Gospel Story Finder

Allow me to share with you an experience from my own boyhood. When I was 11 years old, my family had to leave East Germany and begin a new life in West Germany overnight. Until my father could get back into his original profession as a government employee, my parents operated a small laundry business in our little town. I became the laundry delivery boy. To be able to do that effectively, I needed a bicycle to pull the heavy laundry cart. I had always dreamed of owning a nice, sleek, shiny, sporty red bicycle. But there had never been enough money to fulfill this dream. What I got instead was a heavy, ugly, black, sturdy workhorse of a bicycle. I delivered laundry on that bike before and after school for quite a few years. Most of the time, I was not overly excited about the bike, the cart, or my job. Sometimes the cart seemed so heavy and the work so tiring that I thought my lungs would burst, and I often had to stop to catch my breath. Nevertheless, I did my part because I knew we desperately needed the income as a family, and it was my way to contribute.
If I had only known back then what I learned many years later—if I had only been able to see the end from the beginning—I would have had a better appreciation of these experiences, and it would have made my job so much easier.
Many years later, when I was about to be drafted into the military, I decided to volunteer instead and join the air force to become a pilot. I loved flying and thought being a pilot would be my thing.
To be accepted for the program I had to pass a number of tests, including a strict physical exam. The doctors were slightly concerned by the results and did some additional medical tests. Then they announced, “You have scars on your lung which are an indication of a lung disease in your early teenage years, but obviously you are fine now.” The doctors wondered what kind of treatment I had gone through to heal the disease. Until the day of that examination I had never known that I had any kind of lung disease. Then it became clear to me that my regular exercise in fresh air as a laundry boy had been a key factor in my healing from this illness. Without the extra effort of pedaling that heavy bicycle day in and day out, pulling the laundry cart up and down the streets of our town, I might never have become a jet fighter pilot and later a 747 airline captain.

Stake Young Women president Paulette Griffiths first had the idea while talking to Church member Tony Iliffe, whose company turns tubes of knitting into finished socks.
“We always end up with sacks full of odd ones that don’t have matches,” commented Tony. “The partners are there somewhere, but no one knows where. A gentleman from London used to take them for the homeless, but he died.”
So began Sister Griffith’s brain wave.
She thought it would be a wonderful service project for the youth of the Lichfield England Stake—her stake—to sort socks, try to find matches, and then donate the pairs to charity.
So the youth got together, and like some gigantic jigsaw puzzle, the matchmaking began. The prevailing comment from the 60 young people who had gathered was, “I’ve never seen so many socks in my life!”
During the day, the excitement became infectious, with “I’ve got one!” shouts echoing through the hall. “It’s like finding treasure,” said Kristie McCall. “It’s a laugh.” Ellen Tong added, “Helping someone else and having a good time doing it is great.”
“It’s something different to do on a Saturday,” said Sharon Whiting from Sutton Coldfield, who spent her day sifting through hundreds of socks. Even Chelsea Birtcher, a visitor from Utah, said, “It’s the best service project I’ve been to.”
Everyone rotated to other sock activities when they were in danger of becoming tired of sorting. The sock activities ranged from puppet making, building a puppet theater, and decorating socks to be worn later at the evening Sock Hop—a slippery barn dance. Prizes were announced for the best decorated socks. And a puppet show was planned, to be performed for children’s hospitals, with the puppets donated to the ward nurseries.
With the youth from six wards pulling together, they finished with eight large sacks of paired socks for their day’s work.
Sam Barber, a 15-year-old from Stafford, said, “We had more people turn up to this service project than ever before. That’s what made it enjoyable.”
One of the project’s success stories belonged to the youth from the Lichfield and Tamworth wards. They achieved their goal and filled sacks of baby socks for two social service groups that work with children.
At the end of the day, a final count seemed a bit like the loaves and fishes. Despite eight bags of socks with partners, the remaining pile of singles still looked as high as ever. And only a few groaned when Sister Griffiths announced, “We’ll be back to enjoy this activity again soon.”

I’m going to do it!
Do what?
Run for student council.
Good for you!
What does the student council do?
They solve problems together and try to make the school a better place.
Hmmm, sounds like family council.
Sort of. But don’t try running for the position of Dad. At least not yet.
So, Mandy, what’s next?
I need a slogan!
How about, “Mandy is dandy, she’ll give you free candy.” I’d vote for that!
Just kidding.
Hmmm. Posters. Talking to lots of people.
It sounds a little scary. But I think I really want to do it!
I’ll help put up posters.
I’ll pass out candy!

Going to school in Montreal offers special challenges to the two young women. They are the only Latter-day Saints in a high school of 1,500 students. “The tough part is that the people can’t understand our principles,” says Chantal. “Sometimes when our friends find out our religion, their parents tell them not to see us any more. But we’ve found that our example is the best missionary work we can do.”
Nathalie agrees. “When we take the subway to Church, people notice us walking in dresses and know that we’re not like other young people. There’s something different about us.
“Last year I asked my math teacher to write something in my yearbook. My teacher wrote: ‘A year ago I saw you in the corridor and didn’t know you, but wanted you in my class this year because I saw how nice you were with people.’ To me, that’s missionary work.” Chantal has had similar experiences.
The LeGault family joined the Church after they were tracted out by missionaries ten years ago. Although Nathalie was only eight years old when the missionaries came, she searched to find out for herself if the Church was true. “When I was nine years old, I knew it was true,” she says. “My relatives said the girls were joining the Church because their parents had joined. But I said no, I know it’s true. It was my decision to join. I always tell young people you have to have your own testimony, not just the testimony of your friends or family.”
The sisters remember what life was like without the gospel. “Sometimes when people are born in the Church, they don’t realize the value of what they have,” says Nathalie. “I remember what it was like and know the Spirit of the Lord is in our home now. Everything I do I pray about. I feel the Spirit of the Lord guiding me. That’s the key, and it’s wonderful.”
The whole LeGault family makes it a practice to try to live close to the Spirit. Shortly after Brother LeGault was praying for help in finding someone to share the gospel with, he was prompted to turn off the main highway to stop at a gasoline station, even though he didn’t need gasoline. A young man riding a motorcycle had stopped there because he was tired of traveling. Brother LeGault offered to put the motorcycle in his van and take the young man to Montreal.
The young man was impressed by the kindness he received and wanted to know more about the LeGault family and what made them so loving. He took the missionary lessons. The LeGault family prayed that the young man would gain a testimony. A few weeks later, he was baptized into the Church.
“When something like that happens, we make it a family activity,” says Chantal. “We all prayed for the young man to listen to the truth. We work together to share the gospel.”
“We try to say to our Heavenly Father, ‘I’ll do what you want; make me what you want,’” says Nathalie. “When we let him do that, he does wonderful things.”

Rachel challenged me to bear my testimony. I said that I would if she did. Dad bore his testimony, and so did Mom and Natalie. But Rachel didn’t. I almost stood up. I got excited, and I wanted to say how happy I was to be baptized and to be a member. I wanted to say how happy I am that Heavenly Father and Jesus love us and how much I love my family. I wanted to say that I am proud of my brother on a mission. But the meeting was over before I got up. Then I was sad. Next time, I’m going to be the first one up, and I’ll say all those things.

There are those families comprised of mothers and fathers, sons and daughters who have, through thoughtless comment, isolated themselves from one another. An account of how such a tragedy was narrowly averted occurred many years ago in the life of a young man who, for purposes of privacy, I shall call Jack.
Throughout Jack’s life, he and his father had many serious arguments. One day, when he was 17, they had a particularly violent one. Jack said to his father, “This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I’m leaving home, and I shall never return.” So saying, he went to the house and packed his bag. His mother begged him to stay; he was too angry to listen. He left her crying at the doorway.
Leaving the yard, he was about to pass through the gate when he heard his father call to him, “Jack, I know that a large share of the blame for your leaving rests with me. For this I am truly sorry. I want you to know that if you should ever wish to return home, you’ll always be welcome. And I’ll try to be a better father to you. I want you to know that I’ll always love you.”
Jack said nothing but went to the bus station and bought a ticket to a distant point. As he sat on the bus, watching the miles go by, he commenced to think about the words of his father. He began to realize how much love it had required for him to do what he had done. Dad had apologized. He had invited him back and left the words ringing in the summer air: “I love you.”
It was then that Jack realized that the next move was up to him. He knew the only way he could ever find peace with himself was to demonstrate to his father the same kind of maturity, goodness, and love that Dad had shown toward him. Jack got off the bus. He bought a return ticket and went back.
He arrived shortly after midnight, entered the house, turned on the light. There in the rocking chair sat his father, his head in his hands. As he looked up and saw Jack, he arose from the chair and they rushed into each other’s arms. Jack often said, “Those last years that I was home were among the happiest of my life.”
We could say that here was a boy who overnight became a man. Here was a father who, suppressing passion and bridling pride, rescued his son before he became one of that vast, “lost battalion” resulting from fractured families and shattered homes. Love was the binding band, the healing balm. Love so often felt, so seldom expressed.

The first is illustrated by an experience when a stake president and I took the opportunity to visit a young woman in her home near Atlanta, Georgia. She was young; her husband had been killed in a car accident; she was living in an apartment with her two young children. I suppose we expected to find her upset and discouraged at having received a “bump” not of her own making. On the contrary, she was cheerful, calm, and very gracious. She thanked us for coming and said, as nearly as I can recall: “Brethren, I want you to know that I believe in the plan of redemption. I am grateful to my Savior for the promise of a glorious resurrection with my husband. I am grateful for his redeeming sacrifice.” Then, putting her arms around her two children, she said, “Our faith in Jesus Christ will see us through.”
We came expecting to comfort and strengthen, and we left humbled, buoyed, and blessed by her wonderful expression of faith.

It’s 10:00 a.m., and your teacher is about to hand out a test. You don’t know the person sitting next to you very well, but you notice she’s frantically digging through her backpack. What do you do?
Ignore her. You’re stressed as well and need to cram for the test.
Wish her good luck.
Ask her if she’s looking for something. When you hear she needs a pencil, you give her one of yours. “Keep it,” you tell her with a smile.

In Australia just this past Sunday we were told of a doctor, a member of the Church, who had taken seriously the counsel that every member should be a missionary. He didn’t know how, but he was willing to try. He pleaded with the Lord for help. He told his patients, as opportunity presented itself, of the Church. Then he received a call one day from a patient who said that he and his family wished to know more of Mormonism. The doctor sent the missionaries. After being taught, the family asked for baptism and requested that the doctor perform the baptisms. The doctor asked them how their interest had been aroused. They said that they had gone camping. The first day they just enjoyed themselves. The second day they felt a little bored. They walked around the campgrounds and found a copy of a Church magazine. They read it. Their interest had been aroused. Tears came into the eyes of the doctor. He said, “My family and I had been at the same campground a few days before. I had taken that magazine with me to read. I felt impressed to leave it on the table. That was the magazine which led you in the direction of the Church.”

“Annie, we need a cabbage for Christmas dinner tomorrow,” Mother said. “Please go to the Olsens and trade these potatoes for one. Hurry now. Night’s coming.”
Eleven-year-old Annie sighed, dropping her knitting and picking up the burlap bag of potatoes. It was a tradition in Norway for families to have a cabbage for Christmas dinner, and Annie knew it would be delicious. But she didn’t want to leave the warm fire. “Can Gunnild come too?” she asked hopefully.
“No, she must feed the goats and help your father.”
Annie buttoned her sheepskin coat and hurried outside into the brisk air. The snow crunched under her feet and the sharp wind whipped her blonde braids as she scurried down the path.
A few minutes later she reached the Olsens’ cabin and rapped on the wooden door. Mrs. Olsen peeked out, her blue eyes wide with surprise.
“Why, Annie! What are you doing out in this bitter wind? Your cheeks are as bright as strawberries. Come in and warm yourself.”
Annie’s fingers and toes tingled as she stood by the crackling fire. “Mother asked me to trade these potatoes for a cabbage,” she said.
“Oh, child, I’m sorry. I have no more cabbages. We ate our last one yesterday.” Mrs. Olsen stirred the big black kettle hanging over the fire. “Would you like some porridge?”
“No, thank you,” Annie replied. “I can’t stay. Do you know where I can get a cabbage?”
“The Petersens may have one. Jens had a good crop this year. But if you go there, you must hurry. It feels like there’s a storm brewing.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Olsen,” Annie said as she hurried outside. Tucking the bag under her arm, she plunged her hands deep into her pockets and trudged forward. The icy wind slapped her face, and black clouds rumbled overhead.
After what seemed like hours, she reached the Petersens. Luckily, Mrs. Petersen had an extra cabbage to trade for Annie’s potatoes. Waving good-bye, Annie headed home. Tiny snowflakes fluttered around her, covering the path with a goose-feathery whiteness.
Annie thought of her family’s warm cabin. She could almost smell the savory lutefisk (dried codfish) and potatoes cooking. Perhaps her mother was also making riskrem (rice pudding) and hiding an almond inside. Maybe Annie would be the lucky one to find it.
The snow began to fall faster. Thick flakes coated her eyelashes and buried the path. Annie stared at the landscape ahead of her, struggling to find the trail. “Is that our cabin?” she thought, noticing a dark shape in the swirling snow. But it was only a thicket of trees. Annie was confused. “Where am I?” she wondered. “Why do the mountains look like giants?” She felt like she was in a dream.
Huge snowdrifts seemed like a warm, white feather bed, urging her to stop and sleep. At first she resisted by thinking about home. She plodded forward on what felt like wooden-post legs, clutching her cabbage. But finally her weary legs collapsed, and she lay down, wrapping herself in a soft blanket of snow.
Back at home, Annie’s father stared out into the whirling whiteness. Where was Annie? He bundled up in his heavy coat and grabbed his lantern. He hurried down the trail, shouting into the wind, “Annie, Annie!”
Next to a giant spruce tree he noticed a strange mound. He rushed forward, swinging his lantern. In the dim light, he saw a pale figure in the snow. Was it Annie? He rushed to her, gathering her in his arms and wrapping his fur coat around her.
“Please, God,” he prayed, “let her live.”
A faint breath stirred Annie’s lips as she whimpered, “Papa.”
“Annie, you’re alive! It’s a miracle!” he cried. “God has preserved your life for a special purpose.”

Being a missionary, as long as I have time, let me give you one or two little missionary experiences to indicate what Isaiah meant when he said that they would worship Him by the precepts of men.
As I finished my first mission over in Amsterdam, over seventy-five years ago, I was invited into the home of one of the Saints to talk to her neighbor. When my companion and I arrived, the neighbor was there but she had her minister with her. We had a little difference of opinion on priesthood, and right there he challenged me to a debate in his church the next Saturday night.
When we arrived, the church was full; all of his people were there, and all of our people. How our people found it out, I don’t know; I didn’t tell them!
The minister stood up and said, “Now, inasmuch as Mr. Richards is a guest in our church, we will accord him the privilege of opening this debate, and we will each talk for twenty minutes. Is that agreeable with you, Mr. Richards?”
I said, “Very much.” I didn’t tell him, but I would have given him the shirt off my back for the privilege of opening that debate, and he just handed it to me on a silver platter! I didn’t know whether the Lord had anything to do with it or not, but I thought He did!
Then I stood up and I said, “The last time I talked with my friend, we had a difference of opinion on priesthood. Tonight I have come prepared to discuss that subject, but I don’t propose to start at that point. (This was one of my strong points in my mission.) If you are going to build a house, you don’t try to put a roof on it before you get the foundation in.” They agreed with that, so I said, “I propose to lay the foundation of the gospel of Jesus Christ,” and I chose for my text the sixth chapter of Hebrews where Paul said:
“Leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God,
“Of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment.” (Heb. 6:1–2.)
I hurried over faith and repentance—I thought they believed in them. I spoke on baptism by immersion for the remission of sin until everybody was giving me accord.
Then it came to the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost. And they didn’t believe that. I never found a church that did believe it outside of our Church—they think the Holy Ghost comes just like the breezes that blow over the head. I quoted them the passage saying that when the Apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God through the preaching of Philip, they sent Peter and John. And when they came, they prayed for them, they laid their hands upon them, and they received the Holy Ghost. And when Simon the sorcerer saw that the Holy Ghost was conveyed by the laying on of the Apostles’ hands, he offered them money, saying: “Give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay my hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost.
“But Peter said unto him, Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money.” (Acts 8:19–20.)
And then I gave them a few more references on the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost, and sat down.
The minister stood up and talked for twenty minutes, and he never once mentioned a word I had said. He started on the Mountain Meadows Massacre and the “Mormon Bible,” and stated that Joseph Smith had admitted he had made many mistakes; and then in a most courteous manner, he said: “Now if Mr. Richards will enlighten us on these matters, I am sure this audience will be most appreciative.”
I was on my feet just like that. (My companion later said, “How did you think so fast?” I said, “What have you been praying for all week?”) I said, “In the days of the Savior, his enemies tried to trick him with cunning and craftiness. I don’t suppose there’s anybody here tonight that would like to see us resort to those old tactics.” I said, “If I understand a debate, it is the presentation of argument and the answering of those presentations. Has this man answered any of my arguments?”
Everybody said, “No.”
I said, “All right, my friend, you may have your twenty minutes over again.” He couldn’t do it, and I knew he couldn’t.
Finally his wife stood up in the audience, and she said, “What Mr. Richards is asking you is fair. You ought to answer him.”
But he couldn’t do it, and I said to my companion, “Stand up and give me my coat and hat.” I said, “One more chance. I am willing to remain here until ten o’clock tomorrow morning, when we have to be in our own church, provided this debate can go forward on the basis that you set it up. If not, I am going to leave and ask my companion to leave and ask our members to leave, and we will leave it with you to settle with your people for what has transpired here tonight.”
I met him on the street a number of times after that, but he would duck his head so he didn’t need to speak to me! Now that is what Isaiah meant when he said they would teach for doctrines the precepts of men.

When we returned to Japan after our marriage, the Lord’s promises came to pass in my life as I looked for full-time employment.
I was working only part-time when our first child arrived. We were elated, but I knew I would not be able to support our growing family without a full-time job. We began praying earnestly for heaven’s help.
Before I served my mission, I had wanted to work in foreign trade. But to be hired by a trading company, an applicant generally had to be a university graduate who held certain certifications. I hadn’t finished college and had no certifications, but when we prayed, we felt that the Lord would bless us and prepare a job for me.
I decided to take the hiring exams at a number of trading companies despite my lack of education. The first two turned me down, but I had a curious experience when I applied at a third company.
The Church had few Japanese members during that era, and many people were prejudiced against the Church. When three representatives from the third trading company interviewed me, they looked at my résumé and learned that I was a Latter-day Saint. They began asking me questions about the Church, requesting detailed answers. Having recently returned from my mission, I had no problem talking about the restored Church of Jesus Christ.
For what must have been at least 40 minutes, I spoke about the gospel and bore my testimony of the life of Jesus Christ, the Apostasy, Joseph Smith’s First Vision, the Book of Mormon, the Restoration of the true Church of Jesus Christ, and the teachings of the Church.
Not one of the interviewers stopped me while I spoke. A few days later the trading company offered me a job at an astoundingly high salary. Later, when I asked my manager why they had hired me, he replied, “During your interview I gained an assurance that you were conscientious, sincere, and loyal, and that you would be someone who would work in such a way for our company.”
I testify that the Lord fulfills His promises. During my interview I felt the power and Spirit of the Lord upon me, just as He promises to those who attend the temple and honor their temple covenants. I also felt His Spirit with me while I worked for the company, where I was blessed to make many valuable contributions.

As a nurse in the newborn intensive care unit, I care for sick, sometimes very small, babies. One night I was assigned to a little boy born 17 weeks early and weighing just over one pound (0.5 kg). His hands were tiny, his little legs about as big around as my finger, and his feet about the size of my thumb. Because of his severe respiratory problems, doctors didn’t expect him to live through the night.
A quiet hush falls over the entire unit when a newborn is fighting for life. There is increased stress on everyone, especially the baby’s nurse, and tonight that was me. His parents had been with him most of the day, but they were exhausted. His mother had returned to her room for some much-needed rest.
The baby’s private room contained an isolette (incubator), monitors, ventilator, and IV pumps, which were keeping him alive. Because he was so ill and needed such intensive care, I wasn’t assigned any other patients that night. I would be at his side all night, busy with medications, monitoring, treatments, and tests.
As the night wore on, I tried to imagine how I would feel if I were his mother. The heartache would have been unbearable.
I gently washed his face, touched his little hands and feet, gingerly changed and positioned him in a soft new blanket. I wondered what else I could do for my little patient. What would his mother do? What would Heavenly Father want me to do?
This precious, innocent little spirit would soon be returning to his Father in Heaven. I wondered if he was afraid. I thought of my own children. When they were young and scared, I had sung to them. “I Am a Child of God” was their favorite. Choking back tears, I sang to the baby.
As a nurse I saw the tubes and the blood, counted the rise and fall of the baby’s chest, listened to the beating of his heart, and watched the numbers on the monitors. As a Latter-day Saint I saw a celestial spirit and marveled at the plan of salvation.
As the night progressed, his health deteriorated. He eventually developed a condition that caused him to bleed into his lungs.
In the morning my little patient slipped silently through the veil. He left his mother’s arms and was “taken home to that God who gave [him] life” (Alma 40:11).
I grew closer to the Savior and Heavenly Father that night. I developed a greater understanding of the Lord’s love for mankind—and His love for me. I was reminded, even surprised, by the depth of love I felt for Him. And I felt a desire to be more kind, more gentle, more forgiving, more compassionate—more like Him—one day and one heartbeat at a time.

To grow fruit there is a yearly challenge. After the fruit has blossomed, if it gets extremely cold, the blossoms will freeze, and the whole crop will be wiped out. Just as the fruit farmers relied on the Lord for rain, they also relied on the Lord to help them protect their crops. One time we had a long, hard cold spell that lasted night after night. Our stake president asked for a special fast that the elements would be tempered, and we were able to save our fruit.

It wasn’t until the end of my eighth grade year that I realized I was very different from my classmates and even my best friends, who were nonmembers. I was faced with a situation that really bothered me. In class we were debating some controversial topics, including abortion. When I shared my thoughts, I was surprised to see my moral values ripped to pieces. Something I feel is so precious—physical intimacy, something that should be reserved for marriage—was simply a fun pastime to other people. I walked out of the classroom that day knowing that things were going to be very different.

In the same class, I was faced with another moment that would force me to act on all of the things I had been taught since Primary. My teacher was in the front of the class, talking about a snippet of a movie we were about to watch. Some of my classmates suggested that we watch the whole movie. My teacher shook her head and nonchalantly explained that she couldn’t because the movie had a mature rating. I was stunned when I first heard this. I never thought this would happen.

I sat in my chair, thinking about what I should do. A thought kept coming into my head: We have been asked not to watch offensive movies. I tried to rationalize that because I was in school, the part of the movie we were going to watch would be appropriate. But the thought of not watching offensive movies trumped my rationalizations.

I calmly raised my hand, and in front of my whole class, I asked to sit outside of class while the movie played. I felt everyone’s eyes on me as I pushed in my chair and grabbed my book. I saw the looks on their faces; they simply didn’t understand.

While sitting in the hallway, I felt very happy. I knew I had done the right thing, no matter what my peers or teacher said. I felt stronger too. I knew I didn’t have to watch an inappropriate movie clip just because my teacher had presented it to us.

Since then, I have often thought about the Mormonad hanging up in my room. It reads, “Adversity Can Make You Strong.” I believe that when we are faced with moments of adversity and we stand up to them, we are made stronger than if we had sat down and let them happen.

This is an inner strength that is found through our Savior. If we look to Him in our times of difficulty, we will be made strong. Our faith in Him can help us face adversity unashamed. We must “be strong and of a good courage” (Joshua 1:9) and look to our Heavenly Father and our Savior for everything; with all that, our adversities will make us stronger.

Doug Goreas, member of the Royal Canadian Sea Cadets, recently completed a cruise aboard the HMCS (Her Majesty’s Canadian Ship) Mackenzie to Japan. Doug, 16, was selected along with 29 other cadets for this privilege.
Doug’s voyage first took him to Pearl Harbor and then on to Japan. After reaching the port of Kagoshima, Doug relates, “I would have to say that Kagoshima was one of the highlights of my trip. While on leave there, I happened to glance into a bookstore and saw two well-dressed, clean-shaven young men. They looked like Mormon missionaries. When they came out, I approached them, and they were just that. It was great to talk to them and find out about the Church in that area.
“They invited me to the youth group meeting the next night, and as I had leave I attended. I sat in on an English class and afterward played in a Ping-Pong tournament. Teenagers are the same wherever you travel. It was a wonderful experience.”
Doug’s next port of call was Kure, where he took a train trip to Hiroshima to visit the Hiroshima Peace Park, built as a reminder of the destructive potential of the atom bomb. After visiting the ports of Kobe and Yokuska, the HMCS Mackenzie cruised back to Canada.
A student at Kelowna Senior Secondary School, Doug is an assistant to the president of the priests quorum of the Kelowna Branch, in Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada. During the past four years he has won numerous awards, including the Kelowna Citizenship and Achievement awards.
Doug plays nine instruments and presently plays the tuba with the Kelowna Senior Secondary Concert Band. He attributes his interest in music to “the fine example and inspiration of the members of the Church.” Doug is looking forward to serving a mission and completing a university degree in music.

Elder Monte J. Brough of the First Quorum of the Seventy tells of a summer at his childhood home in Randolph, Utah, when he and his younger brother, Max, decided to build a tree house in a large tree in the backyard. They made plans for the most wonderful creation of their lives. They gathered building materials from all over the neighborhood and carried them up to a part of the tree where two branches provided an ideal location for the house. It was difficult, and they were anxious to complete their work. The vision of the finished tree house provided tremendous motivation for them to complete the project.

They worked all summer, and finally in the fall just before school began for the new year, their house was completed. Elder Brough said he will never forget the feelings of joy and satisfaction which were theirs when they finally were able to enjoy the fruit of their work. They sat in the tree house, looked around for a few minutes, climbed down from the tree—and never returned. The completed project, as wonderful as it was, could not hold their interest for even one day. In other words, the process of planning, gathering, building, and working—not the completed project—provided the enduring satisfaction and pleasure they had experienced.

Let us relish life as we live it and, as did Elder Brough and his brother, Max, find joy in the journey.

Orphaned at the age of eleven, Daniel Webster Jones traveled from his home in Missouri to the western United States in 1847 with a company of volunteer soldiers who went to fight in the U.S.-Mexican War. “Gambling, swearing, fighting, and other rough conduct” were part of his every day activity he later wrote in his autobiography, Forty Years among the Indians, (Salt Lake City, Utah: Juvenile Instructor Office.) So Daniel Webster Jones in his early years seemed an unlikely person to join the Church, spend forty years proselyting among the American Indians, and with little formal training in Spanish help make the first Spanish translation from the Book of Mormon. As it happened, he was a good person to do all of these things.
He does not talk about his early life, but somewhere he had gained a strong belief in God. During the three years he spent in Mexico with the volunteer army, he “took part in many ways in the wild, reckless life that was common in the army;” but still would not partake of “strong drink and other worse vices that I could see were destroying the lives of my friends.”
Because of his life-style, he says, “I felt condemned, and often asked God in all seriousness to help me to see what was right, and how to serve Him; telling Him I wanted to know positively, and not be deceived.” In his rough way, he felt that people living in his time were entitled to a prophet too; that it was not right “to leave them without anything but the Bible.”
He left Mexico in 1850 with a large trading company traveling to Salt Lake City. On the way, he was badly wounded by a gun accident, but managed to survive until his companions got him to the Latter-day Saint settlements near Provo, south of Salt Lake City.
In that day, the Saints were often ridiculed by travelers, but when he overheard some of his friends reading the Doctrine and Covenants and making fun of it, he thought of his prayer asking for modern revelation. He left his companions, moved in with a Latter-day Saint family, and began investigating the gospel as he recovered from his injury. “Everyone was kind and treated me with great confidence,” he remembered. “I listened to the elders preaching and soon concluded they were honest and knew it, or were deliberate liars and deceivers. I was determined, if possible, not to be fooled, therefore I commenced to watch very closely.” He was particularly impressed by the lack of bitterness that Latter-day Saints felt toward the Indians, in spite of recent battles.
When he learned about the Book of Mormon, “it seemed natural to me to believe it. I cannot remember ever questioning in my mind the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, or that Joseph Smith was a prophet. The question was: Are the Mormons sincere, and can I be one?” When he decided that he could be, he spoke to Isaac Morley, who had been one of the first converts to the Church in Ohio.
It was 27 January 1851, wintertime, and Brother Morley “was just going out to get a load of wood with his ax under his arm.” Remarking quietly, “I have been expecting this,” Brother Morley used the ax to chop through thick ice formed over the nearby lake—and Dan became a member of the Church.
The next twenty-three years were busy ones. He farmed, traded with the Ute Indians, was ordained a seventy, married Harriet Emily Colton, acted as Brigham Young’s interpreter when he dealt with some Mexicans in Sanpete County, helped rescue the handcart pioneers stranded by winter storms, and continued his friendly contacts with the Indians, both as a member of the Church and as a government official.
Then in 1874, he was summoned to Brigham Young’s office and was called on a mission to Mexico. “I had expected this call to come some time. I had both desired and dreaded the mission,” he says frankly, knowing how hard a mission would be in Mexico. He and Harry Brizzee were both called and told to prepare themselves. Since “Brother Young said he would like to have some extracts from the Book of Mormon translated,” they “began to study and prepare to translate.”
Although both spoke Spanish, Daniel “often thought how good it would be to have a Spanish-speaking native to help us.” A few months later, Brother Brizzee met a stranger, Spanish-speaking Mileton G. Trejo, who had heard about the Church in the Philippine Islands and had come to Utah to investigate it. He soon was baptized and began translating selections from the Book of Mormon into Spanish with Daniel’s help and support.
In 1875, Daniel reported to President Young that they were ready to start on their mission. Authorized by President Young, Daniel soon raised $500 to pay for the printing of the first set of Spanish selections.
In a later conversation with President Young, Daniel was asked how he proposed to prove to the satisfaction of the authorities of the Church—none of whom spoke Spanish—that the translation was correct. Daniel suggested this test: they would select a book, Brother Trejo would translate a passage into Spanish, Daniel would take the Spanish translation and, without looking at the original book, translate the text back into English. President Young accepted the suggestion, and when the Brethren received a copy of Daniel’s translation from the Spanish, President George A. Smith, then a member of the First Presidency, “laughingly remarked, ‘I like Brother Jones’ style better [than the original]. … The language is more easily understood.’”
But that was not the only exceptional experience Daniel had in connection with the translation. He says:
“When the printing started, Brother Brigham told me that he would hold me responsible for its correctness. This worried me so much that I asked the Lord to in some way show me any mistakes [as we proofread the printed sheets].
“Brother Trejo’s manuscript was written in modern language style. When I called his attention to errors he invariably agreed with me. He often remarked that I was a close critic and understood Spanish better than he did. I did not like to tell him how I discerned the mistakes.
“I felt a sensation in the center of my forehead as though there was a fine thread being pulled smoothly out. When there was a mistake, the smoothness would be interrupted as though a small knot was being passed out through the forehead. Whether I saw the mistake or not I was so sure it was there that I would show it to my companion and ask him to correct it. When this was done we continued on until the same thing happened again.”

Young people desiring to serve missions often face many challenges. This was the case for six missionaries who were not able to attain visas and travel to one of the numerous missionary training centers found in the Americas.
Four of them, Thierry Birocher, Rosylove Charles, Jennyfer Augustin, and Landy Dorce had been living in Santo Domingo and were called to serve in the Dominican Republic. The other two, Rosebelle Fanfan and Marie Jacques were living in Port-au-prince, Haiti and had received their calls to Boston, Massachusetts but were reassigned to the Dominican Republic due to visa complications.
With six missionaries not able to travel to an MTC and prepare properly for their missions, the Caribbean Area Presidency was led to resolve this problem by creating a temporary, mini-missionary training center located in the Caribbean Area offices. The three sister missionaries living in the Dominican Republic moved out of their homes and into the temple patron housing, located next to the Santo Domingo Temple.
Elder Birocher moved in with the office elders of the Santo Domingo East Mission, and Sisters Fanfan and Jacques left their homes in Haiti and participated in the mini-MTC from the Haiti, Port-au-Prince mission offices.
Although housed in various Church offices in Santo Domingo and Port-au-Prince, the six missionaries received their training virtually from the Mexico City Missionary Training Center through two amazing instructors, Gregory Jeaboin and Josue Derival.
On weekends, each missionary was assigned to a companionship of full-time missionaries to live and work with. This experience gave them real-life missionary opportunities and grew their enthusiasm for the work that they would soon be doing.

My mother, who turned 93 last week, always emphasized that the public and private persons needed to be the same. When I was a little girl, I went to a store for my mother. In my purse, I had money and a list of things I was to get. The storekeeper took the list, and once I received the items, I handed her the money. I was then given some change and a receipt. I returned home where my mother checked everything. One time, I had received too much money back. Mother took me to the store with the extra money. When the storekeeper laughed, Mother informed her that my integrity was not for sale for a few coins then or for millions when I grew up. Once I tried to get away with something by saying, “But everyone else does it.” That didn’t work. This tiny woman said that I was not just everybody; I was a member of Hannonen family and a citizen of Finland. Once we were converted to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, she added “Mormon” to the list. “Remember who you are” has played in my mind before there were iPads or iPods, MP3 players, and truthfully, before there were computers, electric typewriters, or color TV.

I had temptations similar to the ones you face today, but I made choices based on moral and ethical values taught to me in my childhood. Later in life, it did not matter to my mother what place I had in an organizational chart, how many people I was responsible for, or how much money moved through my hands. What mattered was that I had clean hands and a pure heart and that I was working towards eternal goals in the kingdom of God. I cannot give a resume of my accomplishments to the Lord, only myself and who I have become during my time in mortality.