Gospel Story Finder

He served a mission in the British Isles.
While on his mission, he decided he wanted to become a teacher.
He started as a seminary teacher in California.

Due to the penmanship, the use of Latin, and the deterioration, the records were hard to read. But then, just a few years ago, I noticed hundreds of records from Vergeletto had been linked to my ancestors in FamilySearch. Family lines that used to only go out three to four generations now extended seven to nine generations!
It turns out a professional genealogist in Alabama, USA, who is not a member of the Church shares a branch of the global family tree with me. He had accessed and read the records from the books I had copied in Italy and attached them in FamilySearch. This man is amazing; we have since collaborated several times. He explained that uploading those names and sources is his way of paying back the Church for all their work in making records available in FamilySearch.
Now my dad’s side of my genealogy fan chart is full of names. And I’ve been blessed to do their temple work.

But then my husband passed away. Besides dealing with grief, I was pregnant and worried about how I would provide for my children. Yet I knew the Lord would continue to help me.
One of the ways He helped was to comfort me. While in the temple, I came to know that my husband was fine, that there was a reason he had to leave the earth, and that he would be helping us from the other side of the veil. I also felt strongly that I needed to return to the temple soon. I wanted very much to return in three months, but I knew that finding both time and money to return would be difficult. I attend the Bern Switzerland Temple, which is a long way from my home in Italy.
As I was walking out of the hostel near the temple, a member of the Church stopped me. He handed me an envelope and said, “This is for you.”
I opened the envelope and found money inside. “I can’t take this,” I said.
“Please take it,” he told me. “While I was in the temple, I felt the Spirit prompting me to give this to you.”
When I counted the money, I found that it was what I needed to cover the cost of driving from Italy to the temple and back. Three months later I returned to the temple.

Which prophet served a mission to the British Isles and then waited for his girlfriend to return from her mission? They dated and waited for seven years before being married. Before serving his mission, this young man was called as a Scoutmaster. Before one long hike a barber agreed to let all the Scouts have a free hair cut if he could shave their Scoutmaster’s head. The future president of the Church agreed and wore a shaved head until his hair grew back.

I love this gospel and I love street art, so I decided to combine the two. I packed my scriptures, a sketchbook, charcoal pencils, permanent markers, and cans of spray paint in my backpack. My companions laughed and asked, “What are you doing with spray paint?” I explained, “I may not speak the language yet, but I can show others my testimony.”
For the remainder of my mission, I used street art—on paper, not on buildings—and the Spirit to teach others about Christ. And as crazy as it sounds, it worked. Many people didn’t want to hear my message, so I sketched it. Doors and eyes opened when I told them that I did graffiti. They didn’t believe me. They timed me for three minutes, and I sketched the word faith while teaching them about it. Among them were many who felt judged and unloved. I could testify that with faith in Christ we can feel of His love and forgiveness, and He can help us change for the better. He did for me.

Some of our most stalwart and faithful members have suffered a challenge to their faith for a season. I love the true account of W. W. Phelps, who had forsaken the Church and testified against the Prophet Joseph Smith in a Missouri court. After repenting, he wrote to Joseph, “I know my situation, you know it, and God knows it, and I want to be saved if my friends will help me.” Joseph did forgive him, put him back to work, and lovingly wrote, “Friends at first are friends again at last.”

When my sister, Nancy, and I were teenagers, we regularly attended our local church. But we began to feel that something was missing, so we decided to investigate other churches.
That summer my sister and brother visited a booth at the Canadian National Exhibition, where missionaries were showing a movie called Ancient America Speaks. After watching the movie, my sister and brother signed up to receive a free copy of the Book of Mormon. I can still remember the excitement in my sister’s voice as she announced to my mother and me that Christ had visited the American continent.
The missionaries brought a Book of Mormon to my sister and asked her if she would like to learn more about the Church. That was how we were both taught the gospel.

Deanna’s CTR B teacher held up a picture. “Does anyone know what this is?”
Deanna raised her hand. “The temple.”
Sister Dench smiled. “That’s right. Do you know which temple it is, Deanna?”
“The Denver Temple.” Deanna knew because her mother had hung a picture of it in their home.
“Why do you think Heavenly Father wants us to have temples?”
Mark raised his hand. “So that we can do baptisms for the dead.”
Danny said, “Families can be sealed there.”
“Those are both good reasons,” Sister Dench said. “What can you do now to prepare to go to the temple?”
“Pay our tithing.”
“Go to church.”
“Be honest.”
Sister Dench nodded after each answer. “During the week, I’d like each of you to think of other ways you can prepare to go to the temple.”
Deanna thought a lot about her Primary lesson that afternoon. She wanted to go to the temple someday. On the last Friday of each month, her parents drove to Denver to attend it. When they came home, they always seemed extra happy. They smiled at each other in a special way that made Deanna feel happy too.
She was imagining her own temple wedding, when five-year-old Robbie asked, “Can I use your crayons? I want to draw a picture for Grandma.”
Deanna frowned. “You broke one the last time I let you use them.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I don’t care. You can’t use them.”
Robbie turned away, but not before Deanna saw a tear roll down his cheek. She tried to ignore the stab of guilt she felt.
As she helped set the table for dinner that evening, Deanna told her mother about her Primary lesson. “How else can I prepare to go to the temple?” she asked, glancing at the picture of it on the dining room wall.
Her mother placed a casserole dish on the table. She didn’t answer Deanna’s question but asked, instead, “Do you know why Robbie was crying this afternoon?”
Deanna was surprised. Usually her mother wanted to talk about her Primary lesson. “I wouldn’t let him borrow my crayons,” she said reluctantly. “The last time he used them, he broke one.”
“He’s still learning how to color,” her mother said. “You could help him.”
“Are you going to make me share?”
“No, but I hope that someday you’ll want to. One thing we learn in the temple is how important families are.”
Deanna thought about that the rest of the evening. After school the next day, she noticed that three-year-old Kevin had messed up the jigsaw puzzle she’d been putting together. It had five hundred pieces, and it had taken her a long time to do as much as she had.
She started to yell at him, then remembered her Primary lesson. “It’s all right, Kevin,” she said. “I know you just wanted to help me with it.” She went to his room and found a simple wooden puzzle. “Here, I’ll show you how to work this one.” She spent an hour helping Kevin fit the pieces of his puzzle together over and over again.
After dinner, she took her box of crayons to Robbie’s room. “Do you still want to use these?”
He nodded eagerly. She sat down beside him and helped him with his picture.
For the rest of the week, she tried hard to help her brothers. Sometimes they still annoyed her, but they also made her smile—like when Kevin planted a big kiss on her cheek, and when Robbie threw his arms around her and said, “You’re the bestest big sister in the world!”
“How many of you remember what we talked about last week?” Sister Dench asked on Sunday.
Everyone raised his hand.
“What are some ways you thought of that we can prepare now to go to the temple?” she asked.
“Obey the Word of Wisdom,” Danny said.
“Keep the Sabbath Day holy,” Janet volunteered.
“Those are both good ways,” Sister Dench agreed. “Does anyone else have any other ideas?”
Deanna raised her hand. “Be nice to my brothers.” Someone snickered, and she ducked her head in embarrassment.
When she raised her head, she saw that Sister Dench was smiling. “Thank you, Deanna. That’s one of the most important things we can do to prepare to go to the temple.”
“Why is it so important?” Danny asked.
“The temple is about families. How do you think Jesus feels when we can’t get along with our brothers and sisters?”
“He probably feels sad,” Danny said.
“I think you’re right. Jesus wants us to treat our families here the way we’ll treat them in heaven.”
Deanna remembered Robbie’s hug and Kevin’s kiss. She could hardly wait for Primary to be over so that she could tell them how much she loved them.

When Spencer was a deacon, his duties included gathering fast offerings, which at the time were often fruit, flour, and vegetables. His father lent him the horse and buggy, and Spencer took the responsibility very seriously.
Spencer: The other boy hasn’t shown up. Well, the job still has to be done.I’ll just have to do it alone.
Spencer went on to become the secretary and then president of his deacons quorum.

Throughout his school years, Michael had friends from different groups and with different interests. But there were certain things that Michael had decided and those decisions never changed. He was determined to never miss seminary. Even when he came back from a track meet late, he was there.
And he never let his friends influence him into breaking the commandments. How did his friends react? Michael said, “They sort of understand. They say, ‘This is Michael, and this is the Church he belongs to. And this is what he does.’”
Another point for our list. Stick to your standards.

If on one particular day many years ago you had asked me, George what kind of Christmas are you going to have?” I don’t think I could have answered without breaking into tears.
You see, that was the first time in my life that I had been away from home at Christmastime. And when you are your mother’s youngest child like I was, being away from her and your family for the first time at Christmas is hard to endure.
In mid-November of that year, I had left the New York harbor aboard the great ship Mauritania, bound for a two-year mission in the British Isles. After a seasick week I arrived in Southampton, England. I spent a few busy and eventful days in London, and then received my specific assignment. Now, as Christmas approached, I was in a city called Kingston upon Hull. The excitement of travel had worn off and had gradually and completely been replaced by discouragement. I’d been in Hull, as it was called, just one month and I had been homesick since I’d arrived. As day by day and hour by hour Christmas came closer, I began to feel more and more sorry for myself.
To add to my sorrows, the cold damp foggy air filled my lungs as, with my companion, I pedaled my bicycle for miles to call upon those who would listen to messages of the restored gospel. Under such conditions I started to get a runny nose by December the twenty-second. I began to cough on the twenty-third, and on Christmas Eve I had a terrible cold.
As soon as I had arrived in Hull, I had written home:
Dear Mother,
My address is Elder George Durrant, 4 The Paddock, Anlaby Park, Hull, England. Please let all the family and all of my friends know that if they and you desire to send me Christmas cards and gifts they can send them to that address. Please call as many people and advise them of this as quickly as you can.
I hopefully supposed that this letter would get home in time for the returning mails to bring me some Christmas cards and gifts from family and friends.
Each day I’d wait almost breathlessly for the mailman. He’d be laden with interesting looking packages and envelopes, and I’d throw open the front door wide and reach out and grab the entire pile. Surely at least one-half of these would be mine. With trembling hand I’d pull one from the pile and read. The first one was addressed, “Elder Tagg.” The next one, “Elder Tagg.” The Third, “Elder Tagg.” One after another the same name appeared. I was soon willing to settle for just one. But there wasn’t one. In all, during the week before Christmas my missionary companion Elder Tagg received thirty cards and several gifts. As he’d open each card, I’d have to look away.
Finally, it was the last mail delivery day before Christmas. I had prayed fervently that I’d receive some Christmas greeting from home. The mailman came to the house. He reached out and so did I. To my joy there were seven Christmas cards and a small brown package. One by one I read the addresses and handed the first, the second, and finally all of the cards to Elder Tagg and then I gave him the package. I could tell that he was deeply sorry and I knew that if he could have he would have given me any one or even all of the cards and the gift.
I turned away and ran up the stairs to our bedroom. I felt that I needed time to think. As I sat there on the side of my bed, I placed my bowed head in my hands. I wanted desperately to somehow turn the clock and the calendar ahead and just skip Christmas. I knew I could survive the other 729 days of my mission in England but I didn’t feel that I had the power to get through this first Christmas away from home.
As I sat in deep silence, the landlady, Nellie Deyes, and Elder Tagg came to the open door. She said, “Elder Durrant, I’ve come to say goodbye for a few days.”
I looked up and she was looking away from me and I could sense that her heart was also heavy. “What do you mean, good-bye?” I asked in surprise.
Without answering she turned and was gone. Elder Tagg spoke softly, “The doctors fear that she has cancer. She wanted to wait until after Christmas to go for surgery but she just learned this afternoon that a bed has been made available for her at the hospital and so she must go now.”
I was shocked. She reminded me so much of my mother and I’d grown to love her in the month we’d lived in her home.
I went downstairs to where she and her loving husband were just ready to leave for the hospital. I’ll forever remember the look in her eyes as she said, “Elder Durrant, I love you. Now you be sure and have a good and happy Christmas.” Then she asked if Elder Tagg and I would give her a blessing. Elder Tagg anointed her head with oil. As we both laid our hands upon her head, I poured my heart out to the Lord in prayer that she would soon be well. Later that night she went into surgery. Christmas Eve she died.
When I learned the news, I wanted to pray but I could not. I had had so much love, so much hope, so much faith—and yet she had died. I wondered about many things that foggy Christmas Eve.
Sister Guest, the Relief Society president, had two weeks earlier invited all four of us who served as missionaries in Hull to come at noon on Christmas day for a goose dinner. On Christmas morning at about 11:00 the two other elders came from their home some four miles away to the place where my companion and I lived. The plan was that Elder Tagg and I would go on with them to the dinner. We were all greatly saddened by the passing of Sister Deyes but we knew that she would want us to go.
My cold had indeed worsened and the two elders who hadn’t seen me for a few days commented on my apparent ill health. After discussing the matter with Elder Tagg we decided that I shouldn’t go out into the damp air. Brother Deyes was at home and I said I’d stay with him. The others agreed and soon the three of them were gone.
A grieving Brother Deyes wished to be allowed to remain in solitude, so I was left to myself. It was Christmas day and I was more alone than I’d ever been and more alone than I thought anyone else had ever been.
There were no gifts. There were no cards. There was no Christmas tree. There were no carols. There was nothing. The silence of the room was broken only by the mechanical working of the clock. It was now just past eleven o’clock in the morning of the saddest day of my life and it was Christmas.
I moved closer to the fireplace, which was the only source of heat. The glowing embers seemed to be trying to act as my private Christmas lights. Resenting their attempt to brighten my soul, I picked up the nearby metal poker and prodded at each burning piece of coal to crush out its glow.
I lowered my head and cradled it in my left hand. I sat that way until a clock striking the hour brought me back from where I had been. It was noon.
The room was growing colder now. I arose and poured some coal onto the few embers that remained. Now the fire gave off no heat because the new coals had covered the hot ones. I pulled my chair closer to the fireplace. Almost accidentally I looked on the mantel and there I saw my Bible. I stood and reached out and grasped it and sat back down. I really didn’t want to read. I was far too sad to read. Yet at the same time, as a new missionary, I needed to know so much. The others knew so much and I seemed to know so little.
It wouldn’t hurt to read a little—just a page or two. I opened the book beyond the middle and found my eyes focused on the words. “The gospel according to St. Matthew.”
I didn’t want to read I wanted to be home. With clenched fist I hit the open book and then shook my head almost as if I were saying “no” to every painful feeling that filled my sorrowed soul.
Because the pages were right in the line of my sight, I found myself staring at all the words at once. Without a conscious effort I focused on the first verse. I read, “The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.”
Like obedient servants my eyes continued reading the genealogy of Jesus, but my mind was not willing to let the words become thoughts. A few seconds later it was almost as if the words on the page forced my eyes and my mind to concentrate. Completely captive I read, “Now the birth of Jesus Christ was on this wise: When as his mother Mary was espoused to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with child of the Holy Ghost.”
Placing the fingers of my left hand at the bottom of this sacred verse I looked up at the mantel above the fireplace but I really wasn’t looking at all. I wondered, What does this mean? How did it say it? I looked back at the page and read again, “She was found with child of the Holy Ghost.”
I felt an incredible sense of wonder. Somehow, through a process beyond my intellect, I sensed that what I had just read was among the most important truths ever known. My eyes lifted slightly and I read the entire verse again, this time in an audible whisper, “Now the birth of Jesus Christ was on this wise: When as his mother Mary was espoused to Joseph …” I paused and wondered, What does espoused mean? I read on,” … before they came together, she was found with child of the Holy Ghost.”
I knew I had heard all this before. But somehow I’d never really heard it with my heart.
To my mind my heart whispered, “So Mary is his mother, but Joseph isn’t his father.”
I noticed a small reference letter “I” near the words “of the Holy Ghost.” I looked at the appropriate footnote and read “Luke 1:35.” I rapidly turned the pages ahead and eagerly read, “And the angel answered and said unto her, The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God.”
Letting the book rest in my lap, I stared at the coals in the fireplace, which were just now beginning to turn from black to orange. Gently I whispered, “The Son of God.” A surge of energy went up and down my spine as I felt my soul fill with light. In a louder voice and with pure knowledge I softly said, “Jesus Christ is the Son of God.” That thought caused me to sit more erect.
With half a smile, I turned back the pages to Matthew.
I read on until I came to the words, “… the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream.” I wondered, Are there really angels? And within my soul I heard the glorious message, “Yes, there are angels.”
A few seconds later I was in the midst of my own Christmas pageant. “Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem,
“Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.”
Again I let the book rest in my lap as my mind flooded with memories. I remembered when I had proudly taken the part of a wise man in the Christmas pageant. Because of that memory and the feelings of my heart, my face was now fully covered by a broad smile.
I read on, “… the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was.
“When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.”
As I pictured in my mind that holy star, I could see my mother and father in the doorway looking at the newly decorated Christmas tree in our front room. I could hear my father reminding me, “George, don’t forget the star for the top of the tree.” That thought caused me to sit and just stare at the glowing embers. Oh, how I loved my father and mother, and for a few minutes I was at home with them.
I continued to read, “And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.”
The fire was now giving off a great warmth but it seemed that the greater fire burned within me. For, in my soul I knew that Jesus Christ was the Son of God, that he had been born in Bethlehem, that a star had shone over where he lay. As I continued to read, I knew that he was baptized in the waters of the Jordan, I knew that he was tempted of the devil but that he overcame all temptation. I knew that he was speaking and challenging me when he said, “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.” (Matt. 5:8.) Oh, how I longed to be pure in heart! Of all the goals of life, I could think of none that would be so desirable as to be pure in heart.
As I read every page, paragraph, line, and word of the book of Matthew, I could see and I could feel. As I read of his crucifixion, I remembered the words of the song, “Were you there when they crucified our Lord?” And I was, for as I read I was there and in my heart I trembled. As I read of his resurrection, I rejoiced. My soul was filled with hope as I finally read the last two verses of Matthew. I could almost hear his voice as he spoke directly to me:
“Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost:
“Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen.”
Slowly I closed the book and with both hands I held it close to me. To myself I said, “Jesus Christ is the Son of God. There are angels. He did live and teach and love and perform miracles and was cruelly crucified and then he rose again. He is my Savior and this is his Church. I’m one of those he has sent forth. He is with me forever.”
As I sat there holding my Bible, it was late on Christmas afternoon. Never had I been so happy in such an inward way. On that glorious day I had found the one who is the heart of Christmas.
I had found him when I felt forgotten by my family and friends. I had found him when I felt the pain of being away from home. I had found him when the death of someone I loved had torn at my heart. I had found him when I felt hopeless. I had found him because in a sense I’d followed the star of Bethlehem. I had learned what so many have learned, that following the star, and never forgetting, is not always easy. Sometimes the nearer the star takes us to the stable and the garden and the cross, the more difficult the journey becomes.
That Christmas in England I learned that Christmas can be Christmas without a multitude of things. Colorful decorations, green-boughed trees, greeting cards, gifts, and Santa Claus each have their own special way of gladdening our senses and delighting our hearts. But Christmas cannot be Christmas without Christ. On that holy day uncontrollable circumstances had pushed all else aside and left me free to follow the star. On that day I learned that Christ does not just fit into Christmas. He is not just part of Christmas. Jesus Christ is Christmas. In the years since, I’ve learned that the pressures and selfish desires of life can push themselves between me and him. If I want to “not forget” the star, I must take the time to be alone with him. I must read of him, think of him, and pray to be near him. Then in the east I see the star. I follow it. I find him and when I do I feel free—free to let my soul soar into the realms of the sacred and indescribable joy that I found first in England many Christmases ago.

A few days later, we fasted along with our extended family members. For the first time in a while, I felt like fasting in faith made sense. I had faith in the Savior and knew that whatever His will, we could get through it with His help.
We went forward with the treatment, and, amazingly, we soon found out we were pregnant. We were so excited. I felt with my whole heart that God truly is a God of miracles!
A few days later, we learned we were going to lose the baby. All our joy was suddenly replaced with sadness. But because of the experiences I’d had learning about miracles, I felt a sense of peace. I knew that through the Savior’s Atonement we would get through this—I had felt that strongly just a few days before. And the fact that we could get pregnant gave us guidance in the coming months.

When President Monson was a young boy, his parents taught him to serve others. One Christmas, his mother asked him to choose one of his toys to give to a boy who had no gifts. And on Sundays, before his family ate their dinner, his mother had him deliver a plate of food to a neighbor who was in need. As President Monson got older, his desire to help others grew and grew.

I evaluated my use of technology and realized that perhaps some technology has become too much a part of my daily life. I made a commitment to myself to value the time I have and to use it wisely. Instead of sitting at the computer and engaging in social networks, I’d rather spend my time reading a good book or learning a new skill that will provide learning experiences and promote growth. I try to spend more time with people to build friendships and share good laughs.
Ruth Barilea, Manila, Philippines

“Meet you at the graveyard.” That was the byword for the Pleasant Hill First Ward Young Men and Young Women, Walnut Creek California Stake, for their super service project. They met at the cemetery in Martinez, California, carrying rakes, hoes, and shovels that were put to good use during the next few hours. Some of the older volunteers started cataloguing the graves, too, to help with the genealogical records for the graveyard. The cemetery was the only one in the county during 1850 through 1870, so many of the pioneers who settled that part of the San Francisco Bay Area are buried there. Despite the rain, the group of 35 volunteers transformed the badly neglected cemetery into an orderly, well-cared-for place.

“I will be back in a few minutes,” my Thai host father said on his way out the front door. At least, I think that’s what he said. My comprehension of the Thai language was sketchy at best.
I had lived in Thailand for about four months as a community service volunteer, and although I could speak basic Thai, I still had a lot to learn. I had just changed areas, but my new host family already understood that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I did my best to explain my values and even gave the family a Thai Book of Mormon and a For the Strength of Youth pamphlet.
As I waited for my host father to come home, I sat on the living room floor and began studying a Thai phrase book. Suddenly, a strong impression came to me to invite him to pray with me. It had occurred to me before to ask him, but the impression had never come so powerfully. During my time in Thailand, I had shared the gospel on many occasions, but I had never asked anyone to pray with me.
My host father and I had a good relationship. I even called him “Dad,” which he seemed to appreciate. I felt excited and then nervous. What if he told me no? What if he felt uncomfortable around me for the rest of my time with his family? Should I chance ruining our relationship? To make matters worse, I didn’t know how to pray in Thai. I didn’t even know enough Thai to ask my host father to pray, so I asked my Heavenly Father for help.
Shortly afterward, I heard a loud clang as the front gate closed. As my host father entered, he greeted me and announced that he was going to bed. I realized that I couldn’t let this opportunity pass. As I opened my mouth to speak, I immediately knew what to say and how to say it in Thai.
“Dad, in America I used to pray with my family, and I really miss doing so. Would you pray with me?” I was surprised by his response.
“Jon,” he replied, “of course I would. Teach me how.”
I then explained in Thai what prayer is but decided to say my prayer in English. I knew God was listening, and I knew my host father felt the Spirit. My eyes welled with tears as he followed the conclusion of my prayer with “amen.”
I can’t express in words the joy and love I felt for my host father and my Heavenly Father. That experience gave me confidence and led to more experiences in sharing the gospel with others. Unfortunately, my host family never accepted my invitation to attend the local branch, but I know that the knowledge I shared with them will benefit them sooner or later.
Though we may not always see the fruits of our labors in this life, I learned that planting gospel seeds can bless at least one life—your own. And in the Lord’s time, those seeds may bless the lives of others.

His next week in prison brought deep discouragement. He received a letter from Elder Hammer, who had left Vienna and was now in a hospital in Schlessien, suffering from smallpox. The senior companion wrote that he was so sick he expected to die. He told where his belongings were and asked Elder Biesinger to forward them to Utah. He requested a priesthood blessing. The prisoner, unable to help, appealed to the Lord “in tears and prayer” for guidance:
“I realized he had no friends at hand to administer kindness to him. After receiving this letter I pled with the judge to permit me to leave the prison under restrictions in order that I might visit my sick friend, but this privilege was denied me, but I was granted the privilege to write to Bro. Hammer, which I did, and promised him in my letter in the name of the Lord Jesus that he would return to his family in Utah alive.”*
The judge read the letter and seemed astonished by this brash prophecy. He also allowed the American to send another letter, this one to the American consul in Prague. Soon the consul, Mr. A. C. Phelps, appeared and agreed to help the elder get out of jail. The court informed the consul that no trial could be held until agents in Vienna rounded up evidence about Elder Biesinger’s proselyting work there.
A third letter brought another visitor ten days later. This was Elder Joseph A. Smith, sent by the mission president. He told the prisoner of his visit with Elder Hammer who was recovering. The half-hour visit took place under the watchful eye and ear of an officer, and the two missionaries had to speak in German so the guard “could understand all that passed between us.”

One day I began wondering how the Restoration affects my everyday life. Here’s what the Restoration did for me in just one average week.
Last Sunday my dad gave me a priesthood blessing. Because of the Restoration, I know he has been given the authority to act in the name of Jesus Christ. My dad can bless me whenever I am sick or need extra help.
On Monday I woke up for school and said my prayers. Because of the Restoration, I knew I was praying to a loving Heavenly Father and that I am His daughter, created in His image. I also read from the Book of Mormon. Because of the Restoration, I have another witness that Jesus Christ really lived. That night we had family home evening. Because of the Restoration, I am blessed with loving parents who teach me the truth.
On Tuesday I went to the temple my first time and performed baptisms for the dead. Because of the Restoration, I was able to help those who have died without the gospel to have eternal blessings.
On Wednesday I went to my closet and picked out something modest to wear. Because of the Restoration, I know that my body is sacred and that I need to be a good example to those who see me. I also have the guidance of living prophets and apostles, who have given me For the Strength of Youth, which contains guidelines to help me make righteous choices.
On Thursday I tried my best to live the gospel. Because of the Restoration, I have the gift of the Holy Ghost as my companion to help me always. I also have a bishop and Young Women leaders to watch over me as special advisers. And because of the Restoration, I know about the Atonement so that when I make a mistake I can repent and be forgiven.
On Friday I enjoyed being with my friends. Because of the Restoration, I have friends who also want to live the gospel. These good friends are a big blessing in my life. I also have opportunities to share the gospel with my friends who are not members of the Church.
On Saturday I thought about my brother, Tyler, who is serving a mission in Brazil. I miss him very much, but because of the Restoration, I know what he is doing is right. I want to go on a mission someday too.
Today is Sunday again. Because of the Restoration, I took the sacrament and renewed my promises to follow Jesus Christ. I was reminded that I am a daughter of God and that His plan has been restored so I can one day return home to Him.
Because of the Restoration, I know the scriptures are true. I know that this is the restored Church of Jesus Christ. I know that living prophets are guiding us today. I know that through restored temple ordinances my family can be together forever.
Because of the Restoration, we are blessed every day of the week—and every day of our lives.

It was so with Brother Camargo, who came within a few hours after I had talked with him on the phone—just picked up his things and came, without ever a question, who speaks the tongue of Brazil—Portuguese—in that tremendous nation of South America.

Yet there is evidence that by mid-nineteenth century Christmas was beginning to take on religious significance. The Prophet was awakened around 1:00 A.M. on 25 December 1843 to the caroling of some members who were English immigrants. Apparently, Europeans in general had been transforming Christmas into a religious holiday, and these immigrants merely had brought that tradition with them to Nauvoo. The Prophet responded favorably to the occasion, recording that it “caused a thrill of pleasure to run through my soul … and I felt to thank my Heavenly Father for their visit, and blessed them in the name of the Lord.”