Gospel Story Finder

In 1962, Elder Harold B. Lee, then a member of the Council of the Twelve, used a very practical modern example of that principle. “It is sometimes very interesting to get the reaction of people,” he observed. “I recall when President McKay announced to the Church that the First Council of Seventy were being ordained high priests in order to extend their usefulness and to give them authority to act when no other General Authority could be present. I went down to Phoenix, Arizona, and I found a Seventy who was very much disturbed. He said to me, ‘Didn’t the Prophet Joseph Smith say that this was contrary to the order of heaven to name high priests as presidents of the First Council of Seventy when they were named in the beginning?’
“And I said, ‘Well, I had understood that he did, but had you ever thought that what was contrary to the order of heaven in 1840 might not be contrary to the order of heaven in 1960?’ You see, he had not thought of that. He … was following a dead prophet, and he was forgetting that there is a living prophet today. Hence the importance of our stressing the word ‘living.’” (“The Place of the Living Prophet, Seer, and Revelator,” address given to Seminary and Institute Faculty at BYU on July, 1964.)

Marci dropped her sleeping bag on the kitchen floor. “I was trapped!” she wailed to her mother. “Just trapped. What else could I do?”
“You really had no choice,” said Mother. “Anyway, I agree with Hoa and her parents. If you had Hoa spend the night with you, then you should be willing to spend a night with her.”
“But, Mom,” groaned Marci. “That’s different. They live in a one-bedroom apartment. Hoa, her little sister, and I will be sleeping in the front room. And that’s part of the kitchen!”
Marci didn’t expect an answer. She could hear the car in the driveway and knew Dad was waiting. Sighing, she picked up her sleeping bag. “Well, I guess I have to go. Hoa would be very hurt if I didn’t.”
As Marci entered the apartment where her friend Hoa lived, Hoa’s mother turned from the stove. “We are most glad you came, Marci. We thank you.”
Marci smiled and put her sleeping bag under the kitchen table. Hoa was pouring rice into a pot. “What are you doing,” Marci asked.
“I always fix the rice for dinner,” answered Hoa. A small face peeked from behind her legs. “This is my little sister, Truc.”
Marci knelt down and touched the little girl on the arm. “Hello, Truc,” she said. “I’ve wanted to meet you.”
Truc waved a few fingers at Marci, and Marci reached for her hand.
“She’s cute,” said Marci. “I would baby-sit her any day.”
Hoa’s mother turned around and asked, “What is ‘baby-sit?’”
“I would watch Truc for you,” answered Marci.
The mother smiled. “No need,” she said. “Where I go, Truc goes or Hoa watches her.”
“Vietnamese do not use baby-sitters,” explained Hoa. She winked at Marci. “But you baby-sit me. I always have to ask you what to do.”
Marci laughed. That was true. She had been explaining different things to her new friend for six months now, ever since Hoa had come to her school.
When the father came home, they sat down for dinner. Marci thought it was very quiet, not like dinner at her house. Everyone spoke softly, and Marci could feel her voice become quieter.
“Does your name have a meaning, Marci?” asked Hoa’s father.
“I don’t understand,” said Marci.
“Vietnamese names have another meaning,” explained Hoa. “Mine means flower. Truc means bamboo.”
Marci studied Hoa. She does look like a flower. Marci looked at Truc. She wasn’t sure she resembled bamboo. “I wish my name did have another meaning, but I don’t think the names of many people in the United States do.”
After dinner, Hoa’s mother began cooking again.
“What are you making, Mother?” asked Hoa.
“For Marci I would like to make pho,” she replied. “We will eat it in the morning.”
“Oh, good!” Hoa smiled and turned to Marci. “Pho is like a soup. It is made with beef and egg noodles. You will like it.”
Marci nodded. She was sitting on the floor and Truc was on her lap. Marci looked around the room. There were no toys. A small television set was perched on a low table, but no one seemed interested in turning it on.
“Truc, have you ever heard the story of Peter Rabbit?” asked Marci.
Truc shook her head, and Marci began the story. Then she told her the story of Cinderella. After that, she related some tales about Daniel Boone and Paul Revere. Hoa and her parents listened too. They had never heard the stories either. When Truc fell asleep, Marci looked at her watch. It was ten o’clock! Hoa’s mother took Truc away to get her ready for bed.
Hoa’s father stood up and bowed. “You are most welcome, Marci. We liked the stories. I hope you have a good time here. Goodnight.”
Marci stood up and made a slight bow back to Hoa’s father. “This is one of the best times I have ever had,” she said.
Hoa yawned and brought out a mat to spread on the floor. Marci pulled her sleeping bag from under the table and put it next to Hoa’s mat. After the girls were ready for bed, Marci crawled into her sleeping bag and looked at Hoa. The warm smell of pho filled the room. “Thank you for asking me,” she whispered. “I’m really glad I came.”

For some, the suffering is extraordinary.
Stillman Pond was a member of the Second Quorum of Seventy in Nauvoo. He was an early convert to the Church, having come from Hubbardston, Massachusetts. Like others, he and his wife, Maria, and their children were harassed and driven out of Nauvoo. In September 1846, they became part of the great western migration. The early winter that year brought extreme hardships, including malaria, cholera, and consumption. The family was visited by all three of these diseases.
Maria contracted consumption, and all of the children were stricken with malaria. Three of the children died while moving through the early snows. Stillman buried them on the plains. Maria’s condition worsened because of the grief, pain, and the fever of malaria. She could no longer walk. Weakened and sickly, she gave birth to twins. They were named Joseph and Hyrum, and both died within a few days.
The Stillman Pond family arrived at Winter Quarters and, like many other families, they suffered bitterly while living in a tent. The death of the five children coming across the plains to Winter Quarters was but a beginning.
The journal of Horace K. and Helen Mar Whitney verifies the following regarding four more of the children of Stillman Pond who perished:
“On Wednesday, the 2nd of December 1846, Laura Jane Pond, age 14 years, … died of chills and fever.” Two days later on “Friday, the 4th of December 1846, Harriet M. Pond, age 11 years, … died with chills.” Three days later, “Monday, the 7th of December, 1846, Abigail A. Pond, age 18 years, … died with chills.” Just five weeks later, “Friday, the 15th of January, 1847, Lyman Pond, age 6 years, … died with chills and fever. Four months later, on the 17th of May, 1847, his wife Maria Davis Pond also died. Crossing the plains, Stillman Pond lost nine children and a wife. He became an outstanding colonizer in Utah, and became the senior president of the thirty-fifth Quorum of Seventy. (See Leon Y. and H. Ray Pond, comps., “Stillman Pond, a Biographical Sketch,” in Sterling Forsyth Histories, typescript, Church Historical Dept. Archives, pp. 4–5.)
Having lost these nine children and his wife in crossing the plains, Stillman Pond did not lose his faith. He did not quit. He went forward. He paid a price, as have many others before and since, to become acquainted with God.

I was visiting a patriarch a while ago. He told about a blessing he gave to a woman who came to him from one of the missions. Among other things he told her that her progenitors had made a great contribution to the bringing forth of the gospel in these latter days. And after the blessing was given she said, “I’m afraid you made a mistake this time. I am a convert to the Church; I am the first one of my family to join the Church.”
“Well,” the patriarch said, “I don’t know anything about it. All I know is that I felt prompted to say that to you.” And when he told me the story, she had just been in the genealogical library and had found that some of her relatives—her grandparents or her great-grandparents—had made great sacrifices in the early days of the Church. A part of the family had drifted up into the East and had been converted. She found that she was descended from some of the early pioneers. The patriarch did not know of it himself. He had spoken by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost.

Years ago a friend of mine told me an incredible story about his father’s first exposure to the Church. His father was in the navy during World War II. While serving on a battleship he became acquainted with two Mormon boys from Idaho. They were nice boys and everyone seemed to like them, but they were different. When the ship would come into port, many of the sailors would go into town to party and drink—but not these two. They seemed to find their own fun and avoid the crowd. When the war ended my friend’s father married, settled in Southern California, and became the father of two young children. One Sunday morning while working on his roof, his wife shouted up to him, saying something like this:

“Don’t you think it’s about time that we started taking our children to church?”

“Good idea,” he replied.

“Yes, but what church?” she asked.

“Take them to the Mormon Church,” he said. “Two of the nicest sailors I ever met were Mormons.”

“But where is the Mormon Church?” she asked.

“Look it up in the phone book,” he answered.

And so she did. To her surprise she found a Mormon church building not far from their home. She dressed her two small children in their nicest clothes and took them to the LDS Church. They were welcomed with open arms. The ward members took the children directly to junior Sunday School. The children had a great time and asked to go back week after week. Soon the parents were attending also. They were all baptized into the Church.

The story doesn’t end there. The parents were so excited about this new church they had found for their family that they told some of their best neighbor friends about it. Soon other families in the neighborhood were going to the same Mormon ward. From this small beginning, three generations later, there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people in the Church today. Why? Because two Mormon boys from Idaho lived their religion.

One of the amazing parts of this story is that these two boys from Idaho had no idea of the impact they had on one person in the navy. Imagine their joy in the next life when they meet all these Latter-day Saints. “By small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).

When I was young I was overly dependent on my older sister. For example, I was a fussy eater, and when we went to visit our grandparents I was constantly faced with being offered food I didn’t like. To minimize my embarrassment, when the plate was passed to me, I would turn to my sister and ask, “Collene, do I like this?”
If it was familiar and she knew I didn’t like it, she would say, “No, he doesn’t like that.”
I could then say to Grandma, “She’s right. I don’t like it.”
If it was something we hadn’t eaten before she would say, “Just a minute,” and taste it, and then tell me if I liked it or not. If she said I didn’t like it, no amount of coaxing could get me to eat it.
I know it is past time for me to rely on my own taste buds and stop denying myself healthy food just because my sister told me I didn’t like it.

When my second daughter, Janelle, was seven years old, we were building a new home. The kids would often play in the piles of dirt around the yard. One day as I was working on the house, she came to me and indicated she had lost her little CTR ring that the Primary gives out, the kind that you squeeze together to make them fit and that cause a greenish color on your finger when you wear them.

I helped her look around the yard for it, but we couldn't find it. The thought came to my mind that we could pray to find it, but I thought to myself that Heavenly Father probably wasn't too worried about that cheap little CTR ring. However, I decided that I would say a silent prayer and not involve my daughter. That way if we didn't find it, she wouldn't be disappointed in God. So I quickly said my little prayer, not expecting to ever find it. As I walked around the corner of the house where we had previously searched, suddenly there was the ring lying on the ground in plain sight.

I learned, "It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man."[6]
Tears filled my eyes as I reached down to pick up the ring. Why had I not been more trusting of the Lord? I quickly picked it up and handed it to my daughter, explaining to her that I had said a little prayer and that it had been answered because we had been able to find the ring. Apparently the Lord did care about my little girl and her cheap CTR ring and my faith and trust in Him grew that day as I am sure my daughter's did.

A carol concert was held on 3 December at the Portsmouth England Stake centre, in conjunction with Havant Rotary to provide presents for children in the area. Over 350 members attended the concert from across the stake and donated over three hundred presents. The event was attended by the Lord Mayor of Portsmouth, Councillor Tom Coles, and Graham Smith, the president of Havant Rotary, was on hand to receive the 300 gifts. The next day, Church representatives met with Havant Rotary and three food banks (Emsworth, Havant and Waterlooville) who were overwhelmed to receive the gifts to split between them, for local underprivileged children.

Martín felt sad when his parents told him the family was moving to a different city in Colombia. He didn’t want to leave his friends, his home, and the place he grew up in. Instead of cool mountain air, Martín would now live close to the ocean with hot, humid air all year round. He would trade hot soups for cold drinks, and coats for shorts. Add to that a new school, a new ward, and a new Primary class. It all seemed pretty scary.
One day Mom and Dad asked Martín how he felt about the move.
“I don’t like it,” Martín said. “I don’t want everything to change.”
“I know moving can be hard,” Dad said. “Lots of things will change, but not everything. You’ll still have us!”
“That’s true,” Martín said.
“And you will still have your things,” Mom said.
Martín thought about that for a minute. He would still have his clothes, his shoes, and other things he was familiar with at his old house—especially his toys. Martín was glad he could take his favorite toys. He packed them away extra carefully when they moved.
After a while, Martín started to get used to his new home and new city. He was glad the move wasn’t as hard or scary as he thought it would be.
Then one Sunday, when his family went to church, Martín noticed a lot of people he had never seen before. Primary was full of new kids. He wondered where they came from. He heard people he knew talk about donating food, clothes, and shoes. After church, Martín asked Mom about all the new people.
“They had to leave their country,” Mom said. “Many of them left everything behind, so now they don’t have anything.”
“So that’s why everyone wants to help them?” Martín asked.
“That’s right. Jesus taught us that we should help people who are in need. We can follow His example and share what we have.”
Martín thought that would be a nice thing to do.
Then Mom said, “Many of the Primary kids only have what they could fit in a backpack. They had to leave their toys behind. Do you think you have some toys you could give?”
“No! Those are my toys!” Martín said. He turned and ran to his room.
Martín looked around his room with tears in his eyes. He didn’t want to give away his toys. He’d brought them all the way from his old house!
He went to his toy box and looked inside. He saw his toy truck, his yo-yo, his trompo (spinning top), his best bag of marbles, and lots of his other favorite toys. He liked them all. He couldn’t give any of them away!
Then Martín thought, “What if I had to leave my home and my favorite toys behind?”
A few minutes later, he came up to Mom with his arms full of toys—not just any old toys—but the ones he always played with.
Mom looked surprised. “You don’t have to give away your favorite toys.”
Martín set the toys on the floor. “The other kids had favorite toys too,” he said. “I want them to have mine so they can be a little happier.”
Mom gave Martín a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
Martín had a warm feeling inside. He knew giving to others is what Jesus would do, and that made him happy.

In August 2020, amidst the throes of a pandemic, Len Hurley celebrated his 100th birthday and a lifetime of service—to his family, country, and fellow members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Victoria’s COVID-19 lockdown restrictions meant no visits from family or friends, however, staff at Len’s Bentleigh East nursing home made sure it was a special day for Len, decorating the hall with balloons and making a garden-themed birthday cake to share with fellow residents.
Len’s family joined in the celebrations via Zoom. Letters from the queen and prime minister were also presented to the centenarian.
When asked about the secret to his longevity, Len says living the health standards of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and staying active have been key.
“Live well, don’t drink, don’t smoke and learn to love work,” says Len.
Leonard Hurley was born in Murtoa, Victoria. He grew up on his family’s farm, where he worked hard and got up to plenty of mischief with his twin brother, Ken, and his younger brother, Russell.
When WWII broke out, Len and Ken were eager to serve and enlisted early. Len served in the 9th Division Cavalry (tanks) from 1938 to 1948, fighting in Egypt, El Alamein, Syria, and Borneo.
A member of the Church of England at the time, one of Len’s most unforgettable experiences in the Middle East was taking two days’ leave in Jerusalem.
His experiences at war quickly taught him the fragility and value of life. During one campaign, Len’s commander ordered him to fire on an Italian gunner. Len pressed the wrong button, bringing the tank to a stop. The men on the tank vacated and were eventually replaced by another group. Soon after, the Italian gunner hit the tank with a shell, killing everyone inside.
“It was a pretty nasty experience,” remembers Len. “I wouldn’t be here today if I hadn’t pressed that button.”
Grateful to have survived war in the Middle East, Len returned home and married May, the love of his life, in 1944.
“[May] used to work in a shop in Murtoa, close to where we lived,” says Len. “I always said to myself I’d marry her. Married life was beautiful.”
They had one daughter, Rhonda, in 1951 who tragically passed away as a young adult, leaving behind a daughter, Chantelle. Chantelle now lives in Len and May’s house with her partner and two children, Ky and Remi. She says her grandfather’s life has been one of service.
“He was always out doing things for other people,” says Chantelle. “I’m sure he’s painted almost everyone’s house at one time or another. He liked to work hard.”
Shortly after Rhonda passed away, Len and May found hope in the message brought to their door by missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“It’s made a big difference in our lives,” Len says. “I’ve missed going to Sunday meetings this year, but I listen to the recorded [Zoom] meetings every week.”
One of his most treasured experiences in the Church was serving as bishop of the Moorabbin ward for three and a half years.
“It was a choice experience to be considered worthy to serve as a bishop,” says Len.
Although he has experienced his share of loss, including the passing of his fellow veterans, brothers, wife, and daughter, Len continues to find joy in his relationships with his granddaughter and two great-grandchildren, friends, and church family.
He also stays active and enjoys his hobbies, which include cooking, gardening, keeping up with the footy (Australian rules football), writing in his journal every day, and reading.
“I feel very blessed to have had the life I’ve had,” reflects Len. “I enjoy life, good friends, keeping up with things as much as I can. Life’s worth living.”

“Hey, look at this.” Jack pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I found it in a magazine this morning.” He unfolded it and held it out to Taran.
But Taran could see right off it wasn’t something he wanted to look at. He turned away. “I don’t want to look at that.”
Jack shrugged and put the paper back in his pocket. “Baby.”
Taran didn’t really care.
When Taran got home, he helped Mom make flatbread for dinner. He dragged a chair over to the counter, and Mom tied his apron.
“Mom,” he said, “when I was at Ian’s house, his friend tried to show me a picture of a person without clothes. I turned away and walked away.”
Mom set down the bowl of dough and gave Taran a hug. “That was a really good choice. Thank you for telling me about it.”
“In family night that’s what you said to do.” Taran patted his hands with flour and lifted the dough onto the counter.
“I’m glad you remembered. Is that the first time someone’s shown you a bad picture?”
Taran nodded.
“Well, I’m really glad you told me. You know you can ask me about anything or tell me anything, right? Even if you made a bad choice, I’d still want to know so I could help. I wouldn’t be mad.” She dabbed a bit of flour onto his nose.
Taran smiled and wrinkled his floury nose. “Yup. I know.”
After dinner that night, Dad said, “Today someone tried to show Taran a bad picture, the kind we’ve talked about in family night.”
Reena’s hand shot up in the air. “I remember talking about that!” Dhara wasn’t old enough to remember much, but she nodded too.
“So what did you do?” Sonia asked Taran.
“I didn’t look at it, and I walked away.”
Mom nodded. “We’re really happy Taran made such a good choice. And we’re so proud of him for letting me know what happened.”
Dad reached across the table to give Taran a high five. “Way to go, bud.” Reena and Dhara clapped, and Sonia gave Taran a big smile.
“So to celebrate we have a special treat!” said Dad. That made everybody cheer.
Mom got up to pull the ice cream out of the freezer, and Taran and Sonia ran over to grab bowls and spoons.
“OK, bud,” said Dad, pointing the ice-cream scoop at Taran. “Which flavor do you want?”
As they all dug into their ice cream, Mom said, “Dad and I just want you kids to remember that if you’re worried or have questions, you can always come and talk to us, no matter what. It makes us happy.”
“And gets us ice cream?” Sonia asked as she held up a spoonful of chocolate.
Mom laughed. “Sometimes. But mostly it just makes us happy.”
Taran nodded as he finished his last bite of ice cream. Telling Mom had made him happy too.

Some years ago, my husband, David, and I took our young children to a lake to vacation. He has always had the greatest confidence in their ability to do anything for which they are prepared. He taught a small son, age nine, how to manage a one-man sailboat, then let our son take the boat by himself out onto the lake. He joyfully sailed away, his bright life jacket and silhouette getting smaller and smaller against the horizon. Finally, we felt that Dave should make sure all was well, so in another little boat he sailed out to him. When he arrived Doug was sitting calmly in the boat, but he had forgotten how to turn it around! The thing I love was his response to his dad. He looked up and said, “I knew you’d come.”

When I was young, I was in the same ward as President Nelson. He was my stake president. It was a pretty big ward, so I don’t think he really knew me.
But I had a special experience with him when I became a deacon. I wanted to be very reverent when I passed the sacrament. I felt it was important. So I tried to show respect for the sacrament every Sunday.
I was walking home from church one Sunday when a car pulled up next to me. The driver rolled down the window. It was President Nelson! He said, “I noticed that you were very reverent when you passed the sacrament. Thank you for doing that.”
He might not remember saying that. But I’ll never forget it. He took time to tell me that he thought I had done something good. It meant a lot to me.

It has been a privilege to seal several adopted children to Nan and Dan Barker, now living in Arizona. Some time ago, Nate, their son, then just over three, said: “Mommy, there is another little girl who is supposed to come to our family. She has dark hair and dark eyes and lives a long way from here.”
The wise mother asked, “How do you know this?”
“Jesus told me, upstairs.”
The mother noted, “We don’t have an upstairs,” but quickly sensed the significance of what had been said. After much effort and many prayers, the Barker family were in a sealing room in the Salt Lake Temple in the fall of 1995—where a little girl with dark hair and dark eyes, from Kazakhstan, was sealed to them for time and eternity. Inspired children still tell parents “great and marvelous things” (see 3 Ne. 26:14).

“What’s up, Coach?” DeLyle said.
“Come in,” Coach Gardener said. “Sit down.”
DeLyle Condie walked into his coach’s office and pulled up a chair. He held his red basketball jersey in his hands. It was almost time for practice.
“I hear you’re going on a mission,” Coach said. “Let me show you something.” He turned on the projector.
DeLyle blinked in surprise. Coach often showed films of other teams playing. But these were pictures of palm trees and beaches.
“This is Hawaii,” Coach said. “The team’s going there next year. You’re going to miss it.”
“I know. But I’ve already decided,” DeLyle said. “A mission is the right thing to do.”
“Suit yourself,” Coach said. “But if you go, I don’t think you’ll ever play basketball again.”
DeLyle looked at his jersey. “I love basketball,” he said, “but some things are more important.”
“Good luck, then.” Coach sighed. “Now get to practice. You’re not a missionary yet!”
A few months later, Elder DeLyle Condie got on a ship in San Francisco, California, USA. It was 1955, and missionaries often traveled by boat back then. Three weeks later the ship arrived in Sydney, Australia. There, Elder Condie took an overnight train to Melbourne. Two elders were waiting for him.
“Wow! You’re a tall one!” Elder Johnson said. “You’d have been a great Mormon Yankee!”
“What’s that?” Elder Condie asked.
“More like what was that,” Elder Johnson said. “Missionary teams used to play in local basketball leagues. It was a way to help people get to know about the Church. One of the teams was called the Yankees. But we don’t do it anymore.”
“That’s OK,” Elder Condie said. “That’s not why I came on a mission.”
“Well, let’s get to the office,” Elder Johnson said. “It’s time to meet President Bingham, our mission president.”
President Bingham assigned Elder Condie to Tasmania, an island near Australia’s southern coast. There weren’t many Latter-day Saints there. In fact, in all of Australia, there were only about 1,200 Church members.
Elder Condie soon met lots of friendly Australians. But most weren’t interested in discussing the gospel. What they did want to talk about was the Olympics.
“Why are so many people interested in the Olympics?” Elder Condie asked.
His companion grinned. “The games are coming to Melbourne next year,” he said. “It’s a chance to put Australia on the map. Besides, lots of people are sports crazy already. I think that’s why the Mormon Yankees were so popular. I wonder if they’ll ever do that again.”
At the same time, 200 miles away in Melbourne, two men were discussing exactly that.
The coach of the Australian Olympic basketball team sat across the desk from President Bingham. “We need your help,” he said. “I know you used to have teams called Mormon Yankees. Some of your missionaries were pretty good. With the Olympics coming, it’s a long shot that Australia will win any games. We need to practice against players with talent and experience. Some friendly practice games will help people know more about your church, and they will help us get ready for the Olympics. Can you put a Mormon Yankees team together one more time?”
After the meeting, President Bingham found one of his assistants. “Bring Elder Condie back to Melbourne,” he said. “Missionaries will still be missionaries. But we’re going to help Australia prepare for the Olympics. And I’ll need Elder Condie to help choose a team.”
To be continued …

Fino all’annuncio del lock-down per Coronavirus a fine Febbraio credevo di essere una mamma organizzata. Con 3 figli a scuola tutte le mattine e il piccolino a casa, avevo organizzato una routine che mi consentiva di assolvere alle mie responsabilità e pianificare momenti tranquilli da trascorrere in famiglia. Rimanere confinati tutti in casa giorno e notte per un periodo indefinito scombussolò la routine e si rivelò inizialmente molto frustrante per me e il resto della famiglia. I piani giornalieri che fino a quel momento mi avevano consentito di essere efficiente nel rispondere alle esigenze della famiglia, da un giorno all’altro furono stravolti e le mie giornate diventarono un correre senza sosta verso la prossima riunione online, la prossima lezione, il prossimo compito di scuola, il prossimo pasto da preparare, ecc ecc. Il tempo sembrava aver perso la sua naturale regolarità e le settimane sembravano dissolversi in un unico giorno.
A questo disorientamento si aggiungeva giornalmente il peso delle notizie gravi riportate dai telegiornali sui contagi e sulle vittime del Covid-19, insieme al pensiero di amici e conoscenti che stavano combattendo personalmente contro il virus, per i quali avrei voluto fare di più, come poter pregare per loro al Tempio.
Per molti versi mi sentivo piccola e senza meta.
Una mattina decisi di alzarmi presto per fare esercizio fisico e nel silenzio della casa cominciai a riflettere sul viaggio che Lehi e la sua famiglia avevano fatto nel deserto. Per otto anni erano rimasti isolati dal resto del mondo, lontani dalla sicurezza che avevano conosciuto durante la loro vita a Gerusalemme per affrontare fatiche e privazioni che non avevano mai vissuto prima. Per tanti anni avevano vissuto senza potersi recare al Tempio ma erano sopravvissuti; in qualche modo erano riusciti a continuare giorno dopo giorno, prova dopo prova, e arrivare alla terra promessa. Il versetto in 2 Nefi 15, “e mio padre dimorava in una tenda”, continuava a tornare alla mia mente e cominciai a chiedermi come vivesse Lehi nella sua tenda e come avremmo dovuto vivere noi… cosa avremmo potuto fare per trasformare la frustrazione in motivazione e la nostra casa in una tenda come quella di Lehi, in una succursale del Tempio?
Per poterlo fare avrei dovuto organizzarmi diversamente.
Iniziai a stilare un elenco di cose da fare giornalmente per occupare al meglio il nostro tempo inserendo anche attività che non eravamo soliti fare in passato. Partendo al mattino dallo studio familiare del Libro di Mormon (cosa che già facevamo, ma non con regolarità assoluta), i bambini più grandi si dedicavano poi ai compiti e alle lezioni di scuola per potere avere il resto della giornata disponibile per altre attività come esercizio fisico, cucina con una sana alimentazione, pomeriggi trascorsi in balcone per beneficiare del sole disponibile, lezioni online, musica e inglese, momenti dedicati ai giochi in scatola, ai progetti di arte, di servizio per la comunità e organizzazione delle nostre scorte alimentari e dei nostri zaini di emergenza e per finire, alla lettura o alle attività basate sulle scritture durante le nostre domeniche a casa.
In poco tempo la nuova routine aveva aperto orizzonti diversi e le limitazioni dettate dall’isolamento forzato si trasformarono in opportunità di fare cose che non eravamo riusciti a realizzare prima come famiglia. La nostra tenda cominciava a riempirsi di buone attività.
Non tutto è arrivato insieme e non tutto è stato fatto sempre col sorriso, ma piano piano, giorno dopo giorno, siamo riusciti a creare una nuova routine efficace per gestire le circostanze.
Ora che siamo tornati a circolare più liberamente la nostra routine è cambiata, ma non è tornata quella pre-Covid-19; ne abbiamo invece creata una nuova, con un mix più regolare di attività in casa basate sullo studio e sul Vangelo e in mezzo alla natura per mantenere in forma il nostro fisico. Lo studio e l’applicazione del Vangelo è diventato un pezzo importante della nostra vita giornaliera e non è più qualcosa che dobbiamo ricordarci di fare ma il punto di partenza e di arrivo delle nostre giornate.
Non posso dire che la nostra casa sia diventata una succursale del Tempio, perché il percorso per arrivare ad una tale meta richiederà tutta la vita e forse di più, ma quando penso al nostro studio delle scritture, al silenzio e riverenza quasi perfetta raggiunta durante il momento del Sacramento in casa alla domenica, ai giochi dei bambini incentrati spontaneamente sulle storie del Libro di Mormon, e alle preghiere inginocchiati insieme in favore di tutte le persone afflitte dal virus e di chi si trova in difficoltà, allora spero di aver messo qualche nuovo picchetto alla nostra tenda familiare.
Spero che nel nostro viaggio verso la terra promessa, anche se in un deserto (per noi comunque pieno di agi rispetto alla famiglia di Lehi) possiamo avere la gratitudine e la forza di pensare a dove vogliamo arrivare e rendere questa meta parte di ogni nostro giorno, mentre dimoriamo nella nostra tenda familiare.

Auckland, New Zealand, seminary students decided to develop their “talents” and lend a helping hand to others at the same time.

Following the principle in the parable of the talents (Matt. 25:14–30), each student was given $1 and one month in which to invest in any undertaking.

One motivation factor was a previous “Project Concern” activity that involved youths in picking tomatoes and netted a profit of $186. This money was sent to the Philippines to purchase library books for Church students.

After discussing suitable investments for their “talents,” students were each given $1 to invest. A special newsletter was also sent out informing others about “Project Talents.” The students voted that all money earned should be sent to the Church to be used in Mexico or South America.

What can one person do with $1 and one month?

One student bought wool and knitted a poncho. This was sold and the money used to purchase enough wool for two more ponchos that were also sold. The net profit was $8.

Another bought several flashlights from a teacher who works as a sales representative and sold them to ward members at a profit since the country was going through a power shortage and power cuts were threatening. Candles were also sold, and, together with the flashlights, resulted in a $15 profit.

Cakes were sold, babysitting services established, car washes organized, lawn mowing operations set up, and a mini-restaurant made its debut. All proved successful. All together the students made a 137 percent profit from the $165 investment. One interesting factor was that the few losses that occurred were the result of cooperative efforts rather than individuals’ projects.

10. Once when traveling with Elder and Sister Russell M. Nelson, we left our hotel in Bombay, India, to catch a plane for Karachi, Pakistan, and then on to Islamabad. When we got to the chaotic airport, our flight had been canceled. Impatiently, I said to the man at the airline counter, “What do you expect us to do, just give up and go back to the hotel?” He said with great dignity, “Sir, you never go back to the hotel.” We rummaged about the airport, found a flight, kept the appointment in Islamabad, and even had a night’s sleep. Sometimes life is like that: we are left to press forward and endure frustrated expectations—refusing to “go back to the hotel”! Otherwise, such “give-up-itis” will affect all seasons of life. Besides, the Lord knows how many miles we have to go “before [we] sleep”! (“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”).

The experience of a full-time mission changes those who serve. Many of you here are fully aware of what I mean. More of you will discover this to be true in the future, some in the very near future. As we devote our time, our focus, and our energy to the Lord’s purposes we can’t help but be changed. So it was with me while serving as a young missionary in the islands of Tonga, more than 40 years ago.
A few experiences are indelibly impressed upon our hearts and minds as we serve. One such for me began one early evening on what had been a rather typical day. My Tongan companion and I had been meeting all day with investigators and members on a small island in the Ha’apai Group called, Ha’ano. We lived on the island of Foa. A long and jagged reef connected the two islands.
This was not a particularly difficult crossing at low tide and when it was daylight, yet for us, on that day, the sun had already set and we could see the tide rushing in. These conditions made a crossing rather difficult, even dangerous.
I turned to my companion and suggested we might better wait to cross until the next day when it would be safer. He looked at me with a smile and as he ran into the water covering the reef, he said over his shoulder, “Where is your faith, Elder? We have work to do tonight. Let’s go!”
As I scanned the horizon with its fading light and gauged the ocean current passing over the reef, I could also see the water splashing with each step as my companion quickened his pace. With some real hesitation I stepped onto the reef with the thought of catching my companion, who was already a good 25-30 feet ahead.
In the beginning, the water was a few inches above our ankles. There was enough light and the ocean was clear enough that I could see where to place my feet, so as to avoid the countless, unevenly-shaped holes and the sharpest of the coral outcroppings.
My companion seemed to be almost running with barely a glance at the reef. He seemed to be concentrating on our island destination off in the distance.
His teasing challenge, “Where is your faith?” rushed into my mind. “If he can do this, I can do it!” I told myself.
I looked straight ahead at him and said a quick and silent, but fervent prayer, “Father, please give me faith like my companion’s faith!”
I felt a quiet calm come over me. I increased my speed. I didn’t look down. I merely trusted the Lord would place my feet precisely where they needed to be. The distance between my companion and me began to decrease. It was actually a wonderful feeling.
After some time, I’m not sure exactly how long it was, a sudden, hard, cold and ominous feeling struck me, the sky was growing darker, the ocean current growing stronger and deeper.
The calm reassurance I had felt as we set out disappeared in an instant. The reality of where we were and what we were trying to do hit at once both my heart and mind with a hammer blow, “Who do you think you are? Who are you trying to kid? You can’t do this! You’re crazy to even try!”
My eyes glanced down at my feet and the reef below. The current was now nearly to my knees. It was hard to see where it was safe to make a step. In that moment all faith evaporated and was replaced by a consuming fear.
My foot lost the safety of the path provided by faith-filled determination and I fell. I hit hard on the reef, which tore into my hands and my uncovered feet. The pain seared through me.
My companion seemed to know something was wrong. He stopped and turned. I stood and could somehow still see his face a distance away. His exclamation came loud and firm, “Have faith, Elder… have faith!” He turned and was off once again.
My lips uttered another prayer and a pleading, “Father, I’m sorry I let go of my faith! I’m sorry I allowed fear to take over! Please forgive me! Help me to have the faith to do what needs to be done this night!”
The spirit returned, as did the calmness I had felt before. Sure footed we moved through ocean current and across the jagged reef at an amazing speed, especially considering the conditions.
My eyes held fast to my faith-filled companion. We pressed forward. We continued this way for what seemed a long time. We were now about half-way across the reef.
The sky grew darker still. The ocean current grew ever stronger and the water ever deeper. It was now well above our knees and necessarily slowed our pace.
Then out of the darkness there came once again the rush of the same hard, cold, strangling fear, washing away my faith.
I was instantly crushed by the thought we were as far from our destination as we were from our starting point. I feared we couldn’t get to either island before, on this moonless night, we lost all light and all ability to see a safe pathway along the reef.
As fear gripped me my foot found another hole encased by razor-sharp coral. Down I went again with the coral tearing at my already bleeding hands and feet and legs. The pain was intense.
Again, my companion stopped and turned. As I found a place where I could stand I looked towards him. It was dark enough now that I couldn’t make out his face, but his voice came sure and true, “Faith, Elder. Faith!” He began once again his determined march through the rising current.
“Father” I pleaded, “Forgive me again, please, for my weakness! Give me the faith to overcome fear and doubt!”
And then I was off, following my ever faithful companion once again. I felt guided, directed, watched over, protected. We made good progress.
And then a third time I was struck by the same force that had consumed me the two previous times, doubt and fear, concern for the ever darker night and the ever increasing depth and strength of the surging tide.
In that very moment, I stepped into a hole I could not see. It literally gobbled me up. I went entirely under the water and inside the reef. More sharpened coral tore through my clothes and into my flesh. My forward motion had taken me under the surface of the reef. My hands searched for the way back out, while the tide slammed me into this coral encased cocoon inside the reef.
After what seemed like forever and with another pleading prayer for help I found a way out and surged to the surface, climbed back onto the top of the reef and looked for my companion. He was in the distance, barely visible. I heard his now familiar admonition over the noise of ocean waves and wind, “Faith, Elder. Faith!”
My head bowed in prayer once more, a supplication for strength, for courage, for faith. With the ocean current now waist-high and stronger than ever, and with the night’s darkness complete, I, none-the-less felt, thankfully, a surge of strength and the reassurance of Heaven’s watchful care. Through the struggle that remained there was no faltering, no second-guessing, no doubt, no fear, only the determination to reach the comforting sands of the island ahead.
After what was to me an eternity, I don’t know how long this adventure actually took, my companion and I knelt in prayer on the welcome sands of the beach at the end of the reef. We uttered a prayer of thanks, for protection, and for lessons learned, about faith, and about the power of Heaven. After cleaning up and patching up, we went forward with the appointments scheduled for that night.
Yet my thoughts and the tug of my heart remained, “How was it that my companion never faltered? What had he done to develop such great faith?”

I served a mission in Brazil. My last and favorite companion was Sister Sueli Bomfim. Her name literally means “good ending.” She came on her mission at 38 years old. One day she shared her story with me.

When Sister Bomfim was a young child, her mother abandoned the family. Her father died unexpectedly just a few years later, leaving the children to the state child welfare. Their mother was eventually located and required to provide for the children. A few years later, Sister Bomfim turned 16, the age that she could be recognized as independent, and her mother kicked her out of the home to provide for herself.

In her mid-twenties, she was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was baptized at the age of 26. She determined she would serve a mission as soon as she was eligible. Within three months of her baptism, a state in Northern Brazil, 20+ hours from her home in Rio de Janeiro, contacted her about her mother in a care facility without financial means to remain there. Sister Bomfim had no car but arranged to pick up her mother and take her to Rio. This required her to move to a new apartment across the street from her employment so that she could go home throughout the day to care for her mother. She did this for 12 years! When I asked her why she did all this, she replied, “You don’t have to have a good mother to be a good daughter.”

When she found the gospel, Sister Bomfim embraced the teachings and example of Jesus Christ. To do anything other than care for her mother felt inconsistent with what she had learned in the gospel and the invitations of our Savior. Justification was turned to sanctification.