Gospel Story Finder

Tina and her family went back to Orem, Utah, to see the little house where she lived as a child. “When we moved into that little house, the yard was run-down and full of weeds. We had to clear all the weeds and the rocks before we could plant lawn. It was the nicest lawn, and everyone came to play there. When we went back, we found it had all gone to weeds again. I was so sad. I remember how hard I worked.”

My last example of a miraculous indication is a personal one which happened one month after President Nelson gave that talk.
The first week of May 2018 was a turbulent time for our family. Our daughter Jenny was scheduled to deliver our first grandchild. She and her husband, Joe, were living in Orem so my wife, Marie, had gone down to help out a few days before the scheduled delivery. I stayed in Rexburg to teach my classes and planned to drive to Orem early on the morning of the delivery.
Previous to becoming pregnant, Jenny developed a potentially dangerous autoimmune condition that causes excessive bruising and bleeding. The bleeding results from unusually low levels of platelets—the cells that help blood to clot. It is critically important to moniter this condition when delivering a baby; if your platelet count drops before delivering, you have a greater risk of heavy bleeding.
On the morning of May 7 everything looked good and Jenny, Joe, Marie, and Joe’s mother, Amy, were all at the hospital awaiting the big moment. It was around noon when the text messages from Marie notified me of some progress in the delivery room. Jenny was pushing hard. The baby’s head was crowning. I was now in the hospital parking lot, anxiously awaiting each text. Finally, the baby was out! It was a boy! I texted my response and asked if I should come inside. There was no response to my text. After several minutes I resent the text and again, I did not receive a response. I had an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. I decided to go inside and see what was happening.
When I opened the door to the outer waiting room both my wife and Joe’s mother were in the room and they were crying. It took a minute to get the details from them. I learned that the baby was okay; he had been taken to the NICU. Jenny on the other hand was not doing well. She had hemorrhaged during the delivery and had been taken to intensive care. Only Joe had been allowed to go with her. For the next hour we didn’t know much of what was happening. When we got a report on Jenny’s condition, we learned that it had been a very close call. Jenny had lost so much blood so quickly that her vital organs had begun shutting down. In the ICU she had been put on a respirator, intubated, and given several units of blood. The doctors had slowed her bleeding but had not been able to stop it completely. We were not allowed to see her until just before midnight when her condition stabilized and Joe and I were able to go to her room and give her a priesthood blessing. That night at the hotel as Marie and I said our prayers together, we thanked the Lord for the miracle of Tanner’s healthy birth and that Jenny had been spared and had a good prognosis. Five days after giving birth, Jenny was discharged from the ICU and today everyone is healthy and happy. You probably think that this happy ending is the extent of the miracle, but there is more. We did not realize it at the time, but it just so “happened” that Jenny’s labor coincided with a personnel shift-change in the labor and delivery ward. This allowed there to be double the number of doctors and nurses available as usual and it turned out that all of them were needed to get Jenny stabilized. Additionally, because of her rapid loss of blood, several units were needed on an emergency basis and thanks to the close proximity of other large hospitals, those units of blood arrived in just minutes. Viewing this medical emergency through a clarifying lens of faith I could see that miracles had happened even before we knew they were needed.

Ana walked past the fishing nets drying along the shore. She was on her way to Maria’s home to ask her friend for help. When she arrived, Maria was sitting under a tree, embroidering a shawl. Ana sat down next to her. After admiring the embroidery, she asked, “Maria, ¿qu‚ es un brownie? (Maria, what is a brownie?) A friend of mine slipped on the street and broke her leg, and I want to give her something to make her feel better. She told me once that brownies were her favorite food. Mama said that if I found out how, I could make some for her, but I don’t even know what a brownie is.”
“Who is this friend who likes brownies?” Maria asked.
“Her name is Hermana (Sister) Anderson. She’s a missionary from the United States. She and her esposo (husband) came to Peru to teach people about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She taught our family the gospel, and we were baptized last month.”
“Why did you join a foreign church?” Maria asked.
“It’s not a foreign church. People all over the world are members. There are thousands of members here in Peru. Senor Garcia is one.”
“¡Senor Garcia!” Maria’s eyes widened in surprise. “But he lives right here in our town and owns the best boat!” (Maria’s and Ana’s fathers worked on a boat that caught pescados [fish]. Senor Garcia was well liked in their town because he was fair and honest with his workers.)
“We didn’t know that he belonged to the Church till Hermana Anderson took us there one Sunday. He greeted us at the door and helped us feel comfortable. After that he had the missionaries teach us in his home on the hill.”
“Wow! Are there others in our town that belong to your church?”
“Yes. You know, we are so happy now that we’re members that I want to do something special for the missionaries that helped us. How do I find out about brownies?”
“We could ask my mother,” Maria suggested. They went inside to ask her, but she just shook her head. She had never heard of brownies either. “Why don’t you ask Senorita Consuelo?” she suggested. “A teacher knows about many things.”
The girls ran down the path past the nets to Senorita Consuelo’s home. When she came to the door, they asked together, “¿Qu‚ es un brownie?”
She smiled her twinkly smile at them and invited them in. After they were seated, she told them, “I’ve never heard of brownies, but I do have a good English dictionary. Let’s look it up.”
Together they searched the dictionary pages for the meaning of brownie. One definition read: “a small, flat, chocolate cake, often made with nuts.”
“A flat, chocolate cake,” Ana repeated happily. “We have some chocolate at home, but the dictionary doesn’t say what kind of nuts! Would any nuts do?”
Senorita Consuelo thought for a moment. “I think so. But why do you want to make a brownie?”
The girls explained that Hermana Anderson had broken her leg and was in bed.
“It’s sad to be sick so far from home,” Senorita Consuelo said. “I’ll help you make a brownie and take it to her.”
They walked to Ana’s house, and Mama helped them find a recipe for chocolate cake and alter it so that the cake would be flatter than a regular cake. Then they added nuts to the batter. When the cake came out of the oven, it looked very strange. The girls started to giggle when they saw the lumpy, lopsided cake.
“I can’t see why anyone would want to eat a brownie!” Maria said.
“A real brownie probably isn’t like this,” Ana said, laughing harder and harder, till the tears rolled down her cheeks. Senorita Consuelo and Mama started laughing too. When Ana finally stopped laughing, she said, “Maybe we should make arroz con leche (rice pudding) for her, instead. It’s easy to make that.”
“If she’s as nice as you say, she will appreciate your efforts to make her happier,” Senorita Consuelo counseled. “Let’s take her the brownie.”
When Hermano (Brother) Anderson opened the door of their casa (house), he greeted them warmly and immediately invited them in to visit Hermana Anderson. Ana gave the flat cake to her and explained, “It’s supposed to be a brownie. You said that brownies were your favorite food.”
“How thoughtful of you!” Hermana Anderson beamed at the small group. “I haven’t had one since we left Chicago. Hermano Anderson,” she directed, “please bring some plates and forks so that we can eat my brownie!”
She cut the cake and served a portion to everyone. Ana and Maria and Senorita Consuelo held their breath while Hermana Anderson took her first bite.
“That’s the best brownie I’ve ever eaten!” Sister Anderson told them. Ana and her friends took a bite too. It tasted good, even if it did look funny! Soon everyone was relaxed and enjoying themselves. It was fun to get to know each other over a Peruvian brownie.

This story took place in the USA.
“Let’s start our family council with a prayer,” Trina’s dad said.
Trina knelt beside her brothers and sisters while her brother Taylor said the prayer. Then they all sat back down.
“Mom and I want to talk about Adam,” Dad said. Trina’s brother Adam was a missionary. He left three months ago, and Trina missed him a lot.
“He’s coming home from his mission this week,” said Mom.
Trina gasped. Is he OK? she thought.
“What? How come?” asked Taylor.
“He’s been struggling with anxiety and depression,” Mom said. “That means he has a lot of worry and sadness that won’t go away. He’s going to get some help from doctors here, just like he would if he had broken his leg or gotten sick.”
Trina didn’t know what to say. She had friends whose siblings had come home early from their missions to get help from a doctor. Would Adam be OK?
“We want to do all we can to help Adam. Will you please pray to know how you can serve your brother?” asked Dad.
Trina and her siblings nodded.
“You can ask us any questions and tell us how you’re feeling anytime. We sure love you,” said Mom. Trina ran to hug her, and the rest of the family joined for a group hug.
Over the next few days, Trina thought about Adam. She prayed about what she could do for him. She thought of times when she felt worried or sad and how much her family had helped her. But anxiety and depression seemed like pretty big things.
“What can I do to help Adam?” Trina asked Mom.
“We can’t change what Adam is feeling,” Mom said. “But we can support him and show him we care.”
“We can love him!” said Trina.
Mom smiled and hugged her. “That’s the best thing we can do.”
Trina knew there were lots of ways to say “I love you,” even without saying it out loud. When her family did nice things for her or gave her a hug, she knew they loved her. Trina could do that for Adam!
Trina decided she could start showing love for Adam now. She used chalk to write a message for him on the sidewalk. She hid nice notes around the house. She helped her siblings make a sign. It said, “Welcome home, Elder Dawson! We love you!”
The next day Trina’s family went to the airport. Trina helped her siblings hold the sign they had made. When Adam walked through the gate, Trina and her family ran to hug him.
“I love you, Adam!” Trina said.
When they got home, Trina took Adam’s hand and led him to the sidewalk to see what she had written.
“‘We are so proud of you, Elder Dawson,’” read Adam. He looked up at their parents and siblings. “Thanks, everyone.” He squeezed Trina’s hand.
Adam left to put his suitcase in his room. When he came back, he was smiling. “Does anyone know who’s doing all the nice things around our house? I just found a secret note on my pillow.” He winked at Trina.
Trina grinned. She couldn’t wait to think of more ways to say “I love you”!

When I reflect on my life there has never been a moment when I doubted that the Church was true. In my youth, raised in a Mormon community, testimony was never a question among my peers because virtually all of our activities centered on the Church. Belief was automatic. Without seminary there was almost no dialogue about our knowledge or our understanding of the gospel. The Church was just there and we were a part of it. Then I was called to serve a full-time mission in the Spanish-American Mission, working with the Mexican people.
My companion and I entered the mission field at the same time and for some reason, unknown to us, we were assigned to begin our missionary labors together. Neither one of us knew the Spanish language, and both of us were virtually illiterate in the gospel. (This was before there were any Missionary Training Centers.) We were timid, untrained, and a little frightened, but eager to start to work.
In those days there were very few member referrals. We knocked on doors from morning to night and did our best to communicate with the Mexican people, using a few words of Spanish and a lot of English. For the first time in my life I was required to bear my testimony to nonmembers who had little knowledge or respect for the Church. It was a challenging and humbling experience.
One day, to our surprise, we met a couple who brought out a Book of Mormon, saying that in their church they also used this sacred book as scripture. We were overjoyed until they began to criticize us and mock the doctrines of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We discovered that they were missionaries from another religion who had been serving for 11 years. They were very knowledgeable and skilled in using the scriptures. My companion and I were no match for them. We were just boys fresh off the farm. They totally intimidated us, demeaned us, and tried to destroy our faith. In my heart I prayed for divine help.
Then, as I looked at that couple, a remarkable feeling came over me. For the first time in my life I felt the power of the Spirit rest upon me. Although I was somewhat ignorant, unlearned in the things of the gospel and the world, there was an absolute assurance that I held the holy priesthood of God and that they did not! That I was His minister of truth and they were not! With all the power of my soul I told them that I knew we were just boys and that we were not experts in the doctrine of our religion, but I knew that what we were doing was correct, that the Church was true, and that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. They were silenced. They could not refute my testimony.
The testimony I bore that day was different than any other I had ever given. It was not a passive thing, nor simply an accepted thing. It was real. I knew it. And my testimony which began at that moment has grown stronger and stronger every day of my life. There is no doubt, you see, for it is true!

When I was teaching sixth grade a number of years ago, a 14-year-old boy dressed in gang attire was marched into my classroom. He was two years older and four years larger than the other 30 students. Quickly I discovered Brian did not read, had not attended school with any regularity, and had lived with a variety of guardians in a number of cities.
Report card time was coming up, and I came to school on my day off to finish recording the children’s work and mark the report cards. As I entered the classroom to gather up the records, I could see Brian had the class in an upheaval. I suggested to my grateful co-teacher that I would take Brian with me. With some first-grade primers filled with pictures, we headed to the library, talking a little football on the way.
We settled ourselves at a table where I was marking report cards. I asked him if he had ever had a report card.
He shook his head and said, “No.” I asked if he would like a report card.
He looked directly at me. “Only if it said I was a good boy.”
I made out a special card for him, emphasizing his strengths. I wrote his full name on it and his ability to include everyone and make people laugh. I specifically mentioned his love of sports. It was not a traditional report card but seemed to please him. Not too long after that, Brian disappeared from our school, and the last I heard of him, he was living in another state. I hoped he had my report card saying that he was a good boy in his pocket, wherever he was.

Emily buttoned her red coat as she hurried up a hill. On its crest she looked toward the east and saw a beautiful sunrise. Its pink glow lit the great empty prairie.
How far east is England now? wondered Emily. How many miles westward have we journeyed since we left the beloved green hills of home?
“Emily! We’re ready to leave,” called her father.
Slowly Emily went back down the hill. Her feet lifted puffs of dry brown dust as she walked past people whose handcarts were in the rear of the long line. Everyone in the company was ready for another day of travel.
She was glad she didn’t have to pull a handcart all day like most of the men. Some women helped too. Even children and old people helped push the heavy carts up the steep hills and clung to the rear of them to slow them going down steep slopes.
When Emily reached their own handcart, her father was fastening the ropes from the canvas top to the wooden sideboards.
“It’s a good thing you have that red coat,” Father said. “We can see you even from a long way off.”
“You shouldn’t wander so far away by yourself, though, Emily. You could get lost in this wild country,” Mother scolded.
“I’ll be more careful, Mother,” Emily promised.
As the handcarts fell into line, Emily wondered if her parents understood why she walked back every morning to look east. Maybe they aren’t as lonely for our cottage back in England as I am, she decided. Remembering their home in Dorchester with its roof of golden thatched straw and the lilac bush where robins chirped at dawn, made Emily’s throat ache.
The long line of handcarts moved forward away from the rising sun. Mother’s voice broke into Emily’s thoughts, “You better put your coat in the cart. It’s getting too hot to wear it.”
Emily hated to part with her coat even for a few hours. However, she slowly put it into the handcart. When she had it on, England didn’t seem quite so far away. Wearing it brought back all the treasured memories of home.
Emily thought about the morning Grandmother had given her the coat as she was leaving with her parents for America to join other Latter-day Saints in the faraway Rocky Mountains.
With tears in her eyes, Grandmother said to Emily’s father, “I still don’t understand why you must leave England for your new religion. I know I’ll never see you again.”
Then she took Emily’s hand. “My dear, I have a gift for you,” she said. “It’s a coat made from wool I spun and dyed myself. Wear it always to remind you of me and of your home.”
Slowly the long days went by. Each step took Emily further away from her grandmother and England. Each step took everyone in the handcart company closer to their unknown “Zion” in the mountains. Around the campfires at night they talked of a valley encircled by towering, snow-topped mountains. Emily wondered if anyone else felt as lonely and frightened as she did.
Wagon trains going to Oregon or California sometimes passed the handcart company. One day a man from a wagon train stopped and said to Emily, “My daughter could use a coat like that one you’re wearing. Would you like to sell it?”
Emily thought of what her family could buy with the money, but she shook her head. “No, thank you, sir,” she answered. She felt that selling the coat would not only be giving up something she loved very much but it would cut her last tie with her old home.
The trail the handcarts traveled became rougher. One night around the campfire Captain Ames asked everyone to listen to a special message. “I don’t need to tell you that the trail has become much more difficult and our carts are wearing out,” he announced. “Each family must discard every item that can be spared in order to lighten the loads.”
Many belongings were left beside the trail the next morning. Emily’s heart was heavy when Father said to her, “I think you should leave your heavy red coat behind.”
“Oh, please, Father,” she pleaded, “please let me keep it. I’ll carry it or wear it all the time so it won’t take up any room or add any weight to the handcart. Grandmother made the coat especially for me.”
“The weather will grow colder soon,” Mother added. “Maybe we should let Emily keep her coat. I’ll help her carry it if it becomes too heavy.”
Father looked at Emily and her mother. He saw how much the coat meant to both of them. “If you’re willing to carry or wear it, then you may keep the coat,” he said, “but it’s not to go on the handcart. We must obey Captain Ames’ rule to lighten our loads.”
One morning as Emily was walking behind her father she looked up and saw white snow-topped peaks along the western horizon. A few days later the handcart company was making its way through the mountain passes. The wheels on the worn handcarts creaked loudly with each turn. Everyone was weak and tired but they still kept going.
Late one afternoon Emily felt she could not walk any further. Her red coat seemed unusually heavy. Emily thought she couldn’t take another step before resting for just a few moments.
I’ll just climb up that little slope and rest under a bush for a few minutes, Emily decided.
While resting, Emily watched the line of carts and people toil up a winding, mountain path. She lay down to watch the clouds float by. How good the ground felt to her aching back and legs.
Suddenly Emily sat up. It was dark. She had fallen asleep! Her first thought was to run as fast as she could, calling for her mother and father. But it was too dark to see where she was going.
I must stay calm, Emily told herself. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “please keep me safe through the night and tomorrow guide my parents to me.”
Soon a peace flooded over Emily even though the black hours of night passed slowly, slowly. She put on her red coat. Feeling it close around her brought a warmth that was more than just protection against the chill of the night.
Memories of England and Grandmother and her old home were as precious as ever. But there alone on the hillside, Emily began to think more about her new home in a valley where she could be with her father and mother. Maybe Grandmother might come there someday too, she thought.
As the morning sun lightened the sky, Emily’s sadness and loneliness seemed to leave. She climbed up on a rock to watch the sun come up as she had done so many times. Always before her thoughts had turned with a homesick feeling to the east. Now she looked toward the west. In that direction they would have a new home.
Far in the distance Emily saw several men. As they came closer one of them started waving and then she heard her father call, “It’s Emily. That red coat has brought us right to her!”
Emily ran down the hill. “Oh, Father,” she sobbed, “I’m sorry I got lost but I’m glad you found me.”
“We might not have found you,” Father replied, “if it hadn’t been for that red coat. How grateful I am that you kept it and that you had it with you to keep you warm. We spotted it a long time before you saw us.”
“I’m grateful too,” Emily answered. “It will always be something special to remind me of Grandmother and England. But now I know a home isn’t just a place, and that love is more than just a coat. I can hardly wait until we reach the Valley.”
Father smiled. “We found you,” he said, “but I guess during the night you found yourself too.” He gave Emily a warm hug.
Without looking back, Emily put the coat over her arm. Then she and Father turned their feet and their eyes to the west.

You can do this, you can do this, Sydney thought as she walked into the stake Primary activity. She saw the girls from her ward and thought about what Mom had said in the car. Maybe things would be easier once she got to know them better.
She took a deep breath and smiled. “Hi, guys!” One of the girls shot her that look—the look that screamed you don’t belong here.
Sydney’s smile wavered. Then she noticed what Libby, the leader of the group, was wearing. “Hey, we have the same hat!” Sydney exclaimed.
“It’s not a hat. It’s a beanie,” Libby said slowly, like Sydney wasn’t smart enough to understand. The girls giggled. “Or don’t you know that word? You were held back a grade, right?”
Sydney turned and walked away, trying not to cry.
Why were they always so mean to her? Ever since Sydney had moved here a few months ago, Libby and the other girls had made church and school miserable. They’d been especially horrible since finding out that Sydney had been so sick last year that she’d had to repeat a grade.
She glanced at the clock. Maybe she could call her mom and just go home.
“Want to sit in our row?” Sydney looked up to see a tall girl from another ward grinning and patting the chair beside her. Her nametag said Lauren.
“Sure.” Sydney sat down and kept her eyes glued to the ground. That was how she noticed the socks.
Cool socks. Crazy socks. Socks decorated with purple polka dots, pink stars, lime zigzags, blue smiley faces, and everything in between. Every girl in the row was wearing them.
Lauren noticed Sydney’s gaze and stuck out her foot. “Like them? They’re our mascot!”
“Mascot?” Sydney asked.
“Yup! We’re Sisters of Courage, Kindness, and Service—S.O.C.K.S.,” Lauren explained. “We made these at an activity and wear them to remind us who we should be.”
Being one of the S.O.C.K.S. sounded pretty amazing to Sydney. “Can I be one too?” she whispered.
“Of course! Anyone can join the S.O.C.K.S. That’s the best part!”
Sydney smiled and settled back in her chair as the stake Primary president started speaking.
From that day on, Sydney was a S.O.C.K.S., whether she was by herself or with the other S.O.C.K.S. girls. She made a pair of her own crazy socks, and they reminded her to be a Sister of Courage, Kindness, and Service, no matter what.
A few weeks later, she was put to the test. She and Libby were standing outside, waiting for rides home after a Primary activity, when Libby’s cell phone buzzed.
“Dad! I can’t wait to see you this weekend!” Pause. “Oh.” Longer pause. “Are you sure you can’t come?” Long pause. “OK. Bye.” Libby’s voice quavered.
Sydney knew that Libby’s parents had split up, but she never thought about how hard that must be. Libby, so cool and popular, had hard times too.
“So I guess now you’re going to tell everyone that my dad doesn’t want to see me, huh?” Libby scowled down at the sidewalk.
This is a perfect chance to get back at her! Sydney thought. What should I say?
Sydney glanced down at her socks and knew the answer.
“Of course not. I’m sorry you can’t see him this weekend.”
Libby looked up, surprised, just as both of their moms pulled up.
“I’ll see you at school,” Sydney said.
“OK. See you then.”
That night Sydney put her crazy socks away extra carefully. Today she had proved that she was a true S.O.C.K.S.—a sister of courage, kindness, and service—no matter what.

My family moved into the New Brunswick Ward when I was a teenager. Sister Daines took notice of me and often expressed her confidence in my abilities and potential, which inspired me to reach high—higher than I would have without her encouragement. Once, because of a thoughtful and timely warning from her, I avoided a situation that would surely have led to regret. Although she is no longer here, Anna Daines’s influence continues to be felt and reflected in the lives of her descendants and countless others, myself included.

Let me give you an example of the principle of reaching out from the childhood of Thomas S. Monson, the president of the Church:
Again Christmastime had come. We were preparing for the oven a gigantic turkey and anticipating the savory feast that awaited. A neighborhood pal of mine asked a startling question: “What does turkey taste like?”
I responded, “Oh, about like chicken tastes.”
Again a question: “What does chicken taste like?”
It was then that I realized my friend had never eaten chicken or turkey. I asked what his family was going to have for Christmas dinner. There was no prompt response, just a downcast glance and the comment, “I dunno. There’s nothing in the house.”
I pondered a solution. There was none. I had no turkeys, no chickens, no money. Then I remembered I did have two pet rabbits. Immediately I took them to my friend and handed the box to him with the comment, “Here, take these two rabbits. They’re good to eat—just like chicken.”
He took the box, climbed the fence, and headed for home—a Christmas dinner safely assured. Tears came easily to me as I closed the door to the empty rabbit hutch. But I was not sad. A warmth, a feeling of indescribable joy, filled my heart. It was a memorable Christmas. 34

In the 1960s, during the Vietnam War, Church member Jay Hess, an airman, was shot down over North Vietnam. For two years his family had no idea whether he was dead or alive. His captors in Hanoi eventually allowed him to write home but limited his message to less than 25 words. What would you and I say to our families if we were in the same situation—not having seen them for over two years and not knowing if we would ever see them again? Wanting to provide something his family could recognize as having come from him and also wanting to give them valuable counsel, Brother Hess wrote—and I quote: “These things are important: temple marriage, mission, college. Press on, set goals, write history, take pictures twice a year.”

Some are overcome by major problems; others let small matters become big. Symonds Ryder was a Campbellite leader who heard about the Church and had a meeting with Joseph Smith. Moved by this experience, he joined the Church in June 1831. Immediately thereafter, he was ordained an elder and called to serve a mission. However, in his call letter from the First Presidency and on his official commission to preach, his name was misspelled—by one letter. His last name showed as R-i-d-e-r, not the correct R-y-d-e-r. This caused him to question his call and those from whom it came. He chose not to go on the mission and fell away, which soon led to hatred and intense opposition toward Joseph and the Church. In March 1832, when Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon were ripped from home during the night by an angry mob and tarred and feathered, a voice was heard to shout, “Simonds, Simonds [sic] where’s the tar bucket?” (History of the Church, 1:262–63). In less than 10 months, Symonds Ryder went from an eager convert to a mob leader, his spiritual decline starting with the offense taken over the misspelling of his name—by one letter. No matter the size of the issue, how we respond can reset the course of our life.

Finding and following Jesus Christ sometimes takes us through difficult waters. Tamton’s journey to Christ has been like that. “I was serving as a deacon in the Protestant church when the missionaries first came to Abaiang from Tarawa,” he says. “Their coming was strongly opposed, and they had difficulty getting land on which to build a bata [traditional grass house]. I felt sorry for them and invited them to stay with me. They taught me the gospel, and I felt what they were teaching was true. So I was baptized.”
That was in 1984. Tamton and Taake were among the first on Abaiang to join the Church. Amid suspicion and persecution, they immediately began helping the missionaries find others to teach.
Tamton and Taake feel they have been richly blessed by the Lord. Several years ago, Tamton wanted to build a large fish trap to support his family. But to build one, he needed to take thousands of rocks out into the ocean. The task seemed impossible. He had only a small canoe and just his sons to help.
“I prayed hard about the problem,” he says. “The next day I saw a float [a tangle of debris] beached on my land. In the float were some large pieces of styrofoam. With them, I built a raft, and with the raft, my sons and I built our fish trap. In fact, we built two.” The traps have been valuable family assets. When the traps catch more fish than the family can use, they sell the extra.
As their faith in Jesus Christ sustains Tamton and his family in times of need, it also comforts them in times of sorrow. Several years ago one of their sons died while fishing for octopus. He was only 22, but he suffered a heart attack alone out in the ocean.
Tamton’s eyes get moist as he speaks of his son. “The news broke our hearts,” he says. But then his eyes brighten. “We want him sealed to us.” When Tune was their district president, he taught Tamton and Taake about the priesthood and its power to seal families together forever in the temple. They are eager to go.
But with few resources, they have yet to see a temple let alone visit one. Still, Tamton and Taake are trying to find a way. Tune says that if they die before they go to the temple, he will make sure their work is done for them. He encourages them to fill out the necessary family records. Perhaps their children will be able to do the temple work they cannot.
With the meal and the singing and the stories over, Tune and Moretekai take their leave of Tamton and Taake. They have others on the island to visit.
The Saints in Kiribati have great respect for the priesthood, and wherever Tune goes on Abaiang, he is received with gladness. It soon becomes apparent it wasn’t whim that brought him to Abaiang. He was drawn to the island by prayer—reeled in like one of his tuna. He thought he was just visiting, perhaps finding an excuse to go fishing. But the real reason he came was to give Aritaake Moutu a priesthood blessing.
“Ever since I joined the Church, I’ve depended on priesthood blessings,” Sister Moutu says. “I had a problem with one of my legs before I joined the Church. Now whenever it gives me trouble, I ask for a blessing, and I’m always healed. This morning I was praying for someone to come and give me a blessing because my husband is not on the island to give me one.” She smiles at Tune. “That’s why you came.”
“It’s always like that,” Tune says. “She lives on this isolated island in the middle of nowhere. She and her family have their challenges. There are few jobs; most people live off what they can grow and get from the sea. There are no doctors or nurses on Abaiang. The Saints here depend a lot on the Lord. And the Lord takes care of them.”
“Yes, we have our challenges,” Sister Moutu says, “even after joining the Church. But we don’t notice them as much now.”
When the missionaries first contacted her family, Aritaake would run away—or chase the missionaries away. “Our minister told us there would be false prophets, and we thought that was them,” she remembers. “But one time an elder by the name of Jones came to visit us. When I turned him away, he stood outside the house and prayed for us. While he was praying, I felt something in my heart change. I asked the missionaries to forgive me and teach my family.
“One thing the elders did changed me completely. They asked me to pray. When I said my prayer, I became a different person. I started liking the Church, and it was no problem believing the Church’s teachings.”
What impressed her most in all the missionaries taught? “The Spirit they brought. And the teachings about the family—how we can be happy as a family and remain together forever.”
It is time to return to Tarawa. Tune knows he needs to get back before the tide pulls too much water out of Tarawa’s lagoon, leaving parts of it too shallow for his outboard motor. But before he and Moretekai leave, Tune gives Aritaake the priesthood blessing she prayed for.

As a boy of 14, Spencer Kimball heard a sermon in which the speaker asked who in the congregation had read the entire Bible. Only a few raised their hands. Not being one of those few, Spencer keenly felt the need to read the sacred book from cover to cover, which he began doing that very night by the light of a coal-oil lamp. In about a year he completed his goal of reading all of the Bible, an accomplishment that contributed to his lifelong love of scripture study.7

I heard one of my brethren tell of a recent visit he made to a prison. There he noticed a young man, handsome in appearance and intelligent in his ways.

My brother said to the prison official, “What is that young man doing in here?”

The reply was that one evening he had taken his mother’s car, had obtained some beer and drunk it, and then, out of control of himself, he drove the car down the sidewalk and killed two girls.

I do not know how long he will be in prison, but I do know that he will never entirely get over his feelings concerning the act that put him there. On such small hinges turn the gates of our lives. Little mistakes, which seem so unimportant in their beginnings, determine the eternal courses we follow.

One example of this attitude occurred when Elder Lee was a grandfather and a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. His daughter, Helen, had planned to attend a Relief Society meeting and asked her mother to tend her two little boys. Her mother became ill, so Helen decided to stay at home. In mid-morning her father called from his office and said, “Dear, you plan to go to your meeting, and I will come tend the boys.” Helen protested that she couldn’t take him from his important work to tend babies. He replied, “Why, my dear, who is to say which is the most important work of the Lord—to stay at my desk at the Church Office Building, or to tend two choice little grandsons while their mother goes to her Relief Society meeting?” She attended her meeting.

From their bed in the garret, Joseph Smith and his younger brother, William, could hear the night wind slide over the bark roof of their two-story log house. Presently, William leaned his head over the side of the bed and put his ear close to the floorboards. He could hear the voices of his parents above the whispers and sighs of the wind. “… great excitement … everyone for miles around … down in the woods …”
William wriggled back under the quilt and shook his brother. “Joseph, it’s time for another camp meeting. When will it be?”
“The first week of July … down in the woods.”
William’s eyes popped in the darkness and a grin creased his cheeks. Nothing could make a boy’s heart beat faster than thoughts of a revival. A camp meeting in 1819 meant a holiday, with more going on than one could possibly take in. There would be picnics and games and friends to play with, along with the preaching and praying. But more fun than anything, though William didn’t ever speak it, was watching the weeping and wailing of the sinners.
“We’ll be going, I expect.”
“For certain,” Joseph answered.
On the morning of the great Genesee camp meeting, Joseph was up early to attend to his chores. Then the little handcart that his father had fashioned to use for selling refreshments was lifted into the wagon. Joseph and his father often traveled to other villages and camp meetings to sell Lucy’s pies and gingerbread, as well as hard-boiled eggs, root beer, and other “like notions of traffic.” Today the whole family was going and there was a feeling of gaiety in the air.
Sophronia brought out the baskets of baked goods that would be offered for sale to the crowds of people. “Some say there will be four to five thousand,” she said expectantly.
Joseph knew that some folks would attend because of a desire to “get religion” but many would be there just for the excitement.
By the time they were ready to leave, the sun had begun its daily climb. Joseph tried to appear calm as a farm-bred boy ought, but the happiness in his heart pushed out in a whistled song.
The family followed the road that ran diagonally between Palmyra and Vienna, where the meeting would be held in the woods. When the Smiths arrived there was already a confusion of people and wagons. Everyone was trying to find a place on the outer edge of the clearing. Some had already made tents by stretching bed covers between their wagons and small trees, with a layer of straw on the ground for sleeping.
Joseph’s father drove their wagon close to a platform made of rough boards. It was built off the ground so the crowds could see and hear the preachers.
Lately Joseph had been doing a lot of thinking about religion, comparing what the various churches believed with what Jesus taught in the Bible. And he wasn’t alone. An excitement over religion was affecting young and old alike.
As Joseph sold his mother’s baked goods among the crowds, he saw many of his friends from Palmyra. He stopped long enough to play a game of pulling sticks or to wrestle, but for the most part he listened to the preachers calling the sinners to repentance. Some of the sessions lasted all day and into the night. One minister after another took the stand to preach long, powerful sermons. Sometimes they directed prayer circles or the singing of hymns. While the meetings were going on, many people “got religion” by shouting and crying for mercy.
In his own thoughtful, quiet way, Joseph found himself caught up in the tremendous emotions of the revival. Much of what Joseph heard didn’t agree with what he read in the Bible, so the preaching and exhortations of each day added to the confusion he felt within.
Joseph was a thinker. He enjoyed debating with the other boys in the neighborhood. It helped to satisfy his yearning for understanding and truth.
One evening when Joseph reached the village of Palmyra, a light snow had fallen and the cold penetrated his clothing, carefully patched to make it last through the season. The lamplight flickering through the windows of the village store beckoned him on. His long legs lengthened their stride.
Joseph stood for a moment outside the door, studying the figures in the crowded room. Orsamus Turner and Pomeroy Tucker, two of the older boys, were already there, as were some of the men of the village.
Joseph stamped the snow from his shoes and entered the store. It smelled strongly of burning wood, cheese, and wet wool. He joined the group around the stove, scrubbing his hands in its warmth until he was scorched through.
When all the boys had gathered they discussed a subject to debate. Joseph’s penetrating blue eyes deepened as he offered a suggestion. “Ever since the big Genesee camp meeting people hereabouts have been stirred up over religion …”
Some mornings later, when the world was pink with sunrise, young Joseph slipped quietly out of his log home. His steps were quick with anticipation now that he had determined what to do to resolve his search for the truth.
Joseph thought it rather strange as he recalled the events of the previous night. He was reading a certain passage in the Bible, when the words seemed to leap from the page and found their way into his heart where they would not be stilled. Over and over his mind reflected on them. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could see those words in the first chapter of James clustered together on the page: “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”
If anyone needs wisdom, I do, Joseph decided. And if God will give me an answer and not consider it a bother, I’ll venture it, he thought humbly.
Joseph cut directly across the clearing, striding over tree stumps that protruded from the earth like wooden eruptions.
The Smith family had moved to their new farm in Farmington (later Manchester), New York, some three miles from the village of Palmyra, a little more than a year ago. Joseph had helped log the trees, and hauled many wagonloads of wood into the village to be sold for fuel. Some of the stumps had been burned out, but mostly they were left and the soil was tilled around them. Soon he would help scatter kernels of wheat into the broken ground, rich and fertile from layer upon layer of decayed leaves. Then the earth would need to be dragged over with a large maple limb to level it.
It was wearying work to clear forestland and make it tillable for farming, though somehow it didn’t leave him as tuckered out as trying to clear up the confusion in his mind. For some time Joseph had been in the midst of a “war of words” over religion. Some settlers argued for one church, some for another, and many ministers claimed that theirs was the only true church. The bad feelings that arose were not too well hidden either.
Joseph thought of his mother as almost a saint, and he believed his father was as good as Moses back in ancient times ever was. But even they could not agree on a religion. His mother and three of the children, Hyrum, Sophronia, and Samuel, attended the Western Presbyterian Church in Palmyra. Joseph’s father agreed with his father, Asael Smith, who wasn’t satisfied with any religion. He just kept studying the Bible; said he was looking for “the ancient order, as established by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and His apostles.” Joseph was somewhat inclined toward Methodism, and had attended some of their meetings. Yet in the midst of all the agitation around him, how could a boy be sure?
As he climbed a fence at the far end of the clearing he recalled how often he had asked himself: “What should I do? Who is right? How shall I know?” At times his yearning for the truth had almost been a hurt within him.
But now Joseph knew how to find the answer. Since he had read those words in the Bible, they were carved on his consciousness as clearly as initials on the trunk of a tree. He had decided to follow them implicitly, and he was going into the woods to pray. He would ask God which church to join, believing that God meant just what He said, “… and it shall be given him.”
Why didn’t I think of it before? he wondered. (To be continued.)

“Can we talk?” Jonas asked Mom. He sat down on the grass next to where she was weeding the flower bed.
“Sure. What’s going on?” Mom asked. She took off her dirty garden gloves.
“Today at school some kids were saying a word I didn’t know. They laughed when they said it,” Jonas said. “I think it was a bad word.”
“How did you feel when you heard the word?” asked Mom.
“It didn’t make me feel good.”
Jonas whispered the word to Mom. She told him what it meant. Jonas was right. It wasn’t a nice word.
“But why is it bad?” he asked.
“It’s bad because it’s unkind and not respectful. When we use words like that, it makes it hard for the Holy Ghost to be with us. The Holy Ghost was telling you it was bad. That’s why you didn’t feel good inside.”
Jonas frowned. “But the other kids seemed to be having fun. Why was I the only one who felt uncomfortable?”
“How do you know the other kids didn’t feel the same way?” Mom asked.
“Because they all laughed and smiled when someone said the word.” Jonas felt confused.
“Sometimes people laugh or smile when they feel uncomfortable,” Mom said. “And sometimes when they hear or say bad words a lot, it doesn’t bother them anymore. But it’s still not right to say those words. It’s kind of like these weeds. I’m pulling them out to keep the garden clean and to let good plants grow.”
“I’m glad I didn’t say the word,” said Jonas.
“Me too,” said Mom. “I’m proud of you. And I have an idea. Why don’t we make a family promise?”
“What kind?” Jonas asked.
“Let’s promise to use good words and not bad words. It can be a family pact.”
Jonas liked that idea. He and Mom shook hands. Jonas felt good about the promise he made with Mom.
“Now, how about you promise to help me finish weeding?” Mom asked. “Then I’ll promise to take you to the park.”
Jonas grinned and picked up a spade. “It’s a deal.”
As he helped Mom, Jonas felt much better. He knew promising not to use bad words was a good choice for their family.
This story took place in the USA.

We now have 124 operating temples, with several others announced. This is nearly three times the number operating in 1995, when our current prophet became president. I responded to a very rare invitation by my father to accompany him on a journey through Africa in 1998. I was not a General Authority at the time. In Ghana, after examining a proposed temple site in Accra and approving of its purchase, he announced to the 6,000 members gathered in an outdoor meeting that a temple would be built in their land. The response was instant and unexpected. They stood and embraced their neighbors. Many wept and pointed to the ground as if to say, “We will have a temple right here in our homeland.” We had been told the day before of a couple who recently had walked 25 kilometers in order to renew their temple recommends, with no hope ever of seeing a temple. I will never forget my father’s response. He said, “We are here to give them hope.” I will always remember that experience. That temple was dedicated in January 2004.

If you’re involved in sports, you’ve probably heard this: You can’t afford to take two years off for a mission. You’ll lose your scholarship, you’ll lose your skills, and you’ll lose your edge. You won’t have the fire for the sport anymore.
Nate Soelberg can tell you that those warnings are not true.
Nate was a standout in track and football while he was in high school. In college he not only ran, he also worked hard to eventually earn a spot on the football team—and then he left it behind so he could serve as a missionary in Norway for two years.
Some people wondered if he would be able to get back into form again when he came home. Nate wondered a bit too. But, he says, “I knew if I followed the Lord, He would bless me, that it wasn’t going to be a major setback.”
After his mission, he was able to earn a starting spot as cornerback on the Brigham Young University football team and a scholarship. On the track, the spring after he returned from his mission, he kept cutting his times in the 100 meters until he ended the season winning the conference championship. “Every single race I got better,” he says.
So was there some connection between the spiritual strength he gained while serving a mission and recapturing his physical ability? Nate thinks so: “I believe it was one of the blessings I had from going on a mission and serving the Lord.”
The successes came at a price, of course: hard work. Staying in shape for competitive sports “takes a toll on your body,” Nate says. After workouts, “it’s really hard to come home and do anything. You just want to rest.” He has developed the habit of doing his homework between classes during the day to keep up. “I’ve learned to manage my time wisely.”
Nate started in sports at age five when he played on a T-ball team. Later, he enjoyed playing basketball. He started track competition in junior high school and joined the football team his first year in high school.
He started preparing for his mission at a young age, too. “Sometimes in my life, I felt nervous about going, but I always knew I wanted to go.”
Norway was cold, in more than one way. He remembers looking at his reflection in a window and seeing frost in his eyebrows and ice on his eyelashes. He remembers serving for two years and having just one baptism, near the end. And he remembers how much he enjoyed it all.
“Most people think it’s just hard work, which it is.” But Nate was surprised at how good it made him feel to serve others. It made him happy to work with members. They “just embrace the missionaries,” he said. Their friendship was warm when it was cold everywhere else.
Did he ever get discouraged? “It’s hard not to,” Nate says. “I just kind of stuck it through. I don’t really hold on to things that discourage me. I put them in the past and move on.” And if a week was hard, he knew things would be better on Sunday when the missionaries could meet with members. “It was never a bad day at church.”
Nate’s dad, Steve Soelberg, says his son learned a lot about hard work from winning and losing when he was younger. “He knows that to get the wins you have to work for them.”
Nate also knows that you don’t win, no matter what the scoreboard says, if you’re not living the way the Lord wants you to. “If your mind isn’t in tune with the Lord, it is hard for the Lord to help you, and I know athletes need the help.”
Everyone needs help, he says. Nate prays often, for help in life, for help in doing his best on the field, for protection from injuries. He prays not just for himself, but for those around him too.
“I feel like I have help from the Lord. I just try to live so I’ll be worthy of it.”
Now Nate prays also for the family he is just beginning. He married Jessica Ashcroft in April this year.
Just because he prays, he doesn’t always win—at least not on the scoreboard. “There are things sometimes that don’t go my way, and I know I need to learn from those.” When that happens, he does what he did in the mission field: he learns, he puts the hard times behind him, and he moves on.