Gospel Story Finder

When Isabelle was a young girl, her dad worked in the French military. Their family moved around a lot. When she was eight, they moved to the Sahara Desert. There were no other Church members nearby, so they got permission to have the sacrament in their home.
Every Sunday, Isabelle and her family gathered in the living room and sang hymns they had memorized. Her dad blessed the bread and water for the sacrament. Then her parents and siblings took turns giving talks.
This showed Isabelle how important it was to live the gospel. Since they lived far away from other Church members, no one would have known if they stopped having church at home on Sunday. But they chose to do the right thing.
Two years later, they moved back to France, where there were more members of the Church. Isabelle was able to be baptized. Seeing her parents live the gospel in the Sahara Desert helped her testimony begin to grow. It gave her faith in God to do the right thing, even when no one was watching.

I recognized the beauty of music and the total satisfaction that comes from sharing it with others. When I played in church, I felt an inner fulfillment come to me as a performer and to my friends as an audience. I experienced satisfaction each time people would thank me for touching their hearts with my music.
Just as I was realizing my musical potential, I was asked to teach the three-year-olds in church. I discovered how much happiness comes when a small hand takes mine and two big blue eyes look up to me and say, “Thanks, Michelle, for being my special friend.” Serving the Lord through working with his little children helped me understand the real meaning of the scripture, “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God” (Luke 18:16).

On another occasion, the Spirit came to my assistance as I was editing a casebook on a legal subject. A casebook consists of several hundred court opinions, together with explanatory material and text written by the editor. My assistant and I had finished all of the work on the book, including the necessary research to assure that these court opinions had not been reversed or overruled. Just before sending it to the publisher, I was leafing through the manuscript, and a particular court opinion caught my attention. As I looked at it, I had a profoundly uneasy feeling. I asked my assistant to check that opinion again to see if everything was in order. He did and reported that it was. In a subsequent check of the completed manuscript, I was again stopped at that case, again with a great feeling of uneasiness. This time I went to the law library myself. There, in some newly received publications, I discovered that this case had just been reversed on appeal. If that opinion had been published in my casebook, it would have been a serious professional embarrassment. I was saved by the restraining power of revelation.

One year, during the days when we opened only in the morning and afternoon, we conducted a Temple review on the grounds. As we approached the front entrance from the south, I almost ran into a lady sitting on the steps where few could see her with her head in her hands sobbing quietly. I do not know who she was but I felt her pain. My heart went out to her and like the rest of the brethren I hurried to get past afraid that we had disturbed her moment of solitude with the Lord. Feeling like we had intruded on her private worship. The memory still remains with me reminding me of many who come seeking peace and comfort on the grounds. This is even more poignant now with the Temple closed.

“I used to stay in the mountain, so my bishop told me I should come and stay with the missionary sisters in the missionary apartment. They used to give me transport to pay bike to come to chapel to take my MTC class,” explained Sister Combay of the Sierra Leone Freetown Mission.
Missionaries already serving in the field were a great help. Sister Combay said, “I did not know how to use computer, but they (sister missionaries) taught me, and I started using the computer. When we had class, I was the one putting on the computer. . . . So, before our instructor came to start class, I already knew how to put computer on and to go onto the system.”
Sister Combay stated that after she went into the field full-time, “I was missing the MTC because our instructors were so lovely. They were nice to us, and they also teach us the things we should know. Even sometimes they call us for interview, one by one. We talk to them, share our problem with them.”

My father never did join the Church, but he was a fervent supporter of it because he could see its blessings in the lives of his four children. (My sister and two brothers were also baptized.) Prior to his death, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing, and I did. We had a very special conversation, and he confided in me for the first time that he had faith. Coming from him, this was a major step.

But with all of her achievements and associations, none has meant as much to her as meeting two missionaries in October 1981.

One day Julia was asked to help lead a project to repair a library destroyed in one of the Soweto riots. Her first reaction was to refuse. What? she asked herself. Do they think I’m Cinderella? If we rebuild that building, they’ll just burn it down again. But as she thought about the request, her heart softened. She went down to the site to see what she could do to help. There, she was shocked to see two young white men working in the dust and heat. Seeing white men in Soweto was rare, but seeing them do manual labor for blacks was sheer fantasy. Curious, Julia approached them. They identified themselves as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and invited her to hear their message.

Accepting their invitation was not easy. Her home was in disarray—but more important, it would be very dangerous to have white people in her home. It could mean trouble for them as well as for the family hosting them. “But something bent in me,” Julia says, “and I couldn’t turn them away. I asked them to give me three days to clean up my cobwebs.”

At their first meeting, she was polite but not impressed. On their second visit, however, they saw a picture of Julia’s wedding and asked about her husband. When she told them he was dead, they explained that baptism could be performed for him. At that moment, “Something opened in my mind,” Julia recalls. “‘Take baptism for him?’ I asked. ‘In what way?’” They explained how.

“I said to them, ‘Look here, elders. You have shocked me. I am a black, and we are not allowed to speak about the dead in other churches. Now you come and tell me about my dead. You’ve got a different message. Come again.’ Their words had touched a very delicate place in my heart.

“So they returned, and I listened to them. I said to myself that there could be no better, truer church, for I had always had much love for my parents. I could never understand why I was taught to forget about them and not mention them. I guess there was a fear that people would go back to ancestor worship.

“I was also deeply impressed by the First Vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith—how he talked directly with God. Reading the Book of Mormon changed my whole life. That was what really brought me to my knees. I started to realize that we are but one family.”

Julia was baptized on 28 November 1981, less than two months after meeting the missionaries. Of her baptism, she says: “When the door opened and I walked into the waters of baptism, I could really feel the cleansing power. I felt real joy.”

In the Philippines, I saw poverty everywhere. I counseled with many Church members about the importance of paying tithes and offerings, even when it was not easy.

I recall one man who had just joined the Church. I was his stake president at the time. “President, how can I pay tithing?” he asked. “My income is already not sufficient to buy enough food.”

This good brother was a motorized tricycle driver. He worked hard for everything he earned. “It takes faith,” I answered him. “But I promise you that as you live the law of tithing, the Lord will bless you.”

He did so. Several months later, I met up with this brother again. He told me that the Lord had indeed blessed him with all he needed.

“Don’t forget Bullet’s hot dogs, Mom,” Janey called upstairs as she picked up her books. Bullet sat by the front door, waiting to say good-bye to Janey. She stooped over and gave the dog a big hug. “You do your best today, Bullet. The kids are counting on you.” Her arms just barely reached around the big dog’s bulky frame. He had a fold of loose skin around his neck like a collar. The black-on-tan markings that distinguish a German shepherd were streaked with gray, and his eyes were watery and a little droopy. He was nine years old. While Bullet rested his head on Janey’s shoulder, she gave him another squeeze, then ran out the front door into the May sunshine and down the street to the bus stop.
Dawn Marie, Janey’s best friend, was waiting for her at the corner. Several other kids stood around waiting for the bus.
“Is your mother bringing Bullet over?” Dawn Marie asked.
“Yes, about two o’clock. I hope he does all right. He’s getting so tired.”
“He’ll do fine,” Dawn Marie said encouragingly. “He always does.”
Nearby a big sixth grader named Jeremy laughed. “Don’t tell me that you’re bringing that dumb old dog to school again this year.”
Janey turned away and looked at Dawn Marie, ignoring Jeremy. She heard him say loudly to his friend Cecil, “Can you believe that she’s bringing that dog again? We’ve seen all his dumb tricks a hundred times.”
“He’s so fat that I don’t think he can even roll over this year,” another boy chimed in.
Dawn Marie touched Janey’s arm. “Don’t listen to them,” she said. “Everybody else loves to see Bullet’s tricks.”
Janey felt miserable. Maybe she had brought Bullet to school too many times. Before she even went to school, her big sister, Caroline, had taken him every year.
“The school year wouldn’t seem complete without Bullet,” Dawn Marie said. Janey smiled at her. She was faithful, just like Bullet. They had both played with the dog since they were little girls. They used to put an Indian blanket around him and pretend that he was Chief Sitting Bull. Sometimes they had tied him to their wagon and he pulled them. Not only the school year wouldn’t seem complete without Bullet, life wouldn’t either.
At two o’clock Janey’s mother knocked softly on her classroom door. Mrs. Hadley opened it, and Janey rushed up to take Bullet on his leash, along with the plastic bag full of hot dog chunks.
The old dog waddled obediently along by Janey’s side, undisturbed by the fourth graders’ cheers, and settled down by Janey’s desk.
When their history lesson was finished, Mrs. Hadley asked Janey to come up front with Bullet. Janey put a chunk of hot dog on the floor in front of the big dog. As he lowered his head and sniffed it, she said, “Wait! We have to have the blessing.” Bullet lowered his head even more and waited. After a minute Janey said, “OK, you can eat.” Bullet snatched up the piece of hot dog, chomped twice, and swallowed it. After that he rolled over, sat up and barked, and played dead, with his big old paws up in the air. The children roared their approval. When he had finished his tricks—each time being rewarded with a chunk of hot dog—he went up and down the aisles and solemnly shook hands with each child.
“You and Dawn Marie may take him to the other classrooms,” Mrs. Hadley said.
“Thank you,” Janey said. “I’m not going to take him into sixth grade this year, so we won’t be gone as long.”
Mrs. Hadley raised her eyebrows. “It’s up to you,” she said, “but I think that they’ll be disappointed.”
The kindergartners squealed with delight and clapped after Bullet did each of his tricks. In the resource class, children didn’t just shake hands with Bullet; some hugged him, and others planted kisses on his big old head. One girl didn’t want to let go of him, and the teacher finally had to gently release the girl’s arms from around his neck. Bullet stood patiently, enjoying all the attention.
The first and second graders enjoyed him just about as much, clapping and yelling, “Hurray for Bullet!”
When they were through, Janey and Dawn Marie returned to their classroom. They were finishing up some artwork when Mr. Linstrom, the sixth grade teacher, poked his head into their classroom. He looked around and spotted Janey, with Bullet sleeping by her desk.
“Hey,” he said, “you forgot us. My kids won’t settle down. They’re waiting for Bullet.”
Mrs. Hadley looked at her questioningly.
“All right,” Janey said. “I have some hot dogs left.”
To Janey’s surprise, the sixth graders cheered too. Even Jeremy strained his neck to see Bullet wait for permission to eat his hot dog. Actually he wasn’t very hungry by now, so it wasn’t hard for him to wait. When Janey gave him permission, though, he ate it with gusto.
As Janey left the sixth grade room with Bullet, she heard Jeremy whisper to a classmate, “He won’t last another year,” and a cold fear gripped her heart. Bullet plodded slowly down the hall. It was only when he was performing for the kids that he seemed to be his old self.
That night after dinner Dawn Marie came over, and she and Janey lay out on the front lawn on an old blanket. Bullet came over, crowded himself between the two girls, and soon fell asleep. The late spring day had been warm and summery, but now as the sun sank to the horizon, Bullet’s warmth was pleasant and welcome.
“He sure sleeps a lot these days,” Dawn Marie commented. Janey felt again that tightening feeling of fear.
“Do you think that Bullet will die soon?” Janey asked slowly. It helped a little just to finally say it out loud.
Dawn Marie looked thoughtfully at the old dog. He twitched occasionally in his sleep and made sort of snuffly, growly noises.
“I guess he could, Janey. Not many German shepherds live much longer than he has.”
Janey was glad that her friend was honest and hadn’t said something just to make her feel better. She lay her head on Bullet’s side. He raised his head, then fell back to sleep.
“What will I do if he dies?” she asked.
Dawn Marie thought again. “You could have a funeral. All the kids in town would come. My mother said that that’s about all you can do to comfort yourself when someone dies. I remember that she said that when her older sister died.”
A funeral would be nice, Janey thought. That way everyone could kind of say good-bye.
Janey looked at Dawn Marie. “I’m glad that people live longer,” she said. “I hope that we can be friends our whole lives.”
“So do I. And I think that we will be.”
The girls heard footsteps on the sidewalk and looked up to see Jeremy coming by. Janey sat up, tense, wondering if he would say something mean. Jeremy stopped on the walk. He looked behind him and all around. Then he looked at Bullet.
“He’s not a bad old mutt,” he said. “I’ve always wanted a big dog like that.” He turned quickly and went on walking.
Dawn Marie and Janey looked at each other and smiled.
“Let’s go in and get warm,” Janey said. “Bullet can sleep out here on the blanket.”
When the girls got up, Bullet lifted his head to look at them, then lowered it and slept again. When Janey pulled a corner of the blanket up over his back, he left it there.

Dawn could feel that it had snowed during the night even before she pushed the drapes aside to see Gramercy Avenue hung with a new, perfect whiteness. And her anticipation eased only when the icy floor on her bare feet reminded her to start dressing. Putting on everything she could find laying around her room—two blouses, a sweater, two pairs of pants, her brother’s jacket, a scarf, and gloves—Dawn ran down the hall and through the front door, stopping on the porch momentarily to listen to the stillness. She breathed in the sterile, cold air and marveled at the sparkle of the snow-covered street and houses. Then she stepped high through the snow to avoid blurring her footsteps. The maple tree branches hung down, weighted with heavy snow. Cautiously, so as not to disturb the rest of the tree, she licked the pure snow from the tip of one of its branches.
“Hey you! Stop eating that tree!” shouted a deep voice.
Dawn turned and watched Mr. Wallace walk carefully in her footsteps so as not to further disturb the white blanket. He was carrying a snow shovel. The elderly man’s uncovered hair blended with the white snow, but his red face made a marked contrast.
“What’re you going to do with that shovel?” Dawn asked.
“Now, just what do you think?” he replied, scowling good-humoredly at her.
“You wreck everything,” she teased back. “You rake all the autumn leaves into the gutter and take all the snow off the sidewalks.”
He pointed his leather-gloved finger at her. “At least I don’t eat up all the maple trees.”
Suddenly they heard a door open, and Mr. Wallace rolled his black eyes heavenward. “It’s my wife,” he whispered and quickly ducked behind a snow-laden bridal wreath bush. Dawn watched Mrs. Wallace come out onto the porch. She looked around, waved at Dawn, and went back into the house.
“Is she gone?” Mr. Wallace asked hoarsely as he reappeared from behind the bush.
“Yes, but why are you hiding from her?”
“If she caught me out here, she’d skin me,” he said, wiping his gloved hand across his forehead as though he were perspiring. Great puffs of steam punctuated each word.
“Why?” Dawn pursued, tightening her scarf under her chin.
Mr. Wallace came closer and leaned toward her. His great black eyes reminded her of the coal eyes of a snowman. They seemed to laugh even when his face was serious. “She thinks I’m sick,” he half whispered to Dawn.
“Are you sick?” Dawn asked in disbelief. Mr. Wallace was such fun to be with that she didn’t want to even think about anything ever being wrong with him.
He straightened up abruptly. “Do I look sick?”
“You look like always. But Mother says you are getting old.”
“What,” he croaked, “why, I’m only a hundred and seventy-eight.” He laughed and touched Dawn’s cheeks. “Go tell your mother I’m bringing some deer meat over.” He put his hand on Dawn’s back and gently pushed her toward her house.
Dawn was soon sitting on a chair by the stove with her feet on the opened door of the oven. Her mother stood at the counter mixing batter for waffles. “I want to give Mr. Wallace a Christmas present,” Dawn said, holding her hands out to the warm oven.
“What do you want to give him?” asked her mother.
“Something beautiful, like first snowstorms and piles of autumn leaves and maple trees in the spring.”
“We could give him an old leftover moon or something,” her mother suggested, catching her daughter’s playful spirit.
Dawn smiled at her mother and pushed a wisp of hair off her flushed forehead. A drop of melted snow trickled down onto her nose and dropped off the tip. She stared into the oven, thinking about Mr. Wallace and Christmas.
Three days later Dawn awoke to the dripping sound of melting snow outside. The sunlight pierced her drapes to make wet-looking, dreary shadows on the wall. It will be gone by Christmas, she thought, lying still in her bed to prolong the moment of seeing it. Finally she got up, put on her robe, and walked slowly down the hall and into the kitchen where it was still cold. Her mother, wearing a flowered robe like Dawn’s, was taking the frying pan out of the cupboard.
“Good morning,” Dawn said, yawning. “The snow’s melting.”
“I know,” her mother said, so quietly that Dawn had a quick feeling of uneasiness.
“Is something wrong?” she asked as she reached out to touch her mother’s arm.
Her mother turned and looked searchingly at her for a moment. Then she put her arms around Dawn and said evenly, “He died this morning.”
Dawn knew Mother meant Mr. Wallace and shivered in the cold kitchen. She wanted to ask, “When? How? Are you sure?” Anything to know it wasn’t true. But it was true without her accepting it.
“He shoveled the walks only three days ago,” Dawn said feebly. “Everybody’s walks,” she said more desperately. “Farleys’ and Jane’s and Mrs. Boyle’s, the whole block!” she almost shouted.
They were both silent with their own thoughts for a short while. Then Mother said, “Life and death can be beautiful, Dawn, like first snowstorms and piles of autumn leaves and maple trees in spring.” She looked deep into Dawn’s eyes. “Aren’t you willing to accept that?”
Dawn wasn’t sure. She needed more time to think about it, but her mother’s eyes were questioning and Dawn realized she was waiting for an answer. After a few moments of silence it came to her that Mother was right. Finally Dawn nodded her head. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, giving her mother a quick hug. “There is a kind of beauty to death as well as to life.” And for now that was enough.

In 1919, the University of Pennsylvania track team was invited to compete in the annual Intercollegiate Association track meet. Creed Haymond, a member of the Church, was the team’s captain.
The night before the track meet the team’s coach, Lawson Robertson, who coached several Olympic teams, instructed his team members to drink some sherry wine. In those days, coaches wrongly felt that wine was a tonic for muscles hardened through rigorous training. All the other team members took the sherry, but Brother Haymond refused because his parents had taught him the Word of Wisdom. Brother Haymond became very anxious because he did not like to be disobedient to his coach. He was to compete against the fastest men in the world. What if he made a poor showing the next day? How could he face his coach?
The next day at the track meet the rest of the team members were very ill and performed poorly or were even too sick to run. Brother Haymond, however, felt well and won the 100- and 220-yard dashes. His coach told him, “You just ran the 220 yards in the fastest time it has ever been run by any human being.” That night and for the rest of his life, Creed Haymond was grateful for his simple faith in keeping the Word of Wisdom.1

The first island reached by the ship was Tubuai in 1844. The people there showed the missionaries kindness and hospitality, and when some of the people pleaded with the elders to stay, Addison Pratt left the ship to teach them. Serving alone there for many months, struggling to learn the Polynesian language, he baptized 60 out of a population of 200 and organized the first branch of the Church in the South Pacific. To this day, the Latter-day Saint community on Tubuai is a strong one.

While he was recovering from his illness, Elder Kikuchi stayed at his uncle’s home in Muroran City, west of Hokkaido. In the spring of 1958, two American missionaries knocked at the door. Because he knew nothing about the real causes of World War II, Elder Kikuchi’s first response was, “No thank you. You Americans killed my father.” The missionaries, out tracting on their preparation day, told the young man that they had an important message for him and that they wanted to tell him a story about a boy his age—Joseph Smith. He said that he would listen for ten minutes.
“They taught me the most beautiful story of Joseph Smith who saw Heavenly Father and the Son,” Elder Kikuchi said. “I felt a sweet spirit. It changed my life immediately, and I requested to study more. After fourteen days I was baptized.” Elder Kikuchi was baptized on April 13, 1958. “Since then,” Elder Kikuchi noted, “I’ve ‘felt to sing the song of redeeming love’” (Alma 5:26).
After his conversion to the gospel, Elder Kikuchi found that his attitude about his father’s death changed. He followed the Savior’s teachings to “love one another” (John 13:34) and to “love your enemies” (Matt. 5:44).

When I was almost 17, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and felt a desire to serve the Lord on a mission. When my mission call arrived a few years later, I was called to leave Peru and preach the restored gospel in Salt Lake City.
Even as I thought about the great blessing of serving a mission, many things that I was going to need weighed on my mind: documents, passport, visa, clothing, and, of course, money. I was working but wasn’t making enough. I felt desperate! With a month and a half before I was to leave, I found I had only a small part of the necessary funds. All I could do was go to the Lord in prayer.
Because I didn’t make very much money, the tithes I paid each month were meager. But I soon realized that the Lord doesn’t care about the small amount: He cares that we pay the 10 percent He has asked. I felt a conviction and assurance that if I continued to pay tithing, the Lord would provide what I needed.
Everything began to come together. I got two additional jobs and obtained my documents. Many members of my ward, especially the Relief Society sisters, helped with other necessities. And the members of my stake offered their help as well. I left on my mission with what was required.
As a full-time missionary, I taught the law of tithing and its promises (see Malachi 3:10) with gratitude and testimony.

I used to have a hard time reading, and I was really self-conscious about it. I wouldn’t read in class because it was hard for me to sound out some of the words, and I was afraid to read out loud because the kids in school would tease me because I couldn’t understand what I was reading. It was hard for me to make friends, too, because my family moved around a lot. Then my family moved to Oregon, USA.
One of my new neighbors quickly became one of my best friends. He encouraged me to go to church. The guys there didn’t tease me like the kids in school did. They took it upon themselves during church to help me read the scriptures. They spent the time to help me learn to read the words I couldn’t sound out. Slowly, they gave me the courage to read out loud. From that day on I would read even if it would take half the class time for me to read what the teacher asked me to read.
I was blessed with these great guys who took me under their wings. They didn’t have to do this for me, and they could’ve stayed silent, but following the Spirit, they made a choice to help me and made a difference in my life. We too can make a difference in others’ lives; we just have to be willing to listen to the Spirit to guide us to those people who are in need of help.

My nephew’s presents. Some years ago we were gathered as a family to commemorate Christmas. All the adults and teens were busy with preparations for the family dinner. Amid this Christmas activity, my youngest nephew, Fabinho, asked me for a paper, colored pencils, and colored markers. Busy with Christmas preparations, I gave them to him, hoping he would entertain himself.
The time for dinner arrived, and after a prayer of thanksgiving, five-year-old Fabinho asked for everyone’s attention and gave each of us a little slip of paper that expressed his love with a colored picture and imprecise handwriting.
Everyone received a little note, even the uncle we saw only at Christmastime. Fabinho felt everyone was worthy of his attention and his careful, childlike efforts. His simple presents and attitude caused me to think of the Savior and His teachings that we should love our neighbor and give our best.Ana F., Brazil

When Arthur was 16, two six-foot-one Mormon elders in tailcoats and top hats came visiting. The Sadler children could see the tops of the elders’ hats coming way off down the lane in spite of the tall hedges, and the younger ones would call out, “Here come the poplar trees!” The tall, young Americans taught the family and the family was baptized. The Church was unpopular in England in those days, and the family suffered some harassment for their decision, but they stayed faithful, walking four miles each way to their meetings.

“We wanted to organize; we wanted to have a club and wear a uniform, a blazer, and be official. We even got together and selected a name and colors for our club. We wanted something that all the LDS kids in our high school would want to be associated with, so we could be clearly identified as LDS.”
As Jean Sabin Groberg continued her account of that period of time in her life, her enthusiasm increased. “The purpose of our club was going to be to strengthen each other and to look after each other. There were only 20 or 30 of us in a very large high school in southern California. We really wanted to have something like the institute, only for high school, so that we could be strong together.”
With the growing desire that they each shared, she told of how a number of the youth unitedly approached the institute director. He listened to them. Then he met with them to discuss their plans, their goals, and their desires for an LDS club on their high school campus. He heard their concerns and felt the intensity of their desire. He agreed to “see what could be done.”
Sister Groberg recalled that after some time of anxious waiting, it was finally announced that they were to meet with the institute director. “Oh, it was just so exciting,” she exclaimed. “We were told that the seminary would be coming to our area that next year. There had been no seminary available to us, and now we had the feeling that our interest and our initiative had helped to tip the balance in bringing seminary to southern California. At least we felt important, that we were part of the beginning. To be a seminary graduate was a goal we just wanted to attain,” she explained.

One highlight for the LeGault sisters has been taking trips to the Washington D.C. Temple.

“We try to go to the temple to do baptisms as often as we can,” says Nathalie. “We need it, like food. We’re hungry for it. We go each summer for three days. I think about my family when I go and remember when we were sealed together in the temple eight years ago. I remember the sealing room and my mother looking so beautiful. It was something marvelous, fantastic.

“When I’m baptized for the dead in the temple, I’ve felt very close to the people I’ve been baptized for, and I feel that they’ve accepted the gospel. I know that I’m not just being baptized for a name, but for someone who really exists. Those people want the gospel just like we do.”

Chantal agrees. “The last time I went to do baptisms in the temple, I felt the Spirit so strongly I cried and cried. I felt like I wanted to be in the temple all my life, so I could feel that Spirit all the time.”

One of the things he had done to help pay his way through university was tutor younger students. Among them was Maria Victoria Chiapparino, who came under his tutelage as a fourteen-year-old. Elder Abrea’s mother was instrumental in teaching Maria the gospel, and Angel, as an eighteen-year-old priest, baptized her.

But that was not the end of the story. He was attracted by her beauty and maturity. Their acquaintance blossomed into romance, and they were married in 1957. Elder Abrea was then twenty-three, and his bride was eighteen. (Their marriage was solemnized in the Salt Lake Temple in 1966.)

“She has been a tremendous help,” Elder Abrea says of his wife. “More than that, she has been an inspiration.”