Gospel Story Finder

In mid-July 1984, just weeks after my wife, Carol, and I were married in the Los Angeles California Temple, we were on our way to Utah, where I would begin my career and Carol would finish her college education. We were driving in separate cars. Between the two vehicles, we were transporting everything we owned.

About halfway to our destination, Carol pulled up alongside my car and began to motion to me. This was in the days before cell phones and smartphones, texting and Twitter. Seeing the expression on her face through her car window, I could tell she was not feeling well. She communicated that she could continue driving, but I was worried for my new bride.

As we approached the small town of Beaver, Utah, she again pulled alongside, and I could tell she needed to stop. She was ill and could not continue. We had two cars full of clothes and wedding gifts, but unfortunately we had little money. A hotel room was out of our budget. I was not sure what to do.

Neither of us had ever been to Beaver, and not really knowing what I was looking for, we drove around for a few minutes until I saw a park. We pulled into the parking lot and found a tree with some shade, where I laid out a blanket so Carol could rest.

A few minutes later another car drove into the nearly empty parking lot and parked next to our two cars. A woman, about the age of our mothers, got out of her car and asked if anything was wrong and if she could help. She mentioned that she had noticed us as she drove by and felt she should stop. When we explained our situation, she immediately invited us to follow her home, where we could rest as long as we needed to.

We soon found ourselves on a comfortable bed in a cool basement bedroom of her home. Just as we had settled, this wonderful sister mentioned that she had a number of errands to run and that we would be left alone for a few hours. She told us that if we were hungry, we were welcome to anything we could find in the kitchen, and that if we left before she returned home, to please close the front door.

After getting some much-needed sleep, Carol felt better and we continued our trip without stopping by the kitchen. When we left, the kind woman had not yet returned home. To our chagrin, we didn’t make note of the address and have never properly thanked our own good Samaritan, who stopped along the way and opened her home to strangers in need.

Sincerely seeking to be more like the Savior will allow us to see what we may not otherwise see. Our good Samaritan lived close enough to the Spirit to respond to a prompting and approach a stranger in need.

Only those who had seen with spiritual eyes, recognizing the need, acted and blessed those who suffered. Our good Samaritan recognized the need as she saw with spiritual eyes.

We may act by giving our time and talents, a kind word, or a strong back. As we seek and see, we will be placed in circumstances and situations where we can act and bless. Our good Samaritan acted. She took us to her home and provided us with what she had. In essence she said, “Such as I have give I thee.” It was exactly what we needed.

During my junior year in high school the principal asked me to run for vice president of the student body. It was a life-changing experience for me, because I had never considered such a thing before. I didn’t say yes at first, but I thought about it, and the Holy Ghost confirmed that it was the right thing for me to do. It scared me, but I ran and won the election. From that time to now, a whole different world has opened up as I gained confidence. Listening to the Holy Ghost helped me know I could become more than I had ever dreamed of becoming.

The young members of the Staines England Stake were studying the life and teachings of Jesus Christ when their teacher presented a lesson on parables with a new twist: based on experiences in their everyday lives, the students were to write their own parables.
Bishop David S. Baxter of the Kingston-Upon-Thames Ward, the course instructor for the young adults, explained that members of his class followed Christ’s example of looking at life around them and drawing analogies between what they saw and spiritual truths.
Both the students and the teacher were so satisfied with the parables written that they had them printed and stapled together in a booklet. Some of the parables included:
“The Manager and the Firm,” by Ivan Holding of the Addlestone Branch. This tells of a manager who left strict instructions about running the business with his assistants when he left on vacation. The assistants didn’t follow his instructions but tried to do things their own way. When the manager returned, he was angry because his workers hadn’t followed his guidance.
“The Parable of the Musician,” by Tom Smith of the Kingston Ward. Presented in his parable are two music students, one who practiced diligently and one who didn’t. The musician who didn’t practice was eventually dismissed from school.
“Parable of a Little Boy,” by Jill Greenfield of the Slough Ward. Jill wrote of a woman who watched a lady on the other side of the street send her five-year-old son to school alone each day. The woman thought the mother was negligent until she found out the mother was staying home to take care of another child who was an invalid.
“The Parable of the Centrifuge,” by Caroline Vincent of the Staines Ward. Described here are the difficulties encountered by a technician who tried to service the centrifuge himself instead of having a factory authorized service representative do the work. As a result he voided his warranty. “Anyone could have the (servicing) handbook, but only one company had the authority,” the story said.
Bishop Baxter says he plans to use the parable writing lesson again in the future.

During a leadership meeting on Saturday, after providing some training, we opened the meeting up for questions and answers. A sister on a pew towards the back raised her hand, identified herself as the district Relief Society president, and asked the following question; “Can we have a second or third or even fourth calling in the Church?” My immediate assumption was that she was concerned about sisters becoming overburdened by the demands of Church service, especially in a district where the total membership is not large. So, I proceeded to explain that in the Church we try to follow a policy of no more than one calling per member. To my surprise, she looked somewhat crestfallen and disappointed by this response. In the tender discussion that followed, I came to understand the purity and honest intent of her question. Although she is serving as a Relief Society president, she yearns to do more, and far from complaining, was actually hoping she could have more callings and assignments. I was profoundly humbled by her righteous desires to serve and was taught a beautiful lesson by her remarkable example of deep conversion. With renewed spiritual understanding, we then talked about how even with one calling we can find great joy in ministering and seeking opportunities to serve as the Saviour would, well beyond our prescribed meetings and specific assignments. In recalling this humbling experience, I am reminded of the Saviour’s statement as he visited with the Nephites that “so great faith have I never seen”2.

With Cyclone Charlotte threatening to dump rain and close roads, the youth and leaders of the Cairns Australia District set out on a 1,700-kilometer (1,100-mile) drive to the temple in Brisbane Australia. It took the group of 35 youth and 8 adults over eight months to organise and prepare for the journey. And now, on the morning of departure, it seemed that the storm was putting their trip in danger of being canceled. But with group and individual prayers asking for a delay in the storm, the group loaded onto the bus, which pulled out onto the Pacific highway ahead of the rains.
After the 24-hour journey, the bus arrived safely in Brisbane with those on board thanking the Lord for the blessings and protection they experienced.
The group spent two days attending three baptismal sessions and were baptised and confirmed on behalf of 2,000 people, most of whose names they had researched and added to the family files from their area.
A highlight of their trip was the opportunity 11 teens had of receiving their patriarchal blessings. Because so many youth wanted to receive their blessings, parents and priesthood leaders arranged for four patriarchs from four different stakes to give the youth their much-anticipated patriarchal blessings. Some of the teens were moved to tears by their blessings.
The youth were able to meet in a fireside and hear from the area leaders as well as bear their testimonies. When they returned home, the rains had subsided. The journey, plus the good accomplished personally and in the temple, made for a memorable week.

Recently I listened to a lovely young lady just leaving her teens as she spoke in a stake conference, her first address ever. She had never known a true family of her own. She had experienced many temporary homes, made many mistakes, had much heartache and hopelessness. Then an older Church couple found her, and loved her, and taught her. Her prepared talk was witty and interesting, but when she laid it down and bore witness through tears, it became magic:

“No one ever helped me to understand that I was worth anything,” she said, “that I was special in any way. And then the missionaries taught me about Jesus Christ and his love and the God who sent him. They taught me that Jesus died for me—for me. I am valuable! I am valuable! He died for me.”

When I was a schoolgirl in Russia, I read a scary story about two boys who encountered a bear in a forest. Years later, after I had become a teacher, some friends asked me to join them on a trip to collect mushrooms. The forest still scared me, but I agreed to go with them.
Entering the forest, I grabbed a wooden stick so I could defend myself in case I ran into a bear. My friends soon found the brown mushrooms they were looking for. I, on the other hand, was looking for mushrooms with bright red tops, so I started off in a different direction. Before I knew it, I was alone.
While I was searching, I slipped and fell. My mushroom basket flew into the air, but I held tight to my stick. When I tried to get up, I noticed that the ground was muddy and sticky. To my horror, I realized that I had wandered into a swamp! My rubber boots quickly filled with water, and I began to sink. I tried to move my legs, but instead of freeing myself, I was pulled deeper. When the mud reached my waist, deep fear engulfed me.
I cried out to my friends, but the only answer I heard came from buzzing dragonflies and croaking frogs. As I began to weep, I suddenly remembered my mother. Whenever she was in a bad situation, she prayed. She often invited me to pray, but I always refused, answering, “There is no God.”
But in my watery soon-to-be grave, there was nothing else I could do but pray and call upon God for help. “If You live, please help me!” I cried.
Almost immediately I heard a kind voice tell me, “Believe and be not afraid. Grab the strong tree root.”
As I looked around, I saw a big tree root behind me. Using my stick, I was able to latch onto it. Something then gave me the power to pull myself out of the swamp.
Covered with mud, I fell to the ground and thanked God for answering my prayer. I now believed that He lived. I had felt His presence and heard His voice, and He had given me power to pull myself free.
A short time later, when the full-time missionaries taught me that the Prophet Joseph Smith had received an answer to his prayer in the Sacred Grove, I believed them. After all, God had answered my prayer in a forest. I latched onto the strong roots of the gospel, was baptized soon thereafter, and serve today in the Gyumri Branch in Armenia.
I know Heavenly Father loves all of His children, and I’m grateful to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’m also grateful for the many other blessings I have received from Heavenly Father, especially for His answer to an atheist’s prayer in the forest many years ago.

One of the most important days of my life was the day I was baptized. I was forty years old. The missionaries had knocked on my family’s door in Brazil. We were taught by the best missionaries in the world! Whenever I read in the Book of Mormon about the sons of Mosiah, who were such powerful missionaries, I think of Elder Hansen and Elder Furness. They were well-groomed, so it was easy for us to invite them into our home. They were well educated and polite. They had beautiful smiles and a good spirit with them. I love those missionaries who taught me to know the Lord.
After I was baptized, they placed their hands on my head to confirm me. I cried a lot because I had never had such a wonderful feeling. And I have had this same wonderful feeling ever since.

The heart of an 11-year-old boy was turned to his fathers during a family home evening when the children assembled personal books of remembrance. Young Jeff wanted to accompany his mother to the National Archives. She was afraid he might disturb the other researchers there. But he persisted, and she relented and took him with her. Four hours into their research, he exclaimed, “Mama, I’ve found Grandpa!” Indeed, he had found his great-great-great-grandfather. However, it doesn’t always work that way. In a letter to the Family History Department, someone wrote: “We lost our grandmother. Will you please send us a copy?”

During the final months of our mission last year, we experienced an event that taught once again this profound principle that each of us is known and loved by God.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell was coming to New York City for some Church business, and we were informed that he would also like to have a mission conference. We were so pleased to have this opportunity to hear from one of the Lord’s chosen servants. I was asked to select one of our missionaries to provide the opening prayer for the meeting. I might have randomly picked one of the missionaries to pray, but felt to ponder and prayerfully select one whom the Lord would have me ask. In going through the missionary roster, a name boldly stood out to me: Elder Joseph Appiah of Accra, Ghana. He was the one I felt the Lord wanted to pray at the meeting.

Prior to the mission conference, I was having a regularly scheduled interview with Elder Appiah and told him of the prompting that I had received for him to pray. With amazement and humility in his eyes, he began to weep deeply. Somewhat surprised by his reaction, I started to tell him that it was all right and he wouldn’t have to pray, when he informed me he would love to offer the prayer, that his emotion was caused by the love he has for Elder Maxwell. He told me that this Apostle is very special to the Saints in Ghana and to his own family. Elder Maxwell had called his father to be the district president in Accra and had sealed his mother and father in the Salt Lake Temple.

Now, I didn’t know any of what I just related about this missionary or his family, but the Lord did and inspired a mission president on behalf of one missionary to provide a lifelong memory and testimony-building experience.

At the meeting, Elder Appiah offered a wonderful prayer and made a humble contribution to a meeting where Elder Maxwell taught the missionaries of the attributes of Jesus Christ. All who were there will never forget the feelings of love they experienced for their Savior.

I especially remember the time my brother and I were returning from school after a severe tropical storm. The trail that we usually followed had been covered by a mud slide. On a nearby steep hillside, high above the rocky ground, was a drainage pipe. If we were to get to our village, we would need to walk along that pipe.
The pipe was suspended over a stream, which, although normally small, had turned into a rushing torrent of mud and water. Carrying our school bags, we went up the hill and began cautiously treading along the narrow, slippery pipe. As I approached the other side, I looked back to see how my brother was doing.
He had stopped halfway. Being older and wiser, he had realized what a precarious perch we were on and had frozen in his tracks. It was a terrifying moment for us as we realized the danger he was in.
Then I heard the loudest scream for help I have ever heard. My brother’s bellow echoed through the hills and valleys. Luckily Aunt Gu Ma was working in the fields below and heard us. She came quickly to his rescue, lovingly guided him along, and led us both home to safety.

The story was told by my mother that on the morning I was born, on a Sunday, my father was quite proud. He was the bishop of the Oakley First Ward in Oakley, Idaho, and he went outside to announce it to one of our Scandinavian friends, Brother Petersen, who was walking by. My father asked him to come in and see the new son. My mother said I was the homeliest little child she had ever seen. I was undernourished, wrinkled, and bald headed. And so Brother Petersen, after looking at me, said, “Sister Haight, do you tink he’s worth boddering with?” Well, that was my entrance into the world.

For the past year I thought there were too many rules in the Church, and I thought, “How can it be fun in heaven?” I felt like I was tied to the Church and it was impossible to break free.
I then watched my friends’ lives. Why didn’t I go through some of the trials they did? One night it hit me—I didn’t get into that stuff because I followed the rules that Heavenly Father set out for me. I also figured out that if you follow the rules, you can be happy and can raise a family and live with Heavenly Father and Jesus for eternity.
Stephanie H., age 13, Utah, USA

An inspiring example is found in the touching production The Miracle Worker, a dramatic work derived from the autobiography of Helen Keller, who suffered an illness as an infant that left her deaf and blind.10 In their Santa-like approach to raising their daughter, Helen’s hovering parents were overprotective and overindulgent, with the counterproductive results of stunting Helen’s intellectual, spiritual, social, and emotional growth.
Conversely, Anne Sullivan, Helen’s private teacher, recognized that Helen had received too much indulgence and therefore began helping Helen confront her problems and become more self-reliant. In the end, it was Anne Sullivan, not Helen’s parents, who helped Helen live up to her true potential.

Brigham Young was in Peterborough, New Hampshire, when he received news that the Prophet Joseph Smith had been killed. He immediately left New England and returned to Nauvoo. Within two years, he would start leading groups of Mormon pioneers to the West.
Not far from Peterborough—in an area that today is in the Nashua New Hampshire Stake—Latter-day Saint youth had their own pioneer trek in 2009. But the journey began long before anyone started pulling a handcart.
To gain spiritual strength, many of the pioneers sought temple blessings before leaving Nauvoo. Like those early Saints, members of the Nashua stake took the opportunity to participate in temple work and other activities that would strengthen them. They focused on preparing for two journeys: the 17-mile handcart trek they were about to make and the spiritual journey they would undertake.
They did this through the “Trail of Faith Award,” which stake leaders invited all members of the stake—not just the youth—to participate in. Many of the goals of the program, which began in January, overlapped with requirements from Duty to God, Personal Progress, and the Brand New Year fireside. Other challenges were specific to the stake. All of them helped participants draw closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
“Trail of Faith helped me realize that we weren’t just going on a 17-mile hike or having another youth conference,” says Alexander Petrie, 16. “This was something a little bit different.”
One of the things that made it different for Alexander was memorizing several hymns, including “Press Forward, Saints” (Hymns, no. 81). “Later, when I was on trek and it was getting a little bit tough, the words of that hymn kept going over and over in my mind,” he says. “I really felt strength from its words. I’ve realized that hymns are a good thing to memorize and to have in our mind anytime we encounter something difficult. I’m so grateful that the Trail of Faith Award helped me prepare.”
Alden Durham, 12, was not yet old enough to participate in the trek, but, along with his family, he completed the Trail of Faith Award. Two of his most memorable goals involved daily scripture study and journal writing. “When I do these things, I feel the Spirit more, and I definitely act different when I feel the Spirit. I try to be a better brother to my four sisters.”
Alexander Jeffrey, also 12, said his favorite goal was performing baptisms for the dead at the Boston Temple, something he had done only once before. “Doing the Trail of Faith gave me a new understanding and got me better prepared for doing some of these goals and habits on my own,” he says.
Participating in temple work was meaningful for Julia Parker, 16, as well. “It was really neat to take names of people who were related to us—our own ancestors,” she recalls. “When I went to the temple, I thought about them as individual people with individual lives and individual interests. I thought about their testimonies and their experiences and their trials. It was really cool to feel connected with them.”
Upon completing the Trail of Faith Award requirements, stake members were given a small medallion so they could remember things they had experienced and felt. “I came out with a medallion at the end,” says Emily Durham, 17, “but I also came out with a stronger testimony.”
After months of preparation through the Trail of Faith Award, firesides, and other stake-wide activities, the group was ready to embark on its three-day, two-night, 17-mile journey.
The area they live in is rich in American history, so in many ways, the trek experience wasn’t much different from things that youth in the Nashua Stake participate in regularly at school. After all, Emily points out, “Those of us who grew up here have gone on walks at Walden Pond and taken field trips to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery,” she says. “But remembering pioneer heritage at youth conference was somehow different.”
Elizabeth Jeffrey, 15, agrees. “You dress up, pull handcarts, and have a fun, spiritual experience with your friends,” she says. “I expected that. What I didn’t realize was how hard it would be—the actual, physical pulling over hills and rocks and things.
“We were only walking 17 miles; the pioneers walked over a thousand miles to Utah,” she continues. “I think about them differently now. Instead of a Sunday School story on a page, I believe I can now feel a little bit of their struggles and their pains and their great joy. It all became more real when I went on trek.”
As the youth and their leaders completed the trek, other stake members gathered at a local park for a “Welcome to the Valley” celebration. McKenna Gustafson, 14, remembers feeling “so happy” when she was greeted by the cheering of more than 900 people.
“I saw my younger brothers and sisters running toward us, and I started crying,” she remembers. “I thought about what it will be like in heaven when we see our family and friends who have gone before us and what an awesome reunion that will be.”
As exciting as “Welcome to the Valley” was, it wasn’t the end of the trek experience—not really. In many ways, the trek started friendships with neighbors and community members who had watched the youth over the last 72 hours or heard about the trek through local news coverage.
Anna Parker had an opportunity to connect with neighbors as she and her peers passed through one community. Anna immediately noticed that some of the women there were on horseback, so she told them how much she loved horses. She also explained to them what the youth group was doing and then invited the women to join the youth that night for country dancing. One of them came and even stayed for a short devotional afterward. She was so impressed by the youth that she asked to learn more.
Other youth shared the gospel by telling their friends how they were spending three days of their summer vacation. Others got to know people in the community who had made the trek possible. Youth and adults became friends with kind community members who agreed to let the 150 youth and adults camp on their private property; one of the couples who did so came to a testimony meeting, shared their own feelings, and invited the youth to return.
“In planning trek, we wanted the youth of the stake to recognize that they can do hard things,” says President Mark Durham of the stake presidency. “Trail of Faith and trek were both part of that.
“What the pioneers did is just unbelievable, but they took it a little bit at a time, and they had their testimony and their faith as a foundation. We can also move one foot in front of the other foot, just like they did.”
James Parker, 18, says that his experiences last summer have helped him to be more diligent in living the gospel and to have a better attitude about the things he is asked to do as a Church member today.
“The pioneers had to get up every day and make a conscious decision to pull their handcarts miles and miles. Trek was a good reminder of the sacrifices they made for the gospel,” he says.
“We’re not asked to do anything as dramatic as that, but I can get up every day and consciously decide to pray and read my scriptures and be reminded of what the gospel is worth to me. Because of trek, I know how much the gospel of Jesus Christ was worth to the pioneers, and their sacrifice makes it more valuable to me.”

The girls in the Salt Lake East Millcreek Fourth Ward kept track of their acts of charity in a candy jar. Each week the girls put a piece of candy into the jar for each act of service they had been involved in that week. As the jar filled with the sweets, the girls were reminded of the sweetness of service. When the jar was full, the girls selected a special family and presented the jar to them, explaining what the filled jar meant—each candy represented a charitable act.

Elder Paul Christianson came from snowy Chicago to our home in Slidell, Louisiana. He grinned a lot as he taught my husband gospel discussions, but one day he revealed that he missed his mom. She’d been dead for two years, he said. He’d gone on a mission because of her.
Paul’s dad had died when he and his little sister were young. His mom went to work at a small factory across town, working the evening shift. Despite her meager salary, she managed to set aside a few dollars every week for Paul’s mission.
Paul said he didn’t worry much about being poor. Sure, he and his sister wore hand-me-downs, and they didn’t often have the money to go to movies, but his mom always made sure they had enough to eat. “The Lord will provide,” she always said, and Paul believed her.
Everything was fine until seventh grade, when Paul decided to try out for the track team. At the meeting, the coach announced that everyone had to wear a track suit to the tryouts, which would be held in two weeks. No suit, no tryout. Paul’s heart sank. He didn’t have a track suit, and he knew his mom didn’t have the money to buy one. Hesitantly, he asked her if they could borrow from his mission fund.
She smiled and shook her head. “Son, we’ve put that money away for a special purpose. If we remember the Lord first, He’ll take care of everything we really need.” Paul wondered if the Lord took care of track suits.
Since she was so insistent that he exercise faith, he ran track in a pair of cutoff jeans every day after school. He worried about what he’d wear when the big day arrived.
His mom worried, too. She mentioned the problem to her supervisor at work, who managed to scrounge up some fabric from home. Every night as Paul’s mom rode the bus across the long miles to their apartment, she hand-sewed a track suit to surprise her son.
The tryouts approached, and Paul ran and ran. His mom sewed and sewed. On the night before the tryouts she sat in the bus, putting the last few stitches into the track suit. It began to snow, and the bus grew cold. The tired woman fell asleep with the track suit cradled in her lap.
She woke up when the bus pulled into the terminal. It was one o’clock in the morning. The bus driver hadn’t noticed her in the back of the bus. He said he was sorry she’d missed her stop because no more buses would run that night. She got off and began to walk home through the snow.
She walked all night, and finally arrived at the apartment at 7:00 A.M. Her children were getting ready for school. With a weary smile, she drew Paul into her arms and kissed him.
“Tryouts are today, aren’t they, son?” she asked.
He nodded and looked at his feet. “I decided not to try out,” he said.
“Not try out? After all the running you’ve done?”
He told us he didn’t have the heart to remind her that he couldn’t try out without a track suit. She’d feel bad that she hadn’t been able to afford one. Maybe she’d feel bad that the Lord hadn’t provided, after all.
“Shut your eyes and hold out your hands,” she said.
His heart leaped in sudden hope. Had she been able to get him a suit after all? Holding his breath, he squeezed his eyes shut and held out his hands. He felt her place something soft and flimsy in them. He opened his eyes.
There in his hands was a polyester track suit. A bright-orange polyester track suit. The orangest, brightest, most electrifying track suit he’d ever seen in his life. The school colors were red and silver. No way would anyone believe this suit was red.
He gulped. His mom looked at him out of shining, worried eyes. “Do you like it, son?” she whispered.
“I … like it more than anything,” he said, and then he hugged her tight. He kissed her cold cheek and then went to try on his orange track suit.
Paul told us everyone laughed at him when he walked onto the track that afternoon. He almost fled back to the locker room, but then he remembered his mother’s small, cold hands and the anxious look in her eyes. He pictured her walking across town through the snow, clutching the suit she’d made on the bus.
His cheeks bright red, he put his head down, toed the chalk line, and when the starting pistol cracked he ran like the wind. He didn’t pay attention to the other runners—all he could think of was getting off that track as fast as he could.
Someone in the crowd yelled, “It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s a jet-powered jack-o-lantern!” Everyone laughed again. Paul said he felt as if he’d been shot.
He leaned into the final turn, knees pumping, elbows like pistons. He heard someone coming up behind him. In a final burst of speed he lunged over the finish line and kept running straight to the locker room.
Later he learned that he’d set the fastest time in the 440 in school history. He’d not only made the track team; he would soon become one of its star runners. The coach provided him a red and silver track suit emblazoned with the school name. He wore it with pride for three years.
But folded into the bottom of the battered old suitcase he carried on his mission was a bright orange track suit. Every time he touched it, he felt his mom’s small, cold hands again and knew she’d given him a gift much greater than a track suit. She’d given him the gift of faith in the Lord’s ability to provide what he really needed. She’d given him the faith to eventually serve a mission.
And maybe, just maybe, she’d given him a little extra speed.

As Church members unearthed their ancestral past, Sister Stoffers began wondering how they might experience the joy of serving in the temple on their ancestors’ behalf, given the expense of traveling to the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple.
Considering her resources, she remembered the youth and adults in her home ward near Ogden, Utah, USA. With their enthusiasm to serve, could they fill the gap and help their brothers and sisters in Barbados?
Sister Stoffers’s home-ward bishop liked the plan and rallied the support of youth and adults. Soon, names from Barbados were being shared instantly on FamilySearch.
Now, as often as their schedule permits, a battalion of youth converge on the Ogden Utah Temple, where Bishop Rob Smout pulls from a stack of ordinance-ready printouts to divvy among the youth. The talkative youth grow whisper quiet as they contemplate the unusually spelled names of people with whom they have no connection but feel a spiritual kinship.
Participation has been widespread across the ward. On certain Saturdays, a family of five boys arrives early at the temple to enjoy the sunrise over the Wasatch mountains before performing baptisms.
“It’s become a ward quest,” said Bishop Smout. “It has united the ward. Many have become involved and take names routinely, including those who haven’t attended the temple in years. Others have come back into activity to participate.”

“They are ready,” declares Aimo Jäkkö, of the Lappeenranta Ward, Helsinki Finland Stake, near the Soviet border. Aimo and his wife, Nellie, have been closely connected with the beginnings of missionary work inside the Soviet Union, and they are optimistic that Soviets will accept the gospel.
Aimo is a Finnish loom maker, and Nellie is an international table-tennis champion. They have five children.
“For years, Aimo and I had attempted to be good missionaries among our own countrymen,” begins Nellie, who is originally from Holland. “But we had not been successful.
“Then in August 1989, we hd a chance to do one of our favorite things—take a canoe trip—with three Russian families through the forests of east Karelia. One of the families, the Semeonovs, became interested in our views of life as we talked by the fire at night. We became very close friends in a short time. The father, Andrei, an outgoing man in his mid-twenties, was especially interested in the spiritual and family values we shared. He wanted us to meet his brother, Pavel, who lives in Leningrad, so we could share these same values with him.
“As we got better acquainted,” Nellie continues, “we learned that both Andrei and Pavel are physicians. Both are intellectuals who have searched earnestly for truth and understanding. Andrei was eager to see us again. So a few months after the canoe trip, we invited Andrei and Pavel and their wives to visit us in Finland.”
Andrei, who is now president of the Viborg Branch, recalls the get-together as “Unforgettable! Before meeting the Jäkkös, I had been acquainted with the gospel of Jesus Christ only by movies, television, and a few visits to Russian Orthodox churches. We had been taught that Communism is the only just society. But since 1984, with the coming of President Mikhail Gorbachev, I had started to look around. And now, I had found what I was looking for.
“In Lapeenranta, I met with Elder Bert Dover and Elder John Webster,” continues Andrei, “and I felt the Spirit so strongly. It was a real breakthrough for me. I went home and began studying the Book of Mormon, which convinced me that no man could have done this work. It was of God.”
In March 1990, Andrei was baptized. In August, he baptized his wife, Marina, in the icy waters of the Baltic Sea. Pavel and his family have also been baptized in Leningrad and have been part of the growth of that branch. Pavel tells how his whole practice of medicine has changed since discovering God and the sacred nature of human life. Andrei, likewise, explains that he is grateful for the new strength he feels since he realized that his life is linked with God.
“When I first heard the Latter-day Saint doctrines, I was afraid,” Andrei says. “The standards seemed too high, too impossible to live. Since then I’ve learned that there is a Source of strength to live this way. Somehow, I had been prepared to receive the gospel when it came to me.”

While serving in the Samoa Mission, Elders Brigham Smoot and Alva Butler were assigned to take the restored gospel to the islands of Tonga. Upon their arrival in 1891, they held an audience with King George Tupou I, who granted them permission to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. With encouraging prospects, more missionaries were called to the islands and were anxiously engaged in spreading the gospel. Unfortunately, the growth of the Church was not as fruitful in Tonga as in the other Polynesian islands of Tahiti, Hawaii, New Zealand, and Samoa. In 1897 the missionaries were ordered to return to Samoa, and the few converts in Tonga were left without Church leadership for a time.
In 1891, Elders Brigham Smoot and Alva Butler met with King George Tupou I and received permission to preach the gospel among his people.
Meeting the king of Tonga by Clark Kelley Price © IRI
“Know ye not that I, the Lord your God, … remember those who are upon the isles of the sea?” (2 Nephi 29:7).
The Lord did not forget the Saints in the island kingdom of Tonga. In 1907, Elders Heber J. McKay and W. O. Facer arrived in Neiafu, Vava‘u, where they started a branch and a small school. Soon missionary work began to prosper, and several branches and Church schools were established throughout the islands over the next few years.
As in other parts of the world, the Church in Tonga had its share of opposition, but this time the gospel was here to stay. As missionary work flourished, Church leaders were called from among the local Tongan members so that when foreigners were evacuated, as during World War II, the Church could continue to thrive.
As the gospel spread throughout the islands, various Church schools were established. In 1947 the Church leased a large piece of land and began building a new school, Liahona College, now known as Liahona High School.
Dedicated in 1953 by Elder LeGrand Richards (1886–1983) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, it was to become a “guiding light” to all who would enter, and it was to prepare young people to become leaders and to influence others for good. Present also at the dedication was Queen Salote Tupou III, who endorsed the school as an instrument for building a “Christian civilization” that unites people of all walks of life. Since the school’s establishment, thousands of Liahona High School graduates have served as missionaries, Church leaders, and prominent community leaders.
Today there are two Church-sponsored high schools in Tonga: Liahona High School, on the main island of Tongatapu, and Saineha High School, on the island of Vava‘u. There are also five Church-sponsored middle schools: three in Tongatapu, one in ‘Eua, and one in Ha‘apai.
When President David O. McKay (1873–1970) and his wife, Emma Ray, visited Tonga in 1955, the Saints treated them like royalty. This was the first visit of a Church President to the islands. During their short visits to Tongatapu and Vava‘u, they held meetings with the members and felt of their love and devotion as Tongans performed music and dances and gave speeches and feasts. During President McKay’s visit to the Saints in Vava‘u, he was inspired to reveal that he had seen a vision of “a temple on one of these islands, where the members of the Church may go and receive the blessings of the temple of God.” One member recorded the Tongans’ response: “The entire congregation burst into tears.”1
Nearly 30 years later, in August 1983, the Nuku‘alofa Tonga Temple was dedicated by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), then a counselor in the First Presidency. I remember as a teenage girl how Latter-day Saints from the outer islands and Tongans from overseas came for the auspicious occasion. I was privileged to attend one of the dedicatory sessions and be part of the choir. I remember the warm feeling I felt when I heard President Hinckley speak, and I knew then that he was called of God. When we sang “Hosanna Anthem,” I understood too how much the Lord loves His children.
The Savior has always remembered the people on the isles of the sea, and on that day President McKay’s prophecy was fulfilled.
Because of the increasing Church growth in Tonga, the temple was closed for about two years for renovation. Among other work, rooms were enlarged, a sealing room was added, and Polynesian motifs were added to walls and ceilings.
At the beginning of 2007, my husband and I were called to produce a cultural celebration for the rededication of the temple. The event was to be held on November 3, a day before the rededication sessions.
Our aim was to involve as many youth as possible from the stakes in Tongatapu and to come up with a presentation that would spiritually prepare the Saints for the temple dedication the next day. The event would be broadcast and televised live to the outer islands as well as to Tongan stakes around the globe, so this was a mighty task.
The production was titled “The Treasure That Lasts.” It consisted of cultural dances from Tonga, Hawaii, Tahiti, New Zealand, Fiji, and Samoa. The story line was that of a couple who, having lost their young child, searched the many Polynesian islands for a treasure that would appease their loss. Although they found gifts at each island, none could soothe their pain. When they returned to Tonga, they were introduced to the gospel by missionaries and learned of “the treasure that lasts”—eternal families and the blessing of someday being reunited with their child who had passed away.
During the week of the rededication, it rained heavily. At our final rehearsal, on November 2, the skies were overcast. I asked the youth to return to their homes and pray for good weather so they would be able to perform for Tonga and for those who would be watching via satellite, especially the prophet. That night it rained hard, and the next morning the weather was still foreboding.
On Saturday evening, 3,000 young people gathered at Teufaiva Stadium to hear from Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who had been sent to rededicate the temple due to President Hinckley’s frail health. I will never forget the performance. Everything fell into place. The weather was perfect, the sound system that had malfunctioned earlier was excellent, and those young men and young women danced their hearts out.
We had witnessed a miracle. Heavenly Father heard the prayers of His children and kept the rain away. At the same time, we were able to set the tone for the temple dedication the next day, reminding members that eternal families are the treasure that lasts and that temples are built to bring such blessings to pass.
Today the Church continues to grow in Tonga, and leadership positions are held by native members. Chapels dot the islands, and the increase of missionaries is hastening the work. The Church schools are firmly established and continue to prepare valiant missionaries, future leaders, and worthy mothers and fathers.
The Saints are no longer required to make that long journey by boat to the main island for general conference. Instead, technology has enabled members to remain within their stakes to watch general conference and the area conferences broadcast from New Zealand.
Amid the turmoil of changes arriving on Tonga’s shores, the Saints continue their legacy of faith. They are a people who were committed to God 175 years ago. They are a people who today continue to dedicate their lives and all that they have to the Lord.