Gospel Story Finder

For almost a year, between 2016 and 2017, the people in the Kasai region faced a terrible tragedy. It was a very dark period for the people because of a conflict between a traditional group of warriors and government forces. The violence spread from towns in Kasai-Central Province to the wider Kasai region. Many people fled their homes for safety and hid in the bush. They had no food or water or not anything, really, and among these were some members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Kananga area. Some members of the Church were killed by the militia.
Brother Honoré Mulumba of the Nganza Ward in Kananga and his family were some of the few people who remained hidden in their house, not knowing where to go because all the streets were transformed into firing ranges. One day some neighborhood militiamen had noticed the presence of Brother Mulumba and his family as one evening they went out to try to find some vegetables in the family garden to eat. A group of the militiamen came to their home and then pulled them out and told them to choose to adhere to their militia practices or be killed.
Brother Mulumba courageously told them, “I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My family and I have accepted Jesus Christ and have faith in Him. We will remain faithful to our covenants and will accept to die.”
They told them, “As you have chosen Jesus Christ, your bodies will be eaten by the dogs,” and they promised to come back. But they never did come back, and the family stayed there for two months and never saw them again. Brother Mulumba and his family kept the torch of their faith alight. They remembered their covenants and were protected.

“Matthew, Brother Erickson is here!” These were the words I had been dreading to hear all day. It was the type of situation you knew you would have to face eventually but hoped desperately would always be one more day away. But this was the day.
Earlier that morning, just before opening exercises for priesthood, 80-year-old Brother Erickson had caught me. “You have been called as my home teaching companion. Would it be all right if we visited one of our families later today?”
I was shocked. All my friends had been assigned to be their dads’ companions. At least when they made a fool of themselves it would be in front of a family member, not someone who has had eight decades to get to know everything about the gospel. I muttered to him that it would be fine.
He replied, “We will be going to the Wiseman family. You are going to love it!”
I was convinced this was a rather large lie.
The Wiseman family truly lived up to their name. Like Brother Erickson, they were older and wiser members of the ward. They had known apostles and even prophets and had a reputation for having a great understanding of the gospel. If that weren’t enough, there were two of them; what one didn’t know, I was sure the other one would. So I trudged out the door and into the car where Brother Erickson waited, smiling.
We talked a bit about school and my family on the way to the Wisemans. I think Brother Erickson sensed I was nervous. We finally arrived at the door, and I forced a smile. When I entered the home, warm smiles and hearty handshakes greeted me. The Wisemans were as amazing as I had thought, only they were so much cooler than I imagined they would be.
“Will you be starting school soon, Matt?” Sister Wiseman asked.
“I will be in ninth grade in August,” I responded quickly, not knowing how Sister Wiseman would react.
“That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, and she actually meant it.
“What things do you like to do in school?” she said, diving in for more.
“Well, I’m in the choir,” I said a little less timidly.
“I used to love to sing too,” Sister Wiseman said, and the conversation continued more fluidly from there as my nervousness slowly eased away.
We continued talking about school, skiing, television, and everything else imaginable. I was amazed that I actually had things in common with these people! And more than that, they seemed to enjoy talking to me. To my great surprise I found that when the lesson was over and the closing prayer said, I didn’t want to leave. My fear of home teaching turned into a fear of the clock telling us it was time to go.
As I continued as a home teacher I grew to love my companion, Brother Erickson, and the Wiseman family more than I thought I ever could. They taught me much and allowed me to teach them as well. I never knew I had so much in common with other members of the Church, regardless of age, background, or education.
I know that even though the home teaching program is meant to bless the lives of the families taught, it also has a great impact on the home teachers. To this day I still consider Brother Erickson and the Wisemans as three of my best friends.

It was the same with the Haraga family, who came to the Hamilton Temple in April 2024. The parents received their endowment and were sealed to each other, and their daughter, Barbara, was sealed to them. Brother Haraga was also sealed to his deceased parents.

Brother Haraga was the first in his family to embrace the restored gospel when he was baptized in 2011. His wife and daughters joined him in 2015.

The Haraga family’s greatest desire was to attend the temple together to become an eternal family. Their dream became a reality in April 2024 when they entered the Hamilton Temple to be endowed and sealed. Faith in Jesus Christ led them to receive ordinances and make covenants in the house of the Lord.

Let me tell you how one of our sons learned obedience. When he was about deacon-age, we went to his grandfather’s ranch in Wyoming. He wanted to start breaking a horse he had been given. It had been running wild in the hills.
It took nearly all day to get the herd to the corral and to tie his horse up with a heavy halter and a rope.
I told him that his horse must stay tied there until it settled down; he could talk to it, carefully touch it, but he must not, under any circumstance, untie it.
We finally went in for our supper. He quickly ate and rushed back out to see his horse. Presently I heard him cry out. I knew what had happened. He had untied his horse. He was going to train it to lead. As the horse pulled away from him he instinctively did something I had told him never, never to do. He looped the rope around his wrist to get a better grip.
As I ran from the house, I saw the horse go by. Our boy could not release the rope; he was being pulled with great leaping steps. And then he went down! If the horse had turned to the right, he would have been dragged out the gate and into the hills and would certainly have lost his life. It turned to the left, and for a moment was hung up in a fence corner—just long enough for me to loop the rope around a post and to free my son.
Then came a father-to-son chat! “Son, if you are ever going to control that horse, you will have to use something besides your muscles. The horse is bigger than you are, it is stronger than you are, and it always will be. Someday you may ride your horse if you train it to be obedient, a lesson that you must learn yourself first.” He had learned a very valuable lesson.
Two summers later we went again to the ranch to look for his horse. It had been running all winter with the wild herd. We found them in a meadow down by the river. I watched from a hillside as he and his sister moved carefully to the edge of the meadow. The horses moved nervously away. Then he whistled. His horse hesitated, then left the herd and trotted up to them.
He had learned that there is great power in things that are not seen, such unseen things as obedience.
Just as obedience to principle gave him power to train his horse, obedience to the priesthood has taught him to control himself.

Listen to the words of three young women as each had experiences that provided a chance to exercise her faith.

[A video segment was shown in which several young women spoke of events and challenges in their own lives and the effect of those things on their faith.]

The second young woman, Carly, experienced difficult family circumstances through a change in her father’s employment and a move to another state. She learned the value of family relationships and being together. Through united faith and prayers, she experienced the blessing of feeling our Heavenly Father’s love and support in bringing their family back together. Her faith was strengthened.

In April 2010, Evelyn Vigil was concerned that her husband, Amado, was losing his faith. He had not attended any church for 11 years, having arrived at the conclusion that the true Church did not exist. Meanwhile, Evelyn had never stopped believing in God, and she went from one church to another, yearning to hear His word but never satisfied with what she heard. Some mornings she awoke in tears. On such days, she pled for guidance from her Heavenly Father. She asked Him why she never felt right in any of the churches she attended, even though she wanted so desperately to learn of Him. She also prayed that her family would someday find unity in one church.
“Our story began,” Amado recalls, “when we found a pair of elders—rather, when they found us. We were leaving the home of Evelyn’s parents, and we were carrying shopping bags. We noticed that the elders had seen us and were crossing the street toward us. One of them kindly asked if they could help us.
“They also asked if we would allow them to visit us. I said yes, mostly out of curiosity. Up to that point, I didn’t know much about the Church—only comments I had heard from other people.
“After I agreed to let the elders visit our home, I told my wife, ‘Don’t get too excited about this. Don’t get any illusions about me deciding to join a church. I’m just curious to see what they have to say.’
“The elders started visiting us. I was ready to politely tell them to go away if they said anything that didn’t seem right to me. But they were so kind, and I was impressed that they never said anything bad about other churches. They taught with such love and diligence, and they were patient when I asked many questions. They quickly endeared themselves to us.”
Bit by bit, Amado and Evelyn prepared themselves to be baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Evelyn’s biggest challenge was the Word of Wisdom. She was saddened by the realization that she would need to let go of her desire for coffee. Amado didn’t need to let go of any bad habits; he just needed to learn to grab hold of the truth. He believed what the missionaries were teaching, and he even recognized many doctrines and practices that he and his wife had felt were missing from other churches, such as eternal families, baptisms for the dead, and fellowship and organization in the Church. But he hesitated to commit to be baptized. He worried that he would join the Church only to find that he had made the wrong decision.
These concerns soon faded. Evelyn prayed for help and overcame her coffee habit, saying, “I’m not going to let this keep me from receiving blessings.” After about two months of indecision, Amado committed to be baptized. Now, according to Evelyn, he frequently says, “We need to embrace the doctrine.”
Amado, Evelyn, and Michelle were baptized and confirmed in early July 2010. “From the time that we were baptized,” Evelyn says, “I could feel that everything started to change. My family was united in the Church. We had found the restored gospel. We have had trials and sickness since then, but our Heavenly Father has poured many blessings on us.”
Amado observes: “The first change I noticed was unity in our family. It’s not that we were dysfunctional before, but we started to unite more. The doctrines of the gospel helped us. As Church leaders taught us about the sacredness of the family, we thought more about the value we should place on our family.”

Although the Mormonettes Dance Team in the Huddersfield England Stake have only been dancing together for two years, they have performed at the celebration of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee and for the mayor and mayoress of Huddersfield and have appeared in a film showing the activities of Church members in England. The girls in the Huddersfield Ward became excited about forming a dance team after watching a performance by the Ricks College Valhalla Dancers, who were on tour in England in 1976.
The young women approached Sister Jean Ford, an experienced dancer and a member of the Huddersfield Ward, with their idea and asked her to become their trainer. Her enthusiastic acceptance resulted in a dance team of 18 girls, only three of whom had had any previous dance training. The team spent a year rehearsing (about 15 numbers at two rehearsals per week), designing and making costumes, and perfecting their routines in preparation for the introductory show. It was held May 6, 1977, with over half the audience consisting of nonmembers.
Sister Ford expressed the following goal the team has set: “Our aim is to use the Mormonettes Dance Team as a missionary tool, to break down barriers and open doors for the missionaries, as well as to give the girls a wholesome and healthy outlet for their youthful energies.” The team performs ballet, tap, and exhibition dancing.

A dollar bought much more in 1947 than it does now. I was seven years old then and in the second grade at Woodland Elementary School. Emily was in my class, and I truly detested her because she was forever bragging about everything. One day she bragged that she could bring a whole dollar to school the next day—just to spend on candy! She was sure that I couldn’t. She really made me mad, and so what else could I do but retort that I, too, could bring a dollar the next day to spend on candy. Of course, I didn’t have a dollar, but somehow I had to get one.
My grandmother lived with us, and I planned to “borrow” a dollar from her purse, then put it back after I had shown it to Emily at school. I waited until I was alone in the same room with Grandma’s purse. I knew I was doing wrong, but I disregarded the Holy Ghost’s warning, telling myself, I’m only borrowing the money. What harm can there be in that?
The next morning I put Grandma’s dollar into my pocket and waited for the school bus. When I bragged about having a whole dollar to spend on candy, even though I didn’t plan to actually spend it, I found out that I was the most popular child in the neighborhood. Everyone wanted to be my best friend! The glory of that moment was simply wonderful. It was so wonderful, in fact, that I decided to spend the whole dollar on candy, after all.
Carol, my best friend, begged and begged me to let her take the dollar to her class that morning. She would give it back to me at lunchtime. She begged so hard that I finally let her take it.
I expected Emily to be waiting for me at the classroom door to see my dollar, but she wasn’t. In fact, when she did come to class, she didn’t mention her dollar or my dollar. This was a surprise, but I was greatly relieved. Now I was free to change my mind again and put the money back into Grandma’s purse.
I was busy doing my schoolwork when Mr. Apple, the school principal, came into the classroom and said, “Ann Jensen, come with me, please.”
Trembling, I followed the principal to an empty classroom, where he pulled something out of his pocket and said, “Carol was playing with this money in her class this morning. Mrs. Brown felt that it was a lot of money for a child to be playing with, so she asked her about it. Carol said that it’s your money. Is that right?”
I was so taken by surprise that for a moment I couldn’t think of a thing to say. Finally I looked at the floor and said, “Yes, I saved it.”
“All this money?” Mr. Apple asked in an even voice.
For the first time I took a good look at the “dollar.” It wasn’t one dollar, but ten dollars! I had been in such a rush to get the money from Grandma’s purse that I hadn’t noticed that I’d taken a ten-dollar bill!
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I sobbed, “I took it out of my grandma’s purse.”
The awful truth had been told, and at first I felt relieved for having confessed my sin. Then Mr. Apple told me that he was going to call my grandmother and tell her about the money. That was what I dreaded most—Grandma’s disappointment in me!
I was engulfed with remorse. I just leaned against the school building during recess because I felt so ashamed and sorrowful.
Mr. Apple drove me home from school that day. We rode in silence. I wondered what I could say to my family and what they would do to me for stealing Grandma’s money. When he stopped in front of my house, Mr. Apple gave me the ten-dollar bill to return to my grandmother.
Grandma was at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes for dinner.
“I don’t feel very well,” I said as I handed her the ten dollars.
“I don’t suppose you would,” she replied. And that was that!
I went into my bedroom to get over my “illness.” Nothing else was ever said of the incident. Nothing else had to be.

What an awful day! Today at school I didn’t talk to anyone, I didn’t play with anyone at recess, and I didn’t sit with anyone at lunch. My family has been living in this new town for two weeks, and I still don’t have any friends!
As I walked up to my new house, I saw my younger sister playing with the girl from across the street. She waved. “Hi, Rosa!”
I turned my head and didn’t say anything back. Three girls on our street are the same age as my younger sister. How many girls on our street are my age? None. Not one!
I pushed through the front door and dropped my backpack on the floor.
“Sister Garcia called from the Primary to remind you about activity day today,” Mom said.
“I don’t want to go to activity day,” I grumbled. “I just spent all day with kids I don’t know. I don’t want to spend another hour with girls I don’t know!” Talking to people you don’t know might be easy for some people but not for me.
“I know it’s been hard moving here and leaving all your old friends,” Mom said. “I’ve been praying that we will make some new friends soon.”
“Me too,” I said. “I pray for that every night, but so far Heavenly Father hasn’t answered my prayers. It’s like He isn’t listening.”
Mom squeezed my hand. “Maybe the call from Sister Garcia is your answer,” she said.
“How can that be the answer to my prayers?” I asked.
“Sometimes when we pray, Heavenly Father expects us to do something to help answer our prayers,” Mom said. “It’s called acting in faith. We have to do more than just pray. Sometimes we have to act in faith before we get the blessing.”
“Could it be possible?” I thought. “Could going to activity day really be the answer to my prayers?”
Later, Mom asked me if I wanted a ride to the activity. I took a deep breath and nodded. Even though I was afraid, it felt like the right thing to do.
My heart was beating fast as we arrived at the church. Sister Garcia welcomed me and led me to a chair at the table. Her kind voice and warm smile helped me feel better.
A girl across the table looked at me. “Hi, I’m Teresa,” she said. “Are you new?”
There was a lump in my throat, so I just nodded.
“I think I’ve seen you at school,” Teresa said. “What class are you in?”
I swallowed nervously. “Mrs. Lee’s class,” I told her.
“I’m in the class right next door!” she said.
We talked about our classes and our favorite subjects. As we talked, I was surprised at how much we had in common. We even both liked roller-skating!
When Mom picked me up after the activity, I jumped into the car.
“Mom, can I play with my new friend Teresa?” I waved at Teresa, and she waved back.
Mom thought it was a great idea, and for the rest of the evening, my new friend and I roller-skated up and down my street.
That night as I knelt by my bed, I thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayers. At first I was scared to go to activity day, but I’m glad I did. I’m glad I was brave enough to act in faith.

That is how a legacy of testimony is created, preserved, and transmitted in a family. It isn’t easy, but ordinary people have done it. Like many of you, I had such ancestors. One was my great-grandfather John Bennion. We cannot duplicate what he did because the world has changed, but we can learn from it.

He was a convert to the Church from Wales. He, his wife, and his children came into the Salt Lake Valley in one of the early companies of pioneers. We know something of his life because after that time he kept a journal, making a short entry nearly every day. We have the journals from 1855 to 1877. They were published in one bound volume because his descendants hoped to transmit that legacy of testimony. My mother was one of them. Her last labor before she died was to transform the daybooks in which he’d written into a manuscript for publication.

His short entries don’t have much preaching in them. He doesn’t testify that he knew Brigham Young was a prophet. He just records having answered “yes” every time the prophet called him on a mission from “over Jordan” to the Muddy mission, then on to a mission back to Wales. He also answered “yes” to the call to ride into the canyons to track Johnston’s army and the call to take his family south when the army invaded the valley. There is even a family legend that the reason he died so close to the day when Brigham Young was buried was to follow the prophet one more time.

The fact that he wrote every day makes clear to me that he knew his ordinary life was historic because it was part of the building of Zion in the latter days. The few entries which record his testimony seem to appear when death took a child. His testimony is to me more powerful because he offered it when his soul was tried.

Here is his record of one of those times. His daughter Elizabeth died in his arms. He reported her burial and the location of her grave in a few lines. But then the next day, November 4, 1863, this is the entire entry:

“Wednesday. Repairing up the stable my little children pratling around me but I miss my dear Lizzy. I pray the Lord to help me to indure faithfull to his cause to the end of my days, that I may be worthy to receive my children back into the family circle, who have fallen asleep in Christ in the days of their innocence Ann, Moroni, Esther Ellen & Elizabeth, blessed & happy are they because of the atonement of Jesus Christ.”

All the elements are there. He taught the truth. He testified that it was true. He lived consistent with his testimony and prayed that he might endure faithful until he could be united with his dear family. I feel his love and a desire to be included in that circle.

Nathan started saving when he was even younger than Adam. When he was 10, he began delivering papers, shoveling snow, and mowing lawns. Now that he’s 15, he’s what he likes to call a “Babysitter Extraordinaire” for some of the families in his ward. He loves spending time with children, so it’s a great job for him. After paying tithing, he puts away 10 percent of each paycheck for his mission.
He’s had the desire to serve since Primary when he sang “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission” (Children’s Songbook, 169). “And when my brother went,” he says, “that made me want to go even more. It made a big difference for me. He set the example. He really changed his attitude toward life because of his mission.”
Going on a mission is really important to Nathan, not only because his dad thinks it’s really important or because his older brother set the example. He says, “It’s a commandment. I really need to go on a mission. It’s an important thing.”

“The gospel fills my life with such joy!” the young woman at the pulpit in my student ward exclaimed. I could tell it was true, but my own heart was heavy. I had always been a member of the Church, and I believed in the gospel with all my heart. I followed its principles faithfully. But I didn’t feel that there was any true joy in my life, only the never-ending demands of school, Church callings, friends, and family. Why couldn’t I feel the way the girl at the pulpit did?
The question soon began to consume my thoughts. The familiar Book of Mormon scripture echoed in my head: “Men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25). I became determined to find an answer.
“Father in Heaven,” I prayed late one night, “please, oh please. I’m not happy, and I’m not sure why. Where can I find the joy that prophets and others speak of?”
I crossed campus the next day, sure that now I would get the answer to my prayers. Rain had been falling for three days, filling the flower beds and spilling down the sidewalks. As I plodded through the puddles, I peered into the faces of the other students and wondered if they were truly happy.
The day passed as usual, and I was still discouraged. I sat doing homework, more downhearted than ever.
The shrill ring of the telephone shattered the silence of my self-pity.
“Catherine!” It was my dad’s cheery voice. “How are you?”
“Hi, Dad,” I said. “I’m okay.”
“Just okay?” he asked.
Soon I had told him the whole problem. Finally, I asked, “Where can I find true joy?”
He was silent for a moment, thinking.
“When I was in Germany on a mission,” he said slowly, “the sun sometimes shone for only a few hours a day. Depressing darkness would fill the rest of our waking hours. I struggled with the gloominess for some time before I learned that if I wanted to have sunshine, I had to carry it with me in my heart.”
I think back on this conversation with my dad regularly. My answer came then. Joy is something inside a person. It comes from living the gospel, being grateful for the opportunity to do so, and then remembering to simply be happy about it.

About four years later, he set out to enroll at Oberlin College, Ohio, in hopes of furthering his military ambitions. On the way, he met and traveled with David W. Patten, a Mormon apostle.
Subsequently, Lorenzo went to Kirtland, Ohio, where his sister Eliza, who had joined the Church, had gone to live. He became closely associated with the Prophet and, after a time of investigation and study, was baptized in June 1836.

Among the early converts in Kenya were two brothers, Benson and Nickson Kasue. When Benson was about eighteen years old, he was introduced to the gospel by the Dennis Childs family of the United States. Brother Childs was a veterinarian on a research project in Kenya and hired Benson to work for him. A warm friendship ensued, and Benson became interested in the Church. He then introduced his brother to the gospel. When the first missionaries came to Kenya, the brothers studied with them and requested baptism. But “it looked like that was never going to happen,” he says, “because the Church had been denied registration in our country. I waited for about four years. I did everything I could do, but I wasn’t baptized. I thought maybe God was testing me. I prayed and fasted, and prayed and fasted.”

Because the Church was denied official recognition, special permission was required from government authorities before anyone could be baptized. In 1985, approval was given for private baptisms in homes, and the Kasue brothers were finally baptized. In 1986 Benson and Nickson became the first Kenyans to serve full-time missions—Benson in California and Nickson in Washington, D.C.

After their missions, both Benson and Nickson married in the temple and continued sharing the gospel. Among those they introduced to the Church was their older brother, Julius. After four years of investigation, Julius joined the Church and moved back to his village of Chyulu, a rural area about 250 kilometers southeast of Nairobi, Kenya. Julius and his wife, Sabina, became the nucleus of a branch there. The experience of the Chyulu Saints is representative of the faith found among the new congregations being established throughout Africa.

I have done that. Once I had an experience that caused me immense anxiety. It had nothing to do with disobedience or transgression but with a vitally important human relationship. For some time I poured my heart out in urgent prayer. Yet try as I might, I could find no solution, no settling of the powerful stirring within me. I pled for help from that Eternal Father I have come to know and trust completely. I could see no path that would provide the calm that is my blessing generally to enjoy. Sleep overcame me. When I awoke, I was totally at peace. Again I knelt in solemn prayer and asked, “Lord, how is it done?” In my heart, I knew the answer was His love and His concern for me. Such is the power of sincere prayer to a compassionate Father.

The road to recognition in this country has been both difficult and frustrating. Since receiving our European assignments, Elder Ringger and I have traveled to Czechoslovakia at least once each year to meet with governmental officials in Prague. Two transoceanic journeys were rewarded only with failed appointments or hopes dashed with the empty statement that “your request for recognition is still being studied.” When we returned to Prague on 6 February 1990, however, we found that the official with whom we had been dealing had been removed from his chair. When his successor heard our complete story, he said, “Your request for recognition will be approved this very month. Your people may again worship in full dignity. Your missionaries may again return to this country.” Recognition was granted February 21, effective 1 March 1990.

When that important declaration was made, I sensed that the real hero in this story was our district president in Czechoslovakia, Jiri Snederfler. Some two and one-half years earlier, Elder Ringger and I had learned that recognition could be formally requested only by a Czechoslovakian member of the Church. So we went to the home of Brother and Sister Snederfler. We explained that we had just received that information from the chairman of the Council of Religious Affairs. Knowing that other Czechoslovakian leaders and thinkers had been imprisoned or put to death for religious or dissident belief, we told Brother Snederfler that we, as his Church leaders, could not and would not make that request of him. After contemplating only a brief moment, Brother Snederfler humbly said, “I will go! I will do it!” As he spoke, his wife, Olga, shed a tear. They embraced and said, “We will do whatever is needed. This is for the Lord, and His work is more important than our freedom or life.”

Some months later, when the papers were properly prepared, Brother Snederfler submitted them personally. He and our members were then subjected to strict surveillance. The Saints continued in courage and faith. Ultimately, after periodic fasting and prayer and complete compliance with all requirements, that glorious announcement of recognition came. How I admire the Snederflers and all these stalwart members who endured so much interrogation and risk!

Brother Snederfler has been called to preside over the Freiberg Germany Temple effective 1 September 1991, succeeding President Burkhardt, who has given more than six years of devout and faithful service. Sister Olga Snederfler will serve as temple matron, succeeding Sister Inge Burkhardt.

On 1 July 1990, a mission in Czechoslovakia, forbidden for forty years, was again opened, with Richard W. Winder as president of the Czechoslovakian Mission. He had served in that country on his first mission as a young man. His wife, Barbara, was released as general president of the Relief Society to accompany her husband on this crucial assignment for which they alone were so uniquely qualified.

Interviewing the grandparents about their lives, writing the scripts, finding costumes, and then having rehearsals to make sure everything was just right took a lot of time. But the youth said the time spent was worth it when they saw everything and everyone come together on the night of the activity.
“Sometimes I didn’t really feel like it was worth all the time it took to put this activity together. But then when I saw the final night and the looks on the faces of the elderly as they watched incidents from their lives acted out before them and as they realized that the youth in the ward care about who they are, it all seemed worth it,” Cassie says. “It also made me want to live my life in a way so that if someone were to write a play about me when I am old I wouldn’t be embarrassed by it.”

I remember him as being fifty years old, tall and strong. He wore coveralls and heavy work shoes and dark glasses all the time. A friend of my father’s, he lived alone but worked for us now and again. His name was John, and he had been blind for more than forty years.
John lived in an unfinished, one-room house with crooked walls and a very crooked chimney. The house was untidy and smelled of damp and decay, fried food, smoked bacon, coffee grounds, and coal and wood smoke. John had built the house—that accounted for the crooked walls and chimney. He ate mostly bacon and eggs; fried potatoes, bread and milk—that accounted for the smell.
Although John’s house was about two and a half kilometers from our house, and about the same distance from a small store where he bought his food, he could confidently walk those gravel roads at a pace that I envied.
He did a little carpentry work for people in town if they weren’t too concerned about the quality of the finished product. One summer he worked with my dad to build an automobile service station. John would walk to our house, work with my dad during the day, eat a lunch my mother prepared while he sat on a pile of boards, and then walk back to his home that night. Dad always watched until John was out of sight.
During the spring and winter months, Dad drove a school bus taking local children to and from school. His bus route took him past John’s house four times a day. He would honk the bus horn, the school children would wave, and John would wave back from his window as if he could see the students’ faces. When John would oversleep and not be at the window, or if there wasn’t smoke coming out of the crooked chimney, dad would stop and shout from the bus doorway, “John, how are you going to get things done if you sleep until midday?” John would come to the window and give some excuse about his alarm clock not going off, and dad would drive on.
Remembering the way my dad used to communicate with John has built a lasting appreciation in my mind for my father. Dad didn’t study any books, or listen to any college professors lecture on how to help blind people to be independent. He just used common sense and was sensitive to John as a person. Dad checked on John almost daily to make sure he was well, but I never remember him asking such questions as: “John, are you all right? Is there something I can do for you? Do you need anything? Can I take you somewhere?”
Instead dad would ask: “John, I’ve been preparing a talk. Would you like to listen and see what you think of it?”
“John, I’m going to be constructing a building. What do you think of doing it this way? Could you help me?”
Dad always asked for help from John, and he always got help; but in reality dad was not getting anything—he was giving. In every contact he had with John, dad’s message was: you are a person, you are important, your opinion means something, you have a right to be here; human dignity is eternal and essential.
In those days, when you could no longer take care of yourself, you moved into an “old folks’ home.” At age seventy-one and ill, John decided to move into such a care center, and it was like opening a new door for him. There he regained his health and met a happy woman whom he called Sunshine. Sunshine had never been able to walk. John, with his strong arms and legs, was able to help her get around, and she was able to see for him. John changed his lifestyle, became reconverted to the Church, was married in the temple, and lived a new and happy life for thirteen years before he and his dear companion passed away. No one was happier for John during those last years than my dad who showed me how to serve others as the Savior would have served—with love, compassion, and respect.

Previously, while serving for six years in her ward’s family history center, María researched her family line. Then, on numerous Saturday mornings before going to work in the temple cafeteria, she completed vicarious temple work for four generations of her female ancestors. She also had the work completed for four generations of male ancestors.

When she began researching her family history, María felt that the task was impossible—especially when she was unable to determine the names of two great-grandparents. But one night their complete names were revealed to her in a dream. At first she wondered whether the names could be correct, but as she searched among her mother’s records, she found the names and was able to make family connections that had eluded her. She believes the dream came as a blessing for her efforts to serve the Lord and His children.

When I first met with the missionaries, I did not understand much of what they said, and to tell you the truth, I may not have paid much attention to them. My heart was closed to a new religion. I wanted only to prove they were wrong and to gain time to convince Renee to marry me anyway.

Today my children have served and are serving missions, and I understand the sacrifices that these young men and young women make to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ. Now I wish I had paid more attention to Elder Richardson, Elder Farrell, and Elder Hyland, the wonderful missionaries who taught me.