Gospel Story Finder

In early 2022, I was assigned to New Zealand’s Huntly, Waikato area. I’d been out on my mission for about a year by then, and was asked to train my companion, Elder Kafalava, who was brand new to the field.
One day, a recent convert named Brother Tengu wanted to do missionary work with us. I didn’t know much about Brother Tengu then, except that he’d only joined the Church four months earlier and he loved the Book of Mormon. We didn’t have any appointments that day, so we decided to knock on doors.
We found our way to the home of a certain man, a M?ori fella. He opened the door, and I thought he looked a bit — different. But we started talking to him, and at least he was talking to us.
He told us he didn’t believe in God. “I believe in soundwaves and frequencies,” he said and then showed us a range of musical instruments he’d carved and strung together into a necklace of sorts.
After a while I was discouraged, thinking, “Man, this isn’t going anywhere.” But Elder Kafalava continued talking to the man at the door as Brother Tengu stood nearby, holding a copy of the Book of Mormon.
All of a sudden, I received a powerful prompting to perform the haka for this man. “Give him the haka?” I laughed to myself. “There is no way I’m doing that!” But I couldn’t fight the impression, so I asked the man, “Hey. Do you mind if I give you the haka?”
After some hesitation, the man was amused. “Okay then. Go for it, Bro. Sure!”
“Just before I give you this haka,” I said, “let me tell you what it means.” I explained that it is our mission haka, that it reminds us why we preach the gospel. It describes missionaries as warriors of light, protected by the power of God as we share the sacred message of eternal life.
After I recited its English translation, I launched into it, and then there I was, all by myself on that porch—this white guy from Salt Lake City, Utah—fervently grabbing the sky and pulling it down to my chest as I performed our mission haka for a M?ori stranger.
I’m sure the neighbours were wondering what was going on. Elder Kafalava was too new to know this haka, so he provided moral support, but as I continued to pound my thighs and chant, I saw that Brother Tengu was now holding his Book of Mormon out—arm awkwardly extended, straight ahead—towards the man at the door.
I looked at our recent convert, thinking, “What are you doing? You’re ruining my haka.” Then I noticed how mesmerised the man at the door was, not by me, but by the Book of Mormon.
Sure enough, when I finished the haka, the man gestured and said, “So, what’s this book?” Brother Tengu proceeded to bear his powerful testimony. He talked about the oppressive darkness that once enfolded him so fully that he even considered taking his own life. He talked about the pivotal moment when a friend at school asked him if he’d like to meet the missionaries.
Brother Tengu expressed gratitude for those missionaries, but said it was the Book of Mormon—which he was still holding out in front of him—that truly led him to light. He testified that the Book of Mormon answered every one of his questions, that it brought him peace. “It saved my life!” he said.
In awe, the man at the door extended his own arm forward and asked, “Can I touch it?” And then, with his hand on its cover, the man began to pray over the Book of Mormon.
We left that copy with him, and as we drove away, I marvelled at how strange this day had been. If nothing else came of this encounter, it would at least make a great journal entry!
When we visited him again a week later, the man called out to us, “Hey, I got a question for you brothers: How do I get baptised?”
I was in shock. It turns out, the man had read the entire book of Alma, and Alma talked a lot about baptism. And now, “I want to get baptised,” he said, “and I want you to baptise me.”
I think back in amazement at that experience. We were only instruments in God’s hands, following the promptings of the Holy Ghost to go knock on a door, to open our mouths and to give a man the haka.
In turn, he was inspired to read the Book of Mormon and was converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. The Book of Mormon is the true converter. It is what makes faith.
The man at the door was baptised two months later. He recently received the Aaronic Priesthood. This has been a testimony to me that conversion is a miracle.

When Caroline was five, she woke between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. for many nights in a row. One night after this unwelcome wake-up call, I wrote this:
As I was changing her diaper just now, I was absentmindedly singing one of the [Primary] songs that Lizzy [our older daughter] has declared we shall now sing for bedtime every night. … “God gave us families to help us become what He wants us to be.”2 And I looked at Caroline and suddenly the words came to the forefront of my consciousness.
God gave me a family—including this 2:00 a.m. waker—to help me become what He wants me to be. … “This is how He shares His love,” the chorus continues, “for the fam’ly is of God.”
That night I felt a brief, blessed communion with God, a confirmation that He was, in that moment, personally aware of me and Caroline and our family. He loves us. And He, my Father, gave me encouragement by teaching me why we face such challenges: “to help us become what He wants us to be.”

I don’t know your name, how old you are, or anything else about you. All I know is that you are Joann’s visiting teacher, and I appreciate your conscientious service with all my heart.

I know that visiting a less-active sister like Joann (name has been changed), my daughter-in-law, is not easy, especially when she probably isn’t very welcoming. I doubt she even wanted you to come at first. But Joann has told me you have been a real friend to her, stopping by to see how she’s doing and accepting her as she is.

In the 19 years since Joann married my son, this is the first time she has ever mentioned having a visiting teacher. Recently she told me how regularly you visit and how thoughtful and kind you always are. She said you have helped her several times when she was sick and have even offered to take my granddaughter to Young Women.

For the past 10 years, she, my son, and their family have lived hundreds of miles from us. I have prayed that others would love and care for them as I do, and I have pleaded tearfully with Heavenly Father that others would reach out to them as I would if they lived close by. From what Joann says, you are the answer to my prayers.

Even if Joann and my son don’t obey the Word of Wisdom and don’t attend church, they are still good people and they love their children. Somehow your eyes were not clouded by Joann’s cigarette smoke. You did not define her by whether she attended church. You got to know her and learned that she is a loving mother who wants her daughter to attend church and gain a testimony. And when Joann had surgery, you brought in dinner instead of wondering if she had brought some of her health problems upon herself.

How grateful I am that you are an example for my granddaughter. She can look up to you as someone who cares about everyone and goes out of her way to show loving concern. She told me that one day when you didn’t have a car, you walked more than a mile to her house with your small children to bring cookies.

“I was thinking of you and your mom and wanted to do something nice for you—just because,” you told her.

I wish I could tell you how much I appreciate your dedication to your calling as a visiting teacher. You epitomize those women who, since the days of Nauvoo, have served each other through loving and inspired visiting teaching. You have demonstrated that service and love through the way you have affectionately visited my less-active daughter-in-law.

Thank you.

Our little granddaughter (I’ll call her Heather) grew up a happy, bubbly child. She always had a smile on her face. But when she turned 12, all that changed. She experienced anxiety, sometimes felt panic, and began to harm herself. She stayed home from school and hid in her room.
Her parents called me, feeling very concerned. I listened and empathized. But it was not my place to tell them what to do. This was under their role as parents. My job as a grandparent was to listen and offer ideas as they figured out what to do.
They found medical help and therapy for Heather. Over the following months, her progress seemed slow. Her mother arranged for online learning because Heather missed so much school. Heather continued to confine herself to her room and her art.
What could I do?
I knelt daily in prayer for Heather. We prayed as an extended family, but Heather still isolated herself. I wanted God to fix her back to the happy little girl she was.
As I continued to pray, the Spirit reminded me of a teaching by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008): “Never forget that these little ones are the sons and daughters of God and that yours is a custodial relationship to them, that He was a parent before you were parents and that He has not relinquished His parental rights or interest in these His little ones.”1
I began to pray for God’s will, His timing, and His direction, not mine. I needed to respect that He was Heather’s Father in Heaven. I sought to listen to the Spirit, not just pray in panic for my will to be done. I knew He would take care of Heather. I read and reread 3 Nephi 18:20: “Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you.” Heavenly Father promised, so I decided I would trust Him.
The Spirit reminded me that I was the grandparent and could love Heather in a different way than her parents. I just needed to show I enjoyed her company. We texted back and forth. We talked about both of us being daughters of God, and we had gospel conversations. She made several pieces of art just for me. I hugged her every chance I got. We cooked together, shopped together, and watched her favorite movies together.
As the months went by, she improved a little. With the help of her mom, she taught a Come, Follow Me lesson in our family videoconference. Other times she shared a scripture. She made cookies with her aunt and played games with her cousins.
Slowly, Heather’s life began to change. She made friends with a girl in the neighborhood while walking her dog. Her parents encouraged her to stay for Young Women class on Sunday, not just attend sacrament meeting. She met a new friend at a youth activity. As Heather felt stronger, she decided she would try to go back to in-person school. She is now doing well at school and enjoys seminary.
With each step Heather took, I felt immense gratitude. I am thankful for her parents, her extended family, the young women and their leaders, and a devoted seminary teacher. I express my gratitude for these angels on earth in my daily prayers.
Heather’s life isn’t perfect, but she has gained wisdom, strength, and courage through this trial. She can again share her happy, bubbly smile with those around her. She is growing into a productive, solution-focused teen. God is Heather’s Heavenly Father and will help her become her best self. Her earthly parents are receptive to the Spirit and seek to guide her life with His help. I still listen when they need to talk, and I always show love.

If you don’t like the thought of graduating from school as the only member of the Church in your class, you can always do what Tammy Shick of the Ridgeway Branch, Pennsylvania Pittsburgh Mission, did. She helped convert two of her classmates.
But her missionary work didn’t stop there. She gave a class presentation on the Book of Mormon and presented a copy of the book to her non-LDS teacher. She also wrote a class research paper on Church history.

After graduation, I worked for the government for eight years. I was guaranteed a lifetime job and a very good pension. It looked as if my life was comfortably laid out before me. Then the Church’s Presiding Bishopric asked me if I would be willing to move to Frankfurt and work as the area representative for Europe. I would have to give up my secure job and future pension. But when my wife and I prayed about it, we felt that it was the right thing to do. From then on, my life went in a different but very blessed direction.
My government training had prepared me for many of the things I dealt with in my new responsibility. And taking this job allowed me to serve later as a mission president, something I would never have been permitted to do if I were still working for the government.

I recall a young man who, as a boy of thirteen, led a successful rescue of such persons. He and his friends lived in a ward where many poor, elderly widows lived. I was their bishop. The boys had been saving and planning for a glorious Christmas party. They were thinking of themselves—until the Christmas spirit prompted Frank, their leader, to suggest that they use their money not for the planned party, but rather for the benefit of three elderly widows who lived together. The boys made new plans.
With the enthusiasm of a new adventure, the boys purchased a giant roasting chicken, potatoes, vegetables, cranberries, and all that would make a Christmas feast in the United States. To the widows’ home they went carrying their gifts of treasure. They knocked on the door, then in the unmelodic voices characteristic of thirteen-year-olds, began to sing, “Silent night, holy night; all is calm, all is bright.” They then presented their gifts. Angels on that glorious night of long ago sang no more beautifully, nor did the three wise men present gifts of greater meaning.

There was once a young man who did not understand the importance of practicing the piano. When his parents insisted, he practiced. He wasn’t always happy about it, but always obeyed. Later in his life, while sharing his musical talent, his mother helped him see how practicing the piano blessed him and others. Practicing now is like preparing for better things yet to come. The challenge is to see the future benefits of our actions.

A Thanksgiving story about the Laie Temple helps us see it.
After the temple was dedicated on Thanksgiving Day in 1919, Saints throughout the islands would plan Thanksgiving trips to the temple each year to commemorate its opening.
Saints on Molokai sacrificed much to save money to attend the temple. All year long they would sell vegetables and fruits and hold bake sales. One family went without electricity in their home to afford the trip to Oahu so they could be sealed in the temple.

We had gone up the canyon to study, but the mountain air and warm sunshine made it too relaxing to concentrate. So I just lay there in a kind of sleepy intoxication while Sarah continued her story. I rolled over to let the sun warm my face when I noticed two young boys climbing the mountain beside us—a trek that was pretty rough going. As the boys pulled themselves up by grasping branches and roots as anchors, rocks and earth under them slid down into the water. Sometimes the roots they grabbed pulled right out of the dirt, and they would slide down the face until they found something to grab onto. The small avalanche they created continued without them into the water below.
As we watched the boys with mild interest, Sarah proceeded to tell me about her best friend in high school. At least Sarah said this girl was her “best friend.” I didn’t know how that was decided. As the story went, this girl had been spending the weekend at Sarah’s, and one night they were up late talking. She told Sarah that although Sarah was fun for the first day or so, her charm soon wore off. Sarah, who was overweight and insecure, didn’t have many friends, and she had believed what this girl had told her.
I thought about this “best friend” and what her motives could possibly have been. Maybe she was annoyed with Sarah and just wanted to be mean. Maybe she was merely entertaining herself and didn’t realize that five years later, Sarah still believed that her charm quickly wore off like Cinderella’s gown.
Sarah had finished talking, and I looked over and saw the boys had finally made it to the top of the mountain. Self-satisfied, they happily scanned the world from their new vantage point and never noticed the scars they had left on the fragile mountainside.
I couldn’t help but notice the parallel between those boys and Sarah’s “best friend.” One remark had scarred Sarah enough, that years later she still expected to be rejected after people really got to know her.
Some time later, I was dealing with a socially clumsy guy who excelled at making a nuisance of himself. Steve had been wearing on my patience already, and when he made some comment that was obviously out of bounds, I turned and snapped at him. My snide remark brought laughter from the group around us, and I felt satisfied that I had made my point.
That night, I was reading in the Book of Mormon when I came across two scriptures that had profound meaning.
“And again I say unto you, is there one among you that doth make a mock of his brother, or that heapeth upon him persecutions?
“Wo unto such an one, for he is not prepared, and the time is at hand that he must repent or he cannot be saved!” (Alma 5:30–31).
I pondered Alma’s question. I remembered my comment to Steve, and I thought back to Sarah and the mountainside. Even though Steve was hard to deal with, he didn’t know any better. His awkwardness deserved love, not a confirmation of his insecurities. I realized that no matter how annoyed I was—or even how thoughtless—I will be held directly responsible for how I treat each of Heavenly Father’s children. Christ has promised that our interactions with each other are important. He said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).
I know now I would rather have Heavenly Father refer to the service I rendered than to the injuries I compounded.

I remember specifically making this promise one day as I sat in a chapel waiting for a baptismal service to start. As I sat pondering the doctrine of Christ, I began to have a strong feeling of joy telling me that everything I had learned from the missionaries was true. In that moment I silently committed to God to always trust Him and that I would remain active in His Church throughout my life if it meant I could continue to have the joy that comes from the Holy Ghost. To me this promise included not only attending church every week but also trusting in the Lord’s doctrine, the scriptures, the living prophets, and especially my Savior, Jesus Christ.
It was relatively early in my life that I made this important decision to trust in the Lord’s promises. Since then my decision has proved to be very beneficial to me. Whenever a doubt or a question has come up, I have been able to think back to the commitment I made and have based my life decisions on that commitment. Deciding early on the standards you will live by will help you make correct choices when doubts or problems come.

Many years ago I was taught a lesson by a man I admired very much. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. He was steady and serene, with a deep spiritual strength that many drew upon.

He knew just how to minister to others who were suffering. On a number of occasions I was present when he gave blessings to those who were sick or otherwise afflicted.

His life had been a life of service, both in the Church and in the community.

He had presided over one of the missions of the Church and looked forward to the annual missionary reunion. When he was older he was not able to drive at night, and I offered to take him to the reunions.

This modest gesture was repaid a thousandfold.

On one occasion when we were alone and the spirit was right, he gave me a lesson for my life from an experience in his. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things I would not have supposed.

He grew up in a little community. Somehow in his youth he had a desire to make something of himself and struggled successfully to get an education.

He married a lovely young woman, and presently everything in his life was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.

The night the baby was to be born there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick. They were not able to find him. After many hours of labor the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate.

Finally the doctor arrived. He sensed the emergency, acted quickly, and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.

Some days later the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at the other home that night.

My friend’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife, his sweetheart. He had no way to take care of a tiny baby and at once tend to his work.

As the weeks wore on his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife; if he had been careful she would be alive today.” He thought of little else, and in his bitterness he became threatening.

Then one night a knock came at his door. A little youngster said, simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”

“Daddy” was the stake president. A grieving, heartbroken young man went to see his spiritual leader. This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.

The counsel from this wise servant was simply: “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”

My friend told me then that this had been his trial, his Gethsemane.

How could he leave it alone? Right was right! A terrible wrong had been committed, and somebody must pay for it.

He struggled in agony to get hold of himself. It did not happen at once. Finally he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.

Obedience is a powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.

He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.

Then he told me, “I was an old man before I finally understood. It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little proper medicine, no hospital, few instruments. He struggled to save lives, and succeeded for the most part.

“He had come in a moment of crisis when two lives hung in the balance and had acted without delay.

“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before finally I understood. I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”

Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

Andrea could see the large granite pillar from the van window before she and her Primary class pulled into the parking lot. Sister Birchall had told them that the monument was 38 1/2 feet tall, one foot for every year of Joseph Smith’s life.
Andrea’s friend Becky squirmed excitedly on the seat next to her. “We’ll really get to be where Joseph Smith was born!” Becky said.
Andrea had been looking forward to this Primary activity since Sister Birchall had announced their class was visiting Sharon, Vermont, just a short drive away. Andrea had prayed that she would feel the Holy Ghost here. She wanted to have a spiritual experience like the people who bore their testimonies at church. The scriptures say that if you ask in faith, Heavenly Father will bless you. Andrea believed that was true.
A light rain was falling when the class pulled into the parking lot. A senior sister missionary was waiting for them.
“Hello!” she called. “I’m sorry that we don’t have the music playing through the trees for you right now. We usually do, but we turned it off because of the rain. Maybe you can hear it before you leave.”
Andrea liked the missionary, whose black name tag read Sister Grant. She reminded Andrea of her grandma. Sister Grant and Elder Grant told the class stories about Joseph Smith and showed them where he was born. After the tour, the missionaries let them look around the museum.
“Andrea, come see this!” Becky called. She was pointing at a painting of Lucy Mack Smith.
Elder Grant walked up behind the girls. “She was a great woman. Even before Joseph had the First Vision, she and her family were close to the Holy Ghost. They often liked to go out into the woods to think and pray.”
Andrea remembered her goal to feel the Spirit today. When people at church said they felt the Holy Ghost they usually cried. Andrea hadn’t felt like crying even a little today.
Sister Birchall walked in and told them they would be leaving in half an hour. “The rain has stopped, so you can go look at the monument now.”
Andrea looked over at Becky, who was talking to another girl from their class. This was Andrea’s chance.
She left as quickly as she could and walked toward the woods behind the monument. To the left, Andrea saw a small clearing. “Perfect,” she thought.
She walked into the middle of the weeds and knelt down, placing her coat under her knees so they would not get wet. “Maybe I’m in the same place that Lucy went to think and pray,” she thought.
Andrea closed her eyes and again prayed for the Holy Ghost to be with her. She didn’t feel anything. Andrea was confused. Why wasn’t she crying? Disappointed, she got up and walked out of the clearing. There was a small dirt road behind the monument. Andrea decided she had enough time to walk down it a little way. As she walked through the tall trees, Andrea noticed that there was a peaceful feeling in these woods—quiet and calm like a chapel. The air smelled fresh and clean from the rain, and everything was a bright, clear green. She also noticed that the sun had come out from behind the clouds and was reflecting off the wet leaves and pine needles in bright glints of light. She added a happy skip to her walk.
A little bubble of happiness was growing inside Andrea, and became so big that she thought she would burst with joy. She wanted to start singing and laughing at the same time.
She didn’t go too far into the woods before she turned around. As she walked back, she began to hear the sound of an orchestra and choir singing through the trees—probably the music Sister Grant had mentioned. It sounded like the song of angels, pure and sweet. Andrea stopped to listen to the words. “When thru the woods and forest glades I wander,” the choir sang. “Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee, How great thou art!”* The words described exactly how Andrea felt—like her soul was singing. She felt happy! Except for one thing. She still hadn’t felt the Spirit.
Becky spied Andrea as soon as Andrea got back to the monument. “Come see the sunspot!” she said excitedly. Andrea didn’t know what Becky was talking about, but she let Becky pull her up the hill.
From the top of the granite pillar shone a dazzling light. Andrea put her hands up to shield her eyes.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Becky said. “Sister Grant says that it’s the sun shining off the top of the polished rock.”
“It’s beautiful,” Andrea said. She stood in awe for several minutes. She felt a little sad. “This would have been the perfect trip if only I had felt the Holy Ghost,” she thought.
Suddenly, like the light reflecting off the pillar, a thought shone into her soul. She had felt the Spirit! The Holy Ghost didn’t just make people cry. It also made them feel peaceful and happy, like she had felt in the forest! Andrea again felt the same bubble of joy growing inside. She then understood that Heavenly Father had answered her prayers.
As they drove away, Andrea kept her eyes on the granite monument until it disappeared behind the tops of the trees. She knew that the Lord had blessed her and given her the witness she desired.

After his father, Hyrum, and his Uncle Joseph were killed at Carthage Jail, Joseph F. Smith had to help his mother bring their family to the Salt Lake Valley.
Joseph’s mother, Mary Fielding Smith: Joseph, you are only eight years old, but I must depend on you. You must be a man when you are hardly a boy.
Joseph F.: I’ll help as much as I can, Mother.
Along the journey, young Joseph chopped wood, picked berries, carried water, and took care of the family’s animals.
But his main responsibility was driving the oxen.
He felt especially sad when his ox teams were thirsty and tired.
Joseph F.: I’m sorry, Thom. I know it’s too hot for you.
The journey was hard, and life didn’t become easier once they reached the Salt Lake Valley.
Joseph’s mother: It looks like we’ll have to spend the winter in our covered wagon, children. But God will protect us.
Joseph admired the faith and courage of his mother.
Even though the family had barely enough to live on, Mary Fielding Smith insisted they pay a full tithe.
Joseph’s mother: Choose the nicest potatoes to bring to the tithing office, Joseph. The Lord’s share must be the best pick of the crop.
Joseph must have remembered his mother’s faith when he received his call to preach the gospel in Hawaii. He was only fifteen years old, had no money to take with him, and didn’t even know the language.
He served faithfully in Hawaii and on several other Church assignments before becoming the sixth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Many people learned the gospel because of the faith and hard work of President Joseph F. Smith.
If you’d like to learn more about President Smith, do the “President Joseph F. Smith Crossword” on page 26.

As humanitarian missionaries we are constantly looking for ways to apply resources in an attempt to solve basic problems in our area. And just like the proselytizing missionaries, who are guided by the Spirit to those who are searching for the truth, we too spend time on our knees in prayer as we seek the Lord’s guidance for our own work.
Recently, we felt directed to the Association for the Physically Disabled of Kenya (APDK), a rehabilitation clinic, where we discussed their needs for clean water. We had heard that they were experiencing difficulties and had been forced to obtain their water supply in 20-liter bottles (as most of the communities do here). They were sourcing from a neighboring hospital where a sufficient supply was not always available.
We developed and received approval from LDS Area Authorities to pursue the project. We arranged for a hydrologist to survey the APDK property, but his report came back with a prediction of only a fair outcome. After reading the report, both of us talked about it and, because we believed the possibility of success was marginal, agreed to stop the project from any further development.
After making this decision, we met with Leah Mwachari, the APDK administrator—along with our LDS site monitor, Brother Kenneth Malahilu—to inform her that we would not proceed. But as soon as Elder Jensen announced our decision to her, Brother Malahilu spoke up boldly and reminded us all that in the Old Testament, “Moses struck a rock and the Lord brought forth water. The Lord loved the children of Israel as much as He loves His children here in Kenya, and He will do the same for us here.” Kenneth then bore his testimony to the three of us about the need to have faith, and when he finished, no one stirred for quite a while. The Spirit was intense. We then looked at each other and, smiling, both of us said, “I guess we will be drilling for water.”
A few months passed before the hospital came up with their financial contribution, simply because Leah had a challenging time convincing her boss to sign over any funds. They were apprehensive because of some past failures with boreholes on their land.
Nevertheless, the financial issues were eventually sorted out and the project was soon underway. And Kenneth’s testimony to us earlier would prove prophetic in a couple of ways. Good, clean water was struck at 45 meters, instead of at the depth of 60 meters, which the surveyor had indicated in his report. Secondly, the contract with the driller was arranged for a 10-inch borehole, which the hydrologist estimated was sufficiently sized to fill the expected 10,000-liter tank in about 8 hours. But on his own, this driller put in a 16-inch borehole which substantially increased the output flow.
As the project reached its completion, we held a closing ceremony with the people at APDK to formally turn over the project to them. At that time, we were told that this borehole was the seventh drilling at APDK—none prior had succeeded in giving them water. We thought about Kenneth—and his profound faith—and realized just how the Lord can bring forth water from a rock and bless His children. We felt the sweetness of the Spirit, and Elder Jensen—who sensed a strong prompting—asked if he might bless the borehole. Leah quietly nodded her permission and Elder Jensen offered up sacred words.
The borehole has now been operating for over six months and is still filling the 10,000-liter tank, plus a 60,000-liter tank, in an 8-hour day—three times what the hydrologist expected. And today the people at APDK are still enjoying clean water to drink and with which to clean, garden, and use in the fabrication of their casts, splints, and treatments.

Some years ago a young man I’ll call Raymond was in the seventh grade. He was a little taller than the other boys and was doing quite well in basketball and track. However, as the year progressed, the coach of the team began saying to him, “Raymond, stay seated. You’re no ball player. You’re too clumsy!” The next game, “No, we don’t need you. You stay right there. You can’t run. You can’t shoot the ball. You’re not fast enough.” This process continued for a number of months.

So the inevitable happened, because of that continual negative conditioning, and Raymond finally believed what he was being told about himself. He bought it hook, line, and sinker. He believed it so much that in coming years he did his best to avoid gym altogether. He did not play basketball with the other young men anymore at Church or at school. He set aside running. He avoided sports and went through high school minimizing interaction of any kind in sports. The negative conditioning even followed him into his first year of college. Some athletics were required, but again he minimized his involvement to the smallest degree possible.

A year later he found himself on a mission in a distant land. In this particular country the buses that the missionaries used did not stop to let the people get on or off. One had to learn to do that on the run.

One afternoon, as Raymond and his companion looked down the street, being a block or two from the bus stop, they saw the bus coming. One of them said, “Run, Elder, run, or we’ll miss our next appointment.” To Raymond’s great surprise, he beat his companion to the bus stop. Again, that afternoon, Raymond purposely arranged a few runs for the bus. He beat his companion each time.

He was shocked, amazed, and almost unbelieving, because he knew that his companion had received a number of awards for being the fastest runner in all of northern Arizona. Raymond was overcome. Could it be so? They ran again. He won.

All of a sudden the terrible realization came that he had wasted all those years. He could have excelled in athletics but he had believed what someone else had sown in his mind. He then began questioning himself about every other attitude he had in which he might have been deceived concerning belief in self.

Not long after my ordination as a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, I was called to serve as president of the quorum. Our adviser, Harold, was interested in us, and we knew it. One day he said to me, “Tom, you enjoy raising pigeons, don’t you?”
I responded with a warm, “Yes.”
Then he proffered, “How would you like me to give you a pair of purebred Birmingham Roller pigeons?”
This time I answered, “Yes, Sir!” You see, the pigeons I had were just the common variety, trapped on the roof of the Grant Elementary School.
He invited me to come to his home the next evening. The following day was one of the longest in my young life. I was awaiting my adviser’s return from work an hour before he arrived home. He took me to his pigeon loft, which was in the upper area of a small barn located at the rear of his yard. As I looked at the most beautiful pigeons I had yet seen, he said, “Select any male, and I will give you a female which is different from any other pigeon in the world.” I made my selection. He then placed in my hand a tiny hen pigeon. I asked what made her so different. He responded, “Look carefully, and you’ll notice that she has but one eye.” Sure enough, one eye was missing, a cat having done the damage. “Take them home to your loft,” he counseled. “Keep them in for about 10 days, and then turn them out to see if they will remain at your place.”
I followed Harold’s instructions. Upon his release, the male pigeon strutted about the roof of the loft, then returned inside to eat. But the one-eyed female was gone in an instant. I called Harold and asked, “Did that one-eyed pigeon return to your loft?”
“Come on over,” he said, “and we’ll have a look.”
As we walked from his kitchen door to the loft, my adviser commented, “Tom, you are the president of the teachers quorum.” This, of course, I already knew. Then he added, “What are you going to do to activate Bob, who is a member of your quorum?”
I answered, “I’ll have him at quorum meeting this week.”
Then he reached up to a special nest and handed me the one-eyed pigeon. “Keep her in a few more days and try again.” This I did, and once more she disappeared. Again the experience: “Come on over, and we’ll see if she returned home.” Came the comment as we walked to the loft, “Congratulations on getting Bob to priesthood meeting. Now what are you and Bob going to do to activate Bill?”
“We’ll have him there next week,” I volunteered.
This experience was repeated over and over again. I was a grown man before I fully realized that indeed Harold, my adviser, had given me a special pigeon, the only pigeon in his loft he knew would return every time she was released. It was his inspired way of having an ideal personal priesthood interview with the president of the teachers quorum every two weeks. I owe a lot to that one-eyed pigeon. I owe more to that quorum adviser. He had the patience and the skill to help me prepare for the responsibilities which lay ahead.

If you’re a seminary student in Gig Harbor, Washington, you decided to find out. Since you can’t go yourself—things like school and work prohibit cross-country travel—you send a teddy bear in your place.
A teddy bear? Absolutely. Gig Harbor seminary students loaded a stuffed bear they named “America” into a box, along with a camera, a journal, and a list of questions. “We just wanted to pretty much find out what it is like to live in different areas,” says Nick Sabin, a senior from Gig Harbor. The students sent the bear to 13 different seminary classes located near Church history sites. They asked its recipients to take pictures and to write back about their experiences in seminary.
The bear’s first stop was a class in Sharon, Vermont, birthplace of the Prophet Joseph Smith. From there it was mailed to seminaries near the Hill Cumorah, the Mormon Battalion muster site, Liberty Jail, and Winter Quarters, among other places.
Nearly a year later, America returned to Gig Harbor with gifts: students who received the bear mailed back souvenirs, including a leaf from the Sacred Grove and stones from the Susquehanna River, where Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery received the Aaronic Priesthood and were baptized. They also sent two rolls of film and a journal filled with messages about attending seminary and living near Church history sites.
Included here are excerpts from the journal.
Editor’s Note:Just a word to the wise—seminaries along the Church history trail were happy to participate in this one-time activity. But you can imagine the burden on their resources and time if they started to receive similar requests from others.

Raymond and Gwen Petersen of Wyoming, USA, have served four missions. Their leaving on their second mission—to Samoa for the second time—was initially a challenge for their children, who didn’t understand why their parents needed to serve another mission.
The family quickly realized what great blessings came from their service. “They had all prospered!” says Sister Petersen. “One couple who had been unable to have children were blessed with a baby boy, another had a miraculous healing from cancer, another with a struggling child saw great progress, and others had their best year in business.”
Their hard work has left a trail of faith through their family line. “We have four grandsons on missions right now who tell us we were their inspiration to go,” says Sister Petersen. “What could be more rewarding than that?”

When he was stake president, L. Tom Perry had the privilege of setting his son apart as a missionary. “My father is not one to show a lot of emotion,” Lee says. “But he was in tears during the blessing. And then he wrote a letter and put it into my suitcase without my knowledge. When I got to the mission home and opened my bag, there was the letter. In it, he told me he was proud to be my father. Since I’ve always adored him, that was pretty significant. It stayed with me as a source of strength and comfort throughout my mission.”