliar ward that I had given no thought to remembering God, His Son Jesus Christ, and what They have done for us. I realized that I had even planned to break His commandment by not coming to church. I had also lied to my grandmother about forgetting my clothes. I felt ashamed.
As I thought of our Savior and His love for us, my heart lifted. I had planned to not come to church, but here I sat. This made me smile. I was grateful for Grandma, for the borrowed dress, and that Grandma loved me enough to bring me to church. She had helped me put God first and keep His commandments.
I never “forgot” my church clothes again.

On a December night in 1982, my wife, Terry, and I were awakened by a phone call to our home in Pocatello, Idaho. As I answered the phone, I heard only sobbing. Finally, my sister’s struggling voice said, “Tommy is dead.”
A 20-year-old drunk driver, speeding at more than 85 miles (135 km) per hour, recklessly ran a stoplight in a suburb of Denver, Colorado. He crashed violently into the car driven by my youngest brother, Tommy, instantly killing him and his wife, Joan. They were returning home to a young daughter after a Christmas party.
My wife and I immediately flew to Denver and made our way to the mortuary. We gathered with my parents and siblings and grieved the loss of our beloved Tommy and Joan. We had lost them to a senseless criminal act. Our hearts were broken, and anger toward the young offender began to well up inside me.
Tommy had served as a lawyer in the United States Department of Justice and was on a course to be a strong advocate for protection of Native American lands and natural resources for years to come.
After some time had passed, a court sentencing hearing was held for the young man found responsible for vehicular manslaughter. In their ongoing grief and sorrow, my parents and oldest sister, Katy, attended the hearing. The drunk driver’s parents were also there, and after the hearing concluded, they sat on a bench and wept. My parents and sister were sitting nearby as they sought to gain control of their own emotions. After a moment, my parents and sister stood up and walked to the driver’s parents and offered them words of comfort and forgiveness. The men shook hands; the women held hands; there was deep sorrow and tears for all and a recognition that both families had suffered immensely. Mom, Dad, and Katy led the way with their quiet strength and courage and showed our family what forgiveness looks like.
That outreach of forgiveness in those moments caused my own heart to soften and opened a pathway to healing. Over time I learned how to have a forgiving heart. Only with the help of the Prince of Peace was my painful burden lifted. My heart will always miss Tommy and Joan, but forgiveness now allows me to remember them with unfettered joy. And I know we will be together again as a family.

Francine and I had both joined the Church years before we knew each other. None of our parents had, however. After we met, and after we decided to be married in the temple, we faced the difficult task of telling our families that they could not attend our wedding. Only worthy members of the Church were allowed to enter the temple, we explained.
Our families and friends were hurt—even upset. Their attitude was, “This is the most important day in your lives. How could you refuse to let us share it with you?” We knew they considered us inconsiderate and ungrateful.
Loving our families very much, we felt the weight of this quandary. We also wanted the other nonmembers who had influenced our lives—friends we loved and respected—to know that we cared about them and their feelings. We wanted them all to feel appreciated.
But we also wanted to be married in the temple.
After considerable prayer, we finally arrived at an answer: Rather than have a reception honoring us, the newlyweds, we would have a reception honoring our guests.
We specified on the invitations that the reception would include a program at the beginning. We were careful to have all the posed photographs taken before our guests arrived. Then, at the specified hour, we met the guests in a receiving line for about twenty minutes. We then asked everyone to be seated.
Our bishop conducted the program, starting with a prayer. We didn’t want to offend our many nonmember guests, and so we were glad to learn later that many had appreciated the prayer. Our program consisted of two musical numbers and three talks. First, the bishop explained eternal marriage so clearly and beautifully that, according to our guests, many felt feelings of joy and enlightenment that they had never felt before.
Then Francine and I spoke. We told briefly and simply of our feelings for each other, our families, and our friends. We publicly expressed our love and appreciation. Then we shared our understanding and testimony of eternal marriage.
The program closed with a prayer and blessing on the refreshments. While we ate we mingled with our guests. Many asked questions about temple marriage and expressed appreciation for our testimonies. My father-in-law repeatedly thanked me for the program.
“Now I don’t even miss walking Francine down the aisle,” he said. After the refreshments came a “money dance,” a tradition from my parents’ European background. In a money dance, the bride and groom start dancing together, but someone who wants to cut in can do so by pinning a dollar bill on the bride or groom. With our money dance, many of our guests had a chance to chat with either Francine or me. They told us they loved us; they even told us they were glad we were Mormons.
Afterward, many guests said it was the best reception they’d ever attended. Our parents seemed proud and happy.
By making our reception a gift to our guests, we were able to give them the greater gift; insight into eternal marriage and the Lord’s great plan of eternal progression.

It really is hard to not categorize others. Not long ago, a man outside the Hau’ula 7-Eleven asked my wife and I for some money. She apologized and said we didn’t have any cash but would get him some food if he liked. He declined her offer with an “it’s okay aunty.” I didn’t think anything more of this exchange. However, when we returned to the car, my wife immediately started searching through all the compartments for loose change. When I asked why she was going to all this trouble, she looked at me and asked, “Do you know whose son that is?” I didn’t, but upon learning who he was, a fond memory of his father quickly came to mind, and I immediately began searching through my wallet for anything I could give him.

Brothers and sisters, we may not have any fond memories or associations with the parents or families of those whom we are in contentious relationships with, but we do know that we have the same Heavenly Father who loves us; and we do know that we have the same Older Brother in who atoned for all of our sins. And we can be very certain that both our Heavenly Father and our Savior Jesus Christ are grieved when they see us “condemn, malign, and vilify” each other. [24]

President Henry B. Eyring, in his talk "O Remember, Remember" in the 2007 October General Conference, states:
"When our children were very small, I started to write down a few things about what happened every day. Let me tell you how that got started. I came home late from a Church assignment. It was after dark. My father-in-law, who lived near us, surprised me as I walked toward the front door of my house. He was carrying a load of pipes over his shoulder, walking very fast and dressed in his work clothes. I knew that he had been building a system to pump water from a stream below us up to our property. He smiled, spoke softly, and then rushed past me into the darkness to go on with his work. I took a few steps toward the house, thinking of what he was doing for us, and just as I got to the door, I heard in my mind-not in my own voice-these words: I'm not giving you these experiences for yourself. Write them down."
"I went inside. I didn't go to bed. Although I was tired, I took out some paper and began to write. And as I did, I understood the message I had heard in my mind. I was supposed to record for my children to read, someday in the future, how I had seen the hand of God blessing our family. Grandpa didn't have to do what he was doing for us. He could have had someone else do it or not have done it at all. But he was serving us, his family, in the way covenant disciples of Jesus Christ always do. I knew that was true. And so I wrote it down, so that my children could have the memory someday when they would need it.
"I wrote down a few lines every day for years. I never missed a day no matter how tired I was or how early I would have to start the next day. Before I would write, I would ponder this question: Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?' As I kept at it, something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done."

One episode provides an example of how BYUH has defended its claim to distinguish its standards from those that dominate our culture through the mass media and Hollywood. The incident took place in 1964 when professional entertainer Elvis Presley got the word at the Polynesian Cultural Center where he was producing "Paradise-Hawaiian Style." Marie Nin Paongo, the manager of the International Student Services Office today, was a student dancer at the PCC. She remembered that one of the starlets in the Presley movie appeared on the set in "a skimpy little two piece bra type top, with her navel exposed."

After a hurried conference, filming was stopped and the immodestly dressed woman was hustled away. When she returned her outfit had been redone. And her body more covered.... "They had done it because it was not right that a guide at the PCC (or a BYUH student on campus) should be dressed immodestly... [xxvi]

One day I joined my siblings at the table to do our family scripture study. My mom started our Come, Follow Me lesson, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was thinking about something else: Is Jesus really real?
In church and in Primary we learned that He is real, but I didn’t know for myself. I thought and thought, but I couldn’t find the answer.
After scripture study, I asked my mom, “Is Jesus real?”
“Good question,” she said. “How about you pray about it?”
“OK,” I said.
That night I said a prayer and asked, “Heavenly Father, is Your Son real?” Then I felt a really warm feeling inside. I knew God had answered my prayer. After that, I said a thank-you prayer to Heavenly Father for answering me. I know He listens to my prayers and that He will also listen to yours.

In 1960 I met a young man at a party who told me that Jesus Christ had visited the Americas after His Resurrection. I found the idea incredible and wanted to know more, so I began searching in libraries and inquiring of the various religious denominations in my hometown of San Miguel, El Salvador.
I searched for almost three years but found nothing. When I mentioned to various religious leaders that I had heard of Christ’s coming to the Americas, they told me I had been deceived. Because my search turned up no information, I eventually came to believe they were right.
One day two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to my home and said they had an important message for my family. I immediately remembered my previous inquiries and asked them, “Do you know if Jesus Christ came to the Americas?”
One of the young men said, “We bear witness of that.”
At that moment I felt a great excitement in my mind and heart, and I asked, “How do you know that?”
He took a book out of his bag and said, “We know Christ came here because of this book, the Book of Mormon.”
What the missionaries taught me during that first discussion troubled me, and I doubted the account of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s vision of the Father and the Son. However, the Book of Mormon intrigued me, and the missionaries kept teaching me the lessons.
One afternoon, the elders asked me, “Have you prayed to find out if what we are teaching you is true?”
I told them I had done so but had not obtained an answer.
“You must pray with real intent,” they said.
I had been reading the Book of Mormon for several nights and had read about and believed in Jesus Christ’s appearance to the Nephites, but I still could not accept Joseph Smith’s vision. My internal struggle was terrible.
One night I knelt alone and opened my heart to God. I told Him that I needed to know if He had really manifested Himself to Joseph Smith. If He had, I promised Him I would be baptized into the Church and serve Him all my life.
When I arose early the next morning, the answer came to me through the Holy Ghost. My mind cleared, and my heart filled with peace. From that moment on, I have had no doubts whatsoever that Joseph Smith truly was a prophet of God, that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ, and that Jesus Christ is our Savior and Redeemer.
I know that Christ came to the Americas after His Resurrection. My soul delights in this marvelous knowledge, taught to me with certainty by the power of the Holy Ghost.

The first account is by Lynette Hendricks--a great friend and my other visiting teacher: My first visit to the Sacred Grove was an incredible spiritual experience--absolutely everything I had hoped it would be! My husband wasn't able to be with me on that particular trip, so we saved our money and planned a short vacation to New York specifically to visit the Sacred Grove.

I was particularly excited the morning my husband and I would visit the grove together. I had looked forward to sharing this special place. The Spirit is strong there; you can feel it. I just knew he wouldn't be disappointed!

We entered the grove on a hot, humid day, and the cool shade from the trees overhead offered immediate relief.

I could feel the sweet wash of the Spirit that I had so counted on. We found one of the benches strategically placed along the pathways inside the grove and sat down to soak it all in--but it was not to last for long.

We had been followed into the grove that morning by another tourist. As he walked past us, his phone rang rather loudly. He answered and launched into conducting a lengthy business conversation over his phone. We moved to a different location, but it was to no avail. His voice carried well and followed us all over the grove. I hoped he would finish so that the peace of the place could return, but he did not.

Sometimes there is no way to mask or soften or make right an interruption on a sacred moment. We left the grove, his phone conversation following us.[18]

The next example. One of the joys of being a Bishop here at BYU-Hawaii, is the opportunity of getting to know students from all over the world and listen to their individual experiences. Because of this opportunity, I have come to appreciate each student's example and faithfulness in the gospel.

Brother Sung Hoon Lee from Seoul, South Korea, serves as the Elders Quorum President in the BYU-Hawaii 17th Ward. He is one of these students that I have grown to admire particularly because of his conversion to the gospel and example to the ward. One afternoon, Brother Lee was sitting on a bench reading when he noticed two missionaries walking in his direction. He continued to read to avoid any unwanted attention from these missionaries. As he read, several thoughts crossed his mind, "What are these strange and weird young men doing?" "Don't turn, don't turn, keep walking, keep walking." Needless to say, the missionaries did in fact approach Brother Lee and shortly thereafter, he was baptized at the age of 26. Although his parents never supported his decision to be baptized, a year and three months later, he decided to serve a full time mission for the church. At the age of 27 his parents had other things in mind for him, such as, finding a job and getting married. However, Brother Lee's desire to serve a mission led him to the Korea Pusan Mission. Throughout his mission Brother Lee's parents chose not to support him. In fact, he remembers calling his mother on Mother's Day and being told "no longer to call her mom." But, Brother Lee did not lose faith. While on his mission Brother Lee constantly sent missionaries to his parents' home and through his persistence, faith, and prayers, Brother Lee was given special permission to return home from his mission to baptize his father. Till today, his mother remains a non-member but is much more receptive to the church and its beliefs.

At a Young Women leadership meeting in Eugene, Oregon, I had the privilege of meeting and talking with Sister Cammy Wilberger. The story Sister Wilberger shared with me was a witness of the power and blessing of one young woman’s knowing, living, and loving the gospel.
Sister Wilberger’s 19-year-old daughter, Brooke, was tragically killed several years ago while on summer break after her first year at university. Sister Wilberger recalled, “It was a difficult and dark time for our family. However, Brooke had given us a great gift. We didn’t recognize this as she was growing up, but every single year and moment of her brief life, Brooke had given us the greatest gift a daughter could give her parents. Brooke was a righteous daughter of God. … Because of this gift and especially because of the enabling power of the Atonement, I have had strength, comfort, and the Savior’s promised peace. I have no question where Brooke is now and look forward to our loving reunion.”9

Kevin took the envelope Christi was waving and quickly tore it open. It read,
“Dear Kevin Richards,
Please forgive that I take so long to write. My name is Tuilolo Tuiaaga. I live with my wife and four children in Pago Pago on Samoan island called Tutuila. One day your missionaries came. I was busy in my bakery and had no time to listen. But my wife listen and keep your book and read it.
Then bad time came to my family. My bakery burn down. Our sick baby got sicker. Doctors try hard, but poor baby Sina die.
My wife say God loves Sina. God loves us. She say He cares. I get very angry. I yell, ‘If He love us, why bakery burn? Why Sina die?’
One night I hurt bad inside. I not sleep. I sit in darkness. By chair was your book. I want to burn book. I pick it up. I see your picture. I read what you write. Then I read and read and read in book. Is hard to read in English for me, but I read till morning. I read again what you write. The Spirit tells me what I read is true. I believe. I wake my wife. We cry and pray. I pray that God forgive my anger. Peace comes to my soul.
Soon will be our family baptism on 30 August. We are very happy. I thank you for sending Book of Mormon.
Peace to you, my brother,
Tuilolo Tuiaaga”

“I began my career by chasing my sons,” she quips. And it’s literally true. Her two younger sons, she has six children, had taken up running and, concerned at age thirty-seven about her own fitness, she began jogging with them. In 1963 “the Big Walk became the rage in the Transvaal,” and Mavis found herself becoming “one of the top lady walkers in the country.” She liked it—the competition, the continually increasing endurance and discipline, and the self-discovery.

Mavis had never thought of herself as athletic. Her father, George Vaughn, was a runner and rugby player in Kimberly, site of “the biggest manmade hole on earth,” where he worked for a diamond-mining company. Yet Mavis, a nervous child, suffered from chorea (St. Vitus’s dance) in her early teens that left her bedridden for three months on three separate occasions. Running was an unexpected development in the life of Mrs. Ernest Hutchison of Johannesburg, the mother of six children, and now the grandmother of seven.

From walking, she branched out into cross-country running and worked hard to get the Republic of South Africa to recognize women’s cross-country as a legitimate sport. She was rewarded in the usual way by getting more work to do; she was appointed to manage the first women’s team to represent South Africa abroad, touring the United Kingdom in 1969.

By then she was working seriously on her running and signed up for “one of the most gruelling marathons in the world,” the Comrades’ Marathon which starts 760 meters above sea level at Pietermaritzburg and runs through “87 kilometers of breath-taking scenery to the coastal city of Durban.” This is “the down run.” The “up run,” held in alternate years, begins at Durban and climbs breathlessly to Pietermaritzburg.

By then, running had become a way of life. She challenged herself more, pushed herself harder, and then, in 1978, faced the two greatest challenges of her life. One challenge was to run completely across the United States. The other was to accept the message of the Mormon missionaries.

She met the missionaries just before she left for the United States and asked them to come back because “I was frantic with last-minute preparations.”

Standing on the steps of the Los Angeles City Hall on 12 March 1978 she knew she was facing “the greatest challenge of my life” both spiritually and physically. “It was my greatest ambition, but I felt so apprehensive. Would I really be able to do it? What lay ahead of me? Was I strong enough? Had I prepared properly? I wished I’d had enough sense to have stayed at home.”

Then the clock struck nine and she was off. Followed by two vans, Mavis ran fourteen hours a day, starting at 4 A.M. and stopping only for meals. She ran through thirteen states, through four time zones. She took six million footsteps, one at time. She wore twenty-five pairs of shoes in rotation, and had repairs made forty times.

The weather, almost systematically, hit her with every variation. For four weeks she slogged through intense heat. For the next four weeks, she struggled through gale-force winds—that literally blew her off her feet more than once—and bitter cold, staggering along under the weight of two tracksuits, a soft, flat cap with no visor, gloves, and a lightweight jacket the wind can’t blow through. Then it rained without stopping for seven days. One raincoat would keep her dry for exactly one hour; she wore two. Together, they kept her dry for four hours.

The weather was not her only challenge. “The traffic was frightening,” she exclaimed. At one dangerous stretch, cars were whizzing past every seven seconds. She stopped running only one day—the thirty-third—when shin splints made it impossible to continue. The next day, teeth gritted and literally dragging her right foot, she was back on the road.

“I prayed often for courage to bear the pain,” she remembers. “I didn’t ask God to take it away, but just to help me bear it.” She prayed often throughout the journey: “‘Please God, give me the stamina to fight the wind, the endurance to continue the distance I need to go, the willpower to keep going.’ At no time did I ever doubt that I would finish the distance, but I can assure you that there were times when I didn’t know how I could finish the day or even the next hour. And then I prayed, in the words of John Henry Newman’s beautiful hymn, ‘Please, God, I do not ask to see the distant scene. One step enough for me.’” (“Lead Kindly Light”, No. 112).

Finally the weather relented, and “the last two days were the most beautiful imaginable.” She trotted into New York and landed at the city hall just before noon on May 20, the only woman in history to have run from the Pacific Coast to the Atlantic Coast across the U.S.. Exhilarated from the run, after sixty-nine days, two hours, and forty minutes, she was surprised that it was over, “It came too suddenly,” she said.

Was it worth it? “Yes! I grew beyond my wildest dreams. I learned that nothing is impossible if you’re prepared to work hard enough. Age is irrelevant. There are no barriers and no handicaps. And you must do it yourself. No one can run for you. I also learned that failure is important. From it we learn discipline, patience, perseverance, and the ability to accept disappointments.”

In some real though not yet understood ways, that gruelling run had prepared her for the gospel. The open road “opened my mind and heart to the hidden reaches of a hidden existence. I was ready to discover myself.” Beyond the fear of failure and the pain of the hard work lay an unshakable sense of self, a self that honored the truth and despised sham. And the “purifying solitude” of long runs had given her an instinct for joy.

The chance to plunge into another layer of self-discovery came within a month of her return to Johannesburg. Two missionaries—different ones—called on her. She participated enthusiastically in the six discussions, “sure that they would keep coming indefinitely since I so greatly enjoyed their visits.” But when they asked her if she would be baptized on the next Saturday, “I was completely stunned, I made sure that I was lousy the next Saturday—and the next, and the next.”

But she knew too much about herself now to avoid this second great challenge. “I knew I was just making excuses. I also knew that if I choice not to join the Church I would lose my way again, for I knew there was light in my life that hadn’t been there before.”

The clarity of the decision she must make did not make it any easier. She would have to be baptized alone, the only member of her family to join the Church. She would be changing her life-style for a third time. These things would hurt. But she prayed and “felt the Spirit of Heavenly Father telling me that I must do the right thing.” The Spirit also whispered “that only I could make the choice.”

She made her decision. On 30 September 1978 at 4:30 P.M., she was waiting in Ramah Chapel for her turn to be baptized. It was emotionally a repeat of her experience in Los Angeles. “There were many people being baptized with me. They all looked so calm, so sure, and so radiantly happy. I was very nervous and very unsure and, at that moment, very unhappy. Had I prepared properly? Was I doing the fight thing? It was an enormous commitment—would I be able to keep it?”

And was joining the Church worth it? Again, yes! “I know that I made the right decision. I know there will be many times when I will pray for strength merely to take the next step, but I knew, after I was baptized, that I could get to the end of the road. This is the most important journey of my life.”

Since her baptism she has served as Sunday School secretary, Relief Society social relations leader and visiting teacher, and—naturally—as athletic adviser to the Activities Committee.

One Sunday afternoon when I was in eighth grade, I was playing touch football. We have been counseled by prophets to keep the Sabbath day holy, and I’m sure someone had told me that playing sports was not a good Sunday activity. But I was playing football anyway. Another player elbowed me in the mouth and gashed my lip. I had to get stitches. From that day forward, I committed to never play sports, work, nor do anything else on Sunday that was unholy. I have successfully kept that commitment to this day.

Anya lives in Russia. When she was only 14 years old, she was being taught the gospel by the missionaries. One day in her school class, the teacher was saying false things about the Church and about the Book of Mormon. There were no Latter-day Saints in the school to defend it; but little Anya, who was not even a member, only an investigator of the Church, knew that what the teacher was saying was wrong. She stood up in front of the whole class and defended the Book of Mormon and the Church. What courage! She told them that what they were saying was not true and that she knew the Book of Mormon was true, and if anyone wanted to know the truth for themselves, she invited them to read it like she had done. Then Anya went home and told the missionaries she was ready to be baptized. I love Anya’s courage as she stood as a witness at an important time.

Bonnie H. Cordon
Growing up, my father was a career Army officer. The only downside to his job was that he had to go to war. I was 13 years old when my dad left for Vietnam for the second time. The fear of him not returning was always on my mind, but so was my trust in the Lord. Before leaving, my dad gave me a father’s blessing assuring me that the Lord would be with me and help while my dad was away. I felt peace. Although I did not know for sure that my dad would return home safely, I trusted that everything would be OK, regardless of what happened.

That was five years ago. Now, Zayne is a deacon in the Lolo Ward of the Stevensville Montana Stake. When he turned 12, he wanted to fulfill his priesthood responsibilities by passing the sacrament. That was a big challenge for a boy who must use crutches to walk.

Originally, Zayne tried to pass the sacrament while balancing on his crutches. When that didn’t work, he decided to use his wheelchair instead. Now Zayne passes the sacrament by placing the trays on his lap and wheeling down the aisles.

Even the herding of the sheep and the clipping of the wool was often done by the girls, particularly when they had no brothers or their brothers had other work to do. Many girls had some herding experience, and a few did all the herding. Minerva Stone herded her father’s little band of 15 or 20 sheep on the bench east of Ogden. Her work included feeding and raising the lambs whose mothers disowned them. In getting the sheep back to her home each evening, she often followed paths lined with cockleburs. She was barefooted.
“I would hesitate,” she wrote, “and wonder whether it be the least painful to run over the burrs or to walk slowly. Running would be more acute, but sooner ended, while walking slowly would prolong my misery. However my supply of shoe leather [the souls of her naked feet] was inexhaustible. As soon as one thickness would wear off, another would grow in its place.”

One bishop’s wife commented, “When my husband became bishop I had a hard time, suddenly realizing I had all the yard work to do—plus all the housework. He wasn’t around and I had to do it.” Her husband agreed. “It puts a lot of strain on my wife. But that also puts an important responsibility on me. I’ve got to remember that when I get home and the dishes from last night’s dinner are still in the sink and the living room is a mess and the lawn needs mowing I can never, never complain. Instead, I must begin to work and help—and get some of the children to work, too. My wife never complains about what I do; why should I complain about what she does?”