Gospel Story Finder

I understand what it feels like not to feel peace. When I was ten years old my father died. Everyone told me that Heavenly Father would comfort me, but for the first few months I felt only pain and anger, not comfort.
One night, in the midst of all this hurt, I had a dream about my father which helped me to understand what had happened and to feel at peace with myself. I know that my dad is doing a great work helping people on the other side. I also know that you must look deep within yourself to find true peace in order to live a happy and peaceful life.
Bente Heiselt, 16Powell, Ohio

Dedicated Russian Church members and those who strengthened them paved the way for what I consider the highlight of the Moscow mission through July of 1993. The event occurred on February twenty-first of this year.

It had been a considerable trek from Moscow member-missionary work by Americans in early 1990, to the arrival of the first six full-time missionaries in October of 1990, to the organization of the first official Russian Moscow branch in March of 1991, to the establishment of fifteen Russian-speaking branches this February. On that day, February 21, 1993, over 500 members and friends were seated comfortably in the newspaper-publishing house Izvestiia Building in downtown Moscow, across the street on one side from the famous Pushkin statue to Russia’s most beloved poet and on the other from McDonald’s, a must-visit cultural mecca for Western tourists.

The fifteen branches had just been organized and their presidents sustained. Now the ten new branch presidents were bearing brief testimonies. Most of us were enjoying a particularly delectable spiritual feast. When the eighth or ninth president began speaking, I started to review in my mind the main points of my talk, which would conclude the conference.

I was prepared to speak on the blessings of attending a large, established ward of the Church, as I had done as a preteenager living in what was for me the comparative metropolis of Pocatello, Idaho, after spending my earlier years in Notice, Coltman, Rigby, and Jerome. I would recall our full Church program and lovely meetinghouse facilities, like our Pocatello building with that inspiring mural on the wall behind the podium. The mural depicted heroic pioneers crossing the plains, struggling and, on occasion, disheartened, but attended always on their journey by unseen angels. Maybe these pioneers could not see the angels, but every week I and others saw them plainly above the pioneers’ heads, and I learned well the lesson that a loving Heavenly Father is aware of our burdens and strengthens us just enough to bear them. And I would draw a parallel to the Moscow pioneers crossing to their eagerly anticipated spiritual Zion.

Then I wanted to emphasize how much I learned and benefited in other ways from living during my junior and senior high school years in the small northern Idaho town of St. Maries, where our fledgling branch of the Church met in a modest, two-room Grange Hall, similar to facilities of many of the new Moscow branches. But there as a teenager I had the opportunity to serve with Weldon and David Tovey, two other very young men, in the Sunday School presidency and to grow through the warm encouragement of humble, generous Saints who overlooked our inadequacies and loved us for what we were and what they believed we could become.

As I was mentally reviewing these and other points, suddenly and unexpectedly an intimation, a thought, a sensation filled my consciousness and in an instant encompassed my whole being. I no longer thought about my talk or listened to the speaker.

I had felt a distinct and powerful impression that the spirit of the Prophet Joseph Smith was rejoicing with us in this historic meeting. I believe for a moment my spirit felt his spirit of youthful buoyancy, joyful enthusiasm, and expansive vision.

As I reflected on this feeling, I realized that in 1993, 150 years had passed from the 1843 appointment of the first missionaries to Russia, and that this day of fulfillment must be an occasion for heavenly rejoicing and grateful recognition of the efforts of so many over fifteen decades who made the emergence of the Church out of obscurity a reality in Russia.

Now let's talk about motivation. When we are young, we may learn to obey our parents out of fear of punishment or desire for a reward. I am the oldest of three boys in my family. As youngsters we got into our share of trouble. Whenever my father decided that it was time to correct one of us, he would announce that he was sorry that we had chosen as we had, but tonight I, or one of my brothers, would have a "session" with him. Just the mention of the word "session" was enough to send a cold chill down my young spine. When my father gave me a session, the two of us would go alone to his bedroom. There we would sit down and calmly discuss the problem and the way to correct it. Then, to make sure the message was adequately engraven on my young mind, he would give me one spank. The spank was followed by my father waiting for any tears to subside, then taking me in his arms and telling me that he loved me and that he didn't want to have any more sessions. Now I know that today spanking is considered old-fashioned, but you young parents, I tell you that it worked in my family. I only had five or six sessions in my childhood but from those I learned to be obedient.

This story took place in the USA.
Nina grinned as she finished taping the sign to her lemonade stand. “Lemonade! 25 cents,” it read. She stacked the plastic cups next to the pitcher of lemonade.
It was a hot summer day. Nina hoped lots of her neighbors would want a nice, cool drink.
Mr. Burleigh walked by pulling his toddler in a wagon. “I’ll have some.” He put a coin in Nina’s jar. Nina poured him a cup of lemonade.
Next Nina’s friends Bethany and Livvy rode by on their bikes. They stopped and bought some lemonade too. “Thanks!” Bethany said.
Nina shook her jar, jingling the coins inside. She’d already earned a little money!
Then Nina’s favorite neighbor came outside to take out the trash. “Hi, Nina,” Máté said. “I’d love some lemonade.”
Máté and his wife, Tanya, had helped Nina’s family a lot. After Nina’s dad died, Máté helped them with projects around the house. One time he fixed their leaky hose. He trimmed the tall trees in their backyard. And he helped fix Mom’s car when the battery stopped working.
“Here you go.” Nina handed him a cup.
Máté started to put a coin in her jar, but Nina stopped him.
“You don’t have to pay!” she said. “This lemonade is a thank-you for all you’ve done to help us.”
“But the sign says 25 cents!” Máté said. “And this lemonade tastes too good to not pay for it.”
Nina pulled the jar away and laughed. “Nope. It’s free for you!”
The next day, when Nina went outside to get the mail, she stopped. A silver coin was shining in the sun on the porch step. She looked over at Máté’s house. He must have put the quarter there! He was still trying to pay for his lemonade.
Nina smiled. Máté isn’t the only one who can be sneaky, she thought. She ran next door and put the quarter on Máté’s doormat.
The day after that, Nina went outside to ride her scooter. And there was Máté’s quarter, sitting next to the flowerpot by the front door.
Nina rode her scooter to Máté’s house again. This time she put the quarter on a rock by the porch.
Weeks passed. The quarter went back and forth. Each day Nina found the coin on their porch in a new spot. And every day, she hid it in a new place on Máté’s porch.
Then one day, Nina went outside to find a surprise. It was the quarter—made into a pretty necklace. She held it up and smiled. The sun hit the coin and made it shine.
Next door Máté was working in his wood shop.
“Thank you!” Nina yelled over the sound of the saw.
Máté looked up. Nina held up the necklace.
“Tanya helped me make it,” Máté said. “It’s a gift from both of us for being so kind.”
“I guess you win.” Nina laughed and put on the necklace. “I love it so much I’m going to keep it forever.”
She was grateful to have such kind, caring neighbors.
Follow the paths to see where the coin was hidden next!
Illustrations by Mitch Miller

While I was serving as mission president in Virginia, two of our missionaries met and taught a young man at the Virginia Polytechnic Institute in Blacksburg. As they progressed through the discussions, the young man gained a vision of the truth. He received a testimony. He desired to be baptized, but his parents would not permit him to do so. He was very discouraged. He came and sought my counsel. I told him to heed the feelings of his parents, to honor them, and that the time would come when they would allow him to join the Church.

Several months later I was seated on the stand at stake conference prior to the beginning of the Saturday evening session. Up the aisle came this young man—bright, shining, his face just beaming. As he approached me he said, “President, you’ll never guess what has happened.”

I knew in my heart what the result was, but I said, “Mike, tell me.”

His response was, “You’ll never believe it. Not only have my parents permitted me to be baptized tonight, but they are taking the lessons! They are grateful for a Church that teaches its youth to honor their parents. Thanks so much for encouraging me to honor them.”

A girl’s journal is often a record of her dreams, and Annapurna Guru’s journal held her most cherished desire. “Someday,” she wrote, “I will go to the temple.”
Annapurna was not a member of the Church when she wrote these words. Raised in Hyderabad, India, she had learned something about Christianity as a child in a Catholic school. Then, in 1992, her older brother met Latter-day Saint missionaries and was baptized. Annapurna was 14 when her brother, Murthy, gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon. “Once I read it,” she recalls, “I felt it was true.”
Annapurna found in the gospel answers to her most troubling questions, especially her worry about what happens after death. But just as surely as she knew the gospel to be true, she knew something else: Her parents would not allow her to be baptized in a Christian church.
During her remaining teenage years, Annapurna lived her new faith quietly. She read the Book of Mormon and the Bible. She prayed. She learned all she could. And she began to form in her mind a beautiful dream: Someday she would marry a Latter-day Saint. Someday she would go to the temple. And someday she would give her children the precious gift she lacked: membership in the Lord’s Church.
By the time Annapurna graduated from college at age 20, her parents had begun planning a traditional arranged marriage for their beloved daughter. But Annapurna never considered her dreams to be unattainable because she felt that they were not hers alone. “I had big dreams,” she says, “but actually God had His own plans for me.”
When Annapurna was 21, those divine plans started to become reality—miracle by miracle. First, she met Santosh Murala, a faithful Latter-day Saint visiting his family in Hyderabad. A medical student, Santosh was doing a surgical residency in Chandigarh, two days away by train. When they met, Annapurna and Santosh talked for half an hour. After that brief conversation, Santosh called his friend Neil Twitchell, who was then serving as India Bangalore Mission president, and confided, “She’s gold!” Santosh felt quite clearly that this was the woman he had been looking for. Annapurna felt that Santosh—the first Latter-day Saint young man she had ever met—was the man she had been praying to find.
The two exchanged a few letters, confirming their feelings. Several months later they married. Understandably, Annapurna’s family was upset at first, as was Santosh’s. But Annapurna was legally old enough to marry a man of her choosing.
Annapurna viewed this situation through the eyes of faith. “If I had married to please my parents and other people,” she says, “then my children might never have known about the Church and the whole responsibility for that would have been on my head. This one step has changed life for me and my posterity. For this life my parents may be upset with me, but for eternity they will be happy and proud of me.” In fact, Annapurna’s parents are already more accepting of her marriage. They like Santosh and even get together socially with Santosh’s parents.
Map by Randall J. Pixton
The next part of Annapurna’s dream came true when at last she was baptized. There was no branch in Chandigarh, so the Muralas made the five-hour journey to New Delhi for the baptism. Ironically, now that Annapurna was free to go to church, the nearest branch was far away. “Before I was baptized, the church was very near my house, just on the corner at the end of the road, and I didn’t have the opportunity to go,” she says. “Now the church was five hours away, so we could go only once a month.” Then Annapurna became pregnant, and the five-hour trip was too taxing for her.
But then came another miracle, in the form of two Latter-day Saint families. “God takes care of you,” explains Santosh. A British couple, Brother and Sister Beer, came to Chandigarh, where Brother Beer worked in highway construction. Sister Beer taught institute classes to the Muralas, and the Beers held family home evening with the Muralas every week. A Korean family, the Moons, also moved to Chandigarh, where Brother Moon worked for a construction company. Every Sunday for two years, this little group of Latter-day Saints met at the Moons’ home for sacrament meeting. Shortly after Santosh finished his residency in Chandigarh, the Beers and the Moons moved away too.
In New Delhi, where Santosh is receiving specialized training in heart surgery, there are two branches of the Church. Now Annapurna’s knowledge about the Church is catching up with her knowledge of the gospel. She has learned how to sing hymns and conduct meetings.
On 19 June 2001—Annapurna’s 24th birthday—her girlhood dream of temple marriage came true. The Muralas traveled to the Hong Kong China Temple when their first baby, Neil, was not quite two. During the five full days they spent serving in the temple, the most sacred and wonderful moment came when they were sealed to each other and to their son.
Today the Muralas’ lives are full to overflowing. Annapurna serves as Primary president and Santosh as president of the New Delhi First Branch. Santosh also spends about 100 hours a week at the hospital, working 18- and 36-hour shifts. In order to have Sundays free for Church responsibilities, he works on holidays. So Annapurna spends most of her time caring for their two young children and supporting her husband in his heavy responsibilities.
And she continues to dream. She dreams of sharing the gospel with her parents. She dreams of the day when her own and others’ children—the first generation of children in India to have Primary, seminary, and Young Men and Young Women—will be strong leaders of the Church. She dreams of the time when her children will serve missions. She dreams of the time when they too will go to the temple. And she even dares to dream that that temple might be in India.

Scheduling is the third principle of building. Achieving the goal of a schedule can only be accomplished through establishing goals, great coordination, strategizing, planning, collaborating financing and working to accomplish our goals. One of the remarkable stories about building to a schedule is the story of Prayer Rock near Cody, Wyoming. On a recent trip to the area with our Scoutmaster who grew up in Cody we went to the visitors’ center in that same city and learned the story of the early saints that settled in 1900. When the saints first arrived in the valley it became obvious that a canal needed to be dug and built in order for the saints to bring water to their new farms. They went to work immediately building the canal. The work was led by Byron Sessions, he would become the Stake President the following year. The work was backbreaking and they soon realized the work couldn’t be finished in a year; no food could be raised until they had water for irrigation. Serious discouragement plagued the camp. A special prayer was offered and soon a modern manna from heaven came to the saints in the form of an $80,000 contract to construct 23 miles of railroad. Half of the saints worked on the canal, the other half worked on the railroad making enough money to buy food for the saints. As the saints worked on the canal they came to a cliff with a very large rock directly in the canal right of way. President Sessions, who was superintendent of the canal construction, strategized that a large hole would be dug at the base of this rock and then with the help of explosions at the rocks base this would cause the rock to crumble and collapse into the hole. Safety began to be a major concern. Morning and evening prayers were held in camp for the safety of the men and the horses. The digging continued. It didn’t seem to be working. “One afternoon as President Sessions discussed the matter with the men working there,” his own son, Biney, expressed the discouragement that several of them were feeling: ‘We’ll never get this down. We just as well give it up.’ This seemed to anger his father, who said, ‘I prophecy in the name of Israel’s God that that rock will be in there tomorrow at this time.’ Jim George, one of the men working there, turned his back to President Sessions , pulled out his watch and said, ‘Let’s test him out.’ He said, ‘It’s just four P.M.’” The work continued the next day. They took their usual fifteen-minute break at 3:30 and had just begun working again when President Sessions called them up for another rest break, an unprecedented but quickly obeyed order. Then, without a powder blast, without so much as a tap from a hammer, “that rock began to split from top to bottom and landed right where we had all been busy working five minutes before. George, with the same watch, dumbfounded, said, ‘Five minutes to four.’” The standing half of the rock is still visible; the fallen half was buried in the outside bank of the canal which flows smoothly between the two halves. This was considered a miracle by the Wyoming saints – it was a miracle. As we set goals and work to meet schedules we need to do all we can to meet these commitments.

As you strive to live the gospel, you encourage your friends to do the same. “Be a good friend. Show genuine in interest in others; smile and let them know you care about them.” In our youth, friends play a vital role. I remember participating in a youth conference at my stake and meeting great friends. A young woman I did not know exemplified the Savior’s love through her actions, and the Light of Christ shone in her. As I saw her, I said to myself, “I want to be like her.” Years later, I shared these thoughts with her in a conversation, after which she revealed that she also wanted to be like me. Today, we are very good friends and support each other in good times and bad.

As a young man having just finished my first year of college and needing to earn money for a desired mission, I spent the summer working at the new Jackson Lake Lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Many college-age youths came to work in that pristine, beautiful area.
One such person was Jill, a young woman from San Francisco, California. Feeling that a young woman from a big city might be a little bit naive about her new environment, I and a few friends felt it our obligation to teach her about the ways of the real West. We decided to take her on a “snipe hunt.” For those of you who may not be familiar with a snipe hunt, it is a practical joke, as there is no such thing as a snipe, at least not in the western United States. The tools necessary for a snipe hunt are a stick and a cloth bag. The “hunter” is told to go through the brush, beating the bushes with a stick while calling the snipe in a high-pitched, ridiculous voice. The nonexistent snipes are thus to be driven into the cloth bag.
We gave Jill her cloth bag and a stick and an area to hunt across the hill. The plan was to return to our starting point in about 15 minutes, at which time we would supposedly count our snipes.
When she did not return at the appointed time, we gloated and took delight in the seriousness with which she took her hunt. After about 30 minutes, we felt it was time to rescue her, explain the joke, have a good laugh, and all go to dinner. However, it became apparent that she had taken her snipe hunt more seriously than we had expected—she was not to be found in her assigned area. After searching rather extensively and still finding no evidence of her, we began moving into the woods, calling for her at the top of our voices, but to no avail.
Hoping she might have gone back to her dormitory, we returned and asked some young women to search for her there, but this also was to no avail. It was now turning dark, and our concern heightened. We enlisted all the young men we could from the boys’ dormitory, and with flashlights continued the search deep into the woods. Well into the darkness of night—frightened, concerned, and hoarse from calling—we decided it was now time to report our ridiculous deed to the park rangers. While we were standing in front of the dorms, trying to determine which brave soul would have the privilege of reporting her disappearance, Jill suddenly appeared—not from her dormitory, but rather from that of a friend, with whom she had enjoyed dinner (which we incidentally missed) and a comfortable evening with her friends. Her first words to us as she approached said it all: “How do you fellows like hunting snipe hunters?” Well, so much for big city naïveté, and so much for the ways of the real West. The joke was on us, and I have never had a desire for any more snipe hunting.

Some time ago, I attended a young single adult ward on the campus of Boise State University. It was particularly poignant for me because, just a few weeks earlier, our daughter Michelle had left for college for the first time. I was missing her, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she would be doing that day.I was blessed to participate in a multitude of meetings and discussions with many faithful young students in that ward. Sacrament meeting felt especially sacred that day.

During the meeting, I noticed a young woman about the same age as our daughter who entered the meeting late and quietly took a seat in the back—about three rows into the cultural hall. She looked like she had a bright future at school and in every aspect of her life. As the emblems of the sacrament were passed, I noticed that she lowered her head and did not partake.

I decided right then to address my remarks to this young sister. So, without her knowing that she had inspired me, I spoke on the infinite Atonement of the Savior Jesus Christ and the incredible blessings of repentance and forgiveness. I shared the precious truths that we are all commanded to repent and that repentance is merely coming unto Christ and being changed in Him. He truly is “the way, the truth, and the life”; happiness and peace come in and through Him and in no other way.

At the conclusion of the meeting, I looked for this sister, but she had disappeared.

The next meeting was a large Sunday School class in the cultural hall. To my surprise and delight, this young sister had returned and was in class. The lesson was a discussion primarily focused on the blessings of repentance, forgiveness, and coming unto Christ. This sister was again noticeably touched.

When Sunday School ended, the stake president, who was not aware of my concern for this young woman, said to me, “Elder Nattress, last week I attended Relief Society,” adding, somewhat sheepishly, “I hope that’s OK!” I assured him it was OK. He continued, “It was fascinating!” He then asked if I would be interested in attending a Relief Society meeting. I told him that I would love to.

When we arrived, I noticed this same young sister sitting on the front row. After the opening hymn and prayer, the Relief Society president announced, “We will now turn the balance of the meeting over to Elder Nattress.”

I was both shocked and unprepared. I stood up, and my mind went completely blank. I didn’t know what to say. But I gathered my thoughts just enough to ask a question: “What is the greatest challenge facing you today?”

Immediately, on the back row, a young sister raised her hand. She emphatically declared, “It’s the young men of this Church!” She continued with a list of several concerns—each one legitimate and very important.

Then the young sister on the front row raised her hand. With tears streaming down her face, she simply said, “The greatest challenge facing me today is that I know I need to repent.” With sincere and heartfelt pleading, she said, “After falling so far, how does one come back?”

She continued: “I haven’t been active in the Church for nearly two years. This morning, when I got up, I decided I would try one last time to come to church. And now I’m here.”

After she spoke, sisters started to gather around this young woman, literally and figuratively, and helped her feel the love of the Savior. Her wise stake president stood and said, “I don’t know you, but, after the meeting, I would like to give you a priesthood blessing.” Following the meeting, her stake president, her bishop, and I placed hands on her head, and her stake president gave her a beautiful priesthood blessing. It was a sacred moment.

In the following weeks, I frequently checked in with the stake president to see how this young sister was doing. His response was always the same: “She is doing great!” Several months later, I called and asked again. He responded that she had moved home. I asked if she was OK. His response was somewhat reassuring. He said, “She is just fine, Elder Nattress.” However, I was still concerned for her.

Several weeks after that call, I attended a stake conference. At the conclusion of the conference, a young single adult sister who looked very familiar approached me and said, “Do you remember me?” She continued, “I am the girl from Boise State University.”

It was her! I asked how she was doing. She said, “I am the Relief Society president of my ward.” She then added: “I am so grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am grateful for the gift of repentance. My life is changed forever.”

Following that meeting, Sister Nattress and I continued to stay in contact with her. Eventually, we received a phone call from this wonderful young sister, who said, “Elder Nattress! I’m engaged to be married in the Rexburg Idaho Temple. Will you and Sister Nattress come?”

We arranged our schedules and were blessed to witness a perfect moment in time when she and a worthy young man knelt across an altar in the Rexburg Temple and were sealed for time and for all eternity. She had returned to the covenant path.

One day in my fourth-grade religion class in Jamaica, my teacher asked all the students to tell about their religious beliefs. Since I was the only Mormon in my prep school, I was chosen as the Mormon representative.
By the time it was my turn, my heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. I was never much of a public speaker anyway, and I didn’t have a loud voice. When I stood up, I just stared at the sea of eyes before me and tried to speak about some of our beliefs. I first spoke about the Word of Wisdom, then talked about the sacrament, about how we used bread and water to represent the Saviour’s body and blood when he died for us.
Before I could say another word, everyone started laughing at me. Tears stung my eyes as I wondered what I had said to make them laugh. I quickly wiped my eyes and went to my seat amidst the chants of “Bread and water, bread and water.” By the end of the day I was still being teased, so when it was time to go home I was overjoyed. I still don’t know why they decided to make fun of what I was saying.
When I got home, I took my mother’s huge Bible off the shelf and began looking at some of the pictures. As I was flipping a page, I glimpsed a scripture and quickly turned back to it. It was Matthew 10:32: “Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven.” [Matt. 10:32] As I read the words over and over, a feeling of peace washed over me as I realised it didn’t matter who laughed at me as long as I was doing what was right.

Local leaders of the Church in Kiribati are deeply thankful for a new boat, aptly named Gratitude, which carried them to visit remote and far-flung islands across the vast Pacific Ocean.
Early this year, Area Seventy, Elder Iotua Tune, and his wife, Maii, along with John Kendall, president of the Marshall Islands/Kiribati Mission, and two young missionaries travelled in the Gratitude to minister to residents on the outer islands of Abemama, Aranuka, and Kuria.
“It is just a joy for us to be able to go and visit the islands,” Elder Tune said. “The people there are so happy that we came to visit, to bring them our love and the love of the Saviour, and we were so grateful we could go. Our boat fits the name.”
Their trip from Tarawa to Abemama Island, 78 kilometers away, took ten hours in the rough seas. When they arrived, they were surprised to find that a group of Abemema locals had eagerly awaited the entire day for them at the Church meetinghouse. They greeted their visitors warmly with big smiles, hugs and lots of food.
As part of their ministering, Elder Tune, President Kendall and the missionaries brought a much-needed laptop and monitor to donate to Chevalier Catholic High School on Abemama, where over 500 students from other small islands board.
“It was a humbling experience to see their computer lab. We walked into the building with the ‘computer lab’ sign over the door and there were no computers there. So, when we came with a laptop and a screen, the principal and the students were so excited! Now they have a computer in their lab,” Elder Tune said.
The group also delivered 10 desktop computers and a new laptop and monitor to the Seventh-day Adventist Church-run Kauma High School. The computer lab at Kauma High School had earlier been destroyed by fire.
Elder Tune and President Kendall expected to drop the computers off at the door of the school but were delighted to find that the entire student body was gathered to express their sincere thanks. The students further gladdened the visitors’ hearts by singing in their beautiful harmonic voices “Joy, Joy, My Heart is Full of Joy”.
“The feeling there was so powerful, it was almost overwhelming,” Elder Tune said. “We felt so much love and yes, we felt hearts full of joy.
“The Kauma High School principal, Tekemau Ribabaiti, is a wonderful, energetic man who is 78 years of age and still contributing so much. He was thankful for the computers, but even more so, he was touched that we would come so far to visit.”
Principal Ribabaiti told his students, “These people come with their hearts. We can feel their love. We are grateful for the computers, but we are more grateful for their hearts.”
Later in this visit, Elder Tune and President Kendall trained local Church leaders and buoyed up the Latter-day Saints at a devotional which focused on preparing the Saints for temple worship.
The people of Kiribati have long hoped for a temple on their land and look forward to the construction of the Tarawa Kiribati Temple, which was announced in 2020.
Young full-time missionary, Elder Baylor Johnsen, recalls the reaction of one of the members at the devotional. He said, “I stood up to address the gathering. When I started by explaining, ‘We are here to help you get to the temple’ a woman named Aribo began to cry tears of joy. As I saw the smiling faces of her and others, I felt the love of our Saviour for each of them. I left that island with the sure knowledge that God knows and loves all His children, even on the most remote islands of the sea.”

I drummed my fingers on the wooden chair’s skinny armrest, then twisted to the right and looked at the photograph of the First Presidency hung on the light-blue wall. Calm down, I said to myself. After all, I had requested this visit. I could hear a familiar voice grow louder as the bishop left the clerk’s office, crossed the hall, and came inside. He smiled and said, “Well, Jeff, how are you doing?”
“Fine, just fine,” I said out loud while thinking to myself frantically, What am I doing here?
Bishop Smith pulled his heavy chair from behind his solid dark desk, put it alongside me, sat down, and smiled again. Bishop Smith was a big man, very round, and when he smiled, his whole body seemed to beam right along with his face. I basked for a moment in all that warmth and then said, “Actually, bishop, I guess things aren’t all that great. I’ve thought a lot about our talk last month, a lot about a mission. And, well, frankly I just can’t go.”
“Don’t think you can go?”
“Yeah, I mean I’m 22. I’d be 24 when I got back. I’d be too old.”
“Too old for what?”
“Come on, bishop. You know. I just graduated from state university. I’m a pretty good botanist. How can I work with someone who was a junior in some high school when I was worrying about passing Professor Gotlieb’s Advanced Plant Pathology? I can tell you anything you want to know about wheat germs.”
Bishop Smith looked at me for a moment, leaned forward, and asked in a manner as gentle as when I had planted fir tree seedlings on Rye Grass Ridge, “Is that your real reason?”
I wasn’t ready for that question. I had hoped for a cheery smile and ready agreement. “Well, yes. Mainly,” I stammered. “I mean, basically.”
“Jeff, we’ve had some serious talks, you and I. Tell me, what are some other reasons to go with this basic reason?” The chair creaked as Bishop Smith leaned back.
“Oh, you know.” I spread my hands out in front of me and then picked some lint off my slacks. “Bishop, I haven’t exactly made the best decisions in my life. Being inactive for seven years didn’t help any. How can I say to some investigator, ‘I just loved Sunday School when I grew up,’ or ‘I’ve always believed living the Word of Wisdom was important’? How can I talk about goals or loyalty or testimony?”
“Converts can talk about testimony and goals and loyalty, and they weren’t always active members.”
“But they chose to join, not to leave.”
“You chose to come back.”
I didn’t have anything to say at that moment, and all I could hear was a rustling out in the hall. After a moment the bishop said kindly, “I don’t quite understand. Are you worried about worthiness?”
“Bishop,” I replied firmly, “I’ve got my life going again. I have nothing to hide. I know the Lord loves me, and I love him. But at every sacrament meeting or general conference or whatever, I hear that the Lord wants only the best, the strongest, the most reliable to be his missionaries.”
“I think in a small way I see, Jeff.” Bishop Smith paused and tapped his thick fingers against each other. “Have you talked to your dad about this?”
“Only a little. I guess I haven’t said much at all. At least I told him I was coming here tonight.”
“Jeff, maybe it’s time to see your dad. I know him; he’s a good man. Talk to him and then come see me again. Okay?”
The interview hadn’t gone quite as I had planned it. Suddenly I really didn’t know what to do. “Okay,” I said, and we stood up. Bishop Smith walked me to the door, and just after he shook my hand, he gave my shoulder a squeeze.
“Remember,” he said, “come see me again.”
As I drove away from the institute building on Powell Avenue, I considered going home to my apartment or seeing some friends. I even thought about going up on campus and walking through the greenhouses. Although I had already graduated, I was still helping Professor Gotlieb work with some sunflower research. And then I decided to talk to my dad.
My parents live on the east side of town on the other side from my apartment and campus. When I decided that I wanted to attend state university but didn’t want to live at home, I moved out and into the back room of an old, dark-green Victorian house with white trim. My parents were pretty understanding. We’ve always talked together fairly well. When I quit going to priesthood, and then Sunday School, and then Church completely, they never threatened or yelled at me. I’m sure they felt unhappy inside, but I always knew they loved me. I never really ignored my parents, but I had friends and things at school and got pretty busy. Still, my folks would call me up just to say hi, and my mom would bring over some of her delicious carrot cake every now and then. In fact, when I first started going back to church, because of two great home teachers, I didn’t say much about it to my parents. I remember the little pause the first time after I asked them to attend church with me at the institute, and then my dad said, “Are you sure?”
I was surprised when I got to my folks’ and found the lights off and the car gone. But I noticed the backyard light was on, so I got out of my car and went around the side. Out back I saw my dad working on his pride and joy, his small, old sailboat. When I was little we would go sailing on Lake Lourraine, up north. The boat really wasn’t very much. Only one at a time could get in it, but we all liked to try it, even if we spent most of the time in the lake and not the boat. As everybody grew older, everybody got busier, and we didn’t take the boat out much. Finally, it sat pushed against the garage until my youngest brother grazed it with the car; then, we hid it under some tarp behind the house. Now that all the kids are gone, my dad’s interest in sailing has flared up again. Late last year he started to tinker with the boat. A few weeks ago, I helped him paint it white.
“Ship ahoy,” I called as I walked around the house.
“Hey, what a surprise! Just what I needed, another hand.”
“Sounds fine. I was in the area and thought I’d drop by. Where’s mom?”
“Oh, she’s over at the neighbors. Did you just see Bishop Smith?”
“Boy, whatever happened to subtlety?”
“I’m sorry. I was just thinking about you tonight. Here, help me sand a little.” My dad gave me some yellow, fine-grade sandpaper. We both started to work.
“Well,” I said, “do you want to know what we talked about?”
“Whatever happened to subtlety?”
I smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”
“You tell him you’re too old?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he fall for it?”
I looked quickly at my dad. He was grinning at me. “No,” I said, “bishops don’t fall for much of anything. I guess dads don’t either.”
“I guess not. So, what are your plans?”
I walked over to the back steps and sat down. “I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
“What’s more important is what you think. It’s up to you, Jeff. You and the Lord. Have you ever talked to him about your future, about a mission?”
The words weighed on me, and I fiddled with a stem of foxtail grass I had pulled up. “No,” I said quietly, surprised that the night was so still.
“Do you mind if I ask why?”
“I’m afraid he wouldn’t answer or want me. I’ve let him down before.”
My dad started sanding again, and I looked up at the sky and saw Venus burning brightly. “Isn’t she a beautiful boat?” my dad said.
I was glad to change the subject. “She sure is. A beaut.”
“I hope you’ll go sailing with me sometime.”
“You can count on that.”
“She might sink on us, you know.”
“Come on,” I laughed. “She’ll float just fine.”
“Well, she used to be a wreck.”
“But look at her now,” I said. “We’re proud of her. I’d be a fool not to sail in a boat as good as this one.” I paused for a moment and looked straight at my dad. “You know, I get the feeling you want to tell me something.”
“Son, we’d all be in pretty bad shape if we couldn’t start over when we make mistakes. We wouldn’t have a chance.”
“I know, dad.”
“Why don’t you ask the Lord, Jeff. You might be surprised.”
“Do you think he’ll answer me?”
“I promise you he will.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking at my dad’s hands still holding the sandpaper. “I mean it.”
“You know, Jeff, maybe you’d like to fast before you ask. Your mom and I would be glad to fast with you.”
We sanded some more, and I told my dad about work with Professor Gotlieb. When mom came home, we talked about fasting together. My parents were right behind me, and we agreed to do it. As I drove to my apartment, I could smell the scent of rain on the pines in the mountains mixed with apple tree blossoms. I thought of some things I’d like to do before I fasted. And for the first time, way back in my mind, I knew I’d be calling Bishop Smith soon, sooner perhaps than even he expected. And this time, I wouldn’t be going to his office with any excuses.

Our grandchildren are learning that when they make a choice, they also choose its consequences. Recently one of our three-year-old granddaughters refused to eat her dinner. Her mother explained, “It’s almost bedtime. If you choose to eat dinner, you are choosing ice cream for dessert. If you choose not to eat dinner, you are choosing to go to bed now, without ice cream.” Our granddaughter considered her two choices and then stated emphatically, “I want this choice—to play and eat only ice cream and not go to bed.”

After Sister Teh and I dated for a little while, it became obvious that I wanted to spend eternity with her. Naturally, I made it a subject of earnest prayer and fasting. No particular change in my feeling followed. I did not feel a burning in my bosom. I did, however, continue to feel good about my decision, so I persevered. Sister Teh got the same answer, so here we are. Since that experience, I have arrived at many of my decisions in a similar fashion (see D&C 6:22–23).
Contrast that with experiences I now have concerning specific assignments from the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to call a new stake president. As I approach this assignment in the spirit of prayer and fasting, I have been blessed with distinct impressions that help me know who should be called. The impressions come sometimes before, sometimes during, or sometimes even after the interview process. I always feel a burning in my bosom. I have since recognized that as the way the Holy Ghost guides me in such assignments.

Let me mention without naming anyone the experience last night of being with a wonderful matriarch. In the last three years this wonderful lady and good friend of Colleen’s and mine has lost a husband, a daughter, a son, and two brothers. At 8:30 this morning, her remaining son had brain tumor surgery. As I watch that family, so settled, so established, I can see that they know what Nephi knew: “I know that [God] loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things” (1 Nephi 11:17). The feeling I felt watching that family circle and their many friends was that this family is okay. They will make it, whatever the results of the surgery may be.

If we are meek enough and we are willing to submit enough, then we can be like our friend’s marvelous young son last night after his blessing. He was secure. This is a son who, when his first wife died a few years ago, was seated with the family in the first two rows at the funeral. When it was his turn to praise his wife, he passed the young baby to someone else on that row and then came to the pulpit and gave a wonderful sermon, as if speaking at his wife’s funeral was something he did twice a month.

Such intrinsic spirituality has grown in him and in his family. This family could indeed have a conversation with Job and hold their own.

Devan DeWitt has come a long way since joining the cross-country team two years ago as a sophomore. He wasn’t a particularly fast runner when he began, but as time went by he improved. By his junior and senior years, he had earned the right to compete at the state cross-country championships.
“When I discovered I could succeed at running, it helped me in other areas,” he says. “My grade-point average went from a 2.6 to a 3.0, and I had the courage to try out singing. Now I’m in the a capella choir.”

Studying abroad had always been a dream of mine, so when the opportunity came to study Spanish in Chile, I packed up my bags and flew 12 hours to stay with a Chilean family and attend school there. Morgan,* a girl I met in Chile, was also in the same Spanish program and the only other member of the Church I knew. We instantly became good friends and made plans to attend church the following Sunday morning.
I set my alarm for 8:30 a.m. that Sunday and texted Morgan to make sure she was awake. I started getting ready for church, but even as 9:00 rolled around, I hadn’t heard from Morgan. My heart slowly sank. I sat on my bed and thought, do I go alone? I felt scared. I was in a place I barely knew, I spoke minimal Spanish, I didn’t know anyone who would be at church, and I would have to walk eight blocks in cold rain. To make matters even harder, my Chilean family wasn’t LDS, and they were still asleep.
Once 9:30 passed, I figured I wasn’t going to hear from Morgan after all. But I still felt too nervous to go by myself.
10 o’clock came—the time church started—and by now I was sitting on my bed, having changed back into my pajama pants to keep me warm from the Chilean winter air. Not knowing what else to do—and wanting to feel the Spirit—I pulled out my laptop to watch Mormon Messages videos.
I was really touched by the second one I watched: “Dare to Stand Alone,” with a story from President Thomas S. Monson.
As I saw that, I realized I wasn’t being courageous enough to dare to stand alone.
I was afraid to go to church because I was by myself. As that realization sank in, I threw on my skirt and ate a speedy breakfast. I pulled on my yellow rain boots, packed my church shoes in my purse, and marched off to church just like President Monson. The whole time I walked to church, I wondered how I was brave enough to travel 5,728 miles away from my family and friends, live with a foreign family, speak a foreign language, and yet not be brave enough to walk eight blocks alone to church.
Going to church in Chile was an incredible experience. The members took me under their wing from the very first day, making sure I felt welcomed and loved. They were so kind and found ways to include me in their lives, including teaching me how to make Chilean dishes and inviting me to clean the church with them on a Saturday morning.
I learned that through the gospel we have family everywhere. No matter where we go in this world, we’ll always have a place to go that we can call home, with people who will change our lives forever. We may not speak the same language, wear the same clothes, or have the same customs, but we do have one heart to love each other.

Spiritual healing is illustrated in the story of Warren M. Johnson, pioneer ferryman at Lee’s Ferry, Arizona. As a young man, Warren Johnson came west seeking his fortune in gold in the summer of 1866. He became very ill, and his companions left him under a tree in the yard of a family in Bountiful. One of the daughters found him and reported there was a dead man out in the yard. Although he was a complete stranger, this kind family took him in and nursed him back to health. They taught him the gospel, and he was baptized. He eventually ended up as the ferryman at Lee’s Ferry.
In 1891 the Warren Johnson family suffered a great tragedy. Within a period of a short time, they lost four children to diphtheria. All four were buried in a row next to each other. In a letter to President Wilford Woodruff, dated July 29, 1891, Warren told the story:
“Dear Brother …
“In May 1891 a family residing in Tuba City, came here from Richfield Utah, where they … spent the winter visiting friends. At Panguitch they buried a child, … without disinfecting the wagon or themselves, [and] not even stopping to wash the dead child’s clothes, they came to our house, and remained overnight, mingling with my little children. …
“We knew nothing of the nature of the disease, but had faith in God, as we were here on a very hard mission, and had tried as hard as we knew how to obey the word of Wisdom, [to] attend to the other duties of our religion, such as paying [our] tithing, family prayers, etc. etc., that our children would be spared. But alas, in four and a half days [the oldest boy] choked to death in my arms. Two more were taken down with the disease and we fasted and prayed as much as we thought it wisdom as we had many duties to perform here. We fasted [for] twenty-four hours and once I fasted [for] forty hours, but [to] no avail for both my little girls died also. About a week after their death my fifteen year old daughter Melinda was [also] stricken down and we did all we could for her but she [soon] followed the others. … Three of my dear girls and one boy [have] been taken from us, and the end is not yet. My oldest girl nineteen years old is now prostrate [from] the disease, and we are fasting and praying in her behalf today. … I would ask for your faith and prayers in our behalf however. What have we done that the Lord has left us, and what can we do to gain his favor again[?]
“Yours in the gospel
“Warren M. Johnson” (in P. T. Riely, “Warren Marshall Johnson, Forgotten Saint,” Utah Historical Quarterly, Winter 1971, p. 19; spelling modernized).
In a subsequent letter dated August 16, 1891, to his friend Warren Foote, Brother Johnson testified that he had found a spiritual peace:
“I can assure you, however, that it is the hardest trial of my life, but I set out for salvation and am determined that … through the help of Heavenly Father that I [would] hold fast to the iron rod no matter what troubles [came] upon me. I have not slackened in the performance of my duties, and hope and trust that I shall have the faith and prayers of my brethren, that I can live so as to receive the blessings you having authority … placed on my head” (“Autobiography of Warren Foote of Glendale, Kane County, Utah,” vol. 2, 16 Aug. 1891; in LDS Church archives).

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.