Gospel Story Finder

There is a story of a group of Relief Society sisters making candy called “divinity” at the home of one of the sisters. Two little boys in the family were allowed to eat all of the divinity they could scrape from the spoons, pans, and bowls. It was the weekend of general conference and, as the family listened to the talks one of the speakers said, “There is a spark of divinity in each of us.” One of the little boys jumped up and said, “A spark of divinity? Wow, I’m full of it!”

by Sandi Poulsen
The phrase “today is eternity” has an extra amount of meaning for the youth of the Kinston North Carolina Stake who recently presented a stake musical by the same name. Said one participating Laurel, “The role I played in ‘Today Is Eternity’ helped me to a great extent. The play made me realize how important all decisions are and how careful and prayerful you have to be in making them.”
In preparation, more than 50 young men and women (including four non-Mormons) traveled to the stake center to rehearse lines, dancing, vocal solos, and choral music. A basic script was sketched by the adult stake drama and dance specialists, after which it was given to the youth for revisions and final copy. Since the play provided parts for every youth who desired to perform, many found themselves doing things they had never done before—including dancing, acting, and singing solos.
The play revolved around the struggles in the lives of the three oldest children in a large LDS family. The oldest daughter had to decide whether to marry a young man who could not marry her in the temple; the nearly nineteen-year-old son had to decide between a football scholarship and a mission; and the sixteen-year-old daughter faced the choice of maintaining her standards or joining with her peers in a more wild way of life. By the end of the play, because of sincere personal efforts and help from family members and leaders, all three had reached the right decisions.
Many favorable comments and reactions followed the production. One seminary teacher said, “The play was really a review of those things we studied in seminary last year. But I feel that seeing these decisions and problems enacted on stage has brought them to life and touched some of our youth in a way they never had before.”
The young woman who played the part of the girl deciding to wait for a temple marriage agreed. “There was no doubt in Mandy’s mind that she was to marry in the temple. It is the same with myself. But I learned that simply deciding that you will marry in the temple is not enough. You must start before you meet your sweetheart, before you even start to date. You must take necessary precautions now to guard yourself against falling in love with someone who can’t take you to the temple.”
Parents gave their wholehearted support throughout the preparations and presentation of the play. Several mothers voluntarily offered to take a makeup class to assist in this area. One mother commented afterwards, “I know the play helped my children. But I feel it helped me just as much if not more as I listened to the loving counsel given in song and word. It makes me more determined than ever to have that type of relationship and atmosphere in my own home.”
A great emphasis was also placed on missionary work, as stake members took seriously their stake presidency’s charge to bring nonmembers to the play. One non-Mormon who was in the play bore the following testimony afterwards: “For you to stop in the middle of rehearsal and explain that material [the Book of Mormon] to me made me stop and think of how much I meant to you. I was shown how much enthusiasm the Mormons have in presenting a demonstration of their faith. I believe that such interest in a church has got to be a revealing sign the Church is true.”
The dedication and hard work of the youth was rewarded by two nights of overflow audiences. But more important than that was the love and unity and testimonies that were strengthened throughout the whole Kinston North Carolina Stake.

After the war he opened an upholstery and mattress business and married Martha Bohnenstengel. Then in 1923 two young men knocked on his door. They were Elder Wayne Kartchner and Elder Otto Andre. In broken German they told about a boy named Joseph, about an angel, a book, a promise.
Walter and Martha were baptized in the Warthe River one cold November midnight. The ordinance had to be performed at night because of the anti-Mormon feeling in Germany at the time. “Nobody liked the Mormons. We were considered by some to be the most terrible people who ever lived.” Walter became the president of the Landsberg Branch. The 30 members met in his mattress factory.
Heeding the call to gather to Zion, he and Martha emigrated to Utah in 1926. Martha found employment sewing men’s dress shirts at $7.50 a week, and Walter worked in a mattress manufacturing plant at $20 a week. In 1929 they founded the Stover Bedding and Mattress Company.
As his business flourished, Walter became known for his generosity and compassion. He gave freely of his worldly goods and of himself. He does not like these acts of kindness to be spoken of, but many burdens were lifted and many lives brightened by his caring.
Walter’s own life was darkened, however, by the storm clouds of war that billowed over Europe. Soon his homeland and his adopted nation were killing each other’s sons on the same battlefields where he had fought as a young man.
When the guns of World War II finally fell silent, Germany awakened to a gray world of hunger, disease, and despair. Her cities lay in ruins. The whole nation was exhausted. Millions were homeless. Food, clothing, fuel, and shelter were almost nonexistent. People were dying every day for lack of the simple necessities.
Faithful Latter-day Saints had suffered with the rest. Some had died when the bombs fell. Many had been killed in combat. Others were prisoners of war.
The love of the Saints for one another during the apocalyptic last days of the war and the grim aftermath was a kind of miracle. They shared their food, their homes, and their faith. Their native leaders worked with great devotion to obtain what supplies they could for the members.
Still, the time came when there was no more to share and no more to buy. By late 1946, the situation was desperate. One of the coldest winters on record came howling in through bomb-shattered cities to the north. Meeting in unheated buildings, the faithful Saints watched in amazement as the water froze in sacrament cups.
Elder Ezra Taft Benson of the Council of the Twelve had come to Europe early in 1946 to assess needs and open channels for the hundreds of tons of relief supplies that the wards and stakes of the Church had been contributing. In the fall of the year, just as the need was becoming most desperate, these supplies began flowing into Germany.
And not long after welfare supplies began arriving, the Church sent another great gift to Germany—a man of faith and love and compassion. A strong, humble man who had long since outgrown his wooden shoes but who would never outgrow his love for the land of his birth. Walter Stover was called to minister to the war-torn Saints of Germany as president of the East German Mission.
Eager to do his part, he purchased with his own funds two railroad carloads of food and relief supplies and took them with him to Germany. Because of his generosity many lives were saved.
President Stover was sustained as mission president in a meeting at which Elder Benson presided. It was held in a bombed-out school in Berlin. Members of the Church approached President Stover after the meeting and told him, “We have lost our homes, our farms, and all our belongings, but we have not lost our testimonies of the gospel.”
Seven of the East German Mission’s eight districts lay within the Russian zone. President Stover launched a series of district conferences into this zone, gathering together the remnants of the Saints. Many branches had almost disappeared. Some had only women and children. The men were dead or in prison camps. The people were reduced to eating weeds to supplement their meager ration of black bread. The members thronged to the conferences, as hungry for spiritual nourishment as they were for food. Time after time President Stover crossed into the Russian zone in his green Pontiac, taking both spiritual and temporal aid, a shepherd to a scattered and ravaged flock.
There was some danger in these travels. He was arrested several times, and once he was taken at gun point to be tried by a Russian military court as an American spy. He was released unhurt. He had been promised by President George Albert Smith that the adversary would have no power over him as long as he was doing his duty, and this promise was honored many times.
And always, he fed and clothed the Saints. Time after time he staved off starvation and exposure with Church welfare supplies, and sometimes with goods he purchased himself.
His reports from those days are filled with touching stories. “I went to visit one sister whose husband was killed in action in Russia. She lived with no heat, no windows, no water. There was hardly any bedding. Two small children were in bed shivering. The mother was hard of hearing, and the oldest daughter, 11, was half-starved and frozen. The little girl had no shoes and little clothing. … We gave them warm food and clothing.
“I will never forget the thankful expression on the little girl’s face when she got underclothing, a dress, stockings, and new shoes. We also could help the mother and other little girl from the welfare supplies. We gave them a couple of blankets and a few other things. The family might well have frozen to death if they had not come to our attention.”
Another time he wrote: “I gave a little girl an orange. She eyed it with suspicion and then began to play with it. I told her it could be eaten, and before I could show her how to peel it she began to eat the peeling and all as if it were an apple. Children have no knowledge of fruits or sweets. The gaunt adults remember such items as milk, eggs, butter, fats, and meats but vaguely.”
Members from all over the Church contributed to the rescue of the German Saints. President Stover was part of an event which he would call “the most beautiful and inspiring thing that has ever been my privilege to witness during my entire membership in the Church.” It began on a visit to Holland when he graphically described the suffering of the German members. Cornelius Zappey, president of the Netherlands Mission, was so moved that he asked the Dutch members if they would plant seed potatoes in their flower gardens for their former enemies. They responded enthusiastically, and in November of 1947, they sent 60 tons of potatoes to Germany, along with 96 barrels of herring. They sent another 60 tons of potatoes in 1949.
President Stover’s own generosity to the Saints was legendary. He built and paid for at least four new chapels from his own funds. Once he rented a train to bring the members from East Germany into the American sector of Berlin for a conference.
One Christmas he and the West German Mission president purchased a chocolate bar from the U.S. army commissary for every LDS child in Germany. After that the children called him their “chocolate uncle.”
At the end of his mission, President Stover and his wife adopted two little German girls, Heidi and Brigitte.
President Stover witnessed the birth of the Cold War. He saw the Iron Curtain come down across Europe. He saw access to his beloved Saints in East Germany become more and more difficult and infrequent. But he worked on tirelessly to serve his people in every way he could.
After his release in 1951, Brother Stover continued his giving ways back in Salt Lake. He hired many impoverished immigrants at his business, and quietly helped unnumbered others, shunning publicity, but always giving. Giving was his hobby, his passion, his mission. Students living in Helaman Halls at BYU enjoy one small part of his generosity. He donated all the mattresses and box springs for the whole complex.
In the meantime, he fulfilled many Church assignments, both in his own ward and as a member of Churchwide committees. He didn’t know any other way to spend his life except in service, and he saw chances for service everywhere. President Ezra Taft Benson has said of him, “Brother Walter Stover, whom I have known and loved for over 40 years, is a man without guile and an exemplary Latter-day Saint.” President Thomas S. Monson says, “Walter Stover has contributed his all after the fashion of the Master, quietly and unceremoniously—without any fanfare or credit to himself.”
Walter Stover’s whole life has been dedicated to building Zion and taking care of the needs of his Father’s children. He could have been a very rich man by now as the world measures riches. He could have had estates and mansions and fleets of vintage autos. Instead he has invested his money and himself in the lives of his fellowmen and in the restored gospel. And so instead of being very rich in dollars and cents, he is very rich in love and joy and the Spirit of the Lord.
The Savior must surely have been thinking of people such as Walter Stover when he said,
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:34–40).

When Calvin started stuttering just asking for the salt and pepper, I knew something was wrong. Calvin had always had trouble talking. It was cute when he was two or three years old, and endearing when he was five or six. But by the time he was seven or eight and still stuttering, Mom took him to a speech clinic. After that the problem seemed to clear up, except for certain times when Calvin was upset about something.
Calvin is my older brother, and I can tell when he’s scared about something—partly because of the stuttering but also because of little things that he says or does.
He was worried about becoming a priest and blessing the sacrament. It isn’t that he didn’t want to bless the sacrament—he did. That was the whole problem. Calvin takes things like that very seriously. He didn’t want anybody, especially the deacons on the front bench, to have an excuse for giggling during that scared ordinance, even if they were only laughing at the way that Calvin said the prayer.
Calvin reads a lot, and I guess that’s where he got the idea of using marbles. Some Greek man by the name of Demosthenes used to recite aloud while climbing steep hills or put rocks in his mouth and then shout speeches over the roar of the ocean waves so that he could talk more clearly. I thought it was a silly thing to do when Calvin told me about it—he might swallow the rocks or something—but Calvin was desperate, I guess. He knew Morn would be angry if she ever caught him putting rocks in his mouth, so marbles were the closest substitute he could think of.
I collect marbles. I can’t do much with them, but I like to look at the different colors and what light can do when it shines through them. Calvin came downstairs to my room one day and stood in the doorway for a long time, just watching me. My brother has a way of standing sometimes that tells me he has something on his mind, and he was standing that way then. A tall young man, maybe too skinny, with very short, very blond hair. Calvin likes to play ball in the summer and hair gets in his way. There was a strange look on his face while he watched me. I was sitting on my bed, and I had all my marbles spread out in front of me. They looked gorgeous.
“Jenny,” he said finally. I looked up and waited. “Would you sell me five or six of your marbles?” That’s when he turned red—a complete betrayal. My brother always turns red when he talks about something important to him. The speech therapist says that it’s part of the same problem that made Calvin stutter and that it would go away in time. So far that part hadn’t come true.
Then Calvin seemed to change his mind and said, “It’s not important.”
I scooped up a red marble and held it up to the light so that I could see the bubbles inside. “If it isn’t important,” I asked, “then why buy them?”
He didn’t say anything, and I knew that if he tried to talk, the words would come out in a long stream of stuttering. He looked at me though, and there was agony in that expression. Then he turned around and walked out of my room.
Later, of course, I gave some marbles to him. What else could I do? I washed six of them, dried them off, and put them in a box. Then I put the box on his bed. When he came to the supper table, I said, “There’s something for you on your bed, Calvin.”
He didn’t say anything then either, but I could see what was in his eyes.
I didn’t hear anything more about the marbles for a long time. Calvin is very cautious when he doesn’t want people to know about something. But his birthday was coming closer every day. And each Sunday when the sacrament was being prepared, I would find myself looking at my brother. He would be scrunched down in his seat, and I could imagine what he was thinking. Sometimes while the prayer was being said, I almost forgot to close my eyes. He’d listen so intently that it seemed he was listening hard enough for both of us.
The thing that I dreaded was when someone made a mistake in repeating the sacrament prayer. When it happened I looked at Calvin, and I could see him hurting inside, waiting for the time when he would have to kneel and say the prayer. He had such a strong feeling for that prayer that he wanted it to be perfect. It really mattered to him and I knew it!
One day I went downstairs and I could hear mumbling, so I began looking for the source. It was coming from the laundry room. I turned out the downstairs light, walked over to the laundry room door as quietly as I could, and opened it. Calvin was standing by the washing machine with my marbles in his mouth. He was saying something, though I couldn’t understand the words through all the marbles.
I stood there for a long time. But I didn’t want Calvin to know that I had seen him, so I turned around and went out. Then I came back into the room a second time as noisily as I could, on the pretense of getting some soap. The mumbling sound stopped immediately. Calvin nodded and I went out again and up to my room. In a few minutes I heard him come upstairs.
Several weeks later it was Calvin’s birthday. The Sunday after, he was ordained a priest and assigned to give one of the sacrament prayers.
I can still remember sitting there, staring at him and seeing how the light hit his blond hair, making it shine. Boys aren’t supposed to be beautiful—or at least, you’re not supposed to admit that they are—but Calvin was beautiful. I was so scared for him that I thought my heart would stop beating. I was sure his agony was going to make me cry.
Suddenly he looked straight at me, and there was in his eyes an expression that made me know that he knew that he would be all right. Then he got down on his knees, the way the priests do, and started the prayer. Nobody cries during the sacrament except the older ladies, but that Sunday I couldn’t help crying too. Calvin’s voice was soft, but it carried to the back of the chapel. I’ve never heard anybody else give the prayer the way he gave it that Sunday. He began, “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee. …” (D&C 20:77) And he didn’t make a single mistake.
I sat and wept, because it was beautiful, and because I love my brother! And that night when I went upstairs I found the marbles back on my bed.
Someday I guess I’m going to be old, and there’s not much I can do about it. But even if I’m ninety, I’ll never get rid of those marbles, any more than I can get rid of the memory of that first time Calvin blessed the sacrament.

A young adult was sharing her testimony with visitors at Temple Square in Salt Lake City when a man challenged her with hostile questions.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I can only tell you what I do know.”
He cut her off: “Don’t bear your testimony to me.”
“That’s all I have,” she said.
“Well, it’s not much, is it?” he retorted.
The conversation ended, but it was unsettling to her. As she reflected, however, she realized her testimony was more than “not much.” It meant everything to her. It influenced every decision in her life.

As a single woman, I am used to being careful about safety. But in the weeks before my trip to the Atlanta Georgia Temple, my usual concern escalated into a recurring nightmare in which a man mugged me, getting away with my credit cards, checks, and driver’s license. My concern became so great that the day before leaving for the temple, I checked my wallet three times to make sure everything—including my temple recommend—was still there.
That same evening I went to a party with my wallet in my purse, along with a small mirror and the tube of lipstick I am never without. After parking my car and adding my keys to my purse, I started toward the church where the party was underway. I was alone in a big city, but I wasn’t afraid. Having asked for the Lord’s protection earlier that evening, I felt safe.
As I walked up a path, I sensed someone behind me and turned to see a man running at me with lightning speed. There was a sharp tug on my purse, a strong hand on my arm, and I heard, “Give me your purse!” As I struggled to free myself, my purse flew across the broad lawn, landing in the nearby bushes. I cried out, but the man ran, retrieving my purse as he left.
After calling the police, I found an empty room in the church where I could send a silent prayer up to Heavenly Father. “I don’t understand,” I thought, fighting tears. “I was going to the temple tomorrow! Now he has my temple recommend! Father, why wasn’t I protected?” Feeling helpless and hopeless, I went out to face the police officers.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Thomas. The officers didn’t find anything—not the thief, not your purse,” I was told. But as the police officers and I walked to my car, an impression came to me.
“I’m going to look in the grass to see if anything fell out of my purse, OK?” I tried not to get my hopes up, but when I saw something metallic reflecting light from the streetlamps, I scooped it up triumphantly and shouted, “My keys! My keys are here!” I said a silent prayer of thanks as we started toward my car once again.
“Wait! I want to look in the bushes too.”
Shaking his head, the officer escorting me answered with a half-grin, “Go ahead, but no one has that kind of luck.”
He was wrong. Unable to contain my tears, I shouted from the bushes, “My wallet!” Inside it, everything—including my temple recommend—was intact. The police officers were dumbfounded.
“I’ve never seen anyone so lucky,” one commented.
“It’s not luck,” I answered without thinking. “It’s protection from God.” I doubted the police officers would understand the importance of my trip to the temple, so to break the skeptical silence, I jokingly added, “The guy did get one thing of value though—my lipstick!” No one laughed.
Feeling awkward, I glanced back at the bush where I had made my last amazing find. What I saw astonished me: there, upright on the little mirror I carry in my purse, was my tube of lipstick.
Before the police arrived, I had wondered why God hadn’t protected and blessed me. But standing on that lawn next to the flabbergasted police officers, I realized He had done both. Now, whenever I have the slightest doubt that Heavenly Father is aware of my struggles, I remember the night He saved my keys, my wallet, my temple recommend, and even my tube of lipstick.

Illustration by Apryl Stott
Last summer I worked for my neighbor. She has a big alpaca farm right next to her walnut orchard. Alpacas look kind of like llamas, only smaller.
My job was to clean out their stalls every day. I liked the work, even if it wasn’t easy.
One hot summer afternoon I showed up and my neighbor was gone. That wasn’t a problem, though. She already told me I could clean the stalls any time I chose, even if she was away.
While I was cleaning, one of the alpacas knocked over a gate. In a few seconds all 14 alpacas escaped into the yard and orchard! I couldn’t believe it! I felt sick to my stomach. How would I ever get them back by myself?
I started scrambling as fast as I could, rounding them up one or two at a time. Fifteen minutes later my heart was pounding from all the running, but the last one finally went back into the stall. Whew!
Then I turned and saw a pregnant alpaca lying down by a fruit tree 30 feet away. Ugh. Still one more to go. I tried scaring her back into the stall, but she wouldn’t budge. Then I tried pulling her with a harness and a rope that I found in the garage. No good. She lay there like a giant pile of bricks. I blew out my breath in frustration. What else could I try?
Then I remembered there’s always a way to ask for help, no matter where I am. I knelt down to pray. As soon as I finished praying, I opened my eyes and could hardly believe what I saw. The alpaca was walking back toward the stall, all on her own. I opened the gate, and she walked right in.
I smiled as I rode my bike home. I knew Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.

Clara McMaster was the eleventh child in her family, and she learned to love music at an early age. She sang and accompanied others on the piano as she grew up in Brigham City, Utah. For twenty-two years she was a member of the Tabernacle Choir. Today she and her husband sing together for numerous church occasions. “Music is a rich gift of God, and it is in the world to make the lives of His children happier and better.” Sister McMaster says.
When serving on the Primary General Board, Sister McMaster was asked to write a song for the first reverence program. She worked hard and prayed that she would be prompted to write what would be best for the children. One day as she was looking out the window and pondering her assignment, an idea came to her. She went to the piano and quickly wrote it down. The new song was “Reverently, Quietly.” “I felt very humble,” she said. “If you prepare and do all that you can do, then Heavenly Father will help you.”

“In the Celestial Room, I felt an assurance that I will be healed,” Domingo Servito who faced a fatal health condition testified.
He miraculously survived an eight-hour, high-risk major operation after the Open House, and a few weeks later he was able to attend the Dedication, and celebrated his 68th birthday the day after the Dedication. He bears witness that, “when you feel the assurance of the Spirit, it will truly happen.”

April 29, 1957
Today I knelt across from James in the Lord’s holy temple. I have prayed for this moment for many years. I am thankful to know that we can be eternal companions. Words cannot express even the smallest portion of the joy and love I felt from Heavenly Father.
When they brought in our daughters all dressed in white, tears fell freely from my eyes. Kneeling together and being sealed as a family was the most important moment of my life. I am grateful for the knowledge that if I live the teachings of the gospel, I can have these precious daughters throughout eternity.

As the sun set on another Sunday in 1948, I found myself walking down the side of the Trent River in Nottingham, England. As a 20-year-old missionary, I had recently been called as district president. It had been a long, exhausting day filled with meetings and ministering, but I was happy and satisfied in the work.
As I walked along the river, I said a prayer in my heart. Hoping to feel some guidance from the Lord, I asked, “Am I doing what You want?”
An overwhelming feeling of peace and understanding came over me. At that precise moment, I came to know that Jesus Christ knew me and loved me. I didn’t see a vision or hear a voice, but I could not have known of Christ’s reality and divinity any more powerfully had He stood before me and called out my name.
This sweet and tender experience has shaped my life. From that day to today, every significant decision I have made has been influenced by my knowledge of the Savior. Over the years and throughout most of the world, I have testified that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, the Light of the World. It is a privilege for us to come unto Him, to follow Him, and to feel His light in our lives.

Shari Johnson (at left with another runner) says she was surprised to be chosen to carry the torch through her hometown of Holyoke, Colorado, even though she is something of a hero there. Shari is a lifeguard at the city pool and happened to be there one day when she was off duty. A young girl was pulled from the bottom of the pool, and Shari immediately started rescue breathing. Shari saved her life.
Both Barry and Shari light the way for others to follow, not only by carrying the Olympic torch, but by being good examples.

Covenant keepers strive to be obedient “at all times … and in all places”18 because of their love of God and His promised blessings. One evening, while walking with my husband, we passed by an outdoor wedding reception in progress. We didn’t know these people, yet there was an immediate impression of virtue. Their choices of music and dress were lovely. The radiant bride’s gown was unquestionably modest, as were her bridal attendants’ dresses. This family chose not to mix the ways of the world with the sanctity of that day.

Now, may I say a word to the marvelous youth of our Church. Thank you for your righteous examples to your friends, teachers, leaders, and families. I recognize that many of you are the only member of the Church in your family. You may even attend church alone. I commend you for your commitment and righteous example. Be patient and continue to live righteously. There are many who can help you. President Thomas S. Monson said, “Even an exemplary family … can use all the supportive help they can get from good men [and women] who genuinely care.”19
Look around in your ward and stake for leaders and friends who are examples of the believers and learn from them.
When I was a young woman, I identified examples of the believers. In addition to my parents, one was my aunt Carma Cutler. I vividly remember her speaking at a stake standards night when I was 16. She taught of the importance of being chaste and worthy of a temple marriage. I was deeply touched by her testimony. I had observed her virtuous life since I was a very young girl, and I knew it was consistent with her teachings. I wanted to follow her example.
Young men and young women, you can start today by being an example of the believers in faith and in purity. Strengthen your faith and testimony daily through scripture study and prayer. Keep your baptismal covenant, which will keep you pure and worthy of the guidance of the Holy Ghost. You can start today to be that example for others to follow.
And you never know—you might be the example my little Ruby will need someday. For now, Ruby has a wonderful start on the path to eternal life. Her parents are setting patterns of righteousness in her home, starting each day with a resolve to be examples of the believers. Hopefully, using her agency, Ruby will choose to follow.
I am grateful for the plan of happiness, and I testify it is the only way that Ruby—and each of us—can be pure again and live forever in the presence of our Father in Heaven. May we each start today. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

As December and the holidays approached, I knew it was going to be difficult. My dad had passed away just four months before, leaving only my mom and me at home. At the same time, I was lucky to be at a stake conference where President Hinckley made a surprise visit. He bore his testimony and expressed his love. He said: “Do you feel gloomy? Lift your eyes. Stand on your feet. Sing songs of Christmas. Be positive.” These few words meant so much to me. I knew if I did my best at this hard time in my life, things would work out. What President Hinckley said did not take away my pain, but it helped me understand that I needed to be happy and help my mom and family be happy.
After the meeting, the congregation stood and sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” (Hymns, no. 19). The strength and spirit of love in that building were incredible. After we left the church, we pulled up to a stoplight and amazingly we were right next to President Hinckley. We were so excited and waved to him. When he waved back, you could feel his love. We hadn’t touched or talked to him, but the love I felt from him was strong and unforgettable.

I grew up in a small country town in Idaho. Football came to our school later than most. It was 1923. We had neither equipment nor a coach. But the great day arrived when our high school principal was able to buy twelve inexpensive football outfits—but not football shoes with cleats. We used our basketball shoes. Our chemistry teacher was recruited to be our coach because he had once witnessed a real game.

He taught us a few simple plays and how to tackle, and then we were ready to play—or so we thought. We set off for our first game with Twin Falls, the previous year’s Idaho state champions.

We dressed and went out on the field to warm up. Their school band started to play (they had more students in the band than we had in our entire high school), and then through the gates came their team. They kept coming and coming, all thirty-nine of them, fully equipped and shoes with cleats. The twelve of us, a full team of eleven plus one all-round substitute, watched in amazement.

The game was most interesting! To say it was a learning experience is rather mild. After just two plays, we had no desire to have the ball, so we kicked it and they scored. Whenever they got the ball, they would run a baffling play and score. Our goal was to get rid of the ball—it was less punishing.

In the final minutes of the game, they became a little reckless and a wild pass fell into the arms of Clifford Lee, who was playing halfback with me. He was startled, not knowing for sure what to do—that is, until he saw them thundering after him. Then he knew what to do and boy, was he fast! But he wasn’t running for points; he was running for his life! Clifford made a touchdown. Six points went up on the scoreboard. The final score—106 to 6! We really didn’t deserve the six points, but with our bloody shirts and socks and cuts and bruises, we took them anyway.

A learning experience? Of course! An individual or a team must be prepared. Success or achievement depends upon preparation.

This kind of ministering strengthened one sister who moved far away from home when her husband started graduate school. With no working phone and a small baby to care for, she felt disoriented in the new location, totally lost and alone. Without advance notice, a Relief Society sister came to the door bringing a little pair of shoes for the baby, put the two of them into her car, and took them to find the grocery store. The grateful sister reported, “She was my lifeline!”

“Son, don’t do this,” his parents said. “You’re throwing your life away.”
Those aren’t the words most missionaries expect to hear—right at the airport—just as they are leaving to report to the missionary training center (MTC).
Elder Morris, from New Zealand, knows how much his parents love him. They’ve been there for him through thick and thin. They cheered him on in his rugby matches. They applauded his decision to attend law school. They raised him with love and with hope that he’d have a bright life ahead of him.
Their pleading words came from a place of love. To them, the idea of their precious son serving a two-year mission for his new faith seemed not only confusing, but also a threat to the goals he’d worked so hard to achieve.
You see, Elder Morris was a gifted athlete on his way to becoming a professional rugby player. In his schooling, things were just taking off in his legal career.
Oh, and he was thinking about getting married!
Elder Morris already had this conversation with them many times before. He responded in the only way he knew how. “I told them I loved them. I embraced them. And I shared my testimony that I knew this was what I needed to do.”
Then he bid them farewell and hopped on the airplane for the MTC in Provo, Utah, USA, to prepare for his mission to the Philippines.
At which point COVID-19 showed up and turned the world upside down.
COVID-19 had already been making headlines throughout the globe for weeks before Elder Morris showed up at the MTC. In fact, his group would be the last batch of missionaries to report to the MTC for another 16 months. Groups after him were told to stay home and wait for further instructions.
To say that things were uncertain at the MTC would be an understatement. “Many people were worried about what was going to happen,” Elder Morris says. “For me, I felt calm. I still didn’t know how things would unfold. I only knew that they would work out for the best.”
When the news came that Elder Morris would be reassigned to his home country of New Zealand, his reaction might not be what you’d expect.
He was more excited than ever!
“I realize that many missionaries hope to serve in a faraway place,” Elder Morris says. “For me, though, I always thought it would be a privilege to teach my own people in my own country. I wanted to share the gospel with New Zealand.”
“I always thought it would be a privilege to teach my own people in my own country.”
Little did he know how this would change his life—and the life of a woman who is very important to him.
Elder Morris’s grandmother (his nan) was dealing with some serious health challenges. “She was so unwell that she said she reached a point where she was ready to die. She didn’t feel she had anything left to live for.”
Before his mission, Elder Morris had a chance to start teaching the gospel to his nan. But now, he was a full-time missionary assigned to the very area where his nan lived.
“I love my nan very much,” Elder Morris says. “And I’ve seen the gospel absolutely transform her.”
His nan chose to be baptized and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She’s the first member of Elder Morris’s direct family (besides himself) to join the Church.
Her life, Elder Morris says, is very different now. “When my nan found the gospel, she realized why she was still alive. Now she wants to live! Every morning she wakes up at 4 a.m. or 5 a.m. and sings hymns. She prays and reads her scriptures every single day. She does it because the gospel has blessed her with purpose.”
Time and time again, Elder Morris has seen the light that the gospel brings into the lives of those he teaches. He’s had the chance to teach other friends and family members. He’s seen firsthand how they improve. “The gospel of Jesus Christ gives us purpose,” Elder Morris says. “I feel so sorry for those who don’t have the gospel in their lives. They don’t know their true identity.”
On a related note, even his parents have begun to notice the changes in Elder Morris’s nan. They can now see that the gospel has blessed her life in many ways.
Elder Morris with his nan (grandmother).
Elder Morris has no doubts whatsoever that serving a mission was the right choice. He also knew at the start of his mission, when COVID-19 began to rage throughout the world, that God would still guide His work. “The work of man will be frustrated, but God’s work never will be,” he says.
Every time he has an opportunity to do so, he encourages youth to live worthy to serve a mission. For Elder Morris, no other decision would have had a greater impact on his future—especially his eternal future. “The biggest advice I would give to youth is to prepare to serve a mission. It will change your life.”
He recognizes that choosing to serve may come with sacrifice. But then again, he knows a thing or two about sacrifice, and the blessings that come from it.
Witnesses of Jesus Christ
Elder Morris: The gospel is simple, and the gospel is true. Jesus Christ is our Savior. He and our Heavenly Father are mindful of us. I testify that the Book of Mormon is amazing. It helps us to come closer to Jesus Christ and to learn the fulness of His gospel. The Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ through the Prophet Joseph Smith had to happen. Without it, we would still be lost today.
Elder Fotuaika (Elder Morris’s companion): I’ve seen in my life that, without the Lord, I’m nothing. With the Lord, I’ve seen myself grow to the best person that I could ever become. When we try to do the small and simple things like praying and reading the scriptures, God magnifies who we are. I have a testimony that God loves us.

Our plane landed safely. We observed that there were three or four hundred people at the airstrip. President Strong’s son, Bert, also a stake president, was there and was very delighted to see us back safe. We asked Bert why so many people had collected at the airstrip that evening. He informed us that three Mexicans had gone in a two-motor plane across the jungles and mountains to the Usumacinta River that morning about the time we had flown there. They had not returned and the people of Tuxtla were out waiting for them. Some months later Gareth Lowe wrote informing us that the Mexican plane and its occupants had hit a mountain, and all were killed.

My extended family has a fun tradition. For holidays, reunions, or other special occasions, we like to take my uncle’s boat from Tongatapu, the main island of Tonga, to a beautiful outer island called Pangaimotu. There, we spend the whole day playing volleyball or pool, kayaking and, of course, eating and swimming.
On arrival to Pangaimotu, our boat is anchored just outside its lagoon, and a smaller boat ferries the adults to shore. The kids—my cousins and siblings—never like to wait for transport. They prefer to swim from our big boat to the shore, and then, at the end of our day-long excursion, they would all swim back.
When I was younger, I’d always want to join them, but that swim was difficult for me because the water near our boat was deep. It scared me to not be able to touch the ground with my feet—I was sure something would grab me and pull me down. Plus, the distance between the shore and the boat seemed so far. What if I got tired before I got there?
My dad knew how important it was for me to make that swim.
As the sun began to set on yet another Pangaimotu day, he called me over to him. He was going to help me to get from the shore to the boat.
Dad walked with me past the shallows and into the deeper water. As soon as I could no longer feel the ground under me, I got scared and tried to cling to him, but he wouldn’t allow it. Frustrated, I shed a few tears, but my dad just stayed beside me and encouraged me to keep swimming.
At one point, as much as I flailed my arms and kicked my legs, I felt like I wasn’t going anywhere. I was so tired! My dad gently suggested that I change my swimming position.
I concentrated so closely on his voice, on my breathing and on just moving, that I barely noticed we had arrived at the boat—much sooner than I had expected.
A warm feeling of accomplishment came over me after I climbed on board, and I realized that somewhere along that journey—as I focused on my swimming and on my dad—I lost my fear of the ocean.
Over the years, I have made that swim, back and forth, many times without fear. What once seemed so difficult has now become so easy.
I think about how my dad guided me on my first successful swim out to the boat. He was kind, but firm. He let me experience difficulties for myself, but he stayed close beside me the entire journey. At times I panicked and protested, but he continually encouraged me with patience and love.

My military experience came after I had returned from a mission. My companions knew that I had been a missionary, which meant, to them, a minister. I remember lying in my tent, bunked next to a young fellow from Tennessee who would often look at me with a wondering expression. When I would ask him what was troubling him, he would say: “I can’t believe it. As I grew up through my childhood, ministers were people so highly respected that we hardly dared speak to them, and here I find myself sleeping next to one in this tent.”

As some of my companions engaged in practices that Latter-day Saints don’t think highly of, such as smoking or drinking, profanity or immorality, it was evident that they didn’t concern themselves about what the Lord would like them to do. When moments of stress came, however, their attitudes changed. I remember when one of these boys, who was not particularly impressed with the life of a former missionary, was scheduled for what was called an elimination flight, and he knew that if he failed the test that day, he would be eliminated from flying in the United States Air Force. He came to me in a very solemn mood and quietly said with tears in his eyes, “Bill, please pray for me. I need it.”

One day my instructor was giving an explanation to five of us in the ready room. In order to explain a certain maneuver, he went to the blackboard. Inasmuch as he was smoking a cigarette, he handed it to me to hold while he made the demonstration, and by this means I had the “privilege” of holding my first cigarette. After he had finished his demonstration at the blackboard, he took his cigarette back, and then he said, “Mr. Bangerter, I apologize for handing you my cigarette. I know you don’t smoke, do you?”

I said, “No, sir, I don’t.”

He said, “You don’t drink either, do you?”

I said, “No, sir.”

He asked, “Do you drink tea?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you drink coffee?”

“No, sir.” He turned to the other four students standing together and said, “Now, men, that’s the Word of Wisdom. We would all be much better off if we lived that way.” You can appreciate that I felt uplifted by that experience.

Another day I was riding in the airplane with my squadron commander. I was about 23 years old, and he was about 40. He was a man of fine manners and polite expression. After we had finished our flight and had landed the airplane, we were taxiing back to the parking area when another airplane came driving past in a way that my squadron commander did not appreciate. He looked over at the other pilot and said to me in a disgusted voice, “Where does that so-and-so think he is going!” And he uttered an oath. We parked the airplane and shut off the engine. As I climbed out, he turned to me and said, “Mr. Bangerter, I am sorry I spoke the way I did back there. I forgot for a moment it was you who was riding with me in the airplane.”

Of course, I realized throughout those years that I was considered different. Some people may have thought me strange. Those with whom I associated, however, frequently expressed admiration for the way I lived. I never found it necessary to break my standards, to remove my garments, or to apologize for being a Latter-day Saint. On more than one occasion during our training, my classmates gathered together for a farewell party or some other special event and had a dinner that, of course, was liberally supplied with liquor. Several of my companions would come to me before the dinner and ask me if I would please be so kind as to drive their car home for them because they would not be able to trust themselves at the conclusion of the party.

I can honestly say that no nonmember of the Church has ever tried to induce me to discard my standards. The only people I remember trying to coerce me to abandon my principles or who ridiculed me for my standards have been non-practicing members of the Church.

I know it is a blessing to stand up for the principles of truth and righteousness. People who value their character and their reputation will be honored to be of the chosen generation and to stand out as representatives of a peculiar and a noble people. I hope I may always find young people who are square. They are the solid kind, and their foundations are secure.