Gospel Story Finder

I think of the Saints in the little village of Bermejillo, Mexico, where I went with some health missionaries in 1975. As we walked along a dusty road with the branch president and his wife, we were taught how to pick out the homes of Church members. Their fences and homes were painted, and vegetable and flower gardens accented their neat and tidy yards. As we passed several homes, the branch president’s wife told us, “These people are not active right now, so you can’t tell they’re Latter-day Saints. But soon they’ll be back with us, and on your next visit you can pick them out, too.” Eventually the members in this branch built their own chapel.

“I had been taught to obey the Word of Wisdom, and I earnestly tried to obey it all my life. When I was married and a young bishop and the father of three children, my brother and I were involved in a serious car accident. I walked to get help for the other people in the accident, who were unconscious. By the time I got to the hospital myself, I’d lost a great deal of blood, and the doctors thought that I wouldn’t live. I asked the Lord to let me live to fulfill my responsibilities as husband, father, and bishop, and I heard a voice speaking, just as clearly as I might speak to you, say that because I had lived the Word of Wisdom all my life, I would ‘run and not be weary, and … walk and not faint’ [D&C 89:20] and that I would receive even more blessings. When my wife arrived at the hospital, someone suggested that she not go into my room because I looked so terrible. She asked, ‘Is he breathing?’ and went in anyway. She also received the same witness that I would live.”

“You’ve gotta crack a half a cuppa nuts!” is a very familiar phrase heard in my family. It is not unusual for our mother or dad to say it, and we’re all quite used to the strange and puzzled looks we get from those visitors who have no idea what it means.
It all started a couple of years ago when my dad was out of ideas to keep us under control. Being the father of ten active and quite rambunctious children, he needed a way to discipline our behavior. Consequently, he tried several methods of punishment that didn’t work particularly well.
One of the most boring discipline remedies that I can remember was “sitting on the chair.” When we were being punished for misbehavior, we had to sit on a hard chair in a corner of our dining room for a certain time which Mom would set on the oven buzzer. What made this punishment particularly unpleasant was that the chair was right by the piano. It never failed that a big sister would plop down on the piano bench and, seeing she had a captive audience, sing and play to her heart’s content. Talk about a fate worse than death!
That form of punishment failed because Mom and Dad had to worry about us sneaking off the chair and reducing the time on the buzzer, or simply disappearing. It proved a discipline dead end.
Another time Mom tried the “write an essay” form of punishment in which we had to write about what we did and how we would never do it again. None of us had much problem coming up with a lot to write about, but for some of us the punishment disintegrated into page-long poems that began with “Roses are red,” while others developed a unique writing style in which they could snugly fit about 17 huge words on a page. Another dead end.
Unfortunately for us, Dad came up with an idea that he thought was absolutely brilliant. Dreadful was a better word for it. We have a walnut tree in our backyard. Dad had been noticing how many walnuts go uncracked every year. He decided to mix that chore with our punishment. Every time we would break a family rule we would have to crack one half cup of nuts. Half a cup of nuts became the standard unit of punishment.
Cracking nuts may sound silly, but, believe me, it’s hard work. Picture a bunch of kids sitting on a hot sidewalk cracking each walnut one by one with a brick, then picking out the meat. Filling up one-half cup takes about 45 minutes, 35 if you’re a pro.
We children weren’t exactly thrilled with the idea, but we always had an abundance of cracked walnuts around to add to breads or cookies.
It takes forever to clean the slate when you get behind in your nut cracking. Once our family was planning a vacation. Dad decided that we weren’t going until everyone had his nuts cracked. Those who didn’t have nuts to crack were encouraged to help the others. We started out being grumpy, but by the end, we were all working together and actually enjoying it! Spending that time together, just talking while we were at our nut cracking, made us closer.
As for the days when the trees are bare and walnuts are scarce, we can work off our obligation by helping a parent or doing extra chores around the farm or house at the rate of one half cup of nuts per 15 minutes. As I have grown older, I have noticed one nice side effect. Working one-on-one with a parent gives us time to talk and learn how to work.
We’ve all grown and become better people because of our Dad’s nutty idea. Over the years even Mom and Dad have had to crack a few nuts themselves. It has proven an equitable way to discipline our family. Having nuts to crack was an unpleasant task but never a punishment that would damage our self-esteem.
I have just one word of warning to any kids out there who happen to have walnut trees in their backyards—obey your parents, don’t fight, and don’t call your little brother a “stupid nerd.” Or your parents might end up a little nutty over discipline.

I remember an occasion when I was hospitalized for an illness, and it was difficult for me to sleep. When I turned off the lights and the room became dark, I saw a reflective sign on the ceiling in front of me that said, “Call, don’t fall.” To my surprise, the next day I observed the same message repeated in several parts of the room.

Why was that message so important? When I asked the nurse about it, she said, “It is to prevent a blow that might increase the pain you already have.”

Before I joined the Church, I was living with my parents in the Freeport area of Monrovia, Liberia. In April 2010, my father passed away and I went to stay with his brother who was a member of the Church. Before inviting me, my uncle told me that he wanted me to attend his Church and if I was satisfied with it, I could continue attending. If I was not satisfied, he would not force me to attend. The first day I attended church, I was a little bit confused because of the way they worshipped. Many people came around me and smiled, spoke to me and were very friendly. At other churches I did not feel that friendliness.
The missionaries started teaching me and taught me about the Book of Mormon. They asked me to read, pray and ponder about it and ask Heavenly Father if this book is true. I did that. Later, they asked me to be baptized and I said yes. I got baptized in May 2013. My mother was Muslim, and she loved the Church. She came to my baptism so she could witness it.
In 2019, I came back to live with my mom in Freeport. Until 2021, I did not know that the Church was in my area. When I found it, I started worshipping again. They gave me a position as the female representative and that helped me feel involved.
Ever since I joined the Church, my dream has been to serve a mission. I want to be a missionary. I want to bring souls to Christ. I want to help gather scattered Israel.
My mom always wanted me to be a missionary. She wanted me to serve a mission before her passing. She passed away April 26, 2022. My dad died in the same month, 2010. That April was a challenging time for me, and I would never have made it if it wasn’t for the grace of Almighty God.
I told myself that I wanted to go on a mission by the end of 2023. So, little by little, with the help of my bishop and close friends, I processed my paperwork. My friend told me “You said you wanted to go on a mission by the end of 2023 and your wish came to pass.” I told him “No, it was the will of my Heavenly Father, He planned it.”
There was a sister in my ward who was about to leave on mission. She knew the importance of temple work and started asking about information on my mom because she wanted to do the temple work for her. I kindly told her that I wanted to do it myself.
When I went to the missionary training center, with the help of my MTC president and his wife, President Lords and Sister Lords, I got to do the temple work for my parents and seal them together. I was so excited! Some people ask if I’m doing the right thing for my parents since they were not married. I want them to learn about the gospel where they are. Then, they can be happy forever. And after this life, I will be able to meet them again. That is something I look forward to.

Take the month’s Young Women–Young Men combined activity, for example. The activity is a special-needs night. They are going to learn what it’s like to be restricted to a wheelchair or find out how handicapped accessible their building is. They are also going to have someone give demonstrations on how it feels to be blind or deaf. But this isn’t just a nice activity. The youth are learning what some of their own ward members are going through. The mother of two of the young men is confined to a wheelchair. It would help if some of their friends knew what they could do to help her on occasion. The other youth of the ward need to learn in what ways she struggles.
One young woman’s grandfather is blind. She will demonstrate how to be an effective guide. Another ward member is hearing impaired. A young woman is planning to demonstrate some of the things that restrict this sister because of her deafness. The activity is a good one, but it is even better because it meets the needs of several of the youth and ward members.
In youth council, the group in charge has divided the work for the activity night into six assignments. One group quickly volunteers to round up some wheelchairs. Another offers to bring refreshments. Another offers to do the publicity. Soon the last assignment, cleanup, needs to be made. Again, it goes to the deacons. Everyone starts to laugh. The deacons haven’t learned how to speak up quickly enough on assignments and usually wait too long and get stuck with cleanup. But they are good-natured about it. It’s a job they know how to do well.

But it’s not only in public ways that the gospel helps the youth in Alice Springs. For Ivan Munn, 18, the gospel has brought the reassurance that he can turn to the Lord for help.
“I’ve learned some things the hard way,” Ivan says. “I fell away from the Church, but now I’m back. I’ve stopped doing the bad things, and I’m working to show my love for the Lord. Repentance is a hard job, but it’s worth it.”
Ivan says Church friends have made a difference. “The youth here, the missionaries, the leaders—they’ve all helped me sort things out,” he says. “But faith in the Savior and in Heavenly Father is what keeps you going. The Book of Mormon talks about the servant and the master in the fruit fields [see Jacob 5]. It talks about cutting out the bad fruit so that good fruit can come forth. I think that symbolizes my life. With the Lord’s help, I’ve cut away the bad fruit. I believe the good fruit is starting to come forth.”

One day my English teacher was telling us how she thought Clinton Central didn’t welcome new students and left others out. A week later I received the October 1987 New Era. As I was glancing through it, the story “Everyone Belongs” caught my eye. While I was reading, all I could think about was how much this school in the story sounded like my own. Since I am a class officer, I felt I could try to do something.
I showed the story to my English teacher, who is also my freshman class adviser. While the class was doing the assigned homework, she read the story. I couldn’t help but notice a tear running down her face. When she had finished reading she said she thought we as a school needed to do something to make everyone feel as if they belonged. She had me take the story to Mrs. Pearson, who is in charge of the student council and to Mr. Thompson, who is in charge of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes at Clinton Central.
I know this article is going to affect many people at my school, and I can already see the efforts being made to include others by those who have read it.

One evening Anthony Obinna dreamed of a beautiful building he had never seen before. Several years later, while confined to his home during the Nigerian Civil War, Obinna read an old issue of the Reader’s Digest. He was stunned to see the building from his dream in an article about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“From the time I finished reading the story,” Obinna recalled, “I had no rest of mind any longer.” He immediately told his family about his discovery, but more than a year passed before the political situation in Nigeria allowed Obinna to contact Church headquarters. In 1971 LaMar S. Williams of the Church’s Missionary Department sent him a copy of the Book of Mormon and other Church literature but informed him there were not yet plans to organize the Church in Nigeria.
Despite his disappointment, Obinna continued the correspondence and shared the gospel with friends and neighbors. In 1975 he became a member of Ime Eduok’s committee to coordinate unofficial Latter-day Saint congregations in Nigeria. Within a few years, 71 people were regularly attending the meetings Obinna held. The group built a small church, which they called the LDS Missionary Home, and posted a sign on the roof announcing it as the home of the “Nigerian Latter-day Saints.”
In November 1978, soon after the Church announced the revelation extending the priesthood to all worthy male members, Rendell N. and Rachel Mabey and Edwin Q. and Janath Cannon became the first missionaries sent to West Africa. Almost immediately, they sought Obinna and soon met him at the Missionary Home. “It has been a long, difficult wait,” Obinna said, “but that doesn’t matter now. You have come at last.”
Elder Mabey told Obinna that the other congregations needed to be visited and estimated it would be six weeks before they could return to baptize his group. Obinna protested. “No. Please,” he quietly implored. “Please, if it is humanly possible—go ahead with the baptisms now!” Mabey agreed, and on November 21, 1978, 19 converts were baptized in the Ekeonumiri River. Anthony Obinna was the first.
Anthony Obinna was called to preside over the newly organized Aboh Branch with his brothers Francis and Raymond as his counselors. Obinna’s wife, Fidelia, was called as Relief Society president.
“We are happy for the many hours in the Upper Room of the Temple you spent supplicating the Lord to bring us into the fold,” the Obinna brothers wrote to Church leaders after the branch was established. “We thank our Heavenly Father for hearing your prayers and ours,” they added, expressing gratitude that “revelation has confirmed the long-promised day, and has granted the holy priesthood to us, with the power to exercise its divine authority and enjoy every blessing of the temple.”

And then he left on his mission to Mexico.
Oh sure, I wrote to him like everyone else, but our letters to each other could have been form letters; there was nothing personal in them. If this wasn’t enough, the family was in a Darrell-mania craze.
“Look, Katy, another letter from Darrell. Would you like to read it?” Mom would ask as she held out the letter as if it were from heaven.
“Uh, no thanks, Mom. Just leave it here. I’ll read it when I’ve got some time,” I’d mumble. Well, if I wouldn’t read it, then she’d proceed to tell me all about it, which irritated me all the more.
Dad was just as bad with the slides Darrell sent. Dad was forever nagging me to come and see them through his viewer. When I’d politely decline because of homework or something, he’d act hurt and say, “I guess you don’t care about your brother’s mission, huh?” Then I’d bristle.
With ward members and other relatives and friends always asking about Darrell, he was the only subject talked about wherever I went. I was sick to death of hearing about Darrell.
One day Mom started to talk with me—about Darrell, of course. But instead of talking about his mission, she recalled different memories of him, some good and some bad.
“You know, even though we had some rough spots, I really miss him,” Mom said. Then she looked at me. “Do you miss him sometimes?”
I meant just to say, “Of course I do,” but I felt strongly that I should say what was true. “Not really. I hardly miss him at all.”
Mom looked shocked, so I spoke quickly. “It’s not that I don’t love him, Mom. It’s just that I really don’t know him. How can you miss someone you hardly even know? Think about it, Mom. What have Darrell and I ever done together to make us close? When was the last time you remember Darrell and me doing something together?”
She didn’t answer because, like me, she couldn’t think of any.
That night I decided to write to Darrell. I started with the usual lines about school when I stopped. I thought to myself, Why not tell him how I really feel? So I did. I poured it all out into that letter, all about how I really didn’t know him, and my feelings about his mission. I also added some things that were going on with me, about my new music lessons and about my goals to become a writer someday.
As I sealed it, I knew it wouldn’t be the most cheerful letter he’d ever receive, but it expressed my true feelings and I knew if I didn’t tell him I’d go crazy.
I was on pins and needles waiting for his answer. I came home one day to find a letter from Darrell waiting for me. I ripped it open and began to read:
“Dear Katy,
“I was very thankful for your letter. On Thursday I woke up homesick—something was very wrong. When my companion and I left to go tracting, we both felt impressed to check the mailbox, but there’s never anything in the mail until after four o’clock. But there was your letter. I love you, and I get the feeling that you want to talk. Fasting, prayer, and many tears have gone into this letter. I hope you will read it carefully. …”
He went on to tell me that I was right. We really didn’t know each other, and so he told me he’d like to be friends.
“… I can understand how tiring it must be to hear about me all of the time, so here in Mexico you have some relief from ‘Darrell-mania.’ I want to hear all about you!”
He was very impressed with my goals and my high school schedule and even offered some advice.
He told me many other things that are dear to my heart but too personal to tell anyone else. But it made me feel warm and good inside. It made me remember my experience during my 13th year and our moment of closeness. I remembered that feeling of closeness, because it was back again only much stronger than before.
I was crying by the time I finished his letter. Darrell truly cared about me, and my letter had helped him. Before, I’d been jealous of him and his mission. I resented all of the talk about him and the looks of pride in my parents’ faces, because it made me feel as if I were loved less, cared about less. I felt anything I could do would never be as important as Darrell’s mission. But Darrell made me feel so important, as if what I did mattered. And he really did want to hear all about me. I was deeply touched and deeply grateful.
From then on my letters to and from him were much more meaningful. He took part in helping me with my problems and in helping me to become a better person and learn to grow up. I love him so very much, and the best part about it is I know that my brother loves me too.

Meanwhile, Elder Warwood was discovering his own unexpected path. “When we came out, I didn’t know what I was going to do,” he admits. When another senior missionary couple had to return home early, Elder Warwood inherited their bicycle maintenance responsibilities, in which he had little experience. “I know enough about bike repair to get myself in trouble,” he laughs.
The solution came through family. His brother Dan was planning to visit New Zealand for just one week with his wife. Sister Warwood suggested they extend their stay. “Gary could really use some help with bikes.” Her sister-in-law’s response was immediate: “Oh, Dan would love that.”
Dan, a skilled mechanic, ended up staying almost three weeks, teaching Elder Warwood everything about bicycle repair. “He fixes anything,” Elder Warwood says gratefully. “The Lord just provided that help.” Now he manages both mission finances and keeps dozens of bicycles running.

The story is told of a ship that was in distress during a severe storm off the coast of Holland:
“A rowboat went out to rescue the crew of the fishing boat. The waves were enormous, and each of the men at the oars had to give all his strength and energy to reach the unfortunate sailors in the grim darkness of the night and the heavy rainstorm.
“The trip to the wrecked ship was successful, but the rowboat was too small to take the whole crew in one rescue operation. One man had to stay behind on board because there simply was no room for him; the risk that the rescue boat would capsize was too great. When the rescuers made it back to the beach, hundreds of people were waiting for them with torches to guide them in the dreary night. But the same crew could not make the second trip because they were exhausted from their fight with the stormwinds, the waves, and the sweeping rains.
“So the local captain of the coast guard asked for volunteers to make a second trip. Among those who stepped forward without hesitation was a nineteen-year-old youth by the name of Hans. With his mother he had come to the beach in his oilskin clothes to watch the rescue operation.
“When Hans stepped forward his mother panicked and said, ‘Hans, please don’t go. Your father died at sea when you were four years old and your older brother Pete has been reported missing at sea for more than three months now. You are the only son left to me!’
“But Hans said, ‘Mom, I feel I have to do it. It is my duty.’ And the mother wept and restlessly started pacing the beach when Hans boarded the rowing boat, took the oars, and disappeared into the night.
“After a struggle with the high-going seas that lasted for more than an hour (and to Hans’s mother it seemed an eternity), the rowboat came into sight again. When the rescuers had approached the beach close enough so that the captain of the coast guard could reach them by shouting, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called vigorously against the storm, ‘Did you save him?’
“And then the people lighting the sea with their torches saw Hans rise from his rowing bench, and he shouted with all his might, ‘Yes! And tell Mother it is my brother Pete!’”

After Hurricane Maria devastated Puerto Rico in September 2017, Abner and Midalys moved to Florida, USA. Soon they received a prompting in the temple to move back to Puerto Rico and open a barbershop.
Raul Sandoval, photographer
Midalys
It was hard after Hurricane Maria hit Puerto Rico. Even though we had some water and food stored, we didn’t have electricity or running water.
We used the rain when it fell to wash our clothes and to shower. When it rained, I would grab our children, run outside, and say, “Quick, shower!”
The hardest thing was that we didn’t have a way to communicate with our family, friends, or others. Thankfully, a neighbor had a generator and shared it with us so we could call our family. When we called our family in Florida, they told us to come stay with them.
We were in Florida two weeks after the hurricane. I was studying nursing at the time and could continue my studies there. But since Abner’s brother had only one car, it was difficult for us to get around and for Abner to find work. We wanted to work and to find a way to stay.
I had the idea that I would stay in Florida while Abner returned to Puerto Rico to work. When I told a friend my plan, she said, “No, you are a family. You have to stay together.”
I prayed to stay in Florida, but Abner prayed to know the right path the Lord wanted for us. We went to the temple for guidance on what we should do. I felt the Spirit very strongly in the temple that we should return to Puerto Rico. It was hard, but that’s what we did. I continued my studies, and we decided to open a barber shop. Abner is a barber.
Abner
I found a small unit we could rent for our barbershop. When the owner told me the cost for rent, it was more than we could afford. I asked if he could lower the cost. He called me later and said, “I want to know who I’m renting to. Bring your wife so I can meet her.”
Midalys
We prayed that he would see that we are good people. After meeting him, he said, “God is helping you. I’ve had this space for a long time. Many people have asked to rent it, but it never felt right. I feel strongly that you are good people.”
He lowered the rent for three years. I was surprised. He said the exact words my husband and I had prayed for.
Abner
We are now much more secure and peaceful. We’re making money, and we are blessed.
Midalys
Some people used to treat Abner poorly because he is a member of the Church. They also said, “You shouldn’t run a business with your wife.” But I say, “Of course we can do this together!” In truth, this has been a great opportunity for the two of us. He helps me with the house and the children, and I help him run the shop.
God loves and guides us. Returning to Puerto Rico was the right thing for our family. This was Heavenly Father’s perfect plan for us.

I first went to the temple fifty-seven years ago. It was different from any other experience I had had in the Church. A young man of my association went about the same time. Thereafter, he was wont to use phrases from the language of the temple in a frivolous way. It was offensive. It was a betrayal of a sacred trust. I have watched him through the years. Once faithful, he has drifted from all Church activity and forsaken the faith of his fathers. I think that much of what has happened to him began with that small irreverential thing that he did in trivializing language which is not trivial.

“Look, the baby is blind. It doesn’t have any eyes!” Incredulously the nurses crowded around to see the newborn infant just beginning to become pink after his journey into this world. Yes, it was true. The baby was blind. There were no eyes where eyes belonged. The mother, a beautiful nurse, and the father, a medical student, would have to be told. How would they react?
No, our Father doesn’t promise us immunity from trouble, and so it was with the mother and the blind baby. That child was accepted with love, cared for with kindness. The parents are more empathetic, more concerned, more Christlike because of their response to a heartrending problem.

He was still only a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, but Grandpa (Lorenzo Snow) was president of the Salt Lake Temple, so Chauncey was ordained an elder and received his endowments. He also participated in baptisms for the dead. He enjoyed almost a unique opportunity to examine the interior of the Temple:
“We started to see the interior of the Temple at one o’clock and went in the six towers as far as we could safely get. We went almost to the top of the west, middle tower, up past the last strait projection. I never care to be in a nicer place than the Temple. When we came back down, I sat in the chair made for the President of the Temple (my Grandpa). It was as soft and easy as life could wish to rest upon. I walked over the top of the Temple. We came out after 3 hours of walking and seeing. I went through as thoroughly as anybody and more than visitors and workers.”
The next day, too, he spent time looking through the Temple, “and enjoyed myself very much under its holy roof.”

In the tearful days after a wildfire devastated entire neighborhoods in California’s Sonoma County in October 2017, Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles traveled to affected communities to be with the Latter-day Saints.
He was on a mission of ministering. He and Sister Melanie Rasband comforted fire-weary members in their meetinghouses and at the edges of their charred homes.
And wherever he went, members came forward to shake his hand. It was a gesture of appreciation. They thanked the Apostle for his support. But each handshake communicated a common sentiment: “I sustain you.”
This means that just as members deeply impacted by the Santa Rosa fires offered sustaining support to Elder Rasband, members worldwide can be lifted even as they lift each member of the Twelve.

Here in the Lynn Branch, helping out means a whole lot of fellowshipping, the kind that brought Ngan Sout into the waters of baptism after four years of on-and-off attendance and missionary lessons. Once, she was going to be baptized, but some of her school friends started telling her how bad the Mormons were. “I was confused,” she says, “so I backed out again for a year.”
That’s when her friend Chenda Hak stepped in. Chenda kept inviting Ngan to church and to the activities. Finally Ngan said, “Just for you, I will go.”
This time, Ngan was ready. She was baptized. And now when friends question her decision, she says, “I’m happy now. I wish this had happened a long time ago, you know? Because I would have been happy all along.”

I think of a friend whom I knew when I was a missionary in London many years ago. He came to our door through the rain one night. I answered his knock and invited him in.
He said, as I remember, “I have to talk to someone. I’m all alone.”
I asked what the problem was.
He said, “When I joined the Church, my father told me to get out of his house and never come back. … Last month my boss fired me because I am a member of this Church. And last night the girl I love said she would never marry me because I’m a Mormon.”
I said, “If this has cost you so much, why don’t you leave the Church and go back to your father’s home, … to the job that meant so much to you, and marry the girl you think you love?”
He said nothing for what seemed a long time. Then, putting his head in his hands, he sobbed as if his heart would break. Finally he looked up through his tears and said, “I couldn’t do that. I know this is true, and if it were to cost me my life, I could not give it up.”
He picked up his wet hat and walked to the door and went out into the rain. …
I should like to say to … young men and women of the Church, that I hope you may come to know inner personal courage. … It takes resolution to be virtuous when those around you scoff at virtue. It takes commitment to abstain from [drugs and alcohol] when those around you scoff. … It takes love in our hearts to speak in peaceful testimony of the divinity of the Lord Jesus Christ to those who would mock Him and belittle and demean Him.
There will be times that demand courage for each of us. … Each of us is to live with his or her testimony. Unless we do, we will be miserable and dreadfully alone. …
Yet while there may be … heartache, even heartbreak, there can be peace and comfort and strength from the Lord for those who follow Him. …
The Lord [has promised]: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88). …
May we go forward with our righteous convictions. May we walk in truth and in faith and in love. For if we do so, we will be upheld and strengthened by the Lord.

In our day and our time, there are many examples concerning the experiences of those who pray and then go and do. I share with you a touching account of a fine family that lived in the beautiful city of Perth, Australia. In 1957, four months before the dedication of the New Zealand temple, Donald Cummings, the father, was the president of the member district in Perth. He and his wife and family were determined to attend the dedication of the temple, although they were of very modest financial means. They began to pray, to work, and to save. They sold their only car and gathered together every penny they could, but a week before their scheduled departure, they were still 200 pounds short. Through two unexpected gifts of 100 pounds each, they met their goal just in time. Because Brother Cummings couldn’t get time off work for the trip, he decided to quit his job.
They traveled by train across the vast Australian continent, arriving at Sydney, where they joined other members also traveling to New Zealand. Brother Cummings and his family were among the first Australians to be baptized for the dead in the New Zealand temple. They were among the first ones to be endowed in the New Zealand temple from far-off Perth, Australia. They prayed, they prepared, and then they went.
When the Cummings family returned to Perth, Brother Cummings obtained a new and better job. He was still serving as district president nine years later when it was my privilege to call him as the first president of the Perth Australia Stake. I think it significant that he is now the first president of the Perth Australia Temple.