Gospel Story Finder

I recently met a family who is a beautiful example of how we believe Him. Olgan and Soline Saintelus, from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, told me their story.
On January 12, 2010, Olgan was at work and Soline was at the church when a devastating earthquake struck Haiti. Their three children—Gancci, age five, Angie, age three, and Gansly, age one—were at home in their apartment with a friend.
Massive devastation was everywhere. As you will remember, tens of thousands lost their lives that January in Haiti. Olgan and Soline ran as fast as they could to their apartment to find the children. The three-story apartment building where the Saintelus family lived had collapsed.
The children had not escaped. No rescue efforts would be devoted to a building that was so completely destroyed.
Olgan and Soline Saintelus had both served full-time missions and had been married in the temple. They believed in the Savior and in His promises to them. Yet their hearts were broken. They wept uncontrollably.
Olgan told me that in his darkest hour he began to pray. “Heavenly Father, if it be Thy will, if there could be just one of my children alive, please, please help us.” Over and over he walked around the building, praying for inspiration. The neighbors tried to comfort him and help him accept the loss of his children. Olgan continued to walk around the rubble of the collapsed building, hoping, praying. Then something quite miraculous happened. Olgan heard the almost inaudible cry of a baby. It was the cry of his baby.
For hours the neighbors frantically dug into the rubble, risking their own lives. In the dark of the night, through the piercing sounds of hammers and chisels, the rescue workers heard another sound. They stopped their pounding and listened. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It was the sound of a little child—and he was singing. Five-year-old Gancci later said that he knew his father would hear him if he sang. Under the weight of crushing concrete that would later result in the amputation of his arm, Gancci was singing his favorite song, “I Am a Child of God.”
As the hours passed amid the darkness, death, and despair of so many other precious sons and daughters of God in Haiti, the Saintelus family had a miracle. Gancci, Angie, and Gansly were discovered alive under the flattened building.

Do you like to work? When I was a boy growing up in Sandy, Utah, my three brothers and I learned to work hard. My family had a big garden, and my father always planted much more than our family could ever eat. He gave corn, tomatoes, and other vegetables to our neighbors. When they offered to come pick the vegetables, my father said, “Oh, no. My boys will pick them and have them ready for you.” My brothers and I learned to get up at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning to weed the garden and pick the vegetables while it was still cool. I still get up very early in the morning.
We also worked on the neighboring farm, doing a little of everything. We herded cows, thinned and topped beets, and picked cherries. I even remember vaccinating chickens! Many years later, when I was having a medical examination, the doctor said that I was in very good health except that I had a virus in my lungs that was not a human virus. It was a virus that chickens have. I’ve been teased that maybe this is why I like to get up so early—like chickens do!
Dad got us a job mowing the lawn of our meetinghouse. We used an old push lawn mower. At that time, the Church was just beginning to buy power lawn mowers. But my father, who had a calling in the stake, said, “We don’t need a power mower. My boys will take care of it.” Some parts of the lawn were very thick and hard to mow, so we attached a rope to the front of the mower. One brother pulled on the rope while the other pushed the mower. People laughed as they went by and saw us doing this, but it worked!
Before I went on my mission, my Grandfather Bateman gave me a blessing. In that blessing, he said, “Now, boy, you go out and work hard, and the Lord will bless you.” I am glad that I had learned as a boy to work hard.
As boys growing up, we had lots of fun along with the work. Near our house, there was a hill of beautiful white sand that we called Sand Hill. We loved to roll down that hill. We also liked to explore the riverbank and hunt for flint arrowheads in some old caves where Native Americans used to live. I had a very nice collection of arrowheads.
We loved to visit Grandma and Grandpa Bateman in West Jordan, Utah, too. In wintertime, we went sledding on their big hill. One time we went sledding on my uncle’s prize sled. As we went down the hill toward the irrigation canal, we bounced off the sled, and it landed in the canal. Grandpa had to divert the irrigation water out of the canal so we could find the sled. When we got back to the house, we were cold and wet. We warmed up by the stove while Grandma laid our clothes out to dry.

Sometimes it is a lack of faith in Christ or confidence in our selves that becomes the barrier. When we were mission president in Tonga, one of our young missionary couples had twins in the little island of Lofanga. One of the babies got a terrible infection that caused her whole body to swell. Her little face was so swollen you could hardly discern her features. We had fasted and prayed as an entire mission for little Kalolaine. The parents were desperate. The father called to ask if he could take the baby back to their home island to be buried if she died. Death seemed inevitable. He asked me if he should bless her to pass on from this world. She was suffering so much. It was pitiful. All I could think of to say was, "Lisala, give your baby one more blessing and whatever you say the Lord will do."

I went back into the bedroom feeling some alarm at what I had promised. I fell on my knees and begged Heavenly Father to please bless this little baby and her desperate father but that His will be done. At that moment I distinctly heard the words in my mind, Vakai, na`a `oku si`isi`i ho`o tui `a `au. (Watch out, lest your own faith is insufficient.)

The father's faith was vindicated. The baby recovered miraculously and last time we saw the Lisalas, Kalolaine was an exuberant teenager.

At the April 2026 general conference, Elder Clark G. Gilbert of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared a special moment from President Dallin H. Oaks’s February devotional here at BYU.11 The Marriott Center appeared completely full prior to the devotional with President Oaks. Every section and row looked packed with students. Some students were even being turned away at the door. There were, in fact, scattered seats still open, but the ushers were struggling to identify them in this vast space and were trying to guide students to the right spots.

Then something truly beautiful occurred. Students who had already found a seat began turning on their phone flashlights to indicate that there was a seat vacant next to them. Students were literally shining lights, guiding others to hear the words of a prophet—words that would inspire them and lift them and direct them to Jesus Christ.

I once asked Dad if I would see an angel. He said that he didn’t know, but he hoped so. “They’re all around us, you know.”
Well, I saw one last Sunday, I think.
Before I tell you about it, though, I need to explain something. Sometimes Sundays are hard for me. I don’t understand much of what happens in sacrament meetings. And since my feet don’t touch the floor, my legs hurt from hanging over the bench. I think parents ought to sit on giant chairs every week, dangling their legs above the ground while listening to someone speaking in a foreign language, so that they understand what it’s like.
Last Sunday was hard. Sacrament meeting had seemed extra long, and the baby behind us cried a lot. By the time I got to Sharing Time, I just wanted to go home to my pet caterpillar, Zipper. Jimmy Pasko and Fred Grey didn’t help, either. They kept talking to me about the movie they had seen on Saturday. It sounded a lot more interesting than Sharing Time.
I kept moving around on my chair, trying to get my legs to quit hurting. Finally I leaned my chair back against the wall and stretched my arms. It was an accident, but I hit the light switch, and all the lights turned off. A lot of the kids laughed. I quickly turned the lights back on. Then, for some reason, I turned them off again—but that time it was on purpose.
That’s when the angel came. I didn’t think she was an angel at first. She looked more like an upset Sister Eisen of the Primary presidency. She came from the front of the room, staring at me with wide blue eyes. She looked like Mom does when she has a headache and I’m pestering her.
Sister Eisen bent down and whispered, “Dan, let’s go outside for a moment.”
I thought she would talk to me about being reverent and threaten to get my parents if I didn’t behave. But instead, after we left the room, she calmly asked, “Dan, how are you doing?”
I didn’t feel safe, so I shrugged my shoulders.
“Having a hard time today?” she asked then, still calm.
Feeling safer, I said, “I hate it in there. Sometimes I just hate Primary.” After I said it, I thought I had made a mistake. I was sure she would talk to me about my attitude.
But she surprised me. She said, “Tell me why you hate it.”
I thought for a moment, then decided to tell her the complete truth. “My legs hurt from dangling over the seat in sacrament meeting, I didn’t understand what the speakers said, my chair is hard, it’s hot and noisy in the Primary room, I’m tired of sitting, Jimmy and Fred keep talking to me, and I wish I were somewhere else.”
Then she said, half smiling, “I know. Sometimes I wish I were somewhere else, too. So, what do you need to do, Dan?”
“I just need to walk around.”
“Do you need a drink?”
I thought for a second, then said, “No, not now. Just a walk.”
“How far?”
“Just to the end of the hall.”
She said, “OK. May I walk with you?”
“Sure,” I said. We started walking, but I stopped. I looked at her and said, “Sometimes you hate it here, too?”
“Well,” she answered, “Let’s say that sometimes I have a hard time being here.”
“Then why are you here? You’re a grown-up. No one makes you come.”
“Because,” she said, “it’s OK to do something we don’t like, especially when we know that it’s right.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked at me for a moment. “Dan, do you remember what happened at the end of Jesus’ life?”
“You mean when they nailed him on the cross?”
“Yes. And even before that—do you remember when he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane and it was so painful that he bled from every pore?”
I told her I remembered that and also that they whipped him and made fun of him.
She then said, “You know, I don’t think he liked doing any of those things. But he did it because he loved us and he knew it was right. Did you know he even asked Heavenly Father if there wasn’t another way?”
She paused, putting her hand on my shoulder. “So I figure that if he didn’t like doing hard things that were right, it’s OK if I don’t like doing hard things that are right. And it’s OK if you don’t like doing hard things, like being reverent in Sharing Time when you’re hot and tired.”
I noticed as she was talking that she kept putting her fingers on the side of her head. So I asked, “Is it hard for you today?”
“Yes,” she said. “I have a bad headache.”
I stood there for a moment, feeling very different than I had ever felt about Primary. I looked at Sister Eisen and said, “I don’t think I need to walk any farther. I can go back in now.”
She told me she was glad, and we returned. Before we went in, she said, “You know, Dan, I really like you.”
I told her that most people did after they knew me.
She went to the front of the Primary room, and I sat down in my chair. After she sat down, she looked at me and smiled. Then she touched her fingers to both sides of her head, like Mom does when she has a headache, and winked.
Although my chair still felt hard, the room was still too hot, and Jimmy and Fred still kept trying to talk to me, I didn’t mind so much. I wondered as I watched Sister Eisen if Dad had been talking about her when he said that angels are all around us. I think I’ll tell him that I saw one last Sunday—and that she had a headache.

My trip to Mississippi bore great fruit. There, in a courthouse, a woman gave my aunt and me a copy of some family records. Later, when I read through it, I was amazed. Before, I had had only three names on that particular family. Now I had more than sixty pages of information! There, at the beginning of the line, was the name of Ikenaby, an Indian chief who had lived during the early 1800s and who had married a white woman by the name of Kearney.

I continued to help with the work on the Choctaw-Armstrong Roll. Lorraine Nievar of Ardmore, Oklahoma, whose ancestors are Choctaw and French, also helped with name extraction work on the record. When the work was complete, 1,500 names from the record were sent to the temple in Dallas, Texas, so that Sister Nievar and her family could help perform their ancestors’ temple work. Another 1,500 names were sent to the Logan Utah Temple, where many of my friends and neighbors have helped with the work.

I believe that many members of the Choctaw Nation who lived during the early 1800s have accepted the temple work completed in their behalf. As I participated in baptisms for the dead one Saturday morning, I felt their gratitude. During one particular temple session, I was asked to speak to the members of a Logan ward. While we sat together in the temple’s chapel, I told them the story behind the names they carried that night. I remember that temple session as one of the most sacred I ever attended.

I recall feeling a vivid sense of light and joy at one particular point in the session. I thought of my son’s dream. My friends and neighbors were now giving the “bread of life” to those who had asked for it. I again felt that those whose work we were performing, though unseen, were grateful for the opportunity to accept the gospel. Though they had once walked the “Trail of Tears,” now they could walk the straight and narrow path of joy that leads to eternal life.

Many native American records have been compiled by various organizations. It is now possible to do more temple work for native American ancestors than ever before; many of them are eager to receive the saving ordinances of the gospel.

I learned just how eager they were one spring day while driving to Salt Lake City to talk with a woman there. Suddenly, I felt that I could hear the sound of drums beating. I seemed to see an Indian woman, dressed in an oversize plaid shirt, a Navajo skirt, and a silver medallion belt. The seat beside me was empty, but I could sense her presence.

When I arrived in Salt Lake City, I felt prompted to ask the woman with whom I had the appointment whether she had any Indian ancestors. But Carolyn doesn’t look Indian; she’s blonde and blue-eyed, I thought to myself. She’ll think I’m crazy.

When I met Carolyn in her office, the prompting for me to ask was just as strong as it had been in the car. So I asked if she had Indian ancestors.

“Yes,” she said. “My grandmother was Cherokee and was adopted by the Navajo.” She told me about how her “Granny” had worked as a nurse for many years with the Navajo in Arizona, Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Texas. Later, I asked Carolyn about the clothing her grandmother had worn, and she described to me the clothing I had seen the woman wearing.

I told Carolyn about the temple work we had done for the Choctaw. She was thrilled about the possibility of doing the same work for the Cherokee. The Cherokee were the second nation to walk the “Trail of Tears”; there is a record of the tribe in its entirety from 1835—before they had settled in Oklahoma. Carolyn is now doing extraction work on that record, preparing names for the temple.

I know that my Choctaw ancestors desired the blessings of the gospel. My love for my ancestors has grown as I have learned about them. Though they suffered great hardship in mortality, they are now receiving the great blessings of the temple.

The word winner flashed across the TV screen. Ava had lost. Again.
Ava frowned at her brother Skyler and hit the start button on her video game controller. “Let’s play again.”
The game quickly started a new level. This time they were in an abandoned warehouse. Bad guys would be hiding everywhere. Ava shivered with delight and gripped her controller tightly.
But Skyler set his controller down. “I’m done playing,” he said.
Ava tried to hand his controller back. “You’re just saying that because you won,” she said. “Come on. One more level.”
Skyler shook his head. “I don’t think we should play it anymore.”
Ava watched Skyler pull the game from the console. Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Ever?”
Skyler shrugged. “It doesn’t make me feel good when I play it.”
“But Mom and Dad say it’s OK!” Ava said. “And we’ve been playing it forever!”
“I think we should get rid of it so we don’t play it again.”
Ava grabbed the game from him. “You can’t decide for the rest of us!” she said. “It has to be fair!” She turned to the couch where their little sister Betsy sat watching. “Betsy, what do you think?”
“It’s kind of scary,” she said.
Ava couldn’t believe Betsy was choosing Skyler’s side.
Skyler gently took the game from her hand. “OK, I’ll just hide it for a while,” he said. “We have lots of good games to play instead. Maybe we won’t even miss it.”
Ava just glared and watched him put the game into his pocket.
The next day Ava went to the family room to play the game. Then she remembered. Skyler had hidden it. I’ll just find it then, Ava thought. She checked under Skyler’s bed. She checked between the couch cushions. She even checked the chicken coop!
But weeks went by and the game was still missing. Skyler had hidden it really well. Some days, Ava completely forgot about the game.
One afternoon it was Ava’s turn to do laundry. She opened Skyler’s dresser drawer and started putting his clothes away.
Something poked out at the back of a drawer. It didn’t look like clothes. Ava slowly pulled it out.
It was the game! It had been here the whole time! Ava grinned. She couldn’t wait to play it again. She was sure Skyler would play it too once he remembered how fun it was.
Except … it was a little scary, like Betsy had said. Suddenly Ava wasn’t so sure. It was more violent than their other games—even if Mom and Dad hadn’t noticed.
Skyler said it didn’t make him feel good. Ava thought about it. Maybe he was right. Sometimes after playing the game, she would argue with Betsy more or be angry at Skyler for winning. She hadn’t felt good either. She just hadn’t noticed until now. Ava put the game back in the drawer and set a stack of shirts on top.
“Ava!” Skyler called. He leaned into the room, smiling. “Dad says we can’t beat him at basketball. Want to prove him wrong?”
Watching movies or playing games that make you feel bad … is like eating worms just because they’re there!
Ava glanced down at the drawer. She thought a moment. The video game was fun. But it didn’t make her or her siblings feel good.
Ava smiled. “Yeah!” she said. She closed the drawer, and the two raced out of the bedroom, leaving the game behind.

Seventeen-year-old Becky* wasn’t looking for trouble, she was looking for freedom—freedom to make her own decisions.
But just one afternoon sampling drugs led to a three-year roller coaster ride of serious drug use, time in a treatment facility, and broken family relationships. When Becky went looking for freedom, instead she found addiction and destruction.
Becky is now in her third phase of recovery and has begun to patch up the broken areas of her life. But it hasn’t been easy.
Today, Becky talks openly about her experience in hopes that she can help others learn from her destructive habits. “Realize what you are giving up,” she advises other teens. “Your beliefs, your morals, your whole life basically. Drugs take away your life, they really do.”
Becky admits that her curiosity to experiment with drugs and alcohol partly began with negative thoughts about herself. “I didn’t think very highly of myself,” she says. “I thought I was a burden to everyone else in my life.”
Today, Becky uses a method she learned at her treatment center to counter such thoughts. When you have a negative thought, you challenge that thought, and you say three good things about yourself. This is something anyone can do to avoid destructive feelings.
Another factor that led Becky to her decision to use drugs was simply that she had too much time on her hands. She was bored, and so she grew curious. “Do something better with your time,” she says. “I wasn’t doing anything. I didn’t have any hobbies; I didn’t participate in any after-school clubs.”
The activities you decide to participate in will determine the people whom you generally associate with. Becky admits, “Your friends matter so much! If I hadn’t been friends with the people I was friends with, I probably would have never tried using drugs.”

I began seminary in 2017 in our Pare Ward of the Arue Tahiti Stake. I was in 9th grade in school at the time, and I was eager to be part of this youth group.
During my first year, I woke up before 5 am every weekday to get to seminary on time. I did my readings, and I was very attentive in class. I realized seminary contributed to deepening my relationship with God. Without Him, I would not have been able to successfully pass my school’s National Certificate Exam at the end of year 9.

When I was 13, after eight years of living in a farmhouse with acres of land, my family moved into a suburban neighborhood. Our beautiful golden retriever, Tissue, didn’t exactly like these new conditions. She barked the entire first night we were there. And our neighbors decided to pay us a visit.
Our parents weren’t home at the time, so it was my sister who had the bad luck to answer the door. The neighbors blasted into us with their angry words. They said we’d better get our dog quiet if we knew what was good for us!
I didn’t know what else to do, so I climbed into the doghouse with Tissue. I stayed there for hours with her head on my lap until she finally fell asleep.
When my parents came home, they were upset at what the neighbors had done. But after that night I never heard Mom and Dad complain about it again. So I figured they’d forgotten the whole thing. But I was wrong. A month later my dad asked me if I wanted to help him get even with the neighbors.
I nodded quickly in agreement. Payback! Dad sent me to the garage to grab two shovels. I had no idea what kind of payback he had in mind, but I walked next door with him willingly.
I should’ve known something was fishy right away. I saw our neighbor in his front yard struggling with a wheelbarrow and shovel. All by himself, he was trying to haul a huge pile of dirt to his backyard. With how big that pile was and how slow he was going, it would take him forever to finish.
Without saying a word, Dad walked up to the mound, dug in his shovel, and started filling the wheelbarrow. Our neighbor stared at him in silent confusion. Following Dad’s example, I pitched in and we quickly filled the wheelbarrow. We kept at it until the entire mound was gone.
I’m not sure exactly what the man thought about us helping. For me, though, I felt a healing in my soul as we served our neighbor.
That day my dad taught me a lesson he’s taught me many times since: being kind is much better than getting even.

Sister Atistosgbui shared her thoughts on being an instructor. “Volunteering as an instructor over the past few weeks has been challenging, yet an eye-opening, learning opportunity for my students and me. My desire to see the YSA succeed motivated me to sacrifice my resources to transporting mannequins, pressing iron, and sewing machines among other things from my workshop to the gathering place and back twice every week. Although the cost of transporting the equipment to class was high, I knew the Lord always blesses the cheerful giver”, she said.

As a missionary in Louisiana, I learned a very valuable lesson about loving in a godly way. I am grateful to have served with companions, members, a mission president, and those who were learning about the gospel. They taught me lessons that enriched my life far beyond the time that I spent as a full-time missionary.

As most of us have, I had a missionary companion who I thought was difficult. Her ideas about keeping our apartment clean were quite different from mine. She preferred not to run the air conditioner during the summer months because our house was poorly insulated, and she thought that the air conditioning would quickly go through the walls. However, running the air conditioner in Louisiana in the summer seemed reasonable to me. This companion was easygoing, but I was a stickler for following the rules. Her view of the mission rules was much more flexible than mine. I struggled to see her strengths, and I was often critical of her in my mind, which I am sure leaked into my actions. The members loved her, and she easily connected with those who were learning about the gospel. In contrast, I was worried about keeping the rules.

While serving with that companion, I was irritated that my experiences were not what I was expecting from what was often portrayed as “the best two years [or eighteen months] of your life.” During my scheduled interview with my mission president, I shared my frustration about my companion and my lack of understanding about how to fix the problem. His incredibly wise response was that I should try to see my companion as God saw her. As I slowly implemented his admonition, her idea of cleanliness did not seem to bother me as much. I began to appreciate her easygoing nature, and I came to consider her flexibility with some mission rules as a person-focused strength.

Reflecting on this experience now helps me to see that God cares about how well we love. Rules are important and they have their place, but certainly there are times when we need to consider if we are prioritizing rules over people.

I mentioned that we have a son-in-law and three sons who graduated from this college. And there is another coming along. Last winter, our sixteen-year-old found in the neighborhood, under a pile of snow, a 1948 Ford tractor—sort of. He asked if he could buy it. It had stood, I think, for fifteen years without being used. It was rusted almost away. But he saw something there, and I saw something in his seeing something there.
So, with another old tractor, we dragged it through the snowdrifts home to the shop and later to the high school shop. There, a shop teacher and our son worked evening after evening to restore this tractor. Every few days it came again! “Dad, I found out that we’ve got to buy this or that.”
Strangely enough, he could find it. He got his driver’s license midway, and so off to Heber City he was for this part or somewhere else for that part. I, too, went with him to more than one city looking through junkyards for old tractor parts.
Then, as the bills mounted, someone made the observation that that tractor was a very expensive investment—perhaps a mistake. But I thought he made the mistake. He thought we were putting together a tractor. I thought we were putting together a boy. Somewhere in the middle of this, it wouldn’t work, and the shop teacher couldn’t find the problem. So we made a call to Max Peterson, eighty-four, long since retired, who spent his life with tractors. He showed up one evening, pointed out this and that to help my son, and then we were off again.

Mother put a small red suitcase on Christopher’s bed and said, “You can help me pack your things if you like, son.”
“Thanks, Mother, but I can do it myself,” said Christopher.
“Do you think you can?” Mother asked, her eyes twinkling.
Christopher nodded. He knew what he needed to visit his grandmother.
“Well, I’ll be back later to see how you’re doing,” Mother said.
Christopher looked around his room. He was excited about staying overnight with his grandmother. But he couldn’t go without some of his games, because he loved to play games. Which ones should I take? Christopher wondered.
After he had packed the games that would fit into his suitcase, there was still enough room for several of his stuffed animal friends. They are important too, he decided. So Henry, the dog, and Fritz, the mouse, went on top of the games. Christopher was packed.
“I’m ready,” Christopher called.
“Let me see,” Mother said, unzipping the case. “Where are your clothes?” she asked.
“I’m wearing them,” Christopher explained.
“What are you going to wear to bed?” Mother asked.
“Oh, I forgot.” Christopher went to a drawer, pulled out a pair of pajamas, and squeezed them into the side of the case.
“How about some clean clothes, a toothbrush, a comb, and your sneakers?” Mother suggested.
“But all that stuff won’t fit,” Christopher protested.
“That’s right. So some things that are in here will have to come out.”
Mother helped Christopher repack his suitcase. One game went on the bottom. On top of that went his clothing and then his two animals.
“There!” Mother said. “Now you have everything you need.”
Christopher shook his head.
“What else do you need?” Mother asked.
“A bigger suitcase!” declared Christopher, looking at the three games he was leaving behind.

As I was preparing this talk, I received an unexpected email from someone in the process of repenting and desiring to return to the Church. His former wife was still suffering from the loss “of [their] eternal marriage, [difficulties with the children], the loss of financial security, … not [being] quite able to keep up with expenses, [and] the deeply suffocating feelings of being betrayed.”

He shared with me how his priesthood leader “felt impressed to [ask him] to prayerfully consider what [more he could do for his former wife and children].” With permission, I share a part of his email:
“I [first] thought the [money] I gave up in the divorce decree was more than generous, but my branch president encouraged me to fast and pray about it. …
“Initially, I struggled with the idea of further restitution. Since my sins weren’t financial, I wondered what a ‘generous restitution’ truly meant … [but] I soon realized it wasn’t just about money.
“My priesthood leaders met with [my former wife] and my children and realized they were still struggling and hadn’t healed. …
“My new goal was to move forward with faith. … I simply expressed my desire to help with no strings attached. … I decided to [send my former wife a specific amount] per paycheck, which was a significant portion of my net pay. Just before making the first payment, the Lord [impressed upon my mind that I needed] to pay [twice that amount].
“I’ve learned that restitution isn’t just about money. It’s about humbly dedicating my life to the Lord. … The money is to help replace what I took from my family due to my poor choices. It’s about making and keeping promises without expecting anything in return and helping her not worry about bills so she can seek the Spirit.”

Upon my father’s death, my older sister, who was not a member of the Church, insisted that I come home. My mission president had given me permission to do so, but I felt my missionary work was too important to leave. And, I decided, my father would want me to stay. I prayed that Heavenly Father would help my sister understand. He answered my prayer. When I spoke to my sister on the telephone, her heart had changed. She was not angry with my decision and told me, “I know that your church is very important and that you are doing something good. I support you.”

In 1873 Jonathon’s wife, Kitty, got leprosy. Leprosy is a contagious disease that people feared getting, and at that time there was no cure for it; if you got it, you were forced to live in a leper colony. The sailors who took the lepers there were so afraid of this dreadful disease that they pushed the patients into the sea, forcing them to swim to shore.
When his wife had to go to the leper colony, Jonathon went with her. This valiant and giant man of God worked in the colony and fought to obtain government assistance for the lepers to have a more comfortable place to live. He became a leper himself and died two years before his wife did. Why did he risk his life and do all this? Because he loved her so much! He knew that life is eternal and love is eternal, even through times of sickness and suffering.

A conversation with my father before my first late night out as a young girl was an experience I won't forget. This is partially because he has told the story over and over throughout my life. It was a poignant moment where a father and his daughter learned from one another.
As we parked the car in front of my friend's house that evening, Dad felt anxious to give me some sage advice that would help me stay safe, make good decisions, and be who he always knew I could be. I was so excited for the evening that when the car stopped, I quickly opened the door and jumped out; but before I could close the door behind me, my father tenderly called out a phrase that I'm sure many of you have heard from your parents before. "Christine," he pleaded, "I want you to always remember who you are!" I looked at my father, confused by his earnest and serious statement, and simply replied, "Dad, don't worry! How could I ever forget who I am?" And with that, I slammed the door and went running into my friend's house.
As I've reflected upon the declaration I made to my father that night, I have wondered, how did I have so much confidence? Do I still have that same childlike conviction today? Do I know who I really am?

I am an 18-year-old exchange student in Mexico, and I really have to thank you for the New Era. I always get it on time—in more ways than one, come to think of it, because it always answers a current problem or doubt.
Practically everything in the September issue held a special meaning for me. The Mormonad inspired me to share the gospel with some friends, especially some other exchange students who were starved for English reading material. Soon my New Era began making the rounds, closely followed by tracts and visits to the local LDS chapel.
Needless to say, October’s missionary issue really came in handy. One special friend has continued attending Church with me regularly and taken the missionary discussions.
November’s article “Self Denial” was extremely appropriate since it was a big temptation to spend Sunday afternoons going to parties or picnics with my friends instead of going to Church.
December’s issue taught me with new clarity what living the gospel means. It’s not something to be thought of once a year but an integral part of our lives. That issue really helped me through the Christmas season. I’ve thanked Heavenly Father hundreds of times for the New Era and my mother for the subscription she was inspired to send me here in Mexico.
Edna F. GuzmanSaltillo, Coahuila, Mexico

One Sunday morning, after drinking alcohol and kava with friends for most of the night, Siope ‘Akau‘ola of Tonga was returning home when he saw a family dressed in their Sunday best. They were laughing and talking as they walked together. Siope wondered what made them so happy, so he followed them to see where they were going.
Siope saw the family enter a Latter-day Saint Church building. He watched through the window as others arrived. Happiness radiated from their faces as families sat together and sang songs of worship.
Siope’s thoughts drifted to his wife, Liu. The love they had shared when first married was fading. Siope wanted to recapture that love. He hurried home and told his wife he had found the way to help their family succeed: they needed to join the Church.
That very day Siope went to the bishop’s home in his village. The bishop recognized Siope, having seen him drunk in the streets. As they talked, Siope could see doubt on the bishop’s face, but he was firm in his resolve; he boldly told the bishop he wanted to be baptized. The bishop paused, invited him in, and began teaching him the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Liu was reluctant at first but watched as her husband gradually changed for the better. Siope began spending more time with their children and showing more love for his wife and family through his actions. So Liu began taking the missionary lessons also, and soon they were both baptized.
As the one-year anniversary of their baptism drew near, the ‘Akau‘ola family contemplated the wonderful blessings of the temple. Siope said, “If the blessings of the temple are so much greater than those we have received from being baptized, imagine how wonderful temple blessings must be.” Despite their desire to be sealed, the temple in Tonga was undergoing renovations, so they would have to wait over a year or make an expensive trip to New Zealand or Fiji to attend the temple.
The family thought hard and prayed about what to do. They eventually decided to take out a small loan. While waiting for approval, the bank processing their loan was destroyed in a fire. All loans would be delayed until the following year.
Siope and Liu were feeling discouraged. They sat together in their small living room and prayed for a miracle. As they prayed and counseled together, the answer came: “I saw in my mind’s eye the family van smiling at us and knew this was the answer to our prayers,” Siope said. They were able to sell the van the next day and purchase airline tickets to Fiji for their family of five.
They arrived very late into Nadi, Fiji, with three tired children and a long drive ahead of them to the temple in Suva. Liu said, “I learned that the more we try to get closer to the Lord’s house the more Satan tries to get us to give up before we get the blessing.”
While sitting in the airport trying to decide what their next step would be, a woman helped them arrange lodging and a ride to Suva the next day for a fraction of the usual rates. They felt that God had sent an angel to help them.
They arrived at the temple the next day. “As we entered the temple I felt a peace and calm in my heart,” Liu said. “I have never seen clean and white in my life like in the temple. A thought came to my mind: If the temple is a house made by man and it is so beautiful, then how wonderful must the home be that Heavenly Father has promised us!”
Their experiences in the temple were life-changing for the family. Liu said, “The whole time we were in Fiji, I experienced the love of our Heavenly Father for us. When we choose to follow Him, He really takes good care of us.”
Wonderful blessings continued to come for the ‘Akau‘ola family after they returned home. Both Siope and Liu received college scholarships, earned teaching degrees, and were hired at Liahona High School.
While teaching, they became aware of children who needed a place to live. Sometimes by ones, more often by twos and threes, children began knocking on Siope and Liu’s door. And Siope and Liu took them in. Their small home now holds 20 people. They have five other “adopted” children who have since gone away to attend college or to serve missions.
Photograph courtesy of the authors
Siope and Liu know that these children will grow and blossom when they are given love and structure in their lives. Those who were not members of the Church have embraced the gospel and now have growing desires to serve missions. Siope and Liu call all the children under their care their children, and all the kids call Liu and Siope Mom and Dad. The ‘Akau‘olas know they’ve been richly blessed and are happy to share these blessings with others.