Gospel Story Finder

While I was serving my first mission to Mexico and Central America, my companion and I received a very interesting final assignment from our mission president. He asked us to leave the mission home and go down to a town in Southern Mexico, where some months before missionaries had been withdrawn due to religious and political persecution. Their lives had been threatened by mobs. A few converts had been baptized, but a real organization of the Church had not been established. As a result, these new members had been left alone, and for months the mission president heard little about how things were going.

We were given a list of names and asked by the mission president to go there, find the people, see how they were doing, and, if possible, locate a place where we could quietly conduct a sacrament meeting. For all those months, they had not had the privilege we take so much for granted of partaking of the sacrament each week.

We arrived early in the morning and immediately searched for the address of the first name on the list. We located her address and passed through a door in a high adobe wall that surrounded a crowded cluster of tiny huts around a central area.

It seemed that everyone there was watching us. Back in the corner was a little grass-thatched hut. The sister we were looking for came to the door, saw us, and easily recognized by our dress that we were missionaries. With tears in her eyes, she rushed to us and greeted us with a hug. We identified ourselves and told her why we were there.

After this brief greeting, she went back into her hut and brought out a clay jar into which she put her hand and withdrew some money she had been saving for months. Even though she had been alone without any Church organization, she had been saving her tithing with faith and hope that someday her tithing would be taken to the appropriate place.

She obviously had many unmet needs; yet, she was handing us money. My first impression was not to accept it and to encourage her to spend it wherever she might need it. Then I realized that it was not my right to do so because she was obeying a commandment. She had gained a testimony that tithing is a divine commandment and was willing to live that principle—even when she was alone.

We need the courage to live up to our standards, especially when there is no one around to check up on us. Then, regardless of where we are, away from home for the first time, in college, in a social setting where there are all kinds of temptations, or any place else—we can stand up for that which we know is true and live consistently with our ideals.

I was raised by atheist parents and as a young man felt that my life was fine without God. That changed in 1989, however, when my large intestine ruptured, and I lay in a coma for eight days.
I have few memories from my time in the hospital, but I strongly remember envisioning a man in white standing next to me after my operation and telling me it was time to “return and wake up.” When I resisted, he added, “My brother, you are dead. You either go back, or you stay here.” I did as he said and woke up full of pain.
After leaving the hospital, I had strange dreams that included people I had never met. I had the feeling that I had promised to do something, but I didn’t know what it was. I set about searching and reading about different religions. As I read the New Testament, I realized that if the truth was on the earth, it would be found in Jesus Christ.
I searched from 1989 to 1994. I felt lost and confused as I searched for the people I kept seeing in my dreams. My struggle and confusion became great, and I found myself praying desperately for answers.
Shortly after these prayers, I met a new co-worker. She learned that I was struggling, and I told her that I was searching for the truth. She brought me a Book of Mormon, which I adamantly refused to accept. But she persuaded me to take it, and I read it all in one night. I immediately knew that I had found what I had been looking for.
When I met with the missionaries, I was astonished to see that one of them was someone I had seen in my dreams. I soon asked to be baptized, but I had to take all the lessons first.
As I studied the gospel and attended church, I found all of the people from my dreams. I knew that the gospel was what I had needed to find. The day of my baptism was one of the happiest days of my life. Six months later, I was called as the branch president. Now, nearly 20 years later, I’m still happily serving in the Church. Along with my family, the gospel is my most precious possession.

I love seminary. I have often felt the Spirit there and have left feeling like a better person. On one particular day, however, I not only left feeling the Spirit, but I left with an answer to prayer.
The night before that particular day, I had asked Heavenly Father if the Church was true. After my prayer, I felt peaceful, but I was still not sure. I decided I would sleep on it.
The next day, my seminary teacher started the lesson with a video of some of the General Authorities bearing their testimonies. I felt the Spirit burning inside of me as we talked about testimonies and how little things can strengthen them.
He then put in another video of testimonies of kids who went to my school. I stared at the screen waiting for someone I knew. I saw some people I recognized, but I saw no close friends.
Then it happened. A girl I look up to so much appeared on the screen. As I looked into her eyes, she bore her testimony about Christ’s Atonement. Then she said these words: “I know this Church is true.” The Spirit overcame me. I realized my prayer was answered, and it was answered by one of the people that I look up to the most.
Heavenly Father knew that I needed to hear someone very close to me share her testimony of the Church. I am so grateful for the strong testimonies my friends have. Heavenly Father does answer our prayers.

Seventh, we have fear of responsibility. I remember just after I joined the Church, a great feeling of confidence came over me. I felt that since I had chosen the Lord’s side, he was on my side. Several remarkable things happened, of which I will recount but two.

Although I had never had the courage to stand on my feet and speak in debate, either at high school or college, I found myself asking my branch president if I might give a talk in sacrament meeting. I still have the notes of that very first talk. It was on faith and works.

A few months after my baptism, a golden opportunity presented itself at my place of work, where I was a management trainee. Again I had that strong feeling of self-assurance, and I received my first promotion, which set my feet on the management ladder. I found that through my Church membership and the faith it engendered, I overcame the fear of taking responsibility.

My testimony is that the Lord knows us. He knows what we can learn and what can happen if we’ll do what He asks us to do. My mission to Japan began a remarkable set of experiences for me. Years later I went back to Japan as a mission president. After that, I returned as a General Authority.
I wrote my mom a letter recently and said, “Who could’ve imagined all that would happen because of that one interview with my bishop that day?” My mother wrote back, “I imagined it.”

Bathsheba had only two children of her own, so it was with great sadness that she heard that her eighteen-year-old son had been killed. Only two months later, her daughter married and moved away. Fortunately Bathsheba’s niece, Julina Lambson, lived with her. Together they made dolls and doll clothes for Julina, who was like a daughter to Bathsheba. After Julina married Joseph F. Smith (later the sixth President of the Church), she had ten children, who were like grandchildren to Bathsheba. They and her daughter’s fourteen children brought Bathsheba much joy. She knit them mittens, wove them dress fabric, and sewed them clothes. She hid these things in her flowered carpetbag when she went to visit them. After running to hug and kiss her, they eagerly waited to see what gifts were in the carpetbag for them.

My mother died when I was five years old. We lived in Guatemala City, Guatemala, and at that time we were not members of the Church. My father believed in God but didn’t know anything about the plan of salvation or what had become of his wife’s spirit. It was hard for him to raise four children alone.
When I was about 12 years old, my sister saw two missionaries walking past our house and invited them in. They taught us the gospel, and after a few weeks my sister and I decided to be baptized. But my father wasn’t sure. A brother in the ward visited him and left a pamphlet about the plan of salvation. When my father read that our family could be together forever, he knew he wanted to join the Church. It was the answer to his hopes and dreams.
At that time the nearest temple was in Mesa, Arizona, in the United States. It was difficult to make such an expensive trip. Later, when my father was called as district president, the mission president asked him, “Well, what are you planning to do?”
“We are going to the temple,” my father answered. He organized a group of about 100 people who traveled together to the Mesa Arizona Temple. Our family was sealed, and we all felt my mother’s presence. We knew she had accepted the gospel.
When my wife, Blanca, and I were married, the laws of Guatemala required that we be married civilly first. I didn’t like that ceremony—it said that we were married only until death. The next day we left for Arizona, though we had to sell some of our possessions to afford the trip. Being sealed to my wife in the temple for eternity was one of the most joyful experiences of my life.
But we soon discovered that we didn’t have enough money to return to Guatemala. When we went to church, a man shook my hand and left a U.S. $20 bill in it. Another man did the same. I had said nothing of our problems. But we had told Heavenly Father.
I was a stake president when the temple in Guatemala was announced. It was my privilege to help raise funds for the temple and prepare the people to be worthy to enter it. We were asked to raise U.S. $10,000. Children, young people, and adults all participated. The people of the stake were so enthusiastic that we raised about $27,000—almost three times as much as our goal.
When our youngest child, Daniel, was 11 years old, he told us he wanted a special gift when he turned 12. He wanted to go to the temple and be baptized for some of his ancestors. The whole family got involved in family history. We grew closer to our living relatives and found several ancestors whose temple work had not been done. On my son’s 12th birthday, he was baptized for these people. I performed the ordinances. Daniel gained a greater testimony of temple work.
As you can see, many of the best moments of my life have been spent in the house of the Lord. It can be the same for each of you.
Always remember that our Lord Jesus Christ loves children. When we read about His visit to the Americas after His Resurrection, we learn that He called the children to Him and blessed each of them. There are not many times in the scriptures when the writer couldn’t record the things that were said, but this was one of them. The words and the blessings were so sacred they could not be written. (See 3 Ne. 17:12–23.) Jesus loves you just as He loved those children.
I believe that my testimony was just as firm when I was 12 years old as it is today. You do not have to be a grown-up to have a testimony of Jesus Christ or to make a difference. Perhaps sometimes you don’t realize how much good you are doing for your parents, for your relatives, and for the world.

In the past I’ve always had very negative feelings about myself. I would always complain to my friends about how ugly I looked that day, how fat I was, how messy my hair was, and so on. One day this began to change.
I had a wonderful friend named Holly. She was a great listener and just fun to be around. She gave me a note after school one day, and on the envelope it said, “Don’t open until you get home!” Of course, my curiosity grew, and I wanted to open it very badly. But I decided to wait until I got home so that I could really read it.
I wondered what this letter contained. I thought of the worst things she could have written. I got home and opened the letter. It said that I was a good person and that I should always remember I am someone special. She had written out a list of all the good things she saw in me. I read this letter and wondered how I had let these qualities go unnoticed. By giving me that list in her letter, Holly helped me develop a better opinion of myself. She helped me remember that I am a child of God and that he loves me.
I think Satan would like us to believe that we are not worthwhile. When we don’t value ourselves, we end up doing things we will later regret.
The Lord loves us and always will. I now know that he doesn’t just look at our weaknesses. He also sees our strengths. I know, thanks to a letter from Holly, that I am someone special and that Heavenly Father loves me.

Some four and a half centuries after Columbus, Admiral Richard Byrd displayed these same qualities in the exploration of the North and South Poles. In March 1934, only 40 years ago, Admiral Byrd isolated himself in the wastes of Antarctica in a little 9-by-13-foot hut buried in the snow. There he planned to remain during the six-month-long night, making weather observations. He took this task on himself. He would not order any of his men to do it. On May 28, fumes from the stove nearly killed him. Though he was critically sick, he refused to send an SOS to the main camp at Little America, 123 miles away. He preferred to die rather than call any of the men to make the dangerous journey during that treacherous season of constant night. But this was not his closest call to death.
That came one day when he went outside to check the instruments in the midst of a raging blizzard. When he tried to get back inside the hut, he found the trap door frozen. He pulled and yanked, exerting all his strength. It was like trying to pull open a locked bank vault. The door was frozen solid. He tried to scrape off some of the snow around the edges. He threw himself on the door, trying to break the ice by the pressure of his body. He pulled, tugged, pushed, and pounded until he was worn out: Then he was terribly cold, even through his heavy clothing. His fingers were numb, losing feeling. He was alone in the vast Antarctica, the frozen, wild wastelands.
The wind tore at him, screaming like 10,000 triumphant devils. He was about to panic. Ten minutes more in the cold and it would be too late! With the mighty effort of his will, he resisted panic; he prayed. He forced himself to rest quietly, to think, to concentrate. Suddenly he remembered—a shovel! The other day when he had been checking the instruments, he had left a shovel outside. He crawled around. It had snowed a great deal in the past two days. Where was the shovel? He slipped and fell, and as he crashed, he struck something hard. He seized it; he had the shovel!
Now, back to the trap door of the hut! Somehow he got back. Somehow he wedged the handle of the shovel under the handle of the trap door. His hands were almost useless by this time. He threw his body across the handle of the shovel and, God be praised, the ice cracked and the door opened. With the last of his dwindling strength he forced it open enough for him to tumble through the opening and down inside the hut. This was the bravery, the trustworthiness, the faith of the explorer.

Soon after we left the Indian reservation, Sister Owens in the next wagon became ill, and we camped for several days.
Some of the braves rode over from the reservation to get help with their baskets. Papa didn’t have much straw left to give them, but they had already decided that bear grass would do just as well. Papa showed them how to do a braided edge around the top of their baskets. He took out a pocketknife to trim the ends, and a little Indian boy who had come with his father looked so pleased with the knife that Papa let him keep it. Later that day the boy’s father returned with a strange-looking three-pronged stick that he gave to Papa, explaining how he could use it to find water for digging a well.
“I can probably use this later,” Papa said as he fastened it securely to the wagon.

It was December 22, and after finishing my two-year mission in Guatemala, I was finally coming home. The only gift I wanted that Christmas was to see my family—in person—and hug my parents.
But as my layover flight landed in Chicago, Illinois, USA, things got a little crazy. A blizzard hit that part of the country and flights were getting canceled left and right.
I raced to my next gate only to find out I wasn’t getting home anytime soon.
It was nearly Christmas and I was stuck in the airport. No cell phone, no place to go but hard airport seats, and my family wondering when I’d get there. I was really disappointed.
But then my luck changed. After only six hours, I boarded a plane and got home to Kentucky, USA. It wasn’t that long of a delay after all!
As Christmas came and I thought about the Savior, Jesus Christ, I realized something really important. Yes, He suffered for my sins, but He also took upon Himself my pains, my sorrows, and even my small disappointments like being stuck in an airport for a few hours.
In the big scheme of things, getting home a little late for Christmas wasn’t a that big of a deal, and not just because some people endure far worse things. It was also because the Savior had already paved a way for me to find eternal peace, even from my small frustrations.
And that really is the sweetest Christmas gift.
Joshua P., Utah, USA

Barbara moved from Uganda to Norway in 1998, when she was nine years old. Ten years later, while living in Oslo, two missionaries invited her to learn about the restored gospel, telling her that they could meet in the center for young adults. Barbara was skeptical, at best.
“I thought to myself, ‘Yet another youth center,’” she admits. “I had been to plenty of places like that before, and I honestly never felt comfortable being in any of them.”
But this center proved to be different. “My mind was blown away when I took the first step into the door,” Barbara remembers. “I stood still for a moment, trying to figure out the feeling I had. I felt warmth and love. I felt assured that I was in the right place, with the right people, for the right cause.”
Barbara Matovu remembers the first time the missionaries brought her to the center for an activity to meet other young single adults. She thought she knew what to expect.
“Throughout my life I’ve always had a group that I belonged to,” explains Barbara. “And the groups were always stamped with something—you were the sporty group or the international group or some other group. So when people started coming into the center, it was so strange because no one seemed to have the attitude of ‘I’m in the popular group, so I can’t talk to you.’
“At first, I thought, ‘Are they acting? Is this a show?’ But after a while I realized it actually doesn’t matter who we are or where we come from or which language we speak. The love of our Heavenly Father is for everyone. Usually it takes me a bit of time to find my group, but this time I felt like I didn’t need a group. I was just Barbara, and I could be Barbara for everybody.”
Elisabeth Olsen says she feels humbled to see her place in her heavenly family. “When you meet people from a different culture or society, it’s so easy to label them. I’ve learned to open up my eyes more and to see people through the eyes of Christ,” she says. “At the center we all have different cultural backgrounds, but we all have one thing in common: we want to be with Jesus Christ and God again.”
Some might be wary of the idea of unity because they think it must come at the cost of sacrificing individuality. “A lot of people are scared of religion because they think that it makes us all the same, because we live by the same commandments,” explains Elisabeth. “But that’s not how it is at all. God made us all individuals. We may have the same beliefs, but we have different qualities and gifts, and that’s what makes us individuals. God wants us all to be different because we all have different missions.”
Sam Basnet has also fielded concerns from friends who believe religious rules are restrictive. “One friend told me, ‘If you go to church, you have to follow the rules of others,’” he reports. But Sam follows the standards of the Church because he has prayerfully sought personal revelation to confirm his actions.
And it’s by individually speaking to His children that God is unifying them, explains Sam. “God says that all nations and all tongues will worship Him” (see Mosiah 27:31), he says. “By meeting different people, I learn to appreciate different cultures. But experiencing such diversity also makes me feel that, yes, God has a great plan to unite us in peace.”
As much as these young adults appreciate the power of gathering to a center for young adults, these future leaders of the Church understand that it’s just the beginning. As Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, one of the most important gathering places is the temple.1
Sam has prepared to enter the house of the Lord by surrounding himself with good friends at the center. “By getting to know people from so many different places, it has helped me to feel positive about the world,” he says. “I want to be a good example for my friends, and this has made me more fit for God and more fit to enter His temple.”
One month after her baptism, Barbara first started thinking about attending the temple while she was at a family home evening lesson at the center. After the lesson, she started asking questions.
“Having friends who understood what the temple meant for them helped me understand what the temple might mean for me. As they explained to me about the temple, I felt the Holy Spirit,” Barbara recalls. “I realized that all the places I’d been thinking about getting married—a nice church or the beach—couldn’t even be compared to the temple. From that moment the temple was no longer just a building. It was something I wanted to look forward to and a place to one day enter with my future husband.”
Elisabeth has also included the temple as one of her most important goals. “Whenever I get to travel to a temple, I just smile like I won a million dollars,” she says. “I know that God wants everyone to go there and receive all the blessings and gifts He has in store for us. Going to the temple and being temple worthy are true success. I can enter the temple and be the closest to God—the closest to home—as I can get on this earth.”
The celestial kingdom is, of course, the ultimate gathering place, one where Barbara doesn’t want any empty seats. “Christ says that it is only through Him that we can come to Heavenly Father, but He also says that one of the biggest things we can do in life is to serve one another [see John 21:15–17]. And serving one another is helping somebody come home to Heavenly Father, because you don’t want to go alone.”

Edson S., age 16, Georgia, USA
Likes marching band, playing sports of any kind, and spending time with his family.
My freshman year of high school was very difficult. I was doing online school because of COVID-19. During that year, my dad got COVID and passed away. I had to deal with that loss the whole year. Exactly one year later, my grandfather passed away. During my junior year, my grandmother passed away. I was in the room with her when she passed.
I always had a feeling of emptiness because of these things that happened in my life. I felt like maybe I was doing something wrong or was paying for my mistakes or something. During that time, I wasn’t doing the best things either. I wasn’t letting Christ’s light shine through me.
One day, while reading the lyrics of the hymn “I Stand All Amazed” (Hymns, no. 193), the line “Such mercy, such love and devotion can I forget?” hit me. When I read that, I felt my emptiness be filled. The words “can I forget” made me stop and think. Throughout my life, with all the stuff that I’d been suffering and going through, I wanted to forget. I wanted to find an easier way, to have fun, and to do things that weren’t right, all while not relying on Jesus Christ.
Even though I was in a dark place and trying to go astray, Jesus Christ didn’t let me forget His mercy and love. When I was down, He didn’t forget me. So, if He didn’t forget me, I shouldn’t forget Him.
I believe that even if you’re in a dark place and you think God’s not going to give you a second chance, He will. He loves you and cares for you.

Some fine carpenters from Norway who arrived and settled in Manti were given the assignment of building the roof for the temple. They had never built a roof structure before, but they had experience as shipbuilders. They didn’t know how they would design a roof. Then the thought came to them: “Why don’t we just build a ship? Then, because a well-built ship is solid and secure, if we turn the plans upside down, we’ll have a secure roof.” They set about to plan to construct a ship, and when it was completed, they turned the plan upside down and it became the plan for the roof of the Manti Temple.

Missionary service has ever called for courage. One who responded to this call was Randal Ellsworth. While serving in Guatemala as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Randal Ellsworth survived a devastating earthquake which struck Guatemala on February 4, 1976. A beam fell onto his back, paralyzing his legs and severely damaging his kidneys. He was the only American injured in the quake, which claimed the lives of some 30,000 persons.
After receiving emergency medical treatment, he was flown to a large hospital near his home in Rockville, Maryland. While Randal was confined there, a newscaster conducted with him an interview that I witnessed on television. The reporter asked, “Can you walk?”
The answer: “Not yet, but I will.”
“Do you think you will be able to complete your mission?”
Came the reply: “Others think not, but I will. With the president of my church praying for me, and through the prayers of my family, my friends, and my missionary companions, I will walk, and I will return again to Guatemala. The Lord wants me to preach the gospel there for two years, and that’s what I intend to do.”
There followed a lengthy period of therapy, punctuated by heroic yet silent courage. Little by little, feeling began to return to the almost lifeless limbs. More therapy, more courage, more prayer.
At last, Randal Ellsworth walked aboard the plane that carried him back to the mission to which he had been called—back to the people whom he loved. Behind he left a trail of skeptics and a host of doubters, but also hundreds amazed at the power of God, the miracle of faith, and the example of courage.
On his return to Guatemala, Randal Ellsworth supported himself with the help of two canes. His walk was slow and deliberate. Then one day, as he stood before his mission president, Elder Ellsworth heard these almost unbelievable words spoken to him. “You have been the recipient of a miracle,” said the mission president. “Your faith has been rewarded. If you have the necessary confidence, if you have abiding faith, if you have supreme courage, place those two canes on my desk and walk.”
After a long pause, first one cane and then the other was placed on the desk, and a missionary walked. It was halting, it was painful—but he walked, never again to need the canes.
In the spring of 1986 I thought once more of the courage demonstrated by Randal Ellsworth. Ten years had passed since his ordeal. He was now a husband and a father. An engraved announcement arrived at my office. It read: “The President and Directors of Georgetown University announce commencement exercises of Georgetown University School of Medicine.” Randal Ellsworth received his Doctor of Medicine degree. More effort, more study, more faith, more sacrifice, more courage had been required. The price was paid, the victory won.

When I think about what it means to be in this "third class" of men, I think of Saints who have given their all in building up the kingdom of God on the earth. I am so moved by the story of handcart pioneer James Kirkwood. An 11-year-old boy from Glasgow, Scotland, he traveled to Zion in the Willie company with his mother and three brothers. His older brother Robert was crippled, so his mother Margaret and 19-year-old brother Thomas pushed Robert in the handcart. That left James with the charge to care for his 4-year-old brother, Joseph, on the climb over the 7,300-foot Rocky Ridge. This was the same terrible night that Emily and Julia Hill endured, and it was a 15-mile journey that took 27 hours for most. On that night, James fell behind the rest of the party, carrying his little brother. I can see him trying to warm his freezing hands, shifting the weight of his brother on his back. When the pair finally arrived at the campfire that night, James set his brother down and then died from exhaustion and exposure, literally giving his life for his brother.[10] I am so inspired by James. How can I be casual or uncommitted if I expect to go where I believe he now is? Why should we think to earn a great reward if we now shun the fight? His story teaches me that to truly be a saint I must surrender my will to God in whatever way He asks of me.

Some years ago a faithful convert, Brother George McLaughlin, was called to preside over a small branch of 20 members in Farmingdale, Maine. He was a humble man, driving a milk delivery truck for a living. Through his fasting and earnest prayer, the Spirit taught him what he and the members of his branch needed to do to help the Church grow in their area. Through his great faith, constant prayer, and powerful example, he taught his members how to share the gospel. It’s a marvelous story, one of the great missionary stories of this dispensation. In just one year, there were 450 convert baptisms in the branch. The next year there were an additional 200 converts. President McLaughlin indicated: “My job as branch president was to teach [the new converts] how to be Mormons. I had to teach them how to give talks and lessons in church. I had to teach them how to teach the gospel to their children. I trained the new members to become strong members.” Pretty simple.

Just five years later, the Augusta Maine Stake was organized. Much of the leadership of that new stake came from those converts in the Farmingdale Branch. Now we might ask why there was such great success in those days, and the answer may be because of the urgent need to strengthen the Church. Let me assure you that that same urgency in all units of the Church is every bit as critical today as it was then.

In the early 1960s, shortly after I married my wife, JoAnn, an important experience happened in our family. My older brother, Todd, was selected as a member of the BYU College Bowl team to participate on national television. He was made captain of the four-person team, something our family considered a wonderful distinction. I’m not sure how BYU people of earlier eras would rank that event, but many of us considered the four-win, one-loss run of our team to be one of the most important happenings in the intellectual history of BYU. We thought it put BYU on the map as a school of better than solid academic distinction.

Yet when the team flew into the airport and was greeted by a large and enthusiastic crowd, I remember Todd saying something like, “Why are you all here? We lost.” Within a few days Elder Harold B. Lee gave a devotional address and mentioned not only the team’s wins but also its final loss. I can’t remember the exact words, but his message was that sometimes we learn more from defeat than from victory.

I have thought many times about Elder Lee’s brief message. Life did not end with the defeat that Sunday afternoon. For the members of the team, it was actually just getting started. I don’t know what happened to two of the four team members, but I’ve watched my brother’s career as a faculty member and administrator here at BYU with interest and family pride. His good friend from the team, David Stone, has recently been called into the Second Quorum of the Seventy. No, life did not end with that single loss.

My older brother, Joseph, is a medical doctor and practiced for many years in the San Francisco Bay area. An elderly Samoan Church member, who was a new patient, came to his office. He was in severe, debilitating pain. It was determined that he had a kidney stone, and appropriate treatment was undertaken. This faithful member stated that his original goal was merely to understand what was wrong so he could pray in Samoan to his Heavenly Father about his health problem.

In 1915 President Joseph F. Smith asked the people of the Church to have family home evening. My father said we would do so, that we would warm up the parlor where Mother’s grand piano stood and do what the President of the Church had asked.

We were miserable performers as children. We could do all kinds of things together while playing, but for one of us to try to sing a solo before the others was like asking ice cream to stay hard on the kitchen stove. In the beginning, we would laugh and make cute remarks about one another’s performance. But our parents persisted. We sang together. We prayed together. We listened quietly while Mother read Bible and Book of Mormon stories. Father told us stories out of his memory. I still remember one of those stories. I found it recently while going through a book he had published some years ago. Listen to it:

Out of those simple little meetings, held in the parlor of our old home, came something indescribable and wonderful. Our love for our parents was strengthened. Our love for brothers and sisters was enhanced. Our love for the Lord was increased. An appreciation for simple goodness grew in our hearts. These wonderful things came about because our parents followed the counsel of the President of the Church. I have learned something tremendously significant out of that.