Gospel Story Finder

Most birthday parties I am invited to are on Saturdays. However, one year I was invited to two of them on a Sunday. It was hard not to go as both parties were at the Canada Games Pool, and I knew they would be a lot of fun. But I also know that it is a commandment to keep the Sabbath day holy. I decided not to go. The next year when these girls’ birthdays came around, both of them held their parties on Saturday, and I was able to go.

This story happened in New Zealand.
Hi, Emily! It’s nice out, isn’t it?
Yeah! Can I try? I want to help!
The spade might be too big for you. Why don’t you help me weed the garden?
OK!
Let’s be careful not to pull out any flowers. I’ll show you which ones are weeds.
Do we have to pull all the weeds out? There are so many!
We do if we want the garden to look nice.
Looking after a garden is hard.
You’re right. But the work still needs to be done.
Why did we plant so many flowers? That’s just more work!
Why do you think Heavenly Father made roses so pretty?
I don’t know.
Because He wants us to have joy when we see them.
It’s like that song! “I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heavenly Father created for me.”*
That’s why I don’t mind the hard work. The flowers make me happy.
They remind us of Heavenly Father’s love!
“We should care for the earth, be wise stewards over it, and preserve it for future generations.”
President Russell M. Nelson, “The Creation,” Liahona, July 2000, 84.
Illustrations by Alyssa M. Gonzalez

One of the most boring discipline remedies that I can remember was “sitting on the chair.” When we were being punished for misbehavior, we had to sit on a hard chair in a corner of our dining room for a certain time which Mom would set on the oven buzzer. What made this punishment particularly unpleasant was that the chair was right by the piano. It never failed that a big sister would plop down on the piano bench and, seeing she had a captive audience, sing and play to her heart’s content. Talk about a fate worse than death!
That form of punishment failed because Mom and Dad had to worry about us sneaking off the chair and reducing the time on the buzzer, or simply disappearing. It proved a discipline dead end.

Years passed and I moved. As much as I hated to leave my Church friends, I soon found another group of sisters with strong testimonies and big hearts in the Relief Society in “my” new ward. A Relief Society teacher gave us a decorated to-do list and encouraged us to write “Be kind” at the top of our lists each day. The sisters sitting beside me and I thought it was a grand idea, especially since it supported the Relief Society motto “Charity never faileth” (Moroni 7:46).

Then I read a story about a pioneer woman. When that woman was a child, the prophet asked her family to help settle a Latter-day Saint community in a remote area. Tragedy befell when one of her siblings died. Her mother was distraught, and deep sadness permeated the family.

One day this little girl was looking out the window. As far as she could see, a blanket of snow surrounded the family’s modest home. As the little girl stared at the horizon, she saw two people trudging toward the house. On they came, slowly making their way, and suddenly the child realized who they were—they were her mother’s visiting teachers.

That story inspired me. I was baptized in May 1983. It is an honor to be a visiting teacher myself. I love associating with so many women who exemplify the “virtuous woman” whose “price is far above rubies” (Proverbs 31:10). It is wonderful to be with women who are also striving to be kind, to love one another, and to bring others unto Christ.

Ana chewed her last bite of tortilla. She loved her grandmother’s tortillas. They were the best part of breakfast.
Ana watched her grandmother, Abuela, wash the dishes. It was like any other morning. But one thing was not the same.
Most mornings Ana and Abuela walked to the market to buy food. But today there was no money.
What will we eat tomorrow? Ana wondered.
Then Ana remembered. Last night she saw Abuela put a few pesos in a little bag.
“Abuela, you have money to buy food,” Ana said.
“What money?” Abuela asked.
Ana ran to get the little bag of coins. Clink! Clink!
Abuela smiled. “That is our tithing. That is for Heavenly Father.”
“But what will we eat tomorrow?” Ana asked.
“Do not worry,” Abuela said. “Heavenly Father will help us.”
The next morning Abuela gave Ana the last tortilla. Then she sat down in her chair. She told stories about when she was a little girl. She did not look worried.
Then Ana heard a knock. She ran to open the door.
“Uncle Pedro!”
“I had a feeling I should visit,” Uncle Pedro said. He put three sacks on the table. One had flour for tortillas. Another had meat. Another had vegetables.
“Oh, my sweet son,” Abuela said. “Thank you!”
Ana was so happy. But there was one thing she wanted to know. “Abuela, did you know Uncle Pedro would come? Is that why you weren’t worried?”
“No,” Abuela said. “When I pay tithing, I have faith that Heavenly Father will bless me. And He did!”
Ana hugged Abuela. She felt like the happiest girl in Mexico. She and Abuela had faith in Heavenly Father.

The door bell rang. It was late at night. We did not expect anyone that evening, and I was wondering who it could be. I opened the door, and to my amazement, there stood the two missionaries who were teaching in the neighborhood.
The elders asked quickly if my boys were available so they could ask them a question. They were not. This was the time for them to be in bed for they were only 14 and 15 years old. The missionaries looked at each other, and the senior companion, obviously gathering his courage, asked me if I would talk to my boys and tell them to behave well at school because they were teaching one of the boys’ schoolmates. It was important that they, the missionaries, be able to tell their young investigator that my boys were members of the Church and then ask her if she had noticed any difference! What a terrible thing it might have been if my boys had not been behaving well! I promised the missionaries that I would forward the message and discuss the challenge with my boys.
The elders left, reassured, and as I closed the door, a scripture came flashing through my mind. I had used it often in the past years in meeting with the missionaries. “Go forth … that ye may show forth good examples unto them in me, and I will make an instrument of thee in my hands unto the salvation of many souls.” (Alma 17:11.)

I recently learned a valuable lesson about seeing deeply from a young woman named Rozlyn.
The story was shared with me by my friend who was devastated when her husband of 20 years moved out. With her children splitting time between parents, the prospect of attending church alone seemed daunting. She recounts:
“In a church where the family is of paramount importance, sitting solo can be painful. That first Sunday I walked in praying no one would speak to me. I was barely holding it together, and tears were on the brink. I sat in my typical spot, hoping no one would notice how empty the bench seemed.
“A young woman in our ward turned and looked at me. I pretended to smile. She smiled back. I could see the concern in her face. I silently pleaded that she wouldn’t come to talk to me—I had nothing positive to say and knew I would cry. I looked back down at my lap and avoided eye contact.
“During the next hour, I noticed her looking back at me occasionally. As soon as the meeting ended, she made a beeline for me. ‘Hi, Rozlyn,’ I whispered. She wrapped me in her arms and said, ‘Sister Smith, I can tell today is a bad day for you. I’m so sorry. I love you.’ As predicted, the tears came as she hugged me again. But as I walked away, I thought to myself, ‘Maybe I can do this after all.’
“That sweet 16-year-old young woman, less than half my age, found me every Sunday for the rest of that year to give me a hug and ask, ‘How are you?’ It made such a difference in how I felt about coming to church. The truth is I started to rely on those hugs. Someone noticed me. Someone knew I was there. Someone cared.”
As with all gifts the Father so willingly offers, seeing deeply requires us to ask Him—and then act. Ask to see others as He does—as His true sons and daughters with infinite and divine potential. Then act by loving, serving, and affirming their worth and potential as prompted. As this becomes the pattern of our lives, we will find ourselves becoming “true followers of … Jesus Christ.” Others will be able to trust our hearts with theirs. And in this pattern we will also discover our own true identity and purpose.
My friend recalled another experience while sitting in that same empty pew, alone, wondering if 20 years of effort to live the gospel in her home was all for naught. She needed more than calming reassurance; she needed vision. She felt a question pierce her heart: “Why did you do those things? Did you do them for the reward, the praise of others, or the desired outcome?” She hesitated for a moment, searched her heart, and was then able to answer confidently, “I did them because I love the Savior. And I love His gospel.” The Lord opened her eyes to help her see. This simple but powerful change of vision helped her continue to press on with faith in Christ, despite her circumstances.

Elliot Grow had it made. The summer before his senior year of high school, he was an aspiring lacrosse player with a promising future, and it looked like he just might land a starting spot on his school’s basketball team as well. But calamity struck for Elliot one day in June when he tore the meniscus cartilage in his knee during a recreational league basketball game.

Surgery came shortly thereafter, followed by three months of intense physical therapy. It was a lot of hard work, but Elliot persisted. Eventually he made it off the crutches and back onto the basketball court. Some people would probably complain about the months of lost training and the pain, but Elliot feels a sense of gratitude.

“I feel blessed that I am still able to do what I love. I love playing lacrosse. I love playing basketball. I don’t take that for granted anymore. When I am out there, I play as hard as I can and I don’t only play for me. My little brother had a brain tumor when he was three, so he can’t do some of the things that I’ve been able to do. Now I play for him.

“Before my injury, I would have thought, ‘My body is mine. I can do whatever I want with it,’” he says. “But after this surgery, I have realized that my body is a gift and I should take care of it the right way.”

The second example is from the life of Willard Bean, a remarkable man who became known as the “fighting parson.” In the spring of 1915, Willard and his new bride, Rebecca, were called by President Joseph F. Smith to serve a mission for “five years or longer” in Palmyra, New York (Vicki Bean Topliff, Willard Bean: “The Fighting Parson” [Huntington Beach, Calif.: n.p., 1989], p. 87; for the account of their life in Palmyra, see pp. 86–131). Their task was to occupy the recently acquired Joseph Smith home and farm and to reestablish the Church in the hostile environment which still existed at the time in Palmyra.
The Beans were rebuffed on every front as they settled into the Smith home. The townspeople would not speak to them or wait on them in their stores. Passersby would pause in front of the home and shout obscenities. Their children were assigned to sit in the back corners of the schoolroom and were shunned by the other children in class.
Willard, who was an accomplished athlete and had been a prize-winning boxer, decided to improve public relations by putting on a boxing exhibition in Palmyra. A ring was set up in an old opera house, and the “fighting parson” challenged all comers to a boxing match.
When the night of the exhibition arrived, the toughest men in Palmyra sat in the first few rows. One by one they entered the ring, only to be carried out again in a matter of seconds! This continued until the seventh challenger was similarly disposed.
Brother Bean’s fighting abilities were more spontaneously employed on another occasion as he walked along the unfriendly streets of Palmyra. A man watering his front lawn one afternoon suddenly turned the hose on Willard and taunted, “I understand you people believe in baptism by immersion.” The spry, athletic Willard reportedly vaulted over the fence separating them and replied, “Yes, and we also believe in the laying on of hands” (Willard Bean: “The Fighting Parson,” p. 14).
Although Brother Bean’s methods were a little unorthodox and definitely not compatible with the current approved missionary program of the Church, they were nonetheless effective. The people of Palmyra began begrudgingly to yield and to accept the Beans as the good people they were. In time, they were invited to participate in local churches and to join the civic organizations of the day. They established a branch of the Church and helped acquire the Hill Cumorah and the Martin Harris and Peter Whitmer farms. The “five years or longer” mission to which the prophet had called them stretched to nearly twenty-five years before it concluded. During that time, the attitude of the people of Palmyra had changed from hostility toward the Beans to toleration, then admiration, and finally to love. The power of good lives is truly great.

A young boy was trying to smooth out the dirt area behind his house so he could play there with his cars. There was a large rock obstructing his work. The boy pushed and pulled with all his might, but no matter how hard he tried, the rock wouldn’t budge.
His father watched for a while, then came to his son and said, “You need to use all your strength to move a rock this large.”
The boy responded, “I have used all my strength!”
His father corrected him: “No you haven’t. You haven’t had my help yet!”
They then bent down together and moved the rock easily.

When I started college, I joined the debate society. The other members discovered I was a Latter-day Saint when I corrected them on what was said about “the Mormons” after a debate. I had never talked about my religion before, so I got a lot of questions that day. I felt scared and almost avoided answering. I knew what I believed, but I did not know how to share it. I prayed but didn’t seem to get an answer.
A few days later, while I was on Facebook, I saw an article from LDS.org that my leader from church had posted. It made me realize I could also post things from the Church. I looked up the topics my debate team had asked about, posted links on my wall, and tagged all those who were involved. I felt they would be better satisfied with the answers.
I had never posted about my beliefs online before, so this has brought a lot more curious people asking about my religion. As they ask questions, I try to give the basic answers as well as links to Church materials. This way people do not have to rely only on my answers but can also rely on what the General Authorities say about their questions. When the conversations become more sensitive, I answer the person privately through messaging.
I am really glad the Church provides online materials. I still feel butterflies in my stomach whenever someone surprises me with a question about the Church. But now I no longer wait for their questions to come; I proactively post Church materials online. I know these materials can help both my member and nonmember friends alike.

Ensign: Are Primary referrals a very fertile source of baptisms?
Sister Shumway: Oh, yes, and some very touching stories come out of these children-missionary experiences. I received a letter a few weeks ago from a mother who let her daughter go to the “Mormon church for the kids” with the neighbors. Here’s what she says: “Every Thursday all the mothers would gather every child for miles around, Mormon or not. They called and showed concern, love, loyalty, and most of all they cared enough about my child to make the effort. Every week my daughter came in with all kinds of things to tell me about Heavenly Father. After a very short while, we were impressed, so we asked for the missionaries … A whole new world walked into our home … Nothing has ever changed us or our lives so much since our daughter ran in and asked, ‘Can I go to Primary, please Mom, please? ’”

For example, Eunice Black, a Relief Society teacher, told of a speaker who set out 10 apples to represent his monthly income. He “paid” one apple for food, two apples for rent, and so on until only one apple remained—a tithing apple. Then he asked the bishop to stand next to him. He said that he hoped the Lord would understand he still had many bills to pay and could pay only part of his tithing that month. Then he took a big bite out of the apple and handed the bishop the partially eaten fruit. This lesson left a powerful impression on Sister Black. She determined to pay tithing first, then budget the remainder of her money.

“Fred Astaire was an iconic actor, dancer, and singer of American cinema. He starred in dozens of Broadway and Hollywood shows. One of his early auditions was evaluated with these words: ‘Can’t act. Slightly bald. Can dance a little.’
“Hardly a glowing report!
“Through persistence and hard work, he developed his abilities until he became one of the greatest performers of all time—known for his ‘elegance, grace, originality, and precision.’”

One day I was sitting in the kitchen, thinking about all of the areas in my life in which I wanted to improve: family history research, regular exercise, time with my children, home organization—the list was long. The more I thought, the longer the list seemed to get. Where should I start? I wondered.
I decided to group the list into categories: (1) prayer, scripture study, and journal-keeping; (2) homemaking, laundry, and meal-planning; (3) personal fitness; (4) family activities and time with my children; and (5) books of remembrance, personal histories, and family history research.
Feeling overwhelmed, I asked my husband, Dan, who was standing at the sink, for his opinion. I handed the list to him and asked if he would number the categories in order, starting with the most important.
He didn’t have to look at the list for long before he handed it back, with a big smile on his face. He had numbered the categories, but he had started with number two. At the bottom of the page he had written, “#1. Be nice to Dan.”
We laughed and hugged, and the sun broke out. That number one I could do! I was no longer worried about accomplishing so many things at once. That list became a lifelong reminder, tucked into my book of remembrance, to help me remember his premium priority in my life.

Peter stared at the Pinewood Derby kit he’d received at his Cub Scout meeting. It contained a block of wood, four nails, and four wheels, from which he was to make a car to race.
Peter wasn’t too excited about the derby. Last year, he and his dad worked hard to shape, sand, and paint his car. But even though they’d tried to make a good car, it hadn’t won a single race.
He remembered his dad telling him, “Peter, you did your best, and that’s what’s important. No one wins all the time.” That had made him feel a bit better.
This year Peter faced a more difficult problem. His dad was out of town on a business trip and wouldn’t be home until after the derby. How was he going to get a car ready all by himself?
That evening, Peter’s mom said that they could work on the car together. She gathered all the tools she could find: a hacksaw, a pocketknife, a screwdriver, a hammer, and a piece of sandpaper.
First, she tried to whittle away pieces of the block with the pocketknife. “I had no idea this wood was so hard!” she said through clenched teeth as she fought to chip a piece away. With a sigh, she put down the knife. “This isn’t going to work.”
Next they tried the wobbly hacksaw. Taking turns, they managed to saw a small piece off. However, once they started shaping the wood into Peter’s design—a triangle to make it have less wind resistance—the blade snapped in half partway through.
“I suppose our last chance is to use the hammer and screwdriver to chisel away some of the wood in the direction of the cut we started,” Mom said.
Peter and his mom struggled for almost an hour. Bit by bit, pieces of the wood broke away. Then, amazingly, the car he’d hoped for began to appear. Except it was covered by strange gouges made by the screwdriver blade. And there was a blob sticking out in front. Mom suggested it might be part of the engine sticking out, like on fancy race cars they’d seen on television.
Then disaster struck. Suddenly there was a loud CRACK! A chunk of wood snapped away from the rest. Gone was the triangular shape they’d worked for. Now a deep gash appeared on the car, making it look lopsided.
“Oh, Peter!” Mom exclaimed. “Look what I’ve done!” Peter could tell by her voice that she was close to tears.
He studied the sad little shape resting on the counter and smiled. “That’s OK, Mom. You did your best. I can paint this part,” he touched the mistake, “and it will look good. I bet it’ll even make it more aerodynamic.”
Over the next two days, Peter carefully sanded his funny-looking car, trying to smooth out the gouges left by the screwdriver, but they were too deep. So he painted it. And he painted it again. Instead of trying to hide the problems, he accented them to make the whole car look more interesting.
The time came to go to the church for the derby. When he got there, all the other boys had fancy cars. Some had racing wings, and others glistened like plastic models instead of painted wood blocks.
Peter’s friends came running to see his car. He held it out proudly. “My mom helped me with this car,” he said before anyone could say anything about its odd shape. “And we did our very best!”
Soon the races started. When Peter’s name was called, he handed the Cubmaster his car.
The Cubmaster took one look at it, then held it up for all to see. “Look at this unusual car. You can tell that a lot of hard work went into making it.”
Peter glanced over at his mom and smiled. The Cubmaster was right.
As the night went on, Peter won two races, but then lost the third and was out of the running for a trophy.
After it was over, the leaders passed out the awards. Each boy got a certificate and a badge for participating. Then the Cubmaster said, “Now I’d like to present a special trophy for the most unique car in the competition. It showed great effort and creativity in its design.”
Peter looked over at the cars, wondering who would receive the trophy with the golden car on it. It looked just like the first-place trophy.
“Congratulations to Peter Olds,” the Cubmaster announced.
Peter was stunned. “Me?” he asked.
His friend nudged him. “Go on,” he urged, “go get your trophy.”
Peter walked up to the stage and accepted the trophy. He looked at everyone who was clapping and cheering for him. His mom smiled up at him.
He felt warm all over. Suddenly he realized that it was great that he had received a trophy, but the real prize was his funny little car. He didn’t need a trophy to know its value. It was special because his mom had done her very best to help him, showing him how much she loved him. He couldn’t ask for more.

Gabriel heard his younger brother moan for what seemed like the hundredth time. He looked toward Tyler’s bed, trying to see through the darkness. Gabriel was tired. His baseball team was having its championship game tomorrow morning, and he had to get some sleep.
“Tyler, can’t you stop moaning?” Gabriel asked.
Tyler moaned again. “I can’t help it. My stomach hurts.”
Gabriel turned on the light next to his bed. “I told you not to eat that second hot dog at dinner, especially not with all that chili on it.”
“But it tasted good!” Tyler said. Then he moaned again.
“Are you going to do that all night?” Gabriel asked. “I’ve got a big game tomorrow, and I need some sleep.”
“But my stomach hurts!” Tyler said.
“OK,” Gabriel said. “I’ll get Mom and Dad.”
Gabriel went to his parents’ room and told them that Tyler had a stomachache and he was moaning something awful.
“I can’t get any sleep,” Gabriel said as they walked back to the boys’ room. “I have an important game in the morning.”
“I’m sure Tyler isn’t trying to keep you awake on purpose,” Dad said. “Having a stomachache can be painful.”
Gabriel sighed. Didn’t anyone understand how important this game was? His team had worked all year to make it to the championship. He couldn’t let the other players down.
“Do you have a stomachache, Tyler?” Mom asked as she sat down on his bed.
“I ate too many hot dogs!” Tyler said.
“I can give you a blessing if you’d like,” Dad said.
Tyler nodded. Gabriel waited until the blessing was done and then asked if he could sleep in the living room. After all, Tyler might be up all night.
Gabriel went and settled down on the sofa, but he found he couldn’t go to sleep. He began thinking about how Mom and Dad cared for him when he didn’t feel well. He remembered how much he needed their help. He thought Tyler probably felt that way right now.
Gabriel silently prayed to know how to help his brother. Then he went back to the bedroom.
Tyler opened his eyes when Gabriel walked in. “What’s going on?” he whispered.
“I just wanted you to know I’m sorry,” Gabriel said. “I didn’t mean to care more about a baseball game than about you. You can make all the noise you need to make. I’ll stay right here with you.”
“I feel better now,” Tyler said. “The blessing helped.”
“Maybe you’ll feel good enough to come to the game tomorrow,” Gabriel said.
Tyler nodded. Then he smiled and said, “But I don’t think I’ll eat any hot dogs!”
Gabriel smiled too. “Sounds like a good idea.”

Prior to his mission young Ezra fell in love with a vivacious young coed. He first noticed her when he and a cousin were standing on a street curb in Logan, Utah, and an attractive woman drove by in a Ford convertible. A few minutes later she drove by a second time. “Who is that?” Ezra asked. “Flora Amussen,” his cousin replied.

Though Ezra was a homespun farm boy from Whitney, Idaho, who had rarely been off the farm, he asked Flora for a date. She accepted. Wearing his blue serge suit, shiny from much wear, he pulled up in front of her large, three-story home, took a deep breath, and wondered what he’d gotten himself into, calling on the most popular—and apparently one of the wealthiest—young women on campus.

Many of his friends were amazed that Flora even gave him the time of day. She was very popular at Utah State Agricultural College (now Utah State University) and involved in everything from tennis to drama. But once they became acquainted, their courtship proceeded smoothly, and it wasn’t long before Ezra felt he’d found the woman for him. Marriage, however, wouldn’t come immediately. First there was a mission for “Elder” Ezra Taft Benson to serve in Great Britain, and before he knew it he was saying good-bye to Flora at the train station and heading for Europe.

Two-and-a-half years later when he returned, Ezra was delighted and a little relieved to find Flora still available. Their dating resumed, and it wasn’t long before he felt ready to settle down on his Idaho farm with Flora as his wife and begin to rear a family.

Flora seems to have liked the attention of this handsome young farm boy and had entertained thoughts of marriage herself. At 23, she was certainly of marriageable age. But something held her back. For some reason she felt the timing wasn’t quite right for their marriage. She saw in Ezra Benson more than a hard-working farm boy who would make a fine husband and father; she had the impression that Ezra had potential that might not surface if he returned to the farm immediately.

Flora didn’t discuss her feelings with Ezra, but “prayed and fasted for the Lord to help me know how I could help him be of greatest service to his fellowmen. It came to me that if the bishop thought I was worthy, [he would] call me on a mission. The Church came first with Ezra, so I knew he wouldn’t say anything against it.”

Without telling her beau about her plan, Flora talked with her bishop. And before Ezra had a chance to formally propose, she made her own announcement: she was going to Hawaii, where she’d been called to serve a mission. Ezra was shocked. Another separation from Flora? It seemed too much to ask of him. “I was ready to settle down on the farm,” he recalled. “And I didn’t have too much briefing as to why she was leaving. It was really tough. She was the light of my life.”

Flora knew she was taking a calculated risk. Though convinced her boyfriend needed to finish his education and that both of them would profit by maturing spiritually before tying themselves down, she also recognized the possibility he might not wait two years. Nevertheless, she felt she needed to serve this mission.

On August 26, 1924, Flora and Ezra boarded the westbound train in Salt Lake City, and he rode with her as far as Tooele, where he said good-bye. It tore at him for her to leave, but he knew, somehow, that things would work out. Later he wrote in his journal, “We were both happy because we felt the future held much for us and that this separation would be made up to us later. It is difficult, though, to see one’s hopes shattered. But though we sometimes had a cry about it, we received assurance from Him who told us it would all be for the best.”

Things did work out. When Flora returned from Hawaii, Ezra lost no time in proposing, and on September 10, 1926, they were married in the Salt Lake Temple.

It was through experiences such as these that the young Ezra Taft Benson gained confidence in the Lord, and confidence in what happened when he tried to do what was right—even when it wasn’t easy.

“Each one of us had a job, a goal, and an objective. We knew we had to make Sauniatu stand up and be independent,” said Ed Kamauoha as he began relating the incredible story of a service project that has continued for years and dramatically influenced hundreds of lives.
The village of Sauniatu is tucked in the crater of an extinct volcano 20 miles east of Apia on the island of Upolu in Western Samoa. Most of the island’s roads parallel the sea coast; very few lead into the interior. And though it is only four miles from the coast highway, Sauniatu is isolated. You can almost walk as fast as a car can drive up the bouncy, twisting volcanic path that appears to be a giant green tunnel through the lush growth on either side of the trail.
The Samoan word Sauniatu means “a place to prepare.” The early Saints who established Sauniatu had a vision about the importance of this place in the Samoan history of the Church. They knew they needed a place where they could prepare and build strength. In 1904, when they established Sauniatu, they had been expelled from their villages, persecuted, and unfairly taxed for being Mormons. Later they started a school at Sauniatu, and it became one of the Church schools in Samoa. From time to time, during the ensuing years, the people of Sauniatu and the various school administrators talked about the advisability of keeping such a remote school operating.
In 1921, when Samoan officials were wondering about continuing the village, Elder David O. McKay and Hugh Cannon visited Samoa on their around-the-world tour of the Church. It was on this visit that Elder McKay pronounced an apostolic blessing on Sauniatu and its inhabitants. Among other things, he blessed them that they would have an abundance of food and clothing, that their plantations would be fruitful, and that peace would abide in their hearts and homes. (See Improvement Era, May 1966, p. 366.)
In December 1967, Brother Ed Ka-mauoha was appointed to be the new headmaster at Sauniatu. For years, Sauniatu had been functioning as a school, but when he arrived, the future of Sauniatu was once again in question.
“There were real administrative questions about the efficiency and quality of the school,” he explained. Everyone in Samoa is required to take a standard government education test when they leave high school, and the Sauniatu scores were an average five points below the scores of students from the other Church schools in Samoa. In addition to the low test scores, it was costly to operate the remote school. Many of the students were from very poor families and could not afford to pay more tuition. Enthusiasm among students and teachers was low.
“I felt bad about the school,” he said. “As an administrator, I understood the problems, but I also understood what the tradition of Sauniatu means to the Saints in Samoa. I knew the place was not what it could be because it was not living up to President McKay’s 1921 blessing.”
Ed Kamauoha believed Sauniatu had a prophetic future yet to be fulfilled if each person living there cared. His mind remained restless and his wirey Polynesian body became charged with nervous energy as he began planning to meet the many requirements needed to make the students of Sauniatu self-sufficient and proud and to help the community of Sauniatu reap the promised blessings.
The projects he outlined for the betterment of Sauniatu were big projects. In many people’s minds, they were too big for a handful of teachers and a few dozen school children to handle. Yet Brother Kamauoha felt they could do it.
“Getting everyone to work on big projects is like starting a large machine. You just can’t let it idle; you have to really rev it up and keep it going,” said Brother Kamauoha.
He also felt that the students’ performance in school would improve and the morale among the teachers would also improve if they knew they had some control over their own future. “We had been waiting for others to help us at Sauniatu,” explained Brother Kamauoha. “I tried to teach the people that they had depended too much on outside help and assistance from others. I told them the Lord gives us brains and a pair of hands but they won’t help us unless we use them. And so we started building roads, and we did it by hand.”
As soon as the roads were passable, the young people at Sauniatu began working on other major projects. Groups worked simultaneously on a trail down the side of a cliff to the swimming hole, on roads, a nature trail, improving the plantation, and on the construction of a traditional Samoan village, including a special chief’s house in memory of President McKay’s apostolic blessing.
It took one year to build concrete steps down a volcanic cliffside to the swimming hole and the beautiful waterfall below. Four boys worked on this project. They had two picks, two crowbars, and one sledgehammer, and they worked every night after school and every Saturday for six months. Little by little, they chipped the rock away until they had a pathway wide enough to support some concrete clear to the bottom of the waterfall. It took them another six months of backbreaking labor to make the steps. They hauled sand from the beach in an old pickup truck. They added cement and took gravel from the river and mixed the concrete by hand in a shallow pocket hollowed out of a large stone. Then they shoveled the wet concrete into buckets and lowered them down the cliff with ropes attached to a long bamboo pole. One step at a time they worked until the trail was completed.
While the waterfall project was underway, Brother Kamauoha challenged the young girls to make a path that would lead people from the village to the waterfall. They planned one pathway, but upon inspection they could see it wasn’t right, and so Brother Kamauoha challenged them to try another one. This still wasn’t any good. They reported to him, and he confirmed that it wasn’t right and told them that the reason it wasn’t right was because they hadn’t tried hard enough. “The third time they did their best, and the planned path was perfect. It curved properly, they had avoided the boggy spots, and the entire path was ideal,” he said.
Every evening after school, the girls carried baskets of pebbles up from the river and placed them on the path. Each of them would carry 25 to 40 baskets of rocks each evening, and with everyone working, it took only a few months to complete.
Then the boys and girls brought young trees from the mountains to plant beside the trail. They also brought orchids, tree ferns, and other plants to make the trail beautiful. And they named their trail Losa (Rose) Lane.

My family went to the temple 45 years ago. My parents made covenants, and then our family was sealed in the Washington D.C. Temple. I was almost 2 years old at the time, so I do not remember what happened there, but I remember many other things after. I remember watching my parents strive to live and persevere on the covenant path, making our home a piece of heaven. I watched them fulfill their Church callings and take care of their children so that we would not stray from the covenant path. I learned many of the things about being successful in my callings from my father. I watched how he ministered to the brothers, how they came to our home seeking help, and how he loved them, just as my mother did with the sisters.

Because they stayed on the covenant path and persevered, they and their family received blessings. Their three children served full-time missions, have been sealed to their families in the temple, and have seen blessings and the fruit of their efforts. Although it takes a little work, the rewards of living on the covenant path can be seen, as it happened with the inhabitants of ancient America who “taught, and did minister one to another; and they had all things common among them, every man dealing justly, one with another.”