Gospel Story Finder

There is probably no greater Gethsemane for saint or sinner than the grief felt over the death of one’s child. I am going to read a portion of a letter written by a father to his ten-year-old daughter just minutes after he learned of her accidental death. Note how this good man’s Gethsemane became a sanctifying experience because of his knowledge of the gospel and because of the gift of the Comforter. Contrast his reaction with what it may have been without the light of the gospel. I read it with his permission.

If you may be permitted to listen, these are some thoughts your “Dear Ol’ Dad” would like to express in his and your mom’s hour of joy and sorrow.

You have been an angel of light in our home. Even in your passing you have sanctified the experience by the sweet sorrow of this temporary parting. As I sit in this hotel room many miles from home and only moments after hearing of your passing, I have confidence that you are really home. It’s pleasing to know that you are now unencumbered by the mild, but troublesome physical limitations you accepted and lived with in such an adorable noncomplaining way.

Mom and I and your seven brothers and sisters are better because you came to our house. Soon after your day of birth you helped us to accept fear and the unknown; to better love others with physical, emotional, or mental challenges; to accept the disappointment accompanying an unknown prognosis and to query and plead with our Father, who today you know better than we do. As you grew older, we learned determination from you, who had every right to spill your milk but never did, who royally beat your mom and dad in tetherball, who averaged ninety-seven percent in spelling for an entire year and by sheer grit struggled with math, and who without ever a complaint sat with your mom every night—summer and school months—to read and understand what you had read. Yes, we did our best to help you learn, but what we learned from you cannot be printed in books—cannot be written because it is almost too sacred to rehearse.

We pray for all of us who the Lord expects to stay here on the job for yet awhile. Our prayers are that we will be worthy to be reunited with you and to see you whole and perfect. Oh, how we would have loved to have you stay. How we would love to hear your ever so spontaneous “I love you.” How we’d thrill to feel that clinging embrace. Oh yes, especially today.

An anonymous Church member wrote about the continuous heartache her brother caused her parents. He got involved in drugs. He resisted all efforts at control and discipline. He was deceitful and defiant. Unlike the prodigal, this errant son did not come home of his own accord. Instead he got caught by the police and was forced to face the consequences of his actions. For two years his parents supported Bill’s treatment program, which brought about his eventual recovery from drugs. In summary, Bill’s sister observed: “I think my parents are extraordinary. They never wavered in their love for Bill, though they disagreed with and even hated what he was doing to himself and to their family life. But they were committed enough to their family to support Bill in any way necessary to get him through the tough times and onto more solid ground. They practiced the deeper, more sensitive, and extensive gospel of Christ by loving one who had gone astray.”

President David O. McKay, in an address given at an annual Relief Society Conference in 1947, the centennial year of the Saints’ arrival in the valley, talked of the criticism given by a teacher conducting a class, who commented that it was very unwise to have even permitted the Saints to cross the plains under such circumstances, and they were talking about the Willie and Martin handcart companies who left later than they should have. President McKay said:
Some sharp criticism of the Church and its leaders was being indulged in for permitting any company of converts to venture across the plains with no more supplies or protection than a handcart caravan afforded.
An old man in the corner [and this was written by President William Palmer, who was present] sat silent and listened as long as he could stand it, then he arose and said things that no person who heard him will ever forget. His face was white with emotion, yet he spoke calmly, deliberately, but with great earnestness and sincerity.
In substance the father above mentioned said, “I ask you to stop this criticism. You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for they give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. Mistake to send the Handcart Company out so late in the season? Yes. But I was in that company and my wife was in it and Sister Nellie Unthank whom you have cited was there, too. We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? Not one of that company ever apostatized or left the Church, because everyone of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities.
“I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it.” [And a wife with a baby in her arms by his side!] “I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.
“Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company.” [“Pioneer Women,” Relief Society Magazine, January 1948, p. 8]

The next week, Cleiton again invited me to go to church. I couldn’t because I had another obligation. I could see the sadness in his face when I told him I didn’t know if I could go.

However, on Sunday morning I awoke with a desire to go to church. I got up at 6:50, which was difficult for me, and I got ready and waited for Cleiton to walk by. He was surprised when he saw me dressed and waiting. That Sunday the bishop taught about the priesthood. I felt the Spirit strongly and had the impression that I should take the missionary lessons. By the end of the Aaronic Priesthood meeting, I knew that I was going to be baptized.

When church ended, I told Cleiton, “I want to be baptized!”

He thought I was joking. But then he said, “If I call the elders, will you meet with them?” I answered yes.

I was taught by great elders. When I heard the message of the Restoration, I had an even greater confirmation that I should be baptized. But I wanted to know for myself the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. The elders marked Moroni 10:3–5 in my Book of Mormon and invited me to pray and ask God if it is true.

The next evening I remembered that I had not yet read the Book of Mormon. As I began to read, I felt a very strong spirit. I prayed, and before I was finished, I knew that the Book of Mormon is true. I am grateful to God for having answered my prayer. I was baptized in July 2006.

I later served as a missionary in the Brazil Cuiabá Mission, and my friend Cleiton served in the Brazil Santa Maria Mission. We did what Cleiton did for me: invite people to come unto Christ and help them receive the restored gospel through exercising faith in Jesus Christ, repenting, being baptized, and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost. This truly is the way to salvation.

Let us always invite our friends and relatives to learn of this gospel, for the Savior invited everyone when He said, “Come unto me” (Matthew 11:28). I know that this is the Church of Jesus Christ and that now is the time to invite everyone to come unto Him.

In 1976 I joined the BYUH rugby program. A year later I was hooked on the sport. There was nothing else in my mind but rugby. What made things worse, Coach Inoke Funaki announced that BYU-H Seasiders team will be on a tour to the South Pacific: Samoa, Tonga, New Zealand and Fiji. I could visualize this as an opportunity to go home; a chance to see my family.
I knew that it would be a tough thing to accomplish but I was determined to do my best. I knew that only 26 players of the 70 players would be selected on the tour.
The other players were fast, experienced, heavier, and stronger. In comparison with other players, I was skinny, inexperience, light and uncoordinated. I decided to train hard during the week and played my best on Saturdays.
I made it a goal to be on the field for practice before anyone. During the practice I trained hard as if I were playing a real game. I was not fast but it my goal to outrun everybody. The "pain barrier" weeks came and went and I was physically fit. No distance was ever too far for me to run.
When the season started, a miracle happened; I almost made a touch down every game. It was simply from the opponent dropping the pass, and I was the first player to get to it. I was known as the tireless runner.
What most players did not know, I did more work off the field in my preparation for my games. From Monday to Friday, I practiced hard, and I played my best on Saturdays during the games. On Sundays, I fasted for rugby. I suspected that it was probably a silly thing to fast for, but that's the Lord's problem. He promised that if you ask He will give, and that's his to decide. As a result, I was not only doing well as a player, but also off the field as a student.
I made the team and went on the tour, and it was a memorable experience. I achieved far more than I expected from playing the game. I knew the Lord answered my prayer and I gained a stronger testimony of prayer and fasting. That's the best result of my rugby career.

When Elder Brook P. Hales was eight or nine, he was in a fast and testimony meeting where his father was presiding as bishop. His father invited the congregation to bear testimonies, and nearly everyone present bore testimony. “It was perhaps the first time I felt the Spirit bearing witness to me of the truthfulness of the gospel,” Elder Hales recalls.
That day when he was a young boy, Elder Hales didn’t bear his testimony. But it has grown stronger ever since. “The gospel of Jesus Christ has been restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon is true, God loves us perfectly and is eager to bless us, Jesus is our Savior, and we are blessed to have the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost as we are worthy of it,” he says.

When a construction accident left him unable to walk, Rodrigo Quintanilla could no longer work as a welder—or do a lot of other things. But he decided to move forward with faith, trusting in Heavenly Father’s plan for him and his family.
When something really bad happens to us, we can respond in one of two ways. We can get angry with God and leave the Church, having nothing more to do with it. Or we can get on our knees, pray, and continue to grow.
I didn’t lose my faith, nor did I ask myself, “Why did this happen to me?” I refused to go down that road.
When a trial comes to us, I know our Father in Heaven provides a way through that trial. As I recuperated, having the company of the Holy Ghost was essential. I had to reinvent myself professionally, so I prayed for the Spirit’s guidance. God answered me.
I spent the first year after my accident in recovery and rehabilitation. I spent the second year determining what to do. I needed to find something that would at least cover my family’s basic needs—something that didn’t take a lot of strength and that I could do from a wheelchair.
With help from my wife, Paola, and my children, Ricardo and Nicol, I began an in-home business. We started by offering a key-copying service. We slowly added more services. I gathered know-how here and there. I learned with practice. Now, nine years later, we run a locksmith shop and a copy center with printing and laminating services.
“I had to reinvent myself professionally, so I prayed for the Spirit’s guidance,” says Rodrigo. “God answered me.”
With guidance from the Holy Ghost and help from his family, Rodrigo began a successful in-home business.

Henry Eyring, a leading scientist and a great teacher who recently passed away, would have contests with his students. Even in his mid-sixties he could standing broad jump to the top of his desk. He challenged university students to a thirty- or forty-yard foot race.
One day just a few short years before he died, he was in the Church Administration Building. His brother-in-law, President Spencer W. Kimball, came out of his office and saw Henry Eyring standing there with a cane. He said, “Henry, what is the cane for?”
And Henry Eyring said, “Style, President, style.”
No wonder he had such an influence on the minds of young men all over the Church. He had “style.”

I love the story told by President Hinckley of the time he learned about having the courage to make his own decisions and not “follow the crowd.” The year that he started junior high school, the building was not large enough to accommodate all the students, and his class had to return to the elementary school. He and his friends were not very happy, so the boys decided that they would go on strike and not attend school the next day—and they didn’t. They had no place to go, so they just wandered around wasting time.

The next morning, the principal, Mr. Stearns, met the boys at the front door and told them that they had to have a note from their parents to be able to return to school. Young Gordon went home and reluctantly approached his mother, who knew something was wrong. He told her the situation.

She did write him a note, which read, “Dear Mr. Sterns, Please excuse Gordon’s absence yesterday. His action was simply an impulse to follow the crowd.”5 President Hinckley stated, “I determined then and there that I would make my own decisions on the basis of their merits and my standards and not be pushed in one direction or another by those around me. That decision has blessed my life many times.”6

After World War II on a cold night in a train station in southern Japan, I heard a tap on the train window. There stood a boy wearing the same ragged shirt, a rag tied about a swollen jaw, his head covered with scabies. He held a rusty tin can and a spoon, the symbol of an orphan beggar. As I struggled to open the door to give him money, the train pulled out. I will never forget that hungry little boy standing in the cold, holding up his empty tin can.

My wife, Jill, and I recently witnessed this truth in the faithful lives of Holly and Rick Porter, whose 12-year-old son, Trey, passed away in a tragic fire. With hands and feet severely burned in a heroic attempt to save her dear son, Holly later testified in ward sacrament meeting of the great peace and joy the Lord had poured out upon her family in their anguish, using words such as miraculous, incredible, and amazing.

This precious mother’s unbearable grief was replaced by surpassing peace with this thought: “My hands are not the hands that save. Those hands belong to the Savior! Instead of looking at my scars as a reminder of what I was not able to do, I remember the scars my Savior bears.”

Holly’s witness fulfills our prophet’s promise: “As you think celestial, you will view trials and opposition in a new light.”

The snake lay coiled on the footbridge, its dark skin gleaming in the early morning sun like slick and shiny oil. Silken flashes of green and brown shimmered along its coiled length as it reflected the sunlight. The snake was beautiful.
Tim spied it immediately. “Look, Mama, a snake! A great big snake on the footbridge!” he exclaimed as he, Jan, and their mother walked toward the school bus.
“Oh, it’s so beautiful!” cried Jan, entranced.
“Yes, it certainly is a handsome snake,” agreed Mother. “If we’re lucky, it might come closer to our house and be our friend. A snake like that one could keep our yard clear of mice and rats.”
The next morning when the children walked through the woods on their way to the school bus, they saw the snake coiled in the same spot on the footbridge.
“That snake needs a name,” said Tim.
“I wonder what a good name for a snake would be,” Jan said.
“Well, I think it’s a girl snake,” Tim declared. “And because she’s so beautiful, how about calling her Beauty?”
And so Beauty she became.
The children looked forward to their morning walk to the school bus. There was always the chance that they would see Beauty again.
Beauty often raised her head now when the children came near her. She watched them carefully, her skin gleaming in the sun. One day Beauty opened her dainty mouth, and a tiny red tongue flicked back and forth. Tim and Jan were delighted with their new friend.
“She knows us! She knows us!” Tim shouted the first day Beauty raised her head and flicked her tongue at them. “Oh, Beauty, I wish you’d come and live in our yard.”
One day Tim left a dead mouse by the bridge that Tickles, their cat, had brought home. That evening when they returned from school, the snake and the dead mouse were gone.
The long spring passed into summer. School closed and the children no longer caught the school bus or passed over the footbridge every day. They were busy with garden chores. Days went by when they didn’t see Beauty.
Then one day Tim came running into the house, his eyes wild and filed with tears. “It’s Beauty, Mama. Something’s the matter with Beauty!”
“Calm down, Son, and take it easy,” Mother said. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“Beauty’s hurt. She’s coming apart, and everything’s leaking out of her. I found her in the bushes near the footbridge. Do something, Mama,” Tim pleaded. “Please help her. She might die.”
Jan had come into the room and was listening, her eyes wide with alarm. “We’re her friends, Tim. We’ll all help her, won’t we, Mama?”
Mother was silent for a moment. “I’ve never nursed a snake before,” she said hesitantly. “I’m sure it’s a gopher snake, but I don’t know what I can do for it.”
Looking at her children sympathetically, Mrs. Stacey made up her mind. “Let me get a basket,” she said, “and we’ll go take a look at Beauty and see what can be done.”
They hurried to the footbridge and peered into the bushes where Tim had seen Beauty. The snake had crawled even farther into the underbrush. Mother put down the basket, and Tim and Jan carefully lifted Beauty and laid her in it. Her shiny skin had been ripped open in several places, and it was turning dull.
“It looks as though someone has thrown rocks at her or poked her with a sharp stick,” said Mother.
All the way home Mother was thinking about what she could do. Back in the kitchen she said, “Tim, run to the bathroom and bring me that roll of adhesive tape. Jan, get me the scissors and some warm water and rags.” Then she cleared the table and covered it with newspapers.
Jan and Tim carefully transferred Beauty from the basket to the table. Her eyes were beginning to glaze over, her skin was torn and jagged and oozing blood, and she didn’t try to slither away when they lifted her.
Mother washed off the dried blood and the leaves and twigs that had stuck to Beauty’s open wounds, then patted her dry. Next, Mother cut strips of adhesive tape and wrapped them firmly around and around Beauty’s body, binding the raw edges of the cuts together. At last Mother was done.
“She looks like a zebra with black and white stripes!” Tim exclaimed. “Beauty, you’re a zebra snake! Mama, do you think she’ll live?” he asked.
“We’ve done all we can for her,” Mother said. “The rest is up to nature. Put the basket out in the sun behind the shed, and leave Beauty a bowl of water.”
The next morning the children ran to look behind the shed. Beauty was gone. The children mourned. Mrs. Stacey said, “She’s probably crawled off into the woods to hide until she’s healed.”
Summer passed into fall, and the children started school again. All through the fall and into the damp cold winter they trudged through the woods and across the footbridge, but they never saw any sign of Beauty in her favorite spot.
Then one day it was spring again. Tim ran outdoors looking for his baseball. There, coiled on a rock in the sun, lay a large snake. Tim ran to look at it. It seemed to be striped. What kind of snake is this? he wondered. Suddenly he let out a war whoop. “It’s Beauty!”
Jan and Mother ran outside. “Look, Jan!” shouted Tim. “She must have shed her old skin, and there are the markings from the adhesive tape on her new skin!”
Beauty certainly was odd-looking with her dark skin raggedly ringed with lighter places, but she was alive and well, and she had come back to live near her friends.

Annie threw her paper airplane. It sailed up and over the gray block wall at the back of her yard. She stomped her foot and thought, Now I’m never going to get it back.
Just then, her typing-paper airplane glided back over the wall and landed by the patio. Annie grabbed the plane and ran back to the wall.
“Thank you,” she called. No one answered. “Is anyone there?” she asked. No one answered.
She threw her airplane back over the wall, sat on her swing, blocked the setting sun with a salute, and waited. Suddenly a different plane, made of newspaper, flew over the wall, through the swing chains above her head, and glided to a perfect landing in front of the sliding-glass door.
“Wow!” Annie reached for the plane. “I wish I knew how to make planes fly like—” Suddenly she stopped. The plane had a message written on one of the wings. “Hi, Amelia! From the Secret Pilot.”
Who’s Amelia? wondered Annie. Maybe the family who lived here before us had a girl named Amelia. The Secret Pilot sure can’t print very well. Her writing’s so scribbly, she couldn’t be very old. Or, it could be a boy. He sure knows how to make good airplanes. I have to find out who the Secret Pilot is.
“I’m going to ride around the block—OK, Mom?” Annie called.
“Not now, Annie. I need the table set for dinner.”
Annie chewed on her bottom lip. “May I go after dinner, please?”
“You need to wash your hair tonight,” said her mother.
Annie glanced back at the block wall. “May I please have a minute to do something before I set the table?” Her mother smiled and nodded. Annie grabbed a pen from the desk in the hall and ran back to the yard. On the other wing of the airplane, she wrote:
Dear Secret Pilot,
I’ll be over tomorrow.
Your friend,Annie
She paused for a minute, then added “Amelia” after her own name. She sailed the plane back over the wall and waited, but it didn’t come back.
The next morning Annie jumped on her bike and pedaled around the corner. She kept her eye on the tall palm tree in her backyard. When she rode past a park on the next street, she lost sight of it for a minute but then was able to line it up with a long, low building. It didn’t look like a house. There was a parking lot beside it, and a large sign on the lawn. The sign said, “Seacliff Retirement Home.” Annie could see her palm tree behind the building.
She went up the sidewalk and peeked through the door. As she stepped on the black rubber doormat, the door buzzed aside like the one at the supermarket.
A nurse hung up a telephone and smiled at Annie. “May I help you, dear?” she asked.
Annie walked to the desk. “Do any kids live here?”
The woman said kindly, “No children—just older people.”
As Annie turned to leave, she saw a man with white hair and a blue captain’s hat walking slowly down the hall. His hat had gold wings embroidered on the bill. Annie saw something sticking out of his jacket pocket—her paper airplane. He saluted to the nurse.
“Hi, Captain Penny,” said the nurse. “Off to the park again?”
Captain Penny nodded and patted the nurse’s hand.
“Excuse me,” said Annie. “I’m Annie Amelia. Are you the Secret Pilot?”
Captain Penny smiled with every wrinkle on his face.
“He was a pilot all right, but it’s no secret,” said the nurse. “You should see his scrapbook. Why, he even knew Amelia Earhart, the first woman to fly the Atlantic Ocean alone.”
Captain Penny took off his winged pilot’s hat and set it on Annie’s head. She grinned back at him.
“He can’t speak very well since his stroke, but he doesn’t let that stop him,” the nurse explained. “He takes his newspaper to the park every day and watches the children play.”
Captain Penny scribbled a shaky note and handed it to Annie:
Dear Miss Annie Amelia,
Some young friends and I are meeting at the park today to make airplanes. Might your mother let you join us?
Your Secret Pilot
Annie gave him a salute. The nurse called Annie’s mother, and Annie and the Secret Pilot headed for the park.

There are some who have difficulty forgiving themselves and who dwell on all of their perceived shortcomings. I quite like the account of a religious leader who went to the side of a woman who lay dying, attempting to comfort her—but to no avail. “I am lost,” she said. “I’ve ruined my life and every life around me. There is no hope for me.”

The man noticed a framed picture of a lovely girl on the dresser. “Who is this?” he asked.

The woman brightened. “She is my daughter, the one beautiful thing in my life.”

“And would you help her if she were in trouble or had made a mistake? Would you forgive her? Would you still love her?”

“Of course I would!” cried the woman. “I would do anything for her. Why do you ask such a question?”

“Because I want you to know,” said the man, “that figuratively speaking, Heavenly Father has a picture of you on His dresser. He loves you and will help you. Call upon Him.”

A hidden wedge to her happiness had been removed.

After Joseph Smith had completed translating the Book of Mormon, he still had to find a publisher. This was not easy. The complexity of this lengthy manuscript and the cost of printing and binding thousands of copies were intimidating. Joseph first approached E. B. Grandin, a Palmyra printer, who refused. He then sought another printer in Palmyra, who also turned him down. He traveled to Rochester, 25 miles (40 km) away, and approached the most prominent publisher in western New York, who also turned him down. Another Rochester publisher was willing, but circumstances made this alternative unacceptable.

Weeks had passed, and Joseph must have been bewildered at the opposition to accomplishing his divine mandate. The Lord did not make it easy, but He did make it possible. Joseph’s fifth attempt, a second approach to the Palmyra publisher Grandin, was successful.3

I was not a member of the Church when my children were little—it took me 18 years to decide to be baptized—but my husband was. He helped our children build a relationship with Heavenly Father through family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening. We were far from perfect, but my husband was persistent and patient.
I believe that my husband’s example of living the gospel was the biggest influence on our children. They saw him read scriptures, pray, and attend church—even if on his own. This had an impact far more powerful than anything we formally taught.

Now to the present for an interview I had with a handsome zone leader in the Brazil São Paulo Interlagos Mission. I said to the missionary, “Tell me about your family.” He then relayed the following. He was born into a wealthy family. His father had a responsible position in a multinational corporation. They moved from Brazil to Venezuela. He was one of seven children, all members of the Church.

When the missionary was fifteen years old, his father was shot and killed by a fleeing thief. In a family council it was decided to return to Brazil and invest their savings in the purchase of a small home. A year and a half later, the mother informed the children that she had been diagnosed with cancer. The family used valuable savings to help pay the medical expenses—but to no avail. Six months later the mother passed away, leaving the young family alone.

Our young missionary, Elder Bugs (pronounced Boogs), now sixteen years old, went to work, first selling clothing, then later computer supplies. He used his hard-earned money to support the young family. He said, “We were always blessed to have enough to eat. I would work during the day, then help the children with their studies at night. I especially miss my little sister. I taught her to read.”

Elder Bugs continued, “Then the bishop invited me to come in for an interview. He called me on a mission. I told him I would need to speak with my family first. In our family council, they reminded me that Dad had always taught us that we should be prepared to serve the Lord as full-time missionaries. I accepted the call. When I received my letter from the prophet, I withdrew all my savings. I bought a new suit, a pair of pants, white shirts and ties, and a new pair of shoes. I gave the rest of the money to the bishop (enough for about four months of support for the family). I hugged my little family and left for my mission.”

I looked at that brave young man and I said, “But Elder, with you away, who is taking care of your family?”
“Oh,” he said, “my brother is sixteen. He is the same age I was when our mother died. He is taking care of the family now.”

I had an opportunity recently to talk by telephone with Elder Bugs. He has been home from his mission for six months now. When I asked him how he was doing, he said, “I have a good job again and I am caring for the family, but oh, how I miss my mission. It was the greatest thing I have ever done. I am now helping my younger brother prepare for his mission.”

Junjiro, Steve, and Cassidy know what it is like to be elders. They did, after all, just come home from missions. Now, at school, they were all set to throw themselves into their education when a new learning experience presented itself. They were called to serve as the elders quorum presidency in the BYU–Hawaii First Ward.
“I was excited about the calling because I felt like the Lord trusted me,” said elders quorum president Junjiro Makise, originally from Japan. “I knew He would not give me a calling that I could not handle. And I could do something to help all the members of the ward.”
Called to serve as counselors were Stephen Dangerfield from Moscow, Idaho, and Cassidy Matthew from the Marshall Islands. Alvin Singh is the secretary. The new presidency set out to learn how to be leaders. They followed the pattern they had learned in the Aaronic Priesthood and while on their missions—they turned to the scriptures and to the Lord in prayer.
“I had a good example in my life,” said Junjiro. “That was my father. He had been the bishop and the stake president when I was growing up. He said that in a leadership position, you have to be an example and participate in everything. It’s not just telling the members what to do but showing by example. You have to do all the things that you ask them to do. You have to be at the activity or at the service project. Then they will do the things you ask them to do more willingly because they know you are doing them as well.”
“My father always drove me to Church activities,” said Junjiro. “Sometimes I just wanted to stay home and play with my friends, but he was always there to take me. Because of my father, I developed the habit of participating in all Church activities. To me, he was what a leader should be.”
Junjiro follows his father’s advice. If he asks the members of the quorum to volunteer for service or to teach a lesson or come to an activity, he is there himself offering support. He said, “Before my calling, I didn’t know the members of my quorum very well. Now I worry about how I can help them to do their part.”
When Junjiro was called, he approached the Lord, as the bishop suggested, in deciding upon his counselors. Two names came up: Stephen Dangerfield and Cassidy Matthew. He felt the influence of the Spirit in asking to serve with these fine young men.
Steve had been serving as a district supervisor for home teaching. “I knew he was on top of things and would get things done,” said Junjiro. Cassidy was newly called as the membership clerk in the ward. But when Junjiro talked to the bishop about him, the bishop said if that’s what the Lord wants, then that’s how it will be. The presidency is united in their goal to serve the elders of their ward.
Steve said, “I think the biggest thing you learn in this sort of position is how significant each person is. It doesn’t need a huge effort on each person’s part, just doing home teaching or coming to activities. It’s fulfilling your responsibilities. You don’t need to go beyond what you’re asked to do. But just doing what you are assigned makes an amazing difference.”
The first challenge facing this presidency was just getting to know all the members of their quorum. Since they are all students, turnover is significant. People finish a semester or a school year and then return home or go on to school in other places.
At first, the quorum was combined from three wards for the summer semester. “Our quorum,” said Steve, “is a good bunch of guys. They all want to be friends.”
On Sundays, Steve often has to assign the quorum to service or welfare projects. He appreciates those who are willing to serve. “They are valiant—or they have flexible schedules,” said Steve, with a smile. The presidency strives to include everyone and leave no individual overlooked.
For Cassidy, it was a surprise when he was called to the presidency. “I got a call asking me to come for an interview with the bishop,” said Cassidy. “I knew something was going to happen, but I didn’t know what it was. I had served in the elders quorum presidency in my small branch back home in the Marshall Islands before my mission, and I learned a lot. But here, in such a large quorum, I have learned even more.
“The thing that has impressed me most was when we looked at all the names on the list and discussed what we were going to do to help each person. It meant a lot to me that we were talking about the needs of each person. It hit me that I was thinking more about others than I was about myself.”
Even in a student ward, this elders quorum presidency is young. But they all see it as a chance to grow. “There are a lot of people in the ward,” said Junjiro, “who know more than we do, and they know more about how to run activities. At first, we looked at our weaknesses. They are hard to get over, but then we gained confidence, and now we just need to keep going.”
And that’s just how this presidency is working. They are pushing ahead, getting to know everyone, trying to get them all involved, finding ways to help fulfill the needs of those in the ward. They are leading by example.

When I was 19, I also traveled far from my family for the very first time to Utah. I attended a YSA ward. My English was limited, and I didn’t know anybody. I felt lost. I will never forget my dear Bishop Moody. I grew up without a father, but as soon as I met him, he became a father figure to me. I am not sure we communicated very well (because of language barriers); but I remember the power of the sanctity of his office. I remember feeling so strongly that he was my bishop. I looked up to him, and I never wanted to do anything that would disappoint him. In fact, one time on a group date my friends took me to a place that was clearly the wrong place to be in. I felt bad being there but didn’t want to be the first to say anything. As time passed and no one said anything about leaving, the thought came to my mind: What would Bishop Moody think if he saw me here? I then had the courage to stand up and say, “I want to leave. If no one is willing to drive me, I’ll just walk.” I never told him this, but I will thank him forever.

President Thomas S. Monson has described such a “leap of faith” with Elder John H. Groberg.

As a lad just twenty, called to the Tongan Mission, he was assigned to an outer island with a native missionary. After eight seasick days and sleepless nights on a storm-tossed sea, they reached their destination. Not one soul on the island spoke English. Here he acquired his gift of the language. Then came a devastating hurricane which struck the isolated island with tropical intensity, destroying the food crop and contaminating the water supply. There was no means of communication with the outside world. The supply boat was not due for almost two months. After four weeks the precious store of food, mainly taro, a native vegetable, was severely rationed. Four additional weeks passed. All food was gone. No help arrived. Bodies became emaciated, hope dwindled, confidence waned, some died. In desperation, John Groberg waded into the swampland where insects covered his face and, with a sweep of his hand, entered his mouth— his only nourishment.

The end drew near. The island’s inhabitants sat in an idle stupor. One morning, nine weeks from the time of the hurricane, John Groberg felt a gentle hand upon his shoulder. He turned his head and gazed into the eyes of an elderly Tongan man. Slowly and with meticulous care, the old man unwrapped a precious prize, even his most treasured possession—a small can of berry jam. He spoke: “I am old; I think I may die. You are young; you may live. Accept my gift.”

What were the words penned by Charles Dickens in a Tale of Two Cities? “It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done; it is a far, far, better rest that I go to than I have ever known.” Add to them the declaration of the Savior: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

Then came the speck on the horizon and a shout of joy as the supply ship came into view.