Gospel Story Finder

“Whenever we fall, whenever we do less than we ought, in a very real way we forget mother,” declared President Thomas S. Monson. He added, “Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered.”1
President Monson’s message has been a strength to me, so much so that when I first read his words, they brought to mind my mother and the wise counsel she gave me years ago, shortly after I joined the Church.
My mother was a member of another Christian church, but she was kind to the missionaries who taught me the gospel. Once I decided to become a Latter-day Saint, she always supported me.
Everything had been going well in my new life as a member of the Church until I joined in Journalism Day observances in my home country of Peru. At a party I attended, talks and complimentary words filled the air. Toasts then followed. As the party grew, so did the temptation to drink with my friends.
The change that converts to the Church make when they accept the gospel often means that they must make new friends. In some circumstances, as I learned, former friends can be instruments of the adversary to tempt us to break the commandments and resume our old ways.
When my co-workers offered me a glass of beer, I took it, drank it, and kept on drinking. At the end of the party, my conscience convicted me. I had fallen. What would my mother say?
When I arrived home, I entered quietly and immediately went to bed. My mother said nothing, but I felt ashamed and decided to quit attending church. A week later, as we sat at the table eating lunch, she looked me straight in the eye and said, “Son, never forget that you are a Mormon.”
To go to and from work, I rode my bicycle by the Church meetinghouse. Every time I did so, my conscience bothered me. One evening I decided I could no longer live with my guilt. I parked my bicycle directly in front of the branch president’s office, went in, and requested an interview.
I told the branch president what I had done and asked for forgiveness, after which he counseled with me. From that moment on, I have never broken the Word of Wisdom.
My mother died more than 20 years ago, but I have always tried to remember what she told me never to forget: I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

In our family, we have been immeasurably blessed as two decades ago, a young 16-year-old learned that she was expecting a child. She and the baby’s father were not married, and they could see no way forward together. The young woman believed the life she was carrying was precious. She gave birth to a baby girl and allowed a righteous family to adopt her as their own. For Bryce and Jolinne, she was an answer to their prayers. They named her Emily and taught her to trust in her Heavenly Father and in His Son, Jesus Christ.
Emily grew up. How grateful we are that Emily and our grandson, Christian, fell in love and were married in the house of the Lord. Emily and Christian now have their own little girl.
Emily recently wrote: “Throughout these last nine months of pregnancy, I had time to reflect on the events [of] my own birth. I thought of my birth mother, who was just 16 years old. As I experienced the aches and changes that pregnancy brings, I couldn’t help but imagine how difficult it would have been at the young age of 16. … The tears flow even now as I think of my birth mother, who knew she couldn’t give me the life [she desired for me and unselfishly placed] me for adoption. I can’t fathom what she might have gone through in those nine months—being watched with judging eyes as her body changed, the teen experiences she missed, knowing that at the end of this labor of motherly love, she would place her child into the arms of another. I am so thankful for her selfless choice, that she did not choose to use her agency in a way that would take away my own.” Emily concludes, “I’m so thankful for Heavenly Father’s divine plan, for my incredible parents who [loved and cared for] me, and for temples where we can be sealed to our families for eternity.”

“I want to tell you about a couple of things that happened to me,” Mother began. “When your dad and I were first married, we went on a trip to Yellowstone National Park. Even though it was getting late in the day, your father wanted to push on to the next town before stopping for the night. But I had a strong feeling that we should stop right where we were. I couldn’t explain why I felt that way, but I did. I told your father, and he said, ‘If that’s what you feel we should do, we’ll do it.’ Now, to this day, I don’t know why I felt that way, but I’m glad that we didn’t drive any farther until the next morning.
“One more thing,” Mother continued. “The night your dad died—before I got the phone call telling me what had happened—I already knew. All that night I had had a feeling that something was terribly wrong.
“In both cases, I am absolutely certain that it was the Holy Ghost speaking to me.”
“And that’s how you feel about the silo?” Lance asked.
“That’s right. I can’t give you any other reason except that I strongly feel you shouldn’t play there anymore.”
Later that night, when they were both in bed, Mike asked, “Lance, do you really believe what Mom said about the Holy Ghost?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“How come?”
“I’ve never told anyone this, but do you know Bobby Morrison?”
“The tall kid with red hair?”
“That’s the one. Well, last year he and I planned how to cheat on a history test. I’m not going to tell you what the plan was, because I don’t want you trying a dumb stunt like that.”
“If it’s so dumb, why did you do it?”
“Well, I’m getting to that part. When the test started, it was like I could feel this voice. And it was really strong. It said, ‘You know it’s wrong to cheat.’ After that, I just couldn’t go through with it.”
“And that voice was the Holy Ghost?”
“Yeah. So I know that there is a Holy Ghost. If Mom says that He spoke to her, I believe her.”
“So you’re not even going to sneak over to the silo?”
“No.”
“Well,” Mike said reluctantly, “I guess I won’t either.”
The next few days were hard for the boys. They had to think of new games to play that didn’t involve the silo. One afternoon Lance said, “Let’s put a puzzle together.”
“Ah, who wants to do that?” Mike groaned.
“Do you have any better ideas?”
Since Mike didn’t, they set up a table on the porch and started working on a puzzle. But Mike had a hard time concentrating—his eyes kept wandering in the direction of the silo. The good old silo. “Too bad we can’t play there anymore,” he thought miserably.
“Hey, stop daydreaming,” Lance said.
Before Mike could reply, Mother came out with a pitcher of cool lemonade.
As the three of them drank from frosty glasses, they heard a low rumble. The ground trembled, and the puzzle pieces on the table started doing a crazy dance.
“Look!” Mike pointed at the silo.
It wobbled and leaned to one side. The rumble grew louder while another sound filled the air—the sound of metal scraping, grinding, and ripping. A great cloud of dust rose up as the silo crashed to the ground.
Grandpa came running out of the house. “What in the world?” Then he saw the silo. “Oh! Oh, my!”
That night Mike lay in bed awake. Mother really had been prompted by the Holy Ghost. He was glad that he and Lance had listened to her. He promised himself and Heavenly Father that he would live the kind of life that would allow him to hear for himself the Holy Ghost’s still, small voice.
“Obey the inner feelings that come as promptings from the Holy Ghost.”Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “The Joy of Living the Great Plan of Happiness,” Ensign, Nov. 1996, 75.

One week after a recent assignment to create the first stake in Moscow, Russia,1 I attended a district conference in St. Petersburg. While speaking about my gratitude for early missionaries and local leaders who brought strength to the Church in Russia, I mentioned the name of Vyacheslav Efimov. He was the first Russian convert to become a mission president. He and his wife did wonderfully well in that assignment. Not long after they had completed their mission, and much to our sorrow, President Efimov suddenly passed away.2 He was only 52 years of age.
While speaking of this pioneering couple, I felt impressed to ask the congregation if Sister Efimov might be present. Far in the rear of the room, a woman stood. I invited her to come to the microphone. Yes, it was Sister Galina Efimov. She spoke with conviction and bore a powerful testimony of the Lord, of His gospel, and of His restored Church. She and her husband had been sealed in the holy temple. She said they were united forever. They were still missionary companions, she on this side of the veil and he on the other side.3 With tears of joy, she thanked God for sacred temple covenants. I wept too, with full realization that the everlasting unity exemplified by this faithful couple was the righteous result of making, keeping, and honoring sacred covenants.

Even over the loud cheers, Jacob could hear Coach Vance’s directions.
“Stop! Look! Go left … score!” Coach Vance yelled, guiding Jacob to score the winning shot of their final soccer game.
Jacob’s team had won the championship, and that meant only one thing: pizza party!
The whole team headed over to Coach Vance’s condo for the big celebration. Many of the boys congratulated Jacob on his winning goal. Jacob felt like the guest of honor! He didn’t have many friends in this new town, and he was eager to feel accepted.
As they waited for the pizza to arrive, some of Jacob’s teammates began looking through Coach Vance’s magazines. The boys started snickering. They called Jacob over to look too, but Jacob immediately felt uncomfortable with the pictures they showed him.
He saw pictures of adults drinking bad drinks and smoking and women dressed immodestly. Jacob was confused and disappointed. He thought Coach Vance was perfect!
Jacob knew that looking at bad pictures was wrong. He didn’t want to look, but he didn’t want the other boys to tease him. He pretended to be interested, but he felt sick inside.
Suddenly, Jacob had a strong feeling he shouldn’t look at the pictures. It was as though someone was telling him to stop.
“Stop now,” Jacob felt again.
“Stop now, Jacob!”
Suddenly Jacob recognized the feeling: it was the Holy Ghost.
As the boys continued to look through the magazines, Jacob felt the Holy Ghost tell him even more clearly to leave. The more he listened, the better he could hear the voice.
Jacob said to his teammates, “Guys, I don’t think we should be looking at these.” Then he left Coach Vance’s home.
As Jacob walked home carrying his heavy trophy in his backpack, he thought about how heavy and uncomfortable it must be to carry sins around. He decided it was definitely easier and lighter to live a clean life. He decided right then to never look at bad pictures again. Jacob knew that the Holy Ghost was the best coach he could have to help him choose the right.

Young friends, it is the will of God that you pray unceasingly. Many times I was tried and tested as a young boy on the Navajo reservation. I was often on my knees in our small, humble hogan. In those moments I asked my Heavenly Father for faith, strength, and courage to withstand temptations. Many times as I was on my knees, my own brothers made fun of me, laughing and sneering and shouting through the cracks of the hogan. But I was not bothered by them.
The young people who kneel down and ask God for faith and courage to resist temptation very early in life will find that temptation loses much of its luster. You cannot suddenly receive a full-grown testimony that God lives and that the Church is true any more than you can come into the world fully grown. You start small but grow with consistency.
Your faith needs nourishment through prayers. Exercise the muscle of faith until it is of such strength that it will sustain you. Beloved youth, get on your knees. The Lord has a testimony just for you, one that fits your size and needs. But you have to ask for it.

I wanted to thank you for the article “Speak Up!” in the August 1996 issue. Where I work, I am sometimes laughed at or teased for having the morals that I have. Every one of my co-workers knows I’m LDS. When they tease me about my standards, I just try to laugh it off. When I read this article, I knew it was just for me. Now when I get laughed at, I speak up for the Church and the gospel. Thank you so much for giving me the courage to do so.
Amber BlackburnCrofton, Maryland

On a beautiful Sunday morning in the fall of 1841, my great-grandfather, William Minshall Evans, then sixteen years of age, was walking down the streets of Liverpool, England, on his way to church. Suddenly he heard singing that thrilled him beyond anything he had ever heard before. He followed the sound down an alley and up some rickety stairs into a room where a few people were holding a meeting. John Taylor, who later became President of the Church and who had a beautiful tenor voice, was the singer. The song he sang was so beautiful that William remained to hear the sermon.
Upon returning home, William was reprimanded by his elder brother, David, for being absent from his accustomed place in the choir. When asked to give an account of himself, William replied, “I have been where you should have been and I shall not be satisfied until you all hear the wonderful truth I have heard this morning.”
Before long, William and David were converted to the gospel, and then helped convert other members of their family. Three of the brothers and their parents emigrated to Utah between 1848 and 1850. William’s mother died of cholera in Kanesville, Iowa, and her husband was so brokenhearted that he had no desire to continue on to Utah and so returned to England.
The boys experienced all of the hardships and trials of those early pioneer days, but remained true and faithful to the gospel. William had twelve children and passed on a great heritage to his posterity.
I never sing the hymns of the Church without remembering that it was the singing of a hymn that opened the door to the gospel for my family and made it possible for me to enjoy all the blessings that have followed.

I was staying in the home of a stake president once when I was reorganizing a stake. His wife seemed to be distraught and upset. I could tell she had something to talk to me about, and finally I arranged to stay at the breakfast table a little longer than her husband, who left the room to prepare to leave for meetings. With tears streaming down her face, she told of an act of indiscretion that occurred before she was married that she had lived with all her married life.

She married a good husband, worthy to be a stake president, and she told how this sin had tormented her during all those years. How relieved she was to finally have the courage to confess. The more you get involved in the gospel, the more these sins of the past will torment your soul, until you absolve them with a priesthood leader.

Members of the Rochdale Ward, Ashton Stake, supported by sisters of the Ashton 1st Ward, for the last few years have adopted Francis House Children’s Hospice as one of their reach-out community projects.
Prepandemic and during the build-up to Easter, sisters have knitted Easter chicks, into which chocolate cream eggs donated by members have been inserted. The completed Easter chicks were then donated to the hospice for them to sell as part of their ongoing fundraising activities.
Easter 2021 brought new challenges! Would the project be able to continue?
It was decided to go ahead despite the challenges, but with the added invitation to not only supply the chocolate cream eggs and knit the chicks but also to sell the finished goods to family, friends, work colleagues, and others.
The response was overwhelming and the best to date. A total of £1,567 was raised and donated. In response, the hospice sent a letter of thanks, and a certificate. One of the lines from the letter read:
“A heartfelt thank you for taking part in our Easter Chick Appeal and raising an absolutely fantastic £1,567 for Francis House Children’s Hospice through the sale of your own knitted eggs. The support means more than words can say. I’m truly grateful you took the time and energy to support us during this difficult year for our appeal.”
In a time of adversity and with limitations caused by COVID-19, there are still opportunities to serve others within local communities, whose needs are greater than ever before.

Name: Jackson
Location: South Carolina, USA
Goal: Long-term: Own a food truck some day; short-term: Learn about making food
“I told one of my Young Men leaders about a goal I had to have a food truck. He said, ‘Every year I do a back-to-school party. Why don’t you come cook for us?’ So I did. I made about 50 hot dogs and burgers in 45 minutes. I loved being with the guys in my quorum, and I got awesome feedback from the experience and some compliments. And I learned a lot.”

I am reminded of an address given to Relief Society women by President George Albert Smith in the October 1945 general conference. This was the first conference he addressed as President of the Church and the first conference I conducted as president of Relief Society. For several years we had been denied conferences due to the restrictions of war. The women gathered to that Relief Society conference with eager and receptive spirits to hear the message of their new Prophet-President. The Spirit of the Lord rested mightily upon President Smith, and the spirit of prophecy prevailed as he spoke of the future of the women of the Church. He made very clear the responsibilities we had to all womankind. An excerpt from his address is worthy of reading at this time. Said President Smith:

I feel that I am standing on sacred ground, for in this pulpit have appeared some of the great men and women of the world, those who were anxious to do what the Lord would have them do. Here they bore testimony of the divine mission of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

You are more blessed than any other women in all the world. You were the first women to have the franchise; the first women to have a voice in the work of a church. It was God who gave it to you, and it came as a result of revelation to a Prophet of the Lord. Since that time think what benefits the women of this world have enjoyed. Not only you who belong to the Church have enjoyed the blessings of equality, but when the Prophet Joseph Smith turned the key for the emancipation of womankind, it was turned for all the women of the world, and from generation to generation the number of women who can enjoy the blessings of religious liberty and civil liberty has been increasing.

Do you realize that you have opened this Tabernacle to the first general conference we have had in years? . . . Now the sky is the limit, and I am not so sure that by the time we have two or three more general conferences here we may have visitors from Australia, New Zealand, Africa, China, Japan, and elsewhere. They may leave their homes in airplanes and in about twenty-four hours be right here. It is marvelous what the Lord has given to us in this age. [“Address to the Members of Relief Society,” 4 October 1945, Relief Society Magazine 32 (1945): 716, 717, 719]

I was deeply moved by the remarks of that great President, and following the session I thanked him and poured forth the feelings of my heart. I inquired, “Would any of this take place during my administration?” Then I asked, “When and how will our message be carried to the women of the world?” While his reply is not recorded in the conference proceedings, it is recorded in my little notebook where I’ve kept notes of the various general conferences, and it is also recorded in my mind and in my heart.

The prophet replied, “It could easily happen during your administration. The message of Mormon women will reach the women of the world when there is a special need for it. You don’t need to worry about how,” said he. “The Lord will see to that.”

By way of showing prophecy fulfilled, a few years after President Smith’s address my counselors and I noted a rather large number of women in attendance at our conference from overseas and foreign-language countries. We decided to hold a special meeting for them following the regular session of our two-day conference. We asked for a verbal roll call that morning. Each sister was to give her name, the country from which she came, and her method of transportation. Most of them had come by plane. Every country mentioned by President Smith in his 1945 address was represented except China. I noted that there was a woman there from Taiwan. I commented on this, adding that we did have a sister from Taiwan even though we did not have one from China. The sister from Taiwan then quietly arose and in perfect English said, “China is my homeland.” Prophecy was fulfilled.

I was born and grew up in Burley, Idaho, USA. My father had a farm and a ranch there, so I spent my time working in the out-of-doors. My family had been members of the Church for generations, and I was raised in a faithful home. But while I was in high school, my testimony was tested by an opportunity I had sought out.
I knew of a person from our high school who had been an exchange student. I thought it sounded like an interesting experience, so I researched the idea of becoming an exchange student, found out the procedure, and applied. I was accepted. I was then 16 years old. I had taken one year of German, so I assumed, as did my adviser, that I would be assigned to go to Germany. This particular exchange program took all your information, matched it up with families willing to act as hosts, then assigned you to a country.
When I was accepted, I was assigned to Brazil, and I agreed to the assignment. I lived with a wonderful family in São Paulo. They had six boys and one girl, just like my family at home. Fortunately, they spoke English. It turned out to be a great experience, even though I was there only for the summer.
During my time in Brazil, I made some friends who were in that stage in life when they were experimenting with things. They started inviting me to go out with them to have fun with some girls they had met.
I was thousands of miles from home in a country where nobody knew me except my host family. The friends who would invite me to go out with them used the line “No one will ever know.” In many respects that was true. Certainly, none of my American family would ever know. I was a teenager, far from home, with an invitation to do what was wrong, and nobody would ever know.
But I knew that I would know. I knew the Lord would know, so I said no to their invitations and continued to say no. They asked repeatedly, sure that they could persuade me. It was not a one-time challenge, but every time I declined, I grew more determined to stand my ground.
“No one will ever know” is a rationalization that Satan uses against us in our lives. It’s a lie. I discovered that for myself during my summer in Brazil. Falling for Satan’s lie is, in fact, how many people get into such things as Internet pornography. They think they can do it in a way that no one will ever know. But in every case, they know and God knows.
Please don’t ever buy into that lie in any aspect of your life. I’m thankful that I was able to see the false reasoning for what it was and not give in. The Spirit helped me feel the truth. I also relied on the fact that because of what I had learned in my family, I knew what was right. My parents had taught me the truth. I learned the truth in Primary, in Sunday School, in Aaronic Priesthood, and in seminary. That foundation of the gospel was in my home, in the upbringing that I had had, and in Church lessons.
My experience with temptation as an exchange student came from the outside, from persistent friends. It was an external challenge to the things I believed, and I was able to stand firm. But as additional experiences came to me, I learned that we are going to be tested from all sides. Some of the most difficult challenges are internal ones, when the temptations that have to be resisted take place in the quiet of our own hearts and minds.
One of these challenges came when I chose to pay an honest tithe when I was away from home. Every year my dad would take us to tithing settlement. He would help us calculate our tithing, and we would pay it. All during the time I was growing up, I developed this habit of paying tithing. If you had asked me at the time, I would have told you that I had a testimony of tithing.
When I finished high school, I had been admitted to Harvard University, so I worked that summer and earned money to pay for the expenses that weren’t covered by my scholarship. By the end of the first semester, I had foolishly spent all the money that I had earned to get me through the whole year.
At the start of the second semester, I got a job. I couldn’t work very much because I was a full-time student, but I worked a few hours a week and received my first paycheck. Of course, it wasn’t very much, but it was all I had to get by until the next paycheck.
Then the question arose in my mind, “What about tithing?” I had been in the habit of paying my tithing but had always had sufficient money to pay the tithing. Here I was faced with the challenge: do I pay my tithing when I don’t know if I’ve got enough money to get through the next two weeks?
As I thought about it, I remembered the scripture in Malachi 3:10, where the Lord promises, “Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”
So I realized that was my answer. I would leave it up to the Lord. I paid my tithing, not sure if I had enough money to carry me until the next paycheck. And a miracle happened. I made it through that two weeks.
It came to me so powerfully that the Lord keeps His word. The Lord came through the way He promised. Just as the scriptures say, if we pay our tithing, He will bless us. That same miracle happened every two weeks throughout the rest of the semester. Before, I had thought I had a testimony of tithing, but now, because of my correct decision, I had a powerful testimony of tithing. The Lord always does what He says, so my testimony continued to grow step-by-step.
I would encourage you, while in your teen years and as you develop your own testimony, that you need to take the Lord at His word. When the Lord promises something, we can count on it because, as the scriptures teach us, God cannot lie. The Lord keeps His word. Whenever the Lord makes a promise either through His prophet or directly through His scriptures, we can count on it.
In the scriptures we are encouraged to turn to the Lord. “Ask, and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you; for he that asketh, receiveth; and unto him that knocketh, it shall be opened” (3 Nephi 27:29).
I learned through these and other experiences that this scripture is true. Heavenly Father is always there for us. Whether our challenge is external or internal, His plan, His scriptures, His love, and His gift of the Holy Ghost will see us through.

I never knew my Dad. I knew he was a soldier in the British Army in World War II. I knew he had been a Prisoner of War for several years. But I didn’t know much else.

Two months ago I posted this on the Internet. I know you can’t read the screen so I’ll read it to you.

“Robert Otterson was buried in the summer of 1949. Rifle shots were fired over the grave and a Union Jack draped the coffin. Later, his older brother would say of the funeral wake that it was a particularly silent affair. The usual attempts to cheer up the mourners with stories and even a little humor were absent. Such was the stunned reaction to the death of a man who, at 37 and as a professional soldier, had spent more years away from home and family than he had ever wished. Three of those years had seen him incarcerated as a prisoner-of-war, first in North Africa, then in Italy and finally in Germany. As he walked up the narrow street of a village in Surrey, England, to be reunited with his family again in the late spring of 1945, he described his feelings as ‘on top of the world.’
Four years later he was dead. Not the glorious battlefield death of a soldier, but a common road accident that threw him from his motor bike on a Welsh country road. For me, his son, it meant growing up without a father. I was nine months old and have no memory of him. I felt no particular deprivation during my boyhood - due, no doubt, to a devoted mother and two caring older sisters. But as I grew older I began to sense the loss. I missed the experience of talking to a father. I missed the things I imagined he would have taught me. I missed his wisdom.
Yet that fact has been the stimulus for me to learn all I could about his life. Over the years I have recreated from interviews, letters and journals what I could not learn first-hand. I share it now for his children, his 10 grandchildren and 21 great grandchildren, with the hope that they will come to know and appreciate this remarkable man.”

And I’m still learning. I never knew whether there was any trace of the German prison camp where my father spent the last months of World War II. But this past summer my wife and I found the huge flat field in what used to be East Germany, near Muhlberg on the Elbe River. Using my Dad’s prison camp journal, we followed the route he took when he grew tired of the Russian military authorities who liberated the camp in March 1945 but who wouldn’t let the Allied soldiers leave. So he and a friend slipped out of the camp anyway, and tracked across fields and streams, headed for the American lines 40 kilometers to the west. Overnight they slept in a barn with German refugees to avoid the Russian patrols. Finally they reached the River Mulde. Over the other side of the bridge were the American front lines. My father describes his feelings as he walked over that bridge and shook hands with American soldiers on the other side. For the first time in years, he said, he felt “really free.”

So, of course, you know what I did this past summer. I walked across that bridge over the Mulde River as my father had done, and I shook hands with the only home-grown American in our company – my son-in-law. I then stood on the bank of the river with the bridge in the background, and read from my father’s journal as my daughter recorded it. That will now be posted on our website at otterson.us in the hope that it will help turn the hearts of my children and grandchildren to their fathers.

What if I hadn’t been able to travel to Germany? That is the wonderful thing about the power of the Internet. As I mention some of these discoveries, I hope you are thinking about the parallels in your own families and what you should search for, and what you can find.

From the Reiksmuseum in the Netherlands I found a picture of the gates to the camp known as Stalag IVB, as it had stood on that field you saw earlier.

From an Italian naval site I found a picture of the prison ship that carried my father from North Africa to Italy, across the Mediterranean for three miserable days. Many of the men had dysentery. There was no proper sanitation. They slept below decks on metal floors, wretched, hungry souls who didn’t know if they would survive. My father describes his place on the ship, below the aft hatch. Then I found this on the Internet, on a site for model ship building. It is the very ship, the Ugo Foscolo, that carried those British prisoners of war across the Mediterranean. You can clearly see the hatch he describes.

When they finally disembarked, they faced a 5-kilometer march – an eternity it seemed to some of them – to their new camp near Bari on the Adriatic coast. As they shuffled through the village, my father depicts it this way:

“As we passed through the city, the doors and windows of every house were filled with curious spectators. There were giggling girls, mocking youths, grave-faced men and an old lady who watched while tears ran down her furrowed cheeks. Truly, our appearance was more to be pitied than laughed at, but ragged, unkempt, dirty and half-starved as we were, we unconsciously held our heads erect, got into step and gazed defiantly back at the mocking faces, while the war songs of 25 years ago burst from our lips and echoed through the street.”

So why is this important? Because when I stand in the baptismal font of a temple – as I did in London in 1976 for my father – or complete any temple work for someone whose life I’ve studied, the experience is immeasurably richer. And even if all I can find on the Internet is a description of the time and place in which an ancestor lived – and that is the case for most of them - it still enables me to make a connection. Family history for me now is not just names and dates, but flesh and blood, experiences to be passed on, stories to bind and strengthen families. Could the Lord also have had this in mind when he said that the hearts of the children would be turned to their fathers?

“Marionette,” called out the teacher.
Lucia stood before the class, her dark eyes shining and her hands clasped before her in eager anticipation. Her only opponent, Susan Hanley, spelled quickly, “M-a-r-i-o-n … ” She hesitated a moment before finishing, “e-t.”
“I’m sorry,” said the teacher, “but that’s the wrong spelling.”
Lucia felt sorry for Susan, whose crushed expression and flushed face mirrored her disappointment. Should I misspell the word and end the contest in a tie? Lucia wondered.
Lucia didn’t want to begin her first week at a new school making an enemy. She wondered if Susan was like Donna at her former school. Donna and Lucia had battled constantly for first place in everything.
“Marionette,” the teacher repeated.
Lucia tore her gaze from Susan and began to spell the word: “M—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and began again, “M-a-r-i-o-n-e-t-t-e.”
“The winner is Lucia Martin!” declared the teacher.
Lucia smiled weakly and looked at Susan. Susan’s eyes were downcast, and her complexion was a dull brick red. Lucia’s stomach lurched. I did the wrong thing, she decided.
Just then the recess bell rang, and the fourth grade class spilled out onto the playground. Lucia trailed with heavy steps, her eyes following Susan. I don’t want to compete with her, she thought. I just want to be friends. But she knew how hard it was not to compete. She could never resist trying to beat Donna.
Lucia found herself standing near Susan and another girl.
“Too bad about the spelling bee,” Susan’s friend was saying. “Up until now you hadn’t lost any. Will your folks be upset?”
Susan picked nervously at the buttons on her coat. “I suppose so,” she muttered dully. “My parents get upset whenever they think I’m not doing as well as my sister Sylvia. The trouble is, my sister’s good at everything! I’m tired of trying to keep up with her.”
Poor Susan, Lucia thought. At least I don’t have those problems.
“Let’s play jump rope,” Susan’s friend suggested. “Everyone knows you’re the best rope jumper in the school!”
Immediately a game of jump rope was started, and Lucia asked to turn one end of the rope. Before long she forgot her troubles and was shouting the chants with the others.
Soon it was Susan’s turn to jump. The girls counted out the turns of the rope together. On and on they counted. Lucia found herself cheering for Susan with the rest. “Hit two hundred!” she called. “You can do it!”
The girls counted excitedly, “193, 194, 195, …”
Susan’s face was the color of a ripe tomato. Lucia could hear her gasping for breath as the girls called out, “198, 199, 200!”
As the girls cheered the exhausted jumper, Susan’s shoe caught the rope and she went down on one knee.
Lucia put out a hand to help Susan up. But Susan jerked away, looking triumphant. “Let’s see you beat that!” she whispered.
Lucia’s face burned. As she took her turn jumping the rope, a familiar anger tightened her stomach. It was happening all over again.
The only sound was the slap of the rope and the tap of her leather shoes on the cement as she easily jumped to fifty. The rope arched up and down, over and over again, making a whooshing sound as it cut through the air.
The girls began to count aloud now, “101, 102, …”
Lucia’s breath came in shallow pants. Her hands clenched and unclenched automatically. Her leather shoes beat out a pattern on the concrete. The perspiration on her forehead trickled down her nose. She wiped it away quickly.
Above the roar in her ears she heard, “189, 190, 191, …” Her legs felt heavy now, and there was a tingling numbness in the soles of her feet. She felt a strange elation. “… 195, 196, …”
Then Susan’s face loomed before her. She saw the crumpled features and brimming eyes of her defeated opponent in the spelling bee. Lucia knew what she must do. When “199” rang out, she dragged one foot just as the rope hit the ground. She fell to her hands and knees gasping for breath. The girls crowded around her expressing sympathy.
Lucia gazed into the gray eyes of her opponent, noting Susan’s look of satisfaction. Then Susan’s eyes widened as she recognized Lucia’s sacrifice to win her friendship. A flush crept slowly up Susan’s cheeks before she lowered her eyes.
Please understand, Lucia pleaded silently. People are more important than winning or losing.
When Susan looked up again, her eyes had softened and tiny twinkly lights glinted in their depths. She smiled warmly and held her hand out to Lucia to help her up.

Once during his second winter, two days out of Placerville, Thompson discovered at nightfall a fur trader, James Sisson, partially delirious and near death in a mountain cabin. Sisson’s legs were frozen to the knees and gangrene was setting in. After chopping wood and building a fire in the fireplace, Snowshoe skied to Genoa for help.

Unfortunately, the only doctor in town was out on another emergency call. So Snowshoe, with the help of volunteers and a sled, managed to bring Sisson to Genoa in spite of deep mountain snow.

Then they found that the doctor was out of the chloroform necessary to perform the leg amputations! And where was the only chloroform? Across the mountains in Sacramento. This was now the fifth day since Snowshoe had left Placerville, California. And in all this time he had caught only quick snatches of sleep. Nevertheless, he started out immediately for Sacramento, amazingly making the run in a night and a day and then back to Genoa again in another night and day in time to save Sisson’s life.

Can you see the relationship between priesthood keys and blessings? As you engage in this work, I think you will find that the Lord is in its details. An experience demonstrates this. I recently learned of a mother who regularly escorted her children to the temple to perform proxy baptisms. On this particular day, as this family completed their baptisms and were leaving the temple, a man entered the baptistry area with a large batch of his own family names. Realizing there was no one remaining in the baptistry to assist with these family names, a temple worker caught the departing family and asked the children if they would consider reentering and changing once again to assist with these baptisms. They willingly agreed and went back in. As the children were baptized, their mother, listening, began to recognize the names and soon, to the amazement of all, realized the man’s batch of family names were deceased ancestors of her family as well. A sweet, tender mercy for them.

President Thomas S. Monson
“Christmas time had come. We were preparing for the oven a gigantic turkey and anticipating the savory feast that awaited. A neighborhood pal of mine asked a startling question: ‘What does turkey taste like?’
“I responded, ‘Oh, about like chicken tastes.’
“Again a question: ‘What does chicken taste like?’
“It was then that I realized that my friend had never eaten chicken or turkey. I asked what his family was going to have for Christmas dinner. There was no prompt response—just a downcast glance and the comment, ‘I dunno. There’s nothing in the house.’
“I pondered a solution. There was none. I had no turkeys, no chickens, no money. Then I remembered I did have two pet rabbits. Immediately I took my friend by the hand and rushed to the rabbit hutch, placed the rabbits in a box, and handed the box to him with the comment, ‘Here, take these two rabbits. They’re good to eat—just like chicken.’
“He took the box, climbed the fence, and headed for home, a Christmas dinner safely assured. Tears came easily to me as I closed the door to the empty rabbit hutch. But I was not sad. A warmth, a feeling of indescribable joy, filled my heart. It was a memorable Christmas.
“Heavenly Father is ever mindful of those who need, who seek, who trust, who pray, and who listen when He speaks. ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life’ (John 3:16). God’s gift becomes our blessing. May every heart open wide and welcome him—Christmas day and always.”1

In 2023, members and friends of the Rochdale Ward, Ashton Stake, surpassed all previous fundraising efforts for Francis House Children’s Hospice in Manchester.
In the months leading up to Easter, sisters from the Relief Society, along with friends, began knitting baby chicks. They embellished the chicks by adding colourful ribbons, hats, beaks and eyes.
Members donated chocolate cream eggs, and each was placed inside of a chick, making a unique Easter gift. Approximately one thousand chicks were created.
Via their efforts with loved ones, neighbours, colleagues, and social media, the member’s managed to raise a grand total of £2150.00.
The donation was presented by Rochdale Ward Relief Society President Wendy Orrell to Rachel Nasri, a member of Francis House fundraising team. Rachel expressed her gratitude for all the efforts in raising such an amount.

In the course of constructing that tabernacle, the local brethren ordered the glass for the windows from New York and had it shipped around the cape to California. But a bill of $800 was due and payable before the panes could be picked up and delivered to St. George. Brother David H. Cannon, later to preside over the St. George Temple being built at the same time, was charged with the responsibility of raising the needed funds. After painstaking effort, the entire community, giving virtually everything they had to these two monumental building projects, had been able to come up with only $200 cash. On sheer faith Brother Cannon committed a team of freighters to prepare to leave for California to get the glass. He continued to pray that the enormous balance of $600 would somehow be forthcoming before their departure.
Living in nearby Washington, Utah, was Peter Neilson, a Danish immigrant who had been saving for years to add on to his modest two-room adobe home. On the eve of the freighters’ departure for California, Peter spent a sleepless night in that tiny little house. He thought of his conversion in far-off Denmark and his subsequent gathering with the Saints in America. After coming west he had settled and struggled to make a living in Sanpete. And then, just as some prosperity seemed imminent there, he answered the call to uproot and go to the Cotton Mission, bolstering the pathetic and sagging efforts of the alkali-soiled, malaria-plagued, flood-bedeviled settlers of Dixie. As he lay in bed that night contemplating his years in the Church, he weighed the sacrifices asked of him against the wonderful blessings he had received. Somewhere in those private hours he made a decision.
Some say it was a dream, others say an impression, still others simply a call to duty. However the direction came, Peter Neilson arose before dawn on the morning the teams were to leave for California. With only a candle and the light of the gospel to aid him, Peter brought out of a secret hiding place $600 in gold coins—half eagles, eagles, and double eagles. His wife, Karen, aroused by the predawn bustling, asked why he was up so early. He said only that he had to walk quickly the seven miles to St. George.
As the first light of morning fell on the beautiful red cliffs of southern Utah, a knock came at David H. Cannon’s door. There stood Peter Neilson, holding a red bandanna which sagged under the weight it carried. “Good morning, David,” said Peter. “I hope I am not too late. You will know what to do with this money.”
With that he turned on his heel and retraced his steps back to Washington, back to a faithful and unquestioning wife, and back to a small two-room adobe house that remained just two rooms for the rest of his life.