Gospel Story Finder

I had a couple dollar bills and was at the store with my family, so I bought a bouncy rubber ball. My little three-year-old sister really wanted to play with it. When we got home, I gave her the ball. She was so happy that she bounced it up and down the stairs, laughing and smiling. When she got tired of the ball, she came to find me. “Here, Brek, you can have it back,” she said. I felt good that I could share with my sister.
Brek Carper, age 7, with his sister, AlexusSpearfish, South Dakota

The temple is the literal house of God for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is the place where sacred ordinances are performed. It is a place all Latter-day Saints strive to attend on a regular basis. Unfortunately for some, a temple may not be walking distance away or even driving distance. In fact, for some, temples are not even in their country. This is the situation for Jamaicans. The closest temple to Jamaica is the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple. With the view and the goal to attend the temple, 152 members from the different congregations across Jamaica went to the Santo Domingo Temple on July 20th–25th, 2015. Making that trip was one of great effort and tremendous sacrifice for those who attended.
The flight heading to the Dominican Republic left Jamaica at 11:00 in the morning on July 20, 2015. The 152 members were all aboard the flight. For some it would be their first time attending the temple. The flight’s departure from the Jamaican shores represented a moment of great joy as they knew that they would be just hours away from entering the house of the Lord—a place where they could make sacred covenants and receive personal revelation.
The feedback from those that attended proved that the sacrifices made so that they could attend the temple were indeed worth it.
When asked to give an account of his experience, Michael Robinson from the Boulevard Ward stated, “It’s the most beautiful experience I’ve ever had.” Michael was baptized on October 6, 2013. He said that having the opportunity to attend the temple helped him see that he can do more to serve the Lord. He also stated, referring to God that, “His love for us is more than we can have here in this life.”
Similarly, Christine Collins from the Boulevard Ward felt equally as blessed with her temple trip experience. She had the opportunity to attend with some of her family members. Her response when asked about her trip was, “It was absolutely amazing!”
Her brother Carlton Collins, from the Junction Branch, one of the few youth who went on the trip, explained that a week before he knew that he was attending, he faced a lot of discouragement from friends. Carlton explained that he realized that the devil wanted to rob him of the experience he would have at the temple. He said that at the end of the trip, his testimony and resolve to serve the Lord had been strengthened.
The question that can be asked to the members who attended is: “What is your story?” For Rohan and Tracy Francis from the Ocho Rios Branch, their story began with Elder Beck and Elder Martin, two missionaries who introduced the gospel to them. Elder Martin, who is from Alberta, Canada, and now home from his mission, along with Elder Beck, who is also off his mission, were able to join the members on the trip. It was a quite a privilege for them to be able to meet up with their converts at the temple.
The story of Rohan and Tracy Francis did not stop there. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is well-known for promoting traditional families as the fundamental unit of all societies. The Church promotes families, and family history is a major drive for its members. At the temple, Tracy Francis was able to meet Ruth-Ann and Shirlette Brown, two members of the Portmore Ward, who she found out are her great-great-grand-aunt’s children. It was an absolutely wonderful experience for the Brown sisters, who did not know that there were other members of their family who were members of the Church.
The story of Antoinette and Christopher Peart, members of the Constant Spring Ward, and Sister Norma Grant from the Kingston Branch is something to be featured. Being able to attend the temple was a great blessing as their previous attendance at the temple was in 1999. Antoinette explained that it was quite an emotional time for her.
We cannot record all the stories and everything that happened, however, the story of Calvin Dodd from the Hopeton Branch is worth the mention. Calvin Dodd was the oldest member to attend. He is 87 years old and had been baptized on June 15, 1994. Due to health difficulties, previous recent attempts to attend the temple were unfruitful. This trip was indeed a significant milestone for Calvin.
For President Piper, a Church leader for the Mandeville area, his experience was just as significant. He was able to see two sisters from the Negril congregation, whom he had baptized when he was a missionary.
Overall, the trip can be seen as a success. The members were able to perform over 2,000 ordinances during the week they were there. To sum up the whole temple experience for those who attended, in the words of Lacey-Ann Dennis, one of the members, “it was just a reminder that God is real.”

The young men of the Canoga Park Third Ward had a problem before starting their basketball season. Their uniforms were old and ragged. Instead of buying new ones, they decided to custom-tailor their own. The team members did the shopping and selected the material. They organized the sewing crews and used an old pair of bermuda shorts and a jersey as patterns. Each uniform was altered to fit the range of sizes on the team.
With the fluorescent colors in the flowered print and matching jersey, the team had high visibility on the floor. The team also discovered that the more funny comments made about their uniforms by opposing teams, the harder they played. Several of the girls wanted to join in the fun, so a cheerleading squad was organized with the girls making their own uniforms. The ward was caught up in the spirit of camaraderie and showed up for the games to lend support.
The team made it through stake play undefeated and went on to regionals.

My name is Christopher. My feet jump, jump, jump, and run, run, run, and hop, hop hop, so much that Mom calls me Chris-hopper.
On Sunday, Mom said, “Chris-hopper, it’s time to be Christopher. Tell your feet to slow down.
I told them, but they forgot.
On Monday, Mom and I went to the zoo. We saw giraffes, lions, elephants, and monkeys. Best of all, I liked to watch the kangaroos hop. I call them roo-hoppers. Then we saw a giant turtle moving oh … so … slow. I call it a no-hopper. It gave me an idea.
On the next Sunday, I put on my best clothes and my best shoes. Then I taped a little picture of a turtle on the toe of each shoe. “No-hoppers!” I exclaimed and ran to show Mom. She gave me the thumbs-up.
At church, I looked at the turtles on my shoes and said to my feet, “No-hoppers at church.” Now my feet remember to walk in the meetinghouse.
But when I go outside, I’m Chris-hopper again.

All my life I have wanted to be a dancer. I sat and danced to music even before I could walk. And as soon as I could walk, I danced around in circles, even if the only music I could hear was Mom humming while she went about her day.
I have taken dance lessons since I was three, and I have always dreamed that when I was big enough, I would dance in the Nutcracker Ballet at Christmastime.
When I turned eight, soon after I had been baptized, I joined a new ballet school. I was very excited to learn that this school held workshops for children who wanted to try out for the Nutcracker. My mom checked to see if I needed to be older or dance with the school longer, but we were told that everything was fine. I signed up right away for the extra classes I needed, and I practiced every time I had a chance. I felt wonderful—I was going to audition for the Nutcracker! My dreams were coming true.
I kept going to class and practicing until it was almost time for the audition. I was very excited the day my ballet teacher gave me the form to fill out for it. I handed it to Mom right after class and asked if we could turn it in right away. I was so excited that I hadn’t taken the time to read it. Mom said that we could, but then, as she read over the form, she discovered that children trying out had to be at least nine years old. She said that maybe we should ask some more questions before we filled out the form.
She called, and sure enough, I would have to be nine. We were also told that many moms just took their children and filled out the form as if they were nine. Mom made another call to the ballet school to ask what to do about the extra classes I had signed up for to prepare me for the audition. She was told that she could withdraw me from the class, keep me in and say that I was nine at the audition, or keep me in and not audition and just use the extra classtime in preparation for next year’s audition. They said the choice was ours to make.
When Mom finished talking to the ballet school, we went to my room, where it was quiet. She gave me a long look that let me know that she knew that this was very important to me. She said, “Emily, you have wanted to dance in this ballet all of your life. You are a very good girl. Our family has had many lessons on choosing the right. You have had Primary lessons on it, too. A few months ago, you were baptized and given the gift of the Holy Ghost. You are old enough to make an important choice. You need to pray to Heavenly Father and listen for the prompting of the Holy Ghost. Heavenly Father gave us agency so we could choose, but we also have to accept the consequences of our choices. I cannot go to the rehearsal and say that you are nine when you are not. This is a choice that you must make. I trust that you are a good girl. I love you.”
Then she left me in my room to think. I wondered if she would come back soon to tell me that I could go and make it all right, or to tell me that I couldn’t because it would not be honest. She didn’t.
Two more weeks went by, and I had decided many times that it would be all right if I went to the audition because I am tall and look like I am nine. Heavenly Father would understand, just this once, wouldn’t He? After all, I have always wanted to do this. It was my dream.
I decided just as many times that I would not go to the audition because that would be dishonest.
I felt like I was riding a seesaw up and down—go to the audition, or not. I prayed and prayed and tried to listen for the Holy Ghost. I thought a lot about what Jesus would want me to do. How would He feel about my choice?
The week before the audition, I came out of class excited about a new step I had learned. I showed it to Mom, and she pulled me quietly onto a bench a little out of the way of the other children going to and from classes. She told me that the time had come. I needed to make my final choice.
I gave a big sigh. “I’m not going to the audition, Mom,” I said. “It wouldn’t be honest to say that I’m nine when I’m really eight. I tried to figure out a way to make it work, but I can’t. I want to be honest.” It was really hard to say out loud that I wasn’t going to the audition. But once I did, I felt better than I had for weeks.
“I understand, and I think that you made a choice that you can be pleased about. I know that Heavenly Father and I are pleased with your choice,” she said. Then Mom asked what I wanted to do about the extra classes that would be starting.
I told her, “I’m still going to take the classes. That way, I can be even more prepared for next year. Besides, it can’t hurt to learn more steps—I have a recital this coming spring. Maybe the classes can help me prepare for that.”
One of the other girls in my class went to the audition and was chosen to dance in the ballet. She is nine. Sometimes I wonder if I would have made it if I had auditioned. Then I remind myself that I made the right choice and that I can try out next year.
Who knows—maybe with an extra year of practice, I’ll have an even better chance of being chosen for the Nutcracker next Christmastime. Maybe if you see it, you’ll see me dancing and know that it is me. I’ll be wearing a big smile.

Once when I was 16 years old, I was in a restaurant with some friends from church. A man who knew one of us came in. He said, “I want to invite all of you to drink some liquor right here and now.”
I remember standing up and saying, “None of us drink liquor. And if you want to drink, go find somewhere else to do it.”
This man was in his early 20s and much larger than I was—a very strong man—and he became mad. He brought a glass of liquor to me and said, “I’m going to make you drink this!”
I said, “Don’t try it. There could be unfortunate consequences.” He tried to grab me and force me to drink the liquor. The next thing I knew, the man was lying on the floor. I really didn’t have the strength to defend myself against that man, but Heavenly Father provided what I lacked.
Much later, when I was a husband, father, and businessman, I was invited to attend a lunch with the president of the Republic of Guatemala. I found myself in a room with many other guests. When the president entered, waiters poured liquor so that everyone could join in a toast. But I covered my glass with my hand. The president said, “Mr. Pérez, won’t you join me in a toast?”
I replied, “Mr. President, if you’re asking me if I will wish you success in your government, I will. But if you’re asking me if I will drink liquor, I will not. I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If that is a problem, I can leave right now.”
He said, “No, no.” They drank their liquor, and we sat down. A little later the president said, “Tell me something of your church,” and I did.
It doesn’t matter where we are or whom we are with, we can always stand by our principles. If we make a firm decision once and for all, when temptations arise we don’t have to think, “What am I going to do?” or “What am I not going to do?” The decision is already made.
We are never alone. Even though His creation is so immense, our Father in Heaven knows that you live and that I live. He knows our hearts. He knows our thoughts. He has given us His perfect plan of happiness because He loves us. He is always searching for ways to bless us.

As a young boy of five or six years of age, I had a powerful experience with prayer. My grandfather, who was not very old at the time, was very ill—feverish, ashen, and almost unconscious. It was a real crisis for our family. He lay in a bed that had been set up for him in his living room, and many of our family members, as well as our stake patriarch, knelt in a circle around his bedside to pray for him.

Although I was the only child in the room, I was invited to be in that prayer circle. Each member of the circle took a turn saying a prayer out loud. Then I, as the youngest one there, was called upon to pray last. I had participated in family prayer, the blessing on the food, bedtime prayers, and the other prayers that children say, but I had never experienced prayer like this before. People were crying, and everyone was anxious and concerned. It all seemed awfully important and urgent and somewhat frightening.

As a result of these prayers, my grandfather’s health was restored. The patriarch later told me that he felt my grandfather had been healed primarily because of my prayer. I have never forgotten that experience. Because I was so frightened at the responsibility to pray in such a setting, prayer took on a deeper meaning for me.

Claire and Sandra Hoey of Craigavon are members of the Portadown Ward. They talk about the walls that missionaries helped tumble for their family.
“The missionaries had been coming to our parents for a long time,” Sandra says. “But I never paid any attention. Then one night I was upstairs and started listening. I got more interested in what they were saying. I decided it was time to see what it was all about.”
The discussions became more and more serious. The parents were baptized. An older brother was baptized. Then Sandra, then Claire.
After the baptisms, a friend “noticed that since I’ve joined the Church I’ve been happier,” Claire says. “She wanted to find out what it was that was making me happy.” Now the friend is taking the discussions in the Hoeys’ home. “I can remember asking the same questions, praying to resolve the same doubts,” Claire says. “It helps when I can tell her I’ve been through the same thing and gained my own testimony.”

In a recent best-selling book, the author uses as his principal analogy the interesting fact that for centuries all Europeans believed that all swans were white. It wasn’t until the discovery of Australia that swans of a different color were discovered. The author uses this analogy to help explain events which have actually occurred but were not expected. As I thought about this analogy, I realized that many people have refused to seriously investigate the Church because they believe there can be no revelation in this dispensation. One convert, who is now serving as a mission president, describes how difficult this was for him when he was investigating the Church. He said, “I had been taught all my life that there would never again be prophets and apostles here upon the earth. So to accept Joseph Smith as a prophet created a large stumbling block.” However, when he prayed, he states, “I received a witness that in fact the gospel had been restored to the earth and that Joseph Smith was truly a prophet of God.”

Grant was only six weeks old when his father, H. Grant Heaton, was called to preside over the Southern Far East Mission. Unlike most children in the United States, Grant spoke his first words in Chinese. His little sister, Lisa Lee, who was born a year and a half after the family moved to Hong Kong, also learned Chinese first.
The mission home was filled with happiness until March 1958, when Grant was three years old. One day his neck became stiff, and there was pain in his chest. Soon he could not walk on his legs. President and Sister Heaton asked the missionaries to fast and pray for their son, but still his condition grew worse.
Grant’s father gave him a special blessing before taking him to the hospital. After tests, the illness was diagnosed as paralytic polio. The doctors said Grant would soon need an iron lung to help him breathe. Polio is not common among the Chinese, however, and the only iron lung in the country was being used by a British sailor.
By the end of a week in the hospital, Grant was completely paralyzed. Only his eyes moved, and the little body that had seemed healthy just a week before was quickly wasting away.
One morning Sister Heaton was with Grant. It was so hard for him to breathe that she thought surely he would soon return to our Heavenly Father. Two men came to the hospital that morning. They represented the Chinese Saints who had held a special fast and a prayer meeting the day before.
Both men had been members of the Church less than a year and neither held the priesthood, but they wanted to help. They asked permission to pray for Grant. Sister Heaton readily agreed and bowed her head to join them. She felt the faith of these humble Chinese men as they knelt beside Grant’s bed and prayed that this little boy’s health might be restored.
As they rose to their feet and left the room, Grant’s mother followed them down the hall. She thanked them and then went to the refrigerator where special food for Grant was stored.
Just as she opened the door, a familiar little voice called from down the hall and she turned around quickly to see Grant coming toward her.
“Look, Mommy,” he exclaimed with a happy smile. “I can walk!”
The doctors were amazed, but when the polio symptoms did not return, they let Grant go home. President and Sister Heaton and the missionaries gratefully acknowledged the power of the Lord and the faith of the Chinese Saints in behalf of their son.
Grant is now eighteen and lives with his family in Salt Lake City, Utah. He doesn’t remember his illness in China. His strong legs that helped him make the football team and wrestle for his high school don’t remember either!

I was baptized with my parents when I was 16 years old. My younger brother, Kyung-Hwan, who was 14 years old, joined the Church through my uncle, Young Jik Lee, and invited us to his church. Each of the 10 members in our family belonged to a different church, so we were happy to find the truth and wanted to share that happiness we found in the gospel of Jesus Christ after we were baptized.
My father was the most excited among us to learn and share the truth. He used to wake up early in the morning to study the scriptures for over two hours every day. After work he went with the missionaries to visit our family, friends, and neighbors nearly every day. Seven months after we were baptized, 23 of my family and relatives became members of the Church. That was followed by the miracle of seeing 130 people baptized in the following year through my father’s member missionary work.
Family history was also important to him, and he completed eight generations of our ancestors. From that time on, the fruits of our family conversion, started by my 14-year-old brother, have increased in countless ways not only among the living but also among the dead. Building upon the work of my father and others, our family tree now spans to 32 generations, and we are now completing temple work for many branches. Today I am amazed and feel great joy linking our ancestors and our descendants.

One bright, warm Saturday morning, gangs of teenagers invaded the little town of Guadalupe, Arizona. They were all dressed alike. They were spraying paint, breaking up concrete, hanging out at the park, and having a loud, noisy time.
Of course, they were also laying sod, repairing mailboxes, cleaning up empty lots, building handicapped ramps, landscaping homes, restoring the median in the middle of the main road, interviewing residents for town and family histories, furnishing some temporary homes, and, in general, doing good wherever they went.
Persuading more than a thousand teens to donate their muscles and their time on a Saturday was due to the efforts of the East Valley Youth Service Committee, an organization combining youth in Gilbert, Arizona, from St. Anne’s Catholic Church with the youth from five Gilbert LDS stakes.
The whole idea of interfaith service projects got started when Father Doug Lorig of St. Anne’s Catholic Church wrote a letter to Salt Lake City asking how the youth in Gilbert of both the Catholic and LDS faiths could become united. The answer came through President John Lewis of the Gilbert Arizona Stake. The youth could become united as they served together.
But where? Who needed lots and lots and lots of helping hands?
The town of Guadalupe was the answer.
Guadalupe is the name of a major road that runs through the towns of Tempe and Gilbert, Arizona. Everyone knows Guadalupe Road. It’s a major thoroughfare lined with fast-food restaurants, gas stations, churches, and neighborhoods. But most teens didn’t know what is at the end of Guadalupe Road, right where the street ends. At that spot, just a little over a mile square, is the tiny town of Guadalupe.
Several members of the East Valley Youth Service Committee were assigned to do some calling. Their quest, to find some places that needed service. One young woman contacted Mary E. Hoy, the assistant town manager of Guadalupe. “She called and said, ‘We’d like to do a project in your town. What would you like us to do?’” said Mary. “I had a couple of pages of things that needed to be done because we have so much need here.”
To Mary’s great surprise, instead of picking one or two items off her list, the report came back that the committee had anticipated being able to do almost everything on her list. “The town has been very excited,” reports Mary. “They love the idea of these teens coming to help.” With nearly 1,500 teens and their adult leaders attending, the town’s population doubled for that one day.
Mary’s list included turning a flood retention basin into a park, painting a mural on a noise wall, replacing or repairing all mailboxes, building ramps for houses of handicapped residents, hauling rubbish from the lots of elderly residents, painting homes and repairing roofs, interviewing families for the town’s historical record, beautifying the town’s center street median, and collecting furniture for and landscaping around emergency housing.
The first meeting was at a public auditorium, when the whole idea of working together in service, in addition to gathering support and donations from the community, was presented to anyone interested. Chad Heywood, 16, of the Freestone Park Ward in the Gilbert stake, said, “I’ve had a lot of kids come up to me and ask how they can get involved in it. It’s a fun thing to do now.”
Jennifer Barger, the adult volunteer supervisor from St. Anne’s Catholic Church, said, “I think the more they got involved, the more eager they were to participate. It’s a growing thing, with each other and with the town. It’s been quite a neat experience.”
As the planning for the project progressed, the teens involved started to discover a change in their attitudes. Aubree Wright, 17, of the Gilbert Ninth Ward, Gilbert Val Vista Stake, said, “The first couple of meetings, I was not feeling like I wanted to go. The more I went, it just became such a neat thing. I was looking forward to it. I’ve seen it in other kids too. You can tell that it’s starting to touch them.”
You might not think that getting together on one Saturday and hauling sod or painting a house would do all that much for world peace. But each action, each person doing one good thing, can begin to change the world. Standing shoulder to shoulder with shovels and rakes in hand with God’s children of other beliefs and cultures can make a difference. Melissa Geiger, 19, of St. Anne’s Catholic Church, was asked to be a youth representative on the planning committee. She said, “It sounds like an enormous task, making peace in the world. We can start small and meet on a common ground of service. That was our basis.”
Whether it’s spending four hours at a cannery, packing boxes at a food bank, or getting your hands blistered while raking gravel, service improves most those who give it.
The youth of Gilbert, both Catholic and LDS, now know each other a little better. And with each opportunity to serve, they will learn a little more what it means to live a Christlike life.

Jovinsky Valcin, from Ounanaminthe, Haiti, is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He participated in an outreach activity for children with limited resources offered by a local ophthalmology clinic. It was recognized that he was an intelligent boy but struggled to read.
Reading had always been a problem for Jovinsky. It was humiliating and disappointing to him. Reading the notes on the board in class was almost impossible. To read from a book, he had to bring it right up to his face to see the words.
When asked how he felt when studying his notes or looking at the chalkboard at school, he responded, “I feel uncomfortable, and I get discouraged easily.”
When his father was asked if he knew that his son, who was so bright, had a serious vision problem, he said, “I realized that. It’s just that we have to wait a little bit more. But we’re working on [it].” It was obvious that Jovinsky and his family needed some assistance to get him glasses.
When the clinic recognized the problem, they asked Jovinsky and his father to visit their clinic in Ouanaminthe. The clinic ran all the eye tests to see what was medically wrong with his vision and then sent a prescription for glasses to the lab.
The glasses were recently delivered to him. It was one of the most beautiful days the clinic had ever experienced. Before the glasses were delivered, the clinic asked the family to pay 100 Haitian Gourdes (US $0.75). Jovinsky couldn’t believe what he heard and gently asked, “Did you just say 100 Gourdes?” When he realized what he thought he heard was right, the answer brought a transforming smile to his face.
Jovinsky says, “I could not read, but now I can.” He recognizes that the Lord sent angels to him with the miracle of sight. He thanks everyone who were so helpful and generous with him. Now, he enjoys being able to work on his homework assignments. The clinic and his new friends keep in touch with him and wish him all the best.

I was nearing my seventh birthday when we went to Grandma’s house. I ran into the house yelling, “Grandma, we’re here!”
“Aren’t you excited?” she asked. “This is your present.” She was sitting at a table with a nearly finished porcelain doll that she had made to look like me! It had brown hair and blue eyes like me. It was in a white dress. She explained that the white dress was to help me prepare for my baptism in a year. The doll was holding a bouquet of flowers, which she explained were the colors of the Young Women values.
The white dress was for faith, the blue flowers for divine nature, the red flowers for individual worth, the green leaves for knowledge, the orange flowers for choice and accountability, the yellow flowers for good works, and the purple flowers for integrity. She said that she is going to give me a new doll each year representing these value colors to help me prepare for Young Women.
I wore a dress very much like the doll’s to my baptism!Krystel A., age 8, Utah

One highlight for the LeGault sisters has been taking trips to the Washington D.C. Temple.

“We try to go to the temple to do baptisms as often as we can,” says Nathalie. “We need it, like food. We’re hungry for it. We go each summer for three days. I think about my family when I go and remember when we were sealed together in the temple eight years ago. I remember the sealing room and my mother looking so beautiful. It was something marvelous, fantastic.

“When I’m baptized for the dead in the temple, I’ve felt very close to the people I’ve been baptized for, and I feel that they’ve accepted the gospel. I know that I’m not just being baptized for a name, but for someone who really exists. Those people want the gospel just like we do.”

Chantal agrees. “The last time I went to do baptisms in the temple, I felt the Spirit so strongly I cried and cried. I felt like I wanted to be in the temple all my life, so I could feel that Spirit all the time.”

“If those clouds get any darker, I’ll need a light to work by,” grunted the older man who worked alongside Lao Moy. He was placing a low-power explosive into a crack in a mammoth-size granite boulder.
Twelve-year-old Lao Moy wiped the rock dust from his eyes and squinted into the wintry heavens. The sharp wind that knifed down through the cottonwood canyons of the Wasatch Mountains cooled the sweat on his face. He thought of the high winds he and his father Chen had experienced on the clipper ship that had brought them to America from their ancestral home in China seven years ago.
Lao Moy’s father had been a fisherman on a sampan in Canton when a terrible wharf fire took the lives of Mother, Grandfather, and his baby sister Sze. Then the lure of gold in a strange, far-off land called America tempted Chen in the summer of 1855 to leave China for the goldfields of California. Perhaps, he thought, I can do better by Lao Moy there.
But Lao Moy was to discover at a very young age, along with his father, that the Lord makes the rain to fall on the just and the unjust. What little gold Chen was able to earn as a mine worker was stolen by his rough, bad-tempered employers. Then had come that awful night when a half-dozen drunken men had broken down their shanty door and killed him.
Lao Moy stared at the cloud shadows drifting across the canyon walls like a vulture’s wing. He gritted his teeth and his eyes filled with tears. The bitter memory of his father’s death lodged once again in the depths of his heart.
The immigrant’s youthful eyes shifted to Mosiah Twiggs, the big, bearded Mormon who had rescued him that fateful night. Waves of love and gratitude rolled up the shores of Lao Moy’s sore heart and washed away his tears.
Mosiah, too, had been ensnared by dreams of gold, so he left the Salt Lake Valley settlement in ’49 to fall prey to the same misfortune that had beset so many others—empty pockets and broken dreams.
After his father’s death, Lao Moy had agreed without misgivings to return with Mosiah to Salt Lake City, feeling a loyalty to the soft-spoken stranger who had risked his life to save someone he didn’t even know.
It had been a hazardous journey by wagon from the goldfields of California to the Salt Lake Valley, and they had encountered countless perils. But Mosiah’s promise that the God of Israel would protect them had planted the seeds of a testimony in the boy’s heart. Lao Moy wondered about this man who dutifully paid 10 percent of his earnings to his church for tithing.
Yet standing in the way of Lao Moy’s spiritual progress was that old bitterness born in the goldfields. It crouched like a great beast over his peace and challenged his moments of newfound joy. He had long wished to rid himself of it, to strike out against it, but something or someone always seemed to stand in the way.
Mosiah gazed curiously in the direction of the boy’s unbroken stare. “Autumn leaves die beautifully, don’t they, Lao Moy?” he said, his face lifted into the leaf-spattered wind.
“Yes,” answered Lao Moy, his hurtful thoughts suddenly scattered by his guardian’s grand vision. Autumn was indeed a beautiful time of year, especially in the canyons. Lao Moy’s eyes raced up the huge, yellow red chasms with renewed excitement. He loved these mountains. Mosiah had told him many times about them. How the erosion of long ages had cut deep canyons. How huge glaciers, descending with unyielding power, had broken loose and carried countless boulders, many of goliath size, down the immense mountain furrows. It was these isolated blocks, called erratics, that provided the supply of building stones for the Salt Lake Temple.
In these canyons, Mosiah, Lao Moy, and many other faithful Saints worked tirelessly to divide the boulders with hand drills, wedges, and low-power explosives. The rough blocks were then transported by oxteam—four yoke required for each block—and every trip was a difficult three- or four-day journey to the temple site some twenty miles away.
Mosiah touched Lao Moy’s shoulder and brought him out of his reverie. “I’m going to set off the blast, Lao Moy,” he cautioned, and then shouted a warning to the nearby workers. Mosiah lit the fuse and sprinted with Lao Moy for cover.
Two other workmen held a team of oxen. One of them was fourteen-year-old Corey Atwood. Corey, a tough, stout boy, had long taken pleasure in cruelly funning Lao Moy because of his broken English, his long queue (braid), and his quiet and obedient ways. It was often Corey who kept Lao Moy’s bitterness alive, but the Chinese boy had held it all inside, even when the troublesome Corey had once grabbed Lao Moy’s queue and threatened to cut it off with a knife.
The blast erupted like the sound of cannon fire over a Virginia cottonfield, and the big piece of granite split in two. Cheers went up, and Mosiah scrambled up the rocks to view his accomplishment. Lao Moy started up, too, but was soon held fast by Corey, who held onto his queue.
“What’s the matter, Lao Moy,” he chuckled, “somebody got your tail?”
Suddenly something exploded inside Lao Moy with no less force than Mosiah’s dynamite blast. He turned and struck Corey in the face so hard that the big boy was lifted off his feet and thrown backward in front of the team of oxen. The wide-eyed Atwood looked as surprised as Lao Moy. He wiped at the blood on his mouth and started to lift himself up when a clap of thunder suddenly boomed. As the already spooked oxen lurched forward, Lao Moy sprang for Corey and rolled him out of the path of pounding hooves and grinding wheels.
For a long moment the two boys just lay there, staring at each other. Finally, a smile broke across Corey’s dusty, blood-smeared face. Lao Moy smiled back, and all the old bitterness in his heart seemed to melt away like ice in a summer sun. A new peaceful feeling assured him it would not return.
Lao Moy was forty-five years old when the Salt Lake Temple was finally dedicated on April 6, 1893; Mosiah, seventy-six; and Corey Atwood, forty-seven. Corey sat close beside Lao Moy as President Wilford Woodruff offered the dedicatory prayer. A friendship had grown between them, a friendship as strong as the temple granite they had helped to cut. And like that granite, it would last forever.

When I was a teenager, I struggled, as many young people do, with feelings of confusion and anxiety about the future. And like many teens, I didn’t want to approach my parents about my concerns. I felt they were too old. How could they possibly understand my problems? I’m sure my parents were concerned, but I avoided their attempts to talk to me.
One night my father came home from work with a sack of groceries. He had stopped at the corner store and picked up a few items, one of which was a large bag of roasted peanuts. Finding our red porcelain bowl, he emptied the bag into the bowl. Then, in a voice barely concealing his apprehension, he asked me if I’d like to “snap a few” with him. He said he had a lot on his mind and that he needed someone to talk to. I reluctantly agreed.
By the time the peanuts were half gone, we had warmed to each other, and for the first time in several years we really began to communicate. In his quiet, confident, roundabout way, he began to reestablish the truths he had taught me from the time I was a little boy.
He talked with me not only as a father, but also as a friend—a much older and wiser friend. To my astonishment, I found a wealth of information and experiences in my father I hadn’t known existed. We didn’t talk much about the political and moral issues of the day; instead, I learned from the mistakes and successes of a man 35 years my senior.
That was the first of many “peanut sessions.” When I left home to go on my mission not many years later, I embraced my father and felt his strength and love in the bear hug he gave me. I will always be grateful to him for reaching out to me during a difficult time in my life and sharing unchanging truths with me—truths that have guided my life ever since. His sincere friendship and nonthreatening approach gave me an anchor during a time of instability and provided an example of the way I want to rear my own children.

Life seems to have a way of changing the most carefully made plans, but no one would have expected the traumatic experience that awaited Don. His fun on the reservation was cut short by painful events, and his mission began in a much different way than one would have imagined.
While riding in the back of a small truck with some of his friends, Don accidentally fell out onto the hard, black pavement and skidded painfully along its rough surface. That was the last thing he remembered until he awoke in a hospital bed, his body in physical torment.
An excruciating pain in his back persisted through the long night, and as the new day began, Don found himself unable to move his arms, hands, or legs. He was paralyzed from his neck down!
Following an emergency operation, he awoke in a recovery room conscious that the pain in his mended back was subsiding; but he was also painfully aware of his helpless limbs that refused to respond to his efforts to move them.
Don’s concerned doctors had little hope that this condition would ever change. As he lay helpless in his hospital bed, fighting back the tears of discouragement, he expressed the feelings of his heart to his Heavenly Father, asking for strength to endure and for a recovery from his affliction if it were His will.
Night after night while others slept, Don struggled through the long, dark hours attempting to move his helpless hands that lay inertly by his side. He would pray and try, pray and try, repeating over and over in his mind, “I can do it, I can do it, I can do it!” Then, as the early morning light filtered softly through the blinds of his window, he would surrender himself wearily to a merciful sleep.
On one such interminable night, Don’s heart suddenly pounded with excitement as an almost imperceptible movement was made by one of his fingers! Holding his breath in suspense, he moved his finger again!
There was no sleep for Don that night. A wonderful, elated feeling of hope buoyed his troubled spirit and gave him renewed determination to regain the use of his hands.
Each night became a new adventure as gradually, with great effort and perseverance, the use of his hands and arms slowly returned to him.
In the meantime, Don’s doctor had procrastinated the unwelcome task of informing him that he must mentally prepare himself to accept his paralysis as an unalterable fact of his young life.
With great difficulty, the doctor told this news to Don. It was a poignant moment for the good doctor who turned quickly to leave the room to conceal his emotion. As he left the room he stole a last glance at Don lying quietly in his bed. Just at this moment, Don reached his arm up to the head rail of his bed and pulled himself into a more comfortable position. The startled doctor could not contain himself. “Do that again, Don! Do that again!” he shouted with excitement. Soon the room was filled with nurses and doctors who came running to learn the cause of the great commotion. It was a moment to be remembered.

One time my teacher was saying a word that my parents told me not to say. I prayed and talked with my parents so that I would have enough courage to tell her that I didn’t like her using that word. Finally, after several days of praying and talking with my parents, I gained the strength to tell my teacher what I thought. It worked! I did not hear her say that word for the rest of the year. I know it was the right thing to do.

President Kimball qualifies as a friend of the Savior. When he was in the hospital ready to undergo open-heart surgery a few years ago, he was being wheeled down the hall and into the operating room by a young orderly. The young man accidentally smashed his finger between the metal door frame and the metal frame of the bed on which lay the already sedated prophet. When this mishap occurred, the young man, in pain, used an unfortunate expression in which he took in vain the name of the Savior. The prophet stirred, opened his eyes, and gently rebuked the orderly, saying, “Young man, don’t say that; He’s my best friend!”