Gospel Story Finder

The image of that team standing in the field stayed with me. I thought that perhaps I could do a painting of the bishop’s team standing in the field with the reins draped over the plow.
I hesitated because it had been nine years since I had painted a picture. Two friends with unusual talent and inspiration offered to help me paint the bishop’s team, and July gave a respite from travel, so I began.
I learned much from those two friends, and in a real way they are in my painting. But I received more help from my two sons. One son took those pictures of the plowed field, for I try always to be very accurate when depicting something in wood or on canvas or with words.
That is another lesson. I could draw back from our children something they had learned when they were young.
The other son decided to do a sculpture of the bishop’s team to be cast in bronze as a companion to my painting. We spent many rewarding hours helping one another.
He took from our barn a couple of old harnesses which have hung essentially untouched for over 50 years. He dusted them off and took them home. He draped one harness over a very patient riding horse. It stood quietly as he arranged the harness in proper order and made detailed sketches of it.
His neighbor had collected some old plows. Among them was a plow of proper vintage, which he also sketched.
And so there came back that which we had given those sons in their youth. As with our other children, they have improved on that which we as parents taught them when they were very young. And if our days are prolonged upon the earth, there comes a second harvest—our grandchildren—and perhaps a third.
That painting of The Bishop’s Team will soon be finished. My son’s sculpture is at the foundry being cast in bronze.
His sculpture, incidentally, is much better than my painting. That is as it should be. His young fingers and mind respond more readily than mine do.

READER 5: Sergei stood at the rail of the trawler and wondered:
READER 2: What impels a man to jump from his warm, safe ship into a stormy ocean thousands of miles from home?
READER 3: Freedom?
READER 4: He had material freedom in the motherland.
READER 5: His future?
READER 4: At 19 he was attending a naval academy.
READER 5: So why did Sergei want to escape?
READER 6: Perhaps it was that strange light he had seen in the eyes of the woman he had been about to strike so many months ago.
READER 5: These people called themselves Christians.
READER 4: The government tolerated them if they held their meetings under state supervision.
READER 5: But they had this strange habit of secretly gathering in homes, barns, and even out in the forest.
READER 3: And through police intelligence it was always known where they would gather.
READER 1: A number of the big fellows at the naval school were paid by local police as volunteers to break up the meetings.
READER 7: Sergei was one of these.
READER 4: After breaking through the door, they would grab the Bibles and handwritten hymnals and rip them up.
READER 2: Any cry of protest was our excuse to wade into the people with truncheons flying. After all, they had broken the law and were enemies of the state.
READER 7: The police said, “Faith will fly out of their heads when they see your stick.”
READER 2: But I cannot forget Natasha, a blue-eyed blonde of about 18 years. She had long flowing hair. We found her in a worship meeting in a little town. One of our group was a giant whose arms seemed the girth of telephone poles. He picked up Natasha by her hair and threw her out of the door. Then he laughed.
READER 5: It would have been nicer to have been friends with her.
READER 2: A week later on a nearby street, we made another raid. And there she was! We beat her so hard with truncheons that we boasted, “She won’t be able to sit down for a week!” Three days later we found her again at another meeting. Why, Natasha, why?
READER 4: After the raids they would haul the literature to the police station and burn it in a potbelly stove.
READER 2: As I shoved the literature into the stove one time after seeing Natasha, I slipped a booklet into my pocket. Later I read it in a quiet corner at school.
READER 6: In it he read about a young man who’d turned on his father and run off to a far country where he squandered all he had. Yet when he crawled home, his father welcomed and kissed him!
READER 2: As I read on, I was flooded with a strange emotion—part disbelief, but mingled with it, a fascination with what this book called love. Something within me was touched, and I trembled.
READER 3: Sergei tore the books into shreds.
READER 2: On our next raid I followed through mechanically. As I raised my truncheon at an old woman, she said something. I hesitated and heard her praying.
READER 6: Oh, Lord, save this young man.
READER 2: Someone or something held my arm, and I spun around; there was no one there. I dropped the club and left the melee. Why, Natasha, why? And you, old grandmother, why do you pray for me? I went to the police director and told him I was through with the activist group.
READER 6: It was 9:45 Friday night, September 3, 1971.
READER 2: I closed the radio room door behind me for the last time. Through the mist I could make out the outline of mountains on the horizon. I estimated the shore at three miles away. I was alone on deck. This was the time. I swung over the rail and dived into the blackness. Struggling to the roaring surface, I struck out toward what I thought was shore. It was frightening. I would climb one soaring crest only to be buried by another crashing on me.
READER 5: After two hours, a dark shape loomed above him.
READER 6: When he made out what it was, he became sick with shock.
READER 7: It was his ship!
READER 1: He had been swimming in a circle.
READER 2: My first thought was to give myself up. I couldn’t go on any longer. But at that moment the clouds broke, the night sky lightened, and I could see the whole line of our trawlers, their bows all pointed toward shore. Now I knew where to head. I struck out again.
READER 6: But after two more hours of fighting waves, Sergei weakened and started cramping.
READER 4: As he choked and gasped, his arms became leaden, and he began to sink into the dark depths.
READER 2: Something from deep within me cried out, “God, if you really are, if you do exist, and I feel sure you do, when my body drowns, take my soul into paradise with you.” As l finished my prayer, something happened. New strength, new courage flowed into my heart. I did not feel alone anymore. I struggled upward, broke water, and began swimming again, using the same powerful stroke that earned me a school swimming award.
READER 5: After a while a new sound grew in intensity.
READER 6: It was the crashing of giant breakers. As he looked up, jagged rocks awaited him.
READER 7: But a wave carried him into an inlet where he tumbled onto the shore.
READER 1: It was about six o’clock in the morning, and the sun was coming up over a new land before him. As its rays began to warm him—
READER 2: I gave thanks to Him who brought me here. And you, old grandmother, you who prayed for me as I was about to strike you, I think of you often. Now I know why you do what you do.
(Music interlude.)

My new friend Jonah wrote: “I often feel nervous on my way to school in the morning. I worry about things like being late, forgetting something, and taking tests. When I was 10, I started saying prayers on my drive to school with my mom. I ask for the help I need, and I pray for my family too. I also think of the things I’m grateful for. [Praying to Heavenly Father has] helped me. Sometimes I don’t feel the relief right as I get out of the car, but by the time I’m at my classroom, I feel peaceful.”

Jonah’s faith is growing as he prays every day and then moves forward.

According to temple president Aledir Barbour, handling such large numbers of temple goers “is now our greatest challenge because so many stakes want to come, but we cannot accommodate them all as we’d like.”
He pauses, then smiles and adds, “But certainly it is a challenge we like to have.”
The white-haired, soft-spoken temple president cites an example of a group of youth and their leaders who came by bus from Belo Horizonte, a large city about 200 kilometers northeast of São Paulo. Members of this stake youth group brought with them the names of 10,000 ancestors, all of whom the teens had identified through their own research. The group stayed from Tuesday through Friday, but it wasn’t nearly enough time to do the baptisms for all their ancestors.
The temple baptistry is so full of youth patrons, individuals can usually only be baptized for four or five deceased persons each time they come to the temple. And this is after many teens and their parents from outlying areas have saved for months to travel to the temple, riding on a bus for days to get to São Paulo (Brazil is larger than the continental United States).
When the São Paulo Temple was dedicated in 1978, it could easily handle the Church membership in Brazil, which then totalled less than 60,000. But membership in Brazil has increased by more than tenfold since then, and now the temple is consistently overflowing.
Fortunately, the rapid growth that has caused such a challenge is also a catalyst that is bringing about wonderful change—change that is already beginning to bless the lives of Brazilian youth.
Peering through the rails of a barrier fence, 17-year-old Fabio Fogliatto and his friends of the Canoas Stake watch intently as men in hard hats construct a building near the southern tip of Brazil. Fabio notes with satisfaction that one of the workers leaves the construction site before smoking a cigarette. “He must know this is a sacred site for us,” he says.
On the other side of the fence from the teens is a spectacular sight. Against the backdrop of the city, the walls of what will be the Pôrto Alegre Brazil Temple are rising out of the red earth.
“Just watching them build the temple, I can feel it really is a temple of the Lord,” says Ivan Carvalho, 14, of the Esteio Ward. “It makes me feel even stronger that I want to come here to do ordinances for the dead and for myself.”
Fourteen-year-old Guilherme Recordon of the Estancia Velha Ward adds, “And now that we only have to go 20 kilometers instead of 300, maybe we’ll be able to come here every week!”
The feelings of these boys represent an excitement growing all over Brazil as temples are built. Another temple is nearing completion in Campinas (a city just west of São Paulo), and yet another will be dedicated in the northern city of Recife this summer. As temples are built into the Brazilian skies, youth here are constructing their own temple-worthy lives.
Living worthy to go to the temple is anything but easy for young Brazilians. They are teased by their peers if they don’t use drugs, alcohol, and tobacco. Extreme immodesty is common on billboards and prime-time T.V. Many students carry pornographic magazines to school. During carnaval, a week-long festival for which Brazil is famous, immodesty and immorality are paraded in the streets.
But LDS youth say that looking to the temple helps them keep the commandments despite the many temptations and trials they face. “At school, when you won’t look at the [pornographic] magazines, people make fun of you. But I have a goal to serve a mission and marry in the temple, so I already know that if they push this stuff at me, I won’t do it,” says Fabio Marques, 16, of the Campinas Fourth Ward. “I’ve already made my decision.”
Fabio says having a temple so close to his home in Campinas will strengthen him and his Latter-day Saint friends. “It’s hard to get to the temple in São Paulo, but soon we’ll be able to do baptisms for the dead more easily and frequently at the Campinas Temple. And each time you do that, you make a stronger goal to return to the temple, and to be worthy to marry in the temple.”
Whenever challenges seem too much for 18-year-old Janise Figueiró, she looks at a little bottle of red earth she received from her Young Women president in the Higienópolis (Pôrto Alegre) Ward. “Whenever I look at that soil from the temple site, I remember to live worthy.”
Fourteen-year-old Juliano Garcia of the Guaiba Jardim Ward was thrilled with the prize he’d won. Although he’d only been a Church member for just under a year, he’d managed to win a scripture chase in his multistake seminary bowl. As he began to look through the pages of his prize, a booklet entitled The Holy Temple, he became fascinated with the pictures of temple baptismal fonts and celestial rooms. Juliano didn’t know much about the temple, but as he read in the booklet about baptism for the dead, his heart immediately turned to his deceased grandparents. “I thought about my grandparents, how great they were, and I thought that more than anything I wanted to go to the temple for them.” Juliano hasn’t been able to travel to the São Paulo Temple, but is now preparing to go in Pôrto Alegre.
As Juliano and other Brazilian teens continue to construct their own temple-worthy lives little by little, they do not doubt that when the doors of the new temples are ready to be opened, they will be ready to enter.
When the Angel Moroni appeared to 17-year-old Joseph Smith in 1823, he told the young prophet about the marvelous restoration that was about to take place, quoting from Malachi:
“Behold, I will reveal unto you the Priesthood, by the hand of Elijah the prophet, before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord.
“… And he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (see JS—H 1:38–39).
This prophecy is literally being fulfilled in the hearts of young Brazilians. “The Spirit of Elijah is working … especially on the young people, to do work for their ancestors. It’s something that we cannot explain,” says São Paulo Temple President Barbour.
Take 16-year-old Jeferson Montenegro of Canoas and Suelen Alexandre (15), José Meirelles (18), Priscila Cavalieri (18), Carlita Fochetto (14), and Carolina (16), Christiane (15), and Carlos Rodriguez (12), of São Paulo (pictured above). These young people volunteer in their family history centers for 10–20 hours each week, assisting Church members in their research, entering extracted names into the computer system, and searching for names of their own ancestors.
These teens aren’t unusual. Many Brazilian youth have found the names of hundreds of their ancestors and eagerly begun their temple work. Why? “I feel the influence of the spirit of Elijah,” says Jeferson. “It makes me feel a closeness with those who’ve gone before me.”

After earning a degree in social work, Katelyn Ray, 27, from California, USA, couldn’t settle on a career path but felt drawn to humanitarian aid. She has seen God’s hand guiding her “every step of the way,” leading her to now be the program director for a non-profit organization dedicated to fighting global poverty.
Katelyn has worked with refugees in Greece and victims of abuse in Nepal, who, she explains, are “going through the worst moments of their life. Just being there with them, there’s not a lot I can do. I can’t change the governments or the policies, but the one thing I can do is to love them.” And no matter who she’s with, she sees how important it is for others to feel God’s love. “If I can be a vehicle for that, I’ll feel like I’ve done a pretty good job, that God’s happy with me.”
Her experiences help her see other people’s problems with a broader perspective. “As young adults, it’s easy to get caught up in our own issues,” she says. “We’re so focused on, ‘What’s my career?’ and ‘What am I doing for school?’ and ‘How am I going to find my eternal companion?’ Those are all good things, but if we could somehow look outside of ourselves, I think we’ll find what we really are searching for.”
“If we just remain close to the Spirit, God is going to guide and direct us, and then we’ll be able to do all the good we want to do,” Katelyn says. “I think everyone wants to do good, even if that’s just in your community or within your family. Every little thing, whether it’s uplifting a friend or being there for a family member, just having those small moments of knowing you did what God wanted you to do in that moment will make a powerful impact on your life and others.”

When I was younger, I had trouble sleeping at night. Then I had a rare experience. It was Christmas Eve, and I was having trouble sleeping. I was awake for hours, and I wanted to get to sleep! I began to cry. My mom heard me and came into my room. I told her that I couldn’t sleep. She asked me if it would help if she said a prayer. I told her that I hadn’t thought of that and that yes, it would help. She asked Heavenly Father to help me. When the prayer was over, I felt very relaxed, and I thanked her.
The next morning, my mom told me that she had gone back to my room five minutes after her prayer, and I was already asleep. I learned that because of my faith, I was able to get over my trouble with sleeping.
Maren Sargent, age 11Fruit Heights, Utah

For the first 18 years of my life, I followed my parents and grandparents to church every Sunday. Witnessing their joy instilled in my heart the desire for own children to find joy in attending church and communicating with Heavenly Father. Growing up in the Free Church of Tonga, I saw how committed the ministers were in teaching us to always put God first in our lives. This brought great blessings to me. We migrated to Auckland, New Zealand, seeking a better life, unaware that God was preparing us for a greater purpose.

In 2019, one of the missionaries who found and invited us to follow our Saviour, Jesus Christ, told my wife, Lupe, and me a story. He said that in 1990, he and his companion knelt in prayer, seeking to know the will of the Lord. They were led to a particular street where they knocked on every door, but no one wanted to hear their message.

As they were about to leave, he felt impressed to go back and try again. Obedient, they began knocking on the same doors they had knocked on before, and when they got to the sixth house, I was sitting outside. So began my knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

These two beautiful missionaries taught me about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, about The First Vision, and the Book of Mormon. They taught how Joseph Smith, seeking to know what church he should join, read the book of James and prayed to God with faith his prayer would be answered.

The missionaries bore testimony that in answer to his prayer, God the Father and His beloved Son Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith, that he was called to be a prophet, and that the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored through him.

This was all new to me, but they promised that I could know for myself if this did happen. They gave me a Book of Mormon, with an invitation to read, ponder, and apply Moroni’s invitation to ask God if the book is true.

When they returned two days later, I explained that after reading the introduction, the testimony of the witnesses, and the account of Christ visiting the people in 3 Nephi, I pled with God to know if it was true. I felt warmth all over me but didn’t understand what that was. The elders then taught me that the Holy Ghost was bearing witness to my spirit, which brought excitement to my heart. My mother and three younger brothers joined our next lesson, and we all got baptised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

With tears of joy, this former missionary, Tomasi Takau, shared his experience from over 30 years ago, blessed now to witness the fruit of his labour. Because of the prayers, faith, and courage of Elder Tomasi Takau and his companion, Elder Johnson, I served my own mission in Wellington, New Zealand, from 1991 to 1993, then met and married my wife, Lupe, in the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, and we now have four sons and a daughter, with two grandchildren and a third due later this year.

What a joy it was for Lupe and me to cross paths with Tomasi Takau’s son, who is now serving a mission in the Kingdom of Tonga. Looking into the younger Elder Takau’s eyes, I thank his father for bringing the joy of the gospel into my life and praying sincerely with his companion to know God’s will all those years ago, and I also thank this young man for answering the invitation from President Russell M. Nelson for every young man to serve a mission. “The worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (Doctrine and Covenants 18:10).

My life changed because two missionaries had the courage to submit to the will of the Lord and to knock a second time. I know Heavenly Father hears and answers the prayers of His children. I’m grateful for my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I know we are led by a living prophet of God. Jesus Christ is the Saviour and Redeemer of the world. May we bind ourselves to Him who has all the power to heal, forgive, and bless our lives.

“Hurry up! I want to see the lions,” Billy said, tugging on his sister’s sleeve.
“I’m coming,” Helen said. She jumped off the bench and grabbed Billy’s hand. They trotted off to see the lions.
When they reached the lions’ cage, they saw a man holding a camera and a little notebook. Children were gathered around him. A lady introduced the man. “Children, this is Mr. Maier,” she said. “He is an author visiting from New Jersey.”
An author! Helen liked meeting new people, especially famous people from far away.
“I travel from place to place and write about what I see,” Mr. Maier told the children. “Do any of you have a question for me?”
Helen raised her hand high in the air. Mr. Maier asked her to come to the front of the crowd. Helen scooted through the crowd until she stood near Mr. Maier.
“What are you writing about today?” Helen asked.
“Today I’m writing about Utah,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
Helen felt her heart start to beat faster. What could she think of to tell a famous author?
“Well, I’m 10 years old,” Helen said. Then she paused. Surely she could think of something more important. “And I’m a Mormon,” she added.
“A Mormon?” he asked. “Tell me more.”
“Well, my great-great-grandfather was Brigham Young, one of the prophets of our Church,” Helen replied. “And this Church is the true faith.”
“Is it really?” he asked.
“Yes, it is,” she said. “What is your religion?”
“I don’t have a religion,” Mr. Maier said.
Helen was surprised. “Why not?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “But maybe you can pray for me so I can be blessed too.”
“I can do that,” Helen said.
Then Helen got an idea. “Why don’t you get baptized in the true faith?”
Mr. Maier smiled. “That’s kind of you,” he said. “I think I would like to learn more about this faith first.”
When Mr. Maier returned home to New Jersey, he wrote a newspaper article about Helen. He called her a “zealous little Mormon girl.” He meant that she was enthusiastic and devoted to her faith. Mr. Maier was so impressed with Helen that he wrote to her and sent her copies of his books.
A few years later, Mr. Maier passed away. When Helen was older, she received permission from Mr. Maier’s family to have his temple work done. Thanks to Helen, a young man was baptized in the temple for Mr. Maier in the “true faith.”

The farm is busy today! Liam uses his hands to give the rabbits their food. He feels their soft fur with his fingers. Then Liam’s eyes spot some tools that need to be put away. He makes sure the shovel and hammer go in their right places in the barn. Liam hears Mom calling! His ears listen. Mom is going to make breakfast. She asks Liam to crack eggs into a bowl. Liam is glad he can use his hands, eyes, and ears to help!

“Race you to the river!” Jimmy shouted to his nine-year-old twin. Charlie’s legs pumped as hard as he could make them go, but Jimmy’s light, springy bounds took him to the oak seconds ahead of his brother. “Hi!” He grinned. “Where’ve you been?”
“You always win,” Charlie pouted. “I can beat anyone else, but never you.”
Summer vacation had begun, that year of 1898, and the Thorpe boys were happy to be back on the Oklahoma ranch. The Thorpes were Sac-Fox Indians, and their home was a cozy log cabin twenty miles from the reservation.
The twins delighted their father, Hiram, who watched them wrestle, jump, and run, always winning the contests that the Indians liked to hold. Mr. Thorpe himself was never defeated, and the boys hoped to be just like him when they grew up.
Their parents told them legends of the Sac-Fox tribe. Best of all they liked the stories of the great chief Black Hawk, their great-grandfather. “You can become great braves in a different way,” Mr. Thorpe said. “You can prove that you have courage and skill. You can study in school so that you can take your place in the world. You can prepare yourselves to be winners in the things you do best.”
“What if we lose?” Charlie asked.
“Like Black Hawk did at last, my son? You must lose with honor, as he did.”
That night, Charlie whispered, “Did I lose that race with honor today, Jimmy?”
“Sure. You always do.”
“Sometimes I get mad when I can’t ever beat you,” Charlie admitted, “and I forget about being like Black Hawk.”
Jimmy hadn’t realized that his brother cared so much. “Maybe I run best,” he told Charlie, “but you are best at school. Someday you could even be a teacher.”
“Maybe so.” Charlie began to feel better.
One day in early winter, the boys planned to go hunting with their father. Charlie was so excited that he could hardly eat the spice cake Mrs. Thorpe had made for supper. “Do you feel all right?” she asked, feeling his forehead. “Why, Hiram, he has a fever!”
Charlie had to stay home. Jimmy could see that he was shivering under his pile of blankets. “I wish you could go,” he said awkwardly. His heart was heavy, for the twins had never been separated.
“Me, too,” Charlie whispered.
In two days Mr. Thorpe brought down three deer and a small bear. The third day he loaded the gun and handed it to Jimmy. “It’s your turn, son.”
Only once had Jimmy shot the big gun at a target. Although the recoil had knocked him over, he hadn’t missed! Now they were hiding in the brush near a little stream. When a big stag came to drink, Jimmy quietly sighted along the barrel. For Charlie, he thought as he squeezed the trigger. Boooom! Jimmy reeled backward, but the deer lay on the ground.
“Good work!” his father praised him. They loaded the horses, and Mr. Thorpe shouldered two deer himself for the long hike home.
“You must be as strong as Black Hawk!”
“Your eye is keen, your thinking straight, and your speed great,” his father returned the compliment. “Already you follow the path of Black Hawk.”
Jimmy thought about his Indian name, Wa-Tho-Huck (Bright Path). He hoped that whatever his “bright path” might be, it would be honorable, like Black Hawk’s.
Mrs. Thorpe met them at the door, but in spite of the great good luck of so much meat, tears streaked her face. “It’s Charlie,” she mourned. “He had pneumonia. He’s gone.”
Blindly Jimmy turned away. How could it be time for Charlie to go to the spirit world? If only he had let Charlie beat him just one time! He felt father’s strong arms around him.
For a long time, everything reminded Jimmy of his twin. Understanding his grief, the Thorpes arranged for him to go to Haskell Indian School in Kansas. There, for the first time, he saw boys kicking a strange, point-ended ball. Other boys were hitting a small, leather-covered ball with a club, and still others were using a pole to jump over high crossbars. Jimmy tried all the new sports, and he learned to love them.
Later he went to Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania, where he led the football team to great victories over all the big teams in the country at that time—Yale, Harvard, Pittsburgh, Chicago, West Point, and many others. No one could run as fast, dodge as well, hit as hard, kick as high, or think as fast on the field as Jim.
He represented the United States in the Olympics in Sweden in 1912. He competed in the pentathlon, a series of five grueling contests, and the most difficult event, the decathlon, a series of ten punishing contests to select the top Olympic athlete. His decathlon score set a record that was not matched for many years!
The King of Sweden placed the victory medals around Jim’s neck and gave him his personal gift, a bronzed statue, saying, “You are the greatest athlete in the world!”
But heartbreak was ahead. His Olympic medals were taken away when it was learned that he had once been paid a few dollars for playing baseball. Jim hadn’t known that it would disqualify him for the Olympics. In 1982, thirty-nine years after his death, the honors were restored to his name.
Jim played professional baseball and football, and in 1950 he was named the greatest male athlete of the half-century. To many, he is considered the greatest male athlete of all time. A town in Pennsylvania changed its name to “Jim Thorpe” in his honor, and a movie was made about his life. Truly Jim Thorpe had followed the bright path set by Black Hawk; he had won at all the things he did best.

I think of my friend Elizabeth, whose life-style and habits took her away from the Church. After more than ten years, she had a desire to return and “see.” As she drove by a chapel one Sunday morning she felt impressed to come in. She joined our ward that same day. Her dress and her experiences made her obviously different from the rest of us, and she worried that she would never fit in. But her new friends met her far more than halfway, included her in their activities and found ways to use her artistic talents in building the kingdom. Her visiting teachers were 100 percent faithful; they loved Elizabeth, rather than their assignment. Now in different cities, they still keep in touch to bless her life.
The time came when Elizabeth was accepted back into full fellowship in the Church and called to teach Relief Society. The evening she was sustained in her new calling, I noticed she left the chapel quickly. I called her, worried that perhaps she was uncomfortable with the calling.
“No,” she said. “I had to run home to tell my mother. When I told her the good news, we danced around the kitchen together. My mother kept repeating, over and over, ‘I knew one day you would teach Relief Society.’”

There is another gift some of us may want to give that takes starting early. I saw it start once as a bishop. A student sat across from me and talked about mistakes he had made. He talked about how much he wanted the children he might have someday to have a dad who could use his priesthood and to whom they were sealed forever. He said he knew that the price and pain of repentance might be great. And then he said what I will not forget: “Bishop, I am coming back. I will do whatever it takes. I am coming back.” He felt sorrow; he had faith in Christ. And still it took months of painful effort.

But somewhere this Christmas there is a family with a dad who holds the priesthood, once that student, and they have eternal hopes and peace on earth. He will probably give his family all sorts of brightly wrapped gifts, but nothing will matter quite so much as the gift he started a long time ago in my office. He felt then the needs of children he had only dreamed of and he gave early and freely. He sacrificed his pride and sloth and numbed feelings. I am sure it doesn’t seem like a sacrifice now.

The Prophet was then inspired to raise money to purchase Chandler’s mummies and the accompanying papyri, even though he did not know exactly what the writings would disclose. Kirtland Saints contributed the funds for the purchase. The price was $2,400—not an inconsequential sum at the time, considering that the Kirtland Temple was under construction, but the faith of members who knew the Prophet and his works led them to help.4

The Prophet recorded: “With W W. Phelps and Oliver Cowdery as scribes, [I] commenced the translation of some of the characters or hieroglyphics, and much to our joy found that one of the rolls contained the writings of Abraham, another the writings of Joseph of Egypt, etc., a more full account of which will appear in their place, as I proceed to examine or unfold them. Truly can we say, the Lord is beginning to reveal the abundance of peace and truth.”5

George Q. Cannon was born in Liverpool, England, January 11, 1827. When he was thirteen years old, he and two other children in the family were baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints through the efforts of his uncle, Elder John Taylor, then a young missionary serving in England. George’s parents had been baptized some months before. In 1842 George, with his family, sailed to America to join the Saints in Nauvoo. While traveling aboard ship, his mother died, and two years later his father died while on a business trip. However, all the children made it across the plains to Utah.

Bishop David Day of Aylesbury Ward in the Watford Stake decided that 2021’s Mothering Sunday needed to be different and certainly needed to reflect the technical journey on which most members have been during COVID restrictions.
Every year, the Aylesbury Ward has given all sisters a small gift on Mothering Sunday, hoping that they would understand how much they are appreciated. Sometimes it has been a flower, and sometimes chocolate. Last year everyone received an Easter egg.
As COVID-19 has caused many ward meetings to go online and delivering a physical gift in person would go against the spirit of current government advice, the Bishopric turned to a digital gift for the first time.
The primary children and youth in the ward were asked to send the bishopric a video explaining why they loved their mothers, or why mothers were amazing. This was done without their mothers being aware—the children enjoyed recording each other with their dads’ phones!
Bishop Day then edited the videos and used them to prepare a short video presentation, which included quotes from Church leaders. At the end of the ward’s Zoom sacrament meeting, he asked the sisters to check their email inbox for the link to the video.
Many sisters immediately reported back to him, expressing their joy at receiving this video, which included loving messages. It was a fabulous surprise from their children.

On one hand there were good people who were active in the Church and who did a lot of good for the Church who played professional sports on Sunday. On the other hand, Eli had seen some very powerful examples of people who had refused to break the Sabbath.

One was Erroll Bennett, one of the top soccer players in Tahiti, whom Eli read about one day on his mission. When Brother Bennett joined the Church, he decided to withdraw from his team because he chose not to play on the Sabbath. When Eli read the story and saw how dedicated Brother Bennett was to the gospel, he was impressed. He says, “I knew I wanted to be a man like that, with that kind of commitment and dedication to what I knew was right.”

Right after I was baptized and confirmed, my grandmother said, “You have the Holy Ghost now, and it’s important that you have a testimony of the prophet.” Soon I went to general conference for the first time—the October conference of 1949.
It was quite an adventure. I slept over at my grandparents’ house. I remember getting up very early on Saturday morning and riding the bus to downtown Salt Lake City with my grandmother. We walked over to Temple Square and stood in a line for a long, long time. When we got to the Tabernacle, we sat in the back corner.
Just before the meeting started, there was a hush and everybody stood up. Then President George Albert Smith (1870–1951) walked in. I could see President Smith and his counselors. I’ve never forgotten how I felt when I first saw the prophet. I felt something very, very special. I knew he was the Lord’s prophet.
That was a very important event. I feel the same way when I see the President of the Church now. I have served as a General Authority now with three Presidents of the Church. And when the President walks in, I still have that testimony: “He’s the prophet.”

“Brother Hunk,” the stake leader said, “the youth conference you planned and supervised was the most impressive activity I’ve seen. As the youth representative you single-handedly organized and carried off a wholesome activity that will be recorded in this stake’s history. Every house has been painted, disaster plans and emergency supplies are present in every household, wickedness is banished, corruption and litter are gone. And the youth say they’ve never had so much fun. You are magnificent!”
The youth surrounding the stake leader cheered the Hunk.
“Dexter! Dexter!”
The voice of his priesthood adviser, brother Magnuson, broke through.
“Dexter, will you help set up tables for the youth conference next month?” asked brother Magnuson.
Dexter looked up, realized he was at a ward youth meeting, and replied, “I dunno.”
There’s no glory in that, thought Dexter. I want to be chairman or nothing. Fat chance of being chairman so I’ll be nothing. He sat silent for the rest of the meeting.
Afterwards Julie hurried to catch him as he started to climb into the family car.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You’ve been so distracted and distant lately, like you’re in a different world. You always used to help out with youth conferences. What’s bothering you?”
“It’s nothing,” said Dexter. “It’s just that I’m tired of being ordinary—just average, with no honor or recognition. Look at us Julie. We’re the average kids. No one notices us. We are never head of anything, never applauded, just the average ones who are always there. If the school paper did an article about us do you know what it would say?”
Dexter picked up a school book, cleared his throat, and in a deep voice intoned, “Dexter and Julie are two average students at Riverview High. They have never been president of any organization. They did not win a scholarship. They haven’t won a race or a trophy. They have not won honors for any talent. They are average.”
“Now,” said Dexter, putting down the book. “Do you see what I mean?”
“But we try.”
“Name one thing you do really well Julie.”
“I like to paint.”
“Have you won any awards?”
“Well, no.”
“Don’t you see what I mean. You’re an average painter. So why paint?”
“Maybe I’m not a Michelangelo or even a Grandma Moses. But painting makes me so aware of the world. How many colors do you see in that tree?”
“One—it’s green. Trees are all the same. All green.”
“But I see maybe ten shades and colors—some darker with touches of brown, other parts lighter with splashes of yellow.”
“They’re still trees in an average painting. For me it’s going to be the top or nothing. I want to be a winner. I want recognition!”
His voice had gotten louder and classmates turned to stare.
“You’re getting recognition,” giggled Julie.
He lowered his voice. “I want to be the best, the greatest.”
“Well,” replied Julie, “it wasn’t some famous person that touched our family when we were investigating the Church. It was my three-year-old niece singing ‘I Am a Child of God.’ Sometimes the common can achieve the uncommon.”
“Not for me. I want to be the greatest. I want recognition. I want honors.”
Dexter climbed into the car and drove off.
Member Missionary Hunk was assigned to coordinate the open house for the public at the newly completed temple. He planned on being stationed in the celestial room, where he would quietly nod acknowledgments to community dignitaries. Afterwards there would be cookies and punch with guest speakers at the stake center to honor him. Honors to the Hunk.
“Dexter, you’ll be serving here. You’ll help put booties on the shoes of the visitors before they enter the temple for the tour,” the tour leader said.
Filled with disappointment, Dexter sat on the ground and assisted visitors with shoe coverings. No honor in this he thought. In fact it was uncomfortable and embarrassing. But there was something familiar about it. What was it?
He looked up at the temple spires and remembered the words carved on the side: “Holiness to the Lord.”
Holiness to the Lord. Again there was that nagging feeling of familiarity.
Suddenly, a scene came to his mind of a painting that hung at home. He who was greatest was washing the feet of the disciples.
Across the walkway of the temple two visitors were conversing.
“Say, who’s that kid with the glasses, the one who is putting on foot coverings. Is he someone special?”
“No, that’s just Dexter. He’s a nice, average kid.”
“But look at the way he’s treating visitors. It’s as though each person he helps is the most important person he’ll meet.”
On Saturday Dexter wrote a letter to his great-aunt requesting information on his grandfather’s birthplace. He gathered food, took it by an immigrant family’s home, and told them he’d be back the next day with two young men and a special book written in their own language. Later he wrapped up a clean Scout shirt and Scout handbook and quietly laid it on the doorstep of a widow’s home whose son hadn’t much money. He knocked and ran. The widow and son found the bag along with a note: From your friend.
Brother Magnuson was surprised that Saturday to get a call from Dexter. He volunteered to set up tables for the youth conference and offered to help with cleanup also.
Then Dexter called Julie and invited her to walk down to the park with him. She’d paint trees while he took photographs of the ducks.

I stopped attending my singles ward when my pregnancy became obvious. I still wanted to attend, but I was worried about being judged. I already felt older and out of place in my ward, and this seemed like it would just make things worse.
And I didn’t feel this way just in my ward. In most areas of my life, I felt so alone. I was afraid for myself and my child. I felt like my ultimate goal, the temple, was out of reach.
When I found out I was pregnant after a short and unhappy relationship, I assessed my options and decided that placing my son for adoption would be best for him. I found a wonderful couple looking to adopt. Although I was working through a lot of spiritual and emotional difficulties, I felt peaceful about my son’s future.
My peace and my plan both fell to pieces when I found out that my baby’s father wouldn’t agree to the adoption, even though I felt, out of love, that it would actually be best for our baby. After I found out I couldn’t provide a great home for my son through adoption, I was blessed to realize that I could provide a great home for him. Trusting in the Savior’s power and the blessings of His atoning sacrifice helped me feel at peace with that realization.
It was in the aftermath of finding out that adoption wasn’t an option that I knew I needed to turn to Heavenly Father and the Savior. Although I’d never completely edged Them out of my life, I’d become distanced from Them after my mistakes. But I knew I needed Them in my life, especially if I was going to be a single mother. For the sake of my son, I clung to the gospel and the hope that it offered me.
And I learned that “the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18). When I drew closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, through sincere repentance, I discovered the strength to be a single mom. When I was willing to repent and live life the way They directed, I found blessings greater than I ever could have imagined.
Those blessings included receiving love and support from those around me, such as my therapist and adoption representative, Steve; my bishop and his wife, who always welcomed me with open arms, even when I stopped attending church for a few months; ward members who brought baby gifts; my boss, Trevor, who encouraged me in my parenting efforts; and countless others who helped me in large and small ways. Miraculously, even the couple who was going to adopt my son ended up being a huge strength and support to me.
I came to realize that the Savior’s infinite Atonement is more powerful than our greatest mistakes, and if we humble ourselves before Him, He can “make weak things become strong” (Ether 12:27). Because of Jesus Christ, we can repent of our sins, and He can help us to learn, grow, and change.
I made a mistake that led to my pregnancy. But my loving Savior saw that not as an excuse to condemn me but to warmly invite me to draw closer to Him through the gift of repentance. With His help, I am now preparing to return to the temple. As Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles expressed: “Jesus Christ, the Son of God, died so that our mistakes might not condemn us and forever halt our progress. Because of Him, we can repent, and our mistakes can become stepping-stones to greater glory.”1
These “stepping-stone” moments often come when I meet women who are in situations similar to mine and I get to testify that the temple is never out of reach and the power of the Savior’s Atonement is always available. And when I testify to others, I’m able to see progress in myself. While I used to skip church out of embarrassment, I now never want to miss a week because taking the sacrament has become so sacred to me.
Both choices—placing your child for adoption or parenting your child—are brave and selfless when your focus is on the love you have for your child and placing his or her needs for a loving and stable environment above all other concerns. I believe the most important choice was the choice to “come unto Christ, and be perfected in him” (Moroni 10:32). Because when we love God and do as He asks, all things will work together for our good, no matter how impossible our circumstances may seem (see Romans 8:28; Doctrine and Covenants 90:24).

Dad was sitting on the front lawn, cleaning his bicycle.
“Can I help you, Dad?” Michael asked.
“No thank you, Son—it’s too messy. Go ask your mother if you can help her.”
Mom was in back of the garage, painting a bookshelf.
“Can I help you, Mom?”
“No thank you, honey—this paint is sticky,” Mom said. “Go ask Mary if you can help her.”
His sister was in the kitchen, baking cookies.
“Can I help you, Mary?”
“No thank you, Michael—this oven is hot.”
Michael walked sadly out of the kitchen. “There’s no one I can help,” he said.
Just then the baby cried.
“The baby’s crying and I can’t leave this to get her,” Dad called to Mom.
“I’m too messy to get the baby,” Mom called to Mary.
“I have to take the cookies out of the oven right now, or they’ll burn. I can’t get the baby, either,” Mary called back to Mom and Dad.
Dad cleaned the bicycle grease off his hands and went to get the baby. Mom cleaned the paint off her hands and went to get the baby. Mary took the cookies out of the oven and went to get the baby. When they opened the door to the baby’s room, they saw the baby laughing and playing in her crib.
“I helped her,” Michael said proudly. “I sang a song to her and read a book to her and shared my toys with her.”
“Ba ba,” said the baby, waving Michael’s car up and down.