Gospel Story Finder

“As a young girl in Switzerland, she was afflicted with an incurable illness. As she lay ill, she read pamphlets about the priesthood and about men who could heal the sick as Jesus had done.”

After joining the Church, her great-grandmother prayed with faith to be healed. Following one of many priesthood blessings, she recorded: “I want to tell … all my grandchildren … that there are not words in any language to describe the feeling that came over me when I was healed. I really could feel it from the top of my head to my feet, and from that time on I was healed.”

OK, I have a plan for the test. Margo will copy Heitor’s answers. Then I’ll copy Margo’s. Julia will copy mine.
That’s cheating!
So? Mr. Costa is a bad teacher.
I won’t do that.
But you sit by Heitor! He’s the smartest kid in class. If you don’t help us, we’ll all fail!
I’m just going to study and do my best.
A few days later …
Oh no. I almost failed! And I studied so hard.
But I know I did the right thing. I earned this grade on my own. I think Jesus is proud of me.
Illustrations by Katie McDee

“I was in sacrament meeting when it happened,” said Joyce Allsop, 19, of the Yakima Fifth Ward, Yakima Washington Stake, about a hundred miles from Mt. St. Helens. “I looked out the window and everything was getting darker and darker. There were flashes of eerie, orange-red lightning through the ash particles, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, but no rain. The thunder came so close that we all ducked, and the building shook. We thought it would fall down on us. Then everything turned pitch black, at 10:00 in the morning, and stayed that way for 24 hours.
“Outside, ashes were falling like snow, only you could feel it, like sand pelting you. Then it started coming down like a heavy, gritty rain.”
The members of Joyce’s ward were told that the volcano had erupted and that the roads were extremely hazardous, with visibility down to zero. She and a friend decided to drive the 20 miles home, because they wanted to be with their families.
“As soon as we got into the car, we said a prayer to help us get home. We started out and could barely see anything, it was so dark. Cars where pulled off in ditches to the side of the road because people couldn’t see where the road was. Most people had no idea where they were. The only way we ever made it home was with the Lord’s help.
“When we got home, we got calls from all sorts of concerned people, some we hardly even knew, checking that we’d made it home safely,” she added.
The abrupt change from a peaceful, secure life to not knowing what would happen gave Joyce a lot to think about.
“I realized how blessed we were to get home safely. And I thought, if this is anything like the Second Coming, we have to be more prepared. I think I could also relate a little to how the Nephites must have felt when Christ was crucified, when it turned pitch black. Those words from the Book of Mormon suddenly took on new meaning.
“I also understood how powerful the forces of nature are and how quickly the world could be destroyed. And I realized, more fully why we need to have food storage and clothing, supplies, and water on hand. As soon as the general public in Yakima heard that the roads were closed because of the eruption, they all rushed to stock up on supplies. Now a lot of the single people from home are starting their own food storage programs,” said Joyce.

Sylvan Lake was also the opening scene of a special early morning testimony meeting, planned and conducted by the Adventurers. The girls canoed across the lake to a quiet place away from the camp, where testimonies were borne and a special breakfast cooked.
“Not one canoe capsized!” an Adventurer boasted. “What do you think of that?”
“I didn’t think we could do it,” said another. “Not just the canoes, but the whole idea of an independent Adventurer camp.”
It was a different idea—one of several that emerged from Cam-Jam ’74—allowing the 31 Adventurers from all participating stakes and areas to organize and maintain their own campsite.
“It was great,” they agreed. “The work got done, but it was done by our schedule and according to our rules. For the first time we were really putting our camp skills to the test.”

The Spirit was in evidence on many other occasions. At one point, it was discovered that someone was stealing the taros that had taken so much labor to plant. No one at Sauniatu seemed to know anything about it, and Brother Kamauoha became very concerned. That night, he prayed for direction in solving this problem. His prayer was answered with a dream in which he saw two villagers stealing the taros from the plantation. He saw how they were digging them up, cutting the leaves off the roots, and sticking the leaves back into the ground. He saw where they were hiding the taro roots and how they would come back for them later in the night. The next day, he called the two men into his office and asked them why they had been stealing the taros. They were belligerent and asked, “What makes you think we are the ones?”
Brother Kamauoha replied, “I know you are stealing the taros because the Lord showed me in a dream.” Then he related step by step just how they had done it. “They cried, were very sorry, and learned a great lesson about lying: You can lie to another man, but you cannot lie to God.
“I have had many experiences that have made me realize that the Lord will help you to do the impossible. When you operate like this, you learn that keeping the Spirit is the most important thing.
“One day, we had a work crew organized, and we needed 13,000 fathoms of sennett (rope made from coconut husks) to tie the pieces of the roof on the McKay house together. I had received promises from many people that they would supply the rope, but when I went to pick it up, no one had it ready. After driving all over the island, I had collected only about 30 fathoms. I was discouraged, and so I complained to God. In my prayers, I said, ‘We are working hard, and yet I can’t get the help I need.’
“I had to stop at the mission home to confirm another appointment, and one of the supervising elders said, ‘Brother Kamauoha, I have some sennett you can use.’
“I thought, ‘How nice,’ but I was sure an elder’s little souvenir roll of sennett wouldn’t really help us. He went into his room and came out with this big roll. He handed it to me and said he had about 13,000 fathoms as he wanted to build a Samoan fale (house) with it when he got home to the U.S.
“You can bet I hurriedly went back to the Lord and retracted my complaining. I was truly sorry for ever being discouraged.”
When the various projects were well into their second year, Brother Kamauoha reported that the people really learned that a job is not done until it is complete. After building roads, bridges, and the steps to the waterfall, the people at Sauniatu had to put in a culinary water system. They wanted to pipe water from a spring. They had no money for pipe, so they dug up some old pipe that had been used years before and cleaned it in the river. Then they painted the usable pieces. They only had enough good pipe to make a straight line from the spring to the village. Seventy-five feet of lava bedrock lay in the path of their trench.
“I told them, ‘We have enough good pipe to make a straight pipeline. So if you want water and you want it badly enough, then you’ll have to cut through the bedrock to the spring!’ A big Samoan man named Faleow Itopi, who had worked extra hard on every project said, ‘Why, after what we have done, this little bedrock is nothing.’
“We worked into the nights with lanterns. Faleow’s hands were bleeding, but he set an example for the students and showed them how to work. He was that way in all of his projects. When he built roads, he always built them too long rather than too short. He never took a shortcut because his heart was in the right place.”
From Ed Kamauoha and Faleow Itopi and other leaders like them, the young people of Sauniatu learned that despite being poor and often scorned by other men, they are important to the Lord, and he will help them be “Number 1.” Wherever they have gone as they have left Sauniatu, they have established the reputation of working hard and being the best.
Most of the young men who worked on Sauniatu went on missions. Elder Pouono Lameka is now serving a mission in Western Samoa. He spent three years at Sauniatu. He worked on the farm and the waterfall besides going to school. When he talks about his experiences at Sauniatu, his eyes shine and his face looks happy.
“I expanded at Sauniatu,” he said. “Brother Kamauoha encouraged me in school so that I improved and graduated from high school. He was my teacher—now he is my friend.”
Most of the students said they are grateful that they learned how to work, and they feel that this experience has helped them to face almost any problem. Mati Fuifatu said, “Ed taught me how to do things and then made it my responsibility to get them done.”
While the projects were being finished, the Sauniatu students’ academic ratings rose. They gained feelings of independence and pride and in three years raised themselves from the bottom of the standard test to the top scores in all the Church schools.
Poao and Atalina Ahhow met while they were both single teachers at Sauniatu. After they were married, they decided to go to BYU—Hawaii Campus and get additional schooling. Atalina said she learned about being a good mother and teaching a family from watching the young people work on the various projects.
“I also learned that you need to check after a project is done. If it isn’t right, do it over,” she said.
Her husband, Poao, said that he learned leadership skills, and once he caught the vision of doing the impossible, he felt he could go away for additional schooling so he could become a better teacher. “I learned that sometimes when the work is very hard, if you make a joke and smile, it seems easier.”
Poao and Atalina struggled at BYU—Hawaii because they didn’t have much money. “We had learned to sacrifice while at Sauniatu, and the Lord blessed us for it. When we needed money to do our washing, we would visit a pool near the temple. Every time we needed a quarter for the washing machine, it was waiting for us in the pool. Sometimes more was there, but we only took enough to do our washing. When we didn’t need money, we never saw money in the pool. This is one way the Lord helped us,” Poao said.
Brother Folau Neria and his wife, Leute, think of Sauniatu as a place of blessings because they have seen the Lord’s hand there. They were dorm parents while most of the work was being done, and Sister Neria worked with the girls who made one of the roads.
Brother Neria explained his feelings about Sauniatu. “I love that place. That’s where I met my sweetheart in 1942. Some of the first schoolteachers there taught me. I learned to take care of the work of the Lord there.
“We built that place with our hands and made it beautiful, then the Lord blessed it for us. Taros, bananas, everything grows better there than in any other place in Samoa.
“We learned how to work together and to teach each other to work. I was serving as bishop, and I learned that if we show people how to work and start first, they will soon follow.”
The spirit of Sauniatu seems to affect everyone who goes there. Brother Isamaeli, who works on maintenance at the school, said that he didn’t want to come at first. “But,” he said, “after I had been at Sauniatu for a while, I felt the Spirit of the Lord upon my family. I knew it was a blessing to be here. When my family is sick, I administer to them and they get better. Before we came here, my wife and I quarreled many times, and sometimes I lost patience with her. But I’m glad to say that now we have a very happy family.
“It is nice to live in a place that is far away from town and other big villages. It is very quiet, and we are free from drunkards, robbers, and other people who cause trouble.”
Today Losa Lane aptly fits President McKay’s description of Sauniatu as “the most beautiful place on earth.” The young people walking beneath the palms and orchids are beautiful. They love the Lord and work hard to improve themselves and live the gospel. And every year, a few of them are prepared to go forth into the world. They take the lessons of Sauniatu with them. And there is a great principle of leadership training that was used to teach all the lessons of Sauniatu: “We loved them,” said Brother Neria. “That is the way to make them work.”

I helped with a project at school to make “bottles of love,” which are plastic bottles filled with single-use plastics. These are items that are used once and thrown away, like plastic bags. Each family made bottles of love and took them to school. The bottles were sent to an organization that made them into plastic bricks. The bricks could be used to build outdoor benches and houses for people in need.
I realized that my family uses a lot of plastic daily, which is a real environmental problem. I wanted to start caring for the environment. But I couldn’t do it alone. So I decided to ask people at church to help too. I spoke with my leaders and the bishop of the ward. He asked me to talk about the project in a meeting. Many people joined the project. After a few months, we collected more than 100 bottles of love!
The project continues today. When I collect a lot of bottles, I go with my family and Primary friends to the drop-off area. We leave the bottles there to be turned into building materials.
I like this project. It makes me feel that I can really help this world that God created for us. It helps me value and respect nature and animals. Taking care of nature is one way I can follow the Savior. I also like that it’s a way to help others.
Sometimes it’s not easy to take the time to make the bottles of love. But I feel that we can change and choose to do small, good acts daily. I also learned that to do something “big” we need the help of others. We can impact others and help them join the change. I believe this is an important part of the gospel of Jesus Christ: to change, help others, and do good in the world.

This concern explains why, when I was about 10 years old and attending primary school, my parents made a decision. In Germany you start a higher-education path at a young age. My parents decided not to allow me to go into higher education because they had seen many young people leave the Church while attending these schools at that time. They said, “You can go anywhere, but not to the Gymnasium [university-track school], because we don’t want to lose you to the world!”
That decision meant that I received a basic education and later a vocational education; for me, that meant a degree in business. This limited many of my professional possibilities. I completed my training when I was 18 years old and was called to serve as a missionary in Munich, Germany. I loved being a missionary.
When I finished my mission, I found myself without a lot of career options. I had finished my education. Two years after my mission, I married my wife, Christiane, and there was no chance for me to gain a university education. There was a moment when I felt sad about my parents’ decision because I felt so limited.
Then a thought came to me: “Whatever my parents did, they did to protect me. They did it out of love, and it will not be a disadvantage for me.” Even though at times it seemed to be a disadvantage in a worldly sense, I could now understand that it would never be a real disadvantage. I decided to make a career in the insurance business, and I later became an executive in the company where I worked.
One challenge for me was that I had always wanted to be a teacher, and you cannot be a teacher in Germany without a university education. However, I eventually did become a teacher—a religion teacher. I became a teacher for the Church Educational System. And in a manner of speaking, that is what I am now—a teacher. So I gained a testimony that it is worthwhile to listen to your parents, to follow their counsel, and to trust that they love you, pray for you, and know what is best for you. The desire to stay active in the Church was so strong on my part and the desire to protect me was so strong on my parents’ part that everything did come together for my good.

One day the missionaries came to visit. John likes to ask missionaries where they are from, what their families are like, and how many people they are teaching and baptizing. But on this day he asked them how they paid for their missions. Parents and family members often give support, the missionaries explained. “I want to pay for my own mission,” John said. At 10 years old, he’s well on his way to being ready for his mission in more ways than one.

Dr. Ho-jik Kim was the first Korean to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He helped to establish the Korean Mission and a friend once said of him, “His righteous influence and simple faith in God was a great light for the people of Korea.”

While he was still a young man, Ho-jik searched many places to find the true religion. At one time or another he had joined several churches but none of them satisfied him; he wanted something more. After attending an agricultural college and a university in Korea, he decided to go to America to obtain a better education.

While studying at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, he met Oliver Wayman, a Latter-day Saint who became his friend. Oliver invited Ho-jik to attend some church meetings with him and later gave him the Articles of Faith, the Book of Mormon, and several other books. Ho-jik Kim read them all and believed they were true.

He was baptized in the Susquehanna River near where the Prophet Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery were baptized. The power of the Holy Ghost was strong and Brother Kim, thinking of the words of Jesus, “Feed my sheep,” felt that he should preach the gospel to his fellowmen.

He earned a doctor’s degree in education and returned home to Korea in 1951 where he held important positions in education with the government.

Dr. Kim played a big part in bringing the gospel to Korea and in helping the Church to grow there. He was an inspiration to the members and his example taught them humility, devotion, and faithfulness.

Ramona Morreale of the Cannonville Ward, Escalante Utah Stake, writes of a special family home evening when she read from her journal: “I found entries about our children and humorous things they said and did when they were younger. Before long we were all laughing. Our children often ask to have a ‘journal’ lesson again. Sometimes we also read spiritual entries from an ancestor’s journal. This brings great joy and helps us get to know them.”

“Three days!” Willis exclaimed. “They’ll be here for three whole days? But Alan wants me to go to the lake with him.”
“Willis,” Mom said sternly, “you knew last month that your cousins were coming. I expect you to be here and to show them a good time.”
“All right,” he said unhappily. At first he’d been pretty excited to learn that his cousins were coming. He hadn’t really cared that he would have to give up his room for the older girls to sleep in. But since then he had made other plans, and now he was going to have to give up a weekend at the lake too.
When his Uncle George stopped the car in front of the house, Willis couldn’t believe what he saw—a battered blue trailer hitched to an ancient station wagon. An unbelievable number of bags and boxes were haphazardly tied to the top of the rusted station wagon, and from every window appeared arms, legs, and smiling faces. The sagging vehicle seemed to sigh with relief as his aunt, uncle, and seven cousins tumbled from the car. Instantly the house and yard overflowed with people.
“How tall you’ve grown!” Uncle George cried, slapping Willis on the back.
Everybody’s grown, thought Willis as he looked up at fourteen-year-old Greg.
“Why don’t you show Joe and Greg your new game,” Mom suggested.
“Sure,” Willis said. “Come with me.”
The boys started to play, but Joe, who was the same age as Willis, lost interest after his older brother blew his star destroyer off the game board.
“How about a game of softball?” suggested Greg.
“Then everyone can play.”
“Even the girls?” Willis asked.
“Sure, Willie, it’ll be lots of fun,” said Greg.
“My name is Willis,” he said, thinking that Willie was a dumb name to call a person.
“You’d be surprised at how good Mary is at baseball,” Joe said as they collected a bat and ball and went outside.
There Willis was horrified to see one of his little cousins sitting on the tetherball and swinging around the pole. “Hey, get off there!” yelled Willis. “You’ll break the rope.”
“Oh, she’s not very heavy,” Mary said and swung her little sister off the tetherball and onto the ground. “C’mon Susan, you can be on my team. We’ll knock their socks off.”
The cousins divided into two fairly even teams of older and younger players. In spite of himself, Willis almost enjoyed the softball game. Almost.
“Let’s go, Willie,” yelled Joe. “Hit a homer!”
“Don’t call me Willie!” Willis shouted as the ball was pitched to him. SMACK! He hit a long, towering fly ball that sailed straight toward Greg.
“Run, Jennie,” Greg called to his little sister, who stood on first base. Willis watched in disgust as Greg fumbled his catch on purpose.
“Some baseball game,” he muttered as he jogged behind Jennie around their makeshift diamond.
“Safe,” Mary called as she dropped the ball Greg threw to her just as Jennie touched home plate. “Out!” she yelled, snatching the ball and tagging Willis about two feet from home plate.
“Lunch is ready, children,” Aunt Helen called from the patio.
That’s a relief, Willis thought.
“Great game, Willie.” Joe clapped him on the back.
“Don’t call me Willie,” he said again, shrugging the friendly hand off his shoulder.
After lunch Willis went upstairs to get away from all the people for a while. As he walked down the hall, he heard giggles coming from his room. He was about to stomp away, but he peeked inside, instead. Mary was sitting on his bed, surrounded by his little sisters and several young cousins.
“This poor fairy godmother was having some troubles.” Mary’s voice was woeful. “What would you do if you found Cinderella talking politics with the king instead of dancing with the prince?” Her question was greeted by more giggles. Willis smiled to himself and tiptoed away. When he walked downstairs, Joe saw him.
“Hey, Willie—sorry, Willis—I’ve been looking all over for you. Greg and our dads are unpacking the car. You and I have to sleep in the trailer tonight, but Greg has this terrific army hammock that you just have to see. It has a roof and everything!”
Willis followed the tug on his arm, curious about the hammock.
In the backyard they found Greg unrolling a dark, olive green roll. Uncle George and Dad showed the boys where to attach screw eyes on the corner of the garage and the trunk of the elm tree.
“This is neat!” Willis said with excitement as the double rope supports were tied securely in place. It looked like a small houseboat suspended between the garage and the tree. The sides were made out of green netting, and a sturdy canvas cover served as the roof.
“Try it.” Greg unzipped the netting and showed Willis where to climb in.
“It’s snug and warm, and the canvas roof keeps off the rain,” Joe explained enthusiastically.
“This is great!” Willis said, slipping into the hammock and zipping himself in. He looked out through the netting. “It must be fun sleeping in here.”
“Why don’t you find out,” Greg suggested. “Sleep in it tonight.”
“Really?” Willis couldn’t believe it. “Thanks!”
“It’s time to make ice cream,” Mom called, then came over and peeked through the netting. “Willis, come and help Joe and Greg crank the ice-cream freezer.”
“Crank?” asked Willis as he climbed out of the hammock. “Our ice-cream freezer’s electric.”
“Ours is,” Mom said, leading the way over to the patio. “Aunt Helen and I already have that one going. But we need more than two quarts of ice cream for this crew.”
“We take our hand-crank freezer when we go camping,” Joe said, “because you can’t plug a cord into a tree for electricity.”
Uncle George and Dad each took a turn cranking, but soon the three boys were competing to see who could crank the longest.
“Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine …” All the cousins gathered around the patio to watch the boys.
“Sixty!” yelled Greg, collapsing onto the grass.
“My turn,” said Joe. And he began counting. This time, though, the ice cream was thicker and the crank was harder to turn.
“Fif—teen, six—teen, …” Mary led the count.
“I can’t turn it much more,” Joe said, turning the crank with both hands.
“We need more muscle than that,” chided Aunt Helen with a smile. “It’s not ready yet.”
“Willis,” Joe said, “come and help me turn. We’ll show ‘em!”
Together the two boys turned the crank. “Fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one … eighty-nine, ninety …”
“Nobody will beat our record,” Willis puffed, out of breath.
“We’re almost there,” Joe gasped triumphantly.
“One hundred!” The cousins yelled together.
That night as Willis snuggled down into Greg’s army hammock, he grinned and thought, That was the best ice cream that I’ve ever eaten. And today has to be the best day of my summer vacation—the day the cousins came!

I was on the baseball team in high school, but I needed shoulder surgery my junior year and was unable to recover enough to play. When I had to quit baseball, I was very torn up. I wasn’t sure what to do with my life.
I have always been into music and had started writing songs on my guitar. For a long time I did this as a hobby and nothing more, but when I couldn’t spend my time playing baseball, I decided to transfer all of my passion into my music. I contacted a friend who had a home recording studio, and we started recording some of my songs. After four months I came out with an eight-song CD.
My parents have been encouraging me to save up for my mission since I was very young, but until this point I still didn’t have a lot of money in my mission fund. I decided that once my CD was finished I would sell it and save all of the profit for my mission fund. My goal is to make half the money I need for my mission through my music.
I know how important serving a mission is, and I’m working hard to earn the money I need. While it was disappointing to not be able to play baseball anymore, I know the Lord has a plan for me. I can’t play baseball, but I can play music. I see now how the Lord has opened up a way for me to earn some of the money I need to serve Him on a full-time mission.

I was amazed at how proud I still felt of our new chapel as I attended seminary that morning. It was so beautiful!
I heard the voices of my fellow brothers and sisters, my best friends, and Sister Payne, our seminary teacher. They all greeted me with smiles and good mornings. My heart was full, and I knew that was where I should be.
After a song and a prayer, we began our lesson. Soon I was thinking about my friend who had recently stopped attending Sunday meetings. I was feeling guilty because we had had a disagreement that now seemed senseless. And I was thinking that my friend’s inactivity was a result of our disagreement.
My thoughts were interrupted by Sister Payne reading Doctrine and Covenants 64:9–10 [D&C 64:9–10]:
“Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.”
Then I realized that I had been too proud to even apologize to my friend.
At that moment, I knew what to do about my friend. I would go to her and apologize. And I knew that once again, through the scriptures and a teacher, Heavenly Father had given me the strength to do what I knew in my heart was right.

I decided to go on foot to stake conference, walking about 30 or 40 minutes with my son, then eight years old. Twenty minutes had passed when I realized that I no longer knew which direction we needed to go. My son, Elson, always a great talker, had been telling me one story or another about things that had happened in school or at home. I asked him to be quiet for a moment, explaining that I needed to think because I feared we were lost.
It was then that my son showed me his faith. He suggested that we offer a prayer. I, with all the intelligence and understanding of an adult (and becoming a little impatient because the hands of the clock were nearing the time for the meeting to begin), answered that if he wanted to offer a prayer, to do so—however, I preferred to think. I said to myself, “There are things we do not need to depend on the Lord for; finding the way to the chapel is one of them.”
As though he were reading my thoughts, Elson gave me a lesson in humility, saying, “Why do you insist on doing things the hard way?” After that he became silent, and I know that in his mind and heart he prayed. Minutes later we arrived at the chapel, and I knew that he had received an answer to his prayer.
As Latter-day Saints, we are blessed to be members of the Church of Jesus Christ. My testimony of the truthfulness of the restored gospel increased when I realized that my son, still a child, knew how to put the principles of faith and prayer into practice, becoming for me an example of how to live the teachings of Jesus Christ.

How well I can recall a sweet, young patient whom I first saw years ago for a premarital examination. She had been born with one arm missing. Noticing that she had identified herself as a stenographer on her medical history record, I asked, “You’re a secretary?”
“Are you surprised?” she chuckled in return. “I can type with one hand as fast as many girls can with two. As early as I could comprehend, my mother told me that I have been given a deformity so that it might strengthen me, and that I was to learn to do things as well with one hand as everyone else did with two. I have never found my limitation to be a real handicap.” I have watched this young patient. She has since had a heart operation and a child of her own for whom she cares with tender love. A beautiful response to affliction, and God is pleased, I am sure.

Six months into my mission, I had a special interview with my mission president during one of our mission conferences. In essence President Waite told me, “Elder Agüero, I’m going to give you an assignment. You have to learn English because when you return home you will be a member of a stake presidency, a mission president, and a leader in the Church. You will need English to communicate with the General Authorities.”
I laughed, perhaps because at the age of 20 I couldn’t see myself in these positions and because I came from a new stake in Argentina that was among only three that had been organized in the country.
He said, “Don’t laugh, Elder Agüero. I’m being serious.”
I felt the Spirit very strongly through this man, my leader, who then explained to me the way in which I was to fulfill this assignment.
He said, “From now on, you will speak only in English, every day, for half the day, with your companion.”
My companion received the same instructions in his interview, and we started doing so. It was extremely difficult for me at first, but later after much effort, I began to understand basic ideas. I prayed at night, crying many times out of frustration and helplessness because I wanted to be obedient to the task I had been given.
After some months and a few companions later, the miracle came. While a missionary was giving a beautiful talk in English during a zone conference, I suddenly began to understand every word. The miracle did not end there. Over time I came to serve as the mission’s financial secretary, which helped me read and write English. I tried to understand the language by reading Church News, the Ensign, and other English materials. Through these I was able to get a feeling for the English language, which is still with me today.

Soon I’ll be celebrating the first anniversary of my baptism, thanks to the efforts of my neighbor Diane Novak who is ten.
Diane invited me to Primary at the Caribou Branch of the Church in the Houlton-Maine District of the Canada-Halifax Mission. Later I met with the missionaries and was baptized by Diane’s father in the swimming pool at Loring Air Force Base. Now I go to Mutual and take my nonmember brother and one of his friends with me.

Mondays are currently my favorite day of the week. Around 10 a.m. each Monday morning I get to read the weekly letter from our son serving his mission in Farmington, New Mexico. Later that afternoon I get to read another missionary letter from our son serving in Mesa, Arizona. I love reading their missionary experiences, reading how their testimony of the gospel is growing, and of course seeing their most recent pictures. Our sons express how they are loving their respective areas and more importantly that they are loving the people they have been called to serve. They often write how happy they are as a result of serving the Lord every hour of every day. The feelings I get when I read their letters contribute to my own abundant life experience. It is apparent that their experiences are bringing great blessings to them as well. The weekly letters we receive from our boys and their unique life-changing experiences are duplicated in the missionary e-mails we read from their teammates. Some mention providing many acts of service including giving priesthood blessings. They are all instruments in the Lord's hands, helping individuals come unto Christ, helping individuals become converted and being baptized. Many are involved in helping couples move closer to their goal of attending the temple and being sealed together as a couple and as families.

My wife and I often comment on the letters we read from our boys and their teammates and ask the question "Is this the same young man we knew a few months ago?" We know the answer to this question. The answer is: yes and No. The experience they had on the football team was one they will always remember and cherish but the experiences they are having on their missions have so much more significance experiences they will reflect upon for years to come. These young men are experiencing the blessings that come from achieving their goal of serving a mission and then faithfully serving. They are currently experiencing their own abundant lives and are helping many others do the same. They are experiencing the abundant life that comes from setting goals with eternal significance and focusing on things that matter most.

Someone from Bountiful, Utah, originally called Sessions Settlement, told me I should read the diary of Perregrine Sessions. Anyone with a first name like Perregrine deserves attention!

On 18 September 1853, Perregrine Sessions wrote a story he had heard about Sarah Kirkman and her husband John.

"He had been slack about his prayers. After several evenings passed and he did not pray, she told him that something would happen. So she took a chain and put it under the bed with a string [attached] to it. After she had said her prayers and he in the bed laughing at her, telling her she could pray for both, she again told him something would happen. Directly after she was in bed she began to snore as though she was asleep. She then pulled the string and the chain began to rattle. John says, 'Sarah, Sarah, did you hear that?'

"'Why, what now? I told you something would happen. Hold your tongue and go to sleep and don't bother me. You would have heard nothing of it if you had said your prayers.' Directly she was asleep and the chain began to crink on the floor.

"He again calls, 'Sarah,' and began clinging to her. She began to push him away from her and told him to hold his noise and if he did not she would kick him out of bed. And directly she was asleep again and the chain began to jingle. He gets out of bed and kneels down and with his hair [standing] on its ends and says, 'Oh, Lord, if you will forgive me now, I will do better for time to come and not let the Devil have me. O Lord, have mercy on poor me!' This time, he began to cry for mercy, and once in a while the chain would rattle...

"At length he gets into bed and clings to Sarah and covers up head and ears. But he has not forgot[ten] to say his prayers since."

I learned that our Mormon pioneers had a sense of humor. A sense of humor helps keep us from being overcome by the cares of life. We do not make light of sacred things, but the ability to laugh at ourselves and find humor in everyday situations helps our mental health.

It had only been two weeks since Dad had died. I hadn’t gone back to school yet. My little brother Jamey and little sister Tammy were attending school again, and Mom encouraged me to go. “It’ll be easier if you stay busy,” she said, but the emptiness I felt made the thought of being among all my cheery friends repulsive.
“Would you talk with a counselor?” she asked. “No,” was all I could answer.
I spent most of the day in my room among the things I knew so well: my poster of the Great Nebula in the constellation Orion, my collection of Louis L’Amour and Ray Bradbury books, my stake softball trophy, a picture of Dad and me heading out for a fishing trip to Molly Lake in the Sawtooths, and next to that the scriptures Dad had given me on my 12th birthday.
On a blank page in the fron Dad had written: “These scriptures are the word of God; they contain the truth. If you will study them and follow what they say you will know what you need to know for salvation and find the peace you seek. … I love you, Your father.”
I loved the scriptures. During the two years since Dad had given me that set I had read the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants and Pearl of Great Price, the New Testament, and about a third of the Old Testament. Since Dad’s death I had read every scripture I could find on death and the resurrection. I understood as well as any LDS 14-year-old that only Dad’s body had died and that Dad was alive and busy in the spirit world, but the pain and loneliness wouldn’t go away.
During the days after the funeral I prayed to Heavenly Father often for faith and strength, but my sorrow remained. I thought God might be displeased with me for feeling so bad about Dad’s death because I knew the plan of salvation. I asked for forgiveness. I told God that I knew that if I lived right I could be with Dad again in the celestial kingdom, but that I just couldn’t stop missing him so much right now. I privately hoped that Dad would come visit me in a dream or vision and tell me that everything was okay, but it never happened.
I felt a strong need to cry, but I didn’t, not even that first day when the principal got me out of geometry and took me to his office where Mom was waiting to tell me Dad had been killed in a tractor accident. Not during the funeral when everyone was watching to see how I would react. And not when I was alone, because I knew death wasn’t really anything to righteous people, and to cry about it would be weak. I found that not crying took a lot of energy.
It was on a Wednesday night when Mom told me Grandpa Anson was coming to stay for a while. He had been one of the speakers at the funeral. He had told how his son had been a little rebellious when he was young but had turned his life around and gone on a mission, of how wonderful it was to see his son married in the temple, and of the joy it brought him to hear the good things people have to say about Rodney because of the service he had given them. There had been no sorrow in Grandpa’s voice. I guessed that Mom had asked Grandpa to come now because of me. I resented that. I just wanted to be left alone.
Thursday afternoon, when Grandpa was supposed to arrive, I went out for a walk. I wanted to avoid Mom calling me from my room like she always did to formally greet Grandpa. I walked across the back lawn, jumped the cement ditch, and crossed the rows and rows of sugar beets that covered 200 acres. The green leaves were just pushing out of the dirt. I knew I would be spending my afternoons and Saturdays thinning them soon. At the lower southeast corner of the field I came to a pile of large rocks that had been taken from the field years before. This is where Dad’s tractor had turned over. I couldn’t understand it—Dad knew about these rocks. He had warned me not to drive the tractor over them.
“Sometimes it only takes one mistake,” he had said.
I walked out of the field into the sagebrush. Dad said that a lot of people thought sagebrush was ugly and that he couldn’t understand why. He loved the way it smelled.
After about an hour I climbed the fence and began walking up the road that led to my home. When I got closer I could see Grandpa’s car in the driveway. A surge of anger flowed through me. The anger was so strong it scared me. Grandpa was a good man. Mom said he had done nothing but spoil me ever since I was a baby. “You’re his first grandson. He’s proud of you!”
I stopped and tried to get a hold of myself. Why? I thought. Then it came to me. Grandpa is 85 years old. He’s the one who should have died, not Dad. It was a mean thought, but there it was. Forcing my feet to move, I began walking home.
At dinner Grandpa didn’t have much to say to me. He asked Mom about the affairs of the farm, whether Uncle Barney was able to spend enough time here to get things done right. Grandpa had been a farmer and a good one. He had survived two droughts and numerous hail storms. The index finger on his right hand had been cut off at the knuckle by a combine.
After dinner Mom took me aside and asked me not to go straight to my room. I sat in the family room and watched TV with Grandpa for a couple of hours. He held Tammy in his lap and spoke with Jamey, but he pretty much ignored me. I guess that’s what I wanted.
The next morning I slept in until almost eight o’clock, which was unusual. There was a knock on the door and in walked Mom.
“How’re you feeling this morning?”
“Fine.”
“Grandpa would like to go for a walk with you along the river today. That is ‘if he’s feeling up to it,’” she said, trying to imitate Grandpa’s deep voice. Then she smiled.
“Okay,” I said. Mom’s smile faded. She looked long into my eyes, then left. She had cried in the principal’s office when she told me about Dad. She had cried since then too, but she hadn’t neglected the family. She had even made breakfast the day of the funeral.
We drove in Grandpa’s car to the recreation area—a picnic table underneath a shelter amid the sagebrush. The Snake River moved slow and deep in its lava channel, but just downstream a half mile it went over a falls and roared for the next 20 miles though a narrow canyon. We could hear it as we sat and threw rocks into the water. You could see them sink for a ways, but then they disappeared in the murky green. As we walked up the old Oregon Trail he told me some Indian stories that had happened in the area and about the pioneers that had traveled this way “not so long ago.” I already knew the stories, but listened anyway. As we ate the lunch Mom had packed, he told me how to cook biscuits on a stick and how to cook fish over a fire without a pan. Dad had done those things with me on our camping trips.
It wasn’t until we were on our way home that he actually talked about Dad.
“Your dad was a great farmer,” he said looking over the beet field.
“I know,” I said.
“I taught him everything he knows.” I realized too late that he meant that as a joke.
“It’s ironic the accident he had. That kind of avoidable accident seems to happen only to the best farmers. I can name five other good farmers something like that has happened to.”
You’re making me feel a lot better, I thought.
“Shoulda happened to me years ago,” he mumbled.
Suddenly I felt guilty. “No …” I said, but I couldn’t go on.
We drove the rest of the way in silence. Mom looked up hopefully when we came in. I went straight to my room. I lay on the bed and held Dad’s picture to my chest, staring at the ceiling.
After dinner that night Mom told me not to go to my room until at least nine o’clock. I couldn’t bring myself to watch TV so I went outside. The lilacs were in bloom. Their smell was soft and alluring. Dad had planted them when he built the house. They were a Mother’s Day gift for Mom. “They’re a gift that gives every year,” he had said. I sat under them on the far side so no one from the house could see me. The hollow feeling inside me was getting bigger. I wondered how much longer it would be before there was nothing left of me. I was scared, but I didn’t know what to do. I knew that God cared, but why did he let me hurt so much? And why did Dad’s death hurt so much? I believed in the plan of salvation.
I didn’t notice Grandpa until he was sitting down beside me. I pretended not to notice him and watched a robin hop across the lawn, stop to listen, and fly underneath the juniper bush.
“You’re in a lot of pain aren’t you, Jarren?” Grandpa said, abruptly breaking the silence.
I swallowed and nodded.
“Your dad’s death hurt a lot of people,” he said. “I don’t know how your mother is getting along without him. She’s stronger than I thought.”
I didn’t want to speak; I just wanted to curl up and go away, but Grandpa’s presence seemed to draw the pain to the surface. “Dad was a righteous man—we know the plan of salvation—there’s no reason to be sad.” My anger was apparent and my voice shook on sad.
Grandpa stared at me for a long moment while I stared at a dandelion next to me in the grass. Finally he spoke. His voice was old but he had a veteran farmer’s strength and roughness in it.
“Plan of salvation or no plan of salvation, death can hurt.” He reached down and pulled a few blades of grass. “Jarren, you know the scriptures. In the New Testament Heavenly Father mourned for Christ, in 3 Nephi Christ mourned for those who died in the great destruction, and what’s that scripture in Moses? It ‘How is it that the heavens weep, and shed forth their tears as the rain upon the mountains?’” (Moses 7:28).
I thought for a moment how beautiful those words sounded. Then Grandpa spoke. “It seems that feeling sorrow is a part of being like God,” he said.
Still trying to hold onto my anger, I said, “You didn’t sound sad at the funeral!” He stared at me again.
“Jarren, everybody takes death differently, but I think you need to know I bawled like a baby right on the phone when your mom told me.” Then, his voice trailing off almost to a mumble he said, “I never guessed one of my children would die before me.” For an instant I felt Grandpa’s pain.
I knew the answer, but I had to ask him before I could surrender, “Do you miss him, Grandpa?”
“I miss him, Jarren.”
I smelled the lilacs again and I thought about the way Dad had looked when he planted them. I began to cry. Grandpa didn’t move until I put my arm around him, and then he hugged me.