Gospel Story Finder

Another Mormon boy was sent east to an officers’ training school. A new commanding officer came into the camp, and they put on a banquet to honor him. There, by every plate, was a cocktail glass. When the proper time came, every one of those potential officers stood up with his cocktail glass to toast that incoming officer. All but one boy, and he raised a glass of milk.
Well, the officer saw it. He made a beeline for that boy after the entertainment was over, and he said, “Why did you toast me with a glass of milk?”
“Well, officer,” he said, “I’ve never touched liquor in my life. I don’t want to touch it; my parents wouldn’t want me to touch it; and I didn’t think you would want me to either. And I wanted to toast you, so I thought you would be satisfied if I toasted you with what I am accustomed to drinking.”
The officer said, “You report at headquarters in the morning,” and told him what time.
I suppose that boy spent a sleepless night, but when he went into the officer’s quarters the next morning, the officer assigned him a place on his staff with this explanation: “I want to surround myself with men who have the courage to do what they think is right regardless of what anybody else thinks about it.”

Recently Sister Nelson and I were in Denmark during the commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the Church in Scandinavia. Between meetings, we took a few hours to search for villages where two of my father’s grandparents were born. They were among the early converts to the Church in Denmark. Father’s paternal grandmother’s family lived in the western part of the country. His paternal grandfather’s family lived in northern Denmark. Thanks to a good driver and a superb map, we found each town on our list and obtained treasured information. During the entire journey, my hands were riveted to that valuable map so essential to achieve our goals.

In our journey in Denmark, we met an unexpected detour that led us astray. In order to get back on course, we stopped the car. We studied the map with great care. Then we made the necessary course correction.

A few years ago, I had a unique opportunity. In April of 2013, I got to run in the Boston Marathon. In order to run the Boston, you have to earn the right to run it by successfully completing a qualifying marathon in the year prior to the Boston. Qualifying times are adjusted based on your age and gender. My designated qualifying time was 3 hours and 45 minutes, which translates to an average pace of about 8-and-a-half-minute miles. I tried to qualify for the Boston in the Top of Utah Marathon in Logan, Utah, in 2011 but missed my qualifying time by 46 seconds. While I was disappointed, I continued to train throughout the winter. I changed one key strategy and then ran the Ogden Marathon in May 2012. This time I met my qualifying time with a few minutes to spare.
So what was the strategy that ultimately contributed to my qualification? I changed my pacing. In my first qualification attempt--the Top of Utah Marathon--my strategy was to go out and run as fast as I could.
My husband, Eric, who is a fast and accomplished runner in his own right, ran out in front of me, and I did my best to stay right behind him. It felt amazing for the first half of the race. We were flying down the mountain and passing people right and left, but unfortunately this strategy came with a price. By the halfway point, I had expended most of my energy and ended up having very little energy to complete the race, let alone meet my qualifying time.
Eight months later, in the Ogden Marathon, I changed my approach.
I promised myself that I would not allow myself to run faster than an eight-minute mile pace. There were several times during the race that I would look down at my GPS, and I was going too fast. I had to make myself slow down. This was really hard! It's hard to allow people to pass you when you know you are capable of running fast too. But the goal is not to just run fast; the goal is to endure to the end. By slowing down the pace just a little, I increased my endurance. My new strategy paid off, just like the classic fable about a tortoise and a hare. The hare runs in short, distracted bursts. The tortoise is slower but more consistent in pacing, and the consistency ends up winning the race.

A contrasting experience occurred while I was serving as a patriarch here on BYU campus, when a young woman came for a blessing accompanied by her parents. During the time we shared that day, this young woman received a wonderful blessing assuring her of abundant and powerful gifts she would enjoy at the hand of the Lord. Unknown to me, this young woman and her parents were anxiously hoping for one particular blessing. An older daughter in this family had died before marriage and childbearing, and the parents had noted that there had been no mention of marriage or children in that daughter’s blessing. They therefore had reached the conclusion that the absence of these subjects in her blessing foreshadowed her death before marriage. Thus they anxiously waited to hear the words eternal marriage in this second daughter’s blessing, but these words were not spoken.

The family said nothing at the time but agonized all the way home that the blessing had not included the promise of marriage. No sooner did they arrive home than they telephoned me. So focused were they on the hope for a promise of marriage, so eager to hear the exact words, they were unable to appreciate the loving and generous promises contained in the blessing the girl had received. I tried to reassure them in a number of ways. First, I cited statements of the Brethren that the absence of reference to a specific blessing does not mean the blessing will not be given. Second, I pointed out that even if a specific promise of eternal marriage had been stated, there was no assurance that it would be fulfilled in mortality. Third, I noted that the wonderful promises of her blessing, so rich and so plentiful, should afford them great joy and strong personal assurance that their daughter would live to receive all the blessings they desired for her.

Despite my best efforts to help them see that the blessing was a beautiful gift from the Lord, their hearts were so set on hearing a particular promise that they remained somewhat disappointed. Because of the goodness of this family, I am sure that by now they have come to see God’s hand in the gift to their daughter. Their initial reaction, however, in sharp contrast to that of the young woman I first mentioned, denied the gifts of God and made it difficult for them to see this blessing as a manifestation of God’s love for her, reducing her opportunity to profit from the blessing, as Moroni has counseled us to do.

A friend of mine is having a difficult time in her life. Earlier this year she was struggling, and I didn’t know how to help her. In my prayers I asked my Heavenly Father to bless her and to help me to be her friend. One day she became angry with me, and I did not understand. I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t want to say something wrong that might ruin our friendship, especially because this was a time when I felt she needed me. But after she became angry with me, I thought it would be too hard. I was considering giving up because I was discouraged.
One afternoon in seminary I came across a scripture in Mosiah that said: “And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, in faith, believing that ye shall receive, O then, how ye ought to impart of the substance that ye have one to another” (Mosiah 4:21).
I knew then that she needed and still needs of the substance I can impart: my friendship and my testimony. I decided then that I would not give up on my friend. I talk to her every day, remember her in my prayers, and have faith that something positive will come from my efforts. I am so grateful that I prayed and received this guidance through the scriptures.

When the bishop asked me to share my testimony in the sacrament meeting after my baptism, I felt scared and inadequate. I had never spoken in front of a congregation.
“Is this really necessary?” I asked the bishop.
“Yes!” he said.
In sacrament meeting, I testified about how Heavenly Father loves me and how He answered my prayers by helping me find the restored gospel. When I stood at the podium, I felt the Holy Spirit so strongly. I felt blessed to be a member of Christ’s true Church. My heart was full of happiness and peace. Heavenly Father turned my fear of speaking into a beautiful experience.
The next month I had the opportunity to give a talk in sacrament meeting. I felt scared again—who was I to teach those who knew more about the gospel? But I prayed for the Holy Spirit to help me speak. Once again I felt the Spirit touch me, and I received the impression that Heavenly Father was pleased with my baptism and that my sins were forgiven.
I know from my experiences that I am a precious child of God and He loves me. Speaking in sacrament meeting was a valuable opportunity for me to serve God by testifying that Jesus Christ has restored His Church upon the earth.
Pamella Sari, baptized in Indonesia in 2012

One morning in 1831 a young schoolteacher named William McLellin heard that some men on their way to Missouri would be preaching about a new book that was described as “a Revelation from God.” He hurried to hear them. He listened to David Whitmer testify that he had “seen an Holy Angel who made known the truth of this record to him.” He deeply desired to know whether their testimonies were true. He followed them 400 miles (644 km) to Independence, Missouri, where he met and interviewed other witnesses, including Martin Harris and Hyrum Smith.4

William interviewed Hyrum for hours. “I inquired into the particulars of the coming forth of the record,” William recorded. The next morning, after praying to be directed to the truth, he realized that he was “bound as an honest man to acknowledge the truth and validity of the Book of Mormon.”5

In the following years, William’s faith was tested and strengthened by his choices and by the persecution the Latter-day Saints suffered. When Saints in Jackson County, Missouri, were attacked, William’s friend Hiram Page, one of the Eight Witnesses, was clubbed and whipped by men who said they would let him go if he would deny the Book of Mormon. “How can I deny what I know to be true?” Hiram said, and they beat him again.

William was strengthened by Hiram’s testimony—and understandably terrified of being beaten. When William heard that men in the area were offering a reward for the capture of him and Oliver Cowdery, they left town to hide in the woods with David Whitmer. There William interviewed two of the Three Witnesses. “I have never seen an open vision in my life,” he said, “but you men say you have, and therefore you positively know. Now you know that our lives are in danger every hour, if the mob can only catch us. Tell me in the fear of God, is that Book of Mormon true?”

“Brother William,” Oliver said, “God sent his holy angel to declare the truth of the translation of it to us, and therefore we know. And though the mob kill us, yet we must die declaring its truth.”

David added, “Oliver has told you the solemn truth, for we could not be deceived. I most truly declare to you its truth!”6

Years ago, when I was only six, I became acquainted with my cousin, a six-year-old girl named Roxane. Some time before I saw Roxane, I was informed that I was getting a new sister. It was she. We were adopting my own cousin for reasons unknown to me at that time.
The first month of our sisterly relationship was quite peaceful. I suppose all new things take a little getting used to. I shared a room with my little sister Deanna and my new sister Roxane. Things were different for Deanna and me, as we had to get used to sharing a bedroom with another person. This created hassles over such issues as who got which bed and who got the most closet space.
In a short time I developed a rage of jealousy towards my new sister. She had fit nicely between Deanna and me; and as the saying goes, “two was company, three’s a crowd.” Constant arguments arose, and sides were being taken. Hardly a day went by that the three of us didn’t get into some kind of argument. And I can recall that most of my arguments were with my new sister.
Not only did I forever argue with her, but I condemned her for coming to live with my family, especially when she started to call our mother, “mom” instead of “auntie.”
Many times I would go out of my way to make sure she did not use anything of mine. If she did, it meant immediate war. Any time she would do something I thought challenging, I would instantly prove that I could do what she was doing and do it even better. For years I diminished her self-image with rude remarks and strained to outdo her at everything.
About four years ago I started to wonder why I had such feelings towards Roxane. My only conclusion was that I was jealous of the attention she had taken from me when she came to live with us. At that time I also realized the damage I had done to Roxane’s self-confidence and pride. I felt so ashamed and am still ashamed of the actions of my younger years. Never once did I put myself in her shoes and try to experience what I was making her go through. What pain she must have suffered. What a feeling of not belonging I must have given her. It would have been difficult enough for her to come live in a house of strangers without having me on her back. Now the problem was how to let her know that I loved her and was so sorry.
Roxane, Deanna, and I were all at girls’ camp that year. It was the night for testimony meeting, a beautiful night, and the Spirit of the Lord was so strong that almost every girl was in tears. Wanting to bear my testimony but being the type of person to break down crying at the first word, I bravely stood and started to speak. I bore my testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, of the love I have for the Lord, and of the growth I had received during the week at camp. At this point I had shed many tears and was ready to sit and try to settle down a bit. But suddenly I felt an urge to express my love for my sisters. It felt awkward saying “I love you,” since I had never said those words to them before. But it felt so good. It was as if I had unloaded a barrel of bricks that I had been carrying around for so long. I felt free from a burden that had been there for many years. Satisfied, I sat down. Moments after I sat down I felt two arms around my neck and heard a familiar voice say, “I love you.” Seconds later I felt two more arms around my neck and heard another familiar voice say, “I love you.” It was beautiful. I was full of love for both of them and was so thankful I was inspired to express my love for them that special night.
Now, 11 years after I first set eyes on my cousin, I am eternally grateful to my Heavenly Father for giving me another sister. Roxane has helped me to grow and understand so many things. We are now both 17 years old and are the best of friends. Today we went to a softball game and cheered for all the guys. Yesterday we went to the movies and spilled popcorn all over the people in front of us. Tonight we will go to the dance. And where there was once a crowd, there is now a circle of love.

It was a service project like no other for the youth of the Tucson 17th Ward. Missionaries to the deaf had recently arrived in their area and decided to put on a conference for the hearing-impaired in southern Arizona. It was up to the youth to take care of the children while their parents were in workshops.
“If we had not had the youth, we never could have done the deaf conference,” said full-time missionary Sister Lynnette Johnson.
The youth did much more than just baby-sit. They had children’s workshops of their own, which included pantomimed scenes from the Bible with labels and no words; and making spider cookies, puppets, and clay dough figures, among other things. The children were so thrilled they wanted to come back the next week.
“It was exciting to see the kids talking with their hands and being able to understand it,” said Susanne Walston, 17. “It was neat to see the children do things we didn’t know how to do, and they taught us some words in sign language.

In an interview with the patriarch, I learned that his wife was seriously ill, and he struggled to provide for her care. After addressing the issue with the stake president, we gave her a priesthood blessing. I inquired of the patriarch how many patriarchal blessings he gives on average.

“Eight to ten,” he said.

I asked, “Per month?”

He replied, “Per week!” I counseled him that doing that many per weekend was not wise.

“Elder Godoy,” he said, “they keep coming every week, including new members and many youths.” Again, no complaints—only a smiling face and a grateful heart.

“Have a soda, Marco,” Mike said.
I looked up, surprised. I was pretty sure he said my name funny on purpose, but it was nice of him to give me a soda. My family had just moved to the United States from Italy, and it was my first day at my new school. It had been OK, but I was glad to be on the bus going home.
“Shake it first,” Mike said. “It makes it taste better.” The boys sitting next to him giggled.
I wasn’t sure what was so funny about opening a can of soda. In Italy I had always drunk soda from a bottle. But things were different here. So I shook the can.
“Harder!” the boys yelled. I shook the can harder.
Then I lifted the tab.
Pffssssst!
Orange soda squirted all over! Everyone screamed as the soda shot into the air, hit the ceiling, and rained down on the seats around me. The bus driver slammed on the brakes. I couldn’t understand what he said as he marched toward me, but his face said I was in trouble. All I could do was hold up my dripping can of soda and point to the boys laughing at me. The driver yelled at them instead. Mike glared at me, and I sunk even lower in my seat.
Finally the driver sat back down and started driving. At last we reached my stop. I hurried off the bus, embarrassed and sticky. Soda trickled down my forehead as I ran up to our apartment. This had been a rotten first day.
“Why do kids have to be so mean?” I asked my mom as I wiped sticky orange soda off my bag. Mamma helped me dry off my wet books on the balcony.
“Usually it’s because they’ve been hurt.”
“But I didn’t do anything to them,” I said.
“When someone is mean to you, it’s easy to feel like being mean to others,” Mamma said. “It’s called a vicious cycle.”
“But I wasn’t the one being mean.”
“Maybe other people have been mean to those boys, and they decided to be mean too. But you can choose the right even if someone does something mean to you. You can start a good cycle.”
A few weeks later, my brother Tony had a birthday party with cake, ice cream, and soda. When my brother reached for his can of soda, I knew just the funny trick to play on him. “Shake it!” I said.
Tony shook his soda. “Now what?” he asked.
I was just about to tell him to open it. But then I pictured Tony and his birthday cake both covered in sticky soda. The trick didn’t seem so funny anymore. It hadn’t even been funny the first time.
“Don’t open it!” I said. “It will spray all over you.” I handed him a new can. I didn’t want to ruin his day.
Tony smiled as he opened the new can of soda. Then he cut a piece of cake and handed it to me.
This is a better cycle to start, I thought as I ate my cake.

“It’s time for our friendly visitor!” Sister Palmer said.
Elijah could hardly stay in his seat. He was so excited.
“Who will it be?” whispered Lily Kate.
“I don’t know,” Elijah whispered back.
Sometimes a special visitor came to Primary. It was always someone different, but the visitor usually talked about a story from the Friend magazine. That’s why Sister Palmer called him a friendly visitor.
One time the visitor was dressed up like a farmer and read a story about a boy who took a watermelon without asking.
Elijah stared at the door, waiting. All of a sudden, a tall man with a black helmet and a vest came through the Primary door.
“It’s a pilot!” whispered Brinkley.
“That’s my dad!” said Lily Kate.
Brother Owen was a helicopter pilot. He asked Lily Kate to come to the front of the room and pretend to fly a helicopter with him. Lily Kate put on a helmet and safety gear, and she and her dad started to fly. They listened to the control tower on the radio so they would know which way to go and where to land. It was so much fun pretending to fly through the clouds!
Then Brother Owen looked at Elijah.
“I have time for one more flight,” he said. “Do you want to try?”
Elijah nodded. He jumped up from his seat and ran to the front of the room.
Brother Owen helped Elijah put on his gear and flight gloves. They got ready for takeoff. But this time Brother Owen said they didn’t need to listen to the control tower. He said the weather was beautiful and they knew how to fly.
Elijah held out his hands like he was steering the helicopter. It was great! They made noises like they were flying through the air. Zoom!
“Oh no!” said Brother Owen. “A tree! Look out!”
Elijah tried to fly away from the tree, but it was too late. Brother Owen shook their chairs as they pretended to crash to the ground.
“I guess we made a mistake, huh?” asked Brother Owen.
Elijah nodded.
“I guess we should have listened to the control tower,” Brother Owen said. He turned to the other kids. “Do you know why it’s important to listen to the tower?”
“So we can have a good flight and not crash into things,” said Lily Kate.
“You’re right,” said Brother Owen. “The control tower has a computer that can see everything. The control tower tells the pilots if they are going the right way. They also make sure there’s no danger ahead.”
“Like really tall trees,” Elijah said.
“Exactly!” said Brother Owen. “And guess who is like a control tower for us? He helps us choose the right and teaches us important things in general conference.”
“The prophet!” one of the kids called out.
“That’s right! Like a control tower, President Monson can see the big picture.” Brother Owen held up a picture of President Monson from the Friend magazine. “He gets revelation from our Heavenly Father to help us stay on the right path. He warns us if there are dangers ahead. When we listen to our prophet, we can be safe and happy, just like the pilots who listen to their control tower.”
Brother Owen gave the kids a salute.
“Time to fly home,” he said. Then he disappeared through the Primary doors just as fast as he had come in.
Elijah liked all of the special friendly visitors. But this had been his favorite one of all.

“Come on!” I said, impatiently swinging my keys around my index finger. “We’re both going to be late if you don’t hurry up!”
My 17-year-old sister slid off of the bed where she had been lying facedown. We were late for our summer jobs, and she was moving agonizingly slow. It seemed like she was always trying to annoy me. Born 11 months apart, my sister and I could be best friends or best enemies. I sighed and harassed her, trying to get her to move faster.
She limped slowly to the car, saying she didn’t feel well. “She’s so dramatic,” I thought to myself as I pulled up to the fast food restaurant where she worked. “You’re not that sick,” I said as she staggered out of the car. Sometimes having a sister could be so aggravating.
That night when I got home, my mother opened the door. She had been waiting up for me. Her eyes were red and swollen. “Your sister tried to commit suicide. She took a bunch of pills …”
“No!” I remembered the last words I had said to her. She must have been thinking that I wouldn’t even care.
The next months were a blur for our family—trying to prove how much we loved her, trying to give her a reason to live. We prayed and fasted; we sought priesthood counsel and blessings. I watched my father’s hair turn grey and my mother’s face sag with worry.
My sister! Though at times we drove each other crazy, she was my best friend. I didn’t know she was feeling so desperate. I thought of all the teasing remarks I had made in the last few months. Instead of supporting her as a family member should, I had been making the problem worse.
Although I knew what she had done was her choice, I couldn’t help agonizing over how I could have helped her if I had known. Tears rolled down my cheeks as my mind flooded with memories of growing up together. The ache made my heart feel hollow.
I never realized until that moment how powerful words could be. Perhaps if I had used my words to support my sister instead of teasing her, she would have opened her heart. Then I would have realized she needed me to be her friend.
I determined I would be that friend. I began to follow Paul’s admonition in the scriptures to “be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you” (Ephesians 4:32). As I did so, I noticed a change both in my sister and in myself. She was grateful for the little ways I showed my love for her. But I was also blessed. Being kind to her made me feel happier and more confident in myself.
Eventually my sister’s medications were able to calm the turmoil that raged inside her. She had a chemical imbalance in her brain that affected her moods drastically. Her hormones became more balanced, and she achieved a sort of stability, although she would continue to struggle with the effects of that horrific time.
Because I almost lost her, I now cherish the time we have together and try to be more like the Savior when I interact with all my family members. I savor each new year with my sister as a gift. Sometimes when we visit each other we just laugh and laugh because it feels so good to be together. The time I can spend with my family brings me a deep sense of joy.
I have learned to hold on to family with all my might. I will fight to keep the relationships strong. Those relationships are a gift from God to bring us joy and bless us in times of need. Family relationships are precious. Life is precious. I will savor these gifts while they are mine.

We see great blessings as we follow direction from prophets. I remember a very significant example that occurred less than three weeks after my wife, Jill, and I were married. We attended a devotional where the President of the Church at the time, Spencer W. Kimball, spoke about marriage.1 It seemed as if he were speaking directly to us. That one talk helped us set some patterns as we began our marriage and family, and it has helped us avoid the pitfalls the Lord inspired him to warn against. I have reflected over the years how blessed we were to receive that guidance at such a crucial time for us. Now, 47 years later, we are still being blessed because of that counsel we received as a young married couple.

Years ago while serving as a mission president, I received a phone call from the parents of one of our beloved missionaries informing me about the death of his sister. I remember, in the tenderness of that moment, that missionary and I discussed God’s marvelous plan of salvation for His children and how this knowledge would comfort him.

Although he was stunned and saddened by that adversity, this missionary—through his tears and with faith in God—rejoiced in his sister’s life. He expressed unwavering confidence in the tender mercies of the Lord. Resolutely, he told me that he would continue to serve his mission with all faith and diligence in order to be worthy of the promises that God had for him and his family. In this time of need, that faithful missionary turned his heart to God, placed all of his trust in Him, and renewed his commitment to serve the Lord with faith and with all diligence.

I was 22 years old when I faced the hardest decision I would ever make. The little blue plus sign did not seem real. I wasn’t ready to tell my family; instead, I turned to a friend. She accompanied me to a health-care unit to confirm my fears. My friend, trying to help, brought up abortion as a way to resolve my situation. She said that it could be my forever secret and that this way, I wouldn’t have to tell my family or the father of the baby.
Later, alone in my room, I thought about what my friend had said. An overwhelming feeling came, and I realized that I could not take this baby’s life away.1 I had made a choice that had led to this pregnancy, and now I needed to give this baby life so she could make her own choices.
Somehow I mustered the courage to tell my mom the news. Though disappointed in my actions, she supported me through everything. I also reached out to the father, who brought up adoption as an option. I hadn’t thought about it before then. Various choices swirled in my thoughts as my mom and I went to one of my first ultrasounds. The image on the screen showed my baby waving. In that moment, I knew that I needed to do whatever was best for my child.
I had fallen away from God for a long time, and I didn’t know if I even believed in Him anymore. But after that ultrasound, I fell to my knees and prayed, “What do I do, Father?”
My answer came slowly and softly, but at one point I shared with my mom the impression I felt: “This baby doesn’t feel like mine.” I began to look into adoption and eventually realized that this was the answer. I had felt the promise of Doctrine and Covenants 112:10: “Be thou humble; and the Lord thy God shall lead thee by the hand, and give thee answer to thy prayers.”
I once again prayed with all my heart when it was time to meet the adoptive family. The meeting went well, but additional confirmation came when my dad, who had not been fully supportive of the adoption, asked the potential adoptive family if they could really love the baby as their own. The adoptive father answered with such a strong conviction: “We are all God’s children. It doesn’t matter how our children come to us; they are ours, and we love them.” That was when everyone, including my dad, felt that this was the right thing to do.
Everything seemed to just fall into place. Their family and mine have grown to be one big family. We celebrate birthdays and holidays together and gather for Sunday dinners. Following my repentance and the strengthening of my faith, I was able to see my daughter sealed to her parents and older sister in the temple. I have seen God’s love for me as He has helped me through my struggles, and I have seen His love for my daughter in placing her with her forever family.
Making the choice was not easy, but God has strengthened me. I know “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philippians 4:13).

It seems that a small boy was trying to lift a heavy stone, but couldn’t budge it. His father, watching very interestedly, said, “Are you sure you’re using all of your strength?”
“Yes, I am!” the boy cried.
“No, you’re not,” said the father. “You haven’t asked me to help you.”
… There is a personal and loving God who knows all of the plays. He understands the game of life. He understands you and me. And He understands what you and I need now to help in our lives. Talking to Him is an easy thing, really. All you have to do is call time-out. Say to yourself, “I’ve had it. I need help.” and be prepared to listen.—Paul H. Dunn

One such couple was called to serve in Canada. During their meetings on their first Sunday, they introduced themselves. While doing so, the elder referred to his wife as his “sweetheart of forty-one years.”

In that congregation were some couples who were having marital difficulties. Because they had the chance to see in the ensuing months what a happy marriage could really be like, they were influenced to change their lives. One of them later said to this missionary couple, “Do you know why you were sent to this mission? It was to save our marriage.”

Just by being there and showing love for each other, they were able to exert a wonderful influence.

In the Philippines today we have more than 55,000 members of the Church. We have sixteen strong stakes and four missions. It is one of the more productive proselyting areas in the world. When the history of the work in the Philippines is written, it must include the story of Sister Maxine Grimm, a girl from Tooele, Utah, who served with the Red Cross in the Pacific campaign of the Second World War. She married an American army officer, and after the war they established their home in Manila. She did much to teach the gospel to others; she pleaded that missionaries be sent. Her husband had legal work done and did many other things to make it possible for the missionaries to come. It would have been much easier for them to have simply gone along their way, making money and enjoying the fruits of it; but Sister Grimm was unceasing in her efforts and pleas.

At the time, I had responsibility for the work in Asia and I carried her pleas to the First Presidency, who, in 1961, authorized the extension of formal missionary work to that land. In May 1961 we held a meeting in the Philippines to begin the work. We had no place to meet and received permission from the American Embassy to do so at the American Military Cemetery on the outskirts of Manila.

There, where are solemnly remembered the sacrifices of more than 50,000 men who gave their lives in the cause of freedom, we gathered together at 6:30 in the morning. Sister Grimm played a little portable organ she had carried through the campaigns of the Pacific War, and we sang the songs of Zion in a strange land. We bore testimony together and invoked the blessings of heaven on what we were to begin there. Present was one native Filipino member of the Church.

That was the beginning of something marvelous, the commencement of a miracle. The rest is history, discouraging at times and glorious at others. I was there for the area conference held several years ago with President Spencer W. Kimball and others. Some 18,000 members of the Church were assembled in the great Aranetta Coliseum, the largest meeting place in all the Republic.

I wept as I thought of the earlier years, and I remembered with appreciation the woman who largely forgot her own interests as she relentlessly pursued her dream of the day when the Church would be strong in the land which she then lived, bringing happiness of a kind previously unknown to thousands of wonderful people.

We have a sweet young woman who is a convert to the Church. Her father is a Baptist minister. I spoke to a group of young adults and counseled them regarding temple marriage as President Kimball has asked that we do. Later in a testimony meeting, she said, “I am a convert to the Church. My father is a Baptist minister. It just about broke his heart when I joined the Mormon Church. The only hope to which he could cling to salvage his ‘wayward’ daughter was to perform the wedding ceremony when I get married. Not only will he not be able to perform the ceremony, but he will not even be able to see me married. I love him and mother dearly, but I must follow the prophet’s counsel to be married in the temple.” Many thousands of people listen to the missionaries and believe the Church is true. Some confess they have a testimony of the truth of the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith. However, when they consider the many supposed pleasures of life that they will have to deny themselves, they ask the missionaries not to return.

Many cannot deny themselves the physical gratification of a cigarette, a glass of liquor, or the other vices. And so in one moment, which they will never forget in eternity, they dash to pieces an opportunity to follow in the footsteps of Jesus and become joint heirs with him in the kingdom of our Father.