Gospel Story Finder

Although he made great progress, Manuel struggled to obey the Word of Wisdom. He had been drinking alcohol since he was a young man. Not only did he have difficulty stopping, but he also feared ridicule from his friends.
Corina also felt enslaved by her husband’s habit, and for years she had struggled to help him. Now, with newfound faith and a testimony of the power of fasting, she began to fast regularly for Manuel to have strength to obey the Word of Wisdom.
Corina’s love for her husband reminded me of the story in the New Testament when a father pleaded with the Apostles to heal his ailing son. Although they exercised faith, they were unable to perform the miracle. The Lord, however, made the child whole, afterwards explaining that “this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting” (Matthew 17:21).
And so it was that through prayer and fasting Manuel gradually gained the strength to break free from his habit. And although he was initially mocked by his friends, they soon gained a greater respect for him as he demonstrated his loyalty to the Lord by following His commandments.

President Benson’s testimony made a deep and lasting impression on a minister of that church, Father Alexander. A few years later, this minister told a Finnish member of our church, Sister Irma Airto, that of all the notable people who visited the Baptist church and signed the guest register, Ezra Taft Benson was the greatest. President Benson was visiting Russia as a high official in the United States government, but Father Alexander recognized him as a great spiritual leader. Father Alexander told Sister Airto, “When you meet Mr. Benson, tell him … that we know he is a man of God and I pray for him.” Sister Airto never expected to meet President Benson in person to convey this message. However, when he visited Finland and created the Helsinki Finland Stake in October 1977, she was able to deliver the message, strengthening her testimony that the Lord guides our affairs.

That evening as we were finishing dinner, Mom announced, “A letter came from Grandma today.”
“What did she say?” I asked, excited.
“How’s her garden?” Bryce wanted to know.
Mom smiled. “I think your prayers have been answered.”
“How?” I questioned.
“An LDS family down the street from her knew that she needed help, so they decided to make that a family project. At least once a week they go there and lend her a hand.”
Bryce looked across the table at me and grinned. “Maybe we prayed that family over to Grandma’s garden.”

After a couple of years, we graduated from advertising packets to telephone directories. During several summers, we loaded up our station wagon with books and children. The days were hot, the hours were long, some streets were hard to find, some addresses couldn’t be found, the books were heavy, some driveways were long and went uphill, some dogs were mean; but we had fun. Sometimes two children would go to a home, one to play with the dog and the other to take the books.
One summer one of the boys broke his foot while on the job. Within a few days he realized that he didn’t want to be left out of the summer work; besides he loved to ski. Soon he was in the back of the station wagon unwrapping the books and giving directions to the children as to how many books were to go to each house.
At the end of a day’s work, there were stories to tell, experiences to laugh at, accomplishments to brag about—and no one had any trouble sleeping. Yes, we were having fun and experiencing a sense of accomplishment.

“Please hurry, Rabiha,” Hisham urged as he walked beside the cart on the busy Cairo street.
The mule pulling the loaded cart could make little progress on only three good legs.
“Get that worthless bag of bones off the street!” the impatient cart owner directly behind Hisham yelled.
“Rabiha is not worthless!” Hisham shot back.
A feeling of affection for Rabiha washed away Hisham’s anger as he guided the mule to the side of the road and stopped. He looked at Rabiha’s lame leg again and grimaced when he saw how swollen and sore it was. “My poor Rabiha,” Hisham mourned, patting the mule. “Your leg is not healing.”
Putting into words what he had feared these many days aroused a feeling of terror in Hisham. The heavy loads Rabiha pulled provided Hisham and his mother their only income. When his father was alive, Rabiha had pulled the cart for him. Hisham did not know how they could manage without the mule. Discouragement overwhelmed him, and he buried his face in Rabiha’s neck, ignoring the noise of the busy street.
“Hisham!”
Hisham started, blinking back the tears. His neighbor Mr. Megm was looking at Rabiha’s leg.
“You must take your mule to the Dispensary for Sick Animals,” Mr. Megm advised. “When my donkey’s leg became lame from a nail lodged in his hoof, the veterinarian there removed the nail and made him well again.”
Hisham brightened. “Do you think they can help Rabiha?”
“They can try,” Mr. Megm replied. “I will help you take him there after work.”
That evening Mr. Megm and some of Hisham’s other neighbors helped load Rabiha into a cart, and then Hisham took the crippled animal to the dispensary. For the first time in his life Rabiha rode in a cart instead of pulling it.
“It’s a deep, ugly tumor,” the white-coated veterinarian told the boy after examining Rabiha’s leg. “I can operate tomorrow.”
Hisham wet his dry lips. “Will Rabiha be all right?” he asked anxiously.
“I hope so,” the doctor replied. He gave Hisham a reassuring smile.
Through smarting tears, Hisham tried to return the smile.
Rabiha was put into an empty stall and fed.
“You may go home now,” the doctor told Hisham. “Your mule will be all right here tonight.”
“I cannot leave Rabiha!” Hisham cried.
“As you like,” the doctor replied. “But there is no food for visitors to the dispensary and no place to sleep.”
Hisham was too worried to eat. After sending word of his whereabouts to his mother, he spent the night in the stable beside Rabiha.
The next morning Hisham watched from the stable as the anxious owner of the donkey in the next stall led his animal to the canvas-covered operating table in the adjoining area. As the white-coated attendants forced open the donkey’s mouth, Hisham again buried his face in Rabiha’s neck. “I love you,” he whispered. “You must get well!”
Later Hisham heard an attendant chuckle as the other donkey was returned to the stall. “A greedy donkey if I ever saw one,” he said.
The owner was laughing too. “Greedy indeed!”
“What ailed your donkey?” Hisham asked.
“He had a whole corncob stuck in his throat,” the owner explained, grinning. “He is all right now.”
When Rabiha’s turn came to leave the stable, Hisham tried to be brave. But his legs felt like matchsticks as he followed the mule to the operating table. Then, hearing the neighing and barking from the paddocks and dog kennels close by, Hisham whispered to Rabiha, “The animals are sympathizing with you, old friend. You will soon be well.”
It wasn’t until the attendant administered the anesthetic from a large brown flask that Rabiha quit straining at the thick ropes steadying him.
Smelling the pungent fumes Rabiha was breathing, Hisham’s head, too, began to swim. He backed away and rested against a tree.
When he felt better, Hisham saw that the doctor had removed the tumor and was scraping and cauterizing the wound. Rabiha lay quietly on his side.
Hisham swallowed the lump in his throat. For the first time in weeks, he thought, Rabiha is feeling no pain in his leg.
“Your mule came through the operation beautifully,” the veterinarian told Hisham.
“Thank you, doctor!” the boy exclaimed. “Rabiha thanks you. My mother also thanks you.”
“Your mule, however, cannot go home today,” the veterinarian said.
Hisham blinked. “Why not?” he asked.
“He will have to stay several days until his leg heals.” He patted Rabiha’s bony back. “He needs time and rest to put a little meat on his tired bones.”
“Rabiha has never had a holiday,” said Hisham, wondering how he and his mother would live while the mule was recovering.
Seeing the boy’s worried face, the veterinarian said, “Perhaps I could lend you some money until your mule can work again.”
“I could not take money unless I earned it!” Hisham protested.
“If you are willing to work,” the veterinarian said, “there are jobs you can do here. Because you love animals, you would be a good worker for us. Come, I will show you the pets we board for people on holiday. They help pay our costs. You could help care for them.”
Hisham accepted the kind offer and then smiled as he thought, Rabiha’s holiday will be my holiday too.

I have witnessed and been greatly impressed by the sacrifices many members endure to get to the temple. Let me share one such story.

In 1976, when we were living in Costa Rica, the mission president asked my husband to help organize the first trip from the mission to a temple. The Central America Mission then included Costa Rica, Panama, Nicaragua, and Honduras. The closest temple was the Mesa Arizona Temple. The trip required us to travel five days each way, crossing six borders. The financial sacrifice for most of those who went was great. They sold their television sets, bikes, skates, and anything else they could sell. We traveled in two uncomfortable buses day and night. Some of the members had used all their money to pay for the bus fare and had taken only crackers and margarine to eat on the way.

I have never forgotten the great outpouring of the Spirit we experienced during the three days we spent at the Mesa Temple. I was deeply touched as I watched family members embrace each other with tears streaming down their faces after being sealed for the eternities.

Twenty-four years later the temple in San José, Costa Rica, was dedicated. Among those present at the session I attended were many of the families who had gone on that first temple excursion. They had waited faithfully and worthily for this sacred moment. They all can now attend the temple often because a temple in Panama was recently dedicated, and a temple in Honduras has been announced.

The young people of the valley have learned that in the clash of values and ideas, everyone can win. Instead of being weakened by the world around them, they can help strengthen others. Take Kelly Adams, for example. Kelly loves popular music. He joined several record and tape clubs, and became the local teen expert. The other kids caught on and started having him DJ their dances. But Kelly wouldn’t listen to junk, and he wouldn’t play music that taught garbage. So when he DJ’s a dance, nobody else listens to junk either, because he won’t play it. It’s had an effect on the musical tastes of both the LDS and non-LDS youth. Everybody won.

After a recent mission tour in Indonesia when I visited the missionaries and the Saints on the island of Java, I had to catch an early morning flight to Singapore, and I checked out of the hotel at 6:00 A.M. I climbed into a taxi that was parked near the hotel entrance and told the driver to go to the international airport, but alas, his car would not start. Apparently the battery was dead.
Well, what do you do in such a case? I calculated that it would probably cost me much time to unload my luggage and find another taxi, and it also occurred to me that the taxi driver was trying hard to earn enough money to provide for his family and would be very disappointed if he could not earn the large fare he would get for the half-hour trip to the airport.
I decided to do my morning exercises by pushing the taxi, leaving the Indonesian cab driver behind the steering wheel to start the car. However, he greatly overestimated the early morning physical power of a Dutchman and released the clutch of the car before I had been able to give the car adequate speed. As a result, it came to a sudden halt. But I tried again and this time it started. With a roaring motor the taxi moved forward. I flung open the door, jumped in, and we were on our way.
An hour and a half later when I boarded my flight, the air hostess who greeted me at the door of the plane said: “I am surprised to see you here! You are the gentleman who pushed the taxi in front of the Borobudur Hotel this morning.”
She then told me that all the members of the plane crew had witnessed the scene from the airport limousine parked at a side door of the hotel. She said that on the way to the airport they had talked a lot about the incident and had wondered: “What kind of a man is this? If he can afford to stay in the Borobudur Hotel, why would he work to push a taxicab at 6:00 A.M.?
I thought, “This is my chance to do missionary work!” I took a name card out of my wallet, handed it over to her, and said, “We in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints believe in good human relations.”
The air hostess told me she was not actually a stewardess but was flight services instructor for Cathay Pacific Airways and had boarded this flight to evaluate the performance of some students she had taught in the cabin crew training school in Hong Kong. That enabled me to make another statement about the Church: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the largest educational institution in the world today. At least 2 million people teach one another on a weekly basis with divinely inspired lesson materials.” I further explained to her that a great deal of my time is spent teaching missionaries and members of the Church in the nine missions of Southeast Asia.
She remarked: “Then you are maybe the man we are looking for—an experienced air traveler with the ability to teach our personnel how to be friendly with customers.” I told her that I would gladly do it free of charge whenever they planned another initial or refresher course in Hong Kong and when these dates would not interfere with my other Church assignments. I thought then and there: “What a golden opportunity to let these people know what makes Mormons behave as they do!”
After my return to Hong Kong, I was approached by the training manager of the airline, who had received a report from the flight services instructor. I made an appointment and spent a couple of hours with him in his office. He was greatly impressed by the work and the achievements of the Church.
I am sure I will have the opportunity to reach out to many souls in the future simply because of what the world observed when they saw the Church in action one early morning in Jakarta, Indonesia.

Nathan stretched, yawned, and opened his eyes. He hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet. Why was he so happy? Then he remembered. Mom had told him that they were going to do something really special as soon as his older brother and sister had left for school. Nathan got dressed as fast as he could so that he wouldn’t miss a minute.
He ran out to the kitchen. Mom smiled at him. “You’re all ready to go! Great!”
“Where are we going?” Nathan was so excited that he could hardly stand it. “Ice skating? Shopping? To the zoo?”
“We’re going someplace much more important,” Mom said. “We’re going to the family history center.”
“Family history center?” Nathan flopped down into a chair. “You said you were going to take me someplace special today. You go to the family history center every week. What’s so special about it?”
“It’s time for you to find out!”
Thirty minutes later, Mom unlocked a door at the stake center, and they walked in. Nathan had never seen anything like this before. The room was just like many he’d seen in their ward building, but this one was filled with machines, cabinets, and bookcases.
“This is our stake family history center,” Mom said as she started turning on computers. “I do a little of our own family history on Wednesdays, but mostly I help other people do theirs. People depend on me to have the center open so that they can find their ancestors. Then they can get the temple work done for them.”
“You mean this is what happens before Tim and Sherry do baptisms for the dead at the temple?”
“That’s right, Nate. Before anyone can be baptized for a person, someone has to find out who that person is.”
“How do they do that?”
“If you have a little patience, it’s not hard,” Mom said. “Would you like to find someone who needs to be baptized?”
“I guess so.”
“I was hoping that you’d say that,” Mom said. “I’m on the trail of finding your great-great-grandpa Oskar Pederson. He came to America from Sweden.” Mom took out a microfilm and threaded it in the reader. After a few turns of the handle, a chart appeared with old-fashioned writing on it.
“Do I have to read this?” Nathan frowned.
“You don’t have to read all the words. See this number here? That’s the birth year. Grandpa Pederson was born in 1885. Now, just look down this column until you see 1885. Whenever you do, look over here and see if the name is Oskar.”
Nathan nodded. “I think I can do that. Can I try to find him all by myself?”
“OK, Nate. Good luck.”
Nathan started slowly turning the microfilm wheel, looking at one page after another. Some other people came and started working on the computers. Mom went from one to the other and helped them. Every so often she came back to Nathan. “How are you doing? Are you tired yet?”
“No, I’m still looking.”
About an hour later, Nathan shouted, “Mom, I found him!”
Mom hurried over and looked at the bright page on the reader. “You’re right,” she said softly. “There he is. And look, Nathan, you not only found him, you found his mom and dad. They’re your great-great-great-grandparents!”
“Wow!” Nathan touched the names on the reader with his finger. “Does this mean that you and Dad and Tim and Sherry can be baptized for these people?”
“That’s right, Nate,” Mom said. “You’ve just pushed our family tree back another generation. These people were lost until you found them! I’m sure that they’re really happy right now.”
“This is neat, Mom! Can I come with you the next time I don’t have school?”
“Nathan!” Mom pretended to be shocked. “You mean this is better than skating?”
“Much better than skating,” Nathan said. And he meant it.

Shortly after my mission, while a student at Brigham Young University, I received a phone call from my dad. He told me that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and that although his chances of survival were not good, he was determined to be healed and return to his normal life activities. That phone call was a sobering moment for me. My dad had been my bishop, my friend, and my adviser. As my mother, my siblings, and I contemplated the future, it appeared bleak. My younger brother, Dave, was serving a mission in New York and participated long-distance in these difficult family events.
The medical providers of the day suggested surgery to try and curtail the spread of the cancer. Our family earnestly fasted and prayed for a miracle. I felt that we had sufficient faith that my father could be healed. Just prior to the surgery, my older brother, Norm, and I gave my dad a blessing. With all the faith we could muster, we prayed that he would be healed.
The surgery was scheduled to last many hours, but after just a short time, the doctor came to the waiting room to meet with our family. He told us that as they began the surgery, they could see that the cancer had spread throughout my father’s body. Based upon what they observed, my father had just a few months to live. We were devastated.
As my father awakened from the surgery, he was anxious to learn if the procedure had been successful. We shared with him the grim news.
We continued to fast and pray for a miracle. As my father’s health quickly declined, we began to pray that he could be free of pain. Eventually, as his condition worsened, we asked the Lord to allow him to pass quickly. Just a few months after the surgery, as predicted by the surgeon, my father did pass away.
Much love and care were poured out upon our family by ward members and family friends. We had a beautiful funeral that honored the life of my father. As time passed, however, and we experienced the pain of my father’s absence, I began to wonder why my father had not been healed. I wondered if my faith was not strong enough. Why did some families receive a miracle, but our family did not? I had learned on my mission to turn to the scriptures for answers, so I began to search the scriptures.
But here is the greater lesson I learned. I had mistakenly believed that the Savior’s healing power had not worked for my family. As I now look back with more mature eyes and experience, I see that the Savior’s healing power was evident in the lives of each of my family members. I was so focused on a physical healing that I failed to see the miracles that had occurred. The Lord strengthened and lifted my mother beyond her capacity through this difficult trial, and she led a long and productive life. She had a remarkable positive influence on her children and grandchildren. The Lord blessed me and my siblings with love, unity, faith, and resilience that became an important part of our lives and continues today.
But what about my dad? As with all who will repent, he was spiritually healed as he sought and received the blessings available because of the Savior’s Atonement. He received a remission of his sins and now awaits the miracle of the Resurrection. The Apostle Paul taught, “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.” You see, I was saying to the Savior, “We brought my dad to You to be healed,” and it is now clear to me that the Savior did heal him. The balm of Gilead worked for the Nielson family—not in the way that we had supposed, but in an even more significant way that has blessed and continues to bless our lives.

While serving as a member of the Seventy, Elder Shayne M. Bowen gave a conference address in which he told how angels blessed his family. After Elder Bowen swerved to avoid a car that crossed into his lane, the van carrying his family rolled over and landed on the passenger’s side. Their 10-year-old daughter, Emily, was trapped under the vehicle. Elder Bowen and a few others were able to miraculously lift the van onto its wheels. Although Emily was lifeless when the van was removed, she eventually made a full recovery. Elder Bowen said: “Those who lifted the van off of Emily observed that the van seemed to weigh nothing. I knew that heavenly angels had joined with earthly angels to lift the vehicle off of Emily’s body.”

One day in Nauvoo, the Prophet Joseph Smith was in the yard, playing with his children Joseph and Frederick. A gentlemen in a carriage drove up to the gate, looking for him. Greeting the Prophet, the man drove his horse and carriage up to a tie post, but did not tie the horse up. Leaving the lines lying loose, he got out of his carriage and came up the steps of the house.
“Mister,” Joseph said, “I think you would do well to tie your horse; he might get a scare and run away and break your carriage.”
The gentleman, thinking he knew best, responded, “I have driven that horse for some years and never tie him. I am a doctor and cannot afford to tie him up at every place I call.”
Joseph persisted. “You had better tie him all the same. Your horse might get a scare and run away.”
The doctor told Joseph not to worry, that there would be no problems with his horse.
Entering the house, the men sat down to talk.
Within moments, the horse became startled. It bolted down the street, towing behind it the carriage. A wheel struck against a post, and pieces of the carriage were scattered for a block or more.
The doctor rushed to the street and saw the trail left by the frightened horse. He turned to Joseph and said, “I’ll be … if you aren’t a prophet.”3

“Could I … ah …” The dark haired girl in front of me shifted awkwardly. “I mean, I was wondering … if we could talk.”
I had been teaching the 15-year-olds in Sunday School for only a month and had just finished my weekly lesson.
“How about right now?” I asked.
“It’s about …” she began. “Well, I have this friend see, and the other day we were talking and …” Her unusual seriousness puzzled me. This was the girl who always talked and laughed with her friends (even during my lessons). What could be so serious that she would now be this solemn? I tuned back to her words, “… and this friend said he doesn’t believe in Joseph Smith anymore because he was a gold digger and a thief and he drank a lot.” I smiled. She continued, “My friend has these books to prove it!”
So that was the big life-and-death matter. This 15-year-old had finally had her first taste of the cold and nutritionless dish called “anti-Mormon literature.”
She went on, “Those books—they say the Church isn’t true! They say Joseph Smith was a con man and that all he wanted was money and …”
“Hold it!” I stopped her. How many reading assignments had I given in the last month which had gone unfulfilled by my whole class? I had to turn cartwheels to even get these kids to skim the scriptures, and here this girl was reading entire books of her friend’s anti-Mormon publications. I faced her. “Not all that stuff you’re reading is true.”
“But it’s in a book,” she responded innocently.
I tried to explain, “Just because something is printed, sold, and even accepted and popular doesn’t make it true.”
“I know that.” She was embarrassed. “But how do you know when something you read or hear is true?” A very good question—and here is what we finally decided:
Anything heard or read about another person, idea, or belief needs to pass what we called the
H O G M E T test. Each letter stands for a question.
My 15-year-old friend was ready to leave. She smiled, “Next time that guy ever says he has another book for me to read, I’ll have a few questions for him first.”
“Good luck,” I offered.
“Oh, I won’t need luck.” She started down the hall, “Now I have H O G M E T!”

In his first address as Church President, he spoke sorrowfully of the ridicule and persecution Latter-day Saints had suffered. “The Lord designs to change this condition of things,” he prophetically announced, “and to make us known to the world in our true light—as true worshipers of God” whose “mission in this world is to do good, to put down iniquity under our feet, to exalt righteousness, purity, and holiness in the hearts of the people, and to establish in the minds of our children, above all other things, a love for God and his word, that shall be in them as a fountain of light, strength, faith and power.”25
He promised the Saints if they would live nearer to the Lord, they would enjoy a greater outpouring of the Spirit. He then entreated them to feel “in your hearts and from the depths of your souls to forgive one another, and never from this time forth … bear malice toward another fellow creature.”26 He lived this counsel, refusing to allow repeated attacks upon his character to make him bitter and vindictive. “The spirit of the world is vicious,”27 he said, as he advised the Saints to prize the fruits of the Holy Spirit: “love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance” (Gal. 5:22–23).
Antagonistic journalists made him the brunt of vilifying articles and defaming cartoons. His daughter Edith Eleanor recalled: “Some of the people at school had in their possession false reports and lies about Father. I went home from school furious one day. As soon as Father came in that evening I said to him, ‘Papa, why don’t you do something? You’re not doing one thing, and these mean men are taking advantage of you, printing all these lies.’” Her father smiled and said, “‘Baby, don’t get upset. They are not hurting me one bit; they are only hurting themselves. Don’t you know, Baby, that when someone tells a lie they are only hurting themselves more than anyone else?’”28

Rafael Mateo and his son, Whalincon (known as “Whally”), paused in the darkness of a stormy afternoon and eyed the rushing waters of the rain-swollen river. Rafael, first counselor in the branch presidency, and Whally, the branch elders quorum president, were returning home after a Sunday full of meetings at their chapel in San José de Ocoa in the Dominican Republic.
They were already drenched from trudging through the downpour and crossing the flooded Río Ocoa that created a dangerous barrier between the chapel and their home. During the dry season, the 6-kilometer (4-mile) hike descending from the chapel on one side of the valley then up to their home on the heights of the other side usually takes an hour. But when the river floods during the rainy season, Rafael and his family have to take a three-hour, 15-kilometer (9-mile) detour to find a place where they can ford the river with some degree of safety.
Rafael had completed the journey countless times before. He had crossed the river every day for 12 years to get to work. Being called two months after his baptism to serve as branch president, a calling he held for six years, only increased the number of trips. After that it was a call as elders quorum president. Then he was called back into the branch presidency.
But familiarity with the river didn’t diminish its danger, and the swift water of the flooded rivers could be as deadly as the wide river they fed. Not long before, an overflowing river had swept a neighbor off his feet, killing him in a mad rush down its narrow course.
Father and son hesitated at the water’s edge; then Rafael stepped in. The river was not wide, but because it channeled so much water, it was cut surprisingly deep. The cold, swift water first pulled at his knees, then his waist, and soon swirled about his chest.
Rafael knew he was in trouble. The streambed was slippery and uneven, and the powerful current threatened to steal his footing. Halfway across, he used all his strength to stay upright, and he found himself powerless to move forward or backward.
Just when he thought he was too weak to fight the flood any longer, he felt a push from behind that thrust him toward the opposite bank. It wasn’t until after he had reached the other side that he realized his savior hadn’t been Whally, who was still on the opposite side.
He attributes his rescue to the power of the same Savior who has helped him survive the threatening pull of other trials, both physical and spiritual.
“I’ve had to throw myself many times into the river up to my chest in the service of the Lord,” says Brother Mateo. “But I feel a great debt to the Lord. He has given me not only the opportunity to serve Him but the endurance.”
Like King David, Brother Mateo knows the Savior “took me, he drew me out of many waters. He delivered me from my strong enemy” (Psalm 18:16–17).
That testimony has carried him through trials more subtle than, but just as real as, crossing the river that stormy afternoon with Whally.

The children also had a special opportunity to make a rug that would be used in the temple’s cornerstone services. They first participated in a drawing contest for the rug’s design. From the winning designs, a lovely rug with six colorful panels was created. Each child was able to take a turn stitching a part of the rug. Their finished handiwork was exhibited at the temple during the cornerstone service.
The children will never forget their experience of making a rug for the dedication of the San Diego California Temple. That rug is now displayed in the children’s center inside the temple, where many will see their labor of love.

Three years ago, my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer, and after eight months she died. The years after her death were really hard, but looking back, I discovered that I am much stronger than I thought.
What makes the experience so amazing is that I know I could never have done this on my own. When I trusted Christ and put my faith in Him, He lifted me up to a higher place than I ever imagined possible.
He’s always been there, though I had my moments of doubt. But there were other moments—pure, sweet, quiet moments—when I felt Him there right beside me. It was like the light switch was flicked on and I realized His presence in my life. Those moments gave me the strength and courage to move on when the lights went off again. And as I trust in Him, those sweet moments happen more and more often.
I love Him. I know He is my Savior and Redeemer. I know that He is always there, and He will never desert me. In my times of need, and in my day-to-day life, He will always be near. I have only to trust in Him and try my best to keep His commandments. And, ultimately, it is through Christ’s Atonement that I can see Him, and my mom, once again.

Other Activities. Wendy Bybee and her son James, of West Valley City, Utah, both blind from birth, have found that a helpful Church leader can make a great difference. “James used to have trouble in Scouting, but his current Blazer Scout leader is exceptional! She has spent extra time helping him learn to tie knots; she also prints up materials in larger print for him and always makes sure the announcements she sends home are in dark enough print for me to read. She has helped me find ways to help James earn merit badges so that it’s fair to him but doesn’t make the other boys think he’s getting off easy.”

It was a pleasant day in June 2003. I drove my five children from our home in Logan, Utah, to Bear Lake to visit my sister’s family. Their home lies a few minutes’ walk from the water, and after visiting for a while I decided to take my children and their two cousins, Kami and Erin, to the beach to play.
The water near the edge was warm, and a gentle breeze stirred the air as I sat on a chair, reading and relaxing. I looked out toward the lake and noticed that Kami was about 50 yards (46 m) from shore, floating on a high-density foam pad. Because the lake became very deep not far from shore, I waved to her and called for her to come closer, but she couldn’t hear my voice from that distance.
About that time I began to feel very uneasy and heard the Spirit whisper that the children needed to get out of the water. I called to them to come closer to shore, and reluctantly they wandered toward me. Suddenly the Spirit spoke loud and clear, “Get the children out of the water!” I turned toward the mountains behind us and saw dark clouds gathering. A bolt of lightning flashed brilliantly in the sky.
“Get out of the water,” I screamed. “There’s lightning coming!” I raced for Kami, who by now was floating about 75 yards (68 m) from shore. At that moment a blast of wind hit us. My eight-year-old son, Dallin, tried to carry another foam pad out of the water, but the wind hit it like a sail and threw him to the ground.
I tried to get to Kami as fast as I could, but the wind was driving her farther out on the water. I am not a strong swimmer, and with the waves rising around me, I continued to wade. I could see her kicking her feet as hard as she could while leaning over the side of the pad, but this did little to combat the fierce wind. She was still being swept out to open water.
The water became deeper and deeper as I waded out, until it reached my shoulders. Then my feet came to a sharp drop-off in the lake bottom. I had to stop, but I was still 20 yards (18 m) from Kami. I opened my mouth to call her, but to my horror no sound came out. When it finally did, it was only choking gasps. It was then I realized how very cold the water was out this far. I realized that hypothermia was setting in. I wasn’t going to make it back either. We were both going to drown.
At that moment, using all the strength left in me, I called out so that Kami would hear my words and know I was praying. “Heavenly Father, please help us to have the strength to do this.” In an instant a warmth flooded my body, and my energy returned. My voice became clear and strong, and I called to her, “Kami, paddle with your hands!” Her little 10-year-old arms dog-paddled on the water in front of the pad. She was hardly strong enough to make a difference in the terrible wind, but it was as though a giant hand were behind her, gently propelling her toward my outstretched hand. I continued to call encouraging words to her until our fingers touched, and at that moment I knew that because Heavenly Father had brought her to me, we would make it.
On shore Dallin cried as wind and sand beat him cruelly. It took all my strength to get him, the other children, and the pads and toys into the car. In the distance the mournful wail of a loud siren filled the air, signaling a fire started by the lightning on the hills. It seemed to add to the trauma of the moment, yet we knew we had been preserved by divine assistance.
I told the children what had happened out on the water, and the instant we reached the house we gave thanks in prayer for His saving our lives. As we did so, I felt the overwhelming love of our Father in Heaven. I know that He is aware of His children, and I am very grateful that He was with us that day.

In late September 2005, a group of Saints from the island of Chuuk in the Federated States of Micronesia made a journey west to the Manila Philippines Temple. This trip, which took them thousands of miles from their tiny island in the Pacific, was the first temple excursion from the island of Chuuk.
The group consisted of three sisters and two families from the Mwan and Mechitiw Branches of the Namoneas Chuuk District. They were accompanied by Elder Gordon and Sister Jerry Stewart, a senior missionary couple.
They spent four days doing temple work for themselves and for their ancestors. Members of the group expressed gratitude for the rare opportunity of receiving their temple blessings and felt it worthy of all their sacrifices to be able to do so. “I may someday be able to buy another little boat, but I will probably never have the chance to go to the temple again,” said Simion Anap, president of the Mechitiw Branch.
As part of the trip, President Anap’s family reunited with their daughter, Tersy, as she completed her mission in the Philippines Manila Mission.