Gospel Story Finder

President Wilford Woodruff tells of an interesting incident that occurred in the days of the Prophet Joseph Smith:

I will refer to a certain meeting I attended in the town of Kirtland in my early days. At that meeting some remarks were made that have been made here today, with regard to the living oracles and with regard to the written word of God. The same principle was presented, although not as extensively as it has been here, when a leading man in the Church got up and talked upon the subject, and said: “You have got the word of God before you here in the Bible, Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants; you have the written word of God, and you who give revelations should give revelations according to those books, as what is written in those books is the word of God. We should confine ourselves to them.”

When he concluded, Brother Joseph turned to Brother Brigham Young and said, “Brother Brigham, I want you to take the stand and tell us your views with regard to the living oracles and the written word of God.” Brother Brigham took the stand, and he took the Bible, and laid it down; and he took the Book of Mormon, and laid it down; and he took the Book of Doctrine and Covenants, and laid it down before him, and he said: “There is the written word of God to us, concerning the work of God from the beginning of the world, almost, to our day. And now,” said he, “when compared with the living oracles those books are nothing to me; those books do not convey the word of God direct to us now, as do the words of a Prophet or a man bearing the Holy Priesthood in our day and generation. I would rather have the living oracles than all the writing in the books.” That was the course he pursued. When he was through, Brother Joseph said to the congregation: “Brother Brigham has told you the word of the Lord, and he has told you the truth.” [In Conference Report, October 1897, pp. 18–19]

We had the blessing of having children. A daughter, the first child, continues to be an enormous blessing in our lives. A couple of years later a son we named Richard was born. A few years later a daughter was born. She died after living only a few minutes.
Our son, Richard, was born with a heart defect. We were told that unless that could be cured, there was little probability that he would live more than two or three years. This was so long ago that techniques now used to repair such defects were unknown. We had the blessing of having a place where doctors agreed to attempt to perform the needed surgery. The surgery had to be done while his little heart was beating.
The surgery was performed just six weeks after the birth and death of our baby daughter. When the operation finished, the principal surgeon came in and said it was a success. And we thought, “How wonderful! Our son will have a strong body, be able to run and walk and grow!” We expressed deep gratitude to the Lord. Then about 10 minutes later, the same doctor came in with an ashen face and told us, “Your son has died.” Apparently the shock of the operation was more than his little body could endure.
Later, during the night, I embraced my wife and said to her, “We do not need to worry, because our children were born in the covenant. We have the assurance that we will have them with us in the future. Now we have a reason to live extremely well. We have a son and a daughter who have qualified to go to the celestial kingdom because they died before the age of eight.” That knowledge has given us great comfort. We rejoice in the knowledge that all seven of our children are sealed to us for time and all eternity.

On the evening of my husband’s Church disciplinary council, he returned home after our children were asleep and answered my questions about the action taken. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “By the way, some of my friends have died of AIDS. But don’t worry—I was tested, and I’m negative.”
Although he had previously mentioned his youthful immoral behavior, I was shocked by this new information. Feeling I could bear no more, I broke into tears and went to my room to pray. Heavenly Father listened to my brokenhearted cries, and I felt a consoling, calming influence rest upon me. Strengthened, I was able to sleep that night, and later I was able to endure the humiliating clinical testing my doctor prescribed.
Because of this experience and many others, teachings about the Atonement became more to me than just phrases and ideas; they became life-altering truths. Repentance, forgiveness, faith in our Savior—these truths became principles of action that brought much-needed blessings into my life. Through practical experience, I came to appreciate more fully the powerful reality of Jesus Christ’s ability to succor and heal.
The humbling experiences of the last year of my marriage were particularly difficult. Learning about my spouse’s infidelity, opening my private life to my bishop and stake president, dealing with my husband’s decision to leave, beginning divorce proceedings, and watching my children suffer because their father was no longer in the home were only the beginning of what seemed to be wave after wave of challenges. I also lost the close relationship I had enjoyed with my in-laws; had to seek financial assistance from my family, ward, and state; agonized over an injury to one of my daughters; endured a cancer scare of my own; recovered from a serious car accident; struggled to complete my bachelor’s degree; and suffered job-search disappointments. By the end of that year, I was stripped of pride. I felt unencumbered before the Lord—humbled by a “sense of [my] nothingness” (Mosiah 4:5) and by a complete dependence on Him as my only anchor in a sea of change.
Yet instead of feeling despondent, I saw my state as an opportunity for Heavenly Father to work His will in my life. I began to understand the relationship between adversity and spiritual refinement. During my troubles, I frequently asked myself, What would Heavenly Father want me to do in this situation? I sought specific answers through prayer, scripture study, pondering, and temple attendance. Through this process of seeking and receiving divine guidance, I acquired increased patience and deeper trust in Heavenly Father.
These words of Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles came to have great meaning for me: “It was for our sake that perfectly remarkable Jesus was perfectly consecrated. Jesus let His own will be totally ‘swallowed up in the will of the Father.’ If you and I would come unto Jesus, we must likewise yield to God, holding nothing back. Then other soaring promises await!” (“Repentance,” Ensign, November 1991, 32).
As I sought inspired direction and then submitted myself to Heavenly Father’s will, I saw more clearly how my experiences were opportunities for growth.
For example, the bitterness I felt about my former spouse and my present circumstances seemed contradictory to the blessings of the Atonement. My efforts to draw closer to Heavenly Father helped me reject the bitterness—and that helped me deepen my relationship with God. I was better able to understand the character of Jesus Christ, our perfect example.
I placed a quotation by Bruce C. Hafen, now of the Seventy, on my bedroom door and wept each time I read it: “If we were to let our thoughts be drawn out toward the heavens enough to transcend, even temporarily, the strains and limitations of daily life, we would be likely to hear the promptings of him who overcame all things, assuring us that the promise is true: He will, as an act of mercy, cause the circumstances of our lives to be for our ultimate blessing, if only we love him with all our hearts” (The Broken Heart [1989], 106).
For reasons known only to himself, my husband left our marriage with little or no explanation to his family and friends. Perhaps in an attempt to make sense of his decisions, many of my in-laws made assumptions without asking me any questions. They came to some incorrect conclusions. Usually I heard their comments indirectly, which was frustrating because I had no opportunity to respond with the truth. These comments hurt me, and I often felt my integrity was in question. I wondered if these people I had been so close to had ever really known me.
Two years after my divorce, I was told that one of my former spouse’s relatives had made a comment implying I was unforgiving. The remark began to fester inside me. I wanted to clear my name; I wanted to tell that man just how wrong he was. As I counseled with my bishop on the matter, I realized that what was important was that Heavenly Father and I both knew the truth about my relationship with my former husband and my contribution to the marriage. I suddenly felt at peace. I knew I could talk to this man about his comment if I chose to, but I no longer felt it mattered much. Because of the Atonement I could let the hurt feelings go. I did not need to suffer because of this man’s—or anyone’s—opinion of me.
As the date of our divorce hearing drew near, my husband sent me a 16-page letter evaluating our marriage. Despite priesthood counsel to the contrary, I began to believe my husband’s assertions that the problems in our marriage were my fault—that I was even the cause of his infidelity.
Torn with doubts, I turned to the scriptures. There I found hope and understanding in the Savior’s words. I reflected on how His words had already blessed and lifted me. I wrote in my journal: “The tides of self-pity, self-reproach, and self-destruction rage against my shore. And at my shore the Savior is ever there, building—shoring up—protecting against the onslaught—telling me I have value—telling me to believe in myself. His is the voice I prefer to hear, the voice I must heed.”
I was blessed with opportunities to rebuild belief in myself. Priesthood counsel and blessings offered me divine comfort. Through the Savior’s great love, strength and courage returned.
My experiences have made me desire to emulate the Savior’s lifting of others. As I went through the divorce process, several people counseled me never to tear down my husband in front of our children. The wisdom of this advice was evident almost daily, as occasions to demean him arose frequently. I prayerfully sought the ability to withhold criticism and to emphasize his positive traits.
At first this was extremely difficult because he had hurt me deeply and had made serious mistakes. But as I tried to help my children see his worth, my capacity to continue doing so increased. Each time I used words that built him up truthfully and fairly, I felt closer to the Savior. I chose to allow—even foster—the tender feelings my children have for their father. When the Spirit prompted me to pray for him in family prayer, I was able to do so with compassion.
When my former spouse came back into full fellowship in the Church, one friend asked me how I felt. I answered honestly: “I am glad for him. I am relieved. I am thankful to Heavenly Father.”
My friend replied, “Do you understand how unusual that attitude is?”
But it didn’t feel unusual. It felt right. It felt good.
As I suffered wounds inflicted upon me from sources outside my control, I discovered that adversity helps me be a better person. My increased understanding of the Atonement has led me to recognize my need to repent and purify my nature. I’ve seen how difficulties can become opportunities for growth that may come in no other way. I’ve come to appreciate aspects of the Atonement I’d not noticed or understood before. Certainly I have much more to learn, but I do know that through His Atonement the Savior makes up the difference between my efforts and Heavenly Father’s perfect standards.
I am forever grateful that the Savior submitted perfectly to His Father’s will, “suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.
“And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:11–12).
Indeed, that is what the Savior does for me.

A certain story from that talk had a profound influence on my understanding of what it means to be a father. President Holland described a scene he chanced upon while walking through the Salt Lake International Airport following a lengthy trip he had just completed. In those pre-9/11 days you could accompany a friend or family member right to the boarding area before they departed or be present at the gates to greet loved ones who had just flown home. President Holland said that as he came into the terminal that, it was clear there was a missionary returning home due to all the "conspicuous-looking missionary friends and missionary relatives" around the terminal. He says:

I tried to pick out the immediate family members. There was a father who did not look particularly comfortable in an awkward- fitting and slightly out-of-fashion suit. He seemed to be a man of the soil, with a suntan and large, work-scarred hands....There was a mother who was quite thin, looking as if she had worked very hard in her life...[she seemed filled with] anticipation only the mother of a returning missionary could know. There was a beautiful girl who--well, you know about girls and returning missionaries. She appeared to be on the verge of cardiac arrest...Two or three younger brothers and sisters were running around, largely oblivious to the scene that was unfolding. I walked past them all and started for the front of the terminal. Then I thought to myself, 'This is one of the special human dramas in our lives. Stick around and enjoy it.'

Slipping into the back of the crowd and watching as passengers started coming off the plane, President Holland said he soon:

Found [himself] starting to bet (Church-approved betting, of course) as to who would make the break first. I thought probably the girlfriend would want to most of all, but undoubtedly she was struggling with discretion. Two years is a long time, you know, and maybe one shouldn't appear too assertive. Then a look...convinced me that the mother was probably the one. She obviously needed to hold something, so the child she had carried and nurtured and gone down into the valley of the shadow of death to deliver would be just what the doctor ordered.

Do you remember earlier we left then-President Holland standing in an airport terminal? He is still there wondering who will greet this returning missionary. Suddenly the missionary appears, exiting the plane.

He looked like Captain Moroni, clean and handsome and straight and tall...his suit was worn but clean, his slightly tattered raincoat was still protecting him from the chill his mother had so often warned him about. He came to the bottom of the steps and started out across...toward our building and then, sure enough, somebody [in the crowd of family and friends] couldn't take it any longer. It wasn't the mother, and it wasn't the girlfriend...[It was the father]. That big, slightly awkward, quiet and bronzed giant of a man put an elbow into the ribcage of a flight attendant and ran, just simply ran, out onto that [airfield] and swept his son into his arms.

[The elder] was probably 6?2? or so, but this big bear of a father grabbed him, took him clear off his feet, and held him for a long, long time. He just held him and said nothing. The boy dropped his briefcase, put both arms around his dad, and they just held each other very tightly. It seemed like all eternity stood still, and for a precious moment the Salt Lake City Airport was the center of the entire universe. It was as if all the world had gone silent out of respect for such a sacred moment.

And then, Pres. Holland said:

I thought of God the Eternal Father watching his boy go out to serve, to sacrifice when he didn't have to do it, paying his own way, so to speak, costing everything he had saved all his life to give. At that precious moment, it was not too difficult to imagine that father speaking with some emotion to those who could hear, 'This is my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.' And it was also possible to imagine that triumphant returning son, saying, 'It is finished. Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.'[23]

December 2, 1972, was a clear and crisp day. It was the day of my baptism. All the guys on my floor in Helaman Halls were up early getting ready for the service. But of course nobody said a word to me. It’s a guy thing—like baseball players who don’t want to jinx a pitcher who goes into the seventh inning with a no-hitter. I was both amused and impressed.

Who but Rahn Price baptized me? I received the gift of the Holy Ghost, which spirit had led me to the place I was at that time (see D&C 6:14). I received the priesthood and felt the whole armor of God. Thank you, Rahn. A few months later I was ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood by Norm Nemrow. (You might know him as Professor Nemrow here at BYU.) Thank you, Norm.

I was soon called as a home teacher. I was excited to serve with this Aaronic Priesthood that I had so much desired. One evening I had a particularly vexing physics homework assignment to do. I also had home teaching appointments. For the first time I faced a test of my new faith. What to do? Up until that time intellect had been the king of my hill, my lofty aspiration. But now? How did faith work once you were baptized? Would Heavenly Father turn His attention elsewhere now that I was within the Church? I went home teaching. When I returned to my dorm room to tackle Physics 121, all I can say is that Heavenly Father magnified my efforts in a very personal and significant way. I had not known that the Holy Ghost could teach physics. I’ve never forgotten that lesson of being blessed beyond what I merited at the time. I was strengthened, confirmed in my faith, and encouraged.

The tree had been young when Olivia Tucker McCoy joined the Church. In her diary she wrote: “We were baptized Oct. 3, 1897. My husband’s father had given him the place he settled on with the understanding that he would help him work and pay for that place and the one his father bought, but as it was his father’s he never got the deed. So, after we joined the Mormons his father told him he would have to move.”
Their little daughter had been burned in a fire in December, and they asked for time before moving the child but were ordered out. On January 3, 1898, “We put her in the wagon on a bed, moved to what they called the Coates place, and rented the same from Jim Smyly.
“The Christmas of 1898 I spent with my sister, a Mrs. Guinn, the one I lived with when I was married. But the folks didn’t seem just the same. You see, I had joined the Mormons and I was reminded of it.”

“Mom, what are we doing for family night?” Benjamin asked as he and his younger brother, Sammy, walked into the kitchen for a drink.
“Do you mean Pioneer Night?” Mom said with a smile.
“What?” Benjamin asked. “I thought today was Monday. You know, family night.”
Mom nodded. “It’s Monday all right. But tonight we’re having a special Pioneer Night.”
Benjamin frowned a little. He liked family night. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything different.
“What’s Pioneer Night?” Sammy asked.
“Well,” Mom said, pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting down at the table with them, “one hundred and seventy years ago, Mormon pioneers crossed the plains in wagons and handcarts to get to Utah. On July 24, 1847, the first pioneers arrived in the Salt Lake Valley.”
“Wait. Isn’t today July 24th?” Benjamin asked.
“Exactly! It’s Pioneer Day. In Utah it’s even a state holiday,” Mom said. “There are parades and fireworks to honor the pioneers.”
“But we don’t live in Utah,” said Benjamin.
“Well, that just means we have to think of creative ways to celebrate,” said Mom. “So we’re having Pioneer Night. Will you help me get ready?”
Benjamin and Sammy nodded. As they helped Mom, Benjamin felt more and more excited. Soon Dad got home from work.
“What’s this?” he said when he saw the kitchen table set with checkered napkins, glass jars, and pie tins.
“It’s Pioneer Night!” Benjamin said, handing Dad a red bandana to tie around his neck. He and Sammy were both wearing cowboy hats from their costume box.
“This looks fun!” said Dad. Then he sniffed the air. “And something smells really good.” Mom was stirring a pot of stew at the stove.
“Before we eat, we have to make butter for the cornbread,” said Sammy.
Mom poured cream into a jar and screwed the lid on tight. After shaking for a few minutes, she handed the jar to Sammy. They all took turns shaking until there was a lump of butter inside!
After dinner they had a special family night. Dad showed them a black-and-white picture.
“This is Joseph Francis, your great-great-great grandpa,” Dad said. “He came to the United States with his family when he was 13 years old.”
Dad talked about how Joseph sailed from England and then worked in a factory to earn money to cross the plains. Benjamin couldn’t believe a boy who was just older than he was had done so many hard things.
Then Mom shared a story from her family history. “My mother, your grandma Hunsaker, met the missionaries when she was 13 years old. When she prayed to know if their message was true, she felt the Holy Ghost tell her to be baptized. Because of her decision, I grew up knowing about the gospel. My mother is a pioneer because she set a righteous example for others to follow.”
Benjamin liked that. Maybe there were ways he could be a pioneer! He was still thinking about it when Dad said it was time for the closing song and prayer.
“Now we can have the treat!” Sammy said. Mom handed everyone a cookie, some candies, and a few other yummy things. She showed them how to make wagons with marshmallows like white canvases on top.
“These wagons sure taste good,” Sammy said as he took a big bite. “I’m glad the pioneers went to Utah.”
Go to “Family Night Fun” to see how to make your own wagons!
“And I’m glad we don’t always have to make our own butter!” Benjamin said with a laugh. His life was different from the early pioneers, but he knew they all had one thing in common: they all believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ!

Many of you have participated in treks to experience and appreciate the dramatic rescue of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. I first became aware of this rescue when I was a teenager. My mother gave me a book written by Orson F. Whitney, who would later be an Apostle. Elder Whitney’s book acquainted me with the heroic effort directed by Brigham Young to rescue the handcart companies. They had been overtaken by winter storms on the high plains of Wyoming. Some had died and many others were on the verge of death. Brigham Young became aware of their plight, and at the October 1856 general conference he instructed the Saints to drop everything and rescue those stranded on the plains.
The response was dramatic. Elder Whitney reported, “Brave men by their heroism—for it was at the peril of their own lives that they thus braved the wintry storms on the plains—immortalized themselves, and won the undying gratitude of hundreds who were undoubtedly saved by their timely action from perishing.”
One reason my mother had given me the book was Elder Whitney had made special mention of my great-grandfather David Patten Kimball, who had participated in the rescue when he was 17 years old. All the rescuers battled deep snow and freezing temperatures during much of the rescue of the handcart companies. At great personal sacrifice, David and his associates helped carry many of the pioneers across the freezing, ice-filled Sweetwater.
This true account greatly impressed me. I wanted to prove my devotion to the Lord through some dramatic act. However, in a visit with my grandfather, he explained that when President Brigham Young sent his father, David, and the other young men on their rescue mission, President Young instructed them to do everything they possibly could to save the handcart companies, even at the peril of their own lives. Their acts of bravery were specifically to “follow the prophet Brigham Young” and by so doing express their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. My grandfather told me that consistent, faithful dedication to the counsel of a prophet is the real lesson I should learn from my great-grandfather’s service. As heroic as it was for David and his associates to help rescue the pioneers, it is also valiant today to follow the counsel of our prophet.
An often-told account from the Old Testament illustrates this principle. Naaman, a prominent leader in Syria, was afflicted with leprosy. He became aware that the prophet Elisha in Israel might be able to heal him. Elisha sent word by a messenger that Naaman should wash himself in the river Jordan seven times. Initially, Naaman was upset with this counsel. However, his servants said, “If the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not have done it?” Then Naaman followed the counsel of the prophet Elisha, and he was made clean.
Like Naaman, you young priesthood holders might aspire to “do some great thing” or participate in something dramatic like the handcart rescue. However, your resolve should be to follow the counsel of the prophet. The First Presidency has reaffirmed its commitment to increasing the worthiness of young people who are recommended for missionary service. Keeping yourselves free from the sins of the world and meeting the high standards for missionary service should be one goal. Preparing yourselves to proclaim the gospel and rescue some of Heavenly Father’s children spiritually would be both significant and heroic. You can meet this challenge.

Photographs by Jeffery Barker Edwards
Sister Dil had only six weeks left on her mission in New Zealand when she found out she would be spending those last weeks serving with Sister Tuala!
“It’s the very last thing I would have signed myself up for,” says Sister Dil.
Sister Dil and Sister Tuala had been starting players for their high schools’ top competitive basketball teams in Auckland, New Zealand. They were rivals. They would often play against each other in final tournaments, and it was not pretty.
“To put it into context a little bit,” says Sister Tuala, “we would walk off the court with scratches and bruising.”
Sister Dil and Sister Tuala spent a lot of time training and playing basketball. “Basketball was our lives,” says Sister Dil.
After graduating from high school, they both felt impressed to serve a mission—although neither of them had ever felt a desire to serve before.
For Sister Tuala, it took time to align her will with the Lord’s will. “I was 21 when I made the decision to act on the prompting,” she says. “I was pretty much fighting it until I was on the plane.”
Sister Tuala arrived on her mission in New Zealand during the COVID-19 pandemic, and although it has been difficult, she is very grateful she decided to serve.
“I can’t imagine being the same Sister Tuala that I was when I was 21. I really feel like I’ve grown.”
Sister Dil had a “clear and direct” prompting to serve a mission when she received her patriarchal blessing. After some time, she decided to follow the prompting to serve, because “the Lord’s will is always the right way and the best option.” The call came, and she packed her bags to serve in New Zealand.
Just because Sister Dil and Sister Tuala served in the same mission didn’t mean they were instant friends. After being rivals for so long, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala still had a hard time seeing each other as anything else.
In fact, the first day Sister Tuala saw Sister Dil, one of her first thoughts was, “I don’t know if I’m supposed to like her.”
So when Sister Tuala and Sister Dil were assigned to serve together, it was definitely weird.
Both had ideas about each other based on how they played on the basketball court. Each thought the other was aggressive, competitive, and mean.
But things began to change as they got to know each other. Sister Dil realized Sister Tuala is “the complete opposite” of how she had always seen her. “She is actually a very loving person—one of the most loving companions I’ve served with,” Sister Dil says.
Sister Tuala had a similar experience. She hadn’t realized that her feelings of rivalry toward Sister Dil had been “quite an unconscious conflict” in her life.
Those negative feelings of conflict and judgment were replaced with love and understanding as she began to see who Sister Dil really was. And although Sister Tuala thought Sister Dil was quiet, she found that “Sister Dil can talk!”
In their newfound friendship, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala realized that maybe they had never really been enemies after all.
“In basketball you build in your mind this idea that we’ve got to win, and every other team’s the enemy,” says Sister Dil. “And then basketball finishes, and you realize, ‘Oh, they’re no longer the enemy. They probably never were really the enemy.’”
Now, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala see that they are on the same “team”—God’s team.
Christ in the Midst, by Judith Mehr
Both sisters felt God’s hand in their assignment as companions and know the power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ allowed them to experience healing and change.
“Jesus Christ made that sacrifice so all these things that have gone wrong in the past can be healed, made right, and made better,” Sister Dil says. “We can forgive. We can forget. We can move on, and things change.”
Not only did Sister Tuala and Sister Dil heal their conflict, but they also learned how to see others as God sees them.
“Coming out here and being able to see my companion and other people in a different light, I realize that every person’s story matters,” says Sister Tuala. “And everyone needs the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”
They learned that although it can be difficult, it’s possible for two people who once saw each other as enemies to come together through love.
“It doesn’t matter what age you are or what ethnicity you are,” says Sister Tuala, “or whether you’re an atheist or religious.
“If I can work alongside someone who I never really had a great relationship with, and the two of us come together for one main purpose, then other people can too.”
For more information on missions for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, visit ChurchofJesusChrist.org/callings/missionary.
Oh, they’re no longer the enemy. They probably never were really the enemy.

Another Saint who sacrificed much during this period was John Rowe Moyle, an excellent stonemason from England. It was Brother Moyle’s custom to work on his farm in Alpine, Utah, only on Friday night and all day Saturday. Then each Monday morning he walked from home back to Salt Lake City to work until Friday on the temple. Following an accident, Brother Moyle’s leg was removed in an excruciating operation. While recovering, he made himself a wooden peg leg and walked around his farm on the stump until he was able to stand the pain. Eventually, he walked to Salt Lake City—a distance of more than thirty-two kilometers—to begin his labors at the temple again.

According to a story told by his family, John Moyle “climbed up the scaffolding on the east side of the Temple and carved ‘Holiness to the Lord,’ as his contribution to the Temple building.”

Mindy Bradley of Farmington, Utah, likes to dance.
Mindy’s spirits were high as she looked forward to her first regional youth dance. She and her friends spent time carefully getting ready and approached the dance anticipating the possibility of meeting new people, making new friends, and having a great time. She didn’t let the fact that she is confined to a wheelchair dampen her enthusiasm.
“Sometimes people don’t realize that, just because I’m in a wheelchair it doesn’t mean I can’t do these things,” she says. “Usually people just stand in front of me and we hold hands and sort of sway back and forth.”
Still, Mindy’s wheelchair can make it difficult for her to mingle with other people, especially ones she doesn’t know. Several people at the dance realized that and decided they would approach her instead of waiting for her to talk with them.
“Just as we finished a fun line dance, I noticed a group of kids on the other side of the room walking up to me.
I was sitting there thinking it was a little odd, but before I could do much, there they were, placing their chairs in a semicircle in front of me.”
The group of guys and girls asked her where she was from, what school she attended, and what she liked to do for fun. After several minutes of conversation, one of the boys asked her to dance.
“It was really fun, and it sort of got the ball rolling,” says Mindy. “After that, a bunch of other people asked me to dance. Before, I don’t think they knew I could.”
Being a friend can sometimes be difficult, requiring lots of time and energy. Sometimes, though, being a friend can be as simple as saying, “Would you like to dance?”

Oh, sisters, we love you. While visiting Mexico recently, I had a glimpse of the sisterhood we are all feeling tonight. Imagine this scene: We had just finished Primary on Sunday morning, and the children, teachers, and I were spilling out into the crowded hallway. Just then the door to the Young Women class opened, and I saw the young women and their leaders. We all reached out for a hug. With the children holding onto my skirt and the women close around me, I wanted to express the feelings I felt at that very moment.
I do not speak Spanish, so only English words came into my mind. I looked into all of their faces and said, “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us, and we love Him.” Everyone immediately joined in, in Spanish. There we were in a crowded hallway, reciting together the Young Women theme as we said, “We will stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.”

The baby was crying, our three other young children needed to be put to bed, and I was exhausted.
As I tried to wrap my mind around the impossible task before me, all I could hear in my mind were the last words of my husband (who was currently serving as our bishop) as he walked out the door that evening: “I’ll be at the pool with the priests. Tim is teaching the boys how to scuba dive.”
“Really?” I thought to myself. “I’m here juggling four children, and you’re off learning to scuba dive? How is this fair?”
Later that evening when Bruce walked in the door, he met one tired wife.
“How did your evening go?” he asked.
In tears, I told him how hard it had been to put four children, including a fussy baby, to bed knowing that he was off learning how to scuba dive. I could understand him leaving if someone in the ward was facing a crisis, yes. But scuba diving? Not so much.
Bruce sat down beside me. “I’m sorry it was hard for you. I didn’t go for the scuba diving. I didn’t even know if I would get into the pool. I went for two young men.”
He told me he had felt strongly he should attend this event because two priests who hadn’t attended church or activities for a long time were going to be there. He shared that he had been able to talk to them that evening, strengthening his relationship with them and helping them integrate with the others.
My heart softened, and I was reminded that him being called to serve as a bishop while also being a husband and father required a sacrifice from both of us.

Story of My Nickname
When my twin sister, Leilani, and I were very young we received the nicknames, “Lani” and “Loha.” These nicknames are short and cute and rhyme really well. I used my nickname, “Loha,” throughout college, even while a student here at BYU–Hawaii. When I entered the professional workforce as a social worker, I had a colleague pull me aside one day and ask about my nickname. He inquired why I introduced myself in such a way.
I shared with him the story that I just shared with you. He listened, and afterward gave me some gentle advice. You see, he grew up with the Hawaiian language as his first language. As with all languages, the words we speak and hear shape our experience when we talk with others, and in this case, when I introduced myself with my nickname, he received it with an experience of his own.
He took the time to share that although the story of my nickname was well-intentioned, when he hears it, he envisions that I am low in spirit and living with a heaviness that is always with me. He was concerned for my wellbeing. Of course, I asked why this concern. He shared that “loha” can be described as a branch of a tree that has fallen over and hasn’t the strength to pick itself up again. I later learned that “loha” in the Hawaiian perspective of emotional and mental wellbeing, is used to describe a person living daily with depression. Upon learning all this I paused and thought, “It’s no wonder I was such a grumpy teenager! My adolescent years all make sense now!” I offer a sincere apology to my parents, aunties, uncles, grandparents, and sisters – blame the nickname!
Since I learned this, in professional spaces, I introduce myself as my full first name, Leialoha, and if people need a nickname, they can call me, “Lei.” Lei describes a child, beloved and embraced. This is a meaning in which I am very comfortable.

Yellowman family
“People like being included. They just need to be invited.”
The home of Tom and Gina Yellowman, in Kirtland, New Mexico, is a place where friends and neighbors gather regularly for dinners. “But there’s a catch,” Gina says as she, her son, and her daughter prepare fry bread in the kitchen. “You can only come if you bring someone from your ward who hasn’t been attending church or someone, member or not, who needs a friend.”
She explains: “We kept meeting people who felt isolated. So we decided to have a barbecue where they could get to know others. For example, my niece came. She’s a high school volleyball coach, and a couple of her players and their families came too. Two of the girls on the team hadn’t realized before that they are both members of the Church.
“And there are people who live across the river on the reservation, but they didn’t know each other. When they came here, they figured out, ‘Hey, we’re neighbors,’ and now they have friends nearby who share the same standards, people they can turn to for help or just to borrow a potato because they live far from the grocery store. That was our goal—to bring people together so they can support each other.”

This was a period of growth for Newel and Ann as they worked together to keep their covenants. Ann wrote about one way they served others:

“According to our Savior’s pattern … , we determined to make a Feast for the Poor … ; the lame, the halt, the deaf, the blind, the aged and infirm.

“This feast lasted three days, during which time all in the vicinity of Kirtland who would come were invited. … To me it was “a feast of fat things” [Isaiah 25:6] indeed; a season of rejoicing never to be forgotten.”

Black Otter beached his canoe and stepped ashore. He pulled the boat under some low branches of willow trees that lined the riverbank and tied it fast. The fragile craft would not be easily noticed and the spot was protected from pounding waves. This was desolate country. He would not like to be stranded here.
Perspiration streamed from the youth’s bare chest as he moved away from the river with its cooling wind. The hot air was stifling to breathe and a shimmering curtain of heat moved ahead of him, distorting the shapes of giant boulders. Black Otter walked slowly, conserving his strength as he searched for what he now considered a treasure cave. He had not seen it for two years. Can I find it again? he wondered.
The youth veered to avoid a large rattlesnake dozing in the sun. His tribe did not take life unless it were unavoidable. Except for a lizard that darted into a crevice and a soaring giant bird of prey, the reptile was the only live thing he had seen. He felt very uneasy here.
Black Otter’s heart leaped with hope when he saw the cave entrance. He had feared that he could not find it again, because he had been with his uncles and cousins when they stumbled across the cave and took refuge there from a raging blizzard two winters ago. Without its protection they might have died in the storm.
During the days they had been stranded, Black Otter became bored with waiting and decided to go exploring. He had taken a torch and crawled into a narrow tunnel at the back of the cave. At the other end he discovered an even larger cavern. He gasped at the eerie beauty of it. Imbedded in the walls and ceiling were pockets of glistening crystals that reflected thousands of torches. Everything shimmered with dancing light. The floor was littered with chunks of stone that had fallen and shattered. Black Otter placed three of them in his pouch.
Until the white man came and explained that he was a collector of fossils, agates, and semiprecious stones for an eastern museum, Black Otter had not realized that these colorful rocks might have value. The man laid out many rock specimens to show the various stones he was seeking. “I have not come to cheat you,” he said. “These samples are not as valuable as diamonds and rubies, but I have brought brass and iron pots, good hunting knives, and metal fishhooks to trade.”
The man looked disappointed when nothing was offered. The tribe was very poor. The people wore many necklaces but they were fashioned of drilled bone, claws, or hard seeds, not colorful stones. The specimen hunter saw how the Indians admired the trade goods when he began to pack up. Their fishhooks were thick bone ones that allowed many fish to escape. Now he selected a large and small metal fishhook for each brave and presented them as gifts.
Black Otter had stayed back in the crowd, timid about approaching the white man. But he had watched his mother’s eyes that kept returning to the largest cooking pot. It was made of black iron with legs and a hook for hanging over a fire. Hesitantly, he stepped forward and laid the smallest of his three rocks near a similar specimen. Black Otter’s rock was clearer and gave off more colors in the sunlight.
The man examined the stone, then he smiled and offered a skinning knife and a small mound of fishhooks in trade. His smile faded and he sighed regretfully when Black Otter pointed to the iron pot. “I’m sorry, but your crystal is not worth that much,” he said. The youth felt that the man was being honest. He obviously wanted the rock.
The white man caught his breath when the Indian boy pulled out the two larger stones. When the deal was finished, Black Otter owned the pot, a razor-sharp hatchet, two fine knives, one for hunting and the other with many blades that folded into the handle, and a mound of fishhooks. Such sudden wealth stunned his parents. They’d never expected to own such things.
Black Otter was disturbed by the envious looks on the faces of his tribesmen. The youth did not want envy to set his family apart from the rest of the tribe. The price of jealousy could mean the loss of their friendship. “If I bring many stones, will you return with tools and utensils for all my people?” Black Otter quietly asked. The man agreed to return with a larger supply of trade goods, and so the youth had set out to search for the beautiful cavern.
But now that he had found the cave, Black Otter felt dismay. He had grown taller and wider in the past two years and the tunnel seemed much smaller! No one knew where he had gone, for he had waited until everyone was asleep and then slipped away. If he became wedged in the narrow opening, he might never be found!
Black Otter squirmed along like a worm, trying to make his shoulders narrow. Several times he became wedged and almost panicked. He trembled with relief when he finally reached the inner cavern and could stand upright again. He shuddered and tried to forget that he must return through the tunnel. He lit his torch and watched the rainbows of color streak across the rough walls and the roof of the secret place. Have any other eyes seen it? he wondered.
This time Black Otter had brought a knife to pry out larger crystals. And he would try to select as many different colored stones as possible. Since he would probably not be able to enter the cavern again, he must take many rocks this time. The youth wedged his torch between stones and set to work.
When he had lit the last of his three torches, Black Otter prepared to leave the inner cavern. He was grateful that the tunnel sloped downward. This allowed him to roll the large stones down to the outer cave. He hoped they would not shatter. It was the only way to remove the large pile he had collected, since he could not carry so many. He had choice stones of many colors. The white man would get full value for his trade goods.
The torch began to sputter, and Black Otter scooped up a handful of small deep red stones and placed them in his pouch. He sensed these were more valuable because he had found so few of them.
Black Otter’s body stung from many small cuts and scratches when he emerged from the tunnel. He discovered that he had rolled down many more crystals than he could take back without sinking the canoe. But perhaps I can return for them someday, he told himself. After selecting what he felt would be a safe load, he hid piles of the shimmering stones behind boulders in the back of the cave. Then he packed the others in leather carrying bags he had brought along. It took two trips to carry the heavy stones to the river.
The sun was low and it was cooler when the youth began to paddle upstream with strong, silent strokes. There would be a full moon to light his nightlong journey; and he could stay near the shore, where the sluggish current would not endanger his hard-won cargo.
Black Otter smiled with pride. Now every family will have fine cooking pots, axes, and hunting knives, he thought. The rock trader had promised to bring needles, nails, and even the biting barbed wire that would keep their sheep and horses from straying. His hard work would make life better for all his people.

A young man who is a friend of mine came to an interview confessing some minor difficulties he was having with sin. He believed them to be of major proportions. He had allowed Satan to cause him to believe he was not a good person, that he did not have the power to overcome his weaknesses. He was overwhelmed with the challenges and struggles of life, and had lost the peace that normally accompanies a true disciple of Jesus Christ.
“I know Christ’s role is to save us from our sins,” my friend said. “But what about all the other troubles in my life?”
As I tried to console him, I told him that Christ was sent not only to help us heal the wounds of transgression and iniquity, but also to bear our grief and sorrow and guilt (see Mosiah 14:4–5, 11; Alma 24:10); that in addition to “suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind,” he also took upon himself the “sicknesses of his people,” “death, that he may loose the bands … which bind his people,” and “affirmities, that … he may know … how to [strengthen] his people.” (See Alma 7:11–12; italics added.)
As this young man and I read the scriptures together, he was thrilled to realize that somehow Christ is able to take upon himself not only sin in a general sense, but also grief, sorrow, death, sickness, lack of peace, guilt, and pain. What a glorious thought that, in truth, Jesus Christ is capable of bearing the problems and challenges that we each face in our daily lives. He will not only help us to be saved at the Judgment Day, but he and his Father will help us overcome daily trials if we will reach out spiritually and communicate with them.

Australian Corey Karaka knows that each challenge, change, or opportunity can help you grow.
Corey Karaka grew up in a suburb of Sydney, Australia, where, as the oldest of six brothers, he grew up like many typical Australian boys. He played rugby, soccer, basketball, and learned to swim. In fact, he quickly became a good enough swimmer to make it to the national swimming championships at the age of 12, qualifying a year early. As a boy, Corey thought he actually might want to make swimming his career, but then a whole world full of choices started coming his way, and he began taking advantage of some great opportunities.
First was his short opera career.
Opera? Why would a boy who loved sports want anything to do with opera? But Sydney, after all, has one of the most famous opera houses in the world. And Corey just happened to have a grandmother who had been an opera singer. She taught her grandson (in fact, she teaches music lessons to all her grandchildren) to sing while he was still a boy soprano. Corey auditioned and was hired to sing with Opera Australia. He remembers it as a fun time, going to rehearsals and dressing up in makeup and costumes. Corey says, “It wasn’t an intense experience for children. There are scenes where you come in as part of the chorus. It’s a shame that my voice broke, but it was a good experience.” Plus, his mother, Caragh, says, “He put away the money he earned for a mission and university.”

Rain streaked like tears down the panes of the one glass window in the cabin. Elnora tried to peer between the streaks, hoping to see snow-covered peaks in the distance. But the slanting rain was like a filmy curtain, shutting out all but their little valley.
Suddenly figures approached out of the mist. It was Father and Thomas coming from the small log barn after their chores.
Elnora turned to finish breakfast preparations, while Mother took the bucket of milk and set about straining and pouring it into pans for the cream to rise.
“I wish it wouldn’t keep raining,” Elnora said to her father who had just come in. “At least not right now.”
Father looked at her and said, “You might not feel so now, but we can all be mighty grateful for storms.”
“But not rain!” Elnora exclaimed. “Not at Christmastime. It should be snowing. This constant, drizzly Oregon rain isn’t like Christmas at all.”
“Aw, Nora,” Thomas teased, “you’re a silly goose. You think that if everything isn’t just like it was in Vermont, it isn’t any good.”
“I can’t help being homesick,” Elnora defended, “especially when everything is so different. Here it is Christmastime, and that pesky rain keeps on and on.”
“Constant raining can get on a person’s nerves sometimes,” Father admitted. “But if you keep thinking about the good of the land, Nora, the rain won’t seem quite so bad.”
“And Christmas isn’t just snow and sleigh bells and outward things,” Mother reminded the family. “We have so much to be grateful for.”
“Oh well,” Elnora sighed. “At least we can have a Christmas tree, the way we always—”
“Tree?” Thomas questioned, looking at Father. “Where does she think she’s going to get a tree?”
“A tree, Nora?” Father asked more gently.
“Well—sure.” Elnora looked at the others hesitantly and then went on, “There’s that bunch on the west side of the homestead between our place and the Rigby’s. They’re a little scrubby, but one of those would be better than nothing.”
“Nora, I guess I haven’t told you about the agreement that I made with the other settlers in the valley,” Father said sympathetically. “It’s been agreed that no trees in the valley are to be cut for any purpose.”
“B-but they’re ours—partly. And there are lots of them,” Elnora interrupted.
“Not many, really,” Father said. “The valley was once full of trees, but man and nature have destroyed all but the few clusters that are now left.”
Father put his hand over hers on the table. “It’s sort of like a trust, Nora. We’ve eleven families in the valley now. If every family cut a tree each Christmas, in a very few years the valley would be barren of trees. What do you think the valley would be like without any trees?”
Elnora was quiet for a moment. She remembered the treeless desert wasteland they had crossed the year before. Then she said, “I can see what you mean, but without any snow or a tree it won’t seem at all like Christmas.” Tears moistened Elnora’s eyes. All these months she had counted on at least a Christmas tree like the ones they always had back home.
“Think how soon a tree would be dead and ugly,” Father reminded her. “It would bring only a brief pleasure. But if it’s left outside, it can keep right on growing and growing. Trees mean there will be birds in the valley. They’d go right on past if there weren’t trees in which to build their nests. And think of spring.”
Elnora swallowed her tears and nodded as an idea began to form in her mind. “Father, are there birds now, like the snowbirds back home?”
“I believe I saw some birds in the willows along the creek bank just yesterday,” Father said. “And I heard some chirping around the barn before this latest rain set in.”
“Then we could trim a live tree,” Elnora explained shyly, “and still keep it growing for later. We could make strings of popcorn and put them on a tree for the birds. Everybody else in the valley who wanted to could do the same. We could even make it like a party.”
Father kept nodding agreement as she talked. When her words ran out, he smiled.
“That we can, Nora. And this afternoon you can ride with Thomas to tell the other folks your idea. I know some will want to come.”
“And if they don’t,” Mother said, “we’ll have a party all by ourselves.”
Some of the families seemed surprised at the idea, but all the children were excited and anxious to string popcorn for the birds.
Soon after Father and Thomas had gone out to do the chores on the morning of Christmas Eve, the sun broke through the clouds. And at the grove a few hours later, Elnora could hardly believe what she saw. Every family in the valley was there.
One of the settlers, Mrs. Empey, said to Elnora and her mother, “My boys thought it was silly to celebrate on the frontier. But I told them we’d help the little lady keep Christmas if we had to wade through snow to our middles. It’s folks getting together in friendship and caring about each other that helps make Christmas. Where you happen to live at the time doesn’t really matter.”
Mrs. Empey said best what Christmas really means, Elnora thought. More than anything else Christmas means caring and sharing.
Each family chose a tree, and there was much talk and laughter and teasing as the popcorn strings were placed on the branches.
“Let’s do this every year!” said Thomas. “We could even keep the same trees.”
There were shouts of approval.
“And when the men go to the mountains to fetch wood,” Mother suggested, “they could be on the lookout for seedling trees to plant near our cabins. In a few years, the valley will be a lovely spot.”
Mrs. Empey came to stand beside Elnora and waved her arms to get everyone’s attention. “I think we should meet here at the grove every Christmas Eve,” she declared, “and Elnora should have the job of reminding us to be ready each year.”
“Oh, I will!” the happy girl promised. And everyone let out a cheer.
When they started toward the cabin, Elnora turned to look at the trees. Already two birds had found the popcorn. It’s good, she thought, to preserve the Christmas grove for other times.
Elnora reached for her father’s hand.
“I didn’t know that all of our neighbors were so nice,” she said, “but they are. Now our valley seems almost like home.”