Gospel Story Finder

When I was an undergraduate student at BYU, I had a number of great opportunities to choose from. All were excellent, worthy options, but I felt a lot of pressure to make the “right” choice. I worried that if I didn’t choose correctly, I would “mess up” God’s plan for me. After weeks of feeling unsettled and confused, I devoted a Sunday to fasting and prayer. Still unsure, I called my brother that night and asked him to give me a priesthood blessing. In that blessing, I was given very specific instructions as to what the Lord wanted me to do. This clarity brought me great relief, and I happily trusted and obeyed.

About a year and a half later, I had just graduated with my bachelor’s degree and was beginning a graduate program in dance. During the first few days of the semester, I suddenly got cold feet. I was worried that what I was doing was self-indulgent and impractical. I already had one degree that didn’t have immediate job prospects, and now I was going for another! I visited an advisement office and learned that I could enroll in a postgraduate course of study to get licensure to teach English in secondary education in just one year. This sounded like a more practical choice because it was shorter and had more obvious job prospects.

Once again, I sought a priesthood blessing to help me decide what to do. I was confident that Heavenly Father would once again instruct me on which choice He wanted me to make. However, this blessing went very differently than the previous one. This time I was not told what He wanted me to do. Rather, I was advised that I should choose the one that I felt would make me happiest. This answer came as a big surprise to me, and I actually wasn’t too excited with the counsel because it put the responsibility of choosing back on me. In my disappointment, I also interpreted it to mean that my schooling and future employment didn’t matter to the Lord.

In the years that have passed, I have realized how wrong my reaction was. I was actually given a gift of love and trust that day by a loving parent who wanted me to grow. First, I was given permission to choose what I thought would make me happy without any financial strings attached. Deep down I knew what I wanted to do, but I hesitated to give myself permission to follow my heart. I now see that my Heavenly Father knew me well enough to know what I would choose and that that choice would lead me to this wonderful career. But He wanted me to learn to trust myself and to take ownership of this big decision. It was as if He was saying, “I know what you want, and it’s a good thing. I trust you. Now trust yourself.”

When Juliana Circe da Costa, a member of the Colônia Branch, Jundiaí Brazil Stake, turned 18, she was worried about attending Relief Society. “I was afraid I would be alone and wouldn’t be comfortable with the adult women in the branch,” she says. “In the beginning it was strange, but the Lord has a purpose for everything. I’m not saying it was easy, but I’m grateful to the Lord and the sisters who were so wonderful to me.”
Juliana’s Relief Society president, Rita Ribereiro Pandolfi, played a key role in Juliana’s transition. “In our branch we receive the young women with open arms,” she says. “We know they face many changes when they leave Young Women and begin attending Relief Society.”

The after-school job. It can range from scooping ice cream to mowing lawns, and at one time or another, most people have one to earn spending money, or save for a mission or college education. But two teenagers in Logan, Utah, have found that monetary gain is not the only reward for working hard.
Using the local community center in Logan, Lynette and Nicole Sieger teach dance lessons to nearly 80 students each week—at no cost. That’s right, Lynette and Nicole put in long hours every week teaching, choreographing, and explaining for free.
“This job takes lots of patience, but I love it,” says 16-year-old Nicole, who teaches three or four ballet classes each afternoon. “I absolutely love dance,” she says.
Thirteen-year-old Lynette echoes those sentiments by saying, “I really love little kids. They’re just a lot of fun to be around.”
Both sisters also teach love and affection while they instruct their students on the finer points of tap and ballet. While one gives help and instruction, the other is never far away, holding a child on her lap or whispering words of encouragement.
The sisters learned to dance in Texas, where they lived until just a few years ago. When they moved to Logan, they taught the free classes as an audition for a teaching job at another dancing school. When the job fell through, the sisters decided to continue teaching their classes anyway, at no cost to the students.
“I think you really have to be disciplined to do it,” says Lynette. “But it really is worth it to pass along something to people who may not otherwise get the chance.”
Nicole sums up her feelings by saying, “I couldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was important. Helping others create something of beauty is one of the most important things I can do.”

When I was released from my calling as a stake president, my sons were excited about spending more time with me. Three weeks later I was called as a Seventy. At first I thought they might be disappointed, but my youngest son’s humble response was “Daddy, don’t worry. We are an eternal family.” What a simple and clear truth it was! I worried a little because I looked around at this mortal life first, but my son was happy because he did not look around but looked up with eyes toward eternity and the purposes of the Lord.

Let me share an experience about responding to prophetic words from the life of President Russell M. Nelson:
In 1979, five years before his call as a General Authority, Brother Nelson attended a meeting just prior to general conference. “President Spencer W. Kimball challenged all present to lengthen their stride in taking the gospel to the entire world. Among the countries President Kimball specifically mentioned was China, declaring, ‘We should be of service to the Chinese. We should learn their language. We should pray for them and help them.’”18
At age 54, Brother Nelson had a feeling during the meeting that he should study the Mandarin language. Although a busy heart surgeon, he immediately secured the services of a tutor.
Not long after beginning his studies, Dr. Nelson, attending a convention, unexpectedly found himself sitting next to “a distinguished Chinese surgeon, Dr. Wu Yingkai. … Because [Brother Nelson] had been studying Mandarin, he began [a] conversation [with Dr. Wu].”19
Dr. Nelson’s desire to follow the prophet led to Dr. Wu visiting Salt Lake City and Dr. Nelson traveling to China to give lectures and perform surgical operations.
His love for the Chinese people, and their love and respect for him, grew.
In February 1985, ten months after his call to the Quorum of the Twelve, Elder Nelson received a surprise phone call from China pleading for Dr. Nelson to come to Beijing to operate on the failing heart of China’s most famous opera singer. With the encouragement of President Gordon B. Hinckley, Elder Nelson returned to China. The last surgical operation he ever performed was in the People’s Republic of China.
Just two years ago, in October 2015, President Russell M. Nelson was once again honored with an official declaration, naming him an “old friend of China.”

I cannot reflect on the priceless value of this day’s opportunity without thinking about the Hoa family. The year 1975 was grim in Vietnam. The Republic of Vietnam had collapsed in the face of the relentless onslaught of the North Vietnamese. The army had surrendered. The government had capitulated. Those who had been strongly identified with the government of South Vietnam or with the Americans feared for their lives and well-being. Many fled the country. Those who could not force their way onto departing military aircraft took passage on overcrowded ships and boats of every description. Some of these rusting hulks sprang leaks and sank in the South China Sea, not far into the voyage. Others were accosted by pirates, who molested and murdered many of these pathetic refugees and stole what few possessions they had brought with them. Tran Do Hoa, his wife Nga, their two young daughters and Nga’s teenage brother were among those who survived these perils and eventually reached the United States under an amnesty program.

Our ward in Southern California had offered to sponsor one such family. We found and rented a small home and furnished it in “early Deseret Industries”decor. Finally, the day came that we were to meet “our” family. With my young son as company, I drove to Camp Pendleton, the sprawling U.S. Marine Corps base in northern San Diego County, to pick them up. Following directions, we turned off the main highway onto a narrow byway that soon became a dirt road. We drove down this road for a considerable distance until we came to a large encampment of tents in an isolated part of the base. This was where these refugees were housed. The sight was heartrending: hundreds of Vietnamese attired in worn and ill-fitting clothing, many malnourished and still showing the bone-deep exhaustion of their ordeal. Clouds of dust hung in the late-summer air from the foot and vehicular traffic in and about the camp.

It was then, after checking in at the administrative tent, that I got my first glimpse of Hoa. He was a distinguished looking man in his early forties, thin to the point of emaciation, with graying hair and a gentle, polite smile. Nga, his wife, was a tiny woman with the natural beauty and graciousness of the Vietnamese. Two little girls, Betty and Ti, each clutching a doll, shyly clung to their parents. Thuan, Nga’s teenage brother, stood awkwardly nearby. And what I remember the most: all of their belongings were in a small, travel-worn suitcase and a cheap, plastic shopping bag. In Vietnam, Hoa had been a government civil servant, Nga had worked as a secretary. They had enjoyed a modest, but comfortable, standard of living. Now they had nothing. In fleeing Vietnam, they had forsaken everything they owned and held dear. Grateful to have escaped with their lives, they were totally and completely destitute in a strange land far from home. Hoa spoke halting English, Nga and the children spoke almost no English. As we drove out of that dusty encampment and onto Interstate 5, the great coastal superhighway, I remember thinking how overwhelmed and alone they must feel.

Looking back now, however, with the perspective of the years, I realize that Hoa and Nga had something not immediately apparent to the eye. They had a profound sense of gratitude for the opportunity that this land afforded them. They had virtually nothing of this world’s goods when they arrived in this country. But they brought with them a fierce determination to seize the opportunity provided. Through some interviews we helped to arrange, Hoa found work in a small electronics company. Nga immediately began attending English classes and eventually found a clerical job. Betty and Thuan enrolled in school and devoted themselves to their studies with single-minded resolve. Little Ti, a pre-schooler when the family arrived, grew up as an American child but fueled with the same work ethic that animated the other members of her family.

In time, our family moved away. We lost contact with Hoa and Nga and their children for a period of years. And so it was, with considerable delight, that we discovered on a return visit to that community that Hoa and Nga had purchased a lovely home. Two late-model automobiles were parked in their garage. Hoa and Nga each held responsible, remunerative jobs. Thuan had completed college as an electrical engineer. Betty had a scholarship to attend UCLA. And Ti was a vivacious teenager. Not long afterward, Hoa passed away prematurely.

More years passed, some twenty years from our first meeting. I was serving in the Area Presidency of the North America West Area and was assigned to a stake conference near Riverside, California. As I walked into the chapel on Sunday morning, there on the first row was Thuan. Although not a Church member and living more than 50 miles from this stake center, he had heard of my coming to the conference quite by chance from a workmate who was a member of the stake. He had come to once again express his gratitude, and that of his family, for the blessing of an opportunity. He threw his arms around me. It was a wonderful and tearful reunion for me, one I shall always remember.

As I look at us, you and me, bathed as we are in relative affluence, and all too often nonchalant about the opportunity cascading about us, I see in my mind’s eye a dusty encampment shimmering in the summer heat and a little family far from home, strangers in a strange land, with a worn suitcase and a plastic shopping bag. The vision restores my perspective.

The metal cover on the door’s mail slot clattered as the mail was pushed through and landed on the floor of our apartment. One of the high points of our day had arrived, and my companion and I collided as we made haste to see what the mailman had brought. Not even Santa could compete with the excitement he inspired.
Four white envelopes lay scattered on the floor and my companion, having mastered the morning dash and beaten me to the door, scooped them up. “Let’s see,” she said slowly, holding them just out of my reach. “One for me. One for me. One for me, and, oh, one for you.”
One for me. Why did I insist on racing to the door for this kind of treatment? The handwriting on the envelope was familiar, and I knew it was from home. I tore it open as I walked to my bed and pulled out a card with a picture on the front of two tired sister missionaries soaking their feet. I opened it up and settled back on my bed to read. “Hang in there,” it said. “We love you! Mom and Dad.”
“Well, so much for news from home,” I thought and glanced over at my companion who was still on her first letter (a three-pager) and smiling slightly as she read. The other two letters waited patiently on her lap.
“I guess I’ll go finish making breakfast,” I said and walked toward the small kitchen. My companion nodded her head in acknowledgment that I had spoken and continued reading without a pause.
I had been in Finland four months. I pulled out a pan to mix our purro (porridge) in and sighed heavily. Because the mission was short on missionaries who had been in the field for very long, the president had had no choice but to make senior companions of fairly new missionaries. And I was one of them.
I remembered back a few weeks ago to the excitement I had felt at the prospect of leaving my first city to go on to a new area as a senior companion. I remembered even more clearly the sick feeling I had experienced as my new companion and I knocked on our first door, and I realized that neither of us understood the language very well; and I was in charge.
That’s what my parents’ card was in response to. I’d written home expressing, mildly, of course, the way I was feeling, and the card was their message of encouragement. No thought-provoking words of wisdom, no sage advice to ponder, not even a quotation from Richard L. Evans. How was I supposed to reach lofty new heights on the words “hang in there”?
I wondered if any other missionaries had parents who were so economical with words. I turned on the stove and began slowly stirring the purro.
The purro began to boil thickly, and its slow bubbling called my attention back to what I was doing. I turned off the stove and called to my companion.
Those four short months in Finland quickly turned into 16, and I found myself on my way home. As I look back now, I remember only vaguely the fear and inadequacy I felt in that new city as a new senior companion (although my journal could tell tales!). What I do remember is the fact that my companion and I hung in there.
We probably weren’t the most successful companionship to ever pack scriptures, pamphlets, filmstrips and a projector onto our bikes to hit the tracting trail, but we did hit it.
And in that city during some of the hardest times of my mission, I learned what it meant to pray, to really pray, and consequently to receive answers to prayers. I learned that we weren’t out there alone and that we could do what we had been called to do.
I hadn’t needed to receive a long discourse from my parents on the at merits of overcoming discouragement and pushing ahead. The card they sent was enough because it served as a reminder to me that sometimes half the battle is just enduring to the end.

The story is told of an event that happened in New York when President David O. McKay returned from a trip to Europe. “Arrangements had been made for pictures to be taken, but the regular photographer was unable to go, so in desperation the United Press picked their crime photographer—a man accustomed to the toughest type of work in New York. He went to the airport, stayed there two hours, and returned later from [the] dark room with a tremendous sheaf of pictures. He was supposed to take only two. His boss immediately chided him, ‘What in the world are you wasting time and all those photographic supplies for?’
“The photographer replied very curtly, saying he would gladly pay for the extra materials, and they could even dock him for the extra time he took. … Several hours later the vice-president called him to his office, wanting to learn what happened. The crime photographer said, ‘When I was a little boy, my mother used to read to me out of the Old Testament, and all my life I have wondered what a prophet of God must really look like. Well, today I found one.’”

A poignant example of this was recently shared with me. In 1892, a young 18-year old student at Stanford University was struggling and pondering how he could pay his fees. He was an orphan, so he had no family financial assistance. He and a friend came up with the idea to host a musical concert. They contacted the manager of a well-known pianist, J. Paderewski, and it was agreed that he would perform for a fee of $2000. The young men did their best to make the concert a success, but in the end, they only raised a total of $1600. Apologetic and humbled, the two young men approached Paderewski with the concert receipts and a check for the balance of $400. Giving it all to him, they promised to honor their check as soon as possible. Paderewski, however, refused the money, telling the young men to take the money, pay off all concert expenses, use what they needed for their fees, and only then, give him any remaining balance. This small act of kindness is confirmation that man is often put in situations to help their fellow men if they choose to do so, much like the new convert from Hawaii who helped my great, great grandfather many years ago.

This story with Paderewski does not end there. He later went on to become the Prime Minister of Poland at a time when his country was suffering terribly. The World War had devastated his homeland so that over a million of his people were near starvation. He reached out to the U.S. Food and Relief Administration for help, which was headed by a man named Herbert Hoover. Hoover immediately proceeded to ship tons of food relief to Poland. Prime Minister Paderewski journeyed to personally thank Hoover. When they met, Mr. Hoover waved the thanks aside, saying, “You shouldn’t be thanking me, Mr. Prime Minister. You may not remember this, but several years ago, you helped two young students go through college. I was one of them.”8

Bishop Edgley: An experience I had with my Aaronic Priesthood quorum was on a Scout outing. We were sitting around a fire with my wonderful Scoutmaster, who was also the assistant deacons quorum adviser. A couple of guys who were not active in the Church were looking at some pornographic material.
The Scoutmaster stopped as he was talking to the Scouts and asked if he could have the magazine. He closed it and then told us how hurt he was, how troubled he was. Then he testified of the power of the priesthood when we honor it. He handed the magazine back, and that young man threw it in the fire.
That Scoutmaster taught us by the power of the Spirit about the priesthood. Of all the lessons I’ve had in quorums and chapels, I am still impressed by that experience.

A decade ago, while visiting Rwanda, my wife and I struck up a conversation with another passenger at the Kigali airport. He lamented the unfairness of the genocide and poignantly asked, “If there were a God, wouldn’t He have done something about it?” For this man—and for many of us—suffering and brutal unfairness can seem incompatible with the reality of a kind, loving Heavenly Father. Yet He is real, He is kind, and He loves each of His children perfectly. This dichotomy is as old as mankind and cannot be explained in a simple sound bite or on a bumper sticker.

I return to the question posed by our fellow passenger in Kigali when he lamented the unfairness of the Rwandan genocide and asked, “If there were a God, wouldn’t He have done something about it?”

Without minimizing the suffering caused by the genocide, and after acknowledging our inability to comprehend such suffering, we replied that Jesus Christ has done something about infuriating unfairness. We explained many gospel precepts concerning Jesus Christ and the Restoration of His Church.

Afterward, our acquaintance asked, with tears in his eyes, “You mean there is something I can do for my dead parents and uncle?”

We said, “Oh, yes!” We then testified that all that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and that by His authority families can be joined together forever.

Take Lucy Mack Smith for example. Two decades before Joseph’s vision, Lucy made a personal covenant with God to “seek the religion that would enable [her] to serve him right.” She wrote that, “For days and months and years” she “continued asking God…to reveal…the hidden treasures of his will.” She continued this search for 20 years. [10] Historian Rachel Cope points out that Lucy then “says, basically, little did I realize that it would be through my son that it would eventually come.” Cope then points out a lesson in this for each of us: “Twenty years of praying? Twenty years. And then we tell the stories as if everything’s instantaneous and then feel like we’re falling short because nothing is instantaneous for us.” [11]

Four months later, Trevor entered the font again—this time to baptize his own mother. Once again, his best friends were there for Trevor, with Cody baptizing Trevor’s younger sister and Justin baptizing his younger brother.
Seeing Trevor with his mother was a powerful experience for Justin. “There was a glow around them,” Justin said. “They were extremely happy because they knew that they were on the path to being together forever.”

I spent most of my twenties measuring progress in a very specific way. I had certain milestones and life events planned out that I was relying on to show me I was accomplishing everything I wanted to in life.
Well, I just turned 30 this year, and a lot of those milestones haven’t happened yet, especially with my career. And because of that, I struggle with feeling like I’m falling behind—behind my peers, behind where everyone expected me to be, and most painfully, behind where I expected myself to be.
I’ve known I wanted to be a doctor since I was a teenager, and it’s something I’ve been working toward for years. If I went back and told my teenage self how far behind my plan I am, he would probably be horrified.
But here’s the good news: My 30-year-old self has a far better perspective on life.
When I was 18, things were going great. I moved to a different country to start university and was successfully navigating life in a new place, I started the major that the other premedical students around me were doing, and I kept my grades up.
Things continued to go well as I paused my studies to serve a mission, came home, and got married a few years later.
But this was the point when things started to get a little more complicated.
First, I took a gap year because my wife was a few years younger than me and needed to finish her education. The next year, I applied and was accepted to a school in my home country—but turned down the offer because of COVID-19 border closures and my wife’s unexpected career opportunity. The next year I applied again, this time in the country I was currently living in, but had little success because I wasn’t a permanent resident in that country.
By the time I hit my 27th birthday, I was completely discouraged. I was supposed to be halfway through medical school by now! The friends I had gone to school and graduated with were moving on with their lives, while I was stuck in what felt like a never-ending cycle of applications and rejections.
From my point of view, I was stuck and not making any progress. The lack of hitting the milestones I’d outlined as a teenager made me feel pretty despondent and disappointed in myself.
But here’s the thing—there are so many different ways to make and measure progress. And in hindsight, I’ve realized I was growing and learning all along.
That first gap year? That was a chance for me to show my wife that her education was important to me and to keep gaining experience that would help me be a better doctor.
That second year, when I turned down an offer? That was an opportunity for us to pray and counsel together about how to balance competing priorities and build the life we wanted.
And that final year, when I felt helpless about things that were out of my control? That let me seek personal revelation and receive the confirmation I needed from Heavenly Father that I was on the right path, even when I was discouraged and couldn’t see what the future held.
I don’t want to pretend like those years of waiting were easy. While I was living them, I often felt frustrated, stagnant, and discouraged. But guess what? The future ended up being better than I could have imagined. I’m in my second year of medical school, while my wife works her dream job and can support us financially. After the years of prioritizing her work and education, she’s ready to support me in mine, and we have the kind of relationship that can stay strong through the grueling days of medical training.
I still look forward to the day when I can call myself a doctor. But as President Russell M. Nelson, a doctor himself, once taught, there are identities that are more important than that one.
And remembering my identities as a child of God, a child of the covenant, and a disciple of Christ helps me in times when I want to label myself as “falling behind,” which is something I think many of us are inclined to do during young adulthood.
Maybe you’re like me and have labeled yourself a failure because of career detours. Or maybe your career is going fine but you deal with the label of “single,” “struggling with a mental illness,” or something else entirely.
Whatever your situation, know that there are so many ways to grow and learn and progress. Don’t measure yourself by someone else’s life or expectations—or even your past self’s expectations.
Instead, remember what matters most: “Our relationships with Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, our families, and our neighbors, and allowing the Spirit of the Lord to guide us in those relationships.”
I may not be a doctor yet, but I am a son of God. I’m a covenant keeper. I’m someone who tries hard to be a good husband.
And that’s always mattered more than arbitrary timelines.

Last year I was noticing how I didn’t have any “real” talents. Then I received my patriarchal blessing. It said, “You have a special gift to work with people.” When I heard that, I knew what my talent was and decided to do whatever I could to pursue that talent. I was called as the Beehive president and have been striving to do what I can to be a good leader for the Beehives of my ward.
Sherry Olson, 14Sonora, California

May I just offer one or two more thoughts. One of our Latter-day Saint men during World War II was over in England. He had gone to an officer’s club where they were holding a riotous kind of celebration. He noticed off to the side a young British officer who didn’t seem to be enjoying himself at all. So he walked over to him and said, “You don’t seem to be enjoying this kind of a party.” And this young British officer straightened himself a few inches taller than he was before and replied, “No, sir, I can’t engage in this kind of a party, because, you see, I belong to the royal household of England.”

As our Latter-day Saint boy walked away he said to himself, “Neither can I, because I belong to the royal household of the kingdom of God.” Do you realize that, you young people? There are things that you cannot and must not do if you remember your heritage.

My best friend Emily and I were two of the six members of the Church at my high school in Indiana. At an activity, we were invited to think of someone in our lives we could share the gospel with. To our surprise, we both immediately thought of the same person—our English teacher. We were nervous to share it with an authority figure, but we decided to act on the prompting and give him a Book of Mormon. It was summer, so we sent it to him in the mail with our testimonies written on the inside cover.
When the school year started a few weeks later, we walked into his class apprehensively. But he didn’t say anything that first day. Or the second day. Or the day after that. We wondered if he was just going to act like nothing happened or if he even got our package at all, but we were too afraid to ask. Finally, about a week and a half later, he handed us a card. When we opened it, we read that he was respectful with his thank you, but we were disappointed to realize that he wasn’t interested in learning more. Though I’m still not sure why we both felt that prompting, I know that it was the right decision to act on it and send him the Book of Mormon.
Carli C., Utah, USA

Twelve-year-old Heber J. Grant stood up to give a talk he’d memorized. He saw President Brigham Young sitting in the third row of the audience. President Young was the most famous speaker in the Utah Territory!
Heber shook like a leaf. He was so nervous, he forgot his talk. He stammered and stuttered again and again. Finally he started his talk over. This time, he remembered what to say.
After the meeting, President Young put his arms around Heber and told him, “Heber, you demonstrated a true spirit of determination to accomplish the task given to you. Your father would have been proud.”

I had the privilege of spending four weeks in Kofu, Japan, with my good friend Yuki and her family. Having the Spirit as my guide helped me to share my beliefs with Yuki.
One day I purchased a small Church hymnbook in Japanese at the distribution center. A few days later I felt impressed to give Yuki my hymnbook. I thought about how weird this was because I had purchased the hymnbook for myself and not for her. Nevertheless, I gave her the hymnbook. I felt a little better, knowing I had done what I was prompted to do.
A while later, we were playing music downstairs, and Yuki told me she wanted to sing the hymns. I played some of the hymns on the piano while she sang in Japanese. I had a feeling of pure joy listening to my friend singing the songs I knew so well. Even though I did not know all the words to follow along, the Spirit was strong. I am very grateful I followed the promptings of the Spirit.

Our precious son Ezequiel shared 14 years of his life with us in the gospel that unites us. He was always quick to obey. His love radiated through our home. His sisters and the Saints in the scriptures were his role models. He was full of life and activity. He never missed his seminary classes. He filled our home with happiness. He was reverent when he passed the sacrament. But our life together changed when Ezequiel was called home to our Heavenly Father. We miss him more than we can describe.
A rare infection took him from us. Despite the intense pain of his departure, we are certain that we will be with him again. We have the promise made in our temple sealing. The emptiness that his passing has left is filled by the knowledge that he was called by the Lord to serve a mission elsewhere. Ezequiel’s funeral service was so special that many people felt prompted to investigate the Church. I always hoped he would serve a mission, and now he is. Because of the plan of salvation, we know where Ezequiel is and whom he is with.