Gospel Story Finder

Susan Wells remembered Christmas two years later in Salt Lake in December 1849, when there was a more formal party:
I well remember Brother Brigham’s [Christmas] party [of 1849]. Like the girls of today, on receiving my invitation the first thought was “nothing to wear.” This was literally true, as all our clothing was shabby and patched. Necessity is the mother of invention, so, after careful consideration, the wagon cover, that had done such faithful service in our journey across the plains, was brought out. We couldn’t afford canvas [for our wagon cover, so] our cover consisted of several thicknesses of unbleached factory [cloth]. This was carefully dyed and as good luck would have it, it turned out a very pretty brown. We made this into dresses for myself and sister, trimmed with silk from an old cape of mother’s. This cape, black, lined with light brown, not only furnished trimming for our dresses, but I made poke bonnets from the black with quilled lining of the light brown. I had embroidered buckskin moccasins . . . , but I believe for this occasion father, who was a shoemaker, made me a pair of slippers from his old boot legs. I tell you my first ball dress was stunning.

Good work attitudes, habits, and skills are learned through successful work experiences. Let me illustrate. On the ranch where I grew up, the cows had to be milked before dawn every day. It didn’t matter if it was Sunday or Christmas or any other holiday. It didn’t matter if it was cold. It didn’t matter if someone had the flu. It didn’t matter whether the sun was shining or a blizzard was raging. Every morning and every evening it was the same—the cows had to be milked.

Before my brothers were called off to war, they did most of the milking. But in 1943, when I was just 10 years old, I would enter our barnyard where there were about 10 to 12 cows waiting for me to let them into the milking barn. My mother and father used to say out loud to the cows, “Good morning. It’s good to see you!” I have to confess that as a young boy I didn’t feel quite the same way toward the cows.

After each cow was milked, I poured the milk from the pail into a 10-gallon can. Each can weighed about 80 pounds when full. It made me stretch my young muscles as I carried them to the road for the dairy to pick up.

My father quite frequently helped me with milking the cows, and occasionally Mother helped. I remember my father and mother continued to milk until they were in their late 80s. But Father didn’t milk the cows because he had to; he milked them because they needed to be milked. There is a difference. To him these animals were not just cows—they were Big Blackie and Bossie and Sally and Betsy. He wanted them to be contented. He always said that contented cows give good milk. To my father, milking cows—as unsophisticated as it may seem—was not an imposition; it was an opportunity. Milking was not a job for him; it was a service.

This philosophy is something that helped me as I grew up. It helped me to find out that all honest work is honorable. Within a few years I realized that routinely performing these chores actually began to give me a sense of confidence and empowerment. I took pride in my work. I found out that no one could make me feel inferior about the kind of work that I did. As Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent” (Points to Ponder, Reader’s Digest, February 1963, 261). You control your own attitudes—especially you young people—in your attitude about work. Self-confidence and empowerment can serve you well—in the classroom, on State Street, or on Wall Street.

Instead of thinking of our daily work as an imposition, we should think of it as an opportunity. That’s just the way my father taught me to feel about the cows. Those teachings have remained with me all my life, and I continue to visit the ranch and its memories as often as possible.

Think about it. If my father could find purpose in a few cows, surely each of us can find purpose in our work.

For 17-year-old twins Titaina and Titaua Germain, from the Haumi Branch on the island of Moorea, those special missionaries are Elder Nelson and Elder Snowden. The twins, who share everything including remarkably similar faces, said, “When the missionaries explained to us about the principles of the gospel, we were truly astounded. It was as if we had dreamed of meeting people who lived like this and a church that worked like this one.”
The twins have to wait until their 18th birthday to be baptized, but they attend all their meetings and institute classes besides. “We were both interested from the moment we heard about the gospel from Elder Nelson and Elder Snowden,” said Titaina. Or was it Titaua? “We feel the same about things.”

Sara loved it when her older sister, Melissa, came home from college. Melissa was home all day and could play with her and their little brother, Thomas.
But today Melissa wasn’t playing. Sara sighed. She was so bored!
Sara poked her head into Melissa’s room and saw Melissa lying on her bed, reading a book. She tiptoed in and peeked over the cover of Melissa’s book. “Can we play hide-and-seek?”
“I’m reading,” Melissa said.
“Pleeeeease?”
Melissa smiled. “OK. Just let me finish this page.”
Thomas came in too. “Whoa, those are cool!” He ran to Melissa’s desk and picked up a pair of sunglasses. They were sky blue with zebra stripes.
“Ooh, they’re pretty!” Sara said. “Can we try them on?”
Melissa said, “Sure, but please be careful. They’re new.”
“We will!” Sara promised.
Thomas tried on the sunglasses. Sara giggled. “You look like a blue-eyed bug!”
Melissa looked up and laughed. She put down her book and grabbed her phone. “Say cheese!” Thomas grinned while Melissa snapped a picture.
“Let me try them on!” Sara said. Pretty soon she and Thomas were taking turns posing and making funny faces while Melissa took pictures.
“This is even better than hide-and-seek!” Sara said.
Just then Melissa’s phone rang. “I’ll be right back,” she told them. She went in the hall to answer the phone.
Sara plopped onto the bed with a huff to wait.
“Hey, it’s my turn,” Thomas said. He reached for the sunglasses in Sara’s hand, but Sara put them on the bed next to her. “Melissa said to be careful with them. We should wait for her to get back.”
“Oh yeah?” Thomas grinned and tickled her. Sara giggled and jumped back.
Crack.
“What was that?” Thomas asked.
Sara looked down and gasped. Her heart sank as she saw what was underneath her—the sunglasses, with the ear pieces broken off.
Sara started to panic. “Oh no! What should we do?”
“Melissa’s going to be so mad!” Thomas said.
Just then Melissa walked back into the room. “Wanna see the pictures I took?” she asked.
Sara didn’t answer. She looked down at the floor.
“What’s wrong?” Melissa asked.
All Sara wanted to do was hide under the bed covers. Slowly she held up the broken sunglasses. “I’m so sorry!”
“We didn’t mean to,” Thomas added.
“I know.” Melissa took the pieces of her sunglasses and let out a heavy sigh.
Sara hung her head and left. Thomas followed.
Sara felt terrible! She wished she could fix Melissa’s sunglasses. If someone had broken her favorite stuff, she’d feel awful. She said a little prayer. Heavenly Father, I’m so sorry I broke Melissa’s sunglasses. Please help me know what to do to make it up to her. Then a thought came to her. She spun around. “Thomas! I have an idea.”
A little while later, Sara poked her head into Melissa’s room. “Melissa, we have something to show you.”
Sara led Melissa down to the kitchen table. Thomas stepped aside to reveal the surprise—a pair of sunglasses, sky blue and zebra striped.
Melissa smiled. “You made these for me?”
Sara grinned. She and Thomas—with a little help from Mom—had carefully painted a pair of Dad’s old sunglasses to look like Melissa’s broken pair.
Melissa gave Sara and Thomas a big hug. “You guys are the best!”
Sara felt warm and happy. She was glad she could try to make things better.

I was baptized in May 2016. My first year of seminary started later that year. I was skeptical at first, and I wasn’t ready to get up early, but I was prompted to go. I was still a little unsure about recognizing the voice of the Spirit, but being in seminary has helped me recognize that voice. Through the Spirit, I’m able to know the scriptures are true. I know that the Spirit prompts me to highlight scriptures with meaning and that there’s always a reason. The scriptures guide me when I’m lost, and they teach me. Whenever I’m having a bad day, I can open them up and make my day better.
Shelby L., age 16, Montana, USA

I began to really focus in on that guidance at my own inauguration when President Eyring, who was then vice chair of the board of trustees, said that there would come moments that would “appear to be crises.” He said that I would be at peace because of the course that had been set and maintained by the leaders who had gone before, which included Presidents Bateman and Samuelson but also included prophets, seers, and revelators.7

I saw that happen many times during my administration—none more obviously than in 2020 during the COVID-19 pandemic. There were a lot of decisions that had to be made, and we had to make decisions without full information, at least from a scientific viewpoint. I saw not only the administration receive inspiration but also the faculty. As I recall, we went from not having any COVID protocol when we talked about it on a Thursday to opening up the university with virtual learning options on the following Tuesday. I’m looking at President Reese—he was the academic vice president at the time we had this task.

It was a miracle. And keeping the school open throughout the pandemic was the result of inspiration that came directly from heaven.

I remember a personal experience in dealing with a Japanese manufacturer. One of the divisions that reported to me when I worked in New York was a large shoe warehouse. We warehoused over a million pair of shoes. We had been purchasing most of them from New England sources until the waste of their operation priced them out of the market. We resolved to try the Japanese market and decided to try with a gym shoe that one of our U.S. manufacturers had been producing for us. We sent an order to Japan to compare the costs. We had a frugal shoe buyer who decided not to send a good pair, but he had a defective one that had a little marking on the heel of the left shoe. The Japanese firm agreed to produce the shoes at much less cost for us, and so the order was placed for 3,000 pairs of gym shoes. When the shoes, all 3,000 pairs, were delivered to us, they were exact copies of the American shoe in every detail, including the flaw on the left heel.

I learned a lot about gratitude from my father. To teach us, he would often repeat the quote: "I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man without any feet." While serving as a member of a stake presidency in the Philippines, I recall one Sunday when I had an assignment to visit a ward. A typhoon had just passed, and I was not particularly feeling excited to magnify my calling that morning. I had many burdens on my mind and I would rather attend church with my family. But I went nevertheless, albeit a little grumpy. Afterwards, I was in hurry to get home after the meetings when one of the mothers in the ward stopped me to ask if I can interview her to renew her temple recommend. I grudgingly obliged. She came to the interview smiling and happy. When I asked her first how her family was doing, she replied that their home was flooded nearly up to the roof the night before. They had to tie up and bring all their belongings to the ceiling. They also had to bring their kids in the middle of the night to an evacuation center and then they had to go back to watch over their house. Because of this they did not have much sleep. Yet she said both she and her husband were happy to be able to come to church that Sunday, especially so because she was going to get her temple recommend renewed. As she was telling me the story, I was somewhat confused because the happy expression on her face did not match the tragic adversity she was telling me about. Then I began to be very ashamed because I had murmured and selfishly dwelt on my problems when I still had a warm bed to sleep in. This sister taught me a lesson about gratitude that morning I never forgot. When I remember her I am inspired to always count my blessings.

“I was walking several steps ahead of grandpa [President Lorenzo Snow] when he stopped me, saying … ‘It was right here that the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me at the time of the death of President Woodruff. … He stood right here, about one meter above the floor. It looked as though He stood on a plate of solid gold.’
“Grandpa told me what a glorious personage the Savior is and described His hands, feet, countenance and beautiful White Robes, all of which were of such a glory of whiteness and brightness that he could hardly gaze upon Him.
“Then grandpa said … ‘I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grandfather, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior here in the Temple and talked with Him face to face’” (Allie Young Pond, personal journal).

Walking down the steps that led to the basement of our meetinghouse, I caught sight of my mother, hunched over a strange-looking machine, peering at illuminated pages in a darkened room and straining to read old documents. Still a young child, I didn’t understand what my mother did every Tuesday night for two hours in this quiet room. I had been sent to retrieve her from the church’s depths because Mutual had ended and my family wanted to go home.
My mother’s dedication to family history confused me for years. I often heard Church leaders stress the importance of participating in family history, but it seemed like an overwhelming task to me. Besides, it looked so boring.
“What satisfaction could she possibly receive from poring over lists of dead people’s names,” I wondered one afternoon as a teenager after dropping her off at the family history center. I continued in this vein of skepticism until, little by little, I began to wade into the waters of my ancestry.
The first time I felt the appeal of family history occurred during the Christmas break of my freshman year at BYU. One evening, as the rest of the family boisterously played a board game in the living room, I found myself seated at the kitchen table with my mom and older sister. The conversation soon turned to relatives, particularly my mother’s dad and his parents.
My great-grandparents, Orla and Roger, died in their 20s, leaving my grandfather and his brother in the care of Roger’s family. After Orla’s death, her father, Robert, died of appendicitis. A short time later, her mother fell, cracked her skull, and suffered several strokes, becoming bedridden. Orla’s oldest sisters, Thelma and Ena, then carried the full burden of supporting the family—a difficult task for two young, unmarried women in the late 1920s.
It was all so fascinating to learn about people I felt connected to but had never met. I was amazed by the trials my family had faced. Hearing it all made my own problems seem so small in comparison.
Several months later, with my mother’s story crowded into the recesses of my mind by school and work, I received an assignment in one of my classes at Brigham Young University to find 8 to 10 primary documents containing the name of one of my ancestors.
My genealogical training to that point consisted of singing the Primary song “Family History—I Am Doing It,” but grades weren’t negotiable in my mind, so I began at the only place I could think to start—Orla’s family. I looked her up on a pedigree chart and traced her line back until I found her grandfather, Joseph Argyle Jr.
One afternoon, I made the trek across the BYU campus to the library and into the family history library. I explained to a worker who Joseph Argyle was and the little information I knew about him.
For the next two hours, that worker guided me through a treasure hunt, which took us all over the library. We searched records of Mormon passengers on emigrant vessels, discovering that Joseph and his family crossed the Atlantic on a ship. Later that year, he traveled to Salt Lake Valley with the Ellsworth handcart company, which we found in a record book of handcart companies. We looked through the Endowment House records (found where he received his temple ordinances), the Utah death index (he lived to 84), and old Church membership records (there he was).
In an online database of Utah newspaper archives, I found a front-page obituary for my great-great-great grandfather. Published in the Davis County Clipper in February 1927, every sentence contained an interesting fact, such as Joseph’s contribution to the building of the Salt Lake Temple.
“He has the credit of having hauled the largest stone put in that building which weighed 13,000 pounds,” the article read.
I began to get a glimpse of the impact we can have on future generations when I discovered he had 88 descendants at the time of his death, a number which increased exponentially in the past 79 years.
Every time I found another document with my ancestors’ names on it, I felt a little tingle of excitement run through my body. It was like a mystery novel, putting all the pieces together, little by little beginning to understand who this man was. I became so immersed in learning about my ancestor, I didn’t leave until late in the afternoon, almost missing work!
I completed the assignment and received an A, but even more importantly, I created a tangible connection with one of my relatives. Joseph Argyle left his home, sailed across the ocean, traveled to Utah and helped build the temple, all because he believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ, a legacy which I inherited and which gives me the strength to fight my own battles in the 21st century.
I am a link in the chain of Joseph Argyle, and I can pass on his example to strengthen my children and their children. There are others I can help as well. The temple work for the vast majority of my ancestors has yet to be completed, and hundreds, even thousands, of my ancestors are waiting for me to do my part.
For more information on how to get started on your family history, visit your local family history center or go to www.familysearch.org.

The Church and some partners are replacing makeshift classrooms in underprivileged schools with brick-and-mortar buildings to help improve education.
Hundreds of students across Maputo province can now learn comfortably after The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints built new and functional classrooms in Mozambique.
The projects were in partnership with No Poor Among Us, a nonprofit organization headed by Josh Phillips, who served his mission for the Church in Mozambique years ago.
The country faces challenges with education. Although 94 percent of girls in Mozambique enroll in primary school, more than half drop out by grade five, only 11 percent continue to study at secondary level, and just 1 percent continue to college, according to The United States Agency for International Development, an independent agency that is responsible for administering civilian foreign aid and development assistance. Among students who finish primary school, nearly two-thirds leave the system without basic reading, writing, and math skills, which worried Phillips.
Concerned about overcrowding and lack of infrastructure in schools—factors that are affecting the educational quality of hundreds of students in Mozambique—Phillips sought the help from the Church. Soon after, Phillip Moatlodi, the Africa South Area Welfare self-reliance manager, visited various school sites with provincial educational dignitaries, to assess the severity of the schools.
The first project they tackled was the Matole Gare Primary School. “The conditions prior to the start of the project were not ideal,” Moatlodi said. “The parents had started to construct two classrooms to improve the conditions of their children, however, because of the impact of COVID-19 they were not able to complete the classrooms.”
Private donors funded the construction of three classrooms and the Church funded two more.
Like a domino effect, the Church and No Poor Among Us began to identify other schools that needed assistance after that.
A small, struggling school in the rural area of Mahubo was assisted with five new classrooms. About 900 additional students can now be accommodated thanks to this effort.
Another school assisted was Magude Primary School. “The kids at the primary school were learning in a mud school,” said Phillips. “Every time it rained the school would fall and the school would have to rebuild. As a result, the students lost more than half of their school days every year.”
The Church was able to replace the makeshift buildings with brick and mortar classrooms and also build bathrooms.
Then there was Picoco Primary School, where 1,300 children were being taught from just three classrooms.
“The story of these children and just three classrooms is a touching one,” said Gilberto Albano Chiburee, the director of the school.
Originally, the school’s three classrooms accommodated its 200 students. “But over a short space of time, our community flourished in numbers,” said Chiburee.
The number of students kept increasing. The primary school was strained to evenly distribute students into three sessions, the first group in the morning, the second group in the afternoon, and the third group of students in the evening.
When the number of students passed the 500 mark, Chiburee and his faculty of teachers knew that they had to do something different. They approached nonprofit organisations, government and corporations to ask for assistance, but to no avail.
So Chiburee and his staff started planting trees.
“We used these trees as makeshift classrooms because we did not have any other option. We had sought the help of various companies, nonprofit organizations, and the government but to no avail,” Chiburee said.
This predicament only made matters worse when the number of students enrolling in the school kept climbing. The first and second graders were prioritized to learn in classrooms, while third up to seventh graders learned under trees.
“It broke my heart to have children arrive as early as 6 AM only to sit on the hard and uncomfortable ground until noon. Some of the children started experiencing back problems,” an emotional Chiburee said.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, along with No Poor Among Us, then heard about the school and arranged to construct five new classrooms.
The news about the construction of five new classrooms was received with great excitement, many thanks, and tears from teachers, students, and locals. Chiburee expressed how thankful he was that no student of the school would be sent home as a result of rain or the wind.
The project was expected to be completed by the end of June this year. An additional 900 students will be accommodated.
“The Church and No Poor have provided space for 2,340 students to study in so far,” said Phillips. “The Church has also provided spaces for thousands of others in additional projects in Mozambique where they dealt directly with the schools.”

I was over in Samoa. I couldn’t sleep for worrying about the centipedes and so forth, so I got up. It was three o’clock in the morning. I went in the room where they had the radio. I started turning the dials, and all of a sudden I heard a voice say, “Station KSL, Salt Lake City. Songs of Harry Clark.” I sat there and listened to Harry Clark sing for fifteen minutes. Then I had to get up the next morning at three o’clock because I’d sent him a wire and I wanted to see if he got it. He did. He mentioned it over the air. So I listened to him sing for another fifteen minutes.

You know, the strange thing about it was, I was hearing him sing four hours before he actually sang. And you talk about miracles.

One day my twin sister, Maddie, our younger brother Nathan, and I wanted to do something together. Since we were really busy that week, we hadn’t had much time to be together. We all chose to do service. Our mom suggested that we do a service club! We all agreed and turned the room under our stairs into a meeting room.
For our first service project, we made a list of people around our neighborhood that we appreciated. We decorated cards and wrote letters that thanked them and told them we love and appreciate them. We signed the letters with a big question mark.
The next day we rode our bikes all around the neighborhood to our friends’ houses and stuck the letters on their front porches. By the time we had delivered all the letters, we all felt really happy. We had so much fun being together and—even better—serving!
Later that week we were at our summer cooking class. We had given our teacher a letter. We saw that same letter hung up on her bulletin board! We all felt excited that she had felt our love.
We continued the service club and also started making delicious treats to give to people we love. We gave a treat we called “The Butterscotch Supreme” to a lady in our ward who had gotten a concussion. Our mom got a text saying that the lady loved it and appreciated our kindness. That led to more baking for friends.
I am so glad that we can show people we love them. It makes me feel good to know that I am serving Heavenly Father when I serve others.

Roger: I remember hearing a story about a young man and his wife when they were just newlyweds. The husband was convinced he had married an angel - she was "practically perfect in every way." However, after several weeks of marriage he discovered that his bride had a few idiosyncrasies that irritated him a little. He decided that rather than point them out to her every time something happened (ceaseless pinpricking, as President Kimball called it), he would keep a little card in his pocket to record his notes on and prepare for an opportune time to sit down with her and share his observations. When he felt he was ready, he invited his wife to join him. After he let her know how much he loved and appreciated her, he also told her that he had noticed a few little things that he thought she could work on. He then pulled the card out of his pocket and started to go through his list. You can imagine how well that went over! He said that as soon as he did that, she pulled a long list of her "issues" out of her pocket and let him know some of the things she had observed about him. He was shocked to think that someone could find some faults in him! He decided he had better go for a walk and think about what she had said. As he was walking, he reflected on three important lessons: (1) Walking is good for a relationship - whether you do it alone or together. Either way, when there are intense emotions involved surrounding an issue, it is a good idea to let a little time and distance pass before addressing the matter so both can focus on resolving the issue and not get carried away in the emotion of the moment. (Fuel, heat, and hot air are the elements needed for creating a fire!); (2) It's a good idea to remember the sage counsel of Benjamin Franklin, who said, "Keep your eyes wide open before marriage, half shut afterwards"; and (3) You cannot change another person, you can only change yourself. This young husband reported that when he started working on the things that he needed to do to make himself a better companion for his wife, all the little idiosyncrasies he had noticed before seemed to disappear. Now, I am sure that the wife was working to make herself a better companion for her husband as well. If we focus on being the right person and becoming better rather than trying to change our companion and hoping they will become better, our relationships will be much happier.

Let me relate a personal experience I had with For the Strength of Youth.
Sister Tingey and I were living in Africa. I was sent to a little country by the name of Burundi in east-central Africa. Several faithful families had been holding Church services in their homes, and they desired to have missionaries assigned to help them.
I met with a fine gentleman who represented the government. I explained who we were, what we taught, and how establishing our Church in his country would bless the lives of the people. When I finished, he said, “I do not see where anything you have told me is any different from what is currently available in our country. I see no reason to approve your request to bring missionaries into our country.”
I was devastated. My meeting was almost over, and in a moment I would be ushered out. I prayed secretly in my heart for something to say. In an instant a thought came to my mind. I reached into my wallet and pulled out a little copy of the For the Strength of Youth booklet, which I have always carried. In the remaining moments of our visit, I quickly shared with him how each of the young people in our Church had a copy of this pamphlet. I read some of the topics and explained that we teach our young people these patterns.
“You mean to tell me you expect the youth of your church to live these standards?” he asked.
“Yes, and they do,” I replied.
“That is amazing,” he said. “Could you send me some of these booklets so that I could distribute them to the youth of my church?”
I returned to Johannesburg and sent about 500 copies of the pamphlets in French and English. A month or so later we received official recognition from the government of Burundi, authorizing our Church to be established in that country.
I do not know the significance of my participation in that event, but I definitely know that the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet was quickly recognized by this good man as something of great value and was likely instrumental in our securing official recognition.

Let me give you a more recent and relatable illustration. This story is about an experience I had with a student I will call Jen. I was teaching at a private Catholic college, but Jen, if Catholic, was only a Catholic by record. Jen was a philosophy major and an adamant atheist. She would go about campus and challenge the faith of others, telling them that their faith made no sense and trying to convince them how illogical their beliefs were. For some reason, she was interested in taking some psychology classes. So during her junior year, Jen took classes from myself and another professor who also was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She noticed we seemed to be happier than other professors and also how we mentioned regularly with confidence our knowledge of God. She would challenge me saying you can’t prove there is a God. I would talk to her about spiritual ways of knowing.

At the end of the academic year in May, she came to my office just before she left for a philosophy internship at Oxford University. I spoke with her again, telling her if she had an honest desire to know if there is a God, it would happen. She asked how she would know. I simply said, you will know.

At the end of the summer, Jen excitedly entered my office. I asked how her internship went, and of course, she reported it was great, but then she got quiet and simply said, “it happened.” I knew she knew God existed. It totally changed her behavior and attitude. The next several weeks and months, Jen walked from class to class with a smile handing out small pieces of paper with encouraging, kind words expressing her love and God’s love. She was excited and happy.

In May 1977 the sun had finally come out in Sweden and my companion and I had an appointment one morning in a suburb on the south side of Stockholm. We arrived at the apartment complex 20 minutes early. Not much time to accomplish anything and we could conceivably have sat on a bench and enjoyed the sunshine after the long winter. However we discussed it and my companion suggested that we knock on some doors and see if we could talk to someone for a few minutes. Neither of us felt any special prompting to do so. We concluded that we were missionaries and that is what missionaries should be doing. After a few minutes we knocked on a door and a woman came to the door. We introduced ourselves and explained that we had a short message and asked to come in. She said that it was not her apartment. She was just visiting a friend who had stepped out for a moment. We asked her where she lived. She said she lived on the North side of Stockholm. We said that while that was not I our area we had missionaries all over the city. We asked if we could have her address and have some of our colleagues visit her. She agreed. She gave us her address and we gave her a pamphlet about Joseph Smith. I thought no more about the encounter until February 1978. In the intervening months I had served at different places in the mission and in February received a transfer to the Stockholm north zone. At church one Sunday not long after my arrival I was approached by a sister who asked "Elder Bates, do you remember me?" I said "no I'm sorry." She said "last May you and your companion knocked on a door in Jordbro. I was visiting a friend. I gave you my address and you gave me a pamphlet. I was baptized in September." When we do what we are supposed to do, what we are called to do, the Lord will use us to bless the lives of others. Whether it is through missionary work, visiting, home teaching, primary, young women's or young men's if we walk uprightly we will be blessed and we will and bless others.

Soon our first foster baby, Benjamin, came to us. My bond with him was overwhelming, but I felt faint promptings that he wouldn’t be with us forever. I was heartbroken at the thought of him leaving us. And I was desperate for a baby I could keep. The Church’s Family Services was helping couples with adoptions at the time, so I went to my bishop to get information. The next week I got a call from a social worker who was looking to place a baby in a foster/adoption home. This was music to my ears. Despite the possibility of the baby having developmental issues, we felt the Lord’s hand directing us and we had faith to go forward. I’m not going to lie—I was scared. But it felt right, and baby Daniel was delivered to our home that very night.
Within days he became gravely ill, was hospitalized, and given a 50 percent chance to live. I sat by his crib for 11 days alternately praying and crying over him. I never once left the hospital. When Daniel’s birth parents came to see him (the adoption wasn’t final yet), there I was, looking like a complete disaster! But they seemed disconnected and showed no emotion whatsoever when they saw him.
This was a huge “aha” moment for me. I realized then that I really was Daniel’s mother! It didn’t matter that I hadn’t given birth to him—he was meant to be mine. I learned a lot about motherhood in those 11 days. I would have done anything for him.
Daniel’s life was spared. Benjamin returned to his biological family. But the Lord stayed by our side. Since then, we have adopted six more children and have miraculously had two of our own. I could shout from the rooftops about the miracles I’ve witnessed in my life. I have such a testimony of Heavenly Father’s promise to us that we can have the blessings we desire, even in ways we might not have originally expected or when we expect them (see 2 Nephi 10:17; Alma 37:17).

From Dream to Reality: A Young Leader’s Culinary Journey
Meet Yazé Aristophane Guy-Landry, a dynamic young single adult leader in the Grand-Bassam Côte d’Ivoire Stake, whose journey of self-reliance began at the Gathering Place. It was there, in a simple pâtisserie class, that Yazé discovered a passion for baking and a newfound confidence in his talents.
That spark ignited a bold step forward—he enrolled at the École Hôtelière de Grand-Bassam, where he is now thriving in his culinary studies. As he builds his skills, Yazé is also gaining valuable experience by working at the hotel. His goal is clear: to eventually launch his own restaurant.
Reflecting on this journey, he shared, “This experience is changing the way I viewed life some time ago. I am convinced that if I work well, with God’s help, I will be financially good and self-sufficient.”
Yazé credits the Gathering Place not just for his career direction but also for deep personal and spiritual growth. “I can truly attest to the authenticity of this program called Gathering Place,” he said. “I believe it is a gift from heaven and carried out by our leaders to bring together the youth of the Church and their friends in an enchanted place, allowing them to learn more, whether it be skills training or the importance of human values, helping us to keep our covenants and stay on the right path.”
For Yazé, the Gathering Place is more than a classroom—it’s a community. “I had the opportunity to get to know several members and friends. I even believe that my marriage will come from the Gathering Place. I invite all my young single adult friends to give this program the utmost importance.”
Yazé’s story is a powerful example of how the Gathering Place is transforming lives, helping young adults turn hope into action and dreams into achievement.

“Please take out your crayons,” Mrs. Webb said. “We’re going to do an art activity.”
Natalie was excited. She loved art projects. Natalie listened carefully because she knew her teacher always wanted things done just right.
Mrs. Webb gave everyone a piece of brightly colored paper. “Last week we made Mother’s Day cards,” she said. “Today I’d like you to make a card for your dad. You can save it for Father’s Day in a few weeks.”
Natalie carefully folded her piece of colored paper. She picked out her favorite crayons and drew a big flower on the front of her card. Then she opened her card and used her best handwriting to copy the words her teacher had written on the board.
As Natalie wrote, she started to feel sad. Everyone in her class seemed to have a dad. But Natalie lived with just her mom.
When school ended that day, Mrs. Webb said, “Be sure to take your card home and put it in a safe place. And remember to give it to your dad on Father’s Day.”
Natalie picked up her card. She thought it looked very pretty. But what could she do with it if she took it home? Quietly she put the card in her desk and left it there.
When she got home, Natalie kept thinking about her card. And the more she thought about it, the worse she felt. After dinner she helped Mom wash the dishes. This was usually her favorite time with Mom. But tonight Natalie felt unhappy and strange inside.
“Mommy, why am I different from the other kids?” she asked. “I wish I had a dad to talk to, like they do.” She explained about the Father’s Day card.
Mom stopped washing dishes and dried her hands on a towel. She put her arms around Natalie.
“I know how much you miss having a dad to talk to,” Mom said. “But you do have a Heavenly Father who loves you, and you can talk to Him whenever you want.”
Natalie thought for a moment. “Is that when I pray?”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “When you pray you can tell Heavenly Father anything you would want a father to know.” Mom started humming the tune to “I Am a Child of God.”
Natalie started singing, and Mom joined in. As Natalie sang, she began to feel better.
When they finished singing, Natalie asked, “But what about the card? I can’t send that to Heavenly Father.”
“No, but can you think of someone else who loves you, someone who comes to visit and play with you?” Mom asked.
“I could give it to Grandpa!” Natalie said. “Would he like that?”
“I think he would like it a lot,” Mom said.
That night when Natalie knelt by her bed to say her prayers, she remembered what Mom had said. It gave her a warm, peaceful feeling inside to know that Heavenly Father was listening.
The next day when school ended, Natalie put her Father’s Day card carefully into her backpack. She couldn’t wait to give Grandpa his card. And she knew she had a Heavenly Father who would always be there to love her and hear her prayers.