Gospel Story Finder

While I was serving as a mission president in Bolivia, a wonderful elder came to see me. It was near the end of his mission. He was very depressed.
He spoke to me about the difficult time he had experienced in the Missionary Training Center. While he was there his father had died, and for a brief period the elder had considered returning home. But, encouraged by a loving mother, and spurred on by individual commitment, he continued his training.
He recounted the initial efforts he had made in the mission field to work hard, pray often, follow all the rules—hoping, of course, to be rewarded with hundreds of baptisms. But, unfortunately, the baptisms had not come. Gradually he began to slacken his pace. He felt his prayers were not being heard. The mission rules seemed to be burdensome and restrictive. They were silly things, written by the mission president only to goad and irritate him.
In despair he told me, “I’m nobody! What I do won’t make any difference.” Then, as if searching, he quickly asked, “Will it, President Hammond?” For an instant similar questions passed through my mind. Can he make a difference? Can I? Can anyone? Does it matter what one person does?
Then, in my mind’s eye I saw a myriad of people and events who had made a difference. I reminded him of the work of Copernicus, who revolutionized the science of astronomy; and Mohandas K. Gandhi, who in preaching peace and love, brought freedom to his native India.
There are many men and women who have truly made a difference, I said. I thought for a moment and then continued with the stories of two others.
I placed my hand on the young missionary’s and asked him if he was ready to go back out into the field of labor? I asked if he could make a difference in the lives of the special Bolivian children of our Heavenly Father?
His attitude had changed. With a renewed spirit of dedication, tears slipping down his face, he committed himself once again to the work of the Lord. We knelt in prayer together and I blessed him that he would be able to find the way.
Although he had been weak, I felt an inner confidence in him. I surprised even myself by assigning him to one of the most difficult and remote areas of Bolivia—a small community named Bermejo near the Argentine border. The work had gone badly there for some time, with only a few baptisms to reenforce the handful of Saints who were discouraged and found it hard to keep the faith.
In his weekly reports the missionary told of his diligent efforts to contact the people and preach the gospel to them. He indicated that they were slow to listen, but that he was continuing his faithful stewardship in that part of the Lord’s vineyard.
And then it happened. Overnight a small river that runs near the village, fed by heavy rains in the mountains, rose to a height never before known. Homes were swept away and people were drowned. The only bridge connecting the city to the main road was torn from its footings and washed downstream. There was chaos everywhere.
Two young missionaries were caught in the turmoil. And one, perhaps remembering that “a man can make a difference,” threw himself into the turbulent waters to rescue many who were drowning; he sought those buried beneath fallen buildings; he gave relief to the injured and succor to the hungry.
And a miracle occurred. He became a hero. He was lauded by the newspapers. People mentioned his name with reverence. Those who had previously rejected him and the message that he carried now searched him out. Their doors were opened to receive him. They loved him. They accepted his burning testimony of Jesus Christ and the gospel restored through the prophet Joseph Smith.
In the few months that remained of his mission he brought scores of wonderful people into the Church. Today, a beautiful chapel stands in Bermejo. On the Sabbath day it is full of members who still remember one faithful elder who made a difference.

I was very sick when I was pregnant with my youngest child. But one afternoon, my daughter wanted to go hiking. My husband told her I was too sick to go. My daughter prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help me feel better and promptly got ready to go. Minutes later, my husband was surprised to see me awake. He told me about our daughter’s prayer, and her sincere faith inspired me to try to hike. Somehow, I made it to the top of the mountain.

During my first couple years in high school, I was a little embarrassed to be a member of the Church because my religion was so different from those of my friends. I didn’t make much of an effort to share my beliefs.
I only felt brave enough once or twice to invite a friend to church, and each time I was extra careful to make sure it wasn’t on a fast Sunday. If I take her to a testimony meeting first, she’ll never want to come back, I thought. But one summer I learned a lesson about the power of testimony meetings.
School was out, flowers were blooming, and my younger sister Natalie and I were eagerly awaiting youth conference. Natalie, as usual, decided to bring along some friends—nonmembers named Tareneh and Angel. I thought they’d probably like youth conference, except for the testimony meeting.
We all had a great time together going to classes, dancing, and socializing. Then came the last activity of the weekend—Sunday’s testimony meeting.
The Spirit was overwhelming; it seemed to make our hearts expand. I was sure everyone in the room could feel that Spirit, but I still couldn’t help wondering if Angel and Tareneh thought Mormons were weird because they go up to the microphone and pour out their hearts to a few hundred people.
But before I knew it, Tareneh went up to the microphone to bear her testimony. I couldn’t believe it! She told everyone that although she wasn’t LDS, she knew there was something special about the Church because of the way she felt during the meeting. She, like everyone else, had felt that amazing spirit.
Angel is a little shy and didn’t bear her testimony, but she later told us that she had wanted to. She eventually joined the Church.
That day I learned that a testimony meeting can be a powerful missionary tool because of the strong spirit that comes with it. I also realized it was wrong to let self-conscious, embarrassed feelings get in the way of sharing the gospel. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about being a Latter-day Saint.

During my sophomore year of high school, I became friends with Courtney. Initially I’d known her only by her reputation as “the cool party girl,” but then she was in my math class and we had many mutual friends. I was surprised when she took an instant liking to me and was so willing to become my friend. Because of my standards, I didn’t attend the high school parties she did, and I didn’t fit in with her lifestyle at the time.
But things changed after a few simple conversations. Before I knew it, we were quickly becoming best friends. Courtney began going to parties less and instead began coming over to my house. She would occasionally attend church with my family and me. I was thrilled! I could see that Courtney was thirsty for knowledge about the Church.
I wondered what had prompted her to make these changes in her lifestyle, so I asked her. I will never forget when she told me that she was impressed by my lifestyle and how happy I was all the time. She wanted to be my friend, but she didn’t think I would want to be hers. I found this funny because I used to feel the same way about her.
I believe that as youth in the Church, we should all “stand as witnesses of God at all times” (Mosiah 18:9), because people are watching us. I’m grateful for my opportunity to be an example to Courtney, who was eventually baptized five years after our math class together. I’ve never felt any feeling like I did when I watched Courtney be baptized, and I will never forget the smile on her face as she came out of the waters of baptism.

I will never forget the family home evening lesson we had during a power outage. Without power we could not read anything, and I thought that family home evening was going to be a disaster.
“How will we have family home evening without being able to read a message from the Liahona, or how will we be able to sing from the hymnbooks without light?” I thought to myself.
Fortunately my sister came to the rescue. She had the great idea for us to sing the hymns we knew by heart and then share what we had learned the Sunday before. We all shared a principle and learned from one another. In my opinion, learning together is the purpose of family home evening. I am certain that the Lord was very pleased that we kept the commandment to have family home evening, even without lights.

I know a brother in Brazil who joined the Church as a 16-year-old, the only member in his family. When it was time for his mission, his parents objected. He heard nothing from them during his mission and returned home to his bishop’s house. The story, however, has a happy ending as he now has a beautiful family, works as a dental surgeon, and his parents wish he could interest his brothers in the Church.

“Want to come sliding after school?” “Sure,” I said. I was seven years old and the newest boy at Garnet Hill School in Glasgow, Scotland. I wasn’t sure what sliding meant, but I was eager to make friends.
Soon we stood by an iron fence. Beyond it, a steep concrete slope fell away between high walls to the base of a building. The slope had been polished like glass by countless children’s leather-soled shoes, making it smooth and slippery—perfect for sliding.
I was a little afraid as I followed my new friends over the fence. I knew that we were trespassing. But I quickly forgot my fear as I hunkered down and pushed off on my first thrilling, wind-whistling, world-blurring slide. Getting back up the slippery slope was a lot harder. I had to push away from the building, run as fast as I could, and grab the iron fence when I reached the top to keep from sliding backward.
Sliding and climbing, I lost all track of time until the rain started falling. We took shelter against the building at the foot of the slope, waiting for the rain to stop. Soon it started getting dark. “I’ve got to go home,” I said. “Mum and Dad will be worried.”
But I made it only halfway up the slope before sliding back down. The rain had made the concrete slipperier than ever. After several desperate tries, we all gave up. We were trapped! The night grew darker as rain continued to drizzle. We didn’t dare call for help, because we were afraid we’d get in trouble for being there. Huddled at the bottom of the slide, cold and fearful, we began to cry.
After what seemed like a long time, a beam of light shone down on us and we heard the gruff voice of the local bobby, or police officer: “Get on up here!”
“We can’t! It’s too slippery!” a quavering voice answered.
Climbing over the fence, the bobby took hold of the iron fence with one hand and leaned down as far as he could. One at a time we scrambled halfway up the slope and grabbed his outstretched hand. After pulling us all to safety, he gave us a friendly scolding and sent us hurrying home to our parents.

It was an incredible morning. The sun was an orange ball, crawling over the horizon behind a row of larch trees. As the warmth of the sun melted the ground fog that came off the river, girls from the Wilmette Illinois Stake gathered for the morning flag ceremony and a few minutes of vigorous calisthenics.

“How was your first night at camp?” It was a common enough question to ask a group of Chicago girls—girls used to the sound of big city traffic at all hours of the day and night. “We couldn’t sleep,” they answered. “The birds were too loud.”

Soon it was time for breakfast. But first everyone had to learn the assigned knot. “Where’s my rope? What knot are we supposed to learn?” This was a common conversation before every meal. On the first day of camp, each girl was given a length of rope and told she had to learn a new knot before every meal. All week long, girls simply wore their “meal tickets” around their necks and helped each other learn the knots that would gain them admittance to the mess hall.
The Wilmette Illinois Stake is a diverse stake with girls from downtown Chicago to girls living in rural areas near the Wisconsin border to girls from two Spanish-speaking wards. Yet they come together at camp to learn from and about each other.
Veronica Cousino, from Chicago Second Ward, is back for her second year at camp. She worked hard last year to pass her certifications. This year she was asked to come to camp as a counselor in one of the Inspirator tents. She loved learning how to cook outdoors. “The hardest part was speaking English all the time. It was a great experience for me. I loved it. That was the reason I wanted to come back this year. And,” Veronica added with surprise, “they wanted me to come as a counselor.”
The girls are allowed to choose one friend to stay with. Then they are assigned by skill levels to tents. Each tent has a leader.
Before coming to camp, the girls and leaders attended certification camps. They were able to go on their certification hikes right from the door of their stake center in downtown Chicago. The stake center is within a mile or so of a forest preserve. The preserve is a large section of wooded area set aside for recreation. The hike to and through the forest preserve was a good test of the girls’ endurance. Indeed, hiking is a good sport for the city dwellers because the forest preserves are set aside with trails for that purpose. They were also able to build fires and perfect some of their cooking skills. One stake member is certified to teach CPR (cardio-pulmonary resuscitation) classes, and most of the girls in the stake were able to pass that course as part of their first aid.
Since camp was located near a wide river suitable for canoeing, the girls worked on canoe safety in anticipation of making a canoe trip. A canoe was placed in the swimming pool, and each girl had the chance to learn to get into a canoe after falling out and how to empty a swamped canoe. Friends lined the sides of the pool excitedly waiting their turns and cheering as each one made it successfully back into the canoe.
The Wilmette Stake camp leaders added a new twist to the usual cooking assignments. Each cabin of girls had to cook a certain number of meals in their own area. Instead of simply being given the ingredients, the leaders had made a large chart with a list of foods and individual prices per serving: egg $.07, orange $.20, biscuit mix $.15, hamburger (1/4 lb.) $.40, etc. The girls were told they had to plan a menu for their cabin that cost $1.75 per girl. They placed their orders with their leaders, who took the opportunity to talk about nutrition, budget, and meal planning. The leaders were able to do this type of impromptu meal planning because they were close to a town and were able to go for supplies and be back before the evening or morning meal.
As in most girls’ camps, no radios or stereos were allowed. Evelyn Amundsen, with a smile that could light up a room, liked it that way. “I like to get away from the radio and listen to natural music.”
Since the Wilmette Stake takes in such a large area, many girls in the stake don’t get to see each other very often. Jennifer Wilding lives in the northernmost area of the stake. “Camp is a chance to make friends from the other wards,” said Jennifer, “and since my family goes camping a lot, I want to be certified.”
A positive, confidence-building experience for most, girls’ camp often provides an environment, away from the demands and distractions of town, where young women can be influenced by the loving concern of their leaders and of their Father in Heaven. As Lorraine Ward of Dallas said, “Everyone comes with her bag packed with problems and blessings. We help each other out.” Girls leave camp with a duffle bag full of dirty clothes but with something more valuable—a love for each other, a love for the beauties of nature, and a growing love of the gospel.

Sometimes the tables are reversed. A dear and cherished young friend, Wendy Bennion of Salt Lake City, was such an example. Almost seven years ago, she quietly departed mortality and returned “to that God who gave [her] life.” She had struggled for over five long years in her battle with cancer. Ever cheerful, always reaching out to help others, never losing faith, her contagious smile attracted others to her as a magnet attracts metal shavings. While ill and in pain, a friend of hers, feeling downcast with her own situation, visited Wendy. Nancy, Wendy’s mother, knowing Wendy was in extreme pain, felt that perhaps the friend had stayed too long. She asked Wendy, after the friend had left, why she had allowed her to stay so long when she herself was in so much pain. Wendy’s response: “What I was doing for my friend was a lot more important than the pain I was having. If I can help her, then the pain is worth it.”

Jill squeezed her eyes shut, then popped them open again. Tree shadows moved across the unfamiliar wallpaper. She wished that morning would come so that she could get the first day at her new school behind her. How she longed to be back at Three Forks! There everyone knew her and she had good friends. But her father’s new job had taken them out of Montana’s January blizzards to the gray curtains of rain in Seattle, Washington.
If only I could find a magic ring, like the little girl in the fairy tale! Jill thought. Maybe then my wish would come true. She let herself drift back to her dream of deep grass rolling in the wind.
Awake once more, Jill saw that it was morning. She looked down at her hand—no magic ring.
“Jill,” her mother called, “time to get up! French toast!”
Her favorite breakfast. Mom was trying to help. Jill put on her dark blue skirt and white sweater, then pulled a sock over her thin, twisted foot and shriveled leg. Taking her crutch, she swung herself to the stairway and expertly two-stepped her way down.
“You look very nice this morning,” her mother greeted her. “And see what Great-Aunt Laura sent you. It’s a ‘schoolwarming’ present.”
By the side of Jill’s plate lay a gold-colored thimble. “Mom! It’s a magic thimble!” She slipped it onto the middle finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly.
“It may not be magic, Jill, but it’s a nice gift from your great-aunt. Now, drink your orange juice and eat your breakfast while it’s still warm.”
“OK, Mom, but I’m going to take the thimble with me, just in case.” If it is a magic thimble, she thought, I’ll have at least one wish come true.
At school the principal, Mr. Pearson, told Jill, “Your teacher is Mrs. Rhodes. I’ll take you up to her class.”
Jill followed Mr. Pearson upstairs to her classroom. All eyes turned toward her when she and Mr. Pearson went in. Blood rushed to her face and neck. This was the moment she dreaded most—people looking at her and staring at her brace and crutch.
A slender young woman came forward, and Mr. Pearson said, “This is Jill Oldham.”
“I’m Mrs. Rhodes, Jill. We’re glad to have you with us. You can sit at this desk here.” She pointed to an empty desk in the front row.
Morning classes began with math. Although she was good at it, the butterflies came back again as she heard the teacher and the class talking about “sets.” What are they, anyway? she wondered.
Jill slumped down in her seat, avoiding her teacher’s eyes. Kathy, the dark-haired girl next to her, had her hand in the air constantly, and she snapped her pencil back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. Suddenly Kathy’s pencil slipped out of her hand and landed on the floor, its point broken off. Mrs. Rhodes frowned. Jill hesitated, then offered her pencil box to her classmate. Kathy flashed a pleased smile as she picked out a sharpened pencil.
Next came social studies. Jill pricked up her ears at mention of the Lewis and Clark expedition. When Mrs. Rhodes asked if anyone could name the three rivers that came together to form the Missouri River, Jill put up her hand.
“Jill?”
“The Madison, Gallatin, and Jefferson rivers.”
“That’s correct. I understand that you moved here from Montana. Is that how you knew?”
“Yes. Three Forks, Montana, is near where our family lived. And, besides, my dad named our three cats after those rivers!”
Mrs. Rhodes smiled, her classmates giggled, and Jill joined in. Then a bell sounded. Recess! The other kids would rush out to the playground, but what would she do? At her old school, she and her best friend used recess to do projects and share secrets. But she didn’t have a best friend—any friends, for that matter—here. She took her crutch and made her way to the end of the recess line.
“Kathy will you be hostess for Jill today?” Mrs. Rhodes asked. “Show her where the lavatories and the cafeteria are.”
“Yes, Mrs. Rhodes.” Kathy replied.
Jill felt her face redden. “You go ahead of me, Kathy,” Jill said. “It takes me longer to go downstairs.”
“Oh, I’ll stay with you. I don’t mind. I hurt my leg last year when I chased our dog over a ditch, and I had to be on crutches for a while. I know how it is.”
As Jill made her way down the stairs, Kathy said admiringly, “You sure know how to handle yourself. You’re twice as fast as I was.”
“Well, I’ve had enough practice.” Jill smiled ruefully.
On the playground the girls first sat behind the baseball safety fence and watched their classmates play one-up. Then Jill said, “C’mon. Let’s swing. I like to pump high. It makes me feel good.”
Kathy said, “I like to pump high too. But I didn’t know you could do that.”
“I can do lots of things,” said Jill. “I can swim and ride a horse and play the piano.”
“Say, where do you live?” Kathy asked on their way back to class. When Jill told Kathy, her classmate exclaimed, “Hey, we ride the same bus! Only I go four blocks farther. I’m glad you came to our school! I’m still mad at one of the kids on the bus. He called me ‘peg leg’ when I was on crutches. He’d better not say anything to you, or I’ll hit him on the head with my lunch bucket, and he’ll have jelly sandwiches hanging from his ears!”
Jill laughed. Putting her hand into her pocket, she discovered her great-aunt’s gift. I found something better than a magic thimble, she thought. I found a friend!

Many young men and young women have started avoiding the inappropriate things found on television, in movies, in music, and on the Internet. Monica Peterson, from Mesa, Arizona, and her family have tried to specifically avoid unclean television shows.
“For family home evening, we chose to work on Be clean. We wrote down television shows that weren’t appropriate to watch. A show that makes me feel uncomfortable I know shouldn’t be watched. Now, when that show comes on, I have a feeling to change it. It was hard at first, but Heavenly Father helped not only me but my family also.”

A few days later, the Whitmers joined the Smith family at their farm in Manchester. Knowing the Lord had promised to establish His words “in the mouth of as many witnesses as seemeth him good,” Joseph went into the woods with his father, Hyrum, and Samuel, as well as four of David Whitmer’s brothers—Christian, Jacob, Peter Jr., and John—and their brother-in-law Hiram Page.34
The eight men gathered at a spot where the Smith family often went to pray privately. With the Lord’s permission, Joseph uncovered the plates and showed them to the group. They did not see an angel as the Three Witnesses had, but Joseph let them hold the record in their hands, turn its pages, and inspect its ancient writing. Handling the plates affirmed their faith that Joseph’s testimony about the angel and the ancient record was true.35
Now that the translation was over and he had witnesses to support his miraculous testimony, Joseph no longer needed the plates. After the men left the woods and went back to the house, the angel appeared and Joseph returned the sacred record to his care.36

“How can it be six o’clock?” I thought my head had just hit the pillow, but my alarm clock was already screaming at me to get out of bed. The darkness and cold air made it even harder to peel back the blankets. After a few more seconds of enduring the screeching of my alarm clock, I finally got up.
My goal was to wake up at six a.m. and read my scriptures before I started a busy day. I flipped on my lamp and opened my scriptures.
After a good half hour of scripture study and a prayer, I showered and dressed for my eight o’clock class. I couldn’t be late. My first big humanities paper was due at eight. One second late and the paper wouldn’t be accepted. A zero on this assignment would ruin any chance of earning an A in the class. I had put a lot of effort into writing this paper, and I finished a couple of days before it was due. I left myself plenty of time to walk to campus to turn in my polished paper.
As I walked down the dorm hall stairwell, I heard a voice say, “Check to make sure you have your paper.” Surprised, I immediately opened my backpack and discovered that I had grabbed the wrong folder. I didn’t have my paper with me!
As I rushed back to my room, I knew it had been the influence of the Spirit that told me I didn’t have my paper. A sense of relief washed over me when I put the paper in my backpack and started off to class again.
On my walk to campus I reflected on what had happened. The impression I had received was intense. I did not doubt the voice, and I immediately acted upon the prompting. As a result I was blessed with the chance to fix the situation quickly.
This experience left me asking some questions. Why was the feeling so intense? Why did I not doubt it? Why was I given the opportunity to go back and get my paper? Why did I have the prompting at all? In the great scheme of things, did it really matter if I got an A in this class?
When I stepped into the classroom, the answer became clear. Yes, it mattered; it mattered to me. As I put my paper on the teacher’s desk, I realized Heavenly Father knew the desires of my heart. Through my early-morning scripture study and prayer, I had invited the Spirit to be with me. Even though my situation wasn’t a matter of life or death, I was receptive to the influence of the Spirit and was given the desire of my heart.

I was asked a lot of questions by friends and family when I decided to receive my temple endowment:
Are things getting serious in your relationship?
Is this a wedding announcement?
Are you even allowed to receive your endowment if you’re not getting married or serving a mission?
Although I did have a boyfriend at the time and I’d seriously considered a mission, my decision to go to the temple had nothing to do with those things and everything to do with the fact that I felt inspired to more fully accept the Lord’s invitation to “take hold of my covenant” (Isaiah 56:4). It was a sacred, personal decision, and one that I truly felt was right.
Soon after receiving my endowment, the COVID-19 pandemic hit, and temples shut down. I was so grateful for the covenants I’d made and the greater understanding I’d gained in the temple, and I knew that my desire to go was inspired. Although your prompting might not have anything to do with a worldwide disaster, the Lord knows when you will need the sustaining power of covenants. He knows when He will need you in His “holy mountain,” so that He can “make [you] joyful in [His] house of prayer” (Isaiah 56:7).

Kate McColgan, mother of six and member of the Bridgend Ward, Cardiff Stake, is the chair of the Interfaith Council for Wales. Here she describes her work as chair, with some background:
As a child, I can remember asking why our Church was not a member of the Council of Churches, and why all the faiths could not work together? I never received a satisfactory answer. When I married my Northern Irish husband, we visited family during the troubles and heard some prejudices firsthand.
I keenly felt the need for talking, understanding, and compassion. After so much heartache, it was only the peace talks, not the bombs, that eventually brought the country to rest.
Professionally, I am a family solicitor but, about 12 years ago, a miscarriage set me back. I wanted to give up work, change my life, and do something completely different. However, I felt there was something more important that I was supposed to do with my life, and I needed to stay put. It was not especially what I wanted, but I waited and waited with anticipation. Eight years went by. I wondered whether a change was ever going to happen, or whether I had just imagined it would happen.
When I started my search for my important work, I came across these words by Orson F. Whitney (1855-1931), which profoundly affected me:
“God is using more than one people for the accomplishment of his great and marvellous work. The Latter-day Saints cannot do it all. It is too vast, too arduous, for any one people. Our part in it is the greatest. We have the gospel and the priesthood, with a mission to gather Israel, build the New Jerusalem, and prepare the way for the advent of the King of kings. And this duty has been laid upon us because we belong to the house of Israel. It is the God of Israel who is coming to reign, and we are the right people to prepare the way before him. …
“We have no quarrel with the Gentiles. They are our partners in a certain sense. The name Gentile is not with us a term of reproach. … It simply means, with us, one who does not belong to the Church. We need the Gentiles, and they need us, but they don’t know it, and we do. They are wiser than we are in material things—the things of Earth and Time. But when it comes to spiritual things—the things of Heaven and Eternity, we can teach them. We need their wealth and worldly wisdom, their wonderful skill in managing and manipulating temporalities. And they need the Gospel and the Priesthood. They need us, for we hold in our hands the Key to their eternal salvation.
“Again, I say, the Lord’s Work has need of auxiliaries outside as well as inside, to help it along. Because of their worldly influence—which would depart if they connected themselves with the Church—many are kept where they are, where the Lord has placed them, and can best use them for the good of all.”1
Towards the end of those eight years, I was surprised to receive a telephone call asking me to meet with the stake president. As I fretted and pondered, I suddenly knew that this was it. I was about to start my important work. I knew I was going to be called into public affairs. To be honest, this terrified me, but also exhilarated me. I was finally going to get started. I knew I was going to love the expected interfaith work, and I did!
After two years as stake director of public affairs, I was given the opportunity to join the Interfaith Council as a second to Julie Jones who represented the Church. I made it my mission to go to as many other faiths’ places of worship and activity as I could, working around my own church attendance. In reaching out, I came to experience some ‘holy envy’, to see some of the inspiring and faithful worship practices of others that could enrich me; by stepping into their places of worship, it was possible to meld hearts.
I made so many friends among the other faiths, found such goodness out there, that my life has been blessed enormously. It has given me so much hope and optimism for the future. It reminds me that the world is a good place, despite much wickedness and confusion. We know that come the Millennium, good people of all faiths will be there, making the Zion communities for which we all long. I have found many of them here in Wales; they can be found wherever you live.
Fortunately for me, Julie Jones had been the interfaith specialist for the adjoining Merthyr Stake and had done a great job in representing the Church and getting the Interfaith Council for Wales (a voluntary body of faith leaders, chaplains, and representatives of local interfaith bodies) to meet for more than their annual administrative meetings, and to start learning about each other. There were now several activities that I was invited to attend with her, several put on by the Interfaith Council and others put on by the faiths themselves.
It was during this time that I felt inspired to start a Welsh Interfaith Choir, with our stake choir director, Lisa Pengilley, as chorister. It was popular and attracted around 50 people for regular monthly practices. Being involved in this choir and learning to sing the words of MP Jo Cox, who died in 2016, “We have far more in common than that which divides us,” led to many moist eyes in the room, not to mention mine.
I was keen to get as many people as possible at grass roots involved in this work and started a program of events known as Faiths in Focus, where the different faiths invited others to celebrate a festival with them. This was a great chance for members of different faiths and cultures to mix, from which further friendship developed.
These activities culminated in a big event during Interfaith Week in November 2019. (The organisation of this was personally stressful, due to the chair having resigned just three weeks earlier.) The choir sang at our chapel in Cardiff at the end of a wonderful torchlit walk between three other places of worship, supported by around 150 people of different faiths and including an MP, a Welsh Assembly member and its deputy minister. I had spent a lot of time praying for the success of the event and was powerfully reminded that this was His Church and work, and not mine—and I should not worry quite as much.
Then to my immense surprise and shock, after only a year of sitting on the Council, I was elected its chair (Julie had by now been called to important work elsewhere). I was consumed for a short time with many doubts and worries that I would sink amidst all the many things I needed to do, and how could I possibly balance my life? However, in the middle of my anxiety, I found myself reading an Ensign article which touched me, this section in particular:
“In the midst of your personal and diverse needs, to balance life’s pursuits and challenges with your spirituality, you will come to realise that balance is achievable. The Lord does not require you to do something you cannot accomplish …
“As daunting as keeping this balance may seem, I promise that one of the greatest miracles of your mortal existence will be your ability to find balance between your spirituality and other important life roles. This can take place in a way that will allow you not just to maintain your spirituality and life’s important roles at status quo, but also to grow and develop in both of these important areas.”2
Remarkably, it has proved true, and most of the time I manage to keep all the balls in the air. Curiously, ever since being chair, due to COVID-19, the Council has never met in person and yet I would say that we are much closer than ever, as we have met more often using Zoom to try and deal with the needs of people, organising service, encouraging members to take the vaccine, supporting each other’s activities, and so on. And now I am blessed with two able interfaith specialists, one from each stake.
In conclusion, my latest musings follow from recent readings in Come Follow Me (relating how some were commanded to go to Missouri, some to stay, some to sell, some to go on missions, some to teach in their locality, and so on), that we all have different life journeys, different roles to play, and we are all much needed in these roles. There is little point in comparing ourselves.
We each just need to do the best we can in the role we have been given. For me it is interesting that I was placed in my solicitor job, but there is little doubt that it has assisted my path in interfaith work; particularly in the small country Wales, where we have regular opportunity to rub shoulders with politicians, mayors, and their like. But each of our journeys is different. And sometimes God does not reveal the future all at once. And sometimes, things take longer than we think, but He has it all in hand if we just make ourselves available and listen.
Knowing that He is on our side helps us do things that we might never have the courage to do without Him. And it is our job, just like those early Saints who were asked to create Zion out of the wild, wild West, which must have seemed impossible to them, as it may be to us to build Zion here, in our own communities, particularly in troubled times.

It didn’t take long for Sally to get the missionary spirit. Together, she and Sarah invited a young man by the name of Mark Hall to sit in on Sally’s discussions.
“I thought it was all a bit stupid at first,” Mark remembers. “I had been an altar boy, brought up in a Catholic family. I took lists of questions to those meetings. My questions were answered.”
Sally remembers Mark finally asking her, “What is this feeling in me? I’ve got to get it out. Turn off the central heating, Sally.” Her reply—“It’s not on, Mark.”
He was baptized one month later. His mother became so impressed with the Church and the people that she wanted more of her children to be part of it.

I recall one experience that we had with Jean when we went camping. Immediately after I stopped the car, Jean got out and began sweeping the camping area. Our children just couldn’t believe it, but she continued until she had swept over all the area, until all the loose dirt and pine needles were in a neat pile. But she didn’t stop there: she came over and knelt down by the children and spent the next few minutes talking to them about the principle of cleanliness—that when you are camping or living outdoors cleanliness becomes a very important thing, and that by taking a few steps you can make life livable. And the amazing thing was that they listened. We were just grateful that we were in the Rockies of Colorado and not the sands of New Mexico. I always wondered how deep she would have gone to find solid ground.

A young boy was trying to smooth out the dirt area behind his house so he could play there with his cars. There was a large rock obstructing his work. The boy pushed and pulled with all his might, but no matter how hard he tried, the rock wouldn’t budge.
His father watched for a while, then came to his son and said, “You need to use all your strength to move a rock this large.”
The boy responded, “I have used all my strength!”
His father corrected him: “No you haven’t. You haven’t had my help yet!”
They then bent down together and moved the rock easily.

Imagine a 17-year-old boy walking through a school. He passes by two young women he knows. Each young woman hands him a piece of paper. The first hands him an envelope with a heart-shaped sticker on it, and the second hands him a flyer with an image of a red cross on it. Without reading either one, he starts thinking about asking the first girl to a dance and giving the second girl a donation for recent flood victims. He has a different reaction to the images because each one holds a different meaning for him; in other words, they are symbols.

Illustrations by Mark Robison
1 “I found the apples, Mom!” Jennifer called.
“Thank you, Jennifer,” Mom said as she put the bag of apples in the shopping cart. Jennifer felt good inside. Helping Mom shop was fun.
“Do we need anything else?” Jennifer asked.
“Nope, I think that’s it,” Mom said.
2 Jennifer followed Mom to the front of the store. She helped Mom stack the groceries on the moving checkout counter, being careful that heavy things, like apples, didn’t smash delicate items, like bread and eggs. The clerk at the cash register scanned each item under a red light with a loud “Beep!”
3 While she waited for Mom to pay for the groceries, Jennifer looked at the fun things at the check stand—toys, magazines, and shiny packages of candy. Then something caught her eye: a magazine-sized book with pictures and stickers from one of her favorite movies.
“Mom, can I have this?” Jennifer asked, holding up the book.
4 Jennifer’s mom looked at the book. “No, Jennifer. I am not going to buy that for you.”
“Why not?” Jennifer asked.
“Please put it away for now. We’ll talk about it at home,” Mom said.
In the car, Jennifer wondered why Mom had said no about the sticker book. After they got home and put the groceries away, Mom sat by Jennifer on the couch.
“I know you wanted me to buy that book for you,” Mom said. “I know that it’s your favorite movie and I can tell that the sticker book is something you really want. And that’s why I said no.”
Jennifer looked confused.
5 “I think it is something that you should earn for yourself,” Mom said.
“What do you mean?” Jennifer asked.
“Do you know how much the sticker book costs?”
Jennifer shook her head.
“Well, that’s the first thing you need to find out,” Mom said.
“The first thing before what?” Jennifer asked.
“Before you start earning the money to buy the sticker book for yourself.”
Next time they were at the grocery store, Jennifer found the price tag on the sticker book. Back at home, Mom gave Jennifer a notebook to keep track of her money and wrote the price of the sticker book next to the word “GOAL.”
Then Jennifer went to work. She washed windows and took out the garbage. She pulled weeds in the backyard and scrubbed spots on the carpet. When Mom paid her for the extra chores, Jennifer kept track of her earnings in the notebook. She put 10 percent of what she earned in a gray tithing envelope to give to the bishop. Then she put the rest of her money in a white envelope for the sticker book.
6 After several weeks, Jennifer looked inside her white envelope. She finally had enough money! She felt very grown up at the store as she carefully counted out the exact amount in bills and coins to pay for the sticker book.
When she got home, Jennifer placed the sticker book in her special drawer. She had worked long and hard to buy it, and she wanted to take good care of it. It made Jennifer feel good to know that she had earned something for herself.