Gospel Story Finder

Nor is this homing instinct confined to those who live on the surface of the earth; it is shared as well by some underwater creatures. The Pacific salmon, which for the first year of its life inhabits freshwater streams, later travels to the ocean and stays there for several years. Then, to lay its eggs, a salmon will leap through rapids, up waterfalls, and over dams in order to get back to the freshwater stream that was its first home.

One of the first steps in building a new temple is a special meeting called a “groundbreaking.” Elder Neil L. Andersen and his wife, Sister Kathy Andersen, traveled to Ivory Coast for the groundbreaking of a new temple.
Elder Andersen gave a prayer to dedicate the land for the new temple. He and Sister Andersen gave talks in French, the official language there. Sister Andersen said it makes her happy that Jesus lets us go inside His house, the temple. We receive blessings there that we can’t receive anywhere else on earth.
Children used gold-colored shovels to help “break the ground” for the temple. Then construction could begin! It will take about two years to build the temple.
Right now members in Ivory Coast travel for 12 hours to get to the closest temple, in the country of Ghana. In a few years, they will be able to go to a beautiful temple in their own country!
Here’s what the temple will look like.
“Let us devote ourselves … to be ready to enter the dedicated temple. Let us be more true to following the Savior.”
—Elder Neil L. Andersen

Hey, Hyrum!
Hey!
#@*!!
Ha ha!
%?&!
@#!
!$*?@
I hear bad words all the time. It’s hard to ignore them.
!@$?!
Oh no!
Heavenly Father, please help me have clean thoughts and not think of bad words.
That Sunday …
How can I think of good words when something goes wrong?
Scripture power keeps me safe from sin. Scripture power is the power to win. Scripture power! Every day I need the power that I get each time I read.”*
That’s it!
*?@!
Scripture power keeps me safe from sin …
!@$?!
Scripture power is the power to win.
Scripture power! Every day I need the power that I get each time I read.

Russell M. Nelson helps a man return to the Church.

I saw that miracle of revelation in the aftermath of the breaking of the Teton Dam in Idaho in 1976. Many of you know the story of what happened. But the example of continuing revelation that was passed through a stake president could bless all of us in the days ahead.

Thousands of people were evacuated as their homes were destroyed. Directing the relief efforts fell to a local stake president, a farmer. I was in a classroom at Ricks College just a few days after the disaster. A leader from the federal disaster agency had arrived. He and his chief assistants came to the large room where the stake president had assembled bishops and even some ministers of other local religions. I was there because many of the survivors were being cared for and housed on the campus of the college where I was the president.

As the meeting began, the representative from the federal disaster agency stood and began to say with the voice of authority what needed to be done. After he listed each of the five or six tasks he said were essential, the stake president responded quietly, “We’ve already done that.”

After a few minutes, the man from the federal disaster agency said, “I think that I will just sit down and watch for a while.” He and his deputies then listened as bishops and elders quorum presidents reported what they had done. They described what direction they had received and followed from their leaders. They talked as well about what they had been inspired to do as they carried out the instructions to find families and to help them. It was late that day. They were all too tired to show much emotion except their love of the people.

The stake president gave a few final directions to the bishops, and then he announced a time for the next report meeting, early the following morning.

The next morning the leader of the federal team arrived 20 minutes before the report and assignment meeting was scheduled to begin. I stood nearby. I heard him say quietly to the stake president, “President, what would you like me and the members of my team to do?”

What that man saw I have seen in times of distress and testing all over the world. President Packer was right. Continuing revelation comes to stake presidents to lift them above their own wisdom and capacities. And, beyond that, the Lord gives to those whom the president leads a confirming witness that his commands come from God through the Holy Ghost to an imperfect human being.

Yes, the seeds Grandma and Grandpa Jones have planted through their annual Joseph Smith birthday parties have blossomed into a love for the Prophet and for the Savior within each of their family members. The tradition has become so important that it was not broken in 1999, even though the close-knit family felt the loss of their grandpa.

“Oh, Mom, it’s just not fair!” Sarah heard Ben say as she neared the kitchen. She stopped, a wave of guilt sweeping over her. She knew what he was referring to.
“I know it isn’t, Ben,” Mother replied in a soothing tone, “but you’ve got to remember that it’s not Sarah’s fault. She knows she shouldn’t be afraid of dogs, but when that little dog bit her on the lip when she was just a little girl he left more than just a scar on her face. The scar in her mind is a deeper one.”
“I’m not blaming her, Mom,” Ben sighed. “But you know how much I’ve wanted a dog.”
Sarah silently tiptoed away from the kitchen, not wanting her mother and brother to know she’d overheard. She walked slowly upstairs to her bedroom and flopped on the bed. Why do I have to be such a baby? she berated herself, unconsciously tracing the scar on her lip with her finger. Ben really wants a dog, but whenever I get near one I’m scared out of my mind!
Sighing, Sarah got up and mechanically prepared for bed. After calling goodnight to everyone and saying her prayers, she climbed under the covers. But she couldn’t go to sleep.
The sudden, far-off howling of a dog broke the stillness. Sarah sat upright in bed, shivers running up her spine. I must be imagining things, she thought disgustedly. The sound’s not coming from the direction of the Johnson’s farm, and they’re the only ones with a dog around here. She lay back down and tried to make her mind a blank. Again she heard the faint but piercing cry. Thinking of Ben, tears welled up in her eyes, and she said out loud to the blackness, “But I can’t help it!” Then, burying her head under her pillow, she fell into a fitful sleep.
The next day was a busy one, for there was a lot to do on their farm. The events of the night before were forgotten until lunchtime. As everyone walked into the kitchen, Sarah lagged behind, exulting in the freshness of the air and the stillness of the countryside when the noise of the tractor was stilled. Suddenly she heard the unmistakable barking of a dog.
“Ben, Ben!” Sarah called, running after her brother. “Did you hear that dog barking?”
Ben frowned and glared at his sister. “That’s not funny, Sarah, and please don’t joke about it.”
“I’m not joking, Ben! I heard it last night and again just now—a dog barking and howling, but it sounds like he’s far away. Don’t you hear it?”
They both stood still for a moment. Then Ben shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, Sarah, but I don’t hear anything—except my stomach growling! Let’s go in and eat. Your mind must be playing tricks on you.”
Sarah tried to forget what she’d heard until that night when she lay in bed again. However, she was so exhausted from the lack of sleep the night before that she soon fell asleep.
The next morning as she climbed into the truck to go to church, Sarah thought she heard the phantom dog again. Her dad declared it must be the Johnson’s dog, but Sarah had an uneasy feeling that he was wrong. When she heard the dog again late Sunday evening, she tiptoed into her brother’s room and shook his shoulder gently.
“What is it?” Ben asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
“Ben, you’ve got to listen. I keep hearing that dog and I’m not imagining it! I’m sure it isn’t the Johnson’s dog. Please, just listen for a minute.”
After a few moments of silence, the unmistakable yowl of a dog came drifting faintly on the night air. “You’re right, Sarah!” Ben whispered excitedly. “It’s a dog in trouble, all right, and it isn’t the Johnson’s dog. We’d better go see if we can find it.”
“Right now?” Sarah asked. “You know we could never find anything in the dark!”
“You’re right,” Ben admitted reluctantly. “Let’s get up early and start looking as soon as it’s light. We can split up so we can cover more ground before school.”
“But Ben,” Sarah’s voice quivered a little, “can’t I go with you? What’ll I do if I find him? You know that I …”
“If you find him, you can come and get me, OK? Don’t worry. Now go back to bed and get some sleep.”
The next morning as soon as it began to get light Ben and Sarah were up and out looking for the dog. After nearly an hour they still hadn’t found anything, so they decided to try again after school. As soon as they got home that afternoon, they each got a couple of cookies and went out the door.
“You may want to take your waterproof cloak Sarah,” Ben said, glancing up at the sky. “It looks like it might storm.”
Sarah grabbed her cloak off the nail on the back porch and went toward the cornfields. “Why don’t you try over by the south boundary of the farm, Sarah?” Ben suggested. “Dad covered a lot of ground plowing Saturday, but he didn’t get down that far. I’ll go the other way.”
Sarah had been looking around for about twenty minutes when she heard the mournful wail again. I’m getting close, she thought apprehensively. “Where are you?” she called, hoping the dog would bark at the sound of her voice. It did. Feeling a few drops of rain, she pulled her poncho over her head and went in the direction of the sound, calling again as she went. The dog responded each time she called, even though she could tell from its tone that it was getting weaker with each bark.
Coming to the edge of a large irrigation canal, Sarah stopped and sharply drew in her breath at what she saw. The dog was caught in the partly flattened end of a pipe—probably crushed by a tractor, Sarah surmised. He must have gotten stuck chasing a rabbit or something. I’ve got to go get Ben so he can help get him out. Sarah turned to go, but the dog’s pleading whimper brought her back again. Rain was beginning to pelt down harder now. She looked back into the ditch and realized that if the rainwater increased the water level of the canal, the dog would drown. The way this storm is increasing, by the time Ben gets here it will be too late! Sarah thought.
For a minute she panicked. “I can’t! I just can’t go near him!” she cried. Then the words seemed to enter her mind, You’ve got to, or he’ll drown! She looked again at the stricken animal and took a few faltering steps. Oh, help me! She silently prayed, then plunged down the bank.
She stopped a couple of meters from the dog and looked at him. When the dog saw her, he whined plaintively and stared at Sarah with the most incredible look of relief and joy that Sarah had ever seen. That look is almost human, Sarah thought, surprised. Impulsively, she fell to her knees and stroked the dog’s head. “You poor thing!” she murmured.
She began to tug at the dog’s shoulders in an effort to free him. The water was already beginning to collect in the canal. I’ve got to work fast, she determined. The dog was too weak to help, but he licked her hand with his tongue as she tried to lubricate the end of the pipe with a little mud and water. Days of going without food had helped to make the animal a little thinner. Before long she had him free.
“You’re going to be all right,” she said over and over as she stroked his muddy fur. Then suddenly she realized what she was doing. Sarah Blackhurst, you’re petting a dog! And you’re not scared at all! The thought took her breath away. The years of fear had been forgotten in the love and pity she felt for the suffering animal.
The dog was too weak to walk, so Sarah, already muddy and wet, wrapped him in her cloak and carried him out of the gully toward home. The dog never quit looking at her, even when Ben took him out of her arms at the door to the kitchen.
“Sarah! Where did you find him? I was beginning to worry about you!” Ben cried breathlessly. “I was about to …” Suddenly Ben stopped and turned, staring into Sarah’s eyes. “Sarah, you’ve been holding a dog!”
“I know,” Sarah grinned sheepishly. “I know.”
Later that evening after the dog had been fed and given a warm bath, the family sat around the fireplace talking. The dog lay curled on a blanket in front of the hearth. “You know, Sarah, I don’t think that dog’s taken his eyes off you since you found him!” Father said.
“I’ve never seen such a look of love and devotion in my whole life,” Mother commented.
“From Sarah or the dog!” Ben said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Where do you think he came from, Dad?” Sarah asked. “Do you think we can keep him?”
“Well, I think we should advertise in the newspaper that we’ve found him,” Dad responded, “but I doubt anyone will come for him. He’s probably a stray dog, abandoned in the country by somebody who wanted to get rid of him.”
“I hope we can keep him,” Sarah murmured.
“I never thought I’d ever hear you say something like that!” Ben teased. Then after a minute he said, “I thought I was supposed to be the one who got a dog!” But he winked at Sarah as he said it.

Another great example from the scriptures is Nephi. From him, I learned to trust the Lord rather than complain. Let me explain. When I left the Philippines to get a master’s degree at Brigham Young University, I promised that I would come back. When the time came for my family and me to return, the decision was not easy because I thought that opportunities in my home country were not as promising or rewarding as those in the United States. But because I had given my word, my wife and I decided to exercise faith as Nephi and do what the Lord would have us do.
Even though I had already worked before, I had to start over financially. Money was scarce, and opportunities took time to bear fruit. Then all three of our children got sick, and our savings disappeared. It was one of the toughest times of our lives.
Our youngest son developed a type of tuberculosis. He had to have medicine that was expensive, and he had to take it for nine months. I remember looking in my wallet, and there was no money. My wife asked me how we would be able to feed the children.
During those times, you ask questions. And if you’re not careful, you can become like Laman and Lemuel and start murmuring and become bitter. You feel like life is unfair. It would have been easy for me to think: “I’m a returned missionary. I served the Lord. We pay our tithing. We serve in the Church. Where are the blessings?” But we remained active, we served in our callings, and we got by. My brother and his wife helped us financially, and I finally found a job. It was barely enough, and it paid less than what I had earned before I left for school. I felt I was a failure.
Finally, after several years, my wife and I decided that wondering and worrying weren’t helping. We said, “Let’s stop murmuring, trust in the Lord, and be happy with what we have.” And right after that, things turned around. I got several job offers and was able to choose the best one. I was called as the bishop of our ward. It seemed the blessings just flowed.

Although we were very busy, my husband, Daniil, and I decided we should visit the Preston England Temple one more time before the end of 2009. It takes two buses and almost six hours to get to the temple from the small Scottish town where we live.
The morning we planned to leave dawned cloudy and rainy, but we were happy to be going to the temple. While we waited an extra hour to catch the second bus at the transfer point, it began pouring rain and getting cold.
However, the hope that we would soon be in the temple warmed our hearts. When we arrived in Preston, we felt a strong impression to go immediately to the temple. We were hungry and dripping wet, but we listened to the Holy Ghost.
When we entered the temple, a friendly temple worker asked for our temple recommends. He took off his glasses and looked again at the names on our recommends.
“Are you from Russia?” he asked in astonishment.
“Yes,” we answered, a bit surprised at his reaction.
“So you speak Russian?” he asked.
“Of course,” we said.
He then picked up the telephone and called someone.
Soon the temple president approached us. Through his glasses, we could see he had tears in his eyes. “You are angels from God!” he said with a smile, asking that we follow him. We followed him and soon saw a confused young missionary with temple workers standing around him.
It turned out that this missionary was from Armenia and spoke Russian. He had been called to serve in the England London Mission but had not yet learned English. There was not a single Russian-speaking person in the missionary training center adjacent to the temple. On that day he was supposed to receive his endowment, but temple workers had been unable to communicate with him—that is, until a thoroughly soaked Russian couple walked in.
Daniil immediately asked to accompany the young missionary. The missionary was overjoyed and later said he had felt a special spirit when we arrived.
I am grateful that despite our busy schedules and the rainy weather, my husband and I still decided to visit the temple that day so we could help a Russian-speaking son of God in Great Britain. I am grateful for temple blessings, which brighten our lives with a special light and purpose. I know that if we will heed the promptings of the Holy Ghost, He will lead us back to our heavenly home—just as He led my husband and me to the house of the Lord that day.

In the words of a well-known song, I wish you could “come fly with me” to eastern Germany, where I visited last month. As we traveled along the autobahns, I reflected on a time twenty-seven years before when I saw on the same autobahns just trucks carrying armed soldiers and policemen. Barking dogs everywhere strained on their leashes, and informers walked the streets. Back then, the flame of freedom had flickered and burned low. A wall of shame sprang up, and a curtain of iron came down. Hope was all but snuffed out. Life, precious life, continued on in faith, nothing wavering. Patient waiting was required. An abiding trust in God marked the life of each Latter-day Saint.
When I made my initial visit beyond the wall, it was a time of fear on the part of our members as they struggled in the performance of their duties. I found the dullness of despair on the faces of many passersby but a bright and beautiful expression of love emanating from our members. In Görlitz the building in which we met was shell-pocked from the war, but the interior reflected the tender care of our leaders in bringing brightness and cleanliness to an otherwise shabby and grimy structure. The Church had survived both the war and the Cold War which followed. The singing of the Saints brightened every soul. They sang the old Sunday School favorite:
If the way be full of trial; Weary not!
If it’s one of sore denial, Weary not!
If it now be one of weeping,
There will come a joyous greeting,
When the harvest we are reaping—Weary not!
Do not weary by the way,
Whatever be thy lot;
There awaits a brighter day
To all, to all who weary not!
I was touched by their sincerity. I was humbled by their poverty. They had so little. My heart filled with sorrow because they had no patriarch. They had no wards or stakes—just branches. They could not receive temple blessings—neither endowment nor sealing. No official visitor had come from Church headquarters in a long time. The members were forbidden to leave the country. Yet they trusted in the Lord with all their hearts, and they leaned not to their own understanding. In all their ways they acknowledged Him, and He directed their paths. I stood at the pulpit, and with tear-filled eyes and a voice choked with emotion, I made a promise to the people: “If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours.”
That night as I realized what I had promised, I dropped to my knees and prayed, “Heavenly Father, I’m on Thy errand; this is Thy church. I have spoken words that came not from me, but from Thee and Thy Son. Wilt Thou, therefore, fulfill the promise in the lives of this noble people.” There coursed through my mind the words from the psalm: “Be still, and know that I am God.” The heavenly virtue of patience was required.
Little by little the promise was fulfilled. First, patriarchs were ordained, then lesson manuals produced. Wards were formed and stakes created. Chapels and stake centers were begun, completed, and dedicated. Then, miracle of miracles, a holy temple of God was permitted, designed, constructed, and dedicated. Finally, after an absence of fifty years, approval was granted for full-time missionaries to enter the nation and for local youth to serve elsewhere in the world. Then, like the wall of Jericho, the Berlin Wall crumbled, and freedom, with its attendant responsibilities, returned.
All of the parts of the precious promise of twenty-seven years earlier were fulfilled, save one. Tiny Görlitz, where the promise had been given, still had no chapel of its own. Now even that dream became a reality. The building was approved and completed. Dedication day dawned. Just a month ago, Sister Monson and I, along with Elder and Sister Dieter Uchtdorf, held a meeting of dedication in Görlitz. The same songs were sung as were rendered twenty-seven years earlier. The members knew the significance of the occasion, marking the total fulfillment of the promise. They wept as they sang. The song of the righteous was indeed a prayer unto the Lord and had been answered with a blessing upon their heads.
At the conclusion of the meeting we were reluctant to leave. As we did so, seen were the waving hands of all, heard were the words, “Auf Wiedersehen, auf Wiedersehen; God be with you till we meet again.”

At Christmastime Cynthia, Richard, Gerald, Mom, and Dad went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. The children helped set up the stable like the one where Baby Jesus was born, sang Christmas carols, and opened presents.
A few days after Christmas, Dad said, “It’s time to go home.”
Grandpa and Grandma looked sad.
“Mommy,” Cynthia said, “why are Grandma and Grandpa so sad?”
“Because they will miss us when we go home.”
Cynthia went to find Grandma, who was helping Gerald pack his clothes.
“Grandma,” Cynthia said, “will you be happy if I leave some of my toys? You can play with them till we come back.”
“Thank you, honey,” said Grandma. “I will miss you, not your toys.” She gave Cynthia a big hug.
Cynthia wondered how she could help Grandma and Grandpa be happy. Suddenly she remembered how happy Dad was when Mom put notes in his lunch sack. She ran and whispered to Gerald and Richard and gave them each some pieces of paper. Richard sat on the floor and wrote and wrote and wrote. Gerald drew pictures because he was too little to write.
“Mommy,” said Cynthia, “how do you spell love?”
“L-o-v-e,” Mom told her.
When Cynthia finished writing, she tiptoed into the living room. She hid one of her notes on Grandpa’s chair. She put another note in the piano bench. She even put two in Grandma’s slippers under the couch. Then she tiptoed quietly out.
Richard waited in the hall until Grandpa left the kitchen. Then he scurried in and put one note in the cracker box, one on top of the forks, and one in an apron pocket. He also put notes in the refrigerator and the pantry.
Meanwhile, Gerald was in Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom. He put all his picture-notes under their pillows for them to find when they went to bed.
Soon Dad and Mom were bundling them into their coats. “Kiss Grandma and Grandpa good-bye and get in the car!” said Dad.
Grandpa kept saying, “I’m going to miss all of you. I’m really going to miss you!” He looked like he was already missing them, and they hadn’t even gone yet!
Grandma kissed all the kids and Mom and Dad too. “Remember to write me,” she told them.
Cynthia, Richard, and Gerald started to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” asked Grandma.
“You’ll see,” Cynthia told her, grinning from ear to ear. “We left love notes for you all over the house.”

1. The Lord gave me a temple to live within on earth.
Once in Heaven I was spirit, but I left my home at birth.
I’ll make my temple brighter; I’ll keep my spirit free.
My body is the temple my Father gave to me.
2. If I keep my body clean and pure and habit-free,
I may in Father’s temple claim blessings promised me.
On resurrection morning, I’ll take my body bright
And in celestial glory forever live in light.

This is me deciding if I should go to a party or go to church. I went to church because it was the right choice.
Ara A., age 8, Cheshire, England

In the early days of the Lord’s Church, leaders close to the Prophet Joseph Smith began to speak of his faults. Even with all they had seen and knew of his standing with the Lord, their spirit of criticism and jealousy spread like a plague. One of the Twelve set for us all the standard of faith and loyalty we must have if we are to serve in the Lord’s kingdom.

Here is the report: “Several elders called a meeting in the temple for all those who considered Joseph Smith to be a fallen Prophet. They intended to appoint David Whitmer as the new Church leader. … After listening to the arguments against the Prophet, Brigham [Young] arose and testified, ‘Joseph was a Prophet, and I knew it, and that they might rail and slander him as much as they pleased; they could not destroy the appointment of the Prophet of God, they could only destroy their own authority, cut the thread that bound them to the Prophet and to God, and sink themselves to hell’” (Church History in the Fulness of Times Student Manual [Church Educational System manual, 2003], 2nd ed., 174; see also Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Brigham Young [1997], 79).

August 10
Dear Sarah,
Nothing has been worse so far than picking beans. Mr. Trujillo can’t bend over now, so I picked all the beans, my rows and his. Your back aches, and the leaves make your skin itch, and the sun is beating down on you. Mrs. Trujillo gave me an old straw hat to wear. We got three bushels! Mr. Trujillo smiled and said, “There’ll be this many again in about ten days.” I could have cried. But by then it was cooler, and Mrs. Trujillo brought out ice cream with fresh peaches sliced on it. Then you’ll never guess what happened—Mr, and Mrs. Trujillo took me into their garage and gave me one of their kids’ old bicycles. It was all clean and shiny, with new paint and new tires and the chain all oiled. I gave them both a hug.
I took a big, juicy peach home to Lindsay, and she ate it all!
Have you found any new people to teach?
Love,Angela the Cyclist

After I graduated from the university, I worked in the Family History Department of the Church and was assigned to the countries in Eastern Europe. Whenever I traveled to Poland, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, Hungary, and other countries, I felt that the time was not far off when the Church would be able to send missionaries to them. There was a special feeling among the people. They desired the freedom they knew others in the world enjoyed. More and more they could see and hear about freedom on TV and on the radio. The people were tired of not being able to solve their problems or become what they wanted to be. In many countries the people also wanted to know about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. These important changes in the people, and other changes in their governments, led to the introduction of the gospel into their countries.

The news came one spring afternoon when I was a college freshman. My parents, who’d been married in the temple 20 years ago, were officially divorced.
That night, I huddled in my bedroom, bearing adult-sized problems on my shoulders. I couldn’t believe my parents would never live together again. I also realized that gone was the future I had taken for granted—Mom and Dad side-by-side attending my temple marriage someday, or together sharing their joy over grandchildren.
Negative feelings clouded my mind. I had doubts about my ability to make a marriage work. I feared ward members and friends would consider me spiritually inferior because of my family’s problems. I worried that family members would fall away from the Church. And worst of all, I was lonely because we were each withdrawing into our own shells of pain.
It’s been years since that difficult night, and now I have good news. With the Lord’s help and with the support of caring family and ward members, I’ve worked through the trial of my parents’ divorce, and my life is very happy.
I have regained eternal hope, have learned to communicate and function well with both parents separately, and have been able to establish my own happy temple marriage. Other Latter-day Saint youth affected by their parents’ divorce have done the same, and I’d like to share our experiences.
Divorce may make you feel you’re losing everything you considered familiar and safe. I remember sitting on my bedroom floor, trying to study, as my dad moved his personal belongings from the house. His shirts, his books, his grooming items—everything seemed so misplaced in the back of his truck.
Christmas traditions were turned upside down as we tried to spend time with both Mom and Dad—separately. Important things like eating dinner all together or attending church as a whole family no longer existed. Too many changes at once can be overwhelming. In times of instability, remember there are strong, stable resources all around you.
Remarriages may be even more difficult to accept than divorce. Remember that you are not being rejected when your parent chooses a new mate—you are loved as much as ever. I understand this more now that I have my own children. My love for them will never diminish, regardless of the circumstances.
My siblings and I have accepted both a stepmother and a stepfather into our lives. We have learned to love and appreciate both. I admit it was difficult to see our parents with new spouses at first, but with time they have become our special friends.

Hela lifted the large basket of produce to his head and took a deep breath, hoping the air would fill him with courage. It didn’t. It wasn’t so much that he feared the task before him as that he hated it. He just didn’t want to take the vegetables to sell in the city.
Tilling the soil and watching the rich black earth soften and crumble under the hoe always filled Hela’s heart with gladness. And watching the crops begin to send up green messages of life was exciting. Hela even enjoyed digging out the weeds as the plants grew.
But after watering and weeding and growing, the vegetables must be taken to market. That task had once been Hela’s favorite, but now he could barely force himself to go.
For more than five years—ever since Samuel the Lamanite prophet had stood on the city wall and called the people to repentance—the persecution had gotten worse. Each month, each week, each day, the nonbelievers became bolder in tormenting the people who believed that Christ would come.
Everyone at the marketplace knew that Hela, who bore the name of his father, was a follower of Nephi the prophet. And they knew that Hela’s father taught people about Christ’s coming. So they spat on Hela and swore at him. Sometimes they even beat him when he went to the marketplace. But Hela said nothing about his tormentors because he knew his family needed the money from the sale of the vegetables. He also knew that his father would probably take the produce to market himself to protect his son, and then his father would not be able to teach the gospel.
“Are you leaving for the market now, my son?” Hela’s mother asked.
“Yes,” Hela said, taking one more deep breath.
“Such a son!” his mother said, clapping her hands together. “Only twelve years old and doing the work of three men!”
Hela smiled. His mother always exaggerated about him. “Now, Mother,” he protested.
“Well, maybe only the work of two men. But still, such a son!” The twinkle in her eyes danced happily as she clapped Hela’s cheeks between her hands and kissed his forehead, almost causing the basket to tumble from his head. Hela blushed and hurried along the dusty road, expertly balancing the large basket without ever touching it with his hands.
As the sun began peeking through the trees in the east, the road became crowded with people and animals on their way to market. Hela moved swiftly through the noise and commotion until he neared the city wall. “Zarahemla,” he whispered to himself, “what will I find within your gates today?” Saying a silent prayer, he passed through the city gate.
By now the noise was almost deafening—people calling, shouting, bartering; animals bleating, cackling, barking. Swiftly he moved in and out of the crowd, balancing the basket with one hand now.
“He is here again!”
Hela heard the coarse grating voice of Laman and thought, Today will be no different from the others.
“We thought perhaps you would be joining your father in frivolous pursuits and daydreams,” the man taunted him. “But if a father must play away his time, a son must do the work. Is that not so, my friends?” Laman jeered, and the other men laughed loudly.
As Hela turned to go, someone threw a vegetable that hit him just above the shoulder blade. He didn’t look back or acknowledge that he had been struck, but from the smell he knew that the vegetable was rotten. Quickly finding a place against the wall, Hela set his basket down. He hoped the produce would sell fast so that he could go home soon.
“If it isn’t Hela, the dreamer!” Hela looked up to see Ammah, Laman’s son, a boy his own age, standing with both hands on his hips. “What is a dreamer doing in the marketplace? Can’t dreamers eat their dreams?” Ammah laughed as if this was the greatest of all jokes. “Are you still waiting for the Christ to come?”
Hela ignored the boy, but soon others gathered. Once when they were small, they had all been friends and had played in the marketplace while their fathers sold their wares. Hela felt the familiar stab of sorrow as the derision continued.
“If the Christ were coming, He would have been here by now!” Ammah shouted. “It is past the five years Samuel predicted.” Ammah laughed loudly, and the other boys joined him. “Yes, and why would He go to Jerusalem and not come here? Are we not a better people?”
Hela knew the boys were only repeating the things they had heard their fathers say, but he felt so helpless. What will happen to these boys, who used to be my friends, when the Christ comes? he wondered.
After a while the boys grew tired of their reviling, and they left. The produce finally sold, and with a sigh of relief, Hela picked up his basket and hurried away.
As he neared his adobe home, he was greeted by the bleating of the goat and the clucking of the chickens. Hela smiled. How nice they sounded, how peaceful after all he had heard in the marketplace. Suddenly he saw his father’s donkey tethered to the fence. Dropping his basket, he hurried to the house.
“Is something wrong?” Hela cried out as he threw open the door. Instead of finding his father hurt and his mother crying, Hela saw his parents sitting quietly at the table, their faces filled with a peace and joy that he had not seen for a long, long time. Confused, he shut the door and waited for them to explain.
“Come in, my son,” his father said quietly. “How did the marketplace fare today?”
“Fine, Father,” Hela answered.
“I cannot believe that,” Hela’s father said, adding with a heartwarming smile, “You are a good son, Hela. I know of the things that are said and done at the marketplace, and I know that you have suffered for me and for the gospel.”
Hela did not reply. All the while he had been keeping his secret, it had never occurred to Hela that his father must know.
“My son, I appreciate all you have done. If it had not been for you, I would not have been able to do my work.”
“Please, Father,” Hela said carefully, not wanting to interrupt but unable to contain his curiosity any longer. “Why are you home so early?” Hela knew from the look on his parents’ faces that nothing was wrong, but he wanted to know what had happened.
“Nothing is wrong. As a matter of fact, something is very right.”
“What is it?” Hela asked.
“Come, sit here,” his mother invited.
As Hela started for the chair, a great commotion sounded from the road. Hela and his parents ran to the window.
“Hela! Hela, the dreamer!” shouted a deep voice from a large mob of people. “We want Hela, the dreamer, the teacher of dreams and fables.”
“False dreams and lies!” someone else shouted.
Quickly Hela’s mother bolted the door while his father fastened the shutters over the windows.
The noise from the crowd became so loud that Hela could no longer make out what anyone was saying. But he could feel and hear the anger in their voices. His heart pounded, and his knees felt weak.
Slowly his father opened a little door in one of the shutters, then waited for the noise to die down. When it was quieter, he called out, “What is it you want?”
“We want you, dream teacher.”
“And what do you want with me?”
“We have decided that we have had enough of your tales and your lies. The five years Samuel spoke of are long past. We will give you only three days more. If the signs you teach of do not come to pass by then, we are going to rid ourselves of your company.”
Hela shuddered. He had felt their hatred; he had even felt the sting of a whip or a hand across his back, but he had not realized that the people hated so much that they would kill.
“If it is me you want, take me now. There is no need to harm my family,” Hela heard his father answer.
“No!” Hela whispered through clenched teeth.
Hela’s mother put her arms around him. “Do not be frightened, my son,” she whispered. “God will protect us.”
“It is not just you we want,” a man in the mob was yelling. “We want all believers in such lies. In three days Nephi will have no followers. We will be free of your false prophecies and teachings. We will kill all of you and put an end to this foolishness.”
“It is not foolishness. The Savior will come,” Hela’s father called back.
“For your sakes He had better!” The man laughed, and the crowd joined in.
Suddenly someone threw a rock against the house. The heated mob seemed to pulse with renewed anger as they all began throwing rocks and cursing. The small house trembled and echoed from the pelting, and the awful shouting seemed like a tremendous storm.
Hela covered his ears and hid his face against his mother’s shoulder. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of his father’s face. Despite all that was happening, the expression of peace and love on his father’s face was unchanged.
Suddenly the people began banging the walls of the house with cudgels. “Oh, Father!” Hela cried. “What more can happen?”
Hela’s father patted his son’s hand and said something to him, but for all the banging, Hela could not make out the words. Then he heard a great crashing, ripping sound over the din of the mob as the door buckled and fell onto the floor.
Framed in the broken doorway was Laman. “You would not come out to us, so we came in to you!”
(To be concluded.)

Forty-six years ago I was called as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, and for the first time, I came to this pulpit. I was 37 years old. I found myself standing among the venerable and wise prophets and apostles, “whose names,” as the song proclaims, “we all revere” (“Oh, Holy Words of Truth and Love,” Hymns, no. 271). I felt how keenly inadequate I was.
About that time here in the Tabernacle I had a defining experience. It gave me assurance and courage.
In those days Primary conference was held here before the April conference. I came through a south door as the opening song was being sung by a large choir of Primary children. Sister Lue S. Groesbeck, a member of the Primary general board, was leading them. They sang:
Rev’rently, quietly, lovingly we think of thee;
Rev’rently, quietly, softly sing our melody.
Rev’rently, quietly, humbly now we pray,
Let thy Holy Spirit dwell in our hearts today.
(“Reverently, Quietly,” Children’s Songbook, 26)
As the children sang quietly, the organist, who understood that excellence does not call attention to itself, did not play a solo while they sang. He skillfully, almost invisibly blended the young voices into a melody of inspiration, of revelation. That was the defining moment. It fixed deeply and permanently in my soul that which I most needed to sustain me in the years to follow.
I felt perhaps that which Elijah the prophet had felt. He sealed the heavens against the wicked king Ahab and fled to a cave to seek the Lord:
“A great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks … ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire [came] a still small voice.
“And it was so,” the record says, “when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave” to speak to the Lord (1 Kings 19:11–13).
I felt something of what the Nephites must have felt when the Lord appeared to them: “They heard a voice as if it came out of heaven; and they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard; and it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Nephi 11:3).
It is this still, small voice which Elijah and the Nephites heard that the Prophet Joseph Smith understood when he wrote, “Thus saith the still small voice, which whispereth through and pierceth all things” (D&C 85:6).
In that defining moment, I understood that the still, small voice is felt more than heard. If I hearkened to it, I would be all right in my ministry.
After that, I had the assurance that the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, is there for everyone who will respond to the invitation to ask, to seek, and to knock (see Matthew 7:7–8; Luke 11:9–10; 3 Nephi 14:7–8; D&C 88:63). I knew I would be all right. As the years have unfolded, so it has been.

Stori is a good missionary. Several children who are not members of the Church eagerly attend Church activities, and they always run to “talk” with Stori. One friend studies language books so she can practice with her. Stori loves her new friends and helps them feel the joy of coming to Church.