Gospel Story Finder

Once Elder Von G. Keetch visited a beach in Australia. He saw a group of surfers who had traveled there to surf. They were mad because a big net in the water kept them from getting to the biggest waves. After hearing them complain, another surfer showed them why the net was there—it kept the sharks out! God’s standards, like the barrier, protect us from spiritual dangers and help us feel peace and happiness.

Will listened wide-eyed in the light of the campfire as a scout reported to their wagon master, Mr. Dillow, that he had seen a huge herd of buffalo. “It’s a reg’lar sea of the critters, spread out over that valley floor, yonder across them rocky bluffs!” the scout said excitedly, pointing westward.
I must see them! Will promised himself, as he listened to the men plan a dawn hunting party to provide fresh meat for the wagon train.
So far, the trip from Missouri had been dull and disappointing. All day long they plodded through choking clouds of dust or through cold rain and mud. Setting up the camp at night involved unloading iron kettles, chopping wood, and refilling water barrels when everyone was weary from the day’s trek. Repacking the wagons before dawn in the chill morning air and still being half asleep was worse. It was nothing like the exciting stories he had read about the West. He had seen no Indians and only very small herds of buffalo from a distance. This might be his only chance to see such a herd.
With a full moon lighting his way, the blond boy slipped away from the ring of covered wagons and cooking fires and searched out a sloping game trail up the bluffs. He felt certain he could see the heard and be back well before dawn and before he’d be missed.
Will was almost to the summit when he realized that he was being followed! How often Mr. Dillow had warned the children about staying close to the train. “Out here,” he warned, “there is safety in numbers. You have to know this country to realize the danger. Besides hostile Indians, there are pumas, rattlers, blinding sandstorms, and flash floods. You can die of thirst under a blazing sun, freeze to death in a mountain snowstorm, or find you’ve walked into quicksand. There will be no private adventuring on my wagon train!”
The boy hesitated. Remembering the warnings about pumas and rattlers seemed to make his heart leap into his throat. The wagon master was a rough, red-faced bellowing man of action. If he had seen Will leave, he would have grabbed him by the seat of his pants and overall straps and dragged him back to camp. So he was sure it wasn’t Mr. Dillow who was following him. Then he heard his younger sister Becky cry, “W—Will? Where are you? I—I’m afraid. Wait for me!”
Will pretended to be angry, but he was so relieved that he could have hugged her. “I can’t do anything without you tagging along after me like a puppy! You were supposed to be asleep under the wagon; what are you doing here?” he asked.
“I was only pretending to be asleep,” Becky explained. “I knew you’d slip away to see the buffalo, and I wanted to see them too!”
Will couldn’t send her back along and risk her getting lost. And he wouldn’t have time to take her back and return. There was nothing to do but let her go with him. “We have to see the herd and get back before first light so no one will miss us. If you can’t keep up with me, I’ll make you wait by the trail until I start back,” he warned.
“I can keep up. I’m as strong as you!” Becky retorted, boasting a little. Will knew she was wiry and fast-moving and the threat of being left alone to wait spurred her on. But when she began to lag, he relented and slowed down until she caught up with him.
“Look at that! There must be thousands and thousands of them!” Will whispered in awe when they reached the crest of the hill and saw the shaggy buffalo spread out over the valley floor. They made their way down the slippery trail for a closer look.
“They have found good water and grazing here,” he murmured. “Just look how much bigger they are than the few we’ve seen so far.”
Engrossed with watching the closest buffalo, he was annoyed when his sister suddenly gasped and clutched his arm in a tight grip. He impatiently tried to shake her loose, but Becky held on tightly.
Will whirled around and swallowed hard when he saw the tall Indian brave standing between them and the trail! His mouth went dry and his heart pounded like a drum as he watched several others move in on each side of them. The braves moved silently like ghosts. No wonder he had not heard them.
He looked for a way to escape, but they were trapped! Are the Indians going to harm us or will they be friendly? Will put his arm around his sister and pulled her close. He thought again of Mr. Dillow’s warnings. How he wished they had obeyed orders never to leave the wagon train. And he thought about their parents. Will they ever discover what happened to us? If we’re killed or taken away, they’ll only have Baby Ben left. He could see tears sparkling on Becky’s cheeks, but she was too frightened to cry out.
A horse and rider moved out from the trees. He was certainly their chief, by the look of the elaborate feathered headdress he wore. Will stared curiously at him. A white cloth was bound and knotted around his jaw. Has he been wounded? Will wondered.
The first man began to speak. He pointed at the chief, then away toward where the wagon train had stopped for the night. Will couldn’t understand, but still he began to feel better; for the Indians obviously wanted something, and had made no attempt to harm them.
Will pushed Becky behind him and watched the man’s hands. Again, the brave pointed from the chief to Will, then his hands made a swooping motion. Does he mean up and over the hill? Will wondered. The brave made a circle in the air. Is it the ring of covered wagons? The Indian showed his strong teeth, then held his jaw and made a groaning sound.
“A toothache! The chief has a toothache,” Becky whispered. “Don’t you remember how Grandma used to tie a cloth around her jaw when her tooth hurt?”
The brave put his fingers on one of his teeth and made a jerking motion. “You’re right, Becky. I guess they’ve tried to pull it and can’t without instruments. I think they are asking if there is a dentist with us,” Will said quietly. He stepped forward and nodded his head. He pointed at the chief, then toward their train. Will pulled Becky forward and showed them the gap where her two front teeth were missing. The men began to smile and nod their heads.
“What are you doing, Will?” Becky cried. “You know that I pulled those two loose teeth myself! We can’t take them to the wagon train. When they find out we don’t have a dentist along, they’ll probably scalp everybody and burn the wagons!”
“We have Dr. Stieger. He has all kinds of instruments. He could do it,” Will said.
“But he’s not a dentist or even a real doctor. He’s a veter … a vetnar … an animal doctor!” his sister wailed.
“I know that,” Will said gamely, “but he might be the only chance we have of getting out of this spot alive!”
The sky was turning pink when they approached the circle of covered wagons. One of the guards shouted an alarm and the Indian band stopped and waited. Mr. Dillow hastened out to meet them, pulling his suspenders up over his underwear. He stared in disbelief when he saw the children riding double on the horses of two Indian braves. Anger tightened the muscles of his face.
Will couldn’t meet Mr. Dillow’s accusing eyes. He stared down at the ground and explained to the stunned group of settlers, who silently gathered behind the wagon master, what had happened. “Their chief has a bad toothache. I didn’t know what else to do, so I told them Dr. Stieger is a dentist and can pull it for him,” the blond boy finished miserably.
Dr. Stieger was a timid, nervous little man. His face went white with fear and he began to shake his head. “I’m a veterinarian not a dentist. You expect me to yank a throbbing tooth from the jaw of that man who is already reeling with pain? He’d kill me! I won’t do it!”
“Oh, yes you will, Dr. Stieger,” the train master said through gritted teeth, trying to keep a reassuring smile on his face. “You have no choice—and neither do the rest of us. Anyone knows it’s going to hurt. The chief is prepared for that and braced for the pain. Now, get your medicine bag, and act like the best dentist in the world!”
Once he realized he had to do it, Dr. Stieger calmed down a bit. His face was still pale, but he had stopped shaking so hard. The chief sat in a chair, his face impassive, as the little man hesitantly selected a pair of pliers and approached him. Fortunately, the Indians’ efforts to pull the tooth had loosened it. No one was more relieved than Dr. Stieger when one strong jerk removed it.
The chief, who had not flinched, stood up and spat. He rubbed his lumpy jaw and smiled. Poor Dr. Stieger wobbled off, dazed, holding the large tooth, still clamped in the pliers, out in front of him like a candle.
“What’s he saying?” Mr. Dillow asked one of the scouts, as the chief spoke and motioned westward.
“He thanks the good tooth doctor for relieving his misery. And the children for bringing him here. He says he will permit the train to cross their land and escort us to the river,” the scout replied.
“That will save us six hard days of travel!” Mr. Dillow exclaimed incredulously. “According to treaty, we’ve always had to go around his tribe’s land. Tell him we appreciate and accept his generous offer.”
Will’s smile faded as the wagon master turned back to them. “We’ve been lucky this time, but if you two ever leave my train again, I’ll skin you alive!” he growled.
“Y—yes, sir!” Will stammered. “But you don’t have to worry about that. A herd of wild horses couldn’t drag us out of sight of the wagons again!”

My brother, Colonel Leon C. Packer, was stationed at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. A much-decorated B-24 pilot, he became a brigadier general in the Air Force.

While I was at Langley Field, the war in Europe ended, and so we were ordered to the Pacific. I spent a few days with Leon in Washington before shipping out for combat.

He told me of things he had learned under fire. He flew from North Africa on raids over southern Europe; very few of those planes returned.

On April 16, 1943, he was captain of a B-24 bomber returning to England after a raid in Europe. His plane, the Yard Bird, was heavily damaged by flak and dropped out of formation.

Then they were alone and came under heavy attack from fighters.

His one-page account of that experience says: “Number three engine was smoking and the prop ran away. Number four fuel line was shot out. Right aileron cables and stabilizer cables were shot out. Rudders partially locked. Radio shot out. Extremely large holes in the right wing. Flaps shot out. Entire rear part of the fuselage filled with holes. Hydraulic system shot out. Tail turret out.”

A history of the Eighth Air Force, published just two years ago, gives a detailed account of that flight written by one of the crew.

With one engine on fire, the other three lost power. They were going down. The alarm bell ordered that they bail out. The bombardier, the only one able to get out, parachuted into the English Channel.

The pilots left their seats and made their way toward the bomb bay to bail out. Suddenly Leon heard an engine cough and sputter. He quickly climbed back to his seat and coaxed enough power from the engines to reach the coast of England. Then the engines failed, and they crashed.

The landing gear was shorn off on the brow of a hill; the plane plowed through trees and crumbled. Dirt filled the fuselage.

Amazingly, though some were terribly wounded, all aboard survived. The bombardier was lost, but he probably saved the lives of the other nine. When smoke poured from the engines and a parachute appeared, the fighters stopped their attack.

That was not the only time Leon had crash-landed.

As we visited, he told me how he was able to hold himself together under fire. He said, “I have a favorite hymn”—and he named it—“and when things got rough I would sing it silently to myself, and there would come a faith and an assurance that kept me on course.”

He sent me off to combat with that lesson.

Illustration by Roger Motzkus
I stared out the window as I washed my hands in the kitchen sink. It was a very warm summer day and the birds were singing. The sun was bright and the grass was green. I could see the little dirt road that ran down the hill past our house to the fields, which were flooded again. This happened all the time when the water was let into the canal so the farmers could water.
I was just about to return to my afternoon hideout in my room when I got a sudden feeling that I should go play with my brothers. And even though I couldn’t hear them and I hadn’t seen them for hours, somehow I knew they were outside playing in the water.
Now, I really like my brothers. Blake was 5, and Morgan was almost 4. And even though I enjoyed spending time with them, I didn’t usually seek them out to play. But this time, I knew I needed to.
As I left the house, heading toward the flooded road and the ditch beyond, my main concern was that I didn’t want to get wet. A small children’s tricycle was sitting next to the road, so I used it like a scooter to begin my journey through the water.
The dirt road that led to the neighbor’s field ran on top of a culvert, a drainage pipe that carried water underneath the road and let the water out into the ditch on the other side. As I was making my way toward the culvert, I heard yelling and instantly knew I had to get there fast! Abandoning the tricycle, I ran through the water to the ditch. As the water drained through the culvert, it made a whirlpool. It was an impressive sight. But when I saw my brothers, I gasped.
Morgan had been sucked in! Blake was standing on one side of the culvert’s opening and Travis, our cousin who was the same age as Blake, was standing on the other side. The water was swirling around their legs and each of them was grasping one of Morgan’s hands. Only Morgan’s head and arms were above water. Only the desperate grips of two small boys were keeping him from being swept into the culvert.
Morgan went under the water. Blake and Travis pulled with all their might and were able to bring him up just far enough that his head came out of the water again. Thoughts of confusion and panic were rushing through my head. The one thing I remember thinking was that it was going to be hard to pull Morgan out of the water, like pulling your foot out of mud that’s halfway to your knees. But when I grabbed him and pulled, it was more like pulling a hot knife out of butter. He just slid out of the water.
The current from the whirlpool was so strong that it had pulled off Morgan’s shoes and socks. I bundled him up in the other boys’ shirts and laid him in a wagon and took him home.
After we got home and told Mom what happened, I went back down to the ditch to get Morgan’s stuff. What I saw there made my heart stop. On the other end of the culvert was a grate that had been welded on. It was there to keep anything other than water from leaving the culvert. The grate was full of garbage, and nothing bigger than a leaf was getting through. Had Morgan been pulled into the culvert, he wouldn’t have come out. He would have been stopped by that grate and drowned.
I know it was the Holy Ghost who gave me the impression to go play with my brothers that day, and it was because of the Holy Ghost that I knew where my brothers were. I’m thankful I have the Holy Ghost with me to help protect me and those I love. And I’m thankful I listened when I was inspired to go play with my brothers.

Through harrowing experiences, he learned that the Lord cares for his Saints even in the midst of calamities. As fourteen-year-old Marion and his family were attempting to escape the perils of the Mexican revolution—taking with them only one trunk of belongings for the entire family—two rebel soldiers stopped them, took all of their money, and aimed their guns at them.
“I offered a prayer to my Heavenly Father to spare my life,” he recalled. “For some reason, these Mexicans did not fire, and we continued on safely to the railroad station. For the preservation of my life on this occasion I have always been very grateful to the Lord, and this experience has given me a desire to live in such a manner as to demonstrate to the Lord my appreciation.” (Instructor, July 1943, p. 401.)

When I joined the missionary preparation class, things didn’t go smoothly. I was battling personal conflicts and worried that I wouldn’t make a difference as a missionary. I felt more anxious every day.
I struggled with these feelings for a while and prayed to know if I really was good enough to serve.
One day, as I checked my email, I opened a message from ComeuntoChrist.org. There, in big, bold letters, were the words “You Are Enough!”
These words pierced my heart, and I felt comforted. My prayers had been answered! I realized that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are fully aware of our circumstances and can answer our prayers in the most personal ways.

It took about seven months from the time that Brooke first discovered our daughter—whom we had now named Taya—until we picked her up in southern China. During this time we had days filled with excitement and elation, but we also had some days filled with anxiety and frustration. Even with the conviction that we had both received, there were many uncertainties. Gratefully we also experienced ongoing assurance that we had made the right decision. And the day we met Taya for the first time brought us all the assurance we will ever need. [Photos of meeting Taya were shown.]

I kept a blog throughout the adoption experience. Here is what I wrote the day that we met Taya for the first time:

Well, the day we have been waiting so long for finally came! I don’t remember being this nervous in a long time. We took a bus thirty minutes from our hotel to where the local civil affairs people were meeting us with our new little girl. Earlier this morning our guide had explained that it would be a very tough day for all the kids being adopted—and so it was. They brought five kids in at the same time, and most were crying, as everything was new to all of them. Most of the adults were also crying, but for different reasons. We have not seen a picture of Taya since she was around 12 months old (over six or seven months ago). But when they brought her in the room, Brooke and I both looked at Taya and then at each other, and no words needed to be spoken. We knew she was ours, and oh, was she beautiful! It is a moment we will always remember.

Later that evening I completed the blog for that day by writing this:

As I reflect upon a pretty amazing day, I find myself also thinking back on the past couple of years and the process that we went through in getting here. . . . I certainly have had questions and fears come to mind throughout. . . . But if the feeling that I feel right now as I look at Taya is accurate, then she is going to be a huge blessing to our family. What a ride it will be!

And what a ride it has been! How grateful we are for the assurance we received in this process through the power of our Savior’s Atonement.

Jason and Alanea Hanna faced many financial questions when Jason lost his job. Should they relocate and find another job? Should they try to find a job where they were currently living? After considering several options, they asked the most important question of all: “What would the Lord have us do?”
“We studied talks by prophets and apostles on topics like debt, budgeting, and saving to try to figure out what the Lord wanted us to do,” Alanea explains. “We knew that the Lord’s plan was the best plan and that we would be blessed if we followed it.”
After prayer and contemplation, Jason and Alanea both decided to return to college and finish their bachelor’s degrees. They took out minimal student loans to pay for their education, and both worked full-time to provide for their other expenses. They coordinated their work schedules to ensure that one of them was home with their children. They budgeted carefully, spending their money on the essentials and eliminating fast food, cable TV, and new clothes. Jason even rode his bike to school and work to limit the costs of gasoline and car insurance.
Now Jason works as an engineer. Alanea also completed her degree and is currently fulfilling her responsibilities as a full-time mother of five children. They still live within their means, budget carefully, pay tithing, and live according to the financial counsel of Church leaders. “We’re grateful for the trial and the experience,” Alanea says. “It ended up being a great blessing in our lives and taught us that the Lord will always bless us if we are obedient.”

Several years ago, while serving as a bishop, I witnessed a group of youth discover their significance and divine purpose. They learned that “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.”1
Through ministering visits, these youth had become acquainted with Sister Orpha Cutler. She was a sweet elderly sister with failing health who lived alone in a small trailer. Her many needs provided a wonderful opportunity for young men to find themselves through serving her. Several activities included washing her windows, cleaning her trailer, and sitting in her front room and visiting with her. Over time, these young men formed a lasting bond with Sister Cutler. She had won them over.
Then one day, she received shocking news. She was diagnosed with terminal cancer and was given only a short time to live. This development was devastating! Within weeks, her condition worsened, and she was unable to attend sacrament meeting on a consistent basis. These young men became a spiritual lifeline for Orpha as they made ministering visits to her home and administered the emblems of the sacrament to her. She loved her time with them and especially the opportunity to renew her covenants.
As her condition progressively deteriorated, she moved to a nearby community and into an assisted living center where she received the care she needed and where a small group met each week for sacrament service. One day I received a telephone call from the center. A worker asked if I would bring the priests, or in Sister Cutler’s words “the boys”, to visit her and administer the sacrament. I told the worker we were honoured with the opportunity.
On Sunday, I informed the priests of Sister Cutler’s request. Without hesitation, they accepted the invitation.
Following our Sunday meetings, we made our way to the care center. During the drive, the young men spoke about recent sporting events, their upcoming exams, and mostly about the young women they wanted to take to the next school dance. It was a typical teenage conversation.
When we arrived at the center, we were greeted at the door by Sister Cutler’s concerned caregiver. With tears in her eyes, she frantically said, “Bishop Nattress, Orpha is getting weaker and weaker. She fades in and out, and I am afraid we are going to lose her!” She continued, “Her one desire has been to partake of the sacrament.”
She then eyed the young men standing behind me. They were dressed in white shirts and ties—worthy young men of God, holding His priesthood, honouring that priesthood. They were on the Lord’s errand. Through her tears, this worker said, “You look like angels!” She then led us to Orpha’s room.
Orpha’s condition was critical. She was lying very still in her bed. I knelt at her bedside, took her hand in mine, and said, “Sister Cutler, this is Bishop Nattress; I am here with the priests quorum. We have come to administer the sacrament.” She offered a faint smile and nodded positively.
The priests formed a semicircle as they knelt around her bed. One tiny piece of bread was placed on a small saucer. It was blessed, and the morsel was carefully placed in the side of her mouth. We knelt again. One sacrament cup full of water was then blessed, and a small drop of water was carefully administered.
This was a sacred moment. As we concluded the ordinance, Sister Cutler smiled and softly whispered, “Thank you.”
I looked around the room at these fine young men. They were not so different from the sons of Helaman. The words of Isaiah best describe them as they were, in fact, “mount[ed] up with wings as eagles.”2 They were truly on the Lord’s errand.
We all left that care center changed. We had participated in a sacred event. Sister Cutler had for the last time during her mortal existence covenanted with God that she would always remember Him. By so doing, the heavens were opened, and she was blessed again to have His promise to have His Spirit to always be with her—in sickness and even in death.
Our drive home was filled with silence. Eventually one young man broke the stillness when he simply said, “That was really good.” We returned home with a renewed understanding of what it truly means to take upon us the Saviour’s name.
Sister Cutler passed away a few days later—faithful and true to her covenants.

Recently two envelopes arrived at my office, sent by persons who preferred to remain anonymous. Each contained a number of one-hundred-dollar bills and a brief message expressing gratitude to God for His kind blessings and a desire that the money enclosed enable needy persons to receive their temple blessings. If these couples are viewing the conference, I am pleased to report that families in Bolivia and in Portugal will now be able to travel to temples in Lima, Peru, and Frankfurt, Germany, to fulfill this wish and achieve eternal blessings.

One day, just after it had rained in beautiful Nauvoo, Margarette McIntire and her older brother Wallace were walking to school.
Hurry up, Wallace, or we’ll be late.
I’m coming.
My boots are stuck, Margarette!
Mine are too. There’s too much mud.
The children found they couldn’t get out, so they started to cry, thinking they would have to stay there.
What’s this?
Brother Joseph!
We’re stuck.
Joseph pulled the two children out of the mud.
He cleaned the mud off their boots.
You look very pretty today, Margarette. Don’t worry about the mud—it will come off.
He dried their tears.
Cheer up, young man. You’re a very good older brother. Keep taking good care of your sister.
Margarette later recalled the experience: “Was it any wonder that I loved that great, good, and noble man of God?”
Off to school, now.
Thank you, Brother Joseph.
Good-bye!

David Oman McKay’s parents taught him at a very young age that he was a child of God and that his Heavenly Father loved him. They also taught him that he could always talk to his Heavenly Father.
In addition to having his own daily prayers, David knelt in daily prayer with his family.
One dark night there was a terrible thunderstorm. David was in bed, and he became very frightened. He knew that if he prayed, he would feel better, but he was afraid to get out of bed and kneel in prayer.
Finally, he gathered enough courage to kneel on the cold floor and pray for protection for himself and his family. As he was praying, David heard a voice say, “Don’t be afraid; nothing will hurt you.”
When he had finished praying, he was able to sleep because he knew that Heavenly Father would protect him and his family.
Many years later David O. McKay became the ninth President of the Church, and his strong testimony of the power of prayer was a good example for all the world.

Here's a little modern story that illustrates how forming and sticking to a plan helps to organize circumstances.

Years ago, my wife's little sister Cindy came to stay with us for a summer. She was a beautiful girl and later became "Days of `47" Queen in Utah. She was instantly popular among a number of local boys who invited her on many activities: to beach parties, on hiking and fishing dates, swimming, ventures on Waikiki. Since she was staying with us, I felt some responsibility for her and worried a little bit because I knew some of the boys she went with had a reputation as "fast movers." I queried Cindy one night after a date and asked what she thought of the boys she was going out with.

"Oh they're wonderful," she said. "They are so fun and humorous. They really know how to show a girl a good time. They'll be my island brothers forever."

I asked Cindy if any had made romantic moves on her.

"Oh no," she said. "They are all perfect gentlemen."

"Oh really?" I said. "And how did you keep these lover boys from pawing after you?"

"Oh that was easy. The moment I got in the car with each one of them at the beginning of the first date, I looked him squarely in the eye and said, 'There will be no kissing.' Of course they were so startled with this out-of-the-blue declaration, they didn't know exactly how to respond. But I smiled and kept my eyes on them, and pretty soon they laughed and said, 'That's cool.' And we had such a glorious time because that little passionate possibility was nipped in the bud in the very beginning."

When you talk now to Cindy, who has a husband and six children and one grandchild, she will tell you that she was never treated better, with more respect, or had more fun than she had in Hawaii.

Many students in the United States recite the Pledge of Allegiance out of habit, but Daniel Harmer took it seriously when his school in Idaho did not recite the pledge or observe a moment of silence; his previous school in Texas had done this every day. He wrote a letter to his student council, a local newspaper, and his principal. He suggested the pledge and a moment of quiet reflection every morning could create an atmosphere in which students would respect each other and their country more. Daniel’s high school has put his suggestion into practice, and his efforts were even recognized by Idaho’s governor.

I have just finished reading “Taking upon Us His Name” in the April 1982 New Era. It is exactly the article I needed to read at this time. Thank you!
My only daughter, Audrey, and I were both baptized in 1976. She was 15 at the time. She went on to Ricks College, where she met her husband. They were married in the Idaho Falls Temple in December of 1980, and they are expecting their first child in late June. I’m so very happy for them.
On the other hand, since Audrey is gone, I’m all alone in the Church. I have gone to church alone and prayed alone. My spirituality has slowly dwindled away. It’s not much fun when an individual doesn’t have anyone in the family to communicate with on a spiritual level. I have prayed for my spirituality to come back. This article by Sister Ardeth Kapp has increased my testimony quite a bit.
How frail our mortal testimony can be when we are not encouraged by others, be it family or friends. I realized while reading that article that I don’t really need outside help. What matters most is what I feel deep in my heart. All I need is to know that our Heavenly Father loves me unconditionally.
I will continue to pray that other members of my family will be touched by the Holy Spirit as Audrey and I were. I pray that they will someday soon know all about the only true Church here on the earth. I read the New Era from cover to cover every time it comes.
Marina DouganCalgary, Alberta, Canada

Several years ago in Osaka, Japan, I received a telephone call from one of the Japanese officers of the Church requesting an appointment. I invited him to my hotel room and there listened to one of the most intelligent and articulate young men I had ever met.
He was a college graduate. He had majored in a special field of science and was employed by a stable, conservative corporation. One of his classmates, who had been at the top of the graduating class in the same field, was employed by a young, progressive firm in Tokyo. Several times in recent months this classmate had tried to entice his friend to change jobs. One of the vice-presidents of the firm in Tokyo made contact with the Church member, saying he could set his own salary at three or four times what he was then making.
The response was, “If there is the slightest question in the minds of the officers of my church about my leaving Osaka, which would require my being released from my Church position, it doesn’t matter how much money you offer me, I will have no interest in your proposal.” The vice-president replied, “I am not a Christian. I know nothing about your religion, but you are the kind of man I want in my organization.”
Should he move from Osaka to Tokyo, which would require his release from his Church assignment? Of course, I assured him that he could serve the Lord in Tokyo as well as in Osaka.
He moved to Tokyo. Later, while visiting that city, I received another call from the same man. We visited for quite some time. He had become extremely successful. He had broadened his experiences and was now a consultant teaching top management personnel in major corporations how to operate their companies. His time was in great demand. He was earning a large income. But he was neglecting his Church work and his family responsibilities.
I told him I wouldn’t tell him what he should do, but that there was a scripture that would tell him if he truly was converted: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:33.) I sensed that this scripture might have caused a little antagonism; however, we parted as good friends.
A few weeks after I returned home, I received a letter from him. He said he had his priorities straightened out. He had resigned from the company. His first priority now would be his family and the Church, and his second priority would be employment. Setting priorities and then reviewing them to see that we are not straying is one of the most valuable lessons we can learn.

After the Liberty Jail experience, the Prophet gave fervent public testimony about the Book of Mormon to a congregation of about three thousand in Philadelphia. When Sidney Rigdon, in his remarks on that same occasion, seemed to neglect the Book of Mormon in favor of citing the Bible, Joseph took the pulpit and declared, “If nobody else had the courage to testify of so glorious a message from Heaven, and of the finding of so glorious a record, he felt to do it” (Words, p. 45). The atmosphere, according to one present, was electric.

This is not to say that Joseph had not earlier been clear and declarative regarding the Book of Mormon. For instance, in an 1834 sermon, Joseph observed, “Take away the Book of Mormon and the revelations, and where is our religion?” (Teachings, p. 71).

Before he met the missionaries, Brother Dupont said, he had been like a wanderer in a drought-ravaged land. Then suddenly he stumbled into a lake of water. The gospel was rich and refreshing to him, and he could not drink his fill. In his exuberance to immerse himself in his new-found treasure, he could not understand why others did not want to savor the same message. This lack of communication spilled into his marriage. His wife didn’t understand what had changed her husband.
As we ate, she told us of the war years, when he was bedridden. She had managed to find food for both of them, even during shortages. She had nursed him daily. Even after the war, he had required her constant care for several years before he gained the strength to walk. Then he had spent more years training and rehabilitating himself while she supported the family. No sooner had he started working again than two Americans began talking religion with him. Then he joined their church—he was the only member in town, and they baptized him in the river—and more and more of his life belonged to his church, not to her. She felt deprived, then embarrassed when parishioners laughed at her, the wife of the town fanatic.
President Dupont repeated over and over again that the Church was true, that he knew it was true, and that he would do whatever he could to share it with his wife. “But,” he said, “she just won’t listen.”
“Can’t you see?” I said one night after they had been sharp with each other. “What you’re really saying is that you love each other. Sister Dupont, all these years you’ve been asking your husband to spend more time with you. That’s important and it’s right. And President Dupont, all you want to do is share with your wife the thing that’s most precious to you. Right?”
He nodded yes. I turned to Sister Dupont.
“Can’t you see that he wants to share the gospel with you because he loves you?”
She didn’t say anything, but you could tell she was thinking. We excused ourselves quietly and went home.
Elder Granville’s prayer that night was straightforward and concerned.
“Please, Heavenly Father, help the Duponts to understand each other. They’re both good people.”
“Amen,” I said. And it sounded so good that I said it again in a whisper.
We had teaching appointments elsewhere for the next two weeks, and then we had to go to Bordeaux for district conference. Although we stopped to see President Dupont on branch business a couple of times, it was almost a month before we were asked back to the Duponts’ home. President Dupont delivered the invitation.
“You won’t believe it,” he said. “My wife’s been reading Church books! And she’s asking questions—good, honest questions. I try to answer them, but I get too pushy. She really wants to talk to you again.”
If we hadn’t had another teaching appointment, we might have rushed over right then.
“C’est incroyable!” Sister Dupont said the next time we all sat in the kitchen. “It’s incredible. Or it’s stupid! A 14-year-old boy can’t talk to God. And the Bible. It’s complete. Why should we need any more scriptures than we already have? And the priesthood. My husband’s never been to divinity school. Why should he be able to hold the priesthood?”
Good questions, all right. How could we handle this? I could imagine Elder Granville thinking this was more like the Sister Dupont of old. Maybe the niceness had been too good to last.
“Sister Dupont,” Elder Granville’s calm voice interrupted my thoughts, “we can answer all those questions for you. But we can’t answer them all at the same time. We have a series of discussions that will answer them one at a time. Would you be interested in listening to those discussions?”
She said yes.
How about that! I said to myself. There’s hope for this junior companion yet!
I wouldn’t exactly say that Sister Dupont became a golden investigator. But she did become our friend. She listened intently to the first discussion. She even joined us as her husband kneeled in prayer. And she invited us to dinner again the following Sunday. It was while we were finishing a serving of the thin mashed potatoes the French call purée that Elder Granville told Sister Dupont a story.
“Did you ever hear about the missionary who was eating dinner and asked his companion to pass the butter? The butter was right in front of him, but he couldn’t see it because it was so close.”
“What?”
“Simple. It’s like you and the gospel. All these years your husband has had it right here in front of you, but you couldn’t see it because it was so close. You keep asking where the butter is when it’s right in front of your plate.”
It may not have been the strongest analogy, but Elder Granville was trying. When we got home that night, he brought me a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Why don’t you sign this with me?” he said, turning to a dedication on the flyleaf. “It’s for Sister Dupont.”
I looked at what he’d written.
“Voici le beurre,” it said. “Here is the butter.”
During the next two months Sister Dupont read the book—at least, she read more than half of it. And she had two more discussions, and prayed, and was talking to her husband more and more. And he was seeming happier and happier all the time. That’s when my transfer letter came.
I was moving north to Brittany where I would finish my mission. Elder Granville would be getting his third senior. The letter had been delayed by postal strikes. I would have to catch the first train in the morning.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to leave, Elder Granville,” I said. “We’ve been working so well here. The branch president’s happy and excited again, and the members are working with him. We’ve got some inactives coming out to church and a couple of solid investigators. The Marcellas family is getting ready for baptism. I guess I’ll just have to leave it up to you.”
A knock at the door.
“President Dupont!” Elder Granville greeted the visitor. “Come in, come in.”
President Dupont looked at me.
“I heard about the transfer,” he said. “I know you’re leaving tomorrow. My wife wants you to come say good-bye.”
There was a lot of packing and farewelling to take care of, but I knew I had to visit his wife.
“Of course we’ll be by,” I said.
The living room was dark, illuminated by a single bare bulb as many French living rooms are. The wallpaper, however, was a bright combination of browns, yellows, and tans. Sister Dupont was seated on the orange couch, a tray of cookies and hot chocolate before her.
“Hello, elders,” she said. “Have a seat. What’s this about Elder Romney leaving?”
“I’m afraid that’s right. Tomorrow morning.”
“That means there will be a new missionary here, too.”
“That’s right. Elder Taylor. He’s from New York.”
“I guess I’ll have to get to know him, too.”
I could see the smile on President Dupont’s face.
“I hope you will,” I said.
“Will you write to us?”
“Of course I’ll keep in touch,” I promised. “Trust me.”
“If you can’t trust the elders, who can you trust?” she said.
I thought I might cry.
I did keep in touch, especially five months later when I got home from my mission. It was hard, and President Dupont wrote to me more than I wrote to him. But we did exchange photos (I still have a nice picture of the Duponts with their grandchildren on vacation on the Spanish coast), and Christmas cards, and news of our families. Whatever I sent, even a postcard, I always got letters back, scrawled out in President Dupont’s longhand. He would let me know when he heard from one of the elders, especially from Elder Granville. He always included greetings from his wife, but I never received anything written personally by her. Other missionaries told me that she remained friendly and supported her husband, but she never joined the Church. Every once in a while I would write to her personally and bear my testimony to her through the mail.
I’ve been home for several years now, and this week I received an unusual letter from France. The address was strange, the handwriting unfamiliar. I opened it before I got to my desk.
“Dear Elder Romney,” it began, “I’ve wanted to write to you many times over the years, but I always figured my husband kept us in contact with you. Now my husband is gone. I wanted to let you know so that you could tell the other missionaries. He loved them all so much. Let them know the Church members held a funeral for him.
“I remember much of what you both told me about life after death. Perhaps my husband is there waiting for me, as you said he would be. I never did understand all you tried to tell me, all that he wanted to share with me, but I know you both believed it was true. I’m living with my daughter and her family now. Please write to me if you will.”
You know I will, Sister Dupont. You know I will.

Valeria Pontelli of Río Gallegos, Santa Cruz, Argentina, didn’t set out to convert her friend. She simply lived her standards with conviction. Because she is a member of the Church, there were certain things she did and certain things she didn’t do, and all her friends knew it. One of those friends was Paula Alvarez, who always watched Valeria closely and was impressed with how faithfully and consistently she lived her beliefs.
Paula had a wonderful family, but they didn’t have the gospel—at least not until Valeria came on the scene. Paula remembers, “Valeria was not ashamed of the testimony she had. She knew who she was. She knew she was a daughter of a royal and eternal King, a daughter of God.”
That knowledge and confidence impressed Paula’s uncle, Moises. He began investigating the Church and meeting with the missionaries. The day he announced he was getting baptized, Paula was a little shocked. She hadn’t expected her uncle to be willing to make such big changes in his life.
The whole family was invited to the baptism, but Paula was hesitant to attend. She didn’t know what to expect. Finally, her family convinced her to accompany them to her uncle’s baptism. Paula remembers, “As we witnessed my uncle entering the waters of baptism, the Spirit touched my heart. The impact was deep, even undeniable. In that moment I also wanted to commit myself to God and do whatever He might ask of me.”
“May I speak to you?” Paula said, pulling Valeria aside. “I felt something special at my uncle’s baptism,” she explained quietly.
Valeria told her friend she had felt the promptings of the Spirit. “He’s telling you that you need to follow your uncle’s example.”
“But I can’t do it alone,” said Paula.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” assured her friend. Before long, Paula and her whole family were meeting with the missionaries and accepting the invitation to be baptized. Their lives changed forever.
Paula says, “The standards I always saw my friend live were now mine. My friend’s testimony was now mine.” Not long after, Paula began to feel an intense desire to share with others what she had been given. When she had been a member for one year, she filled out her mission papers, met with her priesthood leaders, and received a call to serve in the Chile Santiago East Mission.
Valeria says, “As I watched my friend prepare to serve her mission, the Spirit touched my heart. I wanted to commit myself to serve God the way she was.”
“May I speak to you?” This time it was Valeria who had pulled Paula aside. “I’ve felt something special as you have been preparing to leave on your mission.”
Paula told her friend the same thing her friend had once told her: “It’s the Spirit telling you what you need to do.”
Valeria’s plans hadn’t included a full-time mission. She wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. “I can’t do it alone,” she told Paula.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” her friend assured.
Later, when Valeria opened her call, she was surprised to be going to the same mission as her friend. Paula began serving in October 2002; Valeria joined her in February 2003.
During their missions they saw each other quite often at conferences and activities. They enjoyed catching up and sharing news from their separate areas. They never dreamed that in November 2003 they would be assigned as companions. Their friendship bloomed into a relationship that will last forever. They have gone from being friends to sisters in the gospel to missionary companions.
Sister Valeria Pontelli says, “At first I was afraid that working together might damage our friendship, but that fear faded the first day. This chance to work together has only strengthened our relationship, and our friendship has helped us in the work.”
Others agree. One woman, who used to be less active but has come back to church because of the efforts of these two missionaries, says, “You can’t help but love them because you can see the love they feel for each other and for everyone around them. They are my angels.”
It was hard for these two companions to say good-bye in March 2004, when Sister Paula Alvarez’s mission came to an end. She was nervous about returning to Argentina and all that the future might bring. These two sisters talked about her concerns as they walked to their appointments together. “I can’t do it alone,” said Sister Alvarez.
“Don’t worry,” came the familiar words from her companion, Sister Pontelli. “I’ll help you.”

It was Claire’s favorite part of the school day—show-and-tell. Today it was Jackie’s and Michael’s turn. Jackie went to the front of the classroom and held up a snow globe. Its base was covered with flowers, and inside a carousel horse seemed to float in a sea of sparkles. Jackie said that her grandmother gave her this special gift for her eighth birthday. She carefully cranked the key at the bottom of the globe, and the class “ooed” and “aahed” as a beautiful tune played.
Jackie smiled and sat down. Then Michael came forward, empty-handed. Michael didn’t talk a lot, and he seemed sad most of the time. A few of the children snickered as Michael went to the front. Claire felt a knot in her stomach. She felt sorry for Michael.
Michael dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a tiny wooden turtle. “This turtle is from my dad,” Michael said softly. “He’s in the military, and I haven’t seen him for a long time. He sent this to me from Hawaii.” Michael looked down for a moment, then said firmly, “It’s very special to me.” The class was quiet as Michael went back to his seat.
All day, Claire thought about Michael. She thought about how she would feel if her dad were gone for a long time.
When school ended, Claire got on the bus. She sat across from Michael. She watched him play with his precious turtle. She wanted to talk to him, but she didn’t know what to say. As Michael was getting off the bus, Claire noticed that his turtle was still on the seat. She jumped up, grabbed the turtle, and hurried to the door.
“Michael,” she called. “You forgot your turtle!”
Michael looked surprised. “Thanks,” he said.
The next day, Michael sat behind Claire on the bus. Claire smiled at him, and he smiled back. When Claire got home, she discovered a plastic bag in a pocket on her backpack. Inside the bag were a note and a pretty blue necklace. The note said,
Dear Claire,
Thank you so much for returning Michael’s turtle. It reminds him of his dad, so he takes it with him everywhere. It takes an honest person to return something that is lost. This is a necklace that Michael’s father sent from Hawaii. I want you to have it. Thank you again.
Mrs. Clark (Michael’s mother)
Claire put the necklace on and admired the blue beads. Her whole body seemed to fill up with warmth. For the rest of the year, Claire talked more with Michael and they became friends.