Gospel Story Finder

In the vision we had for our family, we wanted Christiane to stay home to rear our children. This meant sacrifice. Shortly after we learned that a baby was on its way, Christiane reminded me of the mutual decision we had made even before our wedding day that she would immediately stop working outside the home as soon as a baby was born. I tried to escape what I knew would be additional responsibility by mentioning that she was contributing one-third of our family income. She answered simply, “I will take care of the children, and you take care of putting food on the table.”
I knew she was right; we had discussed it long before. It was in tune with our vision of family life, it was in tune with the words of the living prophets, and it felt right. So she gave up her well-paying career as a nurse to be close to the children and to meet their daily needs, and I had to get my act together to provide food and shelter. The Lord blessed us to be able to fulfill this aspect of our vision.

Thirteen-year-old Sherrie underwent a 14-hour operation for a tumor on her spinal cord. As she regained consciousness in the intensive care unit, she said: “Daddy, Aunt Cheryl is here, … and … Grandpa Norman … and Grandma Brown … are here. And Daddy, who is that standing beside you? … He looks like you, only taller. … He says he’s your brother, Jimmy.” Her uncle Jimmy had died at age 13 of cystic fibrosis.

“For nearly an hour, Sherrie … described her visitors, all deceased family members. Exhausted, she then fell asleep.”

Later she told her father, “Daddy, all of the children here in the intensive care unit have angels helping them.”

Although the relationship between Erroll and his father today is as close as it ever was, pressure from both sides of the family was to continue right up to the day of the scheduled baptism. “I remember my feelings on that day,” Brother Bennett now says. “We had gone through a lot of pressure, and we knew what we had to do. Yet somehow I felt I needed a final confirmation, a last indication from the Lord that all was well and that we should proceed.
“I remember going up the side of the mountain near my home where I like to jog, and privately pouring out my feelings to my Heavenly Father. I asked for confirmation, perhaps some message that I was about to take the right step. Halfway down the mountain on the way home, I offered the same prayer again.
“As I drew near my home, there was a car parked outside. It belonged to Gabriel Vaianui, a member who had been inactive for about ten years, attending church only intermittently. Gabriel had been at the market and had overheard someone say that Erroll Bennett had decided not to join the Mormon Church after all. He had then driven over to my home immediately to find out for himself.”
Erroll recognized Brother Vaianui as the messenger he had sought and promptly asked him, “Gabriel, should I be baptized today?” Without hesitation, the answer came: “Erroll, whatever you do, you must be baptized. Do not turn your back on the Church.”
Brother Bennett now speaks gratefully of Gabriel Vaianui’s counsel. “It was just what I needed—that little extra to give me the courage I lacked.”
The baptisms went ahead as scheduled, and afterwards Erroll Bennett had time to think. No one called from the soccer club with congratulations or criticism, and by the end of that quiet evening he had made his decision. It was no good agonizing over an elusive compromise, and there was little point in training if he wasn’t going to play on Sundays. The following day he would talk to Napoléon Spitz and withdraw from active soccer, leaving his position open to some other hopeful.

The summer after high school graduation seemed almost magical. I had everything I could possibly want—except a tan. With a job, my social life, and the plans I was making to go away to school, I hadn’t taken the time to lie in the sun and bake my skin cells. Then came the chance to remedy this one imperfection in an otherwise unblemished existence in the form of an invitation to spend the Fourth of July at Bear Lake in northern Utah.
The weather at Bear Lake matched my nearly flawless life. The sun was bright, the sky clear, and the air just the right temperature. I lay on the beach all day and eagerly watched my anemic legs and arms turn a bright shade of pink which, I was sure, would turn into a golden tan. Everything, I thought, would be storybook perfect.
Bear Lake is cool and invigorating and can be literally smooth as glass. Its high elevation, though, means the atmosphere is thinner, providing less protection from the sun’s harmful rays. Anybody who has ever been there knows—usually from painful personal experience—that Bear Lake is one of the worst places for sunburn.
I knew it too, but chose to ignore that particular bit of truth. My thoughts that day went no farther than dreams of looking magazine-and-movie beautiful. Only it didn’t work out that way. My legs and arms (and back, feet, and face) didn’t go from rosy pink to gorgeous tan. Instead, they turned blazing red and blistered. And I hurt all over.
I don’t remember much about the return trip that evening except feeling awful and just hoping I wouldn’t throw up before we got home. Once home, I doused myself with vinegar (it’s supposed to help) and went straight to bed. Getting to sleep that night was a real pain. Getting dressed the next morning was even worse.
After a few “Don’t touch me!” days, the pain finally subsided, the blisters popped, and I began to peel. Yuck! Dead, flaky skin was everywhere. Instead of looking sophisticated and stunning, I looked splotchy. It wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned.
I often think about that episode, especially when I’m sitting in the shade wearing my wide-brimmed hat and slathered in sun block. I lost more than a few nights’ sleep from that experience; I also lost much of my body’s built-in protection against the sun’s harmful rays.
More important than what I lost, though, was what I gained. I realized that just as Heavenly Father provides an earthly atmosphere to protect our physical selves, he has also given us a spiritual “atmosphere”—the Holy Ghost—to shelter our spiritual selves. I always recall my day at the beach whenever I am tempted to leave that heavenly shelter to become more attractive according to the world’s standards. I remember the sleepless nights, painful days, and lasting physical consequences, and know there is no way I want to risk getting a spiritual “sunburn.”

The first car we owned as newlyweds was what is affectionately known as a “Laie car”. It had spent many years on campus being passed through numerous owners by the time we bought it for a whopping $250. If you own a car with that sort of price tag, please understand the reason they call them “Laie cars” is because they should not be driven outside of Laie, if at all. However, one morning Brother Brothers and I were driving to pick-up a new student arriving from Tahiti at the airport. Half-way through the Wilson Tunnel on the Like Like Highway, we heard a loud bang under the hood immediately followed by torrents of white smoke streaming out from the engine. We feared it was about to ignite and we would be going out in a blaze of glory. However, we made it to the top of the tunnel and pulled over to find it was a radiator hose which had exploded and spewed the contents of the radiator all over the engine thus creating all the smoke.

This was still in the BC years “before cellular” so we had no phone and no idea what to do. So we did the only thing we could, we prayed a mighty prayer then tried to turn the engine back on. It worked. We pulled the car around, took a deep breath, and headed back into the tunnel with the car in neutral and our faith on turbo the whole way down the mountain. At the bottom intersection, the light which was always red was miraculously green despite no other cars coming down before or after us. We coasted through the intersection and turned into the first neighborhood we could where suddenly the car’s engine just stopped. Then we finally exhaled and said a prayer of gratitude.Conveniently, there was a man standing in the carport right where we stalled who was wrapping lau lau at 6 am on a Sunday for some reason. He let us use his phone and get the help we needed to get our Laie car repaired and back home. The new student waiting at the airport caught a ride with someone else and we had a great laugh about it later.You would have thought we learned our lesson about trusting a Laie car but we were poor desperate students and had to put our trust in the Lord several more times with that car before it was towed off into car heaven. We were blessed over and over because of our faith and trust in the Lord.

If I close my eyes, I can still see those two young men trying to work under the scalding sun of a Brazilian summer. I approached them and asked, “Are you Mormons?” I had never before seen a pair of missionaries, but since my uncle had been a member for some time, I supposed those two perspiring boys must be from the Church he always talked about.
It was 1970, and I was only 13 years old. I had never seen smiles so bright as when I asked that simple question. We set up a time for the first lesson. My three sisters and I received all of the lessons and were soon baptized.
I cannot forget the care with which those missionaries taught and fellowshipped four young people. They came to get us when we missed church. They visited us often. Why so much concern for us? Would so much effort for these young people be worth anything at all?
When I was called to fulfill a full-time mission, I thought about Elder Clark and Elder Bushman. Those missionaries had planted seeds; those seeds had germinated and grown. Now we were ready to plant seeds for others.
Sandra, a friend who was baptized about the time I was, and I both served missions, and one of Sandra’s sisters went on a mission. Five of the young people I taught and baptized on my mission also went on missions. My son has returned from the Brazil Campinas Mission. All of this happened because those two young missionaries cared about me and my activity in the Church.
Many years ago at the dedication of the temple in São Paulo, Sandra gave me Elder Bushman’s mailing address. I wrote to him, “You can count the seeds in one apple, but you never know how many apples each seed will yield.”

“You must remember the blessings you can have by being faithful,” says Marc-André Côté, 15, of Chicoutimi. “You should always keep that goal in mind. When Joseph Smith was discouraged once, the Lord reminded him to remember what he had been promised if he would remain faithful. [See D&C 6:13.] By thinking of the celestial kingdom and exaltation, you can find strength to overcome the struggles in your life.”
Marc should know. For four years he was away from the Church, but about two years ago he kept “asking myself what I was doing with my life. I was searching for something, and I remembered what I had felt in the Church. I felt the Spirit saying to me, ‘Go!’ and so I decided to try it just one time. I had imagined it would be difficult to come back, but it was easy. It was even better than I remembered. I read a lot and studied a lot and really gained a testimony that this is the true church, organized the way the Savior wants it to be.”

The great oak tree reached its arms to the sky—higher, higher, higher. Lissa lay on a quilt at its foot and gazed through spring-green leaves to the gray sky beyond. It made her feel dizzy. She closed her eyes.
“Lissa, will you help me get up the tree?”
Her eyes opened. It took her a moment to focus on her little brother, Spencer, looming above her. “Uh-uh,” she said. “The wind’s too wild. You’d be scared.”
“I wouldn’t be scared.”
“Then I would be.” Even as she spoke, thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind became a mad thing, suddenly swirling and tearing in all directions. The giant pines in their yard swayed and bent as if they would snap in two. The oak was a churning green sea, its leafy whisper changed to a roar.
Spencer drew in a frightened breath. Lissa laughed and leapt to her feet. She caught his hands and whirled him around and around until he was laughing, too. “Will the wind blow us away?” he asked.
“No,” Lissa said. But it felt like it might.
“Come inside now,” Dad called from the house.
Lissa and Spencer hesitated and whirled around again.
“Now!” Dad yelled. “Before the storm hits.”
Even as Lissa snatched up her quilt and dashed for the door, fat raindrops struck her skin. By the time they were inside, the rain was pouring down in silver sheets.
While Dad made them hot chocolate, Lissa and Spencer dried themselves off. They slipped beneath blankets on the couch and sipped their drinks. How cozy and safe it felt in the house, although the walls seemed to tremble and the windows rattled.
Dad huddled with them. “When I call you,” he said, “you need to come right away. Don’t stop to think about it. Just come. There’s always a good reason.”
Lissa and Spencer nodded.
The room grew dim. Dad switched on the lamp. He brought a book of stories to read aloud and drew them close.
It was hard to listen.
Boom! shouted the thunder.
Spencer jumped. Lissa shivered. White lightning flashed. Then B-O-O-M! It was explosive!
Dad sprang to his feet and ran to the window. Lissa and Spencer followed. “What was that?” Lissa asked, her heart thudding in her chest.
Dad peered through the gloom. “Looks like the oak tree’s down. Good thing it missed the house.”
“Oh, no!” Lissa cried. “I love that tree.”
The storm passed on.
A few days later, Dad took his chain saw out to the fallen tree. “We can use it for firewood,” he told Lissa and Spencer.
Lissa said nothing. She still wanted to cry when she saw the oak stretched out in their yard. Its branches were tangled, and its great clump of dirt-choked roots lay exposed. She watched from the porch step, her chin in her hands, as Dad worked.
Spencer scrambled over the trunk like a squirrel. He ignored scratched knees and sap-sticky hands. After a while he disappeared. “I’m down in this big hole where the roots were,” he called. “There are all kinds of bugs and worms poking their heads out.”
“Don’t get too dirty,” Dad called back.
Lissa could hardly hear them over the chain saw’s buzz. Dad was making good progress. He had the branches off and was starting to cut the trunk into sections. Lissa sucked in a breath of the fresh-cut wood smell.
Dad put the saw down for a moment. He reached his arms above his head to stretch his back. He flashed a smile at Lissa. Her return smile fled when his expression changed to a look of horror. “No!” he yelled.
It happened too fast to even think. Without the weight of its limbs to hold it down, the trunk of the tree had risen from the ground and its heavy ball of dirt and roots smashed back into the hole with a thud that shook the earth. The trunk quivered for a moment. No movement or sound came from the hole.
“Spencer!” Dad and Lissa screamed at the same time. They raced for the hole. Tears streamed down Lissa’s cheeks as she and Dad shoved at the trunk. It didn’t budge. They kept trying.
“What’s the matter?” Spencer’s voice came from behind them. “How’d the tree stand up again?”
Lissa and Dad whirled around. Spencer watched them calmly from beside a clump of azaleas.
Dad’s face collapsed with emotion as he grabbed Spencer to him.
“Where were you?” Lissa asked. Her voice sounded strange.
“Behind the bushes,” Spencer said into Dad’s shirt.
“We thought—we thought you were down in the hole!” Lissa put her arms around both Dad and her brother.
“You thought I got squished?” Spencer asked, pulling away from them.
They nodded.
“I was down there,” Spencer said, “but Dad told me to get out.”
Dad looked at him. “I didn’t.”
“Yes you did,” Spencer insisted. “You said, ‘Get out of the hole right now.’”
Dad shook his head. “It wasn’t me. Was it you, Lissa?”
“No.”
Spencer’s eyes grew wide.
“I’m glad you listened,” Lissa whispered.
“And obeyed,” Dad added.
Spencer gave a shaky grin. “I guess I always will from now on.”
“Me, too,” Lissa said. And she meant it with all her heart.

Like you, I know what it means to make essential course corrections. I remember a time when, without any intent to do so, I offended a sister in my ward. I needed to reconcile this issue, but I must admit that my pride kept me from going to her and asking for her forgiveness. Family, other commitments, on and on—I found ways to postpone my repentance. I was sure things would work out on their own. But they didn’t.
In the stillness of not one night but several, I awoke with a clear realization that I was not taking the course the Lord would want me to take. I was not acting on my faith that His arm of mercy was truly extended towards me—if I would act aright. I prayed for strength and courage, humbled myself, and went to the sister’s home and asked for her forgiveness. For us both, it proved to be a sweet, healing experience.

On August 7, 2014, Hurricane Iselle approached and directly hit the Big Island. The Waikahe and Pahoa Wards of our Hilo Hawaii Stake were particularly hard hit. Miraculously, there were no reports of deaths or damages to homes. All missionaries were safe and accounted for. Church buildings in Hilo and Pahoa were used as shelters. Many homes and communities were cut off from access to power and communications due fallen trees blocking the roads. On Friday evening at 9:30 PM, we established communications and made a plan to serve. At 12:30 PM on Saturday, August 9, 2014, Member and non-member volunteers from around the island, including members from the Kona stake, separated into groups of eight to ten people at the Orchidland Chapel. There were two chainsaws per group. Volunteers then went throughout the streets in the community where trees had not yet been cleared and moved debris. At 4 PM, the service project came to an end. I witnessed firsthand what Relief Society General President Linda K. Burton phrased, “First observe, then serve.”5

I experienced two tender moments while serving the Puna Community and Saints that I would like to share. The first house we helped looked like a war zone. You could not see the front entrance into the house. It took us a couple of hours to remove debris and repair the walkway to the house of this widow. I was hot and sweaty and probably didn’t look like the stake president. At the conclusion of our service and as we said our good byes, this poor sister finally recognized that the stake president was there, all hot and sweaty from working in her yard. She was so touched and moved that her stake president would come to her house to help her. The depth of her emotion touched me deeply. The last house we visited was to an active sister and less-active brother, both in their later years. Their backyard was a tangle of broken albezia branches. The tree branches that fell had crushed their chain link fence as if it had been warm butter. With much effort, we cleaned every branch that had fallen into their yard. Upon our saying good bye, this less-active brother gave me the warmest hug. In his hug, I felt the sweet love of our Savior. It was a purifying experience that changed me for the better. I know that we have a loving Father in Heaven who wants us to move forward in our lives despite temporary and long-term hardship.

My wife remembers how her life was touched by a question the missionaries asked. She had an extensive religious background, and one day her brother invited her to hear the missionaries. After teaching doctrine, they directed a question at her reasoning: “Why do you think The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true Church?” The thoughts this question inspired affected her in such a way that a few seconds later her feelings were also touched. Tears came to her eyes on answering that question, and the Spirit testified to her, thus deepening the conversion process she experienced.

Sid told me of an experience he had on his mission. It was evening, and he and his companion were just about to return to their apartment. They decided to visit one more family. The father let them in. Elder Going and his companion testified of the Savior. The family accepted a Book of Mormon. The father read all night. In the next week and a half he read the entire Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price. A few weeks later the family was baptized.

I remember a time when my oldest daughter was just six or seven years old. I was struggling with saying my personal prayers on a consistent basis. I remember walking into her bedroom one night to listen to her say her prayers. Her room felt so peaceful, innocent, and pure that I felt like praying. I explained as best I could that I’d like to get into the habit of saying my prayers and asked if I could pray at her bedside. She looked a little puzzled but agreed. On the second or third night, as I began my silent prayer, I felt her little hand on my head. She then turned on her side and with both hands began running her fingers through my hair. I felt touched by an angel. I must admit, it felt so good that my prayers became longer.

To this day, whenever there is a family gathering, I will eventually work my way over to the couch or chair where she is located, sit on the floor, and wait for her to run her fingers through my hair.

When Ryan Wilkinson moved from Horsefly, British Columbia, Canada, to Bountiful, Utah, during his junior year of high school, he left Horsefly with $255 in his savings account.
That’s $255, Canadian. Or somewhere in the vicinity of 190 U.S. dollars.
Ryan’s goal was to leave for a mission soon after he turned 19 in February 2000. Since Ryan knew he needed approximately $9,000 for the two years he planned to be in the mission field, he could do the math. “What I had in the bank wouldn’t even last me a month as a missionary,” he explains.
So Ryan did what anybody in need of eight or nine grand would do.
“I went looking for a job.”
In Canada, Ryan had worked wrapping potatoes in aluminum foil at a nearby restaurant. “I got $5 for each box,” he says. Lots of potatoes but not much money.
So with less than two years before he turned 19, Ryan put a plan in place once he got to Utah. “I figured if I could earn $2,000 before I graduated from high school, I could earn the rest by getting a full-time job once I was out of school,” he says. The plan was feasible since Ryan decided he wasn’t going to go to college until after his mission.
When Ryan put on the cap and gown for Bountiful High School’s class of ’99 commencement exercises, he had about $1,800 in his account, just short of his goal but in the neighborhood. All that money came from his work as a bagger and then as a cashier at a local grocery store. “I even got a 15-cent raise when I was promoted,” he says with a smile.
Not long after graduation, a neighbor who was building a house down the street from the Wilkinsons approached Ryan and his brother Mark about working construction for the summer. “We didn’t know what we were doing, but we learned as we went,” Ryan says. “That was a pretty good job. We put on the roof, and I put on all the shingles. I helped put in the windows and doors, and I helped pour the cement for the basement floor.”
Ka-ching. Ka-ching. The money began adding up.
But two jobs, apparently, weren’t enough.
“I heard about this other job—a graveyard shift—from midnight to six in the morning where I’d be unloading boxes from a truck,” he says. “And it paid a lot more than being a cashier. But since it would be a harder job, I decided to quit my [grocery store] job.”
But being a conscientious employee, Ryan gave two weeks’ notice at the grocery store. And this is where his schedule became a little tricky.
“I did the three jobs for two weeks. I’d start in the morning and go build the house from eight until about five. Then I’d go to the store from seven o’clock to eleven,” he says. “After I cashed out the money, I’d head to the loading dock. I worked from midnight to six.”
What about sleep?
“I didn’t get a lot,” he admits.
Fortunately, that torturous schedule ended, and he could settle back in to the relaxation of working only two jobs.
“Yeah, everybody says that going on a mission will be the hardest thing I’ll ever do in my life,” Ryan adds. “But it seems that going on a mission will be a break for me.”
Guess he’s finding out.
On March 1, Elder Wilkinson entered the Missionary Training Center. Two months later he left for the Italy Rome Mission. He earned a little extra for the purchase of suits, shirts, shoes, and all the other things he needed to be a missionary. But he had the $9,000 in his account for the 24 months he’d be gone.
“I always knew I was going to earn the money for my mission,” Ryan adds. “I just didn’t know how.”
He does now.

Illustrations by Hollie Hibbert
Tomorrow was Moresby’s first day of school. He was nervous.
“Mummy, do you think kids will tease me?” he asked at breakfast.
“Will my teacher be nice?” he asked at lunch.
“What if no one plays with me?” he asked at dinner.
That night Dad gave Moresby a priesthood blessing. Dad said it would help him be brave. During the blessing Moresby felt warm in his heart. Mummy said that feeling was the Holy Ghost.
At school the next day, Moresby tried his best to be brave. He met his new teacher, Mrs. Moetu. She was nice. He met lots of new friends, and nobody teased him!
But during recess, two boys made mean faces at a girl on the playground. She started to cry. Moresby wanted to be brave. He walked over to help her. The boys saw him and ran away.
“I miss my mum.” The girl sniffed.
“Me too,” said Moresby.
Moresby thought of how he could cheer her up. He scooped up some dirt. “Want to bake a cake with me?”
The girl wiped her tears. “How?” she asked.
“We can make pavlova,” Moresby said, shaping the dirt like a cake.
The girl smiled. “I love pavlova.”
Later that day, Mummy picked up Moresby from school.
“How was your first day?” asked Mummy.
Moresby smiled. “I was brave, and I made a new friend!”
“That’s great!” Mummy said. “I’m glad Heavenly Father helped you today.”
Moresby smiled. “From now on, you can call me Moresby the Brave!”

After reading the Book of Mormon, seminary students in Sidney, Montana, went to pizzas. Twenty-one of them.
Brother Charles L. Duncan, seminary teacher, challenged the entire Sidney Branch to read the Book of Mormon before the night of seminary graduation. He promised a pizza party to everyone accepting and accomplishing his challenge.
Of those taking on the challenge, some were really speedy, finishing the book in a matter of weeks. Some procrastinators read the last 100 pages in the final two days. When the deadline passed, over 70 percent of those accepting the challenge had finished and were qualified to attend the pizza party. A total of 16,434 pages were read.
The youngest person to read the Book of Mormon during the challenge was nine-year-old Dean White. He finished it long before most of the older readers. A nonmember, David Pope, finished reading the Book of Mormon and was baptized soon after the pizza party. Brother Duncan’s children, too young to read themselves, had the Book of Mormon read to them during meals.
On the night of the party, the Book of Mormon scholars descended on the Duncan home armed with pepperoni, mozzarella, olives, and mushrooms. Soon 21 pizzas were made and eaten.

While serving as a missionary in Quito, the beautiful capital city of Equador, I met a young member of the Church who exemplified what it means to give of oneself completely in the work of converting our fellowmen. Her home was among the humblest in Quito—her heart, among the greatest.

I’ll never forget the first time I met her. She was very short, at most 1.5 meters tall, and her light brown hair hung to the base of her neck with a slight upward curl. But what set her apart from the rest of the girls her age was that she had no teeth. This wouldn’t have seemed so unusual if she had been quite elderly, but Mirian was barely 19.

“What happened to Mirian’s teeth?” I questioned my companion as we left her home a short while later.

“I’ve wondered about that, too,” he replied, “but no one has ever said anything about it.”

The mystery was forgotten for the time being as we were very busy with missionary work. But a week after our first visit, we returned again to Mirian’s home. Her father, Brother Sanchez, had died about a year earlier, and this had created many difficulties for his family. Sister Sanchez now had to work long hours for low wages as a washerwoman across the city. And consequently Mirian had been forced to stop going to school to take care of the family while her mother was at work. They also had had to move from their old neighborhood into this small one-room house. We couldn’t help feeling concerned about their well-being and promised to come periodically to see them.

On this particular day, Rosa, a non-Mormon friend of Mirian’s, also came and Mirian suggested we teach her a little bit about the gospel. We gave her a portion of a discussion, but it soon became apparent that she was not interested. Nevertheless, we asked her if we could come and share our message with the other members of her family, and she agreed.

The next day we went to the Sanchez home and asked Mirian to go with us to see Rosa’s family. To our surprise she didn’t want to go, offering a number of weak excuses for not being able to go. We could tell she was keeping something from us and asked her to tell us what was really wrong. She then proceeded to explain.

Rosa lived in the neighborhood where Mirian had lived before her father died, she told us. After his death, the people of the area began to spread rumors about Mirian’s mother.

“One night I had had enough so I went out to defend my mother and what I knew was right. Several of those in the neighborhood decided to give me a hard beating that I would never forget. They started to beat me, hitting me mostly in the face. This is how I lost all my teeth,” she said, pointing to her mouth.

After she had told us what happened, she seemed relieved and said she would go with us if we really wanted her to. We were impressed by her courage and agreed that she should come.

The evening of the discussion arrived, and my companion and I went up the pathway leading to the Sanchez home. Sister Sanchez met us at the doorway, disapproval showing in her face. “I do not want my daughter returning to that horrible place.” she told us emphatically. We didn’t know what to say, but Mirian did. We listened in silence as she bore testimony to her mother that she knew there was a special reason she must go with us. Reluctantly, Sister Sanchez consented, but only with our solemn promise that we would return immediately if there were any problems.

Unfortunately, it turned out that Rosa’s family was not interested in hearing about the Church. As we turned away, Mirian began to tell us about the other families in the neighborhood, including a man she had dated for a while, until she realized he was a very worldly person with some bad habits. The Spirit touched me, and I insisted that Mirian take us to see him. Even though she was extremely hesitant, she guided us down a path to the home where Luiz lived with his parents and son. Upon answering the door he seemed quite surprised to see us, but invited us in and listened intently to the message we gave him. After we completed the formal discussion, he told us of his recent desire to join the true church of God, but he did not know which one it was or how to find it. He had already been going through the preliminary steps of repentance but felt the need of something more. He declared to us that his heart was telling him we were indeed representatives of the Lord’s true church. He was baptized a week later.

With the continued help of Mirian, coupled with Luiz’s assistance, we baptized nearly 25 people in this neighborhood in a period of six weeks. I’ll always remember the time we decided to talk with those who had harassed Mirian so badly before. As if nothing had happened between them, Mirian helped teach these families, several of whom became converted to the gospel.

Because of her deep faith in the Lord and his powers to protect, Mirian had overcome her fear of her fellowmen and had helped to teach the gospel to those who had physically scarred her for life. Many of them now revere her name for forgiving them and bringing them the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Shannon, a young mother, did not expect that she would teach her children the power of prayer when they piled into their van to drive to their home just 40 minutes away. There was no storm when they left their grandmother’s home, but as they began to drive through the canyon, the light snow turned into a blizzard. The van began sliding on the surface of the road. Soon visibility was near zero. The two youngest children could sense the stress of the situation and began to cry. Shannon said to the older children, Heidi and Thomas, ages eight and six, “You need to pray. We need Heavenly Father’s help to get home safely. Pray that we will not get stuck and that we will not slide off the road.” Her hands shook as she steered the car, yet she could hear the whisper of little prayers repeatedly coming from the backseat: “Heavenly Father, please help us get home safely; please help us so we will not slide off the road.”

In time, the prayers calmed the two little ones, and they stopped their crying just as they learned that a road closure prevented them from driving any farther. Cautiously, they turned around and found a motel for the night. Once in the motel, they knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for their safety. That night a mother taught her children the power of holding true to prayer.

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.

“Aw, Mom, it’s just not fair!” Sarah heard Ben say as she neared the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks, a wave of guilt sweeping over her. She knew what he was referring to.
“I know it isn’t, Ben,” Mother replied in a soothing tone “but you’ve got to remember that it’s not Sarah’s fault. She knows she shouldn’t be afraid of dogs, but when that little dog bit her on the lip when she was just a toddler, he left more than just a scar on her face. The scar in her mind is a deeper one.”
“I’m not blaming her, Mom,” Ben sighed. “But you know how much I’ve wanted a dog.”
Sarah silently tiptoed away from the kitchen, not wanting her mother and brother to know she’d overheard. She trudged upstairs to her bedroom and flopped on the bed. Why do I have to be such a baby? she berated herself, unconsciously tracing the scar on her lip with her finger. Ben really wants a dog, but whenever I get near one I’m scared out of my mind!
Sighing, Sarah got up and mechanically prepared for bed. After calling goodnight to everyone and saying her prayers, she climbed under the covers. But she couldn’t go to sleep.
The sudden, far-off howling of a dog broke the stillness. Sarah sat upright in bed, shivers running up her spine. I must be imagining things, she thought disgustedly. The sound’s not coming from the direction of the Johnson’s farm, and they’re the only ones with a dog around here. She lay back down and tried to make her mind a blank. Again she heard the faint but piercing cry. Thinking of Ben, tears welled up in her eyes, and she said out loud to the blackness, “But I can’t help it!” Then, burying her head under her pillow, she fell into a fitful sleep.
The next day was a busy one, for there was a lot to do on their farm. The events of the night before were forgotten until lunchtime. As everyone trooped into the kitchen, Sarah lagged behind, exulting in the freshness of the air and the stillness of the countryside when the noise of the tractor was stilled. Suddenly she heard the unmistakable barking of a dog.
“Ben, Ben!” Sarah called, running after her brother. “Did you hear that dog barking?”
Ben frowned and glared at his sister. “That’s not funny, Sarah, and I’ll thank you not to joke about it.”
“I’m not joking, Ben! I heard it last night and again just now—a dog barking and howling, but it sounds like he’s far away. Don’t you hear it?”
They both stood still for a moment. Then Ben shook his head and said, “Sorry, Sarah, but I don’t hear anything—except my stomach growling! Let’s go in and eat. Your mind must be playing tricks on you.”
Sarah tried to forget what she’d heard until that night when she lay in bed again. However, she was so exhausted from the lack of sleep the night before that she soon fell asleep.
The next morning as she climbed into the truck to go to church, Sarah thought she heard the phantom dog again. Her dad declared it must be the Johnson’s dog, but Sarah had an uneasy feeling that he was wrong. When she heard the dog again late Sunday evening, she tiptoed into her brother’s room and shook his shoulder gently.
“What is it?” Ben asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
“Ben, you’ve got to listen. I keep hearing that dog and I’m not imagining it! I’m sure it isn’t the Johnson’s dog. Please, just listen for a minute.”
After a few moments of silence, the unmistakable yowl of a dog came drifting faintly on the night air. “You’re right, Sarah!” Ben whispered excitedly. “It’s a dog in trouble, all right, and it isn’t Shep. We’d better go see if we can find it.”
“Right now?” Sarah asked. “You know we could never find anything in the dark!”
“You’re right,” Ben admitted reluctantly. “Let’s get up early and start looking as soon as it’s light. We can split up so we can cover more ground before school.”
“But Ben,” Sarah’s voice quivered a little, “can’t I go with you? What’ll I do if I find him? You know that I …”
“If you find him, you can come and get me, OK? Don’t worry. Now go back to bed and get some sleep.”
The next morning as soon as the horizon began to glow, Ben and Sarah were up and out looking for the dog. After nearly an hour they still hadn’t found anything, so they decided to try again after school. As soon as they got home that afternoon, they each grabbed a couple of cookies and headed out the door.
“You may want to take your poncho, Sarah,” Ben said, glancing up at the sky. “It looks like it might storm.”
Sarah grabbed her poncho off the nail on the back porch and headed toward the cornfields. “Why don’t you try over by the south boundary of the farm, Sarah?” Ben suggested. “Dad covered a lot of ground plowing Saturday, but he didn’t make it down that far. I’ll go the other way.”
Sarah had been looking around for about twenty minutes when she heard the mournful wail again. I’m getting close, she thought apprehensively. “Where are you?” she called, hoping the dog would bark at the sound of her voice. It did. Feeling a few drops of rain, she pulled her poncho over her head and set off in the direction of the sound, calling again as she went. The dog responded each time she called, even though she could tell from its tone that it was getting weaker with each bark.
Coming to the edge of a large irrigation canal, Sarah stopped and sharply drew in her breath at what she saw. The dog was caught in the partly flattened end of a pipe—probably crushed by a tractor, Sarah surmised. He must have gotten stuck chasing a rabbit or something. I’ve got to go get Ben so he can help get him out. Sarah turned to go, but the dog’s pleading whimper brought her back again. Rain was beginning to pelt down harder now. She looked back into the ditch and realized that if the rainwater were to swell the water level of the canal, the dog would drown. The way this storm is increasing, by the time Ben gets here it willbe too late! Sarah thought.
For a minute she panicked. “I can’t! I just can’t go near him!” she cried. Then the words seemed to enter her mind, You’ve got to, or he’ll drown! She looked again at the stricken animal and took a few faltering steps. Oh, help me! She silently prayed, then plunged headlong down the bank.
She stopped a few feet from the dog and looked at him. When the dog saw her, he whined plaintively and stared at Sarah with the most incredible look of relief and joy that Sarah had ever seen. Why, that look is almost human, Sarah thought, surprised. Impulsively, she fell to her knees and stroked the dog’s head. “You poor thing!” she murmured.
She began to tug at the dog’s shoulders in an effort to free him. The water was already beginning to collect in the canal. I’ve got to work fast, she determined. The dog was too weak to help, but he licked her hand with his tongue as she tried to lubricate the end of the pipe with a little mud and water. Days of going without food had helped to make the animal a little thinner. Before long she had him free.
“You’re going to be OK,” she said over and over as she stroked his muddy fur. Then suddenly it hit her. Why, Sarah Blackhurst, you’re petting a dog! And you’re not scared at all! The thought took her breath away. The years of fear had been forgotten in the love and pity she felt for the suffering animal.
The dog was too weak to walk, so Sarah, already muddy and wet, bundled him up in her poncho and carried him out of the gully toward home. The dog never quit looking at her, even when Ben took him out of her arms at the door to the kitchen.
“Sarah! Where did you find him? I was beginning to worry about you!” Ben cried breathlessly. “I was about to …” Suddenly Ben stopped and turned, staring into Sarah’s eyes. “Why, Sarah, you’ve been holding a dog!”
“I know,” Sarah grinned sheepishly. “I know.”
Later that evening after the dog had been fed and given a warm bath, the family sat around the fireplace talking. The dog lay curled on a blanket in front of the hearth. “You know, Sarah, I don’t think that dog’s taken his eyes off you since you found him!” Father said.
“I’ve never seen such a look of love and devotion in my whole life,” Mother commented.
“From Sarah or the dog!” Ben said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Where do you think he came from, Dad?” Sarah asked. “Do you think we can keep him?”
“Well, I think we should advertise in the paper that we’ve found him,” Dad responded, “but I doubt anyone will come for him. He’s probably a stray, abandoned in the country by somebody who wanted to get rid of him.”
“I hope we can keep him,” Sarah murmured.
“I never thought I’d ever hear you say something like that!” Ben teased. Then after a minute he said, “Hey, I thought I was supposed to be the one who got a dog!” But he winked at Sarah as he said it.