Gospel Story Finder

I should like to tell you the experience of one of our young men we will call John, who went east to an officers’ training school. A new commanding officer came into the school, and they put on a banquet to honor him. There, by every plate, was a cocktail glass. When the proper time came, every one of those potential officers stood up with his cocktail glass to toast that incoming officer—that is, all but one boy, and he raised a glass of milk. It would take a lot of courage, wouldn’t it, to stand there with all those officers and see all of those cocktail glasses come up, and stand and raise a glass of milk!
Well, the officer saw it, and he made a beeline for that boy after the entertainment was over and said, “Why did you toast me with a glass of milk?”
“Well, sir,” he said, “I’ve never touched alcohol in my life. I don’t want to touch it; my parents wouldn’t want me to touch it; and I didn’t think you would want me to either. I wanted to toast you, so I thought you would be satisfied if I toasted you with what I am accustomed to drinking.”
The officer said, “Report to my headquarters in the morning.”
I suppose that boy spent a sleepless night, but when he went to the officer’s quarters the next morning, do you know what happened? The officer assigned him a place on his staff with this explanation: “I want to surround myself with men who have the courage to do what they think is right regardless of what anybody else thinks about it.”

Years ago when my children were small, I took them with me to go shopping. While out, we found several inexpensive Nativity sets, one of them in a small box. This Nativity was crudely made, probably of ceramic, and had only five pieces—Mary, Joseph, a shepherd, a Wise Man, and a baby Jesus.
As my son opened the box, a piece popped out and fell to the floor, breaking into two. After consoling my son for his mistake, I thought to myself, “Well, I guess I’m going to buy that ugly Nativity set.” It was not a Nativity I would normally have displayed in my home, but because my son broke it, I bought it and took it home.
Once the children were in bed, I pulled out the little Nativity set and considered throwing it away. It was small and ugly in my eyes. The piece that had broken, however, was the baby Jesus. I couldn’t just throw baby Jesus away! So, I glued the piece together and made a little spot in our home each year afterward for that small Nativity.
Last year, as I was placing the Nativity pieces into bits of paper to protect them, I glanced again at the baby Jesus. Then I glanced at the box as I placed that piece inside it. I noticed that I had never removed the price tag: $1.25. That was the price I had paid to redeem my son’s mistake.
That thought made me stop and ponder on our Savior. Thoughts about Jesus Christ flooded my mind, and I thought of the price He had paid to redeem me from my sins. What a small price I had paid for my son’s mistake in comparison to His sacrifice for my sins. I paid the price of the Nativity for my son because I love him, and the Savior paid the price for us because He loves us (see 1 Corinthians 6:19–20).
Just as I had repaired the broken baby Jesus, He can repair our broken lives. I thought of the gratitude I have for Jesus Christ’s Atonement for me and for each of God’s children, and for the hope we can have in our Savior. That ugly Nativity isn’t so ugly to me anymore.

Antonella and Mariana loved going to church each week. But now they couldn’t go to church in person because of the COVID-19 pandemic. They had Primary class online, but it just wasn’t the same.
Antonella and Mariana missed going to Primary in person. A year ago, their family had moved from Chile to Canada. The pandemic made it hard to make new friends. They missed being able to learn about scripture stories with the other kids. And they missed having lessons in Spanish like they did in Chile.
One day, after having church at home, Antonella and Mariana looked online for something to help them study Come, Follow Me.
“I wish we could find more videos in Spanish,” Antonella said. She thought for a moment. Then she had a great idea. “We could make our own videos for Come, Follow Me every week.”
“Yeah, and we could do them in Spanish!” said Mariana. “Then we could share them with other kids too.”
Mamá and Papá said they could help. The whole family was excited!
First the family read the scriptures for the week’s lesson. The girls planned what they would talk about. Then they started to make the videos. Antonella and Mariana took turns recording themselves as they talked about stories in the Book of Mormon. At the end of each video, one of them shared something they learned from the lesson. Then Mamá and Papá helped them make the video to post online.
At first, they didn’t always know what to say. But reading the scriptures and learning more about the lessons helped them.
One Sunday, Antonella and Mariana sat in front of the computer for their Primary class. This week’s lesson was about the stripling warriors in the Book of Mormon. “Why did the stripling warriors go to fight?” their teacher asked.
Mariana unmuted their microphone. “I know!” she said. She and Antonella had made a video about that story last week. “Their fathers promised God that they wouldn’t fight, so the sons went instead.”
Antonella nodded. “And their mothers taught them that if they had faith, God would keep them safe.” She smiled at Mariana. It was fun to study the scriptures together.
That night at dinner, Mamá asked, “How was Primary?”
“Good!” Antonella said. “Making the videos has helped me learn a lot more about the scriptures.”
“Me too!” said Mariana. “I can answer a lot of the questions in Primary. And we know the scripture stories better.”
“I’m glad the videos have helped you,” said Papá. “I think they’ve helped a lot of other people too!”
“That’s right,” said Mamá. “Sharing what you’ve learned and how you feel about the gospel is a great way to serve!”
Mariana smiled. “I like that we can serve this way,” she said. Then she turned to Antonella. “Let’s start planning next week’s video!”
This story took place in Canada.

At a time when I was assigned to a stake conference in Provo, the Sunday morning welfare meeting was scheduled to begin at 7:30 A.M., so it was necessary that I leave home about 6:15 A.M. Just as I came to an intersection before turning onto the on-ramp to enter the freeway, the light changed to red. As I stopped for it at that early hour, there were no cars in sight. Mine was the only car at the stop light.
The thought crossed my mind that if I ignored the red light, no one would be hurt or endangered, for not a car was in sight at that early hour. Nevertheless, I waited out the light change and proceeded on the green light. If I had turned left, no one else would have known, but I would know that I was breaking the traffic code, and surely the Lord would know. I was reminded of the scripture which says:
“Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin” (James 4:17).

My father’s father came from Sweden, and his wife from England. They met on the ship coming over. He waited for her to grow up, and then he proposed marriage. They were married in the Salt Lake Temple, and he wrote in his journal, “Today is the happiest day of my life. My sweetheart and I were married for time and eternity in the holy temple.”

Three days later, on April 23, 1898, he wrote, “Took the train at the Rio Grande Western Depot enroute eventually to Scandinavia, where I have been called as a missionary.” Off he went to Sweden, leaving his bride of three days.

His journal, written in pencil, came to me from an uncle who somehow chose me to receive his father’s journal. The most frequent entry in the journal was, “My feet are wet.” But the most beautiful entry said: “Today we went to the Jansson home. We met Sister Jansson. She had a lovely dinner for us. She is a good cook.” And then he said, “The children all sang or played a harmonica or did a little dance, and then she paid her tithing. Five krona for the Lord and one for my companion, Elder Ipson, and one for me.” And then there were listed the names of the children.

When I read that in the journal, there was my wife’s father’s name as one who was in that household, one who probably sang a song, one who became the father of only one daughter, the girl whom I married.

“Look at that stubborn pig over there! Betsy won’t act like that when you unload her!”
Kevin looked down at his sister, Susan, and answered, “I hope not, but you can never tell for sure.”
“But you have Betsy trained so that she does just what you want.”
“Yes, she does at home, but when you bring pigs here to the fair where everything is strange, you can’t tell. Anyway, it isn’t how she acts that worries me—it’s her ears.”
The big stake truck finally pulled away from the unloading chute, and Kevin and Susan watched as Dad backed up their smaller truck. When it stopped, Kevin let down the tailgate. He was nervous as he picked up the training stick and touched Betsy on the side. Betsy gave a snort and walked sedately down the gate and into the chute.
“Take her back to stall thirty-eight,” said the fair superintendent. “Here’s a card to fill out and put on the outside of her pen.”
Kevin was proud of Betsy’s behavior. She’s a good hog, in spite of her ears, he told himself. He was remembering last winter when he had decided on swine for his 4-H project.
“I wanted to get you a purebred gilt (young female pig),” Dad had said, “but we just can’t do it right now.”
Kevin had understood. After the years of drought, he was used to making do with what he could get. Then, when he had talked to his 4-H leader about taking Betsy to the fair, Mr. Roland had asked, “What class will you enter her in?”
“What about this class?” Kevin had replied, looking at the entry listing. “‘All Other Breeds’—that just about describes her.”
Mr. Roland had chuckled. “Maybe so, but I’m afraid she’ll have to have some particular breed name. She looks more like a Poland China than anything else, except that her ears stick up, while a Poland China’s should flop.”
So now as Kevin filled in his card, he wrote “Poland China” as the breed and “Kevin Jackson” as owner. “I’d better take her over and wash her now,” he said when he finished.
“More washing?” Mom asked in mock horror. “You’ve done nothing for the last week but scrub that pig!”
“I know, but there won’t be much time in the morning, and I still have to work on her feet some more.”
The next morning the Jacksons were at the fairgrounds early. Kevin had already given Betsy another bath when Mom and Susan came over from the home economics building.
“She looks wonderful,” Mom said. “Now you run and put these on.” She held out a clean pair of jeans and a clean plaid shirt.
“Aw, do I have to?” Kevin protested. “These jeans I have on are OK. None of the other guys are getting fixed up.”
“You have your prize exhibit all polished up,” Mom said, “and I want my prize exhibit polished up too.”
Kevin laughed and took the clothes. “Watch Betsy for me. Don’t let her get to rooting around and get her snout dirty,” he warned as he left.
It was exactly nine o’clock when Kevin came back. Mom, Dad, and Susan went in and sat down while Kevin waited with the other exhibitors. He took a deep breath and tried not to be afraid. I think her ears are great, he told himself. Ears that perk up can hear better, and they make her look more intelligent.
Still, he knew that she had to be judged according to the rules. I guess what counts is to do the best that I can, he thought. He knew that he had really worked hard on this 4-H project.
As the class before Betsy’s was called, Kevin went back to Betsy’s pen to put on the coat dressing, carefully working in just the right amount of oil. She does look pretty! he thought proudly.
“All other breeds, senior gilts,” called the judge. There were only three in the class: a Chester White, a Spotted Poland China, and Betsy.
As Kevin brought Betsy out, he could hear Susan “whispering” to Mom, “Betsy’s being real good, isn’t she?”
Kevin was careful not to touch Betsy’s tail so that she would take the curl out of it. He guided her carefully over in front of the judge, squatted beside her, and stretched his arms out to hold her still.
Once she shied slightly, but Kevin soon had her quiet again.
Betsy might be excited but not as excited as he was. Not only would a blue ribbon for first prize mean a lot, but the prize money would help with his school clothes.
“First prize,” said the judge, “goes to the Chester White. She is true to type, stands well on her feet, and has a well-arched back. Second place goes to the Spotted Poland China, another good gilt but a little heavy in the front quarter. Third goes to the … well, the owner says she’s a Poland China. She has a good back and stands well, but she isn’t quite true to type.”
Kevin gulped a little as he took the white ribbon and started Betsy back toward her pen. Of course he knew animals had to be judged according to their breed, but still it seemed unfair to put Betsy down because her ears perked up like a Berkshire’s. The judge had noticed that she had a good back. He could have noticed that she had a good curl in her tail too. And there wasn’t a better behaved hog there.
Kevin came slowly back to the judging ring, trying not to let his disappointment show. He’d done the best that he could.
Finally the last class was finished, and the judge was speaking. “We’ve had some good swine, and they’ve been well groomed. However, I couldn’t help noticing that in some cases the hogs were better groomed than the boys who showed them.”
Kevin glanced at his mother, and the twinkle in his eye matched hers. He looked back as the judge continued. “Now I’m happy to announce the winners for showmanship. In each division the showmanship award goes to the boy or girl who shows an animal to the best advantage.”
Kevin held his breath when the judge called, “All Other Breeds, Senior Gilts,” but the prize went to the owner of the Chester White.
“And now,” the judge continued, “first place for fitting and showing of swine—Kevin Jackson!”
So the judge had noticed how well Betsy behaved! Kevin exulted.
There was a burst of applause as Kevin went up to accept the purple championship ribbon. Better than that was the knowledge that Mom and Dad and Susan were proud of him.
Perhaps Betsy was proud too! At least, her ears perked up proudly when he told her.

Three of my granddaughters are young women. They think it’s amazing that I can actually remember when I was their age. I really do remember many things—some hard things and some really good things. I especially remember a time when I was very happy. I was seventeen years old. My friends and I went to a fireside where the speaker taught us about our Savior’s love.
He told us that we could have confidence in the Savior, that He would lead us, that He would be there for us, that our faith in Him could increase and we could feel greater happiness than we had ever known.
But we needed to participate. We needed to do something. We needed to choose to believe in the Savior and His love; we needed to ask for His help, and then we needed to practice thinking about Him all through the day.
The speaker suggested that to help us remember to think about the Savior, we could listen to the school bell that rang often during the day. Each time we heard the bell, we were to say a silent prayer, even with our eyes open, even walking down the hall. We could thank our Heavenly Father for our blessings, especially for our Savior. We could tell Him of our love and ask for His help. He taught us that in just a few seconds, many times during the day, we could practice thinking about our Heavenly Father and Savior.
There was something else: the speaker suggested that almost immediately we move from praying about ourselves to praying for someone else—a friend, a teacher, a stranger—and asking Heavenly Father to bless that person.
He also warned us that all of this might seem awkward at first but that if we chose to try, we could truly be filled with His love, our faith really would grow, and we would feel joy.
That sounded wonderful to me. I decided to try. I could not believe how many times the bell rang each day. When I heard it, I stopped. “Heavenly Father, thank you. Please bless me and bless Dorene. I know she’s having struggles.” It was awkward at first, but soon I found myself thinking about my Heavenly Father and Savior, not only when the bell rang but many times during the day. I remember walking across a muddy field one morning and seeing a tiny yellow flower. It was probably a weed, but to me it was beautiful, and I felt that He had created it just for me. I loved Him so much. My faith had increased, and I was happy.

Photographs by Cody Bell and courtesy of Sydney G.
For an entire week, Sydney G., 14, from Utah, USA, visibly carried a copy of the Book of Mormon everywhere she went—to school, to her extracurricular activities, and to church. She was prayerfully trying to find someone to share the gospel with, and keeping the Book of Mormon out with her was a constant reminder of that goal.
One day, she went to the office at school and accidentally left the book there. Without even opening the cover, the office secretary knew immediately whose it was. That week, Sydney had become known at her school for carrying that Book of Mormon with her. And throughout her life, she’s become known for many other things as well.
For instance, she participates in student council. She dances for her school’s dance company. She was the lead in an Alice in Wonderland musical. She volunteers for a service group. She cheers. She crafts. She loves to spend time with her friends and family.
She’s also a strong advocate of type 1 diabetes awareness and research.
When Sydney was three, her parents noticed changes in her behavior. Among other things, she was extremely thirsty, moody, and fatigued. One day she slept for 22 hours, waking up only for moments before falling back asleep. Her parents knew something was wrong and took her to a doctor the next morning. The doctor said she was on the verge of a diabetic coma and was lucky she came in that day. Sydney and her parents now recognize that the timing was more than luck; it was a blessing.
Sydney’s diagnosis flipped her life upside down, but that hasn’t stopped her from living a life that gives back to others. Despite her age, Sydney is a leader, role model, and friend as she works to help promote diabetes awareness.
What Is Type 1 Diabetes?
Type 1 diabetes is a disease in which the pancreas produces little or no insulin, the hormone that converts glucose into energy. To treat this, people with type 1 diabetes take insulin every time they eat to help their bodies get the energy they need.
If left untreated, diabetes can have serious complications. It’s important to recognize the symptoms and be treated as early as possible. Type 1 diabetes requires constant care and vigilance throughout a person’s entire life.
In 2015, Sydney and her family participated in a fundraising managed by JDRF, an organization that helps fund research for type 1 diabetes. After the walk, Sydney wanted to keep helping. She says, “I was super excited to get out and do stuff, and I wanted to inform people of the symptoms of type 1 diabetes so they would know to get tested.” To do this, she and her mom created a social media page to promote awareness. Their first post included pictures of the walk, and they’ve continued with regular posts debunking myths about diabetes, promoting fundraisers, and showcasing diabetes-related events and activities Sydney participates in.
Sydney knows the impact youth can have in their communities, and she hopes to keep helping those around her. “Young people can make a huge difference,” she says, “and it’s good for them! They get to get out and help the community. It’s just good for the soul.”
She’s already seen some positive results from her efforts. One day, soon after they started the page, Sydney’s mom felt prompted to post Sydney’s diagnosis story. A woman in their neighborhood read the post and then, two days later, recognized the symptoms in her own daughter. As a result of a prompting, this five-year-old girl was able to receive an early diagnosis and get the medical attention she needed.
Sydney knows it’s important to have friends during times of trial, and she always strives to be that friend for people in times of need. When she heard of another young girl in the community who was just diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, Sydney immediately reached out and met with her. The girl’s mother later told Sydney about the great influence she had on her daughter. The daughter had felt alone in her trial because no one else she knew had diabetes. But immediately after Sydney’s visit, she had a friend, and that made all the difference.
Sydney also recognizes the importance of friendship in her own life and strives to include and love others. When she was about to turn 12, she was “probably more excited than anyone to go to the temple for the first time.” So for her birthday party, she invited some friends over to eat a formal dinner and then go to the temple to do baptisms and confirmations on behalf of those who have died. One of her close friends, Lindsay,* wasn’t a member of the Church, but Sydney still wanted to include her. So Sydney invited Lindsay to the birthday dinner with them and explained why the temple was so important to her.
Remember that Book of Mormon that Sydney carried around with her? She felt prompted to give it to Lindsay with her testimony. Though Lindsay respectfully said she didn’t believe in the book, Sydney didn’t focus on the rejection. Instead, Sydney just appreciated the opportunity she had to share her testimony with someone she cares about.
Though she sometimes feels discouraged, Sydney tries to stay positive and move forward in her goal to help others. She says, “I think it’s important to just keep going if you’re having a trial. It helps to focus on something positive. Like, if you fall off your bike, you just get back up and keep going, and soon you’ll forget you even fell off in the first place.”
Every day, Sydney chooses to focus on the positive of her situation by striving to be a leader in her community and a friend to those who need one. She’s learned that the smallest decisions—like deciding one day to go to a fundraiser walk with her family—can make a big difference.

Remember that Heavenly Father answers our prayers in the way that is best for us. It may not be the answer that we want, but it is always the right answer. I remember my Primary graduation. Back then, we wore bandalos (felt bands worn around the neck and that emblems and awards were attached to), and my Primary teacher told me that I needed to wear mine. I couldn’t find it! My mother told me to pray about it, so I knelt and asked Heavenly Father for help. I soon received my answer. The Spirit told me to look underneath my dresser drawer. When I reached up under it, I found my bandalo caught on a sliver of wood. I never would have looked there if I hadn’t prayed for help. We need to always remember that if we ask, we shall receive (see Matt. 7:7–8). If we ask Heavenly Father for guidance, the Spirit will whisper to us what we should do.

I was the oldest in a family of five children, and I tried to set a good example for my younger brothers and sisters. But occasionally we got into trouble. One time, when I was about twelve or thirteen years old, my brothers and sisters and I were doing something our parents had told us not to do: play with matches. We were lighting long rye grass stems and holding them over the creek while we watched them burn. It was great fun—until some burning embers dropped on the other side of the creek and set the grass on fire. The fire burned about forty acres on our own and our neighbors’ farms. Hundreds of neighbors came to help put out the fire when they saw the clouds of smoke.
Late that night, after the fire was out, my father came home. He thanked the neighbors, and they all drove away, leaving us there alone—Dad, Mom, us children, and the blackened hillside as evidence of our folly. Dad didn’t yell at us. Instead, he invited us into the kitchen, got out the five-gallon washtub, filled it with water, set five chairs around it, and put a full box of matches on each chair.
“You like to start fires?” he said. “All right. I want you to light each match in your box, one by one. Let it burn down, and then drop it into the tub. I want you to get your fill of lighting matches.”
We sat there virtually all night, lighting matches and dropping them into the tub. From then on, I could never again see a fire on a farm or in the forest without a pain in the pit of my stomach. I gained a great respect for fire—and for my father—that day.

The meaning of church to most people is a little different than what it is to me. Where I live, church consists of the two LDS families in Sand Point (an island town on the Aleutian Chain in Alaska) meeting for an hour to partake of the sacrament and participate in talks, prayers, and questions. My dad is the branch president. Our branch has no meetinghouse, so my family and the other member family take turns hosting the Sunday meeting.
At first I didn’t like “going” to church, and I really don’t know why. Maybe it was because I was the only teenage girl on the island who attended. I know it wasn’t because my friends teased me about church as much as it was the questions they asked. I really didn’t understand the Church and I had doubts about it. Was the Church true? Did God care? And most of all, What would happen to me when I died?
For a while, I’d read the Book of Mormon and never seemed to get anywhere. Satan seemed to be doing all he could to keep me from gaining a testimony.
One day, my feelings began to change. After a very difficult day, I came home from school very upset. I’d forgotten my lunch, had an unfriendly run-in with a hockey puck, and my best friend and I had had an argument. When I returned home, I ran upstairs, dumped my books on a chair, flopped onto my bed, and started crying.
As my tears ceased, I noticed I had left my triple combination on my desk. As I walked over to put it away, it fell open to a page marked by a card. The verses marked in ink caught my eye. I read in Doctrine and Covenants 18:10–11 [D&C 18:10–11]: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God; For, behold, the Lord your Redeemer suffered death in the flesh; wherefore he suffered the pain of all men, that all men might repent and come unto him.”
Suddenly I realized that Christ loved me and I wanted to know him better. I had expected my testimony to be handed to me. I assumed it would be easy. I know now that I have to search, ponder, and pray. I’m not going to get my testimony from my parents or grandparents, or my brothers and sisters. If I have faith my Savior will help me, and together we will find my testimony.
That night I decided to start reading the Book of Mormon again. This time, I was committed to finishing it.

According to former São Paulo temple president Aledir Barbour, handling such large numbers of temple goers “is now our greatest challenge because so many stakes want to come, but we cannot accommodate them all as we’d like.” He pauses, then smiles and adds, “But certainly it is a challenge we like to have.”
The white-haired, soft-spoken temple president cites the example of a group of youth and their leaders who traveled by bus from Belo Horizonte, a large city about 200 kilometers northeast of São Paulo. Youth from this stake brought with them the names of 10,000 ancestors, all of whom the teens had identified through their own research. The group stayed from Tuesday to Friday, but it wasn’t nearly enough time to perform the baptisms for all their ancestors.
The temple baptistry is so full of youth patrons, individuals can usually be baptized for only four or five deceased persons each time they come to the temple. And this is after many teens and their parents from outlying areas have saved for months to travel to the temple and have ridden on a bus for days to get to São Paulo.
When the São Paulo Temple was dedicated in 1978, it could handle the Church membership in Brazil, which then totaled less than 60,000. But membership in Brazil has increased more than tenfold since then, and for some time the temple has been consistently overflowing.
Fortunately, the rapid growth that has caused such a challenge is also a catalyst in bringing about wonderful change—change that is already beginning to bless the lives of Brazilian youth.
Peering through the rails of a fence, 17-year-old Fabio Fogliatto and his friends of the Canoas Brazil Stake watch intently as workers in hard hats construct a building near the southern tip of Brazil. Fabio notes with satisfaction that one of the workers leaves the construction site before smoking a cigarette. “He must know this is a sacred site for us,” Fabio says.
On the other side of the fence from the teens is a spectacular sight. Against the backdrop of the city, the walls of the Porto Alegre Brazil Temple rise out of the red earth.
“Just watching them build the temple, I can feel it really is a temple of the Lord,” says Ivan Carvalho, age 14, of the Esteio Ward. “It makes me feel even stronger that I want to come here to do ordinances for the dead and for myself.”
Fourteen-year-old Guilherme Recordon of the Estância Velha Ward adds, “And now that we have to go only 20 kilometers instead of 300, maybe we’ll be able to come here every week!”
The feelings of these boys represent a growing excitement all across Brazil as temples are built. Another temple is nearing completion in Campinas (a city just west of São Paulo), and yet another will be dedicated soon in the northern city of Recife. As the Church builds temples in Brazil, youth here are constructing their own temple-worthy lives.
Living worthy of going to the temple can be anything but easy for young Brazilians. They are teased by their peers if they don’t use drugs, alcohol, and tobacco. Extreme immodesty is common on billboards and prime-time television. Many students carry pornographic magazines to school. During carnaval, a weeklong festival Brazil is famous for, immodesty and immorality parade in the streets.
But Latter-day Saint youth say that looking to the temple helps them keep the commandments despite the many temptations and trials they face. “At school, when you won’t look at the [pornographic] magazines, people make fun of you. But I have a goal to serve a mission and marry in the temple, so I already know that if they push this stuff at me, I won’t do it,” says Fabio Marques, age 16, of the Campinas Fourth Ward, Campinas Brazil Stake. “I’ve already made my decision.”
Fabio says having a temple so close to his home in Campinas will strengthen him and his Latter-day Saint friends. “It’s hard to get to the temple in São Paulo, but soon we’ll be able to do baptisms for the dead more easily and frequently at the Campinas temple. And each time you do that, you make a stronger goal to return to the temple and to be worthy to marry in the temple.”
Whenever challenges seem too much for 18-year-old Janise Figueiró, she looks at a little bottle of red earth she received from her Young Women president in the Higienópolis Ward, Porto Alegre Brazil Moinhos de Vento Stake. “Whenever I look at that soil from the temple site, I remember to live worthy.”
Fourteen-year-old Juliano Garcia of the Guaiba Jardim Ward, Porto Alegre Moinhos de Vento stake, was thrilled with the prize he won. Although he had been a Church member for just under a year, he won a scripture chase in his multistake seminary bowl. As he began to look through the pages of his prize, a booklet entitled The Holy Temple by Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, he became fascinated with the pictures of temple baptismal fonts and celestial rooms. Juliano didn’t know much about the temple, but as he read in the booklet about baptism for the dead, his heart turned to his deceased grandparents. “I thought about my grandparents, how great they were, and I thought that more than anything I wanted to go to the temple for them.” Juliano hasn’t been able to travel to the São Paulo temple, but he is now preparing to go in Porto Alegre.
As Juliano and other Brazilian teens continue to construct their own temple-worthy lives little by little, they do not doubt that when the doors of the new temples are ready to open, they will be ready to enter.
When the angel Moroni appeared to 17-year-old Joseph Smith in 1823, he told the young prophet that Elijah the prophet would “plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (JS—H 1:39).
This prophecy is literally being fulfilled in the hearts of young Brazilians. “The Spirit of Elijah is working … , especially on the young people, to do work for their ancestors. It’s something that we cannot explain,” says former São Paulo temple president Aledir Barbour.
For example 16-year-old Jeferson Montenegro of Canoas (pictured below) and Suelen Alexandre (age 15); José Meirelles (age 18); Priscila Cavalieri (age 18); Carlita Fochetto (age 14); and Carolina (age 16), Christiane (age 15), and Carlos Rodriguez (age 12) of São Paulo volunteer in their Family History Centers for 10 to 20 hours each week. They assist Church members in their research, enter extracted names into the computer system, and search for names of their own ancestors.
These teens aren’t unusual. Many Brazilian youth have found the names of hundreds of their ancestors and have eagerly begun their temple work. Why? “I feel the influence of the Spirit of Elijah,” says Jeferson. “It makes me feel a closeness with those who’ve gone before me.”

To be honest about it, the seminary students in the Phoenix Park Ward of the Dublin Ireland Stake were a little worried. More than a little worried. Their stake president and their bishop had approached them about something new. Would they be the first seminary class in all of Ireland to try meeting every day—early every day?
Elaine O’Farrell, 15, put their fears into words. “I thought if we see each other every day, we’ll get on each other’s nerves.” And there was that other obvious worry. Pamela Fagan, 15, said, “No way would they get me out of bed that early.” And Farris Bukhatwa, 17, and Louise Byrne, 17, lived the farthest distance away. It was not going to be easy.
But not everyone was worried about the early-morning class. Jenna Gallagher, 15, was a little bit excited about the idea. Of course, her dad is the stake president. But it went beyond supporting dad. This was going to be her first year of seminary. She said, “I used to hear about early-morning seminary in America. I always dreamed of going to seminary that way. I was really pleased when we were told we were going to do it. I knew if I made a sacrifice, the Lord would bless me.”
Then it happened. Things started to work out. Farris got the car in the mornings and could pick up Louise. Pamela even agreed to getting up extra early to be ready to leave on time with her brother Derek. Elaine changed her mind and said that she liked seeing these people every morning. Jenna was happy just to be in seminary. Brett, 18, and Brandt Crowther, 16, the mission president’s sons, were thrilled to be with other Church members their same ages every day. And best of all, their teacher, Rosemary Richmond, was terrific.

When my first daughter was born, I realized that I must make a decision. With three children I knew that I could no longer go on living for just today; I had to make a choice and live by it. For months my soul was in conflict. I wanted to choose the right, but I also wanted to be sure that my choice was not based on ulterior motives. I felt I couldn’t return just to make my wife, children, and parents happy. I knew that real happiness for all of us would come only if I actually regained a testimony of my own.
After much prayer and study and struggle, I began to feel a small spark inside me that brought with it memories of earlier spiritual experiences that I could no longer deny. The feeling slowly grew. And finally I felt that the Lord still loved me, even though I had been excommunicated. There was hope! I felt I was moving again!
However, knowing I was on the right path didn’t make anything easier. In fact, for a while, the harder I worked the worse things got. I struggled with great tests and hardships. It seemed that when a blessing was near, my life would start to come apart again and I would start to feel despair once more.
But I held on, and, true to his promise, Heavenly Father poured out a blessing. After much effort and great help and support from friends and leaders in the Church, I was able to reenter the waters of baptism. What joy I felt!

On Saturday, Ari’s family went to help at the food bank.
“What’s a food bank?” Ari asked on the way there.
“It’s a big building with shelves full of food,” Mom said. “People who don’t have enough money for groceries can go there to get food.”
“Lots of people in our ward are helping,” said Ari’s big brother, Ben.
“But how can I help?” Ari asked.
“There will be a lot you can help with,” Mom said.
When they got to the food bank, a woman named Kathy showed them around.
“Today we need to paint walls,” Kathy said. “But we need to wash them first.”
Ari’s family got two buckets of warm, soapy water. Ari liked the bubbles. Mom and Dad washed up high. Ben washed in the middle. Ari washed down low.
Soon the hallway looked bright and shiny.
“What else can we do?” Ari asked.
“I need a bag holder,” Kathy said. “Follow me.”
Ari held bags while Ben filled them with uncooked macaroni. They stacked the bags in a big box. Ari counted the bags. He and Ben filled 27 macaroni bags!
When all the work was done, Kathy called everyone over to a big scale. “Just for fun, we want to see how much you all weigh,” she said.
Everyone crowded onto the scale. They weighed more than 2,000 pounds!
“We weigh more than a walrus!” Ben said. Ari laughed.
“Thank you for helping,” Kathy said as Ari left. “I can tell you care a lot about others.”
Ari smiled big. There really was work he could do! He felt awesome.

Ever since he was a little boy, David Burnell dreamed of serving his country in the military. So shortly after he returned from serving the Lord in the Canada Halifax Mission, David joined the U.S. Air Force. Now he’s not only a staff sergeant, he’s also a communications and computer specialist at Ellsworth Air Force Base in South Dakota.
The military has become an alternate route to education for many people. There are opportunities to receive training and college credit in several fields, including the ones David chose.
“I had a hard time visualizing success in going to school and being married and working all at the same time,” David said. “It scared me, so I came in the service, hoping at the same time to serve my country and maybe obtain a little bit of education. It turned out that I’ve obtained a lot.” With the help of his military training, he is close to a bachelor’s degree in the management of computer information systems at Park College in Missouri.
In high school, David was an avid pole vaulter, wrestler, and football player with a 3.3 grade point average. He took a few college prep classes and even registered twice at a junior college, but never attended. He lost his motivation when he had trouble getting the classes he wanted.
Thanks to a patriotic father, the military had always been in David’s mind. He did a summer reserve program with the Marines when he was 17 and liked it, so after his mission he decided to try the service full-time.
But life in the service can also bring unexpected challenges, like learning to deal with a new way of life and being away from your family.
“Sometimes the life-style can make you hard or callous,” David says. “It could desensitize you if you don’t study your scriptures and pray frequently and do all those things that we’re commanded to do.”
Interested? Shop around until you find the program or military school you want, and don’t sign anything until you know what you’re getting. You may have to wait a while to get into the right program, but it will be worth it. Also, know how useful it will be after you leave the service. Some training will help you get a job in the civilian world and some won’t.
“I would recommend people grabbing as much education as they can prior to coming in the military,” David says. “They would have a wider span of knowledge where they could make a better decision. Sometimes when you come in right out of school or right off a mission and you haven’t gone to school, you don’t really have the opportunity to see a whole lot of different options.”

There’s a layered feeling in the hills of central Tennessee, the same sort of rich, close-to-the-earth satisfaction that comes from contemplating the unbroken repetition of furrows in a field. The feeling comes from the hills themselves, one rolling into the next, then into another, ridges paralleling ridges until the whole region seems to have been mapped out, tilled, and planted by one master cultivator.
Whoever planted the hills populated them, too, not with people but with animals. Deer still bound through the thickets. Raccoons still wash in the streams. Squirrels hide in the trees, and foxes sneak through the forest, just as they did in the 1800s when trappers marched the length of the trail called the Natchez Trace, trading with Indians and carrying furs to market in the cities.
It is well before 5 A.M. in the Tennessee hills when Tre (call him “Tray”) Pennington, 17, and his grandfather bump along an old dirt road in their pickup. There are no signs to point the way to the Duck River, no landmarks that would stand out to someone new. Mostly there are trees, thick, green, and heavy. It’s only where someone’s cleared out space for a farm or a home that you get any extended view.
Grandpa (call him ’Pa) slows the truck at a clearing and pulls in next to some trees. He doesn’t have to say a word. Tre knows it’s on foot from here. They scramble down a steep bank and pull their boat out of the underbrush, from the same place where they’ve tied it up every day for years. It’s a shallow boat, square on both ends.
They check to make sure there’s gas for the motor; they lift in the paddles and load a few plastic buckets on board. Then, for a few minutes, they wait.
It isn’t that there needs to be more light, although the sun is yet to crest over the hill. It isn’t a question of when the catfish will bite, because the trot lines ’Pa baited with grasshoppers yesterday have been in the water all night long. It isn’t even a question of sneaking a moment of rest before the work begins, because both the young man and his grandfather are eager to be on the river.
It is, quite simply, a moment of reverence, a pause to appreciate nature, to take in the beauty of a morning at its birth.
Finally it is ’Pa who whispers.
“Let’s go,” he says.
Tre responds with a nod. The boat glides into the mild current.
Soon they reach the lines. ’Pa holds the boat steady while Tre lifts each fish, flopping and slimy, out of the water. He brings them in one at a time, almost like taking laundry off a clothesline. Some fish, quite small, are set free. On the big ones, Tre guesses how many pounds.
“This one’ll go for five or six, won’t it Grandaddy?”
“More like four or five,” ’Pa responds.
Ask what kind of fish are in the river, and Grandpa will explain. “Lots of cats,” he says. “Blue. Yeller. Channel. Other fish, too. Perch, Bass, Carp. But you don’t take them often.”
This day when the four lines are cleared, the catch totals fifty catfish and one carp.
Tre does most of what little talking is done. He tells about the time ’Pa got knocked out of the boat by a tree limb and lost his hat. He teases Grandpa about the nickname Grandma gave him.
“She calls him a pelican,” he says, “because he could eat fish three times a day.”
Then there’s silence again, not the awkward silence of people who don’t know what to say, but the silence of men who know each other well.
“I wonder if we’ll see anything today,” Tre finally says as the boat turns for home. Often it’s deer, sometimes a beaver, once in a while a blue heron. Today they see a turtle.
Back home the catfish are cleaned and skinned, dipped in corn meal and fried. “What we don’t eat, we put in the freezer,” Tre explains. “We can trade it for beef.” The carp will be pressure cooked and bottled, then stored on the shelf like salmon. ’Pa can remember times during World War II when canned carp helped keep the family alive.
When breakfast is over, Tre and his brothers and sister are off down the dirt road for about a mile, where the school bus will ferry them on into Columbia for their classes. The bus stops by a little before seven. Then it’s a one-hour ride to the city. There are 300 students in the school, which includes grades from elementary through high school. Two of the teachers and 13 of the students are LDS. “Pretty much everybody in the school is friends,” Tre says.
There must be hundreds of stories to tell about the Penningtons. Their family’s membership in the Church dates back to the Nauvoo days. Tre’s father, Ray Junior, (don’t call him Pa) is, among other things, a stonemason who built his own home. Mom (call her Penny) hails from Los Angeles, California, but loves living in Tennessee. Grandma (call her Ovie May) hated the name Raymond, but she married ’Pa, whose real name is Raymond, anyway. Great-grandma (call her Mamie Bell) at age 85 still makes the finest quilts in the county, maybe the entire state. Rebecca Lynn, 14, is the only sister in the family, but she keeps right up with her four brothers: Tre (an adaptation of the French word for “three,” because his real name is Raymond Lee Pennington III); Joseph Sanford, 14; Ronald William, 11; and Jeffrey Aaron, 9.
So why begin a story about the Penningtons by talking about catfishing? Because it’s so typical. Tre and ’Pa out on the river represent the quiet confidence of a family that lives close to the land and depends on it to teach them and feed them. They also represent the quiet, confident communication, sometimes without words, of a family that depends on each member as another source of strength and love.
The hills and the Penningtons are friends. Any member of the family can show you where to gather hickory nuts, blackberries, ginseng root, or a dozen other delicacies Mother Nature provides. Tre especially knows the routes and the ridges. He can pick out animal trails or guide you to beaver dams.
And the Penningtons are friends with each other. It’s evident just in the way they like being together. Even though ’Pa, Grandma Ovie, and Mamie Bell live in one house and Ray Junior, Penny, and the kids live over the hill in another, they’re practically neighbors. It seems like the children spend equal time in both places.
At school, Tre and Joe are in the same class, because Tre has dyslexia and has had trouble reading. So Joe has become Tre’s unofficial tutor. They often do their homework together.
“Tre has always learned from experience,” Sister Pennington explains. “Joe learns from books. Even though they’re in the same class, they’re not jealous of each other or embarrassed to be seen together. They really help each other.”
“It’s a little strange being a sophomore instead of a senior,” Tre admits. “But it doesn’t matter. The most important thing is to work and to learn.”
“To work and to learn” could be the family motto. The Penningtons have done a lot of both. In summer, when Ray is laying rock, sometimes the rest of the family will go with him on a job. They help him select the right stones, and Tre and Joe help mix the mortar.
“I’ll pack a lunch and bring the other kids along, and it’s almost like we’re going on a picnic,” Sister Pennington says. “We learned a long time ago that work’s not a chore if you make it fun.”
The family also runs a fur business. The shop, “Garden of Eden Furs,” is just outside ’Pa and Ovie May’s place, and during the cold months of winter, there’s a lot of time spent inside.
“It gets so busy during fur season that the adults in the family don’t do much else,” Brother Pennington explains. “Lots of people come buying and selling. We have to grade the furs by quality and size. The unfinished ones have to be scraped, washed, tanned, stretched, and dried.” Except on Sundays, the adults work all day, then go to bed sometime between midnight and 4:00 A.M. They start again at 6:00 A.M. The children help whenever they can, squeezing in their meals, school work, and Church activities too.
Sometimes, when Brother and Sister Pennington have to go on a buying trip, Tre is left in charge of the shop. He has established quite a reputation as a good judge of fur quality, a skill that takes a lot of training. He also knows how to put together a crew.
“He’ll go and get workers, kids from school and grown men, too,” Brother Pennington says. “He’s a good manager of people. He works with them and tells them hunting stories to keep them entertained. We can leave him with a whole big load of fur, and when we get back it’s always done.”

For Honoura “Bleck” Bonnet, basketball was everything. By age 15, Bleck was a rising star in French Polynesia—one of the best players playing for one of the best teams in the top adult division in the country. Though his nickname was a misspelling of the English word black, there was no mistaking his talent.
But he wanted more. He wanted to play professionally in Europe. And more than anything, he wanted to win a gold medal at the South Pacific Games.
The only obstacle that seemed to stand in his way was the Church.
Though the team Bleck played for at the time was Church sponsored, Bleck had little interest in the Church or the prophet’s call for every worthy and able young man to serve a mission.
He had already told his bishop he wouldn’t be going on a mission. He didn’t see how he could play professionally if he gave up two years.
What’s more, the South Pacific Games—held every four years—would take place during his mission, and the Tahiti Basketball Federation was interested in having him play for the national team. He would finally have an opportunity to put an end to those words his father said every time Bleck started thinking too highly of himself: “Everybody knows Bleck, but he doesn’t have a gold.”
Bleck’s father, Jean-Baptiste, meant those words good-naturedly. But they drove Bleck crazy. They were a reminder that even though basketball fans throughout Tahiti knew of him, he didn’t have a medal from the games. His father had won a gold medal with the men’s team during the first South Pacific Games.
It was Bleck’s mission to put those words to rest. He didn’t have time for any other mission.
Regardless of his feelings about a mission, Bleck still participated in Church activities. At a Church dance when he was 16, Bleck mustered up the courage to ask Myranda Mariteragi to dance. Myranda was a good basketball player too—with dreams of winning her own gold medal. Her father was also on that original medal-winning team.
Seconds after he asked her, the song ended. So they danced during the next song, which turned out to be the last of the evening. By then Bleck didn’t want the dance to end.
Bleck hadn’t planned on marrying in the temple or even marrying a member for that matter. But that began to change as he got to know Myranda better over the next two years. At her home one day, something she had made in Young Women caught his attention. It read, “I will marry in the temple.”
Bleck’s interest in Myranda and her firm commitment to temple marriage were enough to make him reconsider his plans. He decided to start taking the Church seriously. His decisions led to actions that allowed the Holy Ghost to work in his life.
One of those decisions was to prepare to receive a patriarchal blessing at age 18. When the patriarch stated in the blessing that Bleck would serve a mission and marry in the temple, he felt the Spirit. “I knew that’s what God wanted me to do,” he says.
Though the national team looked like it had a chance to medal, Bleck decided with his family’s support that he would put what God wanted ahead of what he wanted. The decision wasn’t easy. The pressure to play was great. And he quickly learned that his resolve to submit to God’s will would be tested more than once.
After he had served as a missionary in Tahiti for a year, the basketball federation asked if he could return to the team for just one month to participate in the games.
Bleck’s mission president, concerned about the effect the experience would have on Bleck’s ability to return and serve, felt inspired to tell him, “You can leave if you want, but you can’t come back.”
Bleck wanted that medal, but he no longer wanted it more than anything else. His mission had been amazing. He wasn’t willing to give up his last year, even for basketball.
Bleck stayed.
The team won gold.
After Bleck honorably completed his mission, he married Myranda in the Papeete Tahiti Temple, and they began a family. He also resumed playing for the national team.
Myranda was playing point guard on the women’s national team and preparing for the South Pacific Games herself.
However, as the games approached, the couple began to feel strongly that they should have a second child.
With the upcoming games less than a year away, it would have been easy to put off another baby long enough for Myranda to play. The women’s team had a good chance of medaling.
But the couple had learned from experience that submitting their wills to God brought greater blessings than anything they could hope for from following their own desires. After careful study and prayer, they decided to put their family first.
In 1999, while Myranda was eight months pregnant, the women’s team won gold.
Bleck and Myranda have been able to play basketball at the highest levels in French Polynesia over the past decade—winning national league championships and tournament cups and playing for the national team during the 2003 and 2007 games.
At the 2011 games, both participated, only this time Bleck was there as coach of the men’s team. While Myranda and the women’s team won the gold medal, the men’s team earned bronze, again falling short of Bleck’s dream of gold.
Bleck sometimes wonders what his life might have been like if he had done what he wanted instead of what God wanted.
“I’d probably have a gold medal,” he says. “Maybe I would have played professionally, maybe not.”
But the couple doesn’t regret the decisions they’ve made. They’re not sure how they could be happier.
“I married in the temple,” Bleck says. “I have a great wife, four beautiful children, and I’m still in the Church. Basketball alone couldn’t give me any of that. Those are blessings that have come as a result of putting the Lord first.”
Putting the Lord first hasn’t put his father’s teasing to rest, but it has given those words new meaning. A few years ago when the federation considered scheduling league games on Sundays, the club presidents met to discuss it. Someone asked, “Did you ask Bleck?”
The proposal was dropped.
Because Bleck has put the Lord first, not only does everybody know Bleck—they know what he believes.

On our first visit to the fabled village of Sauniatu, Samoa, Sister Monson and I met with a large gathering of small children. Their smiles were broad and their faces were radiant as we brought to them the love and greetings of their brothers and sisters throughout the world.
When we concluded our messages to these shy and beautiful boys and girls, their teacher announced the closing song and prayer. As he did so, I felt inspired to personally greet each one of the 247 children. But glancing at my watch, I realized that there would not be enough time for such a privilege, and so I attempted to dismiss the feeling. Before the closing prayer, however, I again felt impressed to shake the hand of each child.
Finally I turned to the teacher and said, “I would so much like to shake the hand of each boy and each girl. Would this be possible?” The teacher smiled a beautiful Samoan smile and, in his native language, spoke to the children. They beamed their approval and nodded their heads.
Then the teacher told me the reason for their joy and smiles. He said, “When we learned that our Prophet had asked a member of the Council of the Twelve to visit us in Samoa, I told the children that if they would each pray sincerely and exercise great faith, as did the people in the Bible and the Book of Mormon, the apostle would visit our tiny village of Sauniatu and be impressed to greet every child with a personal handclasp.”
Tears could not be held back as each of these precious boys and girls walked shyly over and whispered to us the sweet Samoan greeting talofa lava.
We had witnessed the gift of faith!
As we left the building, the children sang a favorite song, “In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree,” and we waved goodbye. I knew then that we would never forget the beautiful singing, the tiny brown hands waving farewell, the bright loving eyes, and the warm smiles of these handsome boys and beautiful girls. But most of all I knew that we would always remember the way in which a loving Heavenly Father rewards the simple and sincere prayers of His precious children.

Mark Madsen led the Stanford basketball team to the NCAA Final Four last year. He is a tenacious and aggressive player, and it would be easy to assume that basketball is the only thing that matters to such an impressive athlete. But Mark, who served a mission in Spain, says that it’s church, not sports, that gives him the anchor he needs in his life.
“Going to church at the student ward is a huge relief for me, especially after a road trip with the team,” says Mark. “After a few days in a strange city playing against tough guys, it’s nice to come and sing the opening hymn and be with my ward family. I love Sundays.”