Gospel Story Finder

Because of our financial needs, my father expected me to help earn money for the family. I wanted to serve a mission, but when I turned 19 years old, he asked that I wait one year to serve my mission so I could continue working to help my family. When I turned 20 years old, he asked that I wait another year to serve.
Just before I turned 21 years old, he wanted to request that I wait one more year. But my mother told him, “Let him go serve, and it will bless us.” This really happened. Before my mission, only a younger brother and I had worked to help support the family. As soon as I went on my mission, two more of my brothers and my two oldest sisters started working, so my family did better financially.

The women of Kettering Ward, Northampton Stake were invited to share their knitting skills with the Linus Project in Northamptonshire and knit coloured squares to make into blankets for sick and distressed children.
The ladies started to meet for one morning a month, and for the first few months shared their knowledge and skills. The less practiced knitters learnt new skills, forgotten skills were renewed and the first blankets were made. The women formed a group and called themselves the “Busy Bees” and it wasn’t long before they were able to sew the squares together and send nineteen blankets off to the Linus Project.

During the Great Depression, Harold B. Lee, serving then as a stake president, was asked by the Brethren to find an answer to the oppressive poverty, sorrow, and hunger that were so widespread across the world at that time. He struggled to find a solution and took the matter to the Lord and asked, “What kind of an organization will we have … to do this?”

And “it was as though the Lord had said [to him]: ‘Look, son. You don’t need any other organization. I have given you the greatest organization there is on the face of the earth. Nothing is greater than the priesthood organization. All in the world you need to do is to put the priesthood to work. That’s all.’”12

I, too, have had many personal experiences with hope. As a senior at BYU-Provo, I was filled with hope. I met Bonnie and knew immediately she was the one I wanted to marry. This was confirmed through several powerful spiritual experiences. It took a few months, but on New Year’s Eve I closed the deal when she said “yes”. On May 7, we were married in the Salt Lake Temple. I was also accepted into Harvard’s MBA program. Two of my fondest hopes were fulfilled. We loved our time in the Boston area and I earned my MBA, but had a hard time finding the type of job I hoped for. I found one in Salt Lake City, but it really wasn’t a good fit and I was never happy there. After 18 months, I lost my job, with a wife and two small children to provide for. This was a huge blow to my confidence, but I never lost hope. During the following ten years, many aspects of life were great. I had a wonderful wife, for whom I thanked the Lord every day. We added two children, loved serving in the Princeton Ward and lived near family and lifelong friends. However, the hopes I had for my career were not being met.

During this time, I taught on the side at the University of Phoenix and then the University of Utah. I enjoyed teaching and considered making a career of it. That meant going back to school to get a PhD. I talked with professors and administrators at Weber State University and the University of Utah, who gave mixed advice. I asked Craig Sudbury, a member of our stake presidency, to give me a blessing that I might know what to do. Bro. Sudbury started the blessing somewhat haltingly, but the Spirit suddenly kicked in with promises for what was in store if I pursued the PhD. It was like having a second patriarchal blessing.

With the hope this blessing gave me, I applied to six PhD programs. I particularly hoped the University of Michigan would accept me. It was the highest rated program on my list and located in a college town we thought would be good for our family. Two universities immediately accepted me, the most promising of which was the University of Washington in Seattle. However, weeks passed and I heard nothing from the University of Michigan. Thinking the University of Washington was going to be our best opportunity, Bonnie and I flew to Seattle at our own expense to see how we felt about it. Surprisingly, we didn’t feel good at all. We returned to Salt Lake City confused and discouraged. Then literally one day after returning, Claes Fornell, chair of the PhD program at the University of Michigan’s Graduate School of Business, called and invited me to attend their program. When I told Bonnie the news, we both knew that the University of Michigan was where we were supposed to be. At age 38, with four children, we made the huge leap of faith to leave our home in Salt Lake and be poor college students for at least four years, all based on the hope that our life would be richer for it. Things went very well at Michigan. After graduating, I joined the faculty at the University of Hawaii, which led us to BYU-Hawaii, the place we needed to be, both for my career and my family.

This story happened in Kenya.
“Elise, wake up,” Mum said.
Elise groaned and rolled over. She wanted to keep sleeping!
She squeezed her eyes shut for a minute longer. Then she thought of her friends at school and the things she would learn there. Finally she crawled out of bed to say her prayers.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “thank Thee for a new day. Please help me get to school on time. Help me to learn and be kind to others. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
It was 4:00 in the morning, and it was still dark outside. Elise’s school was far away. That’s why she had to wake up so early. But she knew learning was important. Besides, she had to go to school if she wanted to be an engineer someday!
Before she left, Elise grabbed her book bag and some chapati for breakfast. She finished eating the flatbread while she waited for the bus.
When the bus go there, the sun peeked over the buildings in the distance. Elise stepped on and found her seat. She looked out the window and thought about being an engineer. Someday, she would build machines to help people.
When she got off the bus, Elise still had a few blocks to walk to get to school. She checked the time and started running. She couldn’t be late!
“Welcome, class,” Auntie Claudia said. “Auntie” was what they called their teacher. “Today we are learning about fractions.”
Elise sat up straighter in her seat. She loved mathematics!
But as Auntie Claudia wrote the equation on the board, Elise felt confused. She looked back at her maths book, then at her notes. The numbers didn’t make sense.
“Please finish the assignment on page 42 by tomorrow,” Auntie Claudia said. “You can use the rest of the hour to work on it.”
Elise wrote down the first problem. She started to solve it, but then she got stuck. She sighed. Maybe her friend Jessie could help.
“Jessie,” Elise whispered. “Can you help me do the first problem?”
Jessie shook her head. “I’m trying to finish my work before class is over.”
Elise frowned. She turned to her friend Miguel. “Do you know how to do the first one?” she asked.
But Miguel was also too busy. “Sorry,” he said, and kept working.
Elise felt sick to her stomach. She was usually so good at maths!
When Elise got home, it was dark again. She was tired. And she still needed to finish her homework.
Elise started the problem again. But she still couldn’t solve it. The numbers made her head hurt! Maybe she couldn’t be an engineer after all.
Just then, Elise’s older sister Emma sat down next to her. “Are you OK?” she asked.
Elise groaned. “I don’t know how to do these problems! Everyone else in class does. I’m just not smart enough.”
Emma laughed. “You are smart!” she said. “When something is hard, that doesn’t mean you aren’t smart. It just means you need more practice. Here, show me what you’re working on. I can teach you.”
Elise showed her the equation, and Emma started writing the numbers. After a few minutes, everything started to make sense. Elise took the pencil from Emma’s hand and finished the problem.
“You did it!” Emma said. “Keep practicing. If you get stuck again, I can help you.”
Elise felt warm inside as she started working on the next problem. Heavenly Father had answered her morning prayer and helped her learn! She was grateful He had given her a patient older sister to explain the problems to her. With Heavenly Father’s help and some hard work, she really could be an engineer someday!
Illustration by Simini Blocker

As a young boy, not quite 13 years of age, in September 1939, it was natural to have some momentary fear when I heard that war had been declared. Some of the children even speculated about the end of the world coming in those dark days that followed when the invasion of England seemed imminent and bombs were falling all around. We were not really afraid, however, for we had faith in God. We prayed and worked for deliverance, and miraculously it came.

In a short amount of time, Ethel successfully recruited over 150 students from the Hawaiian islands. These Students were so anxious and blessed to enroll in a college that was affordable, close by, and most importantly tailored specifically for them by a Prophet of God.

The College began with an opening assembly in the chapel of the Laie First Ward because that was the largest facility they had to accommodate everyone.

“True to prophetic vision, the college was now a reality and the official opening an important event in history. We were pioneers and it was exciting to be involved with The Church College. The faculty and staff were very compatible and the students were wonderful. We had 153 students that first historic year and it has continued to grow.”

Ethel was mindful that our students were tremendously blessed by this institution. She explained how one student, Glen Auna, was so excited to be admitted to this school that he arrived two weeks early, and they didn’t know what to do with him.
Portable buildings were used as dorms and classrooms while the campus was being built by service missionaries until 1958. The girl's dormitory was up on the hill near the temple, and the boys were housed a couple of miles away at Kokololio, or Kekela Beach Park.

“I’m tired of doing all the work around here,” Jason complained when Mom asked him to pick up his toys. “I wish I could do what you do.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. “You really think you do all the work?”
Jason nodded. It seemed to him that he had more chores than any of his friends.
“All right, Jason,” Mom said. “Tomorrow we’ll change jobs. I’ll do your chores, and you can do mine. I will make a list for you so you won’t forget anything.”
Jason let out a whoop and quickly sat down to make a list of chores for his mom. He made it as long as possible, leaving a couple of extra spaces in case he thought of some more things later.
Pick up all the toys.
Make my bed.
Take out the garbage.
Hang up clean clothes.
Put dirty clothes in the clothes hamper.
Keep drawers neat.
Feed the dog.
Clean the cat’s litter box.
“I’ll have time to play my new video game and go skateboarding,” he thought.
At bedtime, Dad came in to say good-night. “Mom tells me you two have a deal. Are you sure you want to do her chores?”
Jason grinned as he gave Dad a hug. “Oh, I’m sure.”
The next morning Dad gently shook Jason awake. “I’m ready for breakfast, and I need you to fix my lunch.”
Jason opened one eye. It didn’t feel like it was time to get up.
“Remember, you and Mom are changing chores today,” Dad said. “Mom always fixes my breakfast and a lunch before I go to work.”
Reluctantly Jason arose and went to the kitchen. He was cleaning up an egg that hadn’t quite made it to the dish when Dad came in, shaved and ready for work. “Is my food ready? I have to leave.”
Jason shook his head.
“I guess I’ll pick up something to eat for breakfast and lunch today instead. Do you think it would be fair to take the cost out of your allowance?”
Jason opened his mouth to protest, but Dad gave him a quick kiss and said, “We’ll talk about it when I get home.”
By now baby Jill and four-year-old Matt were awake, but Mom had turned on the television instead of getting them dressed. Soon Jill began to cry.
“Jason, Jill’s hungry,” Mom called. “Why don’t you feed her a banana and some cereal? I’m hungry, too. Toast sounds good.”
Jason couldn’t believe this was happening! It didn’t seem fair.
“Maybe Matt will set the table,” Mom added. “I’ll help him get dressed, if that’s OK.”
Jason remembered all the times he hadn’t helped unless asked. “Thanks, Mom. Uh, could you maybe watch the toast, too?”
“Sure, Jason, but in a minute. I want to see how this program ends. It’s an art show I recorded last week, and I haven’t had time to watch it.”
Jason frowned. He was about to complain until he remembered how often he insisted on finishing a program before doing what he was asked to do. He burned two more pieces of toast.
“Oh, never mind, Jason,” Mom said cheerfully when she came into the kitchen. “Matt and I will have cereal instead. I’ll fix his and mine. You feed Jill.”
Somehow Jason got Jill fed and dressed. He was about to remind Mom to take out the garbage when he noticed it was already done, and the dog also fed.
When he ran to get his skateboard, Jason was pleased to see how tidy his room was. “Thanks, Mom, for cleaning my room,” he called as he opened the door to go out to play.
Mom gently reminded him that he needed to put in a load of laundry. Sure enough, it was on the list. So was vacuuming. He felt tears welling up as he saw his friends Timmy and Peter speed by outside on their bikes. Did Mom really do this much stuff every day?
When the first load of laundry was in the dryer and a second load in the washer, Mom asked Jason to change Jill’s diaper. Then Matt and his friends came running in just long enough to get crackers and drinks of water. They left a mess. It wasn’t fair that he had to clean up after someone else! Mom smiled and said, “I’d help, but I just painted my fingernails.”
After lunch, Jason put Jill down for a nap, but Matt insisted that he didn’t need one. “Why don’t you read him a story for quiet time instead?” Mom suggested. That made Jason angry. Would he have no free time all day? He jerked a book off the shelf and began reading grouchily, which made Matt cry.
“Be quiet, Matt, or you’ll wake Jill,” Jason hissed. Matt cried louder.
Jason sighed. “I’m sorry, Matt. Do you want to play with my new toy truck?” He got out his favorite toys, and the two boys played for the next hour. Jason was surprised at how much fun they had.
Soon Mom asked, “Have you thought of something for supper? Dad will be home soon.” Jason was about to suggest going out for hamburgers until he remembered that Dad had eaten out for both breakfast and lunch.
“How about macaroni and cheese?” It was one of the few things he knew how to make.
“Would you mind if I made a salad to go with it?” Mom offered.
“That would be great.” Jason was relieved that Mom wasn’t going to make him cook all alone. “I didn’t know you did so much, Mom,” he said as he stirred the macaroni. “Thanks for helping me.”
“Well, Jason, how did your day go?” Dad asked when he walked in the door. “Did you enjoy doing Mom’s chores?”
“It was OK,” Jason said carefully, “but I didn’t know Mom worked so hard. I found out that she does lots of things when I’m not here.” Jason bit his lip in thought. “I just want to do my own chores and be a kid for now, but maybe I’ll be a better kid than I was.”
Jason was true to his word. When he felt like complaining, he remembered the day he did Mom’s jobs and instead pitched in to lend a hand. The funny thing was, he soon found it was fun to help.

Working in my father’s blacksmith shop as a young boy, I was given a small steel bar drilled with three holes to use as a pattern. Carefully I began drilling the three holes in several blank bars. Anxious to please my father, I drilled each hole with exactness. He came over to inspect my work, measuring the holes. Looking at me a bit puzzled, he said, “Son, these holes are not as accurate as they should be. Show me what you are doing.” Picking up a blank bar of steel, I placed it under another bar in which I had already drilled three holes, matching the edges precisely. At that moment my father said, “Son, I know where the problem is. You must always drill through the original pattern I gave you.”
Even being as careful as possible, unless I used the original pattern given to me by my father, the holes became a little more distorted each time a different pattern was used.

Last year Chantal auditioned for a prestigious gala presentation that the media attend to report on the best new talent in Montreal. Chantal passed the audition and was scheduled to perform, but when she found out the concert was to be held on a Sunday, she withdrew.

“I fasted about it. Even though I really wanted to sing at the gala, if the Spirit says don’t go, you don’t go. So I didn’t. The important thing is always to follow what Heavenly Father wants us to do. But I know that because I listened to the Spirit, other opportunities have come my way,” says Chantal.

She recently found herself singing for a seminary film produced by the Church. Last year both sisters were asked to help with French translations for the film. Chantal told the producer she liked to sing and was asked to record several songs for the project. She went to the studio, put on the earphones, and surprised everybody when she did an outstanding job in record time. A technician told her she had professional talent, which was encouraging.

“If I sing professionally, my commitment to God will always take first priority,” she says. “I look at my singing as missionary work.”

1. “Watch out! The allosaurus is going to get you!” roared Teddy as he chased Cole’s dinosaur around the couch with his allosaurus.
“No one can stop me. I’m a tyrannosaurus rex,” Cole said, bouncing his dinosaur along the walls.
2. The boys stomped through the house like loud, hungry dinosaurs until Mom brought out a snack.
3. “Who’s that on your wall?” Teddy asked, eating his string cheese.
“Jesus, of course,” Cole said.
“Who is Jesus?” Teddy asked.
Cole didn’t know what to say. He thought everyone knew about Jesus.
“He lives in heaven. And He loves all the people,” was all he could think to answer.
“OK,” Teddy said. “Do you want to go outside?”
4. Cole was kneeling by his bed that night getting ready to say his prayers when Dad came in.
“Did you have a good time with Teddy today?” Dad asked.
“Yes. We played in the sandbox and with dinosaurs. Dad, Teddy asked me who Jesus was, and I didn’t know what to tell him.”
5. Dad pointed to a picture on the wall above Cole’s bed. It was of Jesus surrounded by children. “What do you think about when you look at this painting?” Dad asked.
6. “I think about how I want to live with Jesus and Heavenly Father someday. And how Jesus treated people nicely when He was on the earth,” Cole said.
7. “It sounds like you could tell Teddy both of those things,” Dad said.
“Maybe Teddy would like to come to church with me sometime,” Cole said. “Then he could learn lots of things about Jesus. And it is fun too.”
8. Dad kissed Cole on the top of his head.
“You’re a good boy, Cole. Heavenly Father and Jesus are both proud of you. And Teddy is lucky to have you for a friend.”

Eliza R. Snow, who had heard of the Prophet and some very ugly things in that ­connection, happened to be at home one day when the Prophet called and visited with her family. “In the winter of 1830 and ’31, Joseph Smith called at my father’s,” she wrote of this visit, “and as he sat warming himself, I scrutinized his face as closely as I could without attracting his attention, and decided that his was an honest face.”43 Later, after joining the Church, she was often in his home as a kind of babysitter and help for a time in Kirtland. She first admired him in his public ministry, saw him as a prophet, but not until she saw him in his own home, on his knees in prayer, and in his relationship with his children did her whole heart go out to him in admiration.44 He was, she said, as humble as a little child.45

Thi-Kinh sat in the shade of an areca tree trying to hide her anger from the happy villagers around her, for today was the day before Tet, the Vietnamese New Year.
“Tet is a joyous holiday,” her father had explained last evening as he gathered his eight children around him. “It is a time of new beginning. We must pay old debts, correct our faults, and forget past mistakes. Most important of all, we must forgive others and make friends of enemies. If we do not …” He looked at each of the listening children. “If we do not, bad luck will plague us during the coming year.”
Thi-Kinh flopped over onto her stomach. “Well, Nan-Tan deserves bad luck after what she did to me.” Nan-Tan had been a friend; now she was not. Thi-Kinh could never think about Nan-Tan without becoming angry.
“Thi-Kinh,” her mother called from the doorway of their mud hut. “I need you. See, the sun is high in the sky, and we must finish our work by noon.”
Already they had thoroughly cleaned the hut and decorated inside and out with fresh flowers. They had prepared special food for the holidays and bought new clothes for everyone in the family.
“Please hurry to the market and buy candles for our Giao Thua celebration,” her mother said.
Returning home, Thi-Kinh couldn’t stop thinking about Nan-Tan. Two full moons ago, during the time of examinations at school, Nan-Tan had begged to see Thi-Kinh’s answers.
Thi-Kinh refused and Nan-Tan, hissing angrily, told the teacher Thi-Kinh was cheating. Thi-Kinh had been disgraced.
“Be kind,” her father had counseled. “Nan-Tan must feel great shame for what she has done.”
But Thi-Kinh ignored his advice. Nan-Tan did not deserve kindness. After school she avoided her, and if they met accidentally, Thi-Kinh turned her face away.
Now it was nearly Tet. Thi-Kinh felt secret satisfaction because Nan-Tan’s New Year was ruined. Hadn’t she wronged someone and not asked forgiveness? She is at fault, Thi-Kinh thought, handing the new candles to her mother. May her New Year be most miserable.
For some reason Thi-Kinh did not enjoy the Giao Thua ceremony that evening. The weather was beautiful. Everything was lovely, bright with flowers and lighted candles. Still, Thi-Kinh felt uneasy.
She went with the family to the pagoda to pray for prosperity during the coming year. She should have been happy. Instead, she grew more and more troubled.
On the way home, Thi-Kinh drew her father aside. “Honorable parent,” she said, “I am most confused. Perhaps it is I who will have bad luck, for I hold anger in my heart for another. What shall I do about Nan-Tan?”
“It is for you to decide,” her father replied. “Sometimes the innocent must point the way.”
All night Thi-Kinh tossed on her sleeping mat. I am the innocent one. But point the way? How?
Thi-Kinh went through the next day automatically, half of her mind busy with the problem of Nan-Tan. She arose early with her family and put on her new clothes. She accepted, without the usual joy, the customary lucky red paper envelope containing pieces of silver. She tried to be cheerful when visitors arrived to offer good wishes for the coming year. As she helped her mother with the betel nuts and sticky rice cakes, her heart felt heavy.
Finally, at sunset, she could bear it no longer. “If Nan-Tan will not come to me,” she told her father, “I shall go to her. I cannot begin the new year with this feeling of wrongness in my heart.”
Her father bowed solemnly to her. “It is a wise person who knows in which direction happiness lies.”
Thi-Kinh took the shortcut through the banana grove to Nan-Tan’s hut. As she stepped clear of the trees, she was surprised to see Nan-Tan running toward her with outstretched arms. Tears were streaming down Nan-Tan’s face as she called Thi-Kinh’s name.
Suddenly Thi-Kinh felt like singing, for she knew that Tet would be a time of new beginning after all.

Last year, our very first nephew, Nathan, left to serve a mission in Mexico. We explained to our children that Nathan was in the MTC to learn Spanish. One evening we decided to devote a family home evening night to writing letters to him. Although we were helping the youngest, all of the other children were writing independently. At one point, Stephen, age 7, asked, “How do you spell ‘empty?’” We thought nothing of it at the time, but later as we were reviewing what the kids had written, we saw this question in Stephen’s letter: “Dear Nathan, what do you do in the empty sea?”—Meredith J., Colorado

“No school today!” came the magic words from the radio.
Remembering last night’s house-shaking blizzard, Dave thought that a holiday from school was a beautiful bonus.
“I wish Dad weren’t out of town,” said Mother, briskly beating pancake batter. “Something always happens when he’s gone.”
A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows. Dave peered out. He could hardly tell where the road was. It looked like a white river with waves whipped up by the wind.
“Being snowed in isn’t so bad,” he said happily. “Nothing can get through, not even a school bus.”
During breakfast, the radio broadcast several weather-related stories: A forty-mile-an-hour wind had roared all night, blowing three feet of snow into massive drifts. Semitrailers had jackknifed, and cars and buses had slid into ditches. Some snow-plows were still stuck on major highways. “The worst of the storm is over,” the announcer concluded, “but some areas might not be plowed out until tomorrow.”
The phone rang. It was Dave’s best friend, Tim. “Tough about school, huh? Think we can handle it?”
“Maybe if we get together for moral support,” Dave replied.
“Glad to help a buddy out,” Tim said cheerfully. “Be right over.”
Tim lived only two blocks away, but by the time he got to Dave’s house, he was covered with snow. “The Abominable Snowman himself!” he laughed.
“I know a perfect place to build a snow cave-fort,” Dave suggested, pulling on his ski jacket, snow bib, boots, hat, and mittens. He felt as if he was outfitting for a polar expedition.
“Snow’s sticky enough,” agreed Tim.
“Build it where I can see you from the house,” Mother warned. “And be careful.”
“Sure,” the boys said in unison.
Outside, the wind punched them in the face, and snowflakes as thick as feathers swirled around them. Sinking deep into the drifts, they plodded toward the garage, where Dave pointed to a high snowbank.
“It is perfect!” Tim said. The giant snowbank blocked the wind and had plenty of raw material for their cave-fort. They set to work tunneling into the base of the big drift, shoveling out the snow and packing the sides as they dug.
Two houses away their friends Jeff and Brian were piling up snowballs.
“We just have to get our fort done before they start a snowball fight!” Tim exclaimed. They worked all morning, then stopped only for lunch and to change their wet mittens.
“How’s your fort coming along?” Mother asked, dishing up tomato soup and handing them grilled cheese sandwiches.
“It’s the best ever,” bragged Tim. “It’s the biggest and highest—”
“And strongest, I hope,” Mother put in, looking worried.
“We’ll find out in the snowball showdown!” replied Tim, gulping down his soup.
When they went out again, they saw that Jeff and Brian had started to build a fort too. Dave wondered how much ammunition they had stockpiled.
Dave and Tim’s fort was shaping up. They widened the entrance, enlarged the inside, and sloshed water onto the sides to ice them firm. Finally, pushing out a big snow chunk, Dave grunted, “We’re just about done.”
“If you clear the doorway,” said Tim, “I can finish up inside.”
Dave crawled out and started shoveling out the entrance. He looked at the fort looming high above him. It seemed strangely quiet. The wind had died to a whisper. The snow had stopped. Nothing moved. It was like a movie that had stopped, frozen in one frame. He shivered.
Then, without a sound, the snow roof slowly slid inward, collapsing the fort and burying Tim. This can’t be happening! Dave agonized, and he flew at the crumpled white mound with his shovel, flailing away furiously. “Tim! Tim!” he yelled. But there was no sound. “Cave-in!” he shouted to Jeff and Brian, and they came running with shovels. “Tim’s under there!”
Dave’s mother came running out of the house. “I called an ambulance, but nothing can get through. The roads are still blocked!” She frantically started scooping at the snow pile with her bare hands.
Dave’s heart sank. “Please, God,” he murmured desperately, “help Tim.” Shoveling furiously again, he shouted, “Hang on, Tim! We’ll get you out!” Finally, his breath coming in great gasps, Dave stopped shoveling. Looking at the huge pile of snow and at the very little that they had uncovered, a wave of despair swept over him.
Suddenly a story flashed through his mind, one that he’d read long ago. It was about an avalanche, a boy who was buried, and his friend who kept poking a broom handle deep into the drifts until he found him.
Dave tore off his mittens. He wanted to feel with his fingertips. Plunging his arm deep into the snow, he jabbed down in different places, calling, “Tim! We’re coming, Tim!” over and over. Tim had to know that help was on the way, so that he could hold out longer.
I must hurry, Dave told himself. There’s so much snow to cover. Am I reaching deep enough? Again and again he thrust his arms into the snow—reaching, reaching.
Suddenly he thought that he felt something way down deep. Was he imagining it? His arm pushed through the snow again. There was something there! “Dig here!” he yelled.
The diggers scooped out snow with their shovels and then with their hands until they had uncovered Tim’s arm, hanging limp. Quickly they uncovered Tim’s head. His face was ashen, but he opened his eyes and mumbled something. In just minutes he was freed, carried into the house, stripped of his wet clothes, and wrapped in blankets.
It wasn’t until then that Dave was conscious of his own red, throbbing hands. He soaked them in tepid water, but they hurt for a long time afterward. A small price to pay, he thought.
Meanwhile, everything around him was a blur … people coming, Tim’s mother talking to the doctor on the phone: “He just wants to sleep,” she was saying, her voice shaky. Dave’s thoughts focused again when she told him, “The doctor wants us to question Tim. If he makes sense, he’s probably all right.”
Dave went with her into Tim’s bedroom. Tim’s face was still pale, but he was breathing steadily. His eyes were closed. “Tim?” Dave asked softly.
Tim opened his eyes. “Thanks,” he said, trying to smile. “You saved my life.” His eyes closed again.
Dave swallowed hard. “Tim, did you hear me calling your name?”
Tim shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Not even the yelling?” asked Dave.
Tim’s voice was low. “I just kept thinking, ‘Don’t panic. It uses up more oxygen.’” Then he fell asleep.
He makes sense, all right, Dave thought, relieved.
Tim’s mother turned to Dave. “You’re a hero,” she said, her voice soft with tears.
But Dave knew that he couldn’t take all the credit. It was a miracle. It had to be. Why else would he have remembered that long-ago story? Why else was he able to find Tim in time? God was looking out for us, Dave thought. Miracles are never a one-man show.

Among the Christmas experiences that are etched most sharply in my memory are the ones spent away from home and loved ones while serving in the mission field or in military service. Each Christmas when I was in the military in World War II, I wondered when the terrible suffering and agony of war would end and we could all go home. And as we sang, “Peace on earth, goodwill to men,” I wondered if the Germans and the Japanese who were Christians were also singing this familiar refrain with the same yearnings in their hearts. Then it all ended 59 years ago after the dropping of two atomic bombs on Japan. Mankind had never before seen such destructive power. There was a concern in our hearts about the beast that had been unleashed.
I would like to recount a story told by Kenneth J. Brown, who was serving as a U.S. Marine in Japan following the dropping of the bomb. His moving story about a Japanese Christian he met at Christmastime in Nagasaki is as follows.
“I watched him turn from the street and climb the path leading to our shelter. He was groping, hesitating. As he came near he folded his umbrella and stood quietly a long moment. His thin coat soon dampened from the cold rain that was falling from the same sky that had brought death to nearly half his townspeople three short months before. I concluded that it must take some special courage to confront one’s conquerors without invitation. It was little wonder that he hesitated.
“His polite bow to me was no bow of submission. Rather his squared shoulders and lifted head let me feel as if I were looking up at him even … though I towered over him a foot or more. I recall being disturbed that I hadn’t yet become used to the near sightless eyes of those who had looked heavenward that morning when the bomb dropped. …
“… I respectfully asked if I could be of service. [In his clear English] he introduced himself as Professor Iida. …
“‘I am Christian,’ he said. ‘I am told this is the head minister’s office. Are you a Christian? It is good to talk with a follower of Christ; there are so few Christian Japanese.’
“I took him to the inner office of the division chaplain and waited while the two men conversed. Professor Iida stated his request briefly. He was a teacher of music in a Christian girls’ college until it was closed by imperial command. … He had been imprisoned because of his professed Christianity. After being released he had returned to Nagasaki and continued his music instruction in his home even though it was forbidden. He had been able to continue a small chorus and would be pleased if … they [could] sing a concert for the American Marines.
“‘We know something of your American Christmases,’ he said. ‘We should like to do something to make your Christmas in Japan more enjoyable.’
“I felt sure the chaplain would give a negative reply. Our unit was one of hardened fighters, four years away from home, who had fought the enemy from Saipan to Iwo Jima. … Yet there was something about the man that bespoke sincere desire to do a good deed so that … permission was granted. The concert would be Christmas Eve.
“The rains had stopped and a calm settled over the atomic bowl reminiscent of the calm that night long ago. The concert was well attended; there was nothing else to do. The theater … had been cleared of its fallen roof and men were sitting on the jagged walls. The usual momentary hush fell over the audience as the performers filed on stage. …
“The first thing we noticed was that they were singing in English and we became aware that they didn’t understand the words but had memorized them for our benefit. Professor Iida had taught his students well; they sang beautifully. We sat enthralled as if a choir from heaven were singing for us. … It was as if Christ were being born anew that night.
“The closing number was a solo, an aria from ‘The Messiah.’ The girl sang with all the conviction of one who knew that Jesus was indeed the Savior of mankind and it brought tears. After that there was a full minute of silence followed by sustained applause as the small group took bow after bow.
“Later that night I helped Professor Iida take down the trimmings. I could not resist asking some questions that propriety forbade but curiosity demanded. I just had to know.
“‘How did your group manage to survive the bomb?’ I asked.
“‘This is only half my group,’ he said softly, but seemed unoffended at my recalling his grief so that I felt I could ask more.
“‘And what of the families of these?’
“‘They nearly all lost one or more members. Some are orphans.’
“‘What about the soloist? She must have the soul of an angel the way she sang.’
“‘Her mother, two of her brothers were taken. Yes, she did sing well; I am so proud of her. She is my daughter.’ …
“The next day was Christmas, the one I remember best. For that day I knew that Christianity had not failed in spite of people’s unwillingness to live His teachings. I had seen hatred give way to service, pain to rejoicing, sorrow to forgiveness. This was possible because a babe had been born in a manger [and] later taught love of God and fellowmen. We had caused them the greatest grief and yet we were their Christian brothers and as such they were willing to forget their grief and unite with us in singing ‘Peace on earth, goodwill to all men.’
“The words of Miss Iida’s song testimony would not be stilled, ‘Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.’ They seemed to echo and re-echo over the half-dead city that day.
“That day also I knew that there was a greater power on earth than the atomic bomb.”

I think of my wife’s grandmother who, as a young married woman, went to Manti with her husband, who was called to work on the temple when it was being constructed there. While so working, he suffered an injury which took his life. She lived a widow for more than sixty years, working and struggling, most of the time alone, to rear and educate her children. Her lot was hard, but her satisfaction was great and her accomplishment heroic.

My message is to those who are converts to the Church. More than half the members of the Church today chose to be baptized after the age of eight. So you are not the exception in the Church. To you I wish to say how much the Lord loves you and trusts you. And even more, I wish to tell you how much He depends on you.
You felt His love at least to some degree when you were baptized. Years ago I took a young man, 20 years of age, into the waters of baptism. My companion and I had taught him the gospel. He was the first in his family to hear the message of the restored gospel. He asked to be baptized. The testimony of the Spirit made him want to follow the example of the Savior, who was baptized by John the Baptist even though He was without sin.
As I brought that young man up out of the waters of baptism, he surprised me by throwing his arms around my neck and whispering in my ear, tears streaming down his face, “I’m clean; I’m clean.” That same young man, after we laid our hands on his head with the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood and conferred on him the Holy Ghost, said to me, “When you spoke those words, I felt something like fire go down from the top of my head through my body, all the way to my feet.”
Your experience will have been unique to you, but to some degree you felt the magnitude of the blessing which came to you. Since then, you have felt the reality of the promises made to you and the promises you made. You have felt the cleansing that came from your baptism, because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. And you have felt the change in your heart as the Holy Ghost has become your companion. Your desires have begun to change.
When someone tells me that he or she is a convert to the Church, I ask, “Has anyone else in your family accepted the gospel?” When the answer is “Yes,” there follows an excited description of the happy miracle in the life of a parent or a brother or sister or a grandparent. There is joy in knowing that someone in his or her family is sharing the blessing and the happiness. When the answer is “No, so far I am the only member,” he or she will almost always speak of parents, saying something like this, “No, not yet. But I am still trying.” And you can tell from the sound in the voice that the convert will never stop trying, not ever.
The Lord knew you would have those feelings when He allowed you to receive the covenants which are blessing your life. He knew you would feel a desire for your family to share the blessings you felt coming into the Church. Even more, He knew how that desire would increase when you came to know the joy of the promises He makes to us in sacred temples. There, for those who qualify, He lets us make covenants with Him. We promise to obey His commandments. And He promises us, if we are faithful, that we may live with Him in glory in families forever in the world to come.
In His loving-kindness, He knew you would have a desire to be bound forever to your parents and their parents. You may have had a grandfather like mine, who always seemed to treasure my visits. I thought I was his favorite grandchild until my cousins told me they felt the same way. He is gone now. All my grandparents and their ancestors have died. Many of your ancestors died never having the chance to accept the gospel and to receive the blessings and promises you have received. The Lord is fair, and He is loving. And so He prepared for you and me a way for us to have the desire of our hearts to offer to our ancestors all the blessings He has offered us.
The plan to make that possible has been in place from the beginning. The Lord gave promises to His children long ago. The very last book of the Old Testament is the book of the prophet Malachi. And the last words are a sweet promise and a stern warning:
“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord:
“And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.”
Some of those words are crucial to understand. The great and dreadful day of the Lord is the end of the world. Jehovah, the Messiah, will come in glory. The wicked will all be destroyed. We live in the last days. Time could be running out for us to do what we have promised to do.
It is important to know why the Lord promised to send Elijah. Elijah was a great prophet with great power given him by God. He held the greatest power God gives to His children: he held the sealing power, the power to bind on earth and have it bound in heaven. God gave it to the Apostle Peter. And the Lord kept His promise to send Elijah. Elijah came to the Prophet Joseph Smith on April 3, 1836, just after the dedication of the Kirtland Temple, the first temple built after the Restoration of the gospel. Joseph described the sacred moment:
“Another great and glorious vision burst upon us; for Elijah the prophet, who was taken to heaven without tasting death, stood before us, and said:
“Behold, the time has fully come, which was spoken of by the mouth of Malachi—testifying that he [Elijah] should be sent, before the great and dreadful day of the Lord come—
“To turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the children to the fathers, lest the whole earth be smitten with a curse—
“Therefore, the keys of this dispensation are committed into your hands; and by this ye may know that the great and dreadful day of the Lord is near, even at the doors.”
As you came into the Church, you have felt your heart being turned toward family, both those who are living and those who are in the spirit world. The Lord provided another vision to help you know what to do with those feelings.
After Joseph Smith, the Lord called other prophets to lead His Church. One was Joseph F. Smith. He saw in vision what happened in the spirit world when the Savior appeared there between the time of His death and His Resurrection. President Smith saw the joy of the spirits when they learned that the Savior had broken the bands of death and because of His Atonement they could be resurrected. And he saw the Savior organize His servants among the spirits to preach His gospel to every spirit and offer the chance to choose the covenants and the blessings which are offered to you and which you want for your ancestors. All are to have that chance.
President Smith also saw the leaders the Savior called to take the gospel to Heavenly Father’s children in the spirit world. He named some of them: Father Adam, Mother Eve, Noah, Abraham, Ezekiel, Elijah, prophets we know from the Book of Mormon, and some from the last days, including Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, and Wilford Woodruff. Think of the power of those missionaries to teach the gospel and to touch the hearts of your ancestors. It is not surprising that Wilford Woodruff said while he lived that he believed few, if any, of the ancestors of the Latter-day Saints in the spirit world would choose to reject the message of salvation when they heard it.
Many of your deceased ancestors will have received a testimony that the message of the missionaries is true. When you received that testimony, you could ask the missionaries for baptism. But those who are in the spirit world cannot. The ordinances you so cherish are offered only in this world. Someone in this world must go to a holy temple and accept the covenants on behalf of the person in the spirit world. That is why we are under obligation to find the names of our ancestors and ensure that they are offered by us what they cannot receive there without our help.
For me, knowing that turns my heart not only to my ancestors who wait but to the missionaries who teach them. I will see those missionaries in the spirit world, and so will you. Think of a faithful missionary standing there with those he has loved and taught who are your ancestors. Picture as I do the smile on the face of that missionary as you walk up to him and your ancestors whom he converted but could not baptize or have sealed to family until you came to the rescue. I do not know what the protocol will be in such a place, but I imagine arms thrown around your neck and tears of gratitude.
If you can imagine the smile of the missionary and your ancestor, think of the Savior when you meet Him. You will have that interview. He paid the price of the sins of you and all of Heavenly Father’s spirit children. He is Jehovah. He sent Elijah. He conferred the powers of the priesthood to seal and to bless out of perfect love. And He has trusted you by letting you hear the gospel in your lifetime, giving you the chance to accept the obligation to offer it to those of your ancestors who did not have your priceless opportunity. Think of the gratitude He has for those who pay the price in work and faith to find the names of their ancestors and who love them and Him enough to offer them eternal life in families, the greatest of all the gifts of God. He offered them an infinite sacrifice. He will love and appreciate those who paid whatever price they could to allow their ancestors to choose His offer of eternal life.
Because your heart has already been turned, the price may not seem high. You begin by doing simple things. Write down what you already know about your family. You will need to write down the names of parents and their parents with the dates of birth or death or marriage. When you can, you will want to record the places. Some of that you will know from memory. But you can also ask relatives. They may even have some certificates of births, marriages, or deaths. Make copies and organize them. If you learn stories about their lives, write them down and keep them. You are not just gathering names. Those you never met in life will become friends you love. Your heart will be bound to theirs forever.
You can start searching in the first few generations going back in time. From that you will identify many of your ancestors who need your help. Someone in your own ward or branch of the Church has been called to help you prepare those names for the temple. There they can be offered the covenants which will free them from their spirit prisons and bind them in families—your family—forever.
Your opportunities and the obligations they create are remarkable in the whole history of the world. There are more temples across the earth than there have ever been. More people in all the world have felt the Spirit of Elijah move them to record the identities of their ancestors and facts of their ancestors’ lives. There are more resources to search out your ancestors than there have ever been in the history of the world. The Lord has poured out knowledge about how to make that information available worldwide through technology that a few years ago would have seemed a miracle.
With those opportunities there comes greater obligation to keep our trust with the Lord. Where much is given, much is required. After you find the first few generations, the road will become more difficult. The price will become greater. As you go back in time, the records become less complete. As others of your family search out ancestors, you will discover that the ancestor you find has already been offered the full blessings of the temple. Then you will have a difficult and important choice to make. You will be tempted to stop and leave the hard work of finding to others who are more expert or to another time in your life. But you will also feel a tug on your heart to go on in the work, hard as it will be.
As you decide, remember that the names which will be so difficult to find are of real people to whom you owe your existence in this world and whom you will meet again in the spirit world. When you were baptized, your ancestors looked down on you with hope. Perhaps after centuries, they rejoiced to see one of their descendants make a covenant to find them and to offer them freedom. In your reunion, you will see in their eyes either gratitude or terrible disappointment. Their hearts are bound to you. Their hope is in your hands. You will have more than your own strength as you choose to labor on to find them.
A few nights ago I had a dream. I saw a piece of white paper with a name on it I did not know and a date I could only partially read. I got up and went to the records of my family. The last name on the slip of paper is from a line which came into my mother’s ancestry 300 years ago in a place called Eaton Bray. Someone is anxious for a long wait to end. I have not yet found that person. But I have found again the assurance that a loving God sends help in answer to prayer in this sacred work of redeeming our families, which is His work and His glory and to which we have pledged our hearts. I so testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The first significant event in Opapo’s life was a dream he had as a young man. In it, he saw two foreign missionaries come into his village, walk directly to his fale (hut), and sit down. That’s where the dream ended; but when two Latter-day Saint missionaries entered his house a few years later, he recognized them as the men in his dream, and the Spirit strongly confirmed to him that their message was true.
Everything was ready for this man to do a great work among his Samoan people.
The records show that he and his wife, Toai, were baptized in 1890, two years after the Samoan Mission was opened. By 1890 the Samoans were already familiar with the tenets of Christianity. The London Missionary Society had begun proselyting in 1830, followed by the Catholics and the Methodists soon afterwards. Blessed with a deep faith in the Savior, the people were familiar with spiritual gifts and miracles. But as my grandfather accepted the gospel and joined this struggling little church, the signs promised to the believers in Christ began to follow him in an extraordinary way, even among those faithful people.
Ironically, there was bitter hostility between the groups who claimed to worship the Savior and love him. Mormons bore persecution and ridicule and were even nicknamed “cowboys” because Joseph Smith had grown up on a farm. Through it all, Opapo was fearless and faithful, recognized as a leader among the Latter-day Saints.
In 1904, he and a few others founded a settlement called Sauniatu (“Preparing to Go Forward”), a small sanctuary for the Saints in the mountains of Upolu. Shortly after the first chapel was built, the small cooking house behind it caught on fire and, despite the efforts of the people to carry water from the river, the fire spread rapidly, endangering the chapel itself. Then people noticed that Opapo had climbed atop the chapel and sat astride its roof-beam. Raising his right arm, he looked to heaven and said, “Father, we can spare the small house, but we cannot spare the big one. In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the holy priesthood, I command the wind to change.”
It did; the small house collapsed, and the chapel was saved. Not only was the chapel spared, but the Sauniatu Saints’ faith was strengthened at a very difficult time.
Blessed also with the gift of prophecy, he influenced the lives of many. On one occasion, he returned from a three-month trip to another island and saw preparations for a fiafia (celebration) in progress to celebrate the marriage of a young man and a young woman. As he interviewed the young woman, he suddenly told her, without any other explanation, that if she married the young man, she would soon be saddened.
Opapo and Toai were not spared personal trials. Eleven of their fourteen children died before adulthood. However, through it all they seemed to increase in humility, prayerfulness, and industry. Opapo reserved 5:00 A.M. and 5:00 P.M. for prayer, but frequently prayed at other times as well. And he always provided, not only for his own family, but also for others, especially widows and the fatherless.
He also served several missionary assignments, accompanying American missionaries to other areas for proselyting. On one of these journeys, Opapo, his long-time friend Elisala, and one of two American missionaries went to the island of Manu‘a. Upon arriving they found that the local king, Tuimanu‘a, had forbidden anyone from receiving or assisting the Latter-day Saints in any way—the punishment for disobedience was immediate stoning. However, the missionaries were determined to succeed and stayed for two months, eating fallen coconuts from the beaches and sleeping each night in holes. They covered their heads with leaves to protect themselves from the mosquitoes, each one taking a turn nightly to help the others arrange their leaves and then unassisted himself, suffering from bites the rest of the night.
After several weeks of this grueling ordeal, Opapo was awakened by the smell of some freshly baked food in a nearby basket. The missionaries did not know whether through a human or a divine source; but after weeks of coconuts, they were profoundly grateful. Near the end of their stay the incident was repeated when an elderly woman brought them some food, saying that if she had to die for her kindness, she would, but she did not fear Tuimanu‘a.
A few weeks later, after exhausting every possible avenue, the missionaries prepared to depart. Ceremonially, Opapo and Elisala spoke directly to Tuimanu‘a and his people, warning them that they would feel the wrath and power of God if they did not repent. As his last act before boarding the longboat, Opapo paused at the edge of the village and dusted off his feet as a witness against the island. A couple of weeks later a devastating hurricane struck the island, killing many, destroying all of the crops above ground, and leveling every house except one—the fale (hut) in which lived the elderly lady who had helped the missionaries.
It is true that miracles strengthen the faith of believers but do not necessarily give faith to the unbelieving. It was not until 1974 that a branch was actually organized in Manu’a. On the other hand, the Saints to whom Opapo returned heard of the incident and increased in faithfulness.
Soon afterward, Opapo and Toai moved their family from Sauniatu to the island of Tutuila, in preparation for eventually moving to Hawaii to join the Saints there. Persecution was particularly acute in Tutila, and it caused Opapo much sorrow though it never weakened his faith. On one occasion, he and Pinemua Soliai, a good friend, were walking towards Pago Pago and waved to a passing bus to stop for them. It stopped for them, but as they neared it, the driver, recognizing them as Mormon missionaries, suddenly pressed on his accelerator and left them standing in the dust. Brother Soliai ruefully commented to Opapo, “Well, it’s going to take us a long time to get up to town now.” Sadly, Opapo said, “No, we’ll get to town before he does.” One and one-half kilometers later they came upon the scene of an accident. The bus had collided head-on with a truck and the bus driver had been killed.
Brother Soliai and his family were the only Latter-day Saints in their little village of Nuuuli on Tutuila. On one occasion, he asked Opapo to come bless his children, his house, his property, and his friends. Present on that occasion was a wealthy nonmember widow, Salataima Puailoa, who was deeply troubled because her husband’s family was taking steps to deprive her of the land she had inherited from him. Impressed by the blessings, she requested one herself; but Opapo was reluctant because she was not a member.
She investigated the Church and was baptized, then came to him again and requested the blessing. In it, Opapo promised that she would receive the land without any hindrance from her husband’s relatives and that she would, if she were faithful, be an instrument in the Lord’s hands to further the work of the Church in American Samoa.
In the early 1950’s, that blessing was fulfilled. The Church purchased some of her property and on it built a high school, faculty housing, a large welfare farm, and a stake center.
In 1926, Opapo and Toai sent my father, Teila, to Hawaii to prepare for their arrival. Two years later, the Church called my grandparents to come do temple work for Samoans in the Hawaiian Temple. In 1935, my grandmother died of pneumonia at the age of seventy. She was buried in Laie, Hawaii, after a lifetime of generous and and faithful support of the Church and of her husband.
Like Toai, Opapo died of pneumonia near his eighty-first birthday and was buried beside her.
I did not know my grandfather well, but I have an increasing appreciation that I am his grandson. Because of his faith, my faith, is stronger. The gifts he exhibited testified to his Samoan people, at a crucial time in the history of the Church in those islands, that the gospel is true, the priesthood represents the power of God, and that the plan of salvation truly describes the pathway we must follow. Not only his family but all of the Saints in the Church can be heirs to the legacy of blessings he left.

I remember listening to U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor speak at Stanford University. She reported that after her graduation from law school, the only job she could get was as a clerk. What did she do? She took the job. She continued to work. She could not have known at that time that she would one day be serving on the Supreme Court, but her readiness resulted from her continued preparation.