Gospel Story Finder

Gray dawn had come. Pacha, a mountain boy of Peru, went out from his thatched hut to the place where the llamas rested at night. His whistle was low, his voice gentle. “Come, llamas!”
The six long-necked, woolly animals rose slowly to their feet while Pacha explained the new day. “When the sun comes,” he told them, “we will go with Papá down the mountain—to the market fair in the valley.”
The llamas made no sound, but Pacha felt sure that they understood. As they marched in stately file from the stone-enclosed corral, he stroked the thick fur of each one, calling it by name. “Ocli … Astro … Yana …” They were brown llamas with patches of yellowish white—all but Nubi, the smallest and youngest. Nubi was pure black.
Pacha loved them all. They were his friends, his companions. But he couldn’t help wishing that one of them was his very own. He wished it more than anything else.
A boy living farther up the mountain owned a llama. It had been given to him the day he brought his father’s string of llamas safely around a dangerous mountain landslide.
Ever since, Pacha had tried hard to think of something he might do—a deed so big and important that he would deserve a llama of his own. “I would choose you,” he whispered into the velvety ear of Nubi, the last to leave the corral. And Nubi’s small head gently nudged Pacha’s shoulder.
Outside the corral, the llamas formed a circle with their heads turned inward, waiting patiently for the loads to be tied to their backs. First Pacha and his father folded into a bunch the long coarse hair that grew on each animal’s back. This made a soft padding for their loads, which today would be lighter. Instead of the usual dried corn and hard mountain potatoes, the woven carrying bags were filled with llama fleece.
“It is good wool. We can trade it for many things we need,” said Papá as he tied the last bag in place. Only Nubi carried no load. She was still too young.
The man and the boy now turned their faces toward the eastern sky, waiting for the sun. Ay, but the wind was strong and cold! Shivering under his red and blue poncho, Pacha pulled the earflaps of his tasseled cap closer.
At last a rosy glow came up from behind the farthest snow peak. “It is time,” said Papá.
Pacha’s whistle was low, his voice gentle. “Come, llamas.”
Ocli had been chosen leader because he could pick the best way. The golden bell around his neck tinkled. Although the trail zigzagging down the mountain was rocky and very steep, the padded hoofs of the llamas never stumbled. Pacha stayed close behind Nubi, the last in line. Papá followed.
As they descended into the valley, the air grew warmer. Wildflowers bloomed purple and yellow and crimson. Then they saw the red roofs of the town in the valley, and soon they were making their way along a narrow, turning street. Their sandals slap-slapped on the worn cobblestones, and the hoofs of the llamas swish-swished.
An automobile, its horn blaring, crowded them. But the llamas strode on in perfect order, their heads high. Even Nubi stepped with pride and dignity all the way to the market fair in the center of town.
Pacha sniffed. “Mmmm!” How good the fresh pan (bread) smelled! “Mmmm!” How delicious it tasted when his father, smiling at Pacha’s eagerness, sold some wool, then bought a loaf.
Their next stop was a fruit stall where they bought big, yellow-orange papayas. Farther on, they added sugar cane and rock salt to their purchases. Also a shepherd’s knife for shearing the llamas, and a round clay cooking pot.
Now they had only enough time to get the clothing they needed: white trousers and new caps—a red one for Pacha, a white one for his father.
“We will take the rest of the wool to our friend Don Jacinto,” said Papá, “then buy our clothes at the indoor market.” He led the way down another street to a building with arches and pillars before it.
After taking as many bundles of wool as he could carry, Papá carried them into the store, saying, “Stay with the llamas, my son.”
The llamas quietly folded their legs beneath them and lay down to rest. Pacha was about to do the same, when a boy in town clothes hurried up. “Haven’t you heard?” he cried. “Foot races! They start over there!” He pointed to a nearby fountain. The first race was for boys their size, he quickly explained, and it would start pronto. As he ran off in the direction of the fountain, he called back, “The winner gets a prize! A fine prize!”
Pacha’s thoughts were awhirl! He had never run a race, but he knew that his legs were strong from climbing mountains. To win a race and a fine prize would be something big and important for him to do. At last his chance had come!
Pacha’s heart thumped with excitement. He started running to catch up with the boy.
Then suddenly he stopped. The llamas! They wouldn’t understand being left alone. Something might happen to them. He couldn’t run this race, after all. A lump too big to swallow came into his throat. He started to run again, this time back to the llamas.
All six animals stared at him with dark, sad eyes that were full of questions. Pacha spoke soothingly. “Of course I wouldn’t leave you, llamas.”
He stooped and put his arms around black Nubi. He hugged and patted each woolly animal. Even when he heard the loud boom that signaled the boys’ race, he stayed with them. The llamas, comforted, softly hummed.
A man’s deep voice spoke. “Ah, Pacha, why are you not running with the others?” It was Don Jacinto. He had come with Papá from the indoor market.
Before Pacha could explain, his father spoke. “Pacha was left in charge of the llamas. He could not leave them, not even to run a race.”
To Pacha’s amazement, Papá seemed very pleased that his son wasn’t trying to win a race. All at once his heart felt light again.
Don Jacinto had turned to look at the wool still tied to the llamas’ backs. His eyes fell on Nubi. “A fine black one!” he exclaimed. “When you have fleece from this llama, I will pay extra.”
Pacha’s father was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “The black one now belongs to Pacha. Her fleece will be his.”
At first, Pacha couldn’t believe what his ears had heard. Nubi his? A llama of his own?
Papá turned to Pacha. “Our llamas serve us well. In return, we must take care of them, my son. Now that I’m sure you understand this, I give you Nubi.”
It took Pacha a while to find his voice. “Gracias (thank you), Papá. Oh, gracias!” he exclaimed. He looked up at Don Jacinto and said, “When Nubi is sheared, I will bring the black fleece to you.”
It was time to start the homeward march. The sun, warm now, would set quickly. The stinging chill of the wind would return. The travelers needed to reach their mountain home before the trail darkened. Pacha’s whistle was low, his voice gentle. “Come, llamas!”
Ocli’s golden bell tinkled. The carrying bags, repacked with new possessions, swayed lightly on the animals’ backs.
Pacha, staying close to Nubi, thought over the happenings of the day. It had been a wonderful market fair, and he had learned something he would always remember: Small deeds can be as important as big ones.

And I remember hearing in New Zealand the testimony of a man from the far side of Australia who, having been previously sealed by civil authority and then joined the Church with his wife and children, had traveled all the way across that wide continent, then across the Tasman Sea to Auckland, and down to the temple in the beautiful valley of the Waikata. As I remember his words, he said, “We could not afford to come. Our worldly possessions consisted of an old car, our furniture, and our dishes. I said to my family, ‘We cannot afford to go.’ Then I looked into the faces of my beautiful wife and our beautiful children, and I said, ‘We cannot afford not to go. If the Lord will give me strength, I can work and earn enough for another car and furniture and dishes, but if I should lose these my loved ones, I would be poor indeed in both life and in eternity.’”

Jax was super nervous about performing his talent, Irish dancing, at the FSY variety show. “I was really, really terrified. Like I’m-in-a-pit-of-snakes terrified,” he says. “I said a little prayer before I got up there. I was still terrified, but then the music came on. I pretended no one was there. And I just started dancing.”

Jax hopped and moved his legs in traditional Irish fashion. But seeing Jax’s cheery face, most people probably wouldn’t guess that it was quite the journey to get there.

“In 2020 I was really stressed and even suicidal,” Jax says. “I was in a mental health hospital for a month. I found out I had pediatric brain inflammation and learned I was autistic. It was really, really hard.”

Once Jax had received some treatment for his mental health, his mom encouraged him to find a physical outlet to help manage his stress. He decided to seek personal revelation about what he could do.

“I prayed about it and asked for help,” he says. “And I remembered that my aunt was teaching Irish dance. So I started the class right before our big Christmas show. I had to learn like five dances in two weeks, so that was fun,” Jax jokes. Soon, Irish dance became a huge blessing in his life. “It really helped with my stress levels and dark feelings,” he says.

At FSY, Jax’s company asked him if he had a talent he could share in the variety show. So he danced on the sidewalk for them. When they told him he should perform, Jax’s first thought was, “Oh, no.” But he decided to share his talent even though he was afraid.

Now that Jax has seen videos of himself performing at FSY, he can’t help but laugh. “I had a completely straight face for the first part,” he says. “But then people started cheering, and I started smiling.”

For youth who are struggling, Jax gives this advice: “It’s better to talk about it with someone than hide it like I did. The Lord knows who you are, and He’ll be there for you. The Lord wants to help you.”

Overall, Jax feels that learning Irish dance has been a blessing from Heavenly Father.

As I look back over my life and remember the difficult decisions, one stands out far more than others: Should I go on a mission? Mom and dad want me to go. The bishop tells me I should go. Some of my friends are going, but others tell me it would be a mistake. They say: “Think of the fun you’ll miss.” “What about your education?” “How about your girl friend?” It just seems that there is so much going on that I can’t give up two years. What should I do?
Why should you serve a mission? Several things come to my mind as I think about the answer to this searching question. Surely, the answer is easy: The Lord says you should; the prophet has given repeated emphasis to this; your family, Church leaders, and others encourage you to serve—but they are not you. I remember having these thoughts. I also remember how good I felt, from the inside out, from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head, when I finally said yes. I received a confirmation from the Lord that what I had done was good. It was right, and I knew it. For once in my life I had started thinking about others instead of “number one” (me), and that gave me a feeling I have yearned for every day of my life since. It’s rewarding to give of yourself that others might be blessed. This is one of the reasons why our Savior made the following statement: “And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me. He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matt. 10:38–39.)

When I attended stake conference that morning in March 1993, I had no idea how much my life—and the lives of my ancestors—would be affected.
Along with other members of the Brazil Santos Stake, I was enjoying the conference. Then, near the end of the meeting, a sister’s talk especially stirred something within me. She spoke about family history work.
My friend, Silmara Peres, was also strongly moved by the Spirit. At the end of the meeting, we approached one of the people responsible for family history work in our stake and volunteered to help with the family records extraction program.
The following Tuesday, the two of us went to the stake building to begin our new assignment. After we received our training, we began the work of extracting names and dates from microfilmed records so that the saving ordinances of the gospel could be performed in the temple for the people listed in the records.
Someone else was there working on a roll of microfilm. He graciously let us continue the roll he was working on, so that we could get started immediately.
We had just begun—we had extracted only two names—when I found myself reading the names of my great-grandparents! At first I was doubtful. Could this be a coincidence? We asked the supervisor what city these microfilmed records had come from. Noticing our excitement, she returned the microfilm to the beginning, where it showed the name of the town: Itirapina.
Silmara and I looked at each other in amazement. During a recent vacation with our bishop and his family, we had visited Itirapina. I had wanted to see the town because it was the place my father had come from. Now, as we looked at the names and dates on the microfilm, we knew that we really had found my ancestors! I was overcome with emotion, gratitude, and testimony. Now temple work could be done for them.
Since then, Silmara and I have continued to make this work a part of our lives, and our testimonies have increased. Every week we go to the stake building and give this service. As we extract names from the microfilms, we know that we are serving the Lord, for now these people can also be baptized and receive temple ordinances.
We are finding that this is not only a service—it is a blessing.

The trail seemed new to Zeb, who was only six when he traveled it to Utah. So, like a tourist, he watched for famous landmarks along the trail. At one, Devil’s Gate in Wyoming, he examined the spot where the snowbound handcart companies holed up in November 1856. Those pioneers had left behind much of their baggage and buried many prized possessions until someone from Utah could pick them up. According to Zeb, he and the Utah Boys “dug out a piano, and several sacks of salt, which had been cached 4 years ago. They were not damaged in the least.”

Our faith can and will increase as we make an effort to study the scriptures daily and as we familiarise ourselves with the teachings of His prophets and apostles. While growing up as a young boy, I lived with my grandmother. She could not read or write, but she loved the scriptures. She went to Church every Sunday and memorised the verses that were read aloud. She would then return home and ask me to read them to her over and over again.

One night whilst reading 1 Samuel, chapter 3, I came across a scripture that got me to sit up and wonder. I read about how Samuel was called as a prophet. That scripture stirred something within me. In fact, from that moment onward I started wondering why God had stopped calling prophets in our day. I started by asking the very pastors in our family church; and since they could only attest it to the fact that God has spoken and that’s why we have the Bible, I started looking elsewhere. I then started a quest of searching for a church that believed in a God that spoke to His children through prophets and apostles as He did to Samuel of old.

I was only about 10 or 11 years old when I started this search, which took me from church to church until I met the missionaries as a teenager. The question I had for them in our first meeting was simple, “Do you believe in a God who speaks? Their answer was a resounding “yes”, and then they shared with me how Father in Heaven called Joseph Smith and restored His church through Him. I joined the Church because of that simple answer, and through the years I have been richly blessed by the teachings of living prophets and apostles. Their counsel has helped me increase both my faith in and testimony of the Saviour Jesus Christ. A simple practice of daily scripture study as taught by my grandmother has helped me as an individual, and now as a father—as my wife and I strive to teach our children the value of daily scripture study.

“For family home evening, we’ll review our computer and game rules,” Dad announced.
“Dad, I already know the rules!” Joseph said. He was 11 and had been using the computer for years now.
“You do a good job following the rules,” Dad said. “But a review is still good.”
Joseph plopped down on the couch. He wished they would talk about something new instead.
Dad held up a poster board and marker. “OK, let’s see what we already know,” Dad said. “Joseph, what rules do you know?”
“Crash and tell,” Joseph said.
“That’s right. If you see something inappropriate on the computer, like swearing or people not wearing clothes, close the screen or turn off the computer. Then tell Mom or me right away.” Dad wrote Crash and tell on the poster.
“What else?” Mom asked.
“Don’t give out your information,” Aaron said. “We just talked about that in school.”
Joseph looked at Mom and Dad. That wasn’t one of their rules! But Dad smiled and nodded.
“Good,” Dad said. “We haven’t talked about that before, but it’s really important. Don’t give your name, your age, where you live, or where you go to school on websites or to people online. Some people use that information to hurt others.” He wrote Don’t give out info on the poster.
“How about keeping the laptop in the living room or kitchen?” Joseph suggested. He was paying attention now. Dad wrote, Computer in family areas only.
“You can’t use the computer without asking,” Elizabeth said.
“Excellent, and you have to take turns,” Mom reminded them. Dad wrote Ask permission and take turns.
“What about games?” Simon asked.
“Thank you, Simon. The rules for the computer are the same for video games and the phone and tablet too,” Dad said. “We need to avoid bad language, violence, disrespect for others, and anything that makes wrong seem right.”
Dad wrote No swearing, violence, or disrespect in games.
The family thought of several more rules and put the poster by the computer. As he went to bed that night, Joseph tried to remember everything Dad had written.
A few days later, Joseph went to his friend Darrin’s house. Darrin brought out his new video game to play. It seemed awesome at first. Then the characters went to battle, and Joseph started to feel uncomfortable. It was pretty violent. He didn’t want to play this game any more.
What if Darrin thinks I’m just a chicken? Joseph wondered. Then he remembered the rules, and it helped him feel brave.
“Hey, Darrin,” he said, “I don’t play violent games.”
Darrin looked surprised and paused the game. “Oh. I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“I just don’t feel good playing it,” Joseph said. “Can we play something else?”
“I guess,” Darrin said.
That wasn’t that bad, Joseph thought as he and Darrin picked out a new game. When they finished that one, they went outside and rode their bikes.
Joseph was smiling when his mom picked him up.
“How was it?” she asked.
“Fun,” Joseph said. “And I kept our family’s rules.”

Listen to the example of a young woman who wrote: “Right now in my family we are going through a tough time. I have been given the opportunity to fill my mother’s role. Sometimes I have to not participate in activities after school so I can care for my brother. Sometimes I have to not go out with my friends so that I can cook dinner or go grocery shopping.” Then she adds, “Because of this responsibility, I have learned a great deal about being a mother, growing up and taking responsibility, not only for myself but for others.”

When I was a mission president, one of my responsibilities was to interview elders and sisters who had completed their missions and were returning home. I always asked what they were taking home as a result of their mission. I didn’t want to know what was inside their suitcases; I wanted to know what was inside of them.
One elder said, “I am going home liking myself.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
He said, “All my life I have wanted to be someone else. I was envious of the guy at high school who was popular with the girls. I wanted to be him. I was jealous of the guy who owned the red sports car. I wanted to be him. I wanted to be the quarterback of the football team.
“And when I arrived in the mission field, I had the same problem. I wanted to be the assistant to the president or the elder who could always quote the right scripture at the right time. I was always wishing I could be somebody else.”
“However, as I have served these two years, I have realized who I really am. I am a son of God. I have a good relationship with my Savior and my fellowmen. I have a greater love for my parents and my family. And I realize that I have talents I can develop and share and that others have their talents. I’m grateful for what I’ve been given. I’m no longer envious of what others have that I may not have. I’m going home feeling good about myself.”
I too had a good feeling about this elder and what was inside of him. How happy I was that he had come to appreciate himself and make that appreciation part of his life’s philosophy. Over the years, it has been a joy to see how this young man has developed and matured by sharing himself and his talents with others.

Randy Herrman terrified me.
It wasn’t that he was bigger than I was. He was kind of puny for his age. And he certainly wasn’t smarter, or funnier, or more creative. Nope. What intimidated me about Randy Herrman was his attitude. He wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything.
Like a villain in a melodrama, Randy appeared at school while we were all registering for the seventh grade. There were about a hundred of us in line outside the principal’s office when Randy walked up wearing a black motorcycle T-shirt. He stopped for some reason beside Travis Duncan. Then, with a little sneer, Randy reached into Travis’s open backpack—that was still on Travis’s back—fished around and pulled out a Ding Dong. Without a pause Randy bit the chocolate cake clean in half, wrapper and all.
Travis stood there for a second, in complete shock, then started yelling—a high-pitched wailing that was way too-over-the-top for a bitten Ding Dong. Finally, Mr. Squires came out of his office to see what all the commotion was about. Then the principal grabbed Randy by the shirt collar and led him down the row of kids to the detention room. As he passed, Randy looked at me with his gray eyes and smiled. It was an unspeakably cold smile that sent a shiver up my spine.
I couldn’t sleep for a week.

When I was 16 years old, I had been attending church regularly for almost a year, but I was not a member of the Church yet. I really enjoyed going with my friends. However, my parents did not have kind feelings toward the Church or my attendance. This fear that I would join the Church led my family to decide that moving across the country from Arizona to North Carolina would be best. I was really upset, and I did not want to leave, but I had little choice in the matter.
On my last Sunday in Arizona the leaders knew that I was leaving and decided to have a testimony meeting just for us boys. It was amazing for me to hear the testimonies of my closest friends and others in this meeting. I could feel the Spirit so strongly I could almost touch it. As the boys took their turns bearing their testimony, I could not stop myself from standing.
I bore a simple but heartfelt testimony that I knew the Church was true and that Jesus is my Savior. I had never borne my testimony before, but as the words came out of my mouth, I realized how much I knew they were true. As 16-year-old youth, it was hard for any of us to show our feelings, but I know that I was not the only one a little choked up. I felt so good, and it was a feeling of eternal joy. I was home. It was at that meeting that I knew that I would join myself with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My whole conversion process can point to this one moment as the turning point.
I am so glad I had this lesson, because despite all my prayers, my family and I moved to North Carolina. I had hope, for I knew that just because I was moving away from my friends, I was not moving away from the Lord. The simple testimony I had gained carried me through my time in North Carolina, even though I was no longer allowed to attend church during our time there. When my family moved back, my parents’ hearts were softened a little, and I was allowed to attend Church meetings again. On my 18th birthday, I was baptized, thanks in part to a lesson on testimony.

Mothers, can you see how essential you are in teaching this truth to your children? As you encircle your children with your love, they will catch glimpses of His love. President Gordon B. Hinckley urges us to “love the Lord [our] God, and love His Son, and be ever grateful for Their love for us. Whenever other love fades, there will be that shining, transcendent, everlasting love of God for each of us and the love of His Son, who gave His life” for us.

A mother who knows her relationship with God helps her children to know Him and to be encircled by His love. I was touched by the comments a daughter shared at the funeral of her 100-year-old mother: “When I was a teenager trying to plan my class schedule, I would come into the kitchen where Mother was ironing. I would present possible options for my studies. … She would listen to all of them. We would discuss the possibilities … and then she would say, ‘OK, Cathy, have you prayed about it?’ That was kind of embarrassing to me, and I would hesitate and then add, ‘Do you have to pray about everything?’ She answered simply, ‘I do.’”

This mother listened. She shared her faith in the Lord; she set an example; she shared her expectations for her daughter to return continually to the Lord. As we approach the Lord, we feel His love draw us closer. Mothers, teach your children to always include the Lord in their lives, and help them to recognize His loving influence.

My whole life I was told that able young men should serve a mission. However, as time passed, I knew that talking to others all day every day for two years would be really difficult for me.
When I turned 18, my bishop told me that serving a mission would be one of the hardest things I could ever do, but also one of the best things I could experience. After lots of thought and prayer, I decided to go for it.
I was assigned to serve in California, USA. Once I was there, despite all my efforts, I could hardly say a word in any lesson. My mission president told me to start by smiling to others. This seemed so simple, yet it was something I wasn’t doing yet. As I began to try, it felt good to smile and invite the Spirit by being happy.
After six months, I was still struggling. I had the desire to do the Lord’s work, but talking to others all day seemed impossible for me.
After talking with my leaders, we decided I was not in the best place for me. My mission president then offered me an opportunity I couldn’t refuse: the option to serve a service mission. Without skipping a beat, I immediately said yes.
Despite not knowing everything that lay ahead of me, I knew that I would still be able to serve my God.
Now, as a service missionary, I still help others come unto Christ by serving with loving kindness as the Savior would. I serve at a humanitarian center, a bishop’s storehouse, the temple, and I even help teach marching band at a high school.

Take 24 youths, add 176 hours of energetic activity, combine with 21 gallons of paint, and you have one freshly painted house, seven tired adult leaders, and one happy homeowner.
The housepainting was one project developed and completed by the youth of the Mt. Pleasant (Utah) Second Ward. The recipient of the work was 80-year-old Hugh Barton, who had been born in the house in 1895.
The old home took on a new appearance last May when members of the Aaronic Priesthood scrubbed away loosened paint and applied the first coat of new paint. On the following Saturday they put a second coat of cream-colored paint on the transformed house. The Laurels provided refreshments, helped add the white trim to doors and windows, and cleaned the windows in addition.
After completion of the project, the workers posed in front of the two-story home with its grateful owner.

That April, I watched general conference for the first time and heard President Russell M. Nelson give a talk on faith. He spoke about tiny mustard seeds, saying:
“The mustard seed represents a small but growing faith.
“The Lord does not require perfect faith for us to have access to His perfect power. But He does ask us to believe.”1
With my growing and curious faith in mind, I developed a desire to deepen the roots of my faith in the true gospel. So, I started going to church with my roommates. I fasted and prayed to really know if the Book of Mormon is true.
When I prayed, I felt the Spirit so strongly. It felt like the Savior and Heavenly Father were sitting with me, Their hands on my shoulders. I knew I had found the truth. And I believe They were comforting me because They knew I had a hard decision to make.
I called my mom and told her I had something important to tell her. She jokingly asked if I was joining the “Mormon cult.” When I told her I was indeed going to be baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we both cried. It was a difficult conversation, but I knew I couldn’t deny the truth I had received.
Coleman was able to baptize and confirm me. His family and all my friends from school came to support me. I felt so much love, especially from Heavenly Father.
But my decision to be baptized really strained my relationship with my family. My parents believe I worship a different God now and am bound to go to hell. My 12 siblings all have their own opinions about me joining another Church too. Sometimes it feels like I’m walking on eggshells in our relationships, so I continue to pray their hearts will be softened. I feel the support of the Holy Ghost, and while my family is still adjusting, we make sure we know that we love each other.
Coleman is serving a mission now, but he, his family, and my other ward friends still support me daily. I don’t think I could have made it through this past year without them. And I recently received my temple endowment. The temple has been so helpful to me when I need peace and guidance.
Though not having support from my family has been incredibly hard, God has blessed me beyond what I expected and has given me many mercies as I move forward with faith.
Like Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described, “The Lord’s tender mercies are the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ.”2
It’s been a long journey, but through my struggles, I’ve turned to Jesus Christ and strengthened my foundation of faith in Him. If you are in a situation where your family doesn’t support your faith in the gospel, you can still have peace and hope in the Savior. I know that as we focus on the daily blessings and tender mercies of the Lord, we will continually become more confident in our testimonies and in His grace. He will always lead us to wonderful blessings like good friends and peace and joy in our hearts. Even in difficult trials, He will always provide us with goodness!

In 1991, my beloved husband, Gilberto, lost his life in a truck accident in Pôrto Alegre, Brazil. His death was a shock. We had all been happy and healthy. We had even recently rejoiced in Gilberto’s baptism. The rest of the family—Gisele, Pablo, and I—had been members of the Church for some time.
Unfortunately, the children and I did not overcome our loss very quickly. Days ran into nights and into days again, and nothing seemed to lessen our pain or our sense of abandonment.
Then we learned that we would not be able to get an insurance settlement because we lacked the necessary documentation. We had to sell our house and all the furniture because we could no longer make the payments. Three months later, we were able to buy a small apartment. But it seemed as if nothing could cheer us.
We spent three very unhappy years in that apartment. The school where I worked became more unpleasant with each passing day. The children were having problems at school, too. They were persecuted by the other students for being members of the Church. Rather than improving, life seemed to become more unbearable. We began to lose hope and even stopped going to church.
After a time, we decided to move to a city in another state. We felt that by moving to Florianópolis, we might be able to leave our grief behind.
We arrived with the modest funds we had received from the sale of our apartment. But everything was very expensive, and we soon became discouraged. Then, during Easter vacation in 1994, we went to look at a new house in a place called English Beach. We went only out of curiosity, not expecting to like it much and certainly not realizing the blessings Heavenly Father had in store for us there.
We arrived at the house and met the owner, a man from Argentina who needed to return to his country. He was ready to sell for any amount, as long as the money was available immediately. It was a wonderful house, very large and very beautiful. We knelt down and thanked our Heavenly Father for such a wonderful blessing. We felt guilty for having had so little faith in him. But the house itself was only the beginning.
Two months later, we met the LDS missionaries in the area and learned where church meetings were held. Soon we were attending regularly. The members were very concerned about us. They showed us that we were members of a large family—the family of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Day by day, we grew happier.
With the arrival of spring a few months later, the rental rates in town went up, and it became very expensive for the branch to stay in its quarters. So the branch began to meet in our home. We opened our home to the branch, and the branch opened their hearts to us.
When we came to Florianópolis, there were few members. Now our little chapel is full. Both of my children have been called as stake missionaries. I serve as the organist and teach in the Relief Society. Our family is planning to go to the São Paulo Temple to be sealed.
Today, I know that even in our most desperate times, there is a purpose to our trials. We realize now that it was necessary for us to come to English Beach, and our years of struggle taught me that there is no greater happiness than doing the Lord’s work. Now I know that even though my husband was taken from us, our Heavenly Father has not abandoned us. He will always provide.

It was dismissal time at school. I got in line with all the other bikers and walkers. A timid boy from my class was in front of me, and a group of tough boys was behind me. A rude boy from my class was with them. He was always starting trouble. He told me, “I dare you to do this.” He made a rude gesture with his hands over the timid boy’s head. The other boys in his group giggled and whispered and began to taunt me, “Go on. Do it. Are you chicken?”
The timid boy begged me to not do it. I remembered learning “Dare to Do Right”* in Primary. The Primary leaders had told us that if we ever had the chance, we should dare someone to do right. So I told the rude boy, “No—but I dare you to do something.” I knew that he would do almost anything anyone dared him to do. I told him, “I dare you to do right.”
He slowed to a stop, puzzled. Finally he sneered weakly at me and moved on. The timid boy tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Thanks for not doing that.” I smiled, realizing that I had not only made myself feel good but had made the timid boy have a better day. When I told my family what had happened, my parents told me that they were proud of me. That night I still felt good, like a light shining in darkness.

Katie wiped tears from her cheeks and waved goodbye as Mom drove away.
“I remember the first time I stayed at my grandparents’ house,” Grandpa said as they walked back to his porch. “I was seven, just like you.”
Katie swallowed a lump in her throat. She loved Grandma and Grandpa, but she’d never stayed here without Mom before. “What was it like?”
“Well, my grandpa gave me special jobs to do.” They sat down together on Grandpa’s porch swing. A soft breeze stirred leaves in the trees.
“What kind of jobs?” Katie asked.
“Oh, I fed cackly old hens and found their eggs. I pulled weeds and carried firewood. I had a great time.”
Katie smiled a little. It sounded fun to gather eggs. “Do you have any special jobs I can do?”
Grandpa grinned. “Oh yes! Last night’s windstorm left a lot of sticks and pecans to pick up.”
Katie looked around. Grandpa’s yard was like a big park with giant pecan trees growing around the edges.
“I’ll help!” Katie said.
Grandpa pushed his wheelbarrow around the yard while Katie picked up sticks and pecans. Something caught her eye. Under a large tree was a pile of pecans stacked up as neat as could be.
“Grandpa! Look over here!” Katie shouted.
Grandpa hurried over. “Well, look at that! How many are there?”
Katie knelt down to look closer. “… 10, 11, 12,” she counted. “Is an animal saving the nuts for winter?”
“Hmm,” Grandpa said. “Let’s leave them here and check again tomorrow to see if there are any more.”
Katie’s eyes grew large. She’d watch every day!
The next morning Katie ran to the big tree and got down on her hands and knees—11, 12, 13. There was one more! She checked around the yard. What animal would save up pecans one at a time?
As soon as Katie woke the next day, she ran to the tree—14! She couldn’t believe it. “Grandpa, is it a bird?”
“Let’s watch and find out,” Grandpa said.
They sat on the porch swing and kept quiet. Robins hopped around the yard, tugging earthworms from the ground. Warblers jumped from branch to branch. Woodpeckers hammered on tree trunks.
Squirrels picked up nuts, but they carried them to a hole high in a tree. No birds or squirrels came close to the pecan pile.
The next morning Katie helped Grandma and Grandpa bake puffy sugar cookies. Katie smelled the sweet vanilla as she put a pecan half in the center of each one. Once the cookies were ready, Katie grabbed some to nibble on while she hid by some bushes in the corner of the yard and watched the pecan pile.
Suddenly she saw Grandpa walking to the pile. Was he going to count the pecans? Then Katie’s eyes opened wide. Grandpa took something from his pocket and put it carefully on top of the pile.
“Grandpa! It’s you!” Katie shouted. She jumped out and rushed to hug his knees.
Grandpa raised his arms in the air. “I’ve been caught!” he laughed. “You solved the mystery!”
Katie jumped up and down. “It was you, Grandpa, saving up for winter!”
He nodded. “Yes, indeed. But we don’t have to wait for winter. Let’s surprise your mother tomorrow with a pecan pie.”
“Is she coming back already?” Katie asked in surprise. Grandpa’s mystery had made the time zoom by. “I can’t wait to come back and visit again!”
Next time, maybe she would be the one to come up with a mystery.

When Kieth Merrill accepted the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature of the year for his film, The Great American Cowboy, he expressed thanks to “my mother, who taught me to believe in God; my father, who taught me to believe in myself; and my wife, who helped me do what they taught me.” Though they had never met him, Latter-day Saints throughout the world heard his speech and knew that Kieth Merrill was one of them.
Such a straightforward statement is consistent with Brother Merrill’s philosophy of really putting the gospel at the working center of his everyday life. He knows what he wants, he has decided what he will do in specific situations, and he works and prays very hard to accomplish his purposes. Kieth has confidence in himself, and yet it is a confidence built on a history of individual success.
One of his first industrial films was made for Kaiser Steel Corporation. He told the Kaiser executives that he planned to shoot part of the film in their mines, and they said, “It can’t be done.” Kieth, who claims “he wasn’t smart enough to know it couldn’t be done,” made the film anyway. Kaiser loved it, Kieth won some awards (as he has on most of his subsequent films), and he was on his way in the film business. That was five years ago.
Now he has also won an Oscar, and it is a remarkable achievement for several reasons. Kieth is young (33 when he won the award). The Great American Cowboy was his first feature-length film. And in addition, he directed and edited the entire film, and he also photographed much of the spectacular footage.
The Oscar vindicated to the motion picture industry Kieth’s peculiar way of life and his artistic integrity. When he was criticized about the cowboys in his film seeming extra clean-cut, Kieth responded, “I have every right to be as selective in my interpretation of what is life and reality as the next man does. Some filmmakers feel they have the right to portray the sordid side of life. I have the right to find the heroism in man, and to help reflect his divine origin, and to tell people we are children of God.
“I was told the film couldn’t be done. I was told that a movie with a prayer in it wouldn’t make it. ‘They’ said a movie with a patriotic flavor wouldn’t be popular. But we went into filmmaking with a determination never to compromise our principles. And it paid off, because we have proved that we were right,” Kieth said.
Kieth is very positive and idealistic by nature. He really believed that he was smart enough and resourceful enough to make a good film, and that is the way he sold the cowboy film. The backers said, “How do you know if it is going to be any good?”
“Good is not the question. It will be a good film. The question is whether or not it will make any money,” Kieth answered.
Kieth constantly holds his business life in front of a mirror to make sure that the reflection he sees fits well with his personal feelings about the gospel. Those feelings, of course, include his family. He has offices, studio space, and a small theater in the lower level of his home. When his four children want to talk to Dad or show him their latest finger paintings, he takes a few minutes to renew his friendship with them.
Even on location he is close to his family. In talking about the experience of living with his family during the filming of Cowboy, he said, “We looked like a band of gypsies with everything but the chickens hanging on the side of our truck. We needed mobility, so we modified a motor home to be both production center and living quarters. There is something almost purifying about putting everything of real importance—wife, kids, and cameras (in that order, Honey!)—in a big box with wheels and criss-crossing the heartland of America, pursuing a dream together.
“When I get involved in a project, I become totally consumed with filming, and all my filmmaking equipment and camera gear were right there in the truck. We were totally self-contained, and it was a great feeling of freedom, but only because my family was there. It gave us tremendous perspective of the real values. We have a lovely home in California, and many good friends, and a lot of nice things, but none of them really mattered in comparison.”
Kieth, who appropriately calls himself a slogan hanger, has always collected quotations that succinctly express his own concepts. “It’s amazing how a simple little quotation can change a day that didn’t start as well as it should. It works for the rest of the family too. Sometimes a single quotation can set a beautiful mood for the whole day,” he said. Several of the Merrills’ favorite quotes are permanently displayed in handmade tiles on the kitchen countertop where the children eat every day.
Like his parents before him, Kieth and his wife Dagny (“Downey”) are constantly teaching their children that they are important and that they have a Heavenly Father who loves them. Several of the countertop quotes stress this. “They can’t daily eat and play and spill their milk on the counter without bringing these ideas into their own lives,” Kieth said.
Because he knows he has a destiny here, Kieth has a strong testimony that he was helped in the production of Cowboy, and of course, he wanted it to be good for the Church.
“Being committed to the gospel means that we were praying constantly for guidance and inspiration that we could be creative and able to put this film together and still be able to represent the ideals that are important. There is no question that we were guided, influenced, and helped. I am just committed to that as a way of life,” he said.
“The way things have fallen into place is unbelievable. The exposure the Church has had as a result of the Oscar in circles where it has not otherwise been exposed is inspirational. The award gave me credibility before the world, and with that I have been able to talk very matter-of-factly about the gospel to people who wouldn’t otherwise be interested. People who wouldn’t normally give me an autograph now say, ‘But you’re so young, and you handle yourself so well, and you do all these things. How do you handle it all?’
“‘Well, it is very simple,’ I say, ‘because I was raised in a little Utah town as a Mormon. Every quality or characteristic that I have is a product of my upbringing in the Church.’ And these people really are amazed at the things we take for granted—the fact that we don’t drink, or smoke, or swear, and that we actually believe in God and aren’t afraid to talk about it, and that I would spend 30 months in a foreign country on a mission at my own expense. It is overwhelming to these people. Now remember, these people are not the ones missionaries traditionally reach; they are quite isolated either by their fame or their wealth or both. They are really intrigued and often say, ‘Tell us about yourself.’ I have had many marvelous chances to tell them about the Church.
“Of course, my wife is a great help in telling people about the Church. She has a tender, almost naive ability to be very candid with people. She even told John Wayne’s son Pat that I didn’t like his dad’s movies. She never just says, ‘We wouldn’t care for coffee, thank you.’ With Dagny it’s, ‘We don’t drink coffee; we’re Mormons.’”
Both Kieth and Dagny admit that they think big, and “make plans, and put slogans on the walls,” and that even close friends and family members sometimes humor them, while thinking that one day they will come down to what is called reality. But reality to the Merrills is their own idealistic world of excellence, with the family first and the gospel a basic part of everything they are doing.
Kieth Merrill’s life demonstrates that the gospel will work at the epicenter of your whole existence, if you will give it a chance.
“I am a Latter-day Saint, and I make sure people know this not only by the way I act but also because I am very verbal about it. I have never had anything but totally positive experiences in presenting my beliefs to others; in fact, I have found acceptance and recognition, and the gospel has become a total asset in my work,” he said.
“I confess that at times my spirit has wavered, and I would occasionally get discouraged and feel like I was on a precipice above disaster because I had pursued such a hard line with the gospel and my family, and yet there was no turning back. And when everything seemed like it was going to crumble, new horizons would open up and blossom, and it all makes me resolve more firmly to live by the basic principles I know to be true. The gospel with the family first is what really matters, and everything else you do here is just something to take up the time until we reach the celestial kingdom.”