Gospel Story Finder

I could hardly keep my voice steady as I said good night to Ben. Tears were already streaming down my face as I shut the door and flopped down on the living room floor.
I was glad everyone had gone to bed; that way I wouldn’t have to tell them about the prom or why I was crying.
I should have known it would be horrible, since I hadn’t even been my date’s first choice. He had wanted to take Amy, my best friend, but she was already going with Chad. So Ben had done the next best thing—he’d asked me and suggested we double.
It was an awkward situation from the moment we all climbed into Ben’s old station wagon. I don’t think he said anything to me as we drove to the restaurant; he was too busy staring at Amy in the rearview mirror. She didn’t notice. She was too entranced by Chad—star basketball player, student body vice-president, and the most popular guy in school—to notice anything. It was driving Ben crazy.
That’s why he forgot to help me with my chair at the restaurant. He tried to pull out Amy’s chair and bumped into Chad. In the confusion, he must have forgotten about me because he just turned and sat down.
All through dinner Ben played “Name That Tune” with the background music, and I tried to hide my anger. I knew he was feeling as miserable as I was, but why did he have to take it out on me? I didn’t want him to fall in love with me; I just wanted him to treat me like a human being.
I don’t know how we made it through the rest of the evening. At the school neither of us was very anxious to dance, so we had our pictures taken first. Even that didn’t go smoothly. Ben was too tall to stand next to the wicker chair where I was to sit, so we had to trade places. I think we both wanted to die.
Since neither of us wanted to dance the slow dances, we used his height and my shortness as an excuse to sit them out. “Just one more hour,” I thought as I watched his eyes follow Amy around the room. For the first time in my life I was grateful for my curfew.
An hour later, I walked into my living room and dropped onto the floor. All I could think, over and over, was, “What’s wrong with me?” I hardly ever dated and when I did, it always seemed to go like this.
Suddenly the living room light blinked on and I sat up. I must have looked pretty pathetic, lying there in my taffeta dress with mascara smeared all over my face. Dad suppressed a smile.
“So it wasn’t the best date you’ve ever been on, huh?” he said.
“Not even close. But some things never change,” I mumbled, straightening my dress.
He kind of chuckled as he sat down beside me. I couldn’t stand it any more—I had to ask.
“What’s wrong with me, anyway?”
He looked up. “There’s nothing wrong with you, why?”
“Then what’s wrong with the guys?”
He shook his head. “Heck, I’m a guy and I don’t even know.”
I had expected something a little more profound. Why doesn’t he at least say, “Sorry you’re such a social misfit,” and get it over with? I thought. But he just sat there. I gave up.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said weakly as I stood up and headed towards my bedroom. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He couldn’t possibly understand how I felt.
“Christie,” he called after me, “don’t make yourself miserable over something you can’t control. You know, sometimes you just have to be patient and things get better.”
I didn’t answer. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. More than anything, I wanted to believe that if I said the right thing or looked a certain way, the guys would beg for a date with me. I just had to figure out what I was doing wrong.
Then one night I read a scripture that reminded me of my dad’s words: “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Eccl. 3:1). It said there was a time to cry, a time to laugh—and even a time to love.
Maybe I’ve been rushing things a little, I thought. One thing was certain: more than I wanted a boyfriend, I wanted to be happy and feel good about myself again.
I only had two dates the rest of the year, and one of them was a girls’ choice. But when I started to feel depressed, I reminded myself that it wouldn’t last forever. I filled up my time with school, Church, and my family and tried to be patient.
Nothing changed—until after graduation. I don’t know how it happened—maybe it was because I met hundreds of new people at college. All I know is that I had dates. Not tons, but enough. I dated regularly for three years, served a mission—and then I met Sam.
On my wedding day, as I knelt at the altar and looked into Sam’s eyes, I knew that everything was right—the right person, the right time, and the right place.
Like my dad had said, there was never anything “wrong” with me in the first place. I didn’t need to change; what I really needed was time.

For years, I took notes from each general conference talk but never looked at those notes again. At the completion of the October 2021 conference, I felt impressed to incorporate my notes into my life. My new plan took key thoughts from my notes and focused on one thought a week for the next six months. That gave me a message to focus on every week until the next conference.
This practice follows the prophet’s counsel to study general conference teachings. “I exhort you to study the messages of this conference frequently—even repeatedly—during the next six months,” President Russell M. Nelson said. “Conscientiously look for ways to incorporate these messages in your family home evenings, your gospel teaching, your conversations with family and friends, and even your discussions with those not of our faith.”
As a single mother of four single adults, this strategy helps me refocus and refine my goals to become a better person and mother and to strive to become more like the Savior each day.
My process is not the only way to study conference. I offer it as a suggestion as you make your own plan to implement the teachings of general conference in your life. Here’s how it works for me:
I listen to each talk and write the important insights that touch my heart, as well as thoughts I receive from the Spirit. At the end of each session, I listen to the Spirit as I highlight one or two things from each talk that I feel I need to work on or that will remind me how to become more Christlike.
Then I choose 26 highlighted thoughts and assign one a week until the next general conference. I type the thoughts into a list and assign each a Sunday date. I place this list on my bathroom mirror as a reminder. I also assign these weekly thoughts on my phone calendar. Each Sunday I receive a reminder to start a new focus. This thought will be at the front of my mind as I pray each morning for help throughout the day. Each night, I review with Heavenly Father how I did that day.
I post a list of general conference messages on my bathroom mirror to remind myself of what I’d like to work on until the next conference.
Here is an example of the first month of my calendar after last conference:
April 7: Read Doctrine and Covenants 109 (the Kirtland Temple dedicatory prayer).
April 14: Say “thank you,” “I’m sorry,” and “I love you.” Say them often and sincerely.
April 21: Unkind feelings or thoughts toward others will cause the Spirit to withdraw from us.
April 28: Have confidence in the covenants made with God through Jesus Christ. Honor the covenants we have made.
As I’ve implemented this plan, I’ve felt closer to the Spirit. I am reminded of the thoughts that touched my heart during general conference. I apply them each day instead of closing my notebook after conference, never to look at my notes again. I still enjoy relistening to the conference talks. But now I also have a weekly focus from my personal notes.

Sonia Patrick describes herself as a mouse with a tail on fire running through a dry field. On the streets of Barbados—where the culture swings to a Caribbean beat—she makes sure everyone at the bus stop hears her testimony.
“God comes first,” she said. “I carry Him with me everywhere I go.”
Sister Patrick is among a growing number of members in the Christ Church Branch who have felt the fire of temple and family history work. They have learned firsthand what Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Anywhere you are in the world, with prayer, faith, determination, diligence, and some sacrifice, you can make a powerful contribution.”1
Sister Patrick joined the Church in 2008 after meeting the missionaries, who offered to wash her car for free. She is now known as the “bold one” in her branch on this sunny island in the West Indies.
“I grew up Christian,” she said. “I felt a spiritual pull to accept the missionaries’ offer to attend church.”
Tragedy struck three years after her baptism when her only son was killed. Suddenly, she said, “family history became very important to me.”
Opportunities for family history research and temple work were limited at the time on the island. Computers were scarce, and travel to the nearest temple was expensive and difficult.
Sister Patrick arranged for the proxy baptism of her son but remained patient over the next years. She stayed busy “doing what she was supposed to do” until a series of events came together to provide more help for her family history work.
Wheels were set in motion when Sister Jennilyn Stoffers arrived in 2022 to serve in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission office. Her call to Barbados came as a last-minute surprise. For months, she had made preparations with Church leaders to serve in Ireland, where the wet and cold of northern Europe were more conducive to her health. She had her bags packed for Ireland until she read her mission call, sending her the other direction—to the heat and humidity of Barbados.
Sister Stoffers replaced her warm wools with breezy cottons and soon arrived in Barbados. “There was a lot of adapting,” she said of the weather, the Bajan dialect,2 the culture, the food—just about everything.
“It was easy to fall in love with the members and their pure faith in God,” she said. “Everyone should experience a fast and testimony meeting in Barbados. Members know the scriptures. They are strong in their faith. They face persecution from family and society. Many are the only members of the Church in their families.”
Before long, the branch president asked Sister Stoffers to teach a class on temple preparation and family history work, a subject that fires her imagination and devotion.
A spark was struck among several members. They lingered after meetings, huddling around the branch computer, where Sister Stoffers helped them discover the richness of family history work.
Margaret Haynes was among the first to taste the spirit of the work.
“Imagine how my ancestors are reacting,” she said in reflection. “One day I will meet them. I have always felt a special feeling of being watched over by them. It brings me joy to unite my family. I feel their yearning to make covenants.”
Enthusiasm spread, and more members joined in the weekly gatherings.
“They get after it,” Sister Stoffers said. “If they need permission to perform an ordinance or need data like a birth date, they call a relative right then. There’s no waiting for a more convenient time.”
The laws and culture in the Caribbean make researching family records a challenge. “Yet,” said Sister Stoffers, “members of the branch deal with the frustrations and have now submitted more than 500 ordinances to the temple.” And more are coming.
As Church members unearthed their ancestral past, Sister Stoffers began wondering how they might experience the joy of serving in the temple on their ancestors’ behalf, given the expense of traveling to the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple.
Considering her resources, she remembered the youth and adults in her home ward near Ogden, Utah, USA. With their enthusiasm to serve, could they fill the gap and help their brothers and sisters in Barbados?
Photograph of Ogden Utah Temple by David Bowen Newton
Sister Stoffers’s home-ward bishop liked the plan and rallied the support of youth and adults. Soon, names from Barbados were being shared instantly on FamilySearch.
Now, as often as their schedule permits, a battalion of youth converge on the Ogden Utah Temple, where Bishop Rob Smout pulls from a stack of ordinance-ready printouts to divvy among the youth. The talkative youth grow whisper quiet as they contemplate the unusually spelled names of people with whom they have no connection but feel a spiritual kinship.
Participation has been widespread across the ward. On certain Saturdays, a family of five boys arrives early at the temple to enjoy the sunrise over the Wasatch mountains before performing baptisms.
“It’s become a ward quest,” said Bishop Smout. “It has united the ward. Many have become involved and take names routinely, including those who haven’t attended the temple in years. Others have come back into activity to participate.”
Many members in Barbados, meanwhile, have had unique experiences that motivate them to gather their families.
“As we work together, we feel a family connection,” Sister Stoffers said. “We feel a saintly joy. It is hard to describe, except that it seems to resonate in others beyond.”
“As we work together, we feel a family connection. We feel a saintly joy.”
This enthusiasm to discover ancestors has now spread beyond the branch and across the Caribbean to members on neighboring islands. Proselyting missionaries assist by meeting with members in their homes. To guide those in the far reaches of the mission, Sister Stoffers conducts virtual training sessions.
This effort on a small island in the Caribbean began with love and a desire to bless ancestors. Then came the means to learn how. The branch discovered that the work is spiritual, requiring what Elder Scott called “a monumental effort of cooperation on both sides of the veil, where help is given in both directions.”3 They proved that even in remote Barbados, a small number of devoted members can make a great contribution.
A Work Made Possible through Jesus Christ
“Many of your ancestors did not receive [saving] ordinances. But in the providence of God, you did. And God knew that you would feel drawn to your ancestors in love and that you would have the technology necessary to identify them. He also knew that you would live in a time when access to holy temples … would be greater than ever in history. And He knew that He could trust you to accomplish this work in behalf of your ancestors.”
President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, “Gathering the Family of God,” Liahona, May 2017, 21.

While looking for a new home, a young Latter-day Saint couple talked to potential neighbors about the neighborhood and the schools in the area.
One woman they spoke to said of the school her children were attending: “This is the most incredible place! The principal is a wonderful and good man; the teachers are well qualified, kind, and friendly. I am so pleased that our children can attend this wonderful school. You’ll love it here!”
A different woman said of her children’s school: “It’s a terrible place. The principal is self-absorbed; the teachers are unqualified, rude, and unfriendly. If I could afford to move out of this area, I’d do it in a heartbeat!”
The interesting thing was that both women were speaking about the same principal, the same teachers, and the same school.

My mom told my brother and me that if we would read two issues of the Friend from cover to cover she would let us pick something from our school book order. I read the November and December 2005 issues. When I was looking through the book order to choose a book, I saw some Christmas books that I knew my little sister Emmalie would like. Christmas was just a few weeks away. I asked my mom if I could choose those books and give them to my sister for Christmas. My mom said that would be very generous and something that Jesus would do. It felt good to see my sister’s face when she unwrapped her books on Christmas. I made someone else happy, and I think that’s what Jesus would do.

I think of some wonderful people I know. Their older children grew up and were married and went forward with their lives in a way that made the hearts of their parents glad. And then there was a younger son, a bright and able boy. It was the associations he had in high school that moved him in another direction. His hair grew long and his dress uncared for. He did other things which brought great distress to his father and mother. His father was troubled. He scolded and threatened; he wept and prayed and rebuked his son. But there was no response. The boy went his wayward course. His mother also wept and prayed. But she controlled her feelings and kept her voice low. She repeatedly expressed to her son her love for him. He left home. She kept his room tidy, his bed made, food for him in the refrigerator, and she told him that whenever he felt like coming home he would be made welcome.

Months passed while hearts ached.

The love of his mother finally began to touch his heart. He came home occasionally to sleep. Without ever scolding, she smiled, joked with him, placed delicious food before him, put her arms around him, and expressed her love. Finally, he began to show increasing neatness in his person. He stayed home more. He came to realize that there was no other place as comfortable, no place as secure, no place as happy as that home which he had earlier left. He finally got his life under control. He went on a mission, at an age older than most young men do. He proved to be a successful missionary. He returned home, entered school, and began to apply himself. The last time I saw him, he and his mother, each blessed with a good voice, sang a duet while some who knew the history of that family shed tears.

This story happened in Taiwan.
“Are you ready?” Terry’s older sister, Hailey, popped her head into his room. “It’s time to go practice for the Christmas play.”
Oh yeah! Terry and Hailey were in a special play for their ward Christmas party.
“Almost ready!” Terry pulled on his jacket and walked to the front door. “Who else will be there?”
“Mia and Jake. And some kids from Jake’s school,” Mom said. “The other kids don’t go to our church, but they’re excited to help.”
Terry froze. He didn’t realize there would be kids he didn’t know at the practice. There was no way he would be brave enough to say his lines in front of them.
“I don’t want to go anymore,” Terry said.
“Why not?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know the other kids,” Terry said. He always got nervous talking to new people.
“But you can make new friends. And I’ll be there with you,” Hailey said.
Terry shook his head. “Maybe next time. Can we practice my lines at home for now?”
Mom nodded. “OK. But if you want to be in the play, you’ll need to practice with the other kids soon.”
Terry liked practicing at home. It was easy! But he knew he needed to practice with the other kids too.
At family prayer a few nights later, Terry had an idea.
“Can we pray that I’ll have courage to join the practice?” Terry said. “Maybe Heavenly Father can help me.”
“Of course,” Dad said. “Good idea.”
They all closed their eyes and folded their arms.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Dad prayed, “please help Terry to have the courage to go to play practice.”
On the day of the next practice, Terry walked into the church with Mom and Hailey. His heart was beating fast, but he wanted to try. He felt ready. Heavenly Father and Jesus must be helping me! he thought.
“Terry! We’re so glad to see you,” Sister Tee said.
Terry smiled and nodded. Lots of other kids were already talking and laughing. He saw Jake and Mia. But he didn’t know the others.
Sister Tee told the kids where to sit and when to speak while they practiced. Terry was still nervous to sit by kids he didn’t know, but he tried to remember Dad’s prayer. It helped him feel better.
They practiced the songs and their lines over and over. The kids sitting by Terry were fun. They made him laugh a lot!
A few days later, it was time to for the play. The church was decorated with lots of Christmas trees, lights, and ribbons. Everyone wore red and green.
Terry hardly felt nervous anymore. He liked being with the other kids, even the ones he didn’t know before!
During the play, Terry felt good. And when it was his turn to speak, he said his lines loud and clear.
After the play, Terry found his family.
“Great job!” Dad said.
Mom smiled. “You looked like you had a lot of fun.”
“I did! I’m glad I was brave enough to do it,” Terry said.
Terry couldn’t have done it without Mom, Dad, Hailey, and Heavenly Father. Praying for help and being brave was totally worth it!

“You must remember the blessings you can have by being faithful,” says Marc-André Côté, 15, of Chicoutimi. “Always keep that goal in mind. When Joseph Smith was discouraged once, the Lord reminded him to remember what he had been promised if he would remain faithful. [See D&C 6:13.] By thinking of the celestial kingdom and exaltation, you can find strength to overcome the struggles in your life.”

Marc should know. For four years he was away from the Church, but about two years ago he kept “asking myself what I was doing with my life. I was searching for something, and I remembered what I had felt in the Church. I felt the Spirit saying to me, ‘Go!’ So I decided to try it just one time. I had imagined it would be difficult to come back, but it was easy. It was even better than I remembered. I read a lot and studied a lot and really gained a testimony that this is the true church, organized the way the Savior wants it to be.”

Early in 1957, two missionaries knocked on his mother’s door and she invited them in. This was the start of John Douglas Jeffrey’s learning about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As he and his mother spent time with the missionaries, the Holy Ghost bore witness to him that the Church was true because the missionaries were able to answer all of his questions.
Later, John moved to Townsville, Queensland, where he met more missionaries who continued to teach him, and also his new wife, Lois. In September 1957 they became the first people to join the Church in Townsville. He was baptised in Bluewater Creek just north of Townsville. (Baptisms in creeks or swimming pools were common in the early days of the Church.)

San Jose, Costa Rica: “Please,” he told a friend, “I want to come back to the Church. I need you to send somebody.”
Daniel Frankston had heard the missionary discussions in his homeland of Canada with his mother when he was fourteen. Then when he was seventeen years old, his sister living in Costa Rica invited him to stay with her family and go to college in San Jose. His first day there, he looked out her window and saw the missionaries walking by. He listened to the discussions again and was baptized.
But the idea of receiving the priesthood scared him. And his Costa Rican girlfriend, whom he later married, was deeply committed to her own church; she made it clear that she wasn’t interested in his religion. For the next five years, he wasn’t active.
Then one day, Daniel saw a friend. And feelings that had been building up in his heart came in a rush: “Please,” he said, “I want to come back to the Church. I need you to send somebody.” He didn’t know his friend was now branch president—and in a very good position to send somebody! “I felt my life needed some order. Something had told me, ‘You need the priesthood now!’ When I saw my friend, I felt he was there for a reason.”
Soon his new home teachers were at his door. “They said they would come for me every Sunday, and they did. I couldn’t miss! It was beautiful. Somebody was there to just say ‘We’re with you.’”
Daniel received the Aaronic Priesthood and then brought the missionaries home to teach his wife, Ana. “She really made it difficult for them,” he smiles. “One elder would be looking through his books for an answer while the other would be testifying. She received the lessons from lots of missionaries. Finally, she just said, ‘I believe it’s true!’”
Daniel baptized her, and a year later they and their two little girls were sealed in the Guatemala City Temple. Back home in Costa Rica, as they were studying the Book of Mormon one evening, Ana’s deceased grandfather appeared to her. Three times he forcefully said, “Ana, I need the gospel!”
“That really strengthened her,” Daniel says. “We’re going back to the temple soon to do his work.”
Ana teaches a Primary class, and Daniel is a high councilor. He gets excited as he talks about his assignment with missionary work. “We invite nonmembers into our home every week to introduce them to the missionaries or to have discussions with them. And we’ve seen baptisms come of it. You can’t preach what you don’t do.” (See: “Keeping Track.”)

“I adored my parents. They meant the world to me and taught me crucial lessons. I cannot thank them enough for the happy homelife they created for me and my siblings. And yet, even as a boy, I knew I was missing something. One day I jumped on the streetcar and went to a … bookstore to find a book about the Church. I loved learning about the gospel.

“As I came to understand the Word of Wisdom, I wanted my parents to live that law. So, one day when I was very young, I went to our basement and smashed on the concrete floor every bottle of liquor! I expected my father to punish me, but he never said a word.

“As I matured and began to understand the magnificence of Heavenly Father’s plan, I often said to myself, ‘I don’t want one more Christmas present! I just want to be sealed to my parents.’ That longed-for event did not happen until my parents were past 80, and then it did happen. I cannot fully express the joy that I felt that day (see Alma 26:16), and each day I feel that joy of their sealing and my being sealed to them.”1

New Era: Speaking of losses, when you have a real setback, like an interception, how do you keep from losing concentration or becoming discouraged?
Gifford: You’ve got to develop emotional stability. I went through some adverse situations in my high school career, and I would leave the field kicking my helmet and making an idiot of myself. At that time I decided that if I was going to participate in athletics, I would have to control my emotions. I couldn’t let athletics control me, and at that time athletics were controlling me. I said to myself, “Look, the main goal in this life is to gain eternal life, and nothing else is really vital. Having those kinds of eternal feelings really helps. I had an interview down in Florida, and one guy said, “I don’t see how your church helps you in athletics.” I said, “Well, I’ll tell you something. It just gives me a purpose in life. The most important thing in my life is to prove myself and return to my Father in heaven. The Church gives me an eternal perspective of the reason why I’m playing football. Football is a very big part of my life, but it’s not the most important thing in my life.” I think if you look at sports in that light, it will really help you in adverse situations.

“I want you to finish page twenty-seven in your spelling book tonight,” Mrs. Fielding reminded her class. “And your oral reports on what you want to be when you grow up are due Monday morning.”
The boys and girls buzzed eagerly about their oral reports. Only Carlos sat silently staring at his desk. His friend Robert smiled at him. After six weeks in his new school, Carlos had made only one friend—Robert. Somehow it was easy to talk to Robert.
The recess bell rang, and the chattering class hurried outside.
“Hey, Robert! C’mon! We’re starting a game!” It was Steve, the captain of the class baseball team.
“Great!” Robert called back. “Can Carlos play too?”
Steve hesitated. “I guess so. Is he any good?”
“He’s good,” said Robert. He turned back to Carlos and said, “Come on, Carlos, show them.”
But Carlos pulled back. “No,” he mumbled, “not today. I—I just don’t know how to talk to them. And when I don’t talk, they think I don’t know how to play baseball.”
“Carlos, you’ve got to talk to people,” Robert told his friend. “What are you going to do when you have to give your oral report next week in front of the whole class?”
“I don’t know,” Carlos answered glumly.
Robert smiled encouragingly at his friend. “Come on, Carlos, let’s play catch and not worry about it now. We’ll think of something for your report.” He tossed the ball to Carlos. “It’s easy to have friends. Just show them you’re friendly.”
After school Robert walked home with Carlos. As they climbed the steps, a man opened the front door.
“Uncle Ernesto!” Carlos yelled excitedly, hugging his uncle.
After he introduced Robert to Uncle Ernesto, Carlos told Robert that his uncle’s hobby was making puppets and putting on plays. “Uncle Ernesto lets me help with the shows sometimes,” said Carlos. They all went inside, and Uncle Ernesto brought out his new puppets to show the boys. Carlos picked one up and demonstrated how the strings made the puppets appear to wave, dance, and even talk.
“Aren’t you nervous doing a show in front of people?” asked Robert, admiring a little donkey puppet.
“Not really,” answered Carlos. “It’s as though I’m one of the puppets instead of me. I feel much braver then.”
“I guess I understand,” said Robert. “I feel that way when I’m a player on the field.” He thought for a moment, gently wiggling the strings on the bullfighter puppet. Suddenly his face lit up and he exclaimed, “Say, Carlos, why don’t you let the puppets give your oral report to the class! You could talk, but everyone would be watching them.”
Carlos grinned happily. “That’s a great idea!”
On Monday three other students gave their reports before Carlos gave his, and everyone was impatient to see what was in the large box he had brought with him. When it was finally Carlos’s turn, he asked for permission to set up a small puppet stage on Mrs. Fielding’s desk.
The curtains opened, and even Robert was surprised to see two baseball player puppets. Carlos made them look as if they were playing catch while they talked about baseball. Carlos really knew a lot about baseball. Steve and the other boys looked at each other in surprise.
The puppets batted and ran and slid, and the class was delighted as they listened eagerly to Carlos’s report.
“You are part of a team,” said one of the puppets in a deep voice, “so you try to do your best for your friends.”
“That’s why I want to be a baseball player,” the second puppet said in Carlos’s natural voice. Then the puppets made funny little bows and bounced off the stage.
The class whispered noisily, and Steve spoke up. “That was great! He really knows the game.” Later, at recess, Steve walked over to Robert and Carlos. “Hey, you guys, let’s play ball. We need you both on the team.”

I will never forget walking the grounds at Winter Quarters, Nebraska, USA, where pioneers had lived years before. The ground felt sacred, almost as if I were visiting an outdoor temple.
My eyes filled with tears, blurring my vision. I saw a statue but could not make out the figures. When I wiped away my tears, I saw a man and a woman whose faces were full of grief. As I looked closer, I saw the figure of an infant lying in a grave at their feet.
This sight filled me with so many emotions: sadness, anger, gratitude, and joy. I wanted to take away the pain those Saints felt, but I was grateful at the same time for what they had sacrificed for the gospel.
My experience at Winter Quarters helped me realize that Heavenly Father gives the gospel to His children and allows them the agency to do with it as they will. The parents of that baby could have chosen to take an easier course. Following the prophet and living the gospel required these pioneers to press forward even when it meant burying their child. But they chose to take the gospel into their lives and accepted their challenges. I learned that the Saints’ dedication to the gospel and their determination to press forward were driven by faith and hope—hope for a bright future and faith that the Lord knew them and could ease their pain.

As a young man I was given a very strong written admonition to prove myself a faithful and obedient son so that as I grew older and whenever I needed counsel and advice, I should go to my parents, though they be “bowed in years,” to receive from them wisdom, comfort, and guidance. My father passed away over 20 years ago, having been a great and exemplary source of wisdom for me all the days of my life, and we just laid my 101-year-old mother to rest beside her eternal companion last Monday. In her 100th year, she affirmed her lifelong testimony in these words: “The gospel is a way of life; it is part of the plan to help us avoid bitterness. More than ever, I believe that this life is good but that the next life is better” (in “Growing Old Graciously: Lessons from a Centenarian,” Religious Educator 5, no. 1 [2004], 11).
My mother often told me that she prayed for me and for our family every day. As she came closer and closer to the veil, her prayers were especially fervent and meaningful to me. Both of my parents, as well as my dear parents-in-law, endured or are enduring to the end in righteous paths, leaving a legacy of faithful dedication for all their posterity to follow.

It was a big day for Julie. It was her first day in first grade.
It was a big day for Caroline too. It was the first day she wouldn’t have Julie to do things with.
Mother fixed a big breakfast.
After eating, Julie brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and picked up her new lunch box. Then Mother and Caroline walked with her to the corner, where Mother kissed Julie good-bye and Julie got on the school bus. Caroline and Mother waved as the bus drove away.
“I want to go to school, too,” Caroline said to Mother.
“You aren’t old enough yet, Caroline,” Mother told her. “But since this is a special day for Julie, why don’t we do some special things too?”
“Can we ride on a school bus?” Caroline asked eagerly.
“No,” Mother said as they walked home, “but we can go for a ride in the car.”
It wasn’t like riding in the car usually was, because this time Caroline got to sit in the front seat instead of the backseat. She could see everything much better.
First, they went to the library and Caroline picked out two picture books all by herself to take home.
Then they went to the park, where they fed the squirrels. And at the playground, Caroline got to go down the slide as many times as she wanted to.
They had hamburgers and french fries for lunch—with a sundae for dessert!
Next, they went shopping at the grocery store. Caroline got to help push the cart.
When they went home, Caroline helped Mother put away the groceries. Then they played her favorite board game.
Even though Caroline loved her special day, she missed not having Julie to talk to and play with.
Soon, however, Mother told Caroline, “It’s time for Julie to come home.”
They walked to the corner and waited. Along came the big yellow bus. It stopped, and Julie got off.
“We went to the library today, and I picked out two books all by myself,” Caroline told Julie as they walked home. “And I got to sit in the front seat of the car all the time! And feed the squirrels. And push the grocery cart.”
“I have my very own desk,” Julie said. “And my teacher is Miss Larson. And we had recess. And I have a new friend named Kathy.”
“I missed you,” Caroline said.
“I missed you, too,” Mother said.
“And I missed both of you,” Julie said. “School was fun, but I’m glad to be home.”

When Josiah heard about the tornado, he was scared. He kept thinking about pictures he’d seen—pictures of the tornado and pictures of all the damage it caused. In one picture, Josiah saw a little girl in pink rubber boots. She looked about his age and was standing on a heap of rubble that used to be her home. What would happen to her? To all the people who lost their homes?
“You look so sleepy,” Mom said the next morning. “Are you feeling OK?”
Josiah shrugged.
Mom felt his face. “No fever. Should we see how you feel at breakfast? Dad’s making pancakes.”
In the kitchen, Dad stood next to the stove, flipping pancakes. He kept glancing at his phone.
“Lots of damage from the tornado,” he said. “Thousands still don’t have power.”
“I hope they get it back soon,” Mom said. She and Dad kept talking about the tornado. Josiah sat down at the table. He put his head in his hands.
“You OK, bud?” Dad asked.
Josiah looked up. “I’m scared,” he said. “Are we gonna have a tornado? I don’t want our house to blow away.” He started to cry.
Mom sat down and put her arm around Josiah.
“We don’t know if something scary will happen to us, but we can trust Heavenly Father to help us no matter what happens.”
“But what about all those people in the tornado?” Josiah said. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father help them?”
“Heavenly Father is helping them,” Dad said. He put a big stack of pancakes on the table. “He won’t stop all bad things from happening, but Heavenly Father always helps His children.”
“How?” Josiah said.
“Well, sometimes He sends little miracles, or helps people feel comfort, or inspires other people to help out.”
Mom nodded. “A lot of times, Heavenly Father helps other people through us.”
“Remember when the Johnsons had a fire and we invited them to stay with us? You shared your room,” Dad said.
“And you played with the baby so we could help them rebuild their house,” Mom added. “That was a big help. Now the Johnsons are back in their home.”
Josiah smiled. He liked helping the Johnsons. Was that Heavenly Father helping through him?
“And then there was that spaghetti dinner to raise money for the people in the earthquake,” Dad said.
“I helped sweep the floor,” said Josiah.
“Yes, you did,” Dad said.
“What about the people near the tornado?” asked Josiah. “Can we help them?”
“I think Heavenly Father is inspiring you to help. What do you think we could do?” asked Mom.
“Would my birthday money help?” asked Josiah. “I still have it.”
“Yes, it would,” said Mom. “Dad and I have some money we can send too.”
Josiah looked at the pancakes. They looked yummy. “Can I say the prayer?”
“You sure can,” Dad said.
Josiah bowed his head. He thanked Heavenly Father for their food and for always helping His children. Then Josiah prayed for the people hurt by the tornado. He asked to know more ways he and his family could help.
Afterward, Josiah took a big bite of pancakes. There were lots of ways to help! And Josiah felt much better.

Not long ago, I was feeling spiritually adrift. I couldn’t understand it. I was going to church, rattling off prayers, and glancing at my scriptures. I occasionally felt spiritual promptings, but overall, I felt somewhat disconnected.
As I told Heavenly Father this in an anxious prayer, these words came to mind: “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).
It was as if the word still was highlighted, underlined, and in bold type.
I may have been doing all the right things, but I was doing them at high speeds and with shallow focus. I had adopted a distracted approach to living the gospel.
No religious practice could bring me deep spiritual connection if my participation was cursory and distracted. It was much more than a quippy scripture. To come to know God and to connect with the divine, permeating knowledge I was craving, I needed to slow down and be still.
Heeding that prompting wasn’t easy. But it made all the difference.
For me, slowing down meant kneeling and speaking out loud as I prayed. The reverent posture and my own audible words helped me focus better. Slowing down meant studying from physical scriptures and taking physical notes. It takes more effort and time, and that increased effort and time is a good way to “awake and arouse your faculties,” thus allowing the Spirit and the desire for truth to “work in you” and that seed of testimony to “get root, and grow up, and bring forth fruit” (Alma 32:27, 37).

But on Sunday, 11 September 1983, at about three o’clock in the morning, I had a dream. I dreamed that I saw a native American woman with long braids streaked with gray. She was stirring something in a cooking pot. In my dream, I was in her home. Stretched animal skins formed the walls and roof, and poles of clean natural wood supported the walls, which were lashed together with leather strips. The home was small in circumference, but the roof was high enough for me to stand comfortably.
The woman spoke with me, and we talked for some time. I felt comfortable being with her and felt her warm hospitality. I don’t remember what was said, but she told me her name over and over again—Nanah-ku-chi. Another woman was with her, holding a child about two or three years old, with black shoulder-length hair. Their clothing, simple in design, appeared to be made from animal skins, cleaned and softened.
Three times the Spirit prompted me to get up and write, until I finally climbed out of bed and found paper and a pencil. I then sat at the dining-room table and wrote the words that came into my mind.
The Spirit made known to me that, if I were faithful, I would be led to find my ancestors’ names, and that Nanah-ku-chi, one of the women I had seen in the dream, was my ancestor. I seemed to hear in my mind, “Now is the time to labor for thy dead.”
I felt prompted to go to Philadelphia, Mississippi, where I would be given the names of those whose temple work needed to be done. “Be faithful, and it shall come unto thee line upon line,” the Spirit seemed to say. I have always believed in personal revelation, but this experience carried with it a force far beyond what I had expected.

As president of the Barquisimeto (Venezuela) District, I constantly encouraged the members to get involved in genealogical research. I was busy in the work myself, but I was frustrated because some of the records of my parents and grandparents were in my native country of Peru. I tried hard to get information from my relatives there, but because they were not members of the Church, they weren’t too motivated to help me. The greatest problem was that my ancestors originally came from Europe. Not only did I not have the money to travel to Europe, I wasn’t even sure of the region my ancestors came from.
Time passed, and my work called for me to travel to the city of Valencia. It was during a time when I was being strongly tested, not only with respect to my testimony of the Church but also by other trials. In Valencia I learned of an author, Kepa De Derteano y Basterra, who shared my family name. One of the local members, Bob Steelheart, offered to help me locate the author which we did through checking the many books Derteano had published. On our first visit to Derteano’s home, we were unlucky. He and his wife were out. However, his daughter suggested I return later that night.
When we returned, Derteano was home and we had a very special meeting. We soon began to talk of our ancestors. Although we shared the same name, he was a Basque from Spain, and I a Peruvian. He showed me his genealogical records, and I was amazed to see that they went back to the 1500s. Then he really astounded me by telling me what had caused him to gather the records.
I said that I could provide the answer for him. I told him about the Church and the purposes of the vicarious work for the dead in the temples. I read to him 1 Peter 3:18–20 [1 Pet. 3:18–20], which tells of the Savior preaching the gospel in the spirit world. Then I shared with him parts of Doctrine and Covenants 138 [D&C 138], emphasizing the joy the spirits feel when they receive the gospel and their hope that their descendents would remember them since they cannot progress without us.
Derteano was overjoyed at hearing the reason behind his search. Now, sixty-three years old, he finally felt free of his obligation to his granduncle.
He gave me copies of all the birth and marriage records he had and also the names and addresses of other Derteanos in other parts of the world. My joy and feelings overflowed when together we found a common ancestor in the records, and thus I was able to connect my family tree to his.
Derteano gave me one of his books in which he wrote, “To Luis Roberto Derteano and Rosa Liliana, relatives I had been seeking throughout my life. Without a doubt something brought us together. Kepa De Derteano y Basterra.”