Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Nate Gines
Photograph courtesy of Cornell F.
Location: Western Australia
Experience: activation of quorum members
Sets an example through simple acts of service. Makes sure every quorum member is contacted.
Well before sacrament meeting started, the president was already there. He always is. Now, before you assume we’re talking about a stake, district, or branch president, let’s clarify. Cornell F. is a deacons quorum president.
Every Sunday he magnifies his calling. This particular Sunday is ward conference, and Cornell is here early, placing hymnbooks on the benches where the deacons will be seated. He wants his quorum to benefit from the sacred music that should be a significant part of worship.
Another Sunday, he is pleased to report that all of the deacons in his ward are in attendance, six who are active and three who haven’t been coming regularly but are being fellowshipped.
“Every Sunday,” he says, “I give deacons assignments to call or visit less-active quorum members or friends who are investigating the Church.” He also notes that “every Tuesday evening before our youth activities we invite all the deacons to come.”
At the ward conference, the deacons pay special attention to inspiring messages from the stake president and the bishop. Then after the meeting, “the deacons stay to make sure that the chapel is clean and tidy,” Cornell says. They also look after the rest of the meetinghouse. “We take out the bins and sometimes we help to clean the nursery room,” he explains.
“We are ‘can-do’ deacons,” he says, “and each deacon plays a big role in our success.”

Brother Stewart’s desire to help his priests avoid similar situations was greeted enthusiastically by the quorum. His approach included a quiz on the young men’s existing knowledge of etiquette, with a discussion afterward, and a formal dinner for the priests and Laurels. The class exercise was well received, and the dinner turned out to be one of the best-attended activities of the year. “I thought the dinner would be fun but that I wouldn’t really learn anything new,” admitted Buster Child, first assistant to the president of the priests quorum. “But I was wrong. I really have learned a lot.”
Printed invitations were sent to each of the priests and Laurels in the ward, and the priests were assigned to escort the Laurels. As a result, shortly before 7:30 on a calm, clear, spring night, the Stewart sidewalk began filling up with beautiful young women in long, colorful dresses and handsome priests in coats and ties. Inside, several tables had been covered with fine cloths and set with china, silver, and goblets. Placecards indicated where each guest was to sit, and the tantalizing aroma of baked ham and scalloped potatoes floated into the dining room from the adjoining kitchen.
The young people spent the first part of the evening mingling, talking, and eating hors d’oeuvres of sausage-filled mushrooms and chips with dips. Such whispered comments as “I ate before I came so I wouldn’t stuff myself when I got here” and “Is it all right to pick up a mushroom with my fingers?” could be heard amidst talk of school, ward activities, and the approaching summer vacation.
Soon, however, it was time for dinner to begin. After a short welcome and a blessing on the food, Brother Stewart encouraged his guests to feel comfortable and to ask as many questions as they wanted. And they did. Throughout the evening the room buzzed with questions. “How do I butter my roll?” asked one, and from someone else, “Do I pass the food to my left or to my right?” Brother Stewart also brought up some points for discussion. Some of the answers were obvious: “Should you leave some food on your spoon or fork to be waved about during conversation?” brought spontaneous laughter from the group. But the answer to another question, “Is it considered proper to butter a whole ear of corn at once?” (the answer is no; butter and eat only a few rows at a time) was greeted with disbelief, and the consensus was that perhaps this is one area that should be left up to personal taste.
When the evening was over, however, the group generally agreed that understanding etiquette and practicing good manners are just as important today as ever before. “Once you learn the basics, you can relax and enjoy yourself without wondering if you are going to make a big mistake,” said Mike Bonnelli. And Sharon Matsen added, “It’s being courteous, but it’s more than that, too. It’s a way of showing others you want them to feel comfortable. For example, I really like my date to open the car door for me. Even though it might be considered a little thing, it makes me feel that he thinks I’m someone special.”

On one of those trips, we asked him a question something like this: “Elder Richards, after all the years you have lived, all the places you have been, and all the things you have done, what do you consider to be the most significant experience of your life?” We thought that maybe he would refer to an outstanding spiritual experience such as with the Brethren in the temple or something like that.

He didn’t hesitate for a moment in making this enthusiastic response: “Why, it was my first mission to Holland!” He then proceeded to share with us some of the choice and challenging experiences he had when he left home and arrived in Holland without knowing a word of Dutch. He said that even the dogs understood the language but he didn’t. But he supposed if the dogs could learn to understand Dutch, he probably could also—and that he did.

In his journal Elder Richards described some of the experiences he had at the end of that first mission:

In the evening meeting I spoke first to give my farewell. As I walked into the pulpit and viewed the faces of the brothers and sisters . . . , a feeling came over me that I had never had before. To think how I had preached them the word of the Lord with all the power the Lord had given me. . . . I had learned to love them, and they in turn placed me far above what I really am. . . . I never in my life felt happier than under the influence of the Spirit present this evening. [Lucile C. Tate, LeGrand Richards: Beloved Apostle (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1982), p. 52]

Before leaving his mission, Elder Richards went to the home of a woman who, with her family, had come into the Church as a result of his missionary efforts. His biographer described the occasion:

She was so short that she had to look way up to him. . . . When he went to leave, tears rolled down her cheeks and she said, “Elder Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago, but it is much harder to see you go.”

He went to bid another convert good-bye, a man who stood erect in the uniform of his country. This friend got down on his knees and took the elder’s hand in his, hugged and kissed it, and bathed it with his tears of gratitude for the gospel the missionary had brought. Elder Richards said upon leaving him, “I wept all the way from Amsterdam to Rotterdam, thinking that I might never see those friends of mine again. It was much harder to leave them than it was my own family when I left on my mission.” [Tate, LeGrand Richards, pp. 52–53; emphasis added]

For example, a few weeks ago I slipped away from my office to find something for lunch. As I approached the entrance of a local restaurant, I noticed what appeared to be a mother and her three children entering just ahead of me. One of the little girls stayed behind. Here was this cute little three- or four-year-old in pigtails using all of her strength to keep the door open for me. I was impressed with this act of kindness and self-sacrifice and thanked her appropriately. I quickly ordered my food and sat down at a table that happened to be next to this family. The mother brought a large drink to the table and returned to the counter to wait for her food. The same little girl who held the door open for me was seated at the table with her younger brother, who was in a booster seat. The little brother was becoming increasingly upset because he could not reach the drink. His big sister, however, had no trouble reaching the drink and took a long sip that seemed to aggravate the brother even more. His displeasure lasted until the mother finally returned with his food. I found it interesting that, within minutes, this endearing little girl acted so kindly to me but was completely oblivious to the needs of her little brother.
So it is with us. We may act in holiness one moment and struggle with it the next. However, displaying flashes of holiness means we are capable of so much more. Where there is a flicker of light there can be steady radiance.

Felipe knew it was getting late. The birds had stopped chirping, and the crickets were humming loudly. He and his mother had walked in the forest for more than two hours. But each path they took looked the same as the last. They were completely lost.
Felipe was getting really scared. How long could they survive in this jungle? He was only 10, after all. That wasn’t old enough to fight off a snake or wild boar! And what other scary creatures might be on the prowl after sunset? The thought sent chills up his spine.
Be brave, he told himself. He knew he had to be.
Felipe wished his dad were there. But he had died six months ago. Without him, things were tough for Felipe and his mom. They were out of money and food.
Felipe hoped they could get to his sister’s house on the other side of the mountain soon. She could give them some money to buy rice.
He said a prayer in his heart. “Father in Heaven, please help us find our way. Please.”
Then a thought came to him: Look for the coconut trees. Felipe looked up. There, in the distance, was a grove of coconut trees. He could see them high above the rest of the jungle. Their palm leaves waved in the breeze. For the first time in hours, Felipe felt hope.
“Look!” He pointed to the trees.
His mother understood. Coconut trees meant a village was close. God had answered Felipe’s prayer. Felipe took his mother’s hand. Together they walked to safety as the sun dipped below the trees.
Felipe always remembered how God answered his prayer. Sometimes he wished he could hear God’s voice better like he did that night in the jungle.

I saw that same miracle in the bedroom of a man who had given sufficient faithful service to think that he had done enough to rest.
I knew that he had undergone lengthy and painful treatment for a disease and had been told by the doctors that it was terminal. They offered neither treatment nor hope.
His wife took me to his bedroom in their home. There he was, lying on his back on the top of the carefully made-up bed. He wore a freshly pressed white shirt, a tie, and new shoes.
He saw the look of surprise in my eyes, laughed quietly, and explained, “After you give me a blessing, I want to be ready to respond to the call to take up my bed and go to work.” As it turned out, he was ready for the interview he would soon have with the Master, for whom he had worked so faithfully.
He was an example of the fully converted Latter-day Saints I meet often after they have given a life of dedicated service. They press on.

I have heard the account many times of the arrival of the pioneers in the Salt Lake Valley under the direction of Brigham Young. Although I live in Mexico, my own story is similar. I had been praying to find the true Church and the purpose of my life. A friend of mine, Sandro, introduced me to the missionaries, and soon I was listening to their message. One day while they were teaching me about the Restoration of the Church of Jesus Christ in the latter days, I was suddenly filled with a great joy. I knew I had arrived, or as President Young said: “This is the right place. Drive on.”

I’ll never forget the day I met Diego. I was serving my mission in Chile when he approached my companion and me. He was so excited to see us because he wanted to learn about the gospel and knew he needed to be baptized. Diego amazed me because he was so pure—he didn’t want to do one worldly thing. He introduced us to his mother, and we set up an appointment to teach them at his grandmother’s house.
No sooner had we arrived to teach them than Diego’s grandmother came into the room in a panic. “The goats are missing!” she cried.
“Can you help me search for them?” Diego asked my companion and me, so we did.
The area was covered in rolling hills, which were rockier than I had thought. Diego explained that he was worried because the goats could hurt themselves on the treacherous terrain or be stolen by thieves. We had searched for a while when Diego finally yelled, “I see them!”
I turned my head and could not see anything. I asked, “Diego, where are they?”
He replied, “They are on top of that hill.”
As I tried to focus my eyes, I could see dots moving around on the hilltop. I couldn’t believe Diego had spotted the flock of goats from that far away. He told us to wait at the bottom while he went up to get them.
I then witnessed something I had never seen before. As Diego climbed the steep hill, he began a distinct combination of clapping and yelling. The goats, recognizing the signal, perked up. Within five minutes, they grouped together and came galloping down the hill.
“This is too easy!” I thought.
I was right. As we turned to herd the flock back home, I heard the distant cry of another goat. We looked back and saw one little goat bleating on top of the hill. Realizing it was alone, it started trotting toward us. I was feeling relieved to see that this goat was coming toward us when Diego began to race up the hill.
“What are you doing?” I called.
“It’s a baby goat,” he replied. “It could easily fall and get injured.”
My companion and I quickly followed him.
As Diego bent to pick up the baby goat, it dodged and ran away. For a long time the three of us tried to catch the goat, but it refused to come. I was getting frustrated. Couldn’t the goat see that we were trying to help?
At last Diego’s herding dog, Bo Bo, came out of nowhere and pinned the goat to the ground. Diego picked up the goat, unharmed, and handed it to me. He asked me to carry it home while he attended to the rest of the flock.
As I lifted the little goat onto my shoulders, I felt its heart racing. I realized how frightened it must have been. Exhausted, the goat now laid limp, its head dangling over my shoulder and resting on my arm. It was as if the goat knew we were taking it home, because it did not fight anymore.
When I placed the baby goat back in the pen, safe with its family, it seemed happy and relieved. My heart filled with gladness. I was so grateful I’d played a part in rescuing it.
In that moment, a scripture came to life in my mind: “What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?
“And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. …
“… Likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth” (Luke 15:4–5, 7).
Diego taught me something about the Savior that day. Diego loved each member of his flock individually. He could see the dangers they faced and wanted to save each one. How much more the Savior loves each of us.
The little goat taught me a lot too. How often had I run away from the Savior’s help? How many lost souls were shutting Him out of their lives because they were afraid?
As a missionary, I was privileged to serve others the way the Savior would if He were here. At first I had agreed to help Diego because I cared about him, but as I carried that goat, I came to feel I cared for it too. How much more I loved the Savior and wanted to seek for His children. As I did, love grew in my heart for the Chilean people. I could not always carry them safely on my shoulders, but I could teach them and the Holy Ghost could guide them to the One who can. I know I’ll feel joy seeing them safely at home with their eternal families someday.

It was a morning like most. I couldn’t find two socks that matched. The pitcher of orange juice was empty. There were only quarters and nickels in the family lunch-money can. Like most mornings I was running late and could hear the school bus roaring up the street before I was ready. I grabbed my backpack, forced on shoes still tied from the last wearing, and raced to the front door.
And, like most mornings, Dad was standing at the door with a look that said, “You missed family prayer again. How do you make it through your day?”
So before he could say out loud what his face was already shouting, I said, “Bye, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you more,” he teased.
Then, as I raced past him, he grabbed my hand, stopping me for a split second. “And your Father in Heaven loves you even more. Think about Him today, will you, sweetheart?”
“Sure, Dad,” I grinned and ran to the bus.
It wasn’t that I was the stupidest person at my high school. I averaged B’s. If every class had been dance or drama I would have been a straight-A student. But they weren’t, and I wasn’t. Drama was only 55 minutes a day, and dance came after school. Except for those brief moments when my spirit could soar free, I found myself in a sort of academic prison camp.
I felt my jaw clamping tighter and tighter. By sixth hour I wasn’t just ugly about school—I was ugly about me. As my math teacher began to explain a story problem that had no business being in a book, I sank even deeper. That’s when the voice in my head started repeating: “Why isn’t this making sense? Is it just me or is this a math class death march? How will I ever make it to graduation? I hate this class. I hate this teacher. I hate this school. I hate math. I hate my brain for not getting this. Why can’t I get this? Why am I so dumb?”
There, I said it, the thing I hated most about school. It made me feel dumb—worthless. So I sat there wanting to cry, but knowing if I did, I’d feel even more dumb. If I could have stood and recited Shakespeare or shown them my running split-leap in the air, then they would have known the real me, how talented I really was.
My whole day—okay the whole rest of the school year—would have been totally lame but for the strangest thing happening. Out of nowhere, my father’s words came rushing into my head.
“And your Father in Heaven loves you even more. Think about Him today, will you, sweetheart?”
Now I wasn’t the most obedient 15-year-old, but I knew undoubtedly that my dad loved me. And I knew I didn’t like how I was feeling about myself, math, and my future in public education. So I listened to his words. I followed my dad’s advice. And right there in algebra, I closed my eyes and let my mind rest on my Father in Heaven. I saw Him in some ways very much like my own dad—gentle and kind and deeply caring about me as his daughter. He loved me.
The remarkable thing was that as I held on to that image, my stress vanished. I felt like what it talks about in the Book of Mormon, like I was “encircled … in the arms of his love” (2 Ne. 1:15). I knew in that moment that I could do all things with God, even making it through algebra without causing permanent damage to my psyche. In fact I felt completely free from my stress. In that moment I felt His love.

During this past month I received two widely differing messages. One was a formal invitation to attend the swearing-in ceremony in Washington, D.C., of the newest and youngest member of the United States Tax Court—an appointment made by the President of the United States, and a very prestigious honor.

Within hours of receiving that invitation, I had a visit from a law enforcement officer inquiring if I knew a certain young man. I replied, “Of course I know him. Why do you ask?” This young man had indicated to the officer that he knew me. A sordid story was then related to me of drugs, immorality, stealing to satisfy the high cost of drugs, buying illicit sexual favors, and cheap rooming house living. When I expressed a desire to see and help this young man, the officer suggested I not see him at this time because of his emotional condition.

The families of these two young men are well known to me. As boys they were members of the same ward. Both received the Aaronic Priesthood and had had the same Sunday School teachers. The scriptures, Church magazines, and lesson manuals had been made available in their homes.

One received the Melchizedek Priesthood, fulfilled a mission, married in the temple, and while attending law school, served in a bishopric; and now, Judge Stephen Jensen Swift has been honored by his national government by appointment to a federal judgeship.

The other young man never merited or obtained the promised blessings of the Melchizedek Priesthood. Going to top-rated private schools overshadowed interest in a mission. He never married, associated with the wrong people, has now become a ridiculer of gospel principles because they differ from his life-style, and is virtually an outcast from family, society, and from the word of God. His family’s life-style failed to encourage him spiritually by its lack of interest in the scriptures, family home evenings, family and personal prayer, and hearing in their home testimonies of religious belief.

The Honorable Judge Stephen Swift is settling his family in Washington, D.C., and learning to feel comfortable in the robes of a federal judge. He has our love, admiration, and highest respect.

The other young man needs our love even more—a special love. I have faith that we can recover him. It was such as he of whom the Savior spoke: “What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?” (Luke 15:4.)

A year after my sister’s death, my friend’s mother died. I felt incredible sorrow. I thought, “The next time I see her, I’ll tell her how sorry I am.” Then, remembering my own experience, I knew that my friend needed me right then. Walking to her house, I felt apprehensive. What if she didn’t want to see me? Maybe her family didn’t want me there. Should I wait and talk to her later? But when she answered the door, I could tell she was glad I came. Her father and older siblings were busy planning the funeral. We went for a walk. I didn’t have to worry about what to say. She did most of the talking.

Riding to Carthage he might have recalled the time in Missouri when he and some of his brethren had been betrayed into the hands of their enemies. The leader of the mob convened a court; Joseph and his associates were placed on trial for their lives. They were convicted and all sentenced to be shot the next morning at eight o’clock in the public square in Far West. At the appointed hour they were duly led forth to be murdered, but a dispute among the mob saved them.

Without even being permitted to bid farewell to their families, they were taken from place to place and exhibited to jeering crowds while the Saints were told they would never see their leaders again. But Joseph cheered his fellow prisoners by announcing that none of them would suffer death.

“Be of good cheer, brethren,” he said, “the word of the Lord came to me last night that our lives should be given us, . . . not one of our lives shall be taken” (HC 3:200).

My wife, Carol-whom I love so much- and I spent five years living in Asia where I was serving in the Asia North Area Presidency. On one occasion, I was presiding over a conference of the Tokyo East Stake. President Hosoya, the stake president, a wonderful man, had arranged for me to interview some members of the Church who had not participated in Church activity for a number of years.

While I was waiting for one man to visit with me, I decided I would take my Book of Mormon and just let the pages fall open. Maybe you have done that. Let it fall open where it may and read the opened pages to see if there is a timely message there for you.
My book fell open to Mosiah 27. I prayerfully wondered if there was a message in this chapter which might apply to the young man I was about to interview. I read to myself verse 14 of Chapter 27. Here is how it reads:
And again, the angel said: Behold, the Lord hath heard the prayers of his people, and also the prayers of his servant, Alma, who is thy father; for he has prayed with much faith concerning thee that thou mightest be brought to the knowledge of the truth; therefore, for this purpose have I come to convince thee of the power and authority of God, that the prayers of his servants might be answered according to their faith.
What a marvelous demonstration of the power of faith-filled prayers uttered in behalf of others, in this case, in behalf of Alma the Younger, by his father, Alma. I wondered, "Will this apply to the brother I am about to meet?"
A young man entered the room. To my surprise, he was not Japanese, but was from another country. We will call him Kevin. He had served a mission in Japan, and, after returning home, had then returned to Japan to marry a recent convert. She was, as yet, shallow in the faith, and they had been out of mainstream church activity for about five years.
I said to him, "Kevin, you are a pretty brave guy." He responded, "Why do you say that?"
"Well, to come here to meet with a general authority can be an intimidating thing. How did you get the courage to come?"
"I just knew that I had to," was his sincere response.
I then told him that prior to meeting with him I had been praying and had opened the scriptures at random, and that my eyes fell on Mosiah 27:14. I requested that we read it to see if it had anything to do with our being together that day. We recalled Nephi's counsel that when we read the scriptures, we should liken them unto ourselves that we may have hope.[5]
One way to liken a scripture to yourself is to put your name into that scripture as you read it. So we started out by paraphrasing Mosiah 27:14 in this manner.
And again, the angel said: [I then indicated that I guessed that I was the angel, not much to look at but the only one available.] So we started over. And again Elder Brown said, the Lord has heard the prayers of his people, [Kevin], and also the prayers of his servant . . . who is thy father, [Kevin]; for he [your father] has prayed with much faith oncerning thee that thou [Kevin] mightest be brought to the knowledge of the truth; therefore, for this purpose have I [Elder Brown] come to convince thee [Kevin] of the power and authority of God, that the prayers of his servants [your father and mother] might be answered according to their faith.[6]
Suddenly, that scripture had become very personal for Kevin. Then, I said to him, "Kevin, your father prayed you here today, didn't he?" He responded with some emotion, "I'm sure he did."
"Is your father active in the Church?"
"Oh, yes," he responded. "In fact, he and my mother are filling a temple mission right now." I gave him a blessing. It was a special moment, a moment in which the Lord had answered the fervent prayers of a father and mother, and also the prayer of one of his servants who happened to be in a position to help to answer those prayers that day.

“Our first impressions of the missionaries were good. They were only twenty years old, but they had such a kindly, respectful attitude, and they presented some thought-provoking concepts,” says Brother Nakamura. “I was thinking that perhaps my son and daughter could become like the elders if we listened to what they had to say.”

The missionaries made return visits to the Nakamura home and the entire family listened to the lessons. “Whenever the missionaries asked a question, one of my two children would correctly respond,” remembers Brother Nakamura.

“My wife and I wondered why the children’s responses to the missionaries’ questions were in harmony with the truth, while our answers were rather vague and lacking in comprehension. It made us feel humble. We were moved by the fact that our children could recognize truth.”

The Nakamuras were especially impressed with the emphasis on families. “Families should be the most important part of the home life,” says Brother Nakamura. “It was my hope that by listening to the missionary lessons, our family would become much happier.”

In July 1971, the Nakamuras were baptized, and in September of the same year, Brother Nakamura performed his first heart surgery. “I felt as if the Lord took away my fears and apprehensions,” he says. “I think if the heart surgeon has faith in the Savior, the special power of God helping may be felt.”

As Brother Nakamura gained experience in the Church, the idea of being sealed in the temple and of serving the Lord in that sacred building grew in his heart. Then, in 1973 (about seven years before the Tokyo Temple was dedicated), the Nakamura family had the opportunity to travel to California to be sealed in the Los Angeles Temple.

While traveling to the temple, they almost missed some airline flights and even wondered whether their airplane would arrive safely. But their prayers for a safe journey were answered. Brother Nakamura says he realizes now how important that trip was. “My main goal after that was to spend time in the temple, especially serving with my wife.”

The Nakamuras decided to accept a mission call to temple service. They knew it would mean a complete change in their lives, but to them, it was worth it.

Before their mission call, says Brother Nakamura, he was very busy in his profession and in the Church. He was enjoying his activities as the head of the hospital where he worked, and as the principal of a school of nursing where he was also an instructor. During this time he also served both as a counselor in the mission presidency and as a district president. He received many telephone calls—day and night—from patients who needed his help, which he freely gave.

“In the temple there are no midnight telephone calls,” he says. “The most wonderful thing is that the temple is the house of the Lord. It is peaceful everywhere. Now everything in my daily life is spiritually based. All of the ordinance work in the temple is to serve God.”

“It is a great privilege to act for our dead brothers and sisters,” he says. “As the Lord told us, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’” (Matt. 25:40).

“When I was working in the hospital and involved in my Church duties, I was gone so many days and nights that my wife got lonely,” says Brother Nakamura. “Now we are working together all the time in a holy place. We are very happy.”

At the conclusion of his mission, says Brother Nakamura, he wants to return to his profession, but not in a government hospital as he was before. Instead, he says, he would like to be a doctor for senior citizens.

“Temple work is also missionary work. It means we serve God,” says Brother Nakamura. “It is the best place to serve, the best place to work, the best place to spend your life.”

The second story comes from Amanda Smith, a pioneer who traveled from Kirtland to Missouri. While at Haun's Mill, mobs attacked the Saints settled there, and Amanda Smith's husband and one of her sons were killed. Her youngest son, Alma, was wounded by the gunfire, and his entire hip joint had been shot away. His mother did not know what to do; all around her were only dead or dying men and lamenting women.

In anguish of spirit, she prayed, "Oh my Heavenly Father, what shall I do? Thou seest my poor wounded boy and knowest my inexperience. Oh, Heavenly Father, direct me what to do!"

Then a voice spoke to her and directed her to take ashes from the fire, make a lye and put it directly into the wound. She was then directed to make a slippery-elm poultice for the wound "as distinctly as though a physician had been standing by speaking to me."

Pouring balsam into the wound, Amanda asked her son, "Alma, my child, you believe that the Lord made your hip?" "Yes, mother." "Well, the Lord can make something there in the place of your hip, don't you believe he can, Alma?" "Do you think that the Lord can, mother?" inquired the child, in his simplicity. "Yes, my son," I replied, "he has showed it all to me in a vision."

After five weeks, Alma was miraculously recovered - a living testament of the power of God to heal; and of the power of the Holy Ghost to teach a grieving but determined mother how to care for her child.[28]

At night, the sky is dark and Queens Road, which leads into Suva, Fiji, is lit only by the headlights of approaching cars. Sometimes, the road seems to melt into the shadows, and it is difficult to see what lies ahead. Then, just around a bend, a beautiful radiance appears on the hill above the road, like a heavenly apparition. The warm glow of Suva, Fiji’s Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints draws the traveler’s gaze upward and beckons all to ascend out of the darkness and into the light.
Members of the Sigatoka Branch were delighted to attend the Suva Fiji Temple that morning in August 2022. For members of the Church, the temple is a sacred place of worship, a place of peace and revelation; a place to feel closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It is where sacred ordinances are performed and families are united—not just until death parts them, but for eternity.
In February 2022, Sister Basilisa Nadreke Lotawa was asked by the Sigatoka Branch President (a lay church leader) to serve as a temple and family history specialist. Basilisa’s job was to urge her congregation to lift their spiritual eyes to the light of the temple and to prepare themselves for temple worship. She also had to learn how to do genealogical research then teach her fellow Saints how to identify their deceased ancestors in order to participate by proxy, temple ordinances on their behalf.
Basilisa, a young mother of three, shook her head and laughed. “I knew nothing about doing family history—nothing . . . and I’m too young to do it.” Still, wanting to serve the Lord, she sought the help of an experienced genealogist and was soon able to assist her branch members. With a new conviction and passion for family history, Basilisa expressed: “I am so blessed and honoured to participate in this glorious work. It has been marvelous, tremendous! I have seen miracles and wonders. The Lord provided a way for me to do the work and to help my branch.”
With young children in tow, Basilisa spent many hours at the computer in her chapel helping others to extend the branches of their family trees. She invited them—adults and youth—to find five deceased family members who needed proxy baptisms. Branch members caught her enthusiasm and found two hundred ancestors!
At 2:00 am on the 27th of August 2022, members of the Sigatoka Branch boarded a bus to Suva temple. The early start didn’t dampen their spirits. Their excitement was palpable as they arrived on the temple grounds—they were ready to participate in ordinances on behalf of their ancestors, and other ordinances for themselves.
It was an especially joyful day for Maritiano Ratumeli, the Sigatoka Branch President. He, his wife and their two sons were united in the temple as an eternal family, by the authority that the scriptures call, the “sealing power.” President Ratumeli, teary eyed, said: “It is so amazing to say that I am one of those blessed to be sealed in the temple. I didn’t expect . . . that the branch would be with me, but the Lord planned for them to witness this. My goal is to inspire others to come. I’m feeling good and blessed that my family can be together forever.” Other branch members marveled as they “felt the Spirit” and “felt their family members there.”
As for Basilisa, there is no doubt that her love for the temple and family history work—even at this busy stage of her life, will continue to bless her. She said: “I feel the same joy doing this [work] that I felt when I served my mission.” She and her branch now keep their eyes fixed firmly on the holy temple.

The ongoing family remembrance of our little Patrick began at the time I dedicated his grave on a lovely August afternoon in 1972.
Patrick was born in Abington, Pennsylvania, and because of a complication at birth he lived only six days. We lived near a lovely little cemetery, but decided that he should be buried instead in a location near where we would want our eventual home to be—or at least in an area we could easily visit, since corporate assignments might require us to move frequently for many years.
We therefore held the funeral and buried him in Utah, where we grew up and where our parents lived. Since then we have moved to two different European countries on assignment, and then back to Utah. We are grateful for having made that decision.
In the prayer of dedication at the gravesite, I asked fervently that our family might live to be worthy to join Patrick someday in that perfect place where he now is. Six years later, we still pray often for that same blessing and find that it is a significant family encouragement and challenge to work toward that goal.
We not only pray that we might someday meet and again associate with this special son and brother, but we also feel it is appropriate to pray for his current success and welfare. Nevertheless, we know that all is well with him because of the promise of the Lord that little children who die in infancy are perfect and worthy of his kingdom.
Inasmuch as we are now fortunate to live close to the cemetery where Patrick is buried, we go there from time to time to have family prayer. Sometimes one of our children will say, “Can we please stop at Patrick’s grave to have prayer?” Whenever we do, it provides us with a special teaching moment to talk with the children about things important, sacred, and eternal.
Since Patrick is, we feel, as much a part of our family as any living earthly child, we believe there is value to be gained from remembering his birthday and even in sharing a birthday cake baked in his honor. To have the children thus see our total faith as parents that Patrick is real, that his little body will be resurrected, and that we may be joined again eternally as a family is an advantage that we as parents would not want to lose.
Because four of our children have been born since Patrick died, we are grateful for the white leather book of remembrance we compiled to remember him by. In it we have his certificates, photos from the hospital and of the funeral and burial, related correspondence, and other small treasures. As we show the children this book of remembrance, Patrick remains real to those who knew him and becomes real to the children who did not meet him here.
My wife, Sandy, and I are most thankful for the fact that the Lord allowed the birth and death of this little boy to be one of the most beautiful and spiritual family experiences we have been privileged to have since our marriage. The Lord made Patrick’s presence and even his death sweet to us, and we cherish not only the memory of Patrick himself, but also the memory of those few special and sacred days we spent together. At that time we studied as thoroughly as possible the doctrines and writings of the Church regarding little children who die. As parents and as a family we cannot express how grateful we are for those promises and the future they hold. I want to say that we do not as a family constantly think and talk about Patrick, but we make a conscious effort not to forget him, nor to forget the special family challenge and promise he has given us.

Growing up, I thought I knew what serving a mission would be like. My older siblings had served missions, I had seen movies about missionaries, and I was ready to get to work. But as my mission got closer, my plan quickly fell apart.
Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was reassigned from my original call in the Philippines to my home country of Australia. When I arrived in the mission field, my experience was different than what I had expected. I desperately wanted to go home.
After I talked with my mission president, he gave me the option to finish my mission early and return home—exactly what I wanted. But when I was presented with that choice, I felt an overwhelming feeling from the Spirit that I should stay in the mission field.
I had a choice to make: act on revelation or act on my own desires.
Because of past experiences following promptings, I trusted that even though it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, this prompting to stay on my mission would ultimately be for my good.
I ended up serving a full two years and completing my mission. I wish I could say that the remainder of my time was super easy, but it wasn’t. However, the things I learned, the daily habits that connected me with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and the deeper testimony I gained from serving have kept me grounded in the gospel.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles addressed this sort of situation when he said: “Very rarely does one prompting bring an answer. There’s almost always a sequence, ‘line upon line, precept upon precept’ (2 Nephi 28:30).” Even though my mission was tough, I was able to press forward with hope that God had a plan for me and that my struggles wouldn’t be in vain, because of the revelation I had received.

I learned years ago a very important lesson. I think it was the second time I’d ever met President Lee; I had been introduced to him once before. I was serving as a member of a stake high council, and on one occasion the stake president presented in our meeting the name of a man to be called to a position of leadership in the stake. I was teaching seminary at the time, and Brother Leon Strong, also a seminary teacher, had talked to me a time or two about this man. We’d commented on what an able man he was, and how sad it was that he couldn’t do more than he did because of a handicap relating to his wife. She had one personality trait that I think could be characterized by the term malicious; I think that identifies what it was.

When the stake president presented the name of this man for a presiding office in the stake and called for a vote, the two of us cast negative votes. That’s rather unusual. The president talked it over for a few minutes and then said that he felt he’d like to proceed anyway, and he asked if we would sustain him in issuing this call. Immediately the issue changed. In my mind, then, it was a vote to sustain the stake president, not necessarily a vote for this man to office; and when he called for a vote, Brother Strong and I joined the other ten members of the stake high council affirmatively, approving the call of this man to office.

When our stake conference was held, a month or two later, when the ordinations were to take place, Elder Harold B. Lee, of the Council of the Twelve, was the visitor. After the conference, we’d assembled in the stake center for the ordinations. Elder Lee had ordained a bishop and his counselors and some others, and then this man was called forth to be ordained by the member of the Council of the Twelve. Brother Strong nudged me—we were sitting together—and with a smile on his face he leaned over and said, “Well, Brother Packer, now we’ll see whether this church is run by revelation.”

Elder Lee put his hands on the head of this man and began the usual introductory words to an ordination, then hesitated. Then he said words to this effect: “The other blessings relating to your activities and life and occupation that you’ve heard pronounced upon the others here apply to you as well, but there is a special blessing.” And then that man received the longest blessing, the most pointed of them all; and, in reality, it was not a blessing for him but a blessing for his wife. It was a very interesting thing to see.

Immediately, when the meeting was over, I went to Brother Lee and said, “Did you know this brother before you ordained him?”

“No,” he said. “I didn’t know him. I think I hadn’t seen him till I came into this room.”

I said, “He received a very unusual blessing.”

And Elder Lee said, “Yes, I felt that.”

Later, the president of the stake explained: “I meant to talk to Elder Lee about that and tell him that here was a man that had need of a special blessing, but in the press of business we just didn’t have time.” And so Brother Strong was right. That day we did see whether this church was run by revelation or not.

To illustrate this point, let me briefly tell you about four missionaries that served in the Taiwan Taichung mission. Brother and Sister Zheng and their family of six children live in Taidong on the east coast of Taiwan. When Sister Hoer and I first arrived in Taiwan, one of the older sons, Elder Zheng Shan, was serving in the mission. We remember Elder Zheng Shan very well because once when he stood to bear his testimony in the mission home, suddenly the entire house moved. The walls shook and lights swayed back on forth. We were amazed at the power of his testimony, until we realized we were in an earthquake (one of many that we experienced in Taiwan).

Elder Zheng's sister, Zheng Mi had just started her mission - and she could shake the walls with her vibrant spirit- even when there was no earthquake! Elder Zheng Xuan was the third member of the family to serve in our mission while we were there. Imagine our joy when we learned that Zheng Jing, the youngest sister in the family had been called to the Taiwan Taichung mission. I am not sure if I have ever heard of four children from the same family all serving in the same mission under the same mission president!

Sister Zheng Jing was scheduled to begin her mission in January of last year, however, before she could start, she was discovered to have brain cancer. I thought for sure that she would not be able to serve her mission, but she called me and said, "President, please don't cancel my call -- I will be ready soon."

For five months, Sister Zheng struggled through three complicated and difficult operations, then unexpectedly, she called one day and said she had obtained a doctor' signature to serve her mission. When we welcomed Sister Zheng into the mission, she had no hair. She removed her bandana and proudly showed us her bald head, crisscrossed with stitches. She explained that the sunken appearance of her head was because a piece of her skull had been removed to allow easy access for surgeries and was now being kept in a refrigerator so it could be re-inserted later.

We also learned that she was still on chemotherapy! Once a month, she must travel to the capital city of Taipei and obtain her chemotherapy drugs. I asked the parents if they would like me to make an exception to the rule about missionaries seeing their parents, so they could help their daughter each month at the hospital. "Oh no," they said, "now that she is on her mission, we are putting in our application to serve a couple mission so we won't be there anyway." Sister Zheng is a great example of "youbanfa." Even with brain cancer, Sister Zheng was determined to serve her mission, no matter what the obstacles. She knew if she did all she could do, the Lord would do the rest. Sister Zheng and her family had faith - and they exercised faith by action.