Gospel Story Finder

As a young graduate student, scientist Hope Jahren investigated the chemical composition of hackberry fruit pits, seeking insight as to their hardy survival in various climates. Late at night, alone in a lab, she exposed their material to X-rays. She describes what happened next and how it affected her:
The readout from the X-ray displayed one clear, unequivocal peak at exactly the same angle of diffraction, each time I replicated the measurement.... It clearly indicated that my mineral was an opal.... I was the only person, in an infinite, exploding universe, who knew that this powder was made of opal. In a wide, wide world, full of unimaginable numbers of people, I was, in addition to being small and insufficient, special... because of the tiny detail I knew about creation.... I finally knew what real research would feel like. [1]

Brother Martell D. Adamson was a member of the bishopric when I was an Aaronic Priesthood boy. He was barely five feet tall—shorter than some of the boys in the ward. But we all looked up to him—even those who could look down on him physically.
Brother Adamson lived by the Scout slogan, Do a Good Turn Daily, and he taught us to do the same. He constantly challenged us to help others. He assigned us to chop wood and deliver coal for the widows and the sick. We would go to the coal yard and get big chunks of coal and break them up so that they would fit in the widows’ stoves.
It was seldom just a one-time assignment. Brother Adamson would say, “Now boys, you’re assigned to Sister Williams for the whole winter.” Then instead of just asking if we’d chopped the wood or carried the coal, he would say, “How’s Sister Williams doing?” We learned that we weren’t just responsible for providing fuel; we were responsible for Sister Williams herself. We were to visit her and make sure that she was all right. Brother Adamson made us feel that we were doing something important. Through helping others, we began feeling good about ourselves.
Brother Adamson taught me long ago that my wood chopping and coal carrying were really not about coal or firewood, but about Sister Williams. Your efforts to find out more about your ancestors is not only to provide information so that temple work can be done for them, it is also about their eternal well-being. If your heart has truly been turned to “the fathers,” you won’t just be sending names to the temple. You will be blessing the lives of real people whom you have come to know and love.

I was called to serve as a missionary and assigned to the Brazil Florianópolis Mission. I spent seven months there and ended up returning home early. When I was going home, I said a prayer asking Heavenly Father to not release me as a missionary. After I prayed, I felt the Spirit telling me that everything would be OK.
During my first week home, I trusted in the way I felt after I prayed at the airport. I began helping in the temple store. When I got the chance to meet with my stake president, he was very happy to hear of my service and said he wouldn’t release me. I was then assigned to be a service missionary in my home mission, the Recife Northeast Mission.
My service mission includes various assignments. During the week I help in the temple shop, the temple office, and the laundry room. There is always something to do at the temple—the missionaries never sit still there.
On Saturdays I help with institute. I participated in the institute’s missionary preparation class to share what I learned on the mission—it felt so good to share. I also help distribute food to the students after class.
In addition to my specific assignments, I use my social networks to share the gospel. I have a page I created when I was 17 years old that talks about the youth program.
The Lord has called us to serve. He knows us and our capabilities. Service missions are inspired by the Lord, and if you were assigned to serve one, it’s because the Lord needs your help in building His kingdom.
Even if I’m sad or facing difficulties, I really like it when I complete each month of my mission and can reflect on how I’ve grown and been strengthened during that time. I love my mission. It really is inspired by the Lord.

In October 1997, Sister Bednar and I hosted Elder and Sister Maxwell at Brigham Young University–Idaho (then Ricks College). Elder Maxwell was to speak to the students, staff, and faculty in a devotional assembly.

Earlier in that same year, Elder Maxwell underwent 46 days and nights of debilitating chemotherapy for leukemia. His rehabilitation and continued therapy progressed positively through the spring and summer months, but Elder Maxwell’s physical strength and stamina were nonetheless limited when he traveled to Rexburg. After greeting Elder and Sister Maxwell at the airport, Susan and I drove them to our home for rest and a light lunch before the devotional.

I asked Elder Maxwell what lessons he had learned through his illness. I will remember always the precise and penetrating answer he gave. “Dave,” he said, “I have learned that not shrinking is more important than surviving.”

His response to my inquiry was a principle with which he had gained extensive personal experience during his chemotherapy. In January 1997, on the day he was scheduled to begin his first round of treatment, Elder Maxwell looked at his wife, reached for her hand, breathed a deep sigh, and said, “I just don’t want to shrink.”

In his October 1997 general conference message, Elder Maxwell taught with great authenticity: “As we confront our own … trials and tribulations, we too can plead with the Father, just as Jesus did, that we ‘might not … shrink’—meaning to retreat or to recoil (D&C 19:18). Not shrinking is much more important than surviving! Moreover, partaking of a bitter cup without becoming bitter is likewise part of the emulation of Jesus.”1

Elder Maxwell also did not shrink. This mighty Apostle pressed forward steadfastly and was blessed with additional time in mortality to love, to serve, to teach, and to testify. Those concluding years of his life were an emphatic exclamation point to his example of devoted discipleship—through both his words and his deeds.

Do you remember the story of him reaching out as a young bishop to someone who was not attending church?

President Monson said:

When I was called as a bishop, I recognized I was the president of the priests quorum, and I wanted to get every boy out. There was one boy that never came, and I thought to myself: “I’m sitting here with the priests. They’ve got an adviser. I’ll leave them to get the lesson from the adviser. I’m going to go find Richard Casto.” And I went over to his home. His mother and dad were home, and they said he was working over at the West Temple Garage.

I went over to Fifth South and West Temple, and the door was open but nobody [was] there. And so I started looking around, you know, and nobody. So I went around the back, and there was one of these old-fashioned grease pits.

And I looked down into the darkness, and I could see two eyes looking at me. He said, “You got me, Bishop. I’ll come up.” And he came up out of the grease pit.

And we had a nice little visit there together. And I said, “Richard, we need you. You have a way with people. And I want to have every priest in attendance. Will you come?” He said, “I’ll come.” And he came.

Years later, Richard Casto shared what happened after that incident:

After that I served a mission. I was sealed to my wife in the temple. We have five great children—two of them have served missions. I’ve served as a bishop twice. My children have a great love for him, and my wife has a great love for him because of what he did for me. It’s probably one of the greatest blessings that I had ever received in my life.14

Under the direction of the Caribbean Area Presidency and with inspiration from Elder Quentin L. Cook’s visit, Elder Claude Gamiette brought together the joint forces of the young single adults from the Barbados Bridgetown Mission through a historic initiative of the first young single adult trip to the temple. Representatives from the islands of Barbados, Grenada, Guadeloupe, Saint Lucia, Saint Maarten, Saint Vincent, and French Guyana came together for their first visit to the Santo Domingo Temple in the Dominican Republic, from July 20th to 28th, 2018.
Elder Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited the Caribbean from November 10th through November 20th, 2017. During this visit he addressed members and hosted a young single adult devotional. He was accompanied by his wife, Sister Mary Cook, and members of the Church’s Caribbean Area Presidency and their wives: Elder Walter F. González and Sister Zulma A. González; Elder Claudio D. Zivic and Sister Dina Noemí A. Zivic; and Elder José L. Alonso and Sister Rebecca S. Alonso.
Elder Claude Gamiette was present during his visit to Guadeloupe and expressed his concern for the isolation that many of the young single adults in the islands feel. He wanted to break the isolation in a historic trip, the first time for many, to the temple.
“Young single adults feel alone from being a small group in their islands. This experience will inspire them to keep great relations among each other and create great temple experiences,” shared Elder Gamiette.
For eight days, these young single adults participated in a set of activities both spiritual and social, learning and interacting together in a journey that ended in tears of satisfaction.
Long before coming to the Dominican Republic, a committee compiled of representatives from these islands met in a coordinated effort to bring together all those around them to make this a successful experience. In a great ministering effort, Xavia, Faith, Ramona, Brittany, Jordan, Kelvin, Kenlyn, Andrew, Nia, Brittaey, Jonathan, and Zariah connected to plan activities and bring people together to come to the temple.
Starting Friday, July 20th, the very first group arrived, accompanied by Brother and Sister Eclar from Guadeloupe. Fourteen young single adults were the first, and more kept coming during the next two days for a total of over 50 attendants.
During the time of this trip, the YSA participated in indexing activities, devotionals, service activities, and a dating panel, as well as social activities with the young single adults from the Santo Domingo Institute of Religion. They even went out bowling.
“I have been pondering about my life, my expectations, and the roadblocks I’ve encountered. I have been needing guidance. The opportunity to enter the temple has given me the chance to be where my blessings are,” shared Brittany Henry, a 22-year-old young single adult representative from St. Lucia and a Young Women advisor.
For many this was their first time at the temple. For others this was the opportunity to renew the covenants they had made before they served their missions.
Sister Henry said that during this trip she has felt differently. She has gotten out of her comfort zone and has learned how things are done elsewhere just from making new friends here.
“It is not just a chance for temple attendance; it is also a chance to make sacrifices together,” says Brother Jocelyn Eclar, from Guadeloupe, first counselor to the mission president.

When Shawn was 15, he and a friend attended a prestigious national basketball camp with 120 of the best high school players in the United States. A new friend talking with the two Utah players had some pretty wild misconceptions about Mormons.
“He asked me, ‘There are Mormons where you’re from, right? Do you see them? Do you live by them?’
“I answered him,” says Shawn. “Yeah, we go to school with them. We see them all the time. Mormons are like you and me. They are normal people. They look like us. They dress like us. They act like us. They talk like us.
“He didn’t believe me until I said, ‘I can prove to you that Mormons are just normal people.’ He said, ‘How?’ I said, ‘We’re both Mormons.’ It really shook him up. A few days later, that kid started asking more about the Church and our ideals. He couldn’t believe we wouldn’t have sex until after we were married, and that we wouldn’t drink and stuff. It was a heavy-duty discussion for 15-year-olds.
“I ended up bearing my testimony to him. That is the best missionary tool in the world. I just couldn’t find a way of explaining everything I knew. But I knew it was true. It was an excellent feeling to know something is really true.”

My father was a cattle rancher in Kanosh, Utah. One day, as he was stepping over a barbed-wire fence, he cut his little finger and it became infected. Streptococcus blood poisoning developed. Since antibiotics were unavailable then, applications of heat were all that the doctors could use on his hand. When the infection traveled up Dad’s arm, the doctor wanted to amputate the arm. The arm was saved; however, Dad lost the use of it and would never be able to farm or ranch again.
Dad was in a Salt Lake City hospital for about four months, and Mother was with him much of that time. I was only thirteen then, but because I was the oldest of four children, the family and ranch became mostly my responsibility. A drought and the Great Depression only added to our problems. We couldn’t raise feed for our cattle and had to sell them for little or no profit.
When Dad was in the hospital, the family garden had to be planted—that’s what we largely lived on. We had kind and concerned neighbors in our little community, and an elderly neighbor came by one spring morning and gave me direction and advice on how to plant the corn and other vegetables. My, how I appreciated that! I was so unknowledgeable about gardening.
I also remember learning at a young age the value of being able to talk to Heavenly Father. And I continued to need the support that comes through daily, even hourly, prayer.
I hired out to other farmers for twenty dollars a month, and in the fall of the year, I would take my pay in potatoes and cabbage so that we would have our winter’s supply of those items. We did have one cow and a few chickens besides our garden. In the fall of the year, my grandfather would go with me to gather firewood to keep us warm during the wintertime.
One year a friend and I bought and raised four thousand baby turkeys. I raised turkeys for several years while I was in high school. We herded turkeys as you would sheep; we practically lived with them!

When he returned to London and resumed composing operas, his work was not well received, and creditors began to hound him again. In the depths of despondency, he began to wonder, “Why did God permit my resurrection, only to allow my fellow-men to bury me again?”3 In April 1741 Handel held what he assumed would be a farewell concert. His creativity was spent. A biographer wrote: “There was nothing to begin or to finish. Handel was faced with emptiness.”4
Late one August afternoon that same year, Handel returned from a long and tiring walk to find that a poet and previous collaborator, Charles Jennens, had left him a manuscript. This libretto quoted liberally from the scriptures, particularly the words of Isaiah, foretelling the birth of Jesus Christ and describing His ministry, Crucifixion, and Resurrection. The work was to be an oratorio. Given his previous failures, Handel was apprehensive as he began to read through the text.
“Comfort Ye,” the first words of the manuscript, seemed to leap from the page. They dissipated dark clouds that had been pressing upon Handel for so long. His depression waned and his emotions warmed from interest to excitement as he continued to read of angelic proclamations of the Savior’s birth and of Isaiah’s prophecies of the Messiah, who would come to earth to be born as other mortal infants. A familiar melody Handel had composed earlier flooded into his mind as he read “For unto Us a Child Is Born.” The notes distilled upon his mind faster than he could put pencil to paper as he captured the image of the loving Good Shepherd in the aria titled “He Shall Feed His Flock.” Then came the overpowering exultation reflected in the “Hallelujah Chorus,” followed by the soft, supernal testimony of “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth.” The work came to its majestic conclusion with “Worthy Is the Lamb.”
After all the music he had composed throughout his lifetime, Handel would eventually be known worldwide for this singular work, Messiah, largely composed in just three weeks during the late summer of 1741. Upon completing his composition, he humbly acknowledged, “God has visited me.”5 Those who feel the touch of the Holy Spirit as they experience the overpowering testimony of Handel’s Messiah would agree.

My dear brothers and sisters, I had an experience about 20 years ago that made a deep impression on me. We were living in Florida. We had taken our children to the stake center to listen to general conference together. A short time later we received our conference edition of the Ensign magazine in the mail. We decided that for family home evening each week we would study one of the conference talks given by a member of the First Presidency or the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Our children were young, but they were old enough to read, and we wanted each member of the family to have a copy of the talks so that we could read and study and mark them together. We didn’t have a store in Florida where we could purchase additional Ensign magazines, so I took the copy that we had received in the mail to our local copy center and made copies of the talks for our family.

When I finished, I took the copies to the cashier, who tabulated the cost of the copies I had made and announced to me that I owed approximately $50. I am embarrassed to say that I felt a little bit sick at my stomach. And I thought, “That is a lot of money to pay to make copies of these talks for our children.” Then, brothers and sisters, this thought pierced my heart: “What is it worth to you and your family to have the words of God’s prophets?”

I knew then, but I know with even greater certainty now, that it is worth everything to us and to our family. It is worth everything to you and to your future families. Of this I bear testimony in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Several years ago, my wife and I served as mission leaders in Tokyo, Japan. During a visit to our mission by then-Elder Russell M. Nelson, one of the missionaries asked him how best to respond when a person tells them that they are too busy to listen to them. With little hesitation, Elder Nelson said, “I would ask if they were too busy to eat lunch that day and then teach them that they have both a body and a spirit, and just as their body will die if not nourished, so will their spirit if not nourished by the good word of God.”
It is interesting to note that the Japanese word for “busy,” isogashii, is made up of a character with two symbols (?). The one on the left means “heart” or “spirit,” and the one on the right means “death”—suggesting perhaps, as President Nelson taught, that being too busy to nourish our spirits can lead us to die spiritually.
The Lord knew—in this fast-paced world full of distractions and in commotion—that making quality time for Him would be one of the major challenges of our day. Speaking through the prophet Isaiah, He provided these words of counsel and caution, which can be likened unto the tumultuous days in which we live:
“In returning and rest shall ye be saved; in quietness and in confidence shall be your strength: and ye would not.
“But ye said, No; for we will flee upon horses; therefore shall ye flee: and, We will ride upon the swift; therefore shall they that pursue you be swift.”
In other words, even though our salvation depends on returning to Him often and resting from the cares of the world, we do not. And even though our confidence will come from a strength developed in quiet times sitting with the Lord in meditation and reflection, we do not. Why not? Because we say, “No, we are busy with other things”—fleeing upon our horses, so to speak. Therefore, we will get further and further away from God; we will insist on going faster and faster; and the faster we go, the swifter Satan will follow in pursuit.
Perhaps this is why President Nelson has repeatedly pled with us to make time for the Lord in our lives—“each and every day.” He reminds us that “quiet time is sacred time—time that will facilitate personal revelation and instill peace.” But to hear the still voice of the Lord, he counseled, “you too must be still.”
Being still, however, requires more than just making time for the Lord—it requires letting go of our doubtful and fearful thoughts and focusing our hearts and minds on Him. Elder David A. Bednar taught, “The Lord’s admonition to ‘be still’ entails much more than simply not talking or not moving.” To be still, he suggested, “may be a way of reminding us to focus upon the Savior unfailingly.”
Being still is an act of faith and requires effort. Lectures on Faith states, “When a man works by faith he works by mental exertion.” President Nelson declared: “Our focus must be riveted on the Savior and His gospel. It is mentally rigorous to strive to look unto Him in every thought. But when we do, our doubts and fears flee.” Speaking of this need to focus our minds, President David O. McKay said: “I think we pay too little attention to the value of meditation, a principle of devotion. … Meditation is one of the … most sacred doors through which we pass into the presence of the Lord.”
There is a word in Japanese, mui, that, for me, captures this more faith-filled, contemplative sense of what it means to be still. It is comprised of two characters (??). The one on the left means “nothing” or “nothingness,” and the one on the right means “to do.” Together they mean “non-doing.” Taken literally, the word could be misinterpreted to mean “to do nothing” in the same way “to be still” can be misinterpreted as “not talking or moving.” However, like the phrase “to be still,” it has a higher meaning; for me it is a reminder to slow down and to live with greater spiritual awareness.
While serving in the Asia North Area Presidency with Elder Takashi Wada, I learned that his wife, Sister Naomi Wada, is an accomplished Japanese calligrapher. I asked Sister Wada if she would draw for me the Japanese characters for the word mui. I wanted to hang the calligraphy on my wall as a reminder to be still and to focus on the Savior. I was surprised when she did not readily agree to this seemingly simple request.
The next day, knowing that I had likely misunderstood her hesitance, Elder Wada explained that writing those characters would require a significant effort. She would need to ponder and meditate on the concept and the characters until she understood the meaning deeply in her soul and could give expression to these heartfelt impressions with each stroke of her brush. I was embarrassed that I had so casually asked her to do something so demanding. I asked him to convey my apologies to her for my ignorance and to let her know that I was withdrawing my request.
You can imagine my surprise and gratitude when upon my leaving Japan, Sister Wada, unsolicited, gifted to me this beautiful piece of calligraphy featuring the Japanese characters for the word mui. It now hangs prominently on the wall of my office, reminding me to be still and to seek the Lord every day with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. She had captured, in this selfless act, the meaning of mui, or stillness, better than any words could. Rather than mindlessly and dutifully drawing the characters, she approached her calligraphy with full purpose of heart and real intent.
Likewise, God desires that we approach our time with Him with the same kind of heartfelt devotion. When we do so, our worship becomes an expression of our love for Him.
He yearns for us to commune with Him. On one occasion, after I gave the invocation in a meeting with the First Presidency, President Nelson turned to me and said, “While you were praying, I thought how much God must appreciate when we take time from our busy schedules to acknowledge Him.” It was a simple yet powerful reminder of how much it must mean to Heavenly Father when we pause to commune with Him.

We sometimes find ourselves in a situation where we have to take charge and move, or nothing gets done. When I arrived at my mission in Tonga some thirty years ago, the mission president said, “I’ve got just the place for you. It’s a small island several hundred kilometers from here. It is nearly twelve kilometers around with about 700 people on it. No one speaks your language. I want you to go there and not come back until you know the missionary discussions and know how to speak Tongan.”

Well, I went; and to put it mildly, there were lots of problems. At one time we came close to literally starving to death because a hurricane wrecked the supply boat. But my companion and I kept moving.

Sometimes we made mistakes. However, whenever there was the possibility of our doing something seriously wrong, the Lord let us know and we did not do it. I assure you that if you are striving to do right, the Lord will let you know if you are starting to do something wrong. So listen! I am sure there was even more good we could have done, but at least we never stopped. We kept going. We did something; and that’s important.

When I left that little island after thirteen months, I had learned the Tongan language, and I had learned quite a lot about life. But most important, I came away knowing that God lives and that he had all knowledge and all power and that he was literally the Father of our spirits. I knew that he loved each of us personally and individually.

I knew that Jesus Christ was his Son, our Savior and Redeemer, a real person, a true friend, one who gave his life for us. I knew that because of the Savior, we can look forward to a glorious resurrection, and an eventual opportunity to stand in the presence of our Father in Heaven cleansed and pure.

I knew that God had a mission for me. I didn’t know exactly what it was in every detail, but I knew where to start. I knew I had to live closer to him. I knew I had to do better. I knew the path to take. I knew I could trust him. I knew that he would let me know what else I could do to fulfill my life’s mission. I have not been disappointed, and neither will you be.

Like Carolina, 16-year-old Katarina Echaniz quickly made friends after being introduced to the Church by a ward member. Through the missionary discussions and her friends’ example, she also quickly gained a testimony. Shortly after her baptism, she was called to the Mia Maid presidency. “I felt responsible because there were girls depending on me to do my calling,” she says. “I wanted to do everything well.” Katarina says the assignment has helped keep her strong in the gospel.

The day I got sick and threw up at school was my worst day. It was also my best day. That’s the day Rosella became my best friend. I was feeling sick and stupid, and she just walked over, got some paper towels, and started helping me clean up the floor. When I told her she didn’t have to do that, she said, “Oh, I’m going to be a doctor when I grow up, and this doesn’t bother me at all.” When school was over, she walked home with me.
It seemed that Rosella wasn’t ever afraid of things. Once she rescued a nonpoisonous snake from some boys who were being mean to it. She carried the snake all the way home so it could live in some bushes in her backyard. I kept watching the snake and its beady, black eyes and wondering if it was going to reach around and bite her. But Rosella didn’t seem worried at all.
One day Rosella and I were sitting next to each other during music class. We were practicing songs for the spring program when the intercom crackled and the principal’s voice asked the music teacher to please come to the office. The teacher told everyone to behave. He said he would be back in a minute, but he was gone a long time.
Some of the boys in the class began throwing wads of paper at the trash can on the other side of the room. Soon the floor was littered with paper.
One of the boys who was throwing paper looked at a boy named Alan and said, “Alan, look at that mess you made. You’d better go pick up those papers.”
Alan hadn’t thrown any paper at all, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded, got up from his chair, and began picking up the paper. It took him a long time because he picked up one wad at a time. Alan had crooked glasses, and his hair stood up in tufts all over his head. Something happened when he was born, and he didn’t get enough oxygen. Because of that he had a hard time learning. Sometimes he tripped or made mistakes. But he wanted to be friends with everyone, and he smiled a lot.
After Alan had picked up all the paper, he walked back to his chair. The other boys were all grinning. When Alan turned to sit down, one of them reached over and yanked the chair out from under him. Alan sat down on the floor. Hard. You could see it hurt him because tears came to his eyes. But when the boys all started laughing, Alan tried to laugh too.
The next thing I knew, Rosella was standing up. She marched across the room and stood in front of those boys, glaring at them. Then she reached out her hand and helped Alan get into his chair. The whole class was silent. She asked Alan if he was hurt, and he shook his head. Then she put her hands on her hips. “Being mean to people is a really chicken way of trying to be funny,” she told the boys.
They just looked at her. She didn’t sound mean or angry, but everyone knew she meant it.
Then Rosella turned around and walked back to her chair. The class was dead quiet. I wondered what the boys would do. They usually didn’t like being told what to do, especially by a girl. I kept hoping the teacher would come back before anything else happened. Then one of the boys looked over at Alan. “Sorry we yanked your chair,” he said.
Alan folded his hands together and smiled big. “It’s OK. I have friends.” He looked over at Rosella.
Just then the teacher walked in. No one said anything about the paper, and class continued as usual. When Rosella picked up her music, I could see that her hands were shaking, but she had a quiet look on her face.
Our class began practicing. I could hear the piano playing and the class singing, but I was thinking about Rosella. I was thinking about how she stood up for Alan even though she was probably scared. I looked at Rosella singing the song and then over at Alan. Then I understood—being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared. Being brave means doing the right thing even if you are scared.

One recent convert is Johan Bonno, who was born in the Marquesas Islands, the northernmost part of French Polynesia. Although he had led a rough life, he became interested in the restored gospel because of a schoolteacher who had moved to the Marquesas from Tubuai. “Maimiti spoke to me of the true Church,” he explains. “She taught me about the Book of Mormon. Little by little, I let go of the bad things in my life. She invited me to church, and little by little good things entered in.”
They married and moved to Tubuai. “My father-in-law invited me to a missionary open house, and there I felt a powerful, comforting feeling,” Johan explains. “It filled me with a desire to know the truth. I prayed in earnest about Joseph Smith. I came to understand that the Lord had restored the Church through him.” Johan was soon baptized and confirmed.
Today Johan and Maimiti are preparing to be sealed in the Papeete Tahiti Temple. “Having the light of the temple in our life will be like trading a 15-watt bulb for the brightest sunshine,” he says. For Johan, learning of the restored gospel required building a layer of faith. So did getting married, moving to Tubuai, and joining the Church. Now going to the temple will add yet another layer to a pearl that keeps on growing.

My message is that we are doing better. Fathers and mothers are pleading for unity in their homes, and those prayers are being answered. Families are praying together night and morning. I was invited to kneel at bedtime with a family when I was a guest in their home. The smallest child was asked to be voice. He prayed like a patriarch for every person in the family, by name. I opened my eyes for an instant to see the faces of the other children and the parents. I could tell that they were joining their faith and their hearts in that little boy’s prayer.

Although he was a school teacher, my father raised animals and cared for a large garden and fruit orchard. In the summertime, it was a rule that we worked in the mornings in the garden or orchard; in the afternoons, we could play.
My father had a way of making our work pleasant. He could turn any chore into a game. He knew that we loved to play baseball. One day he told us to pick up fallen apples in the orchard and feed them to the pigs. We didn’t particularly enjoy that job. So he placed boards in the form of a man on the back of the pigpen. Then he stepped off the distance from the board form to a pitcher’s mound. From that point, we threw the gathered apples at the pretended man just as a baseball pitcher would in a game. Of course, the apples crashed against the board and split into pieces, and the pigs had a feast.

I have a sweet friend who some time ago found herself in such a state. I do not know, nor need I know, what her problem was, but she did summon the courage to go tearfully to her bishop to confess. A Church court was held. She was excommunicated and began the difficult process of repentance. Quite a long time later, after the spiritual healing had taken place and at the time of her baptism, she expressed great appreciation to a bishop who had shed tears of caring for her, even while being firm in the steps that must be taken; to a dear friend in Relief Society, who, she said, had helped her “to understand and forgive all those who couldn’t understand or forgive” her; to those who had helped to keep her testimony strong in those quiet, desperate times when “coming home again” seemed nearly impossible.

I recently had a note from this friend, married now in the temple with a lovely family. She says, “Tell the sisters that it is all worth it. Tell them how beautiful and joyful life can be when you keep the commandments.”

When I was young, my oldest sister took me to a Christian church. I was given a picture of Jesus Christ, and a hand-sized copy of the New Testament, which I still possess. I cannot attest to knowing God or believing in Jesus Christ in those early years. I didn’t understand who They were and why They were important. As an older child, I loved reading Old Testament stories from a set of picture books my father had bought. But the main characters in these stories, God and Jesus Christ, weren’t in my mind.
In my teens, an older brother was conscripted into the US Army. He heard about the gospel as taught by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints from another soldier, and he brought it into the family home. My father was openly opposed.
I was 17 years old at the time and was curious about my brother’s conversion and his enthusiasm about his newfound beliefs. He introduced a couple of missionaries to me and my sister. One of their lessons, about eternal families, grabbed my attention. This doctrine convinced me that this was the church for me—and the two young missionaries were so handsome, who could deny them? In due course, I and my sister were baptised, even though our father did not approve. As a Baptist, called to teach Japanese members in Japanese about the Holy Bible, my father had strong but narrow views about the teachings of Christ. But our mother attended our baptisms.
My testimony didn’t grow from strength to strength following my baptism, probably because I denied the Spirit that was prompting me to bear my testimony—but I was afraid to do it. My life would have been quite different had I borne my testimony regularly.
After graduating from high school, I went to the University of Hawaii, still an active member of the Church. During this time, I had an extraordinary experience for a few days. I was living in heaven on earth. I had never felt so happy in my life! I didn’t share this with anyone at the time. As it turned out, this experience was an anchor point in my life.
Having successfully obtained a bachelor’s degree, I decided to enrol for a master’s programme at Iowa State University. I met my future husband there; he was not a member of the Church. And as he was on a sabbatical from Oxford University in the UK, he had to return after being in Iowa for a year.
We were married the day we flew out to the UK. It wasn’t easy in the UK to find a house that we could afford. House prices had nearly doubled in the year my husband was in Iowa, and obtaining a mortgage was difficult, carrying an interest rate near 15 percent. Eventually we bought a house in Headington, Oxford, and bought a car.
Up to this point, I hadn’t attended church at all. Once settled, I discovered where the Church held its meetings and attended, but only twice. Although I could drive, I was afraid to do so in Britain. My husband had to drive me there and pick me up afterwards. It was easier not to go to church. Thus began my wandering through the wilderness.
I wasn’t particularly happy in my first year of marriage, but not through any actions of my husband. I was simply lonely, without my family, my friends, my things, and my old familiar life and comforts. I couldn’t make new friends; I was completely reliant on my husband. I was isolated in a new country among strangers. My self-confidence began to wane. I started to question my identity. Was I American, Japanese, Hawaiian? Where did I belong—in Britain, America, Hawaii? I felt totally lost and wanted to go home. But where was home? I couldn’t answer those questions. I was miserable.
Then a little miracle came into my life, my firstborn. People suddenly became friendlier, it seemed, because of this sweet jewel in my arms. My life began to settle down. A couple of years later and another bundle of joy. Then nine years later, a third jewel appeared. By this time, I was settled and relatively happy. I felt very much accepted by society. I had made friends, understood and accepted the British way of life, and was loving it.
But then cracks began to appear. As the children grew older and left the family nest, the cracks grew wider and deeper. I became unloving and deceitful. I was in deep misery. After awhile, I started to reflect on the days at university in Hawaii, those days when I was in heaven on earth. I so desperately wanted to have that again, but I didn’t know how to get it. (I probably knew but didn’t want to go down that path.)
During one of my trips back to Hawaii to see my mother, I related my early heaven on earth experience to the brother who had introduced me to the gospel many years ago. He simply said, “It was the Holy Ghost.” It shocked me! It had never crossed my mind. His response helped me to put two and two together, but I was stubborn as a mule and would not turn to the Lord. I sought the counsel of man to help me deal with my problems, but soon realised that I was going around in circles. At least, it was a starting point to regaining a sense of self-worth. But it was not enough. I yearned to experience that heaven-on-earth happiness.
It was plain to me what I needed to do, but I still hesitated to do the right thing—to turn my life over to God. I was hesitating because in my mind, returning to Church had some negatives. The Lord would require a commitment that I wasn’t ready to give. So, a few more years were lived in misery.
Finally, I was ready to change, to commit myself to God; I just couldn’t continue as I was. I went to church, talked with my bishop, and took the painful step of repentance. I was afraid of going through this process. I didn’t want to go through it again. It was too painful. It would be too easy to turn away from the Lord—I’d done it once before. Would my commitment stand firm?
But since making this momentous decision, I have learnt to love God and have gained a stronger testimony of the gospel of Christ. My conversion didn’t end there, it was just a starting point, albeit a momentous one. As I’ve attended church, studied the scriptures, and repented continually, I have become a happier person. I have learnt that accepting callings in the Church helps me grow stronger and become more faithful. It helps me develop character, but more importantly my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, bringing me closer to them. Conversion is an ongoing process, continually trying to live in accordance with the love of God.

Mom has been gone for quite a while now. We still miss her, and we think of her a lot. When we feel lonely, we get out the special book and read the little testimonies she left for us. I can just “hear” her saying something about an answer to prayers, or what wonderful blessings we receive. I’m glad we have those special memories.
Dad got each of us a journal so that we can write down all our own little testimonies. I have written a lot about the times I remember with Mom, but I am writing new little testimonies too.