Gospel Story Finder

Though it sometimes feels complicated in practice, the concept of loving our neighbor is very simple. My son instinctively understood this principle and taught it to me when he was only five years old. One evening my husband and I had buckled our two oldest children into their car seats to run some errands. We had just purchased a minivan. This purchase was the final frontier in our acquiescence to suburban parenthood. We had hoped that a minivan would put some distance between the two very loud children in the back and us—two exhausted parents—when we were in the car. Those of you with children will empathize with the desire for a little peace and quiet while driving.
The kids were complaining about something nobody remembers now. In desperation, my ­husband turned toward the back and pleaded, “Can we please just have some peace and quiet? Just for a moment?”
My then five-year-old son, Alex, looked at us, earnestly puzzled by what he perceived as a harsh request. His eyes teared up, and he exclaimed, “But, Dad, we are here to love you!”
Alex was right. We are here to love you. We are here to love our brothers and sisters—friends and strangers alike. That is what the good Samaritan did, and the Savior asks us to go and do likewise.

Shortly after returning from his mission Ross went to work for a packaging and printing company in West London. During break times the men would meet in a smoke-filled room to play darts. Ross chose to stay at his workstation and read the Book of Mormon. One of the female packers asked him why he didn’t join the others and Ross took the opportunity to tell her about the word of wisdom and shared gospel principles with her. Not long after that conversation he changed jobs.

A couple of years later, while serving as a bishop, he received information about a new family moving into his ward. He felt he knew the name and to his delight found it to be that of the lady with whom he’d had the gospel discussion. Along with her husband and son she had joined the Church not long after her breaktime discussion with Ross.

Amy was the fastest runner in her third-grade class. She loved to run, especially as she skimmed across the furrows in her father’s plowed fields and chased the seagulls flying above her. No one—boy or girl—ever beat her in races at school. She could jump high and far too. She practiced jumping over ditch banks, even when they were wider than she was tall. If Sara or Grant asked to see her jump over a tree stump or a hedge, she would take a long run and fly over it.
Every night, Amy snuggled up next to Mom on her bed while Mom brushed Amy’s hair and curled it into long ringlets. Amy’s baptism was coming up, but Mom was too sick to be with her on that special day. Amy listened closely as Mom and Dad told her what to expect. They told her stories of their own baptisms. Dad had been baptized in a large stream, and Mom had been baptized in the font in the Salt Lake Tabernacle.
“I’m excited to be baptized,” Amy said, “but I’m curious about the Holy Ghost.”
“You’ve already been helped by the Holy Ghost,” Dad said. “Remember when you wanted to be a better reader? You prayed for help, and help came. Your testimony came from the power of the Holy Ghost, and so did your faith to be healed when the bishop and I gave you a blessing when you were sick.”
Mom explained that one of the gifts of the Holy Ghost that Amy could receive was being able to see things to come*—things that would help her make wise choices.
Only five weeks after Amy’s baptism and confirmation, she and Sara and Grant climbed on top of Grant’s garage to look out over the stream and surrounding fields. Wild yellow roses grew on the banks of the stream, and the fields were sparkling green.
“Hey, Amy,” Sara said. “I dare you to jump from here onto the shed.” She pointed to the roof of the nearby shed.
Amy hesitated. She knew it wasn’t good to take dares, but she also knew that she was a good jumper. “OK,” she finally said. But as she stood up—ready to jump—she imagined herself falling to the ground between the garage and shed. She thought she saw herself lying on the ground.
Seeing the danger in her mind, Amy said: “I can’t. It’s too far.” Sara and Grant didn’t say anything as Amy sat down. She was glad they didn’t tease her. They seemed to know that she had made the right decision.
That evening, Amy told Mom and Dad what had happened at Grant’s house. “I knew that it was a gift from the Holy Ghost. He showed me that I would fall if I tried to jump. I could see myself lying on the ground, really hurt.”
Mom held Amy close. Dad told her how thankful he was that she had listened to the Holy Ghost. And both Mom and Dad told her never to climb on Grant’s garage again!
“I won’t,” Amy promised.
Amy never forgot the gift she was given that day by the Holy Ghost and the change it made in her life.

The light of the restored gospel had first shone in our home in an extraordinary way. My father, Mosese, was raised a Methodist. But through years upon years of personal study in the Bible, he had concluded that the true Church of Jesus Christ as described in the holy scriptures was not known on our tiny native island. He never once allowed our family to attend church services of any kind, yet we would gather together daily at his feet as he taught from the Bible. With each passing year, as my father continued to search the scriptures, he became more convinced that the true Church of Jesus Christ was not in existence.
Thus we remained in darkness until, finally, in 1971 our cousin Siga returned for a short visit. Siga had settled in Hawaii. We were excited about this unexpected reunion. Straightaway my mother prepared tea for our visitor, but to our surprise, he would not accept it. He explained that while in Hawaii he had been baptized into the Mormon Church and no longer drank tea. Having never heard of such a religion, my father questioned, “What kind of church is that?” Siga suggested that he look it up in the dictionary. Under the entry “Mormon,” my father read, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Immediately my father jumped to his feet and pounded the table with his fist. In that instant, the Holy Ghost had confirmed in his heart that this was what he had been searching for all of his life. His whole countenance changed as he asked Siga to tell him about this church. A long conversation ensued as they began reading from the fourth chapter of Ephesians, discussing “one faith, one baptism” (Eph. 4:5) and the need for apostles and prophets. Siga suggested that my father contact the missionaries for further information.
And so it was that we learned, for the first time, of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My father began corresponding with President Ebbie L. Davis of the Fiji Suva Mission, who sent us a copy of the Book of Mormon. Other books and pamphlets regarding Church doctrine soon followed. All of these my father devoured, and he found answers to his questions. Within a short time, he desired with all of his heart that our family be baptized. The Church, however, was not on our island. We soon realized that to be baptized, we would have to go to where the Church was. And for us, that meant Suva.
At long last, after we had spent nearly two years planning and preparing, the day had finally come, and we stood aboard the Uluilakeba. Energy was thick in the air as we crowded on with the other passengers. Hope and excitement filled our hearts as we waited to depart on our journey.
The ship left the dock at approximately 8:00 a.m. on Monday, 10 December 1973. With all the emotions of that day, I hardly noticed the gusty winds and threatening clouds that loomed ahead. As the boat crawled into the open sea, however, the weather worsened. Soon forecasts came in of an approaching tropical storm. Despite the warnings, our captain was confident of a safe voyage. We continued onward, while around us the sea steadily grew fiercer and the rain fell harder. Before long all passengers were instructed to take shelter inside, while the crew navigated the rough waters.
The captain was a relative of my father, and he gave us his personal cabin to rest in while we endured the storm. There we huddled together as a family and waited. In spite of the now heavy rocking of the ship, after a few minutes, my brother and sister and I fell asleep.
After what seemed only an instant to me, we were awakened by my mother’s scream. Water was now coming in through a small porthole. Sitting up, I noticed that my father was not with us, and thinking he must have gone on deck, I left my mother and two siblings. Climbing up to the deck was quite difficult, although in my panic I did not realize why. I did not understand that the ship had taken too much water and was sinking. Just as I reached the deck, the Uluilakeba began to capsize, and I was plunged into angry waters.
My only instinct was for survival. Desperately I swam with all my strength to stay on top of the monstrous waves. Within a few minutes, I caught sight of an older man holding fast to two floating bags of coconuts. Managing to swim to him, I pleaded for a bag, and he mercifully gave me one. I took hold of the bag and clung to it for my life.
Minutes passed, and suddenly I spotted my mother. Seeing me as well, she swam over and we embraced. With words I will never forget, she told me to hold on to that bag no matter what, for it would save my life. Then, after kissing my cheek, she left me to search for my brother and sister. That was the last I ever saw of my mother.
As the storm continued to rage, I did not think about what had happened. I only fought to stay above the waves. Bobbing up and down in the sea, I could see many other people, but I could not find my family.
The hours stretched on like a terrible dream. Soon night fell, and we swam on in the darkness. After what seemed like forever, the sun rose again, and I held on through another day and another night. Finally, around 5:00 in the afternoon on Wednesday, a rescue boat discovered us.
More than two full days had passed. Of the approximately 120 passengers who had boarded the doomed ship, 35 were found alive in the water. We were taken to Suva and admitted to the hospital. There, I learned the details of what had happened. Less than four hours after leaving the dock, we had been struck by Cyclone Lottie, a short-lived Pacific storm. The Uluilakeba was never found. I also learned that of the five members of my family who had been aboard, I was the only survivor. My family’s plans to be baptized into the Church had sunk in the depths of the ocean.
Time moved forward, and I remained on the island of Viti Levu, the main island of Fiji. I went to stay with my older sister, who had moved away from home years before. In the chaos of the tragedy, President Davis lost track of me, and I lost track of the Church. Learning that I had survived, however, he instructed the missionaries to search for me. They looked for months but to no avail. President Davis’s time as mission president came to a close, and he passed the search on to his successor.
The years passed, but because of poor communication systems, I could not be found. The family I was staying with was not interested in the gospel, so I had little hope of finding the Church during my teenage years. I struggled with the loss of my family and wondered why I had been left alone. But I carried in my heart the truths my parents had taught me. Although at times I gave in to weakness and temptation, I always remembered my father’s testimony concerning Jesus Christ and His true Church. Eventually I got married and settled on Vanua Levu, the northern island of Fiji.
In March 1985 I was at work cutting coconut copra not far from the main road when an elderly couple in a small car stopped and called out to me. They asked me if I knew a man named Joeli Kalougata. But before I told them they had indeed found him, I asked what they wanted. They introduced themselves as Elder and Sister Kimber and explained that they were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Finally they had found me! It was a glorious moment. Following six missionary discussions in two days, I was baptized on 18 March 1985, along with my wife, Elenoa. Our lives have never been the same since.
I look back on the great blessings my Heavenly Father has poured out upon me during my life. I will always be grateful for my loving parents and the principles and truths I learned from them. Because of my parents’ example, my wife and children and I now belong to the true Church of Jesus Christ.
In 1998 Elenoa and I flew to Tonga to enter into sacred eternal covenants in the Nuku‘alofa Tonga Temple and to perform temple ordinances for my parents and siblings. A few years later, our children were sealed to us in the new Suva Fiji Temple. I look at my family now—my eternal family—and thank the Lord for remembering me and bringing the gospel back into my life.

Remember that those who climb to high places did not always have it easy. We are told that when Abraham Lincoln was a young man, he ran for the legislature in Illinois and was badly “swamped.”
He next entered business, failed, and spent 17 years of his life paying up the debts of a worthless partner. He fell in love with a beautiful young woman, to whom he became engaged, then she died. Entering politics, he ran for congress and was badly defeated. He tried to get an appointment to the U.S. land office but failed. He became a candidate for the U.S. Senate and was badly defeated. Then in 1856 he became a candidate for vice-president and was again defeated. In 1858 he was defeated by Douglas, but in the face of all this defeat and failure, he eventually achieved the highest success attainable in life and undying fame to the end of time. This was the Abraham Lincoln who was president of the United States. This was the Abraham Lincoln about whom numerous books have been written. This was the Abraham Lincoln who carved his own success out of the mountains of difficulty.

The end of a semester can be a tired time, full of work and worry. Near the end of a challenging semester in graduate school, I met one of my classmates who, in contrast to most of us, was striding along with a radiant look on his face. He told me he had been for a swim to “refresh his ideas.” A little recreation turned his day around, and his original description of his swim “refreshing his ideas,” cheered me up. I am not going to suggest we all get up and go swimming right now, although it did occur to me that it would be a good idea. But, instead, I want to talk about some ways of refreshing our ideas without going all the way to the beach.

“Estas son las mañanitas …”
The sound of Mamá’s singing woke Ingrid up. She opened her eyes and saw Mamá coming into her room. Mamá always sang her a special birthday song on her birthday.
“Happy birthday!” Mamá said. “Let’s get ready for your party.”
Ingrid could smell a chocolate cake baking in the oven. “I wonder what presents I’ll get!” she thought. She climbed out of bed and looked out the window. The jacaranda tree outside was full of purple flowers.
Ingrid helped push the sofa into Mamá’s room so there was lots of space in the living room. She helped frost the cake and stuck seven candles on top. Soon it was time for the party!
Ingrid’s friends from school and Primary came. They played games and ate cake. Then it was Ingrid’s favorite part—presents! She got a new book, a stuffed tiger, and a charm bracelet.
After everyone left, Ingrid gave Mamá a hug. “Thank you, Mamá. That was the best birthday ever!”
“It’s not over yet,” Mamá said. “I have a special surprise for you.” She handed Ingrid a slip of paper. It said, “Time for bed!”
“It’s a clue,” Mamá explained. “You have to find the next one.”
Ingrid hurried to her bedroom. She found another slip of paper under her pillow. It said, “Laundry day.”
Ingrid ran to the kitchen and opened the washing machine. Another clue!
Ingrid found more clues behind the TV, inside her favorite book, and under the bathroom rug. The last clue led to her closet. Up on the shelf was a wrapped box. Ingrid wasn’t tall enough, so Mamá got it down for her.
Ingrid tore off the paper and lifted the lid. Inside the box was some folded white fabric and a big copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Next year, you can be baptized,” Mamá said. “This is a special gift to help you get ready.” Mamá touched the white fabric. “This is what I’ll use to make your baptism dress. And this”—she picked up the Book of Mormon—“is for you to read.”
Ingrid looked up at Mamá. “I’ve never read the Book of Mormon.”
“I know you can do it.” Mamá flipped the book open. “Look. The letters are extra big. I thought that might make it easier.”
Mamá closed the book again and handed it to Ingrid. Ingrid ran her fingers over the smooth cover.
“It’s important that you find out for yourself if the Book of Mormon is true,” Mamá said. “I promise that if you read and pray with all your heart, Heavenly Father will help you know.”
That night Ingrid read the first chapter of the Book of Mormon. It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be. She liked reading the scriptures.
She read her Book of Mormon again the next day. And the next. She read it every day. After a few weeks, she decided she didn’t want to wait till the end of the book to pray about it.
Ingrid knelt by her bed. She prayed with all her heart and asked Heavenly Father to help her know that the Book of Mormon is true. Then she waited. She thought she might hear a voice, but she didn’t. Instead, a happy feeling grew in her heart. She knew Heavenly Father was answering her prayer.
Almost a year later, Ingrid finished reading the Book of Mormon. She knew that no matter what she got for her eighth birthday, the Book of Mormon would always be the best gift ever!

Eighteen months after the surgery, my husband and I were invited to speak at a religious conference. The topic? “What accessing the grace of Jesus Christ daily looks like.” As we prepared, we immersed ourselves in studying Christ’s grace and how it operates in our lives. Grace, as defined in the Bible Dictionary, is “divine means of help or strength, given through the bounteous mercy and love of Jesus Christ.”
One week before the conference, I went on a bike ride with a friend. I rode my recumbent trike, which gives me the freedom to move, while she pedaled beside me on her bicycle. We talked as we rode, and as usual I cried. Sadness had become my constant companion, something the medical world might label as situational depression. I opened up to my friend about how lost I felt, about the overwhelming sadness that shadowed my days.
She asked me a question that has stayed with me ever since: “Stacy, what exactly are you sad about? What do you feel like you’ve lost?” I didn’t have an answer. I knew I was sad about my loss of movement, fearful that I would never regain my strength or the ability to do the things I once could. But the source of my sadness remained elusive.
A few days before the conference, the answer I had been searching for came to me, seemingly out of nowhere. I woke up in the middle of the night, a time when my anxious thoughts usually kept me company. But that night, a phrase echoed in my mind: “Graceful—full of grace.” As I drifted back to sleep, I thought to myself, “Yes, that’s a good point. Being graceful means being full of His grace. I’ll include that in my presentation.”
When I woke again in the morning, the same phrase was there, clear and insistent: “Graceful—full of grace.” I realized then that this message wasn’t just for the people at the conference—it was for me. That was the source of my sadness. That was what I had lost: my physical gracefulness.
As a young girl, I had been a ballerina, dancing through much of my adolescence and into college. I had never thought of myself as graceful, but years of training had ingrained in me a certain physical poise—a way of standing, moving, and balancing. Even after I stopped dancing, that grace remained. And now, in the quiet of those early morning hours, the Lord was redefining the word for me. I no longer needed the physical grace I once had. I had His grace to lean on in my moments of weakness. His grace was sufficient to help me smile, to shift my focus from my limitations to His strength.
Heaven’s message to me was clear: “You no longer need to rely on the physical grace you’ve learned. My strength is made perfect in your weakness.”
Graceful.
It’s a word I now carry with me, not as a reminder of what I’ve lost but of what I’ve gained. It’s not about my grace anymore—it’s about Christ’s grace, filling my heart and mind.
Graceful. It’s a word I now carry with me, not as a reminder of what I’ve lost but of what I’ve gained.
At the conference, I found myself in a room packed with people, needing to cross to the other side. There was no clear aisle, no easy path to navigate. As I stood up, I whispered to myself, “Graceful.” His grace, not mine. That simple word gave me the courage to move, to weave through the crowd without fear.
The more I let go of my old grace and embraced His, the easier life became. I found the strength to do what I could never do alone. His grace allowed me to see myself as a beloved daughter of God, to give my all, knowing He would fill in the gaps where I couldn’t. His grace brought gratitude even for my weaknesses.
I still wrestle with frustration and fear every day. My “thorn” hasn’t been removed. But now when those dark thoughts creep in, I have a powerful tool: the Savior’s grace. I repeat the word graceful to myself and move forward with Him. I don’t know when or how physical healing will come, but I trust that He knows, and that’s enough.
Like Paul, I am grateful for my infirmity because it has opened my eyes to see Him more clearly in my life. I place my trust in Him, and in return He gives me peace and joy and the assurance that He will deliver me.

Many years ago, a young Latter-day Saint girl became lost in the rugged wilderness outside her family’s ranch. Frightened and bewildered, she realized she needed help immediately, so she closed her eyes and fervently prayed, “Father, show me the way home.”
The words had hardly left her mouth when she felt as if hands were placed on her shoulders, directing her. With this prompting, she started back up a nearby gulch. This strong impression remained with her all the way home and never left her until she turned the doorknob of her front door.
This experience helped form the foundation of the faith that sustained her throughout her life. “I wish all people, especially the lost ones, had such a knowledge of our Father’s love,” she said.
The Lord sees us in our daily activities and is ready to respond. As he helped the young girl who was lost and afraid in the wilderness, he will show us the way home when we humble ourselves and seek him in prayer.

We have had an endless problem in our class and in the stake—what service project could we do that is truly a service and not just a fun activity? There is always the orange grove assignment, or pulling weeds at the chapel grounds, or tying a quilt for someone special in the ward, or playing sub for Santa at Christmas, or whatever else we might finally think of that would seem appropriate. It has appeared that other wards are sharing our same dilemma. How do we find a service to which we may be strongly committed? It’s difficult to find a project requiring sacrifice, effort, time, and yes, eventually the feeling of joy that can only come from doing something that brings to others happiness, help, and a feeling that there are others who care about them.
This project all began on a serious and sad mood. Reading the paper one day, I discovered an article about a 14-year-old boy, Alvie Peters, suffering from leukemia and badly needing blood to replace the massive amounts he needed to sustain his life. I soon realized that I knew this young man, not personally, but through my family in Idaho. When it became more personal to me, I began to wonder what I could do that might help. I could not think of anything. Then I remembered the news item was a plea for blood. Maybe my Laurel class would like to donate blood as a service. Upon investigation I learned that to donate blood one must be 17 years old and have parents’ consent. Well, that would eliminate half my class, who were still 16. And, some of the 17-year-olds would be eliminated because of the requirement that all donors weigh a minimum of 110 pounds. Something kept at me. There had to be something we could do! Then, the thought struck me. Why not have our own blood drive and donate all the blood to Alvie. It would be a lot of work, but then most worthwhile things are.
I made some preliminary calls to gather some information before I presented it to Diane, the Laurel class president. Diane was interested, but I sensed she felt the enormity of this sort of undertaking and was silently questioning her ability to handle it. (To get 150 donor commitments before a bloodmobile unit would come would not be an easy task. We’d need to get help outside our ward. We needed all the Laurels and Explorers in the stake.) But, knowing how great her leadership abilities were, I encouraged her and expressed my confidence in her. We approached Bishop Campbell with our idea. Again, I sensed some reluctance because it was such a huge responsibility. But, being the supportive bishop that he is, he outlined what had to be done before we could proceed.
I had to contact my stake counterpart, Sister Peterson, who had to contact Brother Bawden, one of the high councilors, who had to contact our stake president. The word came back quickly that it had taken President Nielson about ten seconds to give us his blessing to use the cultural hall and proceed. In the meantime, Sister Brown had been approached as our specialist. She was selected because of her experience with the stake Relief Society blood drive. Her counsel, advice, and help proved to be invaluable. It looked as though we could proceed. Time was of the essence because of how far Alvie’s disease had progressed.
The phoning began. All the ward Laurel presidents had to be called. Coordination with the Red Cross had to be initiated. Publicity was needed. Why not attend our city council meeting and seek their support? So, the Laurel class of our ward and Darla, the stake Laurel representative, attended the next meeting. What an experience that was! We were at the bottom of the agenda. After we had sat there for nearly two hours, I began to fidget. The girls were so tired. (These girls are at seminary at 6:00 A.M. every morning, and here it was 10:00 P.M.) Darla, our spokesman, also had all that time to have her apprehension grow in approaching those formidable looking gentlemen. She did a super job! She explained our project, asked for their endorsement so that we might use their names in advertising, asked them to declare May 3 as Alvie Peters’ Day in Fountain Valley, and ended her plea by asking them if they would like to contribute their blood. There were a few chuckles over that. The former mayor saw a special humor in it. He looked at Darla and said smilingly, “There have been a lot of people after our blood. It looks as though they are finally going to get it.” The present mayor, quickly and without hesitation, offered all and any help to the girls. They left in high spirits. I believe this was the moment they caught real enthusiasm for the project, and it spread like a contagious disease to all those with whom they worked.
Sister Kennedy, one of the sisters in our ward, belongs to the South Coast Junior Women’s Club. She expressed a desire to help. Diane and the girls decided to ask this group to take charge of the publicity and furnish orange juice for the donors. Our girls would make the cookies that would be needed.
Everyone seemed to want to get involved, even those who were ineligible to donate blood. The day of the blood drive came, and girls eagerly arrived to help fill all the positions—receptionists, typists, donor-room aids, callers, canteen workers, kitchen help, phone committee, and hall monitors to avoid interference with the Primary meeting in session. And there were the girls like Liz who spent countless hours in recruitment, scheduling of appointments, and then following up again to make sure everyone would remember to come.
And the lessons of the day continued right up to the end. My one concern was that our clean-up committee of priests would not be there to do the assignment. Cleaning up is always so unappealing. Yet, more came for this job than were assigned. Those tremendous young men had the equipment loaded and the cultural hall “spiffed up” in no time. I wanted to hug them, and I don’t even know their names.
And now that it’s all over, I continue to think of Alvie. Alvie, you did not live long enough to use this blood that was so willingly given to aid you. You died the next afternoon. Be assured this blood will help another with the same dreadful disease. Your 14 years on this earth were short; but your life has touched so many, so very many. You have helped us to learn a little more about service, a little more about love.

I was taught this lesson powerfully a number of years ago by our then-16-year-old daughter, Jennifer. She was about to have a double lung transplant, where the five diseased lobes of her lungs would be completely removed and replaced by two healthy smaller lobes, donated by two amazing Christlike friends. It was a very high-risk procedure, yet the night before her surgery, Jennifer almost preached to me with all of her 90 pounds (41 kg), saying, “Don’t worry, Dad! Tomorrow I will wake up with new lungs, or I will wake up in a better place. Either way will be great.” That is faith; that is eternal perspective! Seeing life from an eternal vantage point provides clarity, comfort, courage, and hope.
After the surgery, when the long-awaited day came to remove the breathing tube and turn off the ventilator that had been helping Jennifer breathe, we anxiously waited to see if her two smaller lobes would work. When she took her first breath, she immediately started crying. Seeing our concern, she quickly exclaimed, “It’s just so good to breathe.”
Ever since that day, I have thanked Heavenly Father morning and night for my ability to breathe. We are surrounded by innumerable blessings that we can easily take for granted if we are not mindful. Conversely, when nothing is expected and everything is appreciated, life becomes magical.

I think you will enjoy this example of inviting all to receive the gospel. Seventeen-year-old Cleiton of Cape Verde had no idea what would happen as a result of walking into his ward’s seminary class one day. But his life and the lives of others would be forever changed because he did.

Cleiton, along with his mother and older brother, had been baptized into the Church some time earlier, and yet the family stopped attending. His single act of attending seminary would prove to be a hinge point for the family.

The other youth in the seminary class were warm and welcoming. They made Cleiton feel at home and encouraged him to attend another activity. He did so and soon began attending his other Church meetings. A wise bishop saw spiritual potential in Cleiton and invited him to be his assistant. “From that moment on,” says Bishop Cruz, “Cleiton became an example and an influence to other young people.”

The first person Cleiton invited back to church was his mother, then his older brother. He then widened his circle to friends. One of those friends was a young man his own age, Wilson. Upon his very first meeting with the missionaries, Wilson expressed his desire to be baptized. The missionaries were impressed and amazed at how much Cleiton had already shared with Wilson.

Cleiton’s efforts didn’t stop there. He helped other less-active members return, in addition to sharing the gospel with friends of other faiths. Today the ward has 35 active youth, with a thriving seminary program, thanks in large part to Cleiton’s efforts to love, share, and invite. Cleiton and his older brother, Cléber, are both preparing to serve full-time missions.

It sometimes happens that the happiness we seek in many ways and in many places is to be found where we least expect it. So it was with me. I had happiness within my grasp all the time, but for years I did not recognize it.
I was 24 years old in 1981 when I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My husband was baptized with me. At the time, our daughter, Juliana, was two years old. Our branch in Tucuruvi, Brazil, was so small that we met in a home on Avenida Nova Cantareira. For some reason, after attending meetings for less than a year, we left the Church.
By the time we moved to Guarulhos in 1983, we had no desire to return to the Church and had lost complete contact with Church members. This was a time of great difficulty for us. One day while I was sweeping the house, my husband and I decided to throw all of our old Church books in the garbage. Among the books was a copy of the Book of Mormon.
In all the time I had owned the book, I had never opened it. I considered the book of no value. But as I went to place it in the trash, Juliana, who was four years old at the time caught sight of the figure of the angel Moroni on the cover and said, “No, Mama, don’t throw that book away!” I thought of throwing it away anyway, but I looked at my husband and he looked at me. We decided to honor our daughter’s request.
And so the book remained in our home.
In 1987 I gave birth to our third child and experienced some difficult health problems. I began seeking the truth, trying to find some answers to why I was so unhappy. In despair, I began to believe there was no salvation for me.
One day in 1989, the Lord prompted me to pick up the Book of Mormon. I started to read it—and found I could hardly stop. Each day I waited eagerly for the dawn so I could continue reading. The Spirit was so strong within me that I cried. I finally understood how much I had lost by leaving the path of the Lord I had once been on.
I resolved to find the Church. Searching our telephone book, I found the Church’s name and called the number listed. We started attending meetings again and have remained active ever since. My husband and I have now been to the temple, and we are sealed as a family for eternity.
I know that the Book of Mormon is true and that if we study it constantly, we will find the strength to overcome any obstacle. I thank Heavenly Father both for my blessings and for my trials—and for prompting our daughter to keep us from throwing the Book of Mormon away. I know that had I thrown the book away, with it I would have thrown away my happiness.

Tonight, in the presence of our prophet and his counselors, we gratefully remind ourselves and testify to the world that the Relief Society was divinely organized by a loving Heavenly Father acting through the Prophet Joseph Smith. And we witness that it continues to be led by prophets of God. I am humbled to be here with all of you in this general Relief Society meeting to hear the counsel of President Gordon B. Hinckley, our prophet for our time. We need his voice to guide us now as surely as our sisters needed a prophet’s intervention in 1842 when they brought to Joseph Smith a constitution for a female benevolent society in Nauvoo. They approached the Prophet Joseph and asked his counsel on their desire to serve in the kingdom by organizing themselves by their plan. He said he had something better for them: an order and a purpose which required priesthood leadership so that their good desires could bear even better fruit.
Many organizations compete for our time. In fact, our commitments to callings in the various organizations of the Church can cause us to think we are not “working in Relief Society now,” or we may say, “when I was in the Relief Society. …” Sisters, as members of the Church, we are always in Relief Society. Yet it is not uncommon for women, especially those either new to the Church or new to Relief Society, to ask: “What is Relief Society for?” “Why should I participate?” “How can it help me?” All of us can benefit by reflecting on these questions and on the answers our prophets have given us and will yet give us on occasions such as this.
Quite simply, we participate in Relief Society out of the understanding that this is God’s organization for us and the conviction that, as he promised through his Prophet, because of it, we “shall rejoice, and knowledge and intelligence shall flow down from this time” (History of the Church, 4:607; quoted in History of Relief Society, 1842–1966, Salt Lake City: The General Board of Relief Society, 1966, p. 21). Or, in the words of the Prophet’s mother: Relief Society is where we can “cherish one another … and gain instruction, that we may all sit down in heaven together” (Minutes of the Female Relief Society of Nauvoo, 24 Mar. 1842; quoted in History of Relief Society, 1842–1966, p. 20). Sisters, we do need instruction. We need cherishing, and we need to cherish others. All teachers and most experienced students know the relationship between these two principles. We cannot teach those whom we do not love. We cannot learn from those who do not love us.
Consider how the very powers of modern communications that promise to make of our world an interconnected network are the cause of much public worrying about our increasing isolation from one another. Even privately, in our wards and, yes, in our families too, we sometimes find ourselves, and often hear of others, feeling isolated or downright unloved because there is neither the time nor a sufficiently legitimate purpose to connect across the hall or across the street. It is that increasing vacuum of connecting, one to another or among our families or within our ward family, that calls us increasingly to participate in Relief Society.
Peter gave strong instruction to the Saints of his day which applied to both men and women. May I reference it as it applies particularly to us: “Have fervent charity among yourselves. … Use hospitality one to another without grudging. As every [woman] hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God” (1 Pet. 4:8–10). How I would like to transfer the power of that scripture to every Relief Society meeting yet to be held. Would that something could happen every time that would cause each woman present—whether married or single, working at home or away from home, momentarily secure or immediately desperate—to feel her Heavenly Father’s Spirit and her sisters’ unfeigned love and encouragement.
Remember, my sisters: “Charity never faileth.” This is more than our motto. It is our divine commission. As sisters, let us love one another and love our brethren in this great work. Let us show in our charity our faith.
“Cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all. …
“It endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with [her].
“Wherefore, my beloved [sisters], pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ” (Moro. 7:46–48).
The Relief Society was organized by God’s prophet Joseph and has been led and is led today by a prophet so that we may become true followers of Jesus Christ. That is the answer to the question, “Why Relief Society?” That is why we participate and that is what it can do for us: instruct us more perfectly in our covenant obligations and promises to be disciples of our Lord Jesus Christ. Or, as Joseph Smith instructed those first sisters in 1842: “[This] … Society is not only to relieve the poor, but to save souls” (History of the Church, 5:25). What does it mean to save souls? Let me give one example of the many I have witnessed as I have visited among you. A South African sister once told me that when her husband died and she was left to rear their six children, she relied on the teachings of the Bible for direction. She often pondered the meaning of Proverbs 13, verse 24, which is interpreted widely as “spare the rod and spoil the child.” [Prov. 13:24] When she joined the Church she turned to the Book of Mormon, too, for understanding. There she found mention of another rod, the word of God which leads one along the path to the tree of life. Then she understood that sparing this rod would certainly spoil her children. Thus, she has learned to order her home, to bring the light of the gospel, to save the souls of her children.
I saw Sister Mavimbela again very recently when she received an award at Brigham Young University, and she has enlarged her sphere. In conversation she told me that by participating in her Relief Society in Soweto she has learned to apply its saving ways within her community. Using visiting teaching and welfare principles, such as those described in the Church’s manual Providing in the Lord’s Way, she has supervised more than a thousand children as they learn to garden and raise food for themselves and others. She has also enlisted more than 250 grandmothers in her community to help with the many tasks essential to the temporal and spiritual nurturing of children and the strengthening of families. Sister Mavimbela is saving souls. She is in the same mold as those great women, such as Eliza R. Snow, Phoebe Kimball, and Zina D. H. Young, who began to visit one another in Nauvoo for the purpose of feeding hungry families and shoring up struggling faith in difficult times. This is what Relief Society is for: to make of us women who can nourish body and soul, who can “succor [God’s children] according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:12). This is the work our Savior did, and it is the work to which he called us when he ordered this society under the direction of the priesthood.
To speak so simply of Sister Mavimbela’s work can make it sound simple. We know it is not. These are complicated times whether we live in Soweto or San Francisco, Sapporo or São Paulo. It is so complicated in fact that “if possible, they shall deceive the very elect, who are the elect according to the covenant” (JS—M 1:22). What will make it not possible for his disciples to be deceived is the capacity to discern the voice of truth from among all others that ask for our obedience. The word of God given us in scripture is, indeed, an iron rod which leads us on the path to eternal life. There the truth is spelled out; it can be held on to; it has been tried in the experience of generations. But not all truth brings a long tradition of acceptance with it. It requires us to know it when we see it. The Spirit must witness these things to us, make us recognize them as true—as of God.
Consider the Savior’s image when he spoke of the necessity of discerning truth. He likens knowing the truth to receiving “living water”; that is, water that is fit to drink: pure, running water. He tells the woman at the well: “If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water” (John 4:10). When I think of lifesaving water and of wells, I also think of Hagar (see Gen. 21:14–20). Hers is a complicated family story. She is forced alone into the wilderness of Beersheba with her young son, Ishmael. In due time the water and bread she has taken with her into the desert are consumed, and thirst and hunger overwhelm her and her little boy. Because she cannot bear to hear the cries of her son, the record tells us that she puts him in a shaded place and goes “a good way off” (Gen. 21:16). There, she lifts up her voice and weeps. In response, an angel of God speaks comfort to her and reminds her that she is not forsaken. Then, we are told, “God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water” (Gen. 21:19; emphasis added). We, like Hagar, are required to see “a well of water.” We, like the woman at the well, must ask of the Lord: “Give me this water, that I thirst not” (John 4:15). This is the purpose of Relief Society. It teaches us as daughters of God how to see and how to ask for that which we need of the Lord so that we need not thirst again. Remember the Prophet Joseph’s promise to us that through this society we “shall rejoice, and knowledge and intelligence shall flow.”
We must act so as to receive this promise. It does not come by removing ourselves “a good way off.” Sisters, I ask you to stand close to one another. Love one another, even cherish one another that you may have the Spirit to teach you “the truth of all things” (Moro. 10:5). Instruct one another. Look with the discernment God has given you through the gift of the Holy Ghost. Listen for the still, small voice. I ask you to seek instruction in the word of God, both as written in the scriptures to prophets of old and as spoken tonight by a living prophet. See the well. Ask for the water that you “thirst not.” Obtain the promises which are held out to you by a loving Father in Heaven through the atonement of his Only Begotten Son, he who promised, “Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give [her] shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give [her] shall be in [her] a well of water springing up into everlasting life” (John 4:14).
I testify that this is true, that we are bound together in his church by his priesthood power to be able to build his kingdom on earth and to rejoice in our knowledge of him. And this I say in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

I get angry easily. I’ve listened to many conference messages that talk about anger and learned that when we are angry, we are often prideful. And pride separates us from God. So anger is a challenge I’m trying to overcome.
A seminary teacher told me that to overcome anger, I can try replacing it with a Christlike attribute. I decided to try replacing my anger with the ability to forgive.
During my seminary class, one of my classmates threw some scriptures on my leg. I was angry at that moment, and I shouted at him. But then I remembered Christlike forgiveness. When class was over, I went to him and told him I was sorry for shouting at him. I forgave him, and then he apologized as well.
As I have practiced looking to Christ through forgiveness, I’ve seen myself change. I try to view things with an eternal perspective instead of getting angry. When I focus on Christ and attend seminary, it strengthens my testimony of Him, and I can help others strengthen their own testimonies too.

Things don’t always go perfectly for everyone. All prayers aren’t always answered in the way we expect. Such was the case for one Laurel who would have given anything to have her non-LDS mother at the encampment with her.
“I prayed all summer long that my mom would share this weekend with me,” she said. “She didn’t. I cried, and I felt pretty down. I saw all the love between the mothers and daughters here, and I wished I could have that too. I have a friend here who was in the same position, so we decided to kneel down, just the two of us, and pray.
“I’ve never felt the Spirit so strong in all my life,” she continued. “I knew that Heavenly Father was right there with me. I knew that I’m his daughter and that I’m loved by him.”
Her mother did not attend the encampment with her, but she was able to learn about the love of another Parent. Knowing of that love and of her own divine nature will sustain her through trials for the rest of her life, and enables her to add a magnificent blue to the rainbow.

The Talk: When our third son Josh was about three, we were at the Sunday session of our stake conference. He was actively coloring in some of the Living Scriptures books we had, which some of you may have heard of or had in your homes. I naturally presumed he wasn’t listening to the proceedings of the conference. One of our dear friends, then serving as a counselor in the stake presidency, was speaking. He was talking about the challenges we all face in the world today. This included the wickedness that comes as people don’t honor and live by the law of chastity. As one sentence was shared, Josh stopped his coloring, looked up at me, and said, “Dad, that man said sex. That is not appropriate.”
I of course knew this wasn’t the time or place to try and have a discussion as to why it was OK that our stake presidency had counseled us on these important matters, so I just agreed with him, and we moved on. Now what was said and done was entirely appropriate, but it does remind me that we keep our eyes on the flag when we always strive to be appropriate, for we never know who is watching or listening. This story is that of the talk.

When Joseph Smith was a young man, Josiah Stoal offered him a job.
We’ll be working in Pennsylvania. I’ll pay you, and we’ll stay with Isaac Hale’s family.
Isaac had a daughter named Emma. She and Joseph enjoyed each other’s company.
Soon they fell in love.
When the work was done, Josiah and Joseph returned home.
I can’t stop thinking about Emma.
What do you plan to do?
After discussing the matter with his parents, Joseph returned to Pennsylvania and proposed.
After Joseph and Emma married, they moved in with Joseph’s family.
Welcome to our home, Emma!
Thank you, Mother Smith. I’m so happy to be here.

William Holder was on duty as a police officer in London on July 6 when England won the bid for the 2012 Summer Olympic Games. The streets of London were filled with thousands of people celebrating. It was pandemonium for police.
Then, less than 24 hours later, Brother Holder was on duty again. Now, however, he dealt with a different type of pandemonium—terrorists had attacked his city.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw—people running out of the Aldgate subway station in terrible shock; some were injured, others were screaming for family. Steps away, Brother Holder of the Gravesend Ward, Canterbury England Stake, realized he was one of the first emergency personnel on the scene of a terrorist attack.
“You are on auto pilot. You do your job,” he said. “It is human to human. It doesn’t matter who they are, you just want to take away their pain.”
No members or missionaries were injured when bombs exploded on three London underground subway trains in a coordinated attack on July 7. At least 56 people died in the blasts, which injured an additional 700 people—dozens seriously—and took place within a 50-second period during the morning rush hour. A fourth bomb went off 57 minutes later on one of the city’s red doubledecker buses.
The terrorist attacks were the deadliest in London since World War II. In response to the atrocity, the Church is making a donation to a victims’ fund set up by London mayor Ken Livingstone and the British Red Cross.
“It is not until you can look back on it that you are able to comprehend the sheer horror of it,” said Brother Holder. “At the time you just do what you were meant to do: be calm and professional and get on with it.”
During the next several days, Brother Holder worked extra hours. In quiet moments, however, he remembered a priesthood blessing he had received years earlier. The blessing said in his career he could be as a lighthouse, that people would come to him for direction and that he would be calm.
He has felt the Lord’s hand guiding him in his work. “I felt peace inside, but also sadness at the same time,” he explained.
Still, Brother Holder said he sees daily reminders of the event: closed subway stations and an increased police presence on the streets of London. It is hard, he added, to escape the memories of the event.
Adapted from Church News, July 23, 2005.

It was Christmas time when this question came to me. What do I personally do to express joy? Something that isn't created by someone else and consumed by me? Handel wrote the Messiah, Jewish elders sound the shofar, my mother sews matching Christmas dresses in taffeta plaid-but what do I create myself that shows the Lord I am feeling the Spirit and using my gifts in His world?
Shortly afterward, a new baby was born into our family. My oldest nephew James was a firefighter in Kalispell, Montana. He and his wife Mary had their first little baby boy. I was a great aunt. I wanted to do something so this little boy would know when he grew up how much he was wanted and celebrated. But what could I do? When I myself was born my great grandmother made a quilt for me. Based on a nine square pattern, it was the quilt I hid under when I was scared, made forts out of in our basement, and dragged out to the couch and tucked around myself when I was sick.
So, I decided to make a quilt for this new great nephew. Only one problem: I was kicked out of sewing classes and had no idea how to sew. I had never made a quilt. I didn't know how to start. I didn't know any of the tricks to make the corners line up or the nine squares fit evenly. I worked on it doggedly for six months. I pored over the squares and actually prayed over the sewing machine bobbin not to tangle while I sewed because I had no way of fixing that. Making this quilt stretched me, but it was something I was creating to show joy and love.