Gospel Story Finder

In his new school, the students say a prayer each morning. “But they don’t pray the way we do,” Raúl says. “They say a memorized prayer, and sometimes they pray to the Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus.
“Once I asked if I could offer the prayer. I folded my arms, shut my eyes, and bowed my head—and I prayed to Heavenly Father. I thanked him for the beautiful day and for my new school, where I can study peacefully. I asked him to bless my teacher and all of my classmates. I prayed especially that one boy who was sick would be able to return soon. Then I closed in the name of Jesus Christ.”
After school each day, Raúl changes out of his white shirt and tie and puts on other clothes. Some days, he helps his mother in her small store. Other days, he stays home to help care for his three-year-old brother, Luis Angel, and his one-year-old sister, Luciana Andrea.
He loves to climb the trees in his yard. He helps his brother and sister pick up nuts that have fallen to the ground; then he cracks the shells on a rock, and they all enjoy the treat. Later, they play with their pet rabbits and feed the pig out in the back yard.
Inside, Raúl helps tidy up the house. On the walls are pictures of his parents wearing white clothes, standing in front of the São Paulo Temple. The pictures were taken just a month and a half earlier, when his parents took the sixteen-hour bus ride to the temple to be sealed. Brother and Sister Aquino hope to be able to take Raúl, Luis Angel, and Luciana with them to be sealed as a family the next time they go to the temple.
Raúl and his family live in the small Paraguayan town of Piquete Cué. In the nearby town of Limpie, there is a beautiful LDS meetinghouse where a ward meets. But each Sunday, Raúl and his family pass the Limpie Ward’s meetinghouse on their two-hour bus ride to the town of Villa Hayes. There they attend a tiny branch that meets in a small rented house. Why don’t they go to the ward that is so much closer to their home?
“Because the branch in Villa Hayes needs us,” says Raúl’s father, Luciano, who works as an industrial engineer. “There are so few members in the branch that they really need us there.” Brother Aquino is first counselor in the branch presidency. Sister Aquino has been Relief Society president and now teaches a Primary class.
Raúl attends Primary and loves to learn more about the Book of Mormon. “I don’t know how to read it yet,” he says. “But my mamá and papá read it to me.”
Raúl often bears his testimony in sacrament meeting. He told the branch members recently that he’d had a headache—but when he prayed, it went away.
He also remembers the time his dad was seriously sick. Raúl’s mother thought he was going to die. She rode a bus to the missionaries’ house to ask them to give him a blessing. They weren’t home, so she left them a message. When they arrived several hours later, Raúl’s father was so sick he could hardly talk. The missionaries gave him a blessing—and within half an hour, he was up and feeling much better.
“I really want my eight birthday to come so I can be baptized,” Raúl says. “And I want to be a missionary.”
Raúl already is a missionary. “I know that the Book of Mormon and the Church of Jesus Christ are true,” he says. “I would tell children all over the world to try to love everyone—especially the children that I see in the streets who don’t have a home. They make me cry a lot. Be thankful to Heavenly Father and also to our parents. Love the Church of Jesus Christ, take the sacrament, and always pray.”
Then Raúl climbs up his favorite tree. From his leafy perch, he waves good-bye.

When I was in sixth grade, I hadn’t missed a spelling word all year long. If I kept getting perfect scores, I would receive an award for spelling at the end of the year.
Our teacher, Mr. Caldwell, let us grade each other’s papers. One day as we passed our spelling tests back to each other, I saw that mine said “100%” at the top. But then I noticed I had actually misspelled a word! I had practiced spelling that word correctly many times before. But this time I had spelled it wrong, and the person who graded my paper hadn’t noticed.
“Well,” Mr. Caldwell said, “I see you got 100% again! You’ll get the spelling award for sure!”
I was tempted to stay quiet. But my parents had taught me to be honest. And I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ would want me to be honest.
So I said, “Mr. Caldwell, you need to look at number 23.”
“Oh, you did miss one word,” he said. “That’s too bad.”
A few minutes later, Mr. Caldwell said, “I’d like to talk with you for a minute.” He left someone else in charge and took me outside.
“Timmy,” he said, “thank you for being honest. An award is nice, but honesty will bless your entire life.”
And it has. That’s why I encourage you to be honest in everything you do and say.

“No tree?” I sat up in bed.
“That’s right,” my companion replied.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
I couldn’t believe it. Only eight days before Christmas and Elder Sonderegger was telling me we weren’t even going to have a Christmas tree.
“Good night, Elder Mitchell,” he called out from the other side of our small apartment. Our room, which was barely large enough for two beds, a closet, and a desk with one broken leg, was again silent. I quietly lay thinking.
“No tree,” I muttered to myself. That was too much. I thought of the Christmas my family would be having—good food, carols, snow, friends, and of course, a tree. The only carols I’d heard were sambas; snow was nonexistent; all my friends were in the States; and now to top it off, no tree. I rolled over in my lumpy bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. Too soon, out of the corner of my ear, I heard a familiar buzzing.
“Oh no, not again tonight!” swatted in the general direction of the sound but missed. Quickly, I pulled a sheet over my head for protection, but this only intensified the humidity and heat. The perspiration began beading on my back. I stayed under the cover until my pajamas began sticking to my body, and then I furiously kicked it off. However, it was not much cooler since we didn’t even have a window in the room, and I still had the mosquitoes to contend with.
Suddenly, a flea began crawling up my leg. I reached down in time to pull it off before it bit me, but I knew I would not be so lucky all night long. I sighed, for I also knew it was going to be another long night. And mom had written that week, “Have a merry first Christmas in Brazil, Greg.”
“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the wayyyyyy. Hey, get out of bed, Elder Mitchell. Only seven days till Christmas. Yes sir, Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way to the shower. Ooohhhh what fun …”
The door of our small apartment slammed shut as my companion went out to shower. The night before hadn’t been very restful between the mosquitoes, fleas, and sticky, humid heat. Lying back in bed, I decided to rest a few more minutes. It was only a short time later that I heard a familiar monotone coming up the hall.
“… one horse open sleighhhhh. Hey, you’re still in bed.”
“Hey, I’m meditating,” I replied.
“Well, do your meditating in the shower.” Elder Sonderegger stood in his robe, with water dripping off his six-foot-three-inch, 215-pound body. “It’s 6:48, Elder Mitchell. Time to be up and Adam.”
“That’s at’em,” I corrected.
“Like I said, ‘Adam.’”
Pulling off my covers, I kicked my feet onto the bare, wooden-tile floor. Putting on my shoes and grabbing a towel, I turned to Elder Sonderegger.
“No tree, huh?”
“Oh.” He stopped whistling. “That’s right. This is your first Christmas here, isn’t it?”
“Yup and some Christmas this is going to be. They don’t even have the simplest Christmas tradition of a tree.”
“Oh.” He nodded understandingly. “Well, they do have some trees, but they’re pretty expensive.” His brow wrinkled and his lips came together as he pondered the situation. “Look, you go shower, and I’ll see what I can do. Okay?”
I shrugged my shoulders. What could he do? I guess this was just one of those times on your mission when you had to sacrifice. After showering, I felt cooler and a little better. Reentering our room, I noticed Elder Sonderegger sitting at the desk reading his triple combination and wearing a suspiciously mischievous look. Turning to my bed I saw why.
“What’s that?” I cautiously asked, pointing to an oblong-shaped package on my bed. It looked like a bomb.
“Don’t have the foggiest, old chap,” he said in his best phony English accent. “Why don’t you open it and see?”
I walked to my bed and pulled the papers off the package. Inside I found a small, green, artificial Christmas tree. True, it looked as if someone had sat on it, but it was a tree nonetheless.
“It’s not in really great shape,” Elder Sonderegger hastened to say, “but it might do in a pinch—or on a mission.”
It wasn’t in the greatest condition, but it didn’t look too bad. “Where’d you get it?”
“My ex-girl sent it last Christmas, and I’d forgotten all about it until you started this talk about trees and Christmas. It’s been through some pretty rough transfers though,” he said, picking up one of the bent aluminum branches and sticking it into the base of the tree.
I didn’t know what to say. “Thanks, Elder Sonderegger.”
“It’s okay. Come on, hurry and get dressed. Remember we have an 8:00 appointment this morning.”
As I dressed, he looked in his Bible for a devotional scripture.
“Here’s a good one. Will you read it?” he asked, handing me the Bible.
I began reading. “Matthew 25:40: ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’” [Matt. 25:40] I looked up.
“Amen, brother. Since you read the scripture, I’ll say the prayer.”
After prayer, we grabbed our briefcase, ran out the door, and hurried down the street to the blue and white pole marking the bus stop.
“Elder Sonderegger, I appreciate what you did about the tree and all,” I said, as we waited for the bus. “I was wondering if you could do anything about the snow situation?”
We laughed.
“To be honest, Elder Mitchell, being from Colorado, you wouldn’t know what good snow was if it hit you right between the earlobes.”
“You think Washington snow is better, I assume.”
“You know it.”
The bus came, and we left, but on the way we held an in-depth discussion on the relative merits of Colorado versus Washington snow.
Sorocaba, Brazil, is an interior city. And in our mission, interior is synonymous with hot, humid, and muggy. As the morning progressed, the temperature rose. After our lesson, we checked out some referrals and made some contacts, and then we were ready to return home for lunch. Leaning against the pole marking the bus stop, I was surprised by a tugging at my hand.
“Feliz Natal (Merry Christmas),” a small girl said, holding out her hand. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, although her eyes looked older.
“What does she want, elder?” I asked, turning to Elder Sonderegger.
Crouching down, he spoke with her for a minute and then stood up. “She said her father died three days ago, and they don’t have any food in the house.”
“Okay,” I said, “if she wants something to eat, let’s buy her some milk and pão dôce (sweet bread).”
Elder Sonderegger glanced again at her ragged, brown dress. “I think we at least ought to check it out. Maybe there’s something we could do.”
I looked at my watch. “We’ll be late for lunch if we go, and besides, we don’t have time to waste on some wild chase.”
He didn’t say a word.
“Oh, come on, Elder Sonderegger. Don’t be so naive, so gullible. We’re not out here to play welfare worker. We’re here to teach the gospel. Besides, even if we did go, we’d probably find her father in the house, unemployed but healthy.”
She looked up in polite confusion as we spoke in English.
“Elder Mitchell,” Elder Sonderegger reminded me, “Matthew 25:40: ‘When ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren. …’” [Matt. 25:40]
“Doesn’t apply.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t apply?”
Stubbornly, I insisted. “Just what I said. She’s probably lying, and you know that. Come on, it’s time to eat.”
A trickle of sweat slid down my back. He still gave me the “I think we ought to go” look, and sighed. I was obstinate, but in the month we’d been companions, I’d learned he was even more so when he felt he was right.
“All right, all right. You win, but I bet dollars to doughnuts we find the father home—alive, well, and lounging around.”
A swirl of dust from down the road announced the coming of the bus. It careened toward us and slammed to a stop ten feet past the bus stop. We ran, two large Americans and one small Brazilian, and grabbing the handrail, jumped inside. It started up again, and I jerked open a window for some fresh air while Elder Sonderegger leaned across the aisle and began conversing with the little girl. Her name was Angela; she had never been to school, never had shoes, and from the looks of her skinny body, hadn’t eaten a good meal for some time. I began to feel a little sorry for her (and a little ashamed of myself) since a majority of the Brazilian kids attend school, are neatly dressed, and eat fairly well. After a 15-minute ride on the dusty bus, she indicated it was time to get off. We did so and began walking up a steep dirt road into a poor section of the city. There were no cars, no glass windows no grass—none of the things that could be seen in the rest of the city. Here there was nothing but dirt—dirt roads, dirt houses, and dirty children. And unlike the rest of the houses in the city that were kept in good repair, most of the red-tiled roofs here had holes and the walls were either unpainted or had peeling and chipped paint. I felt out of place in my clean white shirt and tie.
Finally, we arrived at what she called home. Most of the homes in Sorocaba had a good gate and fence surrounding them. Her gate consisted of a few strands of wire tied between two posts, which she opened and invited us to enter. In the back of the lot stood a two-room shack made out of cardboard and old signs. On either side of the dirt path leading to the house, instead of flowers, grass, or beautifully tiled entrances, as was the custom, we saw litter, debris, and one scrawny chicken scratching for something to eat. Not seeing a flower or tree anywhere, I doubted whether even weeds would have grown. Angela scurried inside and quickly reappeared at the doorway with a man, also thin, with blue eyes and dark hair, who appeared startled to have visitors.
“Entrem por favor (Come in, please),” he said, still looking surprised but apparently pleased to have guests.
“My name is Antonio.”
“You’re her father?” we asked, pointing to Angela, who was now just one of seven or eight small children scattered on the dirt floor.
He nodded. Most homes had at least a gas stove, but here a thin, pregnant woman was kneeling by an open fire, stirring a black kettle.
“Did you know she was begging this morning? And she told us you died three days ago.”
A look of surprise crossed his face. “I’m shocked to hear she was begging, and as for being dead, well, as you can plainly see, I’m not.” He laughed at his joke.
“Come on, Elder Sonderegger. I think we should go,” I said quietly.
Ignoring me, Elder Sonderegger said, “No, you’re not dead, but you still need help. We’re missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Stop,” he said shaking his head. “We have our own religion. But if you really want to help,” he said, looking at our clothes, “a hundred cruzeiros would be very helpful.” He eyed us again as if wondering whether he should have asked for more.
“No, we won’t give you money,” Elder Sonderegger said. “Have you tried looking for a job?”
Antonio protested. “But I’ve looked all over, and there isn’t one.”
Elder Sonderegger thought for a minute. “Okay, I’m sure we can help you find something. In fact, this morning I saw an opening for a mechanic’s helper at a garage. If you want it, we’ll take you down right now.”
Antonio turned and looked at his wife. “Well, we were just going to have lunch …” His voice trailed off.
Just as I thought. He didn’t want to take advantage of an opportunity put right in his way.
“But I guess I could go,” he hesitantly added. “If my wife would save some lunch for me.” She nodded unemotionally. “All right, senhores, let’s go.”
I thought I detected just a hint of trembling enthusiasm in his voice.
The three of us left and walked down the hill to where the bus was parked. Entering, we paid his way, sat down, and the bus began its journey, dust billowing behind. It was about a half-hour ride to the garage, but since it was close to where we ate lunch, I could last that long. I looked at Antonio sitting on the bench across the aisle.
“Elder Sonderegger, you’re probably wasting your time again,” I whispered. “Do you honestly think that if we found him a job, he’d work? He probably wouldn’t stay more than ten minutes if he stayed at all.”
Shrugging, he simply said, “Maybe.”
Unexpectedly, Elder Sonderegger reached up and jerked the cord that signaled the bus driver to stop. Getting up from his seat, he raced to the front of the bus. I grabbed our briefcase and Antonio and followed. Ignoring my “What now?” look, he pointed to a sign he had seen from the bus window, Precisa-se serventes.
“The sign says they need construction workers. Why don’t we try there? It’d be closer to his home, and the pay would be better.”
By that time I had given up hope of ever seeing our lunch. “Lead on,” I wearily said. “We’re right behind you.”
It took only a few minutes to walk to where a few houses lay in half-completed shells.
“Have you ever worked construction before?” I asked. He shook his head and I shook mine in unison, looking at his lack of muscle. He reminded me of the skinny guy in the weight-lifting ads who always got sand kicked in his face, but he evidently was in good health. Elder Sonderegger started down to talk to the supervisor, and after a few minutes motioned us to come down too.
“Antonio,” Elder Sonderegger said, “the foreman has agreed to hire you starting early tomorrow. Do you want the job?”
“Do I want it?” he exclaimed. “You bet I want it! I’ve been all through this area looking for work. I didn’t know they needed workers so close to home.”
Antonio continued, “Can my son come, too? He’s only 17, but he’s strong.”
Hesitating, the foreman looked at us, then at Antonio. “Okay.”
Antonio walked to Elder Sonderegger and shook his hand vigorously. “You just don’t know what this means to my family, now that we will have two working members.” He turned to the foreman. “Six o’clock sharp tomorrow morning, I’ll be here with my son. Thank you, senhor.” Taking Elder Sonderegger by the hand again, he said, “And thank you.” I thought I saw a tear in Antonio’s eye.
“We’ll come back and see how you’re doing in a couple of days,” Elder Sonderegger said. “Okay?”
“Please do, and we’ll invite you home for dinner. Até logo, amigos.”
“Até logo, Antonio.”
We watched as he walked down the dirt road toward home, and once again we began walking to the bus stop and lunch.
“Elder Sonderegger …” I paused. I wasn’t sure how to say it. “I think I owe you an apology. I believe you were right and I was wrong.”
“That’s okay, Elder Mitchell.” Reaching the bus stop, he set the briefcase down. “Really makes you feel good, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does.”
A dusty cloud could be seen coming up the road. “Hey, here comes the bus,” he said. “We’ll have to hustle to get any lunch. I hope the dona didn’t throw it out.”
“The only question I have,” I said, stepping into the bus, “is how are we going to count these last two hours on our evaluation? It wasn’t member work or proselyting, and helping people find work isn’t listed on the sheet. Compassionate service?”
“Nope. We’re not in the Relief Society.”
We both laughed as the bus lurched to a start.
The next week was busy, with many families to teach during the holidays. We were so busy with lessons and contacting that besides being kept on the run, we hadn’t even had time to put up our little tree. A couple of days before Christmas we gave a lesson near the construction site where Antonio was working. Since it was only a few blocks away, we decided to drop in and see how he was doing.
“You know something, Elder Sonderegger?” I said as we walked toward the site. “You probably did more for that guy than anyone ever has. Why, this might be just the break he needs to pull out of the life he’s been living.” Crossing the street, I continued: “Think of what could happen now that he’s working: good food on the table, clothes and shoes for his wife and kids, and maybe even a nicer house one day. He could live like other Brazilians and have you to thank for it all.”
Elder Sonderegger blushed and tried not to show his enthusiasm. “That would be neat, wouldn’t it?”
We spotted the foreman easily but when we looked for Antonio, he couldn’t be seen anywhere.
“Probably in a corner somewhere or working on the inside of a house,” I suggested as we walked to the foreman.
“Who?” the foreman asked when we inquired about Antonio. “Oh yeah, that skinny guy you brought here last week. Neither he nor his son showed the next morning, and I haven’t seen them since.”
“Didn’t show up?” Elder Sonderegger asked unbelievingly. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” he replied.
“Thanks,” Elder Sonderegger said dejectedly. He kicked at a dirt clod. “Let’s go, Mitchell.”
Picking up the briefcase, we silently walked out onto the street. “That Antonio,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Elder Mitchell. You were the one who was right. I should have followed your advice.” Angrily he finished, “What a waste of time!” He stomped down the street.
But somehow, something wasn’t right. I just knew it wasn’t. Suddenly, as if in a flash, I understood. “Wait, Elder Sonderegger,” I called out. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What?” he asked, turning around.
I ran to where he stood. “I said, “‘It doesn’t matter.’”
“It doesn’t matter?” he asked lamely. “What doesn’t matter? Has the heat gotten to you, Elder Mitchell?”
“No, no, you don’t understand. It doesn’t matter what Antonio does. ‘When you’ve done it unto one of the least of these my brethren …’”
He paused and looked away. Then slowly he smiled. “You turkey. I guess you’re right. It really doesn’t matter.” He picked up the briefcase. “Come on, let’s go home and get that tree up. After all, what’s Christmas without a Christmas tree?”
I laughed. “That’s right. Can’t have Christmas without a tree.”
We sang “Jingle Bells” until the bus came. Still singing, we jumped on amid the mixed smiles and stares of other passengers. I didn’t mind, though, because they didn’t understand that this was my first Christmas.

Dene has two sets of proud grandparents in England who keep scrapbooks of his achievements and are always eager for news of his progress. His Grandfather and Grandmother Wood recently came to the states for a long vacation. They were able to see Dene play both football and soccer, and Dene was able to hear some stories of the old days again.

His granddad is both a cheerleader and a critic. “I’ve always believed in telling the truth,” he says. “When he deserves it, I praise him, and when he deserves it, I kick him in the pants.” It is a spring afternoon and Dene, his mother and father and grandmother and grandfather are sitting out on the front lawn. His grandfather smiles. “Wasn’t that a marvelous goal last night?” he asks. “Sometimes I tell him that he’s rubbish, but when he scores a goal like that, what more can you say? I’m proud of him, of course. He likes sports, and to me you can’t go wrong that way. A bit of sport and you’re on the right road. My daughter always writes to us in England and gives us an account of what he’s doing, and I share it with everybody. It gives me a tremendous amount of pleasure to see him excel.” He looks Dene over appraisingly and then adds, “He’s a fine looking lad, isn’t he?”

Dene goes into the house and proudly comes out with a treasured championship medal from his grandfather’s soccer days. As first grandson, he has received it as a birthright.

“I’ve always been proud of him,” his Grandmother Wood says. “He was our first grandson, and with me having three girls, it was really something that was delightful to have someone to carry on grandpa’s participation in sports. When Dene turned out to enjoy playing football, well of course it was just the thing. I knew grandpa would be delighted, which of course he was. I think sports give young men a good backing for life, a wider scope of give and take. If you’re a sportsman, you can both give it and take it, can’t you? And a team sport teaches you to play as a team and not be selfish. I’m proud of all my grandchildren.”

One Sunday before sacrament meeting, the bishop approached me and asked, “Can you help us bless the sacrament?” I said of course I would.
I went and got my hymnbook and then washed my hands before taking my place at the sacrament table. I opened the hymnbook, and the first hymn I saw was “I Stand All Amazed” (Hymns, no. 193). The meeting hadn’t started yet, so I began to read the first line: “I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me.” Immediately a feeling of profound love filled my heart.
The previous night I had been reading in the Bible about the end of the life of Jesus Christ—the parts involving the Last Supper, the Garden of Gethsemane, and His death and Resurrection. I imagined Jesus being tortured, beaten, and ridiculed by the executioners. I also pictured Jesus carrying out His atoning sacrifice in the Garden of Gethsemane while His disciples slept.
I realized that I was about to bless the bread and water that represent His body and blood. The sacrament allows us to renew the covenant we made when we were baptized, which is to always remember Him, to keep His commandments, and to take His name upon us.
When sacrament meeting started, all of these thoughts were in my head. I felt profoundly that Jesus suffered in such a painful and incredible way that it is incomprehensible to us. The thought then came to me that He endured the suffering because of His love for us—for me.
I felt so loved by the Lord that I couldn’t control my tears. I felt like I wasn’t worthy of what the Savior did for me. But I also felt that His love for me is perfect. A friend will lay down his life for his friends (see John 15:13). When the sacrament hymn started, I stood with another brother to begin the ordinance.
We folded back the beautiful white tablecloth that covered the bread. As I held the bread, I knew I had the responsibility of breaking it as part of the ordinance, but I hesitated. The bread represents the body of Christ. I thought of the soldiers hurting the Lord, and I didn’t want to break the bread. When I broke the first piece, I thought of the painful and humiliating way Jesus was treated prior to His death—the crown of thorns, the whipping, the suffering. The tears continued to roll down my cheeks as I prepared the bread.
Then the thought came to me that these painful and humiliating events were necessary. They were part of the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ, and He made the sacrifice because of His love for me and each one of us.
I began to feel a great peace and joy. I broke every piece of bread carefully and slowly, knowing that what I held in my hands was about to be blessed and sanctified for a special purpose and represented something very precious, beautiful, and extraordinary. I felt the great responsibility of doing this ordinance so that those in the meeting could renew a covenant with the Lord and receive the blessings of the Atonement.
When we finished, I saw the trays filled with the broken bread. The sight was marvelous and sublime. My companion said the prayer. Never before had I so clearly understood the phrase “that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son” (D&C 20:77).
When I partook of the bread, I felt my Savior’s love once again. I felt protected, humbled, and determined to do what’s right. I wanted to examine my life and repent of all I had done wrong.
I’m thankful to Jesus Christ for His love for me. I’m thankful that we can receive the blessings of His Atonement: to be forgiven of our sins and have the chance to return to our Heavenly Father.

6. Listen for spiritual promptings. We can be alert for opportunities to help our children welcome the Spirit’s influence—opportunities for them to feel gratitude, to reflect on blessings, to receive inspiration. One mother shared a story that illustrates the way parents can give gentle guidance in situations like these.

After a school carnival, her younger sons, Richard and Joe, were excited that they each had won a twenty-five-cent balsa-wood airplane, and her oldest son, Sam, was elated at having won two of them. But as the boys climbed into bed, Richard accidentally knelt on his airplane and broke it into pieces. He seemed inconsolable. The mother suggested that Sam share one of his planes. “Mom,” he replied, “how could you ask me to do something so hard?”

Gently, she reminded him of the gift of the Holy Ghost he had received after baptism. “Listen to your heart,” she added. “You will be able to decide what to do.”

A few minutes later, Richard wiped away his tears as he thanked Sam for the gift. And Sam wrote in his journal: “When I was getting the airplane for Rich, I felt a smile and a warm feeling in my heart. It was so warm I was about to burst. I could barely sleep that night ‘cause I felt that super amazing burst in my heart.” He told his mother that he knew the Holy Ghost had helped him make the decision.

Several LDS groups invited my minister friend to speak on the topic of “loving our neighbor despite religious differences,” and she experienced a great deal of acceptance from those who attended. In turn, she invited several Latter-day Saints, including me, to speak to different congregations on the same topic. After the services, I found myself surrounded by congregants wanting to talk to me, hug me, and even shed tears of mutual love and understanding. In experiences like these, I have found Elder Holland’s conclusion to be true: “When we look beyond people’s color, ethnic group, social circle, church, synagogue, mosque, creed, and statement of belief, and when we try our best to see them for who and what they are—children of the same God—something good and worthwhile happens within us, and we are thereby drawn into a closer union with that God who is the Father of us all.”14

In September 2024, a family of five travelled from rural Papua New Guinea to Hamilton, New Zealand. They did not travel to sightsee or be tourists, but to be sealed as a family for eternity.
The Church is currently constructing a temple in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, but it is months away from completion.
In preparation for the completion of a temple in their home country, the Wano family recently travelled 5,000 kilometres to the Hamilton New Zealand Temple.
Paul and Christina Wano and their three children, Elaine, 17, Natasha, 16, and Ali, 15, made the long trip to be united as a family for eternity.
Paul serves as second counselor in the Papua New Guinea Rigo District. Christina volunteers as a youth adviser in their congregation.
Like every family preparing for an exciting journey, they were thoughtful about their upcoming experience.
“I know that when I go the temple,” Paul said, “I can be a better person in treating my family and others around me the way Heavenly Father wants me to.”
Christina said, “I feel grateful. I feel happy with my family to go to the temple.”
Ali, 15, said, “I’m feeling excited and I’m feeling like it’s a blessing that me and my family are going to a temple to be sealed for eternity.”
His sister, Natasha, 16, said, “I hear people say that when you go to the temple you experience some things that are new, and I’m scared of experiencing new things. But it’s a blessing for me, so I really want to experience new things too.”
17-year-old Elaine said, “I’m so excited, because me and my family have been doing a lot of sacrifice to go to the temple. And now our time has come, and we’re going to go and be sealed, and I’m so excited. I want to be just like the missionaries serving, and I want to be so proud. I want my family to be proud of me.”
The Wano family flew from Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, to Auckland, New Zealand in late September 2024, then took a bus to the nearest temple in Hamilton.
For four days they received instruction and participated in ordinances that bring souls, both living and dead, closer to Christ. For each of them, the most exciting moment was when they collectively knelt at a holy temple altar and were sealed together as a family for eternity.
Ali remembers looking at his parents. “I was filled with joy and peace because I was going to be with them in the next life. One thing the temple has taught me is that now I have to be ready to tell people about what I felt in the temple.”
Natasha says that the experience has changed her. “It has helped me to build relationships with other people. I want to go on my mission so I can tell people about the temple.”
Elaine added, “I felt like there was the Spirit there. I felt it. Now we are home, and we always say our prayers and have family home evening. Being sealed in the temple made us feel strong so we can overcome our temptations.”
Paul says that he “cried in the temple during the sealing, and I knew I was being blessed by God.”
Christina says that when their children joined with them in the sealing room “it was so wonderful. I wasn’t sure if the temple would really change me, but it did. I look at things differently. Everything is more beautiful.”

“When you turn yourself over to the Lord,” Sonny says, “He’ll put people in your path.” He tells of backing up his motor home one day and ending up in a ditch. He called for a tow truck, and the Spirit prompted him to speak to the driver about the gospel. “I told him, ‘The Lord put me in this ditch so I could meet you.’ He laughed, and we talked. It turns out his grandmother was a Mormon at one time. He wanted a copy of the Book of Mormon. We try to keep copies nearby, and I was happy to give him one.”

Some mothers, some fathers, some children, some families are called upon to bear a heavy burden here in mortality. Such a family was the Borgstrom family in northern Utah. The time was World War II. Fierce battles raged in various parts of the world.

Tragically, the Borgstroms lost four of their five sons who were serving in the armed forces. Within a six-month period, all four sons gave their lives—each in a different part of the world.

Following the war, the bodies of the four Borgstrom brothers were brought home to Tremonton, and an appropriate service was conducted, filling the Garland Utah Tabernacle. General Mark Clark attended the service. He later spoke with tenderness these words: “I flew to Garland the morning of June 26. Met with the family, including among others the mother, father, and two remaining sons, … one a lad in his teens. I had never met a more stoic family group.

“As the four flag-draped coffins were lined up in front of us in the church, and as I sat by these brave parents, I was deeply impressed by their understanding, by their faith, and their pride in these magnificent sons who had made the supreme sacrifice for principles which had been instilled in them by noble parents since childhood.

“During the luncheon period, Mrs. Borgstrom turned to me and said in a low voice, ‘Are you going to take my young one?’ I answered in a whisper that as long as I remained in command of the army on the West Coast, if her boy were called I would do my best to have him assigned to duty at home.

“In the middle of this whispered conversation with the mother, the father suddenly leaned forward and said to Mrs. Borgstrom: ‘Mother, I have overheard your conversation with the general about our youngest. We know that if and when his country needs him, he will go.’

“I could hardly contain my emotions. Here were parents with four sons lying dead from wounds received in battle and yet were ready to make the last sacrifice if their country required it.”

It is the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ that touched home and heart that ever-to-be-remembered day.

Not long ago, Joseph Sr. had an idea. His children, members of the Kaneohe First Ward, Kaneohe Hawaii Stake, had performed on Hawaii’s different islands, and they’d even sung and danced in Utah, where the Ahunas have many relatives. They’d done most of their shows at ward dinners, nursing homes, and hospitals. But Brother Ahuna wanted to take his family to Japan, to the country where he had served his mission.

"I guess we could have gone anywhere," says 17-year-old David. "But since my dad speaks Japanese, that’s where we decided to go."

The three-week trip to seven Japanese cities last summer forced the Ahunas to hone their act and made them decide what they really wanted to do. Entertaining audiences was important, but they wanted something more. They also wanted to take a gospel message with them. They chose the theme "Love at Home," putting together an entire show based on the hymn.

Mission presidents in several Japanese missions scheduled performances in various hospitals and rest homes. But the rest was up to the Ahunas.

Dad would play the guitar and, because of his language abilities, he would introduce his family and serve as the narrator. Joseph Jr., now a missionary, not so ironically, in the Japan Tokyo North Mission, played the ukulele, and David was on the keyboard. The girls and the younger brothers danced.

The Ahuna Adventure began in Fukuoka, where the family performed four shows. By the time they reached Tokyo three weeks later, they had performed 17 shows and given two firesides.

"We all have talents, and although we might not be the best at what we do, everyone still has talents. We felt that as long as we tried our best, smiled, and tried to give our best performance each time, everything would be okay," says Ruth.

"The fact that we were a family," Ruth continues, "and that we were close-knit, I think, attracted many people to us. And that was our message. We were with each other 24/7, and that brought us closer because we were forced to get along. I know everybody has bad days, but we kind of grew on each other."

"I think what we did made us actually live by the words we would sing at the end of every performance. We didn’t want to be fakes or something," adds David. "Before our trip it was like we believed in the teachings of the gospel. But I think from this experience we grew closer as a family. And when we shared messages about the Church, we began to understand it more and believe in it more."

One day years ago, as young missionaries laboring in a tiny branch on the small island of Amami Oshima, Japan, my companion and I were ecstatic to learn that President Spencer W. Kimball would be visiting Asia and that all members and missionaries in Japan were invited to Tokyo to hear the prophet at an area conference. With branch members, my companion and I excitedly began making plans for the conference, which would require a 12-hour boat ride across the East China Sea to mainland Japan, followed by a 15-hour train ride to Tokyo. Sadly, however, it was not to be. We received word from our mission president that because of distance and time, my companion and I would not be able to attend the conference in Tokyo.
While members of our little branch embarked for Tokyo, we stayed behind. The following days seemed quiet and empty. We held sacrament meeting alone in the small chapel, while the Latter-day Saints and missionaries of Japan attended the conference.
My sense of personal disappointment intensified even as I joyfully listened to branch members return from the conference days later to report that President Kimball had announced a temple in Tokyo. They gushed with excitement as they shared the fulfillment of their dream. They described how, upon hearing the temple announcement, members and missionaries were unable to contain their joy and spontaneously erupted into clapping their hands.
Years have passed, but I can still remember the disappointment I felt from missing that historic meeting.

People rarely walked up the big hill to get to my house. The ice-cream man wouldn’t waste his gas going up such a steep hill, the paperboy refused to ride his bike to deliver papers there, and even my dog would never run away because he would have to run back up the hill to get home! But at least once a week, Linda huffed and puffed up the big hill on her way up, up, up to my house.
Linda was an older, heavyset woman with short black-and-white hair like salt and pepper. Some people in our neighborhood said she was disabled, but my mother told me that Linda was special. Inside, she was still a little girl. Whenever Linda came to visit, she would greet us with a great big hug and a kiss on the cheek. We could not help smiling when she was around.
One day Linda came jaunting up the hill and bolted into the house. She never knocked or rang the doorbell; she just came in and said, “Linda is here!” Today she was so excited that she grabbed my brother Roy and danced him around the room, yelling, “I’m invited to the Snowflake Ball! Linda is invited to the Snowflake Ball!”
The Snowflake Ball was a fancy dance party for the people who went to Linda’s school. She was so excited to get dressed up that she could not talk about anything else. “I want to wear a big, red, fluffy dress, sparkles in my hair, and red, sparkly shoes,” she said. “I want to wear roses in my hair too. Do you like red, Katie?”
“I like red, but I like pink best,” I answered truthfully.
“I like red the best. I have always wanted to wear a beautiful red dress and be a fancy lady.”
Mother offered to sew Linda’s dream dress. We bought some red shoes at the discount store and glued glitter on them so they sparkled. Every time Linda tried on her dress and shoes, she cried when she had to take them off again. She liked looking as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside.
Finally the day of the Snowflake Ball arrived. It was a school day for me, but I felt excited for Linda’s big party. At lunch I sat down outside with my friends. From a distance I heard someone yelling my name. “Katie! Katie! My best friend, Katie! Look at me! Katie, I’m so pretty! Katie, look at my pretty, fluffy, puffy, sparkly, happy dress. Katie, look at your friend Linda! I am a fancy lady. Linda is right here. Look, Katie!”
I saw Linda waving from across the street, all dressed up. I would have waved back, but I noticed my friends’ faces. They looked surprised.
“You know that weird lady?” Natalie asked. “She walks all over our neighborhood. My mother says she’s crazy.”
I stammered for an answer.
Then Kelly added, “I see her all over our neighborhood too. Look at her ugly dress! She looks so funny!” They all started to laugh.
Natalie smirked and again asked, “So you know that crazy lady? Is she your best friend or something? How does she know your name?”
Across the street Linda was still waving to me, but she had stopped yelling. I could tell she was sad that I had not answered. I sat quietly for a moment. “Um, I think she knows my name because she walks by our house and hears my mom calling me,” I lied. “Of course I don’t know her.”
Kelly, Natalie, and the other girls seemed relieved and continued joking about her. I felt terrible. I could not bring myself to look across the street at Linda. I couldn’t eat the rest of my lunch; I couldn’t even talk. I knew I had done something wrong.
When I was baptized the year before, I had promised to try to be like Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost was now telling me that I had broken my promise. Jesus loved Linda and would never treat her this way, and He loved me and would never want me to act this way.
As the girls began to clear away their lunches, I jumped up. “Stop! I am friends with that lady,” I blurted out. “Her name is Linda, and she is a friend of my family. Please don’t be mean to her. She is special, and we love her.” Some of the girls suppressed smiles, but others said they had special friends like Linda too.
Linda sat on the street curb looking sadly down at her sparkly shoes. Now it was my turn to shout and wave my arms. “Linda, Linda, my best friend, Linda. Look at me! Linda, you look so pretty! You are a very fancy lady! Linda, look at your pretty, puffy, sparkly, happy dress! Linda, look at your friend Katie. Katie is right here, Linda!”
Linda lifted her head. She smiled and waved. The more I waved and shouted, the more she waved back and smiled. Soon she and I were jumping up and down, waving, blowing kisses to each other, and smiling. We had attracted the attention of all the students outside, and they heard me say that Linda was my friend.
Linda had a wonderful time at the Snowflake Ball. She really did look like a fancy lady. Mother and I volunteered to serve punch at the dance so we could watch Linda have a good time.
After the ball Mother, Linda, and I walked up that great big hill to my house. I apologized to Linda for being slow to wave to her. She didn’t even seem to remember, and I thought how lucky I was to have such a forgiving friend. We had a lovely walk home together, my best friends and I. Somehow, with them on each side of me, that great big hill up, up, up to my house didn’t seem so hard after all.

Susan seemed afflicted with a similar ailment. But hers came when she looked in the mirror.
“Oh my gosh, I look so awful. Other girls have bad hair days—I have bad hair seasons. Why can’t I be thin, tall, blonde, and from Sweden? Is that asking too much?”

And here’s Susan, back in front of the mirror, but with a new attitude:
“Wow, that ribbon Mom gave me really does look good with my hair! It matches my dress, too. Maybe Jennifer would like one. It would look really good with the T-shirt she wore to Young Women last week. Whoah! Look at the time! I’d better hurry. I promised I’d make my famous Swedish meatballs for Mutual tonight!”

This story took place in Tonga in 1981.
Silioti walked home from school past trees of yellow papayas and rosy ripe mangoes. When she saw the fruit, she remembered how hungry she was. She also remembered that today was a special day. Today everyone in her stake in Tonga was fasting for the prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball. The prophet was sick and needed an operation. Tonight everyone in the stake would meet to pray and end their fast together.
When Silioti reached her house, she smelled food cooking in the ‘umu, the pit oven. Her stomach grumbled. Silioti was glad she was old enough to fast now, but fasting on a school day was so much harder than fasting on a Sunday.
Silioti tried to forget how hungry she was. She found firewood and cleaned up the leaves that had fallen from the tall breadfruit trees that shaded her yard.
“Heavenly Father will understand if I take a tiny sip of water,” Silioti thought as she washed her hands after chores. Then she thought of how much she loved President Kimball. She wanted him to be well again. She decided she would wait.
Silioti sat down on the porch and laid her head in her mother’s lap. She was so tired.
“You can end your fast if you need to,” Mother said.
“But I want to fast,” said Silioti. “I can do it.”
When Father came home from work, everyone in the family helped uncover the ‘umu. They took out the pork wrapped in leaves, the fish, and the breadfruit baked in coconut milk. Then they wrapped the food in cloth and carried it out to the road to wait for the bus.
They met other families on the road, all with their own dishes of food. They all smiled and talked as they climbed on the bus together. Silioti found a little space next to Mother. She smelled the good food as the bus bumped along.
It was dark when the bus reached the chapel. Inside, Silioti knelt with her parents, her brothers and sisters, and hundreds of other members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
During the prayer, Silioti prayed in her heart, “Please let President Kimball get well again.” She knew every person in the room was praying for the same thing. A calm feeling inside told her that President Kimball would be OK.
When she opened her eyes she saw tears on the faces of the people around her. All of these people had fasted, and she had fasted with them. It had been hard, but she had done it!
President Kimball survived his operation and served as the prophet for four more years.

I was nervous. At our first family home evening, Dad had announced that each of us would be given an important calling in our family.
Now it was Monday again, and it was almost time for family home evening. What calling was I going to get? I know, I thought, Mom and Dad will call me to lead the music. Everybody said I did that well. Or maybe I’m going to be the one to pass out family home evening treats. That was an assignment I would be happy to accept.
Finally Mom called all of us in. It was her turn to conduct.
One by one everyone arrived: my sisters, Roxana and Dayana; my brothers, Bernie and Victorio; and Dad and Mom.
Dayana had the lesson, and it was really fun. She had lots of pictures and stories about family unity. Next it was time to write our weekly letters to my brother Rodolfo on his mission.
Then Dad announced the assignments. Dayana was assigned the music, Roxana got the refreshments, and Victorio and Bernie were chosen to be family home evening reverence leaders.
“What about me?” I asked patiently.
“Well, Adalis,” Dad said, “you are very responsible and you are a Valiant in Primary, so you are going to have a very important assignment. You are going to be the family prayer secretary!”
I was so excited! It was a new position, and I got it!
“From now on,” Mom explained, “family prayer will be at 7:00 p.m. Adalis, you’re in charge of seeing that everyone meets for prayer exactly on time.”
I have had this calling now for about two weeks. Getting everybody together isn’t easy. But when I think about Jesus and about all the times He taught about prayer, I like to imagine He would do the same thing. He would get everyone together as a family to pray—exactly on time!

An area president and I were in a land where, to our knowledge, not one member of the Church lived among the millions of that nation. We met a man who had been a longtime student of the Bible. He belonged to a Christian church but was not satisfied with it. He thought that he should belong to a church that carried the name of the Savior. In an old encyclopedia, he had found listed The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He wrote a letter to Salt Lake City and received an answer with a Book of Mormon. Other literature followed as he requested it.
By the time that we met him, he had read the Book of Mormon again and again and knew that it was true. He knew that the priesthood had been restored with all its gifts and powers. He knew of various Church ordinances and the procedures of our meetings. Did he believe Joseph Smith to be a prophet of God? Most assuredly.
Our friend asked for baptism and hoped to receive the priesthood so that he could teach and act with proper authority.
“But,” we said, “if we baptize you and then leave, you will be left alone. There will be no one to teach you and help you.”
He responded, “God will teach me and help me, and He will be my friend and support.”
I looked into the eyes of that good man and saw the light of faith and testimony. We baptized him, confirmed him a member of the Church, and bestowed upon him the gift of the Holy Ghost. We baptized his wife. We conferred upon him the Aaronic Priesthood and ordained him to the office of priest so that he and his wife could have the sacrament.
We held a sacrament and testimony meeting with them. When we said good-bye to one another, we embraced them. I shall never forget him. I know little of his circumstances now, but this I know: When we talked with him, the fire of faith burned in his heart, and our own faith was quickened also.

Another dedicated pair of visiting teachers in the Democratic Republic of Congo walked great distances to visit a woman and her baby. These sisters prayerfully prepared a message and wanted to know how they could make a difference in the life of the dear woman they were visiting. The woman was thrilled with their visit. For her their visit was a message from heaven given just to her. As the visiting teachers met in her humble home, the sister, her family, and the visiting teachers were all lifted and blessed. The long walk didn’t seem a sacrifice. These visiting teachers had compassion, making a difference for good and blessing the life of this woman.

In her English class Melanie must speak slowly and distinctly, with a heavy British accent, or she might be misunderstood. “They teach British English here, not American English,” she chuckles. “They tell me Americans speak too fast and swallow their words.”
Kirsten Rhau, 16, one of Melanie’s friends, chats with her following the class. “Melanie is just like any other student,” Kirsten says. “She understands well, and if she makes a mistake in grammar, we correct her nicely. She does the same for us in English. We’ve formed a ‘mutual aid society.’” The two friends often meet between classes and usually spend lunch together.

I graduated from high school in 1992 and immediately turned in my papers to serve a full-time mission. At the time my call came, I had just been admitted to one of the best universities in Nigeria to study medicine.
In Nigeria admission into medical school is competitive and not to be forfeited. When I received pressure from some friends and family members to abandon my mission call, I explained that I had a responsibility to serve and had looked forward to doing so since I joined the Church six years before. I was sure I could get readmitted to medical school after my mission, but many thought I would regret my decision.
I am grateful to the home teachers, family members, and Church friends who supported my decision to serve. Attending seminary, studying the scriptures, and living the gospel enabled me to stand by my convictions.
As a missionary I set personal goals and worked hard. Twenty-four months later I received an honorable release. The Lord blesses returned missionaries but has not promised that they will be immune to trials. For the Nigerian returned missionary, those trials include unemployment and lack of funds for education.
During the first three years after my mission, I took and passed three entrance examinations, but I wasn’t readmitted to medical school. During those same three years, I couldn’t find a job. I was tempted to believe that some of my friends and family members might have been right and that it was a mistake to have forfeited my admission to medical school.
On my mission I learned to cast my burden on the Lord, so I let Him direct my life according to His will. As soon as I did, things started working out for me—but not as I had planned.
One fast Sunday I decided to fast and intently pray for the Lord’s help. That evening a knock came at the door. When I opened the door, I was astonished to see an acquaintance I had met during security training I had attended six months before. He told me that an opportunity for a security operative had opened in a company his elder brother worked for and that the company urgently needed to fill the position. I was the only person who came to his mind.
The next day the company hired me. That singular experience confirmed to me that Heavenly Father had not abandoned me and that I needed to trust in Him. The job proved to be a springboard to other jobs.
Divine blessings are not measured by temporal achievements alone. I struggled for years after my mission to find temporal stability, but the Lord blessed me spiritually. My patriarchal blessing directed me to get married and told me that the opportunity of higher education would come. It did.
Though I never went to medical school, I have earned the equivalent of degrees in accounting and mathematics. The Lord eventually blessed me with sufficient material stability that I was able to marry.
If we serve an honorable mission, the Lord is bound to bless us as we seek opportunities for higher education afterward. Nothing in the life of a young man or young woman can surpass the experiences, learning, and blessings of full-time missionary service.