Gospel Story Finder

A young mother was running late to a very important meeting one time. As she dashed from her bedroom, her little three-year-old stopped her and said, “Mommy. Mom.”

To which the mother replied, “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Mom, I need to tell you something.”

“Not now,” said the mother with an impatient wave of her hand.

“Mom,” began the little girl again.

“Oh, what is it?” said the mother.

“I just wanted to tell you I love you!”

Nana Ninsin’s advocacy extends to education and menstrual health. She has introduced clubs like Women in Law and Development Africa in local schools, helping reduce dropout rates and teenage pregnancies. “Last year, I received an award from the Director of Education,” she shares proudly. “Now we don’t have pregnant girls in class.” But challenges remain. “My girls use banana stalks as sanitary pads,” she says. “Disabled girls can’t manage menstruation in schools without proper toilets.” She’s calling for support for sanitary pads, school supplies, and infrastructure improvements.

It was left to Primary teachers, Young Women leaders, and priesthood leaders to provide me with gospel instruction. When I was seven years old, my junior Sunday School teacher taught us about prayer, and I wanted to pray. She taught us about tithing, and I wanted to pay tithing. She taught us about fasting, and, well, I was only seven years old, so I didn’t want to fast. But when she taught us about baptism, I wanted to be baptized. I am grateful for my goodly parents, who supported me in my decision and who later also became members of the Church.

Teenagers in Taiwan have to get up at 5:00 a.m. to go to seminary at 5:30. This is a very big challenge for me because I have a lot of exams and homework. So I have often been late for seminary. Originally, I blamed the Church for making me get up so early. But my parents advised me to pray and ask Heavenly Father for help.
At first, I thought Heavenly Father couldn’t help me. But one night I knelt down by the bed and prayed, asking God to help me find the reason I couldn’t sleep enough. After that, I reviewed my routine. I saw that I wasted a lot of time before bed.
Now I try to go to bed earlier. I pray before bed, thanking God for giving me happiness and peace and for the guidance of the Holy Spirit.
I pray before bed, thanking God for giving me happiness and peace and for the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

I was a boy during the Great Depression. I remember children wearing galoshes because they had no shoes and going hungry because they had no food. These were difficult times.
A bright light of hope shining amidst the gloom was Primary. I was 10 years old. I had a marvelous teacher. I look back upon that year as my finest in Primary, and I must say it was because of my wonderful teacher. It wasn’t because the boys in the class were particularly enlightened or unusually well behaved; on the contrary.
The laughter of the boys and the chatter of the girls at times must have been most disconcerting to our Primary leaders.
One day as we left the chapel for our classrooms, I noted that our Primary president remained behind. I paused and observed her. She sat all alone on the front row of the benches, took out her handkerchief, and began to weep. I walked up to her and said, “Sister Georgell, don’t cry.”
She said, “I’m sad.”
I responded, “What’s the matter?”
She said, “I can’t control the Trail Builders.* Will you help me?”
Of course I answered, “Yes.”
She said, “Oh, that would be wonderful, Tommy, if you would.”
What I didn’t know then is that I was one of those responsible for her tears. She had effectively enlisted me to aid in achieving reverence in our Primary. And we did.

I was sitting on the curb of some dirt road on the edge of town—somewhere in the middle of Argentina. I was a missionary, and this was my first area. My companion was doing an interview, and rather than waste my time I figured I would sit down and study the missionary discussions.
Just as I opened the fifth discussion, I noticed a little boy running playfully across the street like he was being chased. What was he running from? I wondered. What could be so terrible? Then I spotted the dreaded assailant coming from behind. It was a girl. He must have been considering the dreadful things that might happen if she ever caught up with him. Yuck!
Just in the nick of time, the boy saw me. Surely she wouldn’t dare follow him over by an American in a suit. He was right. Pretty soon it was just me, an empty street, and a ten-year-old boy hiding behind my coat.
Suddenly we were in the middle of a gospel discussion as he snatched the fifth discussion out of my hands and read the title. “Living a Christlike life,” he said. I’m not sure what he said after that, but I could see the wheels turning inside. I imagined his question was something like, “Who are you guys, anyway?”
I tried to brush him off with some shallow explanation of what a missionary is, only to be humbled by his profound response. In an attempt to summarize everything I had said, he replied, “¿Ustedes son amigos de Jesucristo?” or “You are friends of Jesus Christ?”
“Yes,” I answered as he ran off to play, unaware of the effect he had had on me.
I couldn’t get his voice out of my head. “¿Ustedes son amigos de Jesucristo?” There was something about the way he said it in Spanish. Did he mean it as a mere statement of fact or an actual question?
Am I a friend of Jesus Christ? I thought. What is a friend of Jesus Christ? A friend to Christ? A friend like Christ?
One morning I stumbled across a passage in the Doctrine and Covenants where the Prophet Joseph Smith records the salutation to be read in the School of the Prophets:
“Art thou a brother or brethren? I salute you in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, in token or remembrance of the everlasting covenant, in which covenant I receive you to fellowship, in a determination that is fixed, immovable, and unchangeable, to be your friend and brother through the grace of God in the bonds of love, to walk in all the commandments of God blameless, in thanksgiving, forever and ever. Amen” (D&C 88:133).
I’ve never found a better definition of what a friend should be. These were brethren who had a determination to be friends, and this prayer explained what that meant. Some of the qualities that impressed me are determined, fixed, immovable, unchangeable, loving, obedient, blameless. I realized that if these were the requirements to be a friend of Jesus Christ, then I wasn’t qualified.
Christ set the perfect example of what it means to be a friend. He asks us to qualify as his friends and receive the blessings that he has made possible. In John 15:14 he said, “Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.” The preceding verse reads, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).
This is no ordinary friend.
“You are friends of Jesus Christ?” was what the young boy said. All of us need to decide in our own lives if those words are a statement of fact or a probing question.

Marcy Chapman burst into the house. “We’re going to have our own orchestra!” she exclaimed.
Her older sister, Ann, looked up from her ironing. “Your own what? Marcy, what are you talking about?”
“Our own orchestra!” Marcy repeated. “It’s my teacher’s idea. A lot of the kids in my class take music lessons. If we’re good enough, we might even play for the PTA meeting!”
“What will you do?” her sister asked. “You don’t play an instrument.”
“No, but I could learn,” Marcy said. “Maybe Mama will let me buy one and take lessons.”
Ann shook her head. “Marcy, there’s no money for an instrument or lessons, and you know it. Don’t even ask Mama. It’ll make her sad to think that she can’t afford to buy things that the other children have.”
Marcy swallowed hard. What Ann said was true; there was no money for extras at the Chapman house, and a musical instrument and lessons were extras. Marcy went to her bedroom and changed her clothes. I have to be in the orchestra somehow, she thought. Maybe Grandma Hinkle has an old instrument stored in her trunk! She has all kinds of things in it. Anyway, it won’t hurt to ask.
Marcy hurried next door. Grandma Hinkle wasn’t really Marcy’s grandmother, but everyone in the neighborhood called her Grandma. She was friendly and nice and always had time to visit, especially with children.
“Come in, Marcy,” Grandma Hinkle invited. She held a large blue vase in her hand. “I’m just finishing up my latest creation. How do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Marcy said, admiring the fancy design. Grandma Hinkle’s pottery was famous all over the state.
Grandma Hinkle frowned. “Is something wrong, child? You don’t look very happy.”
After Marcy had explained about the orchestra her class was forming, she said, “But I don’t have an instrument, Grandma Hinkle. I was hoping that you might have one in your special trunk that I could use.”
Grandma Hinkle thought for a moment. “Let’s see. It seems that I did have a violin … No, my brother took it years ago so that his little girl could learn to play. My, I hadn’t thought about that violin in years.”
“Thanks anyway,” Marcy said, heading for the door.
“Don’t go, Marcy,” Grandma Hinkle said. “I don’t have an instrument, but I do have some milk and cookies!”
Marcy smiled. Grandma Hinkle made delicious cookies. “I was waiting for the cookies to cool before I frosted them,” said Grandma Hinkle. She set a bowl of icing on the table and handed Marcy a knife. “They’re cool enough now, so why don’t you start frosting them while I get the milk.”
As Marcy reached for the frosting, she accidentally touched her empty glass with the knife. It made a tinkling sound, almost like a small bell.
“Is someone at the door?” Grandma Hinkle asked.
Marcy laughed. “No, that was my glass. I accidentally hit it with my knife.” Marcy tapped her glass again, reproducing the pleasant sound.
“Isn’t that pretty!” Grandma Hinkle said while she poured a glass full of milk for Marcy and a half-glass for herself. “I wonder if I have a musical glass too.” She tapped her own glass lightly with a knife. “Yes, I do!”
“Yours sounds lower than mine.”
“Try yours again,” Grandma Hinkle suggested.
“It sounds different now!” Marcy cried. “It’s much lower. It’s even lower than yours.”
“That’s because the glass is full of milk,” Grandma Hinkle replied. “Drink some milk, and the tone will be higher.”
Marcy tried it. “Yes, it is higher!”
Grandma Hinkle nodded thoughtfully. “I recollect now that my brother played songs on glasses when we were growing up. He lined up eight glasses and filled each one just a little fuller than the one before it. He worked on them until he had them going right down the musical scale! It was like having a real instrument—except that he’d have to empty the water out at suppertime so that we could use them at the table!”
Marcy’s eyes got big. “You mean that he could actually play songs on the glasses?”
“Oh yes,” Grandma Hinkle replied. “Of course, some glasses sound prettier than others, and—” She stopped and grinned at Marcy. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Maybe I could use glasses for my orchestra instrument!” Marcy exclaimed. “Is that what you were thinking?”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Grandma Hinkle replied with a chuckle. “Let me get some more glasses and water, and we’ll set to work.”
She put eight glasses in a row, and Marcy poured a little water into each one. It took a long time to get the scale exactly right, but they finally did it.
“To help you get started,” Grandma Hinkle suggested, “let’s give each glass a number, making the fullest one one, and so on. I’ll write some numbers down, and you play them.”
She took a piece of paper and wrote: “1, 1, 1-2-3. 3, 2-3, 4-5. 8-8-8-5-5-5-3-3-3-1-1-1. 5, 4-3, 2-1.”
“Try it, Marcy. Just look at the numbers to begin with.”
Marcy studied the numbers for a moment, then picked up the knife and began to strike the glasses lightly.
“Play it again, dear, a little faster, especially where there are hyphens.”
Marcy did, and her eyes lit up. “That’s ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’!”
“That’s right,” Grandma Hinkle said. “I’ll write out the numbers for some other songs too.”
“May I come over every day and practice?” Marcy asked.
“Yes, and I’ll put a tiny strip of adhesive tape at the correct water level of each glass. Then it won’t take so long to figure out the right amount of water each time.”
Marcy practiced especially hard for the next two weeks. Finally it was time to try out for her class orchestra.
“What are those glasses for?” one boy asked.
“You’ll see,” Marcy told him as she poured just the right amount of water into each glass.
“You certainly have the most unusual instrument we’ve seen so far, Marcy,” the teacher said. “I’m looking forward to hearing you play.”
Finally it was Marcy’s turn. Carefully she picked up the knife and began to strike the glasses lightly. Clear, sweet tones filled the air as she played “Over the River and Through the Woods.”
The class clapped when she had finished.
“Beautiful, Marcy,” the teacher said. “We’ll certainly find a place for your delightful instrument in our orchestra.”

In 2002 Goodson Mofya Kapata was called as the first branch president of the Kitwe, Zambia Branch, but his conversion took place many years before that.
One day while cleaning shelves in his home, Brother Kapata found a pamphlet about Joseph Smith, and after reading it he knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was true. His whole family came to agree with him. In 1994 Brother Kapata and his sister were on their way to be baptized when their car broke down. When they went again the following day, they found out that the Church had withdrawn from the Copperbelt area where Kitwe is located. For eight years Brother Kapata waited for the Church to return.
In 2002 a senior missionary couple was sent to the Copperbelt to help members there, and in October 2002 Brother Kapata and his family were finally able to be baptized. Two months later Brother Kapata was ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood and set apart as the president of the newly formed Kitwe Branch.
Zimbabwe Harare Mission annual history, 2002, 3, folder 1, Church History Library, Salt Lake City (LR 2012146 3).

Flavia, a sister from a poorer part of South America, found little opportunity and means for training and regular employment until help came through the PEF to receive training in operating computers. With the help of LDS Employment Services, she found work in a good company after completing her training. She reports: “Today I am responsible for the financial consulting area of one of the largest hospitals in Recife using [a sophisticated] computer system. I was among the crew that implemented this financial system in the company.”

Another woman in the Bible whose experience I learned from was Eve. I have always loved and looked up to Eve. She was faithful, courageous, compassionate, and wise. Considering her story through the lens of my struggles with infertility has only deepened my admiration for this incredible woman. I do not know if Eve was fully aware of her inability to have children without leaving the Garden of Eden, but Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explains that Eve “understood that she and Adam had to fall in order that ‘men [and women] might be’ [2 Nephi 2:25] and that there would be joy”3 (see 2 Nephi 2:22–25).
We know how Eve came to view her decision to eat of the fruit in hindsight. After Adam and Eve were cast out of the garden, an angel came and taught them of Jesus Christ and His Atonement (see Moses 5:6–9). Afterwards the Holy Ghost fell upon Adam, causing him to testify. Eve happily said, “Were it not for our transgression we never should have had seed, and never should have known good and evil, and the joy of our redemption, and the eternal life which God giveth unto all the obedient” (Moses 5:11; emphasis added). She found joy in her decision. I cannot imagine how painful it was to be cast out, to leave the presence of the God she loved. And yet, as she looked back on that decision, she rejoiced in the knowledge she had gained, knowing that, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, she could eventually return to our Heavenly Father. Eve taught me to find happiness in the present. She could have spent her life wishing she were still in the Garden of Eden, yearning for the life she had left behind. Instead, she found joy in her current situation: in her children, in the knowledge she had gained, and in the power of the Savior’s Atonement. Eve’s lesson was a powerful one for me. During my struggle with infertility, I was often tempted to focus on only what I lacked, but by focusing on the present I too found joy.
Among other things, I was able to use this time to volunteer as an ordinance worker in the temple. Before, I attended the temple because that was what I was supposed to do. But now I love it even more. I have a deep appreciation for the ordinances we receive in the temple. The blessings promised to those who keep their covenants are incredible! And they are given to everyone. Young and old. Physically fit and disabled. Married and unmarried. Those with children and those without. I am a different person because I served in the temple. I value eternal families more. I have a deeper understanding of the Savior’s Atonement. I pray more consciously. And I know that the greater knowledge and faith I gained from serving in the temple will make me a better mother.

Problem: “The Black Students Union has been propagandized into giving us opposition. How can we help them to better understand our true position?”
Nothing melts friction so quickly as does getting together to discuss so-called problems. One group of Latter-day Saints asked for a private, informal meeting with black organizational leaders, at which time mutual needs were discussed. The atmosphere was constructive and polite, and the result was greater understanding and even cooperative friendship.

When the Americans had cleared the mountain and were gone, we left the house and marched on again toward home. A few days later, we were stopped once more by the Americans. At first I didn’t speak. I wanted to act like I didn’t know English. I heard them say, “Well, we’ll just let them sit here, and we’ll put them on the next truck that comes to transport them to a camp.” Trucks had been going by every two to three minutes.
We sat there waiting for a truck to come by any second. We waited and waited, for an hour or longer, but no truck came. I finally went up to the MP who was chewing gum. I had never seen anyone chew gum before—and he was talking at the same time.

I told him who we were, and he said, “Oh, all of a sudden you speak English.”
“Yes, I speak English. I learned it in school. I was just scared.”
“How old are you?” he asked me. I told him I was 17-and-a-half years old.
“Where have you been?”
I explained the whole thing—what we had done, why we had civilian clothes on, where we wanted to go—home. He called up on the phone and checked the outfits where we had been to see if the information I had given him was correct. Then he looked at me for a long time and said, “I have a boy about your age, and if he would say to someone, ‘I’d like to go home to Mother,’ I hope they’d give him the chance. If you take this road, there is an American headquarters; but if you take that road, they can’t see you. Good luck.”

Finally we were almost home. Everything was shut down. There was no train, no car, no bus, no telephone—nothing. So we continued crawling through the forest, following the creek. I knew that area well. We reached my neighborhood, and I just wanted to go through the gate of our neighbor’s backyard. I left the others and opened the gate. A little gun that had been put there to shoot the gophers went off. It scared the wits out of me and the neighbors, who quickly came running. But they were glad to see that I was home safely. I sent my sister back to the forest with some food for my friends before they continued on to their homes.

Soon after young Wilford got to Zions’ Camp, he began his great missionary career by serving as a missionary in Arkansas, Tennessee, Canada, and New England, where he often experienced the guidance of the Spirit. At the time of his departure from the mission field he wrote:
“After spending two years and a half in New England and Canada, getting the Saints out, I started back with the last lot, about a hundred from Boston. We landed in Pittsburg at dusk. We were anxious not to stay there, but to go on to St. Louis. I saw a steamer making steam ready to go out. I went to the captain and asked him how many passengers he had. ‘Three hundred and fifty.’ ‘Could you take another hundred?’ ‘Yes.’ The Spirit said to me, ‘Don’t go aboard that steamer, you nor your company.’ All right, said I. I had learned something about that still, small voice. I did not go aboard that steamer, but waited till the next morning. In thirty minutes after that steamer left, it took fire. It had ropes instead of wheel chains, and they could not go ashore. it was a dark night and not a soul was saved. If I had not obeyed the influence of that monitor within me, I would have been there.

“I have been governed and controlled by the Spirit. I have been acquainted with this Spirit. It was not the blow of trumpets nor thunder and lightning; it was the still, small voice to me.”

I searched and searched for the perfect gift for Grandpa. Grandpa was dying of cancer, and this would probably be his last Christmas with us. I had been thinking for months on just the perfect thing to get for him. I wanted to give him something unique that would be just a small symbol of all the love and admiration that I had for him. But nothing that I saw seemed to be a worthy representation of that love.
Soon it was Christmas Eve and I still didn’t have a gift for Grandpa. I went shopping one last time, and once again I came home without a gift. I started thinking, if Grandpa had some money, what would he do with it? How would he want the money spent? The answer came to my mind quietly but positively: He would give the money to someone less fortunate than himself. So that’s how the money was used.
I got some paper and wrote about all the feelings I had for Grandpa, told him what I had done for him for Christmas, put the letter in an envelope with a Christmas card, and quickly gave it to him with a kiss. Before he could say anything, I wished him a Merry Christmas, and went back to my room.
A little while later, I went to get something for my mother and passed Grandpa’s room. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. He called me in, drew me close to him, and gave me one of those huge hugs that only grandpas can give. “That was the best gift you could have given me,” he said.
That was Grandpa’s last Christmas with us. It wasn’t until some time after his death that I slowly realized that Grandpa had given me one of the most precious gifts that I’ll ever receive. He had helped me understand that the best gift that one can give is a part of one’s self. Through example, Grandpa had awakened in me a desire to be like him and in so doing, had given me a better understanding of the glorious personage whom he was striving to be like.

I didn’t think that tithing settlement was such a big deal, but Brother Jacobs, our home teacher, seemed pretty excited about it. He and his son Brian were over and, like always, they asked for my dad’s permission to have a prayer. My dad grunted yes and Brother Jacobs gave the prayer. As he prayed, something he said caught my attention. Brother Jacobs said, “And bless Brother Johnson that he will respond to our message.”
My dad is really a good man, but he didn’t go to church or even want to talk about it. It had taken almost a year of the home teachers knocking on our door for my dad to let them in the house, but I’m glad he did.
I wondered what Dad would do. It was rare that he would even stay in the room when the home teachers were there, but he did nothing. Brother Jacobs was pretty brave to say what he did with my dad listening. He was lucky Dad didn’t leave the room.
Dad was his usual self. He was willing to talk about most things—sports, his yard, the weather—but not about the Church. We were talking about Dad’s favorite football team when Brother Jacobs blurted out, “Brother Johnson, we want you to come to tithing settlement.”
I thought Brother Jacobs had made a big mistake because Dad got very quiet and looked uncomfortable. Finally he said, “Why should I come to tithing settlement? I don’t pay tithing.”
Now I got quiet and felt uncomfortable. How was Brother Jacobs going to answer Dad’s question?
Brother Jacobs said, “Because the Lord loves you.” Brother Jacobs said the bishop had asked all the home teachers to go to every member and invite them to tithing settlement. He told Dad that he wanted him to go because he wanted our family to have the blessing of going. My dad got quiet again.
Brother Jacobs told Dad that tithing settlement was a simple way for the Lord to bless our lives. If we paid tithing or not the Lord would bless us for going to tithing settlement. Tithing settlement only takes a few minutes, he said, and the bishop does not make anyone feel ashamed or guilty. Brother Jacobs also promised that if Dad took his family to tithing settlement, he would have a happier home and each one of his family would become a better person.
Dad didn’t say much. He really loves us and wants to do what is right for us. When Brother Jacobs asked if he would go to tithing settlement, Dad said yes.
The end of the month came, and my Dad took us to tithing settlement. Just before the bishop called us in, I wondered what Dad was thinking. He was awfully fidgety. I think he didn’t want to be there. I remembered Brother Jacob’s promise and wondered if our lives would change.
When the bishop asked us in, he greeted Dad like his best friend. I don’t know if that made Dad feel at ease or more uncomfortable. The bishop talked to us briefly, then asked my youngest sister, Suzie, if she knew what tithing was.
Suzie said yes, tithing was when you get ten coins, you give one to the bishop. The bishop said that was true, but it was the Lord’s money and he, as the bishop, received it for Him. The bishop asked Suzie if she had received any money this year. Suzie said she had gotten some money for her allowance. The bishop asked Suzie if she paid a full tithing. She said yes.
The bishop then asked Maggie, my older sister, if she was a full-tithe payer. Maggie said yes like she was Joan of Arc going off to be burned. She said every bit of money she got was tithed and she was a full-tithe payer. Maggie was always too dramatic.
Now it was my turn to say if I was a full-tithe payer. I was about to say yes, but then I remembered that I had done some yard work last summer and hadn’t tithed the money I got for it. I had to tell the bishop no, I wasn’t a full-tithe payer.
The bishop asked me if I wanted to be a full-tithe payer. I said yes, I guess so. Then he asked if I had the money now. I pulled out my wallet and gave him what I had. It still wasn’t enough. Then I felt some pressed into my hand. It was my dad giving me the money needed to pay a full tithing. I looked at my dad and he said I could pay him back later. I gave the bishop the rest of my tithing, and he wrote down that I was a full-tithe payer. It was a pretty good feeling.
The bishop then asked my mom if she paid a full tithe. She said yes. She had tithed the money she got for watching the neighbor’s children.
It was Dad’s turn to declare. He is a proud man, and I knew he hadn’t paid any tithing this year, so I was surprised that he had come at all. What really surprised me was when my dad pulled an envelope out of his pocket and gave it to the bishop. Dad said it wasn’t a full tithing but it was a start.
The bishop became quiet. He just stared at my dad. After what seemed to be forever, the bishop told my dad he was glad that my father had set a good example for his family and as long as my father kept his promise, the Lord would keep his.
We were all pretty quiet on the way back home. I wondered what the bishop meant about promises. My dad looked pretty surprised when the bishop said it. I didn’t find out what the bishop meant until three months later, but I did find out that Brother Jacobs was right almost right away. Two weeks after tithing settlement Dad came to church for the first time in years. And he has kept going. Just last fast Sunday I found out what had happened.
It was a real spiritual meeting. Even I got up to bear my testimony. And before I was able to sit down, Dad got up to bear his testimony. He told how five years ago he had got out of the habit of going to church. Back in November he began thinking seriously about his children and how the world would affect them as they were growing up. He saw how his children’s friends were influencing them to start to do things that he knew would lead to trouble. This is what he was thinking when the home teachers came over. When Brother Jacobs promised Dad that his family would be better people if he took them to tithing settlement, he knew he had to take the opportunity.
As the time for tithing settlement got close, my dad began to think about why he didn’t pay tithing. He used to pay it and didn’t miss it at all. He only stopped paying because he stopped going to church. My dad thought that if he could believe going to tithing settlement would help his family, then he could believe that paying tithing would also help. My dad said a silent prayer where he promised the Lord that he would start paying tithing and he expected the Lord to keep his promise. Right at that moment, my dad began to change.
My dad then told the ward that when he met with the bishop, it really felt good to give, even though it wasn’t a full tithing. He learned that starting was the important part. He also told the ward that when the bishop had told him the Lord would keep his promise, my dad knew the Lord had answered his prayer. He also found out what Brother Jacobs had said about tithing settlement was true. My dad said that if he hadn’t gone to tithing settlement he would not be in church today. After going to tithing settlement my dad began to think where he was headed. He realized that it wasn’t too late to change his life, so he started by coming to church.
He told everyone that tithing was a true principle that had changed his life. And, you know something, he’s right.

“I want a Saturday chore,” Johnny said to his mother. “You and Daddy have chores, and Sarah and Joe have chores. I want one too.”
Mother smiled. “Why don’t you watch what everybody does this Saturday. Maybe that will help you think of something that you can do.”
On Saturday morning Johnny watched Joe carry large piles of dirty clothes to the washing machine. Joe left a trial of socks and shirts behind him and had to go back and pick them up.
Then Johnny went outside, where Daddy was mowing the grass. Every once in a while Daddy stopped to carry the grass clippings to the vegetable garden.
Next Johnny went to the garden. Sarah was pulling out the weeds. She walked back and forth, carrying the weeds to the compost heap.
When Mother returned from the grocery store, Johnny watched her carry grocery bags from the car into the house.
At lunchtime Mother asked Johnny, “Did you think of a Saturday chore?”
“You’ll see next Saturday,” Johnny told her with a happy smile.
The next week Johnny got his red wagon and pulled it behind Joe, picking up the socks and shirts that were dropped.
“Thanks, Johnny,” said Joe.
Johnny took his wagon outside. When Daddy’s lawn mower bag was full, Johnny piled the sweet-smelling clippings into his wagon and pulled them to the garden.
“Thanks, Johnny,” said Daddy.
Then Johnny’s wagon rattled back and forth, carrying Sarah’s wilting weeds to the compost heap.
“Thanks, Johnny,” said Sarah.
When Mother came home, Johnny used his wagon to carry the bags of groceries to the house.
“Thanks, Johnny,” said Mother.
Johnny and his wagon were busy hauling things all morning. At lunchtime, Mother smiled at Johnny and said, “You found a good Saturday chore.”
“Yes,” he said proudly, “Johnny’s Delivery Service. It’s a ‘Saturday Special’!”

“Watch out!”
Startled, I jerked my head up to see a square, black London taxicab hurtling toward me, horn blaring, but with no squeal of brakes. It wasn’t going to stop!
Stunned by the danger I was in, I was frozen in midstride until a surge of adrenalin helped me leap to the curb, my coat just brushing the taxi as it sped by. My close call was not the fault of the taxi driver. My own unconscious habits had placed me in that pickle. I always thought I looked both ways when crossing a street, but I don’t. As an American I have a habit of glancing to the left and, if nothing is coming, stepping into the street. In England, where they drive on the left side of the roads, you won’t live very long using that method to cross streets.
After my brush with the taxicab, I noticed that on several busy intersections in London, the advice “Look Right” is painted directly on the asphalt. It became a little chant I would say to myself before I stepped off a curb, “look right, look right.”
One intersection where “Look Right” is painted directly on the street is the one I crossed to go to the Hyde Park chapel in downtown London. Somehow the words “Look Right” seemed to mean something more in that location. The youth of the Hyde Park Ward have indeed looked to the right. In a city as diverse and cosmopolitan as London, these young men and women have made a choice not only about religion but about lifestyle.
With people of all races and religions settling in and around this capital city, there are a lot of different lifestyles to choose from in London. It is not uncommon to see a young person with pink hair and fashionably baggy clothes seated next to a turbaned, bearded man in a three-piece suit on public transportation. The mix creates some interesting situations. For example, Sheryl Boydell, 15, lives with her parents and two brothers and sister in London. She attends a school where students speak 36 different languages, and her closest school friends are Muslim. Consequently, she encounters very little opposition or even interest in the fact that she is LDS. The students at her school represent so many different religious beliefs worldwide that hers is just one more. But because of this religious tolerance at her school, Sheryl’s beliefs and lifestyle choices are respected, and she tries to teach her friends about the Church when she has the opportunity.
Sheryl is grateful that the Church is such a major force in the lives of her family. “How do I feel about the Church? I was brought up with it. When I see friends at school who are in one-parent families or in a special home because they don’t have any parents or have to go home to fights and arguments, there is just no comparison to the happiness our family has because of the gospel.”
Yet Sheryl had to gain a testimony for herself. “The time I started wondering about the Church was when I started seminary because one of the first questions you had to answer in the home-study booklet was, ‘Do you have a testimony of the Church?’ I started thinking about it seriously. I think it is hard to know if you’ve gained a testimony when you are brought up in the Church because you don’t notice a change in yourself. When you come in from outside, you can notice the difference. But when you’ve been brought up in the Church, the feelings seem natural. It’s harder to recognize a testimony for what it is.”
Church is a big part of Sheryl’s life. She said, “A lot of my social life is church. Family home evening is on Mondays. I go to seminary on Tuesdays, Mutual is on Wednesdays, and sports night on Thursdays. Then there are other activities on Saturdays. There isn’t a lot of time for anything else.”
And one of those special Saturdays was a stake sports day. The youth of the London England Hyde Park Stake were meeting for stake competition in five-sided football and volleyball. Five-sided football is a fast-paced indoor version of soccer with goals marked on the walls on either end of the cultural hall. Before the action got started, the referee went over the rules with the ward teams. When he got to the rule about no physical contact between players, everyone just laughed. Spectators were out of the way up on the stage, and it was soon evident that that was the only safe place to be since the side walls took the brunt of flying footballs and bodies.
With feet flying, sometimes hitting the ball or the opposing team’s shins, lots of coaching from the sidelines, cheering at every good move by both defensive and offensive players, and a few dives against the walls to gain possession of the ball, one ward team emerged battered and bruised but victorious. So much for “no physical contact.” The stake championship team would go on to play in regionals. After the good-humored intensity of competition, the young men were willing to talk about the Church.
John Allen of the London North Ward said, “My parents have been members about 12 years. I was away from home for a while, but when I moved back, I was reintroduced to the Church. I had a special experience that confirmed to me that the Church is true, and I had to join after that.”
Keith Barker, Hyde Park Ward, grew up in London and has been a member most of his life. “My Mum has always been a strong member. There was a time I came to church for the social part, to meet my friends, but when you believe something is true, your instincts just tell you.”
While the girls were waiting for the volleyball to start, Carol Lindsay of the London North Ward talked about her conversion. “I read a book written by a Protestant minister about the trek west led by Brigham Young. I thought when I read that there must be something to this church if they would walk all those many miles for it. I walked into a chapel in Edinburgh and said, ‘Here I am, what are you going to do with me?’ I got impatient during the missionary discussions waiting for them to challenge me to baptism.”
Mandy Young, 19, just moved from a little branch to the London North Ward. Her conversion story is just a little different. “I used to think Mormons were people with shaved heads and long, white robes,” she said. “But my Mum’s sister was a member, and she wasn’t like that. She didn’t go very often, but the home teachers would visit. We talked about a lot of things, and they invited us to church. My family went one week before I did. My family told me it was quite nice, and people participated instead of listening to one preacher at a big pulpit. The second week, I went and thought it was nice. I thought the lesson situation was very nice.” Now Mandy attends the London North Ward, and her 18-year-old sister serves as the Primary president in her home branch.
The Hyde Park chapel is on a busy street near the Victoria and Albert Museum and just down the street from Hyde Park, the large park in the center of London. To get to the Hyde Park chapel, you can take the Piccadilly, District, or Circle Line on the underground to South Kensington station. Or hop on a red double-decker bus, a typical sight in London. That’s how the London youth come to church meetings, to Mutual, and to activities. But they have the habit of looking right, which stands them in good stead when learning gospel truths and crossing busy London streets.
We use the same words, but sometimes the meanings of what English speakers from opposite sides of the Atlantic say get lost in the crossing. Here are a few clues to the differences in English and American usage:
English
American
Clothing
jumper
pullover sweater
pinafore
dress jumper
braces
suspenders
ladder
run in your nylons
tights
nylons
trainers
running shoes, sneakers
wellingtons
rain boots
nappies
diapers
knickers
children’s underpants
plus fours
knickers
pants
underpants
trousers
pants
Food and Home
liquefier
blender
lounge
living room
telly
television
wash up
do the dishes
flat
apartment
dust bin
trash can
serviette
napkin
banger
sausage
chips
French fries
crisps
potato chips
sweets
candy or dessert
jelly
Jello
scones
biscuits
biscuits
cookies or crackers
tea
a meal
salad cream
salad dressing
ice lolly
Popsicle
squash
fruit punch
hoovering
vacuuming
Cars and Highways
underground
subway
subway
underground walkway
dual carriageway
divided highway
petrol
gas
lorry
truck
zebra crossing
crosswalk
fly over
overpass
car park
parking lot
silencer
muffler
windscreen
windshield
indicator
blinker
bonnet
hood
boot
trunk
overtake
pass a car
soft verges
soft shoulders
pavement
sidewalk
lay by
rest area
give way
yield
motorway
interstate
central reservation
median strip
Other Phrases
On your bike!
Get lost!
Cheerio!
Good-bye!
Will it do?
Is it okay?
Have a go!
Take a chance!
creasing up
doubled over with laughter
A to Zed
A to Z
wind him up
putting him on
wonky
crooked
lift
elevator
pinched
stolen
lie in
sleep in
fortnight
two weeks
holiday
vacation
homely
friendly and easy to be with
fringe
bangs on a girl’s hairdo
toilet, loo, or WC
rest room or bathroom
body popping
break dancing
do it up
fix it up
dear
expensive
way in
entrance
way out
exit

I would like to share an incident which took place during the Vietnam War. There were some who were convinced that the United States was engaged in a noble and justifiable war. However, public opinion was changing, and there was opposition which argued that the United States should pull out of Vietnam.
President Harold B. Lee was the President of the Church at the time. While at an area conference in another country, he was interviewed by reporters from the international news services. One reporter asked President Lee, “What is your church’s position on the Vietnam War?” Some recognized the question as a trap—one which could not be answered without a very real risk of being misunderstood or misinterpreted. If the prophet answered, “We are against the war,” the international media could state, “How strange—a religious leader who is against the position of the country he is obliged to sustain in his own church’s Articles of Faith.”
On the other hand, if President Lee answered, “We are in favor of the war,” the media could say, “How strange—a religious leader in favor of war.” Either way, the answer could result in serious misunderstandings both inside and outside the Church.
President Lee, with great inspiration and wisdom, answered as would a man who knows the Savior: “We, together with the whole Christian world, abhor war. But the Savior said, ‘In me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation’” (John 16:33). President Lee then explained, “The Savior was not talking about the peace that can be achieved between nations, by military force or by negotiation in the halls of parliaments. Rather, he was speaking of the peace we can each have in our own lives when we live the commandments and come unto Christ with broken hearts and contrite spirits” (see Ensign, November 1982, page 70).

The family, who set sail from Liverpool, England, in 1856 on the ship Thornton, welcomed a new baby boy just three days into the voyage. The Thornton had been chartered to carry 764 Danish, Swedish, and English Saints. They were under the direction of a missionary named James Grey Willie.
Six weeks later the Thornton sailed into New York Harbor. The Moulton family then boarded a train to make the long journey westward. They arrived in Iowa City, Iowa, in June 1856, which was the starting point for the handcart companies. Only three days before their arrival, Captain Edward Bunker’s handcart company had pulled away from Iowa City, taking many of the available handcarts.
About two weeks later, the Willie company was joined by another company of Saints, under the direction of Edward Martin. Church agents at Iowa City, who had worked hard to equip and send off the first three handcart companies, now had to struggle frantically to provide for an unexpectedly large body of late arrivals. They had to construct 250 handcarts before these Saints could continue their journey.
Every able-bodied man was put to work making handcarts, while the women made dozens of tents for the journey. Many of these amateur cart makers did not adhere to specifications but made carts of various sizes and strength, which would prove a handicap to them. Of necessity, the number of needed handcarts required that they be built out of green, unseasoned timber, and in some instances, using rawhide and tin for the wheels. Each cart carried food as well as the total earthly possessions of many of the Saints.
Often, 400 to 500 pounds (180 to 230 kg) of flour, bedding, cooking utensils, and clothing were loaded onto each handcart. Only 17 pounds (8 kg) of personal luggage on a cart was allowed each person.
Thomas Moulton and his family of 10 were assigned to the fourth handcart company, again under the direction of Captain Willie. It comprised over 400 Saints, with more than the usual number of aged folks. A report made in September of that year listed “404 persons, 6 wagons, 87 handcarts, 6 yoke of oxen, 32 cows, and 5 mules.”1
The Moulton family was allowed one covered and one open handcart. Thomas and his wife pulled the covered cart. New baby Charles and sister Lizzie (Sophia Elizabeth) rode in this cart. Lottie (Charlotte) could ride whenever the cart was going downhill. Eight-year-old James Heber walked behind with a rope tied around his waist to keep him from straying. The other heavy cart was pulled by the two oldest girls—Sarah Elizabeth (19) and Mary Ann (15)—and by brothers William (12) and Joseph (10).
In July 1856 the Moultons bade farewell to Iowa City and began their 1,300-mile (2,090 km) journey westward. After traveling 26 days, they reached Winter Quarters (Florence), Nebraska. As was customary, they spent several days there, mending carts and taking on supplies since there were no major cities between Winter Quarters and Salt Lake City.
It was so late in the season before the Willie company was prepared to leave Winter Quarters that a council was held to decide whether they should go or remain until spring. Some who already had been over the route strongly cautioned them against the danger of traveling so late in the season. But Captain Willie and many company members felt that they should go on because they had no accommodations to spend the winter in Florence.
With inadequate provisions, members of the Willie company started their journey again on August 18, thinking they could replenish their supplies at Fort Laramie (north of present-day Laramie, Wyoming). In the face of the warning they had received, they placed an extra 100-pound (45 kg) sack of flour in each cart and trusted that they would meet supply wagons sent out from Salt Lake City. However, the drivers of the supply wagons, thinking there were no more immigrants on the trail, headed back to Salt Lake City in late September, before the Willie company reached them.
In Florence, the Moultons found it advisable to leave behind a box of supplies because the load they had to pull for a family of 10 was just too heavy. By then, they had left baggage at the port in Liverpool, a box of clothing onboard ship, a trunk of clothing at New York City, and a trunk of supplies containing most of their personal belongings at Iowa City. Even on the trail, they looked for ways to ease their burden.
Scotts Bluff National Monument in western Nebraska, USA
Photograph from Getty Images
It is difficult for those who enjoy all the comforts of modern life to imagine the daily misery of the Moulton family and the other remarkable men and women of those handcart companies. Can we imagine the blistered hands and feet, sore muscles, dust and grit, sunburn, flies and mosquitoes, stampeding buffalo herds, and Indian encounters? Can we imagine the river crossings and the difficulties of sand and slippery rocks as they tried to get the handcarts across swift or deep-running water? Can we understand the weakness that comes from a lack of sufficient nourishment?
During their travels, the Moulton children went into the fields with their mother to glean wild wheat to add food to their rapidly diminishing supplies. At one point the family had only barley bread and one apple a day for every three members.
Just before dusk on September 12, a party of missionaries returning from the British Mission arrived in camp. They were led by Elder Franklin D. Richards (1821–99) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, my wife’s great-great-grandfather. When Elder Richards and the others saw the difficulties of the handcart company, they promised to hurry on to the Salt Lake Valley and send back help as soon as possible.
On September 30 the Willie company reached Fort Laramie, Wyoming, 400 miles (645 km) east of Salt Lake City.
With the beginning of October, winter set in, and the difficulties multiplied as the company attempted to press onward. Provisions were running so low that Captain Willie was compelled to cut rations to 15 ounces (425 g) of flour for men, 13 ounces for women, 9 ounces for children, and 5 ounces for infants. Soon they would face howling wind and drifting snow. By the morning of October 20 the snow was 4 inches (10 cm) deep, and tents and wagon covers had been smashed by its weight. Five members of the company and some of the draft animals had died of cold and starvation the night before the storm, and five more members died over the next three days. Feeding the women, children, and sick first, many of the reasonably strong men were forced to go without anything to eat.
Sweetwater River near Martin’s Cove, Wyoming, USA
Two miles (3 km) below Rocky Ridge on the Sweetwater River, the company made camp and waited in starvation, cold, and misery for the storm to pass.
When the Franklin D. Richards party reached Salt Lake City, they immediately reported to President Young the precarious condition of the immigrants. The Saints in the valley had not expected more immigrants until the following year, and news of their plight spread like wildfire.
Two days later, October 6, 1856, general conference was held in the Old Tabernacle. From the pulpit, President Young made the call for men, food, and supplies in mule- or horse-drawn wagons to leave the following day to render assistance.2
John Bennett Hawkins was in the Old Tabernacle on that day and answered the call to help. He was one of the hundreds of individuals in relief parties that set out from Salt Lake City. On the evening of October 21, the rescuer wagons finally reached the Willie camp. They were greeted with joy and gratitude by the frozen and starving survivors. This was the first meeting of John Bennett Hawkins and Sarah Elizabeth Moulton, who would become my great-grandparents.
On October 22, some of the rescuers pushed on to help the other handcart companies, while William H. Kimball, with the remaining wagons, started back to Salt Lake City in charge of the Willie company.
Those too weak to pull their handcarts placed their possessions in the wagons and walked beside them. Those unable to walk rode in the wagons. When they arrived at Rocky Ridge, another terrible snowstorm fell upon them. As they struggled up the side of the ridge, they had to wrap themselves in blankets and quilts to keep from freezing to death. About 40 of the company had already perished.3
The weather was so cold that many of the Saints suffered frostbite on their hands, feet, and faces while crossing the ridge. One woman was blinded by the frost.
We can imagine the Moultons, with their brood of eight children, pulling and pushing their two carts as they struggled through the deep snow. One cart was drawn by Thomas and his wife with its precious cargo?Lottie, Lizzie, and baby Charles?with little James Heber stumbling and being dragged along by the rope around his waist. The other cart was drawn and pushed by Sarah Elizabeth and the other three children. A kind, elderly woman, seeing little James Heber’s struggle, grasped his hand as he trailed behind the handcart. This kindly act saved his right hand, but his left hand, exposed to the subzero weather, froze. When they reached Salt Lake City, several of his fingers on that hand were amputated.
Early in the afternoon of November 9, the wagons of suffering humanity halted in front of the tithing office building, where the Joseph Smith Memorial Building now stands in Salt Lake City. Many arrived with frozen feet and limbs. Sixty-nine had died on the journey. But the promise to the Moulton family in that blessing in England had been fulfilled. Thomas and Sarah Denton Moulton had not lost a child.
The company was greeted by hundreds of Salt Lake citizens anxiously awaiting their coming and ready to help with their care. Gratitude and appreciation toward one of the young heroes who had helped save the Moultons from the grasp of death soon blossomed into romance and love for Sarah Elizabeth.
On December 5, 1856, amidst the happy wishes of her loved ones, Sarah Elizabeth married John Bennett Hawkins, her rescuer. They were sealed for time and eternity the following July in the Endowment House. They made their home in Salt Lake City and were blessed with three sons and seven daughters. One of those daughters, Esther Emily, married my grandfather Charles Rasband in 1891.
On July 24 we celebrate Pioneer Day, and we express gratitude for the many pioneers who gave everything to build up the Salt Lake Valley and many other communities in the western United States. We also express gratitude for Latter-day Saint pioneers throughout the world who have blazed—and are blazing—a gospel path for others to follow.
What moved them on? What pushed them forward? The answer is a testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ. As a great-grandson of pioneers, I add my witness and testimony that their struggles were not in vain. What they felt, I feel. What they knew, I know and bear record of.

Missionaries, who were confined to their homes like everyone else, soon received smartphones and access to social media platforms that allowed them to connect with people responding to a Facebook ad published on the Africa South Area Facebook pages titled “Where Can I Turn for Peace?”
Very soon after the ad ran, Elder Gava and his companion were given a stack of names and phone numbers from people who had responded to the advert, indicating that they were interested in meeting with the missionaries and finding out more about the Church. They were asked to contact each person. As they looked through the names and numbers, both missionaries were impressed to call a particular woman. She answered in a very low voice, but after they had introduced themselves, she almost screamed with happiness. “Thank you so much for reaching out to me!” she said. “Thank you for calling at the right time.”
As the conversation progressed, the elders learned that this woman was then lying in a hospital bed having just suffered a stillbirth. “She was saying she was so hurt . . . like there was a deep hole in her heart,” he said. “At the time we called her, she needed someone to be there with her, but, unfortunately, she was alone. That sister became one of our good friends and we started teaching her online.”
Elder Gava says this experience taught him how the Spirit works in our lives and how it can move us to talk to people who need us, at the time they need us. He also learnt another lesson: the importance of the proper use of technology in missionary work. He realised that technology can be used to reach out to our Heavenly Father’s children.
On Elder Gava’s mission he saw these two channels working together: the Holy Ghost was the heavenly channel, bringing a message from heaven to the missionaries; and technology was the earthly channel, bringing that message from the missionaries to their brothers and sisters.