Gospel Story Finder

Four months into her second pregnancy, Delva was told that her baby had a rare chromosome disorder called trisomy 13. There was little chance for the baby’s survival, and because Delva’s life could also be at risk, doctors repeatedly advised her to abort the pregnancy. Faced with an uncertain outcome, Delva chose to trust Heavenly Father no matter what happened.
Christina Smith, photographer
I was told my baby wouldn’t survive for more than an hour if she lived at all. And if she did live, I was told she would have no quality of life. My doctor strongly advised me to terminate the pregnancy. I went to another doctor and was told the same thing: terminate the pregnancy.
Then I went to a doctor who was a friend and a member of the Church. I hoped the Spirit might prompt him to provide a different diagnosis. He looked at all the test results and ultrasounds and expressed the same concern as the other doctors. But he told me he would fast and pray for my family and hope for the best.
I saw many different doctors and specialists throughout my pregnancy. Each time they suggested termination because they feared the pregnancy would put my life at risk. But I couldn’t imagine doing that.
My husband and I were willing to live with whatever happened. If our daughter passed away, we would know that she is a precious spirit. If she lived and it was going to be a struggle, we had faith that we would be able to handle it.
It was still very difficult. I tried to keep my emotions inside because I had a two-year-old daughter and I didn’t want her to see me fall apart. I didn’t know what to do, what to think, or where to turn for help. My husband, friends, and family were supportive, but I felt that they did not fully understand what I was going through. The only person who could truly understand was the Lord. I prayed continually for comfort and guidance.
Eventually, I met with our bishop and explained what was going on. He invited the ward to fast for our family. This was a turning point for me. I began to feel heaven’s guiding light in every decision I had to make.
At eight and a half months, I went in for a 4D ultrasound.
Our baby was due in a few weeks, and I realized that it could be the end. I also wanted to have a recording of my daughter’s heartbeat to put inside a teddy bear to have something to remember her by.
In previous ultrasounds, doctors couldn’t see any physical features. Because of this, they said our daughter’s hands would be stubs and her face would be deformed. The images in a 4D ultrasound are more detailed, so when the technician began the ultrasound, I saw my daughter’s perfect hand waving at me on the screen. I also saw two perfect eyes and a perfect mouth. I had an overwhelming feeling that she wasn’t going to die.
When our daughter, MeLa, was born, specialists were standing by but were not needed. MeLa did not have trisomy 13. Doctors and specialists could not explain why, but my husband and I knew it was a miracle.
After MeLa was born, doctors recommended additional genetic testing to determine if she had any abnormalities. The test results revealed that she did have a rare genetic condition. The geneticist was concerned that MeLa would be blind, deaf, and unable to walk and talk. Today, however, while she does have some developmental delays, MeLa is able to see, hear, and use a training device to assist her in walking. She also says words here and there. She’s the happiest kid!
We are so grateful for the blessings we have received through this whole process. We know that Heavenly Father is the ultimate Creator and the ultimate Decider of life. We are just blessed to be a part of it. Every day we look at MeLa and know that she’s a miracle. Our children bring happiness to our lives and remind us that we have much to be grateful for.
Delva and Kirkome Netane enjoy the time they spend with their children, Teisa (right) and MeLa (left).
Though Delva’s second pregnancy was difficult, Delva and Kirkome are grateful for the blessings they have received. “This experience has brought our family closer to one another and closer to the Lord,” Delva says.
Recalling the difficult pregnancy, Kirkome says, “I was in turmoil. But my wife and I held on to our testimonies of the gospel. We held on to hope and agreed that if there was any chance we could give our daughter, we would do our best.”
“It is a blessing that we get to play with MeLa every day and see her smile,” Kirkome says. “It’s a constant witness to us that God is in control and that answers to prayers can come to us more vivid and alive than anything we could ever imagine.”

It has taken me eight years to get around to writing and telling you how much I appreciate your fantastic magazine, but I’m finally repenting of my procrastination. I come from Perth, Western Australia, and eight years ago my family came to the New Zealand Temple. Just before we left home I grabbed several New Eras because I thought it would be good to have something a bit spiritual to read while we were traveling to the temple. Before that time I had rarely bothered to read much more than the Mormonisms. (I still love those!)
In the week and a half it took me to drive to Sydney before flying to New Zealand, I read each of those magazines from cover to cover. Many articles I read two or three times. By the time we got back home again I was totally hooked, and I have been ever since. Mom often used to complain that she’d never see the New Era, because as soon as it arrived it would disappear to my room to be read in the next day or two and then be added to a pile under my bed to be reviewed whenever I had spare time. Now I am back in New Zealand serving in the New Zealand Auckland Mission. In the years I was preparing for my mission, and also during my past 19 months in the mission field, the New Era has always been a great source of strength, encouragement, and inspiration to me.
There’s one thing I’d like to ask, though. Could you publish a book of favorite poems, stories, articles, and music from the New Era so that those who have missed out or lost earlier copies of the New Era don’t have to miss out on the great things they contained? Keep up the great work. You’ve got a bonger (Aussie for great) magazine.
Elder Grant O’NeilNew Zealand Auckland Mission

Maddie was having fun coloring in her coloring book when she heard Mom calling her to get in the car so they could run errands. Maddie did not like going on errands. She pretended she didn’t hear her mom and kept coloring.
Finally, Mom came to Maddie. “Maddie, I have been calling you and calling you. Everyone is in the car, and we are waiting for you. We need to go to the bank, to the grocery store, and to put gas in the car. Please hurry.”
“I don’t want to come,” Maddie said. “Errands are boring. They take forever!”
“I need you to please obey,” Mom said. “You can bring your crayons and coloring book.”
Maddie growled and grumbled as she picked up her things and stomped after Mom to the car.
“This is not fair!” Maddie whined.
As they drove along, Maddie had a hard time keeping her crayons inside the lines of the picture she was coloring.
“I can’t color in the car,” Maddie said. “Every time you turn it makes me mess up!”
Maddie thought if she was miserable running errands, everyone else should be miserable too. At each stop the family made, Maddie had something to complain about. She complained and complained and complained.
When they finally got home, Maddie ran to her room. She was glad to be home. But she was starting to feel sorry about the way she had behaved. Making everyone else miserable hadn’t made her feel any happier.
She thought about the family home evening lesson Mom had taught the week before. Mom talked about Nephi and his brothers Laman and Lemuel. She asked who had been more obedient, and Maddie said Nephi. When Dad asked her why, Maddie said that Nephi was the one who did what he was asked to do.
Dad explained that Laman and Lemuel had gone with their family into the wilderness and with Nephi to get the brass plates from Laban. But Laman and Lemuel had murmured and complained. They were miserable and tried to make everyone else miserable. But Nephi respected his parents and Heavenly Father. Even when he was asked to do something hard, Nephi obeyed without complaining.
Maddie realized that even though she had gone to the car as she had been asked, and even though she had gone on all of the errands with her family, she had not been like Nephi.
Maddie put down her crayons. She walked into the kitchen and apologized to her family for the way she had acted. Mom hugged Maddie and asked her to help her brother set the table for dinner. Maddie didn’t really want to help, but she said OK and went to the cupboard to get the plates without complaining. Mom smiled at her, and Maddie smiled back. She was feeling better already.

I staggered away from the table saw, my ears ringing, my stomach churning. Warm blood reached my elbow and flowed to the cement floor. With the palm of my undamaged hand, I cradled the mess, terrified at the sight of the red blood, white bone, and yellowing skin.
“Tim, what happened? Tim? Tim!”
I heard a voice yelling my name. It was Jeff, the only other person in the shop. Through blurred vision, I saw him running toward me.
“Go. Go get help! Call an ambulance! Hurry!” I screamed, and Jeff ran out the door.
Now alone, I lay on a large roll of plastic to stave off my dizziness. I had just finished a year of college and landed my dream job—working for the United States Forest Service in the remote mountains of southwestern Colorado. A week earlier I had received my mission call to Melbourne, Australia. I was to finish my summer job in Colorado, then report to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah.
Where are they? I wondered. I started to get up, thinking I would go outside, get in the truck, and drive myself to the hospital. With dizziness returning quickly, I lay back down on the slippery plastic and closed my eyes. Soon I heard the wail of an ambulance.
“He’s in here.” I recognized Jeff’s voice.
Opening my eyes, I saw Jeff and a uniformed man and woman from the ambulance standing over me. Almost simultaneously, the man grabbed my cut hand and the woman took my pulse.
“You’re going to be all right,” he said as he wrapped my hand with white gauze. I was relieved the injury was out of sight.
“How old are you?” asked the woman.
I whispered the answer. My throat was dry, making it difficult to speak. She asked more questions about allergies, past medical problems, and medications I was taking. I responded quickly until she got to her last question.
“What family member do you want me to call to come to the hospital?”
I thought of my family, more than 950 kilometers away. Mom would be eating lunch at work, and Dad would be sleeping after working a late-night shift as a security guard. My younger sister, Erin, would be in school.
“Tim?”
“There isn’t anyone who can come now. I don’t have any family in Colorado,” I replied. As they lifted me into the ambulance and drove toward the hospital, I remembered times that summer when I had hiked into isolated wilderness areas to repair eroding trails and hadn’t seen anyone for days. When I came back into town, I always felt detached and alone, the way I felt now.
“Tim.” It was the woman from the ambulance. Her voice sounded distant. She continued, “Is there someone else I could call—a minister or a priest?”
I thought of the small branch in Gunnison, Colorado. The members had been friendly to me during the past few months, but I didn’t want to bother them with this problem. I looked down. The blood had saturated the white gauze. I winced when I thought of the ripped flesh inside.
“Call Willy Akers or Bud Smith,” I said at last. President Akers had just been called as branch president, and Bud Smith was his counselor.
“I know Willy. I’ll call him when we get inside,” she said with assurance.
The ambulance stopped in front of the small hospital. I saw the doctor waiting for me to be wheeled in. Once inside, I looked around at the small emergency room as they placed me on an examination table. The doctor spoke calmly to the nurse as he unwrapped the dark, red gauze. I looked away.
Finally, he finished and directed the nurse to wrap it again. Without a word, he left. I could hear his voice on a telephone in the next room and knew he was speaking about me. He stopped talking after a few minutes and entered the emergency room.
“Tim,” he started, speaking slowly, “you’ve cut yourself pretty badly, and I don’t have the equipment or expertise to do much for you. I just called for a helicopter to fly you to a hospital in Denver. They will do everything they can to save your hand there. Meanwhile, I’ll give you some pain medication to make things more comfortable for you on the way. Do you have any questions?”
I managed a weak no, then thought about what he had just said. The words “save your hand” kept repeating themselves. I had never had a cut that required more than a few stitches, and now I faced the possibility of losing one of my hands.
“It’s a good thing this happened while I was home for lunch or you wouldn’t have caught me,” President Akers said as he entered the small room. Brother Smith followed close behind. “They tell me you get to go on a helicopter ride.” I nodded, too weak to speak.
“Would you like a blessing?” Bud asked. I nodded again, and in the curtained partition of the two-bed emergency room in a small hospital, I was promised two things: my hand would be all right, and I would be able to fulfill my mission to Australia. President Akers went back to work, and Brother Smith stayed with me until I was loaded onto the helicopter.
“Now I’m really alone,” I thought as I flew above Gunnison. I knew a few people in this small town of 6,000, but in Denver, a city of half a million people, I knew no one.
But I was wrong. When the helicopter landed and I was wheeled through the open doors of the hospital, a missionary couple from the Colorado Denver South Mission greeted me. Their gray hair and warm smiles reminded me of my grandparents.
“Your branch president’s wife called and asked if we’d visit you sometime this week, and we came right over,” Sister Jeffreys explained. They sat by my bed until late that afternoon when the surgery team had assembled and was ready to operate.
I wanted Elder and Sister Jeffreys to stay, but we knew they would not be allowed in during the operation. I said good-bye and watched them walk down the long hallway.
“Hello. I’m Lile Hileman, one of the anesthesiologists here,” a man said, approaching my bed. “I was supposed to get off at 4:30, but when I saw you were the only Mormon besides me here, I thought I’d ask if it would be all right for me to be your anesthetist.”
“Do you know what you’re doing?” I joked for the first time since cutting myself.
“For you, I’ll learn fast,” he said, laughing.
It took the surgeons more than 14 hours to repair the damage, and I was in Denver for just as many days.
The day after the accident, my mom flew to Denver from our home in Orem, Utah, and she was greeted at the hospital by the full-time missionaries. For the three days she was in Denver, she stayed in the home of Church members she had never met.
After my mom returned home, and during the ensuing weeks, I continued to receive visits from the Jeffreys and Brother Hileman. In addition, six members of the local singles ward came three times each week to cheer me up. The night before I left, they all “kidnapped” me from my room and took me to an ice-cream shop close to the hospital.
I flew home, and after six more operations and months of therapy, I was able to use my hand again. Although my mission call was delayed six months, I served two years with added vigor, for I now could teach the people of Melbourne about the caring brothers and sisters who they’ll always have as part of their Church family.

Ouch! Have you ever been attacked by a jumping cactus? Cholla cactus segments “jump” off to stick to clothes, skin, or whatever else they can hook their spines into.
The Latter-day Saint youth of New Mexico know how difficult it is to detach themselves from a prickly cactus. They got some extra practice, though, as they cleaned the site where the Albuquerque New Mexico Temple will be built. Armed with shovels, rakes, and gloves, youth from four stakes assembled on a hot Saturday morning to rid the property of sagebrush, garbage, and cholla, so the weeds could be mowed and the ground made safe to walk on for those attending the temple’s groundbreaking ceremony.
“It was hard work, but it will be totally worth it for the temple to come,” says Robyn Sampson, age 15.
Before the city of Albuquerque approved the plans for the temple, the youth fasted and prayed for a solution to the problems the temple’s project manager faced when he presented the plans to city officials. Now they say they are fasting and praying for the temple builders. But the prayers and the cleanup are only part of the work the young people of Albuquerque are doing to prepare for the temple. They are also working to make certain their own lives are clean.
Despite the burrs on their socks and an occasional scare from a snake or lizard, the Albuquerque youth succeeded in clearing the future temple site of every spiny cactus and broken bottle they could find. It might seem strange, but the youth actually enjoyed pulling cactuses and loading trucks with sagebrush.
“We’re so happy we will have a temple here. We thought it would never happen,” says Rosalie Campbell, age 12.
Amber Chee, age 17, looks forward to doing baptisms for the dead and someday getting married in the Albuquerque temple. “It was really fun coming here. I felt the Spirit,” she says.
Both Rosalie and Amber have done baptisms for the dead before, but opportunities for temple trips come only once a year for the Albuquerque youth, who have had to travel at least eight hours to get to a temple.
“Temples were always a faraway thing,” says Neil Peterson. As 16-year-old Neil wipes his brow, he says he enjoys helping out with something so important, even if it is hard work.
Besides concentrating on the cactus plants, Michelle Williams is thinking about what it will mean to have a temple in her area and about why she is cleaning up the temple site. “It’s very symbolic,” she says. “You have to be clean yourself to go to the temple.”
Logan King is waiting for his call as a full-time missionary. He won’t be able to go to the Albuquerque temple before his mission, but he realizes the importance of being worthy to attend the temple. “We need to clean all the cactuses out of our lives before we can go to the temple,” he says.
Researching family history is another way the Albuquerque youth are preparing for the temple. Many of them have become excited about doing family history, knowing they will soon have a temple in their area. Albuquerque’s family history center missionaries, Sister Wilcox and Sister Hatfield, say the temple will strengthen the youth. Among the large number of young people in the area, they have seen a “big push for genealogy.”
Sarah Sego, age 17, loves doing baptisms for the dead and can’t wait for the temple to be built so she can do baptisms more often. “I know it’s the right thing to do, because all those people are waiting,” she says.
Sarah is eager to tell others why she loves going to the temple. She talks to her friends about the temple and even tactfully shared her testimony of temple work with her high school class.
Sarah is not alone in her missionary efforts. Many Church members are enjoying the opportunity to explain the gospel to others because of the temple.
“I think the temple will make people notice us more,” says Lisa Willis, age 14. She’s also been telling her friends about the temple. “The best part of building a temple is having people ask about it,” she says.
Albuquerque’s full-time missionaries were also working hard at the cleanup. They say members in the area feel that the temple will bring many blessings to all the people of Albuquerque.
“While tracting, we stopped by a house and a woman opened the door and said, ‘Hey, I heard you are building one of those temples.’ That allowed us to get in the door and talk to her about the Church,” says Elder Moyer from California. Many missionaries have similar stories.
The temple will be built in a valley where it can be seen from far away. In fact, it’s the same valley the Mormon Battalion came through on its famous march from the Missouri River to California.
At the groundbreaking ceremony, many young people who had been at the cleanup also sang in the youth chorus. The strains of “High on the Mountain Top” (Hymns, number 5) rang out over the crowd of thousands that had gathered to see the temple ground dedicated.
“We all joined together to celebrate our temple,” says Tyler Lindsey, age 16. “I knew that it was right and the ground was holy. I don’t know how we sounded, but the Spirit was there.”
The Spirit is there. The spirit of service, of missionary work, and of love can be felt strongly in Albuquerque. Whether pulling cactuses or doing baptisms for the dead, the youth of Albuquerque are carrying out the Lord’s work with His Spirit to help them. The youth don’t know yet all the ways the temple will change their lives, but they are grateful to have been able to take a small part in the temple-building project. They are looking forward to the temple’s dedication in the year 2000 and to even greater blessings and opportunities to come.

After we finished walking the Jesus Trail, Mya did not take back her rope. She left it tied to my scooter. For the next few days, my teenage nephews and their friend took turns pulling me through the streets of Jerusalem. They made sure I did not miss out on the stories of Jesus. I was reminded of the strength of the rising generation. We can learn from you. You have a genuine desire to know the guide, Jesus Christ. You trust the strength of the rope that tethers us to Him. You are unusually gifted in gathering others to Him.

I was born and raised on my father’s cattle ranch in Roy, Utah, with very few neighbors nearby. I was the youngest of six children, and as a boy I was shy around people who were not in my family. On my first day at school, my brother Lowell, just two years older than I, took me to my first-grade classroom. Surrounded by children I did not know, I felt lonesome and the day seemed long until I could return home with my brother.
Soon I made friends at school and looked forward to seeing them each day. One friend, Larry Dawson, lived about a mile from my home. Larry invited me to his house for a birthday party. I had never been to a birthday party before. It was so much fun! I still remember some of the special toys Larry received—especially his new toy fire engine.
Larry and I rode the bus to school because we lived too far from school to walk. Larry got off the bus at the bus stop on the main highway just before I got off. He then had to cross the highway and walk half a mile (about 1 km) to his home. At that time cars did not stop when a school bus was loading or unloading students.
One day as we were returning home from school, a car speeding by the bus hit and killed my friend. I felt very sad. I missed being with Larry at school and on the bus. My mother and father comforted me by explaining that even though I wouldn’t see Larry anymore in this life, his spirit continued to live in the spirit world. Larry was so kind and good that I knew he would be worthy to live with our Heavenly Father. As I grew, I learned more about our Father’s plan for His children.
My brother Darrell, who was five years older than I, was a special friend to me. Darrell let me ride on his bike with him from our home on the ranch to the barn where he often worked. I rode the bike back to the house, then returned to the barn at the end of the day to accompany him on his ride home. I loved Darrell very much.
One day Darrell was coming home in our family car from driving my sister to her piano lesson. He stopped at the railroad tracks to wait while a long freight train passed. He did not see another train coming from the other direction. When Darrell started over the tracks, the train struck the car and my brother was killed. I was sweeping our driveway when my father pulled up in his pickup truck shortly after it happened, and I still remember the sadness we felt when he told my mother and our family of the accident.
President David O. McKay and Elder Spencer W. Kimball came to speak at my brother’s funeral. President McKay, then President of the Church, was related to my father. Elder Kimball, who later became President of the Church, had recently visited our stake conference and had stayed in our home because my father was the stake president. President McKay and Elder Kimball taught us about our Heavenly Father’s plan and said that we would be together again as a family. They said that we should not be afraid of death, and they taught us about the resurrection. They promised that my brother would live again and that our family could live together for the one thousand years of peace called the Millennium.
I was grateful to know that my friend Larry and my brother Darrell had kept the commandments so they could enjoy every blessing from our Heavenly Father. We do not know when we are going to die, so we should live every day so we will not be sorry if our time comes to return home. We need to speak in kind ways to our brothers and sisters and friends. We should not argue or treat others unkindly. We should follow the example of Jesus Christ. One of my favorite Primary songs reminds me of the things we need to do.
I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.
I’m trying to love as he did, in all that I do and say.
At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice,
But I try to listen as the still small voice whispers,
“Love one another as Jesus loves you.
Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought,
For these are the things Jesus taught.”
(Children’s Songbook, 78–79)
When we keep all of our Heavenly Father’s commandments, we will be happy now and in the life to come. It also takes away our fear of dying because we know that if we are good, we will one day go home to live with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ forever.

A 13-year-old Eagle Scout from Sunnymead, California, designed the community flag and seal as part of his Eagle requirements. Adam Harral submitted the two designs to the Moreno Valley Chamber of Commerce, and after they were accepted, he cut out and put the flag together. When it was completed, he took it with him to the National Boy Scout Jamboree in Pennsylvania where it was posted with the flags from various cities throughout the nation. Upon his return home, Adam carried the flag in the Moreno Valley parade for its official presentation to the community. He was later given a plaque from the Sunnymead Chamber of Commerce in recognition of his community service.

When I was a bishop, a faithful brother asked me to come to his home. When I arrived there, I found him to be in utter despair. The cause of his anguish was that his car had broken down. Its engine had seized while his family was returning home from stake conference. In hindsight it probably seems petty, but at that moment it was a big deal—the proverbial straw breaking the camel’s back. He could not fathom why this would happen to him when he was trying so hard to do everything right. With a modest income he could not see how he could repair the vehicle or survive without it.
Despairing situations in the scriptures came to my mind. I remembered Joseph Smith’s desperate plea from Liberty Jail:
“O God, where art thou? . . .
“How long shall thy hand be stayed?”1
And the Lord’s reply:
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; . . . thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
“Thy friends do stand by thee . . .
“Thou art not yet as Job”.2
Job was a righteous man beset with so many afflictions that he had cause to wonder if he should have even been born.
This faithful brother and I talked about Joseph and Job and decided he had not been deserted by his friends. I asked him who his friends were. He named a few and they were all members of his priesthood quorum. I suggested that they could help and resolved to approach them. Of course, his friends were very willing and grateful to assist. They knew where to source a reconditioned engine, how to install the replacement engine, and they quietly contributed the required funds. The problem was solved. Discouragement and despair were replaced by resolve and hope.

On the afternoon of February 4, 1846, sunlight danced across New York Harbor as a crowd huddled at the wharf to bid farewell to the Brooklyn, a 450-ton ship bound for San Francisco Bay on the coast of California, a sparsely settled region in northwestern Mexico. On the deck of the ship, waving to their relatives and friends below, were more than two hundred Saints, most of them too poor to travel west by wagon.18
Leading them was twenty-six-year-old Sam Brannan. After the October conference, the Twelve had instructed Sam to charter a ship and take a company of eastern Saints to California, where they would wait to rendezvous with the main body of the Church somewhere in the West.
“Flee out of Babylon!” apostle Orson Pratt had warned. “We do not want one Saint to be left in the United States.”19
Sam soon chartered the Brooklyn at an affordable price, and workers built thirty-two small bunk rooms to accommodate the passengers. He had the Saints pack plows, shovels, hoes, pitchforks, and other tools they would need to plant crops and build homes. Unsure of what lay ahead, they stowed ample food and provisions, some livestock, three grain mills, grinding stones, lathes, nails, a printing press, and firearms. A charitable society also donated enough books to the ship to form a good library.20
As Sam prepared for the voyage, a politician he knew in Washington warned him that the United States was still determined to stop the Saints from leaving Nauvoo. The politician also told Sam that he and a businessman with interests in California were willing to lobby the government on the Church’s behalf in exchange for half the land the Saints acquired in the West.
Sam knew the terms of the deal were not good, but he believed the men were his friends and could protect the Saints. A few days before he boarded the Brooklyn, Sam had a contract drawn up and sent it to Brigham, urging him to sign it. “All will go well,” he promised.21
He also informed Brigham of his plan to establish a city at San Francisco Bay, perhaps as a new gathering place for the Saints. “I shall select the most suitable spot,” he wrote. “Before you reach there, if it is the Lord’s will, I shall have everything prepared for you.”22
By the time the Brooklyn left its moorings, Sam was certain he had ensured safety for the Saints leaving Nauvoo and a smooth voyage for his company. The ship’s course would follow ocean currents around the stormy southern tip of South America and into the heart of the Pacific. When they reached California, they would found their city and start a new life in the West.
As a steamship guided the Brooklyn away from the wharf, the crowd of loved ones on the pier gave three cheers to the Saints, who responded with three cheers of their own. The vessel then made its way to the narrow mouth of the harbor, spread its topsails, and caught a breeze that carried it into the Atlantic Ocean.23

Today, probably more than in any other period of history, we find more profanity and vulgarity being used. I had a particular experience in my life that showed me how using the wrong word can shock those who do not expect such an utterance to come from you. I was in boot camp in the U.S. Marine Corps during World War II. Of course, the language among my fellow Marines was not of the caliber that you would want to repeat. Being a recently returned missionary, I determined I should keep my language above the level they were using. I tried consistently to keep from saying even the simplest and most common of swear words.

One day we were on the rifle range firing for our final qualification scores. I had done well in the 100-, 200-, and 300-yard positions. Now we were back at the 500-yard position. All I needed was a reasonable score—just hitting the target without even having to hit the bull’s-eye—and I would make Expert Rifleman. We had been charged up with the desire to excel and be the top platoon in firing for qualifications. I tensed up at the 500-yard standing position and on my first shot threw my shoulder into the rifle. Of course, the flag waved—I had missed the target. And likewise I missed the opportunity of being named Expert Rifleman.

Out of my mouth came a little four-letter word that I had determined never to use. Much to my shock and chagrin, suddenly the whole range stopped firing and everyone turned and looked at me with their mouths open. Any other Marine firing from that position that day could have used the word I used without anyone paying attention. But because I had determined that I would carry the standards of the mission field into the Marine Corps, everyone was shocked when I forgot myself.

The beautiful face of Sister Pai on the Altiplano in Bolivia fills my memory with a warm glow. I visited her and her family in January 1975. They had been members of the Church for only three months, but in that time they had learned that President Spencer W. Kimball had encouraged Church members to have gardens. I was thrilled to see their two small vegetable gardens and a flower garden. Each night they covered their three gardens with plastic sheets to protect their treasures from freezing.

I shall never forget their family home evening, held in the warmest spot in the home—on their bed. Of that experience I wrote in my journal: “The rain and the cold, the walk and the mud were all well worth it. I would have walked one hundred miles to visit with this family and have the privilege of feeling their spirit and their enthusiasm in being members of the Church and learning principles which help them to be healthier and happier.” Blessed, honored pioneers.

Anna Ruth’s dream of being a missionary to her friends continued to grow—unexpectedly.
“My friend Dawn had heard Diane and me talking about the Church, and mentioned one day that she might be interested, too,” said Anna Ruth. “It just thrilled me. Our stake girl’s conference was a week away, and one of the priesthood leaders in our ward said they had a special fund for someone to take a nonmember girl to it. So my mother helped arrange for Dawn to go. The conference was really inspiring, and Dawn told me that she wanted to be baptized. The next week she started the lessons, and a few weeks later she was baptized.”
And Anna Ruth found out that her dream didn’t end with Dawn’s baptism. “Right after Dawn was baptized, a friend of mine that I’ve known for years told me that she wanted to go to church with me on Sunday!”

Heavenly Father never intended for us as parents to sit on the sidelines as spectators, watching the spiritual lives of our children unfold. Let me illustrate this idea of intentional parenting with a personal experience. When I was attending Primary in a small branch in Guatemala, my parents began to teach me about the value of patriarchal blessings. My mother took the time to share her experience of receiving her treasured patriarchal blessing. She taught me the doctrine related to patriarchal blessings, and she testified of promised blessings. Her intentional parenting inspired me to have the desire to receive my patriarchal blessing.

When I was 12, my parents helped me navigate the search for a patriarch. This was necessary because there was no patriarch in the district where we lived. I traveled to a patriarch that was in a stake 156 kilometers (97 miles) away. I distinctly remember when the patriarch laid his hands upon my head to bless me. I knew by powerful spiritual confirmation, without a doubt, that my Heavenly Father knew me.

For a 12-year-old boy from a small town, that meant everything to me. My heart turned to my Heavenly Father that day because of my mother and father’s intentional parenting, and I will be forever grateful to them.

Lina swung her lunchbox as she walked to the lunchroom. Lunch was the best part of the day. Lina loved sitting with her friends and talking about who said what, who liked who, who got in trouble — there were always fun things to talk about. And today Lina was sure she had the most exciting news. She couldn’t wait to tell her friends.
“Guess what!” she said as soon as she sat down. “Shara Johnson had to go home early today … because she has lice!”
The girls gasped and stared at her.
Trish moaned. “I walked right by her like six times today!” she said. “What if I have lice too?”
“Oh no,” Katy said. “I have to work with her on a science project next week.”
Melissa shuddered. “That is so gross. I don’t think I can be her friend anymore.”
Lina stopped smiling. She squirmed in her seat. She had been excited to share some news, but she didn’t like how they were talking about Shara now. She didn’t want Shara to lose any friends! Getting lice didn’t mean anything bad about Shara; it could have happened to any of them. Lina tried to forget about it and just eat her food, but she just couldn’t.
When the bell rang for them to go back to class, the girls were still talking about Shara. They kept laughing and making faces. Lina felt awful.
Back in class, Mrs. Currier called Lina to her desk.
“Since you’re Shara’s neighbor, would you please take her today’s homework?” Mrs. Currier asked.
Oh no. Lina didn’t want to face Shara. Not after what she’d said. But she nodded and took the worksheets.
On her way home after school, Lina stopped by the Johnsons’ house. She rang the doorbell and hoped that anyone but Shara would open the door.
“Hi, Lina!” It was Shara. She smiled when she saw Lina standing on the porch. “What’s up?”
“I’m just bringing your homework,” Lina said, trying to smile too.
“Thanks!” Shara said. “I was worried I would fall behind after missing today.”
“So you’ll be back tomorrow?” Lina asked.
“Yep! I’ll see you in class.”
“Awesome. See you tomorrow.” Lina smiled the best she could, then walked away. Now she felt even worse. Shara was so nice, and now the girls at school were saying mean things about her. Lina wanted to fix things. But how?
Lina didn’t know what to do, but she knew who could help her. She stopped walking, closed her eyes, and bowed her head.
Heavenly Father, I really messed up today. I gossiped about Shara, and now I feel really bad about it. I am so sorry. I don’t know how to make it right. Please help me fix my mistake.
After Lina finished praying, she felt peaceful. She knew that making things right might be scary, but Heavenly Father would help her.
The next day at lunch, Lina saw her friends at their usual table. As she walked toward them, she said another quick prayer.
Please help me be brave.
“Hey,” Lina said. She didn’t sit down. “I just wanted to say … I wanted to say that I’m sorry I told you Shara had lice. Shara is really nice, and I shouldn’t have said anything. We shouldn’t spread bad news about other people.”
Trish, Katy, and Melissa stared at her. They looked too surprised to say anything. Lina turned away. She felt better for the first time since yesterday! Then she spotted Shara across the lunchroom and waved. Shara waved back, and Lina walked over to sit by her. The warm feeling in her heart told her that she had made the right choice.

A few years ago following general conference, our four-year-old grandson Andrew asked his mother, “Mommy, is Jesus counting on me?” His mother answered, “Oh, yes, Andrew, Jesus is counting on you. He wants you to obey Mom and Dad, to do what is right, and especially to be kind to your little brother, Benny.” This four-year-old thought about that for a few moments and said, “Mommy, tell Him not to count on me!”
Fortunately, by the time Andrew receives the Aaronic Priesthood, he will have come to know that Jesus is counting on him.

Elder Alejandro Patanía, a former Area Seventy, relates the story of his younger brother Daniel, who sailed out to sea to go fishing with his crew. After a time, Daniel received an urgent warning that a major storm was rapidly approaching. Immediately, Daniel and his crew started for port.

As the storm intensified, the engine of a nearby fishing boat ceased to function. Daniel’s crew hooked a cable to the disabled boat and began towing it to safety. They radioed for help, knowing that, with the increasing storm, they needed immediate assistance.

As loved ones anxiously waited, representatives from the coast guard, the fishermen’s association, and the navy met to decide the best rescue strategy. Some wanted to leave right away but were told to wait for a plan. While those in the storm continued pleading for help, the representatives continued meeting, trying to agree on the proper protocol and a plan.

When a rescue group was finally organized, one last desperate call came. The raging storm had broken the cable between the two boats, and Daniel’s crew was going back to see if they could save their fellow fishermen. In the end, both ships sank, and their crews, including Elder Patanía’s brother Daniel, were lost.

Elder Patanía compared this tragedy to the Lord’s admonition when He said, “Ye [have] not strengthened, … [or] brought again that which was driven away, … [or] sought that which was lost; … and I will require my flock at [your] hand.”

Elder Patanía explained that, while we must be organized in our councils, quorums, auxiliaries, and even as individuals, we must not delay going to the rescue. Sometimes many weeks pass as we talk about how to help families or individuals who are in special need. We deliberate about who will visit them and the approach to take. Meanwhile, our lost brothers and sisters continue needing and sometimes even calling and pleading for help. We must not delay.

“Hundreds of thousands of dollars had to be raised, and such amounts of money are not easy to come by. One young couple saved $2,000 to come to Salt Lake City to go through the temple, a dream they had shared for many years. But when they were asked to contribute to the temple fund, they gave up that dream for the sake of another—the dream that every Brazilian Saint could go through the temple, instead of just a few.

“When I read about these and other sacrifices that Saints in Brazil had made, I realized my sacrifices hardly classify as sacrifices at all.”

Throughout the year the girls participated in a variety of money-raising projects. To the usual baked-food sales one of the groups added caramel popcorn, another sponsored a spaghetti dinner, and several of the classes sold concessions at stake sports events. The girls had car washes, pop bottle drives, and Christmas tree sales. One ward sponsored a carnival (complete with balloon-shaving and doughnut-eating contests); another cut out, made, and sold doll clothes; and a third took orders for and assembled silk flower corsages for Mother’s Day gifts. Several nonmembers became as enthusiastically involved as their Mia Maid friends.

Along with the money-raising events came “spirit-raising” events. Lessons were devoted to learning about the Saints in Brazil, temple marriage, and the significance, structure, and purpose of our modern-day temples. In addition, some of the girls were able to visit the Alberta Temple and do baptisms for the dead. But the highlight of the year was the special stake meeting held for all the Mia Maids, their parents, and leaders at the completion of the project. A Mia Maid from each ward explained how her class had raised the money and then gave her testimony of this special project. Next was the presentation of a story “The Dark Blue Suit” (see the July 1978 New Era), which gave a little insight into the faith and attitudes of some of the Saints in Brazil.

The conclusion of the evening was a talk by stake president Lamont Matkin concerning what the temple in Cardston should mean to the Mia Maids in the Lethbridge Stake.

Adviser Lesley Heath of the First Ward summed up her feelings about the year by saying, “It was a time of learning—about the Brazilian people, about the value of temples, and about the special beauty of each individual Mia Maid in my class. Only I, as their adviser, will ever know the real sacrifice of the two girls in our class who went the extra mile and donated twice as much of their babysitting money as they had promised. Only I will ever know of another girl who took the time away from a special event with her friends to work all day at the basketball concession stand. I’m grateful for this experience, and for the vision it gave us of what we can do.”

Maybe I have lived a pampered life, but I am just not used to being told that I am headed for Hades. Actually, it only happened once, but that was enough to shake me up a bit and spur some thought that has not left my mind even now.
It happened when I left school at BYU for a summer and went to Washington, D.C., to work in a government office. Another office employee was an exceptionally bright and articulate young man who not only worked full-time, but was also completing his studies in law school. He was not a member of the Church, but he had been surrounded by members for several years. He probably knew the technical points of the doctrine even better than I, and his knowledge of the Bible was superb. Had our conversations ever degenerated to the level of argument, his nimble lawyer’s mind and tongue would have left my inexperienced self stunned and breathless. To accomplish this, I think, was actually his desire, for he took great delight in asking questions designed to confuse and baffle me, and his attacks on the Church were well planned and skillfully executed. His intentions became clear when, after one long discussion, he commented, “I didn’t even succeed in making you cry, did I?”
To be honest, he did make me cry once, or at least I cried in his presence. But that was not at all because I was frustrated or beaten. That never seemed to be a problem, for the harder he attacked, the more I felt the Spirit behind me, reassuring me of the validity of my testimony and filling me with a calmness that erased any desire to fight back.
The tears came after one session in which he explained his primary objection to the Church. He felt that men are saved by grace. The Savior atoned for our sins, he believed, and all that is required of us is to believe in the Lord and accept him as our Savior. My friend said that he had a personal relationship with Christ; thus, nothing else was required of him to be saved. Latter-day Saints, on the other hand, he claimed bitterly, have no appreciation for Christ and what he did. Their belief in requirements other than faith, such as baptism and keeping the commandments, demeans the Savior’s atonement by implying that it is insufficient to save men. Mormons’ beliefs, he maintained, are nearly blasphemous. He could think of many adjectives to describe them, but Christian was definitely not on the list. And that, he told me, was why I was going to hell.
As I listened to this tirade, many possible responses ran through my mind. I could say that it was Christ who instituted the ordinance of baptism and was baptized himself. I could say that he himself was one who most consistently taught the keeping of the commandments. I could say that it was one of his own disciples who said that “faith without works is dead.” But I said none of these things. Instead, when my friend paused long enough to catch a breath, I simply looked at him and said, “The Savior is more important than anything else in my life.” And then I bore my testimony of Jesus Christ. I told him of my love for the Savior and of my knowledge of his love for me. I told him how the Savior’s atonement was the only thing that gave purpose to my life. I told him that Christ’s gospel was the one anchor I had to cling to when everything else seemed determined to beat me down. I told him that my whole life was centered around trying to live the Lord’s gospel and that I did have a personal testimony of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I am sure that I did not speak eloquently or impressively, but that is when the tears came.
When I had finished speaking, a surprising thing happened—my skillfully verbal friend was actually silent for several moments. When he spoke, his voice decreased in volume from its typical forte nearly to mezzo piano. “You are the first Mormon,” he said, “who has actually borne witness to me of Jesus Christ.”
We are members of the Church of Jesus Christ. It is his church. At our baptisms we covenanted “to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places, … even until death” (Mosiah 18:9). Then why is it that I could have a friend who had lived and worked and socialized among Latter-day Saints for several years and yet had never heard borne a testimony of Jesus Christ? My friend’s case may be unique, and I certainly hope that it is. But my experience with him has made me more aware of our sacred obligation to stand boldly and unashamedly as witnesses for our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.

Patrick works on his model car engine.
Photographs by Julian Klemm
Patrick L., 16, from Bavaria, Germany, says his favorite subjects in school are math, physics, and chemistry. In fact, he likes science so much that he wanted to share it with others by writing a book about physics (on thermodynamics and magnetism, to be precise).
He wants to be an engineer for his career, developing technical equipment like automotive engines. (By the way, the headquarters of automakers BMW and Audi are just an hour and an hour-and-a-half away from where he lives.)
But science isn’t the only place where Patrick finds energizing, exciting things.
Yes, Patrick has a deep love of science, but his interests range far beyond cold, hard facts and formulas.
“I’ve written a physics book, but now I’m doing a fantasy book,” he explains. “The book I’m writing is about magical creatures and their world. And then there are a few young people who solve the problems.”
This latest side project was inspired by Patrick’s love of fantasy novels such as the Harry Potter and Percy Jackson series. Writing books on the side is something Patrick got into after his uncle told him how much fun it can be. “He infected me with his joy,” says Patrick.
That infectious joy led Patrick to take what he had learned about the rules and realities of the physical world and write a book about them. It also made him want to create a marvelously fantastical story. And there’s no contradiction in this. Patrick seems to know that truth and beauty and joy can be found in many places. And he wants to find, create, and share those things wherever they may be.
Patrick understands a great deal about the laws of the physical world. But he also looks beyond facts to see beauty there.
“I live near a forest,” he says. “That’s an advantage of living in a small town—you can go into the forest quickly and find peace there.”
He loves the many forest paths for hiking or, especially, biking. “I like cycling. It’s a big hobby for me,” he says. “I ride a lot. I once biked 1,200 kilometers [745 miles] in two weeks.”
Science inspires Patrick’s mind, and prayer inspires his spirit. “I have a strong testimony of prayer,” he says. “You can talk to [Heavenly Father] everywhere.”
Sometimes he likes to go hiking or biking in the forest with his whole family (Mom, Dad, two younger brothers, and two younger sisters) or just with his dad. Often he’ll go by himself. But he always finds peace and beauty in nature.
“Sunrises are especially beautiful around here,” he says. “Sometimes you can see the Alps from here even though they’re so far away. And when the sun rises, it’s mirrored, and with the mountains, you see this gorgeous red sky, and it’s really beautiful.”
In addition to the facts of natural science and the beauties of the natural world, Patrick also values truth—the kind of truth that can be found only through prayer.
“I have a strong testimony of prayer,” says Patrick. “Kneeling down, folding my hands, having peace and quiet, and then praying. This is what I have the greatest testimony of.”
He explains that his testimony comes partly from something he was told in his patriarchal blessing. “It says that I should always remember that Heavenly Father is only one prayer away from me,” he says. “You can talk to Him everywhere. He is there for you everywhere, and you can get answers everywhere.”
His experience with receiving answers to prayer is enhanced, he says, when he takes certain steps. “I feel the Holy Ghost so strongly with some prayers. When I consciously set goals, consciously have questions, consciously sit down and act as it says in the scriptures, and wait and invest time—when I manage to do that, I always have a strong testimony and feel the Holy Ghost.”
Patrick remembers one time he offered such a special prayer. “We talk a lot about Joseph Smith and how at age 14 he prayed and received an answer,” he says. “And so I sat down—I even went into the forest—and I prayed. And I received an answer. Then I was happy. And that strengthened my testimony.”
“When I consciously set goals, consciously have questions, consciously sit down and act as it says in the scriptures, and wait and invest time—when I manage to do that, I always have a strong testimony and feel the Holy Ghost.”
Just as he’s sought to share his scientific knowledge and his creative imagination, Patrick also seeks to share his spiritual knowledge.
Beginning at age 12, he has spent time helping the full-time missionaries. He also once invited a friend to his home to receive the missionary lessons. “We talked about the Restoration. He was interested. He listened well and participated and read scriptures. We read James 1:5, which Joseph Smith had also read. And I had him read from Joseph Smith—History. He was really engaged.”
His classmates at school respect his faith. “Instead of persecuting the Church, they support it,” he says. Even his teacher in his school’s religion class supports him. “He thinks it’s cool that I have faith in God and even helps me to achieve my goals.”
After he finishes school and qualifies for university studies, Patrick also plans to serve a full-time mission. “I’ll probably prepare by reading Preach My Gospel,” he says. “I’d like to stay on the ball and read, do the lessons, and also spend a lot of time with the missionaries.”
Patrick loves to feed his imagination. He’s even writing a fantasy book.
Patrick has learned that there are many things out there that are “virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy,” and so he seeks after these things (Articles of Faith 1:13). And when he finds them, he shares them.
Whether in science, imagination, or nature, he finds exciting knowledge and sublime beauty wherever he turns. And he finds the highest knowledge, beauty, and truth through his relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.