Gospel Story Finder

Take eight lively people. Mix them in a small van for forty hours. Add mechanical failure, rain, car sickness, and seasickness. What do you get? “Heaven,” according to the Marrero family.
“It was the most spiritual experience of my life,” said Raquel, age fifteen, of her family’s trip to the temple to be sealed together for time and eternity.
For many people, a temple trip isn’t quite the sacrifice that it was for the Marreros. They live on the island of Tenerife, which is one of Spain’s Canary Islands, located about fifty miles off the coast of Morocco. When they were finally prepared to go to the temple, the nearest one open was in Germany, so that’s where they headed, crossing the ocean and passing through three countries to get there.
The cost of plane fare would have been outrageous for the family that consists of Luci, 7; Fabio, 9; Oliver, 11; Raquel, 15; Desiree, 17; Oscar, 19; and parents Miguel and Angela. As it was, they had to work for two years, Miguel doing carpentry and the rest of the family taking on odd jobs, to earn the money to travel the way they did.
The way they traveled was in a furgón, or van, that Miguel had converted into a camper with two beds. They began by driving the furgón onto a ferry and traveling by water five-hundred miles to Spain.
“We all got seasick,” said Raquel. “We were glad to see dry land again.”
But that was only the beginning of the journey. Ahead were hours and hours of driving through Spain, France, and Germany and sleeping under the stars at night. “To pass the time, we’d honk and wave at others with Spanish license plates,” said Desiree. “And we sang every hymn and Spanish song we knew—many times over.”
“Dad drove and fixed the car,” added Raquel. They had electrical problems, among other things, which made it difficult to drive at night without stopping every few minutes to fix the headlights. Finally, when they made it to Frankfurt, they pulled over and waited for dawn, so they could drive undistracted to the temple in the light.
Well, almost undistracted. It seems the temple is located in Friedrichsdorf, outside of Frankfurt, and with their limited German, the Marreros couldn’t find it. They finally hired a Spanish-speaking cab driver to show them the way.
“When at last we saw the angel Moroni on top, it was such a joy,” said Raquel. “It was beautiful—even more beautiful because we’d suffered so much to get there.”
Oh, and what things they experienced inside! “It was so wonderful when we were sealed—everyone in white, even the little ones, looking so beautiful,” said Desiree. “Now we know that we can be together forever with the ones we love.”
The Marreros spent about four days at the temple, the parents doing sealings, the older children doing baptisms for the dead. When the time came to leave, they were reluctant to go, especially since they knew all about the tedious road trip that lay ahead.
But their lives had changed in those four days. “We didn’t quarrel as much,” Raquel noted. “We knew we were an eternal family.”
“The trip was a lot like life, really,” observed Desiree. “You go through some tough times, and you work really hard, but it is worth it when you make it to the celestial kingdom. We made a lot of sacrifices so that everyone could arrive together.”

Sammy liked to memorize scriptures. He couldn’t read yet, but he already knew six articles of faith and many verses from the Book of Mormon and Bible. Mom wrote a scripture on a card and drew a picture on the back to help Sammy remember. Sammy knew scriptures about the Savior, gratitude, service, the stripling soldiers, and Nephi. He felt good inside because he was learning the scriptures.
One Sunday before Primary opening exercises, Sammy waited reverently on the CTR 5 bench beside his teacher, Sister Taylor. He folded his arms and listened to the music. Then he heard Sister Hunter, the Primary president, talking to Sister Taylor.
“I just found out that the boy who was going to give the scripture is sick today,” Sister Hunter said. “I’m going to see if an older child can read a scripture for us on short notice.”
Sammy quickly thought about all the scriptures he knew. “I can give a scripture today,” he told Sister Hunter.
“That would be great, Sammy,” Sister Hunter said. “Can Sister Taylor help you find and read a scripture?”
“I don’t need any help,” Sammy said.
Sister Hunter and Sister Taylor looked surprised. “Are you sure?” Sister Taylor asked.
“I have lots of scriptures memorized,” Sammy said. “I just learned a scripture about King Benjamin. I could say that one.”
“OK,” Sister Hunter said. “Will you please come sit up front?”
Sammy felt his heart beat faster as he walked to the front of the room and sat down. He was a little nervous, but he was confident he could say the scripture.
After singing “Book of Mormon Stories,” Sister Hunter said that Sammy would give the scripture.
Sammy walked to the pulpit and stood on the step stool. He took a deep breath and then spoke into the microphone: “Mosiah 2:17. When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
Sammy stepped down and went back to his seat, smiling the whole way. A warm feeling came over him. He was grateful that he had helped Sister Hunter in Primary. And he was grateful that even though he couldn’t read, he could still learn the scriptures.

Success story number three is the inspiring story of Pygmalion and Galatea from Grecian mythology. Pygmalion was a sculptor from Cyprus, and, like all great artists, Pygmalion loved his work. Then the day came when he would create the great masterpiece of his life. In deathless ivory he would carve the statue of a beautiful woman and show the human form and human personality at its best. Week after week and month after month he labored until finally the statue was completed. And so great was the devotion and love that Pygmalion had lavished upon his work that the gods decreed that the statue would have the power to breathe and move and live. As she stepped down off the pedestal, Pygmalion called her name Galatea, and Pygmalion married his work.

But this is much more than just an idle myth, as the story of Pygmalion is the story of every person who ever lives. For God has decreed that for everyone who falls in love with his work, his work shall live.

Our seminary class has always exchanged presents at Christmastime. Last year, as usual, we held a meeting to determine how we would go about sharing gifts.
“We should draw names like always,” someone said, “but let’s say no one can spend more than $5.00.”
“How about instead of buying a gift, we write a letter,” Amy said. “We could watch the person whose name we get, notice their good qualities, and write a letter that says what we’ve learned about them.”
After a bit of discussion we all agreed, though most people didn’t appear very enthusiastic—just glad they wouldn’t have to spend any money.
I drew the name of a girl I barely knew. Michelle had been in some of my classes, but I had never taken the time to talk with her. I began to watch her both in seminary and in our history class.
Michelle was shy, but I noticed she always had a warm smile when she’d pass strangers in the hall. I learned she was intelligent when she did a marvelous presentation in history on Jesse Owens. I was most impressed, however, when I saw her love for people—when she put her arm around a tearful girl on her way out of seminary, when she befriended a lonely handicapped student. She became a real person to me instead of just another face on campus. I began to love her.
The day we were to exchange letters arrived and everyone was much more enthusiastic about the idea. As I stood and read my letter I found it easy for me to express my feelings to Michelle. Other students experienced similar reactions.
The Christmas gifts our seminary class exchanged that day meant more to me than anything money could buy. Astonishing results came from that experiment. Many students’ spirits were lifted, and we felt a closeness that unified our class for the rest of the year.
We learned there is something positive in everyone and when we share our love for them we give a true gift.

Perhaps I could relate an experience that helped me. January 1, 2012, was Fast Sunday for the missionaries in the Missionary Training Center in Provo, and as a branch president, I fasted with them. Rather than stay up on New Year's Eve, I went to bed at 10:00 p.m. (At my age, one often looks for reasons to go to bed at 10:00 on New Year's Eve.) I awakened early on New Year's Day, hoping that in addition to enjoying the fast, I would be inspired in the preparation of this devotional address. I was determined that I would not bow down my head as a bulrush that I would approach the missionaries with good cheer. I succeeded in that, and it was a beautiful Sabbath.

During the day, I read from President Monson's book, Pathways to Perfection, in addition to many of his conference talks. I was hoping to strengthen my testimony of his divine appointment. "It is not alone sufficient for us as Latter-day Saints to follow our leaders and to accept their counsel, but we have the greater obligation to gain for ourselves the unshakable testimony of the divine appointment of these men and the witness that what they have told us is the will of our Heavenly Father."[6]

Fasting and reading from President Monson's addresses helped me to become even more convinced of the prophet's divine appointment. However, I was still unsure what I should say in this address. I was beginning to be concerned thinking about thousands of you and taking 25 minutes of your time. Individually, it would be bad enough, but collectively, I determined that it would be approximately 400 hours for every 1,000 people in attendance.

That evening, we received a call from my brother-in-law in another state regarding a woman in his ward who was concerned about her son who lived in Provo. He had a debilitating mental condition and she was very worried that he was not eating. She had his address but wanted to get in touch with the bishop. My brother-in-law asked me to get the bishop's address and I agreed. The next day was a legal holiday, but I went into my office early to work on this talk. I felt I was finally making some progress when Sister Cameron called and reminded me that I needed to find the young man's bishop. I drove to the address I had been given, but the house was empty. I had a telephone number, and I called asking if I could speak to the young man. I was told he was not home. I asked if I could leave a message and the person said something strange: "He can hear you." I said who I was and that I had a message from his mother. He gave me another address and said I could stop by.

I drove to the new location and rang the doorbell. A young man not fully dressed answered the door. While I spoke to him, he alternated between being coherent and incoherent. He would periodically hit his head violently with his hand as he spoke. I asked if he had eaten and he said no; he couldn't remember how to open a can of soup. I asked if I could leave a blessing in his home and then get him some lunch. He agreed. I left and got some soup, a sandwich, and a fruit cup and returned to his home. He seemed to have calmed down. I was able to find out the ward he lived in and the name of the bishop so that his mother could contact him.

When I went back to preparing this talk, I read Isaiah 58:7-8 with new eyes: "Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh? Then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thine health shall spring forth speedily: and thy righteousness shall go before thee; the glory of the Lord shall be thy reward."

It was then that I gained a new understanding of Isaiah and the true law of the fast. I learned there is a prerequisite to gaining inspiration and that is "to bring bread to the hungry and bring the poor that are cast out into thy house, and thou seest the naked and cover him." I had been in a fog with regard to what to say to you dear brothers and sisters, and then I felt the "light break forth as the morning."

What if I had decided not to visit this young man and had tried to justify my failure by saying. "I'm working on a talk for several thousand BYU-Idaho students and I'm just getting into it. I can't break up my day and look for someone in distress that I don't know." What if I had just called back and told my brother-in-law, "I'm sorry but the house was vacant at the address I had been given."

So what was the light that broke forth as the morning? I learned that fasting and serving others is a prerequisite to obtaining help from heaven.

I remember the story of one of our LDS chaplains, a man of great faith, devotion, and courage. For a year or more he had been in the central highlands of South Vietnam during the war there some 30 years ago. He had been where the fighting was bitter and the losses as tragic as in any area of Vietnam. On two occasions he was wounded. He saw a tragically large percentage of his brigade become casualties, many of them killed in action. The men of his unit loved and respected him. His superior officers honored him.

He was not always a member of this Church. As a boy in the southern United States he grew up in a religious home where the Bible was read and where the family attended the little church of the community. He desired the gift of the Holy Ghost of which he had read in the scriptures but was told that it was not available. The desire never left him. He grew to manhood. He served in the U.S. Army. He searched but never found the thing he most wanted. Between military enlistments, he became a prison guard. While sitting in the gun tower of a California prison, he meditated on his own deficiencies and prayed to the Lord that he might receive the Holy Ghost and satisfy the hunger which he felt in his soul. That hunger had not been fully satisfied with sermons to which he had listened.

One day two young men knocked at his door. His wife invited them to return when her husband would be at home. These two young men taught that family by the Holy Spirit. In two and a half weeks they were baptized. I have heard this man testify to the effect that as he was taught by the power of the Holy Spirit, he was edified and rejoiced with those who taught him. Out of that marvelous beginning, with the gift of the Holy Ghost, came a shedding forth of light and truth that gave peace to the dying, comfort to the bereaved, blessings to the wounded, courage to the timid, and faith to those who had scoffed. Sweet are the fruits of teaching done under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. They feed the spirit and nourish the soul.

I have been a member of the Church since I was 10 years old. I don’t think I really knew what I was doing at first. I’ve been through my ups and downs in life, but right now I’ve made up my mind about what I want in life. In the last few weeks I have experienced the pressures of life and the hurt and loneliness of death. Last December I remember discussing the importance of reading and studying the gospel with my brother, Scott Macy. Scott wasn’t really a blood relative, but we were close enough to be. That December he sent me a letter that has a message for all of us. He wrote, “I think it’s really neat that you want to study the gospel more. It has everything anybody needs. How does it feel to be one of those who want, and can get, what is right?”

Scott’s goal in life was to serve a mission. Even though he was too young for a full-time mission, he was a great missionary to his friends and to everyone around him. On August 1,1976, Scott left to serve a mission for the Lord, but not on this earth.
I have received the New Era for many years, and I have just recently become interested in it. Feedback has been interesting to me. It helps me grow and want to learn what makes people so happy. The articles hit close to home and make me realize that I don’t have it so hard after all. I’m very thankful that my father has ordered the New Era even though no one would read it. Now I look forward to getting it. Scott’s question is very valuable. Can you answer it? Well, I can. It’s great!
Name WithheldCanby, Oregon

Birthdays, holidays, and other family outings are often spent at their “favourite beauty spot,” an old country estate that has been converted into a park. A typical day there includes the family enjoying a picnic. Then Tirion plays on the playground with her parents while the boys set off on a walking adventure through the forest.
At the trailhead, the brothers select sturdy walking sticks. They enjoy crossing the bridge over the bubbling creek, jumping off fallen trees and logs near the trail, and scrambling up steep hills. They always look forward to finding the “spiderweb,” man-made from ropes, branches, and twigs. Then they eagerly climb or jump up to touch the large “moss spider.”
After the hike, the boys join their sister on the playground and are soon ready to go for a traditional family walk to see the deer and trees and beautiful flowering bushes in the park. When they arrive at their favourite tree, they eagerly climb its huge limbs. And they always stop at the gazebo they claim has to be Mr. Toad’s house!

How do we lay that foundation? I’m going to tell you a story I have never told before. As a boy, I had the job of shellacking a wooden floor. As I neared the end of the task, my father found me in a terrible predicament. He literally stood at the door and laughed. I had worked from the only door to the far end of the room. I had painted myself into a corner, without a window. There was no escape! At that point I had two choices: sit down and accept being stuck for many hours until the varnish dried or walk back across the floor, undoing all I had done. I knew what it would take to refinish it properly. The sanding and refinishing—I knew what was ahead of me, and so did my father. Because of the way I used my agency in painting the floor, my agency was diminished. In fact, my choices were not only drastically reduced but my agency was gone.
Whenever we use our agency, we are either choosing to move toward a new door with many possibilities or into a closed corner with very few options. If we do what is right, our opportunities increase. If we don’t, our opportunities decrease.

A few days after I had submitted my talk for translation, my beloved eternal companion, Barbara, completed her mortal probation and passed into the spirit world.
As the days have turned into weeks, then months, and now a year since Barbara’s passing, I find myself more fully appreciating this scripture: “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die.” Barbara and I were blessed to “live together in love” for 67 years. But I have learned in a very real way what it means to “weep for the loss” of those we love. Oh, how I love and miss her!
I suppose most of us fail to fully appreciate what others do for us until they are gone. I knew Barbara was always busy, but I did not fully understand the constant family, Church, and community demands upon her time. There were daily consecrated efforts repeated thousands of times through the years that kept our family functioning. And through it all, no one in our family ever heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word.
Floods of memories have washed over me this past year. I have thought about the physically demanding choice she made to be the mother of seven children. Being a homemaker was the only career she ever wanted, and she was in every aspect a consummate professional.
Often I have wondered how she kept track of our children and me. Meal preparation alone was a truly daunting task, not to mention activities such as doing the mountains of laundry our family generated every week and keeping shoes and appropriately sized clothing on the children. We all turned to her on a myriad of other issues that were important to us. And because they were important to us, they were also important to her. She was, in a word, magnificent—as a wife, as a mother, as a friend, as a neighbor, and as a daughter of God.
Now that she has moved on, I am happy that I chose to sit next to her when I came home from the office during the last few months of her life, to hold her hand as we watched the endings of some of her favorite musicals—over and over again because Alzheimer’s would not allow her to remember that she had seen them just the afternoon before. Memories of those special hand-holding sessions are now very, very precious to me.

I was born into a non-Christian family. As a boy, I would accompany my mother to Chinese temples to worship different gods. We would bring special cakes as an offering and burn incense to ask for the blessings we needed. If we needed work, we asked the god of riches; if we needed health, we asked the god of healing. I loved going with my mother because when the rituals were over, I got to eat all those delicious cakes.
Nevertheless, the great miracle came when I was 10 years old and we moved to Bolivia. I met the missionaries. They taught me about a God I had never heard of before.
They taught me that He is a living God, with a glorified body of flesh and bones; that He is my Heavenly Father, that He loves me, and that I am literally His child; that He sent Jesus Christ to earth to help me return to His presence and attain eternal life.
I was so amazed when they told me the story of Joseph Smith, who saw God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. Even though I didn’t speak Spanish and couldn’t understand all the words, I felt peace in my heart, and somehow I knew that what I was learning was good. Before they invited me to be baptized, I said to my two older sisters, who were already members of the Church, “I’ve already made up my mind. I’m getting baptized!”
The gospel of Jesus Christ changed my life for the better. It gave me an eternal purpose—to prepare to return to God’s presence with my family.

I would like to share two more incidents in my life that have forever changed the way I think and feel.
In May of 2014 my parents were living in Burley, Idaho. I got a call from my mother that my father had fallen and was in the hospital. It was believed that he would quickly recover and may need a couple of weeks of therapy to get him walking again. He was moved from the hospital to a rehab center where I took the opportunity to visit with him several times a day. Two days after he was moved to the rehab center, he was returned to the hospital to be checked. My mother spoke to the doctors on the phone who assured her that this was routine, and we could come and visit with him while he was there. An hour later we arrived at the hospital to find that he had slipped into a coma and the doctors wanting to know what measures should be taken to preserve his life. We sat in shock for a couple of hours as the man that I had shared a strawberry milkshake with the previous night lay motionless in the hospital bed. At one point Mom and I found ourselves alone with Dad. Standing at the foot of the bed, our hearts full of gratitude, we looked upon the man we had always leaned on as a pillar of strength. My dear, sweet mother took his hand and said, “It’s okay, Ralph. You’ve done enough; you can go home.” Dad took three more breaths and passed away.
I think of my father every day, and I’m grateful for the impact he had on me growing up, and for the example he set.

One day I witnessed evidence of the Spirit and the courage to follow counsel. It was in a second grade elementary classroom. The student-teacher held the children captive with her storytelling skills. In great detail she told of a cross old man whose name was Mr. Black. In contrast, the account was given in similar detail of a Mr. Brown who was kind and thoughtful and loved by everyone. At the conclusion of the story, the teacher asked the children, “How many of you would like to be a neighbor to Mr. Brown?” Every hand was raised high. Then almost as an afterthought, she inquired if there was anyone who would like to have Mr. Black for a neighbor.
A little boy in a faded green shirt near the back of the room began to raise his hand, which brought a ripple of quiet amusement from the children. Hesitating only briefly, he looked around at his friends and still mustered the courage to hold his hand high and to stand alone in his difference. When called on for an explanation to his single vote, he spoke in a soft tone. “Well,” he said, “I’d like Mr. Black to be my neighbor, because if he was, my mom would make a cake for me to take to him, and then he wouldn’t be that way anymore.” A hush fell over the room. Everyone felt something wonderful that they couldn’t explain. A little child broke the silence like a benediction: “Oh, I wish I’d said that!”
We had all made a quick decision about who would be the best neighbor, but only one, just one, had a spirit within, a discernment that allowed him to see what might be.

She studied at Marni’s School of Performing Arts until the age of 14, then won a spot in the pre-professional program at the National College of Dance in Newcastle, which was two hours away from home. For the next three years, Bianca lived in Newcastle five days a week, an experience that prepared her to move to New York City, USA on her own.
Although she still never danced on a Sunday, at age 17, Bianca was accepted into New York’s prestigious Ballet Academy East, where she had the exciting opportunity to study the Balanchine ballet method.
It wasn’t always fun. “There were times in New York, away from all my friends and family, I felt I had no one,” Bianca remembers. “Crying one night . . . I remember praying to my Heavenly Father and asking Him for [a hug]. I will never forget the warmth that flooded my chest. Although it made me cry more, they were definitely happy tears, and I did not feel alone anymore.”

As a recently returned missionary, Brother Viwe Xozwa’s schedule was exhausting. The education-driven convert in Port Elizabeth, South Africa, attended school from 8 a.m. to noon, worked from 1 p.m. to 6 p.m., then studied until 8 or 9 p.m. on a regular basis.

Brother Xozwa was never bothered or upset by the busy schedule he maintained, though. In fact, he was grateful just for the opportunity he had to study and learn, which was made possible by others’ generosity.

Brother Xozwa is a recipient of a Perpetual Education Fund (PEF) loan, which made obtaining an education a more realistic possibility than it otherwise would have been. Now a 27-year-old computer engineer and the executive secretary in his stake, he attributes many of his blessings to the PEF.

“I would not be where I am right now in my life if that inspired program was not established,” he said.

While he always planned to attend college, Brother Xozwa and his mother lacked the funds to pay for school. A conventional bank loan was a possibility, though higher interest rates would have made it very costly and would have taken a long time to pay off. Instead, Brother Xozwa heard about the PEF from a Church Educational System couple in his area. He applied for and received a $1,150 PEF loan and enrolled in computer engineering classes at Damelin College in Port Elizabeth.

After about a year of study, Brother Xozwa was offered a job at an IT consulting firm. The company waited for him to finish up the school year and supported him in his continued studies. Because of his employment, he was able to pay off his loan the following year, and the company has sponsored his further studies for the past four years in disciplines such as labor relations, corporate governance, business administration and management, and advanced project management.

“The PEF program gave me the initial kick-start that I needed, and the rest I could do on my own,” he said. “It gave me an initial boost; everything else just opened up.”

Knowing where his loan came from made Brother Xozwa dedicate himself completely to doing well in school and paying off his loan. He wanted to use the generous donations the best way he could.

“I realized these were sacred funds. Others had made a contribution to my education, so it was my responsibility to show appreciation by studying hard,” he said. “The money that was granted me was not mine to play around with. I was given the opportunity to make something of my life, to kick-start a good future, and it was my responsibility to grab that opportunity with both hands and not fail.”

Brother Xozwa understood this principle and was motivated to help others receive the same opportunities he had.

“The Lord is giving you the opportunity to progress, but also to help the next person,” he said. “It was my responsibility to repay the money as soon as possible so that the next person could have an equally good chance to study and progress. Think of how many people you can influence if you use the funds correctly. You can do wonders not just for you but for other people.”

His experience has taught him leadership skills and independence in addition to self-reliance and the ability to keep commitments.

“It’s not just education. It’s not just getting a diploma or getting a degree. It’s not just a career. It’s so much more than that. It opens doors for you to grow individually,” he said.

Brother Xozwa said he will be forever grateful for the generosity extended to him that made a world of difference in his life.

“I would love one day to meet the person or the people who contributed to the program in the initial stages just to say thank you,” he said. “Maybe it was pocket change for them, but it changed generations. It has changed my family.”

At age 13 I was called into Bishop Murray Holt’s office, and he extended a call to me to serve as the president of the deacons quorum. He told me I needed to go home and pray about who my counselors should be. He taught me that the Lord would help me decide. He did. I then learned about counselors, and I began to see why the Lord has His Church directed by presidencies, not just presidents. I loved my counselors in the deacons quorum, and we prayed and worked hard to help the boys in our quorum. Bishop Holt taught me the pattern of presidencies and taught me how a presidency should operate and function in the Lord’s Church.

When Elder Ballard was a young bishop, a rowdy nine-year-old boy caused his Primary teacher a lot of angst. After several weeks the teacher escorted the boy into the bishop’s office and said, “Bishop, here’s one of your flock. Tend it.”

Bishop Ballard wasn’t sure what to do. But at that moment an impression came: ask the child to report every week about his behavior in Primary. Bishop Ballard issued that challenge, and it changed the boy’s attitude. The child saw that he could do things differently.

“I didn’t have that idea of accountability in mind before he landed on my doorstep,” Elder Ballard says. “But the Lord, by the power of the Spirit, inspires a worthy and a righteous teacher or leader to know what to do and what to say to bring the best out of anyone, in particular our young people.”

Incidentally, that nine-year-old turned out to be “terrific,” Elder Ballard says. He served a mission, married in the temple, and became a great leader.

“I hated being in the hospital, and I felt like I was in prison,” says Diane. For one month of the five she was in the hospital, she was in traction and couldn’t move at all except when the nurses came in and turned her a few centimeters every two hours. Diane had no idea she’d be in the hospital for so long. “In fact, when I was first injured I thought for sure that in a month I’d be back on the tour. I thought, ‘If I have enough faith and believe in God and in myself, I’ll be okay.’ And I just knew it.”

Recovery wasn’t quite so easy though, and things seemed to get worse. “I was a horrible patient,” says Diane. “In the hospital I was really miserable because I was so restless. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.

“One day I was in the depths of despair. I just felt like I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Diane says. She asked for a priesthood blessing. She knew the power to heal her was present, “but I only wanted that to happen if it was Heavenly Father’s will. I had this blessing and I felt the greatest sense of peace. It was like I knew that no matter what happened it would be okay. If I didn’t walk away from the hospital there would be a reason for it. I knew that I had always tried my best to live the gospel and do what I was supposed to do, so if anybody was worthy to have that blessing, I was. But from that point on I was a different person. I was totally comforted.”

Finally in July 1959 the plans were completed. Thirty faithful Tahitians had worked, saved, and sacrificed to raise the money necessary to finance a trip to the Hawaii Temple. It had taken much work to bring the Paraita (literally the Big Chief), the mission yacht, into dry dock, to repair it, and to repaint it. Then there had been the problems with the French government. The officials had argued against the proposed boat trip to Hawaii. They questioned why the Mormons didn’t want to head southwest to New Zealand to attend the temple there. “You like the Americans,” they taunted. “That is the only reason why you want to go to Honolulu.” Raituia T. Tapu (the skipper of the mission yacht and later the first stake president of the Tahiti Stake) had difficulty convincing the French officials that the trip north over the Pacific Ocean to Hawaii would be safer than the trip across wide expanses of open water to New Zealand because of the many islands that could be used as shelter in case of storms. When Brother Tapu insisted, “I will have 30 passengers with me, and I won’t take them to New Zealand and face the weather that way,” he convinced the harbor master and the two of them convinced the French governor that the Saints on the Paraita should be allowed to sail to Hawaii.
Brother Tapu not only obtained permission from the French officials, but he also wrote to Salt Lake City to get permission from President David O. McKay. That permission had been granted and everything was ready.
Then a fateful call came from the mission office. Everyone anticipating the voyage was to gather for a meeting at the mission home before the departure.
The president of the French Polynesian Mission, Ellis V. Christiansen, was nervous about the forthcoming meeting. True, permission to take a group of Saints to the temple in Hawaii had been granted by President McKay, but that day a special messenger, Ernest C. Rossiter, a former president of the French Polynesian Mission, had arrived direct from President McKay in Salt Lake City. The news he brought was stunning. The Saints had been asked not to make their long-sought voyage. According to Brother Tapu, President McKay gave no explanation. He merely asked Brother Rossiter to “go and stop them. They won’t make it, and if we allow them to come, we’ll be in trouble with the [French] government. We’ll be responsible for them. So you go and stop them.”
In the mission diary, President Christiansen wrote expressing his anxiety about telling the Saints who were ready to embark:
“I was much concerned and felt I needed the Lord’s help to assist me in giving an explanation to these humble, faithful members, who had such high hopes of receiving their endowments in His Holy House. I fasted and prayed about it. I called a meeting of the priesthood members for July 15, 1959, at 8:00 o’clock, and also asked six of the faithful brethren to come to my room at 7:30, and with the help of President Rossiter we told them of the decision that had come from the First Presidency, and told them that we desired their faith and prayers in presenting the message to the members of the priesthood who would assemble at 8:00 o’clock. After President Rossiter and I had finished talking to these men, they in turn spoke briefly their thoughts, and as I listened a great joy swelled inside me as they told their desire to obey the counsel of our prophet here upon the earth.
“We went to the meeting with the priesthood members. After hearing the message from the First Presidency, [they] expressed their convictions that if this word had come from the leaders of the Church then it must have come through the inspiration of the Lord, and the only way to show their love and appreciation for the blessings He had given them was to be obedient to the counsel given. I then called for a vote, and all hands were raised accepting the decision of the First Presidency.”
So the voyage was cancelled, and neither President Rossiter, nor President Christiansen, nor the faithful Tahitian Saints really knew why the prophet of God had told them not to go. They cancelled the voyage because they had faith in the prophet.
Later, Brother Tapu, the skipper, returned to his boat where a mechanic told him that a small gear was damaged and would only provide 100 to 150 more hours of service. This fact notwithstanding, the boat was launched and anchored. Then, according to the skipper, Brother Tapu, “I layed off everybody except my first mate. I left him on board and told him to keep an eye on the boat and to repair the sail.
“Well, a couple of days later I got a call. I was over here at the mission office working on our local Church magazine. The call was from the harbor master. He said, ‘Hey, your boat’s sinking.’ And I said, ‘What, I just got it out from dry dock!’ He still said, ‘Your boat is sinking. Hurry!’ So I rushed to the harbor and the boat was halfway down. My first mate was underneath the boat checking what was going on. He found that the exhaust pipe from the kitchen was rotten. The repairmen had painted over some very rotten wood and rusty pipe. It had broken and the water went in.
“So what would you say if we were two or three hundred miles away on a lifeboat? If we had sailed according to schedule, we would have been that far on our way when the rotten pipe and wood gave out.”
At the time when the Saints in Tahiti had accepted the counsel of the prophet, they could not understand President McKay’s reason for concern. But now they understood the ways of God. Brother Tapu expressed this knowledge when he said, “That’s why I always had a testimony of President McKay, a true prophet of the Lord.”
Editor’s Note:
This story is well known among the Saints and missionaries in the Tahiti Papeete Mission. Some misconceptions have grown concerning this incident. One is that President McKay told the mission president to sell the boat at the same time the warning was given, and this being done, the boat soon sank. According to Brother Tapu, this is not true. The Church actually bought a new engine fairly soon after this event and kept the boat for about three years. Then the ship was sold and used for about two more years. At that point the government inspectors declared it unsafe for further use. It was then sailed to the other side of the island from Papeete where it rotted and finally sank. It died a very natural death.

I witnessed the peace covenants bring as my father-in-law, Jim, chose to be baptized and lead his family to the temple to be sealed. My wife grew up in a loving, Christ-centered home, but covenant blessings and promises brought further joy. This is the very experience we provide others as we participate in temple and family history work.

Building covenant connections is to live life enhanced. Even so, covenant keeping does not shield us from the realities of mortality. As Brother Doug Sorenson powerfully taught us last week, we are still susceptible to painful and tragic episodes as part of life’s test. We are promised strength—not immunity—from difficult circumstances. Remember my in-laws?

The youngest child in this family passed away unexpectedly, after a brief illness. Sincere pleading did not result in immediate healing. Can you sense the continued mourning of a parent faced with the unnatural order of losing a child; the ongoing grief of a heartbroken spouse; sons facing life without a father? What of promised apostolic blessings in the darkest hour?

The Son of God rose. Faith was found. Assurance given of a promised future together. Strength mustered to continue on covenant paths. Power to offer comfort to the comfortless, to mourn with those that mourn. To think Celestial, with eternal perspective.[44]