Gospel Story Finder

Some time ago I received a letter from Brother Rafael Pérez Cisneros of Galicia, Spain, telling me about his conversion. Part of his letter said the following:
“I had no concept of the purpose of life or what the family really is. When I finally allowed the missionaries to come into my home, I told them, ‘Give me your message, but I warn you that nothing is going to make me change religions.’ On this first occasion my children and my wife were listening attentively. I felt separated from the group. I felt afraid, and without thinking I went to my bedroom. I closed the door and began to pray from the depths of my soul like I had never prayed before. ‘Father, if it is true that these young men are Your disciples and have come to help us, please make it known to me.’ It was in that very moment that I began to cry like a small child. My tears were abundant, and I felt happiness like I had never before experienced. I was absorbed in a sphere full of joy and happiness that penetrated my soul. I understood that God was answering my prayer.
“All of my family was baptized, and we had the blessing of being sealed in the Swiss Temple, making me the happiest man in the world.”
I think this story should motivate us to do “all we can do” to share the blessings of joy that come from living the gospel of happiness.

Sometimes when I am afraid at night, I pray. But I never prayed as hard as when Hurricane Fran passed through Wendell, North Carolina, where my family was living.
On Thursday, September 5, 1996, I was at school. A voice on the loud speaker said we should all go home and stay inside because there was going to be a hurricane.
When I got home, we gathered some food and water, and that night we brought blankets into the hall. At about nine o’clock the wind started blowing hard. I could hear the rain really loud. There was a whistling sound going up the chimney. The storm was pounding on our house. I was really scared.
I was in the hall bathroom. Everyone else was in the hall. I decided to pray. I said, “Heavenly Father, Heavenly Father, Heavenly Father, please help us. Please help us. I’m so scared.”
The next morning we went outside. There were tree branches in our yard. There were shingles that had come off the roof. We had no power. We went around the neighborhood. Many trees had fallen. But our house was OK, and everyone was safe. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.
Jessica Lynn Bernard, age 12Wendell, North Carolina

In October 1918, 100 years ago, President Joseph F. Smith received a glorious vision. After almost 65 years of dedicated service to the Lord in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and just a few weeks before his death on November 19, 1918, he sat in his room pondering Christ’s atoning sacrifice and reading the Apostle Peter’s description of the Savior’s ministry in the spirit world after His Crucifixion.
He recorded: “As I read I was greatly impressed. … As I pondered over these things … , the eyes of my understanding were opened, and the Spirit of the Lord rested upon me, and I saw the hosts of the dead.”1 The full text of the vision is recorded in Doctrine and Covenants section 138.
Let me provide some background so that we may more fully appreciate Joseph F.’s lifetime of preparation to receive this remarkable revelation.
When he was President of the Church, he visited Nauvoo in 1906 and reflected on a memory he had when he was just five years old. He said: “This is the exact spot where I stood when [Joseph, my uncle, and my father, Hyrum] came riding up on their way to Carthage. Without getting off his horse father leaned over in his saddle and picked me up off the ground. He kissed me good-bye and put me down again and I saw him ride away.”2
The next time Joseph F. saw them, his mother, Mary Fielding Smith, lifted him up to see the martyrs lying side by side after being brutally murdered in Carthage Jail on June 27, 1844.
Two years later, Joseph F., along with his family and faithful mother, Mary Fielding Smith, left his home in Nauvoo for Winter Quarters. Although not yet eight years old, Joseph F. was required to drive one of the oxteams from Montrose, Iowa, to Winter Quarters and then later on to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving when he was almost 10. I hope you boys and young men are listening and will realize the responsibility and expectation placed on Joseph F. during his boyhood.
Just four years later, in 1852, when he was 13, his beloved mother died—leaving Joseph and his siblings orphans.3
Joseph F. was called to serve a mission in the Hawaiian Islands in 1854 when he was 15 years old. This mission, which lasted more than three years, was the beginning of a life of service in the Church.
Upon his return to Utah, Joseph F. married in 1859.4 For the next few years, his life was filled with work, family duties, and two additional missions. On July 1, 1866, at the age of 27, Joseph F. had his life forever changed when he was ordained an Apostle by Brigham Young. In October the following year, he filled a vacancy in the Council of the Twelve.5 He served as a counselor to Brigham Young, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and Lorenzo Snow before becoming President himself in 1901.6
Joseph F. and his wife Julina welcomed their first child, Mercy Josephine, into the family.7 She was only two and a half years old when she passed away. Shortly after, Joseph F. recorded: “It is one month yesterday since my … darling Josephine died. O! that I could have saved her to grow up to womanhood. I miss her every day and I am lonely. … God forgive my weakness if it is wrong to love my little ones as I love them.”8
During his lifetime, President Smith lost his father, his mother, one brother, two sisters, two wives, and thirteen children. He was well acquainted with sorrow and losing loved ones.
When his son Albert Jesse died, Joseph F. wrote to his sister Martha Ann that he had pled with the Lord to save him and asked, “Why is it so? O. God why had it to be?”9
Despite his prayers at that time, Joseph F. received no answer on this matter.10 He told Martha Ann that “the heavens [seemed like] brass over our heads” on the subject of death and the spirit world. Nevertheless, his faith in the Lord’s eternal promises were firm and steadfast.
In the Lord’s due time, the additional answers, comfort, and understanding about the spirit world President Smith sought came to him through the marvelous vision he received in October 1918.
That year was particularly painful for him. He grieved over the death toll in the Great World War that continued to climb to over 20 million people killed. Additionally, a flu pandemic was spreading around the world, taking the lives of as many as 100 million people.
During the year, President Smith also lost three more precious family members. Elder Hyrum Mack Smith of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, his firstborn son and my grandfather, died suddenly of a ruptured appendix.
President Smith wrote: “I am speechless—[numb] with grief! … My heart is broken; and flutters for life! … O! I loved him! … I will love him forever more. And so it is and ever will be with all my sons and daughters, but he is my first born son, the first to bring me the joy and hope of an endless, honorable name among men. … From the depths of my soul I thank God for him! But … O! I needed him! We all needed him! He was most useful to the Church. … And now, … O! what can I do! … O! God help me!”11
The next month, President Smith’s son-in-law, Alonzo Kesler, died in a tragic accident.12 President Smith noted in his journal, “This most terrible and heart-rending fatal accident, has again cast a pall of gloom over all my family.”13
Seven months later, in September 1918, President Smith’s daughter-in-law and my grandmother, Ida Bowman Smith, died after giving birth to her fifth child, my uncle Hyrum.14
And so it was on October 3, 1918, having experienced intense sorrow over the millions who had died in the world through war and disease as well as the deaths of his own family members, President Smith received the heavenly revelation known as “the vision of the redemption of the dead.”
He alluded to the revelation the following day in the opening session of the October general conference. President Smith’s health was failing, yet he spoke briefly: “I will not, I dare not, attempt to enter upon many things that are resting upon my mind this morning, and I shall postpone until some future time, the Lord be willing, my attempt to tell you some of the things that are in my mind, and that dwell in my heart. I have not lived alone these [last] five months. I have dwelt in the spirit of prayer, of supplication, of faith and of determination; and I have had my communication with the Spirit of the Lord continuously.”15
The revelation he received on October 3 comforted his heart and provided answers to many of his questions. We too can be comforted and learn more about our own future when we and our loved ones die and go to the spirit world by studying this revelation and pondering its significance in the way we live our lives each day.
Among the many things President Smith saw was the Savior’s visit to the faithful in the spirit world after His own death on the cross. From the vision I quote:
“But behold, from among the righteous, he organized his forces and appointed messengers, clothed with power and authority, and commissioned them to go forth and carry the light of the gospel to them that were in darkness, even to all the spirits of men [and women];16 and thus was the gospel preached to the dead. …
“These were taught faith in God, repentance from sin, vicarious baptism for the remission of sins, the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands,
“And all other principles of the gospel that were necessary for them to know in order to qualify themselves that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit. …
“For the dead had looked upon the long absence of their spirits from their bodies as a bondage.
“These the Lord taught, and gave them power to come forth, after his resurrection from the dead, to enter into his Father’s kingdom, there to be crowned with immortality and eternal life,
“And continue thenceforth their labor as had been promised by the Lord, and be partakers of all blessings which were held in reserve for them that love him.”17
In the vision, President Smith saw his father, Hyrum, and the Prophet Joseph Smith. It had been 74 years since he had last seen them as a small boy in Nauvoo. We can only imagine his joy at seeing his beloved father and uncle. He must have been inspired and comforted to know that all spirits retain the likeness of their mortal body and that they are anxiously awaiting the day of their promised resurrection. The vision revealed more fully the depth and breadth of Heavenly Father’s plan for His children and Christ’s redeeming love and the matchless power of His Atonement.18
On this special 100th anniversary, I invite you to thoroughly and thoughtfully read this revelation. As you do so, may the Lord bless you to more fully understand and appreciate God’s love and His plan of salvation and happiness for His children.
I testify that the vision President Joseph F. Smith received is true. I bear witness that every person can read it and come to know it is true. Those who do not receive this knowledge in this life will surely come to know its truthfulness when everyone will arrive in the spirit world. There, all will love and praise God and the Lord Jesus Christ for the great plan of salvation and the blessing of the promised Resurrection when body and spirit will once again be reunited, never to be separated again.19
How grateful I am to know where my precious Barbara is and that we will be together again, with our family, for all eternity. May the peace of the Lord sustain us now and forever is my humble prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My family is your typical busy family, running around with a million things to do every day.
Last year, new schedules revealed that many of our activities would fall on Monday evenings. My younger sister had a dance class on Monday night; my younger brothers had soccer practice that night; and I had marching band. I loved being in marching band, and I had just received a solo part. That part was a particular joy because I love creating music.
When my mom and dad realized family home evening was in jeopardy, they decided that our other Monday night activities had to go—including marching band practice. I was very upset. I knew that not going to those practices meant my grade in band would suffer and that I might lose my solo part. I tried to explain my dilemma to my parents, but their answer was, “The prophet says we need to have family home evening,” and that was that, end of discussion.
I knew they were right, but I was still angry and upset over the loss of my practices. And it wasn’t just me. My brothers could no longer go to soccer practices; my sister had to change dance classes. It was inconvenient for all of us.
The first couple of Mondays, we complained about the things we were missing, but then we realized Mom and Dad weren’t going to give in on this one. Eventually, I started looking forward to free Monday nights and family time. I didn’t have to go back to school for more practice. I could just stay home and be with my family.
Then my fear happened: I lost the solo in the marching band show. How my heart ached. It was hard to give up something I loved so much. But a short while later, band practices were moved to Wednesdays. It’s nice that band doesn’t conflict with family home evening anymore.
Some people might say it was a coincidence that practices were moved, but to me it says that blessings come from keeping the commandments.

When Darron Moller and his family moved to a new ward in New Zealand, Darron was assigned a young man named Scott, a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, as his home teaching companion.
“I didn’t know who Scott was, and when I asked, I was told, ‘Just look for someone taller than you.’ I soon found him,” Darron remembers.
Scott, 15, is a counselor in his teachers quorum presidency, and like Nephi, one of his heroes in the Book of Mormon, Scott is large in stature. He also has Nephi’s determination to follow the Lord’s commandments.
“At school I listen to people in my class congratulating each other about doing crazy things, and I just think, ‘I’m so glad I don’t do that,’” Scott says. “Ever since I was small it’s been in my mind that those things are wrong, and knowing the consequences makes it easier not to do wrong things.”
As a member of the teachers quorum, which has the responsibility to prepare the sacrament, Scott was faced with an unfortunate situation one Sunday: there weren’t enough sacrament cups for his large ward.
“I felt bad—feeling that we hadn’t fulfilled our duty,” Scott says. “We decided that the teachers had to be more organized, and now our quorum presidency meets the hour before sacrament meeting for our presidency meeting to make sure everything is in order for the sacrament and to prepare for the next few weeks. I like the order in the Church. When there is order, you don’t have to worry.”
As his home teaching companion, Darron has found that Scott adds a new dimension to his calling. “I resolved to be 100 percent in visiting our families, and Scott definitely makes that possible. He calls me to make sure I’ve made the appointments. And when he taught the lesson the first time, he asked me to go early so I could hear what he’d prepared. Even the little children we taught listened to him.”
And how does Scott feel about being a home teacher? “I like going home teaching with Brother Moller. If it were two teachers going together, we just wouldn’t know as much. But by having someone older than me, I get to hear different viewpoints from different age groups. Sometimes it’s scary giving a lesson to just a few people—you don’t know how you’re going to be received. But it feels good when they listen.”

The first things I noticed among the hustling paramedics and the wailing sirens that cold January morning in Utah were Esther’s hands. Her long, strong fingers, which had always been so busy serving others, were now cramped and motionless. My own hands reached out to warm hers, and her closed eyes fluttered open briefly. She looked around as though to identify who was near her.
“It’s okay, Esther,” I said, trying to comfort her as I straightened her nightgown and covered her with a blanket. “The doctors will find out what has happened to you.” I felt Esther relax; then we were both swept into the ambulance and rushed to the nearby hospital.
To say Esther was only a neighbor is like describing the sun as only a source of light. Esther’s hands had reached out to me when I was a teenager and had led me to the treasures in my junior high school library. For more than 40 years, her hands had dispensed knowledge and service throughout the neighborhood. She had hired and patiently taught many young people how to prune and care for her orchards, how to improve the neighborhood, and how to love their neighbors. She had reached out to old and new alike, and her hands had sewn the fabric of our block into a quilt of friendship that spread far beyond its physical boundaries.
All that busy winter, I had yearned to help someone. But I knew it was a futile desire. I was working full time in a very stressful job, and I was the harried mother of five very involved and very busy children, ages 5 to 25, including two who were getting married within weeks of each other. My family, work, Church and community responsibilities had strained my capacity to do more than survive each day. But something in the depths of my being kept calling out, wanting to help someone in some way.
Many mornings, as I checked off my accomplishments of the previous day and plotted my strategy for meeting the struggles of the dawning one, I had recalled the Lord’s admonition to “not run faster or labor more than you have strength,” (see D&C 10:4), and I had thought, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll find time to take dinner to someone or to take flowers to a sick friend.”
Service, to me, was a physical object one presented as a gift: it was homemade candy or doughnuts at Christmas, freshly baked bread for a new neighbor, or outgrown clothes for needy families. Now, as I sat at Esther’s bedside on a cold wintry day, Esther taught me that service was something else.
“Esther, squeeze my hand,” the doctor coaxed. “Come on, Esther, you can squeeze my hand.”
“I’m trying,” Esther answered, but her words collapsed into themselves, and her voice trailed off. The doctor shook his head, slipping his hand from Esther’s unmoving one.
“Esther, they are going to move you to another room now,” I explained as they wheeled her bed out of the emergency room. “It’s going to be all right.” Her frightened eyes searched mine for reassurance and then closed in peace.
Surprisingly, despite my fear for Esther, I felt an unusual sense of peace. For once in my harried, over-full life, I knew that I was where I was supposed to be. I wasn’t worried about my list of Saturday chores. I wasn’t concerned about my family. They knew I was with Esther, and their prayers were with me in that cramped, bare cubicle.
Morning edged into afternoon. I called Esther’s family in another state and told them of the situation. I served as a link between the hospital, Esther, and her family members, who were trying to cope with this emergency. And I talked to Esther.
As I sat by Esther, I watched storm clouds gather and snow begin to fall. My thoughts went back 35 years to when my grandmother had had her final stroke. Others had been frightened of the silent stranger who inhabited my grandmother’s frail body, but my mother had told us to hold her hand, to stroke it, and to talk to her.
“I think she can hear you, even if she can’t communicate,” my mother had said. “She needs to hear and feel your love. Talk to her, touch her, and let her know you love her.”
I hadn’t thought of my mother’s words for many years, but they came back as I talked to Esther, stroked her immobile hands, and filled the tiny room with my whispered prayers.
Too soon the room was crowded with Esther’s family, and I eased out of their way as they gathered around her. When they reached out to caress her still hands, stroke her hair, and talk to her, the urgent need that had held me captive all morning disappeared.
“She’s slipped into a deep coma,” the nurse explained to Esther’s loved ones. “Earlier she was trying to communicate, but now she’s unconscious and unaware.”
I stood at the doorway and took one last look at Esther’s inert hands. They were more relaxed now, but they remained open and reaching out to others. I dashed tears of appreciation from my eyes and thanked Esther for her last gift to me.

My experiences have made me desire to emulate the Savior’s lifting of others. As I went through the divorce process, several people counseled me never to tear down my husband in front of our children. The wisdom of this advice was evident almost daily, as occasions to demean him arose frequently. I prayerfully sought the ability to withhold criticism and to emphasize his positive traits.
At first this was extremely difficult because he had hurt me deeply and had made serious mistakes. But as I tried to help my children see his worth, my capacity to continue doing so increased. Each time I used words that built him up truthfully and fairly, I felt closer to the Savior. I chose to allow—even foster—the tender feelings my children have for their father. When the Spirit prompted me to pray for him in family prayer, I was able to do so with compassion.

Thanksgiving meant lots of relatives. Three years ago everybody in Hurricane had Thanksgiving dinner together in the little wooden meetinghouse before it was torn down. The grown-ups ate first because “children must learn their proper place and respect their elders.” It was one of the rare times that it snowed in Hurricane. While the grown-ups ate, we scraped enough snow together for a snowman; then it was our turn to eat. Politely we sat at the long, wonderful table. I had never seen so many kinds of scrumptious food in my whole life. And what fun it was to eat with playmates and cousins while even the men, wearing happy faces and big aprons, served us.

Spencer Goble didn’t know what he was getting into when he started his Eagle Scout project.

“I decided to get pictures of all the bishops my ward has ever had and then put their pictures in nice frames to be put in the meetinghouse. I didn’t know my ward dated back to the earliest Utah settlement.”

To complete his task, Spencer had to dig into Utah history and rely on help from people in his hometown of Bountiful, Utah. Help came from many willing sources in the form of books, pictures, and money.

The result of Spencer’s efforts is now on display in the church building of the Bountiful First Ward, where Spencer is a teacher. After 92 hours of hard work and more than a little stress, pictures of bishops dating back to 1849 are on display for everyone to enjoy.

“My testimony has really been strengthened through this project,” says Spencer. “I think about how hard it would have been to be a bishop in the ‘wilderness’ when the Church was only 19 years old. It took strong men. But bishops today have to be strong men too.”

A week later the fire was still burning when Latter-day Saints gathered to hear President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, speak. He pronounced an apostolic blessing upon them. After the meeting, he shook hands with every person, including 16-year-old Tori Gross.
“President Packer reminded us that we lost our houses, not our homes,” Tori says. “When a boy at school said he was homeless, I said, ‘You’re not homeless, you’re houseless.’ Our house burned to the ground and so did part of the new house we are building. But our family survived. Since the fire, I feel closer to Heavenly Father, and I rely on the gospel more.”

When I was in the seventh grade I walked home from school with my friend Mardean, who was an eighth grader. A new girl, Sandra Kleinschmidt, moved into our school, and we found that she walked home the same way. She was taller than we were and naturally a little gawky at that age. We found her comical and made up a few code words so we could make fun of her without her understanding. I don’t really believe my friend Mardean thought that game up or even completely understood it, but I knew what those code remarks meant nevertheless.
Then the class learned that Sandra’s father was in some way involved in television production. That was a rather new medium then and quite glamorous to us. Suddenly we were much nicer to Sandra. What if she should invite us home? What if her father should see us and be struck with our great looks or talent or both? What if we should get to be on TV or, at the very least, get to see a live show?
Many years later I recalled that phase of my life, and I suddenly envisioned Sandra Kleinschmidt’s Father—not the TV producer—but her eternal Father in Heaven. I imagined him coming to say, “Yes, Sandra is my daughter, a princess, a potential queen. You, Jean, are also my daughter, and I am so disappointed in your behavior. My daughters behave with grace and courtesy, with love and compassion.”
Who did I think I was as I walked home from school?
Who did I think Sandra was?

Some young men march to the beat of a different drum. Because they may not enjoy physical activity, as most do, they are often isolated from the group. I remember one young man, not much of an athlete, who excelled on the stage. In our ward plays and roadshows, we could always count on a stellar performance from Mike.

Later in his youth he directed a theater-in-the-round production in the ward. Today he teaches drama in a great university and is a faithful member of the Church. How easily we could have lost him without that opportunity to be someone and to excel at something. Our cultural arts have been neglected in recent years, not intentionally, but when stakes and wards were given the liberty to choose their activities instead of being dictated to from Church headquarters—something made necessary by the worldwide growth of the Church—some took this as a signal that cultural arts were no longer to be promoted. The ward and stake activity committees are there to help our bishoprics, quorums, and Young Women classes carry out those cultural activities planned by the Bishopric Youth Committee: music, drama, speech, dance. These again are as broad as the interests of the youth and a valuable resource in promoting activity and brotherhood in the Aaronic Priesthood quorums.

Joseph’s father, Hyrum Smith, was the Prophet Joseph Smith’s older brother. Both the Prophet and Hyrum were shot and killed by a mob when young Joseph was only five years old. It is well known that Hyrum had been the Prophet Joseph’s great friend and support through much of their lives and that Joseph had loved his older brother as he loved his own life. The Lord also had expressed his love for Hyrum, “because of the integrity of his heart, and because he loveth that which is right before me” (D&C 124:15).
Throughout his life, Joseph F. Smith loved his father with a special devotion. His last memory of his father, as Hyrum rode off to Carthage, was vivid: “Without getting off his horse,” President Smith related later, “father leaned over in his saddle and picked me up off the ground. He kissed me goodbye and put me down again and I saw him ride away.” This experience was to be followed by days of uncertainty and then a night of terror. “I remember the night of the murder … when one of the brethren came from Carthage and knocked on our window after dark and called to my mother, ‘Sister Smith, your husband has been killed.’” Although this occurred when the boy was only five years old, many years later he still remembered the terror of that night.
Two years after Hyrum’s death, Joseph F. Smith and his widowed mother, Mary Fielding Smith, set off across the plains of North America with many other Mormon pioneers. Sister Smith had not only her own two young children, but she was also caring for the five children of her slain husband and his first wife, who had died earlier. At age seven, Joseph drove the family’s ox team to Winter Quarters, Nebraska. At age nine, he drove the wagon on to the Salt Lake Valley.
During the time on the plains, young Joseph learned many lessons of faith from his mother. Upon awakening one morning, the Smiths found that their best team of oxen was missing. The young boy and his uncle, Joseph Fielding, set out and searched an entire morning in vain. Fatigued and discouraged, they returned to camp. There they found Mary Fielding Smith on her knees, pleading for God to help them in this search, since the loss of the oxen would mean further delay in reaching their destination.
Arising from prayer, this youthful pioneer mother told her brother and her son to have breakfast, and she would bring back the cattle. She started toward the river, despite her brother’s protests that further search was futile. Ignoring first her brother and then a herdsman from a Missouri wagon train who tried to tell her that he had seen the oxen headed in the opposite direction that morning, Mary Fielding Smith continued walking to the river. Then, turning at the bank, she motioned to her brother and son to join her. As they did, they found the oxen tied to a clump of willows, hidden from sight. Someone had apparently put them there, planning to return after the pioneer group had moved on.
President Smith later said that this experience was “one of the first practical and positive demonstrations of the efficacy of prayer I have ever witnessed.” The impression it made on his mind was to aid him all through his life.
Four years after they entered the Salt Lake Valley—when Joseph F. was thirteen years old—his mother died, leaving him without father or mother.
During his fifteenth year, Joseph F. Smith was ordained an elder, endowed, and sent to serve as a missionary in the Hawaiian Islands. There he experienced illness and discouragement far beyond that which is usual for a young man of his age. But with these experiences came an increased deepening of his soul and a broadening of his capacities as new spiritual insights were added in his life.
One such experience was a dream, significantly centering on a family experience. This dream occurred during a time in his mission when he was greatly depressed. “I was … entirely friendless. … I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look a … man in the face.”
In the dream, Joseph saw his uncle, the Prophet Joseph Smith; his father, Hyrum Smith; and his mother, Mary Fielding Smith. He was comforted, and his testimony of the Prophet and of the plan of salvation were strengthened: “When I awoke that morning I was a man, although only a boy. There was not anything in the world that I feared. … That vision, that manifestation and witness that I enjoyed at that time has made me what I am, if I am anything that is good, or clean, or upright before the Lord. That has helped me out of every trial and through every difficulty.”
Joseph F. Smith was not to be alone nor deprived of a family all of his life. When he was twenty years old, he married Levira Smith shortly before departing for his second mission—this time to Great Britain. During this mission, he had the comfort of knowing that someone waited for him. He later married five other wives (living as they did during the days of the Church’s practice of plural marriage): Julina Lambson, Sarah Ellen Richards, Edna Lambson, Alice Ann Kimball, and Mary Taylor Schwartz. He became the father of forty-eight children. One son, Joseph Fielding Smith, grew up to become the tenth President of the Church.
A beautiful illustration of Joseph F. Smith’s love for his family comes from his early years as a father, when he was existing on a poverty wage and was paid only in commodities. In these destitute circumstances, he made a trip to town one day before Christmas to buy “something for my chicks.”
“I wanted something to please them, and to mark the Christmas day from all other days—but not a cent to do it with! I walked up and down Main Street, looking into the shop windows … everywhere—and then slunk out of sight of humanity and sat down and wept like a child until my poured-out grief relieved my aching heart; and after awhile returned home, as empty as when I left, and played with my children, grateful and happy … for them.”
Another experience illustrating his love for family occurred at the death of his firstborn, a little daughter, Mercy Josephine, whom he affectionately referred to as “Dodo.” Little Dodo died when she was three. After watching over her night after night, holding her, and encouraging her, Elder Smith grieved when she went sleepless one entire night. The next morning when she said, “I’ll sleep tonight, papa,” the words “shot through my heart.” Shortly thereafter, she died.
He expressed the sorrow of his heart in a letter: “I scarcely dare to trust myself to write, even now my heart aches, and my mind is all chaos; if I should murmur, may God forgive me, my soul has been and is tried with poignant grief, my heart is bruised and wrenched almost asunder. I am desolate, my home seems desolate and almost dreary … my own sweet Dodo is gone! I can scarcely believe it and my heart asks, can it be? I look in vain, I listen, no sound, I wander through the rooms, all are vacant, lonely, desolate, deserted. I look down the garden walk, peer around the house, look here and there for a glimpse of a little golden, sunny head and rosy cheeks, but no, alas, no pattering little footsteps. No beaming little black eyes sparkling with love for papa; no sweet little enquiring voice … no soft dimpled hands clasping me around the neck, no sweet rosy lips returning in childish innocence my fond embrace and kisses, but a vacant little chair. Her little toys are concealed, her clothes put by, and only the one desolate thought forcing its crushing leaden weight upon my heart—she is not here, she is gone! … I am almost wild, and O God only knows how much I loved my girl, and she the light and joy of my heart.”
Forty-six years later, just two years before his own death, President Smith wrote in his journal, “This is the 49th anniversary of the birth of my firstborn child, Mercy Josephine. A most beautiful and intelligent little girl. She died June 6, 1870, nearly three years old, leaving but the memory of the sweetest, happiest, loveliest three years of my whole life up to that time. O how I loved and cherished that little angel of love and light.”
For Joseph F. Smith, love of family was the highest joy. Shortly after becoming the prophet of the Lord, he said:
“There can be no genuine happiness separate and apart from the home, and every effort made to sanctify and preserve its influence is uplifting to those who toil and sacrifice for its establishment. Men and women often seek to substitute some other life for that of the home; they would make themselves believe that the home means restraint; that the highest liberty is the fullest opportunity to move about at will. There is no happiness without service, and there is no service greater than that which converts the home into a divine institution, and which promotes and preserves family life.
“Those who shirk home responsibilities are wanting in an important element of social well-being. They may indulge themselves in social pleasures, but their pleasures are superficial and result in disappointment later in life.”
In addition to making great contributions at home with his own family, Joseph F. Smith spent most of his life as a missionary or Church leader. After his first mission in the Hawaiian Islands at age fifteen, he served a three-year mission in Great Britain and was then ordained as an Apostle and counselor to the First Presidency at the age of twenty-seven. As an Apostle, he served as president of the European and British missions. At age forty-one, he again became a member of the First Presidency of the Church and served in the First Presidency for nearly forty years—half his lifetime—until his death at age eighty. Having served as a counselor to the First Presidency during the administration of Brigham Young, he also served as counselor in the First Presidency to John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and Lorenzo Snow. Then, in 1901, at age sixty-two, he became President of the Church.
During most of President Smith’s life, the Church was under great attack from the United States government because of its practice of plural marriage. President Smith became one of the Church’s most able defenders of the practice. For a time, he and other leaders went into voluntary exile—and it pained him to be unable to be with and care for his large family. Then, in 1888 and 1889, he went to Washington, D.C., attempting to negotiate with the United States government for relaxation of repressive laws against the Latter-day Saints.
After President Wilford Woodruff received the revelation known as the Manifesto, discontinuing the practice of plural marriage in 1890 (see OD 1), President Smith continued to work tirelessly to ease tensions between the Church and the government and to enhance public respect for the Church. President Smith presided over the Church during a time of great prosperity and growth. As prophet, he strengthened the role of priesthood quorums and emphasized the importance of the home.
One of President Joseph F. Smith’s greatest contributions to the Church was his forthright teaching of the gospel. While he served as prophet, he and his counselors in the First Presidency issued statements clarifying Church doctrine on such topics as the origin of man and the nature of God the Father and Jesus Christ. They also warned against false teachings. After his death, some of his most important messages were published as a book, entitled Gospel Doctrine.
His “Vision of the Redemption of the Dead” has been accepted as scripture and is now found in section 138 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 138]. On 3 October 1918, only six weeks before his death, President Smith received a vision in which he saw the Savior’s ministry in the spirit world during the short time between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection. (See 1 Pet. 3:18–20; 1 Pet. 4:6). President Smith witnessed the Savior ministering to the righteous Saints and prophets who had died; he also saw the Savior organizing missionary work to go forth among the spirits of the wicked and the unrepentant.
This wonderful revelation came to the aged prophet as he sat in his room, “pondering over the scriptures;
“And reflecting upon the great atoning sacrifice that was made by the Son of God, for the redemption of the world;
“And the great and wonderful love made manifest by the Father and the Son in the coming of the Redeemer into the world” (D&C 138:1–3).
In the vision, President Smith saw that “the saints rejoiced in their redemption, and bowed the knee and acknowledged the Son of God as their Redeemer and Deliverer from death and the chains of hell” (D&C 138:23).
Thus, he had hope for the salvation of all who love the Lord—from his own cherished daughter “Dodo,” to every one of our Father’s children.
And through President Smith’s witness, all of us can have that same hope in the eternal nature of God, in His plan for our happiness, and in His promise to the faithful of the blessing of eternal family relationships.

It was two weeks before Christmas, and the familiar stress of the season was upon me. I had presents to buy, a tree to decorate, and gifts to deliver.
For several months I had felt overwhelmed by the daily tasks that face a mother of five young children. I had even felt mechanical in my church attendance as I wrestled with my little ones on the bench. I longed for an increase of the Spirit and of spiritual experiences in my life.
About this time, my sister purchased a new home in a neighboring state and was trying to get things settled before Christmas. That would be a lot of work for any family, but for hers it would be even more difficult. My sister was eight months pregnant, a mother of two small children, and the caregiver of her quadriplegic husband.
Realizing the struggle she faced, I called her to see how things were progressing. She was optimistic about the move and hopeful that members of her new ward would be supportive. After our conversation I hung up the phone, wishing her good luck and wondering how I could help from 400 miles (650 km) away.
That evening, the thought kept coming to my mind that I needed to be there to help. But as I looked at my schedule, I dismissed the thought and went to bed.
The next morning, I awoke with the same prompting. The feeling was so strong this time that I could not deny it. I called my husband and said, “I need to go help my sister.” Without hesitation, he responded, “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
I called my sister, told her my plans, and booked a flight for that afternoon. I quickly packed my suitcase, kissed my children goodbye, and headed to the airport.
Over the next three days, I unpacked boxes, organized rooms, and helped decorate a Christmas tree. After most of the boxes were unpacked, I sat with my sister and her family, admiring their pretty tree. My five-year-old niece, pleased that her family was ready for Christmas, exclaimed, “This is going to be a great Christmas!”
As I flew home, I knew that by giving part of myself to this sweet family, I had felt the Spirit, which I had been yearning to feel. It came because I had served others.

For this story you will need 5? x 6? (12.5 cm x 15 cm) piece of paper, pencil, scissors, and crayons or colored pencils. Fold the paper in half lengthwise and trace pattern onto it. As you read the story, cut as directed.
Fold Pattern
Every Friday was show-and-tell day at Mi Lee’s school. Mrs. Green, her teacher, had made show-and-tell time a game. If you had something to share, you were to bring it to school all covered up so that it would be a secret. Then, during show-and-tell time, you would give the other children clues about your surprise, and they would try to guess what it was. (Cut 1 to 2.)
Mi Lee watched while her classmates shared a doll with hair that grew, a rocket that zoomed toward the ceiling, a book with pages that folded out into a house, and a collection of tiny glass animals. But Mi Lee hadn’t yet taken anything to share. (Cut on dotted line, 2 to 3.)
Then one day Mi Lee received a package from her grandfather in Japan. (Cut 3 to 4.)
The next day Mi Lee carried a large paper bag to school (Cut 4 to 5.)
When Mrs. Green called on her, Mi Lee gave these clues:
“Sometimes it’s open; sometimes it’s closed.” (Cut 5 to 6.)
“When it’s open, it’s too big to go through a door, but I can carry it in one hand.” (Cut 6 to 7.)
“I can use it on hot, sunny days or I can use it on wet, rainy days. What is it?” (Cut 7 to 8.)
Unfold the paper and see what Mi Lee shared, then color it.

Before our baptism, the stake temple and family history consultant helped me prepare my mother’s name and the names of several other deceased ancestors to take to the temple for baptism.
Twenty-five days after our baptisms, on January 19, 2018, my mom’s birthday, we made our first trip to the Newport Beach California Temple. I was nervous and didn’t know what to expect, but when I walked into the temple, I felt so much serenity. It was like nowhere else I had ever been. Our group gathered at the baptismal font, where the temple president explained the importance of baptism for the dead and the blessing it holds. I sobbed for joy thinking of how these baptisms would bless our family.
After Navid was baptized for some of the male members of my family, he baptized me on behalf of some of the female family members. The first person I was baptized for was my dear, sweet mother. When I heard the words “who is dead,” I wept. Hearing it made her death so real that it hurt. But then I thought, what greater gift could I possibly give my mother on her birthday than the gift of baptism in the temple?
I look forward to many more trips to the temple. I am grateful to know that I can help provide blessings to those who have gone before me through the ordinances of the temple. What a wonderful gift!

Some time ago I went through a period in which I was plagued with many personal problems and felt that I had nobody to help me solve them. I was attending church regularly but had not been successful in finding solutions to my difficulties. Fear often overcame me, especially during the night. I was very unhappy.
One day when I was feeling particularly distraught, I tried to get in touch with the mission president. On another day I had a strong desire to reach the President of the Church. I thought if I could just speak with or write to him, he would give me the answers I sought.
While in this troubled state of mind, I attended a session of district conference in Cúcuta, Colombia. I found the answer I needed during a talk by the mission president. When President Canals asked, “When is the last time you had a spiritual experience?” I realized that I had been so preoccupied with trying to find someone to help me solve my problems that I had forgotten the Savior’s call to draw near unto Him (see D&C 88:63). In my rush to find a solution, I had forgotten the Being who had power to give me peace in my afflictions and to answer my prayers.
That very day I started the process of drawing nearer to my Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. I told Heavenly Father of my fear and anguish, and I prayed in the name of Jesus Christ that I might have His Spirit to be with me. I dropped all of my burdens at the Savior’s feet, remembering His promise: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
I still don’t have all the answers to my personal problems, but I have received strength and comfort. I have also received impressions that if I live a righteous life, keep the commandments, and serve the Lord with all my heart, He will help me solve my problems or give me strength to endure them (see Mosiah 24:14).

We planted a garden, weeded it, and irrigated it. Some of my choicest childhood experiences were irrigating with my father. Our turn began at 2:00 A.M., so Dad and I would pitch a tent in the yard and go to bed about 9:00 at night. We’d set the alarm clock and get up at 2:00 and turn the water in. Then we’d get up every half hour until 6:00 to change its flow. During all my growing-up years, Dad and I spent many nights irrigating side by side. It’s a great experience to be with your father like that.

In my young adult years, I spent a lot of time wondering about my future. Mission, marriage, education, career—all of these were open questions, and I didn’t have many answers. I was willing to fulfill whatever mission the Lord had in mind for me, if I could only find out what it was.

My patriarchal blessing gave me the big picture of my life’s purpose. But in some ways I felt like I was trying to find my way to the grocery store using a map of the solar system. What if I made a wrong turn somewhere? Would I still be able to find and fulfill the mission the Lord had for me?

Years beyond my 20s now, I can finally recognize that my life has unfolded in the very way described in my patriarchal blessing many years ago. That certainly wasn’t because I knew exactly what I was doing and where the future would take me. I most definitely didn’t.

My life had some twists and turns and disappointments that made me wonder if it was going off track. But as it turns out, I didn’t need to worry. The Lord always knew where I was and where He wanted me to go. I kept trying my best to follow His commandments, serve Him, and listen to the Spirit. Even though I often couldn’t discern it at the time, I now recognize that His hand was always guiding my life.

I’d like to tell you of an experience of a faithful Latter-day Saint who is a good friend of mine. I’ll refer to him only as “my friend” for reasons you will understand.
Working as a special agent for the FBI, my friend investigated organized crime groups transporting illegal drugs into the United States.
On one occasion, he and another agent approached an apartment where they believed a known drug dealer was distributing cocaine. My friend describes what happened:
“We knocked on the door of the drug dealer. The suspect opened the door, and upon seeing us, tried to block our view. But it was too late; we could see the cocaine on his table.
“A man and a woman who were at the table immediately began removing the cocaine. We had to prevent them from destroying the evidence, so I quickly pushed the drug suspect who was blocking the door to the side. As I pushed him, my eyes met his. Strangely, he did not appear angry or afraid. He was smiling at me.
“His eyes and disarming smile gave me the impression that he was harmless, so I quickly left him and started to move toward the table. The suspect was now behind me. At that instant, I had the distinct, powerful impression come into my mind: ‘Beware of the evil behind the smiling eyes.’
“I immediately turned back toward the suspect. His hand was in his large front pocket. Instinctively I grabbed his hand and pulled it from his pocket. Only then did I see, clutched in his hand, the semiautomatic pistol ready to fire. A flurry of activity followed, and I disarmed the man.”
Later, in another case, the drug dealer was convicted of murder and boasted that he would have also killed my friend had he not turned around at that very moment.