Gospel Story Finder

The football was improvised from a bunch of socks. The opposing team was the furniture. Young Kalin faked left, then went wide around a wall. He slipped the tackle of a kitchen chair, and made a flying leap into the end-zone couch on the far side of the living room. But the cheers of the crowds were only in his mind. As an only child being raised by a single mother working the swing shift, Kalin Hall spent a lot of time alone.
Growing up in Las Vegas, Nevada, Kalin didn’t foresee a future for himself that included college, a career, or membership in the LDS church. In fact, he didn’t even see football in his future despite his success in his own living room.
In grade school and junior high, Kalin participated in athletics, but by the time he was a sophomore in high school, things began to unravel. He was skipping too much school and his grades were going downhill. He played in four games; then his poor academic record forced him off the team. For two years of high school he watched games from the stands. He started hanging around some guys with gang affiliation. The bond between these guys appealed to Kalin, who was not used to being close with anyone. He became a follower.
Then things hit bottom for Kalin. He got kicked out of school for fighting in defense of a friend. He got caught riding on a scooter someone else had stolen. He wrote a suicide note to his mother. “I don’t know if I was serious,” says Kalin, “but I put it in my mom’s purse, and she found it.”
His mother took him to a hospital for help, and things turned around for Kalin. “I decided I had to change. I saw a lot of guys older than me doing nothing, hanging around selling drugs. I couldn’t see myself that way. I knew I was a fairly bright kid. I knew there was a purpose for me. I always prayed every night before I went to bed. I didn’t know why I did that. Nobody taught me. It was something I felt I had to do.” Only later did Kalin realize that those early feelings that helped him to pray every day prepared him for the changes he would make in his life.
Looking for a new group of friends, Kalin watched the people he admired to see what they were doing. He saw they were going to class, getting good grades, and playing sports. In one semester of school, he raised his grades to As and Bs. He played football and basketball his senior year of high school. As a high school running back, he was all-conference, all-region, and all-state. He was named Nevada’s Gatorade Player of the Year. But he paid a price for messing around for two years of high school. He was not eligible to be recruited by a Division I football school. He was headed to a junior college. He chose Dixie College in St. George, Utah, because it had a good football program and was close to home.
It was at Dixie that Kalin was first introduced to the Church. He became friends with some Polynesian players who were returned missionaries. Kalin says, “They welcomed everybody. They were so friendly and nice. I felt comfortable around them.”
One of his new friends, Jack Damuni, tells what happened. “I was in my room doing some homework. A Catholic friend came in and started asking me questions about the Church. Kalin walked in, sat on my bed, and just listened. We were talking about the Godhead and how the Spirit lets you know if things are true, and about our purpose here on earth. Kalin wasn’t saying anything. I turned and looked at him, and he started crying. I knew what was happening.”
Of course, Kalin remembers everything about that day. “Religion had always interested me. I listened to what both of them were saying. I was really struck by a lot of things Jack said. It was a good feeling that I had.”
They were an hour late for a team meeting. The coach bawled them out for being late until they told him they had been talking about the Church and were too involved to think of anything else.
As they were walking back to the dorms, Kalin started asking more questions. “Hey, Jack, what was that I felt back there? I felt something that really touched me. It made me cry.”
Jack said, “Remember when we were talking about how the Holy Spirit lets you know when things are true? That’s what it was.”
Kalin said, “It’s a good feeling. I felt calm.”
As Kalin began taking the missionary discussions, some strange things started to happen. Jack had warned his friend that once he started reading the scriptures and became interested in the Church, people would try to convince him that the Church was wrong. It happened just as Jack said.
“People started being involved in my life who never had been before,” said Kalin. “They were telling me how racist the religion is. To me, the black and white thing has never been an issue—never has been and never will be. I can’t honestly see anyone entering the celestial kingdom if they are prejudiced. Christ said we are all his children.”
Jack Damuni baptized his friend and watched him grow and progress as he became more and more involved in the Church. Two years later, Jack was Kalin’s teammate on the Brigham Young University football team. They are still very close, like brothers. Jack has seen a big change in Kalin. “He’s focused. Everything he does is focused on the gospel.”
While a lot of good things were happening in his life at Dixie, like joining the Church and being named the National Junior College Player of the Year in 1991, some hard things were happening. Kalin’s father, whom he never knew well, died. Then three months later his mother passed away from cancer. It shook Kalin. “During her worst time, I wasn’t there to comfort her. It helped out an awful lot that I knew I would see her again, but it was still very hard. Both my parents are gone, and I don’t have any blood brothers or sisters. I’m the last of my immediate family.”
During this time, Kalin was adopted by Wendell and Joyce Donahoo. He met the family while playing with their son Kelly in high school. “They have been great to me,” says Kalin. “They are a great family.”
After junior college, Kalin was heavily recruited. He made a recruiting trip to BYU. A couple of hours into the tour, Kalin used the phrase made famous by Brigham Young. “This is the right place.” He did have one condition before he would agree to come to BYU. He told the BYU coaches he wanted the chance to talk at firesides, to share his story with young people who might be helped by what he had to say. They smiled and said there would be no problem. He’d have more chances to speak than he would know what to do with.
Kalin’s interest in the choices young people are making with their lives has decided his major. He’s in social work. He intends to finish his degree and work with children. He’s so determined to make this goal that he is concentrating on finishing his degree and perhaps going on for a master’s.
Here’s the advice he has for kids: “Be your own person. Be a leader. The hardest thing is to stand up for yourself and what you believe in. Don’t get caught up in being a follower. If you have to, move on to another set of friends or be a loner for a while.”
As a running back on the BYU football team, Kalin’s athletic talents are evident. He’s hard to stop. But he has a very healthy attitude about sports in general. “Athletics is not the most important thing in the world. But they can be used as a positive tool in your life. For me, it’s been very positive.”
Football has given Kalin the opportunity to go to college. College led Kalin to the gospel. The gospel directed him to BYU, where he met and married his wife, Holly Hamilton, in the temple. The temple can lead them to an eternal family, a concept that is extremely meaningful to an only child who spent a lot of time alone.
If asked, Kalin will tell you about a favorite scripture. It’s the one in Alma about nourishing a seed (see Alma 32:28–43). Kalin says, “The seed was planted when I first started to turn my life around. Then the gospel came, and that’s when the seed was covered by the soil. When I read the scriptures, that’s when I nourished the seed, and it keeps growing as I gain more insight into the gospel. That’s how you progress.”
Sounds like a ball carrier who is on the ball.

A recent nationwide survey found that nearly 8 in 10 Americans “believe that miracles still occur today as [they did] in ancient times.” A third of those surveyed said they had “experienced or witnessed a divine healing.”4 Many Latter-day Saints have experienced the power of faith in healing the sick. We also hear examples of this among people of faith in other churches. A Texas newspaperman described such a miracle. When a five-year-old girl breathed with difficulty and became feverish, her parents rushed her to the hospital. By the time she arrived there, her kidneys and lungs had shut down, her fever was 107 degrees, and her body was bright red and covered with purple lesions. The doctors said she was dying of toxic shock syndrome, cause unknown. As word spread to family and friends, God-fearing people began praying for her, and a special prayer service was held in their Protestant congregation in Waco, Texas. Miraculously, she suddenly returned from the brink of death and was released from the hospital in a little over a week. Her grandfather wrote, “She is living proof that God does answer prayers and work miracles.”5

“Jerome Mooney!” his mom scolded from the back porch. “Stop spitting at your sister!”
“It’s OK, Mom,” said Mary Beth as she put the last spoon on the picnic table. “Jerome is showing me how he’s going to win a blue ribbon at the 4-H fair.”
“By spitting?”
“No,” Mary Beth explained with a grin, “by whistling. Jerome is entering the whistling competition. Talented, isn’t he? Last place is in the bag.”
“Oh, yeah, smartie?” Jerome retorted. “Just listen to this.”
But for all of Jerome’s effort, his whistle was no louder than a whisper.
“Jerome,” said Dad, handing him a hamburger, it takes a lot of practice to be able to win a blue ribbon, and the fair is only two weeks away.”
“That’s right,” said Mary Beth. “Practice in your room or when I’m not around,” she teased, “and I’ll call you when the two weeks are up.”
Jerome practiced and practiced. Every morning he played records and whistled along with them. Every afternoon he watched TV and whistled along with his favorite commercial jingles. And every time Grandpa called, Jerome whistled his best tunes into the telephone. Even while he got ready for bed, he whistled the songs he heard on his radio.
The more Jerome practiced, the better he became. By the end of the first week he was sure he could win first prize at the fair. Even Grandpa said he’d never heard anything like Jerome’s whistling. Just to be sure, though, Jerome chose “Yankee Doodle” as the tune he would whistle at the fair. He was positive that everyone loved it.
“A blue-ribbon tune if ever I heard one,” agreed Grandpa.
Mom made Jerome a red, white, and blue Uncle Sam costume out of a pair of Grandpa’s old pajamas. Dad gave Jerome a haircut and shined his Sunday shoes. “I don’t see how you can lose,” he said proudly.
“Jerome will find a way,” said Mary Beth.
But Jerome was determined to win. He had one more week to polish up his act. So, for six days straight, he whistled nothing but “Yankee Doodle.” Around and around through the house he marched, whistling the tune in time to the beat.
Mary Beth went around with cotton in her ears. Mom and Dad went to the store a lot, and everyone wished fair day would hurry and arrive.
On the night before the fair, Dad insisted that Jerome would do better if he didn’t whistle again until just before the competition. So Jerome put on his pajamas, kissed Mom and Dad goodnight, and went to bed early.
At breakfast Mary Beth rolled a penny across the table. “It’s for luck,” she said, “because you’re really going to need it. Just don’t forget to give it back to me after the contest.”
“I won’t need it,” said Jerome, but he took the penny and slipped it into his pocket—just in case.
Mom carefully packed Jerome’s costume into a bag. Then they all got into the van and headed for the fair.
At the fair they went to see all the exhibits of homegrown fruits and vegetables, handmade clothes and quilts, baked goods, and livestock. Jerome and Mary Beth pretended to drive some brand-new tractors while Mom and Dad set out their lunch of sausage-and-pepper sandwiches, ice-cold lemonade, and chocolate cake. After lunch they watched race cars roar around the track, and they munched on hot roasted peanuts.
At two o’clock the whistling competition was announced over the main loudspeaker. Jerome ran to the van to put on his costume. When he got to the grandstand, it was already filled with spectators. The contestants were divided into age groups, and each competitor was given a badge with his name and number on it. Jerome was number thirteen. Mom pinned the badge onto his costume and wished him luck.
After a short speech the emcee announced, “Number one, Abigail Potter, will whistle ‘You Are My Sunshine.’”
Jerome listened as the whistlers performed. Some were very good, but Jerome knew that he had the winning tune and a wonderful costume and that he wouldn’t make a single mistake because he had practiced so hard.
When the emcee called, “Number twelve,” from a far corner of the tent a boy appeared in a red, white, and blue Uncle Sam costume! Jerome could not believe his eyes.
The emcee announced, “Theodore Buzby will now whistle ‘Yankee Doodle.’”
“Hey, you can’t do that!” yelled Mary Beth.
“Shhh,” chided someone in the audience.
Jerome felt his palms get clammy. Perspiration ran down his face. He couldn’t do “Yankee Doodle” now, and he didn’t have a second-best tune.
“You’re up next,” the emcee said to Jerome when Theodore Buzby finished his performance. “What’s the name of your song?”
“I want to go home,” whispered Jerome.
As Theodore Buzby bowed, the audience clapped and cheered. There goes my blue ribbon, thought Jerome.
“Number thirteen, Jerome Mooney,” the emcee informed the crowd, “will whistle ‘I Want to Go Home.’”
Jerome found himself at the podium staring at the faces staring back at him. His costume felt like it was glued to his skin. His throat ached, and he searched frantically in his pocket for Mary Beth’s lucky penny and rubbed it. But he needed more than luck.
The audience was still waiting for him to begin. He stared desperately at his family in the stands. Mom looked worried, but she managed a comforting smile. Dad looked nervous, but he held up his fingers in a victory sign. Mary Beth was making ugly faces at Theodore Buzby.
The tent grew hotter by the minute. Jerome’s throat was parched—too dry, maybe, to whistle anything. He spotted a grape Popsicle in the front row and watched as it dripped down the arm of the small girl holding it. One by one the cool drops plopped onto the dusty ground.
Suddenly, from somewhere, came a familiar little tune. Jerome couldn’t remember its name or where he had heard it, but it was sort of catchy. He took a deep breath and whistled softly into the microphone. He’d give it his best even if it wasn’t a blue-ribbon tune.
Soon Jerome noticed smiles throughout the audience. Everyone loved his tune! And more and more fairgoers were coming into the grandstand to listen. He whistled louder and faster. Children clapped their hands in time to the music. He whistled the mystery song better than he had ever whistled before, and when he had finished, the audience stood and applauded. Even Theodore Buzby.
The judges’ decision was unanimous. Jerome Mooney was the best seven-to-twelve-year-old whistler at the fair. The blue ribbon was his. Jerome gazed at it happily.
“I knew you could do it,” said Mary Beth, closing the van door. “Now can I have my penny back?”
“I’m proud of you, Jerome,” said Mom. “I didn’t know what you were going to do. What was that little song? I know I’ve heard it somewhere.”
“It certainly was popular with the crowd,” said Dad.
“Listen,” said Mary Beth, and in the distance Jerome’s blue-ribbon tune was playing softly. It got louder and louder as it came closer and closer. The catchy tune brought dozens of kids running to the curb as an ice-cream vendor turned the corner.
“Oh, no,” said Jerome. “I didn’t win at all. The ice-cream truck did.”
“You silly,” said Mary Beth. “The ice-cream truck wasn’t even at the fair. Besides, it was a blue-ribbon tune only because you were a blue-ribbon whistler. Now please hand over my penny.”
And Jerome did. Whistling happily, he could hardly wait to get home to call Grandpa.

When my son had his first tooth come in and when he took his first step, I wanted to call my mom. Tell my dad. Text pictures to my brothers. But I can’t. And I never can.
My parents and two of my brothers passed away seven years ago. I still remember it as if it were last week. I remember finding out that they were gone, coming home from my mission, and having to plan a funeral. But even after everything was over, my journey of grief was just beginning. This traumatic event released emotions that were more intense than I knew were possible to experience.
Feelings of anger, sadness, numbness, anxiety, and depression became regular emotions that I suddenly had to learn to cope with. It would be easy to assume that all grief progresses linearly, ending in a state of well-being. However, feelings don’t always happen in a set order. These feelings come and go over the course of a lifetime.
Sometimes, when grieving, we feel pressure—even subconsciously—to only portray the positive. In my experience, people understood that I would need to grieve, but as time went on, I felt I wasn’t allowed to honestly say how I was feeling. There was an expectation for comfortable answers—“I’m fine,” “I’m OK”—rather than the honest answer that I was still struggling.
The plan of salvation gives us the promise that as we “press forward … and endure to the end, … [w]e shall have eternal life” (2 Nephi 31:20). We “press forward” by exercising faith—doing things like reading our scriptures, attending the temple and Church meetings, and fulfilling callings. But sometimes in the middle of grief, it can feel like we’re failing at having faith in God’s plan if we show others our emotions.
Many people in the scriptures experienced confusion or questioning during times of trauma. While imprisoned in Liberty Jail, the Prophet Joseph Smith prayed in agony, “Oh God, where art thou?” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:1). After his father, Lehi, passed away, Nephi asked, “O Lord, wilt thou redeem my soul?” (2 Nephi 4:31). And Job, after so many awful trials, wondered why he’d even been born (see Job 3:11). The scriptures teach:
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: …
“… A time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
“A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 3–4).
Heavenly Father understands that during times of intense suffering or loss, we will struggle. He knows that there will be moments when we mourn and experience sadness. We need those experiences in order to move forward with our lives.
But even though Heavenly Father has prepared “a time and season” for grief, we still sometimes feel pressure to move on or be happy right away. If Heavenly Father is patient with us during our struggles, shouldn’t we be patient with ourselves?
When navigating your own season of grief, here are a few things I have found to be helpful:
Give yourself permission to feel things in your own way and time. Cry when you need to.
Reach out to others for help, and be honest about your feelings.
Don’t feel bad for experiencing moments of sadness, even long after the loss has happened.
Always remember that because of God’s plan, we can feel peace. Our struggles won’t last forever.
The Savior was the perfect example of mourning with those who mourn. He healed the sick and lifted the afflicted. He taught, listened, and loved others regardless of their struggles. He even navigated His own season of grief while He suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Grief is a difficult life transition to face. To the person who is grieving, know that it’s OK to not have all the answers. To the person who is trying to help, it’s OK to not know what to do. The Savior extends this relief to all: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
Elder Ulisses Soares of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles reminds us: “We must acknowledge that He is aware of each of us and of our needs. … The Lord’s timing is different than ours. … We need to trust the Lord enough to be still and know that He is God, that He knows all things, and that He is aware of each of us.”1
As we come unto Him in our grief, we can find peace in the hope that “all things shall work together for [our] good” (Doctrine and Covenants 90:24).

I joined the Church in May 2009. Since then I have quickly come to value the blessings that come from consistently attending family home evening. One memorable experience occurred when our young single adult ward played “chair soccer,” a variation of indoor soccer, in the cultural hall of a local meetinghouse. The point was to defend your chair while attacking other people’s with a rubber ball. I formed an alliance with two other players; by the end we were the only three still in the game, and we promptly turned on each other. Instead of getting upset about it, we couldn’t stop laughing! It was the most fun I have had in ages, and I know that I would be hard pressed to find an experience like that anywhere outside of the Church. Everyone was having a great time, even if he or she didn’t win, but that’s not what made the experience special to me. What really made it memorable was the spirit of friendship I felt at the activity.
Moments like this help me lighten the overwhelming stress of graduate school. No matter how the week has gone, I know that I will always feel better if I go to family home evening. I may not always be thrilled about the activity and I may not always want to take the time, but I never regret going.
Matt Adams, Nebraska, USA

When I was nine years old, I had a wonderful Primary teacher named Sister Kohler. I was very shy, and she was so gentle that I loved being with her. One day she gave us each a piece of paper. We all wrote down what we wanted to do when we got older. I wrote: “Go to college and get married in the temple.” I taped my paper above my closet door. At night, light from the street lamp shone in through my window. I looked up at my piece of paper. It reminded me that I wanted to go to the temple.
Back then, there were only 12 temples in the world. I wanted to go to every one.
Whenever my mother and father planned a vacation, they always took our family to the temple. We lived in Oregon, USA. The nearest temple was 600 miles (965 km) away in Cardston, Alberta, Canada. Our car didn’t have air conditioning. My brother and sister and I sat in the back seat. We would hang a wet washcloth outside the car window. Then we put it on our necks to cool off.
It was a thrill when we finally saw the temple. I didn’t know very much about what happened there, but my parents were always happy when they came out. I knew the temple was very important. I knew it was the Lord’s house.
After I turned 12, I got to do temple baptisms in several temples. Then when I met my future husband, I found out that he loved the temple too! We got married in the Manti Utah Temple.
You can prepare for the temple every day. Go to the temple when you can. Touch its walls. When my grandson Jarret was 11 years old, he worked on family history every Sunday with his dad. He found many names of ancestors. Now that he is 12, he is doing baptisms in the temple for these ancestors!
When you are in the temple, you can walk where Jesus walks. It is His house. I hope you will pray every day for Heavenly Father to help you prepare to enter the temple and feel His love.

A few years ago, I found myself in a serious rut. My self-esteem was low, I focused only on my insecurities, and I constantly compared myself to others.
Regardless of how much I read my scriptures and prayed, I couldn’t shake my overwhelming feelings of inadequacy. I had faith in God, but I didn’t have faith in my ability to feel better.
Eventually, I grew so desperate for relief that I considered trying something I usually rolled my eyes at: positive thinking.
I realized that if I wanted to change my life, I needed to change my thoughts.
As I tried this, it became clear to me that I was righteously exercising a priceless right—I was exercising my agency.
Because my thoughts were focused mostly on my fears and insecurities, I didn’t feel much joy in my life. I prayed for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to take away my problems. But I’d forgotten that, in accordance with Heavenly Father’s plan, Christ had also preserved my ability to make choices.
One key to shifting my mindset and feeling better was to choose living with gratitude.
One key to shifting my mindset and feeling better was to choose living with gratitude.
Instead of engaging in negative self-talk, I started actively looking for good things in my day. Sometimes it was a kind comment from a classmate. Other times it was walking home on a beautiful spring evening or eating a good meal.
I soon realized that practicing gratitude magnified my enjoyment of life. Try it! Being mindful of any goodness we experience multiplies its effect (see Doctrine and Covenants 78:19).
I collected good moments like pieces of treasure, and at the end of each day, I was always surprised by how blessed and thankful I felt. The hard parts of my life didn’t disappear, but they began to lose their sting.
As I chose to focus on moments of joy, laughter, peace, and inspiration, I realized that I could choose to create more of them. The power was in me!
My life has changed as I’ve chosen to change my thoughts. I’m more confident, kind, and joyful. I’m more open to trying new things and accepting opportunities. And I’m better at noticing the Lord’s hand in my life.
With the help of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, I’ve become better at making decisions that bring me true happiness and peace.

When I was a senior in high school I was excited to be called to serve as a member of the Amarillo Texas Stake’s youth conference committee. Most of the planning for the conference was left up to an enthusiastic group of about a dozen young people. Our committee met a few Sundays a month for almost a year at our stake center, an hour’s drive from my home. We also dedicated several hours in between meetings to researching ideas and praying for inspiration. I could see that serving on the committee was bringing me closer to the Lord. Although I had to travel an hour each way to the meetings, I felt good about what I was doing.
Generally, I enjoyed having uninterrupted quiet time to myself in my car on those Sunday afternoons to ponder the items we had discussed at our meeting or just to think. However, as the seasons changed and the hours of daylight shortened, I found that more of my drive home was in the dark. Even though I had had my driver’s license for about a year, something about driving on the highway alone at night made me uneasy.
One night was particularly distressing. Although the roads were relatively straight and safe, I was paralyzed by fear. I managed to go only half the speed of the other cars on the highway. My knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. I poured every ounce of my consciousness into focusing on the road ahead of me and, after a few miles, was nearly exhausted by the effort. I realized that by driving so slowly I was only prolonging my terror, but try as I might, I could not make myself go any faster.
Keeping my eyes open and my hands on the wheel, I said a fervent prayer aloud, asking that I might be comforted. I thanked the Lord for the opportunity that I had to serve Him while I was on that committee and asked that He would grant me the ability to fulfill my calling—which included traveling to and from my meetings.
Immediately after I finished my prayer, a scripture I had studied in seminary came to my mind. I had heard the words a hundred times: “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10).
Simple as it may seem, those words were an answer to my prayer. Immediately I felt the comfort of the Holy Ghost reassuring me that as long as I did the things the Lord expected of me, I would be taken care of. I also knew that if I was obedient to the laws of the land by wearing my seatbelt and not speeding, I would be doing all I could to allow for Heavenly Father’s protection.
Relief swept over me following my appeal to the Lord. I am grateful that my seminary teacher encouraged me to learn the scripture mastery scriptures. That night I learned firsthand what a blessing familiarity with the scriptures can be.

In my early teens, life seemed to fly by. I was testing the wings of young manhood and feeling a lot of turbulence along the way. Every turn brought new discoveries.
In the midst of this period I discovered something that I grew to cherish. It was something I never expected.
In those days our family would often spend our weekends in a small community nestled in the peaks of the Oregon mountains. As soon as my dad came home from work we would grab the fishing poles and mosquito repellent, throw them into the back of the camper, and drive off.
Full of anticipation, my sisters and I, and on occasion, our friends, would all lie on the top level of the bunk bed in the camper, leaning our faces up against the window screen to get relief from the summer heat. There we would plot out our upcoming adventures. During our planning sessions, I would never forget to tell the newcomers of the great summer attraction.
The great summer attraction was a large wooden pipe which carried water, under pressure, from a dam several miles to its powerhouse. The pipe was made of planks bound by steel bands. Over the years, time and moss had taken their toll, eating little holes in the pipe. This made the pipe resemble a gigantic lawn sprinkler, the kind that you stretch across the lawn but can never get both ends to lie right side up at the same time, resulting in water shooting for yards in every direction. This constant spraying was not only a refreshing retreat from the summer heat, but it kept the forest deep green. In winter it transformed the forest into a heavenly white, with every stream of water making its own unique ice sculpture.
On one of those summer outings, I sat in the cab of the truck and listened with the intense fascination of a boyish heart to Dad tell of his boyhood. He had grown up in this community. He told of spending the summers as a sheepherder in the alpine meadows, when the mountains would awaken and put on their summer green. In the winter, when the layers of white would again start to cover the high country, he would return to the small town below.
I had been to this community many times before and had visited his grandmother’s grave and the old house where he used to live. I had even wandered around his old high school. But never had my dad’s life seemed so real to me as it did that day. I spent the day as he had, at his old hangouts. He pointed to one of the meadows where he had herded sheep. We went to one of his favorite fishing holes, where a dam had stood. We continued to the lower dam. This was the place of the wooden pipe.
As I walked along the pipe that day, I felt different than I ever had before. I realized that there were just as many fish elsewhere. It wasn’t the fishing, or even the pipe, that was so special. It was my dad’s life. This place is my father’s link with the past, I thought. He had made a niche, a sanctuary, a home here. And his stories had become a part of me. Retracing the footsteps of my father’s childhood that day, I felt as if I was my dad. I knew that he had traveled this pipe often in his younger days, and I marveled at our newfound similarities. We were different; yet we were much the same. He wasn’t perfect, as I was not, but he, like the ice sculptures, was unique, a masterpiece of God’s creation.

Make up your mind what to do in difficult situations before they arrive. For Andrea Bennett, 17, of the Douglas Georgia Stake, turning down alcohol and R-rated movies at her junior/senior beach weekend wasn’t hard at all. “A lot of people were drinking, but when they asked me if I wanted some I just said no. I didn’t even have to think about it. I had made up my mind long before that happened I wouldn’t do those things. So when the offer came there wasn’t even a doubt in my mind what my answer would be. It would just happen. And it did.”

At night, the sky is dark and Queens Road, which leads into Suva, Fiji, is lit only by the headlights of approaching cars. Sometimes, the road seems to melt into the shadows, and it is difficult to see what lies ahead. Then, just around a bend, a beautiful radiance appears on the hill above the road, like a heavenly apparition. The warm glow of Suva, Fiji’s Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints draws the traveler’s gaze upward and beckons all to ascend out of the darkness and into the light.
Members of the Sigatoka Branch were delighted to attend the Suva Fiji Temple that morning in August 2022. For members of the Church, the temple is a sacred place of worship, a place of peace and revelation; a place to feel closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It is where sacred ordinances are performed and families are united—not just until death parts them, but for eternity.
In February 2022, Sister Basilisa Nadreke Lotawa was asked by the Sigatoka Branch President (a lay church leader) to serve as a temple and family history specialist. Basilisa’s job was to urge her congregation to lift their spiritual eyes to the light of the temple and to prepare themselves for temple worship. She also had to learn how to do genealogical research then teach her fellow Saints how to identify their deceased ancestors in order to participate by proxy, temple ordinances on their behalf.
Basilisa, a young mother of three, shook her head and laughed. “I knew nothing about doing family history—nothing . . . and I’m too young to do it.” Still, wanting to serve the Lord, she sought the help of an experienced genealogist and was soon able to assist her branch members. With a new conviction and passion for family history, Basilisa expressed: “I am so blessed and honoured to participate in this glorious work. It has been marvelous, tremendous! I have seen miracles and wonders. The Lord provided a way for me to do the work and to help my branch.”
With young children in tow, Basilisa spent many hours at the computer in her chapel helping others to extend the branches of their family trees. She invited them—adults and youth—to find five deceased family members who needed proxy baptisms. Branch members caught her enthusiasm and found two hundred ancestors!
At 2:00 am on the 27th of August 2022, members of the Sigatoka Branch boarded a bus to Suva temple. The early start didn’t dampen their spirits. Their excitement was palpable as they arrived on the temple grounds—they were ready to participate in ordinances on behalf of their ancestors, and other ordinances for themselves.
It was an especially joyful day for Maritiano Ratumeli, the Sigatoka Branch President. He, his wife and their two sons were united in the temple as an eternal family, by the authority that the scriptures call, the “sealing power.” President Ratumeli, teary eyed, said: “It is so amazing to say that I am one of those blessed to be sealed in the temple. I didn’t expect . . . that the branch would be with me, but the Lord planned for them to witness this. My goal is to inspire others to come. I’m feeling good and blessed that my family can be together forever.” Other branch members marveled as they “felt the Spirit” and “felt their family members there.”
As for Basilisa, there is no doubt that her love for the temple and family history work—even at this busy stage of her life, will continue to bless her. She said: “I feel the same joy doing this [work] that I felt when I served my mission.” She and her branch now keep their eyes fixed firmly on the holy temple.

Excitement thundered through Mariano Palermo’s veins as he and his teammate rowed past the 1,000-meter mark in first place. They were halfway to his dream of winning the 2003 Argentine national rowing championship in men’s pairs and a shot at participating in qualifiers for the 2004 Olympics in Athens, Greece.
They had settled into a great rhythm—their strong strokes catching the water in perfect harmony and propelling them ahead of the competition.
However, a few hundred meters later, Mariano’s excitement chilled when fatigue began to slow his teammate’s pace.
Mariano eyed the second-place boat not far behind. Would the lead they had built up be enough to get them to the finish line first?
Mariano’s twin sister, Lucía, had her own doubles race to concentrate on a little later that day, but she made sure she was there to watch her brother compete. She was thrilled when his team leaped out to such a quick lead. But her heart sank when she saw their pace drop off.
The Palermo twins have always been very close. Being the same age and involved in many of the same activities, they have always spent a lot of time together.
“Mutual, seminary, school,” Lucía lists. “Now that we’re older, it’s a little different, but we still train together.”
The twins, members of the Pacheco Ward, Buenos Aires Argentina Litoral Stake, are also united by other interests. They both enjoy working with their hands—Lucía doing handicrafts or sewing and Mariano working on cars.
“I love to cook,” Lucía adds.
“And I like to eat, so we’re a good team,” laughs Mariano. “I like to cook with her. I’m not very good at it, but it’s fun.”
While the two get along really well—“We can talk about anything,” says Lucía—Mariano says most people don’t realize they’re twins. The two don’t look alike.
“And we don’t know what the other is thinking,” Lucía says, joking about how twins are sometimes portrayed. “But we’re very affected by what happens to the other, whether in school or in competition. We are very united. It’s a beautiful thing.”
When Mariano felt his teammate’s pace slowing, he knew it didn’t matter how strong he felt. If Mariano pulled his oar harder or faster than his teammate did, the unbalanced effort would send the boat off course.
He matched his teammate’s pace and watched as the competitors started gaining on them.
As twins, Mariano and Lucía share many things. Among them is a fierce drive to train hard and give their best individual effort to reach their goals. But in team rowing, individual effort alone won’t get you across the finish line first. The twins have learned that if you aren’t in sync with your teammates, you won’t win.
“The effectiveness of the boat depends on unity,” Mariano says. “We’ve got to be thinking the same, whether it’s a team of two, four, or eight.”
“If we’re not working together—” begins Lucía.
“Precisely,” Mariano interjects.
“—the boat won’t work,” she finishes.
It’s a principle the two understand not only as rowers but as twins and as members of the Church.
“When the team is focused on the same objective, it’s much easier to obtain,” Mariano says. “It’s the same with our family. We have the same goal to be together forever. That helps a ton.”
The two understand that working together is essential not only in rowing but in reaching our ultimate goal to become like Jesus Christ and return to our Heavenly Father’s presence. The Lord said, “Be one; and if ye are not one ye are not mine” (D&C 38:27).
Once we’ve learned that life is not a singles competition but a team event, each of us faces a very important spiritual decision.
As the second-place team pulled alongside Mariano’s boat, it took real discipline for him not to give in to the temptation to row as hard as possible. The finish line was so close. But Mariano knew that rowing at his own pace could be disastrous. At best it would only slow them down; at worst it would send them off course and possibly out of the race.
This choice to follow someone else’s pace rather than our own in order to reach our goal is an important principle when applied to life on earth. We cannot return to our Heavenly Father’s presence on our own (see Romans 3:23).
Fortunately, the Savior was willing to put Himself in our boat through the Atonement (see Alma 7:11–12), providing the way to the finish line, where our Heavenly Father is.
But as in rowing, in order to win the prize we must be willing to give up anything that would keep us from rowing in harmony with the Lord. Atonement means to be reconciled or restored to harmony. Achieving harmony requires being willing to give up all our sins (see Alma 22:18), put off worldly desires, and do the Lord’s will (see Mosiah 3:19).
That’s not always easy, but the Savior knows the “race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1), and He knows exactly what we need in order to return to our Father’s presence.
If we choose not to follow Him, preferring to do things our own way, we are out of sync and in danger of slowing our progress or even putting ourselves out of the race.
In life as well as in athletics, some would rather set their own pace, believing that individuality is the way to true freedom. They choose to row through life alone, not realizing that with Jesus Christ, they could achieve so much more (see Mark 10:27).
In the rowing world, it is well-known that “a team working together can go much faster than an individual,” Lucía explains.
On the standard 2,000-meter course, a good time for a single male rower at his best pace is under seven minutes (the world record is 6:35.40). On a team of eight, however, that same rower, even though he may be matched with slower individual rowers, could go even faster. The world record for a team of eight is 5:19.85.
Just as it would be difficult for a single rower to beat a unified team, without the Savior, we cannot obtain our eternal goals.
Mariano and his teammate refused to give up. But shortly before the finish line, they were passed, leaving them in second place.
Lucía was at the boat ramp when Mariano pulled his boat out after the race. She had her own race coming up to think about, but when she saw his disappointed tears, she broke down herself.
“I knew how hard he had worked,” she says. “I couldn’t bear seeing him so disappointed. I had never seen him like that.”
Together, the twins sorrowed in Mariano’s disappointment. Finally, Lucía’s coach separated them, worried that she wouldn’t be able to focus on her own race. But when the time came, Lucía and her teammate won their pairs race and later the South American championships, earning the right to compete in the 2004 Olympics.
And just as they had shared sorrow in Mariano’s disappointment, they rejoiced together in Lucía’s success.
“I was so excited when she won the opportunity to compete in the Olympics,” Mariano says. “She earned it.”
At the Olympics, Lucía and her teammate ended up ranked 17th. Like Mariano’s results, her finish wasn’t exactly all she had dreamed about. Still, their goals remain high. In the short-term, they want to qualify for an Olympic medal. In the long run, they want to qualify for eternal life.
Both goals will require sacrifice and a willingness to work as one with someone else.
But while the world rewards only one winner (see 1 Corinthians 9:24), no matter how united each team is, the prize the Lord offers can be obtained by all who qualify. Nephi said that “many of us, if not all, may be saved in his kingdom” (2 Nephi 33:12; emphasis added), but we must first “be reconciled unto Christ” (2 Nephi 33:9) by sacrificing our worldly desires in order to follow Him.
The Palermo twins are united in the hope that their faith and sacrifices will be enough to win the one race that matters most of all.

When I was given the assignment to speak in the priesthood session of general conference, I immediately thought of a wonderful Primary teacher. Her great desire was to prepare us to be worthy of receiving the priesthood. She grilled us on the requirements then in place for graduation from Primary—memorize the names of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the Articles of Faith. She also made us a promise—if all of us could recite the thirteen Articles of Faith by memory, we could choose the place and go on an outing for our last class.
We decided on a special spot we liked to hike to on the rocky slopes just above the first dam at the entrance of Logan Canyon, in northern Utah. There was a small, flat space in these rocky cliffs that had a natural fireplace where you could cook hot dogs and roast marshmallows. When we chose the location, however, we did not consider our teacher, who was older and certainly not the athletic type. If we had thought about it more carefully, it might have occurred to us that she would have a difficult time making the hike. Her promise was her bond, however, and she gamely followed us.
First we climbed up the small hill. In our day there were no power lines to prevent access. With some help our teacher made it up the hill. Once over the top we dropped down into a rocky ridge to a place we called “Turtle Back.”
After we arrived, it took our teacher a little while to catch her breath. By the time we prepared to sit down and eat, she had recovered enough to teach us our final lesson. She told us how she had enjoyed teaching us in Primary for the last two years. She complimented us on how we had mastered the Articles of Faith. She could call out the number of any one of them, and we could quote it back to her. Then she said memorizing the Articles of Faith would mean nothing more than a lot of words unless we understood the doctrines and principles contained in them. She encouraged us to study the gospel doctrine taught in each of the Articles of Faith. She explained that the doctrine found in the Articles of Faith was divided into sections.
After my teacher’s wonderful lesson on that mountain in Logan Canyon, we noticed that we had stayed a little longer than we had planned. The evening was drawing to a close, and we realized we had a problem.
My teacher had struggled to arrive at our special spot, but returning presented a major challenge for us. This only compounded the poor selection of a place for our outing. The climb back was difficult for us, but even more so for a person of her age.
As we struggled to help her back up the hill, two policemen appeared. The Primary president had sent them out to find us, fearing we were lost. The drama of the event and the lessons taught made it an unforgettable experience in my life.

Almost as soon as the caravan stopped at the end of the forest road, the doors popped open and Scouts, dads, and a lot of backpacking equipment and fluorescent-orange life jackets came tumbling out of the cars and trucks. In no time at all the Scouts were lined up, drawing their allotment of food to carry, and stuffing it into their packs. Everyone seemed to know his duty and how to perform it. The few dads who were along to help were impressed with the organization. In fact, the only person not surprised by all this super efficiency performed by 12- and 13-year-old boys was their Scoutmaster, Nob Wimmer.
For Brother Wimmer this trip with the American Fork Utah 14th Ward Scouts was only one of hundreds of Scouting outings he has participated in during his 25 years of Scouting experience.
When asked how he got 12- and 13-year-old boys to perform much beyond their years, he commented on his philosophy:
“The age of the boys isn’t that critical. With cooperation you’d be surprised what even young boys can accomplish. There are three elements that do seem to make for a great trip. First, you need to plan well in advance. Second, a trip needs to require effort from everyone. Preferably the work starts a long time before the trip. If it does, the people involved get more excited about the actual event, they learn more, and they improve their teamwork. Then when we have taken care of all the variables that we can control, the third element of a great trip often comes into play. This is the element of surprise—the unexpected or the unusual happening that really makes the event stay alive in people’s minds long after the trip is over.”
To the 35 Scouts and adults who went, the trip was a success. They had been planning for months; each of them knew his duties and how to carry them out. They had also been working very hard to get ready. They learned how to handle canoes. They conditioned themselves to their backpacks, and many of the Scouts invested extra hours in learning to tie fishing flies. They worked one evening a week with Brother Wimmer learning how to do it, and then they tied quantities of flies in anticipation of the trip. In addition, every meal of the five-day camp was carefully planned in advance. Then, a few days before the trip, the food was bought and repacked so it would be easier to carry. They used off-the-shelf grocery items rather than the more expensive dehydrated backpacking foods. They even made their own oven-dried jerky to save on weight and expense.
Once the gear was out of the vehicles and strapped on backs, everyone started up the trail together. The few miles to the lake seemed more like a dozen since each person not only had to carry his own personal gear but also had to take a turn helping to carry one of the canoes.
At the lake, supplies and Scouts were ferried across the water to a lovely campsite. Scouts built simple, plastic-covered shelters under the pines, and had camp completely set up and organized in time to take in an evening’s fishing.
It was easy to get to sleep that first night. David Miller, however, woke up in the middle of the night with a creepy feeling that he wasn’t alone in his bag.
“I thought I felt something in my bag. I lay still for a while, and pretty soon whatever it was began running down my back. I grabbed it between the folds of my sleeping bag, got out of the bag, and woke my father. He helped me brush it out. It was a little squirrel, and it seemed as glad to be out of the bag as I was.”
The next morning Bishop Bean found fresh moose tracks around his sleeping bag, and there were deer tracks all through camp. After that everyone kept watch for the abundant wildlife in the area. Every morning and evening they were able to watch moose saunter down to the lake for a drink and a swim.
“The wildlife provided the unusual and the unexpected on this trip,” said Brother Wimmer. “Each day most of the boys got to see deer and moose in their natural setting. The animals didn’t even seem frightened of us. We didn’t bother them, and they seemed content to let us share their lake for a few days.”
Everyone caught some fish, and even one boy who had been cool on the trip in the first place had a terrific time. He told the leaders when they were planning the trip, “I don’t want to go up in the woods somewhere and play cowboys and Indians.”
“He sure got interested when the fish started biting,” said Bishop Bean. Like the rest of the boys, he had set goals he wanted to accomplish on this trip. Each boy became more proficient at some skill, and they were all better trained to operate as a group than ever before.
During lunch one day one of the adults was swatting at some of the huge horseflies that seemed to be everywhere. “These horseflies are terrible,” he said.
Brother Wimmer piped up, “Don’t say that! Nothing up here is terrible!”
“Okay, I’ll just say the horseflies are mildly aggravating.”
“Fine,” said Brother Wimmer with a smile, and then let silence complete the sermon. It was a sermon that was relived time and again as the boys later shared the memories of this experience at troop meetings and a special ward banquet in their honor.

Lea and Mom were almost done shopping. Then Mom stopped to look at some clothes.
“I’ll be just a few minutes,” Mom said.
Lea sighed. When Mom said “a few minutes,” sometimes it meant 20!
Lea found a shelf of toys nearby. She flipped through a coloring book and then tossed a bouncy ball a few times. But that got boring pretty fast.
Then she picked up something shiny and round. It was a yo-yo! It looked just like the one Oskar brought to school last week. During recess he showed everyone his fancy tricks. The tricks had names like “Walk the Dog” and “Around the World.” Lea asked him if she could try, but Oskar wouldn’t let her.
Lea slipped the loop of the string over her finger. She let the yo-yo drop and tugged on the string like she had seen Oskar do. The yo-yo hit the floor with a clunk. She tried again. After a few tries, she got the yo-yo to come back up to her hand! If she could figure that out so quickly, she could probably learn to do all the tricks Oskar had done!
That’s when Lea looked at the price tag. She frowned. She didn’t have nearly that much in her money jar at home.
“I’m almost done, Lea,” Mom called.
Lea sighed. She was about to put the yo-yo back when an idea popped into her head. The yo-yo wasn’t very big. She could just slip it into her pocket! The store owner wasn’t looking. No one would ever know. She could keep it and learn to do new tricks. The kids at school would think she was so cool.
As Lea looked down at the yo-yo, she felt prickly and nervous. Her hands felt sweaty. She gripped the yo-yo tighter. What was this bad feeling? She wanted it to go away.
Then she remembered something Dad told her before she got baptized.
“After you’re baptized, you’ll receive the gift of the Holy Ghost,” Dad had said. “The Holy Ghost helps us make good choices. He speaks to us in a still, small voice.”
“He’ll talk to me?” Lea asked.
“Not always,” Dad said. “It may be like a thought coming into your mind. Or a feeling coming into your heart.”
“What kind of feeling?”
“It’s different for each person,” Dad said. “But usually, when you do something good, the Holy Ghost will help you feel calm and peaceful. When there’s something dangerous, He will warn you. And when you want to do something wrong, the Holy Ghost will leave, and you’ll feel confused or unhappy.”
Lea looked down at the yo-yo. She really wanted it. But she knew the Holy Ghost was telling her that stealing was wrong.
Lea put the yo-yo back on the shelf. As soon as she did, she felt peaceful and warm. She went to find Mom.
“I’m done,” Mom said. “Are you ready to go?”
Lea smiled. “Yes.”
As they left the store, Lea felt as light as sunshine. The yo-yo might have been fun for a while. But following the Holy Ghost was something she wanted to do always.

On 1 October 2011, President Thomas S. Monson (1927-2018) announced that the 163rd temple in the world would be built in Kinshasa, DRC. President Brent Jameson, Kinshasa mission president at the time, shares this recollection:
“Every six weeks, we traveled to outlying units of the church. In Pointe Noire we were greeted by the branch president who indicated there were a few members who needed temple recommends and that they were all lined up in the hall. There were 16 people waiting to renew or obtain recommends! This same experience was replicated everywhere we visited. At great sacrifice financially, with hours of travel, and for no other reason than to renew or obtain recommends, they had come. These members understood the importance of having a current recommend. They knew it showed the Lord how serious they were about living the gospel and how important their covenants were to them. They knew that they may or may not ever get to the temple, but they wanted to be ready to enter and make their covenants whenever the opportunity arrived. Their recommends meant something important to them and to the Lord.”

We were traveling with family and friends in the south of Oman. We decided to relax on the beach along the coast of the Indian Ocean. Soon after our arrival, our 16-year-old daughter, Nellie, asked if she could swim out to what she thought was a sandbar. Noticing the choppy water, I told her that I would go first, thinking there might be dangerous currents.
After swimming a short while, I called to my wife, asking if I was close to the sandbar. Her response was, “You have gone way past it.” Unbeknownst to me I was trapped in a riptide and was being pulled rapidly out to sea.
I was unsure what to do. The only thing I could think of was to turn around and swim back toward shore. That was exactly the wrong thing to do. I felt helpless. Forces beyond my control were pulling me farther out to sea. What made matters worse was that my wife, trusting my decision, had followed me.
Brothers and sisters, I thought there was a high likelihood I would not survive and that I, because of my decision, would also cause my wife’s death. After great effort and what I believe was divine intervention, our feet somehow touched the sandy bottom and we were able to walk safely back to our friends and daughter.
From time to time I have an image that haunts me. What if that September day, while relaxing on the beach of the Indian Ocean, I had said to my daughter Nellie, “Yes, go ahead. Swim out to the sandbar.” Or if she too had followed my example and had been unable to swim back? What if I had to live life knowing that my example resulted in her being pulled by a riptide out to sea, never to return?

Tangible evidence of Maurice’s example to other Aaronic Priesthood holders in his ward came in the way of service for his Eagle Scout project he completed last year. Maurice organized a child identification day where he invited people in his community to bring their children to the ward on a Saturday so the children could be fingerprinted and videotaped. After police gave a presentation on ways to protect children, the parents in attendance took the fingerprint cards and the videotapes home. Now, if ID information is ever needed, it will be at the parents’ fingertips.
Maurice spent numerous hours coordinating this project that attracted close to 100 children. As a bonus, he also asked people who came to bring one or two cans of food that he could then donate to a food bank. He eventually filled three big boxes with canned goods.
“What I enjoyed about that project is that it was different,” Maurice says. “I really wanted to make a difference. I hope people never have to use their video or the fingerprint cards. I don’t want it ever to come to that point. But they are a good safety net.”

Matthew awoke in the cold and knew something was wrong. Outside the car window, the night sky was black. Not a single star was visible through the stormy clouds. A layer of crisp, white snow blanketed the frozen ground.
Matthew pulled his blanket tighter around him and tried to move over, but there wasn’t enough room. “I hope we get to Grandma’s house soon,” he thought, as he nudged his little sister so she would scoot over. The car jerked forward.
“What was that?” he asked.
From the driver’s seat Mom answered, “I don’t know. The car is acting funny.” The car jerked again, choking, coughing, and lurching down the highway. Then they started to slow down. Way down.
“Why are we stopping?” Nikki asked.
“Maybe we’re out of gas,” Ryan said.
“No,” Mom said. “We still have half a tank left. Don’t stop, car. Don’t stop,” she urged. “Keep going. Come on.”
The car lurched forward, chugging and sputtering.
Matthew’s siblings started waking up, and Chandi started to cry. Matthew thought she must be cold since the heater wasn’t running anymore. He brought her under his blanket and put his arm around her.
Mom was still chanting, “Come on, car. Come on. You can do it. Let’s go.” She was rocking in her seat, as if the movement could push the car forward. “Come on, keep going.”
Matthew and his brothers and sisters started rocking too. They chanted along with Mom, “Come on, car, come on. You can do it!”
The car inched along the highway, a silver snail in the pitch-black night, until it gave one last mighty lurch and stopped. Mom sighed and laid her head on the steering wheel.
Matthew could feel the cold from outside sneaking into the car. Chandi was crying again. He pulled her closer, wishing Dad were here with them. He was afraid.
Then, Matthew remembered something the bishop told him last month at his baptism. He said that Heavenly Father would help him with anything, if he asked in faith.
“Mommy,” Matthew said.
“What, honey?”
“I think we should say a prayer,” he said.
Mom turned around in her seat and looked at him. “Yes,” she said. “I think so too. Will you say the prayer, Matthew?”
On the side of the deserted highway, in the dark, silent night, Matthew’s family folded their arms and bowed their heads while he prayed. “Heavenly Father, we are thankful that our family can be here together. We are thankful for our safety. Please help us to be able to go again. Please bless our car to start, so we can get to Grandma’s house. And please bless us so we won’t be too cold. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Mom sniffled. “Thank you, Matthew.” She turned back to the wheel. “OK, here we go. Come on, car!” She turned the key. The car gave a groan. Mom pumped the gas pedal. “Come on! Come on!” She turned it again. Two groans. Again, Mom turned the key, but this time, she held it. The car gave a cough, a groan, a cough, then started.
Everyone cheered.
“I knew it!” Matthew said. “The car is going because we had faith.”
It was a long time before the car, still puttering and coughing, pulled into a service station.
“Oh no,” Mom said. “It’s closed.”
Matthew pointed to a figure standing near the door with a handful of keys. “There’s a man inside,” he said.
As Mom went inside to ask the man for help, Matthew said a silent prayer. “Heavenly Father, please help our car get fixed so we can get to Grandma’s house. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Matthew and his siblings watched the man with the keys shake his head while he talked to Mom from under the hood of the car. “It’s a miracle you made it here,” the man said. “Your fuel pump was completely clogged. I don’t know how you got this car started again after it died.”
A little while later, Matthew asked, “Mommy, what’s a fuel pump?”
“It’s the thing that gets the gas to the engine so the car can go,” Mom answered.
“Our car wasn’t getting any gas?” Ryan asked.
Mom shook her head as she turned the key. The engine hummed to life.
“How were we moving then?” Nikki asked.
“Heavenly Father helped us!” Matthew explained.
Mom turned around. Tears glistened in her eyes as she said, “Matthew, thank you for reminding me that we needed to ask Heavenly Father for help.”
Then she asked Matthew to pray one more time. This time, Matthew thanked Heavenly Father for bringing his family safely to the service station.

Sister Penaloza wanted to serve a mission. Year after year she expressed this desire to her bishop but never received a call. Finally she cornered the mission president’s assistants and told them her plight. They called the president on the phone.
“This sister wants to serve a mission, but she has one problem.”
“What is it?”
“Her age. She’s 103!”
President Enrique Moreno interviewed her and called her to a two-month “summer mission” in Puebla, about two hours from her home, with a companionship of strong, capable sisters. Ward members there loved her and were eager for her to teach their friends. “What a blessing she was for the work,” says President Moreno. “What a great motivation she was for both members and missionaries!”