Gospel Story Finder

The bell rang, and I darted out of the classroom.
“Hey! Andrew! Andrew Hinton, stop right there!”
I was weaving in and out of the crowded hall like an all-star halfback. Normally I wasn’t this talented, but when Helen chased me, it was as if I gained extra speed.
“Andrew Hinton—just wait until I get my hands on you!”
When I turned to see if the towering figure was still chasing me, I tripped over Tommy, who had stooped to pick up a book. “Oof!” I went crashing over the top of him. “Are you OK, Tommy?” I asked.
“Yeah, how about you?”
“I’m all right as long as Helen doesn’t catch me.”
Tommy shivered, and his eyes got wide. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story. I have to go.” I turned to run. “Ahhh!” I was staring at Helen’s throat. She glared down at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh, hi, Helen,” I said with a weak grin.
She squinted her eyes as she loomed over me like a storm cloud about to erupt. “Why did you groan and say, ‘Oh, no—not Helen the Giant!’ when Mrs. Haynes assigned us to be partners in the science project?” she demanded, still squinting.
“I didn’t say that, Helen,” I said, even though it wasn’t the truth.
“Yes, you did.” Her stare was like a hot laser beam.
“OK, maybe I said it, but I really didn’t mean it.” I smiled sheepishly.
“Yes you did.”
“Well … but I meant it in a nice way. …”
She shook her head. Her fists were now clenched at her side. “I guess there’s only one thing left to do then,” she said, pushing up her sleeves.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and braced myself for the worst.
To my amazement, she said, “I’ll go tell Mrs. Haynes that you want a different partner.”
It took a second for me to understand what had happened. When I opened my eyes, she was already trudging away. Why didn’t she slug me? I wondered. Then I surprised myself by running after her. “Hey, Helen! Wait up!”
She turned around, her face puffy and red from trying not to cry.
“Why didn’t you hit me or something?” I asked.
“Hit you? Why would I do that? I’ve never hit anyone.”
I scratched my head. “But what about all those stories about you hurting people?”
“Huh?”
“You know, like the one about your scratching up Billy Snead’s face?”
She laughed and shook her head. “He was riding by me on his bike and calling me names. When he finally turned to look where he was going, it was too late—he crashed into a rosebush. I tried to help him, but he ran off screaming.”
“Yeah, that sounds like something Billy would do,” I laughed. “But why don’t you just ignore people when they joke about you and tease you?”
“I try, but it still hurts my feelings. I can’t help it that I’m this tall.”
“I guess you can’t. I never really thought about it that way.”
“Tommy Clark can’t help it because he’s short,” she added, “yet people pick on him too. And what about Tara Phelps? I’m sure she’d rather talk without stuttering.”
I nodded.
“And you can’t help it if your ears are too big,” she said.
“Well, yeah, I mean that’s—Hey! Wait a minute!”
“It doesn’t feel very good, does it?” Helen asked with a half smile.
“No, it doesn’t,” I admitted. I was beginning to understand. Just because someone looks, talks, or acts differently doesn’t mean that they should be avoided or be made fun of. I hesitated. “Uh, Helen, if you’re still interested, I was wondering if you’d like to stay as my science partner. I mean, if you don’t mind having a partner with big ears. …”
“Sure, why not? Maybe you’ll hear something from down there that I can’t see from up here.” She grinned.
I grinned back.

President Nelson: When my grandfather A. C. Nelson was a young husband and father, just 27 years old, his father died. About three months later, his deceased father, my great-grandfather, came to visit him. The date of that visit was the night of April 6, 1891. Grandfather Nelson was so impressed by his father’s visit that he wrote the experience in his journal for his family and friends.
“I was in bed when Father entered the room,” Grandfather Nelson wrote. “He came and sat on the side of the bed. He said, ‘Well, my son, as I had a few spare minutes, I received permission to come and see you for a few minutes. I am feeling well, my son, and have had very much to do since I died.’”
When Grandfather Nelson asked him what he had been doing, his father answered that he had been busy teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ in the spirit world.
“You cannot imagine, my son, how many spirits there are in the spirit world who have not yet received the gospel,” he said. “But many are receiving it, and a great work is being accomplished. Many are anxiously looking forth to their friends who are still living to administer for them in the temples.”
Grandfather Nelson told his father, “We intend to go to the temple and get sealed to you, Father, as soon as we can.”
My great-grandfather responded: “That, my son, is partly what I came to see you about. We will yet make a family and live throughout eternity.”
Then Grandfather Nelson asked, “Father, is the gospel as taught by this Church true?”
His father pointed to a picture of the First Presidency hanging on the wall of the bedroom.
“My son, just as sure as you see that picture, just as sure is the gospel true. The gospel of Jesus Christ has within it the power of saving every man and woman who will obey it, and in no other way can they ever obtain salvation in the kingdom of God. My son, always cling to the gospel. Be humble, be prayerful, be submissive to the priesthood, be true, be faithful to the covenants you have made with God. Never do anything that would displease God. Oh, what a blessing is the gospel. My son, be a good boy.”
A. C. Nelson, grandfather of President Russell M. Nelson.
Illustrations by Bjorn Thorkelson
Sister Nelson: I just love all those B’s. “Be humble, be prayerful, be submissive to the priesthood, be true, be faithful to the covenants you have made with God. … Be a good boy.” Six B’s brought to you by your departed great-grandfather. He certainly sounds a lot like President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) with his six B’s.1
President Nelson: He does, doesn’t he? It’s so precious to me that my grandfather would leave that record for us. We learned that his father’s children were subsequently sealed to him. So the reason for his visit was accomplished.
President Nelson: A name of great significance in the scriptures explains why the family is so important. That name is Elijah. EL-I-JAH in Hebrew literally means “Jehovah is my God.”2 Think of it! Embedded in Elijah’s name are the Hebrew terms for both the Father and the Son.
Sister Nelson: Elijah was the last prophet to hold the sealing power of the Melchizedek Priesthood before the time of Jesus Christ. Elijah’s mission was to turn the hearts of the children to the fathers, and the hearts of the fathers to the children, so they could be sealed, or else “the whole earth would be utterly wasted at his coming” (Joseph Smith—History 1:39; emphasis added). That’s pretty strong language.
President Nelson: I like to think about the spirit of Elijah as “a manifestation of the Holy Ghost bearing witness of the divine nature of the family.”3 According to the Bible Dictionary, “The power of Elijah is the sealing power of the priesthood by which things bound or loosed on earth are bound or loosed in heaven” (“Elijah”).
Sister Nelson: So when we say that the spirit of Elijah is moving upon people to encourage them to seek after their kindred dead, we’re really saying that the Holy Ghost is prompting us to do those things that will allow families to be sealed eternally.
President Nelson: It’s wonderful to turn the hearts of the children to their fathers by telling important family history stories in ways that are accessible and memorable. Perhaps having family history documents, stories, photos, and memorabilia always before our eyes can strengthen our testimonies (see Mosiah 1:5). As we place them on our walls, our tables, our computers, our iPads, and even our cell phones, maybe we will be prompted to make better choices and draw closer to the Lord and to our families.
If we leave it at that level, however, we really haven’t done enough. As Church members, our interest in family history work has been motivated by instruction from the Lord that our ancestors cannot be made perfect without us and that we cannot be made perfect without them (see D&C 128:15). That means we are to be linked together by the sacred sealing ordinances of the temple. We are to be strong links in the chain from our ancestors to our posterity. If our collections of stories and photos should ever become an end point in themselves—if we know who our ancestors are and know marvelous things about them, but we leave them stranded on the other side without their ordinances—such diversion will not be of any help to our ancestors who remain confined in spirit prison.
Sister Nelson: Preserving ancestral stories is important, but it should never be at the expense of completing our ancestors’ ordinance work. We need to make time for our ancestors’ ordinance-qualifying information.
President Nelson: And that means sacrificing time we normally spend on other activities. We need to be spending more time in the temple and in doing family history research, which includes indexing.
Sister Nelson: Sacrifice does indeed bring forth the blessings of heaven.4 I have been blessed to find many ancestors who I feel confident were ready to make covenants with God and to receive their essential ordinances. Over time, I realized that if I was working on an overwhelming project and I was out of time, energy, and ideas, if I would make a sacrifice of time by finding the ordinance-qualifying information for some ancestors or by going to the temple to be proxy for them, the heavens opened and the energy and ideas started flowing. Somehow I had enough time to meet my deadline. It was totally impossible, but it would happen every time. Temple and family history work bring me a joy that is truly not of this world.
President Nelson: If I were a missionary today, my two best friends in the ward or branch where I served would be the ward mission leader and the ward temple and family history consultant.
People have an inborn desire to know something about their ancestors. That becomes a natural opportunity for our missionaries. As missionaries learn to love the people they teach, they will naturally ask about their families. “Are your parents living? Are your grandparents living? Do you know your four grandparents?” Conversations flow easily when those who are drawn to speak with the missionaries are invited to talk about the people they love.
At that point it can be natural for the missionaries, including member missionaries, to ask, “Do you know any of your great-grandparents? Do you know their names?” The probability is that investigators will not know the names of all eight of their great-grandparents.
Then the missionaries can make this suggestion: “I have a friend at our church who can help. If we could find the names of some or maybe even all of your great-grandparents, would it be worth a couple of hours of your time to find out who your great-grandparents are?” That friend at church, of course, is the ward temple and family history consultant.
Sister Nelson: I think it can be comforting for missionaries to know that they are never alone when they are finding and teaching those who are receptive to the truths of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. President George Q. Cannon (1827–1901), who served as a counselor to four Presidents of the Church, taught that in these latter days, those who are joining the Church are joining precisely because their ancestors have been praying for one of their posterity to join the Church so that they, the ancestors, can receive their essential ordinances by proxy.5
President Nelson: Exaltation is a family affair. Only through the saving ordinances of the gospel of Jesus Christ can families be exalted. The ultimate end for which we strive is that we become happy as a family—endowed, sealed, and prepared for eternal life in the presence of God.
Sister Nelson: Each Church class we attend, each time we serve, each covenant we make with God, each priesthood ordinance we receive, everything we do in the Church leads us to the holy temple, the house of the Lord. There is so much power available for a couple and for their children through the sealing ordinance when they keep their covenants.
President Nelson: Every day we choose where we want to live eternally by how we think, feel, speak, and act. Our Heavenly Father has declared that His work and His glory is to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of His children (see Moses 1:39). But He wants us to choose to return to Him. He will not force us in any way. The precision with which we keep our covenants shows Him just how much we want to return to live with Him. Each day brings us closer to or farther from our glorious possibility of eternal life. We each need to keep our covenants, repent daily, and seek to be more like our Savior. Then and only then can families be together forever.
Sister Nelson: It is my testimony that however fabulous your life is right now, or however discouraging and heartbreaking it may be, your involvement in temple and family history work will make it better. What do you need in your life right now? More love? More joy? More self-mastery? More peace? More meaningful moments? More of a feeling that you’re making a difference? More fun? More answers to your soul-searching questions? More heart-to-heart connections with others? More understanding of what you are reading in the scriptures? More ability to love and to forgive? More ability to pray with power? More inspiration and creative ideas for your work and other projects? More time for what really matters?
I entreat you to make a sacrifice of time to the Lord by increasing the time you spend doing temple and family history work, and then watch what happens. It is my testimony that when we show the Lord we are serious about helping our ancestors, the heavens will open and we will receive all that we need.
President Nelson: We can be inspired all day long about temple and family history experiences others have had. But we must do something to actually experience the joy ourselves. I would like to extend a challenge to each one of us so that the wonderful feeling of this work can continue and even increase. I invite you to prayerfully consider what kind of sacrifice—preferably a sacrifice of time—you can make in order to do more temple and family history work this year.
We are engaged in the work of Almighty God. He lives. Jesus is the Christ. This is His Church. We are His covenant children. He can count on us.

All of us must speak and act in the name of God in moments when our unaided judgment will not be enough without inspiration. Those moments can come upon us when there is not time to make preparation. That has happened to me often. It did many years ago in a hospital when a father told me and my companion that the doctors had told him that his critically injured three-year-old daughter would die within minutes. As I placed my hands on the one spot on her head not covered with bandages, I had to know, as God’s servant, what He would do and say.

The words came to my mind and my lips that she would live. The doctor standing by me snorted in disgust and asked me to get out of the way. I walked out of that hospital room with a feeling of peace and love. The little girl lived and walked down the aisle into a sacrament meeting on my last day in that city. I still remember the joy and satisfaction I felt from what I had said and done in the Lord’s service for that little girl and her family.

The difference in my feelings at the hospital and the sadness I felt as I walked away from that door as a deacon came from what I had learned about the connection of prayer to priesthood power. As a deacon, I had not yet learned that the power to speak and act in God’s name requires revelation and that to have it when we need it requires praying and working in faith for the companionship of the Holy Ghost.

On a quiet morning last week I left my office in Sao Paulo, Brazil, and walked over to the Sao Paulo Temple site. There was a soft morning mist beginning to clear away. As I walked up the gentle rise in the street onto the site, I noted with great interest and pleasure brush being cleared away and the new pegs recently driven into the ground. These pegs in the ground mark the dimensions of a new temple soon to be erected for the glory of God and the endless blessing of his children in South America. This temple will be different from any other building now standing in South America.
As I stood where the entrance of the temple will be, I recalled how thirty-six years ago my companions and I landed by ship in Santos after twenty-one days at sea and went by train to Sao Paulo. There were other missionaries on the same vessel going to Argentina and Uruguay, which were the two other relatively new missions on the continent.
In all of South America there was but a mere handful of members of the Church, mostly emigrants from Europe, many of whom were converted in Europe. As I stood last week on this site where this new, special, multimillion-dollar building will stand, I recalled how difficult and unpromising the future of the Church appeared in South America thirty-six years ago. In all of our mission we had only three baptisms in one year, despite the conscientious labors of over seventy missionaries. We did not have the Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, or the Book of Mormon translated into Portuguese. We held our meetings in rooms that were small and unfit for the lofty message we were trying to teach. We often had to sweep out these rooms before meeting to remove the empty bottles and trash from the revelry of the night before. It was always difficult and often discouraging.
In comparison, last year in South America there were over 8,000 convert baptisms. There are now twenty-two stakes and seventeen missions of the Church with over 152,000 members on that vast continent; and the work has only begun. Our great first generation of South American Regional Representatives and stake and mission presidents are men of affairs, including bankers, businessmen, factory owners, and professional men. They are men of great ability and faith.
I marveled at how through the Spirit of God this has all come about. Surely it is a fulfillment of what Jesus said to his early apostles: “And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt. 16:19.) Having seen it all from close range, I cannot doubt that this is the work of God.
Last week at the temple site, after much brooding and pondering, I stepped farther back to where the inner rooms of the temple will be. The morning mist had now cleared so that in the distance I could see part of the great city of Sao Paulo. I recalled how as a young missionary I presided over the work in that city, with thirteen missionaries and about 300 members. There are now four stakes of the Church and about 100 missionaries laboring in that city. There are also neighboring stakes in Campinas and Santos.
This great progress in South America has come about largely through the sacrifice and dedication of hundreds of missionaries and their families, as well as dedicated mission presidents from the United States and Canada. This is changing. In the Brazil Porto Alegre Mission there are now 136 missionaries of which fifty-eight, or 43 percent, are native-born Brazilians. All of the four mission presidents in Argentina are native South Americans. How can anyone who has seen what I have deny that this is the work of God.

After World War II on a cold night in a train station in southern Japan, I heard a tap on the train window. There stood a boy wearing the same ragged shirt, a rag tied about a swollen jaw, his head covered with scabies. He held a rusty tin can and a spoon, the symbol of an orphan beggar. As I struggled to open the door to give him money, the train pulled out. I will never forget that hungry little boy standing in the cold, holding up his empty tin can.
Now in my 78th year, I understand what President Kimball was seeing; I know what he meant. That boy in Cuzco and the one in Japan and the other children about the world profoundly influence what I think and how I feel and what I pray for most earnestly. I constantly think of little children and their parents who struggle to raise them in ever more perilous times.

It had been five months, and I still couldn’t forgive myself. Ever since slipping up and doing something I was ashamed of, I felt like I was on a downward spiral. My shame kept building anytime I did something else I thought was wrong. I couldn’t feel at peace.
I had prayed for forgiveness and had even felt that God had forgiven me. But I just couldn’t forgive myself. How could I when I had sinned? I kept beating myself up over and over again, preventing myself from moving on.
While I was feeling this way, I went to a summer youth conference where we focused a lot of our studies on the Savior’s Atonement. One day I came across a passage in the Book of Enos that said: “Enos, thy sins are forgiven thee, and thou shalt be blessed.
“And I, Enos, knew that God could not lie; wherefore, my guilt was swept away” (Enos 1:5–6).
That was powerful for me. I realized that, like me, Enos had done something wrong and needed forgiveness. He even described his struggle to seek forgiveness as a wrestle before God (see Enos 1:2). But eventually, after praying through the day and night, Enos felt peace. And when he asked, “Lord, how is it done?” the Lord replied, “Because of thy faith in Christ” (Enos 1:7, 8).
That was it! Enos had faith in Jesus Christ. If Enos could let the Savior erase his guilt, why couldn’t I let Him bring that same peace into my life? From that point on, every time I felt that I couldn’t forgive myself, I thought of Jesus Christ’s love and forgiveness. I prayed for the ability to let go of my bad feelings and to stop feeling so ashamed. It took some time, but after many prayers, I stopped feeling so terrible all the time. I finally felt peace.
This experience taught me a lot about Christ’s grace. After I sinned, I felt godly sorrow, prayed, repented, and felt a confirmation that God had forgiven me. Yet I still kept punishing myself. I eventually realized that I didn’t need to keep making myself suffer for committing that sin, because Jesus Christ already paid for it through His Atonement. It must have been hard and painful for Him, but He was still willing to suffer so that I don’t have to.
I’ve since learned to rely on Jesus Christ and let His peace fill my life by strengthening my relationship with Him and my Heavenly Father. I try to pray and read the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon, every day. I try to participate in uplifting activities and good media.
I still make mistakes, but I know if I repent and keep doing my best, Jesus Christ will bless me with His grace. When I rely on Him and on Heavenly Father, guilt and shame does end. I now know the peace that comes from having faith in Jesus Christ, and I am stronger because of it.

Understanding the Atonement. Sister Bayelita Carmen Ituza Casa of Perú, attending the Perú MTC: “In our class, we had an assignment to sketch an outline explaining the Atonement. But I had never clearly understood the Atonement, so I couldn’t do it—and I wasn’t the only one. When our outlines were due, our teachers helped us. I could tell we were more important than the assignment. We studied D&C 19:16–19, and I was able to understand the great love Jesus Christ has for us.”

Around then, the COVID-19 pandemic forced New Zealand into a lockdown, and all Church gatherings were suspended. “No one knew how long we would be required to shelter in place,” says Adele, “but the temple groundbreaking ceremony had to go on.” She needed to come up with an alternative for a live choir.
Adele researched the possibility of a virtual choir. “I put the idea to some professionals and was told that this kind of project would cost thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours.” It was disappointing news, which normally would have discouraged Adele, but this time was different. This time, “it wasn’t just anyone we were preparing for,” she said, “It was the Lord.” She persevered and reached out to a young filmmaker and musician in her stake: Brother Anthony Butters.
“What I loved about Anthony is that it didn’t occur to him that [something] couldn’t or shouldn’t be done.” Even though Anthony himself was not sure how to make a virtual choir happen, the challenge “piqued his interest,” Adele says. “He was willing to give it a go.”
They immediately got to work.
They knew that choir practices would be impossible during the lockdown, so they recorded the instrumentals and each vocal part of Adele’s musical arrangement for singers to learn at home. Then they put out a general call seeking members for their virtual choir.
Next, they had to somehow make sure—without the luxury of rehearsals—that all the singers learned their parts correctly. They also had to figure out how to record each singer’s vocal contribution, how to edit dozens of vocal recordings together so they sounded like one choir, and how to produce a performance video that could be broadcast on the day of the temple groundbreaking ceremony.
For Adele and Anthony, it was very much a matter of being “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which [they] should do”1. But they pored over Google and YouTube tutorials, and courageously worked through all the obstacles that arose along the way.
The experience was difficult for the choir, too. To leave enough time for editing, the singers had only three weeks to learn the music, and then each had to make both an audio and a video recording. The challenge proved too much for some. Singing on your own is quite different from singing in a choir, and after hearing themselves recorded alone, Adele says, “I had a few messages asking if they could humbly bow out because they felt their voices weren’t good enough.” Other singers were okay with the vocal recording, but not so happy to be filmed, and several more were not comfortable at all using the technology required.
Those who persevered managed to send their audio recordings to Adele, whose next job was to begin editing them together. This required a quiet space in her house, so she had to convert a walk-in closet into a makeshift recording studio. Then, her computer and software broke down. In the middle of a nationwide lockdown, Adele couldn’t just go out and purchase new equipment.
“I became overwhelmed with the feeling that I wouldn’t be able to get my part of the job done on time,” Adele says. “I asked my husband for a priesthood blessing.”
A couple of hours later, she received an unexpected phone call from a friend in Hawaii. Adele told her friend about the difficulties she was having with the virtual choir, and he said, “I can help you.”
“I went silent, hoping I heard properly,” Adele says, “because I thought for sure he was too busy to do what would be a very tedious and time-consuming job. But he actually got excited about the challenge.”
This friend—Milton Kaka—called back the next day to announce that his boss at the Polynesian Cultural Centre, which was also in lockdown, was allowing him two weeks to work on this special project with Adele. Filled with gratitude, Adele sent a thank you message to Milton’s boss, who replied that this was the Polynesian Cultural Centre’s contribution “for our M?ori cuzzies.”
Milton joined forces with Adele and Anthony, and the audio and video recordings were finally stitched together—in enough time, even, to fix one final glitch: a singer’s footage that was missing.
Once that was sorted, the virtual choir performance video was ready to release for the temple groundbreaking celebration.

A few months after I started seventh grade, one boy began teasing me and picking on me. He was so mean. It got to the point where I just wished a plague would hit him so he’d be wiped off the earth.
About three months later, he came up to me and asked for forgiveness. I said no and walked away. I didn’t trust him. I felt that even if I said yes, I’d be lying.
Then one of my teachers moved my seat, and I ended up sitting by him in that class! In band, the director moved me next to this boy’s section. Since he was first chair, I sat next to him in band too.
I was so upset. I could not understand why Heavenly Father was doing this to me. I wondered what Heavenly Father was trying to teach me. What did I need to learn?
One Sunday I attended a bishop’s youth fireside. It was on forgiveness and trusting others. One of the scriptures shared was Doctrine and Covenants 64:10: “I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.”
I immediately realized what Heavenly Father wanted to teach me, and I knew what I had to do. I had to let go of my pride and forgive, as well as ask for forgiveness for being stubborn and prideful.
Forgiving, as well as asking for forgiveness, is hard. It can be extremely hard when it’s forgiving someone you’re not sure you can trust or someone who has been mean to you. However, forgiving, no matter how hard, is important.
I felt a lot better after I forgave. It was like a burden being lifted off my shoulders, like making a new friend and losing an enemy.

I caught hold of the gospel and hung on tight. I worked furiously to catch up in knowledge with my friends who had been raised in the Church. Many of my Mormon peers thought I was terribly self-righteous. I suppose it may have seemed that way to them, but I tried to be perfect because I was convinced that I could never escape my sins. I thought that by knowing all of the answers in church and receiving awards in seminary I could somehow make up for all the mistakes I had made. I remember thinking at the time that I could never be free from my haunting past. I accepted that fact and resolved to be perfect in order to compensate.
One of the hardest steps of repentance (at least for me) was to forgive myself. For four long years I struggled. To everyone around me I seemed spiritual and well-versed in the scriptures. Others told me how far I had come and how well I was doing, but only I knew the black that lined my heart. I had forsaken my past sins, and I was sure that God was pleased with my new life. But I felt that he was holding my past over my head, waiting for me to fall again.
Finally, in despair and confusion, I asked for a blessing. Words cannot express the peace that entered my heart as I received this personal revelation: I would receive the reassurance of the Holy Ghost and know that I was in good standing with Heavenly Father.
How could that be? My mind didn’t understand it, but my heart accepted it. So I believed it.

Years ago I visited Nauvoo, Illinois, with my family. There the early Saints had come seeking refuge. Many had lost their homes and their farms, and some had lost their loved ones to the growing persecution. In Nauvoo they gathered and built a new and beautiful city. But the persecution was relentless, and by 1846 they were once again forced to leave their homes—this time in the middle of winter. They lined up their wagons on Parley Street, awaiting their turn to cross the frozen waters of the Mississippi River into an unknown future.
As we stood on Parley Street reflecting upon their desperate conditions, my eyes were drawn to a series of wooden signs nailed to fence posts upon which were etched quotes from the diaries of these suffering Saints. As we read each quote, to our amazement what we found in their words was not desperation and discouragement but confidence and commitment and even joy. They were filled with hope, the hope that is reflected by this quote from the diary of Sarah DeArmon Rich, February 1846: “To start out on such a journey in the winter … would seem like walking into the jaws of death but we had faith … [and] we felt to rejoice that the day of our deliverance had come.”
These early Saints were indeed homeless, but they were not hopeless. Their hearts were broken, but their spirits were strong. They had learned a profound and important lesson. They had learned that hope, with its attendant blessings of peace and joy, does not depend upon circumstance. They had discovered that the true source of hope is faith—faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and in His infinite Atonement, the one sure foundation upon which to build our lives.

Two weeks after my 16th birthday my family moved to North Africa. This was not my idea of fun, and I suspected my parents of plotting the entire thing just to make me miserable. The driving age in Morocco is 18, so I wouldn’t be getting a driver’s license, and the school I would be attending had no newspaper or track team—the two things I enjoyed doing. Worst of all, in my junior class at the international school, there were 11 girls and only 3 boys. It was going to be a long year.
At home I had a big group of friends. We went to church and acted like we were doing what was right. But on the weekends we went to parties together, and we sometimes did things I knew weren’t right. I felt torn apart, wanting to keep myself clean, but also wanting to prove that I could do what I wanted. That feeling hadn’t gone away when we moved.
After we’d been in Morocco about a week, I started to make a few friends. My new friend Amy wasn’t a member of the Church, but she was different. She didn’t just pretend to do what was right; she did it. She didn’t seem to have anything to prove. Angie and Lisa, on the other hand, didn’t even try to hide the wrong things that they did. There is no legal drinking age in Morocco, and they took advantage of it. They were having a party at Lisa’s house that weekend, and I was invited.
After my first day of class at my new school, I met the cutest guy I’ve ever seen.
“Are you Rebecca?” he asked as he walked toward me. My heart was beating loud and fast, but I managed to say yes.
“I’m Tony. I hear you’re a Mormon.”
I nodded, wondering what this was all about.
“Are you a real Mormon?” he asked, “or do you just go to church because your parents make you?”
I fumbled with my backpack and said, “I don’t know.”
“Well, when you figure it out, let me know,” he said. Then he left.
I didn’t go to the party at Lisa’s house that weekend. My mom said she needed help unpacking, so I stayed home opening boxes and hanging up clothes.
After I had worked for a while, I stopped my chores and told my mom that I needed a break. I went outside to think.
I walked outside the wall around our house where there was a dusty dirt road that shepherds walked down every morning and evening, taking their sheep and goats to pasture. I soon came to a field where garbage had been burned. A tangerine peel lay in the road, and I angrily kicked it into the grass. Why do I have to be here? I wondered. Why does anything ever have to change? Why does life have to be so hard?
I thought about Tony and his question. What did he want me to say? Am I a real Mormon? Who do I want to be? Would he ever think about dating me if I said I was a real Mormon?
As I turned the corner to go back home, I saw something that made me stop. Across the street, in the middle of an empty field, stood a beautiful little tree. It was not much taller than I was, and its leaves and branches were thin and delicate.
I looked at that tree for a long time. I thought about the parties I had gone to in the States and the things I had done. I thought about the choices I needed to make and about who I wanted to be. I thought about standing alone, sort of like that tree.
It was two weeks before I talked to Tony again. He found me serving refreshments in the school gym on parents’ night. Because parents were invited, wine was being served along with soda and punch.
“So, Rebecca, I brought you a drink,” Tony said. “A toast to a new school year.” He held out a plastic cup half filled with wine.
My heart started pounding again.
“No thanks, Tony. How about a doughnut?”
“No thanks? I bring you a drink, and you don’t want it? Why? Are you afraid your parents will find out?”
“No.”
“Are you afraid you won’t be a real Mormon? Don’t worry, no one in your church will find out.”
I looked down at the table and then up at Tony. “I am a real Mormon. This doesn’t have anything to do with my parents. I just don’t want to.”
Tony looked disgusted. “Well, that’s too bad,” he said. “We could have had fun together.” He dropped the cup into the trash can and walked off. I watched him go and then leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh.
I didn’t have many dates that year, although Tony let me know that if I changed my mind he’d be happy to take me out. But I had a great year anyway. Amy and I got to know some of our Moroccan neighbors, and although we didn’t speak French or Arabic very well, we had a good time laughing together. I went to the prom that year with my brother (he turned out to be a great dancer).
It’s not easy feeling left out, but I felt so good about my decision to be a “real Mormon.” I felt more happy and peaceful than I had in a long time.
I was learning to stand alone.

Since I lived in a small Arizona town with a predominantly Latter-day Saint population, missionaries and Church members often approached me about the Church. They frequently invited my children and me to attend church, read the scriptures, or both. I had no interest in accepting their invitations but politely thanked them for their interest in my family.
As I got to know the woman I would later marry, she told me she was a Latter-day Saint. I admired her spirituality and agreed to attend church with her after we married. True to my word, I started attending regularly and even enjoyed the atmosphere and camaraderie. But even though I studied the scriptures, attended church, and prayed alone and with my family, I still doubted God’s existence. No matter how hard I tried, I felt as though I couldn’t shake my agnostic roots. Because I felt no closer to God than when I had started, I declined all invitations to be baptized.
After I had attended church for six years, my father, who had been in the U.S. Army, passed away suddenly. My family and I wanted to have taps played at the grave site, and since I am a professional musician, I was asked to perform the song. I had performed at hundreds of grave site ceremonies, but because this was my father’s service, I knew it would be different for me. I also knew from my mother’s funeral that my heightened sense of emotion would affect my ability to play. I was determined not to let my emotions interfere with the music as they had during her service.
Minutes before the ceremony started, I nervously tried to warm up. Just a few practice notes had escaped my lips when I realized I was repeating my previous failure. Tears formed and I started to cry. My sobs impeded my breathing. How would I be able to perform?
I wasn’t concerned with accolades for myself, but I did want to honor my father. As I started to play, I found I couldn’t take a complete breath. It was uncharacteristic of me to ask for help, but at this point, I didn’t know what else to do. The first note that came out was weak. Inwardly I pleaded with my Heavenly Father: “Please.” As I played the second note, my lungs filled with air, and the sound rang out of my horn with a startling, beautiful tone. Throughout the rest of the piece, I played well beyond my ability. When I finished the last note, I was suddenly out of breath and choking for air through my tears.
As a musician, I am aware of my strengths and weaknesses. Simply put, I couldn’t have played that well even under the best of circumstances. It was obvious to me that Heavenly Father had answered my plea and blessed me with the strength and ability to honor my earthly father. I was given a special witness that Heavenly Father answers us in a manner that we can understand. His answer in my time of need helped me realize that He had always been eager to communicate with me.
After several months I cleared my agnostic hurdle and joined the Church. Although it was a leap of faith to be baptized, I knew that Heavenly Father would bless me. My experience while playing taps taught me that He will answer my prayers according to my needs and understanding.

The covenant path led Enoch to accept a call to serve as a missionary in England, and his testimony, as well as his piano playing skills, became tools in the service of the Lord. In addition to teaching the gospel, Enoch frequently found himself being invited to play the piano in church meetings in the various areas where he served. He continued to hone both his musical skills and his knowledge of the gospel while serving.

He was thriving in his service when he received word that his beloved father had passed away. He was heartbroken and struggled with his loss, but now secure in his understanding of, faith in, and trust in God’s plan, he was able to bear his grief and loss. He credits his ability to finish his mission to the strength he developed, and to the relationship he established, with his Savior after struggling with his faith in those earlier years.

Kent Madrian is carefully maneuvering his six-foot-six-inch body and an old Kirby vacuum cleaner over grandma’s best rug. Grandma is keeping a watchful eye on her furniture.
Bump. Kent runs into the easy chair and starts to go around it.
“You’ve got to move the chair,” Grandma says. “To get underneath.”
“I know, Grandma.”
After a few more turns around the floor Kent hits the switch and the machine’s rumble dies. “What do you want for dinner, Grandma?” Kent asks.
In case you haven’t noticed, there is something unusual about this scene—grandparents usually take care of grandchildren, not the other way around. But in this house, things have changed for a while. For four months Kent has been living with his grandparents, helping them out when they couldn’t take care of themselves.
Then in January Kent’s grandma hurt her arm and wasn’t able to do normal tasks around her house. Grandpa had been confined to a wheelchair and was also unable to help.
Though preparing to leave on a mission to Italy in April, Kent moved in. “My grandparents had always been there for me, so I saw it as an opportunity to pay a small part back,” he says.
Kent moved in with the idea he would be cleaning, cooking, shopping—and he did all those things. But ask him about peeling potatoes or making breakfast and he’ll change the subject. He’d rather tell you what Grandma and Grandpa taught him.
“Grandma got me ready for my mission in a lot of ways,” he says. “She taught me how to iron and cook, but more importantly she helped me spiritually. I had a lot of time to read in the scriptures and I talked to her about what I was reading.
“Grandma taught me a lot of the gospel is learning to think about the other guy,” says Kent. “And that’s how you find yourself, by serving others.”
So, he says he came away a better person by just being around Ruby and Delos. Then again, he was a pretty decent guy to start. Let Grandma Ruby give you an example. “At first, Kent slept in a sleeping bag at the foot of Grandpa’s bed. Kent wanted to be there if Delos needed to get up in the night. After a few nights I made Kent sleep in another room because his back was hurting.”
Or Ruby will tell you how Delos enjoyed watching baseball games on television. Delos and Ruby couldn’t afford cable service so Kent dipped into his college savings to pay for a sports channel so Delos could watch Cincinnati Reds’ games.
But as close as the three got in those months, Kent faced the same challenges most young people do in relating to older people. When asked if he had to listen to the same story more than once, Kent flashed a gee-whiz grin and nodded. “I’d hear the same story like six times over. I’d just be nice and listen.”
That, however, was a small price to pay. Kent now believes he knows his grandparents.
“I have always loved them,” says Kent, “but I guess I never really understood them. I think I do now. They are just like all of us. They have the same needs. The only difference is they have a lifetime of experiences to tell you about. If you get to know them, they can be some of the best friends you have.”
Kent has now left on his mission, but the memories he has of those last months with his grandparents cannot be erased. “It was hard leaving when you know you’re needed,” he says. “But I’m needed in Italy too. They understand that.”

That same spirit drew others to the Book of Mormon as it was being printed. Thomas Marsh, a former printer’s apprentice, had tried to find his place in other churches, but none of them seemed to preach the gospel he found in the Bible. He believed that a new church would soon arise that would teach restored truth.
That summer, Thomas felt led by the Spirit to travel hundreds of miles from his home in Boston to western New York. He stayed in the area three months before turning toward home, uncertain why he had traveled so far. At a stop along the way back, however, his host asked if he had heard about Joseph Smith’s “golden book.” Thomas told the woman he had not and felt compelled to learn more.
She told him he should talk to Martin Harris and directed him to Palmyra. Thomas went there immediately and found Martin at Grandin’s printshop. The printer gave him 16 pages of the Book of Mormon, and Thomas took them back to Boston, eager to share the first taste of this new faith with his wife, Elizabeth.
Elizabeth read the pages, and she too believed they were the work of God.10

The New Era always seems to arrive at the time I need it most. I’d been through a particularly tough test one day, and when I arrived back at the house, there were three issues waiting to be read. You can’t imagine the happiness I felt. I immediately sat down and read all of them. It was like water to a thirsty soul. Being 8,000 miles from home, I enjoy the New Era more than ever. It is my “mission magazine.”
Elder William R. NelsonColombia Cali Mission

It was soon to be Christmas. My twin brother and I had reached the age when we knew the “truth” about Christmas—there really was no Santa Claus. Whatever gifts there might be would be bought from my parents’ own small income. Our family’s humble circumstances had always provided little help for Santa Claus. Max and I had decided between us that we would ease Mother’s concern about it and so confided in her our knowledge. She merely replied, “Well, is that so?”
Christmas Eve came. Our family decorated the tree, made candy and popcorn balls, and placed our homemade presents beneath the tree. Dad sent us boys to bed, indicating that we were to stay there until he called us in the morning. Still laughing and giggling from the fun and excitement, Max and I followed our older brother, Lynn, to bed. With some effort on our part and some added encouragement from our father, we finally quieted down. Sleep came at last.
It seemed I hadn’t been asleep long when Max awakened me with the news that it was 7:15 A.M.—time to hurry to the living room. Our excitement and noisy efforts awakened our father. As we reached the kitchen door we heard his somewhat irritated voice saying it was only 2:45 A.M. (we had read the clock backwards) and we were to get right back into bed and wait as we had been told earlier!
We turned back toward the bedroom. It was then that we saw it! Even in the very dim light it was beautiful! We sat down in the dark and described to each other a most unexpected surprise—a Hiawatha Streamer bicycle! The fact that there was just one bicycle, that there was snow on the ground outside and no place to ride, or that we couldn’t read which of the children the gift was for somehow didn’t matter.
It seemed that we sat there for hours, counting each tick of the clock and anxiously awaiting the call of our father. Finally we heard Dad’s heavy footsteps as he walked from the bedroom. He hardly needed to beckon us to come.
There it was—“TO THE TWINS FROM SANTA”—the most beautiful bicycle we had ever seen. It was cream-colored, decorated with a bright red stripe and shiny chrome fenders, and completely outfitted with headlight, tool compartment, fender rack, reflector, and spring seat. We could hardly believe it was ours! Soon my brothers and I were clearing a pathway in the snow (shoveling the driveway had never seemed so easy) and were riding the sleek new Streamer. We ignored our cold hands and toes. What a wonderful time we had!
In my excitement and almost total preoccupation with our wonderful Christmas gift, I had failed to notice that there were few other gifts beneath the tree for other members of the family. Christmas stockings contained an orange in the toe, a few nuts, and some hard candy. Hand-wrapped pieces of honey candy and homemade fudge completed Santa’s treat.
That evening as we went to bed, Max and I talked about the day’s event—the bicycle. We planned how we would use the bike. We would get a paper route. We would have transportation to work during the summer, and we would be able to ride to school during the winter. It could be put to so many uses! Then our wonderment returned. Where had the bicycle come from? We knew Mom and Dad couldn’t afford to buy it. We were also aware of the wartime shortages. Who had made this prized gift possible?
It wasn’t until several years later that we learned the beautiful, heartwarming truth. The sacrifice and concern of a loving mother, brother, and sister had made possible that unforgettable Christmas. Our brother had worked extra hours at a creamery after school. Our sister had done housework for a neighbor. Our mother had saved money from her early morning work at the cannery during the harvest months. They had worked extra hours and had sacrificed their time, their earnings, and their own Christmas gifts to provide a special Christmas for the young twins. The happiness of that Christmas was surpassed only by the discovery of their secret and their love and sacrifice for us. Here was the true spirit of Christmas—an older brother and sister lending unselfish support to parents, desiring to give anonymously that which they’d never had themselves, seeking no credit or praise for their act, expecting no reciprocation. This example of the love of children for parents and brothers I shall always cherish and value as a priceless gift.
The bicycle is gone, long ago worn out by two energetic boys. Its shininess faded through constant use and enjoyment. The years, however, have only increased the glow of true Christlike love between family members. This act of love, and others like it, created ties that have brought our family members to the aid and support of one another many times and under every circumstance.

“How many more boards do you think we need?” Jordan* asked as he and Derek huffed and puffed up the driveway to Ben’s backyard.
“Oh, maybe one more load,” Derek said. “My dad says we can use all the scrap wood we need from the pile in our backyard.”
The boys were hauling wood in Derek’s wagon for the treehouse they were building in Ben’s oak tree. When it was finished, it would be their clubhouse.
During the summer, the boys had formed a club. The treehouse would make their club extra special.
Jordan and Derek dumped their load on the pile of boards. Jordan called up to the tree, “How’s it coming?”
“Pretty good,” Brandon answered. “The floor is a little crooked, but we’ve nailed it in tight. We’ll start on the walls next. Send up a couple of really straight boards.”
All week long they worked on the treehouse, and even when it got really hot outside, they didn’t mind. Ben’s mom sent out frozen treats, and the four boys sat in the tree, eating the treats and talking about how fun their treehouse would be when it was finished.
Finally the treehouse was ready. It was getting close to dinnertime, so they all climbed on their bikes to go home. Derek yelled over his shoulder, “Remember, Jordan, ten o’clock tomorrow—our first meeting in the treehouse!”
“I’ll be there!” Jordan hollered back.
The next morning, Jordan wolfed down his scrambled eggs and toast, then hurried through his chores. “May I go now, Mom? We’re having our first club meeting in the treehouse.”
“Sure, Jordan. Just be back at noon.”
Jordan hopped on his bike and headed to Ben’s house. He could tell by the bikes in the driveway that his friends were already there. As Jordan climbed the wooden planks nailed to the tree trunk, Derek popped his head out of the treehouse door.
“Stop right there, Jordan,” he said. “You have to give the password first.”
“Huh? We’ve never had a password.”
“Well, we do now. It’s—”
As Derek said the password, Jordan got a sick feeling in his stomach. “But that’s a bad word,” he thought. Aloud, he said, “Derek, what are you talking about? I’m not going to say that.”
“Then you can’t be in our club!”
“Come on, Derek, I don’t feel good about saying that, and I really want to try out the treehouse today.”
Jordan heard laughs and snickers coming from inside. It was Brandon and Ben.
“Jordan’s chicken!”
“Come on, Jordan—we all said it.”
Jordan was quiet for a minute. Then he squared his shoulders and said, “I guess I can’t be in the club, then. I won’t say that.” He climbed down the steps, got on his bike, and slowly rode home.
When he came in the back door, Mom said, “Hi, buddy. You’re home early.”
“I guess I didn’t feel much like playing today.” His lip quivered just a bit.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
Jordan hesitated, then blurted out, “The treehouse is finished, but the others say unless I say the password, I can’t be in the club.”
“Well, what’s the password?” Mom asked.
“I can’t tell you. It’s not a nice word.”
“I see.”
Mom walked over to the refrigerator, poured him a glass of chocolate milk, and sat down at the table. She was quiet for a minute, and then said, “Jordan, do you know the story of Abinadi and King Noah?”
“Yes, Sister Nielsen told us that one in Primary.”
“Well, when Abinadi was brought before King Noah and tried to teach the king and his priests about Jesus Christ, Abinadi told them to repent. Do you remember what King Noah thought about that?”
“Didn’t he tell Abinadi that if he didn’t take it all back and deny Jesus Christ, they would kill him?”
“That’s right. And what did Abinadi do?”
“He wouldn’t say it, because he knew it was wrong.”
“Well, isn’t that like what you did today?”
Jordan was puzzled. “I don’t get it, Mom. What does that have to do with my club?”
“Well, Abinadi wouldn’t say something he knew was wrong. He stood up for what was right, and so did you.”
“I guess you’re right, Mom.” He took another gulp of chocolate milk. “But even though being kicked out of the club isn’t anywhere near as bad as getting burned to death, choosing the right can be hard sometimes.”
Mom smiled. “That’s true. But don’t you feel better for making the right choice?”
“Yes, I do. You’re right, Mom. Thanks.”
Just then the doorbell rang. It was Brandon. “Jordan,” he said, his head down a little, “I’m sorry. We never should have had that crummy password. I wish I could have been brave like you. Can we still be friends?”
“Sure, Brandon! What do you say we go over to the park and shoot some baskets?”
“OK! I’ll go home and grab my ball!”
Jordan smiled as they rode their bikes to the park. “Mom was right,” he thought. “It feels lots better to choose the right!”

“The time is now yours, brothers and sisters,” the bishop said, smiling. “We look forward to hearing your testimonies.”
Maria squirmed in her seat. This would be her last testimony meeting in her English-speaking ward before her family moved back to Mexico. She wanted to bear her testimony, but it frightened her to think about standing up in front of so many people and speaking in her imperfect English. Maria began to think maybe her testimony wasn’t very strong. Maybe that was why she had never gotten up to bear it.
Maria’s mother leaned over to her. “Maria, can you come help me, por favor?” she asked.
Maria nodded and followed her mother to the podium.
“My inglés is not good,” her mother said into the microphone. “Maria will translate.” Then she stepped aside and spoke softly to Maria. “Quiero dejar mi testimonio con ustedes, mis queridos hermanos y hermanas.”
Maria translated into the microphone. “I want to leave my testimony with you, my dear brothers and sisters.”
Then she thought to herself, “Yes, I also want to bear my testimony to you, my good friends and teachers.”
Her mom continued. “Sé que José Smith fue un profeta, que él restauró la iglesia verdadera a la tierra.”
Maria translated, “I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that he restored the true Church on the earth.”
Maria remembered how happy she had been on her baptism day and thought, “I am grateful the priesthood was restored so I could be baptized and confirmed.”
Her mom spoke again. “Sé que el Libro de Mormón es verdaderamente la palabra de Dios.”
Maria translated, “I know the Book of Mormon is truly the word of God.”
“I love the Book of Mormon. It’s my favorite book,” Maria thought.
Maria’s mother smiled at her with tears in her eyes. “Sé que tenemos un profeta viviente hoy en día,” she said.
Maria translated, “I know we have a living prophet today.” She added with certainty, “He is President Thomas S. Monson.”
Her mom was too emotional to speak clearly now, but Maria knew what she wanted to say. Maria’s heart swelled within her as she declared, “We know that God lives and loves us, and that He answers our prayers. We say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Her mother added her “amen” along with the rest of the congregation. She took Maria’s hand as they returned to their seats.
“Gracias,” her mom said when they were seated. She gave Maria a hug.
Maria smiled. She felt so happy inside. She had actually stood in front of all those people, spoken English, and felt the Spirit as she helped her mom share her testimony.
Maria found something precious. She discovered that when she translated her mother’s testimony, she was also bearing her own testimony. She did know the gospel was true. And she knew that the Spirit testifies of truth, in any language.