Gospel Story Finder

Atami, Japan, is an attractive city located on the east coast of Honshu, about 100 kilometers south of Tokyo. It is a famous vacation resort with comfortable hot springs, splendid sunsets, and high cliffs overlooking the sea.
The main attraction of the cliffs of Atami is the beautiful view, but they also attract people for a different reason: from their edge, many have plunged to their death.
On a May evening in 1987, I was driving toward Atami. I couldn’t stop crying, and I didn’t want to see the sunset. As I drove, the memories of the past few years ached inside me.
I had worked hard while I was serving in the Japan Sapporo Mission, on the northernmost island of Japan, with its cold, snowy winters. I felt that the Lord accepted my service, but I did not anticipate what awaited me when I returned home. I didn’t understand why, after all the hard work, there didn’t seem to be any rewards.
Specifically, I felt unfulfilled in my search for an eternal companion. I had found few opportunities to date, while others seemed to be finding eternal happiness easily. Any relationship that I thought might be lasting ended. Though my family was worried about my depressed state, I received strength from my Heavenly Father, which helped me through this difficult time.
Then questions began to arise. Why did I have to suffer so much? Did Heavenly Father still love me? As a returned missionary, I could not deny that the Lord lived or that his Church was true, but I began to question his love for me. Then, one night, thinking that I would never have the opportunity to get married, I lost all hope, and Satan took control. I decided to take my own life rather than face any more heart-breaking experiences. I wrote a farewell note to my parents and began driving to Atami.
Then, two miracles happened. First, as I got closer to the coastline, prepared to drive my car off the cliffs into the ocean, I noticed that a wall had been built to prevent cars from going over the edge. Second, the Lord cleared my mind long enough so that I could stop the car and think about my actions. I realized I could never take my life.
Sobered and much calmer, I drove home to find my bishop at home with my parents. They are not members of the Church, but they knew they could trust Bishop Kashikura. He gave me a blessing, and it seemed the nightmare was finally over.
But a week later, I again had second thoughts about my purpose in life. I didn’t know what to do. On that same day, I received a letter.
The letter was mailed from the United States, which was no unusual because I have friends there. But this letter was different—there was no return name or address. All I knew was that it was mailed from Flushing, New York, the day after I had driven to Atami to try to end my life. However, I did not know anyone from Flushing, New York.
When I opened the letter I found, “To You!” written at the top. Enclosed was a copy of the song “Going Home,” written in both Japanese and English. As I read the words, tears filled my eyes. The words told me that when I found myself alone, my memories could keep me strong. With those memories, I could never forget there is a place where I still belong, a place I can always turn to for comfort: “Home.”
I cried and cried and finally felt assured that Heavenly Father does watch over me. He loves me! Until I had this experience, I thought heaven was very far away, but the song helped me understand that God is very near. When we are faithful, we are already in our heavenly home here on earth.
That was the first and last time I ever heard from Flushing, New York. Perhaps I will never know who sent me those words. The experience reminded me of something President Spencer W. Kimball said, “God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs” (Ensign, October 1985, page 3). I am eternally grateful for the person who had ears to hear and acted upon the prompting from the still, small voice from heaven.
I will never forget this experience, and, no matter how great the trials I shall have, I will never forget the place where I want to be—home, my heavenly home.

James carefully straightened his tie as he rode to the stake center. Today was his little sister Angie’s baptism, and he knew he needed to look as nice as he could. He looked over at Angie. She was sitting very quietly, looking out the window. He wondered if she was scared or excited.
James remembered his own baptism day. He had been so excited to finally step into the font. He remembered how warm the water felt, and especially how warm he felt inside. He was happy for Angie.
But he was also a little bit jealous.
Wouldn’t it be nice if people could be baptized more than once? What if he could ask his father to let him put on some white clothes too, go down into the water, and be washed clean?
James thought about the promises he had made when he was baptized. He knew that he hadn’t been as good as he had planned to be. Sometimes he was mean to Angie. He had told a few lies. Last week he even took his friend’s Frisbee without asking and hadn’t returned it yet.
James began to feel sad. If only he could get baptized again so that he could start over! He would do better this time; he knew it.
At the stake center, James sat next to his mother and watched his father help Angie into the water. She looked happy. James remembered that feeling. Maybe if he told his father about the things he had done wrong, he could get baptized again. But he didn’t dare ask.
After Angie’s baptism, the whole family had dinner together. Angie was beaming. Grandma and Grandpa were there too, looking proud of Angie. James thought about how sad they would feel if they knew the things he had done since his own baptism. He didn’t feel very hungry.
“What’s wrong, James?” Dad asked, putting his hand on James’s shoulder. His face was full of love. Would he understand and let James get baptized again? Or would he be disappointed in his son?
James leaned over so no one else could hear him. “Dad, can I get baptized again?”
Dad looked closely at James. “Well, that’s not exactly how things work, James. Is something bothering you?”
“Well, it’s just that sometimes I want a chance to start over again.”
“Ah, I see. Are you remembering your own baptism day?”
“Yes.”
“I understand that. Sometimes I wish I could get baptized again. But you see, James, I don’t have to.”
“Why? Because you haven’t done anything wrong?” James asked.
Dad smiled. “Like you, I wanted to keep all the commandments when I was baptized. But I have done many things wrong since then. Just yesterday I lost my patience when you didn’t do your chores right away, remember?”
“Yes.”
“I really wanted to erase my mistake as if it had never happened.”
“So you wanted to get baptized again?” James asked.
“Well, I did want to be clean again,” Dad said. “But I knew that there was another way to get clean again besides getting baptized. I could repent.”
“Is that all?” James asked. “I mean, is repenting the same as getting baptized again?”
“Yes, but there is another part too. Being baptized when you’re eight is something that you do to show obedience and make a covenant to keep the commandments. After that, when you sin, you need to repent and show you really mean to do better.”
James smiled. “You mean by taking the sacrament?”
Dad nodded. “When you take the sacrament you are showing Jesus that you have repented of the things you did wrong that week. And then, as you eat the bread and drink the water, you become clean, and you are ready to start over.”
James remembered the words of the sacrament prayer. Each week he promised to take Jesus Christ’s name upon him—just like when he was baptized. “So I am clean if I repent and then take the sacrament?” he asked.
“That’s exactly right,” Dad said.
“Wow.” James was quiet for a minute. Tomorrow was Sunday. He could take the sacrament then! But he had some work to do first. He wondered if Mom would let him take the Frisbee over to his friend Mark’s house after they got home.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Son?”
“I’m sorry for not doing my chores yesterday. Will you forgive me?”
Dad smiled and hugged James. “Of course I will.”

John Weir goes to an international school and had the opportunity to do humanitarian service in both Tanzania and Nepal. He feels that he gained as much as he gave from his efforts to help others.
He went to these countries thinking he would see only death, pain, and misery. He says, “I was completely wrong. The people of Tanzania were the most joyful and loving people I have ever met. They were so grateful for everything they had and were always looking out for each other no matter what the conditions were. I had never seen so much joy in someone’s eyes when they received a pencil or a journal from their teachers. I was amazed that something so simple and common in my eyes could be so treasured in someone else’s. I was happy that I could be one of the people who brought them joy.
“The following year I was excited to serve in a children’s hospital in Nepal. The hospital in the mountains of Nepal was a beautiful place except for the injured children with missing limbs and no family. I wanted to turn these children’s frowns upside down. As we talked and played games with them, I discovered that they were strong-willed, fun, and intelligent. This was a surprise to me, because in their circumstances they could be crying every day and looking at the bad things in life. Instead, they did the exact opposite. They were optimistic and tried their hardest to learn and to find enjoyment in life. This taught me to look at the good in life and not dwell on the bad.”

One day last summer, Spencer J. was riding home from a summer vacation with his parents and family when he decided that the time in the car was perfect for planning some of his goals for the upcoming year. He and his family came up with a great list of goals that would help him plan for school, work on getting in better shape, and fulfill his duty to God.
His goals for school included working hard to get straight A’s, befriending people at school who seem lonely, and tutoring a student who is struggling in classes. He also wanted to run for an Arizona State President of Student Government, which he was later elected to. That goal could have been intimidating because he had to give a speech in front of 2,000 people. But, as Spencer says, “It would be an awesome experience to talk to other states about what they are doing with their student governments.”
Spencer wanted to get in better physical shape. He decided to make a goal to ride his bike at least four miles about three days a week to prepare for a mission. Then he listed that he would like to run two miles at least once a week. He also would participate with the track and tennis teams.
As a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, Spencer worked with his quorum leaders to set a goal to help make the sacrament more meaningful by being prepared to bless the sacrament, saying the prayers with more feeling, and inviting others who don’t often participate in the blessing of the sacrament to bless it with him.
Carrying out these personal goals has made Spencer happier, healthier, and more prepared for the challenges and opportunities he will face in the future.

Eight-year-old Maggie stretched forward to better talk to her parents in the front seat of the car. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Mom, do I have to go to Aunt Alice’s house?”
Maggie’s parents had been planning this temple trip for weeks. They had arranged for Maggie to stay with her great-aunt, who lived in the same town as the temple. Aunt Alice was quite old and lived alone.
Mom turned in her seat to ask, “Don’t you want to go to Aunt Alice’s house? She’s very kind and will take good care of you.”
“I know. It’s just that, well, what if there’s nothing to do? Sitting around all day could get really boring. Maybe I should have stayed home and spent the night at Anna’s house.” Anna was Maggie’s best friend.
Mother looked deeply into Maggie’s worried eyes. “It’s true, we could have left you at Anna’s house, but Dad and I wanted this to be a special trip for the whole family. We have been preparing Grandma and Grandpa McCallister’s records for a long time so that we could do their temple work. You never knew Grandma, but you’re like her in many ways. We thought this trip would be a good chance for you to feel close to her.”
Grandma McCallister had passed away when Maggie was only a baby, and Grandpa had died just last summer. Maggie knew that Mom was anxious to have their temple work done so that they could be a part of her family forever. Maggie slumped back in her seat. She knew that this day was important. She just wasn’t sure about spending it with Aunt Alice.
When they stopped in front of a small brick home several hours later, butterflies fluttered around in Maggie’s stomach.
“Grab your bag, sweetie—this is it,” Mom said.
Maggie picked up her backpack and slowly climbed out of the car. Her legs were stiff from the long trip, and she dragged them reluctantly up the front walk.
“Come on, honey. Dad and I have to get going.” Mom stopped at the front door and put her arms around Maggie’s drooping shoulders. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine. You might even enjoy yourself.” Mom smiled.
It was comforting to see the familiar twinkle in Mom’s eyes. Maggie perked up and smiled back.
Just then the front door opened, and the familiar aroma of chocolate chip cookies met Maggie’s nose.
“Well, look who’s here!” Aunt Alice exclaimed. “Maggie Magpie! I haven’t seen you since you were a baby!”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Maggie Magpie?”
“Oh, that’s what we used to call your grandma when she was a girl. Her name is Margaret, too, you know.”
Maggie barely heard her mother’s good-bye as she stepped into the house with Aunt Alice.
“Come and have some cookies while we get reacquainted, Maggie Magpie.”
Maggie looked around as she walked through the front room toward the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks when her eyes came to rest on a tall display cabinet full of fancy porcelain dolls. “Wow! Do you collect dolls?”
“Sure do. Do you like dolls?”
“I do! I have a collection, too. Well, it’s not as big or fancy as yours, but I really like dolls.”
“You know, your Grandma McCallister liked dolls, too. In fact, I may have something of hers that you can take home with you.”
Maggie followed Aunt Alice into the kitchen, wondering what she might have for her. Aunt Alice poured Maggie a glass of milk and set out some cookies. “Help yourself, honey. I’ll be right back.” She climbed a creaky flight of narrow wooden stairs to the attic. A few minutes later, she returned with an old shoe box.
“Just before your grandma died, she gave me this box. She asked me to keep it for you until you were old enough to take care of what’s inside.” A smile filled Aunt Alice’s face. “I think you’re old enough now. Want to see?”
Maggie nodded eagerly.
Aunt Alice took off several rubber bands, then carefully lifted the cardboard lid. Very gently she peeled back layers of faded tissue paper. Maggie leaned forward to see what lay inside. Beneath the folds of paper lay the most beautiful doll Maggie had ever seen. The eyes blinked open in the pale porcelain face as Aunt Alice lifted the doll out of the box. “Do you want to hold it?”
Maggie could barely breathe as she carefully took the doll into her arms and rocked it tenderly.
“Your grandma called her Bessie, or sometimes Miss Bess. She has the same beautiful dark red hair that you have and that your grandmother had.”
As Maggie gently smoothed the pale blue dress and white lace pinafore and patted the shining curly hair, she imagined another little redheaded girl holding this very doll a long time ago. She felt a new love for Grandma and began to believe that maybe she knew her a little bit after all.
An unexpected tear slid down Maggie’s cheek as she looked into Aunt Alice’s beaming face. “Thank you, Aunt Alice. I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”
“I know you will, Maggie Magpie,” Aunt Alice said. “You’re a lot like your grandma, you know.”
Maggie smiled lovingly at Grandma’s doll. She was glad that she was a lot like Grandma. And she was grateful that her parents were at the temple doing Grandma and Grandpa’s temple work. She wanted them all to be a family forever.

As Brett Baker turned his blue 79 Mustang up the highway and headed for Island Park, the snow, which had been falling most of the day, came down in large, heavy flakes that stuck tenaciously to the windshield and frustrated the wipers’ attempts to keep the glass clean. With Christmas just a week away, it was obvious that dreams of a white Christmas would soon be a reality. This storm had already dumped several inches in the valleys, and much more had fallen in the mountains where he was headed. He wished that the Mustang’s rear tires had more tread.
The car’s headlights strained to pierce the cold, white night but managed only to reflect off the millions of flakes seeming to fire into the car like so many tiny missiles. The constant bombardment made Brett feel a little dizzy as the car pushed through the storm. He squinted over the steering wheel and leaned forward to improve his vision. Suddenly another set of headlights flashed dimly around a bend ahead. Brett realized he was too far to the left, almost straddling the middle of the road. He reacted suddenly, pulling the steering wheel to the right. The back of his car began to slide. He jerked the wheel again to correct the spin, and suddenly he was in the deep snow along the side of the road. The taillights of the other car disappeared into the night. Brett shifted down and attempted to pull back onto the road, but as soon as he released the clutch, he knew he was stuck.
“Who’s going to be out on a night like this,” he muttered to himself as he wet his lips and gunned the engine again, listening and feeling his rear wheels spin in the soft snow next to the road. He glanced at his watch—seven-fifteen.
Suddenly out of the blackness came the muffled grumble of a snowplow with its yellow lights flashing. The huge truck with the hungry blade in front stopped next to Brett’s Mustang. The driver rolled down his window and called out to Brett, “You need some help?”
Brett nodded and shouted up, “Yeah.”
“I’ve got a chain.”
Moments later Brett was stomping his feet next to his car, which was now on the road and pointed up the hill again. “Thanks, Mister. I’d have never made it without your help.”
“This is one mean night to be out on the snow. Why would anyone be out in this kind of weather if he didn’t have to be?” the driver of the snowplow growled at Brett as he picked up his chain and threw it into the cab of his truck. “You don’t live up here, do you?”
“I promised a friend I’d drop by tonight.”
The driver shook his head. “If it were me, I’d call on the phone.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
The man shook his head again.
“Thanks for getting me out,” Brett mumbled.
“You still going up the mountain?”
Brett nodded.
The older man smiled. “Pull in behind me then. You can follow me to the summit.”
The rest of the way Brett kept his eyes focused on the taillights of the snowplow ahead of him. It was slow going, but he felt more secure.
Just beyond the summit, a small cafe and service station were still open. The snowplow pulled in. Brett pulled up next to the truck, climbed out, and called to the man, “Thanks again. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”
“Probably not,” the man grinned. “You staying the night here?”
Brett shook his head. “I just came for a visit. I have to be in St. Anthony before midnight.”
“You’re a glutton for punishment. Going down is going to be worse than coming up.”
Brett shrugged.
The man laughed and nodded, “Yeah, I know, you have to visit a friend.” He squinted against the onslaught of snow. “Well, I’ve got some work to do up this way. I’m planning to be back here at the cafe around nine-thirty and get a bite to eat before the place closes. I’m going to pull out of here a few minutes before ten. If you want to follow me down the hill then, you be here. I won’t wait for you.”
“Thanks,” Brett called out, feeling relieved. “I’ll try to make it.”
It was another three miles to Jeff’s place. The going was slow and a bit hazardous, but Brett was determined. He drove slowly and steered his car over the snow-covered roads. His muscles were stiff and tense as he gripped the steering wheel and fought to keep the Mustang on the road. He knew if he slid off the road now, there would be no one to rescue him. The strain of the last two hours of slow driving had taken its toll. A dull, pulsing pain was beginning to hammer in the back of his head.
Brett spotted the mailbox first and then saw the dim lights from the house up the driveway through the trees. One look told Brett that he would never get the Mustang up that driveway. He parked the car along the road, pulled his coat around him, and then pushed out into the night’s storm. He trudged through the snow the 200 yards to the Bakers’s front door.
By the time Brett reached the front steps, huge flakes of snow clung to his clothes and hair. He stepped up onto the small porch, stomped his feet, and knocked firmly on the front door.
Within moments the door flung inward and Jeff’s mother was standing in the doorway. “Brett!” she gasped. “Come in out of that weather. You look like the abominable snowman.”
Brett grinned sheepishly, stomped his feet again, and stepped inside. Sister Baker closed the door behind him. “Let me take that coat and then you get in there in front of the stove. You must be half frozen. How in the world did you get here? I thought they might close the road.”
Brett handed Sister Baker his coat and moved into the family room in front of the wood-burning stove that was glowing warmly. Brother Baker was there watching TV, and Jeff’s two sisters came in from the living room and said hello.
“I can’t believe you came in this storm,” Sister Baker exclaimed when she had hung up his coat. “Nobody thought you’d come tonight. Not with the snow and all.”
“Nobody but Jeff,” Brother Baker corrected. “He said you’d come.”
Brett smiled wanly and ducked his head. He swallowed at a lump in his throat and felt a mist form in his eyes. The Bakers were like family to Brett. When they had lived in St. Anthony, Brett had spent almost as much time at their place as at his own. Those visits had become more infrequent since Brother Baker had returned to his old job with the forest service at Island Park, but distance had not diminished Brett’s feelings for these people.
“How’s Jeff?” Brett asked gently, afraid of the answer.
There was a moment of silence, and then Sister Baker spoke softly. “Oh, he gets real tired. He has his good days and bad, but somehow he manages to keep his spirits up.”
“What does the doctor say?”
Sister Baker avoided Brett’s eyes. She straightened some magazines on the coffee table. “He isn’t too encouraging,” she said, just above a whisper. “But we keep hoping.”
“Things will work out,” Brett insisted.
“That’s what we keep telling ourselves.” Sister Baker heaved a sigh. “You will stay the night, won’t you?”
“Can’t. I promised Mom and Dad I’d be in St. Anthony before midnight.”
“You can’t drive in this kind of weather.”
“I drove here. Besides, once I get down the mountain I’ll be all right. The guy driving the snowplow said he’d wait for me at the cafe if I’d be there before ten. I can follow him down. I shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay. We’d love to have you.”
Brett nodded. “Is Jeff so I could see him?”
“He’s in his room. I’m sure he’s waiting for you.”
Gingerly Brett tapped on the bedroom door. There was a weak call to come in, and Brett pushed the door open. The only light in the room came from a small reading lamp perched on a small nightstand next to the double bed. On the other side of the bed was a bookshelf, crammed with books and magazines. The walls of the room were covered with posters and pictures.
“You made it!” Jeff’s weak voice called out as Brett stepped into the room. “I knew you’d make it.”
Brett froze momentarily, shocked by the sight. He smiled, but he felt sick as he saw his friend’s pale yellow, emaciated frame lying under the blankets. Most of his hair was gone, his eyes were large and sunken, his cheeks thin and wasted. He had never been able to picture Jeff as anything but vibrantly alive, and yet here he was a mere shell of his former self.
“How’s it going, Jeff?” Brett finally managed to stammer. It was obvious that he was shocked and taken back.
“Oh, I’m all right,” Jeff shrugged. “I don’t worry much about haircuts anymore.” He motioned for Brett to pull up the only chair in the room and to sit down next to him. “I’m sorry about the way I look. That’s what happens when you don’t play football.” He smiled faintly to ease his friend’s discomfort.
Brett fought to recover. “We’ll have to get you a ball and some pads and get you out on the field then.”
“I’d love it,” Jeff laughed.
For the first time, Brett realized how serious Jeff’s illness was. Oh, he’d been told. The deadly chances had been explained to him, but he had refused to accept anything so pessimistic. Jeff would pull through; he just knew it. When Jeff had been forced to forfeit his scholarship to Ricks, Brett had assured him that he’d still play. He just needed time to rest up. He could beat this illness.
“I missed you this fall,” Brett spoke, groping for something to say. “We had a good quarterback, but nothing like you. I couldn’t read his mind.”
Jeff reached for a scrapbook next to his bed and handed it to Brett. “You did all right for yourself,” he grinned. “Everything that was ever written about the Rick’s football team this fall is in this scrapbook. And your name shows up in nearly every article. I loved it.”
Brett thumbed through the pages, glancing at pictures and articles he’d never even seen before. “Where’d you get all this?” Brett asked amazed. He recognized some of the articles as those he had sent to Jeff himself, but many others were new to him.
“That was the only way I could be there with you,” Jeff answered simply. “It was a fair substitute. But now I want to hear everything from you. I want the good stuff, how you felt, what it was like to play college ball, all the stuff they don’t write about.”
“I could go on all night.”
“I want you to go on all night. I’m not going any place.”
For the next hour the two laughed, talked, reminisced, joked, and teased. As the minutes ticked away the two young men forgot the ominous, uninvited guest who haunted the room, who clung to Jeff Baker, slowly choking the life from his deteriorating frame.
“I brought something for you,” Brett finally said. “For Christmas.”
“You didn’t have to bring me anything for Christmas.”
“I tried to think of a Christmas present, something you could really use, but nothing seemed just right.”
“You didn’t have to bring me anything,” Jeff muttered, looking embarrassed. “Your being here tonight is all the gift I wanted.”
Brett shook his head. “I brought something else.” He pulled an envelope from inside the sweater he was wearing and handed it to Jeff. Jeff took one look at the return address, and his face exploded into a smile. “It came!” he burst out. “Your mission call came.”
Brett smiled broadly. “I’ve had it for almost a week now.” Brett’s cheeks colored. “I was going to wait until you filled out yours, you know, like we’d planned.” He shook his head. “Then I got to figuring that maybe I’d better get on out there and show you how things should be done.”
“Well, where you going? Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you came in?”
Brett grinned and shrugged.
Jeff glanced down at the envelope once more. He studied it a moment and then looked up at his friend. “You haven’t even opened it?” he suddenly rasped.
Brett nodded his head. “I couldn’t. Not without you. I figured that was something we had to do together.” Brett looked down at his hands. “At Thanksgiving when I was made an elder, I thought of you. I was wishing that you were there. I made up my mind then that when the call came, I wanted you to open it up. I wanted it to be your call too.”
Jeff smiled and handed the envelope to his friend. “Well, go ahead and open it then. I can’t wait to know where you’re going.”
Brett didn’t take the envelope. He shook his head. “No, I want you to open it.”
Jeff hesitated, studying his friend for a moment. “But you should open it. I mean, this is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to you.”
Brett nodded. “That’s why I wanted you to open it. I wanted you to have the very best.”
“Are you sure?” Jeff asked, his voice faltering just a little.
Brett nodded. “Positive.”
Jeff held the unopened envelope in his hand for a moment and then, carefully, he tore open one end of it and with shaking hands pulled the letter out. He looked up once at Brett before he studied the contents. Brett nodded encouragement to him. For several moments Jeff read; then he looked up and wet his lips.
“Where?” Brett asked with excitement.
“Would you believe you’re going to Bolivia?”
“Bolivia?” Brett asked, startled. Jeff nodded. “I’m not even sure I know exactly where that is. It’s in South America. That’s about all I know.”
“There’s an atlas on the desk. Grab it and let’s take a look.”
The two thumbed through the atlas until they had found the right map. They studied it with excitement, asking each other questions that neither could answer.
“I’d never thought of Bolivia,” Brett grinned. “I wonder what it’s like?”
“Probably the best mission in the world.”
“Bolivia!” Brett called out, laughing and jumping to his feet. “Hey, bud, I’m going to Bolivia. When do I leave?”
“March 3rd,” Jeff smiled, glancing down again at the letter.
“Hey, kid,” Brett laughed, “you’re going to have to get well soon. I may play football without you, but I won’t go on my mission alone. If you’re not out there within six months, I’m coming back for you.”
Jeff smiled up at his friend. “Thanks for letting me be part of it,” he said softly. “If I don’t get another thing, this will be my best Christmas. I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”
“You’re going to get better, Jeff, you hear me?”
Jeff smiled up at his friend. For a moment the two didn’t speak, and then Jeff swallowed and said, “I used to pray all the time that some kind of miracle would happen. That’s about the best cure for leukemia, a good miracle.” He wet his lips and shook his head. “I used to be scared. I didn’t want to think about the future. And then I thought of both of us. I thought of all the crazy, fun things we’ve done together. We had some good times, and the best thing of all is that I’m not ashamed of any of that. We could have never done anything really bad. We were always sort of square with the Lord. Right now that means a lot to me. I’m not scared anymore, Brett.”
“Don’t talk like that, Jeff.”
“You have a lot of time to think when you’re laid up like I am. I used to worry about all the things I wasn’t going to get to do.”
“Jeff, I don’t want to hear it.”
“I want you to hear it. I want to say it. Because if I can say it, it isn’t going to be so hard to do.” He swallowed. “I’m square with the Lord, Brett. Thanks for letting me be part of your mission to Bolivia. But I know that Bolivia isn’t the only mission. And I figure that maybe we’re going to go on this mission together after all.”
For a long time the two friends were silent. Their eyes filled with tears, but there was a quiet, comforting calm in the room.
It was almost ten when Brett pulled into the small cafe at the summit. The snow was still coming down. The huge snowplow was parked out front, its engine running. Brett pushed open the glass door to the cafe and stepped in. The highway worker was at the counter finishing a piece of pie. He looked up as Brett stepped in. “You made it back. I was wondering if you would. It’s a beast of a night out there. You sure you want to brave that road?”
Brett nodded.
“It will be at least two hours to St. Anthony from here with the roads the way they are. I’ll bet you’re wishing you had chosen a different night to stop by your friend’s place.”
Brett shook his head. “No, I was just thinking that even if I had had to walk I would have come and not regretted it.”
The driver pushed his plate away from him and shook his head, perplexed. “That must be some friend of yours.”
Brett nodded slowly and turned for the door, and as he stepped into the snowy night, he thought of Jeff and he had no regrets.

When I was little, I used to ask myself questions like “Does the Holy Spirit speak?” “When I go to heaven, will I see God?”
Now that I’m a bit older, I can look back and see that Heavenly Father always guided me and showed me evidence that He existed, but I wasn’t always able to recognize His hand in my life. I was blessed to be raised in a home with the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, but I lived on a borrowed testimony for a long time. It was difficult for me to believe that God was truly real.
One day, when I was about 15, my bishop announced a ward temple trip. I was already used to going to the temple with my family, so I didn’t think this was a big deal. I never really felt much anyways and didn’t understand the importance of the covenants and ordinances performed in the temple.
When the day arrived, I entered the temple and changed into my white jumpsuit. As I walked past a mirror, I saw a glimpse of myself dressed in white and with a smile on my face. As I waited for the rest of my ward members, I was in awe. I was contemplating the beauty of the baptismal font and the paintings when suddenly, I felt the Spirit gently touch my heart.
I will never forget the words that came to my mind: “Orson, this is the house of the Lord. He loves you. He wants you to change your life and strive to become a better person little by little.”
I felt so much love in those words but was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. I hadn’t taken the temple seriously up until this point. So I said a prayer in my heart, asking Heavenly Father to forgive me.
And I knew He heard my prayer because I felt so much peace in my heart.
That day, I deepened my faith and received the real testimony of the gospel that I longed for. That day, I was able to say as firmly as those two disciples of John: “I have found the Messiah” (see John 1:41).
Ever since this experience, I have striven to better recognize Heavenly Father’s influence in my life by seeking Jesus Christ each day. Although the world can make it hard to hear the Savior’s voice at times, I know now that He truly is real and that He is with me.

During my high school years, I played football and had a good friend named Ryan. I frequently offered him rides home from practice. Early one morning in February of 2003, my senior year, I was at school getting help from my math teacher. A girl walked in the door and announced the death of my friend Ryan. I was astonished and almost didn’t believe the words I had just heard. A good friend of mine, whom I had just talked to a week before, was now dead.
I made the decision to miss school the next week and attend the funeral services. Upon arriving, I noticed that the building was very beautiful and bore the logo of the church to which it belonged—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The moment I walked in the door, I felt something different: a sense of peace, joy, and happiness—feelings that are not typically experienced at a funeral. As the services progressed, I noticed a new vocabulary, one that I had never before heard. The words gospel and Atonement entered into my mind for the first time. It was something new and unheard-of but, oddly enough, familiar. I listened attentively as Ryan’s mom spoke, and tears came to my eyes. Something was telling me that this “plan of salvation,” which she was speaking about, was true. I felt that the people in this chapel had something in their lives that I did not, and for some reason, I felt a desire to get it.
Now, I was not completely oblivious to Mormons. I grew up in Mesa, Arizona, where members of the Church come in great abundance. I knew two things for sure: first, many of my friends were members of the Church, and second, Church members believed in something called the Book of Mormon. I had a newfound desire to get my hands on this book and to find out what this religion was all about.
In March of 2003, one of my good friends, Bret, invited me to help with his Eagle Scout project. After school the next day we drove in his truck with another friend of ours, Camden, to where the project would be. Inspired by the Spirit, Bret directed Camden to a Book of Mormon situated in a holder in the passenger-side door. He told him to open to a verse he had recently read in the Book of Alma. My interest was sparked, and for the first time, I saw the book I wanted so very badly. However, I was too scared to say anything right then. Upon returning that evening, I worked up the confidence to ask Bret for the book. He happily gave it to me and told me to read it. That night I read nine chapters. From the moment I picked up the book, I fell in love with its message.
The next evening, I was sitting in Bret’s living room with his family and two young men dressed in dark suits, both of whom were named “Elder.” I learned these were missionaries for Bret’s church. We watched Finding Faith in Christ. I will admit that I cried during the movie and loved every bit of the lesson. I decided to continue investigating and to come to church. I eventually finished the lessons and accepted everything the elders taught me about being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ.
One night as I was kneeling in prayer after reading a portion of the Book of Mormon, I specifically asked if what I was learning was true. Overwhelming feelings of peace and joy came into my heart. I was feeling the Spirit, and it was answering my prayers. After that time, I knew without a doubt that the Book of Mormon was true. I felt it in my heart and had the knowledge given to me in my mind.
With this new knowledge, I knew what my next step would be. I was baptized on May 3, 2003. The following day, I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I will always remember my baptism, the Spirit I felt, and the covenants I made with my Heavenly Father.
My first year as a member of the Church was a long and difficult one, but also full of rewards. Being the only member in your family isn’t the easiest thing, and I also received much persecution from old friends. In May of 2004, I received the Melchizedek Priesthood and a call to serve in the Virginia Richmond Mission, speaking Spanish. I left my nonmember family in July of 2004, not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into or just what it was that I was leaving behind.
During the beginning months of my mission, I heard many things from many friends about the progress of my parents in the Church. They had been attending church off and on and had allowed the missionaries to come by every so often. I was always excited to hear news. Then one Saturday morning my mission president told me he had just spoken with my stake president about my parents. My parents had decided to join the Church. The gospel had now changed their lives for the better, just as it had mine only two years before.
I am so grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ and for the opportunity I had to serve Him as a missionary. I now understand more fully the plan of salvation. I know that this is the gospel and Church of Jesus Christ. Upon returning from my mission in July of 2006 I was overjoyed to enter the Mesa temple with my parents, where we were sealed as a family for time and all eternity. It’s a day I could hardly have imagined just a few years earlier.

Forty-four years ago I heard William J. Critchlow Jr., then president of the South Ogden Stake, speak to the brethren in the general priesthood session of conference, and retell a story concerning trust, honor, and duty. May I share the story with you. Its simple lesson applies to us today, as it did then.
“Rupert stood by the side of the road watching an unusual number of people hurry past. At length he recognized a friend. ‘Where are all of you going in such a hurry?’ he asked.
“The friend paused. ‘Haven’t you heard?’ he said.
“‘I’ve heard nothing,’ Rupert answered.
“‘Well,’ continued [the] friend, ‘the King has lost his royal emerald. Yesterday he attended a wedding of the nobility and wore the emerald on the slender golden chain around his neck. In some way the emerald became loosened from the chain. Everyone is searching, for the King has offered a reward … to the one who finds it. Come, we must hurry.’
“‘But I cannot go without asking Grandmother,’ faltered Rupert.
“‘Then I cannot wait. I want to find the emerald,’ replied his friend.
“Rupert hurried back to the cabin at the edge of the woods to seek his grandmother’s permission. ‘If I could find it, we could leave this hut with its dampness and buy a piece of land up on the hillside,’ he pleaded with Grandmother.
“But his grandmother shook her head. ‘What would the sheep do?’ she asked. ‘Already they are restless in the pen, waiting to be taken to the pasture—and please do not forget to take them to water when the sun shines high in the heavens.’
“Sorrowfully, Rupert took the sheep to the pasture, and at noon he led them to the brook in the woods. There he sat on a large stone by the stream. ‘If I could only have had a chance to look for the King’s emerald,’ he thought. Turning his head to gaze down at the sandy bottom of the brook, suddenly he stared into the water. What was it? It could not be! He leaped into the water, and his gripping fingers held something that was green, with a slender bit of gold chain. ‘The King’s emerald!’ he shouted. ‘It must have been flung from the chain when the King [astride his horse, galloped across the bridge spanning the stream, and the current carried] it here.’
“With shining eyes Rupert ran to his grandmother’s hut to tell her of his great find. ‘Bless you, my boy,’ she said, ‘but you never would have found it if you had not been doing your duty, herding the sheep.’ And Rupert knew that this was the truth.”
The lesson to be learned from this story is found in the familiar couplet: “Do your duty; that is best. Leave unto the Lord the rest.”

One such teacher was Lucy Gertsch. She knew each of her students. She unfailingly called on those who missed a Sunday or who just didn’t come. We knew she cared about us. None of us has ever forgotten her or the lessons she taught.
Many years later, when Lucy was nearing the end of her life, I visited with her. We reminisced concerning those days so long before when she had been our teacher. We spoke of each member of our class and discussed what each one was now doing. Her love and caring spanned a lifetime.
I love the Lord’s injunction found in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“I give unto you a commandment that you shall teach one another the doctrine of the kingdom.
“Teach ye diligently and my grace shall attend you.”6
Lucy Gertsch taught diligently because she loved untiringly.

My mission president also had a great influence on me. I was so enthusiastic about serving my mission that all I wanted to do was teach and baptize people. But he had the wisdom to take me on assignments where I would learn about Church procedures and administration. Later, when I was called to serve in leadership positions, such as a young bishop, I was truly grateful to him for giving me those experiences.

Observing and serving sometimes requires great effort. An inspired young woman named Alexandria noticed that her cousin Madison was unable to complete her own Personal Progress requirements because she suffered from severe autism. Alexandria rallied the young women in her ward, counseled with her leaders, and determined to do something for Maddy that she could not do herself. Each of the young women completed a portion of the Personal Progress activities and projects vicariously to enable Maddy to receive her own medallion.7
These young women will progress well into roles of motherhood and Relief Society sisterhood because they are learning to first observe, then serve in charitable ways.

It was during this period of professional uncertainty that I met the woman who would become my wife. I fell ill with malaria while visiting a friend in Mamfe for a festival, and his sister, with immense kindness, nursed me back to health. We grew close, and she eventually became pregnant with our first daughter, Miracle. We would have four children together before formally marrying in 2014, a process involving the traditional payment of a bride price, which she faithfully helped me save for over time.

President Hinckley is concerned about everyone, especially missionaries. While I was serving as a mission president in Madrid, Spain, one of our missionaries was injured by some young men who pushed and shoved and beat him. We had to take the missionary to the hospital. President Hinckley heard what had happened and called to find out how he was doing. It was a great example to me of how concerned the prophet is about people.

“Do you see how they fly, Stephen?” Dad thrusts his arm upward, pointing a finger to the V shape rippling through the sky high overhead. The chill October wind whips at my face as I try to understand the excitement in his voice. It’s late afternoon. We are standing alongside our minivan. We’ve pulled off the side of the road somewhere between St. George and Cedar City, Utah, on our way to the Missionary Training Center in Provo. My call has come and I’m going to Baltimore, Maryland.
“Watch,” he says. “You’ll see it in a moment. It happens quickly. It’s a wonder.”
I resist the urge to look at him. He’s the real wonder here. His enthusiasm makes you think he’s the one leaving on a mission.
“Now!” Dad’s voice shouts above the wind. The lead goose slips out of formation and slides to the back of one leg of the V. The flock speeds on toward its destination. Shortly the geese are black specks in the sky, arrowing into the dusk.
“Did you see what they did?” he asks, as we climb back into the van. We buckle our seat belts and he continues: “They work together. Singly they would perish on the long flight, but they take turns leading the way. One leads for a while, slashing the air for the others. Then he quietly moves to the back and another takes over.” We pull out onto the road.
“How do they know what to do?” I ask.
“They’ve learned to trust the order God put in things.”
He’s trying to tell me something. This is his way. As Provo gets closer with each passing mile post, though, my thoughts fly to my mission, to my future.
“What you say is true. This will change your life forever,” I tell Brother and Sister Frost in response to her statement. And it will. I’ve been teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ as a missionary for nearly two years now. Soon I’ll be going home. I’ve learned that whenever people accept the gospel, it changes their lives. Of course there are those who, after searching a lifetime, find in the gospel nothing but great relief from life’s most difficult questions. Usually though, it’s the other way, the refiner’s fire, a test and building of faith. But always, always, the gospel brings change.
Elder Jepson and I have been teaching the Frosts for three weeks now. With their permission, we started calling them Brother and Sister. He’s an accountant, and she worked as a legal secretary before their children were born. I’m not sure where we are with them. We’ll need to move forward carefully with our teaching.
I wait for one of them to speak. It’s an important moment. I hope Elder Jepson recognizes it and doesn’t suddenly lose his shyness. The Frosts are a handsome couple, she blond and he dark. Not Hollywood-like at all, but vibrant, a handsomeness born of hope for their lives. I like them both.
Sister Frost speaks, “I think it also means leaving our family, our friends.”
“You might bring some of them with you. Lead the way,” I say. I wait again for someone to fill the silence. They have told me several times how their families feel about Mormons. “We personally have nothing against you Mormons,” they said to us the evening we first knocked on their door. It was to convince themselves of their open-mindedness, I suspect, that they invited us in. In three weeks now we have become close friends.
Sister Frost glances at her husband, but he continues to stare into the carpet. He seems to be deep in thought. She’s not saying what she wants to do. She just keeps pointing out the practical problems—the difficulties of the choice. I think she’s waiting for him to do something, but I’m not sure.
Two days ago, we asked them to be baptized. He is treating us with the distance that we felt the first visit. I recognize the signs. He is on the edge. We must wait now, no matter how loud the silence screams at us to fill it. I want to step in. I want to persuade. I’ve learned though that seconds on a clock wing their way with their own voice.
I look over at Elder Jepson. Two months in the mission field, six feet tall, two-hundred pounds. He has a lot to learn. Elder Jepson is shy, and it may be weeks before he can give the lessons. I know this family is important to him, though. It will really hurt him if they veer away from the Church.
Elder Jepson looks like he’s studying the carpet, too. His coarse red hair dangles from the top of his forehead.
Brother Frost clears his throat.
“Your church asks a great deal—too much I’m afraid. My wife and I have talked a lot. We’re impressed—truly impressed—with your church programs. But all of our friends, all of our family, they believe differently. We’d have to offend them by not drinking with them. We’d have to go to church every Sunday. We’d be … like you say, changing everything.” He talks again about the many fine programs in the Church. But in the end, using accountant’s language, he says, “The ledger page doesn’t balance.”
It’s clear he’s slipped off the edge now. It’s 8:40 P.M. and I’ve been up since 5:30 this morning. I’m tired and I want to go home. I know we’re not supposed to weary in well-doing, but I think we have done all the good we can. I can’t expect Elder Jepson to help here. I must try to hold on to everyone’s dignity. It’s up to me to exit us gracefully and hope the Spirit will work on them after we have gone.
Brother Frost thanks us and wishes us well, but thinks we should look for others who might be more willing followers.
I feel the emptiness I’ve felt a hundred times before. I feel alone. Awkward. We’ve given so much time and effort these last three weeks. I look over at Elder Jepson to see if he’s ready to go. He is staring at Sister Frost and she at him. A tear moves from Elder Jepson’s left eye, down his freckly face. This surprises me. I look at Brother Frost. He’s looking at me and doesn’t notice. I look at Sister Frost. Her eyes brim with tears.
“May I speak?” Elder Jepson’s voice, husky now, breaks the uneasiness. He brushes the tear away, then turns slowly to face Brother Frost. His large farm-toughened hands grab at his knees. He slides forward on the couch, locks his eyes onto Brother Frost’s, and begins.
“I came 2,500 miles to find you. I feel we were guided to you.” Elder Jepson looks down like he’s trying to find what to say next.
“I love your wife, Brother Frost. I love her because she sees. She has told you all of the problems; she has given you all of the pictures a man could want so he could understand and solve them, and you’re running from them. Why?”
I’m stunned. I look at Brother Frost. The room, sedate only a moment before, is intense now. Brother Frost, I think, is puzzled, trying to figure out what Elder Jepson is doing. I want to interrupt, but something says to move aside—for the moment.
Before anyone else speaks, Elder Jepson continues. “And I love you, Brother Frost. I know about your job and your accounting degree. About your dreams, your courtship and marriage, and your three children. I know about your child that died two years ago. I know about your despair. And I know that you’re all wrong about what it means to be a member of the Church.”
Brother Frost rises on his seat. I squeeze the scriptures I have in my hand. Brother Frost has let us know he believes he and his family are good. He has told us how the family goes to a church from time to time, how he is honest, how he has always read a little from the Bible and how, when he was 12, he made up his mind he would never use certain words, and he never has. I’m afraid that Elder Jepson has offended him. I better salvage what I can, quickly. I start to say something. Brother Frost raises his hand—a sign for me to be quiet—and continues staring at Elder Jepson. Then he says, “We’re not perfect, Elder Jepson, but we are decent people. I believe I know all that I need to know about your church and your God. We could easily join you, but we don’t want to.” Brother Frost speaks kindly but firmly. The discussion is over.
But Elder Jepson softly begins again: “You say that, but you never talk about the Savior. Oh, you can talk about God but you have never understood. You tell us you like the Primary because it teaches children to speak in public at an early age and sing in a group. You think sacrament meeting is good because you feel fellowship there. You think the Book of Mormon has some interesting stories in it. You think we’re introducing you to a club. You take out your accounting pads and start adding and subtracting. When you total the benefits of the club against the costs, the club comes up short.”
Elder Jepson has kept his voice even and soft. Brother Frost keeps the emotion out of his face, except for a hint of a smile. Sister Frost looks at her husband now, worried. I decide to stay on the wing of this, for a moment longer, not sure why.
Calmly, Brother Frost says, “You have a lot to learn, Elder Jepson. Life always involves totaling columns of benefits and burdens. But you’re right. Your club, if you will, doesn’t do as much for us as our present club. I’m sorry. That’s how we see it. I’m glad your church works for you. But the programs, as nice as they are, don’t offset the difficulties joining your church would bring us.”
Brother Frost is being gracious. I’ll talk to Elder Jepson later about leaving people with a positive feeling, even if they don’t join. At least some of his shyness is leaving. There’s hope.
Elder Jepson leans forward again. “Brother Frost, you’ve misunderstood. Those programs—Primary, Sunday School, youth activities—those aren’t what this church is about. And it’s not about not smoking or not drinking or paying tithing and fast offerings either. It’s not even about friendship and fellowship. Not only have you added the wrong columns, you’re in the wrong ledger.” I remember now that Elder Jepson took an accounting class the semester before he came on his mission.
Brother Frost responds, “Then why do you try to convince people that your church is so wonderful because of those things?”
“I didn’t come here to tell you you need those things. I came to invite you to know the Savior. If Elder Simpson and I leave tonight, and we leave you believing that you can put this church on a ledger sheet, then we have failed.
“Brother Frost, this is the Savior’s church. Next week the programs might change or disappear, but the Savior won’t. He’s waiting for us to ask for help in our lives. We didn’t come to change your life; we came to teach you that your life will change from the choices you make and that you can choose with heavenly guidance. We came to tell you that Heavenly Father listens to every cry for help from a sincere heart. This church is about Him and His love for you and for me. This church is where the fullness of His gospel and its saving ordinances are found. The rules we live by and the programs are only helps so we may return to Him. We didn’t come here to ask you to join us; we came to ask you to join Him.”
I am moved. I am amazed. I’m not prepared for this from my shy, red-haired companion. I didn’t dream he had that in him. I feel a burning within me. I sense a fire in the room and imagine the hint of a distant melody. Elder Jepson’s speech is eloquent, powerful. I should have been the one to do this. I am the senior companion. I have the experience. I am the leader here. I see the Frosts are touched and I want to be the one that has done it.
I hear the voice in my mind say “I” again, with pity and selfishness in its tone. This time, with effort, I stop it with a memory of a chill wind, wild geese, and my father pointing skyward at dusk.
The Frosts look at one another. Brother Frost says, “Dear, what do you think?”
Eloquently, she tells us all what she sees. She speaks about a new feeling, new courage, a desire to move forward. Brother Frost keeps nodding his head, smiling, agreeing. The music hints around us, again.
I know I will soon move beyond the feeling and the sounds of tonight, but not the memory of it. It will sustain me. I will beat against many head winds as I journey back to my Maker, but I will not fly without the music of this night playing somewhere in my heart. I understand it is time for me to move over, and I make room for Elder Jepson.

The youngest of 12 children, Karina likes being part of a big family. Since most of her brothers and sisters are much older than she is, Karina is especially close to her brother Germán, who is 12 years old. Germán says of Karina, “I like her because she is happy and fun.”
Germán always looks out for her. But Karina herself looks out for and takes special care of her two-year-old niece Ruth. She loves Ruth and lets her cling to her sweater sleeve when they are together. Karina walks slowly so Ruth can keep up with her, and she tries to make sure others notice and pay attention to Ruth.

Although President Benson loved horses and would always admire a good horse more than a good car, he was excited when his father purchased the family’s first automobile. “It was a 1915 Dodge. It was of solid, substantial construction, but the suspension wasn’t very good in those days and it bounced along like a hay wagon. There were very few cars in the community. Uncle John Dunkley was the first one to get a car. The children would all gather around after Sunday School, to see him turn the hand crank to get it started. There were no paved roads anywhere in our part of the country.

“Occasionally Father would let us drive to a distant town for a basketball game, dance, or other entertainment. One Saturday we drove to Logan. There is a slight hill to the south of Logan, and I drove our car to the limit this particular Saturday and got the speed up to about eighty-two kilometers per hour. When I reported this to Father and to the people back in the Whitney Ward, they were shocked to think I had dared to drive at that terrific speed and seemed to question whether the car would actually go that fast or not. I finally had to get evidence from some of the other boys who were with me to confirm my claim, which was the highest record of speed known in the community at that time.”

A hailstorm had flattened Richard Ballantyne’s first wheat crop in the Salt Lake Valley, leaving just a few precious stalks to be gathered in the fall. He and his wife Huldah and their baby had come too late in the season the year before to plant any crops, so they were counting on this year’s wheat harvest to help them through the winter.
In the midst of his discouragement, Richard had an unusual impression. His mind drifted back to his homeland in Scotland where he was converted to the Church. He thought of the sooty ragamuffins who played on Sunday in the streets of the little village of Fawns. Richard had organized a small Sunday School there for these boys and girls and had taught them about Jesus.
Now, in this new land and in this desert country that had been so hard to tame, Richard thought of the pioneer children. He loved the gospel and he loved to teach boys and girls. In his own words Richard Ballantyne expressed his feelings this way:
“I felt that the gospel was too precious to myself to be withheld from the children; they ought to have the privileges of gospel teaching, and that was the main purpose: to teach them the gospel.”
Richard told his bishop that he would like to start a Sunday School. The bishop and the General Authorities of the Church all encouraged him in his plans. Loading everything they owned into two wagons, Richard and his family moved out of the Old Fort to a building lot one block west and three blocks south of the proposed Salt Lake Temple site. They built a single room to be used as a “summer kitchen” and lived in one covered wagon. Their other wagon was used for storage.
Any time that wasn’t needed to provide food and clothing for his family, Richard spent working on the addition to his little one-room home that was to be used for a meetinghouse. He went to Millcreek Canyon, cut down trees, and hauled the logs to a mill to be sawed into lumber. From a quarry in Red Butte Canyon, he brought sandstone for the foundation and sills. Adobe bricks for the walls were obtained from a brickyard west of the city.
The Sunday School room was twenty feet long and eighteen feet wide and had plastered walls inside and adobe walls outside, plank flooring, and a roof of logs and boards covered with several inches of dirt. The room was lighted by two windows in front and a window and half-glass door on the south side. Heat came from a large fireplace, and the benches were made of slabbed timber.
Sister Ballantyne chose the music for the Sunday School, made suggestions on the lessons, and helped give the room a cozy and welcome atmosphere.
Outside, Richard planted cottonwood trees for shade and attractive shrubs and vines. He also built a pole fence around the house. By the time winter came, the building was completed and the bearded Scotsman invited the children in the neighborhood to his new home for Sunday School.
At eight o’clock Sunday morning, December 9, 1849, about thirty children between the ages of eight and thirteen stamped the snow off their shoes and trooped into Sunday School where a warm fire and Richard Ballantyne greeted them. With shining eyes he called the class to order. After a song, he gave a sincere prayer and dedicated the room to teaching children the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I knew of a couple in the Tongan islands who discovered what their mission together was. Years ago as a young missionary, I was impressed by this couple who were always helping the missionaries and others. Every time I went to their home I would find them reading the scriptures or making a meal for a missionary or taking care of a neighbor’s child or preparing a Relief Society lesson or doing some sort of service. They were not blessed with children of their own, but they were always helping other people’s children.

Years later, back in Tonga as the mission president, I was asked if I would visit an elderly widow named Luisa. When I was given the address, I realized it was the lady I had come to appreciate so many years before.

It was late afternoon when we drove up to her home. I was surprised to see that hardly anything had changed. It was a neat, clean home, but a very humble one. As I walked up to the house I noticed her waiting by the open door. As she held her hand out I realized that she had gone blind. Embracing her, I realized also that she had not long to stay in this life as she had a frail body of skin and bones.

We sat and visited, and she talked about her desire to help the “poor” people. I suggested that she may need some help herself. She kindly informed me that she was rich and had nothing to worry about.

I was a little confused and began to inquire. I found that she and her husband had often saved money to pay their air fare to the New Zealand Temple only to end up lending it to someone else who needed it more. When all the facts came out, I said to her, “Luisa, how can you say you don’t have anything to worry about? You have no husband, you have no children, you’re blind, you are in poor health, you live in a poor home, you haven’t been to the temple. How can you say you’re rich?”

Then she stopped all of my questions by quietly informing me that she was rich because she knew the Lord was pleased with her life. She said, “I know I will be with my husband soon. I know the Lord will bless us with a family. I may not have done all that I could do, but I know that the Lord is pleased with what I have done.”

Consider D&C 6:7, wherein the Lord says, “Seek not for riches but for wisdom, and behold, the mysteries of God shall be unfolded unto you, and then shall you be made rich. Behold, he that hath eternal life is rich.”

Luisa had taken the time to discover her mission and calling in life and had done whatever was necessary to fulfill it. She had obtained the “wisdom” spoken of.

One of these experiences began a few years ago when I was assigned as a home teacher to a young man who had been raised in a faithful Latter-day Saint family. After he left home to attend school, he chose other paths. Month after month my home teaching companion and I visited him without success; it seemed he didn’t even hear what we said to him. But when the tempests came and he was confused, not knowing what to do to resolve his problems, it was his home teachers he sought out.
At the time I was his stake president. He told me he remembered something his mother had taught him: “The Lord hears the prayers of those who sincerely seek Him.” As he confided that he had returned to praying and reading the scriptures, I saw with joy that the Lord had touched him.
I decided to follow up with him more closely, so I asked that he be assigned as my home teaching companion. Each month he and I visited four homes, and each month I prepared four different messages in an effort to strengthen my friend and help him in his return to gospel activity. Eventually he made the decision to repent, to faithfully attend his meetings, and to sincerely partake of the sacrament. The Lord’s sacrifice was having an effect on his life.
Today the family remains active and totally integrated in the ward, and they have been sealed in the Lord’s temple. My companion continues to progress rapidly in the gospel. He married a wonderful young woman in the temple, and they now have two children. They are happy and contribute valuable service to our ward and to the Church.
Six people were converted to the gospel as a result of that experience. A collective miracle! I felt the joy described in the scriptures:
“And how great is his joy in the soul that repenteth!
“Wherefore, you are called to cry repentance unto this people.
“And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!
“And now, if your joy will be great with one soul that you have brought unto me into the kingdom of my Father, how great will be your joy if you should bring many souls unto me!” (D&C 18:13–16).