Gospel Story Finder

In 2020, my cancer unexpectedly returned! After the initial crying from us all, I felt calm. I had another wonderful blessing and could feel peace. I play the piano, and playing songs helped me get through it.
I love the April 2020 General Conference talk from President Nelson called Hear Him.1 Playing and listening to music is a way I Hear Him. I prayed to Heavenly Father and said I didn‘t mind having chemo as long as I suited being bald.
The cancer went, which was a surprise, and a nurse who was an atheist said, “You know I don‘t believe in God, but someone is watching over you”. I‘d spoken to them all during my treatment about members fasting and praying.
In June 2022, the cancer had returned for the third time in 4 places! I‘ve never been an anxious person but waiting for the result was horrible. My husband and I hugged and cried yet again. We said a prayer to ask Heavenly Father to help us get through it. Another talk from President Nelson came to mind. It was Let God Prevail.2
This time the monthly chemotherapy has affected me psychologically. I‘m a strong-willed person and I‘ve never said, “Why me?”. Instead, I ask the Lord what I need to learn. My prayers have never been as heartfelt. Yes, sometimes I cry out during the night when I‘m so fatigued with my chemo. We have a picture of Christ on our bedroom wall, and when I‘m awake during the night I ask for His help. I have the words ‘Let God Prevail‘ in my mind every day. Whenever my husband is stressed about his business, he knows I‘m going to smile and he says, “Let God Prevail.”
Although we‘re going through these trials, and I still have down days where I cry and feel hopeless, most days I Let God Prevail and feel at peace. I‘m still serving as our Ward Relief Society President, and blessed to be able to help the members with their trials in their lives.
Let us not put off praying and asking for help getting through challenges in our lives. The Lord is there, waiting for us to ask for help- “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

Some people say the Laurels in Oregon’s Corvallis Third Ward are green.
But not the inexperienced, unsophisticated type of green. And certainly not the jealous type of green. Not even the type of green you turn when you’re seasick. Green is actually meant as a compliment because, in some circles, to be green means to be environmentally conscious—to be doing your part to look after the earth. The Laurels are so environmentally conscious that they decided to put on special ecological firesides for the entire stake and town.
Nobody can say exactly how or when the Laurels turned “green” and decided to put on the fireside.
After all, they live in a state that is exceptionally ecology conscious. High school students are paid quite well for picking up trash, and it shows. Everywhere you look, you see lots of green and very little garbage. And recycling programs are prevalent in almost every city.
Then again, they might have turned green at school. The Laurels attend very ecology-oriented high schools where students have managed to save about 344 trees and 158,000 gallons of water this past year by voluntarily recycling their paper. The halls are filled with recycling bins for aluminum cans, and on certain days, there are student council members outside to greet you when you drive up to school. If you carpool, you get to park in front. If you drive alone, you have to park in the back. Those student council members are often Laurels Lisa Rampton and Jenni Merten. They say it’s worth sitting out in the constant Oregon drizzle to get people thinking about saving gas.
The Laurels might even have grown green at church. They do belong to a church that esteems this earth as a beautiful gift from Heavenly Father.
It seems the Laurels get a message on ecology almost everywhere they go, and they’re doing their best to pass that green message on. “Ecology is somewhat of a trend,” says Lisa, clad in an “Earth Native” T-shirt. “But I think it’s a good trend. It’s not bad to be a fad follower in this case.”
To make their own contribution via the fireside, the Laurels had to start practicing what they were going to preach. The disposal company in Corvallis picks up sorted garbage and ensures that it will be recycled, so those whose families weren’t already sorting their trash into separate bins for paper, cardboard, plastic, aluminum, tin cans, and glass, began to do so. Was it hard to start going that extra mile?
“At first I didn’t want to take the time to wash a can, then take the label off, then take both ends off and smash it down,” says Sherri Lewis, who just entered the Laurel class when the ecology program was in full swing. “But when you start hearing about how recycling helps the environment, it makes you want to do it.”
“You get used to it,” says Kim Hale, who has three sisters, all involved in recycling. “Besides, we take turns taking the bottles and cans to the recycling center, and whoever takes them gets the money for them. That’s a little added incentive.”
The object was for each Laurel to bring a week’s worth of recyclables to the fireside to use as visual aids. It’s surprising to see how much can be recycled. The front of the multipurpose room of the meetinghouse, where the fireside was held, was brimming. “We used to put two big garbage cans out for the trash man each time he came,” says Jenni. “Now we only use one a week. It feels good to know we’re not putting such a strain on the landfills.”
Each Laurel had her own part in the fireside. Lisa conducted and talked about the spiritual reasons for keeping the world God gave us clean. Jenni spoke about the state of the world as it is today, complete with acid rain, air pollution, and dwindling resources. Then Tami McDaniel talked about what each person could do to help ease the strain on the environment.
Since this was a presentation for the whole family, children were involved too. For example, Kim had her six-year-old sister show some of the fun art projects she’d made from things that would usually be thrown away.
Over in the nursery, the Beehives tended the children who were too young to sit through the fireside. The children colored pictures of the earth and of things they like to do outside. They were given a lesson on the creation and their responsibility to keep things clean.
And what fireside would be complete without refreshments? The Laurels served nutritious food that came in as little packaging as possible. All the dishes involved were washed and reused, and instead of paper, they used cloth napkins.
Was the fireside a success? Judge for yourself. The Laurels were asked to repeat it a number of times, and each presentation had quite a few non-LDS people in attendance. Everyone was impressed.
While no one has statistics on how many stake members are now recycling, the fireside definitely helped the Laurels on the personal level. Tami, for example, had just recently been baptized when her class started the ecology project. Her family had been recycling for quite some time, and Tami was well versed on how to be green, so she felt she had something to contribute from the start.
It’s true that no one knows exactly where all this started, and now, no one knows where it will end. The Laurels feel good, about turning green, however, and hope it’s catching.

Nikko looked in the mirror and shook his shaggy head and roared. Then he picked up his long tail and flicked it like a whip.
“Honey, are you dressed yet?” His mother called from the kitchen. “It’s time to go.”
Nikko padded into the kitchen, carrying his tail in his hand.
“Please don’t eat me, brave king of the jungle,” Mother begged with a smile.
The lion bared his teeth and roared.
“Let’s get going, or you’ll be late for the school costume party,” Mother said. The lion crept to the car and then pounced inside.
* * * * * *
“Have fun at school, my brave lion,” Mother said as he bounded out of the car.
“Why, Nikko, don’t you look like a brave jungle beast!” His teacher smiled at him as he entered the classroom. “Go sit in the circle with the other children, and I’ll be there in a minute to tell you a story.”
The lion crept toward the other children. Nikko the little boy had always wanted to be Lissa’s friend, but he had been afraid to talk to her. But Nikko the brave lion was not afraid. He looked for Lissa and crouched down beside her. She was dressed like a princess in a sparkling gown. “You look pretty,” the lion whispered.
Princess Lissa smiled and tapped the lion’s shaggy head with her magic wand. “And I name you Nikko, the Wise Ruler of the Jungle.”
The lion pawed the air and roared softly.
* * * * * *
The next morning, Nikko stood in front of his mirror and roared. He shook his shaggy head and flicked his long tail.
“Honey, are you dressed yet?” Mother called.
Nikko padded into the kitchen with his tail in his hand.
Mother was rinsing the dishes at the sink. When she turned around, she exclaimed, “Oh! Oh my!”
The lion looked up and roared.
“You shouldn’t wear your costume today,” Mother said. “Yesterday was costume day. It’s all over now.”
“But I’m brave when I’m a lion,” Nikko told her.
“You’re my brave boy, even without your lion costume. Remember how you helped take care of your Grandpa when he came home from the hospital?”
“But my teacher thinks I’m a brave jungle beast when I’m wearing my lion costume.”
Mother slipped the furry mane off Nikko’s head. “Remember how you felt when you asked if you could help Uncle Jack build his deck? You don’t need a lion’s costume to feel brave.”
* * * * * *
Nikko went to school in his regular clothes. He could not flick his tail or shake his shaggy head or roar.
At recess, Nikko saw Lissa standing at the door to the playground. He still thought she looked pretty, even without her sparkling gown and magic wand. “You’d better go get your jacket and put it on,” Nikko warned her. “It’s going to rain.”
Lissa looked out at the dark sky. “Do you know what, Nikko? You’re wise even when you’re not dressed up like a lion.”
Brave, wise Nikko shook his head, roared softly, and padded out to the playground with his new friend.

The sun was just appearing above the edge of the mesa as Grandmother arose and began stirring up the banked coals in her cookstove. Hannah reluctantly rolled out of her warm quilts and hurriedly dressed. She knew that Grandmother expected her help. Grandmother was anxious to finish breakfast early this morning so the old fire could be put out before the day’s activities began, for today was the final day of the Wuwuchim ceremony—the Hopi New Year. Grandmother put a shawl over her shoulders, picked up her coal bucket, and stepped out into the cold winter morning. When Hannah ran out to help, the only signs of life she could see in the entire village were an old woman carrying two pails of water up the steep trail from the spring below the mesa and a young boy listlessly chopping wood. In the background she could hear the chanting from the kiva (round ceremonial structure).
For the past several days the mornings had been alive with the sounds of corn being ground, wood being chopped, and women busy with their children. Hannah had spent a full day with Grandmother preparing the blue cornmeal on the grinding stones, gradually making it finer and finer. Another full day had been spent on their knees in the peekee house bending over the hot peekee stone to make the blue cornmeal paper-bread. Then just yesterday Grandfather had brought fresh mutton. Hannah and Grandmother had prepared a stew with it. Water had been carried and wood had been chopped so that everything would be in readiness. Soon now everyone would put out their old fires.
When Hannah and her grandmother stepped back inside the house with the coal, Grandfather was sitting by the dwindling fire weaving a ceremonial sash. Although he had once been a kiva priest, he had not been inside a kiva for two years. Hannah knew he was not making the sash for himself. He would sell it to the trading post at Oraibi. Grandfather never seemed to miss the old ways. He kept asking Grandmother why she bothered to make all the preparations for Wuwuchim. Her reply was always, “Perhaps this year it will be different.”
As soon as breakfast was cleared up and the old fire put out, the family settled back to wait, listening to the chanting from the kivas. The priests had been inside them for days, chanting prayers that the Six-point-cloud People would look with favor on the village during the coming year.
About noontime two lady missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints walked over from their house in the center of the mesa. Hannah knew they had been unable to hold meetings with anyone for two or three days, for everyone had been too busy with their celebration preparations. The sisters had visited them the day they made peekee, and Grandmother had tried to teach them how, but their hands were not toughened and they soon had blisters from the hot stone.
Suddenly the chanting stopped! Runners began emerging from the kiva of the Masuaa (Fire) Clan, bearing torches lighted from the New Fire in the kiva. The new year began with the lighting of the New Fire in all the homes.
Hannah stood expectantly in the doorway with Grandmother, watching the progression of the runners from house to house. The two lady missionaries stood curiously beside them, but Grandfather did not lift his head from his weaving. The runners passed in front of their door. One hesitated a moment as though he wanted to go in, but went on instead to the next house. Tears welled up in Hannah’s eyes. “It isn’t different,” she said bitterly.
It had been this way ever since they had become Momonas (Mormons). When the missionaries first came to the mesas, nobody listened to them except Grandfather, Grandmother, and Hannah. They looked forward to the visits of the missionaries and their stories from the Book of Mormon. From the beginning the family had believed that the Book of Mormon was their book, but the decision to be baptized was not an easy one.
All of the neighbors had criticized them for entertaining the bahawnas (white people). But when they began seriously to think of baptism, the villagers accused them of deserting the Hopi way—a way of life that had served the Peaceful People well for centuries. Men from Grandfather’s kiva came to warn against displeasing the Six-point-cloud People and disrupting the harmony of nature, but he would not give in. He was truly converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Without his strength Hannah knew that she and Grandmother might have weakened, but after Grandfather made his decision he never looked back.
Hannah couldn’t help feeling that it had been easier for him than for her and Grandmother. Every morning from planting time on, he rode his burro down off the mesa to his dry farm. He also took his turn herding the village sheep. Always the men of the village treated him with respect. She and Grandmother usually received no such treatment. Each day when they went to the waffle gardens perched on the side of the mesa to water their little plot of chili peppers and beans, they met the women and girls of the village carrying water to their vegetables. The girls giggled and called out, “Momona!” and the women made derisive remarks.
That summer Hannah had not been asked to participate in the butterfly dance with the other girls of her clan. And at the first Wuwuchim after their baptism, the fire runners ignored them and passed by their home.
However, there had been a few changes for the better during the two years since their baptism. Now many people listened to the missionaries and came to Sunday School. The lady missionaries held Primary for the children and many of Hannah’s friends attended. They also had been teaching the women how to make quilts. Although no one else had been baptized, Hannah, like Grandmother, believed that this Wuwuchim would be different. But it isn’t going to be, she decided, and that still hurts.
Dancers were coming now from each of the kivas to dance on the plaza. Hannah and the missionaries walked down to watch. Visitors from other mesas were there, and people who had left the mesas to work had returned to celebrate with their own people. It was a joyous time of reunion, a time to laugh and mingle with friends and relatives.
Gifts of food were exchanged between clans. Women carried baskets heaped with rolls of peekee and white biscuits. Grandmother had left her gifts of food at home on the kitchen table. Everyone in the village would know that their home had been passed by again and that their gifts would not be acceptable. Hannah was sure Grandmother would send the food home with the lady missionaries.
When the dancing was over, everyone went to his own home or the home of a fellow clan member to enjoy the mutton stew, warmed over the New Fire and served with peekee and biscuits. Hannah and her grandparents walked home with their guests to partake of the feast that had been in the making during the past few days.
Going to the stove, Grandmother struck an ordinary kitchen match to light the New Fire. She laughed as she looked at the small flame. “Hannah,” she said, “the kiva fire means no more than this kitchen match I hold in my hand!”
Then Hannah watched as Grandmother put the match to the tinder, the small flame taking hold and growing into a roaring fire. She looked across the table at Grandfather. The two old people had given up many of the habits and practices of a lifetime and willingly chosen a better way. Deep inside, Grandmother’s words glowed again and grew stronger. The kiva fire means no more than the kitchen match!
A new understanding like a spark took hold, and her whole being seemed to burn. I was wrong, she thought. This year is different.
No runner came from the kiva bearing a lighted torch, but a new fire seemed to flame within Hannah, a fire that would light her whole life. The Lord has promised that someday everyone will understand, she thought. What a bright and happy time that will be!

Some years ago down in California, where I presided as a stake president, a bishop asked a young man in his ward if he would be willing to spend his summer months in doing missionary work. He was studying medicine, but he agreed that he would. Do you know what he did? He went around to the boys and girls he had attended high school with and said to them, “My Church has asked me to do some missionary work for it, and I am not very well prepared. How would you like to give me a few nights of your spare time and let me practice on you so that I will become prepared to do my missionary work?” With just that one little thought, he brought four of those high school friends into the Church during those summer months. Isn’t that better than sitting around twiddling your thumbs, wasting your time? There is opportunity all around us on every hand.

What a choice Heidi Heistø had to make! Should she become a doctor or a professional musician? Both paths were open to her. Both were wonderful ways to serve her country and her fellowmen. Both were traditions in her family. Both seemed attainable. She has the talent in both areas.
So Heidi didn’t choose. She decided to pursue both. She had completed her high school years with a fine academic standing and was accepted into three medical schools and auditioned and was accepted into music conservatory. Soon she was spending every minute either at school or studying or practicing. After two quarters of this killer pace, she was tired and confused. She felt she was not giving either school her best. When she asked friends and relatives what she should do, the answers were of little help. Some said, “Oh, if you have the possibility of going to medical school, you must do that.” Others said, “Oh, you are so talented in music. Of course, you must do that.” Heidi was very confused.
Heidi had been taught by her mother, Karin, and her grandmother how to search out the guides in her life. She had learned in church that she had an eternal friend who will always listen. She turned to Heavenly Father in prayer. She also asked for and received a blessing from her home teacher. The blessing said that she had her agency and that she should pray about her decision. As she prayed, her answer became more clear. She should devote herself to music. Her fears about not being skilled enough lessened.
She turned to her patriarchal blessing, which encourages her to develop her musical talent. She had started with the violin at age seven even though she had been begging to start much earlier. Then her instructor suggested she change to the viola because the warm, somber tones of that instrument complimented her technique and temperament. And Heidi found she preferred the beautiful tone. Now she has chosen her course and is devoting her schooling to music.

As missionaries in the Argentina Buenos Aires South Mission, my companion, Elder Allred, and I received a referral card to contact a family from Russia. When we found the house, the woman recognized us as missionaries and invited us in to meet her family.
We quickly realized the Balva family understood very little Spanish, and it was difficult for us to understand them as well. From their broken Spanish, we gathered that they had been in Argentina only a short time but were eager to learn about the Church. We adapted the first lesson into simplified Spanish, and the family flipped through their two Russian-Spanish dictionaries as we slowly taught our message, but we weren’t sure how much of it they really understood.
After making an appointment to return, we walked home, discussing how difficult it had been to convey the meaning of our message. We wondered if the family would understand the other lessons any better or if they would get frustrated and ask us to stop coming.
We returned to visit the Balva family the following day to see how they were and if they had begun reading the Book of Mormon and praying to know of its truthfulness. To our surprise and joy, they excitedly showed us a paper on which they had written in Spanish the principles we had taught them. They also shared with us what they had read in 3 Nephi 11 regarding the Savior’s visit to the American continent, assuring us that they had understood all we had discussed the day before and that they were excited to learn more.
Over the next few weeks my testimony was strengthened as the Holy Ghost witnessed to the Balva family of the gospel’s truthfulness and enlightened their understanding in Spanish. Heavenly Father knew the desire of their hearts and recognized the sincerity of their prayers to find truth. Together, the Balva family, Elder Allred, and I experienced the joy described in D&C 50:22: “Wherefore, he that preacheth and he that receiveth, understand one another, and both are edified and rejoice together”—not because we spoke the same language but because of the universal language of the Spirit.
The Balva family introduced us to another Russian family, whom we were also privileged to teach. Both families made covenants with Heavenly Father by entering the waters of baptism not long after we met them.
I am a witness that the words of President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) are true: “The influence of the Spirit is the most important element in this work. If you will allow the Spirit to magnify your callings, you will be able to work miracles for the Lord” (new mission presidents’ seminar, June 25, 1986).

One example of the challenges related to this financial crisis was experienced by Elder Parley P. Pratt, one of the great leaders of the Restoration. He was an original member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In the early part of 1837, his dear wife, Thankful, died after delivering their first child. Parley and Thankful had been married almost 10 years, and her death devastated him.

A few months later, Elder Pratt found himself in one of the most difficult times the Church has experienced. In the midst of the national crisis, local economic issues—including land speculation and the struggles of a financial institution founded by Joseph Smith and other Church members—created discord and contention in Kirtland. Church leaders did not always make wise temporal decisions in their own lives. Parley suffered significant financial losses and for a time became disaffected with the Prophet Joseph.10 He wrote a stinging criticism to Joseph and spoke in opposition of him from the pulpit. At the same time, Parley said he continued to believe in the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants.11

Elder Pratt had lost his wife, his land, and his home. Parley, without telling Joseph, left for Missouri. On the road there, he unexpectedly met fellow Apostles Thomas B. Marsh and David Patten returning to Kirtland. They felt a great need to have harmony restored to the Quorum and persuaded Parley to return with them. He realized that no one had lost more than Joseph Smith and his family.

Parley sought out the Prophet, wept, and confessed that what he had done was wrong. In the months after his wife, Thankful’s, death, Parley had been “under a dark cloud” and had been overcome by fears and frustrations.12 Joseph, knowing what it was like to struggle against opposition and temptation, “frankly forgave” Parley, praying for him and blessing him.13 Parley and others who remained faithful benefited from the Kirtland challenges. They increased in wisdom and became more noble and virtuous. The experience became part of their foundations of faith.

David Whitmer, in 1878, told Joseph F. Smith and Orson Pratt a story that includes three more visits, the fifteenth through seventeenth. He was traveling with Oliver Cowdery and Joseph Smith to Fayette, New York to finish the translation when “a very pleasant, nice-looking old man suddenly appeared by the side of our wagon and saluted us with, ‘good morning, it is very warm,’ at the same time wiping his face or forehead with his hand. We returned the greeting, and, by a sign from Joseph, I invited him to ride if he was going our way. But he said very pleasantly, ‘No, I am going to Cumorah.’ This name was something new to me, I did not know what Cumorah meant. We all gazed at him and at each other, and as I looked around inquiringly of Joseph, the old man instantly disappeared, so that I did not see him again.
“Joseph F. Smith: Did you notice his appearance?
“David Whitmer: I should think I did. He was … about one and one-half meters tall … ; he was dressed in a suit of brown woolen clothes, his hair and beard were white. I also remember that he had on his back a sort of backpack with something in [it] shaped like a book. It was the messenger who had the plates, who had taken them from Joseph just prior to our starting from Harmony. Soon after our arrival home, I saw something which led me to the belief that the plates were placed or concealed in my father’s barn. I frankly asked Joseph if my supposition was right, and he told me it was.” (Minutes of the School of the Prophets, Salt Lake Stake, 3 October 1883.)

To start the project, each young woman collected five generations of ancestors’ names. The group began by visiting a local family history center, where they learned how to do family history research online. Monica B., 14, especially enjoys researching names on new.familysearch.org and submitting her ancestors’ names for temple work. She says, “It was a neat experience to take family names—that I found myself—to the temple to do baptisms. I feel a stronger connection to my ancestors now and love seeing their names on the tree displayed in our home.”

Those years brought Dallin opportunities for great growth in Church service. He was called to be stake mission president for the Chicago Stake in 1961. His law practice had him working nights, and he wondered how he would be able to fulfill the responsibilities of the new calling as well, Sister Oaks recalls, but he took it on faith. As he committed himself to the calling, the way was opened many times for him to finish his legal work early, or to achieve more than he thought was possible in the time allotted.

On the day before Easter, Kurt’s grandparents invited his family to a barbecue. Kurt was especially excited to go because his favorite uncle, Darren, had just come home from his mission. He had missed Uncle Darren a lot.
Kurt bounded into his grandparents’ backyard, ran past Grandpa, who was standing over the sizzling grill, and found Uncle Darren sitting in a patio chair.
“Hey, Kurt,” Uncle Darren greeted him. “Are you excited for Easter, little buddy?”
“Yes!” Kurt scrambled into his uncle’s lap.
“What do you want in your Easter basket*?” Uncle Darren asked.
“Candy, I guess.” Kurt grinned. He imagined finding chocolate bunnies, marshmallows shaped like baby birds, and jelly beans spilling out of his Easter basket. His heart skipped excitedly just thinking about it.
“What do you want in your Easter basket?” Kurt asked, poking his finger into Uncle Darren’s chest.
“I don’t think I’ll get one this year,” Uncle Darren said. “I guess I’m too old for that. But it’s OK because last year I got the best Easter basket ever.”
“What was in it?” Kurt asked.
“Don’t you remember?” Uncle Darren looked surprised. “You helped send it to me.”
Kurt tried to think about last spring, but it was a long time ago. He remembered the family gathering at Grandma’s house to make a package for Uncle Darren. Plastic colored eggs and stringy Easter grass had been strewn all over the kitchen table. Strips of paper, markers, and pens had been piled on the countertop.
“Why was it your favorite Easter basket?” Kurt asked. He couldn’t remember sending anything special.
Uncle Darren squeezed Kurt tightly. “It was my favorite Easter basket because there was no candy inside.” Kurt giggled, expecting to see a teasing twinkle in Uncle Darren’s eyes, but he looked serious.
“No candy?” Kurt cried. “Why not?”
Uncle Darren laughed. “Come in the house. I want to show you something.”
Kurt watched Uncle Darren rummage through a shoe box full of letters. He reached into the box, pulled out an envelope, and handed a strip of paper to Kurt.
The Church is true, Kurt read. I love Jesus and my family. Last year he had written these words, folded the paper up, and placed it inside a plastic egg. Everyone else—his parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins—had done the same. Now Kurt remembered! Uncle Darren’s missionary Easter basket had been filled with testimonies.
“You liked these papers better than jelly beans?” Kurt asked. He couldn’t imagine why.
Uncle Darren nodded. “Easter is the time to celebrate Jesus Christ’s Resurrection,” he said quietly. “Do you know what that means?”
“Jesus came back to life so that we can all be resurrected someday,” Kurt answered.
“And do you know what that means?” Uncle Darren asked. He rested his hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “It means that I will always be your uncle!”
Kurt was confused. “The Resurrection makes it so that you can be my uncle?”
“We couldn’t be an eternal family without eternal life,” Uncle Darren said. “Jesus Christ died for us so that we could live forever with Him.”
When Kurt and his parents had visited the temple grounds, Mom had pointed to the temple and said that she and Dad had been married there. Because of the sealing ordinances, they could be a family forever. Mom hadn’t said anything about Jesus’ Resurrection.
“What about temples?” Kurt asked. “I thought we could be with our families forever because of temples.”
“The temple is the Lord’s house,” Uncle Darren explained. “Without Jesus Christ and His Resurrection, there wouldn’t be any temples, either. The power that seals us together is His priesthood.”
Kurt hadn’t thought about that before.
Uncle Darren continued. “I taught people on my mission who didn’t believe in eternal families. They believed in Jesus, but they didn’t understand everything He did for us.”
“That’s sad,” Kurt said with a frown.
“Reading everyone’s testimonies reminded me that our family can be eternal,” Uncle Darren said. “It was the best Easter gift I could have received.”
Kurt looked up into his favorite uncle’s beaming face and suddenly felt very grateful. He had missed Uncle Darren terribly during the past two years. He couldn’t imagine being separated from him forever.
Uncle Darren suddenly swooped Kurt up on his shoulders. “I bet the hamburgers are almost done. Should we go find out?” Kurt was giggling too hard to answer. “Then we can be partners for the Easter egg hunt,” Uncle Darren promised.
Kurt was excited, but colored eggs, candy, and Easter baskets didn’t matter so much compared to spending time with Uncle Darren. Kurt smiled, knowing that he could call Darren his uncle forever.

Another five years passed, and I came to stay at my parents’ home while I was changing employment. My father was the ward mission leader, and every afternoon the missionaries would visit him briefly to update and coordinate plans. One day they asked him, “Who is that young man there?”
He said, “That’s my older son.”
“Is he a member?”
“No.”
“We need to talk with him.”
But I said, “No, I’m not interested.”
Then one day my father agreed to let the missionaries teach a lady in our home. They came around 5:00 in the afternoon and began teaching her—and they knew that I was in the next room making a sandwich before leaving to see my friends. They taught about a boy prophet—Joseph Smith—and the First Vision. And from the other room, I listened.
When I eventually left the house, the Spirit started to work in my heart and some questions came into my mind: “Why don’t you do what the sisters taught this lady? Why don’t you study the history of Joseph Smith and ask the Lord if he was a prophet?” And I said to myself, “I’m happy. I’m doing good things. I don’t need it.” But the Spirit started to wrestle with me, and I decided not to see my friends that night. I went back home.
I asked my mom, “Where can I read the history of Joseph Smith?” She gave me her scriptures and showed me the Joseph Smith—History, and I read and prayed. I read the first paragraph, pondered, and asked Heavenly Father if what’s there is true. I did this with every paragraph until I completed the whole thing. My heart was anxious for an answer. I read and prayed all night, until 9:20 the next morning.
The Lord revealed to me that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I had a very sacred experience. As I finished praying, I promised that I would find the missionaries and be baptized because I had this sure knowledge.
I told the sisters, “I need to be baptized now.” They explained the lessons I needed to have and commitments I needed to make. But I said, “I don’t want to lose a single day with the knowledge that the Lord has given me that Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
The sisters called their zone leader. He agreed to an accelerated schedule for the lessons. He scheduled the baptismal interview and told me he’d also need to talk to the ward mission leader, and I said, “Don’t worry, I’ll talk with the ward mission leader. He’s my daddy. He’s been praying for years for me to be baptized.”
My baptism was an experience I will remember forever. What a sweet and wonderful feeling. I felt that I was a new man. I was clean. I felt so close to God, and I was very happy.

When Dad was called as bishop, he reminded the stake president that he was 70 years old. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” he had said.
“How old do you think the Brethren are up in Salt Lake City?” the stake president had asked in reply. “You weren’t our first pick. You weren’t even our second pick. You were the Lord’s pick.”
Dad knew that he had been called of God, and he became a good bishop. There was nothing flashy about him. He was not an expert on the scriptures. He was just a down-to-earth man who showed a lot of empathy for ward members.
While Dad served as bishop, I served as a counselor in another bishopric in our stake. As we attended leadership meetings together, our relationship became focused on Christ, and I got to know his spiritual side.
When Dad was called as bishop in 1994, he was suffering from health problems. “Does this calling guarantee me five more years of life?” he jokingly asked the stake president. Two years after Dad was released, he passed away.

One day while studying the scriptures, I felt impressed to share my testimony at the upcoming fast and testimony meeting. I’d thought about doing it before, but I hadn’t since I was really young.
When fast Sunday came, I passed the sacrament and felt the impression even stronger than before. I knew it was the Spirit telling me to bear my testimony. But then thoughts began flowing into my mind, like “You’re too nervous,” “You can do it next month,” and “What will people think of you?”
I was about to give in to my doubts and remain seated when my uncle handed me a small piece of paper and whispered, “This is from your aunt.”
Written on the paper was the one-word question “Testimony?” I immediately decided to do it. When I spoke, I wasn’t even nervous because I felt the Spirit so strongly. I was also happier and felt more grateful after I went up. The Spirit really does work through other people to help us.

My message is to those who are converts to the Church. More than half the members of the Church today chose to be baptized after the age of eight. So you are not the exception in the Church. To you I wish to say how much the Lord loves you and trusts you. And, even more, I wish to tell you how much He depends on you.
You felt His love at least to some degree when you were baptized. Years ago I took a young man, 20 years of age, into the waters of baptism. My companion and I had taught him the gospel. He was the first in his family to hear the message of the restored gospel. He asked to be baptized. The testimony of the Spirit made him want to follow the example of the Savior, who was baptized by John the Baptist even though He was without sin.
As I brought that young man up out of the waters of baptism, he surprised me by throwing his arms around my neck and whispering in my ear, tears streaming down his face, “I’m clean, I’m clean.” That same young man, after we laid our hands on his head with the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood and conferred on him the Holy Ghost, said to me, “When you spoke those words, I felt something like fire go down from the top of my head through my body, all the way to my feet.”
Your experience will have been unique to you, but to some degree you felt the magnitude of the blessing which came to you. Since then, you have felt the reality of the promises made to you and the promises you made. You have felt the cleansing that came from your baptism, because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. And you have felt the change in your heart as the Holy Ghost has become your companion. Your desires have begun to change.
When someone tells me that he or she is a convert to the Church, I ask, “Has anyone else in your family accepted the gospel?” When the answer is “Yes,” there follows an excited description of the happy miracle in the life of a parent or a brother or sister or a grandparent. There is joy in knowing that someone in his or her family is sharing the blessing and the happiness. When the answer is “No, so far I am the only member,” he or she will almost always speak of parents, saying something like this, “No, not yet. But I am still trying.” And you can tell from the sound in the voice that the convert will never stop trying, not ever.
The Lord knew you would have those feelings when He allowed you to receive the covenants which are blessing your life. He knew you would feel a desire for your family to share the blessings you felt coming into the Church. Even more, He knew how that desire would increase when you came to know the joy of the promises He makes to us in sacred temples. There, for those who qualify, He lets us make covenants with Him. We promise to obey His commandments. And He promises us, if we are faithful, that we may live with Him in glory in families forever in the world to come.
In His loving-kindness, He knew you would have a desire to be bound forever to your parents and their parents. You may have had a grandfather like mine, who always seemed to treasure my visits. I thought I was his favorite grandchild until my cousins told me they felt the same way. He is gone now. All my grandparents and their ancestors have died. Many of your ancestors died never having the chance to accept the gospel and to receive the blessings and promises you have received. The Lord is fair and He is loving. And so He prepared for you and me a way for us to have the desire of our hearts to offer to our ancestors all the blessings He has offered us.
The plan to make that possible has been in place from the beginning. The Lord gave promises to His children long ago. The very last book of the Old Testament is the book of the prophet Malachi. And the last words are a sweet promise and a stern warning:
“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord:
“And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.”
Some of those words are crucial to understand. The great and dreadful day of the Lord is the end of the world. Jehovah, the Messiah, will come in glory. The wicked will all be destroyed. We live in the last days. Time could be running out for us to do what we have promised to do.
It is important to know why the Lord promised to send Elijah. Elijah was a great prophet with great power given him by God. He held the greatest power God gives to His children: he held the sealing power, the power to bind on earth and have it bound in heaven. God gave it to the Apostle Peter. And the Lord kept His promise to send Elijah. Elijah came to the Prophet Joseph Smith on April 3, 1836, just after the dedication of the Kirtland Temple, the first temple built after the Restoration of the gospel. Joseph described the sacred moment:
“Another great and glorious vision burst upon us; for Elijah the prophet, who was taken to heaven without tasting death, stood before us, and said:
“Behold, the time has fully come, which was spoken of by the mouth of Malachi—testifying that he [Elijah] should be sent, before the great and dreadful day of the Lord come—
“To turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the children to the fathers, lest the whole earth be smitten with a curse—
“Therefore, the keys of this dispensation are committed into your hands; and by this ye may know that the great and dreadful day of the Lord is near, even at the doors.”
As you came into the Church, you have felt your heart being turned toward family, both those who are living and those who are in the spirit world. The Lord provided another vision to help you know what to do with those feelings.
After Joseph Smith, the Lord called other prophets to lead His Church. One was Joseph F. Smith. He saw in vision what happened in the spirit world when the Savior appeared there between the time of His death and His Resurrection. President Smith saw the joy of the spirits when they learned that the Savior had broken the bands of death and because of His Atonement they could be resurrected. And he saw the Savior organize His servants among the spirits to preach His gospel to every spirit and offer the chance to choose the covenants and the blessings which are offered to you and which you want for your ancestors. All are to have that chance.
President Smith also saw the leaders the Savior called to take the gospel to Heavenly Father’s children in the spirit world. He named some of them: Father Adam, Mother Eve, Noah, Abraham, Ezekiel, Elijah, prophets we know from the Book of Mormon, and some from the last days, including Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, and Wilford Woodruff. Think of the power of those missionaries to teach the gospel and to touch the hearts of your ancestors. It is not surprising that Wilford Woodruff said while he lived that he believed few, if any, of the ancestors of the Latter-day Saints in the spirit world would choose to reject the message of salvation when they heard it.
Many of your deceased ancestors will have received a testimony that the message of the missionaries is true. When you received that testimony you could ask the missionaries for baptism. But those who are in the spirit world cannot. The ordinances you so cherish are offered only in this world. Someone in this world must go to a holy temple and accept the covenants on behalf of the person in the spirit world. That is why we are under obligation to find the names of our ancestors and ensure that they are offered by us what they cannot receive there without our help.
For me, knowing that turns my heart not only to my ancestors who wait but to the missionaries who teach them. I will see those missionaries in the spirit world, and so will you. Think of a faithful missionary standing there with those he has loved and taught who are your ancestors. Picture as I do the smile on the face of that missionary as you walk up to him and your ancestors whom he converted but could not baptize or have sealed to family until you came to the rescue. I do not know what the protocol will be in such a place, but I imagine arms thrown around your neck and tears of gratitude.
If you can imagine the smile of the missionary and your ancestor, think of the Savior when you meet Him. You will have that interview. He paid the price of the sins of you and all of Heavenly Father’s spirit children. He is Jehovah. He sent Elijah. He conferred the powers of the priesthood to seal and to bless out of perfect love. And He has trusted you by letting you hear the gospel in your lifetime, giving you the chance to accept the obligation to offer it to those of your ancestors who did not have your priceless opportunity. Think of the gratitude He has for those who pay the price in work and faith to find the names of their ancestors and who love them and Him enough to offer them eternal life in families, the greatest of all the gifts of God. He offered them an infinite sacrifice. He will love and appreciate those who paid whatever price they could to allow their ancestors to choose His offer of eternal life.
Because your heart has already been turned, the price may not seem high. You begin by doing simple things. Write down what you already know about your family. You will need to write down the names of parents and their parents with the dates of birth or death or marriage. When you can, you will want to record the places. Some of that you will know from memory. But you can also ask relatives. They may even have some certificates of births, marriages, or deaths. Make copies and organize them. If you learn stories about their lives, write them down and keep them. You are not just gathering names. Those you never met in life will become friends you love. Your heart will be bound to theirs forever.
You can start searching in the first few generations going back in time. From that you will identify many of your ancestors who need your help. Someone in your own ward or branch of the Church has been called to help you prepare those names for the temple. There they can be offered the covenants which will free them from their spirit prisons and bind them in families—your family—forever.
Your opportunities and the obligations they create are remarkable in the whole history of the world. There are more temples across the earth than there have ever been. More people in all the world have felt the Spirit of Elijah move them to record the identities and facts of their ancestors’ lives. There are more resources to search out your ancestors than there have ever been in the history of the world. The Lord has poured out knowledge about how to make that information available worldwide through technology that a few years ago would have seemed a miracle.
With those opportunities there comes greater obligation to keep our trust with the Lord. Where much is given, much is required. After you find the first few generations, the road will become more difficult. The price will become greater. As you go back in time, the records become less complete. As others of your family search out ancestors, you will discover that the ancestor you find has already been offered the full blessings of the temple. Then you will have a difficult and important choice to make. You will be tempted to stop and leave the hard work of finding to others who are more expert or to another time in your life. But you will also feel a tug on your heart to go on in the work, hard as it will be.
As you decide, remember that the names which will be so difficult to find are of real people to whom you owe your existence in this world and whom you will meet again in the spirit world. When you were baptized, your ancestors looked down on you with hope. Perhaps after centuries, they rejoiced to see one of their descendants make a covenant to find them and to offer them freedom. In your reunion, you will see in their eyes either gratitude or terrible disappointment. Their hearts are bound to you. Their hope is in your hands. You will have more than your own strength as you choose to labor on to find them.
A few nights ago I had a dream. I saw a piece of white paper with a name on it I did not know and a date I could only partially read. I got up and went to the records of my family. The last name on the slip of paper is from a line which came into my mother’s ancestry 300 years ago in a place called Eaton Bray. Someone is anxious for a long wait to end. I have not yet found that person. But I have found again the assurance that a loving God sends help in answer to prayer in this sacred work of redeeming our families, which is His work and His glory and to which we have pledged our hearts. I so testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I have always enjoyed reading the New Era, but not until recently have I realized how much goes into putting it together.
Our seminary visited the Church Office Building in Salt Lake City and went on the floors involved in putting together the magazines. We were amazed at all of the friendly people and all of the time and effort they put into making each issue the best possible.
After seeing all of this effort firsthand, I will always appreciate the New Era and be sure I read it from cover to cover.
Rebecca ClarkMidland, Michigan

Here is an example of caring for those in need. One day a stake president in the Cúcuta stake in Colombia accompanied the stake Young Women president to visit two young women—and their older teenage brother—who were going through some terrible struggles. Recently their father had passed away, and their mother had passed away a year before. The three siblings were now left all alone in their small, humble shelter. The walls were made of crude wood lined with plastic bags, and the corrugated tin roof covered only the area where they slept.

Following their visit, these leaders knew they needed to help. Through the ward council, a plan to help them began to emerge. Ward and stake leaders—Relief Society, elders quorum, Young Men, Young Women—and many families all set themselves to the task of blessing this family.

The ward organizations contacted several ward members who work in construction. Some helped with design, others donated time and labor, others made meals, and still others donated needed materials.

When the little house was finished, it was a joyful day for those who helped and for the three young ward members. These orphaned children felt warm and reassuring bonds of their ward family to know that they are not alone and that God is always there for them. Those who reached out felt the love of the Savior for this family and acted as His hands in serving them.

My name is Mardi Datakasi, I’m 16 years old, and I go to Mt. Barker High, where I’m in year 11 and study maths, (Australians use the plural), English, chemistry, modern history, geography, drama, Australian studies, and biology.
I am currently the state champion and third in Australia for BMX (bicycle motocross) racing. I just returned from Holland after competing in IBF championships, where I came in sixth. This was a great experience and an opportunity to meet people from other countries, as there were 32 countries competing.
My day is very long. I get up at 5:30 A.M. to arrive at the chapel for seminary at 6:15. That’s a 20-kilometer trip. We finish at about 7:10. I eat breakfast, then go to the local fitness center and do my morning training for BMX, which includes weights and swimming. At 8:30 I leave there and walk to school. After school I train on my bike and do my homework. Every Monday and Thursday night I work at the Meadows take-away (fast-food restaurant) and get home about 10:30 P.M.
On weekends I race BMX bikes and go to church. I have just completed my third year of seminary and am a Laurel.

Dixie and her friend Jimmy struggled up the steep bank of the ravine. In one arm she carried a large black cat with an orange spot on its nose. “I’m going to call her Desdemona,” she panted, scrambling up onto the sidewalk.

Jimmy scrambled up beside her. “That’s a strange name,” he said.

“My mother told me about a beautiful cat she once had named that.” Dixie stroked the cat as it nestled comfortably in her arm. “Maybe she’ll feel more like letting me keep her if we call her Desdemona.”

“Maybe,” Jimmy said. Then he frowned and added, “I didn’t think that they allowed pets in your condo.”

“Well, not dogs, but a few people have cats.”

“She may belong to someone,” Jimmy said, warning his friend to not become too attached to the cat. “She doesn’t look starved.”

“Bobby Feltz told me that she sleeps in an abandoned shed and eats mice and squirrels in the ravine.”

“Maybe,” Jimmy said. “Maybe not.”

“Oh, oh. They’re out on the porch.” Dixie stopped abruptly as they approached a large Victorian house. Several elderly people sat in rocking chairs on the large front porch. “I hate going past here.”

“They don’t bother me,” Jimmy said. “My grandpa’s in a rest home.”

“Oh.” Dixie didn’t know what to say to that.

They were in front of the home now, and one man had come down the front walk and stood leaning on a cane, watching them. “You there,” he said. His voice was hoarse and raspy, but commanding.

Jimmy stopped. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I want to see that cat,” the old man said, pointing at Desdemona. “Bring it up onto the porch. The ladies want to see it too.”

Jimmy turned toward the house, and Dixie followed reluctantly.

“What’s your name?” Jimmy asked as they climbed the wooden stairs.

“Colonel Stayner.” The old man turned to the women. “Ladies,” he said, “look what these fine young people have brought for you to see. Children, this is Miss Bessie.” Dixie and Jimmy nodded, but Miss Bessie only looked at her hands. Dixie thought that the old lady’s face was the saddest face that she’d ever seen. “This is Mrs. Jones,” Colonel Stayner went on, nodding toward a lady who was staring into space. She looks grumpy and cross, Dixie thought. “And this is Sarah.” Sarah smiled kindly at them. “Look at this nice cat,” the colonel said.

Miss Bessie lifted her head very slowly and looked at the cat in Dixie’s arms. She slowly raised her hands toward Desdemona.

“Let her hold the cat,” the colonel rasped.

Dixie reluctantly placed the cat in the lap of the sad old woman, and the cat promptly curled up and began to purr. Miss Bessie slowly stroked the cat with her wrinkled hand.

“What a lovely cat,” said the lady introduced only as Sarah. “What’s her name?”

“Desdemona,” Dixie answered.

“Desdemona,” Sarah repeated. “That’s a beautiful name, but what made you think of it?”

“My mother had a cat named Desdemona, so I named her that.”

Sarah smiled. “What a thoughtful girl you are,” she said.

“I want to hold the cat!”

Dixie was startled by Mrs. Jones’s loud voice.

“After Miss Bessie,” the colonel said kindly.

“After Bessie, after Bessie!” Mrs. Jones shrilled. “She gets everything first.”

A moment later the colonel picked the cat up off Miss Bessie’s lap and put it on Mrs. Jones’s lap. Desdemona settled comfortably again.

“She’s a real people cat,” the colonel said.

Dixie nodded. Desdemona seemed to love all the attention given her by the old people.

Finally the colonel picked Desdemona up quickly from Mrs. Jones’s lap. She grabbed at the cat but missed, and the colonel put her back in Dixie’s arms.

“Please may I pet her a minute before you go?” Sarah asked. When Dixie stepped closer to the old lady, she stroked the gleaming black fur with her tiny hand. “Desdemona,” she said slowly. “You can call her Desi for short.”

“Yeah,” Dixie said. It really wasn’t a bad idea.

“We have to go now—it’s dinnertime,” Jimmy said.

“You young people come again,” the colonel commanded.

“And bring Desi,” Sarah said.

The children clomped down the steps. They didn’t say anything until they were well past the old house.

“Were they really so bad?” Jimmy finally asked.

“Well, Sarah and the colonel seemed pretty normal, but Mrs. Jones kind of gave me the creeps.”

When Dixie reached home, her mother asked, “Where did you get that cat?”

“In the ravine. She doesn’t belong to anyone—I checked. Her name is Desdemona. Isn’t she beautiful?” Dixie set Desdemona down on the floor, and the cat walked calmly around, her tail high and regal. She rubbed against Mother’s legs.

Mother smiled. “My Desdemona was pussy-willow gray.”

“May I keep her, Mom—please?”

“Even if she doesn’t belong to anyone else—she’ll still need shots and things, and that all costs money.”

“I could pay at least part of it out of my own money,” Dixie pleaded.

“Well, Dixie, I guess you can keep the cat if no owner shows up, but she’ll have to have a box and be confined in the apartment all day while I’m at work and you’re at school. She may not like that.”

In school the next day, Dixie kept thinking about Desi’s being alone in the apartment all day. “A people cat,” the colonel had said, and it was true. Desi liked everybody. And she liked lots of attention.

When Dixie unlocked the door to her apartment that afternoon, Desi streaked past her and down the steps, raced across the lawn and up the trunk of a sycamore tree, and sat on a branch, swishing her tail wildly back and forth.

“Come on, Desi,” Dixie called. “Come here.”

Finally the cat ran down the tree trunk, across the lawn, up the steps, and into the apartment. Dixie followed and gathered Desdemona into her arms. “Was it awful being in here alone all day? It was nice to have you to come home to, but you must have been lonely.”

“A people cat.” The colonel’s voice echoed in Dixie’s mind, and she remembered Miss Bessie’s scrawny hands raised toward the cat. “What a thoughtful girl you are,” Sarah had said. And Mrs. Jones: “I want the cat!”

Dixie hadn’t realized that old people loved animals too. Still holding Desi, Dixie headed for the rest home. The colonel and Sarah waved as she approached.

“It’s the girl with the cat,” Sarah said to Miss Bessie, who raised her head slightly.

Dixie climbed the steps and put Desi into Mrs. Jones’s lap. Mrs. Jones still looked off across the lawn, but her hand came down gently on Desi’s warm back. Desi purred loudly.

“You came back,” the colonel stated. “Mrs. Jones will keep the cat forever if you don’t take it from her. She’s selfish.”

Mrs. Jones stopped stroking the cat and turned her face slowly toward Dixie. “Bessie’s turn,” she said, putting the cat in Miss Bessie’s lap, where Desie again purred contentedly.

Almost before she thought, Dixie asked, “Could you keep her here?”

Miss Bessie stopped petting the cat and raised her head, her face brightening a little.

“She’s your cat,” the colonel said.

“I just found her. And I have to leave her alone all day. She’d be happier here.”

The colonel limped toward the door and called, “Mrs. Samson!”

A large woman in a white uniform came quickly and stood in the doorway.

“This fine young lady wants to give us this beautiful cat named Desdemona,” he said.

Mrs. Samson regarded Desdemona curled up in Miss Bessie’s lap. “We had a cat here once several years ago. This one looks like a civilized sort. Why not?”

Sarah smiled her sweet smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Samson,” she said. Then she turned to Dixie. “You are the nicest girl I’ve met in some time. Come by often and see Desi—and us.”

“I will,” Dixie said.

Walking home, she kept picturing the happiness on the old people’s faces when Mrs. Samson had said that the cat could stay. Miss Bessie had even smiled slightly. Tomorrow, Dixie thought, maybe Jimmy will go with me to visit them all.