Gospel Story Finder

I consider June 2, 1940, to be a very important day in the history of my family. On this day my father was baptized into this Church.
Writing to his father, Elder Jack McDonald, one of the missionaries who baptized my father, described the day with these words:
“Last Sunday was an especially beautiful day. We missionaries went out to a secluded spot on the river’s edge, out in the country, and there Elder Jones and I [Elder McDonald] made our first baptism. Antony Aidukaitis entered into the icy waters and became a member of the Church. … Everything was perfect. The sky so blue, the countryside so still, so green, so lovely that none of us could help feeling the presence of some great influence.
“[As we walked] with our new member, he said that he just couldn’t explain how wonderful this day had been for him, how he actually felt like a new man. … That was our first baptism—no credit to me or anybody. He converted himself.”
This event changed the history of my life. I am not sure my father was able to foresee the wisdom of his act, but I love him for what he did that day. He passed away more than 30 years ago, but I will honor and bless his name forever.
My father was the son of Lithuanians, but he was born in Scotland. He moved to Brazil when he was still young. His ability to speak English facilitated his conversion since he could read the Book of Mormon in English, and there was not yet a reliable translation into Portuguese. This language barrier prevented my mother from joining the Church until a few years later, but when she did, she became a powerful example of dedication to others and love of God in our family. She is now 92 years old, and she is here today. It gives me great joy to say that I love her for her great faithfulness. I will also honor and bless her name forever.
I admire the courage my father had to be baptized into the Church in spite of the circumstances he faced at the time. It was not easy for him. His wife did not get baptized with him. The vices of drinking alcohol and smoking were strong temptations for him. He was poor. His mother was against his joining the Church, and she told him that if he were baptized, she would no longer consider him her son. With fewer than 300 members in Brazil, the Church did not have a single chapel there. I am truly astonished by my father’s determination and courage.
How could he make such a decision in the face of so many unfavorable circumstances? The answer is simple: it was because my father read the Book of Mormon. When he read it, he came to know of the truthfulness of the message of the Restoration. The Book of Mormon is a proof that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. Preach My Gospel teaches that “the Book of Mormon, combined with the Spirit, is [the] most powerful resource in conversion” ([2004], 104).

Grandma Hanks hung up the phone and turned to Paul. “The paramedics and ambulance will be here in about fifteen minutes. I’ll take the pickup and go to your Grandpa. You run down to the county road and guide them in when they come.” She looked around distractedly, grabbed a large towel off the towel rack and a blanket off the couch, and hurried out.
Paul looked at his watch, got a drink of water, and set out through the powdery dust in the lane to walk to the county road. The ten minutes he waited until the ambulance came into view seemed like forever. He flagged them down and directed them through the maze of gates and bends in the trail until they were as close as they could drive to Grandpa Hanks.
When they reached him, they saw that Grandma had put the folded blanket under Grandpa’s head and shoulders and was wiping his face and hands with the towel, wet with clear ditch water.
As the gentle, skillful paramedics splinted Grandpa’s leg and loaded him into the ambulance, Grandma turned to Paul. “We’ll take the pickup and follow them to the hospital.”
“No, Grandma,” Paul said gently. “You go ahead. I’ll finish irrigating this field and walk back in to do chores. I need to clear the trash out of a couple headgates on the way.”
Grandma was too upset to argue.
As Paul watched the vehicles pull away, he realized that his shovel was in the pickup, so he had to use Grandpa’s to repair the ditch bank where Grandpa had fallen. He tamped the plastic dam in a little tighter and shoveled the remaining cutouts. Then he walked back to check his work to be sure that they were all running evenly.
Since it was shorter to follow the ditch than the road, he started down the ditch bank toward home.
Where the main ditch joined the smaller ditches, wooden boxes with boards that slid up and down controlled the water flow. The first such headgate Paul came to was running fine. He flipped a weed out of the water with the tip of the shovel and went on down the ditch.
The second headgate, however, was blocked by a tangled mass of waterlogged weeds and trash. He stuck his shovel in to flip out the rubbish, as he had seen Grandpa do, and nearly fell over. Nothing moved. He braced his feet and tried again. The stubborn mass refused to budge. He dropped the shovel, lay on his stomach on the bank, and reached in with his arms. He still couldn’t move it.
Finally he waded waist deep into the backed-up water and clawed the stubborn sticks out a few at a time. When he finished, he was soaked and muddy from head to foot, scratched from fingertips to armpits, and totally exhausted. He’d also managed to get a mouthful of muddy-tasting water, and his teeth felt gritty.
Paul dropped, panting, on the uphill ditch bank. Why didn’t it look that hard when Grandpa did it? he wondered. A breeze on his wet back made him shiver, and he struggled to his feet, put the shovel over his shoulder, and squished and dripped on down the path.
It was nearly chore time when he reached the ranch buildings. He stripped to his shorts and rinsed out his muddy shirt and jeans in the ditch and then left them dripping over a porch rail while he went to find dry clothes. I couldn’t do this in town, he thought.
What should I do now? he wondered as he donned a clean shirt and jeans. At home he’d call the family’s home teacher, Brother Murphy, if anyone broke a leg, but he didn’t know who his grandparents’ home teachers were. He did know the Bishop’s name, however, so he looked up the number and dialed. “I’m Paul Hanks,” he explained to Bishop Wilson, “LaVell Hanks’s grandson. Grandpa broke his leg this afternoon, and Grandma went with him to the hospital. I’m sure she’s upset and—”
“It’s all been taken care of, Son,” the bishop assured him kindly. “I’ve tried to call you a couple of times. Guess you were doing chores. Brother Ross and Brother James, the home teachers, have gone to administer to your grandfather. Someone from the hospital called Brother Ross for your grandma. My wife has gone to stay with her. Are you all right? Do you need any help?”
“I’m fine,” Paul replied. “I know how to do the chores and take care of the livestock. I’ve finished irrigating. Everything’s under control here.”
“Good boy!” Bishop Wilson said. “They’re lucky to have you.”
Grandma always got the milk jar and strainer ready, so Paul had to hunt a little before he found everything he needed. He set the strainer in the jar, to be ready when he returned, and took the shiny milk pail as he went out. He hung the bucket on a high nail on the side of the barn while he tended the calves and pigs, then whistled for the horses to come for grain.
“The horses really don’t need grain when they have such good pasture and aren’t being ridden very much,” Grandpa had explained a few days earlier. “But if I ever badly need a horse, I want it to come when I call. That’s why I always call them for a bite of oats.”
One horse came, but the other didn’t—something that hadn’t happened all week. I’ll have to go look for her later, Paul thought.
He herded Clarabelle, the gentle tan and white Guernsey milk cow, into the corner as Grandpa always did, poured her oats into a pan, and hooked her halter to the snap ring on the end of the rope hanging on the wall above. The cow was wary and nervous before he ever sat down to milk, his first try since he had learned the year before.
Clarabelle always stood quietly for Grandpa and finished her grain about the time that he finished milking. But today she gulped her oats, then stepped around skittishly. Once she stepped heavily on Paul’s foot and sloshed nearly half the milk out of the bucket with a temperamental kick. Paul’s hands and arms ached when he finished, and his sunny, helpful disposition was badly bent. And he wasn’t cheered by the thought that passed through his mind: Oh no! I’m going to be doing this the rest of the summer! He poured some foamy milk into the cats’ pan before he left the corral.
The phone was ringing when he entered the house with the half-full milk pail. He hurried to answer it. It was Grandma. “How’s Grandpa?” Paul asked.
“He’s in surgery now,” Grandma told him. “He went into shock before they got him here and was a little disoriented before they took him in to set the leg. I’m going to stay all night with him, if you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” Paul said. “And everything’s under control here. I just came in to strain the milk. Is there anything else you want me to do?”
“Well, would you close the chicken house door before it gets dark so that the skunks and coons can’t get in? And check for more eggs. Oh, and please make sure that they haven’t spilled their water and that they have feed for tomorrow.”
After Paul’s reassurance that he would take care of the chickens, Grandma added, “You can slice a piece off the cold roast in the refrigerator to make a sandwich for supper. And remember to take your bath and lay out your good clothes. Brother Ross will pick you up at eight-thirty tomorrow for church. He said that he’d help in any way that he can. The other neighbors are sure to offer too. You’re sure that you’re all right?”
“Now you sound like Mom again,” Paul said good-naturedly. Hoping to ease Grandma’s concern, he added, “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a big kid now. I’ll be fine.”
Right after Grandma hung up, the phone rang again. This time it was Brother Ross.
“How are you doing, Paul?” he asked.
“I think everything’s under control so far,” answered Paul, “but it helps to know that there are people I can call if I need to.”
Paul remembered the missing horse while he was straining the milk. He dumped the empty bucket and strainer in the sink, set the warm jar of fresh milk on the top refrigerator shelf, and hurried out again.
The sun was low in the western sky when he crawled through the strands of barbed wire fence into the horse pasture. There are three possibilities, he thought: Ginger didn’t come because my whistle doesn’t sound like Grandpa’s, she got out through a hole in the fence, or she’s trapped somewhere. The first possibility seemed the most likely, but he started down the fence anyway, looking for downed wires or broken posts. The first quarter-mile of fence was fine. He had turned the corner and started on the next side when he heard a muffled crashing sound from where the fence went through a thick patch of willows.
There he found Ginger on her side, both front feet caught in a tangle of rusted barbed wire. The muddy, sweaty, wild-eyed horse and trampled, broken patch of willows told the story of a frantic struggle.
Paul walked cautiously up to her head, talking quietly, and reached out his hand. She let him touch her head, then thrashed around frantically again. Paul was caught totally by surprise. Her head crashed into his legs and knocked him backward into the willows.
More surprised than hurt, he sat and studied the situation. What do I do now? he wondered. There isn’t time before dark to call anyone and wait for help. I’ve got to get her out, and I’ve got to do it quickly. But how?

My brother David (3) had a little bicycle. One day he left the bike out in the way of my dad’s car. His bike got run over, and the little axle was bent. David was sad. His bike was too broken to ride.
A couple of weeks later, I said, “David, let’s try to fix your bike.” We brought the bike out onto the driveway and tried hammering the axle to straighten it. It didn’t work. My little sister Heidi (5) came out. She had a bike like David’s, and that day her wheel had broken off. She told David that he could have the axle and the other wheel from her broken bike.
Then David scraped his knee and had to go inside. I took the axle off Heidi’s bike, and then I went and asked Dad to help us. I helped Dad get the tools to put one of Heidi’s wheels on David’s bike. Soon the bike was fixed.
I went inside to tell David. He came out, and he was really excited about his bike getting fixed. He did not care that his old wheel was black and the new wheel from Heidi’s bike was purple. He got on the bike and rode around the driveway really fast. Mom and Dad watched him ride, too.
I was happy that David’s bike was fixed. I felt glad that Heidi and I could help our little brother.

I took the New Era magazine with me to work to read during my break time. At one point during my shift, I went to the back to get some things from the freezer and found one of my friends flipping through my magazine while she was on break.
“This must be yours,” she said as I smiled at her.
“Yeah,” I replied. “It’s the New Era magazine I receive each month through my church.”
Later that evening, she asked if she could borrow the magazine for the night and read through it. Ever since then I have brought the New Era with me to work each month and have had quite a few friends ask me questions about my beliefs and about different principles of the gospel. I have also been able to give the friend I mentioned earlier a copy of the Book of Mormon.
I’m grateful for the chance to share the gospel in such a simple way. It has brought joy into my life.

I really like baseball. My friend wanted to have a pitching coach come teach us, but they wanted to do it on a Sunday. My dad told me about it but said that I could choose not to go. We told my friend that we keep Sunday sacred. They scheduled it for another day, and it all worked out OK. When I read the story by Elder Larry Y. Wilson about not playing sports on Sundays (May 2013), I felt good about my decision!

This story begins in 1842, in a Norwegian settlement near Fox River, Illinois.
Sarah Ann handed a bowl of soup to their guest.
“Thank you,” Mr. James said. “I can never repay you and your mother for letting me stay here to wait out this storm.”
Sarah Ann smiled. Many travelers had enjoyed the warmth of their home. Mother could never ignore a person in need, and Sarah Ann loved her for it.
“We’re glad you could stay with us tonight. This is the coldest night I can remember in Illinois,” Sarah Ann said, taking a seat at the table across from Mr. James. “Our family moved here from New York after Father died. He and Mother left Norway to escape those who wanted to punish them for being Quakers. When they arrived in America, Father worked hard to build a house.”
As Sarah Ann told the story, she could almost smell the fresh-cut maple wood again.
“One day, our home caught fire, and everything was destroyed. When Father returned from work and saw us standing in the street, he asked Mother if we were safe. She answered yes, and Father knelt down right there in the middle of the street and thanked God for protecting us.”
“Your father must have had a lot of faith in God,” Mr. James said.
Sarah Ann nodded, wishing her father were still with them.
Soon their visitor said good night and went to bed. Mother reached for his worn socks, which had been drying by the fire, so she could mend the many holes. This was a scene Sarah Ann had witnessed a hundred times. She kissed Mother on the cheek and went to bed.
When Sarah Ann awoke the next morning, Mr. James was gone. But the house was not quiet. There was a large crowd gathered in the road outside, and Sarah Ann leaned out the window to hear what was happening.
Two men were standing in the middle of the crowd. Sarah Ann recognized them as the Mormon missionaries who had arrived in the village last week. It was obvious that whatever they were talking about was important to them.
One of the men held up a book and said, “We testify that the Book of Mormon is true. We also testify that there is a living prophet once again on the earth.”
Sarah Ann suddenly felt a warm feeling fill her heart. It surprised her. She knew in that moment that what the missionaries were teaching was true.
Sarah Ann rushed to tell Mother about the experience and her desire to be baptized. Some of Mother’s friends were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and even though they were good people, Sarah Ann could tell that Mother didn’t want her to be baptized.
“Sarah Ann, this is a big decision. If you still feel the same way when you are older, then you may be baptized,” Mother said.
Sarah Ann agreed. Over the next three years, she learned all she could about the Church. As she did, her faith in Jesus Christ and His restored gospel grew. No amount of time could take away what Sarah Ann felt about the gospel.
Finally, Sarah Ann was baptized. On her baptism day, Sarah Ann made a promise in her heart that she would always do whatever Heavenly Father asked her to do. She was about to find out what that would be.
(To be continued.)

Karina’s smile faded. She began to sweat—and not because it was unusually hot that week. She looked around for help. But in spite of the crowd at the open house, no one seemed to notice her alone with the reporter and all her questions.
Until that moment, 17-year-old Karina had enjoyed volunteering at the Kyiv Ukraine Temple open house. Now, with the newspaper reporter waiting expectantly, her tongue seemed stuck.
Karina was afraid that because of past mistakes she was trying to overcome, God wouldn’t help her.
Karina squared her shoulders and turned back to the reporter. Her smile brightened. Heavenly Father had done so much for her already that she knew He would help her now.
After the reporter finished asking questions, Karina smiled and waved. The reporter smiled back and walked away. Karina couldn’t remember much of what she said, but she would remember for a long time how she felt, knowing Heavenly Father is always within reach of those who choose to follow Him.

Kay Lynn Wakefield learned an important lesson from a woman who worked at the Garden Tomb. “As we were hurrying along,” says Sister Wakefield, “the sounds of a clear soprano voice filled the air. I felt so drawn to the ethereal sound that I left the crowd and went to find out where it was coming from. And then I saw her! A little English lady sweeping one of the paths in the garden.
“As I visited with her, she expressed to me the joy she feels each day as she sweeps the paths at the Garden Tomb, often singing all the way. I told her that the Tabernacle Choir was going to sing in the Garden Tomb that day. Her eyes filled with tears, and she said, ‘Yes, I know, and I feel so privileged to be here today to hear them.’ Then I embraced her and left to again join the crowd. Once again I had been reminded not to be so intent on reaching the final destination that I forget to enjoy the journey.”

Today was Thursday, the day I was going to my friend Stephen’s house after school. Because I am in kindergarten and go to school in the morning, we were going to go somewhere special for lunch first and then go to his house to play.
After we played a game, Stephen’s mother asked if I’d like to play some video games. I love to play video games!
Then I remembered that I was not allowed to play them until Friday. I told her so, and I felt good inside. She was impressed because I had been honest. She told my mom about it when she came to pick me up. Mom was happy that I had been honest and not played the video games. She called me a “Choose the Right” warrior.

In the summer of 2012, Palakiko C. had just graduated from high school in Hawaii, USA, and was looking forward to attending Brigham Young University and serving a mission. Palakiko had done a lot to prepare for his mission already—he had accompanied the full-time missionaries all day three times, and he often went with them to visit and teach the gospel to families.
One evening Palakiko and the missionaries began teaching a part-member family with five children, ages 8 to 14, who hadn’t been baptized.
“We visited with them for six weeks,” Palakiko says. “Each week, I saw their faith increase as we taught them doctrinal principles that would help them receive eternal life.”
Soon all five children had accepted the invitation to be baptized and asked Palakiko if he would perform the baptisms. He enthusiastically agreed. Baptizing them would be a privilege and an honor. But for Palakiko, there was a more difficult challenge: they also asked him to give a talk about the Holy Ghost at the baptismal service.
Palakiko was more than a little nervous. “How was I supposed to give a talk on a day that they would remember for the rest of their lives?” he asked. “What would I say?”
In spite of his anxiety, Palakiko knew he should do it, and he started preparing for his talk that very day.
“I did everything in my power to make sure everything would go well,” he says. He prayed, read scriptures for guidance and comfort, and rehearsed the baptismal prayer in his mind. On the day of the service, the baptisms went fine. And as he gave his talk and focused on striving to have the Spirit, he felt guided in what to say.
“At no other time in my life have I felt the Spirit more than during that talk,” Palakiko says. “I’m glad I was able to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands.”
Palakiko was able to do what he needed to do because he was strengthened by the grace, or enabling power, of the Atonement.

A bright orange sun was sinking low on the horizon as we parked our van near our campsite. There were nine of us on the Scout outing plus our two leaders. I was 14 and was nearing Eagle rank.
Like most boys my age, I had exciting plans for the future. Little did I know what terror the next 24 hours held for me and how much my future lay in jeopardy.
Before breakfast the next morning I did my blood sugar testing to see if there was any excess sugar in my system. I’ve been diabetic since I was seven, so it was a daily habit for me to take care of my testing and insulin injections.
The test showed my blood sugar was in the lower range of normal. I prepared a syringe with insulin and gave myself a shot in my leg about eight inches above my knee. It was a daily routine and not much fun, but I was used to it.
“Time to get this camp straightened around,” our Scoutmaster shouted.
We all pitched in and set things in order. Then we gathered near the fire for a breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash brown potatoes, and hot chocolate. I went easy on the hot chocolate figuring a small amount would be okay since my sugar level was low that morning.
It’s hard to pass up goodies all the time. My doctor told me often that the only time diabetics should really have sugar is to bring them out of insulin reactions, and then they need to have it fast.
I felt great after eating breakfast. Along with the other guys, I jumped into the van for a drive along the bay and around the peninsula to the Pacific shore. We hiked in farther than we had planned, and some of the guys went for a swim.
I began to feel something I’d felt a few times before. It was a feeling of tiredness and dizziness, and I knew an insulin reaction was coming on. I’d taken too much insulin that morning and then done more exercise than usual. I had some orange juice in my canteen and drank it right away hoping there would be enough to correct the problem. I hated being different and didn’t want to tell anyone about the reaction.
Our Scoutmaster had to hike back to get the van. He gave us instructions about walking the short distance to the campsite and said to walk together. The guys decided to enjoy the beach for a little while longer before heading back. I still had not told anyone about my insulin reaction. The orange juice seemed to have done the trick.
Within 15 minutes, however, I started feeling dizzy again. I wished I had brought some sugar cubes with me like I usually did. I knew I had to get something sweet or the reaction would be worse. I decided to go back to camp to get what I needed.
Leaving the group was a big mistake. We had all been told by the Scoutmaster which direction to go. However, in my confused state I figured it would be quicker to head inland a few hundred yards and then cut directly across to the campfire. It was one of the most foolish decisions I ever made.
Feeling dizzy I headed over the bank of dunes and, all of a sudden, I was alone. There were sand dunes everywhere—miles and miles of sand. I knew I couldn’t wander around or I’d be lost. So I picked a course and tried to stay with it. I worked to keep my fear under control, but I started to shiver even though it wasn’t cold.
As the minutes passed, I became more and more tired. It wasn’t long before I fell, and I didn’t want to get up again. It seemed as though I lay there for a long time trying to fight off sleep. For a while the shivering stopped, and I dozed. When I opened my eyes, I felt frightened again and wondered if I should stay where I was until someone came looking for me. I needed help. All the teaching and training I’d had made me kneel and pray.
“Heavenly Father, please help me. Let me live through this. Please give me the strength to make it.”
I looked around for the highest dune and climbed to the top of it. From up there I was excited to see beach houses that didn’t look far away.
At least four or five dunes lay between me and the houses. When I climbed back down, I couldn’t see the houses anymore. I started wondering if my imagination had played tricks on me—if I had seen the houses at all. My thinking was getting more confused. It had been hours since I’d eaten, and I was in real trouble. The feeling suddenly came over me that I was going to die.
Once again I prayed with more feeling than I ever had before, and a comforting feeling came over me. I could hear a voice saying, “Keep going, Barry. No matter what, you must keep going.”
My feet dragged in the sand, but I felt as if I had help. I slid down the dunes because, if I walked, I knew I’d fall. And, if I fell down hard, I was afraid I might never get up again.
I kept listening to the faint voice that told me to keep moving, and somehow I got to the edge of the dunes. Birds were chirping there, and I saw the houses in the distance. I headed for them.
Dizzy and staggering I fell on the sand. My arms wouldn’t support me, and I fell on my face and felt sand in my mouth. Through the blackness of my fear, I prayed once more with all my heart. And suddenly I heard a seagull call. The sound made me look up. As my eyes shifted from the bird, I saw something moving. The form was fuzzy because my eyes weren’t focusing very well. It was our assistant Scoutmaster, and I called out to him. At first he didn’t see me, and then he turned and ran toward me waving his arms. When he reached me, he gave me a big bear hug and pounded me on the back.
“Gee, it’s good to see you, Barry. You had us scared to death. What happened?” he asked. “How did you get lost?”
“Had to get sugar,” I mumbled. “A reaction … trying to get back to camp.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured me. “I’ll help you. Just lean on me.”
He put his arms around me, and I half-walked and was half-dragged, leaning against him. Just as we were both nearing exhaustion, we saw a man by one of the houses. We yelled to him for help.
He called an ambulance then ran to help us. He picked me up and carried me the rest of the way to his house. His wife ran to the kitchen, returning with sugar and some root beer. She got some into me, and then everyone just waited and watched.
Pretty soon I began to come out of the reaction even though I still felt dazed.
The man at the house told us other people had been lost in the dunes. “There are 13 square miles of them out there in this one area alone,” he said. “Barry’s lucky to have found his way out.”
“It seemed like a miracle to me,” the assistant Scoutmaster said. “There were a thousand different directions I could have gone to look for Barry. The chances of finding him so quickly seemed slim. But I seemed to walk straight to him.”
I didn’t say anything as they talked on. I was thinking about my fervent prayers to my Heavenly Father. It was with deep gratitude that I knew those prayers had been answered.

After working at improving their canoeing skills, including training in water safety and physical conditioning, the Scouts of the Ottawa Ontario Stake headed for the lakes for a week of camping and exploring. Because of the training, they felt ready to have a good time.
A few cloudy skies didn’t dampen the spirits of those who stayed at the base camp. Another group made a 30-mile overnight hike starting at O’Brian Lake. When the hearty souls who made the overnight trip returned, it was time for swimming and water contests.
It was a time for getting to know each other and their leaders a little better, for joking about mosquitoes and campfire cooking, and for testing skills and abilities learned in the Scouting program. Each person returned home a little more self-assured and confident. They all agreed that they would be looking forward to next year’s trip.

Several years ago, my children and I built a four-thousand-gallon saltwater pond in our backyard and stocked it with various forms of aquatic life.* When I came home from work one day, I found two of my sons frantically trying to net all the bullseye puffers in our pond to bring them inside. They had found them floating helplessly at the water’s surface, probably because of the low temperatures of the approaching winter. When the biggest puffer hit the warm water of our family-room aquarium, it was shocked into activity and swam rapidly up and down the ten-foot aquarium. Then it turned belly-up. Well, I thought, that’s the end of it.

The next morning, however, the fish was still alive, though in no better condition. I went to work, expecting to find it dead when I returned that evening. But that night the fish was still gulping air. It just wouldn’t die. However, it didn’t get any better, either.

Days passed; the puffer’s condition worsened. Its body became bloated, and a fungus began to grow over its eyes. It was then that I thought that perhaps I should pray for the fish. In thinking about it, however, I reasoned that the puffer was, after all, just a fish and that it would make little difference to the eternal plan of our Heavenly Father whether it lived or died.

It’s true that the life of a simple fish may not seem important. But there have been times when fish have played important roles in teaching men some very significant lessons. Remember the great fish that swallowed Jonah, showing him that there was no place where he could hide from the Lord? Or the few fishes that Jesus used to feed the multitude? Or the fish with the coin in its mouth, which Jesus told Peter to catch? Or the great harvest of fish that the Apostles took when they cast their nets under the direction of the Master? I began to wonder if my involvement with the puffer could be a personal trial of my faith.

Day after day part of me wanted to pray for the fish, but another part of me told me not to bother. Finally, just before I went to bed one night, as I was looking at the puffer fighting for its life, tears welled up in my eyes, and I folded my arms, bowed my head, and offered a prayer that the fish would be made well.

The next morning I rushed to the aquarium. There was the fish, and what a sorry sight it was. It had now lost its sense of balance completely and had sunk headfirst to the bottom of the tank. It had apparently spent the night trying to right itself, only to rub all the flesh from its bony jaws against the rough sand at the tank’s bottom. Thick scales covered its eyes, and the tiny blood vessels in its fins were bursting. I said to myself, “What a dummy you are to think that the Lord would be concerned about a simple fish.”

I was certain that my faith had failed both me and the puffer. But though mortals may fail, the Lord fails not; and I was soon to learn that faith in Him, once exercised, can never fail. When I viewed the fish on the following morning, I beheld an astonishing sight. The scales that had blinded the puffer’s eyes were gone. Its jawbones no longer protruded from open wounds; the missing flesh had been restored. And the profusely bleeding fins were now clear and functional. The fish glided gracefully about the tank. Equally remarkable, when I put a glass thermometer into the aquarium to check the water temperature, the puffer swam over and promptly bit it in half, attesting dramatically to its complete recovery.

Years ago I received a phone call from a distraught mother. She told me that her daughter had moved far from home. She sensed from the little contact she had with her daughter that something was terribly wrong. She pleaded with me to help.
I found out who the daughter’s home teacher was. You can tell by that name that it was a long time ago. I called him. He was young. Yet he told me that he and his companion both had been awakened in the night with not only concern for the daughter but with inspiration that she was about to make choices that would bring sadness and misery. With only that inspiration of the Spirit, they went to see her.
At first she did not want to tell them about her situation. Under inspiration, they pleaded with her to repent and choose the path the Lord had for her. She realized then, I believe by the Spirit, that the only way they could have known what they knew about her life was from God. A mother turned her loving concerns over to Heavenly Father and the Savior. The Holy Ghost had been sent to those home teachers because they were willing to serve the Lord. They had followed the counsel and promise found in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Let thy bowels also be full of charity towards all men, and to the household of faith, and let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distil upon thy soul as the dews from heaven.
“The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth; and thy dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, and without compulsory means it shall flow unto thee forever and ever.”

“Savannah, have you thought about helping build the battery-powered car?” Mr. Murdock asked. “You could compete in the engineering fair.”
Savannah looked at her science teacher. She never thought she was very good at science, but maybe it would be fun to join the team building the car.
“Do you think I’d be good at it?” Savannah asked.
Mr. Murdock smiled. “Well, I can tell that you are sharp and have a unique way of looking at things,” he said. “That’s just what the team needs! Why don’t you come to the team meeting today?”
Savannah promised to think about it.
During lunch Savannah told her friends about Mr. Murdock’s suggestion.
“Do you really want to do that?” Amber asked. “It sounds pretty boring.”
“I don’t know,” Savannah said. “My grandpa’s an engineer, and I think it’s interesting.”
“It’ll just be more schoolwork for you to do,” Tess said.
Amber nodded. “Totally. Hey, why don’t you come downtown with us after school? My mom’s driving us.”
“No thanks,” Savannah said. “The team meeting is after school, and I want to go.”
Savannah knew her friends didn’t understand why she would pick building a car over shopping, but she wanted to try it.
After school Savannah went to Mr. Murdock’s classroom. During the team meeting, Savannah got more and more excited. Designing and building a car sounded really cool!
But as Savannah walked home, she remembered what Amber had said. What if it was boring? What if she got too busy with the car to see her friends? What if they stopped liking her?
“I really want to join the team,” Savannah told Mom that night. “But Amber and Tess think it will be boring.”
“Well, why do you want to join?” Mom asked.
Savannah thought for a minute. “I want to know how things work,” she said. “And maybe I want to be an engineer like Grandpa.”
“Those sound like good reasons to me,” Mom said.
They sounded like good reasons to Savannah too. Still, she worried about her friends.
“There will be lots of times when your friends say one thing but you think another,” Mom said. “It’s important to base your choices on what you feel is right.”
That night Savannah thought a lot. She asked Heavenly Father for help making her choice. Eventually she decided what she would do. She felt peaceful and excited.
The next day Savannah talked to Mr. Murdock. “I’ve decided to join the team,” she said.
“You’ll spend a lot of time here after school,” he said.
“I know. I’m looking forward to it.”
For the next month, the team met twice a week. Savannah volunteered to come up with a design for the car. After hours of drawing and throwing away ideas, she finally had one for the team to build. She loved working on this project! Even when she wasn’t working on it, she was still thinking about the car and how they could improve it.
The day of the fair, the car was ready. Savannah hadn’t been able to spend as much time with Amber and Tess, and it had been scary to try something new, but she was glad she had joined the team. Maybe it wasn’t the popular choice, but for Savannah, it was the right one. She imagined Jesus smiling at her. He hadn’t always made popular choices either, but they were always the right ones.
After testing more than 50 entries, the judges awarded Savannah’s team second place!
She couldn’t wait for next year’s fair. She already had a few ideas.

During my growing-up years in the small farming community of Spring City, Utah, an opportunity afforded itself each summer to be with my father alone for two weeks herding sheep in the mountain range of the Manti-La Sal. On one occasion the fog rested heavily in the area to the extent that you could not see your outstretched hand in front of you, and the evening was drawing nigh.
My father suggested that I return to camp, and he would soon follow. I remember questioning how I would be able to find the camp amidst the fog. My father simply said to me, “Give the horse the reins, and he will get you to camp.” Following this counsel, I loosened my grip on the reins, and with encouragement to the horse, the journey began. At times I would be struck in the face by a low-hanging limb I couldn’t see or have my leg brush close to a tree. Eventually, the horse came to a complete stop, and the silhouette of the camp was in view.
Sometimes we may not always be able to immediately find the desired way before us, but the wisdom of those who have gone before, coupled with the wisdom of those who are with us still, will be our guide if we let them have the reins.
“Understandest thou what thou readest?” was the question asked by Philip of one who was diligently searching the scriptures.
The response came in the form of a question: “How can I, except some man should guide me?”1
The answer to these searching questions comes from the prophets throughout ages past who taught the importance of searching the scriptures, along with a promise: “Whoso treasureth up my word, shall not be deceived.”2
In each dispensation, the Lord has given commandments to the prophets “that they should proclaim these things unto the world; and all this that it might be fulfilled.”3 Doctrine and Covenants section 1 constitutes the Lord’s preface to the doctrines, covenants, and commandments given in this, the dispensation of the fulness of times. Of specific mention are verses 37–38:
“Search these commandments, for they are true and faithful, and the prophecies and promises which are in them shall all be fulfilled.
“What I the Lord have spoken, I have spoken, and I excuse not myself; and though the heavens and the earth pass away, my word shall not pass away, but shall all be fulfilled, whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.”
It is the voice of seven of the Lord’s servants of which I speak today. In March 1970, a long hoped-for desire to be of service to the Lord’s chosen servants commenced. From the very outset, opportunities were provided to be directly involved with the Brethren of the Quorum of the Twelve and subsequently with members of the First Presidency for almost four decades. It was during these formative years that an understanding of “my word shall not pass away, but shall all be fulfilled” began to swell in my heart.
Important admonition has been given in general conferences of yesteryear and will continue to be expounded by those who have the wisdom of ages past, which allows our hearts to burn within us. It will be in following such counsel that we must be strong, never give up, and endure to the end.
Let me share the direction and counsel given by these prophets of God. For example, it was President Joseph Fielding Smith who often quoted the words set forth in the 24th chapter of Psalms, wherein a question is asked, an answer given, and a blessing promised to the faithful.
The question: “Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place?”
The answer: “He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully.”
The promise: “He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation.”4
President Harold B. Lee in general conference counseled us to give heed to the words and commandments the Lord shall give through His prophet: “You may not like what comes from the authority of the Church. It may contradict your political views … [or] your social views. It may interfere with some of your social life. But if [we] listen to these things, as if from the mouth of the Lord himself, with patience and faith, the promise is that … ‘the Lord God will disperse the powers of darkness from before you, and cause the heavens to shake for your good, and his name’s glory.’”5
Prior to his passing in December 1973, President Lee, speaking to an assembled group of Church employees and their families, posed the question after giving a history of the Church’s welfare program: “Do you believe these prophets knew what they were talking about?” Later in the same address, concerning the Brethren’s counsel to guard against the permissiveness invading the home through inappropriate literature and television, he asked, “Are you too close to the Brethren [so that you] think of them not as prophets but as men just guessing [such counsel] might be a good thing?”6
It was President Spencer W. Kimball who in his writings provided us the comforting words that there is a miracle of forgiveness and God will forgive. In another setting, concerning the unexpected challenges which we may face, President Kimball cautioned us, if individually given the power to alter life-changing moments, would we have modified the events at Carthage Jail which resulted in the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith? And more importantly, with such uncontrolled power, what might we have done in the decisive moment of Gethsemane and the words spoken, “Nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done”?7
Each morning in the meeting of the First Presidency, the Brethren take turns praying. I always liked to listen to President Ezra Taft Benson pray. His prayers were almost entirely in thankfulness instead of asking for blessings. Of Another Testament of Jesus Christ, President Benson reiterated the words of the Prophet Joseph Smith “that the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth, and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.”8 He admonished us to follow the Savior, who said, “Look unto me, and endure to the end, and ye shall live; for unto him that endureth to the end will I give eternal life.”9
During his nine-month period of service as President of the Church, we all fell in love with the innate goodness of President Howard W. Hunter, who issued invitations for members of the Church to:
“Live with ever more attention to the life and example of the Lord Jesus Christ, especially the love and hope and compassion He displayed. …
“… Establish the temple of the Lord as the great symbol of their membership and the supernal setting for their most sacred covenants. It would be the deepest desire of my heart to have every member of the Church be temple worthy.”10
President Gordon B. Hinckley stated: “I have not spoken face to face with all of the prophets of this dispensation. I was not acquainted with the Prophet Joseph Smith, nor did I ever hear him speak. [However,] my grandfather, who as a young man lived in Nauvoo, did hear him and testified of his divine calling as the great prophet of this dispensation.”11
President Hinckley bore witness of the First Vision, when young Joseph Smith went to pray in a grove and received his answer through divine revelation from both the Father and the Son.
President Hinckley’s passion with the building of temples and the sacred work performed therein will be a polar star for each of us to follow.
Our beloved prophet, President Thomas S. Monson, has reemphasized again the hoped-for desire of the First Presidency who in 1839 gave the direction we should constantly seek even today: “Upon your diligence, your perseverance and faithfulness, the soundness of the doctrines which you preach, the moral precepts that you advance and practice … hang the destinies of the human family.”12
It is President Monson whom we sustain as the prophet, seer, and revelator and who serves as the resounding voice to the widow, the fatherless, and to all who stand in need. He has truly exemplified in his life the pattern of the Master and the sincere desire to always be found in His service. It is President Monson who is the Lord’s mouthpiece and whose counsel and direction we are admonished to follow. In a very real sense, the Master speaks to us through His prophet. I know, and have recorded in meetings of the Brethren assembled, this to be true.
As one who has been taught at the feet of living prophets and of these latter-day witnesses whom I have known and love, I testify in all truthfulness, as members of this Church heed the words and commandments the Lord gave to the prophets of the testaments and followed by the Lord’s prophet even today, we will more fully understand that “surely the Lord God will do nothing, but he revealeth his secret unto his servants the prophets.”13
Of these truths and that God is in the heavens, that Jesus is the Christ, and of this The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which has prophets, seers, and revelators to guide us, I bear solemn witness in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The reality of Aulola’s life, however, didn’t quite follow the plan in her heart. After her mission, it took some time before marriage became a priority for her, and by then she was in love with someone who didn’t share her faith.
“He’s a good man,” Aulola says. “He always welcomed [my Church’s] missionaries into our home and always fed them, but he was never interested in hearing their message.” His family are devout members of their own faith, and he would not break with their tradition. Their difference of religion put a great strain on their marriage. Aulola was unable to attend sacrament meetings as often as she liked, and she couldn’t raise their children in the Church the way she had been. Eventually, the contention in their home proved too much. After 23 years, the couple decided to part ways.
Aulola was devastated. She had lost her marriage and, with it, her hopes for the future with her family, but she was also suffering now from debilitating health issues. In her grief and pain, she turned to her Father in Heaven for guidance. “I fasted and prayed, and I promised the Lord that if He would accept me back, I would never turn away again.”
Her prayers kept leading her back to her patriarchal blessing, which brought her comfort and peace at such a troubling time. One day, she reread the promise that she could be sealed in the temple, and Aulola knew what she needed to do. “I realised that if I don’t do my part, it’s not going to work.” In that moment, she recommitted to follow all of Heavenly Father’s commandments, and to draw near to Him through church attendance, daily prayer and scripture study.
Before long, Aulola reconnected with an acquaintance from her early days in Tonga: Brother Semisi Mounga Mateialona, a priesthood holder who had recently found himself single again, too. They bonded over shared experiences and their mutual love for the gospel of Jesus Christ, and Aulola knew in her heart that this was the man for her. The couple got married in New Zealand in 2019 and at the end of September 2022, they travelled to the Nuku’alofa Tonga Temple to be sealed to each other for time and all eternity.
At a recent temple fireside in the Auckland Papatoetoe Stake, Aulola reflected on what she says is a miracle. As a young woman, she had experienced the sweet sacredness of the temple and knew how important it was to worship there. Then, for 23 years, she didn’t know if she could ever qualify for the temple blessings promised to her in her patriarchal blessing—but she didn’t give up hope.
It took time, patience and the kind of faith that changes lives, but now Aulola feels like she’s come home again. Finally, she can testify: “When you stay near God, He is going to bless you as He promised—if you do your part.”

There are thousands and thousands of Latter-day Saints who have courageously proclaimed the name of the Church. As we do our part, others will follow. I love this story from Tahiti.
Ten-year-old Iriura Jean resolved to follow the counsel of President Nelson.
“In her school class they discussed their weekend … and Iriura talked about … church.
“Her teacher, Vaite Pifao, said, ‘Oh, so you are a Mormon?’
“Iriura stated boldly, ‘No, … I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!’
“Her teacher replied, ‘Yes, … you are a Mormon.’
“Iriura insisted, ‘No teacher, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!’
“Ms. Pifao was amazed at Iriura’s conviction and wondered why she was so insistent on using [the] long name of her church. [She decided to learn more about the Church.]
“[Later, as Sister] Vaite Pifao was baptized [she expressed gratitude] that Iriura heeded the counsel of President Nelson.”

Nor did the early Saints forget it either. In 1913, with the aid of Elder Sellers from Vernal, Utah, and Elder Joseph E. Ward from Parowan, Utah, the Magnolia chapel was built. It stands now as the oldest LDS chapel in Alabama.
Before construction began, a mob gathered to drive the elders out. Mrs. Willie Autrey, a nonmember, stepped out with her gun and turned the mob away. So the Magnolia chapel was built and has stood through the years as a monument to the dedication of area Saints, early and modern.

A good friend of mine, C. Ray VanLeuven, lived in Vernal, Utah, as a teenager. He worked for his uncle and grandfather on a farm. In addition to the farm, they owned a good deal of land on Diamond Mountain, 30 miles northeast of Vernal. This land had been plowed but needed to be disked. It was determined that if the tractor was kept going around the clock, day and night, for two weeks except Sunday, the project could be completed.
Ray, then age 14, and his friend Larry, age 15, were given that assignment. They were told the uncle would pick them up the following Saturday. For the next six days they were to run the tractor day and night, only stopping long enough for gas. The boys took turns, four hours on and four hours off around the clock. During their off time they would try to sleep.
On about the third day, a U bolt that attached the disk to the hydraulic system of the tractor broke. The boys didn’t know what to do. It was 30 miles back to the farm, and they didn’t know if their uncle was there or in Vernal. They had been entrusted to do a job, and after thinking about it they decided that they could lose as much as two days’ work if they tried to find him. The boys began to look for an alternative, and at a nearby corral they found some bailing wire. They discovered that if they looped 30 to 40 strands through the holes where the U bolt had been it would last eight to ten hours until the wire broke. By using all the bailing wire they could find and even taking a fence apart and using its wire, they were able to keep going until the uncle came to pick them up on Saturday.
Ray VanLeuven was trustworthy, and by his actions he had proven it to all who knew him.