Gospel Story Finder

May I share a personal experience with you? In recent years, I've encountered some of the most challenging trials and tribulations of my life. Life felt overwhelming as I grappled with the responsibility of holding my family together, losing my dad, the pressures of work, and the demands of building a house, all while feeling deeply isolated. In the midst of it all, I lost sight of a crucial aspect—keeping Jesus Christ at the center of my life.

One Sunday as I sat in church, feeling numb and disconnected, a profound realization struck me: I faced a critical decision. I could either embrace my Savior, Jesus Christ, drawing strength from His love and guidance, or continue along a path that would lead me farther from Him. I knew immediately that leaning into Christ was the right path to take. Despite the difficulties, these experiences have brought me closer to my Heavenly Father.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland shared these words of encouragement:
Don’t give up, . . . Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it . . . You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come. . . . Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don’t come until heaven; but for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come. [6]
I began to deepen my scripture study, listen to conference talks, offer heartfelt prayers, seek priesthood blessings, and increase my temple attendance. With a sincere desire to draw nearer to Heavenly Father, I noticed a remarkable transformation: the weight of my burdens began to ease. While my struggles persisted, I found myself equipped with newfound determination and a positive outlook to confront them. I felt the love of my Savior. In those moments was clarity and reassurance that everything would be alright, and that I was loved beyond measure. It's a feeling of being encircled by God’s love and a reminder that I am valued and cherished by my Savior. You are also loved and cherished by our Savior, Jesus Christ.

In earlier times, tithing was paid in kind—a tenth of the herdsman’s increase, a tenth of the farmer’s produce. I am sorry that our modern cash economy deprives parents of the wonderful teaching opportunities presented by the payment of tithing in kind. In a recent book, Tongan Saints: Legacy of Faith, the author quotes a Tongan bishop’s memories of one such example:
“Grandpa Vanisi’s spirituality inspired an awe in me as a child. I remember following him daily to his plantation. He would always point out to me the very best of his taro, bananas, or yams and say: ‘These will be for our tithing.’ His greatest care was given to these ‘chosen’ ones. During the harvest, I was often the one assigned to take our load of tithing to the branch president. I remember sitting on the family horse. Grandfather would lift onto its back a sack of fine taro which I balanced in front of me. Then with a very serious look in his eyes, he said to me, ‘Simi, be very careful because this is our tithing.’ From my grandfather I learned early in life that you give only your best to the Lord” (in Eric B. Shumway, trans. and ed., Tongan Saints: Legacy of Faith [Laie, Hawaii: The Institute for Polynesian Studies, 1991], pp. 79–80).

I credit the Church for helping me become a better reader and student. When the elders read things to me, we would discuss them but by the next week, I could not remember what we had talked about. Reading was hard, but they gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon and taught me the plan of salvation. I sought for help from friends to memorize the plan of salvation, and the missionaries were excited about this. My reading and expression got better through the scripture reading, that was the beginning of my path to becoming an average student.

If we follow up, the Lord will not let us down. I have seen the unspeakable joy that accompanies testimony-driven inviting and faithful follow-up among members of the Church the world over. While in Argentina recently, I encouraged members to invite someone to church before this general conference. An eight-year-old by the name of Joshua listened and invited his best friend and his friend’s family to an open house at their ward in Buenos Aires. Let me read from a letter I just received that explained Joshua’s invitation and his faithful follow-up:
“Every few minutes [Joshua] would run out to the gate to see if they were coming. He said that he knew they would [come].
“The evening wore on and Joshua’s friend did not come, but Joshua did not give up. He faithfully checked the front gate every few minutes. It was time to start putting things away when Joshua started to jump up and down announcing, ‘They are here! They are here!’ I looked up to see an entire family approaching the church. Joshua ran out to greet them and hugged his friend. They all came in and seemed to enjoy the open house very much. They took some pamphlets and spent lots of time getting acquainted with some new friends. It was great to see the faith of this little boy and to know that Primary children can be missionaries too.”

“It was the first time I’d performed in public in four years,” said Gretchen Williams, from Newport News, when talking about her performance the night before in the opening program. She danced a ballet solo while a friend sang a song. What most people didn’t know is the she’d given up her beloved ballet several years earlier because she was afflicted by painful arthritis.
When Gretchen arrived at the encampment, she discovered that the stage would be much smaller and shaped differently than the one she’d rehearsed on. It would have been easy to back out, using her physical pain or the unfamiliar stage as an excuse. After all, under the given circumstances, there was no way she could perform her best, and hundreds of people would be watching. But Gretchen wouldn’t think of pulling out.
She realized, as the program she performed in said, “Integrity is doing what you know you should do, even it it’s inconvenient or difficult.”
And with that she adds a deep, rich purple to the rainbow.

Many know Elder Clark G. Gilbert as president of BYU–Pathway Worldwide and as past president of Brigham Young University–Idaho. Many also know him for his innovative development of online higher education programs at both institutions.
Elder Clark credits meaningful Church service—helping young men in inner-city Boston, Massachusetts, USA—for preparing him to take educational opportunities to larger audiences. That service opportunity came as he was busy with graduate school and caring for a young family.
“Those young men didn’t always have a lot of support. They became a part of our lives, and we grew to love them,” he said. “I learned to listen to the Lord and knew He was in their lives. I could hear Him telling me what I needed to do for them.”
Elder Gilbert said the Lord taught him about the needs of other people. “It wasn’t just that He was preparing me for education, but He was showing me what He could do in the lives of people at a deep, personal level.”

Sweat trickled down Nathan’s back. He fingered the candy bar in his pocket—it would melt if he didn’t eat it soon. But his craving for the chocolate and nuts had disappeared as soon as he walked out of the store with it—a candy bar he hadn’t paid for—in his pocket.
Now it was growing warm and very sticky. Nathan pulled it out and looked at it. Chocolate oozed from under the wrapping onto his fingers. Spotting a trash can, he dropped it inside. I’ll feel better now, he thought. The candy bar is gone.
But the guilt wasn’t! As he trudged home, Nathan wondered why he had stolen the candy bar.
Later that afternoon Mother asked, “Nathan, will you go to the store for me, please? I need a gallon of milk.”
“From Brother Milligan’s store?”
“Of course.”
“Uh … I’m sort of busy right now. Couldn’t it wait until later?”
“No, I need the milk for dinner tonight.” Taking her wallet from her purse, his mother gave Nathan some money. “Get a gallon of milk, a dozen eggs, and a loaf of bread.” She smiled. “There should be enough left over for you to have a candy bar.”
Nathan winced at the mention of a candy bar and stared at the money in his hand.
In Milligan’s Market, he muttered a greeting to Brother Milligan. When Nathan paid for his groceries, the storekeeper put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “Nathan, you look like you just lost your best friend.”
Nathan turned and tried to smile but couldn’t. How could I have stolen from Brother Milligan? How could I have stolen from anyone? he asked himself. Aloud, he said only, “Uh … I have to get home,” not meeting the storekeeper’s eyes.
Brother Milligan looked disappointed. “Come by when you can stay a while” was all that he said.
Nathan barely tasted his dinner that evening, even though his mother had fixed his favorite meal, spaghetti and meatballs.
When Nathan knelt beside his bed to pray that night, the words caught in his throat and formed a huge lump. All he could think about was Brother Milligan, who had been his CTR B teacher two years ago. Nathan remembered one lesson in particular, about the Saints building the Salt Lake Temple. His thoughts turned to the temple. He planned to go on a mission when he turned nineteen years old and, later, to be married in the temple. How can I do any of those things when I’ve stolen something? He imagined the hurt looks on his parents’ faces if they ever learned what he had done.
The next morning Nathan skipped breakfast. He had asked for Heavenly Father’s help and had decided to fast at least one meal until he could do what needed to be done. Milligan’s Market opened at eight o’clock, and he intended to be the first one there.
Inside the store, Nathan glanced around, glad that there were no other customers yet. He found his old Primary teacher in the back. Nervously, the boy cleared his throat. “Uh, Brother Milligan, I have something to tell you.”
“Could you help me lift this box of apples?” Brother Milligan asked. “When a body gets older, he can’t do all the things he once did.”
Nathan helped the storekeeper lift the crate of apples and set it on a shelf. “I stole a candy bar from you yesterday,” he blurted out.
“I know.”
“You know? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I figured that you’d get around to telling me when you were ready.” He stooped to lift another box. Automatically Nathan bent down to help.
“As I was saying, a body needs some help when he gets older.” Brother Milligan sat on a crate and pushed his glasses on top of his forehead.
“Maybe I could help you,” Nathan offered. “After school and on Saturday. To make up for taking the candy bar.”
“Well, now, that’s a good idea. A very good idea.” He patted Nathan’s shoulder. “Did the candy bar taste good?” Nathan shook his head. “I threw it away.”
“I sort of figured you might.” The storekeeper looked at his watch and said, “You’d best be going. You don’t want to be late for school.”
“I’ll be here at 3:30.”
“I know you will, son.”
That evening Nathan told his parents what he’d done. They didn’t yell at him. In fact, they said that they were proud that he’d done the right thing in the end.
As he knelt beside his bed that night, Nathan didn’t have any trouble telling Heavenly Father what was in his heart.

From their bed in the garret, Joseph Smith and his younger brother, William, could hear the night wind slide over the bark roof of their two-story log house. Presently, William leaned his head over the side of the bed and put his ear close to the floorboards. He could hear the voices of his parents above the whispers and sighs of the wind. “… great excitement … everyone for miles around … down in the woods …”
William wriggled back under the quilt and shook his brother. “Joseph, it’s time for another camp meeting. When will it be?”
“The first week of July … down in the woods.”
William’s eyes popped in the darkness and a grin creased his cheeks. Nothing could make a boy’s heart beat faster than thoughts of a revival. A camp meeting in 1819 meant a holiday, with more going on than one could possibly take in. There would be picnics and games and friends to play with, along with the preaching and praying. But more fun than anything, though William didn’t ever speak it, was watching the weeping and wailing of the sinners.
“We’ll be going, I expect.”
“For certain,” Joseph answered.
On the morning of the great Genesee camp meeting, Joseph was up early to attend to his chores. Then the little handcart that his father had fashioned to use for selling refreshments was lifted into the wagon. Joseph and his father often traveled to other villages and camp meetings to sell Lucy’s pies and gingerbread, as well as hard-boiled eggs, root beer, and other “like notions of traffic.” Today the whole family was going and there was a feeling of gaiety in the air.
Sophronia brought out the baskets of baked goods that would be offered for sale to the crowds of people. “Some say there will be four to five thousand,” she said expectantly.
Joseph knew that some folks would attend because of a desire to “get religion” but many would be there just for the excitement.
By the time they were ready to leave, the sun had begun its daily climb. Joseph tried to appear calm as a farm-bred boy ought, but the happiness in his heart pushed out in a whistled song.
The family followed the road that ran diagonally between Palmyra and Vienna, where the meeting would be held in the woods. When the Smiths arrived there was already a confusion of people and wagons. Everyone was trying to find a place on the outer edge of the clearing. Some had already made tents by stretching bed covers between their wagons and small trees, with a layer of straw on the ground for sleeping.
Joseph’s father drove their wagon close to a platform made of rough boards. It was built off the ground so the crowds could see and hear the preachers.
Lately Joseph had been doing a lot of thinking about religion, comparing what the various churches believed with what Jesus taught in the Bible. And he wasn’t alone. An excitement over religion was affecting young and old alike.
As Joseph sold his mother’s baked goods among the crowds, he saw many of his friends from Palmyra. He stopped long enough to play a game of pulling sticks or to wrestle, but for the most part he listened to the preachers calling the sinners to repentance. Some of the sessions lasted all day and into the night. One minister after another took the stand to preach long, powerful sermons. Sometimes they directed prayer circles or the singing of hymns. While the meetings were going on, many people “got religion” by shouting and crying for mercy.
In his own thoughtful, quiet way, Joseph found himself caught up in the tremendous emotions of the revival. Much of what Joseph heard didn’t agree with what he read in the Bible, so the preaching and exhortations of each day added to the confusion he felt within.
Joseph was a thinker. He enjoyed debating with the other boys in the neighborhood. It helped to satisfy his yearning for understanding and truth.
One evening when Joseph reached the village of Palmyra, a light snow had fallen and the cold penetrated his clothing, carefully patched to make it last through the season. The lamplight flickering through the windows of the village store beckoned him on. His long legs lengthened their stride.
Joseph stood for a moment outside the door, studying the figures in the crowded room. Orsamus Turner and Pomeroy Tucker, two of the older boys, were already there, as were some of the men of the village.
Joseph stamped the snow from his shoes and entered the store. It smelled strongly of burning wood, cheese, and wet wool. He joined the group around the stove, scrubbing his hands in its warmth until he was scorched through.
When all the boys had gathered they discussed a subject to debate. Joseph’s penetrating blue eyes deepened as he offered a suggestion. “Ever since the big Genesee camp meeting people hereabouts have been stirred up over religion …”
Some mornings later, when the world was pink with sunrise, young Joseph slipped quietly out of his log home. His steps were quick with anticipation now that he had determined what to do to resolve his search for the truth.
Joseph thought it rather strange as he recalled the events of the previous night. He was reading a certain passage in the Bible, when the words seemed to leap from the page and found their way into his heart where they would not be stilled. Over and over his mind reflected on them. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could see those words in the first chapter of James clustered together on the page: “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”
If anyone needs wisdom, I do, Joseph decided. And if God will give me an answer and not consider it a bother, I’ll venture it, he thought humbly.
Joseph cut directly across the clearing, striding over tree stumps that protruded from the earth like wooden eruptions.
The Smith family had moved to their new farm in Farmington (later Manchester), New York, some three miles from the village of Palmyra, a little more than a year ago. Joseph had helped log the trees, and hauled many wagonloads of wood into the village to be sold for fuel. Some of the stumps had been burned out, but mostly they were left and the soil was tilled around them. Soon he would help scatter kernels of wheat into the broken ground, rich and fertile from layer upon layer of decayed leaves. Then the earth would need to be dragged over with a large maple limb to level it.
It was wearying work to clear forestland and make it tillable for farming, though somehow it didn’t leave him as tuckered out as trying to clear up the confusion in his mind. For some time Joseph had been in the midst of a “war of words” over religion. Some settlers argued for one church, some for another, and many ministers claimed that theirs was the only true church. The bad feelings that arose were not too well hidden either.
Joseph thought of his mother as almost a saint, and he believed his father was as good as Moses back in ancient times ever was. But even they could not agree on a religion. His mother and three of the children, Hyrum, Sophronia, and Samuel, attended the Western Presbyterian Church in Palmyra. Joseph’s father agreed with his father, Asael Smith, who wasn’t satisfied with any religion. He just kept studying the Bible; said he was looking for “the ancient order, as established by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and His apostles.” Joseph was somewhat inclined toward Methodism, and had attended some of their meetings. Yet in the midst of all the agitation around him, how could a boy be sure?
As he climbed a fence at the far end of the clearing he recalled how often he had asked himself: “What should I do? Who is right? How shall I know?” At times his yearning for the truth had almost been a hurt within him.
But now Joseph knew how to find the answer. Since he had read those words in the Bible, they were carved on his consciousness as clearly as initials on the trunk of a tree. He had decided to follow them implicitly, and he was going into the woods to pray. He would ask God which church to join, believing that God meant just what He said, “… and it shall be given him.”
Why didn’t I think of it before? he wondered. (To be continued.)

Photograph by Leslie Nilsson
We were all excited for Agatha’s birth in 2015. She would be my parents’ first grandchild. Everything went well until the day she was born. She was a large baby, I suffered complications, and the doctor was late getting to the hospital. When he finally arrived, he had to use forceps to remove her. By then, she had suffered neonatal asphyxia.
When they put Agatha on my chest for a moment, I thought it was so I could say goodbye. Nurses then whisked her away for neonatal intensive care. I found out later that her Apgar score, used to assess a newborn’s overall condition, was only 2. A score of 7 to 10 is considered normal.
Scans showed a large white spot on Agatha’s brain, revealing significant damage from lack of oxygen. Doctors told us that if she lived, she would suffer serious cognitive and physical disabilities and likely have epilepsy.
When my family learned how gravely ill Agatha was, my parents and in-laws were given permission to enter the neonatal intensive care unit at different times to see Agatha and say goodbye. My father and father-in-law, unbeknownst to one another, each gave her a blessing. My husband also gave her a blessing. That Sunday we organized a family fast for her.
Agatha spent 11 days in the hospital before we could take her home. For several months, she underwent tests and procedures. She couldn’t swallow, she lacked reflexes, and she suffered convulsions. They told me she would never move her head, never walk, and never speak.
Over the next year, we continued to pray and fast for Agatha, and we took her to a physical therapist to help her learn to move. The left side of her body had been especially affected by her asphyxia. She could move her right hand but not her left hand. Doctors told us that progress would be slow. But after only a few sessions, she could move both sides of her body equally. The therapist said it was a miracle. Because she learned so quickly, he wondered why we had brought her in the first place.
Every small improvement brought us happiness. Soon Agatha began to move her head. Then she began to sit up. When she started to smile, we knew that our faith and prayers were being answered. And when she said “Mama” for the first time, I felt great joy.
We received our biggest miracle at her annual checkup. A magnetic resonance image (MRI) showed no white spot on her brain. Her doctor couldn’t believe it.
“This scan looks like it came from a different child,” he said, comparing the new image with the original image taken after she was born. He requested a second scan, asking, “What is going on here?”
Today, Agatha has no cognitive or physical disabilities, and she no longer takes medication for epilepsy. Her school knows her as an intellectually advanced child.
We attribute Agatha’s healing to what my father calls “a perfect triangle”: faith, fasting and prayer, and priesthood blessings from righteous men. We know that the Lord loves us, we know He has power, and we know He gives us His power to exercise here on earth. We are grateful that He healed Agatha.

Other kinds of blessings can come, too. Teresa Gai, a widow living in Lima, Peru, supported herself by operating a small store, and Sunday was one of her biggest business days. When missionaries taught her the gospel, she worried about closing her store on Sunday. One weekend she finally agreed to do so, not realizing she was closing her store the day before New Year’s—her most profitable day of the year! With no business for two days in a row, she faced serious financial consequences. But she had promised. She closed her store and went to church. On Tuesday, she discovered that by the end of the day she had done more business than any day since opening her store. She never again did business on Sunday, and her sales increased steadily (see “Pioneering in the Andes,” Liahona, May 1997, 44–46).

Polly and Ruth were blessed by their contributions. Their mutual generosity created a strong bond that lasted their whole lives. When Polly was 77 years old, she was still living in Boston, but she wanted to gather with the Saints in Utah Territory. So Ruth traveled to Boston and accompanied Polly to the Salt Lake Valley in 1857. “Aunt Polly” was beloved among the Saints in Utah until her death in 1866. When Ruth died in 1884, she was buried alongside Polly.7

An early experience of his own with spiritual guidance set Harold’s feet firmly on the path of obedience: “I was probably about eight years of age, or younger, when I was taken by my father to a farm some distance away. While he worked I tried to busy myself with things that a young boy would. … Over the fence there was a broken-down shed that looked very interesting to me. In my mind I thought of this broken-down shed as a castle that I would like to explore, so I went to the fence and started to climb through to go over to that shed. There came a voice to me that said this very significant thing, ‘Harold, don’t go over there.’ I looked about to see who was speaking my name. My father was way up at the other end of the field. He could not see what I was doing. There was no speaker in sight. Then I realized that someone that I could not see was warning me not to go over there. What was over there, I shall never know, but I learned early that there are those beyond our sight that could talk to us.”

Fourth: One afternoon last summer at home here in Rexburg I picked up the Saturday, June 7th Church News and sat down in the family room to read and relax. I read a report of President Monson making a trip to Curitiba, Brazil, to dedicate the new temple there. I read the following report of the Cornerstone Ceremony. After General Authorities and the temple presidency and their wives participated, President Monson looked around and saw a group of children who had been invited to stand on the platform erected for the ceremony. Among them was a 6-year old Lincoln Vieira Cordeiro, who appeared to be very cold; he was wearing a winter coat and a hat with flaps that covered his ears. President Monson invited him to place some mortar on the cornerstone. Lincoln's hat was removed so that his face could be seen in photos and video footage recording the historic event. His head had no hair. President Monson guided Lincoln in placing mortar around the cornerstone, and then invited several other people to participate.
Then he announced it was time to conclude that part of the ceremony. However, he paused, looked around the crowd of onlookers and said that there was someone else who needed to be called upon. He walked around the platform. He looked to his left, and said he wondered who that person might be. He turned to his right. Several dozen people stood on the ground between him and a choir that performed at the outdoor ceremony. He kept looking, saying that he knew that there was one particular person who ought to be invited to place mortar around the stone. Finally, his eyes rested upon a woman. He pointed to her, and invited her to come join in the ceremony. Later President Monson was told that the woman, whom he had never met, was Odilene Cordeiro, Lincoln's mother.
The Church News then quoted Elder Russell M. Nelson who was with President Monson that day: "Of all the people he could have called upon to participate, it was that boy's mother," said Elder Nelson, "That said to me that Heavenly Father is communicating to His prophet, and that President Monson is responding. That was not just Thomas S. Monson standing there. That was the prophet responding to a revelation as it flowed from heaven through him to bless that mother who has gone through so much in caring for her son who is so sick. President Monson had no way of knowing who that woman was, or that the little boy he called upon has cancer. But the Lord knew."

Name a town?
In a small town in Kentucky, USA, the very first postmaster didn’t think much of his own handwriting. He figured that if a town had a number as its name, then it’d be easier to read and understand that name on an envelope even if somebody had bad handwriting.
He reached into his pocket, counted the loose change (88 cents), and Eighty Eight, Kentucky, was born. The town name stuck and has been used ever since.1

Illustration by Joshua Dennis
After getting my children off to school, I began thinking about the rest of the day. I had many things to do, but I had to work the night shift at the hospital, so I had limited time. I could work in the yard, work on a quilt for my nephew’s birthday, or exercise. Then I remembered a quote from President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994):
“When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives” (“The Great Commandment—Love the Lord,” Ensign, May 1988, 4).
“Scriptures it is!” I thought. I sat at my desk and continued my scripture study from the day before:
“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven … .
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Matthew 6:19–21).
“Where is my treasure?” I thought. Next to my scriptures were four names from my husband’s family that I had recently taken to the temple. My husband’s parents were the first in their families to join the Church. I had spent the past two years working on my late father-in-law’s line. I decided to go to FamilySearch to see if the ordinances were recorded as complete.
I looked at the temple icons along his line. To my surprise, several names I had prepared for sealing ordinances had not been recorded as complete. I must have misplaced the cards, and the sealings had not yet been done! As soon as I reprinted the names, a distinct thought came to my mind, “Now you can go about your day.”
I felt peace knowing I had put the Lord first. He helped me prioritize what was most important. Enjoying my family in the eternities is definitely what I treasure most. I know that if I put God first, all other things will work out for my spiritual benefit and for the benefit of others.

To my wife, Robyn, and me, nothing is more precious than our children and grandchildren. There was a time when we didn't think we would have children. Following our marriage we went seven years longing to have a baby. Finally, we were able to adopt our daughter Christy, and life changed dramatically for us. Robyn left a demanding job to do something she found was much harder yet much more fulfilling--motherhood.

When Christy joined our family, we decided to buy some expensive furniture that we could pass down to our posterity as heirlooms. A beautiful hardwood highchair and brass canopy crib soon adorned our home.

Then another miracle happened. Three months after adopting Christy, we got the great news that Robyn was expecting a baby! She gave birth to a little boy the next year. We discovered that our little boy had a tendency to be a bit more destructive with expensive furniture! One day, our son decided that it would be great fun to hang like a monkey from the slender canopy on the crib. As you might imagine, the weight of our little monkey caused the brass poles to collapse, and our heirloom crib was ruined. Later he stood on the highchair, knocking it backwards and crashing it against the buffet. Gratefully, he wasn't hurt, but the chair was ruined!

So much for heirlooms! We learned quickly that material things can turn to junk in an instant. Everything we bought afterwards was the cheapest we could find, and we began to focus on spiritual things we could pass on to our posterity.

Our family grew. We were blessed with two more boys. Now we are welcoming grandchildren into our family. Parenthood is not easy, but could there be more precious fruit to fulfill your life than a righteous posterity?

The Lord will bless you and your posterity as He is blessing mine today. I am so grateful for the times we can go to the temple with our children, Cari Anne, Kelli, and Jorge. They each have had their own individual experiences during different times.

Our oldest, Cari Anne, has been an example of faithfulness to us. She loved her time here at BYUI, but her academic journey was not easy. Cari Anne decided with a roommate to attend the temple weekly and saw the Lord bless her and help her finish her degree. She’s now a successful teacher, leading her own preschool in Queen Creek, Arizona. Her and her eternal companion, Trennon, have made us the grandparents to Nixon and Lana, who we absolutely adore.

In 1883 the Widtsoe family immigrated to Logan, Utah, where young John later enrolled in Brigham Young College. A hard worker and bright student, he graduated in 1891, studied chemistry at Harvard University, and graduated with highest honors in 1894. While at Harvard, he met Leah Eudora Dunford. They married in the Salt Lake Temple in 1898 and became the parents of seven children, only three of whom lived to adulthood.

I was very excited to start kindergarten. I liked going to school, and I made some new friends. After a couple of months, though, I became frightened of a boy in the other class. He was big and chased children at recess. I didn’t want to go to school or play at recess anymore. I would stand next to a teacher the whole time.
My mom asked my family to fast and pray to help me be brave at school. My teacher arranged for me to have recess buddies so I wouldn’t be afraid. I was still afraid, though. My mom told me that maybe I needed to get to know the boy who frightened me. I told my teacher and she took me to meet the boy. I found out that we both have a big brother and liked the color blue. I also found out that the boy was nice and needed a friend.
I am happy that Heavenly Father blessed me with courage to face my fears. I am no longer afraid to go to school or play at recess, and I have a new friend!

A few years ago my rugby team participated in a weeklong tournament. This meant seven days away from home, parents, and Church leaders. Because we attend a Church school, everyone on my team was a member of the Church. Almost every evening that week, the other teams in our hotel would party in their rooms with loud music, dancing, drinking, smoking, and screaming harsh words at each other. Our team gathered in a room for our tradition of scripture study and evening devotionals. It felt good to do the right thing without being instructed by our parents. After the other teams observed us with surprise, we gained their respect. They were silent when they knew we were having evening devotionals. They seemed to be interested in what we were doing, and some even joined with us to read the scriptures and pray together.
We didn’t win the tournament that week, but we won in another way. We were able to shine our light, and through our examples, change hearts and minds.
Elisara E., 20, Samoa