Gospel Story Finder

Excitement thundered through Mariano Palermo’s veins as he and his teammate rowed past the 1,000-meter mark in first place. They were halfway to his dream of winning the 2003 Argentine national rowing championship in men’s pairs and a shot at participating in qualifiers for the 2004 Olympics in Athens, Greece.
They had settled into a great rhythm—their strong strokes catching the water in perfect harmony and propelling them ahead of the competition.
However, a few hundred meters later, Mariano’s excitement chilled when fatigue began to slow his teammate’s pace.
Mariano eyed the second-place boat not far behind. Would the lead they had built up be enough to get them to the finish line first?
Mariano’s twin sister, Lucía, had her own doubles race to concentrate on a little later that day, but she made sure she was there to watch her brother compete. She was thrilled when his team leaped out to such a quick lead. But her heart sank when she saw their pace drop off.
The Palermo twins have always been very close. Being the same age and involved in many of the same activities, they have always spent a lot of time together.
“Mutual, seminary, school,” Lucía lists. “Now that we’re older, it’s a little different, but we still train together.”
The twins, members of the Pacheco Ward, Buenos Aires Argentina Litoral Stake, are also united by other interests. They both enjoy working with their hands—Lucía doing handicrafts or sewing and Mariano working on cars.
“I love to cook,” Lucía adds.
“And I like to eat, so we’re a good team,” laughs Mariano. “I like to cook with her. I’m not very good at it, but it’s fun.”
While the two get along really well—“We can talk about anything,” says Lucía—Mariano says most people don’t realize they’re twins. The two don’t look alike.
“And we don’t know what the other is thinking,” Lucía says, joking about how twins are sometimes portrayed. “But we’re very affected by what happens to the other, whether in school or in competition. We are very united. It’s a beautiful thing.”
When Mariano felt his teammate’s pace slowing, he knew it didn’t matter how strong he felt. If Mariano pulled his oar harder or faster than his teammate did, the unbalanced effort would send the boat off course.
He matched his teammate’s pace and watched as the competitors started gaining on them.
As twins, Mariano and Lucía share many things. Among them is a fierce drive to train hard and give their best individual effort to reach their goals. But in team rowing, individual effort alone won’t get you across the finish line first. The twins have learned that if you aren’t in sync with your teammates, you won’t win.
“The effectiveness of the boat depends on unity,” Mariano says. “We’ve got to be thinking the same, whether it’s a team of two, four, or eight.”
“If we’re not working together—” begins Lucía.
“Precisely,” Mariano interjects.
“—the boat won’t work,” she finishes.
It’s a principle the two understand not only as rowers but as twins and as members of the Church.
“When the team is focused on the same objective, it’s much easier to obtain,” Mariano says. “It’s the same with our family. We have the same goal to be together forever. That helps a ton.”
The two understand that working together is essential not only in rowing but in reaching our ultimate goal to become like Jesus Christ and return to our Heavenly Father’s presence. The Lord said, “Be one; and if ye are not one ye are not mine” (D&C 38:27).
Once we’ve learned that life is not a singles competition but a team event, each of us faces a very important spiritual decision.
As the second-place team pulled alongside Mariano’s boat, it took real discipline for him not to give in to the temptation to row as hard as possible. The finish line was so close. But Mariano knew that rowing at his own pace could be disastrous. At best it would only slow them down; at worst it would send them off course and possibly out of the race.
This choice to follow someone else’s pace rather than our own in order to reach our goal is an important principle when applied to life on earth. We cannot return to our Heavenly Father’s presence on our own (see Romans 3:23).
Fortunately, the Savior was willing to put Himself in our boat through the Atonement (see Alma 7:11–12), providing the way to the finish line, where our Heavenly Father is.
But as in rowing, in order to win the prize we must be willing to give up anything that would keep us from rowing in harmony with the Lord. Atonement means to be reconciled or restored to harmony. Achieving harmony requires being willing to give up all our sins (see Alma 22:18), put off worldly desires, and do the Lord’s will (see Mosiah 3:19).
That’s not always easy, but the Savior knows the “race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1), and He knows exactly what we need in order to return to our Father’s presence.
If we choose not to follow Him, preferring to do things our own way, we are out of sync and in danger of slowing our progress or even putting ourselves out of the race.
In life as well as in athletics, some would rather set their own pace, believing that individuality is the way to true freedom. They choose to row through life alone, not realizing that with Jesus Christ, they could achieve so much more (see Mark 10:27).
In the rowing world, it is well-known that “a team working together can go much faster than an individual,” Lucía explains.
On the standard 2,000-meter course, a good time for a single male rower at his best pace is under seven minutes (the world record is 6:35.40). On a team of eight, however, that same rower, even though he may be matched with slower individual rowers, could go even faster. The world record for a team of eight is 5:19.85.
Just as it would be difficult for a single rower to beat a unified team, without the Savior, we cannot obtain our eternal goals.
Mariano and his teammate refused to give up. But shortly before the finish line, they were passed, leaving them in second place.
Lucía was at the boat ramp when Mariano pulled his boat out after the race. She had her own race coming up to think about, but when she saw his disappointed tears, she broke down herself.
“I knew how hard he had worked,” she says. “I couldn’t bear seeing him so disappointed. I had never seen him like that.”
Together, the twins sorrowed in Mariano’s disappointment. Finally, Lucía’s coach separated them, worried that she wouldn’t be able to focus on her own race. But when the time came, Lucía and her teammate won their pairs race and later the South American championships, earning the right to compete in the 2004 Olympics.
And just as they had shared sorrow in Mariano’s disappointment, they rejoiced together in Lucía’s success.
“I was so excited when she won the opportunity to compete in the Olympics,” Mariano says. “She earned it.”
At the Olympics, Lucía and her teammate ended up ranked 17th. Like Mariano’s results, her finish wasn’t exactly all she had dreamed about. Still, their goals remain high. In the short-term, they want to qualify for an Olympic medal. In the long run, they want to qualify for eternal life.
Both goals will require sacrifice and a willingness to work as one with someone else.
But while the world rewards only one winner (see 1 Corinthians 9:24), no matter how united each team is, the prize the Lord offers can be obtained by all who qualify. Nephi said that “many of us, if not all, may be saved in his kingdom” (2 Nephi 33:12; emphasis added), but we must first “be reconciled unto Christ” (2 Nephi 33:9) by sacrificing our worldly desires in order to follow Him.
The Palermo twins are united in the hope that their faith and sacrifices will be enough to win the one race that matters most of all.

I have been a member of the Church for five years. At first I was the only member in my family; my wife was very active in another faith. Now two of my children have been baptized, and my wife and a third child are receiving the missionary discussions. I firmly believe that these blessings have come about because I fasted and prayed and attended the temple. I exhort you to do the same and to have patience. Your desire may be granted when you least expect it.
José Marcos García,Newark (Spanish) Ward, Scotch Plains New Jersey Stake

Where’s José Luis?
That’s what I wanted to know. I’d heard so much about the energetic 18-year-old, and I only had a few minutes to interview him on that hot Sunday in Seville, Spain.
“I think he’s in Sunday School with one of our investigators,” said a tall, North American missionary as he hurried his way through the crowd in the halls of the Nervion meetinghouse.
“He’s always with our investigators,” said the missionary’s shorter companion, trotting to keep up. “That guy is one sharp mission leader. He keeps all the full-time missionaries on the ball. He just goes crazy over missionary work.”
Before I could ask which class José Luis might be in, the missionaries had disappeared into the colorful throng. The church was packed, and everyone seemed excited to be there.
Across the foyer I spotted Marcos Camacho. Marcos is José Luis’s home teaching companion. “Marcos, where’s José Luis?” I called.
“He might be preparing our home teaching lesson,” Marcos told me as he threaded his way through the large group of people between us. “He’s very good about it. We always get our home teaching done, and the people we visit really like him. Oh look—here comes his mother. Maybe she knows where he is. Ask her,” he said as he ran off to teach the Young Men.
His mother? What was she doing here? I’d heard she was against his church activity and had prohibited him from coming to the chapel. Now here was this lady, all smiles, soft curls, and a perky pink dress, coming toward me.
“Hi there,” I said as she approached me. “I’m looking for your son, but I’m really happy to see you. I’d heard you were not excited about your son’s coming to church. It looks like your attitude has changed?”
“Of course,” she told me, kissing me on both cheeks, which is the Spanish custom. “You know, the first time I came to this church, I came to tell them that they couldn’t baptize José Luis. I wasn’t about to let them make a Mormon of him. But once I got here and talked to the people,” she said, waving a hand at all the smiling, laughing people milling about us, “I thought maybe it wasn’t so bad that he come after all.”
“And now you’re coming as well?” I asked. “How did that happen?”
“One night, very late, about one in the morning, my friend came running to me. Her son was very sick. José Luis and I went to help, but he called the elders to come and give a blessing first. I was very impressed that two young boys would get up at that hour to help us. So later, when José Luis introduced me to the missionaries, I was willing to listen to them. I was baptized three months after he was.”
“But it wasn’t quite that easy, Mom,” said José Luis, popping up behind her, seemingly out of nowhere and putting his arm around her shoulder.
So finally I got to meet this legendary guy. He’s taller than his mother, medium height, with thick, straight dark hair and a perpetual smile. You can tell he’s from southern Spain, Andalucia, by his accent and his vocabulary. Even though he’s famous here for being a gospel dynamo, there is absolutely nothing intimidating about him. He’s about as humble as you can get.
“I started coming to church when I was 16,” he explained. “I met the missionaries on the street. I thought they were lawyers or executives by the way they were dressed. Then I realized they were foreigners. I was curious about them, so I started hanging around them, asking questions.
“In my first discussion, they told me about the Book of Mormon and about Joseph Smith, and I thought, What a great experience to have. I believed it all.”
“Mom didn’t like that and didn’t want me to come to church at first, but she finally said it was all right. Still, when I asked her if I could get baptized, she said no way. So I continued going to church for about seven months, not being a member.”
“What finally changed her mind?” I asked.
“Well, I fasted and prayed, of course, and my birthday was coming up, so I told her that the best gift she could give me would be permission to be baptized. I guess I bugged her so much about it, she finally said to go ahead. You know the rest of the story.”
“But the story isn’t finished yet,” I said. “How would you write the rest?”
The foyer had cleared out by this time. Most of the people had gone into their classes. I was alone with José Luis and his mother, who was gazing at her son with admiration.
“I’ll go on a mission for sure, just as soon as I’m 19; then I’ll have to serve in the mili.” Every healthy Spanish male, when he turns 19, serves an obligatory nine months of military service. “After that, I’d like to study to be a teacher.”
“You already are,” I replied, thinking how much his enthusiasm, his faith, his warmth, his friendliness, had already taught me—how much it could teach New Era readers—how much it had taught his mother, the missionaries, and other members of the ward.
“I know that Christ lives and that Heavenly Father always listens to us and loves us,” José Luis said, simply and sincerely. “I want everyone else to know that too. Will you excuse me for just a minute? I’m supposed to be helping a friend with a lesson,” he said, and he was off.
So for all of about five minutes, I could have answered the question, “Where’s José Luis?” But if you asked me right now, I could probably make an educated guess.
“Where’s José Luis?”
He’s out doing what he can to build the kingdom. And that’s a great place to be.

You may feel that upward pull. I did one afternoon when I came to understand, as I hadn’t before, how much I need the Atonement, what I could do to make it work in my life, and what evidence I could have that it was working.
It was the hour of a devotional at BYU–Idaho. I wasn’t the speaker; I was sitting there, just behind and to the right of the speaker. I’ve still got the book that I held that day. It still has the words in the margins that I wrote then.
In my memory, the room that afternoon was almost as light as the sunshine and as warm. The speaker was Elder A. Theodore Tuttle. I suppose there was a spotlight on his face. Stages always seem light when you’re on them. But the brightness was in more than what I saw. It was inside me that day. I think it happened because I walked into that room with the yearning President McKay says will come to everyone. And for me that day it was irresistible; I was in the right place with the right preparation.
I will give you the few scriptures that have made the most difference—all the difference for me—in knowing how to reach for that something better you and I sometimes feel drawing us up.
The first is not in the margin but is from the 19th section of the Doctrine and Covenants. On the bottom, in capital letters, is written: REPENTANCE. And then an arrow leads to a notation that reads: “Greek word. To have a new mind.” I heard it that day with new meaning.
“Therefore I command you to repent—repent, lest I smite you by the rod of my mouth, and by my wrath, and by my anger, and your sufferings be sore—how sore you know not, how exquisite you know not, yea, how hard to bear you know not.
“For behold, I, God, have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent;
“But if they would not repent they must suffer even as I” (vv. 15–17).
As he read those words that day, I felt the overwhelming suffering of the Savior. And then two things dawned on me. First, if I could not repent to qualify for His Atonement for my sins, I must suffer to the limit of my power to suffer. And, second, with all the requisite suffering of my own, with all I could bear, it would still not be enough. I would still be forever shut out of the only place where there will be the warmth of family, the family of my Heavenly Father whom I have loved and whom I miss, and that of my family here. Somehow I had gotten the idea that the choice was between repenting or not. And then I realized that whatever pain repentance might bring in this life, it was certainly no more than the pain I would face if I did not repent here, and yet that later pain could not lift me home. It could not bring the mercy I needed.
A determination flowed into me both to stay as far as I could from sin and to gain a confidence that my sins were being remitted. In that moment, the penalty for taking chances with sin or with forgiveness loomed larger than I had ever imagined it could. I wanted with all my heart to know both that the Atonement was curing the effects of sin in me and that I was being strengthened against future sin. I wanted confidence whereas before I had been content with hope.
First, I have never forgotten the voice of Elder Tuttle after he read this description of suffering for sin from section 19 of the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink” (v. 18).
It was about there where I wrote these words: “Teach the people repentance hurts.” I bear you my testimony that you must never believe the lie that there is no pain from sin. You can be forgiven. The Atonement is real. True faith in the Atonement of Jesus Christ, rather than leading you to try a little sin, will lead you to stay as far away from it as you can.

One woman tells the story of a tragedy she experienced when five of her close family members from another state were killed in a fiery automobile accident. She herself was struggling to absorb the news, trying to pack for her own little family to leave the following day for the funeral. A good friend and neighbor arrived at her door with the announcement that he had come to clean their shoes. She had not even thought about shoes.

He knelt on their kitchen floor with a pan of soapy water, a sponge, shoe polish, and a brush and soon had everyday shoes and Sunday shoes gleaming and spotless. He quietly slipped away when he finished, leaving the shoes ready to pack; even the soles were washed.

The mother says, “Now whenever I hear of an acquaintance who has lost a loved one, I no longer call with the vague offer, ‘If there’s anything I can do …’ Now I try to think of one specific task that suits that person’s need—such as washing the family car, taking the dog to the boarding kennel, or house-sitting during the funeral. And if the person says to me, ‘How did you know I needed that done?’ I reply, ‘It’s because a man once cleaned my shoes.’” (Madge Harrah, “I’ve Come to Clean Your Shoes,” Reader’s Digest, Dec. 1983, pp. 21–24.)

“I was playing with it first,” four-year-old Romero yelled as he grabbed a toy out of his little sister’s hand. Lolita started to run to their mother, so Romero angrily handed the toy back to her. The branch president and his counselors had come to visit, and Romero knew his parents would not like to be disturbed while they were talking with them.
Romero lived in the Philippines with his mother, father, and little sister, Lolita. Their home was a nipa hut his father had built from palm leaves and bamboo. The missionaries taught the gospel to his parents when Romero was just a baby. They knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was true, and they were baptized. They talked about the gospel at home and read the Book of Mormon together. They were a happy family.
At first, Romero’s family went to church every week. They didn’t have a car and the church was too far away to walk, so they rode in a small bus called a jeepney. But as the weeks went by, they began to forget to save extra money for the jeepney ride, so they couldn’t go to church. Some weeks they just didn’t get ready in time. After a while, they stopped going to church. They didn’t talk about the gospel in their home any more, and they didn’t read the Book of Mormon together.
Now the branch president was talking to Romero’s mother and father about the gospel. Romero heard his mother and father promising to attend church the next Sunday. But Romero was still more interested in getting the toy away from Lolita than in listening to the adults.
However, when he heard one of the visitors say “Book of Mormon,” Romero stopped playing and listened to what they were saying. He went over to a shelf and took out the Book of Mormon. He thought about some of the wonderful stories his parents had read to him from it. Romero had a good feeling as he held the Book of Mormon and remembered these things. He felt reverent. Now he didn’t want to take the toy away from Lolita. Instead, he wanted her to be happy. He wanted to sit quietly and listen to the branch president. As he listened, Romero knew he would like to go to church and to read the scriptures with his family again.

As a freshman in college, I was often disappointed with my classmates. That’s because many of them would cheat during exams. Some would sneak their notes into class. Some would text test answers to others. A few would even copy off the exams of their classmates.
Those who cheated always got higher scores than I did. Nevertheless, I was not tempted to join them. I always put into my mind and heart that it’s better to have an honest 0 percent than a stolen 100 percent.
If I cheated, I wouldn’t be setting an example for them. I wouldn’t be living in a way that I could share the gospel of Jesus Christ with them. I wouldn’t be showing them that the Church is true.
One afternoon I went to the college cashier office to ask about my remaining tuition balance. I had to pay all my fees before I could take final exams the following week. As I was walking, I worried about where I would get the money I needed. For a self-supporting student like me, finances were tight.
When I reached the office, I asked the cashier how much I still owed.
“You pay no more until you graduate,” she said.
Shocked, I asked her if she was sure or if she was pulling a prank.
“Yes, I’m sure, and I’m serious,” she said. “The guidance counselor processed an application for you to get a scholarship from a senator. You are now a scholar.”
Hearing those words made me very happy. I thanked her and ran to the guidance counselor’s office to thank the person responsible.
“You don’t have to thank me,” the counselor said after I told her how thankful and happy I was. “I was only an instrument.”
As I left, I remembered the scripture I always love to share: “And blessed is he that is found faithful unto my name at the last day, for he shall be lifted up to dwell in the kingdom prepared for him from the foundation of the world. And behold it is I [Jesus Christ] that hath spoken it” (Ether 4:19).
By doing right, I had shown my faithfulness in keeping the commandments of our Heavenly Father—even in a situation where dishonesty was common. I know that by standing firm in my faith, He will never leave me.
I am happy that I can now study with no payments to worry about. I’m also encouraged to continue doing what’s right, not because of the rewards and blessings I could receive but because I love Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, who set an example for me.

In the exercise of agency and in the divine providence of God, Lucy’s sons Joseph and Hyrum ultimately sealed their testimonies with their blood. As the grieving mother looked upon their lifeless remains, she cried, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken this family!” As a kind blessing to a faithful mother, the Lord softened her grief and granted to her the peace that only God can bestow. A voice spoke to her soul: “I have taken them to myself, that they might have rest” (Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith, p. 324).

Recently I had an experience that made me reflect on that understanding again. My companion and I had been working nonstop the entire day. We had just finished teaching a new investigator and started making our way back home. Along the way, a group of kids came over to talk to us. They gathered around my companion as he began doing some tricks for them while I stood back and watched. Then I noticed a young boy not watching but staring at me. He walked up to me and looked at my name tag. He took his pointer finger and dragged it along each word. He mumbled until he got to one part: “Jesus Christ!” His jaw dropped and he slowly looked up at me.
I can’t describe how I felt at that moment. I looked into the eyes of this young boy and thought to myself, “Was I representing Jesus Christ well?” I felt I had been. How grateful I am that I could stand there and say I had been doing my best to show others the light of Christ.
This experience has stuck with me throughout my mission, and every day I try my hardest to remember who I represent. I know that as members of the Church, we must strive in our everyday lives to represent Jesus Christ. I think King Benjamin said it best in Mosiah 5:8: “There is no other name given whereby salvation cometh; therefore, I would that ye should take upon you the name of Christ.”

I recently learned a valuable lesson about seeing deeply from a young woman named Rozlyn.
The story was shared with me by my friend who was devastated when her husband of 20 years moved out. With her children splitting time between parents, the prospect of attending church alone seemed daunting. She recounts:
“In a church where the family is of paramount importance, sitting solo can be painful. That first Sunday I walked in praying no one would speak to me. I was barely holding it together, and tears were on the brink. I sat in my typical spot, hoping no one would notice how empty the bench seemed.
“A young woman in our ward turned and looked at me. I pretended to smile. She smiled back. I could see the concern in her face. I silently pleaded that she wouldn’t come to talk to me—I had nothing positive to say and knew I would cry. I looked back down at my lap and avoided eye contact.
“During the next hour, I noticed her looking back at me occasionally. As soon as the meeting ended, she made a beeline for me. ‘Hi, Rozlyn,’ I whispered. She wrapped me in her arms and said, ‘Sister Smith, I can tell today is a bad day for you. I’m so sorry. I love you.’ As predicted, the tears came as she hugged me again. But as I walked away, I thought to myself, ‘Maybe I can do this after all.’
“That sweet 16-year-old young woman, less than half my age, found me every Sunday for the rest of that year to give me a hug and ask, ‘How are you?’ It made such a difference in how I felt about coming to church. The truth is I started to rely on those hugs. Someone noticed me. Someone knew I was there. Someone cared.”
As with all gifts the Father so willingly offers, seeing deeply requires us to ask Him—and then act. Ask to see others as He does—as His true sons and daughters with infinite and divine potential. Then act by loving, serving, and affirming their worth and potential as prompted. As this becomes the pattern of our lives, we will find ourselves becoming “true followers of … Jesus Christ.” Others will be able to trust our hearts with theirs. And in this pattern we will also discover our own true identity and purpose.
My friend recalled another experience while sitting in that same empty pew, alone, wondering if 20 years of effort to live the gospel in her home was all for naught. She needed more than calming reassurance; she needed vision. She felt a question pierce her heart: “Why did you do those things? Did you do them for the reward, the praise of others, or the desired outcome?” She hesitated for a moment, searched her heart, and was then able to answer confidently, “I did them because I love the Savior. And I love His gospel.” The Lord opened her eyes to help her see. This simple but powerful change of vision helped her continue to press on with faith in Christ, despite her circumstances.

My mom took my sister and me to the hospital, to a class where we learned about how to help take care of our new baby brother when he is born. In the corner were a lot of balloons that were going to be given to us at the end of the class. I saw a cute mouse balloon that I really wanted, so when it was time to get balloons, I hurried fast so that I could choose that one. And I got it! I was very happy.
Then I saw a little girl who was crying. I thought that maybe she was sad because she didn’t get the balloon she wanted. I asked her if she wanted my balloon. She said she didn’t. (I think maybe she was too shy to take it.) My mom saw what I had done and told me that she was proud of me. I felt good inside because I went to see if the girl wanted my balloon. I know that Heavenly Father saw me, too. I am trying hard each day to be kind and to do things that Jesus would do.

Sue didn’t start out as a leader. She learned by trial and error. Growing up, Sue was just part of the crowd until the crowd started going a direction she did not care to follow. Her upbringing in the Church gave her a perspective different than that of her friends.

“In my second year of high school, my friends started doing awful things that would make me cry for them. I just wanted to shake them and ask, ‘What are you doing?’ but I couldn’t. It was frustrating. I started saying to myself, ‘Hey, Sue, you don’t need to do those things.’ “

That’s when she decided to make her own choices and possibly lead her friends in the right direction as well. Her bishop, Allen Dance of the Snoqualmie Valley Ward, noticed her ability to be a positive influence on her friends. “Sue has always sought the good. She has strengthened the weak in our ward and in the school. She goes out of her way to be friends to people who need a friend. As a result of her example, others have been blessed.”

Luis also shares an experience that shows how service and missionary work are combined in the minds of Chilean youth: “I was working with my brother on the construction of our chapel when a young man came by and stopped and watched us. Finally he approached and asked us why we weren’t out somewhere having a good time. He pointed out that it was a beautiful summer day and we could have gone to the beach or just rested somewhere in the shade. We told him that our spirits were very joyous to have this opportunity to work for the Lord and that we would have been ashamed to think that our brothers and sisters were having to do our work for us. We explained that this was a chapel for the Lord, a house of worship, and that we were eager to see it completed. That young man is now an active member of the Church.”

Brother Snederfler recalls another unforgettable moment: On 20 May 1991, the phone rang. The caller was President Thomas S. Monson, then Second Counselor in the First Presidency. “He said: ‘Jirí, you have been called as the president of the Freiberg temple. You will begin this office on 1 September of this year. What do you say?’ At first I was not able to say anything at all because of my astonishment. President Monson inquired, ‘Are you there, Jirí?’ I told President Monson, ‘I accept humbly this calling.’”

In the temple, the Snederflers opened prison doors to generations of deceased persons who had never had an opportunity to hear the gospel. And they also opened temple doors to patrons who—having had no religious freedom—had languished in spiritual darkness on earth. They welcomed members of the Church from such former Communist nations as Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Croatia, Poland, Hungary, the Czech and Slovak Republics, and the DDR.

“It is so, so good to be in the temple,” Sister Snederfl er says simply. After four years of faithful service there, the Snederflers have returned home to Prague to continue family history research so that more of their own ancestors may enjoy temple blessings.

One day while serving in the Chile Santiago East Mission, my companion, Elder Patricio Álvarez, and I received permission from our mission president to visit Elder Álvarez’s ailing grandfather in a local hospital.
When we located his grandfather’s room, we found two ancient men engulfed in extensive tubing and wiring. Two of Elder Álvarez’s aunts were there comforting his grandfather. Elder Álvarez quickly joined them.
I hung back, not wanting to intrude on this family moment. As I stood apart from the little group, I noticed the other patient in the room. He seemed unaware of anything around him. He stared through sunken eyes at the ceiling—his mouth gaping. His appearance startled me.
Suddenly a thought pierced my mind: Go comfort him!
No, I thought, he is too far gone for me to do any good. Besides, what would I say? He is a complete stranger.
But the thought came again: Go comfort him!
This time I thought of what Jesus Christ would do and realized I couldn’t do any harm by at least saying hello.
As I approached the man’s bed, it was difficult to walk; my feet didn’t want to move. I noticed a small yellow card that read “José.” I wondered, Where are this man’s friends and family? He is not just a name on a wall.
Then I realized he was looking at me. His eyes were full of pain. I tried to smile, but smiling didn’t seem right. I stood at the foot of his bed while I found enough courage to move to his bedside. Once there, I reached over, put my hand on his, and said, “Hi, José.” Giant tears rolled down his cheeks. Tears rolled down my cheeks as well. Our eyes locked; everything else faded away. Then he closed his eyes tightly and began to sob.
There we were—an old man and a young boy. I hummed Church hymns. He cried again several times, but each time he gave me a nod, letting me know he would be all right.
Thirty minutes passed quickly. My companion and I needed to leave. I didn’t know how to say good-bye to José. How could I possibly sum up what I had felt and thought? I bent over and whispered in his ear, “Jesucristo está contigo” (Jesus Christ is with you). He gave me one last nod, and we parted ways, never to see each other again in this world.
Someday I hope I have the chance to really get to know José.

Video:
President Oaks: “When my father died, my mother moved her three children … to live with our grandparents because she suffered a very serious mental breakdown and was unable to care for herself. Or, first of all, unable to continue a master’s degree program she had begun at that time. And she had to have medical assistance for almost two years to function. Now, that’s a pretty serious form of mental instability. And I grew up with that because my mother had a miraculous recovery from her nervous breakdown and became a person of extraordinary mental capacity, having a professional life in which she helped organize academic programs to care for people that had a mental instability and in which she was a leading professional in her life. And some people have greater gifts of mental stability than others. Some may struggle all their life. Some may have a serious episode and get over it, like my mother did. But what are some ways to promote mental stability?”
Carol: “I’ve experienced a lot of anxiety throughout my life. And so I feel like this has been a question that I’ve had on my mind a lot and I’ve struggled with a lot too. But these last few weeks in seminary, we’ve really been focusing on learning about the Atonement. And as I learned about Jesus Christ, and that he suffered every single thing I’ve felt, I felt so much comfort, knowing that any mental instability I may feel, for whatever reason, he’s felt that too. And I was able to find great comfort in that and just knowing that I’m not alone.”
President Oaks: “That’s a wonderful description of a part of the Atonement that many people overlook. He didn’t just suffer for our sins. He suffered for our pains, our inadequacies, including our depressions and anxieties. He’s felt it all.”
President Dallin H. Oaks, Facebook, Aug. 6, 2023, facebook.com/dallin.h.oaks.

For reasons known only to himself, my husband left our marriage with little or no explanation to his family and friends. Perhaps in an attempt to make sense of his decisions, many of my in-laws made assumptions without asking me any questions. They came to some incorrect conclusions. Usually I heard their comments indirectly, which was frustrating because I had no opportunity to respond with the truth. These comments hurt me, and I often felt my integrity was in question. I wondered if these people I had been so close to had ever really known me.
Two years after my divorce, I was told that one of my former spouse’s relatives had made a comment implying I was unforgiving. The remark began to fester inside me. I wanted to clear my name; I wanted to tell that man just how wrong he was. As I counseled with my bishop on the matter, I realized that what was important was that Heavenly Father and I both knew the truth about my relationship with my former husband and my contribution to the marriage. I suddenly felt at peace. I knew I could talk to this man about his comment if I chose to, but I no longer felt it mattered much. Because of the Atonement I could let the hurt feelings go. I did not need to suffer because of this man’s—or anyone’s—opinion of me.

I was raised in the home of a patriarch; my father was called to be a patriarch when he was 33. The first blessings he gave were to us boys. I was eight years old. There were three of us, and if you would take those three blessings today—I did it the other day—and lay them down side by side, and you knew us boys, and you couldn’t see the names on the blessings, you would not have any difficulty whatever in fitting the blessings to each of us.
My father told me at the age of eight years that I did not come here upon the earth by chance, but in fulfillment of the decrees of the Almighty. He then proceeded to tell me something of the work I had to do in the establishment of God’s kingdom. This blessing has been an inspiration to me ever since, and my constant prayer to the Lord has been that I might live worthily so that any event of His providence concerning me would never have to pass by because I had been unworthy to do the work He had for me to do.

Raking leaves wasn’t as easy as Shannon had thought it would be. And it wasn’t as much fun as it looked. The rake was taller than she was and was hard to hold.
“Do you want me to help you?” her mother asked.
“No, thank you,” said Shannon. “I want to do it by myself to surprise Dad.”
The autumn air was crisp like the crunchy leaves crackling under her feet. But the sun shone brightly, and, feeling hot from the exercise, she took off her sweater.
“Would you like a glass of lemonade?” Mom asked.
This time Shannon said yes.
“Dad will be pleased with your surprise.”
“I know.” Shannon finished her drink and hurried back outside. She wanted to be done before Dad got home.
She raked and raked and raked. Finally there was only a giant pile of colored leaves in the middle of the yard. She could hardly wait to show her surprise to Dad.
Mom called to her from the kitchen window. “Guess whom I hear pulling up.”
Shannon ran around the house and down the sidewalk to greet her father. A sudden gust of wind almost swept her off her feet, but Dad caught her and gave her a bear squeeze. “I’d better hang on to you,” he said, laughing. “I don’t want my favorite daughter to blow away.”
“Come to the backyard, Dad,” she said, pulling him along. “I have a surprise for you.”
Just before they got there, Shannon said, “Now close your eyes and don’t open them until I say so.” She led him the rest of the way, going slowly so that he wouldn’t trip. “My pile of leaves!” she wailed. “It’s gone everywhere!”
Dad opened his eyes. “Don’t feel bad, honey,” he said after she’d choked out what had happened. “It was a wonderful surprise.”
“How could it be wonderful when it’s not even there anymore?”
“Well, a pile of leaves isn’t really the surprise—it’s knowing that a special little girl worked very hard to do something nice for her dad. The wind can’t blow that away, no matter how hard it tries.”
Shannon brightened up. “Really?”
“Really,” Dad said and kissed her forehead. “I bet the two of us could rake up these leaves again in no time if we did it together.”
Shannon smiled. “I’ll get the rake.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t win. Mom and I are both so proud of you for trying,” Dad said. He sat down next to Raina. “Do you remember when I was out of work a couple of years ago?”
Raina nodded.
“I applied for lots of jobs and wasn’t hired for any of them,” Dad said. “I was feeling pretty discouraged.”
Raina lifted her head. “Really?”
Dad nodded. “But I didn’t give up. After a long time, I found a job that was perfect. But it wouldn’t have happened if I had stopped trying.”