Gospel Story Finder

While presiding at a stake conference, a bishop testified to me of the importance of family councils and the role each of us has in Heavenly Father’s plan. His 19-year-old son refused to serve a full-time mission because of peer pressure. The father, who was a bishop, had many discussions with his son but still the boy insisted on not going on a mission. Father and mother decided it was best to call a family council. In the family council, the boy’s younger sister convinced her parents that she could help the situation. Both parents wondered what the little girl was planning on doing that she believed would make a difference. He later found out that the little girl went to the Lord in prayer and got the inspiration to show more love and care to the brother. One day, she got an impression and asked her brother, “What kind of man would you want me to marry someday?”
The brother answered, “My lovely sister, I want you to be happy, and for you to be happy, I would love for you to marry a good member of the Church.”
She then asked, “Good member? What makes a good member?”
He replied and said, “A man that loves the Savior and will serve Him and obey His commandments, and more especially, a return missionary.”
The girl looked at her brother and said, “This is why you need to serve the Lord through a full-time mission.”
Months after, the young man went on mission and returned honorably. Ponder on the little girl’s contribution to the plan.

It was bedtime. But Sam wasn’t sleepy yet.
“Tell me an adventure, Mommy,” he said. “Tell me about when you were little.”
“OK,” Mommy said. She stroked his hair. She thought for a while.
“When I was little,” Mommy said, “we loved to build pretend towns. We made houses out of blankets and chairs. My brothers and sisters all had pretend jobs.”
“What was your job?” Sam asked.
“I ran the store. We made coins out of paper. You could buy food and newspapers. We loved playing together in our town.”
“What else did you do?” Sam asked.
“One time we built a zoo for our town. We used our stuffed animals.”
Sam held out his teddy bear. “Like this?”
“Just like that,” Mommy said. “People could come see the zoo.”
Sam snuggled his teddy bear. “Tell me more, Mommy.”
“We also wrote letters to each other. We put them in pretend mailboxes. Your uncle was the mailman. He brought the mail to our houses. It was fun to get letters.”
Sam wanted to write a letter! Maybe he could write one tomorrow.
“Sometimes we argued,” Mommy said. “But we said sorry and tried again. We learned to get along and have fun.”
“Like me and Ava,” Sam said.
“Yes,” Mommy said. “Just like that. You are learning to get along too.”
“That was a good story,” Sam said. “Will you tell me another adventure tomorrow?”
“Yes,” said Mommy. “I’ll tell you about when your daddy was little.”
Mommy kissed Sam. She tucked his blankets closer.
“Good night,” Sam said. Then he closed his eyes and thought about zoos and towns and paper coins.

Over the years, Sally has served in many callings. She has always had a love for music and one of her favourite memories is singing ‘The Heavens Were Opened’ with her fellow Relief Society sisters—affectionately known as ‘the singing housewives’—in St Andrew’s Hall in Glasgow. President David O. McKay, then president of the Church, was there and enjoyed it so much he asked them to sing the song again. It’s a moment Sally still remembers with joy.

With a will to serve, Sister Marilyn Jones of Sydney, Australia, accomplished a task that at first seemed impossible. Her son had physical handicaps, and Sister Jones knew that he and others with disabilities would benefit from a neighborhood recreation center. There were zoning restrictions to change. She solicited support and filled out innumerable papers for government grants. It took hours of talking to convince others to lend their efforts.

After eight years, Marilyn and her neighbors saw the results of their charitable labors. The community program they operate blesses hundreds of children who have physical limitations.

At the end of October, Brother Joseph A. Young and Brother Stephen Taylor arrived in our camp from Salt Lake City. They had wagons of food and clothing! We greeted them as angels of mercy. For the first time in many days, there was joy in our camp. They told us more food, clothing, and bedding were waiting for us at Devil’s Gate.
We kept traveling through the snow to Devil’s Gate and ran into the other wagons with provisions for us. How I wished for a pair of shoes, as my feet froze in the icy slush. But even shoes were less important than food. We left Devil’s Gate with a single handcart for our family. Many of the handcarts were left behind. Those that had brought the provisions from Salt Lake City traveled with us.

When Sam (short for Samantha) Southwick started high school in Grand Blanc, Michigan, she wanted to be involved. She knew that the secret to having a lot of fun in high school is to participate. She thought it would be either in cheerleading or playing on a sports team, but her plans didn’t work out easily. “I tried out for basketball. I tried out for cheerleading. I don’t know how many times I tried out for cheerleading, but finally I just stopped. Then I tried out for volleyball. It was fun, but I didn’t even make the first cut.”
Even in those moments of disappointment, Sam was a little bit proud of herself for following through and not quitting. But which was her sport? Where was she going to succeed? Repeatedly not making the team could have made her want to quit trying. But she kept on. Only now can she look back and see clearly what she needed to understand. “When you go into something with a positive attitude and the will to do it, then it actually becomes a lot easier. I was going through some of this for the wrong reasons.”
In Sam’s junior year, some of her friends were playing lacrosse. Because she was always willing to try something new, she started learning about the game and began the conditioning. “My friends helped me, and I’ve loved lacrosse ever since. We joke that it’s soccer in the air.”
Even after making the lacrosse team, Sam still had some learning to do. At first, she wanted to play offense. “It’s really fun to shoot on the goal and to make it. Everyone gets really excited. Offense is the glory place.” But her team needed her on defense—in the goal in fact.
Playing goalie is a scary position. To block a shot, she would get hit hard by a small rubber ball. Sam freely admits that she wasn’t very aggressive when she started out. “And on defense you’re trying to make sure the other team does not score, so you feel worried and responsible.”
Sam can still give you a blow-by-blow account of her first game as the goalie. “I was standing there thinking, What have I gotten myself into? Then they came down, running straight at me. Our defense didn’t really know what they were doing because we were new. I just stood there gripping my stick so hard. I was saying to myself, Just move, just move. It was really nerve-racking. I don’t think I blocked the first shot, but after that it got easier. I learned that when those balls hit you during the game, it doesn’t bother you because you’re just so intense. But after the game, you really feel it. You get hit everywhere.”
The team tied that first game. But two games later, after their first loss, Sam took it hard. She appreciated her team’s being supportive because they knew she felt responsible. “Losing takes an emotional toll on the goalie,” says Sam.
How does she deal with the pressure? Sam says, “I’ve actually said prayers in my head. I’ll ask myself, ‘Why am I praying about a sport when there are other things you should be praying for?’ But when I’m in those moments, I know that God really will help me.”
Losing is not fun, but Sam has learned that the old saying “Winning isn’t everything,” is actually true. Her philosophy is that sports are for fun and for learning how to deal with other people. “You learn how to communicate better with people and how to talk with them and get along. What I have learned playing goalie has helped me at my job.” Sam works as a waitress and sometimes has to deal with difficult people.
Even when you lose, Sam says, you can still feel great. “If you lose and you played as well as you can, you feel good because you feel like you actually did something. Winning looks good on your record, but it’s all about what you learn and how to deal with it.”

Many years ago I was in Stockton, California, and a high councilor came up to me and said, “Elder Featherstone, I’ve been impressed by what you’ve said about the family. I have a son who is 17 years old. I haven’t hugged him or told him I loved him for half of his life—not since he was eight years old. I’m going home today, and I’m going to hug him and tell him I love him.”

I was afraid he might chicken out, so I asked him to write me a letter and tell me how it went. He wrote me a letter that arrived about three days later. Essentially, he said this, “I went home after Church. My son was watching a football game. He was slouched in the big easy chair with his leg up over the arm. I walked up to him, grabbed him by the arm, pulled him out of the chair, hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, and told him I loved him for the first time in half his life.”

I read the letter as I sat in my office, and the tears ran down and splashed on the letter. Of course we love each other. Love is critical.

Just prior to going overseas during World War II, while we were on maneuvers in the Louisiana-Texas area, my platoon sergeant, Sergeant Tiffin, came to me during a ten-minute break and said, “Lieutenant Bennett, you know and I know that we will be going overseas in the near future, and that when we go overseas it will not be long until we find ourselves in combat. When we get into combat, sooner or later some of us will be required to take the life of one or more of the enemy. I have been taught that if this should happen, I will be held responsible for the blood which I shed, even though I am a victim of circumstance. This is bothering me. Lieutenant, I know that you are a Mormon. What does your church teach regarding this matter?”
What an excellent opportunity for me to share with Sergeant Tiffin the statement of the First Presidency to all LDS servicemen throughout the world, which statement was part of the servicemen’s kit given to each LDS soldier who entered military service. Similar instructions are found in the servicemen’s kits that are made available to our servicemen today.
For the balance of that day, whenever we had a ten-minute break, Sergeant Tiffin and I continued the discussion. Each time we met, he brought others with him; and when we went into the bivouac area at night, the discussions continued into the wee hours. What a tremendous opportunity to share the teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ!

This four-storey building is currently a private dwelling, but in the 1890s, it was the headquarters of the London Conference of the Church. It was also used as missionary accommodation and was home to the North London branch. The Church took over the property in 1893, and the building was used for Sunday and week-day meetings.
Clara Holbrook from Filmore, Utah, served as a missionary in London from 1899 to 1901. Letters written home while serving there shed light on the use of Number 36:
“At 8 o’clock every Thursday night we hold meetings in the hall at 36. On Sunday morning we meet in some Park and Sunday afternoon at 2.30 and 6.30 at Clerkenwell [Town] Hall.”
She also paints an interesting picture of street meetings held at the time:
“At my first street meeting I wanted to laugh. It seemed so funny for two or three of us to stop right in the middle of a little side street; to sing, pray and speak to the few open-mouthed passers by who stood listening a few minutes then passed on only to be replaced by others. Some listen intently from the beginning to the close of the meeting which lasts about an hour. At both meetings we had a fair audience, respectful and good listeners. The noise of the street is so great at times, the speaker can scarcely be heard.”
Then in one letter home, she writes:
“Sometimes I feel very far away from those I love …but then comes the consoling thought that I am called of God to carry the glorious light of the gospel to souls that are in comparative darkness. My heart is full of gratitude for the testimony I have to the truthfulness of the gospel. I could sing with all my heart ‘I’ll praise the Lord while I am young, and in my early days Devote the music of my tongue to my Redeemer’s praise.’”
Her experiences in London had revealed to her the extent of her blessings and of her testimony. Number 36 was clearly not just a home to the London Conference, but also a training ground for the young missionaries who served there in the 1890s.

I love listening to the prophets. When I was a young boy, general conference was also on Fridays. I took a portable radio to school and listened to the talks during class break. But there were still a lot of things that I didn’t understand.
One night, I lay in bed thinking. I worried about all the things I didn’t understand about God. But I knew that I could learn more about God by praying to Him and by reading the scriptures. So I said a prayer and started reading from the scriptures. I read Doctrine and Covenants 88:49. It says, “The day shall come when you shall comprehend even God.”
As I read that, I felt peace and comfort from the Holy Ghost. I started to realize that someday I would be able to understand the things that made me feel worried. And that it was OK if I didn’t understand everything right now. I also learned that I could get to know God better by reading the scriptures and listening to prophets. I have a testimony that you can too!

Insights for others. While responding to the challenge, I read Mosiah 18 and couldn’t get it out of my mind. About two days later I sat down with a new member (I served as branch president). This brother wanted to know again why he needed to be baptized into the Church when he had previously been baptized in another church. Without hesitation, I opened to Mosiah and asked him to read in chapter 18. When he finished we were both silent for a while. Then the brother told me that he had felt prompted to counsel with me. I silently bowed my head and thanked Heavenly Father for the gift of a prophet and his challenge to reread the Book of Mormon. Akingbade A. Ojo, Ijebu-Ode, Nigeria

I’m pretty much an average Latter-day Saint girl. I go to church and activities weekly and have been in my class presidency. I am very outgoing when it comes to talking about the Church and have many conversations about the Church with friends. I don’t use drugs, alcohol, or tobacco. I don’t watch R-rated movies, and I never swear. Most of the guidance that I have been given by my parents and leaders I take to heart and apply to my life.
But there was one area where I knew I could use a lot of improvement. Although I wasn’t extreme in my choice of clothing, and my dresses always had sleeves, I knew that there was still something that I should change—the length of my shorts and skirts. But I didn’t really want to change because my legs are one of my best features.
The first time that I started to see how the way you dress can affect people was during a two-week church program that had a dress code: knee-length skirts and shorts. So, in other words, no shorts at all for me. Since nothing I owned was long enough, I wore pants the whole time. During those two weeks, I was able to meet two young men who were my age. We spent a lot of time talking and developed a close bond. Occasionally we would see girls in the community wearing tank tops and shorts that barely covered them. For the first time in my life, I realized the effect that women can have on men. My friends talked about how they didn’t want to see girls wearing short shorts and skirts, but sometimes it was hard to avoid.
After two weeks were over, I had the opportunity to drive to a lake for a week’s vacation. I went home, packed my clothes, and was off. I found that after being so modest for two weeks, all my shorts and skirts seemed to have shrunk! For the first couple of days I wore the few pair of longer shorts that I had, but slowly I fell right back into my old habits.
Only a couple of Sundays had passed when I walked into a Young Women class that would start a change that will last forever. The lesson was on dressing modestly, and I don’t think that the lesson was all that different than the ones I had heard before. But because of my experience a few weeks earlier, I was finally ready to hear it. After I got home from church, I went to my room and decided I needed to get rid of a lot of my clothes. I told my parents about the lesson that we had just had and that I had decided to make a change.
Later that night my dad came and told me he was proud of me. He then told me that he would like to buy me a couple of dresses so that I could have some knee-length dresses for church. I told him that would be great.
The next night, I had a big surprise waiting for me in my bedroom when I got home. Lying on top of my bed were several different modest items of clothing my parents had purchased for me. I then tried them all on to see if the length was long enough and if they met my parents’ approval. The next step was to go through all my clothes and discard everything that was too short. It was hard for me to part with my favorite skirts and the shorts I loved so much, but I did. You will now never see me in anything that is shorter than my kneecap. I was also surprised to see what I could find in the stores. Now I just have to look a little bit harder, but modest things will show up.
I have never felt better about myself. I love being able to walk into church or go to the temple to do baptisms knowing that I am a child of God and feeling that I am representing Him in the way that He would want me to through the clothes that I wear.

7. We prepare for the reproof with prayer whenever possible. On one occasion I was called to counsel with a family in trouble. The father had physically punished his wife and children. Several hours before we met together. I thought about what I should tell them. I fully intended to begin my remarks to this unkind husband with some harsh words about his cruelty to his family but the night I met them, I heard myself saying, “Fred, I love you, and I love your wife and family. I’d like to help you build an eternal home.” He was no longer defensive. His wife was no longer interested in finding fault, they were anxious to make new commitments and forget an unpleasant past history. They were teachable and amenable to some very specific counsel.

One Sunday at a new ward, I sat alone during sacrament meeting. Afterward, I watched ward members talk to one another, but nobody introduced themselves to me, and I was too shy to start a conversation. As a more introverted person, I felt out of place in a ward that seemed like it was full of extroverted people. I felt like a failed member of the Church because they had skills of connection that I didn’t. So I went home before Sunday School.
I figured that being different socially prevented me from fitting in or unifying with my congregation. But over time, I’ve realized that a difference in social comfort or abilities doesn’t have to divide us or prevent us from worshipping. Rather, despite our differences in introversion and extroversion, we can all contribute unique abilities that God needs in His kingdom.

I have learned for myself, brothers and sisters, that there is a God and that he loves us and that through the Holy Ghost he answers our prayers when we are sufficiently humble and meek to listen. As a young missionary in Central America, I was the leader over the missionaries in a particular country. We all went on a p-day activity to see the crater of a supposedly extinct volcano. There were two ways to get down into the crater of the volcano. One was to go down some steep ledges into the face of the volcano and the other was to walk through a jungle area around the rim of the volcano and come in on the back side that gently sloped to the crater. Most of the missionaries took the path through the jungle area. Some of us went down the cliffs. We met safely at the bottom and enjoyed seeing the volcano, (which, by the way, erupted a couple of months later). As we prepared to leave, it began to rain. I had not brought my raincoat or umbrella. I was getting soaked as we walked, and said to the others, I’m getting sopping wet and the rest of you have protection, just tell me how to get back through this jungle area, and I will meet you at the bus. I always tried to be an obedient missionary, and I knew I should always be with my companion, but out in the middle of the jungle there was no danger of immorality, so it seemed harmless to go ahead alone. Off I went. I soon came to a little fork in the path, and did what I thought I had been told to do. I continued for sometime through some very dense jungle growth. I wondered why the elders and sisters hadn’t complained about having to go through this. I could hardly see because the rain was now falling in torrents and my glasses were muddy. I tried to go faster but soon realized I was lost. I tried to retrace my steps, but I had left no trail. I began to panic. I ran and pushed through the dense undergrowth. At one point I fell into a big pit that had been covered over by vines and other growth. I managed to crawl out, but it was very obvious to me that I was lost in a jungle, I had no idea where I was or how I was ever going to get out.

Finally I dropped to my knees in the mud and told Heavenly Father I was awfully sorry and that I really needed His help. In my mind I could see the headlines “Missionary Lost in the Jungle” or “Other Missionaries Lost Trying to Find Their Leader,” or “Mission President in Helicopter Looking for Lost Missionaries.” I was absolutely terrified, not only for my own safety, but for fear that others would come looking for me and be placed in jeopardy themselves. After prayer, the only thought that came to me was that I should climb a tree and yell. I had been yelling, so that didn’t seem like much of a prompting, but I climbed a tree. I remember seeing an orchid on the limb that I crawled out on, and began yelling as loud as I could yell. I was really discouraged and frightened. As I recall, there was a brief ray of light that shone through the dark sky and gave me hope. I yelled louder. I thought I heard something so I yelled again and then I climbed down out of the tree and continued to yell, to listen and follow in the direction of what I hoped I was hearing. After what seemed like an eternity, I found my way to the company of two wonderful missionary companions. They told me they had come looking for me, but that they were certain that I had not gone the way I had because it was going exactly opposite of the way I should be going and was heading deeper into the jungle. They told me they had turned around and started back but felt to go just a little further before turning back. As they did so they heard my voice and began calling to me.

I know through this and many other experiences, some as recent as this week, that God hears and answers prayers and that the promptings of the Holy Ghost are real. I had been unwise. I hadn’t committed a great sin, but I had been disobedient. I assure you, my heart and mind were open and eager for inspiration.

This same light led the way for 15-year-old Mary Elizabeth Rollins and her 13-year-old sister, Caroline, on a dark and chilling day in Independence, Missouri. It was 1833, and an angry mob roared through the streets of Independence, burning property and wreaking havoc. In their path was the home of Brother William W. Phelps, where the printing press was kept. He had been printing revelations received by the Prophet Joseph Smith. The mob demolished the printing press and threw the wreckage into the street. However, they stacked up the printed pages in the yard so they could burn them later.

Mary Elizabeth and Caroline had been hiding by the fence, frightened spectators to all this destruction. Even though she was terrified, Mary Elizabeth’s eye was fixed on those precious pages. She and her sister ran out from their hiding place, gathered up the scriptures, and bolted. Some of the mob saw them and ordered them to stop. But the brave girls ran into a large cornfield, where they dropped breathlessly to the ground. They carefully laid the pages of revelations between the tall rows of corn and then covered the pages by lying on them. The relentless mobsters looked and looked for the girls, coming quite close at times, but never did find them. Eventually they gave up their search to see what further damage they could do to the town.

I believe the light of the Lord directed Mary Elizabeth and Caroline as to what to do and where to go for safety. Sisters, that light shines for you, and it will guide you as it did the Rollins girls. It will keep you safe even when danger lurks. As the Master promised, “I will also be your light … ; and I will prepare the way before you, if it so be that ye shall keep my commandments; … ye shall know that it is by me that ye are led.”

This week I was reminded of one of those Mudville days. Honestly, I don’t remember if all of these things happened on the same day—they all blur together in a fog on the joyless treadmill. But they really happened in proximity close enough to count as a bad day. I had finished long hours at work with a steady stream of student problems, faculty conflicts, and overdue reports. At home kids needed help with school problems, friend problems, and romance problems. We were living in our basement, ten months into a six-week remodeling project. We were out of cat food, so the cat was mad. But we were also out of what my son calls “human food,” so the cat had to get in line. I mistakenly dropped a tax-refund check in the trash, which had gone to the street for the next day’s collection, so the neighbors got to watch me rummage through my own garbage like a vagrant bag lady. Then, at the worst moment, the right front tire on my car was flat to the rim.

Sometime during all this, I made some soup for a family in our neighborhood. It was now after 10 at night, but I decided this was the only time I could deliver my pot of compassionate service. I convinced my husband that he should help me take it to a family where the father was very ill. I knew someone would still be up. So I held the soup in my lap while my husband drove the car, with the tire now repaired by AAA. (You think I am going to say that I spilled the soup, don’t you? Well, I didn’t! For this talk, there has to be some joy in the story.) I tiptoed to the porch and nudged my shoulder against the front door and knocked gently. I cautioned my husband to be quiet, thinking that a quiet interruption in the middle of the night somehow was more like charity.

From inside I thought I heard the doorbell ring and chided my husband, “I told you, don’t ring the doorbell!” Then I heard it again. “Stop it,” I said. He just looked at me with a blank face. I thought I could hear the doorbell ringing again and again. Finally, the granddaughter came to the door. “Hi,” I whispered. “Sorry we are so late; we won’t come in. We just wanted to let you know that we are thinking about you. I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

“Thank you,” she said patiently, as she nudged me away in what I thought was going to be hug. As she pushed, she said, “You are leaning on the doorbell!” It was the end of a perfect day according to my personal mission statement, “No good deed goes unpunished—there’s no joy in Mudville.”

Maybe I have lived a pampered life, but I am just not used to being told that I am headed for hell. Actually, it only happened once, but that was enough to shake me up a bit and spur some thought that has not left my mind even now.
It happened when I left school at Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah, for a summer and went to Washington, D.C., to work in a government office. Another office employee was an exceptionally bright and articulate young man who not only worked full-time, but was also completing his studies in law school. He was not a member of the Church, but he had been surrounded by members for several years. He probably knew the technical points of the doctrine even better than I, and his knowledge of the Bible was superb. Had our conversations ever degenerated to the level of argument, his nimble lawyer’s mind and tongue would have left my inexperienced self stunned and breathless. To accomplish this, I think, was actually his desire, for he took great delight in asking questions designed to confuse and baffle me, and his attacks on the Church were well planned and skillfully executed. His intentions became clear when, after one long discussion, he commented, “I didn’t even succeed in making you cry, did I?”
To be honest, he did make me cry once, or at least I cried in his presence. But that was not at all because I was frustrated or beaten. That never seemed to be a problem, for the harder he attacked, the more I felt the Spirit behind me, reassuring me of the validity of my testimony and filling me with a calmness that erased any desire to fight back.
The tears came after one session in which he explained his primary objection to the Church. He felt that men are saved by grace. The Savior atoned for our sins, he believed, and all that is required of us is to believe in the Lord and accept him as our Savior. My friend said that he had a personal relationship with Christ; thus, nothing else was required of him to be saved. Latter-day Saints, on the other hand, he claimed bitterly, have no appreciation for Christ and what he did. Their belief in requirements other than faith, such as baptism and keeping the commandments, demeans the Savior’s atonement by implying that it is insufficient to save men. Mormons’ beliefs, he maintained, are nearly blasphemous. He could think of many adjectives to describe them, but Christian was definitely not on the list. And that, he told me, was why I was going to hell.
As I listened to this condemnation, many possible responses ran through my mind. I could say that it was Christ who instituted the ordinance of baptism and was baptized himself. I could say that he himself was one who most consistently taught the keeping of the commandments. I could say that it was one of his own disciples who said that “faith without works is dead.” But I said none of these things. Instead, when my friend paused long enough to catch a breath, I simply looked at him and said, “The Savior is more important than anything else in my life.” And then I bore my testimony of Jesus Christ. I told him of my love for the Savior and of my knowledge of his love for me. I told him how the Savior’s atonement was the only thing that gave purpose to my life. I told him that Christ’s gospel was the one anchor I had to cling to when everything else seemed determined to beat me down. I told him that my whole life was centered around trying to live the Lord’s gospel and that I did have a personal testimony of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I am sure that I did not speak eloquently or impressively, but that is when the tears came.
When I had finished speaking, a surprising thing happened—my skillfully verbal friend was actually silent for several moments. When he spoke, his voice decreased in volume from its typical forte nearly to mezzo piano. “You are the first Mormon,” he said, “who has actually borne witness to me of Jesus Christ.”
We are members of the Church of Jesus Christ. It is his church. At our baptisms we covenanted “to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places, … even until death” (Mosiah 18:9). Then why is it that I could have a friend who had lived and worked and socialized among Latter-day Saints for several years and yet had never heard borne a testimony of Jesus Christ? My friend’s case may be unique, and I certainly hope that it is. But my experience with him has made me more aware of our sacred obligation to stand boldly and unashamedly as witnesses for our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.

It was 7:45 a.m. on a rainy August morning here in Freetown, Sierra Leone, West Africa. We (the full-time missionaries in the Freetown District) had planned a baptismal service and were determined to hold it, rain or shine. It was then I received a call from Brother Allieu, a member from our branch, but I could not totally understand what he was saying, as he was speaking rapidly in Krio, the local language. I told him to take a deep breath and speak slowly. He did so and said, “Elder Naeata, there is no water for the baptismal font. I am sorry. There is no water.”
I thanked him for the call and then announced the bad news to the other elders. Immediately we began to think of how we could still perform this sacred ordinance. It was then that Elder Agamah reminded us of the waterfall and pond up the mountain nearby in a place called Mellow. The elders all agreed we should try and hold the baptism there, so we obtained permission to do so.
As everyone gathered later that morning at the bottom of the mountain, the group came to a stark realization of the formidable task looming ahead. However, the determined company had no sign of hesitation to press forward. Men and women and even children walked and talked happily up the wet and slippery trail. Gradually ascending, we took a short detour to cross the river.
As we hiked, the zeal of some in the party began to fade when the rain picked up, but we pressed forward with hope. Still, the rugged path seemed to have no end. Finally we arrived at our destination. Our hearts were happy, but the rain persisted to beat down upon us. As we prepared for the baptismal service, we took refuge from the rain under a large mango tree.
We opened by singing the hymn “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2). After the opening devotional we went to the baptismal site. The water was rushing off the falls and into the pond where we would perform the sacred ordinance.
A father entered the pond and helped his son into the water when, suddenly, the rain stopped. The rays of the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the pond. We could feel the presence of the Spirit. After the father baptized his son, a husband baptized his wife, and then the elders baptized their investigators. The sun continued to shine, as did the smiles on our faces.
We closed the service by singing “Come, Follow Me” (Hymns, no. 116). Yes, indeed, we did follow Him. We followed our Savior up and down the mountain, across full, flowing creeks, up the steep and wet trails, and through the rain. And those who were baptized truly followed the Savior’s example as they entered the waters of baptism.

In 2018, Latter-day Saint Robert Opiyo joined the only ice hockey club in East-Central Africa, the Kenya Ice Lions. At the time, there were fewer than 30 ice hockey players in all of Kenya, and 17 of them (15 men and 2 women) were members of the Ice Lions team.
Today, there are over 40 adult players and 40 youth players who practice at least twice a week. Robert used the skills he learned on his mission in Melbourne, Australia, as one of the team’s executive members.
The Ice Lions trained at a hotel ice rink that was two-thirds the size of a regulation ice hockey rink. In October 2018, the team was sponsored to travel to Toronto, Canada, to play against two amateur Canadian teams.
Prior to their first match in Toronto, they trained without a goalkeeper. In a news interview in Toronto, the Ice Lions’ captain explained: “We didn’t have goalie equipment, and nobody can take that risk to be a goalie without the proper gear. So, what we used to do was set up a rubber toy penguin and we used to put it at the center of the goal and to score you had to hit the penguin above the belly.”
Due to challenges during the COVID-19 period, the team slowed down on activities and are now getting back on their feet. They often get support from individuals and groups who donate funds for their ice time and equipment that are used in the community.
Brother Opiyo dreams of the Olympics someday but is also content to be part of this pioneering endeavor. “Slowly more people hear about our desire and want to help us get there,” he said. “I’m grateful to have been a part that set the foundation for future generations.”