Gospel Story Finder

One evening at Christmastime, my wife and I visited a nursing home in Salt Lake City. We looked in vain for a 95-year-old widow whose memory had become clouded and who could not speak a word. An attendant led us in our search, and we found Nell in the dining room. She had eaten her meal; she was sitting silently, staring into space. She did not show us any sign of recognition. As I reached to take her hand, she withdrew it. I noticed that she held firmly to a Christmas greeting card. The attendant smiled and said, “I don’t know who sent that card, but she will not lay it aside. She doesn’t speak, but pats the card and holds it to her lips and kisses it.” I recognized the card. It was one my wife, Frances, had sent to Nell the week before. We left Maytime Manor more filled with the Christmas spirit than when we entered. We kept to ourselves the mystery of that special card and the life it had gladdened and the heart it had touched. Heaven was nearby.

Of course, our arms are full, although for the time being the birth mothers’ arms are empty. How shall they embrace—and be embraced—in safety? The answer to that question requires more time than I have available. A partial response comes in the pleas of a three-year-old whom we have taught to pray for her and her sister’s birth mothers. A few months ago she told us: “Mommy loves me. Daddy loves me. Lizzy loves me. Everyone loves me.” Pressing her cheek next to her mother’s, she promised, “I will not break your heart.” Then, with an eye to eternity that sobered us, speaking of her birth mother, she said, “I will not break her heart either.”

I believe in the power of a child’s prayer. I believe in a loving Father’s equity that promises that all arms will be full, if we will wait patiently on the Lord. I know that sometime in eternity our daughters will finish the process of their birth mothers’ healing. These finishings will be intimate restorations.

When their buses pulled into the little town of Palmyra in the sleepy Finger Lakes region, where once the Mormons were spurned and the Prophet mobbed and driven out, they were greeted by banners strung across the main street: “WELCOME, MORMONS.” Dr. Harold I. Hansen, director of the pageant for more than thirty years, recalls the many years in which Palmyrans were cold to him. “I know what it is to have an alderman of the village say, when we asked to rent the electrical and sound equipment of the village, ‘I would rather personally break it with a hammer than allow you people to touch it,’” said Dr. Hansen. This year residents threw a party in the park for participants and opened up their homes to many of them. One sister was placed in a home with children grieving the loss of a parent to cancer, a situation that she had experienced in her own home. Another group of sisters were able to get a minister to accept a visit from the elders.

Some time ago while visiting Australia, I traveled to a beautiful horseshoe bay renowned for its surfing. As I walked along the beach, I was enthralled by the magnificence of the large crashing waves breaking just outside the bay and the smaller waves rolling in closer to shore.
As I continued my stroll, I encountered a group of American surfers. They were obviously upset about something, talking loudly and gesturing toward the sea. When I asked them what was wrong, they pointed to just outside the bay where the big waves were breaking.
“Look out there,” one of them angrily told me. “Can you see the barrier?” Looking more closely now, I could indeed see a barrier stretching across the entire mouth of the bay, right where the large, enticing waves were breaking. The barrier appeared to be made of a heavy mesh and was supported by floats on top of the water. According to the surfers, it dropped all the way down to the ocean floor.
The American surfer continued, “We are here on a once-in-a-lifetime trip to surf these big waves. We can surf the smaller ones breaking within the bay itself, but the barrier makes it impossible for us to surf the big ones. We have no idea why the barrier is there. All we know is that it has totally spoiled our trip.”
As the American surfers became more animated, my attention was drawn to another nearby surfer—an older man and obviously a local. He seemed to be growing impatient as he listened to the ever-increasing complaints about the barrier.
Finally he rose and walked over to the group. Without saying anything, he pulled a pair of binoculars from his backpack and handed them to one of the surfers, pointing out toward the barrier. Each of the surfers looked through the binoculars. When my turn came, with the help of magnification, I could see something that I had not been able to see before: dorsal fins—large sharks feeding near the reef on the other side of the barrier.
The group quickly became subdued. The old surfer retrieved his binoculars and turned to walk away. As he did, he said words I will never forget: “Don’t be too critical of the barrier,” he said. “It’s the only thing that’s keeping you from being devoured.”
As we stood on that beautiful beach, our perspective had suddenly changed. A barrier that had seemed rigid and restrictive—that seemed to curtail the fun and excitement of riding the really big waves—had become something very different. With our new understanding of the danger that lurked just below the surface, the barrier now offered protection, safety, and peace.

Wellington held a box in his lap as his dad drove through Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. They passed bright blue, green, and yellow houses. Dad parked the car outside of a big brown building. Wellington got out and grabbed some more boxes. They were full of soap, tissues, and other supplies.
He and his dad were visiting a care home to give supplies to the elderly people who lived there. At first, Wellington had been excited. But now he felt a little nervous. What would the people there be like? Would they be grouchy? What would he say to them?
Wellington walked into the building behind his dad. There were lots of people in the rest home. Some were moving around with walkers. Some sat in wheelchairs, playing chess. Others just sat alone.
Wellington tugged on Dad’s arm. “Dad, I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “Everyone here is so much older than I am! How do I talk to them?”
Dad smiled and knelt down next to Wellington. “I know the people here are older, and they might look a little different. But everyone here is a child of God, just like you! They probably have some interesting stories to tell.”
Wellington thought about that. He liked making new friends with other kids at school and at Primary. Maybe he could make friends here too!
While Dad handed out boxes, Wellington went around and talked to the people sitting in the room. He sang some of his favorite Primary songs to them. Soon lots of people were laughing and singing together. This was so much fun!
Wellington looked around. He noticed a lady sitting alone on a couch. She had gray hair and lots of wrinkles.
He walked over to her and sat down on the couch. “Hi!” he said. “My name’s Wellington. What’s yours?”
She looked at him and smiled. “I’m Mariana,” she said.
Wellington was nervous, so he asked the first question he could think of. “What’s your favorite food?”
She thought for a second. “I’ve always loved pão de queijo,” she said.
“That’s my favorite too!” said Wellington. He loved the small cheesy rolls.
They started to talk about their favorite songs, sports, and memories. Mariana told him about the fun things she used to do when she was a kid.
“Thank you for coming here today,” she said. “I don’t have any family who can come and visit me, and it can be hard to make new friends.” Mariana’s eyes got sad. “Sometimes I feel all alone.”
Wellington wasn’t sure what to say. He thought about how sad he would be if he didn’t have friends or family to talk to. Then he thought about what his dad said about everyone here being a child of God.
He smiled and looked at Mariana. “When I’m lonely, I like to pray to Heavenly Father. He helps me feel better. I know that I’m never alone because I can always talk to Him. Maybe you could try praying too.”
Mariana smiled and hugged Wellington. “Thank you. I think that’s a great idea.”
Soon Dad came up to Wellington and tapped him on the arm. “Time to go,” he said.
“Already?” said Wellington.
Dad laughed. “Don’t worry. We can come back next week.”
That made Wellington happy. He hopped off the couch. “See you next time!” he told Mariana.
He smiled as he waved goodbye to his new friend. He couldn’t wait to come back!

There is a silver-haired Argentine sister who knows the Shepherd. She has given a long life of service to the Lord, his Church, and her fellowmen.
The first time Sister Mellor attended a Mormon church service, she was brought by the missionaries. They felt that she was the most sophisticated, cultured, and best-educated investigator they had ever met. They held a few meetings in her lovely home, and when they invited her to accompany them to a Sunday Church meeting, she readily agreed. The service was being held in an old building. The members attending were of somewhat humble circumstances compared to the new investigator.
The service did not go well by the standards of the two missionaries hoping to impress their guest. The branch leaders had just been recently called, and they were still learning their duties. There was some confusion at the pulpit. There was an interruption at the sacrament table at the most sacred moment. The sermons seemed to be less interesting than those desired by the eager missionaries. The reverence was threatened from time to time by children moving or crying. There was no organ to provide deep, religious sounds. The missionaries agonizingly thought of the negative impressions their elegant investigator must be receiving. They knew she normally worshiped in a very fashionable cathedral where everything would have been highly professional and the congregation would have been of the highest stratum of local society.
On the way home, one of the missionaries began to reflect his embarrassment. He explained: “Please excuse our present building. Some day we will build a lovely new chapel here.” Then he added: “Please excuse our new leaders. We have a lay priesthood, so we take turns conducting, and the new leaders are still learning how to conduct services.” He was just about to give another excuse when Sister Herta Mellor turned to him and said somewhat sternly: “Elder, don’t you apologize! It must have been like this at the time of Christ!”
With her spiritual eyes and her knowledge of the Shepherd acquired through studying the holy scriptures, she saw through centuries of tradition. She saw past cathedrals and organs. She saw back through the corridors of time to the Shepherd meeting with his humble fishermen-Apostles, with some sinners, and even with leper outcasts. She saw the early Saints meeting in a small, rented, upstairs room. She saw children, with the Savior smiling at them lovingly. Because she knew the Shepherd, she could say with profound and deep insight, “It must have been like this at the time of Christ.”
She exemplifies to me the admonition which many have followed: “Fill your mind with thoughts of Christ, your heart with love of Christ, and your life with service to Christ.” Today there stands a lovely chapel, presided over by a well-trained lay bishopric, where Sister Mellor first attended church about thirty years ago.

When we got married, my wife and I made a decision to keep the Sabbath day holy even though we were farmers. I remember a 1978 First Presidency Message by President Spencer W. Kimball. He talked of how he rejoiced when he saw machinery sitting idle in the fields on Sunday. He spoke of how keeping the Sabbath day holy was an expression of Latter-day Saints’ faith. (See “The Sabbath—a Delight,” Tambuli, July 1978, 1; Ensign, Jan. 1978, 2.)
At the time, we shared machinery with other farmers. When you are working with others, it’s difficult to say you won’t work on the Sabbath. So we got out of combined farming and stopped raising potatoes.
On Callings
I was also the branch president. If I didn’t go to church on Sunday, I couldn’t fulfill my responsibilities. There were times I’d get up at 3:00 in the morning, milk the cows, feed the animals, and then go to church, do interviews, and get home at 5:00 in the evening. Then I would milk the cows again. By the time I finished everything it would be 10:00. I still remember those days when I’d sigh, “Finished at last.”
On Sacrifices to Keep the Sabbath
Sometimes we worked until midnight on Saturday to keep from breaking the Sabbath. We went to church the next day, often without much sleep. Once we came home from church, and a cow had gotten caught in the pasture fence and died. There were times when we had millions of yen worth of damage to our cut hay because it had lain in the rain on the Sabbath. We knew accidents didn’t happen because it was Sunday. If you worry about that kind of thing, you would never be able to keep the Sabbath. Accidents can happen anytime.
On Faith and Endurance
When the barn burned and we lost our cattle, some said, “I can’t believe you were able to get through it.” We said we couldn’t do it any other way than how we did. We just worried about keeping the Sabbath and getting over the pain. We believed that God was watching over us and blessing us.
On Growing Carrots
We planted carrots with great success. Finally we were getting some kind of order in our lives. With carrots, it didn’t matter if it rained or we took every Sunday off. We could make our own decisions. We could serve more easily in any calling we were called to.
In our business, we use a lot of part-time help. When we are really busy, our employees suggest that we work Sundays. I tell them that we just don’t work on Sundays. When our workers know that, they work hard and rarely take days off. On Sundays the younger workers spend the day with their children, and the older workers visit with their grandchildren.
On Gratitude to the Lord
Obeying God’s commandments has been important to us. We stood firmly by our decision to keep the Sabbath day holy and wouldn’t bend. As we did all that we could do, our children learned that there is a God and He blesses us. Our children really do hear and remember.
When our oldest son was serving in the Japan Fukuoka Mission, the mission president often introduced him by saying, “Elder Kawada’s father stopped growing potatoes so he could keep the Sabbath day holy. Elder Kawada was raised in a family like that.”
We feel happy when we see our children. They come to church. They have served missions and married in the temple. We are grateful to our Heavenly Father, who knows us and has blessed us.

Budgeting and financial management need not be overly complicated or time-consuming. The story is told of an immigrant father who kept his accounts payable in a shoe box, his accounts receivable on a spindle, and his cash in the cash register.

“I don’t see how you can run your business this way,” said his son. “How do you know what your profit is?”

“Son,” replied the businessman, “when I got off the boat, I had only the pants I was wearing. Today your sister is an art teacher, your brother is a doctor, and you’re an accountant. I have a car, a home, and a good business. Everything is paid for. So you add it all up, subtract the pants, and there’s my profit.”

Summer arrived, full of sunshine and long days. It was never dark, not even at midnight. I was happy and felt like myself again. But as the days rapidly shortened in September, my depression returned and suicidal thoughts infiltrated my mind. I was frightened. At first I tried what I had tried the previous year: praying more, exercising more, and trying harder at everything. But the suicidal urges grew stronger and more severe. I struggled for two months and finally realized that I couldn’t survive another winter on my own. I realized that Heavenly Father has blessed us with modern medicine and doctors. To recover, I needed to be willing to open up about my depression and visit a doctor.
Asking for help was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I could hardly speak through my tears when I told my husband about my depression and that I needed help. I couldn’t say the word suicide out loud. My husband made an appointment with a psychiatrist for me.
My doctor prescribed medicine, which helped me get through the winter. Like many people, I struggled to find the right dosage and deal with the side effects. This brought additional stress to my marriage and my family, but my husband and my children supported me.

I have realized how much repentance affects everything. For example, for some months I was committing sins and not repenting of them, and I was finding it difficult to break this cycle. But after speaking with the bishop and other close friends, I was able to use the repentance process and feel so much closer to God and feel happier again. In praying hard and spending lots of time reading my scriptures, I realized that I had to change how I was living some parts of my life. I realize now how much I have grown because of this. Through this experience I was able to get much closer to my mum and dad especially.
Although I still have temptations and still commit sins, I am able to use the Savior’s Atonement to repent and review how I have done every day and try to always want to improve. I will be forever grateful for the Atonement in my life.
Billy P., 17, Ipswich, England

When David Thomas Kelly, 17, was accepted for the Aboriginal Teachers Aide course, his family moved to Perth, Australia, so he could attend school. There his family met the missionaries and was converted to the Church.
David became involved in early morning seminary and played the organ for priesthood meetings. Now he has accepted a call as a labor missionary to work full-time on the renovation of the chapel/community center in Dianella, Western Australia. He is one of the first aborigines to be called to missionary service in Australia. In a couple of years, David hopes to serve a full-time teaching mission.

Some years ago I was called, with my wife, Jacqui, to preside over the Washington Spokane Mission. We arrived in the mission field with a mix of fear and excitement at the responsibility of working with so many remarkable young missionaries. They came from many different backgrounds and quickly became like our own sons and daughters.
Although most were doing wonderfully well, a few were struggling with the high expectations of their calling. I remember one missionary telling me, “President, I just don’t like people.” Several told me they lacked the desire to follow the rather strict missionary rules. I worried and wondered what we could do to change the hearts of those few missionaries who had not yet learned the joy of being obedient.
One day while driving through the beautiful rolling wheat fields on the Washington-Idaho border, I was listening to a recording of the New Testament. As I listened to the familiar account of the rich young man coming to the Savior to ask what he might do to have eternal life, I received an unexpected but profound personal revelation that is now a sacred memory.
After hearing Jesus recite the commandments and the young man reply that he had observed all these since his youth, I listened for the Savior’s gentle correction: “One thing thou lackest: … sell whatsoever thou hast, and … come, … follow me.” But to my astonishment, I instead heard six words before that part of the verse that I seemed never to have heard or read before. It was as if they had been added to the scriptures. I marveled at the inspired understanding which then unfolded.
What were these six words that had such a profound effect? Listen to see if you can recognize these seemingly ordinary words, not found in the other Gospel accounts but found only in the Gospel of Mark:
“There came one running … and asked him, Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?
“And Jesus said unto him, …
“Thou knowest the commandments, Do not commit adultery, Do not kill, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Defraud not, Honour thy father and mother.
“And he answered … , Master, all these have I observed from my youth.
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest: go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, take up the cross, and follow me.”
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him.”
As I heard these words, a vivid image filled my mind of our Lord pausing and beholding this young man. Beholding—as in looking deeply and penetratingly into his soul, recognizing his goodness and also his potential, as well as discerning his greatest need.
Then the simple words—Jesus loved him. He felt an overwhelming love and compassion for this good young man, and because of this love and with this love, Jesus asked even more of him. I pictured what it must have felt like for this young man to be enveloped by such love even while being asked to do something so supremely hard as selling all he owned and giving it to the poor.
In that moment, I knew it was not just the hearts of some of our missionaries that needed changing. It was my heart as well. The question no longer was “How does a frustrated mission president get a struggling missionary to behave better?” Instead, the question was “How can I be filled with Christlike love so a missionary can feel the love of God through me and desire to change?” How can I behold him or her in the same way the Lord beheld the rich young man, seeing them for who they really are and who they can become, rather than just for what they are doing or not doing? How can I be more like the Savior?
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him.”
From that time forward, as I sat knee to knee with a young missionary struggling with some aspect of obedience, within my heart I now saw a faithful young man or young woman who had acted on the desire to come on a mission. Then I was able to say with all the feeling like that of a tender parent: “Elder or Sister, if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care what happens on your mission. But I do love you, and because I love you, I care about who you become. So I invite you to change those things that are hard for you and become who the Lord wants you to be.”
Each time I went to interview missionaries, I first prayed for the gift of charity and that I could see each elder and sister as the Lord sees him or her.
Before zone conferences, as Sister Palmer and I greeted each missionary one by one, I would pause and look deeply into their eyes, beholding them—an interview without words—and then without fail, I was filled with great love for these precious sons and daughters of God.

While serving in the Asia North Area Presidency with Elder Takashi Wada, I learned that his wife, Sister Naomi Wada, is an accomplished Japanese calligrapher. I asked Sister Wada if she would draw for me the Japanese characters for the word mui. I wanted to hang the calligraphy on my wall as a reminder to be still and to focus on the Savior. I was surprised when she did not readily agree to this seemingly simple request.

The next day, knowing that I had likely misunderstood her hesitance, Elder Wada explained that writing those characters would require a significant effort. She would need to ponder and meditate on the concept and the characters until she understood the meaning deeply in her soul and could give expression to these heartfelt impressions with each stroke of her brush. I was embarrassed that I had so casually asked her to do something so demanding. I asked him to convey my apologies to her for my ignorance and to let her know that I was withdrawing my request.

You can imagine my surprise and gratitude when upon my leaving Japan, Sister Wada, unsolicited, gifted to me this beautiful piece of calligraphy featuring the Japanese characters for the word mui. It now hangs prominently on the wall of my office, reminding me to be still and to seek the Lord every day with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. She had captured, in this selfless act, the meaning of mui, or stillness, better than any words could. Rather than mindlessly and dutifully drawing the characters, she approached her calligraphy with full purpose of heart and real intent.

This story took place in the USA.
Kevin turned around in the computer chair. He hit random keys on the keyboard.
“Mom, can I play the racing game yet?” he called.
Mom looked in from the kitchen. “After you finish your homework.”
Kevin sighed. How was he supposed to focus on homework? He was so close to beating the next level of his favorite computer game. And his homework was, well, homework.
He guessed he could at least start on it. He scrolled through a website. It sure didn’t look as cool as the racing game.
Then Kevin saw a link. He clicked on it. The link took him to a website with pictures of people wearing no clothes.
This is bad, he thought. I should leave it. Kevin looked over his shoulder. No one was watching him. He looked at a few more pictures. He was just curious.
Kevin started to feel a little sick inside. He quickly closed the website. He tried to go back to his homework. It’s OK, Kevin thought. I just saw just a few pictures. But the bad feeling didn’t go away.
Kevin felt like he should talk to Mom about the website. But he was scared. What if she got mad?
That night, after dinner, Kevin helped Mom wash the dishes.
“Are you feeling OK?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” Kevin said.
But he wasn’t OK. He felt like he was going to cry. The feeling that he should tell Mom came back. But Kevin was still scared.
Heavenly Father, please help me, he prayed silently. He felt a little better.
“Can I talk to you?” Kevin asked.
“Of course,” Mom said. “What do you want to talk about?”
Kevin looked at the floor. He wasn’t sure how to start. “When I was doing my homework, I looked at a site that had pictures of people without clothes. I was just curious. But now I can’t forget what I saw.”
“I’m glad you told me,” Mom said. She gave Kevin a hug. “Curiosity is normal. You know that those things are bad, and you shouldn’t be looking at them. But the good thing is that you were honest. You’ll feel better now because you told me.”
“You’re not mad?” Kevin asked.
“Of course not,” Mom said. “I love you. I want to help you. And so does Heavenly Father. He can always help you make things right.”
The sick feeling left Kevin’s stomach.
“I was scared to tell you,” he said. “But I felt better after I said a prayer.”
“It sounds like the Holy Ghost helped you be brave!” Mom said.
Kevin had felt calm and peaceful when he prayed. But even before he prayed, he had felt like he needed to talk to Mom.
“I think the Holy Ghost helped me the whole time,” Kevin said. “He told me the pictures were bad. And He told me I needed to tell you what happened.”
“I’m always here if you need to talk about things like this,” Mom said. “I won’t get mad. Let’s work together to make a computer safety plan.”
Kevin smiled. “That sounds like a good idea to me.”
Illustration by Laura Catrinella

On January 19, 1970 I found myself standing on a doorstep in Fayetteville Arkansas waiting with my missionary companion for a response to our knock. I had been in the mission field exactly three days and was learning the art of tracting and door approaches. Of course I was nervous and afraid of the unknown behind the door. On the first door I had knocked on the day before, a Methodist minister answered and invited us to a “healthy” three hour discussion of the Bible with he and two other ministers. Today I hoped that things would be different.

As the door opened I started with our greeting and approach explaining that we had come with a message from a prophet of God about the Savior Jesus Christ. The man at the door asked what church we belonged to.

“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or the Mormons” I replied.

“Oh, your prophet or whatever you call him died yesterday, didn’t he?” stated the man in the door.

“No,” I replied “Our prophet is David O. McKay and lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.”

“Yes, that’s him. He died yesterday,” said the man. “I just heard it on the news.”

Some of you might understand how I felt at that moment. I was nineteen, had been to one semester at Ricks College, received a mission call, spent five days in the mission home (MTC), and then sent to my mission area of Tulsa Oklahoma. I had been raised in a community where the LDS Church was in a minority but in a home where the seeds of a testimony of the restored gospel built upon prophets and apostles had been planted in my soul. My testimony of those principles at that time was small, having been tested only by my high school classmates. Now here I was in a strange place (Arkansas), among people that I didn’t know, without the comfort of my home, my parents and familiar ward members and told that the person I believed to be the prophet was gone.

I was devastated. I had put all of my trust and testimony at that time in the only prophet that I had known, President David O. McKay. Indeed at his passing two out of every three members of the Church had known no prophet other than President McKay who served from 1951 to 1970. He was known for his expansion of the Church's worldwide mission. He was well known for his quotes “Every member a missionary” and “No success can compensate for failure in the home.” Under his administration, the first stakes were created outside of the United States. He also strengthened Church membership with a renewed emphasis on the value of family life and education.

The test: Did I have the faith to accept a new president of the Church as the prophet? That day I wrote in my journal “His passing will be a great test (of faith) upon a lot of the people.” In the days that followed I felt much like the man who brought his afflicted son to the Savior to be healed who “cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.”

When our family was still young and growing, Sister Funk and I were looking for a larger home in another stake. In February of that year, we learned our bishop would be moving soon. We both received strong impressions that we should stay in our current ward, so we modified our search. In March, after returning from a vacation, we had decided to buy a new home under construction in our ward. As Sister Funk talked to the homebuilder on a Thursday morning, she learned the house we wanted had been sold while we were gone. She was very disappointed. That evening, I was called as the new bishop of our ward. The next day Sister Funk found the same model of house in a different neighborhood in our ward and we promptly bought it.

The year after we moved into our new home, our stake and ward were divided and the first house ended up in the other stake. Another year later, I was called as the stake president of the stake where we lived and served for ten years in that calling. Those opportunities may not have come if the Lord had not guided us to be where we could be of service.

I know of a returned missionary who thought he could take a peek at some pornography and not be hurt. One peek led to another and another. Pretty soon he was staying late at work and telling his wife he had a project to finish. His thoughts soon turned into actions. Before long, his life was destroyed. He could find no peace. He lost his job. He nearly lost his wife and children. He lost his temple blessings, his priesthood, and his membership in the Church. After nearly seven years of missed blessings, he was rebaptized and a year later had his priesthood blessings and ordinances restored. It was a rugged eight-year road he had to walk – all for a peek. None of us can afford to peek. As disciples of Christ, we must stand firm for the values and virtues of clean living that the Gospel of Jesus Christ teaches.

During my last phone call home as a missionary, I was saying goodbye after telling my family about all the blessings and miracles I’d been seeing, when my dad said, “Jake, I hope that all of these experiences are helping you to become fully converted.” Now, that sounds nice, but at the time, I was just a little offended. Did my dad think I still wasn’t converted? Of course I was converted! Wasn’t I? I mean, I was a full-time missionary! I’d spent two years teaching, baptizing, and converting others. What did he mean he hoped I was becoming converted?

True conversion requires much more than a two or three-year commitment. It requires what President Dallin H. Oaks once described as “the steady dedication of a lifetime.” In retrospect, I’m grateful for my dad’s reminder that the end of my missionary service was just the beginning of a lifetime of discipleship. I’m grateful he warned me that if I didn’t continue to strengthen my faith in Christ and maintain the spiritual habits I’d learned as a missionary that I might be sifted as wheat.

The Norwich England Stake decided to depart from their usual routine for their annual youth conference. After their Saturday activity, the youth came back to the Lowestoft Ward meetinghouse to find that some of their leaders had organized a “quilt factory” and chosen some team leaders and a factory manager from among the youth. Stations were set up for cutting, pinning, sewing, and tying, and dinner was served in shifts. After watching a Church-produced video about humanitarian aid, the youth got to work.

Their goal was to make 100 quilts from scratch. Three and a half hours later, they had completed 106 quilts, ready to be donated. The Norwich youth had a great time and felt the Spirit as they partook of the atmosphere of service at their youth conference.

Mary Hobson, the eighth of nine children born in Farmington, Utah, in 1853, kept house for her older brother Alma. He had a store in Richmond, Utah, and was the first telegraph operator there. He taught Mary, age 15, telegraphy and sent her to a special school for this in Logan. She helped him and was the first woman telegrapher in Richmond. Then Alma moved to Franklin, the oldest town in Idaho, and kept a store, post office, and telegraph office there. Mary helped him and thus became the first woman telegrapher in Idaho. When Alma moved back to Richmond, Mary stayed in Franklin and managed the store, post office, and telegraph office for several years.