Gospel Story Finder

Oliver Cowdery shared with the Prophet Joseph Smith many of the profound events of the Restoration, such as their baptism under the authority of John the Baptist, the conferral of the Aaronic Priesthood, the marvelous appearances in the Kirtland Temple, and writing with his own pen “the entire Book of Mormon (save a few pages) as it fell from the lips of the Prophet [Joseph Smith].” No one except the Prophet Joseph was more honored with the ministering of angels than Oliver Cowdery.

But when the Prophet Joseph fell upon hard times, Oliver was critical of him and became estranged from him. Despite the efforts of the Prophet to reach out the hand of fellowship to him, he became hostile to the Prophet and the Church and was excommunicated 12 April 1838.

A few years after the death of the Prophet, Oliver repented and expressed interest in coming back to the Church. In response, Brigham Young wrote on 22 November 1847, inviting him to “return to our father’s house, from whence thou hast wandered, … and renew thy testimony to the truth of the Book of Mormon.” Oliver appeared before the high priests quorum and said: “Brethren for a number of years I have been separated from you. I now desire to come back. I wish to come humbly and be one in your midst.—I seek no station. I only wish to be identified with you.—I am out of the church. I am not a member of the church. I wish to become a member of the church again. I wish to come in at the door. I know the door. I have not come here to seek precedence. I come humbly and throw myself upon the decision of this body—knowing as I do that their decisions are right and should be obeyed.”

He also bore his testimony in these words: “Friends and brethren my name is Cowdery, Oliver Cowdery. In the early history of this church I stood identified with [you]. … I … handled with my hands the gold plates from which [the Book of Mormon] was translated. I also beheld the interpreters. That book is true. Sidney Rigdon did not write it. Mr. Spaulding did not write it. I wrote it myself as it fell from the lips of the prophet.” Even though Oliver came back, he lost his exalted place in the Church.

Perhaps Scott has learned there is always somebody watching. On the rink it may be a scout or a future coach. In life it could be anybody.
“When Scott played on the Southern Alberta Select Team,” says Mary, “the coach told the team they needed to drink coffee to get going for the games. Scott and another LDS player wouldn’t.”
Scott smiles. “The funny thing was all the other kids ordered coffee, but they ordered caffeine free.”

My mother taught me an important lesson along these lines. For many years my father had a practice of trading for a new car every year. Then, shortly after World War II when grain prices increased, we were surprised one day when Dad drove home in a more expensive car.

One morning my mother asked, “How much more did the new car cost than the other one?”

When Dad told her, my mother said, “Well, the other car has always been able to get me where I need to go. I think we ought to give the difference to someone who needs it more than we do.”

And so it was. The next year Dad returned to the less-expensive cars, and they continued their generous ways.

“After I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I kept hearing from other members how marvelous it felt to be in the temple, and I yearned to experience it.
“Upon entering the temple, I couldn’t help but be in awe. What I felt couldn’t be compared to what I had heard. The temple felt peaceful and serene; indeed, it is the house of the Lord.
“I could only perform baptisms for the dead, but I was so happy I could perform an ordinance in the house of the Lord. It was a divine experience for me. Being in the temple further strengthens my testimony. I can testify that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. The gospel is true. God is in the temple and ordinances performed there are of the Lord. I look forward to my next visit as I prepare both spiritually and physically.”
– Nanman Glory Danan, Dogon Dutse Branch, Jos Nigeria District

Seventeen-year-old Amy J. lives in a part of Alabama, USA, that is popular among tourists. As a result, many businesses stay open seven days a week. And yet, Amy has been fortunate enough to find a job that doesn’t require her to work on Sunday—something very important to her.
Amy works year-round as a lifeguard and swim instructor at the local recreation center. She enjoys her job, especially teaching swimming lessons. “I like working with the kids,” Amy says.
The job also provides valuable income. “Last summer I was able to save up money and buy a car. That has been a tremendous blessing,” she says.
In short, she says it’s a fantastic job. So how did she land it? By first joining the swim team. “My swim coach texted me about a job she knew of,” Amy says. Amy believes she never would have found this opportunity if she hadn’t been putting herself out there and meeting people. She advises all youth to become involved in activities and to network.
Amy, too, has picked up useful life skills from her job. In her case, some of them may prove extremely helpful. “I want to go into the medical field,” she explains. The CPR and first-aid training she received as part of her lifeguard duties are excellent foundational skills.
She’s learned about balancing work and school schedules too. “Time management skills definitely come from having a job,” she says.
Last, but certainly not least, Amy has gained a testimony of paying tithing as a result of the income she receives from work. “I can see that when I pay tithing, I’m able to use my money in a more productive fashion,” she says.

“ZOOM! ZOOM!” Bobby flew into the room with his arms outstretched, almost knocking the lamp over.
“Please be careful, Bobby,” his mother reminded him.
“I’m not Bobby, I’m a jet plane flying around the world.”
“Well then, Jet Plane, please fly carefully so you don’t crash,” Mother suggested.
Bobby flew out of the back door, zooming loudly.
A few minutes later, Mother was putting a casserole into the oven when she almost tripped over Bobby. He was crawling on the floor, growling and snapping his teeth.
“My goodness, Jet Plane, you startled me. What’s the matter, did you crash?” Mother asked.
“I’m not a jet plane, anymore. I’m an alligator and I’m looking for people to eat. CRUNCH! CRUNCH! You might taste good.”
“Oh, no, Alligator,” Mother said, picking up her broom and sweeping the “alligator” into the living room. “I’m too tough and mean to eat.” She heard the make-believe alligator crunch and grrrr his way across the room.
“Sue, please come and set the table,” Mother called.
Bobby, dwarfed by Daddy’s hat and shirt and stumbling in Daddy’s enormous shoes, came into the kitchen with Sue.
“Where’s the paper?” he asked in a deep voice.
“Alligators don’t read papers, do they?” Mother asked.
“I’m not an alligator. I’m Daddy.” Bobby said, sitting back in Daddy’s chair, with the newspaper completely covering him.
“Daddy, would you ask everyone to come and eat,” Mother said a few minutes later. When Bobby didn’t answer, she looked behind the newspaper. There was Daddy’s hat, shirt, and shoes on the chair but no Bobby.
As Father came in from the backyard Mother went looking for Bobby. She found him out on the sidewalk on his hands and knees, barking at the cars.
“Please come in and eat, Bobby,” Mother said.
“I’m not Bobby. Can’t you see I’m a mean dog scaring the robbers away?”
“Well, Doggie, come on in and eat,” Mother said.
Bobby barked and romped to the table. Sitting on his “hind legs” and panting, he started lapping up his soup.
“Now, just a minute. We don’t allow dogs at the table, Mother,” Father said. “Please take the dog out back and give him some dog food to eat.”
“But I’m not a dog anymore,” Bobby wailed.
“Well, I’m afraid we don’t allow alligators and jet planes at the table, either,” said Mother.
“I’m not a jet plane or an alligator now.”
“Then who are you?”
“I’m Bobby.”
“Oh, Bobby,” Mother said, giving him a big hug, “We’re so glad to see you! There have been too many strange things and people around here today. And I’ve missed my Bobby.”
Bobby began to laugh. “It’s fun to be a jet plane and a dog and an alligator,” he said. “But I like best being just your Bobby.”

Later I mailed the overweight birthday card and enjoyed the thought of Eric reading his life out loud to his roommates.
It was almost midnight Friday when the phone rang.
“Mom, this is Eric.”
“Eric! Today’s your birthday. You got my card! You got the money! You loved them both! But you didn’t have to thank us at this hour!”
“Mom! Listen! Brad and I were just sitting around here in the student dormitory reminiscing when the telephone rang. It was a girl.”
She said, “Is this Eric Miller? You probably won’t remember me. It’s been a long time. This is Jena Hamilton.”
“Jena! I can’t believe it! Of course I remember you. What are you doing here in Utah? Visiting?”
“I’m going to the BYU just like you.”
“But why? How did you decide to come here?”
“Well, about three years ago mother and I were doing dishes when two young men knocked at our door. They said they were representatives of Jesus Christ and would like to leave a message with us. Mother said. ‘No, thank you, we really aren’t interested.’ Then for some reason she asked, ‘What church are you from?’ And they said, ‘We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes called the Mormon church.’ She looked at me, and we both said, ‘That’s Eric’s church.’ We weren’t interested, of course, but we would be courteous to someone from Eric’s church. Well, you know how that goes! We were baptized after the fourth lesson.”
“Jena! That’s wonderful! Hey, it’s my birthday. We’re celebrating! Where are you living? Can we come over?
Eric ended his story. I wiped a tear off my chin and nose. He paused a long time. “Well,” I demanded, “Did you go over? How is she doing?”
“She’s beautiful!” Eric replied enthusiastically.
“And her leg? Has it improved?”
“Her leg? What was the matter with her leg?”

On my mission, I was in a car accident that left me with back pain and memory loss. Once I returned home, I enrolled in school, but I struggled. I couldn’t remember simple things, and I couldn’t carry more than a notebook and a pen in my backpack because of the pain.
I was angry. I had spent 18 months serving God and giving Him my all. Why wouldn’t He heal me? Where was He?
As the intense pain continued, I began to feel that I couldn’t turn to God. I began to doubt that He would—or even could—help me. And if He couldn’t help me, then I thought scripture study and temple attendance wouldn’t help either. I turned away from God because life was too hard, and I couldn’t see a way out.
On one particularly difficult day, I had failed another test after studying for hours, and the pain in my back was worse than it had ever been. I stepped outside, sat down, and cried.
A few minutes later, a girl came up to me and smiled. She handed me a note that read, “‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself’ [Matthew 6:34]. Heavenly Father is watching over you. I asked Him to. He loves you.”
The Spirit washed over me. I hadn’t felt God’s love for me in a long time. But the girl who handed me the note sparked feelings in my soul, brought me back to the beginning of my faith, and reminded me of my many prior experiences with the Spirit.
I began to turn to Heavenly Father more often in prayer. Even if I couldn’t see the end of my pain, I asked Him to ease my pain or to give me the strength to simply make it through the day. I concentrated more on scripture study and temple attendance.
Though my memory and my pain aren’t fully healed, I have learned to stay close to the Lord. Even when I cannot see all of what lies ahead, I know He is there. I can look forward to the future with faith in Him.

I gazed at the girl sitting alone at the table across from mine. Her long hair hid her face, but I could sense her loneliness as she idly scooted food around her tray. I couldn’t help but feel selfish watching her eat by herself when I was surrounded by friends.
One of my friends suddenly elbowed me. “Sierra! I’m talking to you. Wake up!” My focus snapped back to the conversation at our lunch table.
“Oh, sorry! I wasn’t paying attention. Hey, do you guys see that girl sitting over there?” I nodded toward the young woman eating alone. “Do you know her name?”
My friends shrugged and returned to their conversation. Their laughter muddled into the noise of the cafeteria while my mind wandered back to the girl at the table. The thought came that I should do something to help her. “But what if she thinks I’m weird or if she’s waiting for her other friends?” I silently objected. But the thought returned, and I knew what I needed to do.
I shuffled nervously toward her, and she glanced up when I reached her table.
“Do you want to sit with us?” I asked.
She half nodded, gathered her belongings, and followed me as my friends scooted over to give her room to sit.
“I have two classes with you,” I said, “but I don’t think I’ve met you before. What’s your name?”
“Kelsey,”* she said. Her reply was barely audible.
For the rest of lunch, my friends and I asked about her interests and school schedule, trying to help her feel welcome. I could tell she was relieved not to be sitting alone. When lunch was over, a warm, light feeling filled my heart.
In the following weeks, Kelsey continued to sit with us at lunch. While her face always made it seem like she was fine, I could see pain in her eyes. She didn’t talk much about her background, but I could sense that there was a lot of stuff she was trying to keep hidden or forget about.
Months flew by, and I grew to love Kelsey. We enjoyed each other’s friendship. I was amazed by her lofty dreams and loving personality.
One day in our computer class, the teacher moved me next to Kelsey, who seemed to be struggling with some of the material. We spent hours working together, and I watched happily as her grade inched up to an A. For one assignment, we created time lines that included 10 major events in our lives. When Kelsey completed hers, she tapped me on the shoulder.
“Do you want to see my time line?” She grinned.
“Yeah, sure!” I looked over at her computer. Stifling a gasp, I read some of the sad events that had filled Kelsey’s life. My surprise reached its peak, however, when I read the final event on her time line: I met Sierra.
Stunned, I hugged her and whispered, “Oh, Kelsey. Thank you.”
Toward the end of the school year, Kelsey suddenly moved to California. About a year after that, Mrs. Cummings,* who worked at my school, told me she wanted to talk with me. She hesitantly explained that Kelsey had passed away over the weekend. Tears started pouring down my cheeks. Mrs. Cummings didn’t know—or at least couldn’t tell me—how it happened, but she did tell me some things about Kelsey that I hadn’t known before. Her life on earth was challenging. I cried for several days, but even through my tears, I was comforted because of the plan of salvation.
Back in that lunchroom, when I saw a girl sitting alone, Heavenly Father knew she was a daughter of His who needed a friend. He knows our needs and knows how we can meet the needs of others. Though it’s easy to ignore the promptings of the Spirit at times, I will forever be glad for the day I listened to the Spirit at lunch.

Tyler loved tomatoes. He loved their bright red color and smooth skin. He loved the way their seeds spurted out when he bit into them. He loved to dip tiny tomatoes into salt, and he loved the big ones sliced thin in sandwiches.
“Let’s grow some tomatoes in our yard,” Tyler’s dad suggested one day.
“Could we?” Tyler was surprised. He’d never thought of growing tomatoes at home. He thought it would be wonderful to have his very own supply of tasty tomatoes ready to pick whenever he felt like it.
Tyler and his dad chose a sunny spot to plant the tomatoes. Then they dug and prepared the soil until it was loose and fine. While they were working, Mr. Bradley leaned over the back fence. “Going to have some pretty flowers?” he asked.
“Oh, no, Mr. Bradley. This is for my tomatoes,” Tyler told him.
“Humph!” Mr. Bradley growled, frowning. “I’ve never had any luck growing tomatoes here.”
“Dad says we can,” Tyler answered, and he kept raking the ground to make it smooth.
The next morning Tyler and his dad planted six tiny green tomato plants. Tyler watered them carefully. In just a few days they looked bigger. “See, Mr. Bradley,” Tyler said, pointing proudly to his plants, “they’re growing.”
“Just wait, Tyler, just wait,” Mr. Bradley replied smugly.
In several weeks Tyler’s tomato plants blossomed with dozens of star-shaped yellow flowers. “I’m going to have hundreds of tomatoes,” he predicted.
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Mr. Bradley told him.
Soon tiny, hard green tomatoes replaced the yellow blossoms. Tyler’s mouth watered as he watched them grow into large tomatoes. Morning and night he checked the plants, hoping to find a ripe tomato. One morning he thought one of the plants seemed smaller. The next day he was sure it had lost some leaves. And the following day it looked scraggly and thin. Tyler noticed some small black droppings under the plant too.
He knelt on the ground and examined all of his plants, leaf by leaf. He studied the shriveled one very carefully. Suddenly he jumped up and hollered, “Wow! Dad, Dad, come quick! There’s a dragon out here.”
A large green worm the size of a thick, round pea pod was greedily munching the leaves of Tyler’s wilted tomato plant. It really did look like a miniature dragon as it inched its fat, segmented body along the stem of the plant, waving the little “horns” on the top of its head from side to side as it moved. It seemed to eat as much as a dragon, too, devouring every leaf in its path.
“How did you ever find it, Tyler?” Dad asked. “That worm is so well camouflaged that it looks just like part of the stem. Only really sharp eyes could have seen it.”
Mr. Bradley leaned over the fence to see what all the excitement was about. “Better spray,” he advised. “The pests get all the prizes, I always say. Give ’em a shot of bug spray—that’s what they deserve.”
“I think we’ll try the old-fashioned method first,” Dad said. He carefully picked the worm off the tomato plant. “Now, Tyler, you check the plants every day, and if you notice any other worms, take them off and kill them. They should be easier to spot now that you know what to look for. Be careful, though—their bite might not be dangerous, but it could sure hurt.”
“Found any more dragons?” Mr. Bradley asked the next time Tyler was out watering.
“Nope,” Tyler answered, “but the tomatoes are finally turning red. Look!” The plants sagged under the weight of the plump tomatoes—some still green, some pale yellow, and some a promising orange.
Finally the day came. “This one is ready, isn’t it, Dad?” Tyler asked as they inspected a big red tomato.
“You bet, and it’s all yours. You grew it, and you get to eat it.”
Tyler gently twisted the tomato from its stem and washed it carefully with water from the hose. Then he sat down on the lawn and took a big bite. Still warm from the sun, the tomato burst in his mouth, spurting juice and seeds down his chin and onto his jeans. Tyler grinned with pleasure.
“Ummm! It’s so good!” he exclaimed, wiping his chin between bites. “Next week, after I eat a few more myself, I’ll pick some for Mr. Bradley. Maybe next year he’ll want to grow tomatoes too.”

Sister Spencer stood up to conduct sharing time. “We’re fortunate to have Brother Lancaster of the bishopric with us today,” she said.
Peter liked Brother Lancaster. He always had a smile for the children in the ward.
“Sister Spencer asked me to tell you about my baptism,” Brother Lancaster said. “I was baptized on a very cold day in March. It was so cold that some of the pipes in the stake center had frozen and burst. The whole basement of the stake center was flooded with six inches of icy water. Unfortunately, that is where the baptismal font was.”
Peter’s friend Jeremy raised his hand. “How did they get the water out so you could be baptized?” he asked.
“Well, it took a lot of men to drain the water,” Brother Lancaster said. “And they couldn’t do it before the baptism.”
“So was your baptism canceled?” Jeremy asked.
“No,” Brother Lancaster answered. “I waded through the water to get to the baptismal font. The water in the font was so cold that I was sure I was turning blue. My father was shivering as he said the words of the baptism prayer. As cold as I was, though, I wouldn’t trade a minute of that experience. Do you know why?”
The children shook their heads.
Peter leaned forward in his seat. He was eager to hear why Brother Lancaster didn’t mind the freezing cold water.
“Because it made me think of the pioneers. They sometimes had to be baptized in frozen rivers and streams where the men had to break apart the ice. It also reminded me of the sacrifices many people make to become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Brother Lancaster wiped some tears from his eyes. “My baptism was 43 years ago, but I still remember every detail. It was one of the most important days of my life.”

Sometimes that love comes in unexpected ways. Kristen was finishing a graduate degree and had recently given birth to her second child. She felt the other graduates had accomplished so much more and was reluctant to attend the graduation dinner. Her fears were confirmed when, at the dinner, the students were asked to list their professional accomplishments. Kristen recalled: “I suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed. I had nothing to call myself, no lofty position, no impressive job title.” To make matters worse, the professor read the lists as he presented a diploma to each student. The woman ahead of Kristen had many accomplishments: she already had a PhD, was receiving a second master’s degree, and she’d even been a mayor! The woman received grand applause.

Then it was Kristen’s turn. She handed the professor her blank sheet, trying to hold back the tears. The professor had been one of her teachers and had praised her performance. He looked at her blank paper. Without missing a beat he announced, “Kristen holds the most critical role in all of society.” He was quiet for a few seconds, then declared in a powerful voice, “She is the mother of her children.” Instead of a few courteous claps, people rose to their feet. There was just one standing ovation that night; it was for the mother in the room.

After my grandmother died, my cousin moved in with me and became my guardian. My cousins are my best friends, but the change was still really hard. I had to learn to do all the chores that my grandmother used to do. I had to wake myself up for school and take care of the house.
My bishop had always talked about self-reliance, so I searched about it in Gospel Library. It helped me learn to stand on my own two feet.

I will always be grateful to a woman in Kenya, Africa, who taught me about willingness to work to obtain water. I met her at a celebration following the installation of a well in her community. With gratitude she told me that the new well would cut her daily nine-mile (14 km) trip to get water to a one-mile (1.6 km) trip. She was overjoyed at the opportunities that would now be hers.
I couldn’t help but think how I would feel if I had to walk a mile to get water. I was impressed that she put everything—from housework to gardening—aside while she made her journey to fetch water. She knew she couldn’t complete the other tasks without that water. I thought about how heavy her burden was. Carrying water takes strength and endurance. Yet, for the sake of her family, she was willing to walk nine miles every day to get it.
I wonder if we who get clean water from taps in our homes sometimes expect to come unto Christ with the same ease as turning a knob to get a glass of water. Or are we willing to put aside other tasks, even important ones, to seek to know Jesus Christ and His Father?
I know that the well of living water the Savior offers us never runs dry and is pure and life sustaining. When we come to Him with an empty cup, He will fill it, often beyond our capacity to receive. He is truly living water, a manifestation of the love of God.
The living water is the gospel of Jesus Christ.
“The fountain of living waters … [is] a representation of the love of God” (1 Nephi 11:25).
Living water can bring us “everlasting life” (John 4:14; D&C 63:23).

I had a similar experience as a young boy on my grandparents’ farm. They taught me about tithing with examples of one egg or one bushel of peaches out of ten. Years later I used those same kinds of examples to try to teach the principles of tithing to our own children.

Parents are always looking for better ways to teach, and the results of their efforts are sometimes unexpected. Attempting to teach tithing to our young son, I explained the principle of a tenth and how it would apply to the eggs gathered in a chicken farm and the young calves or horses born in a breeding herd. When I finished what I was sure was a clear explanation, I wanted to test whether our seven-year-old had understood. I asked him to imagine that he was a farmer with a harvest of eggs and young animals. I supplied the figures and then asked our little boy what he would give to the bishop as tithing. He thought deeply for a moment and then said, “I would give him a very old horse.”

We obviously had some further conversations on the principle of tithing, and I am proud of the way he and his brother and sisters learned and practiced that principle. But I have often thought of that little boy’s words as I have observed how some adult Church members relate to the law of tithing. I think we still have some whose attitude and performance consist of giving the bishop something like “a very old horse.”

A few years ago several friends from institute and I planned a two-day backpacking trip. We were experienced campers, quite familiar with the areas we would be traveling in and well equipped for most situations. We would soon learn, however, that without the guidance of the Holy Ghost our gear and knowledge would have been next to useless.
A few days before our trip the sky was clear and the temperatures were moderate. Our destination was Mount Chocorua in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. While it is true that the mountains of our region do not boast summits as high as those found in other parts of the world, the elevation gain from trailhead to summit is often quite substantial, and New England is known for its highly unpredictable weather.
The day before our departure it started to rain. Normally this would not concern me; it often rained as we hiked. This time, however, I felt a growing sense of unease. I checked the forecast—light showers, nothing more. Still, I felt very uncomfortable as the evening progressed. The feeling grew as I prepared for bed, read my scriptures, and said my prayers.
Finally I went to my pack and pulled out my guide map of the White Mountain National Forest. As I located Mount Chocorua on the map, my sense of unease doubled. It was so intense I considered calling off the trip, but that didn’t feel right either. I found another mountain we had on our list to climb and immediately felt better. After a prayer I felt good about this new destination. My only concern was possibly disappointing my friend Glenn, who had put much effort into planning this trip.
The next morning it was still raining lightly. After we all arrived at our departure point, I voiced my concerns and told my friends of my prayers and feelings. To my relief, two others had had the same feelings, and Glenn was more than willing to change mountains. We then prayed and asked the Lord to watch over us in our travels and to help us make the right decisions. We all felt comfortable with our new plans and departed.
Although the rain continued, our drive and climb passed without incident. After dinner the rain stopped and the clouds broke, revealing a beautiful sunset. Our spirits lifted, and we went to bed.
At midnight we were awakened by an intense electrical storm that lasted most of the night. While the rain, wind, and lightning were heavy where we were, we felt no impending danger. The lightning was far worse to the east where, from my vantage point, it was striking a particular area nearly every second and continued to do so for at least an hour. Glad that I was not there, I drifted back to sleep. The remainder of the trip was wet but passed safely and was very enjoyable.
A few days later I attended an institute cookout. All those who had gone on the backpacking trip were there. When Glenn arrived he had a curious look on his face. He showed us a section of a guidebook for the White Mountains. It stated that while Mount Chocorua is not as elevated as its neighbors, its bald face and position make it dangerous as one of the mountains in North America most frequently struck by lightning. We also confirmed that the area we saw bombarded by lightning was the Chocorua area.
How grateful we were that we were warned by the Holy Ghost not to go there at that time.

A number of years ago, our son, who was four years old at the time, was involved in a serious road accident away from home. After a week or so in hospital, he was able to be transferred the 200 miles (320 kilometres) to our local hospital. When we arrived home, there was a note from a loving and caring ministering sister with details of who would collect our other four children from school, who would provide meals and who would do our laundry. During the subsequent five weeks our son remained in hospital, my wife gave birth to our youngest son. With a son in one end of the hospital, a wife and new baby in the other end, four children to care for, and a full-time job to fit in, we would not have coped without the significant help given to us by our fellow ward members. How grateful we were for their selfless ministering. We know that the common question “Can we do anything to help?” is always sincerely offered, but this wonderful, thoughtful sister went the extra mile, anticipated our needs and ministered accordingly.

It all started when Jess decided he didn’t have time to change clothes. He was in a hurry to get out to the playground where his friends were waiting. So he put on his playclothes right over his school clothes and went outside to play.
Now that wasn’t too bad, but the next morning …
“Remember to put on a clean undershirt,” Mother said when she woke Jess up.
“Yes, Mother,” Jess answered. And that is what he did. He put it on, but he didn’t take the old one off.
Jess smiled in the mirror. “That’s very smart of you,” he said to his reflection.
“Just think of the time you’re saving. Soon they’ll be calling you Jiffy Jess!”
And then he got another idea. “I can save even more time if I just put my clothes on over my pajamas.” He smiled proudly at his reflection. “Then at night I’ll only have to take off my clothes and hop into bed.”
And that’s what he did. His school clothes went on right over his two undershirts and his pajamas. It was quite warm, but if it would save time, it was worth it, Jess decided.
That afternoon he ran home and hurried to get ready to go outside to play. He pulled on his old shirt and pants over his school clothes, his play socks over his school socks, and then his shoes. It was a tight fit, but he made it.
As he went out the door, Mother stopped him. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” Jess answered.
Mother took a step backwards and looked very carefully at Jess. She looked up to his head and down to his feet and then she shook her head.
“You seem to be putting on weight,” she said. “Gaining that much weight so fast isn’t good. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Jess was laughing inside, but he didn’t let Mother know. Somehow he knew she wouldn’t approve of what he was doing.
“I’m fine, Mother,” he said, trying not to smile. “May I go out now?”
“I guess so, but I’m worried about you.” Mother seemed bewildered.
“Don’t worry,” Jess shouted over his shoulder as he went out the door. “I’m just fine.”
He tried to run out to the baseball field where his friends were waiting, but with all those clothes on he could barely trot.
“It’s about time you got here,” Jonathan said, hitting his fist in his baseball mitt. “You’ve been holding up the game.”
“Throw me the catcher’s mitt and let’s play ball!” Jess shouted.
Jess got behind the batter and tried to squat, but his knees wouldn’t bend.
“Come on! Come on!” Jonathan shouted from the pitcher’s mound. “Let’s get going!”
Once more Jess tried to bend over, but it hurt! His knees felt as if they were wrapped in giant bandages, and he could barely breathe. He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and again tried to squat down. But with pajamas, two pairs of pants, two undershirts, two shirts, and two pairs of socks, he could barely even bend. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed. They had. Eight pairs of glaring eyes were moving in on him from the field.
“What’s wrong with you?” David asked in amazement.
“Well … well … ah …” Jess stammered, trying to figure out how to explain. He knew everyone would laugh at him. He could feel his face growing red with embarrassment.
“Here, Joel,” Jess finally said as he threw the mitt. “You catch. I’ll be right back.”
Jess trotted as fast as possible to the house. He took off all his clothes. Then he put his playclothes on again and started out the door.
“I thought you had gone,” Mother said without looking up.
“I forgot something,” Jess said.
“Oh,” Mother smiled at Jess. Then her eyebrows knitted in wonder and she shook her head.
“My, oh my,” she said. “You seem to have lost at least ten pounds! Are you sure you feel all right?”
“I feel better than I’ve felt all day!” Jess said as he ran back out to the playground to play ball.

On William’s 21st birthday, May 1, 1858, he and the crew received shore leave in Honolulu, Hawaii. William heard prior to leaving Britain that President Brigham Young had sent missionaries to the Pacific islands, so the young convert tried to locate some Saints “but could find no record of them.” Unknown to him the Church had called home its Pacific missionaries to help defend Zion, if necessary, against a United States army then marching towards Utah. Ironically, the last elders working in Hawaii left the islands the same day that William landed in Honolulu.
The seaman, an isolated Mormon cut off from contact with the Church, continued to nourish his faith by himself. He read and reread the “works of the Church” that he had brought along. A priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, he was “informed about the authority of the priest to administer the sacrament,” so he felt justified in holding his own private sacrament service in his “beef house” aboard ship. “I prayed often, to the Lord,” he said, “and asked Him to acknowledge me in the administration.” On Sundays, after the ship’s religions service, William returned to his room where “I would place the hardtack (ship’s bread) and water upon a table and then offer prayer, after which I would ask the blessing upon the bread and water and partake of it. In this way I received much spiritual strength.”

At the beginning of 2014, Gabin found an article online reporting that Elder David A. Bednar, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, had a few months earlier been in Libreville. It was just after the Gabonese government had officially recognized the Church and had permitted the beginning of missionary activities. Elder Bednar had dedicated the country of Gabon for the preaching of the gospel and he had organized the Libreville Branch. Gabin was stunned. For more than eight years he had likely been the only endowed member of the Church living in Gabon and suddenly there was a branch organized in his home city.
Using an email address found in the article, Gabin wrote to the Africa Southeast Area office, asking questions about the Church situation in Libreville. Elie Monga, president of the Brazzaville mission in the Republic of Congo, was informed and a few days later, while at work, Gabin received a visit from Elder Michael Moody, the first senior missionary to serve in Gabon.
After their initial greeting, Gabin said to Elder Moody, “I have a few questions. First, where can I pay my tithing?” For more than eight years, Gabin had carefully kept his tithing money in a small box.
“Second,” he asked, “Where can I buy new temple garments? Eight years ago, I brought a few to Libreville, and every night since I have been carefully hand washing them.” Elder Moody went to the car, opened his suitcase, and gave Gabin a brand-new pair of garments that he had been prompted to pack in his travel case that morning.
The next Sunday, Gabin, Fleur, Eve, Gabin’s nephew Yann, plus Annaïck and Pauline, Fleur’s nieces were six of the ten people sitting in the Libreville Branch sacrament meeting. Fleur was taught the missionary lessons and shortly afterward was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. And so were Eve, Yann, Annaïck, and Pauline.
In 2015, Gabin adopted Eve. And later that year the three of them—Gabin, Fleur, and Eve—flew to Johannesburg, South Africa, where this unlikely story concludes with significant eternal consequences. Fleur received her endowment, she and Gabin were sealed together, and Eve was sealed to them both in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
In 2016, Elie Monga, president of the Republic of Congo Brazzaville Mission, travelled to Libreville to preside over a division of the Libreville Branch. Gabin Mendene was called to serve as president of the Libreville 2nd Branch. Shortly afterward, while attending district conference, Elder Kevin S. Hamilton—former Brussels Belgium mission president and now a General Authority Seventy and president of the Africa Southeast Area—looked out from his seat on the rostrum. And sitting there in the middle of the congregation was someone he had not seen in ten years—a patient man with an extraordinary conversion story and a church pioneer in Africa—Gabin from Gabon.