Gospel Story Finder

Ask for a father’s blessing. Matt had a special experience with this. Asking his dad for a blessing led him to date his now wife.

After a spiritually trying summer, Matt was eager for the fresh start that a new semester of school would bring. He asked his dad to give him a father’s blessing. In that blessing, Matt was specifically told to “listen to and counsel with” his mother. In the past, he hadn’t talked to his mom frequently while at school. That semester, however, he felt inspired to call his mom to talk about his dating life. He said that doing so helped him stay “focused on why I was dating and where I wanted my future to go.” His mom’s advice proved valuable: that semester Matt met a woman who became his wife. About this experience, he said, “I’m incredibly grateful for the worthiness and guidance of my father and the focus and direction from my mother that helped me through that time of meeting and courting my wonderful wife!”

Equally unwelcome was the “shower” that fell on the little town of Coonamble, Australia. People dashed for cover and shops closed hurriedly as millions of beetles fell from the sky. Householders worked at top speed trying to make doors and windows beetle-proof, but it was practically impossible to keep the invaders at bay. It was two days before life in the town even began to return to normal and much longer before the beetles were completely cleared from pantries, cupboards, bedrooms, and attics.

As I nervously waited to board my flight from Boston to Salt Lake City—my first airplane ride alone—my parents repeated for the zillionth time their last request.
“Don’t forget to visit Grandpa,” they said. “He’d really love it.”
“Okay,” I promised, though silently I finished it with “if I feel like it.”
I was flying out to begin my freshman year at Brigham Young University. Dad thought the trip would be an excellent opportunity for me to drop in on his dad in Salt Lake City, but I was worried enough about my own survival far from home.
I remembered Grandpa as a kind old man who always had time for his grandchildren. After chatting a little he would take us outside to swing on his swings, eat his raspberries, and gaze over the fence at his one big cow.
But seeing Grandpa now would mean doing adult things, like socializing and asking questions. Dad wouldn’t be there to do most of the talking, like he usually did. The whole idea of visiting him was making me uncomfortable.
At the airport in Salt Lake City I was met by two teenage cousins from Mom’s side of the family. They weren’t related to Grandpa Lythgoe and didn’t know about the promise I had made to my parents. How easy it would be to keep quiet and let them drive me straight to BYU.
But as we drove I thought, not only of the promise, but also how lonely Grandpa must be since Grandma died two years before. He could probably use a visit right now, especially from a grandson he didn’t see very often. So despite my fears, I asked my cousins to stop.
With Dad we would always walk in Grandpa’s back door without knocking, but this time we approached the seldom-used front door. Back doors seem reserved for people you know, and I was beginning to realize I scarcely knew him.
Grandpa came to the door, and we knew he was happy to see us. He was closing fast on his 90th birthday and looked feeble, but he was still Grandpa. The house felt empty without Grandma, but what seemed the most different was me. With Dad 2,500 miles away, I was suddenly the adult in charge of conversation, and everything I said must have sounded a bit forced.
Of course Grandpa asked me what I planned to study at BYU, and I also told him what the rest of the family was up to, but we soon ran out of things to say. I decided we should hit the road again.
A month later the rest of my family flew out for a week to help Grandpa celebrate his birthday, but a few days before the party I got a phone call. Grandpa had died the night before.
As I hung up the phone, it suddenly became clear to me how important that short visit had been a month before. I hadn’t said anything earth-shattering, and maybe part of the reason I had gone was to please my parents, but I was happy and relieved I hadn’t passed up my last chance to see Grandpa alive. I often think of Grandpa and something I later heard my mission president say: “Be glad that you did; don’t wish that you had.”

When President Spencer W. Kimball underwent surgery years ago, he was wheeled from the operating room to the intensive care room. The attendant who pushed the gurney which carried him stumbled and let out an oath using the name of the Lord. President Kimball, who was barely conscious, said weakly, “Please! Please! That is my Lord whose names you revile.”

There was a deathly silence; then the young man whispered with a subdued voice, “I am sorry.” (See The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, ed. Edward L. Kimball [1982], 198.)

You need to know that I am quite fearful of heights. Standing on anything higher than six feet from the ground, I begin to feel very uncomfortable. Being so afraid of heights, several years ago I did something that I never thought I could do. Some experienced mountain climbing friends of mine invited my two youngest sons and me to go with them on a hike down the Pine Creek Trail in Zion National Park. This hike takes you through a magnificent, deep, narrow, twisting, slot canyon. The thing that makes this particular hike so exciting (for those who are not afraid of heights, I might add) is the seven required repels as you descend this slot canyon.

Repelling is the technique used to descend from something by rope. The equipment consists of special climbing ropes, gloves, straps, anchors, a harness that goes around your waist and hips and a carabineer which is an oblong metal ring that the rope passes through to help control the speed of your descent. Repelling requires a sense of adventure, some skill and some physical strength and is definitely not for those who are terrified of heights. In spite of my fear of high places, and after a lot of persuasion from my friends, I reluctantly decided to make this hike. The most compelling reason for doing something this scary was knowing that my boys would love it.

Well, off we went and after a little practice with our equipment and some fairly easy repels, which I am pleased to say I handled quite well, we found ourselves at the end of the slot canyon with one more rappel to go. This last rappel was the biggest one of all. It was a 125-foot free fall down through a dark cavern into a shallow pool of water! A free fall rappel means being suspended on the rope free of any other kind of support. I cannot describe how frightened I was as I looked over the edge of the cliff into the darkness and saw how far it was down to the bottom.

I watched as some of the members of our group confidently secured themselves to the rope, leaned back over the edge of the cliff, and with great excitement began their descent to the ground below. All the way down they would shout back up to us telling how fun and thrilling it was. Finally, it was my turn. I carefully made my way to the edge of the cliff. Realizing my two boys were watching, I wanted to portray an image of strength and control, not that of a quivering wimp. Notwithstanding my best efforts, I am sure they could see that I was truly scared to death.

Terrified, I held firmly onto the rope and slowly backed up to the edge. Trying not to look down, I took a deep breath and leaned back into my harness and began to inch my way over the cliff into the great, dark abyss that extended 125 feet below me. After a few steps over the edge, it opened up into a large cavern. No longer would I be able to provide any support with my feet. I now had to “free fall." At that moment, I fought with images in my mind of the rope breaking and falling to a certain death. Shaking and hoping that the rope would support me, I took another deep breath and carefully let more rope pass through my carabineer until I was hanging there in mid air. As I firmly held the rope I could literally feel its strength. It was then that I looked up and I could see that the rope was still connected securely to the anchor in the rock above. The rope safely held me and instantly I felt confident that I would be all right. At that moment a wonderful, reassuring feeling of excitement swept over me. My rappel to the ground below was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life.

Most people wouldn’t have thought 1853 was the best year for the Saints to break ground for an extensive building project. After all, people were still arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, and most of them didn’t bring much with them. One anonymous brother described his situation like this: “I walked the morning the ground was broken for the foundation of the Temple. … I went through frozen mud and slush with my feet tied up in rags. I had on a pair of pants made out of my wife’s skirt—a thin Scotch plaid; also a thin calico shirt and a straw hat. These were all the clothes I had. It was go that way or stay at home. … I was not alone in poverty. … There were many who were fixed as badly as I was.”

But the Lord’s house needed to be built. Later that day, John D. McAllister described the following event:
“The ground being frozen, President Heber C. Kimball commenced breaking the ground with a pick. … President Young took out the first turf. … While taking it out [a] silver dollar was flung from someone in the congregation which struck in the hole. Brother Kimball said that was an omen that we should have plenty of money to build the Temple.”

In the tearful days after a wildfire devastated entire neighborhoods in California’s Sonoma County in October 2017, Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles traveled to affected communities to be with the Latter-day Saints.
He was on a mission of ministering. He and Sister Melanie Rasband comforted fire-weary members in their meetinghouses and at the edges of their charred homes.
And wherever he went, members came forward to shake his hand. It was a gesture of appreciation. They thanked the Apostle for his support. But each handshake communicated a common sentiment: “I sustain you.”
This means that just as members deeply impacted by the Santa Rosa fires offered sustaining support to Elder Rasband, members worldwide can be lifted even as they lift each member of the Twelve.

When Bonnie and I arrived at the University of Southern California to pursue a doctoral degree, we had four children, little money, a fellowship, and lots of hope. We knew there were difficult and demanding years ahead.

My adviser was a fine faculty member who was also a member of the Church. He was well respected on the campus by both faculty and students. I sought his counsel regarding my program and how best to secure the desired degree.

He encouraged me with assurance that we would be able to meet the academic, time, and financial demands. He also reminded me that such a course would require careful attention to priorities. Pursuit of the degree would have to be the number one objective for both Bonnie and me. Of course, we would have to take time with our children and with each other. He advised me to inform our bishop that I would not be available for Church service except on a limited basis on Sunday.

Now, Bonnie and I had determined early in our lives that we would serve wherever and whenever the Lord should call and had done so from the time we were married. During my freshman year at BYU I had also determined that I would not study my schoolwork on the Sabbath day.

Not long after that the stake president extended a call for me to serve as one of the presidents of the seventies quorum of the stake and as a stake missionary. The call was accepted. The doctoral degree was completed. That experience in service was as important as the educational period that accompanied it.

What took a short six months to destroy took years to rebuild. For the next full year I worked very hard to prove to the good kids that I was one of them. Every time I thought I had succeeded my past would come back to haunt me.
The summer after I was in tenth grade our girls’ church basketball team won the regional play-offs. We would be going to the area play-offs 1,000 miles away. We would be traveling with the boys’ team that won the regionals. I couldn’t believe what my coach said about me after that trip. She said that when we left home she had been sure she’d be sending me home early. After all she’d heard about me, she was just sure that I would get into some kind of trouble. She said she was surprised and pleased to discover that I was the best-behaved girl on the trip. I couldn’t believe it! I realized people were still judging me by the friends I’d had over a year ago. I’d never done any of the things people were saying I’d done in the past, but because of the people I’d associated with, the places I’d been seen, and the way I had dressed, everyone assumed I’d done the same awful things my friends had! I was guilty by association. Everywhere I went people were watching, testing me, judging me—all because of some choices I’d made in the past. It was so unfair, yet something I had to live with. You can’t fix a ruined reputation overnight.

Peni and Jieni Naivaluvou doubled the size of their family when they took in four girls from Vanuatu who were attending the Fiji LDS Church College. But the Naivaluvous do not see this as a sacrifice. They feel they have been amply blessed for doing it. One of those blessings, they believe, is the addition to their family of baby Hagoth, born in January 2009.
In early 2008 Bishop and Sister Naivaluvou of the Tamavua Ward, Suva Fiji North Stake, heard that two young students from Vanuatu needed a place to board, so the Naivaluvous took stock of their own situation. Their sons, Soane, 18, and Ross, 16, were away from home attending a Church school in Tonga, the land of their father’s ancestry. The two girls from Vanuatu were boarding, at high cost to their parents, with a non-LDS family in Suva. The two girls would be good company for then 13-year-old Andrea Naivaluvou; Andrea also attends the Church College and was arriving home in the afternoon before her parents were off work. So Brother and Sister Naivaluvou decided they would invite the two girls from Vanuatu to live in their home at no charge.
The girls insisted on helping with costs, but still their expenses were less than half of what they had been paying earlier—a blessing for their families.
In April two other Vanuatuan girls came for a visit and enjoyed the atmosphere of the Naivaluvou home. A short time later these two girls asked if they too might come there to live. The Naivaluvous gladly took them in.
How did it work to have four extra young people in the home? “We’ve built up such a bond it’s more like they are our daughters,” Bishop Naivaluvou says. The Naivaluvous made it clear from the beginning that the girls were to be considered part of the family. The four girls from Vanuatu actually are related to each other, but in the Naivaluvou home they treated each other like sisters born of the same parents. Andrea Naivaluvou also came to accept them “like my sisters,” she says; the older girls watched out for her and even helped her with homework when there was a need. The four girls began to call Bishop and Sister Naivaluvou Ta and Na—“Dad” and “Mom” in Fijian.
This may be the first time, Sister Naivaluvou says, that girls from Vanuatu who are attending the Church College have been able to board with member families. The father of one of the girls, when he came to visit, expressed his deep gratitude to the Naivaluvous for the love they have shown his daughter.
Sister Naivaluvou points out that one of the girls, the daughter of a district president on Vanuatu, was a great example to their family through her faith; Bishop Naivaluvou says her example helped his family be more consistent about scripture study and family prayer.
Both of the Naivaluvous say they have been blessed temporally because they have shared with others. Their resources have gone farther. And Sister Naivaluvou believes the blessing of being able to become pregnant again after 13 years is connected with their willingness to share love with others.
When the Naivaluvous’ two sons returned home at the end of their school year in Tonga, they too accepted the young women as part of the family. But perhaps Soane can be excused for not seeing the girls exactly as sisters. He found himself drafted as a prom date for one of the young women. He played his role like a gentleman.
When the four girls finished their school year and returned home to Vanuatu late in 2008, the farewells were heart tugging, Bishop Naivaluvou recalls. It was as though he and his wife were saying good-bye to four daughters. And when a new school year began in 2009, the Naivaluvous were glad to welcome their four “daughters” back—plus two more.
With only four sleeping rooms in their home, some would wonder how they could make room for six young women in addition to their own daughter and new baby. But the Naivaluvou family quickly worked it out without difficulty.
After all, it was not a matter of personal space. It was simply a matter of expanding their circle of love.

The last colorful rays of the setting sun had faded into the western horizon, and the dark of the night was beginning to settle down over the desert. My father and I were finishing our evening meal and making plans for the night and the next day.
Father was a large, strong man with a kind heart, and he was happy to have his oldest son with him on this trip. We were going to drive 500 sheep we had just purchased to their new home on the other side of the 85-mile-wide desert. In the desert there was little water, and the days would be hot and the nights cool. The plan was to drive the sheep in the cool of the night and allow them to rest during the heat of the day. We hoped that by doing this the sheep could go without water for three days. Arriving on the other side of the desert, they would be met by a wagon loaded with barrels of water for the thirsty sheep. Our own drinking water for the journey was carried in a ten-gallon milk can in the back of our Model T touring car.
My father was a gentle and considerate man, and he said to me, “I’ll drive the sheep tonight while you sleep. After you awaken in the morning, eat your breakfast, gather up our camp gear, pack it in the car, and then drive down the trail until you catch up with me and the sheep.”
Everything went as planned. Father drove the sheep through the night into the desolate area. When I awakened the next morning, I ate a hurried breakfast and packed the car. As I drove the Model T along the uncertain wagon trail in the desert, it was difficult to see signs of Father and the sheep, and their trail was especially hard to follow through some of the rocky areas. Still, everything went pretty well for the first few miles until there was a fork in the road. I wished Father were there to tell me which road to take. Finally, I decided to take the better road on the right. I drove along without incident for some miles until I came to a deep washout. There the road faded out completely.
Without a map or road signs, fear gripped my heart. I am lost! I thought. What shall I do? Then I remembered the words of my Scout leader: “If you are lost, stop and wait. Then give some kind of a warning signal.”
I took the old 44-40 rifle from the car and fired three quick shots into the air, praying that Father would hear; then I waited and prayed and waited some more.
After what seemed like such a long time, I saw Father in the distance, running toward me and waving his arms! It wasn’t long after that wonderful meeting until we were safely home with the sheep. How relieved and thankful I was for a father who cared and who could show me the right way to go.
I have taken many journeys since that one across the desert, some filled with hazards and important decisions. How grateful I am that we all have a real and loving Father, a Heavenly Father to whom we can call when there are two roads and no road signs to guide the way.

I loved my mission. But when I came back home to the Philippines, I faced lot of anxiety because of something I call “spiritual burnout.”
To me, spiritual burnout means feeling completely drained after giving all you can. This affected my life to the point where I would stay in my room all day because I was so exhausted.
As a returned missionary, I felt pressure from my family, friends, and community regarding my life decisions. I felt like the people around me had a lot of thoughts about the choices I was making and what I should be doing—it was overwhelming. I hid how I was feeling from everyone because I didn’t want to disappoint them.
Over time, the pressure became too much for me to bear.
Even though I felt this way, I was able to find peace as I turned to Heavenly Father for guidance. Here are three ways I did it:
The expectations of others made it hard for me to find the peace I needed to transition back to life at home as a returned missionary.
So I prayed about what direction I should take for my future and told Heavenly Father about the pressure I was feeling. As I worked to invite the Spirit into my life, I felt prompted to take a leap of faith and move to the United Arab Emirates to work. This inspiration was super unexpected, and a lot of people in my community were shocked when I followed this prompting.
I suddenly felt so much hope! I felt that through the Spirit, God was leading me in a direction that would bring me the healing I needed.
Learning to let go of expectations other people had for me and focusing on Heavenly Father’s guidance allowed me to move forward with hope and faith.
Moving to Dubai taught me the importance of being proactive. Whatever our circumstances, we can be proactive about making changes and seeking Christ wherever we may be.

Unlike most of the students at the Catholic University of Temuco, Heraldo Torres, originally of the city of Lajas, was a Latter-day Saint. His classmates observed that he was courageous in sharing his views on moral questions—even in the mandatory theology classes, where his opinions sometimes lowered his grades. But eventually he won the respect of many of his professors and fellow students.
Heraldo’s roommate and longtime friend, Roberto Jiménez, was also a Church member and had just come back to school after serving a mission. Like many converts, he was the only Latter-day Saint in his family. His successful return to the university laid to rest the concerns of many friends and relatives, who had tried to convince him not to interrupt his studies for a mission.
“When are you going on your mission?” Roberto sometimes teased Heraldo.
“Soon. When I graduate,” was the usual reply.
“Oh, you mean in ten more years?” Roberto would joke.
Before long the two roommates, both students of English, met another young man with the same major. His name was Luis (“Luchito”) Cornejo, and he was from the capital, Santiago. Although he was thought to be shy, Luchito accepted an invitation from Roberto and Heraldo to attend ward meetings and institute classes, and he found the gospel message very agreeable. At about the same time, he began boarding with the Hernández family, who were Latter-day Saints. His heart was softened by their many tender acts of kindness, and he decided to be baptized.
Luchito was only the first in a series of conversions—the first in this particular story of links of love. On one of his trips home to Santiago, he persuaded his mother and his sister to start learning about the Church. Both were baptized. He extended the same invitation to another classmate, Luis Soto, who also followed his footsteps into the waters of baptism.
At the time he joined the Church, Luis Soto lived at the same boardinghouse as Richard Spichiger, a student of auto mechanics who was a descendant of Swiss immigrants. Richard was very impressed by his neighbor’s manner and conduct. His favorable opinion opened the way for the full-time missionaries—who also lived in the boardinghouse—to teach him the discussions. After Richard was baptized, he accepted a call to the Chile Osorno Mission, where he, in turn, baptized dozens of people.
But back to Luchito. Even before Luis Soto and Richard Spichiger joined the Church, he had shared his new testimony with another friend—a young woman named Liliana Salazar. Like Heraldo, Roberto, Luchito, and Luis, Liliana was an English major. She would be honored that year as the top student in her class. But more important, the changes she was observing in Luchito’s life prompted her to study his beliefs. After a few months, she, too became a Latter-day Saint. Then, at her invitation, her father, mother, and sister Patricia heard and accepted the message of the Restoration. And then Liliana introduced a sixth student—her friend Guillermo Rosales—to the Church, and he also joined.
Through her activity in the Church, Liliana met another recent convert, Néstor Bravo, whom she later married in the temple.
Long before he joined the Church, Néstor had had a strong desire to succeed in his chosen field—dramatic arts. He had a job organizing theater workshops for university students in the southern city of Valdivia. His conversion began when he met Alejandro Arangua, a student of veterinary medicine and a faithful Church member. A beautiful rapport developed. Néstor recognized at once that his new friend was different from other young people. Guided by the Spirit, Alejandro shared his testimony with him.
After Néstor was baptized, the two began traveling throughout Chile together, giving mime presentations at Chilean seminaries and institutes. They found beautiful and artistic ways to incorporate principles of the gospel into their productions. In addition, both men bore their powerful testimonies to all who came to see them.
Eventually Alejandro moved away to accept employment. Néstor remained and was called to serve as stake clerk and then as a teacher of early-morning seminary. He created dramatizations of the lives of Nephi, Mormon, Alma, and Jesus Christ that left an indelible imprint on the minds of his young pupils. Professionally, Néstor became well known as a rising talent in the theater—and his mime group, Antumimik, toured several cities in Chile and Argentina. He was liked and admired as an educator as well, and in time he accepted a post at Universidad de la Frontera in Temuco.
One of Néstor’s students there, Carolina Urrutia, was particularly impressed by him. She felt that he was different, somehow, from other gifted people—so much so that she decided to find out why. Néstor was very willing to tell her about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and as a result, he had the privilege of baptizing her. Subsequently, she and Néstor were influential in the conversion of another of his students, an actress and teacher named María Reiñanco.
Carolina affirms that the gospel has increased her love for her Heavenly Father and for other people. One Sunday while she was taking a taxi to church, the driver became interested in the books she was carrying—her standard works. Their polite conversation grew cordial, and after arriving at the meetinghouse, Carolina invited him to attend services with her and to meet the missionaries. As he learned about the Church, the taxi driver, Luis Campos, was deeply impressed with the importance given to the law of chastity and with the idea of a living prophet. Two months later he was baptized.
Meanwhile, Carolina’s mother, living in the city of Chillán, joined the Church after hearing her daughter’s testimony during a visit at home.
How many people have been baptized because of Heraldo Torres, Roberto Jiménez, Néstor Bravo, and the others in this beautiful chain? Each year the question becomes more difficult to answer. More and more family members are being baptized. And many of the new converts are serving full-time missions and sharing the gospel with their friends—who, in turn, share it with other friends. It is a never-ending circle.
Little by little, member by member, links of love continue to be forged in the hearts of thousands of converts throughout Chile—as they are throughout the world.
And what happened to that university student, Heraldo Torres, who promised his friend that he would serve a mission when he graduated? He kept his promise. After receiving his degree, Heraldo accepted a call to the Chile Santiago South Mission. His letters home bore ample witness of the joy he felt as he continued to share his light with others.
It is interesting to note that this phenomenal growth of the Church in Chile took place even as Latter-day Saints were suffering heavy persecution and were being harassed by anti-Mormon attention in the media. But nothing succeeded in weakening the faith of the people. Like links in an ever-extending chain, members old and new have been united in love, in testimony, and in appreciation for the blessings of the gospel.
As the people of Chile have accepted the restored gospel, the Lord has blessed our land with peace and prosperity. Each day we come closer to seeing the fulfillment of the prophetic vision of President Spencer W. Kimball, who had such great love for this people and who promised that the Lamanites would blossom as the rose.
Of these people the prophet Nephi wrote, “The gospel of Jesus Christ shall be declared among them; wherefore, they shall be restored unto the knowledge of their fathers, and also to the knowledge of Jesus Christ, which was had among their fathers” (2 Ne. 30:5).
The links of love that unite us—that unite all of us as members of the Lord’s Church—are only the beginning of our Heavenly Father’s work to bring about the immortality and eternal life of man.

Some years ago Albert Peters told of the experience he and his companion had of a man being born again. One day they went to the hut of Atiati in the village of Sasina in Samoa. There they found an unshaven, misshapen man lying on a bed. He wanted to hear their message. They presented the first discussion, bore witness to him, and then left. As they walked away, they discussed Atiati’s condition; he had had polio 22 years before that had left him without the use of his arms or legs, so how could he ever be baptized, being so completely disabled?

When they visited their new friend the next day, he was bright and clean-shaven; even his bedding had been changed. “Today,” he said, “I begin to live again, because yesterday my prayers were answered. … I have waited for more than 20 years for someone to come and tell me that they have the true gospel of Christ.”

For several weeks the two missionaries taught this sincere, intelligent man. He asked them to fast with him so that he would have the strength to go down into the water and be baptized. The nearest baptismal font was eight miles (13 km) away. So they carried him to their car and drove him to the chapel. Then Elder Peters and his companion picked up Atiati and carried him to the font. Atiati said, “Please, put me down. This is the most important event in my life. I know without a doubt in my mind that this is the only way to eternal salvation. I will not be carried to my salvation!” So they lowered Atiati to the ground. After a huge effort, he managed to pull himself up. The man who had lain 20 years without moving was now standing. Slowly, one shaky step at a time, Atiati went down the steps and into the water, where the astonished missionary took him by the hand and baptized him.

He told Elder Peters that he knew that he would be able to walk on the morning of his baptism. He said, “Since faith can move a stubborn mountain, I had no doubt in my mind that it would mend these limbs of mine.” (See “One Trembling Step at a Time,” Liahona, June 1995, 28–31; Ensign, June 1994, 56–58.) I believe we can say that Atiati was truly born again!

A few days later, Erica was getting ready for bed. She brushed her teeth and put on her pajamas. In a few minutes, Dad would come listen to her bedtime prayer and tuck her in tight.
But then Erica heard something. It was her brother Tate in his bedroom next door. He was talking to Dad, and it sounded like he was crying.
“Nobody likes me,” she heard Tate say between sobs.
Erica thought about the picture of Jesus Christ in the broken frame. She thought about what Dad said about how the Savior can help us when we feel hurt or broken. It sounds like Tate feels hurt right now, she thought.
“I love you. Tomorrow can be better,” she heard Dad say to Tate. “I’m going to say goodnight to Erica. I’ll be right back.”
When Dad walked into her room, Erica asked, “Why is Tate crying?”
“Some of his friends at school said some mean things to him,” Dad said.
Erica frowned. Then she had an idea. “Can we say a prayer with him?”
Dad smiled. “I think he’d like that.”
Erica knocked gently on Tate’s bedroom door and peeked inside. “Tate? Can we say a prayer with you?”
Tate sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Sure.”
Erica, Tate, and Dad knelt down, and Erica said the prayer. “Heavenly Father,” she said, “please bless Tate. Help him to know that he is loved and that he is special.”
When she finished, Erica and Tate gave each other a big hug. “Thanks,” he whispered.
Then Erica went back to her bedroom with Dad. As he tucked her in, he said, “I’m glad you asked if we could pray with Tate. What gave you the idea to say a prayer with him?”
“I felt sad when I heard him crying,” Erica said. “And I thought about Oma’s picture of Jesus with the broken frame. I thought Tate needed to remember that even though he feels hurt, Jesus loves him and cares about him.”
“That’s a great reminder,” Dad said. “I know He loves and cares about you too, sweetie.”
Dad kissed her on the head and turned out the light. Erica snuggled into her blankets. She was grateful that Jesus Christ would always be there to help her family.

Moroni Rubio was only 16 when he earned the number one ranking among sprinters in Mexico, after breaking records in the 100- and 200-meter sprints. That same year, 2002, he took first place in the 100 meters at the Central American Junior Championships and was named athlete of the year in the state of Yucatán.
His dreams are pinned on his feet, which are expected to carry him all the way to the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing, China. But even if, for some reason, his feet don’t take him to the Olympics, they will have already accomplished a great work.
His feet have put his unique name in the spotlight, bringing him numerous missionary opportunities. Because of Moroni’s success, he’s been on television a number of times—each time with his name right there on the screen.
“I’m asked about my name a lot,” says Moroni, a priest in the Mérida México Lakín Stake. “It’s a great opportunity to talk about the gospel. And when I race, the members watching always know I’m a member too—by my name. I think it’s something they’re proud of.”
His coaches have always told him he has a beautiful stride. But for Moroni, having “beautiful feet” is just as important—remembering Isaiah’s words about missionaries: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings” (Isa. 52:7).

Let me illustrate with just a little story. One day a young lady was walking across campus and she bumped into one of her favorite professors. He was a surprising little man who would kneel down with his face next to the grass to see the world from a new point of view, or jump out of grand pianos to greet his new students before class. But this day the professor’s interest was on the coed. “What’s wrong with you?” he said. His eyes were looking at her very closely. “You’re not yourself.”
“Oh, nothing really,” said the girl. “I’ve just got the blahs.”
“I knew it,” said the professor, “and I know why. You’ve worked hard lately but you have not done one thing all quarter that really matters to you, have you? You haven’t done one thing that has made bare your heart. Think about it,” he said, and without another word scurried off.
Let me ask you what the professor asked the young coed. Have you done anything lately that really matters to you? Is college life just a mechanical daily routine, or are you searching underneath? You may have been busy—even frantically so—but have any of you been touched in your own soul? Can you say at this point, “Yes, my life has purpose; yes, my life has direction, and it means something to me”? Are you really sure why you are here? I hope so, because you are preparing now to meet the world and its many challenges, to say nothing of a great future that lies ahead.

Elder Byron J. Gilbert, a missionary, reported that in 1992 he and his wife, Emma, traveled from Nairobi to Chyulu to teach and interview eight candidates for baptism, but 75 people came for the discussion. During church, they had to fill the sacrament trays three times.9 Another missionary, Sister Linda Leavitt, who served in Chyulu for more than a year, said that many who desired to join the Church waited three months before their names could be placed on a waiting list to be taught the missionary discussions. During the three-month period, all attended church and most lived the law of tithing, kept the Word of Wisdom, and fasted.10

“I hated this challenge and didn’t want to do it. I thought of several people, but I got so nervous that I talked myself out of each one. Yesterday morning I knew I’d better get moving. Then something funny happened.
“I go to ballet on Saturday. As we trudged into the dressing room after class, sweaty and tired, I mustered all my courage, took a deep breath, and said to no one in particular, ‘What do you know about Mormons?’
“Tanya, who’s never serious about anything, replied, ‘Are Mormons those guys who ride bikes wearing white shirts and name tags?’ She smacked her forehead, giggling. ‘The guys wear the shirts, of course, not the bikes!’
“‘Some Mormons do that,’ I eagerly explained, ignoring her joke. ‘The ones who are full-time missionaries.’
“‘I see them every so often.’ Tanya giggled again and rolled her eyes. ‘So you’re one of them. Weird.’
“I flopped down on the nearest bench, my face beet red, and pulled off my slippers. I wished I’d never said a word! Then someone tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Virginia?’
“I jerked about in surprise. It was Eva, the best student in the class. I didn’t think she knew I existed.
“‘Are you a Mormon?’
“‘Y—Yes,’ I stammered, not sure what to expect.
“‘Good! I’ve seen those missionaries, too, but they never stop at our house. I’ve always wanted to talk to them.’
“My heart thumped wildly. ‘I can arrange it for you,’ I said enthusiastically. ‘Wednesday evening, say, at my house?’
“Eva smiled. ‘Sounds good. I’ll bring my mother, too, if that’s all right.’
“So they’re coming to our house this Wednesday for dinner and the first discussion!”
“Sometimes people we’d never think of as potential investigators turn out to be interested,” Sister Searle said.
“As a continuing class challenge,” Virginia proposed, “can everyone help friendship Eva and her mother?”
“That’s a great idea!” Sister Searle exclaimed, and the other girls nodded enthusiastically.

In the 1929 Rose Bowl football game a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field in the wrong direction toward the opposing team's goal line. He was ultimately tackled and brought down by one of his own team, preventing his making a touchdown for the other team. Somehow Roy Riegels had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team the victory. Roy Riegels was a great football player. He lived to be eighty-four, but after his one Rose Bowl mistake he was ever afterward remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.