Gospel Story Finder

Mark, Ben, and Corey were kneeling in the sandpile, building tunnels and roads for their cars and men. The boys were so busy that they didn’t see Patrick ride up on his bike.
He stood watching for a while. Finally he asked, “Can I play?”
“No. Go away, Patrick,” Ben said without even looking up.
“There’s no room in my sandpile for you,” Mark added.
The three boys continued playing and ignored Patrick.
“Anyone want lemonade?” Mark’s mom called from the open kitchen window.
“Yes!” Mark yelled enthusiastically. The other boys shouted yes too.
When Mark’s mom brought out four glasses of lemonade on a tray, Mark said, “He’s not playing,” pointing at Patrick. Patrick stood back and hung his head.
Mom gave Patrick a glass of lemonade. “He can still be thirsty, can’t he?” she said to Mark. When they had finished drinking, Mom asked Mark to help her carry the glasses back inside.
“Why won’t you let Patrick play?” Mom asked Mark when they were in the kitchen.
“He’s a thief, Mom,” Mark explained. “Everyone knows it. He stole one of my men.”
“Oh?” Mom raised an eyebrow. “When?”
“Last summer.” Mark hesitated. “He gave it back, but the guys are worried that he’ll take some more.”
Mom looked hard at Mark. “Haven’t you ever done something wrong and been sorry later?” she asked.
Mark squirmed. “Yes, I guess so,” he admitted. “But you always say it’s wrong to steal.”
“Yes, stealing is wrong. But it’s important to forgive too.”
“Maybe,” Mark said, unconvinced. He scuffed his foot impatiently on the floor. “Can I go now? The guys are waiting for me.”
Mom nodded, and Mark ran back outside.
That evening Mark hurried to clear away the supper dishes so that he could go out and play. In his haste, he bumped into the counter and dropped his plate. The plate shattered when it hit the floor.
“Gee, I’m sorry, Mom,” he said as he swept up the pieces.
Mom smiled understandingly. “I forgive you,” she said.
As he put away the broom and finished clearing the table, Mark thought about what his mom had said. She didn’t have to forgive him, he knew. He wondered how he would feel if she had stayed mad at him. Mark started thinking about other times when he’d had an accident or had done something wrong. Dad still lets me use his hammer, even after I cracked the handle. And I can still go camping with him, even though I lost his best flashlight the last time we went. Mark was suddenly very glad that his parents gave him a second chance when he made a mistake.
The next day, Mark and his friends were setting up some toy men on the front porch. Patrick came along and watched them longingly, but he didn’t ask to play. Mark looked at Ben and Corey, then at Patrick. He hesitated, then beckoned. “Come on over, Patrick. You can be on my side.”
“You’re letting that thief play?” Corey protested.
“He’s not a thief,” Mark said firmly. “He just made a mistake once. He can use some of my men.”
“Well, OK,” Corey grumbled. “But keep your eyes on him.”
“Thanks,” Patrick said, smiling. “I won’t take anything. I promise.”
Ben moved over to make room for him.
Later, as Mark helped his mom set the supper table, she said, “I’m glad you let Patrick play this afternoon.”
“I am, too,” Mark said. “Tomorrow he’s going to bring over some of his cars and men for us to play with. I think he’s learned his lesson about taking things.”
“Yes,” Mom said. “And you’ve learned a lesson about forgiving.” She gave him a big hug, and Mark grinned.

Years ago, way back when I was just about 11 or 12, I remember my father had received his paycheck on Wednesday and finally came home Friday night. Nothing was left. There wasn’t any food in the house—at least very little. I had saved 67 cents for tithing. He took me by the hand and pulled me into his bedroom and said, “Vaughn, I understand you have 67 cents saved for tithing.”

I said, “Yes, I do.”

He said, “Vaughn, the Church doesn’t need your money.”

That was true. In those days you could buy a loaf of bread for 14 cents, a small loaf for a nickel, and you could buy a quart of milk for 14 cents. The money could have at least bought our family’s supper.

So he said, “Vaughn, the Church doesn’t need your money. It has millions of dollars.”

That may have been true. Then he said, “Your brothers and sisters are hungry. We need that money for food. I want you to go get your money and give it to me.”

I remember I stood there. I couldn’t move. The tears came to my eyes. He was my father. I couldn’t say no. But I couldn’t move. I just stood there. I thought, “No, I’m not going to get it.”

A second time, a little heavier, he said, “I’m telling you, go get your tithing money.”

It was like my shoes were nailed to the floor. The tears came faster, and I didn’t move again. He was a big man.

Then a third time, threateningly, he said, “I’m telling you, Vaughn, you go get the tithing money.”

I remember standing there thinking, “I don’t care if he beats me. I’m not going to give it to him. It’s not my money. It’s the Lord’s money, and I’m not going to give it to him.”

My mother must have heard part of the conversation, because she came in and grabbed me, pulled me out of the bedroom, and said, “You let the boy alone. If he wants to pay his tithing, he’s going to pay his tithing.”

I don’t think I’ve missed paying tithing in all the years since.

Something else that helped me adjust to post-mission life was sharing my testimony whenever I got the chance. Sometimes I even had the opportunity to share my beliefs during presentations in my university classes.
After my philosophy professor assigned me to do a presentation on justice and freedom, I showed a Church video called “Be Still, My Soul.” The video is about a woman who is arrested for drug abuse. While she’s in jail, she misses her children. After she goes through rehabilitation, she returns home a new person.
I ended my presentation with my testimony. I said we all have our God-given agency, but that He has given us commandments to help us understand how to not harm ourselves or others. I also testified that He lives.
My professor and classmates didn’t protest against anything I said. And my testimony left them feeling thoughtful. I’ve learned that you never know when someone might need your insight in order to believe that God and Jesus Christ really do exist.

For example, Neal Jones, a science teacher, introduced me to the marvels of the universe. At the time when air travel was emerging, he invited his students to explore the possibilities of space travel and interplanetary communication.
In one intriguing discussion, we considered the prospects of flying to the stars and back. We calculated the distances and applied the rates of flight. We concluded that at 100 mph a pilot would grow old and die before reaching some of the heavenly bodies and returning to earth. None of us could foresee, as Mr. Jones could, the future wonders of rocket power, jet propulsion, and the like.
When Sputnik was launched, I thought of Mr. Jones’s classroom; when the moon landing occurred in 1969, I thought of Mr. Jones; and, when I learned of the Concorde reaching altitudes above 60,000 feet and speeds in excess of 1,000 miles per hour—I thought of Mr. Jones. He introduced me to the fascinating world of science and transfused in me a curiosity about the universe, and convinced me that “the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator” (Alma 30:44).

My falling away from the Church was gradual. It began in the fifth grade, when I met some new friends. We used bad language and got into all the wrong things. Once junior high came around, we entered into all the wrong groups, and by high school, things started to get really bad.
I became really depressed. I was wearing more and more black and kept insisting on thickly layering dark eye makeup. To me, life became something just to get through and not to enjoy. My thoughts were often suicidal, and I had no confidence. I almost completely shelled up. I never really talked to anyone, never told people what was going on. I knew I was loved, but I just didn’t care.
I almost completely fell away from the Church. I say almost because I was never allowed to skip church, and my parents always expected me to take seminary during high school. But I wanted nothing more to do with the gospel or the LDS Church.
My family and loved ones saw this downward spiral, and they tried to help. I often spent time on Sundays in the bishop’s office, and just as many days trying to avoid the bishop. He showed a lot of support and interest in me, looking into the things I believed in so that he could better understand me. My parents kept trying to help, but they didn’t know what to do. There were times when my dad and I were near tears trying to talk about our differences.
During my sophomore year, I hit a turning point when a foreign exchange student from Japan came to live with us. She was a softball player, and she convinced me to play that year. That experience alone did a great deal of good for me. The coach helped me raise my self-esteem, and the experience of belonging to and working on a team gave me the blessed feeling of belonging somewhere.
That summer I went to Japan to stay with the family of our foreign exchange student for five weeks. During my stay, I went four weeks without going to church. Finally, in the very last week, we stopped by the Tokyo Japan Temple to take pictures. In a strange country where the language and customs were so foreign to me, it was the most comforting feeling to finally be in a familiar place. The Spirit there was so strong.
That Sunday we found a ward building, and I attended church. It was amazing to experience sacrament meeting and Sunday School in Japanese, but what hit me most was when I went to Young Women. Seeing those few Japanese girls rise and say the theme, I realized that the gospel was just as strong halfway across the world as it was at home. I knew that many of these members didn’t have the support from friends and family that I did, but they still believed. Again, I felt at home.
Shortly after I returned to Utah, my brother Richard came home from his mission. Rich noticed my struggles and made it apparent that we would be having a lot of talks. He got me to pray with him.
But what really hit home was seminary. My dad found out I wasn’t enrolled for my junior year and was surprised. It wasn’t long before I was called to meet with the seminary principal. It was very nonconfrontational; he just talked to me, conveyed friendship, and expressed concern that I wasn’t enrolled. Finally I agreed to take seminary. I met my teacher, went to class, and that was it. I never skipped and rarely begrudged going.
I’m not sure when the transition took place, but I started to feel comfort. I began to pray regularly again. It was really hard at first, but I stuck with it. I read my scriptures and knew that they spoke truth. Life began to look up. I had more energy, confidence, and ambition. I felt better about the new friends I began associating with. I tried out for plays, immersed myself in my artwork, and started singing again. I tried out for my school’s select choir group and made it. I was no longer the shy, introverted girl I had been for so long.
I was also called to serve on the seminary council, and that was when I knew that I would be okay. If someone had told me a year ago that I would be where I am now, I never would have believed it could happen. I’m a completely different person. And I’m grateful to my friends, family, and teachers, who gave me their love and patience. Their faith in me was the constant in my life that I could always fall back on in my darkest hours. And now I’m so grateful for the gospel. I feel it really has saved my life. If I hadn’t made the turnaround when I did, who knows how far off the path I would have gone. I’m grateful I’ve never had to find out.
The Church is true; I know that with all of my heart and mind. Heavenly Father loves His children, and Jesus Christ is our Savior. Having the restored gospel on earth is one of our greatest blessings, and I pray that someday all of God’s children will come to know the truth and feel the same gratitude and love for Him that I have in my heart.

Again, it is a wonderful gift to know that we are children of God with a divine purpose. While in Hong Kong a number of years ago, my mother and I went on a tour of that beautiful city and surrounding area. The young woman tour guide became interested in us and asked about our homeland. We told her we were from the state of Utah. We also volunteered that we were Latter-day Saints and asked her if she had seen any Mormon missionaries there. She replied that she had heard of them, but she had no interest in religion or even in a Supreme Being. She then said: “I believe in only one thing, and that is myself—that is how the young generation feel in this city.” She went on to say: “We call it egoism. We believe in doing and accumulating all you can for yourself—no one else matters.”

Many people live their lives this way. It appears that all they care about is themselves. But I had never heard anyone admit to such a philosophy. I was surprised and realized that she was searching for a way to make her life meaningful. I thought of the scripture in Matthew 16:25–26:

For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.

For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?

The young lady did not understand who she is. She was not able to enjoy the gift of knowing that she is a daughter of a Heavenly Father and that her life has purpose beyond herself.

Recently, Virginia Pearce, a counselor in the general Young Women presidency, was writing an article, and she reminded me of an experience written by Arthur Henry King in his book The Abundance of the Heart. He describes an experience with nature and his father. An environment of trust can have to do with a special experience, a place, another person, or people.

My first real discovery of nature in life came one morning in April 1916. My father put me on the back of his bike, where I had a little seat, and said, “Off we go.” And then he turned in the wrong direction for I thought he was taking me down to Quakers’ meeting—it was a Sunday. “No,” he said, “we are going somewhere else today.” And we rode for about eight miles, and we stopped at a wood. . . . We went into the wood; and there, suddenly, was a great pool of bluebells stretching for perhaps a hundred yards in the shade of the oak trees. And I could scarcely breathe because the impression was so great. The experience then was just the bluebells and the scent; now, when I recall it, it is also the love of my father who chose to do that that morning—to give me that experience. I am sure he had been there the day before, found it, and thought, “I’ll take my son there.” As we rode there and as we rode back, we heard the distant thud of the guns at the Battle of the Somme, where thousands were dying every day. That overwhelming experience of a natural phenomenon, a demonstration of beneficent creation, and at the same time hearing those guns on the Somme—that experience has remained with me almost more clearly than anything else in my life. [The Abundance of the Heart (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1986), p. 88]

It was a routine she had down. She’d get up a little before 6:00 A.M. to catch the 6:30 bus, which would take her to school where she would spend the next nine hours. When the bell rang, dismissing classes for the day, it seemed like school was just beginning. She’d leave class and head to the library for three additional hours studying the day’s lessons. That’s 12 hours in school, just in case you’re keeping track. At 8:00 P.M., she’d hop on the bus and ride the 40 minutes to her home where she’d shower, eat, catch up on the world’s latest happenings from the newspaper, read from the scriptures, and then go to sleep. The next day, Liu Kwan Ling, who also uses the English name Angel, would do it all over again.
Want to schedule some time with her? Better do it in advance. Free time wasn’t one of the luxuries in Angel’s life then, and it certainly isn’t now.
Even Angel admits it was a grueling schedule. She’ll also admit it was worth it. Last year Angel graduated from the Taipei First Girls’ High School and is now in her first year at National Taiwan University, rated the top college in this island country near mainland China.
Having survived the rigors of high school, Angel is probably busier now that she’s graduated. Her college schedule compared to her daily high school routine really isn’t that much different. In fact, it’s about identical. It’s just that the college courses she’s taking are a little more demanding. Yet Angel knows how she’s been able to juggle all the things in her busy schedule. “I can increase my spirituality by reading the scriptures and praying,” she says. “I think without doing that and by not going to my Sunday meetings I would become easily discouraged and depressed about school and life. But if I go to sacrament meeting and listen to the talks, it seems that my life is always more positive and happy. I think the most important thing in my life is my spirituality.”
It was a tough two years on Angel as she both prepared for college and tried to remain active in the Peitou Ward of the Taipei East Stake, where she is her ward’s sacrament meeting pianist.
The bulk of her time was spent studying English, math, Chinese, physics, chemistry, biology, physical education, music, and housekeeping (cooking and sewing).
Today, college life keeps Angel incredibly busy as she studies to become a doctor. As Angel returns home from a full day, she still takes time to read from the scriptures. When she closes her triple combination, it’s 10:30 P.M. Angel’s day is over—finally. She can close her eyes knowing she’s doing well in school, and, more importantly, she’s finding time to include the gospel in her busy life. In less than eight hours, her day will begin all over again. Angel will undoubtedly enjoy a very sound sleep.

Our youngest grandson illustrates the first principle. After learning to crawl and then stand, he was ready to try walking. During his first few attempts, he fell, cried, and gave a look that said, “I will never—ever—try that again! I’m simply going to keep crawling.”

When he stumbled and fell, his loving parents did not feel that he was hopeless or that he would never walk. Instead they held out their arms while calling to him, and with his eyes on them, he tried again to move toward their loving embrace.

Loving parents are always ready with outstretched arms to welcome even our smallest step in the right direction. They know that our willingness to try and try again will lead to progress and success.
The Savior taught that to inherit the kingdom of God, we must become as a little child. So, spiritually speaking, the first principle is that we need to do what we did as children.
With childlike humility and willingness to focus on our Father in Heaven and our Savior, we take steps toward Them, never giving up hope, even if we fall. Our loving Heavenly Father rejoices in each and every faithful step, and if we fall, He rejoices in each effort to get back up and try again.

(Donna) My daughter Katie graduated a few years ago from BYU–Idaho with a degree in accounting. Idaho State University was going to start a Masters of accountancy program that you could get in one year. It was going to be intense. You had to attend classes four nights a week in order to complete the program in one year and during the course of the year, you would take the four tests necessary to become a CPA, certified public accountant. To add to the mix her husband Kris was in his last year of undergraduate work at BYU–Idaho and Katie was seven months pregnant. That meant she would have a new baby in October, but also be required to keep up with classes and take the required tests. Although it wasn’t easy for Katie, a year ago May I went to Idaho for her graduation. She passed all of her CPA exams the first time she took them and she had my 15th grandchild Kendrick.
She knew having a baby and going to school would be difficult, but also knew the Lord would bless her if she didn’t give up on what she wanted most for her family.

As it turned out, I did marry. I was thirty-four, and my husband was thirty-seven. We wanted to begin our family quickly, but children did not come easily. We told Heavenly Father that if he would give us a child, we would dedicate that child to his service. When I was thirty-seven, our first child, a daughter, was born. We asked our Heavenly Father for another child and again promised that we would consecrate this child to his will. When I was almost forty, we had a son. We asked for more children but did not receive them.
Emily is now almost ten and Danny is seven, and we are trying to raise them in fulfillment of the promises that we have made. Like Latter-day Saint parents everywhere, we acknowledge that God has given us our children, and we are trying to help them learn to love and serve him.

In the fifth grade this past school year, we have had to memorize the names of the fifty states of the United States and each of their capitals. We started after spring break and took tests every week. Each test included ten to fifteen new states, plus all the states we had studied the week before. The tests got longer and longer.
This was very hard for me. I had to study a lot before every test. Even then, I made mistakes. Sometimes I missed so many that I had to retake the test to pass.
One day, another boy in my class was retaking a test at the same time that I was. He finished, and the teacher told him that he could go out to recess. When he put his book in his desk, he saw that I was struggling with one of the capitals. He whispered the answer to me. I quickly wrote it down and handed the test in. My teacher hadn’t seen or heard anything, so she told me I could go out to recess, too.
I thought I would feel good, because I knew I had passed. Instead, I felt horrible. Recess was not fun. All I could think about was what I had done. I tried to think of a way to tell my teacher.
Later that afternoon, I waited until most of my classmates had left the room to go home. I walked up to my teacher’s desk and told her quietly that I had not been honest and would retake the test again the next day. She thanked me for being honest. Telling my teacher the truth was very hard for me, but I felt so much better after I did.
When my mom was tucking me into bed that night, I told her, too. I thought she would be angry, but she was glad that I had had the courage to admit what I had done and had taken steps to correct my behavior. We talked about how the Holy Ghost helps us to know right from wrong and decided that the Holy Ghost had helped me that day.

I remember the excitement I felt when I first got a skateboard. I loved going to the skate park with my older cousins and seeing how creative they could be with their tricks. I was amazed at the way they could flip or spin a skateboard in the air just to land back on it with both feet and roll away in style.
Perhaps the best part about it was their ability to make their complicated tricks look so effortless. This gave me courage. If it looked so easy for them to do, I reasoned, then maybe it wouldn’t be too hard for me to learn the same things.
So I picked up my new skateboard and got to work.
Because I wanted to be a good skateboarder, I thought learning would be effortless and there wouldn’t be any major challenges. No mental blocks, no injuries, no pain. Skateboarding would be just as easy as my older cousins made it look.
It didn’t take long before I was overcome with discouragement. I would spend hours and hours attempting to pop my board up into the air, the most basic trick in the book. But it would take weeks until the ollie trick was good enough.
Looking back through my years of skateboarding, I’ve noticed a pattern I tend to follow with other parts of life. When I am excited to try something new and it is harder to accomplish than I expected, my enthusiasm surrenders to discouragement and my inspiration turns to doubt.
This often applies most to when I am trying to follow promptings from the Holy Ghost, only for things to not turn out as expected.
These unexpected feelings of uncertainty have always felt like a heavy blow to my initial excitement and eagerness to progress. But thankfully the scriptures have provided me a fresh view on how I can change my perception when I face challenges like these.
The opening chapters of the Book of Mormon tell about a family that faced serious trials. Little did they know how far they would have to go or the unseen challenges they would have to face. Yet their journey demonstrates how God can work in all of our lives.
Early in their journey, Nephi’s father, Lehi, received a revelation that Nephi and his brothers would have to go back to Jerusalem and convince Laban to give them the brass plates (see 1 Nephi 3). After two attempts to retrieve the plates and two death threats, it could have been easy for even Nephi to doubt the revelation his father had received and ask, “If God commanded me to do it, why isn’t this working?!” But there’s no indication in the scriptures that he went down this road of doubt.
I’ve discovered new insights upon pondering how this story applies to me. How much more did Nephi and his brothers learn to rely on God because they were presented with unexpected difficulties?
Is it possible that some things that God asks us to do are impossible? Just so that we can learn to rely on Him and discover how He makes the impossible, possible? Maybe God had to make it clear in Nephi’s mind that there was no way he could get the plates without Him.
This is a pattern I’ve found in the scriptures that I’ve seen in my own life. God inspires His children to do something beyond themselves—like making a change or accepting a time-consuming calling— and then unexpected challenges always seem to follow.
Whenever I feel the quiet tug from the Holy Ghost to do something important, I expect the results from following the prompting to come easily and quickly. In retrospect, I’ve discovered that it’s the difficult promptings to follow that give me the chance to see God’s grace. I recognized the truth of Moroni’s observation that “ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6).
Sometimes it’s only when things don’t seem to work out the way I had envisioned that I see that God actually has been involved in every detail.
As President Russell M. Nelson promises us, “When you know your life is being directed by God, regardless of the challenges and disappointments that may and will come, you will feel joy and peace.”1 That is a promise I wouldn’t have been able to experience for myself if everything I had set out to do hadn’t required that I give God all my “heart, might, mind and strength” (Doctrine and Covenants 4:2).
I’ve learned that God’s vision is much clearer than mine, whether that be through my attempts at skateboarding or trusting Him to do the seemingly impossible. He cares not only that I trust in Him to reach my destination but also that I find faith in Him along the journey.

“I had a friend who began to encourage me to disregard my standards, and for a while I listened. I finally decided that enough was enough and I wasn’t going to let her influence me anymore. I prayed for strength and guidance, and because I was again living the way I know I should, I received the guidance I asked for. I eventually stopped hanging out with her, and in the months that have passed, my testimony has grown so much. Who you are friends with definitely makes a difference in your ability to live the way the gospel teaches.”

Margaret K., 17, Utah, USA

It was then she looked up, and instead of seeing two young men in suitcoats and on bikes turn out of the alley, only one was coming. His white shirt was missing its usual tie, and his bike and coat were gone. With head down and hands jammed hard in his pockets, clenched in fists of frustration, he was kicking rocks and old cans as he stomped toward her. She could see that he was talking to himself, and as the distance narrowed, she caught snatches of the angry words he was saying.

She sat and listened as he began having a mental battle with himself. First he’d mumble a scripture on patience, or brotherly love, or humility, then a quick comeback on patience being gone, and brotherly love destroyed by this or that, and humility nonexistent. The more he talked, the more the scriptures began to win until he was murmuring only pieces of scriptures and phrases of hymns that she had never heard before.

There had been a disagreement of some sorts; that was obvious. By the time he had reached the spot where she sat staring in the chrysanthemums, he had slowed and stopped. He stood looking at his scuffed shoes, totally unaware of her presence, his mind frantically searching for what to do. Pride said go, but love said stop. The hardness of his brow softened, the firmness around his mouth that had kept his gritted teeth solidly in place weakened, and she could see his eyes fill with tears. She became very conscious of her position and wished she were one of her beautiful little flowers blowing in the breeze.

Then from the alley a voice boomed: “Elder, wait! I—I’m sorry!” The young man near her slowly turned and looked where his partner was standing in his stocking feet.

For what seemed enough time to plant and harvest a section of wheat, the air remained empty of human sounds or movement. Then Elder Scuffed Shoes looked at her and, in a rather husky voice, asked if he could please have a flower. “A flower of forgiveness,” he had muttered. Mutely she clipped one for him and watched as he retraced his steps until he stood in front of the other. They were too far off for her to hear what was said, but she saw the flower exchange hands and watched as they walked back to their apartment in the alley, each with an arm around the other’s shoulder.

She had sat there in the flowers trying to figure out how one young man could know so much about love and have such an abundance of it, while another lay lifeless on a mortician’s table because of his gross lack of it. Both had been searching for what life really was. One had found it; the other hadn’t. Why? She couldn’t answer her own question. Finally she got up and left to prepare for a funeral many miles away. Even as she left, she knew she had to find the answer to “Why?” when she returned.

Allow me to share a personal experience that may help illustrate the power and purpose of artistic experience centered in Christ. Many years ago, unable to sleep because of pressing problems, I sought the boredom of late-night television as a substitute for “counting sheep.” Alone in the family room, I tuned to an educational channel just as a rather curious dance production was beginning. It was the story of the prodigal son retold through the music and choreography of Israeli collaborators and performed by an Israeli dance company. I expected this to be the perfect way to fall asleep. How wrong I was!

As the familiar story unfolded through movement and music, the simplicity and power of the production increasingly moved me. Every expression and movement had meaning. The camera’s ever-changing focus absolutely held me spellbound. The music touched my heart and filled it with wonder. The movements of the dancers, now transformed into actors, opened the eyes of my understanding. I observed that the Holy Ghost had an overpowering presence in my being. As the story reached the point of the son’s return to his father, the son crawled to his father’s feet, writhing in the agony of true repentance. At just the right moment, his father lovingly lifted him into his arms and held him in an attitude of total forgiveness. In an instant I felt and understood the reality of the Atonement with such intensity that I wept in both joy and sorrow. It was a powerful and precious experience in my life, an experience made possible through artists who had responded to the Light of Christ in this collaborative creative endeavor.

Members of the Church often say, “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.” During my mission, I learned how true that statement is to missionary success.
In their home countries, many of the refugee families we taught had seen awful things in conflict and war that are hard to imagine. They truly had witnessed hate and what bad things human beings are capable of doing to others. Many had lost hope in humanity and had to flee their homes.
When we missionaries began to teach them, it was not necessarily how much we knew about the gospel that helped them come unto Christ. It was more how much we and the ward members showed them Christlike love. When we showed them love and cared for them, they felt hope again. They saw that there were still good people in the world and that the good people they had come to know in the ward were linked to the gospel of Jesus Christ. They wanted to feel that love, to be part of it, so they would come to church and return to church.
“Your church is full of love,” one man we were teaching told me.
Before we could even ask for help with fellowshipping, members of the Lincoln Heights Ward, overseeing the Swahili group, would ask what they could do. The refugee families would often tell us, “This person helped us with this and this person helped us with that.” The ward even started a Sunday School in Swahili.
It was wonderful to see the ward members loving the Africans into the Church. Love was the biggest thing that led to our success among the Swahilis. Some members would give rides to church, some would host families, some would visit families, and some would do things for families behind the scenes. And the ward bishop, Philip Huber, who worked hard to learn Swahili, was always there showing his love and support too. I couldn’t have asked for a better ward to work with.

Darlington Ward graciously gave up an evening to join with Kings Church to pack numerous food parcels for single people in Darlington. Karen Nolan reflects back on that evening: “My family and I really enjoyed working with members of our ward and the staff at Kings Church Food Bank to pack over a 100 food parcels for single people in Darlington. It was a small act of service which we all enjoyed, but I know it was greatly appreciated.”

Time moved forward, and I remained on the island of Viti Levu, the main island of Fiji. I went to stay with my older sister, who had moved away from home years before. In the chaos of the tragedy, President Davis lost track of me, and I lost track of the Church. Learning that I had survived, however, he instructed the missionaries to search for me. They looked for months but to no avail. President Davis’s time as mission president came to a close, and he passed the search on to his successor.
The years passed, but because of poor communication systems, I could not be found. The family I was staying with was not interested in the gospel, so I had little hope of finding the Church during my teenage years. I struggled with the loss of my family and wondered why I had been left alone. But I carried in my heart the truths my parents had taught me. Although at times I gave in to weakness and temptation, I always remembered my father’s testimony concerning Jesus Christ and His true Church. Eventually I got married and settled on Vanua Levu, the northern island of Fiji.
In March 1985 I was at work cutting coconut copra not far from the main road when an elderly couple in a small car stopped and called out to me. They asked me if I knew a man named Joeli Kalougata. But before I told them they had indeed found him, I asked what they wanted. They introduced themselves as Elder and Sister Kimber and explained that they were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Finally they had found me! It was a glorious moment. Following six missionary discussions in two days, I was baptized on 18 March 1985, along with my wife, Elenoa. Our lives have never been the same since.

Many miracles paved the way for Raymond Knight’s journey to the house of the Lord.
The first was his baptism in Alice Springs on 1 July 2017, at age 74. Elder Joel Barfuss, of the Australia Adelaide Mission recalls, “We were walking to an appointment and saw Ray walking down another road, so we decided to turn down the road just to talk to him. . . . He came to Church that Sunday and the rest was history.”
The second miracle came through family history. In the years after his baptism, senior missionary couples, Elder and Sister Clark, and later, Elder and Sister Gamble helped Ray to discover his family history.
Elder Scott Gamble helped Ray identify his father through the BillionGraves cemetery index.
“Ray is legendary with the young missionaries in Alice Springs,” says Sister Diane Gamble. “They all know and love him. He loves to share life stories about how his grandmother taught him to knit when he was nine years old, how his daughter in the Philippines asked him to bring her a kangaroo, and about how he knitted a jumper for Johnny Cash, the famous western singer.”
The third miracle involved a series of events that allowed Ray to travel 1,532.8 kilometers to attend the temple for the first time.
Cancer required the removal of Ray’s stomach, but while recovering from massive surgery, the Gambles taught him temple preparation lessons, which he continued after leaving the hospital.
Branch President Schwalger granted permission for the missionaries to resume Ray’s lessons over the phone and at his home. The Gambles used skeins of yarn and other props to review principles like the plan of salvation.
Ray eventually received his temple recommend, and with aid from the General Temple Patron Assistance Fund he prepared to receive his endowment.
Two weeks before his scheduled temple date, the Gambles received a call from Ray. Sister Gamble recalls, “He was in the hospital and told us he just wanted to die. We found him in the emergency department having a vial of potassium administered intravenously, which is apparently quite painful. Elder Gamble gave him a blessing, which helped him tolerate the procedure.”
Once Ray was cleared for travel, the long-awaited moment finally arrived. Ray and the missionary couple set out on 30 January 2024, and the group walked into the temple the following day.
At 81 years old now, Ray was able to participate in proxy baptisms and confirmations for his male ancestors. Then he used his Melchizedek Priesthood authority, for the first time, to perform proxy confirmations on Sister Gamble for his female ancestors. “I was moved to tears when Ray placed his hands on my head,” says Sister Gamble.
The fourth miracle was found in the power of prayer.
Ray wasn’t feeling well on the day Elder Gamble picked him up for his own endowment. His medication was making him dizzy and weak in the knees. They had to stop and rest several times between the hotel room and the car.
After a fervent prayer for Ray’s health and ability to proceed with his journey, Ray got out of the car and walked into the temple to receive his endowment. He had no further issues that day.
With additional support from senior missionary couples, the Felts and the Carrs, and President and Sister Kuhn from the mission presidency, Ray was able to perform proxy endowments for his ancestors. Elder Gamble described evidence of the Spirit in the celestial room later, where he saw tears rolling down Ray’s cheeks. “This is the first time I’ve felt a closeness to the Lord in such a profound way,” Ray explained. “I am in wonderment of His rich blessings.”
His ability to participate in all the planned sessions of his temple trip depended on how Ray felt, but on the days he didn’t attend, Sister Gamble says, everyone at the temple asked where Ray was. “It was like they were inquiring about a long-lost friend.”
Some days, Ray relied on the power of prayer to keep going. “On Saturday morning, [he] was feeling sick again,” Sister Gamble reports. “We said a prayer with Ray in the car and again he perked up almost immediately and was able to move forward with sealings.”
Referencing President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation to think celestial, the sealer said, “doing sealings is just about as close to thinking celestial as one can get in this life.”
Ray was sealed first to his parents, and then his mother was sealed to the grandparents who raised him. In total, 96 family ordinances were performed throughout the week. The group had many tender mercies and felt very close to the Spirit.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how idyllic it was for me to be introduced to the temple for the first time,” Ray said. “It was a joy unimaginable. I’m so looking forward to many more such visits… If only the same joy could be felt in absolutely every other location throughout the world and every single person could focus on the exquisite experience and peace of our Heavenly Father’s presence, there could not be any room for the hurt and devastating destruction that we learn about so constantly in our world.”