Gospel Story Finder

Twenty-four out of twenty-five! They had tied! In a five-shot free throw playoff, Ray Swanson, a deacon from the 18th Ward, Pocatello Idaho West Stake, edged out his Indiana opponent to be declared the national winner in the 12–13 year-old division of the Elks Hoop Shoot contest. (He received a 2 1/2-foot-high trophy for his efforts and was greeted at the airport by schoolmates, city officials, and a pep band when he returned home.) To become eligible for the basketball free throw competition held in Kansas City, Missouri, Ray also won local, district, state, and Northwest Region titles. Since he began competing four years ago, he has won every local and district title in his age group and three state titles also. Ray is the teachers quorum secretary in his ward.

Only six days before the accident, the Volkmans became members of the Church. Sage was only five then, but she anxiously awaited the time when she could be baptized. Her parents had investigated the Church for many years and found it hard to be baptized. “Sage is responsible for our baptism,” says Sage’s dad, Michael. He says she kept asking questions about God he couldn’t answer, and she wanted to go to church to find answers. He took Sage to a nearby LDS church because he had received a testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon 10 years earlier when a friend had given one to him.
When Michael took Sage and her brother, Avery, camping that weekend after his family joined the Church, he had no idea how his family would be changed. He and Avery went fishing early one morning, and Michael had gone back to the camper to check on Sage, who was asleep. Five minutes later, the fishermen saw smoke rising from their campsite and they raced back. Sage’s dad had to pull her out of the burning camper from under melting sleeping bags. He resuscitated her, but he was so frantic he broke one of her ribs as he pumped on her chest. Michael was badly burned and had his hands and eyes in bandages as the ambulance rushed Sage to the hospital.
Sage had numerous third- and fourth-degree burns, and her nose and one ear were melted off. Doctors had to amputate her fingers because they were so badly burned. She was in a coma. One lung had collapsed. But, to the surprise of all the medical staff, Sage survived the night.
A few days later, Sage was moved to the burn unit of a New Mexico hospital. Again, there was little hope she’d make it through the night—only a 10 percent chance—but she survived and improved over the next two days. Then pneumonia struck. Sage’s condition deteriorated, and two weeks later she was flown to a burn institute in Texas, still in a coma. The doctors there said her survival through the night was a “big if.” They also said if she survived she would have vision loss, hearing loss, brain damage, chronic lung problems, and she would be unable to walk. Anything short of that would be a miracle.
Sage pulled through again with the help of numerous priesthood blessings. She also had the aid of loving parents and skilled doctors. One priesthood blessing she received promised full recovery and that she would be safe with her Savior until she was better. After a six-week coma, the blessing was fulfilled, and Sage was finally well enough to go home on December 23, 1986, after three months in hospitals.
Hundreds of letters, posters, stuffed animals, and lots of love came pouring in from all those who had been touched by Sage’s story. Sage’s life and positive attitude have touched many for good. Many of those who wrote told of how the story of Sage in the August 1989 Ensign had comforted or converted them. One missionary in Spain wrote, “I have nothing to be sad about. I now realize how small my trials are.”
Thirteen years, 64 surgeries, and lots and lots of friends later, Sage is doing better than ever. Defying all the doctors’ expectations, Sage walks, talks, sees, drives, and does so much more than that. She’s even going to take a kick-boxing class. She says it was her constant reliance upon the Lord which has allowed her to become who she is.
Sage doesn’t think her trials have been too hard to handle. “There’s tons of kids who have it worse,” she says. “It humbles you to see other people with problems.” Sage tries to help those who have it worse than she does. She volunteers at a camp for children who are burn victims and is on the board of directors of the Phoenix Foundation, an organization which helps burn victims.
A lot like many other LDS teens, Sage worries about school, works hard, plays hard, and has trouble waking up for early-morning seminary. She attends a high school where she is the only LDS student; she has lots of friends from her ward and her school.
Sage’s goal is to become a doctor. She plans to go to Ricks College in Idaho after she graduates from high school and then go into medicine. “It’s something that fascinates me,” she says. Why else would she read that huge medical book before she goes to sleep each night?
Despite, or perhaps because of, all she’s been through, Sage’s motto is “Never forget who you are, but always remember what you could become.” She says, “You shouldn’t deny what you are. If you do your best, then who knows the possibilities of what you could be and who you could be.”
“That’s kind of like me,” Sage adds, “because I could try to become someone else and deny this whole ordeal that I’ve been through, but I haven’t. I want to strive to be the best that I could possibly be. And I want to be a doctor. And there’s nothing that I can’t do so far.”
Sage knows she can do it with Heavenly Father’s help. She also wants to help as many people as she can along the way. “That’s all I can offer—my help and my testimony,” she says. “This is the true Church, and I know I wouldn’t be here today without it. I couldn’t even begin to count how many blessings I’ve received.”
Sage may still have physical scars, but her bishop, Bradley Greer, says, “Sage has got this personality about her, and you become oblivious to how scarred she is.” Many surgeries have restored Sage’s skin, nose, and ear, though not her fingers, since the accident 13 years ago. But the gospel has done its part in healing her pain too, she says, and it continues to uplift her each day.

As anticipated, October 26 was a successful Sabbath and the highlight of the proselyting venture. Joseph and Sidney first preached to a large congregation at the Nickersons’, then took 12 converts into the waters of baptism, including Brother Nickerson’s two adult sons, Moses and Eleazer. That evening they “held a meeting for confirmation. We broke bread, laid on hands for the gift of the Holy Spirit. Had a good meeting, the Spirit was given in great power to some and the rest had great peace. May God carry on his work in this place till all shall know him. Amen.”

Sister Gayle Clegg of the Primary general presidency and her husband lived for a number of years in Brazil. Recently she had a Primary assignment in Japan. As she came into the chapel on Sunday, she noticed among the Japanese Saints a Brazilian family. “They just looked Brazilian,” she said. She only had a minute to greet them and found the mother and children very enthusiastic but noticed that the father was rather quiet. “I’ll have a chance to talk with them after the meeting,” she thought as she was quickly ushered to the stand. She delivered her message in English, which was translated into Japanese, and then she felt impressed to bear her testimony in Portuguese as well. She hesitated as there were no translators for Portuguese, and 98 percent of the people would not understand what she said.

After the meeting the Brazilian father came up to her and said, “Sister, the customs are so different here, and I have been lonely. It is difficult to come to church and not understand anything. Sometimes I wonder if I would be better off just reading my scriptures at home. I told my wife, ‘I’ll give it one more chance,’ and I came today for what I thought would be the last time. When you bore your testimony in Portuguese, the Spirit touched my heart, and I knew that this was where I belonged. God knows I am here, and He will help me.” And he joined the others in putting away the chairs.

Was it a coincidence that the only Portuguese-speaking member of the Primary presidency was sent to Japan instead of to Portugal? Or was it because the Lord knew someone there needed what only she could give—and she had the courage to follow a prompting of the Spirit? One of the great blessings of having a calling in the Church is that the Lord, through His Spirit, will inspire us to help those we are called to serve.

As I consider this scripture, I am reminded of the very intense situation with my family when I told them I had been baptized in this Church and that I was no longer a Catholic. I became a Latter-day Saint. I remember having a determination to show my family that the choice I made was because I had hope for a better world and my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ would be my anchor.

I still remember vividly that day, I arrived in Guam having been away for college in Arizona for a year; I stepped off the Pan Am jumbo jet to find my family – they did not look happy to see me. In fact, I could tell they were angry that I had joined the Church. The look on my siblings faces was, “You are in big trouble.” “You are gonna get it when you get home.” Yes, I was concerned that my family would do something to me that they would later regret. As we reached home, I barely got out of the car and my father immediately started to question me. With my head hung low and with deep humility, I listened carefully and then I slowly raised my head and with courage, I told my family, “Just watch me.” Since then, we never did have any other discussion about my joining the Church. My commitment to the Lord to keep my covenants became even more real for me that hot, muggy night in Guam. When I said, “Just watch me” it meant that I would do everything I could possibly do to be “sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God.” It was important to me then as it is now to keep my part in “always abounding in good works.”

Spending time with my family is always a cherished experience for me. Because I work as a railroad engineer, my schedule is unpredictable. Occasionally I am transferred to distant locations and become temporarily separated from my wife and children. During these times, I see them only a few days each week—and only after a lengthy drive home.
Once, my wife, Scarlett, and our sons traveled to visit me during one of my breaks. Our sons enjoyed sleeping in a motel room and eating at restaurants. This trip became a vacation for them. This refreshing reunion passed quickly, and before too long we were hugging and saying good-bye. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I saw Scarlett’s car disappear from view as we got on opposite on-ramps to the freeway. I was traveling back to the railroad, and Scarlett was taking our children home.
I smiled as I thought about my family and decided to call Scarlett to thank her again for coming to visit me. I reached for my cell phone in my coat pocket, but it was not there. After an unsuccessful search, I realized that the phone must have been put in Scarlett’s car by accident.
I used my cell phone to keep in touch with my family, but it was also necessary for my work. My wife and I had been driving in separate directions for 10 minutes, but I knew I had to retrieve my phone. I decided I would dash up to the next overpass, turn back in the opposite direction, and try to catch her. As I prepared to turn around, I seemed to hear a voice say, “Stop!”
I began slowing down, even though each passing moment was making it more difficult to recover my phone.
A second thought came: “Stay here!”
This strong feeling swept over me. Defying logic and reason, I pulled over and turned off the car. I did not know why, but I sensed that I should stay put. As I yielded to what I felt was a prompting from the Holy Ghost, I felt panic being replaced by peace. I offered a humble prayer, grateful for Heavenly Father’s direction and guidance.
Shortly thereafter I caught sight of Scarlett driving toward me. When she saw me, she quickly brought the vehicle to a halt and came over to me with the cell phone in hand.
“How did you know to stop and wait?” she asked.
Joyful tears filled our eyes as I related my experience receiving promptings from the Holy Ghost.
That incident has stayed with me, and I can never deny the divine help I received that day. It strengthened our testimonies that Heavenly Father is aware of the seemingly minute details of our lives. I strive to remain worthy of that same guidance I received many years ago.

President Ch’oi next suggested that we put an article about my search in one of the Seoul newspapers. He told me that, since the Korean War, many people trying to find lost family members had used the newspapers. We met with a reporter, who wrote a brief description of my sister and me and our history as far as we knew it. On 2 June 1984, the article appeared in the paper. We immediately received many telephone calls from people who thought we might be part of their family.
One telephone call was unusual. I couldn’t understand all the man said, but with my companion’s help, I learned that his name was Ko In Soo. He was calling from Shillim, a small village outside Weonju. He told of a set of twin girls his family had given up for adoption in the late 1950s. I doubted that my sister and I were the twins. Although our baby pictures were similar, my sister’s and my birthdates were different.
But Ko In Soo invited us to meet him. He asked us, if it were possible, to first meet with his son Ko Hun Kyu, who lived in Seoul. Ko Hun Kyu and his mother were the two who had given the twin girls to the orphanage. So we called him and arranged for a meeting.
What if the man’s story was true? Ko Hun Kyu would then be one of my relatives! I wasn’t sure if I was ready to see him yet. When I met Mr. Ko and his wife, he stared at me and said that I looked exactly like his aunt. With tears in his eyes, he began his story. He expressed deep regret for having given the twins up for adoption. I was skeptical and wanted to see proof—pictures and records. And what about our different birthdates?
Mr. Ko invited us to his home to show me the family photo album. Unfortunately, he did not have any pictures of the woman he called my mother. I was still doubtful, so we called the family in Shillim and made plans to visit them.
Shillim is a small village—so small it doesn’t even have a bus stop. But the bus driver made a special stop for us. The air was clean, fresh, and warm as we walked on a dirt path with rice fields on both sides. Ko Hun Kyu led the way. We came to the village—a small store and a group of houses. We crossed a street and saw an old man waiting at a gate for us. He was short and browned by the Korean sun.
He seemed excited, and he kept staring at me. His home was made of weathered wood, clay, and paper. We walked to the house, took off our shoes, and stepped up to the wood porch and into the room. On one side were all the family’s belongings piled against the wall—a few boxes, a folding table, some cushions, and some clothes.
The whole family gathered around me. They stared at me and talked about my eyes and facial shape being exactly the same as the person they thought was my mother. They were convinced that I was one of the twin girls they had given up.
When I asked to see their records, they brought out their dust-covered photograph albums. They turned to one picture in particular. An elderly couple were on one side of the yellowed family portrait. Their daughter—the woman they called my mother—was in the middle, and their son—Ko In Soo—and his wife were on the other side. Ko Hun Kyu was in the front row with some other children. I saw no resemblance between me and the person they claimed was my mother, although I saw a resemblance between me and the elderly couple. Was this woman really my mother? She was tiny and frail and looked much younger than her twenty-six years.
Ko In Soo told us the rest of the story. His sister, Ko In Soon, had married Kim Chin Ku, who was from another village. The couple had moved to Ch’ungpoong, where some time later she had given birth to a son. A year after the son’s birth, she had given birth to twin girls, but she died shortly afterwards. When Ko In Soo had heard of his sister’s death, he had gone to Ch’ungpoong and had brought the three children to Shillim. With several children of his own and without the means to support them all, he had decided to place the twins in an orphanage. The administrators there had recorded different birthdates for the twins because they felt that twins would have little chance of being adopted together.
In the meantime, Kim Chin Ku, my father, had married again. He had come to get the children, only to learn that the twins had been adopted. He had brought his son back with him to Ch’ungpoong. Mr. Ko told me that he had heard that the Kim family was still living there, though the father was very sick.
When he finished the story, I asked Mr. Ko if they had any other family records. Ko In Soo went to the drawers on one side of the room and pulled out a rice paper book, yellowed with age. I opened the book to see Chinese and Korean characters recording the family genealogy. What a beautiful, priceless treasure! I left Shillim feeling that I had found what I came for.

Currently I am swimming, serving as a student body officer, learning the piano and bass trombone, playing the piano for priesthood opening exercises, keeping an A average in AP classes, doing my duties as a priest and Eagle Scout, and holding a job to earn money for my mission. Most of the times overlap. I finally had to sit down and make a weekly schedule. This helped tremendously. I left at least 10 minutes of “me time” between each of these activities. But when work and swim continued to fill the same time slot, I had to drop swim for a while. That relieved much of the stress I was going through. Sometimes you just have to let things go, and prioritize your activities in order of importance.
Ryan G., 18, Mississippi

Two years ago, Marcia and I arrived in New Zealand. We had only been there a few hours when we were given keys to a car. They told us we needed to be in Hamilton, NZ to speak at the closing ceremonies of the Church College of New Zealand. Hamilton is a two hour drive from our home in Auckland. This didn't sound like a difficult task until we got in the car and started to drive. In New Zealand, they drive on the opposite side of the car and on the opposite side of the road than we do in the United States. It required an immediate brain shift on my part and total focus. To make matters even more difficult, in New Zealand, almost every intersection is a roundabout. We don't have many of those in the western United States. So Marcia and I started to make our way to Hamilton driving on, what for us, was the wrong side of the car, and the wrong side of the road. We were spending a lot of our time in roundabouts. We noticed that you can stay in a roundabout as long as you like. There is no requirement to get out. So, as we were trying to determine directions, we found ourselves stuck in the roundabout, going in circles on many occasions. I would like to talk to you today about not getting stuck in roundabouts.

Betsy was six years old. All her life she had been happy in Nauvoo with her father and mother and her big brother Tommy, but lately she was troubled. Almost every day someone would say to her, “We are going west when the grass grows and the water runs.” She did not know exactly what this meant, but she thought it meant that someday soon they were going to leave their big beautiful home in Nauvoo and go away, and she did not want to go away!
She looked at the clock hanging on the wall, watching the pendulum swing back and forth. Would the clock go with them, and the chair with the big round back? In the kitchen Mother was getting supper. Would they take the stove, the table, and all the chairs?
Where would they put all these things? Yesterday she had gone with her father to the blacksmith shop to see the wagon the blacksmith was making for them to take out west. She knew it was not big enough to take everything.
Betsy’s kitten looked up at her and meowed. She stooped down and picked it up and sat down in front of the fire in the fireplace. Out of the window she could see snow settling on the fence posts like big marshmallows. “It’s too cold to go out west now, kitty,” she said. “Maybe we’ll just wait until it gets warmer.”
For an answer the kitten curled up on her lap, stuck its little nose in the crook of her arm, and went to sleep. The clock on the wall seemed to say, “Sleep-Betsy, sleep-Betsy,” and soon Betsy, too, was asleep.
When she awoke, everyone seemed to be talking at once. Tommy reported that he had tied a halter around old Nell’s neck. Mother said that the flour would have to be brought up from the cellar. Father was hurrying in and out of the open door, carrying supplies to the covered wagon.
“Where are we going?” asked Betsy, but no one stopped to answer. She was cold, so she put on her coat and then just stood and watched. She was standing near her father when he said to Tommy, “It’s too bad you can’t take your pet ram, son. If we could have waited until spring, it would have been different. Then there would have been plenty of grass and water, but now the ground is frozen and there won’t be very much of either. We’ll have to give all of the grain we can get to the oxen.”
“But why do we have to go now? Why can’t we wait until spring?” asked Tommy.
“Because it isn’t safe to stay,” replied Father. “Last night one of the brethren was kidnapped and whipped. We don’t know yet whether or not he will even live. Three weeks ago two families were driven from their homes in bitter cold weather and had to watch their houses burn to the ground.
“This morning Brigham Young met with all of the men who hold the priesthood, and we decided it would save a lot of trouble if we started at once. That’s why we’re going now, son.
“Of course, food will be scarce and the cattle will suffer, but President Young asked everyone to raise his hand and promise to share whatever he had with others. ‘When what you have is gone,’ he said, ‘the Lord will bless you and help you get some more.’ As for your ram, Tommy, someone will find him and care for him.”
Betsy saw Tommy put his hand to his throat as if he were trying to rub away a sob. Father saw too, and put his arm around Tommy as he said, “This is a time when even eight-year-old boys must act like men.”
“But I wish there were something I could take that would be my very own,” said Tommy.
Tommy’s father was quiet for a minute, and then he said, “I guess none of us can take anything that belongs just to us. What we have must all belong to each other. But there is something you can take care of for us, and that is the old flag in the top bureau drawer. Your grandfather carried that flag while fighting for liberty in the Revolutionary War. Go get it, son, and take care of it for us. I think we’ll have need of it someday.”
Betsy knew now where they were going. She picked up the kitten, fearful her father would not let her take it with them. She held it so tightly that it started to meow. It dug its claws into her shoulder, but she wouldn’t let go. Mother saw the tears Betsy was trying to hold back and asked, “What is the trouble, dear?”
“I want to take my kitten out west with us,” Betsy replied. “May I?”
Mother looked troubled. She glanced out of the window at the cow, then out of the door at the wagon, and her eyes seemed to go far beyond the wagon itself. “You know, Betsy,” she answered at last, “we are taking a cow. If there were only going to be our family, I’m sure we would have enough milk for your kitten. But there will be many children with us whose parents won’t have a cow, and these children will all need milk. You wouldn’t want a little baby to go hungry just because you had taken your kitten along, would you?”
Betsy’s eyes widened. “I don’t want to go west. I want to stay here with my kitten, my clock, and my bed.” She sat down in the big chair with the round back where her mother had so often held her when she was only a baby. She tried so hard to keep from crying that her throat ached and her jaws hurt.
Finally she looked up and saw that her mother’s eyes were filled with tears. Suddenly she knew Mother wasn’t happy about leaving their home to go west, either. Betsy was sorry she had acted like a baby. She was six years old now, and that was old enough to act like a woman!
Quickly Betsy got up from the chair, straightened her shoulders, and said, “I want to help, Mother. What can I do to get ready to go out west?”
Her mother smiled, gave her a quick hug, and answered, “You can put all these bars of soap into a box. It will be a long time before we can make soap again.”
At last they were ready to go. Father and Mother sat in the wagon seat; Betsy and Tommy sat in the back on top of the feather mattress, which had been thrown over all the supplies that had been piled into the bottom of the wagon. Old Nell was tied to the back axle and seemed to accept it as her part to walk along at the pace the oxen set.
Tommy and Betsy looked back on their old home. The sheep were still in the pasture. The pet ram was standing still near the gate. Betsy could not see her kitten and hoped it was in the house where it would keep warm. All along the streets they waved to friends and neighbors who were also packing their belongings and who would follow in their tracks before the sun cast its evening glow on the frozen waters of the Mississippi River.

One Sunday morning some 30 years ago, while I was serving in a stake presidency, we received a telephone call from one of our faithful bishops. He explained that his ward had grown so rapidly that he could no longer provide a meaningful calling to all worthy members. His plea to us was that we divide the ward. While waiting for such approval, we decided as a stake presidency that we would visit the ward and call all these wonderful, worthy brothers and sisters to be stake missionaries.

About the third person I visited was a young female student attending the local university. After chatting for a few moments, I issued the call to serve as a missionary. There was silence for a few moments. Then she said, “President, don’t you know that I am not active in the Church?”

After a few moments of silence on my part, I said, “No, I did not know you were not active.”

She answered, “I have not been active in the Church for years.” Then she said, “Don’t you know that when you have been inactive, it’s not all that easy to come back?”

I responded, “No. Your ward starts at 9:00 a.m. You come into the chapel, and you are with us.”

She answered, “No, it is not that easy. You worry about a lot of things. You worry if someone will greet you or if you will sit alone and unnoticed during the meetings. And you worry about whether you will be accepted and who your new friends will be.”

With tears rolling down her cheeks, she continued, “I know that my mother and father have been praying for me for years to bring me back into the Church.” Then after a moment of silence, she said, “For the last three months I have been praying to find the courage, the strength, and the way to come back into activity.” Then she asked, “President, do you suppose this calling could be an answer to those prayers?”

My eyes started to water as I responded, “I believe the Lord has answered your prayers.”

She not only accepted the call; she became a fine missionary. And I’m certain she brought much joy not only to herself but also to her parents and probably other family members.

At first it was very hard for the missionaries to preach the gospel in Mexico for the people were controlled by the dominant church. And when the priests told them not to listen to the Mormon missionaries, most of the Mexican people did not dare to disobey.
About the time the Mexico Mission was established, the poor people of Mexico rose up against their rulers to demand their rights as Mexican citizens. A revolutionary war that lasted for many years made it unsafe for missionaries to be in Mexico.
On three different occasions, the missionaries were withdrawn from that mission. Each time they returned to Mexico they found that the members were more faithful than before and that more of the people were prepared to receive the gospel.
Once when the missionaries were withdrawn from Mexico, a man named Rafael Monroy called on the mission president, Rey L. Pratt,* to say goodbye.
“President Pratt,” Brother Monroy asked, “what will we do in San Marcos? All of the branches have leaders except San Marcos. No one there has the Melchizedek Priesthood.”
“Brother Rafael,” the president answered, “we will ordain you an elder and set you apart as president of the San Marcos Branch. There you will be responsible to teach the gospel to every member of your little branch.”
President Monroy not only taught the members of his branch, but he also taught his nonmember neighbors and friends. During the time the missionaries were not allowed in Mexico, the San Marcos Branch doubled in number of members. Rafael Monroy eventually was shot and killed because he would not deny the gospel.
When the mission was reopened, thirty members of the small branch at Cuantla were waiting at the train station to greet the missionaries when they returned. Twelve children and some young adults began singing songs of welcome. Afterward they shouted, “Qué viven los misioneros!” (long live the missionaries), as they showered the elders with confetti.
The missionaries were then taken to a home that had been decorated with beautiful flowers and cedar boughs in honor of this special occasion. Following a delicious dinner, a meeting was held.
President Pratt in his report to the brethren in Salt Lake told of the joy of the people in welcoming the missionaries. Even the children had planned for a program during the evening. President Pratt said, “It was wonderful to note the progress of the children of the branch along lines of study upon which they had been started by the missionaries. Little tots that were babies in arms when the missionaries left got up and recited one or more of the Articles of Faith.”
Nor was this the only group that had been active. The Church members in the little branch of San Pedro were proud to show the missionaries a meetinghouse they had built. President Pratt described it as “a humble house where the Spirit of the Lord can dwell.” He said, “Only those who have experienced it can know the joy of meeting these dear people after so long an absence. Their faithfulness through seven long years, during which time they have passed through untold suffering, is wonderful.”

The construction worker lay where he had fallen, precariously balanced on a plank nine inches (23 cm) wide and 100 feet (30 m) in the air. He had been struck by a falling steel beam that had partially severed his left arm and leg.
In this case, the victim could not be moved safely until his injuries were assessed. I was hoisted up by crane on a metal cargo platform. Once I reached the victim, a construction worker held onto the back of my reflective jacket, serving as a human “crane” to allow me freedom of movement to examine the victim.
In situations like this, years of training take over, so I began to assess the man’s injuries. On his knee was an emergency field dressing placed there by the construction crew’s own first aid responder. Normally I would examine the injury to assess the damage since that is the protocol we are trained to follow.
But as I reached out, the Spirit prompted me: “Do not move the dressing.” So I did not touch it. Three more times during the incident, I was encouraged by others involved—the first responder, my colleague on the ground, and a doctor—to examine the knee wound, and three more times, the Spirit prompted me not to touch the dressing. Once we had stabilized the patient, we lifted the man onto the cargo platform, we were both lowered to the ground, and we transported him to the hospital.
In the emergency resuscitation area, the trauma team waited for us. One doctor quickly removed the field dressing from the knee. Immediately an artery ruptured, and the patient began bleeding profusely. In the controlled environment of the hospital, this life-threatening situation was quickly resolved. If it had happened on the plank 100 feet up, the victim may well not have survived.

There was Ted, for instance, who had been the great guilt-inflicter during those Halloween nights when we used to smash pumpkins just because we didn’t have anything better to do. “Sure, go ahead and destroy some kid’s pride and joy,” he’d object, as my braver friends and I left to tromp through the dark neighborhoods, hot on the trail of Mr. Jack-o’lantern. Ted’s unusual sensibility had always puzzled me. After all, I was nearly four months his senior, and I thought that kind of judgment belonged to older people who were married and had children of their own.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Bryce, the bold one, let out a scream and jumped off the cliff. It wasn’t a graceful takeoff, but it got the job done. I watched him flip like a fish as he fell through the sky, and I heard the distant splash when he hit the water. “You’ve got to try it!” he yelled as he pulled himself into the boat. It was a direct challenge.
I looked around and found my three buddies smiling at me. My stomach went sour. It was then I realized that jumping from a 90-foot cliff wasn’t such a hot idea. But how could I pull out now? They’d never let me live it down.
Just when I was about to jump, I was interrupted by Kelly, who barked out an obscenity and took off. We never saw him hit the water, but heard him crying as the others pulled him into the boat.’ His knees had slammed together upon impact, and he would be in a cast for the rest of the summer, following surgery on both knees.
The three of us who remained were now scared to death, but we wouldn’t admit it. I remember thinking about my acceptance to BYU, and about my plans to serve a mission after my freshman year. For the first time that day, I began to think of the consequences of making the jump. What if I became seriously injured? Was impressing my friends really that important?
“Fifty percent chance you make it and fifty percent chance you get hurt,” Bryce impatiently yelled at me from below. That was comforting.
I slowly walked back from the edge, then raced toward it, lifting my body off the ground as I soared into the warm sky. I looked immediately down and found the water racing toward me. I waved my arms to maintain balance.
My entry into the water was like an explosion, and I heard my back snap. As I sank through the water, I became aware that I couldn’t move my body. I felt as though my lungs would explode as I slowly floated to the surface, only to hear my friends laughing at the expression on my face.
Ted was the first to realize I was in pain, and he told the others to stop laughing as I was pulled into the boat. I mentioned something about the pain in my back as they laid me down next to the already-injured Kelly, and I was soon whimpering right along with him.
Kelly and I watched in bewilderment as the remaining two contemplated their own jumps. Despite unfavorable odds, each of them made the leap—successfully.
Since no doctors were within 100 miles of us, I decided to finish the trip with my friends. I lay in a tent for two days, shocked at my stupidity. I was only 18, yet I had risked my life for the sake of “entertainment.”
The doctor who examined my back said I had a compression-fracture which would cause arthritis throughout my life, but I still considered myself very lucky.
For nearly four years I had wandered carelessly through a world of smashed pumpkins and crazy dives. I hadn’t stopped to consider what effect my actions were having on other people, or on myself. I had been a thrill seeker who never had to face the consequences until that fateful day when I’d almost given my life just to impress my friends. It took a crash through Lake Powell’s waters to plunge me from my fantasy world into a world of reality and responsibility.

Fifteen-year-old Renata Araujo’s footsteps echoed forlornly as she walked down the cold tile floor. Renata knew that when she reached the end of the hallway and entered her Young Women class, she’d be the only one there. The formation of her new ward had made her the only active girl in the Young Women program. “I felt very lonely,” she remembers.
Renata isn’t lonely anymore. The once quiet and all-but-empty classroom now reverberates with the enthusiastic voices of 10 active young women of the Botafogo Ward, a change that took place over only a year. The story of these young women of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, illustrates what can happen when Church members follow President Gordon B. Hinckley’s counsel (included throughout the article) to reach out to new converts, less-active members, and nonmembers.

For our interactions with youth to truly touch their hearts, we have to pay attention to them just as we would pay attention to a trusted adult colleague or close friend. Most important is asking them questions, letting them talk, and then being willing to listen—yes, listen and listen some more—even hearken with spiritual ears! Several years ago I was reading the newspaper when one of my young grandsons snuggled up to me. As I read, I was delighted to hear his sweet voice chattering on in the background. Imagine my surprise when, a few moments later, he pushed himself between me and the paper. Taking my face in his hands and pressing his nose up to mine, he asked, “Grandpa! Are you in there?”
Mother, Father, are you in there? Grandpa, Grandma, are you there? Being there means understanding the hearts of our youth and connecting with them. And connecting with them means not just conversing with them but doing things with them too.
Recently I heard a mother recount how she had helped her first three daughters complete their Personal Progress requirements by doing what was expected—staying informed and signing off projects. Then she tenderly explained, tears flowing down her cheek, “Recently I have been working with my fourth daughter by actually doing her projects with her. It has made all the difference in our lives and our relationship. But oh, what sadness I feel when I realize what I lost by not doing this with my other three daughters.” The saddest words of tongue and pen are those that say, “It might have been!”

Shannon, a young mother, did not expect that she would teach her children the power of prayer when they piled into their van to drive to their home just 40 minutes away. There was no storm when they left their grandmother’s home, but as they began to drive through the canyon, the light snow turned into a blizzard. The van began sliding on the surface of the road. Soon visibility was near zero. The two youngest children could sense the stress of the situation and began to cry. Shannon said to the older children, Heidi and Thomas, ages eight and six, “You need to pray. We need Heavenly Father’s help to get home safely. Pray that we will not get stuck and that we will not slide off the road.” Her hands shook as she steered the car, yet she could hear the whisper of little prayers repeatedly coming from the backseat: “Heavenly Father, please help us get home safely; please help us so we will not slide off the road.”

In time, the prayers calmed the two little ones, and they stopped their crying just as they learned that a road closure prevented them from driving any farther. Cautiously, they turned around and found a motel for the night. Once in the motel, they knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for their safety. That night a mother taught her children the power of holding true to prayer.

We need to make our homes a place of refuge from the storm, which is increasing in intensity all about us. Even if the smallest openings are left unattended, negative influences can penetrate the very walls of our homes. Let me cite an example.

Several years ago I was having dinner with my daughter and her family. The scene is all too common in most homes with small children. My daughter was trying to encourage her young, three-year-old son to eat a balanced meal. He had eaten all the food on his plate that he liked. A small serving of green beans remained, which he was not fond of. In desperation, the mother picked up a fork and tried to encourage him to eat his beans. He tolerated it just about as long as he could. Then he exclaimed, “Look, Mom, don’t foul up a good friendship!”

Those were the exact words he heard on a television commercial a few days earlier. Oh, what impact advertising, television programs, the Internet, and the other media are having on our family units!

I can remember when I was called as a bishop, my predecessor, Bishop Russell Johnson, warned me that I would have to be careful what I asked the members to do. He said, “Some will respond to every suggestion, even at great sacrifice.” He mentioned one widow in her 80s who had cared for both a husband and a son through long illnesses before they passed away. Bishop Johnson said that despite having small resources, she would always try to respond. I found this to be true. Every time I mentioned the need for contributions or service to bless others, Sarah was often the first to respond.
One Saturday another sister called me and said, “Bishop, come quick! Save Sarah!” This sister reported that 80-year-old Sarah was on top of a ladder cleaning out this neighbor’s rain gutters. This sister was terrified that Sarah would fall and wanted the bishop to intervene.
I am not suggesting that everyone can or should imitate Sarah. Some feel guilty because they cannot meet every need immediately. I love the quote Elder Neal A. Maxwell often used from Anne Morrow Lindbergh: “My life cannot implement in action the demands of all the people to whom my heart responds.”18 King Benjamin taught, “See that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength.”19 But he added that we should be diligent.
My heart rejoices as I observe the Saints all over the Church doing everything they can to provide Christlike service wherever there is a need. Because of member contributions, the Church can quietly and quickly, without fanfare, respond to needs all over the world.20 The Church is already responding to the natural disasters in the Philippines, the Pacific Islands, and Indonesia.
Last year our members responded to Hurricane Gustav. The Church worked closely with a humanitarian organization led by Martin Luther King III. Mr. King subsequently visited Salt Lake City and said: “I originally came to express my appreciation to the Church for their humanitarian support, but I quickly learned that the essence of who you are is so much deeper and profound. Between the Humanitarian Center, Welfare Square, and the temple open house, I now have a greater appreciation for why you do what you do.”
In all of our stewardship efforts, we follow Jesus Christ. We try to emulate what He has asked us to do, both by His teachings and His example. With all our hearts we express our appreciation to the membership of the Church for their generous contributions and Christlike service.
Isaiah, speaking of the fast and feeding the hungry and clothing the naked, in touching language promised, “Then shalt thou call, and the Lord shall answer.”21 Isaiah continues: “And if thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul; … the Lord shall guide thee continually, … and thou shalt be like … a spring of water, whose waters fail not. … [And] thou shalt raise up the foundations of many generations.”22
My hope is that each of us will review individually and as families the stewardships for which we have responsibility and accountability. I pray that we will do so knowing we are ultimately accountable to God and that in this life we will be adhering to the unenforceable.
I am grateful for the counsel of a loving, faithful prophet to serve and rescue those in need. As we follow his counsel, I know we will qualify for the Lord’s promise: “And whoso is found a faithful, a just, and a wise steward shall enter into the joy of his Lord, and shall inherit eternal life.”23
I bear my witness of this sacred truth in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Photograph courtesy of Alessandro E.
Location: Amazonas, Brazil
Experience: Missionary work
Follows promptings of the Holy Ghost. Shows determination and dedication in doing his duty.
This young man did his duty so well that, partly as a result of his service, six people joined the Church, including a couple that got married.
Alessandro E., a newly called deacons quorum president, wanted to increase the number of members in his quorum. He tried to activate some of the deacons but without much success. He tried sharing the gospel with his friends at school but also without success.
So Alessandro sought his mother’s advice. “She said I should fast and pray,” he explains. So he did, and he felt a prompting from the Holy Ghost to go back to one of his friends from school. “This time,” Alessandro says, “he agreed to come to a sacrament meeting.”
Missionaries began teaching the friend, and soon he and his brother were baptized, along with two cousins. The friend’s parents initially showed no interest in the Church, even though they permitted the discussions to take place in their home and approved when their children sought permission to be baptized. But after some discussions and visits they changed their minds. They believed what they were learning, gained their own testimonies, and wanted to become Latter-day Saints. However, before they could join the Church they had to be married first. Soon they were, and soon after that they were baptized.
That was a happy day for many people, including Alessandro. As president of his deacons quorum, he now had brought new members into the quorum and into the ward. He had learned that a good leader seeks counsel from those he trusts, that Heavenly Father answers prayers, and that it is important to follow promptings.